“Really? Kinda seems like maybe one of the brides should’ve done that.” He beamed when you started pinching and pulling at his cheeks, chuckling when you accidentally shoved a finger up his nose while you kept cooing about how pretty he was.

“Welp, Taylor n’ Lauren ‘r kinda uptight fer lesbians.” You let your head roll on your shoulders as he kept carrying you through the house, your eyes drifting closed as you made happy little humming noises. “At my bachelorette party, ‘m gonna get all the strippers.”

“Uh-huh, when are you having this bachelorette party?” Ransom grinned indulgently at your drunk babbling, pressing his lips to your hair when you tucked your head against his shoulder with a soft sigh.

“Wh’n I get married, duh-doy.” You purred as you nuzzled closer to his chest, breathing his scent in and tracing a finger lazily over his arm.

“Oh, you’re getting married now?” He chuckled softly when you peeked at him through your lashes, shaking his head at the ridiculous things you always said when you were drunk. “Who’s the lucky bastard? Wanna send you two a gift.”

“‘S you, dummy.” You slapped his shoulder at his teasing, pouting a little before bringing your hand up to cup his jaw. “Gonna marry the shit out of you, ‘m never letting your ass go. Why’d you stop?”

Ransom froze at the entrance to the hallway, giving you a quizzical look when you huffed out a short, confused breath. As much as he wanted to tell himself you were just saying stupid shit because you were drunk, there was something in the way that you were looking at him that made him think you were at least partly serious. And for some reason that wasn’t freaking him out nearly as much as it should have.

“Baby, what are you talking about?” He gave you a little squeeze when you let out another hiccup, his breath growing shallower as he tried to reorient himself. “You wanna get married?”

“Mm, yeah, love you, idiot.” You were starting to doze off and he gave you a little shake, whining when he wouldn’t just let you sleep. “What else ‘m I gonna do? Not like ‘m leavin’ your ass.”

“Well, good,” Ransom’s heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest, he honestly couldn’t tell if he was panicked or thrilled at the words that were coming out of your mouth. All he could do was stare at you as he tried to process all the different emotions that were flooding his system suddenly, ducking closer so he could nuzzle against your cheek while you let out a pleased little chirp.

“Ran…” Your voice was quiet when you tilted your head back so you could look him full in the face, swallowing thickly when your glassy eyes met his.

“Yeah, what is it baby?” He might have been smiling, he wasn’t totally sure.

“‘M gonna puke.” You swallowed again when you felt it almost come up, your stomach roiling as Ransom started sprinting towards the bathroom.

“Ah, fuck, don’t you fucking throw up on me!” He kicked the door open and wrenched the toilet lid up just in time, dropping to the floor and running a hand over your back as you emptied your stomach into the bowl. “God, this is why you’re not supposed to have Jager. Gave me a goddamn heart attack and you’re not even gonna remember it in the morning.”

“I love you so much.” You only had a second to huff it out over your shoulder before your stomach was lurching again, a pitiful whine leaving your throat as you somehow brought up even more alcohol soaked nastiness.

“I know, baby, love you too.” He pulled your hair back from your face and kept rubbing your back soothingly, pressing his lips to your shoulder and cooing softly when you sobbed as your stomach heaved again. “I’m not leaving you either.”

Ransom shuddered as he rested his head in his hands, his eyes red and his throat raw with emotion that had him letting out a choked sob when your hand squeezed his thigh.

“Just keep breathing, ok?” You leaned over so you could softly butt his head with yours, winding your arm around his shoulder and pressing your lips to his temple when he leaned into your touch. “The doctor should be out soon to let us know what’s going on.”

“I know.” He wound his fingers through yours and squeezed, turning so he could rest his forehead against yours as he let out a deep breath. “I just worry about him, I love that old man.”

“Have you been crying, Ransom?” Both of you growled when Linda’s harsh whisper interrupted your train of thought, your fingers slowly running through Ran’s hair while you glared at her from the corner of your eye. “If you’re going to make a scene you should do it outside.”

“Jesus Christ, mother.” Ransom screwed his eyes closed and buried his face in your shoulder, heaving out a sigh into your neck as he tried to tune her out.

“God, showing emotion is a scene now Linda?” You wrapped your arms around Ransom and pulled him closer, scowling at his mother as he brushed his lips over the side of your neck to soothe himself. “Your father’s in the hospital, why don’t you worry about that instead of whether anyone noticed your son somehow managed to grow a heart despite being raised by an ice queen.”

“Now who’s causing a scene?” Ransom gave you a warm smile when he tilted his head back to look at you, threading his fingers through yours and pulling your hand to his face so he could plant kisses over your knuckles while Linda walked away from the two of you with a snarl.

“Oh, that’s nothing.” You nuzzled into his hair and grinned when he started tracing your wrist with his thumb. “If there weren't a couple of kids over there, I absolutely would have called her a frigid cunt, just imagine what that would have done.”

Ransom turned his head to muffle his laughter in your shoulder while he snorted softly, humming when you kissed the top of his head as he let himself relax into you. He was still a little nervous, he always was in medical settings, but having you there made it feel manageable. The door back to treatment flung open and Ransom squeezed your hand when Harlan’s doctor walked out, sighing when the sharks immediately moved to intercept him before either of you had a chance to stand up.

“You want me to handle the vultures?” You kissed his forehead when he straightened up, your hands framing his face as you traced the curve of his cheek with your fingertips. “Or we can just wait for them to pick that poor doctor’s bones clean and hope he has some information for us by the time we get to him.”

“I wanna know what’s going on.” Ransom rose to his feet and pulled you after him, winding an arm around your waist and kissing your hair while the two of you walked towards where the Thrombeys were circling the haggard looking doctor. “Let’s save the poor man.”

“No, that’s completely unacceptable.” You sighed when you walked up to Linda berating the man. “If it’s that minor, then he can come home, or you’re lying to us about how serious it is, so which is it? Well?”

“Hi, doctor?” Ransom managed to cut her off before she had the chance to call the man an idiot, letting you shoot her a glare so she didn’t start harassing him again. “I’m Harlan’s grandson, how’s he doing?”

“Yes of course, Mr. Thrombey couldn’t stop talking about you.” The doctor gave the two of you a relieved smile when the rest of the brood finally quieted down. “This must be the doctor.”

“She’s a vet.” You shot Walt a scowl over your shoulder when he chimed in, mostly since his tone of voice let you know exactly what he thought about his father apparently bragging about you to strangers.

“Yeah, still a doctor, Walt.” You turned back to Harlan’s doctor and smiled when he gave you a sympathetic look. “Different expertise, obviously. How’s Harlan?”

“The good news is there’s nothing broken. He has a pretty bad bruise on his hip and a mild concussion for the fall but he should recover alright.” The doctor sighed before continuing, his eyes roving over the Thrombeys like he was steeling himself. “I was just explaining to the rest of the family that we’d like to hold him overnight for observation, just to be safe.”

“That seems reasonable, I know we all want to be absolutely sure there’s not going to be any complications before moving him away from full time medical care.” You felt a ransom relax when you managed to cut off his family’s arguments before they could even voice them, his hand on your waist giving you a squeeze when you leaned closer to him. “Can he have visitors?”

“I can let two of you back at a time to see him, but visiting hours are over at nine, so you’ll want to keep things brief.” He ignored Linda’s muttered ridiculous and shook your hand when you offered it. “Feel free to find me if you have any other questions, and I’ll be happy to go over expectations for his home care with Marta before he’s discharged tomorrow. Who’s first?”

“Come on, Richard.” Linda kicked her husband to get him to move when she pushed her way past the doctor unceremoniously. “I want to make sure they’re taking proper care of my father.”

You rolled your eyes as you followed Ransom to sit in the chairs again while you waited your turn, smiling warmly at him when he laid down with his head in your lap and let out a relieved sigh.

“You still doing ok, baby?” You ran your fingers through his hair and rested your other hand on his chest, humming when he wound his fingers through yours again as he gazed into your eyes. “I know you hate hospitals.”

“I’m ok, I wanted to be here for Harlan.” He knew he wouldn’t have been able to do it if you hadn’t been there with him, and as much as he hated that his own anxiety could rule him like that, he couldn’t deny that having you around to lessen his fears was something he appreciated a whole lot. “Just another remnant of my shitty childhood I have to get over.”

“Yeah, you never told me why you hate these places so much.” You leaned back in your chair as you kept petting his head. “You wanna talk about it, or do you want me to distract you?”

“I can talk about it.” He let his eyes fall closed and leaned into your touch. “It’s not like it was even that bad. Just had to get my tonsils out when I was seven and all I remember was waking up alone after my surgery except for a nurse because Linda had some major deal she had to close. I don’t even know where Richard was. And, y’know, just had a little panic attack ‘cause I just wanted my mom, since I didn’t know what a horrible person she was yet. It was a good thing someone called Harlan or who knows how long I would have been there by myself. What’s up?”

You had stopped stroking his head as you gave him a pained look, your hand resting on his cheek while he stared up at you questioningly, the hand he had entwined with yours giving you a squeeze instinctually.

“God, Ran.” You curled over so you could press your lips to his forehead, sniffling a little when you straightened back up at the thought of him as a baby being all alone. “Sometimes I really want to kick your parents’ collective asses.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure there’s a line.” He turned his head when he heard the door to the waiting room open again, sitting up with a sigh when Linda and Richard came stomping out.

“He asked for you.” That was all Linda had to say before she was gliding past the two of you, Richard just giving you a noncommittal shrug before following his wife.

“Oh shoot, I have to go, I’m doing that live Q&A for Flam tomorrow.” Joni flitted up to you and Ransom when you both stood up, thrusting a giant crystal into your hands and ignoring your annoyed stare as Ransom swallowed a snort. “Can you give this to Harlan, sweetie? It promotes wellness and should help realign his chakras to speed up the healing process.”

“Sure, Joni.” You rolled your eyes when she waved at you over her shoulder before rushing out the door, hefting the thing as you and Ransom headed back to Harlan’s room. “Is this the one she sells for $300? At least she won’t be plastering Harlan holding this paperweight all over Instagram.”

“Small blessings.” Ransom kissed your hair and squeezed your waist as you headed back to the recovery rooms, his breathing growing shallow but still somewhat under control since you were there with him.

“My dear!” The sight of Harlan in the hospital bed sent a wave of something close to panic through Ransom’s chest, even though he was giving the two of you his typical wide grin, he still looked so frail and small, Ransom hated it. “I was so pleased when I heard the two of you were, even though it was a bit surprising. Are you doing alright, Ransom?”

“Harlan, you're hooked up to a heart monitor and asking me how I’m doing.” Ransom huffed out a chuckle when his grandfather just shrugged at him, letting you go with a final kiss so you could give Harlan a hug. “You scared us, old man.”

“It’ll take more than a couple of stairs to take me out.” Harlan winked at Ransom, grinning between the two of you when his grandson came to stand behind you and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Do you need anything while you’re here, Harlan?” You tilted your head to the side when Ransom rubbed his nose against your temple, sighing when he started running his hands over your arms absentmindedly. “I don’t know if I have time to run back to the manor and get you anything, but I can give it a shot.”

“That’s very sweet, dear, but unnecessary.” Harlan’s grin grew even wider as he watched how relaxed his grandson was with you, he was pretty sure the younger man didn’t even realize he never seemed to be able to stop touching you. “All I could really use right now is a cup of shitty coffee, since they don’t want me sleeping while they assess how concussed I am.”

“Well, good news, I saw a very shitty looking coffee machine down the hall.” You gave Ransom a peck on the cheek before wandering to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Ransom ran a hand over the back of his neck as he watched you leave, his movements freezing when he turned back to Harlan and found the man giving him a knowing grin.

“She is very good for you, son.” Harlan nodded to himself when Ransom let out a shaky breath, watching his grandson closely for the signs of nervousness he always showed when forced to talk about his feelings.

“I know.” Ransom actually let himself smile as he looked back at his grandfather, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “I don’t think I would’ve even made it here if she wasn’t with me. You know, I didn’t even have any panic attacks when I got here?”

“You’re not even going to try to fight me on it?” Harlan had never been more pleasantly surprised, letting out a short laugh when Ransom just shrugged at him before scrubbing his hands over his face with a defeated groan. “Oh, she’s very, very good for you.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking crazy.” Ransom ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the wall. “Just wish Linda could give us a fucking break.”

“Well, your mother has always had her own ideas about what’s best for you.” Harlan took a deep breath as he gazed at his grandson, there were times he’d wished he’d taken more of a hand in Ransom’s upbringing, maybe then the boy would have found happiness sooner. “But I’m glad you found it for yourself.”

“Were you boys talking about me?” You beamed at the two of them when they stopped talking when you walked back into the room, handing Harlan his coffee and leaning against Ransom when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“We always do.” Harlan cocked his head as he watched Ransom kiss your hair, smiling at the two of you behind his coffee as he took a sip. “You’re very interesting, my dear.”

“Logan, god, shut the fuck up!” Dylan smacked the asshole in the shoulder as he laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool, trying to keep his own expression neutral as he watched Ransom bury his face in his hands with a defeated groan. “Well, it sounds like it worked out fine, Drysdale, you had your panic sex and you both recovered, so why don’t you just forget about calling her ‘Mrs. Drysdale’ . I’m sure she has already.”

“That’s the fucking problem, I can’t.” Ransom took another gulp of whiskey as he ignored Logan’s chortling. “Even worse is that I don’t want to, it felt right, good.”

“Oh, fuck no!” That shut Logan up, his head shaking vehemently as literally every other person at the table rolled their eyes at him. “It’s bad enough you moved in with her, you’re not doing this, you’ll be miserable.”

“You said the same thing when they started living together, Van Doren, don’t be an ass.” Chaz took a gulp of beer and shot a scowl at him before turning back to Ransom. “Not to be a Logan apologist, but you did tell us to kidnap you and take you to Amsterdam if you ever talked about settling down.”

“Yeah, when I was with Sloane.” Ransom shivered when he thought about the nightmare that had been, relaxing quickly once he let his thoughts drift back to you and how happy you made him, even though that fact was also freaking him out. “But she’s not Sloane, she’s not like anybody I’ve ever been with before. I just want her to know how much she means to me.”

“I can’t listen to this soft shit anymore, I’m gonna go get some shots.” Logan shook his head as he rose from his seat, frowning at Ransom before heading to the bar. “That chick is ruining you, Drysdale.”

“God, I know she is.” It made his heart warm though, a slow smile spreading over his face as he felt the panic starting to leave his system. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna do it.”

“Jesus, you’re sure?” Dylan whistled when he watched Ran gulp down the rest of his scotch, not even able to grin himself to stop him when he started emptying the rest of the drinks on the table. “You need to be sure, Ran, I know you love her and everything but if you just do this because you think it’s something you’re supposed to do and not something you actually want, you’re both gonna be miserable.”

“Oh, I want it.” Ransom sucked in a deep breath when he finally admitted it to himself, there was no getting away from you, you were it for him, may as well make it official. “More than anything. I wanna marry that girl.”

“Damn it, this is the fucking worst!” Of course Logan had to come back right when Ransom made that announcement, the dumbass ignoring the way Ransom openly snarled at him as he set the bottle of tequila and the glasses on the table. “Look, I know you think you’re happy, and if you really are, fine. But I think we need to seriously consider the fact that bitch’s pussy has fucking poisoned you, because my boy would never…”

Logan didn’t get a chance to finish his thought when Ransom punched him square in the jaw, growling when he whipped back up like he was going to try to fight him before Chaz and Logan had a chance to get between the two of them.

“Call her a bitch again and we’re fucking done, L. I’m so sick of you putting your stupid bull shit on me.” Ransom grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a swig, ignoring Logan’s grumbling. “She’s it, better than any of that easy pussy you try to drown me in and I fucking love her, so you can either accept this is happening or you can fuck off.” He really needed to consider getting better friends, he could not figure out why he still put up with this asshole aside from the fact he’d been doing it forever. “Now, you dumbasses can either celebrate with me, or I’m totally fine drinking this tequila all by myself.”

Ransom was exhausted as he pulled into your driveway, his grip on the steering wheel painfully tight as he thought about flipping on the couch as soon as he walked through the door. Another absolutely useless meeting with Walt always had that effect, the man truly did not grasp the concept of what email was for. He needed a drink.

Or some weed. He could smell it as soon as he walked through the front door, and something else that was making his mouth water. The sounds of your feel good playlist filled the house, Prince singing about how he just needed your extra time, and Ransom knew that meant you had found some new recipe you wanted to try out. He tossed his coat over the back of the chair and kicked off his boots before wandering to find you, grinning at the sight of the dog sprawled across the floor in the kitchen with his tail thumping against the hardwood while the cat tried to get her front paws on the counter to steal some of whatever you were cooking. No sign of you though.

“Oi, keep your paws away from the pastry!” You popped up from behind the counter with a joint tucked between your teeth, hissing at the cat until she scampered off with a sharp meow while you shook your head at her and rolled the sleeves of the Ransom’s sweater you were wearing up around our elbows. “Fucking brat, hey baby!”

“Hey yourself.” The sight of you wearing what he sincerely hoped was nothing but his sweater while you fussed around the kitchen had him feeling some kind of way, his eyes fixed on your bare legs as you slid around the counter to come greet him. “What’cha cookin’?”

“Smoked salmon tarts, they’re fucking amazing.” You passed him the joint before starting to drag him towards the kitchen, giggling when he tried to grasp the hem of the sweater to catch a peek at what you were wearing under there. “Quit, you can do that in a minute. Try this.”

“Ok… holy fuck!” Ransom let his eyes roll back in his head as he moaned when you shoved a whole mini tart in his mouth, grabbing your wrist when you tried to pull your hand back so he could suck the remnants off your fingers. “Shit, that’s fantastic, you sure we should be smoking around all this food?”

“It’s fine, I made so many, we should be good even if the munchies get us.” You tossed the roach into the sink and gave him a peck on the lips before sliding on your oven mitts when the oven timer went off. “Just one more batch to go.”

Ransom groaned when you bent over to pull out the fresh tarts, his sweater riding up your hips until he had a very good view that confirmed you were in fact wearing nothing under his sweater. His gaze raked over you as you put the last tray in, his eyes crinkling with a smile when you started swaying to the music when a new song came on.

“How long do those need to bake for?” Ransom pulled you close so he could sway with you, his steps getting a little quicker when the song sped up. “‘Cause I have a couple of things I wanna do all of a sudden, but I don’t want you to burn our kitchen down.”

“Good news, then, they take thirty minutes.” You squeaked when he smacked your ass before spinning the two of you, beaming at him when he pressed his lips to your forehead with a pleased sound. “Plenty of time for whatever you want, but you’re gonna dance with me first.”

“Am I?” Ransom let out a soft purr when you nipped at his jaw, jumping a little when you swatted his ass at him teasing you.

“It’s James Brown.” You poked him in the chest when he tried to snake a hand under the sweater again, shaking your head at him when he gave you a halfhearted pout. “What kind of assholes would we be if we didn’t dance to James Brown?”

“Fine.” He grinned before pecking you on the lips again. “One song, two max, then we’re gonna see how many times I can make you come on my face before those tarts come out of the oven.”

“Yeah, well be careful not to spoil your appetite.” You tilted your head back so he could nuzzle at your throat, sighing when he let out a low chuckle against your skin that sent a jolt to your core.

“Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back and winked at you. “I’m never gonna have my fill of you.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before he was spinning you suddenly then dropping you into a low dip, shrieking with purely delighted laughter when he pulled you back up and kissed your forehead while he kept dancing with you. It was a sound he’d never get tired of hearing, his hands framing your waist as he kept guiding your movements through the kitchen while you smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck your face Ran.” You were a little surprised when he didn’t release you as soon as the song was over, but it was a pleasant surprise, Ransom pulling you close to his chest with an arm around your waist while he wound the fingers of his free hand through yours and let you tuck your face into his shoulder.

“Shut up.” He pressed his lips to your hair and kept his cheek leaning against the top of your head as he kept swaying with you, smiling softly when you hummed along with Neil Young and let out a deep sigh. “I like this song, don’t need you distracting me.”

“Sap.” You scrunched up your nose when he gave you a squeeze. “If you just wanna dance all snuggly, you can say so.”

“Fine, I wanna dance with you, sue me.” He bit his lip when you tilted your head back so you could look at him, rubbing his nose against yours and breathing deeply. “You realize you’ve completely ruined me.”

“And you’ve loved every second of it.” You leaned up and brushed your lips over his, your breath catching when he deepened the kiss and you ran the fingers of your free hand through his hair.

“What I love is you.” He was long past the point of freaking out about what you did to him, how you made him feel and the warmth that spread through him every time he came home and you were there. It made him feel like he was definitely making the right choice. “More than anything.”

“Mmhm, and I love you too, pup.” You rested your face in the crook of his neck and let your eyes drift closed as he kept leading you in a swaying circle around your kitchen, letting out a happy little huff of breath when he kissed the top of your head again. “More than anything.”

Ransom drummed his fingers against the beer bottle in his hand as he stared at Ari and Anne, taking a breath like he was finally going to say something then just blowing it back out with a groan.

“Ok, are you actually going to tell us why you wanted to have lunch, or are we all just going to stare at each other?” Anne flagged down the waiter and asked for another drink, grabbing a fry and chewing thoughtfully as she watched Ransom squirm uncomfortably. “C’mon man, out with it.”

“You just take your time, honey.” Ari reached across the table and gave Ransom’s hand a reassuring squeeze, frowning a little when he turned to face Anne. “You are so impatient.”

“I have shit to do.” Anne shrugged when Ari rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t have all day to exchange meaningful looks with you two, so excuse me…”

“I wanna ask her to marry me.” Ransom said it in a rush so he didn’t chicken out again, feeling like a weight was lifted off his chest as he sagged into his seat with a sigh while they both swung to gape at him.

“Shut the fuck up!” He couldn’t get a read on Anne’s reaction, her mouth opening and closing like she kept thinking of new things to say then rethinking them at the last second. “Shut the absolute fuck up!”

“I fucking knew it.” Ari just grinned at Ransom and clapped him on the shoulder before trying to find the waiter so he could order some champagne. “I told that girl the two of you were it for each other, how are you gonna ask?”

“Just… wait a second.” Ransom took another deep breath before giving Ari a shaky grin, glancing at Anne again and swallowing thickly when she still had that mysterious expression on her face. “I wanna make sure this is a good idea first. Don’t wanna lose her because I try to push something she doesn’t want.”

“Oh my god, you’re so good for her.” Ari just kept grinning as he popped the cork on the champagne, pouring three glasses and handing them out before rolling his eyes when Ransom just gave him a kicked puppy look. “Anne, ease the poor man’s mind.”

“You… you really think she’s gonna say no?” Anne leaned forward and Ransom thought she was trying to hold back a smile.

“She always said she hated the thought of being some asshole’s wife.” He ran a hand over his face and leaned on his elbows. “And we all know I’m the biggest asshole.”

“You’re a giant faker is what you are.” Ari shook his head at him as he took a sip of champagne. “Of course she’s gonna say yes, honey.”

“Look, the only time I’ve gotten even a slight hint she might actually want this was a couple months ago, and she was drunk off her ass…”

“Wait, I remember that night, the bachelorette party, is that when you started thinking about this?” Anne finally let herself grin when Ransom nodded at her. “Aww, cutie, why do you think she was drinking so much in the first place?”

“What?” Ransom could feel his heart swell when he thought about what she was saying.

“Christ, you two dumbasses really were made for each other.” Anne rolled her eyes and took a gulp of her champagne before giving Ransom a smile. “She realized she wanted to spend the rest of her life with you and had her own little panic attack, because she convinced herself you’d make a run for it if she told you.”

“Oh my god, you idiots need to get married.” Ari kicked Ransom playfully when he let out an offended huff, winking at him over his champagne glass as he laughed softly. “And talk to each other, goddamn.”

“Don’t worry.” You were jerked out of your thoughts when Wanda placed her warm hand on your shoulder. “I know you’ll do it, and I can always help you. You know that right?”

Wanda was your best friend and she knew you better than you knew yourself. She was well off and married to Vision, who had now become your friend too.

You knew Wanda would help you at any moment you asked, but you didn’t want to. You could, and you had to solve your problems by yourself.

You ran a small yet cute bakery and today you had to deliver a very big order for a grand party arranged by none other than Bucky Barnes. That man literally ran New York and you were super nervous if he would like your cupcakes and pastries and sandwiches.

It wasn’t his first time though, every morning his right hand man, Steve Rogers, came to your place to get a coffee. Apparently the mob boss didn’t trust anyone except his best friend to not poison his coffee.

Wanda, ever the best friend, had come over to help you prepare these delicacies. “Thank you Wanda. You’re the best. I’ve done this before and I’ll do it this time too.” You were very lucky to have Wanda in your life.

“I believe in you. Now let’s pack these sweet cakes before I gobble them down.” You both chuckled and got back to precisely placing everything in the boxes. Once it was done, you loaded them in your car and started towards your destination.

Once you reached, you couldn’t help but gawk at the magnificence of the house. It was absolutely huge and lavish and honestly the best house you’d ever seen.

The interior of the house was just as impressive as the exterior, expensive rugs and curtains, impressively comfortable couches and seats, and spectacular showpieces which were probably cost more than your house.

You hadn’t ever seen Bucky in person, but from what you had seen in pictures, he was dashingly handsome and the aura he exuded was absolutely commanding. He seemed very sure of himself and what he wanted, and probably that was what made him different from the rest.

The party was yet to begin, and you and Wanda were led to kitchen by a man named Walker as you carried the boxes in your hand. You both sighed with relief when you placed the boxes on the counter as the most dreaded order was finally complete.

“That’s all. Thank you for your service.” He replied in a practiced tone and then turned around and started to walk away. You passed Wanda a look. “You’re welcome. But what about the payment?”

“Your cakes getting served at Boss’ house is an honour itself. Be contended with that.” You stared at him with utter disbelief. “What the fuck do you mean by that? You’re not going to pay me?”

You had worked your ass off since early morning and had made preparations from even before and this man had the audacity to tell you that he wasn’t giving you your hard earned money.

“First of all, I won’t tolerate that tone with me. Lower your voice down. And second, I’m not going to pay you. Consider this a gift from your side to boss and just leave.”

There was not a single chance in hell that you were going to leave without your money. “But Steve always pays me. Where is Steve? I want to talk to him.” Steve was genuinely a good guy and you knew he’d help you.

“He doesn’t have time for some worthless things like these. Now go before I make you leave.” You clenched your teeth and formed fists with your hands. “You know what? I’ll sue you in court and then let’s see who wins.”

It was the worst threat you could give, but you didn’t have anything else. Wanda pulled your hand and call for your attention and mouthed a ‘let’s go.’ You stubbornly shook your head and refused.

“You are gonna sue me? And how are you gonna do that, you poor helpless thing? tsk tsk tsk. The judges are all on our payroll and they’ll make sure you’re the one who is ruined.” Walker said condescendingly.

Once he completed his ranting, a small wicked smile spread on your lips. You pulled out your phone from your pocket and held it in front of his face. “All that you just said is recorded right in this phone.”

Walker’s eyes widened, “Delete that.” He was visibly tense at your unexpected move. “I don’t think so.” Wanda was scared for her life while you had smugness written on your face.

He swiped his hand ahead to get a hold of your mobile but you swiftly put it behind your back. “Break it all you want but I’ve already forwarded it to my friends.”

“Listen to me you bitch, you better delete that, or else you won’t like what would happen next.” Though walker was threatening you, you could see sweat beginning to form at his temples.

“I could send this to your rivals and they’d love to screw you up as this is a clear proof of your illegal activities like bribing the judges in court. But I will definitely delete this if you pay me double my money. So the ball is in your court, you poor helpless thing.” You said repeating his words.

“Double? That’s impossible.” He said exasperated. “Okay then I’ll send it.” You pretended to scroll through your phone. “Okay wait. I’ll pay you. Delete that.”

“Fine.” Walker searched his wallet for a wad of cash and handed it over to you. You mock saluted him and showed him your phone devoid of any voice message and turned around to leave.

Once you and Wanda were out of that house, Wanda started yelling at you. “Were you out of your mind? You could’ve died there. Do you know who these people are?”

“Don’t worry Wanda, we are safe aren’t we? And I got double the money I was expecting! This is gonna pay a lot of my bills. And I didn’t record anything, that walker was a fool to believe my words. It was written across his face that he’s all talk no action.”

While you were happy with your little stunt, you were unaware of the amused eyes following your every move. A huge smile was gracing Bucky’s face as he looked at you from behind the curtains.

Bucky had been walking through his house with Steve at his side when he had heard a commotion coming from the kitchen. This party was important to him as it would strengthen his relations with Tony Stark and he wanted it to go smoothly.

Annoyed with whoever it was causing a ruckus in his house, he had walked up to the door with the intention of firing them. But then he’d heard what you were saying and stopped himself from going in further.

Bucky had ordered John Walker to see that today’s party went well. He had giving John enough money to pay for everything needed but what he hadn’t expected was for John to be such a bastard and pocket that money himself. Bucky wasn’t a man who forgave people and John was definitely going to get fired.

Bucky was honestly impressed with your quick wit; and that was saying something. He had met a lot of people from different walks of life and not many surprised him anymore, but you did.

Once you had left the kitchen, Bucky had followed quietly behind you. And for a moment even he had thought you had a recording until he heard you say otherwise to your friend.

“Who’s she?” Bucky finally asked Steve as he saw through his window as you and your friend left in your car. “She runs the bakery I get you bagels from every morning.”

Bucky still had a taste of your confectionaries on his tongue. He loved your baking but hadn’t thought even in his wildest dreams that you would be so beautiful and bright.

“None, Wanda,” you reassured for the third time that evening. You slipped the key into the lock at the front of your shop, tugging on the door to make sure it was secure. “I told you... the 107 isn’t Hydra. They’re not like that.”

The keychain Bucky had given you tapped against the glass and you brushed your fingers against the plastic affectionately; edges that were both sharp enough to puncture but not enough to cut you. Offense and shield in the same breath. Quiet in its defense.

Wanda sighed. “It’s just tough to get used to. The whole town is convinced the 107 is just as bad as the Hydra club, if not worse. The things they whisper about what Bucky and his friends have done...”

“The power of folklore in a small town,” you agreed solemnly, weaving your way through the locals on the sidewalk as you followed the setting sun over the horizon.

“But you’re all right?” Wanda asked tentatively.

You smiled, though it carried such weight it struggled to touch your eyes. But it did. It lifted despite the heaviness there. “Yes, Wanda. I promise.”

Between the static of the speaker, you could hear Pietro’s faint voice rambling in Sokovian. The two of them were bustling around the small kitchen inside their shared apartment, bickering with one another through hushed tones you weren’t meant to hear. It only made you laugh.

“Sorry,” Wanda groaned, “my brother is useless in the kitchen today. We’ll talk later, okay? Before Tuesday.”

You knew the inflection in her tone, the strain as she sobered her voice. There was only four days left before the Hydra club was due for their next visit. The two of you had a routine, a set plan that helped you get through the night and sleep despite the lingering echo of engines following you through the shadows. You’d been doing it for years now, ever since your parents passed. It was what kept you going when the darkness felt like it was closing in around you.

“Of course,” you replied quietly, quickening your pace as the crowd began to thin.

After you hung up, you gave yourself thirty seconds to give into the panic. Thirty seconds to feel it rush into your skin, tingling and restless like ants crawling under the surface. To give into the pounding of your heartbeat and the short rasps of breath. To lose yourself in the fear of Rumlow emerging from the dark edges of your shop and Rollins’ hands inching too close to your hips. It was only four days away and you’d almost forgotten. How was that possible? Rumlow had been inside your shop less than twelve hours ago, reminding you just how dangerous he really was.

Thirty seconds.

But then you spotted a figure along the horizon, standing alone at the center of the sidewalk just behind the red X marked on the concrete. Your anxiety slipped away like water through your fingers as Bucky came into a view, a single hand raised in the air as he waved at you. Any trace of Rumlow was washed from your mind because Bucky Barnes was waiting for you on the border – that sweet smile upon his face, nervous sway of his weight on his heels. The Hydra club did not exist when Bucky was with you.

When you were close enough, Bucky extended his hand for you. There was no hesitation as you took it with ease, surprised at how familiar it felt as his fingers intertwined to yours. He squeezed against your grip lightly, nudging your side as you fell in line with him. God—you'd missed him.

“You sleep all right?” he asked, guiding you down the empty sidewalk on the path of the Centenarian.

“Better than I had all week.” You had spent too many nights in the last week laid awake and staring at the ceiling, listening to his voicemails over and over again – trying to find the game twisted into his words, the monster hiding under the grieving ache in his tone.

You knew now that there was never any monster to find. Bucky was not the man you’d heard campfire stories about or hushed warnings through the gossip of your town. He was not ‘the Rumlow of the east’ as Wanda had once called him. He was a good man. A wonderful man, really. You slept soundly after you had managed to convince him to return home last night, the trace of his lips burning warm against your temples.

Bucky hummed, a slow smile spreading upon his mouth. He leaned over and kissed the crown of your head without missing a step.

To your right, you spotted a few kids in schoolyard uniforms playing soccer in the open field with a half-deflated ball and makeshift goal posts. They froze as they spotted Bucky approaching, laughter dying sharply in the air. You recognized the look in their eyes, the stillness they carried. Fear clung like sweat on their skin – children, terrified of the loving man whose hand was wrapped tightly in your own.

You glanced up at Bucky and he appeared to be intentionally keeping his gaze forward as if he didn’t notice the children at all, but you could see the strain in his jaw. The muscle seemed to ache in his effort to not let their fear affect him, to not allow the burden of disgust and terror sink into his chest. It must have pained him to allow these children to carry such fear.

“Why don’t you let the town know the real you?” you asked quietly after the children were out of earshot. You heard the faint tap of the ball as they resumed their game.

Bucky swallowed, offering you a strained smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “It would show our hand to Hydra. They keep out of the east because they believe we’ll retaliate if they press the border. In some twisted way, they respect our hold on this side of town. If the people knew we were nothing more than a biker club, Hydra would walk right over us. I have to keep up the mask.”

“But you get into fights, don’t you? I remember the fight in the diner by the border before the line was drawn. The whole place was destroyed.” You’d seen the articles in the papers the following morning – vandalism wrecked through the family-owned diner. Bullet holes were found in the upholstery.

Bucky nodded. “It’s unavoidable sometimes. Most of us are former military so we know how to handle ourselves if we need to. But we’re not going out looking for a fight.”

“What happens if someone from the Hydra club were to show up over here?” you asked slowly, hoping Bucky might not catch the waver of fear in your voice. You had hoped the east side would be a safe haven, somewhere Rumlow and Hydra could not touch you, somewhere you could pretend if only for a moment that the shackles on your ankles did not chafe into your skin. But Bucky crossed the border almost daily for the past month. What was stopping Rumlow from doing the same?

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Bucky replied, a heavy sigh in his voice. “They haven’t tried yet. Doesn’t mean they won’t. But I imagine it would get ugly. We couldn’t let it slide, not without risking the border completely. I’d have to get my hands dirty.” He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. “Does that scare you?”

You studied the lines along Bucky’s brow, the worry etched into his face. Perhaps, it was the way he spoke of the clubs and the inevitable violence attached to it with such reluctance that answered the question for you. Bucky at his core was not a violent man. He was not cruel and vindictive. When his hands were bloodied, it was only ever in defense.

Wasn’t that what he’d said to you last night?

It was self-defense. It’s only ever been self-defense.

“Not in the way you think,” you said honestly. “I’m not afraid of you. But I worry, knowing the responsibility on your shoulders. I know there will be days my fear of what could happen to you will ruin me.”

Bucky nodded, taking in your answer. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss against your knuckles. Warm and sweet, gentle in his touch. “Then I’ll do my best to keep out of trouble.”

“I’m not sure that’s a promise you can keep.” You smiled as you said it, almost teasing, but there was a heaviness in your tone that Bucky caught onto instantly. He frowned, though he didn’t argue the point. You both knew what Rumlow and the Hydra club were capable of. Trouble was inevitable.

“This is it,” Bucky said after a few blocks. Your hand was aching from how tight you’d been gripping his; a dull, comforting pain.

The Centenarian stood at the end of the road; a series of bikes parked out along the street – one lined up after the other. Even from the sidewalk, you could hear the faint melody of a Fleetwood Mac song through the windows and someone shouting over the chorus to turn it down. Bucky chuckled to himself, guiding you up the path to the entrance.

You took in a breath, trying to ground yourself to the steadiness in Bucky’s hand. He wanted you to meet the club – to dismiss any doubts you still carried, the lingering aftermath of rumors that had wielded a tight grip into your mind. They’d blinded you to the man you knew Bucky to be – muddled every good part of him because you could not reconcile the legend to the man.

It would take time to reverse the gut-wrenching association you held to the 107 club, the instinct to panic when their name was reared. Bucky had promised that giving faces and names to the anonymous members of the club you’d only heard rumors about would help fracture the uncertainty you felt. Even watching the ease that slipped through Bucky’s shoulders as he set a hand on the knob and opened the door was enough to break the image of the big, bad biker club. He was coming home. And if Bucky’s defenses were down, so were yours.

There was little time to react before a blur raced across the room and skidded to an abrupt stop in front of you; cheesy grin wide upon his face, brunette hair mopped on the top of his head. He looked barely drinking age as he sharply pulled something from the pocket of his apron and offered it to you.

“You must be Y/n! I’m Peter. French fry?”

You stared at him; lips slightly agape. Slowly you turned to Bucky. “Is he serious?”

Bucky nodded rather reluctantly. Peter gestured to the pocket where he seemed to have lined the fabric in a silicone material, almost as if his apron had been transformed into wearable Tupperware. He grinned, rather proud of himself for the innovation. Bucky rolled his eyes despite the laugh under his breath.

“Well in that case.” You took the fry and popped it into your mouth, surprised it was still warm from the fryer. “Thanks, Peter.”

He beamed as his cheeks flushed pink. Just as quickly as he came, he rushed back to the table he’d been bussing before you arrived. Bucky led you over to the bar, towards the man standing behind it with a towel draped over his collar; long sleeve t-shirt clinging tight to the muscles of his broad shoulders.

“This is Sam,” Bucky said with a bit of a scowl upon his features.

“The pain in the ass who saved Bucky’s life,” you said as you extended a hand to him, recognizing the name from Bucky’s story of his last encounter with Hydra and the reason for the scar along his ribs. Sam raised an eyebrow, a satisfied smirk pressing high against his cheeks as he shook your hand.

“I like her,” Sam said to Bucky. He winked at you and swiftly placed an empty glass on the bar and filled it with whatever was on tap. He slid it in front of you and gave you a short nod to take it. You smiled, raising it to him in thanks before you took a sip.

“You got one for me, too, or...?” Bucky huffed, sinking into the barstool beside you. Sam rolled his eyes and filled Bucky’s all the way to the rim. It splashed over onto Bucky’s fingers as he grabbed the glass and he shot Sam a warning glare. Sam winked at you instead and you pressed a hand over your mouth to hide your laughter.

“Stark and Barton are over there by the jukebox,” Bucky explained, pointing to the men bickering over the controls. “Barton was banned a few months back for playing My Heart Will Go On one too many times. Turned the whole bar into a damn karaoke joint. Guaranteed Stark’s trying to prevent him from DJing.”

“Bets are on Barton for Cher,” Sam said casually as he cleaned the inside of a glass, throwing a confident look over his shoulder.

“I’ll take Stark for AC/DC,” Bucky replied, handing Sam a five-dollar bill. The two of them seemed to always be caught in a battle of wills, even in the simplest of conversations. It reminded you of Wanda and Pietro. Sibling rivalry. The knowledge that it had been Sam to rush across the border in search of Bucky that night made their fighting all the more endearing.

Then, If I Could Turn Back Time started playing through the speakers and Stark threw his hands up in defeat, stalking away begrudgingly. Sam pumped a closed fist into the air while Bucky dropped his head to the bar. You grinned, rubbing slow circles between Bucky’s shoulder blades, soothing him as if he’d suffered a real loss.

“You’ll find they’re all rather dramatic around here,” a low, sultry voice said behind you. You turned to find a red headed woman leaning against the wall by the dartboard, a vase of nearly wilted roses beside her. Braids were woven through her hair, pulling the strands away from her face – the fiery red in startling contrast to the black she was dressed in from head to toe. She stepped forward, a soft smile breaking through the hardened exterior. “I’m Natasha.”

You told her your name and she only seemed to smile wider.

“Oh, I know. This one hasn’t shut up about you all month.” Natasha smirked.

Bucky eyes were wide, a flush of pink in his cheeks when you looked at him for confirmation. He avoided your gaze, his jaw clenching as he stared down Natasha, though she appeared completely unfazed. You grinned at him, touching your fingertips to the heat on his skin. He melted under the touch, the hardened look on his face slipping away as he turned his head just slightly and pressed his lips to your fingers.

“So, you’re the one brightening up this dump?” a man approached from the kitchen. Bucky leaned to your ear and whispered his name. Steve. The giant, former shrimp; Bucky’s best friend. He tapped his finger to the dried carnation hung upside-down on the wall behind him. Bucky swallowed nervously to your left, shifting in his seat. “This is from the first hoard of flowers he dragged in here. Preserved the thing himself.”

You looked to Bucky, any trace of teasing falling from your features. He smiling shyly at you before he shot a glare at Steve. His friends had a terrible habit of embarrassing him, but you were grateful for it – the ease in which they greeted you, the comfort they brought that somehow felt familiar. This group of people – they weren’t just a club. They weren’t a business or a shady gang the way Hydra was. They were a family.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/n,” Steve said and you could hear the sincerity in his voice. You longed to know the things Bucky had said about you to allow for such kindness in their eyes. Maybe you could entice Bucky into telling you later.

***

Bucky hadn’t known relief like this in years. To be surrounded by his friends in the shitty old bar he loved, sitting next to the woman who made his heart skip several beats too many any time you looked at him. Your head leaned against his shoulder, grinning as you watched Natasha trying to teach Peter how to dance. They’d moved the tables out of the way to make room.

Your drink was nearly gone; his own was finished a half hour earlier. Bucky tapped his fingers against the bar, the weight of the last week still weighing upon him. There was one thing he still hadn’t amended – one regret he wished he could change.

“Hey, so, um,” Bucky started, the nerves evident in his voice. You lifted your head, turning to face him. You must have sensed his anxiety because your hand settled against his thigh, thumb brushing over the rips in his jeans. He shivered under the touch, trying to let it comfort him rather than rush straight to his head, among other things.

“In case it wasn’t abundantly clear,” he continued, “the reason I left the festival last week is because—”

“You saw someone from the Hydra club, didn’t you?” The realization seemed to drown into your features. He nodded slowly and it only worsened – eyes widening, panic into your veins. Your grip on his thigh tightened. “God, Bucky. If they caught you, you could have—”

“I know,” Bucky replied calmly. He knew the risks.

You shook your head, unwilling to accept his answer. “Why would you—Why would you risk that?”

Bucky smiled sadly at you, an ache somewhere lost between the realization he would do just about anything for you and the blatant disregard for his own safety in the process. You stared at him, worry slipping into devastation upon your features. Perhaps this was the fear you’d warned him of earlier. The fear you held for him.

“Don’t be reckless like that for me,” you said slowly; your voice low, determined. “I don’t want any part in it. At least now that I know about all this, we can be cautious, okay? No more needless crossing into the west. Let me come to you.”

Bucky pouted, shifting himself away from the heaviness of the conversation. “I’d like to argue your definition of ‘needless’...”

You swatted his arm. “I’m serious, Bucky! If Hydra were to catch you because you were walking to my shop... If something happened to you because you were coming to see me... I’d... I’d...”

Something in Bucky broke when your voice began to waver. You clamped down on your teeth, looking away from him as your eyes glossed over.

“Hey, come on now, honey. No tears,” Bucky begged as he tugged you into his arms. You came willingly, falling against him as if you might sink into him entirely. His arms surrounded you, the heat of your body pulled flush against his. “We’ll be careful, alright? I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

You nodded against his chest; your fingers gripped tight into his jacket. No part of him was glad to see your fear for him rushing to the surface, but it was a comfort to know you still cared for him – even after the hell that the last week had been where you’d believed him to be a monster no worse than the Hydra scum on the west. You still cared. Cared enough to cry for him, to hold him this tightly in the middle of a dingy bar, unbothered by the wandering eyes of his friends.

Bucky caught a glance of the clock and sighed. He’d promised last night to take you on a real date, to show you more pieces of himself that weren’t obstructed by the walls he’d built to protect his town from the men who would burn it to the ground.

“We should head out if we want to make it in time,” Bucky said. “But we don’t have to go if—”

“No, let’s go,” you replied, pressing out a smile as you reluctantly pulled away from his embrace. You set your hand against his cheek, touching him with the kind of tenderness that could break his heart. No one had dared treat him like he was something worth preserving before, like his body was meant to be soothed and eased instead of bloodied and bruised.

You let your hand fall to the side as you stood. Peter bounced over to offer you another fry before you left and Bucky was grateful for the genuine smile that returned to your face as you accepted it. The rest of the club rushed over to say goodbye before you left; Natasha lingering a little longer than the rest as she offered a rare embrace. Bucky could sense your surprise, the loss of words for how easily his family accepted you without question. It warmed you, eased you. Bucky ruffled the hair on Peter’s head as he followed you to the door.

Once outside, you spotted the long line of bikes propped up on the side of the road; all with similar qualities but still distinctly different from one another. They all carried the same silver paint marking the 107 club along the engine.

“Which one’s yours?” you asked, gesturing to the bikes. The way Bucky’s heart swelled at the simple question, he wondered whether he might survive the day he finally asked you to ride with him – if your eyes would light up like that again, if you’d love the feeling of the open air the way he did. It carried a freedom in it, a silence and a security. He hoped you might find a comfort in the open road with your arms wrapped tight around his stomach. He shivered at the thought.

“This one. Here.” Bucky slid his hand over the bike at the end of the line; fingertips brushing down the motor, sliding over the leathered seat and the metal structure underneath. He touched it as if it were a living beast.

Bucky watched as you slowly followed his hands, gently tracing along the bike in the same path.

“It means a lot to you.” It wasn’t a question. You knew him well enough now to know the answer.

He nodded. “Steve and I bought our bikes the day we got home from our last tour overseas. First real decision that was entirely our own, you know? No orders. No chain of command. Pretty sure I drove that thing down to the fumes a few too many times, but it was worth it.”

Bucky sighed, fond memories circling like faded images floating around his mind. “It’s seen a lot. Used to be parked out here by itself most nights back when I spent my nights fixing up the Centenarian. Over time, more came. Steve’s was the first. Bastard wouldn’t let me build my bar in peace. Then Sam’s. Natasha. Tony. Barton. Peter’s still trying to get a handle on the throttle.”

You laughed, smiling wide at him as your fingertips danced along the seams of the leather. Bucky swallowed, studying how delicately you touched it. His heart stammered inside his chest.

“We should keep going,” Bucky said reluctantly. “Don’t want to miss the show, huh?”

You reached for his hand before he had the chance to offer it and Bucky swore he’d never be able to let go again.

***

Bucky brought you to the old theater on the edge of town. It was a little run down, like most of the things around these parts, but it had character. Still had the traditional seats from the forties, even if they were stiff as all hell. Still had the old popcorn machine that left a vague burnt aftertaste, but it was home. You lit up as it came into view, excitement drawing over your features enough to allow Bucky to forget the tears you’d shed for him just moments earlier.

“My mom used to bring me here as a kid,” Bucky explained as he raised a pair of tickets from his pockets he’d purchased earlier in the day. The attendant nodded nervously at him, quickly stepping aside to let him through. The kid trembled as he passed, recognizing the head of the 107, and Bucky pretended he didn’t notice.

“It’s cute,” you remarked, drawing Bucky’s mind away from the scared teenager. “I like seeing these parts of you.”

He felt the heat flush to his face – damn skin betraying him to shades of pink again. It made you smile though as you brushed your fingers over his cheeks, easing his embarrassment in place of your tenderness. He turned his head just slightly and pressed his lips against the tips of your fingers. You sighed at that and it made Bucky wish he’d brought you just about anywhere else – longing to hear the sounds you might make if he peppered his lips further along your skin.

“You want something to eat, doll?” Bucky asked despite himself. It was all he could do to keep from whisking you off to the bathroom and locking the door behind you. Not here. Not where he couldn’t worship you properly.

You grinned, nodding quickly and muttering something about extra butter when Bucky’s blood suddenly ran cold. He froze as his gaze locked on the concession stand and the woman watching him from the distance. Arms draped out along the counter, a wicked smirk upon her red stained lips. She waved her fingers at him – slow, deliberate. A unlit cigarette hung from between her lips, the flame of a lighter dancing between her fingerips.

Dot.

“Why don’t you grab us some seats?” Bucky said quietly into your ear, lingering a kiss to your cheek. He kept a smile pressed to his lips despite the sudden rush of panic lighting like ice inside his veins. You looked back at him; brows furrowed.

“Okay,” you replied hesitantly. Even despite his attempt to shield you, you still picked up on his distress. Your hand slid along his arm, trying to soothe the tension from his muscle before you gave him a short nod and turned into the theater. It was only after you disappeared behind the door that Bucky gritted his teeth and crossed the lobby to the concession stand.

He leaned against the empty side of the counter, standing only a foot away from Dot, from the woman who sold him out to Hydra and left him for dead. The two of them stared out into the lobby as if there was no history between them, as if they hadn’t once shared a bed and she hadn’t left him to the dogs. To anyone else, they might look like strangers waiting patiently for their theater snacks. Few would be able to see the way Bucky dug his nails into his palms – the pain stinging enough to draw specks of blood to his skin.

“Thought you weren’t supposed to be on this side of town now that you’re running with Hydra,” Bucky grumbled, his voice burning as if it were made of gravel.

“What are you gonna do about it, sugar? Sic Peter Parker on me?” Dot drawled in her sweet tea and honeyed accent; a voice made of charm and grace until she bared her teeth and showed off the barbed wire underneath. Her eyes flickered over to him, waiting for a reaction.

He wasn’t going to do a damned thing against her and the fact that she could still read him like a book made his stomach sick with anger.

“That’s what I thought,” she grinned, shoulders swaying confidently as she leaned into her stance. “Men like you play by a certain set of rules. Even after everything I did to you, you wouldn’t lay a hand against me. Why? Because I’m a woman?" She frowned, playing with the unlit cigarette between her fingers. "Frankly, I find that a bit demeaning.”

Bucky scoffed. “There's plenty I’d like to do to you.”

“Oh, I bet there is.” Dot winked at him, her red lips drawn between her teeth.

Bucky clenched his jaw so tight he was sure it might lock into place permanently, determined to not give her even an inch. He couldn’t allow her to see the effect she had on him – the panic she induced into his body; the pulsing of an old scar burning against his ribs. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

She’d already taken so much from him. His trust. His dignity. Nearly his life. He would not give her anything else. It had cost him too much to rebuild those pieces of himself in the wake of her betrayal. It wasn’t until he met you that he even wanted to try again – to be vulnerable enough with another person, to put fragments of his heart into your hands. You carried more of him than you realized.

“So...” Dot began, a devious grin curling her lips “the florist, huh?”

The color drained from Bucky’s face, stomach sinking through his feet and cracking into the old hardwood floors, barreling down into the depths of the dirt and concrete below. He turned to her, the steel he’d induced to his features washing away in seconds.

“Don’t, Dot. Please.” His voice wavered, his pulse rising. She rolled her eyes.

“Why? You going to beg for her?” Dot asked dismissively, a terrible laugh on her breath.

“Yes.”

A flash of surprised flickered behind her dark eyes. She hadn’t expected him to entertain the question, let alone answer so quickly, so desperately. He would have gotten onto his knees if she’d asked him to. The very thought of you being anywhere near Hydra’s radar was crippling. His nails punctured into his palms.

“What do you want, Dot?” Bucky growled, fighting to keep his anger contained. Whatever money she thought he had was attributed entirely to the rumors. But for as vindictive and cruel as Dot could be, she was just as clever. She knew who Bucky was under the mask, knew that he was not the monster the town made him out to be; couldn’t be – because the man he’d been painted as would not have bothered to cross the border to enemy territory to save a woman who clearly never loved him in the first place.

And still – she never told Rumlow. Even amongst the rumors of protection fees and swindling local businesses out of their own profits, she did not say a word to Rumlow of the man she once knew Bucky to be, a man who would stand is stark contrast to the rumors, one that rang with such dissonance it could not possibly be true.

Perhaps she was hoarding the information for herself – waiting, like a panther in the weeds, to strike when the moment suited her. Her only motive was her own advancement, her own power. She didn’t care for Rumlow any more than she had cared for Bucky. And Bucky had just handed her a weakness that could render him to his knees.

“Dot, please,” Bucky tried again when she did not respond. He turned the full of his body to face her, the hardened mask upon his features slipping as her gaze shifted to the theater where you’d disappeared inside. “What do you want?”

A smirk coated the red of her lips. “Who says I want anything from you?”

Rage coiled into Bucky’s stomach. He was going to break a cardinal rule of his own twisted moral code if she didn’t step out of his line of sight soon. His hands were itching for something to grab onto and she was hanging an anvil over his head, holding the fraying rope between her manicured fingers. It was going to crush him.

“I don’t want her caught up in Hydra shit,” Bucky warned, his voice low, threatening. “Keep her out of this, Dot. I’m serious.”

Dot pursed her lips, turning away from Bucky’s stare to face the crowd again. Something like satisfaction lifted her features, as if he’d walked into the trap she’d laid for him, his ankle suspending him high into the tree line.

“It’s a little late for that, Barnes.”

Bucky blinked; his lungs suddenly short of air. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged as her tongue coated over her lips as if she were centering on her prey. “Your pretty florist has secrets of her own. Let’s just say the 107 isn’t the only club she’s in bed with.”

Bucky stilled, his heart racing. He should have known better than to expect any straight answers from a woman like Dot. She’d traded a year of his life with her, his loyalty and affection, for power to the highest bidder. Perhaps she was just pulling his strings in an effort to put a wall between you. Maybe she was just playing games with him. All she’d ever down was play games with him.

But something about the pleased smirk upon her features told Bucky that this time, to spin a lie was less effective than the simple cruelty of the truth. And Dot aimed where it hurt, and pulled the trigger twice.

“See you around, sugar.” Dot’s fingertips grazed along Bucky’s shoulder. He flinched at the touch and it only seemed to fuel whatever ego boost she’d been after by confronting him.

Slowly, she slid the cigarette between her lips and while holding his gaze, brought the flame to the edge and drew in a steady inhale. Smoke puffed into his face as she released a breath. Then, she winked at him - as if she hadn't just dismantled the last thread of security he'd felt on this side of the border, the last ounce of comfort untouched by the danger of the mask he wore of the feared criminal.

He waited with his hands gripped into white knuckled locks against the counter as she left without another word, heels clicking on the old hardwood floors. Heads turned as she passed by, following the low sway of her lips and the flirtatious wave she sent towards the group of college boys huddled in the corner. The very moment the door closed behind her, Bucky carefully rushed into the theater in search of you.

You were waiting for him in an aisle near the door, lighting up at you caught sight of him. You gestured to the seat beside you, quickly making room for him, but as soon as Bucky stepped under the low glow of the dimmed lights, your face fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“We need to go, sweetheart,” he said quietly, offering his hand. His voice was heavy, thick. With remorse, with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded, quickly following him without hesitation. His hand squeezed yours, harder than he meant to, but he was unable to stomach the feeling that you might be pulled out of his grasp at any given moment. If Dot was confident enough to walk across the border, there was no telling what Rumlow or any of his goons might do. Bucky didn’t know whether she was sent on reconnaissance, if she was there to fulfill a purpose or send a message. Hell, he didn’t know if Rumlow even had a clue she’d planned on confronting him at all.

But he knew one thing – that Dot would take any opportunity to drag him through the mud. She’d tell Rumlow about you if it meant gaining leverage for herself. Bucky had been a fool to have shown his hand so easily, to believe that if he begged, Dot might show a glimpse of the humanity he once believed she had. Whatever mess you were in with Hydra, Dot would make it worse just to spite him.

“You’re hurting me, Buck,” you whispered, tapping against his hand. He glanced down at the white knuckled grip he held against you and quickly released your hand with a frantic apology. You shook your head, chasing him back, slipping your aching hand back into his. “Hey, I didn’t say to let go.”

You smiled at him, teasing, because you felt his distress and wanted to alleviate it. But Bucky couldn’t release the strain inside his chest until he knew the truth. He couldn’t protect you if he didn’t know what he was up against. And if it was Hydra... he’d burn them all to the ground if he had to.

He waited until you were safe inside the Centenarian before he spoke again. Holding your hand, he guided you through the near empty bar and past the cheering smiles of his family, leading you into the back office. Sam and Steve both narrowed their gaze as he passed, his head low, though they did not chase after him. Bucky closed the office door swiftly behind you, leaning his back against it. AC/DC was playing from the jukebox, the high strum of an electric guitar filtering muffled through the walls.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” There was no hint annoyance in your voice. Only concern.

Bucky swallowed as he released your hand. He rubbed his aching palm against his thigh. “The woman I told you about—the one that set me up the night I was stabbed...”

You nodded slowly, arms folding protectively across your chest. A chill swept in from the vent above your head, though the goosebumps littering your skin had been there long before the breeze ghosted over you.

“She was at the theater,” Bucky explained, his voice thick with tension.

Your arms dropped. “What? Are you okay?”

Bucky nodded, stepping away from your attempt to embrace him, to comfort him. He needed his strength about him if he was going to have this conversation. He’d fall to putty in your arms otherwise.

“She recognized you,” Bucky said slowly, watching your face for a reaction. “Made it sound like you were wrapped up in Hydra business.”

You stilled, frozen, as if caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic, paralyzed under the high beams. Then slowly, almost painfully, you sank into the chair in front of the desk as if your legs had simply given out, arms wrapped tightly around your chest, and Bucky knew Dot hadn’t been playing games with him. The weight of it was too heavy on your shoulders. You looked like you might collapse under the strain of it when your hands began to shake.

He’d recognized that before – the trembling in your body just before the tears came. His stomach lurched as he knelt in front of you, his hand settling against your knee.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, soothing his hand along your thigh. “Whatever it is, I promise I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep you safe. But I need you to tell me the truth, honey. Please. Let me help you.”

You were quiet for a long while; the crackling hum of the air conditioner and your muffled, shallow breaths the only sounds filtering the room. Bucky did his best to wait patiently for you to speak, his hand coaxing gentle circles on your thigh, but his heart was pounding so violently he was certain you could hear the damn thing through his chest.

“I was going to tell you. I swear I was,” you finally confessed, your voice barely a broken whimper, the heat of shame weighing on every word, and Bucky was certain in that moment he was going to wipe Brock Rumlow from the face of existence. He was going to cut that monster into pieces and live up to the stories of the feared leader of the 107.

When you looked at him again, your eyes were red – swollen and puffy. Tears tracked along your cheeks. It ruined him. Shattered him.

Bucky gingerly reached out and wiped the tears with the edge of his thumb. “It’s all right, honey. You can tell me now. I’m right here.”

You sniffled, nodding, trying to gather the courage to speak. A heavy silence passed - minutes, maybe, before you finally whispered, “I... I owe them money. A lot of money.”

It wasn't often you said the words aloud, but once you started, the rest spilled like the cracks in a floodgate splintering through frayed edges.

You told him about your mother first. Bucky listened quietly as you detailed the pile of medical bills on the kitchen table your father could not crawl out from under. Your mother had fought the cancer the best she could but sometimes the world was cruel and unjust. In a moment of weakness, your father had sold his soul to Hydra in exchange for the loan to pay off the medical bills and get your mother the experimental treatment she needed. It hadn’t worked.

Your father died a few months after your mother. His grief had taken him in the end and he’d left the store – and the mountain of debt – to you. To his daughter with the flowers in her hair and pretty, pastel dresses. The daughter who had loved her parents so fiercely she would not abandon the shop they built from the ground up, who would take on this impossible burden on her own. Such loving kindness warped and twisted by the darkness Hydra carried. His sweet girl facing demons all on her own.

Bucky sank onto his heels. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard of the Hydra club taking deals with desperate people and charging interest beyond what anyone could hope to pay. It wasn’t about the money. It was never about the money with those assholes. Hydra fed on power, on control. They got off on it.

“When do they come next?” Bucky asked his voice burning in his chest. Sandpaper in his throat. But you held your breath, looking away from him. You did not answer and Bucky could feel you closing yourself off, retreating back to the only security you’d known. Bucky slid his hands over your thighs, hoping to draw the tension straight from your bones. “Honey, please. Don’t shut me out. Not now. Don’t carry this alone.”

“This isn’t your responsibility, Bucky,” you whispered, a tear sliding down over your jaw. “You couldn’t have known when we met and—and you don’t have to take this on, okay? I’m not asking you to do that. I would never ask that of you. You have the east to protect and—”

“I don’t care about that. I only care about you.” Bucky hands fell against your sides, drawing the chair closer to him. His knees were sore from the tiny bristles in the rug, but it didn’t matter – not when you looked at him like that, like you didn’t quite believe him. He’d show his weakness for you a hundred times over if it would make you understand that he’d trade half the town to keep you safe. He’d get on his knees for you, beg for you.

A sad smile pressed on your lips, one that did not touch your eyes. “I’ll be fine, Bucky. I always am.”

You were used to that, weren’t you? You’d been alone for too long. Left behind to deal with a burden no one should ever have to bear. First your mother, then your father. You’d learned how to take on the worst this town could offer on your own. Standing strong in the face of monsters lurking in the shadows of your shop. His brave girl. His beautiful, brave girl.

“We’ll figure this out, all right?” Bucky promised. His hand slid up against your hair, holding you steady as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re not alone in this, honey. Not anymore. Not as long as you have me. And... you have me. Okay?”

You nodded, sinking into his arms as he held them open for you. Curled up on the floor of his office, his arms wrapped tight around you. Bucky kept his lips grazed against your skin, focusing on the gentle rise and fall of your breaths until the shame and the panic left your system. He didn’t know how long he spent with you in his arms, but his legs had gone numb. Tingling like static buzzed in his muscle but he’d happily sit in the sensation for hours if you’d let him hold you like this.

“I should get home,” you murmured quietly against his chest and Bucky tightened his grip on you reflexively. You must have sensed his hesitation because you added, “I can’t make my payment if I don’t open the shop in the morning, Bucky.”

“You could stay here, if you want. With me,” Bucky offered instead, a warm flush in his cheeks. “I’ll-- I’ll take the couch. My apartment’s not much but I could keep you safe. I don’t like the idea of you being alone with Rumlow looming over your shoulder.”

You smiled sweetly at him, but it carried a heaviness within its lines. Light traces of genuine appreciation and warmth nestled into your eyes, a lingering stubbornness and pride that had once kept you from crumbling. Your hand grazed the side of his face, brushing gently over the stubble on his jaw as if to soothe him of your own fears, and he knew then what you were about to say. He readied himself, holding his breath, preparing for the anxiety he’d carry until sunrise.

“I’ve done this for years, Bucky. I’ll be all right.” You leaned into him and grazed your lips over the corner of his mouth. “I promise to call if I need you, okay?”

Bucky nodded reluctantly, swallowing his argument behind the lump in his throat. He should have known better than to expect you’d leave behind your shop and the legacy your parents had left for you. It held too much meaning, carried too many memories. You wouldn’t leave it to rot even in the face of danger – of violence and extortion and the dirty fists of vile men. Bucky was torn between his admiration for your bravery and the paralyzing dread that had taken hold of his chest.

“There’s still four days before the payment is due,” you told him, as if that might ease his worry. “There’s still time.”

It wasn’t much. Perhaps that would give him the time to dig through the Centenarian’s records to see if he could help make up the difference. He lived most of his life on fumes – content to fend for himself day by day. Spare change was few and far between and what little he had he’d already spent in your shop. He never once held regrets for the money he spent on your flowers, even less now that he knew the truth of your debt to Hydra.

“Do you trust me?” Bucky asked quietly. He brushed the hair away from your face, drawing a tender line from your temple to your jaw. The way you looked at him, it might have crushed him under the weight of such affection – grateful to be rendered to pieces by you.

“Yes,” you replied, a terrible waver of guilt etched into your tone for the week you’d believed him to be a monster despite your better instincts. Bucky turned his head and pressed his lips to the palm of your hand.

“Trust that I’ll see you through this, okay? I know you’re strong enough, honey. I know you can do this on your own,” he sighed, gently pulling your hand from his cheek and bringing your knuckles to his lips where he kissed each one by one, “but you don’t have to.”

From the clench in your jaw, Bucky knew you couldn’t allow yourself to believe him entirely – at least not yet. It was self-preservation. You were afraid to let him in enough to share the weight of this burden, only for him to pull the carpet out from under you at the last second. You were fighting against it, but it had become the thing that kept you from drowning for so many years. It would take time before your trust of him would outweigh your fears.

Your life was already chained to one biker club under the rusted metal of cuffs on your ankles – digging sharp and unrelenting deep into your bone. You didn’t have room for another, didn’t have the strength to fend off the torture of another man. Rumlow would sooner have you killed than waste his time bantering with the 107 over a debt Hydra had laid claim to a decade ago.

You didn’t spare a glance to the sidewalk before you rushed up the back stairs to your apartment. The echo of the second hand ticking around the clock seemed to rattle inside your chest with every step, inching closer and closer to the hour you had once cherished above all else. Your hands were shaking so badly, you had to curl them into fists, even within the safety of your apartment.

You tried to ease yourself on the possibility that Bucky wouldn’t bother himself with this game anymore. He wouldn’t show up at your front door with lunch in hand like he did every day for the last two weeks. He wouldn’t pick up the broken stems from the vases outside and carry them inside for you as if they were wounded soldiers in his hands. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and it nearly made you jump out of your skin.

Wanda had helped you set Bucky’s called to go directly to voicemail the night before, afraid the temptation of the man you so desperately wanted him to be might convince you to answer. Heart pounding, you pulled the phone from your pocket. Bucky’s name was illuminated at the center of the screen.

One missed call. One voicemail message.

You knew Wanda would tell you to delete it. Nothing good could come from listening to the message. It could only be another trick to draw you back into his charm, to manipulate you into starting another war between the 107 and Hydra. Nothing good could come from it.

You pressed play anyway.

“Hey, doll. It’s... uh, it’s Bucky.” A strained groan followed through the speaker. “Right, you know that. Sorry.”

You held your breath at the sound of his voice. It carried the same sweetness laced into the inflections, the same tenderness he had held you with when you kissed him amongst the lilacs the day before. But there was a slight tremor in his tone. Nerves, you realized.

It was part of the game, you halfheartedly convinced yourself. It had to be. The man you’d heard terrible stories about couldn’t be the same Bucky you knew. This man, who extorted money from local businesses, who threatened families down on their luck with violence until they feared for their lives. This man, who children ran from in the street, whose name alone drew fear. The Bucky you knew couldn’t exist within that man. It had to be a mask.

You dared a glance down to the sidewalk from your window above the shop. There, you found Bucky staring into the empty windows, trying to catch sight of you. He pressed his hand against the glass, searching amongst the darkness and the flowers for a woman he would not find.

“I know you’re dodging my calls,” he sighed in the message, “and you’ve got every right to after I left the way I did yesterday... but I brought burgers from Daisy’s Diner on the eastside. You mentioned a few days ago how much you missed their curly fries so I thought... I don’t know. Hoped that might entice you enough to give me a chance to explain but... I see you’re closed so... I’ll go. I’ll see you tomorrow, doll.”

The voicemail ended long before you felt the cold wash of tears against your cheeks. You brushed them away quickly, reminding yourself that the man you knew was a fiction – an entirely made-up creature to hide the monster underneath. It was the only possible explanation. You had proof that Bucky Barnes was the leader of the 107, that he’d beaten men to a pulp. It didn’t matter that those men were Hydra. He was capable of violence on par with what you’ve witnessed in Rumlow and Rollins.

But something was screaming in the back of your head; a terrible, unpleasant feeling as you tried to group Bucky amongst the men who slipped through the shadows of your shop, who made your skin crawl and terrified you through your bones.

When you dared to look out the window again, Bucky was gone. He’d left the bag of burgers and curly fries by the door.

***

The next day when Bucky came by again, the lights were out in May Flowers. You waited from the safety of your apartment as he first stepped up to the shop, the realization dawning. His shoulders sank, the fictitious hope draining from his body as he looked inside the empty shop for you. Peering in through the windows, cupping a hand to the glass in an attempt to see better. When a hand print was left in his wake, he grimaced and quickly attempted to brush it away with the sleeve of his jacket.

As a last resort, you watched as Bucky’s fingertips hesitantly reached for the knob. Panic surged inside your chest; flooding worry second guessing whether you’d locked it firmly enough, but the door didn’t budge. Relief sank heavy into your body as something strange crossed Bucky’s features. Something close to defeat.

Slowly, Bucky pulled out his phone, his gaze casually trailing up the exposed bricks and awning above the shop to your apartment window as he brought the phone to his ear. You slammed your back to the wall behind the curtains, clutching hands into the fabric before he could see you. Your grip was aching by the time you a notification of a voicemail appeared on your phone screen. It was only then that you gathered the courage to peer outside the window one last time.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh and set the sandwich bags on the sidewalk. He gaze remained fixed on the interior of the shop, as if he were holding out hope that you might have simply forgotten about your lunch meetings, that you might bound down the back steps and flick the lights on and welcome him inside with a bright smile on your face. Misplaced hope. Foolish hope. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and he hung his head, turning to walk back to the east side.

It was where he belonged, you thought bitterly. Why he would bother taking the risk in the first place to walk carelessly through the west side was beyond you. If Bucky was who you believed he was, he was dancing with an offense that could get him killed. You’d seen Hydra beat men into submission for less. If the leader of their enemy club paraded himself into their territory... they’d kill him for his sheer arrogance alone.

You closed your eyes, wishing you had the strength to simply delete his message.

“Hey doll,” Bucky’s voice carried through the speaker. “I, uh, I can see you don’t want me around. That’s okay. I promise, honey. It’s okay. I’ll just leave the food outside like yesterday, all right?” He paused for a moment, exhaling a slow, steady breath. “When you’re ready to talk, just let me know. I hope you will. I hope... I didn’t completely mess us up. I was a fool for leaving you that day but I... I swear to you I didn’t have a choice. I want to explain everything, honey, if you’ll let me. But I can't do it like this.” He cleared his throat, as though the words had pained him. “Just know it wasn’t you that scared me off. It wasn’t anything you did and it—it wasn’t the kiss. So, I’ll... I’ll wait for you. Please, just... call me when you’re ready.”

You tossed the wilted, stuffed bouquet made of wild colors and mismatched flowers in the trash after you deleted the message. They were both too painful to look at.

***

Three days later and Bucky hadn’t dared another step onto the west side.

Every so often, you’d catch yourself looking up the windows in search of the navy-blue baseball cap through the crowd only to be harshly reminded of the man you were hoping to see. Shame curdled into your stomach, disappointment weighing heavier in your heart. You couldn’t make sense of any of it – why you longed for a man who could only serve to hurt you.

The only solace was that Bucky had stayed true to his word. He’d stopped coming around, stopped calling.

He was giving you control, the annoying voice in the back of your head tried to reason. That must mean something. A man like Rumlow would never think to grant you that kind of power over him, but you pushed aside the thought as quickly as it came.

It was on the fourth day when he sent the first text.

You were with a customer, explaining the watering needed for the ready-to-plant tulips along the left wall of the shop when you felt the vibration in your apron. As the customer bent down to closer examine the array of colors, you quickly glanced at the screen, thinking it might be Wanda trying to convince you to come to movie night with her and Pietro.

But it was Bucky’s name across the top of your screen instead.

I know I said I wouldn’t call, but I hope you won’t fault me for a text. You don’t gotta say anything, doll. Just let me know you’re okay. Please.

You stared at the message, carefully reading over each word until the woman tapped painfully on your shoulder to get your attention. She furrowed her brows at you, her annoyance evident as her pointed glare dropped to your phone. You apologized quickly, shoving it back into your pocket without a response.

***

Days dragged by without word from Bucky. You knew you should be grateful for it, relieved even, that you could keep May Flowers open through your lunch. It would help increase the chance of potential customers stopping in around noon with a sandwich in hand from the deli next door. That terrible aching knot in your stomach should have gone away. But it hadn’t. It only seemed to get worse.

You hadn’t given yourself a moment to notice just how many pieces of you Bucky had brought back to life in the month you’d known him – gently pulling them out from the wreckage Hydra had created in the wake of your father’s death and easing the shattered edges back into your soul with Elmer's glue, with the light graze of his lips and the calloused touch in his hands. Kind. So impossibly kind and wonderful and –

No.

No.

Bucky lied to you. Whether his entirely personality was a twisted game or not. He made you believe he was just a bartender at the Centenarian, that he was nothing more than a man from the east side. He had every opportunity to tell you who he really was and he’d held his tongue.

Would you have let him explain if he’d tried? You weren’t sure. Even weeks since Hydra’s last visit, you could still feel Rollins’ hands sliding along your hips, his breath hot on your neck, could still see Rumlow’s outline in the shadows the night they came for their payment. Fear settled into your veins – familiar and still, ruthless.

It was impossible to separate the rumors of the 107 to the man you knew Bucky to be. You were terrified to try – scared that you might uncover the same sort of monster who extorted your father and left your family in shambles. Worse, you realized, to discover he might be every bit the man you hoped he was, to realize you were caught up in a war between the clubs you were certain you wouldn’t survive.

You were at the register, counting the profits for the evening when your phone buzzed. Bucky’s name lit against the screen – the silly emoji of a wildflower by his name you hadn’t had the heart to change.

It’s been a week. I’m worried about you, doll, the message read. Tell me you want more time. Tell me to fuck off. Anything. Just say something.

You swallowed, staring helplessly at the screen.

For a moment, you imagined the sun gleaming in through the open windows, the bell chiming under the front door as Bucky strolled inside. Smile bright upon his face, cheeks flushed pink in warmth from his walk, and a bag of food under his arm. Your heart would leap at the sight of him, stomach fluttering as he crossed the shop to you.

He’d ask how your day had been as he slyly picked up a fallen rose from the floor, hiding it behind his back until he met you at the center of the store. Before you could finish your story of the awful woman who chastised you all morning because she somehow managed to kill her succulents in less than a week, he’d raise the rose to you – that beautiful smile of his pressing high into his cheeks.

Your fingertips might graze his as you took the flower, his lips might fight their way to your temple, to your lips. He’d tell you he liked the color of your dress and you’d pretend he didn’t notice the way he affected you, made you feel all warm inside.

This beautiful, wonderful man who never had the chance to be yours.

But the image shattered as the sky morphed into a deep, unsettling darkness and the ghosted image of Bucky approached you with malice soaked into the blue of his eyes – blood dripping from his fingertips, bruises covering his face, blisters on his knuckles. He looked at you with an awful hunger in his gaze, rolling down your chest to your thighs – never your face. A gun settled on his hip.

The scream of motorcycle engines rang in your ears and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the nightmare away. You knew Bucky had never once looked at you the way Rollins did, never once approached you with anything other than the kindest intentions. You knew but— nothing made sense anymore. You didn’t know what to believe and you couldn’t trust your own naivety, your own desperate hope, over the belief of an entire town. The fear that he was every bit as vengeful and terrifying as the Hydra leader was crippling. Dollar bills crumpled in your hands.

“Preparing for our evening together, are you?”

Your heart leapt from your chest as Brock Rumlow sauntered through the back door of your shop; his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. You swallowed back the yelp caught in your throat, your hand clutching to the rapid pulsing within your chest, fingertips curling into the fabric of your dress.

Rumlow slipped through the shadows, his dismissive gaze trailing along the flower arrangements along the walls. Your gaze quickly flashed to the calendar hanging behind your desk and the red circle marking the date the Hydra club would show up for its payment. He was five days early.

“You remember what I told you about being short this month, don’t you?” Rumlow said, his voice low enough it could have cut through gravel. You studied the patch of the skull and tentacles on his back as he continued about the shop. It stared back at you.

“Y-Yes, I remember,” you managed to reply though the knot building in your throat. You didn’t even consider giving excuses. You’d be short – you knew you would.

Your hand slid along the desk, digging through the drawer, through you kept your gaze on Rumlow as he picked up a single white rose. Your breath hitched as he appeared to study it for a moment. If you were a fool, you might have suspected he was admiring the thing, but he crumpled the petals within his hand, tossing the broken flower to the ground.

You flinched when he looked back at you. In your hand, you gripped onto your keys – on a familiar keychain that you did not dare to use but one that would remind you that you were stronger than this man made you feel. You dug it into your palm, focusing on the sturdiness of the plastic, the warmth as it took on your body heat. It would get you through this. Rumlow would leave, just as he always did. It was only ever about fear. Only fear.

Rumlow smirked. He must have noticed the strain in your eyes. The redness there. The evidence of his effect on you. You struggled to keep your hands still – to not touch your fingertips to the gold watch you knew would give away your panic.

“Are you afraid, darling?”

Yes.

“No,” you replied, trying to keep your voice even. You steadied your gaze beyond his shoulders, to the stars hanging outside the windows; misguided hope that they could draw you some relief from the demon in your presence.

Rumlow tilted his head, studying you as he did the rose. You wondered if he might crumple you within the palm of his hand as well.

“I want my money, Y/n. Tuesday."

He lingered as he passed the register, his fingertips brushing aside your hair as he leaned into your ear. You held your breath, clamping down so sharply on your cheek, blood spilled into your mouth. Copper and bitter and warm on your tongue. Lips grazed your neck and you stopped breathing entirely.

“I will not be so kind with you this time if you hold back on me,” Rumlow gave his final warning.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You did not dare to move until Rumlow’s footsteps no longer echoed inside your shop, until you heard the engine purr in the alley. Only when the loud hum of the motorcycle faded into an unsettling silence did you finally allow the sob to break you.

A godawful sound escaped past your lips and you fell to your knees, gasping for air. Fingers growing numb, your mind spinning. You desperately clung to the fabric of your dress, touched the cool tiles on the floor under your knees, gripped that damn keychain until your hand ached – but your lungs wouldn't inflate enough. Breath after breath – not enough. Wetness coated your cheeks, spilling down your neck and against your collar.

He'd kill you. Tuesday, he’d kill you. Or he’d do something worse to make you wish he did.

The bell chimed at the front of the shop.

No. No.

He came back.

“Y/n?” a gentle voice called from the door.

You froze, clutching your knees behind the counter as cautious footsteps approached. An agonizing tension bore through you – uncertain whether you should feel relief at the sound of Bucky’s voice or whether you should fear him in the way you had Rumlow.

“The door was unlocked,” he announced hesitantly. “I’m just—I don’t want to bother you, doll. You haven't returned my messages and—and I’m sure that’s on purpose because you don’t want a damn thing to do with me and that’s okay. I swear to you I’ll leave you alone after this. I just want to make sure you’re--”

Slowly, you emerged from behind the counter. Bucky stilled at the sight of you, devastation wrenching through him as his gaze flickered over the tears on your face; reflective until the low dim of overhead lights and the moonlight slipping in through the windows.

“What happened?” His voice was low, restrained by only a thread.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, ignoring his question.

Bucky swallowed, blue eyes flickering to the floor, coated in shame. “Because you don’t want me here?”

“Because you’re in Hydra territory.”

Bucky blinked, the realization washing over him that you knew exactly who he was. Ice pressed to exposed skin, standing in the heart of blizzard; shock and panic, crippling. You waited for the mask to fall – for his cruelty to rise to the surface. But instead, the hardness upon his features began to fracture, guilt swarming through the cracks.

As you stepped out from behind the counter, determined to show at least one of the dangerous men in your shop tonight that you would not be afraid, Bucky’s gaze dropped to your hand and something in him seemed to break. He stumbled into the table behind him, trying to catch his balance.

In your grip was the keychain he’d given you the night you met. The one he’d made you promise to use in defense, to hold when you were afraid, to give you strength against the men who would do you harm. Sharp edges expanding from your knuckles. A weapon in your hand. Your fear of him seemed to puncture worse than any blade could.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you,” Bucky eased. His hands raised. “I would never—”

“You lied to me,” you seethed, gaining courage in his moment of weakness.

But Bucky was grasping at straws, shaking his head as he closed a trembling hand to a fist. “No, I—I never lied. Not once.”

“You didn’t tell me the truth!” you shouted and a terrible part of you was pleased when he flinched in response. “You should have told me who you really are! The sort of people you run with!”

If this was game, he was playing it poorly. You’d expected him to drop the pretense of the character he’d constructed to manipulate you in favor of the cold, calculating man he hid under the surface. But there was no trace of men like Rumlow or Rollins upon Bucky’s features.

His chest rose high with every new breath as if it hurt to simply pull in air. His hands gripped into the edge of the table behind him to keep him steady. He looked absolutely wrecked, like he hadn’t slept properly in days. He didn’t look like a man who had spent the last month playing games with you – charming you for fun and mocking you behind your back. He looked as though his heart had been broken.

“What was I supposed to say?” Bucky asked instead, his voice calm despite the tension filling the room. “You would have looked at me like I was no better than Hydra. The way you’re looking at me now.”

“I had a right to know, Bucky!” you shot back, a terrible mixture of anger and remorse boiling inside of you. “A right to know you'd beaten four people within an inch of their lives! To choose to not make a fool of myself by caring for a monster!”

Bucky recoiled as if you’d struck him. It hadn’t left you with the satisfaction you imagined it would – leaving only a hollow ache behind instead.

“You’re right,” Bucky admitted, his gaze falling to the floor. He took in a deep breath, slowly drawing his eyes up to meet yours. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze; the keychain gripped tighter in your hand. “The truth is that I am the head of the 107.”

It didn’t feel any better to hear it aloud in his voice – the agony, the aching, the desperation to believe it wasn’t true. Bucky took a step closer to you, only for you to retreat backwards. He froze, devastation evident upon his features as he nodded and put more distance between you.

“I know that you must think that I’m... I’m like Rumlow,” he said, his voice catching on the name that haunted you through the shadows of this shop. “Let me prove to you that I’m not. Ask me anything and I’ll answer you truthfully. I swear it on my life. I won’t lie to you. Never again.”

You stared at him – caught somewhere between your desperation to believe him and the self-preservation screaming at you to run. Bucky had become a steady, comforting presence in the time you’d known him – a sanctuary within his touch – and you could not rectify the rumors of the man standing before you, ones that made him out to be as vile as the men who threatened and extorted you. Split between your head and your heart.

“I’ll start,” Bucky offered when you did not respond. He shifted awkwardly on his heels, steadying his breaths. “The men you mentioned, the ones I sent to the hospital... that night I was lured to the west side by a woman that I had –” he swallowed, biting back the word that had almost slipped past his lips, “—trusted. She called me close to midnight, made me think she was in trouble, and got me to cross the damn border for the first time since the line was drawn. She told me that Hydra had taken her... that if I didn’t come for her, they’d kill her.”

Bucky sighed, the breath near painful. “She was... uh... very convincing. When I got there, Hydra was waiting for me. Four of them. Armed to the teeth. She set me up to be ambushed on their turf where I had no friends, no allies. But she was there. Untouched. Unharmed. Standing behind the row of men intent on ending my life, Brock Rumlow’s arm draped over her shoulders and this... satisfied look on her face. Because she knew I would come for her. She knew I would have done anything to—” Bucky clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if to swallow back the end of the sentence.

“It was the perfect setup, really. She found a weakness and exploited it. A trap was set and I walked right into it.” Bucky pinched at the bridge of his nose and it was then you noticed the slight tremor in his hand. “I still don’t know why she did it. Power, probably. Money. I don’t think she ever cared for me at all.”

The grip on the keychain slacked as Bucky began to pace. He’d never told the story out loud, might not have even allowed himself to remember it fully since that night– that much you could gather by the strain in his voice as he spoke like every word was harder to say than the one before. Like the memories were digging into his spine, tugging him back into his past and shoving him onto the pavement in the alley.

“One of them came at me with a knife,” Bucky continued. He paused his pacing then, glancing cautiously over at you before slowly, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it above his ribs. A raised scar ran along his torso – pink and faded with time but still angry, still jagged and tangible. Your stomach twisted at the sight. You looked away.

“I did what I had to do,” Bucky said quietly, as though it pained him. “I fought back. They would have killed me. They almost did if Sam didn’t find me in time. It was self-defense. It’s only ever been self-defense.”

You didn’t know who Sam was, but you imagined he was in the 107 club as well. He was either incredibly reckless with little care for his own self-preservation, or he valued Bucky’s life to such an extent that the danger of crossing the border was worth saving his friend’s life. You wondered briefly if Rollins would dare risk his life to cross into enemy territory to save Rumlow’s.

Bucky’s story seemed plausible enough – aligned with cruelty of what Hydra was capable of. But there were still too many questions unanswered, too many pieces of the man standing in front of you, you were not able to reconcile on your own.

“The rumors,” you choked out, wincing at how rough your voice sounded. Bucky’s head perked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes that you would entertain his offer to explain at all. “I’ve heard about the 107, Bucky. I know what you’ve done to the people in the east and—”

“They’re all lies,” Bucky replied quickly. “Nothing but stories we made up to intimidate Hydra, to give us enough credibility to keep those bastards away from as many people as we could. Kids starting telling some of their own to scare each other and we didn’t deny them. It helped keep Hydra at bay.”

You swallowed. Could that really be possible? Could it be that the mask Bucky wore was the monster of the 107, not the man who strolled into your shop each day at lunch and made your heart beat so badly it felt like it could burst? Could he be every bit the man you hoped he was?

“What about the protection fees?” you asked, thinking back to what Wanda had said of the 107 charging businesses under the guise of security.

“A lie to make Hydra think we had a market over the businesses on our side of the border,” Bucky explained. “They were pushing into the shops by the Centenarian, threatening to burn them to the ground. We made a show of insinuating that we already laid claim to them. It’s the only thing Rumlow would respect. We don’t take money from anyone, I swear it. Mrs. Marcovaldo at the café across the street gives me free coffee for keeping Hydra off her back but only because she won’t let me pay a dime. That’s as far as it goes.”

You held your breath, listening intently. The keychain slipped from your grip and you placed it on the counter. Bucky's eyes followed the movement, his gaze fixated upon the tension releasing from your hands, the marks of the keychain imprinted upon your palm.

“So, it’s all a story?” you questioned slowly. “The 107... you’re not... you’re not like Hydra at all?”

Bucky shook his head, relief pouring through his body. “That’s right, doll. We’re still a biker club. Still got rides parked outside the bar, but we’re not interested in staking claim on this town. If there’s a fight, it’s because Hydra didn’t give us a choice. The cops aren’t doing shit to protect this town. Someone had to step up.”

Tears blinked from your eyes and Bucky’s face slacked. Panic rusted into his features, mistaking your tears for the same fear you carried when he walked inside the shop in Rumlow’s wake.

“Doll, please don’t cry,” Bucky begged, his voice barely a whisper. “Please, honey. Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it. Let me fix this.”

You took a step closer to him as he rambled, his hands closed to fists as if to hold back the shaking.

“I’ll take you to the Centenarian,” he offered desperately. “You can meet the club. Steve—Steve's my best friend. Used to be a tiny little shrimp but he’s a giant now. You’ll see. Sam’s a huge pain in my ass. Drives me absolutely nuts. But he’d take a bullet for me, I know that. I’d do it for him most days. Natahsa—you'd like Nat. She's scary as hell but—you'd like her. She likes you, I think.”

You were halfway across the shop when Bucky’s eyes fell to the tracks of tears slipping over your jawline. He clenched his jaw as you approached.

“Peter’s just a kid. Carries french fries in his pockets,” he continued, listing off his family in an effort to prove they were nothing like the Hydra club you recognized. “Stark’s an old washed-up genius of some kind and he still sticks around in a shitty run-down bar with us. Pretends like he’s above it all, but I know the old man cares more than he lets on. Barton—hell, I don’t even know where Barton came from but I—”

You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s waist and he froze. Arms held out by his sides; his breathing stopped entirely. You rested your ear against his chest, listening for the fast, heavy pumping of his heart. Your hands slid along his spine, touching the thick material of his jacket and the low dip of his back. You breathed him in as your tears wet the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Y/n?” he whispered, terrified to so much as speak your name in fear he might scare you away.

“I believe you,” you exhaled against his chest and Bucky’s knees wobbled. You clung to him, holding him steady as his arms circled around you. You swore for a moment that you could feel the fractured, jagged pieces inside his ribcage mold back together with glue and tape, fusing into the messy, misshapen heart you'd convinced yourself was absent and hollow. The heart he’d had all along when you were too afraid to look beyond the tales whispered in the dead of night.

The warm graze of Bucky’s lips peppered over your hairline – timid and gentle, asking. Hesitant and still, desperate; like the distance had hurt him worse than the lies of the 107 had hurt you. As if being deprived of your laughter, of your pastel floral dresses, of the sunlight smile on your face, of your sheer presence was enough to render him aching and helpless.

You held him tighter, begging for the days lost to your own fear.

Bucky didn’t say a word as his hands slid along your spine, fingertips gingerly stroking the ends of your hair, but you could feel the apologies, the words unsaid, slipping through his touch.

I’m sorry, as a hand brushed against the small of your back.

I missed you, as he rested his lips against your forehead. Lingering. Present.

Please forgive me, as his arms circled around your shoulders, holding you closer to him, like he was afraid you might slip through the cracks in the title if he let go for even a second.

Don’t hate me, as his breath coaxed against your skin. Warm and shaken. Nerves still nestled into his lungs.

Let me make this right, as something hitched inside his chest when your hands slid up along his cheeks, gently brushing the tense muscle from his jawline.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and Bucky’s eyes widened, stunned you would say such a thing. He quickly shook his head, trying to absolve you before you could even admit to your failing. “I should have known you weren't... I should have trusted that you...”

“No,” Bucky answered instead, his hand resting over yours, fingertips curling around your palm as you held his face. “You were protecting yourself. I know what they write about me in the papers. I know what the town thinks of me, what they believe me to be. Knowing all that, cutting me off... it was the right thing to do, honey. The smart thing. I just wish I’d had the courage to tell you the truth of it when we met, before you found out about this mess on your own. Could have saved us a whole lot of hurt.”

“Could have,” you nodded, your thumb drawing a tender line along the stubble on his jaw, “though I’m not sure I would have had the strength to believe you then. Not with what I know about Hydra.”

A line pressed into Bucky’s forehead, a question narrowing his eyes, though he did not press for an answer. Enough truth had been spilled and you didn’t know if you had the resilience to empty the darkest parts of your shame to him just yet. You ached to. You hoped you’d find the courage to. Soon. Because the chance that Bucky would only miss Rumlow by mere minutes again was too small to risk.

“It’s been easy to forget who I really am under all the rumors. I think I did for a while,” Bucky admitted, the thick tension in his muscle under your palm. He sighed, slowly bringing himself to meet your eye. “I need you to know that no matter what this town thinks of me, who I am with you is the closest I’ve ever felt to being myself again since this all started. Who I am with you is the realest part of me.”

You nodded, offering him a heavy smile. “I know that now. I just wish I had sooner.”

Bucky didn’t reply and you didn’t expect him to. There was little else either of you could say for the missed days stolen by the intricate weave of lies and rumors around this town. But he could hold you a little longer. You could lean into his chest and breathe in the warm scent of his jacket. He could press his lips to your temple and linger there for hours. You could finally feel safe again, wrapped in his arms.

In the broad of daylight, the ghost of Rollin’s hands slid over your arms. Invisible, no more threatening than a memory, and yet, you felt his nose draw line along your neck, his breath hot as flame against your skin. Goosebumps prickled in its wake. The outline of a cold, looming shadow hung heavy in the corner of your shop, waiting patiently amongst the darkness before it took its shape. A monster bore the shape of a man as Brock Rumlow materialized from the painted night.

So real. So impossibly real, that you were certain the sun had fallen over the horizon in a matter of seconds, that the first Tuesday of the month had broken time itself to drown you under its weight.

A bell chimed at the front of the store.

The swift clutch of darkness faded in favor of the gentle streams of sunlight through the windows, the soft clicking of the clock as the hand inched along the morning hours. Reality swept back in as you handed Mr. Jacobson his change. He closed his grip around the money, a cautious glance in his eyes has he watched you. Your throat burned of sandpaper as you swallowed.

Just over Mr. Jacobson’s shoulder, a familiar figure hung in the doorway of your shop. Wearing the same baseball hat settled low over his eyes, hands shoved tightly into jacket pockets, Bucky leaned against the frame of the door, waiting patiently for you to notice him. He carried such a lightness to him – a levity you could not dare to touch as he pulled one hand from his jacket and waved at you. A smile crinkled up by ocean blue.

You waited for the dread to dissipate. For the anxiety to wash away at the mere sight of him. For the lightness to return to your body.

But the panic would not release you from its chains.

It had burrowed too deeply into your mind, into your body. It weighed heavier on your shoulders than what you could hope to carry – cracking your bones and crippling your spine; the imprint of a boot stamped to the center of your chest, your head underwater, your lungs drowning in the shallow end of the pool.

Mr. Jacobson offered you an apologetic grimace, his pity evident in his gaze, though he only meant to be kind. He couldn’t have known of your father’s deal with the devil, nor the contract inked in blood he’d unwittingly passed to you upon his death. Your parents had held their shame deep into their hearts; the secret of the Hydra club’s grip around their throats an unspoken threat. Pride was just as responsible for their suffering as the Hydra club was.

From the edge of the shop, Bucky was watching you with a soft furrow in his brow. His gaze raked over yours, searching for a smile you could not give in return, not with such a terrible ache nestled into your bones. His mouth fell into a frown, a wash of clouds shifting over the blue in his eyes.

For the last two weeks, you had waited eagerly for Bucky to return each day to your shop with a ridiculous new order. You spent hours looking through the windows for the striking blue of his eyes of his amongst the crowd of pedestrians, your heart pounding in your chest each time the bell chimed over the front door in hopes that he might be the one strolling underneath.

He had come nearly every day. Each time in search of flowers. And you hoped, in search of you.

Despite the worry nestled into the lines on Bucky’s face, he kept his distance while Mr. Jacobson gathered his flowers at the register. Bucky began to browse through the aisles, pretending as though he was just another customer, as if you didn’t anxiously wait for him to stroll through the front door, as if your heart didn’t threaten to burst at the sight of him.

But in the kindness of his stolen, cautious glances over his shoulder, dread began to swell and churn in your stomach. There was too much he didn't know about you. Too much he could never know. And this—this flirtation you shared was too fragile, too delicate to shatter under the weight of Hydra’s crimes. You could not soil this one bright spot of your day with the darkest parts of you.

Your hands began to shake, a boulder sitting square on the center of your chest. Mr. Jacobson’s lips were moving as if he were speaking. He wore lines by his eyes, a laugh on his chest. You could hardly hear a word he spoke over the ringing in your ears.

Across the shop, Bucky had stopped bothering to busy himself with the flowers. Instead, his shoulders were squared toward you, his steps inching closer – restraint colored into the tension of his hands as if it were a struggle to keep himself from lunging across the counter and drawing you into his arms.

You looked up at the ceiling, quickly counting the cracks in the panels as you desperately held back tears. Something hitched in the distance – a breath. Bucky’s. As if witnessing your distress had broken something in him. And you knew that if he only asked, you would have told him everything.

But you feared for the steeled boot that would crush his lungs in the water beside you. You feared for the open wounds on his face drawn by the sharp sting of skull coated rings. You feared the obligation that would eat away at him, the burden you’d become, the pity in his eyes.

He couldn’t know.

“You all right there, missy?”

You blinked, forgetting Mr. Jacobson was waiting for his receipt. Your heart was pounding so violently, you were sure he could hear it even without his hearing aids. Bucky looked up from the pot of hydrangeas, his gentle gaze searching for yours, though you could not meet his eye. You forced out a smile to your customer, nodding quickly.

“Yes. My apologies. Have a good day, sir,” you told him as he gathered his bouquets. Before he even made it halfway to the door, you rushed to the back of the shop, quickly busying yourself with paperwork for a valid excuse to hide from the one man you longed to run toward.

You could feel the shaking in your hands as you clenched them to fists, the short gasps of breath as you tried to stifle your tears. You’d never make enough for the payment at the end of the month, even with all of Bucky’s purchases. It had been foolish to think he could single handedly make up for the lack of business you’d had. It didn’t help that you felt dirty for even agreeing to take his money at all, but you so desperately needed it and Bucky was only flirting with you, wasn’t he? What harm could it do?

You closed your eyes, your right-hand clasping over your father’s watch as the doubt began to sink in. You knew Bucky wasn’t the kind to play with hearts, to tread lightly only to pull away at the last second. He cared. He cared perhaps a little too much. And if you were to allow yourself to care for him in return, you couldn’t keep taking advantage of his money.

“Y/n?” Bucky called from across the store after Mr. Jacobson disappeared out the front door. “Are you okay?”

You brushed at your eyes, trying to wipe away the evidence of unshed tears before you faced him. As you made your way over to him, pressing a smile against your lips that barely touched your eyes, you could feel his gaze studying you. He lingered a little longer on the indent in your lip, an imprint of your teeth as you'd tried to bite away the urge to cry.

He swallowed, though he didn’t say anything about the clear reflective streaks under your eyes. “Hey... So... I was hoping I could get something to plant outside the bar. Something a bit more sustainable that could bloom again after the winter?”

You were grateful for the change in subject, but even the mention of spending more of his money in your shop made you nauseous— caught in this terrible crossroad of needing the money more than you cared to admit and not wanting to take advantage of the man who so clearly used it as an excuse to see you. Somehow, despite all of your fears, you valued his presence over the weight of the register.

Against your better instincts, you shook your head. “You don’t have to keep wasting your money here just so I’ll spend time with you.”

Bucky frowned, a flash of surprise over his features. “Hey, come on now, I’m not wasting anything. The bar looks immaculate, I’ll have you know. Sure, the place is drowning in flowers, but maybe I like that. The regulars don't need a place to sit anyway.”

He smiled at you then and you tried to return it. Honestly, you did. You even let yourself picture the dingy dive bar you’ve never once stepped foot in that could quite possibly be home to the dangerous 107 club – a group just as deadly and despicable as Hydra – decorated in your flower arrangements. Tables and countertops, offices and chairs - covered in your flowers. A trail of tulips outside the bar would seem out of place even by your standards and yet, here he was asking for more.

“I can’t keep taking your money,” you stressed as you clenched your jaw, gaze trailing up to the ceiling to avoid the burning in your eyes.

“Are you going to refuse my business, doll?” Bucky chuckled, though his smile fell rather quickly when you looked at him again.

“Have you been keeping track of how much you’ve spent here?” you asked carefully, trying to stand your ground, though your voice trembled. “It’s a lot, Bucky. Please, don’t get me wrong – I’m incredibly grateful for your support and it—it means more than you can know, but I don’t want you to think you need to buy my time. I like spending time with you, Bucky. You don’t need to do this.”

Bucky nodded slowly; his hands shoved into his pockets as he glanced to the door.

Panic surged in your chest and you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that maybe he’d only ever seen this as a game, that now that you were offering yourself without the need for the roundabout flirting, he’d lose interest. The possibility hurt more than you cared to admit, aching worse than the dread Hydra left behind.

“What if we make a deal?” Bucky offered, smiling sweetly at you as your eyes flashed to him in surprise. “I’ll stop buying out half your shop and...” he paused, looking around the store, “you’ll let me come by on your lunch breaks. No transactions necessary. Though, you can’t fault me if I bring you something to eat, okay? I’m a little old fashioned at heart and I can't be showing up empty handed.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. Was he... was he talking about dates?

You pictured the two of you cramped up in the small table in the back of the shop, leaning towards one another as you shared a pizza from the joint down the street that favored the value of a decadent sauce over the cheese. Maybe he’d get a little tomato sauce in the corner of his mouth and maybe you’d lean over and brush it away with the corner of your thumb. His eyes might meet yours, slowly. Your fingers lingering against his cheek. He’d lean in and—

“What do you think, doll?” Bucky asked, nervously awaiting your response as he started to sway on his heels.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds... that sounds nice,” you nodded, the smile returning to your face and this time – it was genuine. Bucky seemed to have picked up on the differences quicker than he should have and he grinned at the sight.

He reached into his coat pocket then and pulled out his phone – scratches on the screen, a simple black case protecting the back. He handed it to you. “In case something comes up?”

On his home screen, there was an image of seven people huddled around the bar in what you assumed to be the Centenarian. Bucky was standing on the outskirts, looking rather reluctant to be in the photo at all, though he still managed a smile in time for the camera to go off; his hand around the shoulders of the blonde man on his left. The group was huddled around each other – a single red headed woman amongst six men. All dressed in dark colored jeans and holding beers in hand.

“These your friends?” you asked, gesturing to the photo. The one at the center looked much younger than the rest, almost giddy with excitement for just being there at all. He barely looked old enough to drink.

Bucky smirked. “Surprised I got ‘em?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving Bucky playfully in the arm. As he feigned terrible injury, you opened his contacts and added your number. At the top of the page, alongside your name, you added an emoji of a colorful bouquet. You handed the phone back to Bucky and when he smiled at it, your stomach lit up in knots.

“So,” he started, looking around the shop, “if I’m banned from making orders now, what if I helped out around here? What do you need done?”

“I never said you were banned from buying flowers again,” you argued, grinning wildly through the redness in your eyes. “I just don’t want you spending ridiculous amounts just to see me, is all."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, still awaiting orders.

You huffed, setting your hands on your hips in response. “I’m not going to put you to work, Bucky!”

He pursed his lips, taking a good, long minute to look at you. His eyes trailed down along your frame, sweeping over the edges of your face and the fabric of your dress, but it wasn’t in the same hungry, demeaning way you’d grown used to with Rollins. Instead, Bucky only seemed to be admiring you, taking his time to preserve a moment before he lost it. A shiver slipped up your spine under his gaze, finding that you wished his hands might follow the same pattern. He let out a careful sigh, hanging his head.

“You know I'd buy up the whole store if it meant you'd give me the time of day, don’t you?”

You swallowed, a little taken back by the sincerity in his voice. Slowly, you nodded.

“Good,” Bucky said. “So, tell me what I can do to help, doll.”

***

He ended up staying until closing. You made it very clear that this was a one-time thing and he’d be restricted to lunch breaks without manual labor in the future, but that only seemed to make him laugh more. The man was insistent, you’d give him that.

He swept the fallen leaves from the floor. Carried the heavy bags of soil from the basement and lined them up along the back wall. He watered the plants outside and washed the windows by the displays. He wasn’t exactly taking no for an answer, finding your resistance to his labor amusing as he trailed along the shop with the hose in hand and a smirk upon his lips.

After he’d managed to make his way through the entirety of your list, you’d resorted with challenging him to make an arrangement of his own. You were finishing up the last few bouquets for the window display in the morning and suddenly the thought of him leaving was unbearable. Surely, he wouldn’t mind just one more chore, right?

Bucky had gotten straight to work without a single complaint. You didn’t tell him you’d planned on keeping the bouquet for yourself, but you were curious as to what he would do if given free rein. There would inevitably be flowers that wilted before they could be sold and you supposed this was simply making use of them before they fell to waste. No harm done.

“Did I do it right?” Bucky called from the back of the shop.

He’d picked a group of flowers you never would have chosen to place together – a wide variety of colors and shapes, the stems a little all over the place and cut sporadically, but he was studying his work like he’d just created the next exhibit in the Louvre. Thumb stroking along his chin as he examined it, wondering if he should add the extra white rose he held in his hand to an already stuffed vase.

He narrowed his eyes as if seeing the flowers under a blurred vision might make it more presentable. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“A little,” you laughed, nudging him in the side as he feigned offense.

“Okay, well what if I...” Bucky started moving some of the flowers around, knocking some of the petals to the counter in his haste. It looked no different as he stepped back and turned to you for approval.

“Oh, well now it’s perfect,” you said and Bucky’s eyes just about lit up with joy. He grinned, smirking at the flowers as if he’d pulled something over on them, bested them at their own game. Competitive with a bunch of plants. You couldn't help the laughter as it echoed into the empty shop.

Bucky sighed, looking down at his watch. His gaze shifted to the setting sun outside the windows, a reluctant sinking in his shoulders. “It’s getting late. I should probably head back.”

The rush of laughter quickly died down, your smile faltering. Of course, he had to go home. Part of you had hoped you could stay in this moment forever – that you might not have to walk up the stairs to your empty apartment and he wouldn’t disappear over the horizon to the east side.

Bucky picked up his baseball cap from the counter and tugged it over his head, positioning the brim low on his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? No flower orders. No manual labor, even though I’m incredibly good at it. Just lunch, okay?”

You nodded eagerly, wondering if he could tell just how fast your heart was racing.

Before you could realize what he was doing, Bucky casually pressed a hand tenderly to the small of your back and kissed your cheek. Breath caught in your lungs as the warmth touched your skin, lingering for only a moment after he pulled away, giving you that sweet smile of his before he headed for the door.

“Goodnight, doll,” he called from the open doorway and then, you watched as he passed by the windows and disappeared down the sidewalk.

Heart still pounding, you touched your fingertips to your cheek where his lips had been. It was still tingling.

***

Bucky grinned the whole walk back to the east side. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, a little sticky from the sap of flower stems, and he couldn’t get your image out of his mind. Not with your nose all scrunched up as you pretended not to find his arrangement an insult to the craft, the flash of surprise over your features when he’d dared to lean in and brush his lips to your cheek before he left.

A dangerous move, certainly. Risky. But he’d been tempted since the first day he wandered into your shop and found you standing behind the counter, calling him Blue-eyes and making his heart race. It had been foolish of him at the time, because now he only wanted more.

He let his mind drift as he walked, wondering how you might feel if he pressed the full of his body against you, what you might taste like against his tongue. It hadn’t slipped his notice how intently you watched him, how your gaze sometimes flickered down to his lips while he was talking, how your teeth tugged on your lip to draw back your attention. There was no doubting it now – the fact that you saw something human in him most of this town had forgotten. You saw him and you wanted more.

Bucky hadn’t expected to know that feeling again. Not after Dot. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, given what she did, but now that it was you – you, with your pastel-colored, floral print dresses and hands full of flowers and the brightest damn smile he’d ever seen – he didn’t think he could ever go back. He wanted to live in this feeling forever – pretend that he didn’t carry the weight of half the town on his shoulders and a war with the neighboring club on the horizon.

As he passed into the east side, Bucky had nearly forgotten his reputation – too wrapped up in the normalcy you gave him – and he waved to a group of kids playing soccer on the open field to his left. They paused, staring blankly at him. Frozen, as if they were spooked deer paralyzed under the high beam of headlights at night. One kid smacked his friend on the arm and they all rushed off in different directions, leaving behind the ball rolling in the grass.

Bucky gritted his teeth, stopping the ball under his boot as it jetting out onto the sidewalk. He looked around for the kids to return it, but they were long gone. Their parents had drilled it into their heads at a young age to run at any sight of the 107, to avoid the danger that followed in their wake. There was little threat greater in the east than the monster who headed the 107 club. And well, Bucky supposed the rumors were his own damn fault.

He had fed into those claims for years, embellishing stories of his cruelty and the limitless ends of his vengeance, pitting the 107 on par with that of Hydra. He had to. He didn’t have much of a choice. The 107 was little more than a group of wayward orphans who spent most of their time huddled around some old beat-up bar, with a halfway decent affinity for the motorcycles parked on the street outside. They weren’t the criminals the town was made to believe – they didn’t put out hits or extort money from the local businesses. They didn’t go around seeking trouble and wanting to expand a territory they wanted nothing to do with in the first place.

The rumors started after Steve noticed the bikes parked outside Mrs. Marcovaldo’s café a few years back. He’d recognized the emblem on the back of the motorcycle jackets as they sauntered into the store and tossed the displays of baked goods to the floor; frightened customers fleeing out onto the streets.

It had only been three of them at the time – Steve, Sam, and Bucky – but they’d rushed across the street without thinking twice about what it meant to get tangled up in a war with a biker gang that was slowly taking over the town. They’d made a show of it – staking claim to the east side and putting the café under their control. Hydra wasn’t easily convinced and it took several less-than-cordial encounters and an influx of exaggerated rumors before Hydra started recognizing the 107 as a threat.

Hydra had tried to extort three more businesses on the east before the line was drawn. Bucky knew he couldn’t protect the whole city, but he could save half of it. The 107 was small – smaller than the rumors suggested – and they needed the town thinking they were just as vile as Hydra. It was the only way to get the Hydra club to respect the border.

Bucky had gone back the next morning to assure the businesses they wouldn’t be taking their money and Mrs. Marcovaldo had all but cried in Bucky’s arms of relief. Turned out the Hydra club had been harassing her family ever since the days Pierce was in charge before the old bastard finally turned in his keys. She tried to offer the 107 payments for protection, but Bucky wouldn’t take it. She settled for free coffee instead and agreed, despite her protests, to not challenge the rumors about the 107, to let the town believe Bucky and his club collected from her shop and drained her of cash.

It was a messy system – one that was certainly going to break one of these days – but it worked. It fooled the Hydra club and kept half the town out of the grimy clutches of men like Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins. There was a level of satisfaction in that – even when the kids went running at the first sight of him. It had been enough.

He was fine playing the villain of the east. It was a burden he had learned to bare for the sake of the town he grew up in, for the sake of the town he loved. He had learned to deal with the consequences.

Until you.

Because what would you do if you knew who he was? Would you hate him? Would you believe the rumors he worked so hard to maintain? Would you give him a chance to explain?

He couldn’t answer any of those questions himself and he was too much of a coward to find out. He’d find a way to tell you eventually. He knew he had to – that it wasn’t fair to drag the target on his back into your shop – but he couldn’t help himself. You were impossible to stay away from.

“Evenin’, sweetheart!” Mrs. Marcovaldo called as Bucky stepped inside the café.

It was unusual for her to be open this late and Bucky only hoped she hadn't been waiting on him. He often tried to stop by in the evenings before she closed to grab a cup of decaf and let her catch him up on the latest drama in her soap operas since her husband passed last year. She was a kind woman, kinder than he deserved.

Bucky carefully looked around the interior of the café, thankful no one else seemed to be inside.

“We talked about this, Mrs. Marcovaldo,” Bucky stressed, though a smile curved on the left side of his mouth. “Can’t be going around calling me ‘sweetheart.’ I’ve got a reputation to maintain. You’re supposed to be scared of me.”

“Ha!” She smirked, setting his cup on the counter, already prepared the way he took it. “You, sweetheart, couldn’t hurt a damn fly.”

Bucky clenched his jaw as he took the paper cup. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Self-defense don’t count,” she replied with a shrug, “nor the defense of this town. You’re better than you let these folks believe of you.”

Bucky sank his shoulders. “You know why I do it, ma’am.”

“Yes,” she nodded, her hand settling against his, wrinkled and warm and full of the kindness he so often didn’t see from this town, “but that don’t mean it don’t hurt.”

Bucky pressed out a tired smile and gave her a short nod. She pulled her hand back, brushing it over her apron.

“You know,” she started, that sing-songy tone in her voice that usually indicated she was able to start prying into his business, “I see you when you walk to the west side. Been doing that a lot lately. Any particular reason?” She batted her lashes, brushing her shoulder against his. “A female reason, perhaps?”

Bucky laughed. “You spend too much time people watching.”

“Oh, I’m right, aren’t I!” Mrs. Marcovaldo beamed; her hands curled up by her chest. “You deserve some happiness, my dear. Don’t let this biking business get in the way of that, you hear me?”

Bucky grinned, amused by her phrasing though he let it slide. “Loud and clear, ma’am.”

“Good!” She scurried her hands, shoving him towards the door. “Now get on home, okay? I need to close up so I can get home to my soaps!”

Bucky made a show of digging his heels in, resisting with all his effort, and somehow – the sweet old woman still managed to shoo him to the door. “Will you ever let me pay for the coffee, Mrs. Marcovaldo?”

Only when Bucky was out on the sidewalk, she winked, replied, “not a chance, sweetheart,” and closed the door behind him.

“Fuck, I love when you say my name like that.” He could feel his cock twitching and dove on top of you as he dropped you on the bed, curling his body around yours and growling softly while he nuzzled at your tits. “You know how fucking hard it is for me to keep my hands off you when I watch you with my little girl? So goddamn sweet and perfect, I just want to ruin you.”

“Then do it.” You wound your arms around his neck and pulled his face close, purring against his lips as he ground his pelvis against yours. “I’m all yours, Steve. Do whatever you want to me.”

“God, baby, you say shit like that and I’m gonna take you up on it.” He chuckled darkly when you just winked at him, licking quickly between your lips before pulling back almost reluctantly. “Hold on, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Wait, Steve!” You huffed with frustration when he walked away from the bed, rolling onto your side and watching him closely as he walked towards the closet. “Leaving me hanging is not cool, Rogers!”

“Oh, don’t you worry, doll.” He strolled out of the closet holding two of his ties, grinning wickedly at you as he plopped down next to you and pulled you close again. “You’re gonna love what I’ve got planned for you. You trust me, baby?”

“Yeah…” You gasped softly when he dragged you up the bed, letting him loop one of the ties around your wrist and knot it to the headboard. “Steve…”

He did that thing where he shut you up by kissing you, curling a hand around the back of your neck and tilting your head back as he curled his tongue against yours. You melted into the bed while he pressed his body into you, whimpering when he pulled away and left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He pressed his lips to your hair as he fastened the other tie around your eyes, groaning at your desperate mewls and trying not to just start fucking you and ruining his little plan. “You tell me if it’s too much, ok?”

You could only moan in response when he gave you another one of those deep kisses, licking your lips when he pulled away and yanked your jeans and panties off. The bed dipped when he climbed off, leaving you to squirm with want while you listened to him shuffle around the room.

He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth when he turned back to face you, the perv in him wanting to snap a pic of you all spread out and waiting for him. But he had plans for you he wasn’t putting off, his cock aching at the thought of you trembling and whimpering underneath him.

Steve prowled slowly towards the bed once he was ready, stretching out beside you and gently tracing his fingertips over the curve of your hips. He cooed when you let out a sharp gasp, leaning forward and nosing at your cheek as he cupped your breast and ran his thumb over your nipple.

“Steve, oh god.” You sighed when he laid his whole body over yours, arching into him and purring while he pressed chaste kisses over your neck and chest. “You keep teasing, it’s gonna be real hard for me to stay quiet.”

“Oh, but you gotta be quiet, doll.” He bit at your ear and you moaned, trying to bring your thighs together for some form of friction but failing with the way he had his hips slotted between them. “Can’t have you waking up the kiddo. You gonna be a good girl for me, honey?”

“Yes, shit, Steve, I’ll be so good.” Your voice was breathy with want when he dragged the tip of his tongue over your pulse, flicking it over your jaw and nuzzling at your cheek before starting to suck and nip his way down your chest.

The sounds you were making were going straight to his dick, those perfect needy pants and whines as you pulled at the tie that was keeping you still making him want to hump the mattress. As much as he wanted to draw it out, he couldn’t hold back anymore, sucking your nipple into his mouth with a growl.

“Fuck, you’re so damn soft.” He bit softly at the stiffened peak and you moaned, arching into his face as he nipped over the curve of your breast slowly until his face was buried between them. “Wish I could just lay on these perfect tits every night.”

“Steve… ah, Steve!” Not being able to anticipate how he was going to touch you next was making everything so much more intense, your whole body thrumming with need as he plucked at the opposite nipple with his teeth. “Baby, please. The blindfold was a nice surprise, but I fucking need it.”

“Oh, the blindfold wasn’t your surprise, honey.” You could feel his wicked grin against your chest, squirming under him when his deep chuckle vibrated through your body.

“What?”

“The blindfold was just so your surprise was even more surprising.” He nuzzled at the hollow of your throat and hummed happily when you purred for him. “Remember, you have to be quiet.”

“Steve, what… hngh.” You bit your lip when he dragged the flat of his tongue over your aching nipple, the sudden cool feel of metal sending a shock through your system. “Oh my fucking god.”

“I know.” He swirled the stud in his tongue over your nipple one more time before starting to lick his way down your stomach. “Couldn’t believe this thing didn’t close up, haven’t worn it in years. But I just knew you’d fucking love it.”

“Uh-huh.” It was hard for you to respond coherently as you processed this new information, your back arching sharply when he finally reached the apex of your thighs.

He smiled when you wrapped your legs around his shoulders, pressing his fingers into your soft flesh and spreading your petals apart until you were open and throbbing in front of his face. Your breathy moan when he dragged his tongue over the cut of you had him growling into your pussy, his cock leaking all over the sheets as he lost himself in the sweet taste of you.

When he slid his tongue inside you, everything went white, your body arching off the bed as your voice left you in a thin whine. You were soaking his face, making Steve grunt as he stroked your silky walls with the pierced muscle. The rounded ball of the stud was cool against your heated flesh, growing steadily warmer as he fucked you gently with his mouth.

You gasped sharply when he dragged his tongue out of you, rolling the stud over your swollen clit and groaning when he felt you flutter against his lips. Steve rolled his hips into the bed when he felt himself swell, cum spurting all over his abdomen and hips as he rubbed his face over your throbbing sex.

“God, I can’t get enough of you, baby.” He gazed up at you with wild eyes as he pressed his lips over the curve of your hip, watching your chest heave as you struggled to regulate your breathing. “Want all of you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to ask him what he meant before he grabbed your hips and flipped you over, grabbing a cheek in each hand and pulling them apart so he could spit on your pretty hole. You bit down on the pillow when he swirled his tongue around the tight ring of muscle, kicking your legs to try to keep yourself from screaming as he sucked and nipped at your satiny flesh.

A shock traveled up your spine when he lapped at your tight hole with the stud, your fingers wrapping around the bars of the headboard as you rolled your ass into his face. His arms wrapped around your thighs to hold you even closer, tilting your hips to give him more access as he ran his tongue from asshole to clit and back until you were soaked with his spit.

Steve could tell you were getting close, could hear the muffled whimpers coming from the pillows and feel the way every muscle in your core clenched with anticipation. He dove lower, tapping the stud against your aching clit at the best of a hummingbird’s wings until he heard the strangled scream that he was chasing.

Your whole body spasmed as you came again, your release squirting all over Steve’s face as he groaned with satisfaction into your pussy. His lips wrapped around your cunt as you just kept coming, swallowing everything he could lap up with obscene slurps until you were finally spent and sagged against the mattress.

“Baby, hey, you still with me?” He crawled back up the bed and stretched his body over yours, gently pulling the blindfold off your eyes and grinning when you gave him a fucked out grin.

“Yeah, still here.” You moaned when he undid the tie from around your wrists, twining your fingers through his when he held your hands and turning your head so he could press his lips over your jaw. “You realize you’re a life ruiner, right?”

“Oh, that’s the opposite of what I want to be, honey.” He rolled you over and nipped at your lips, smiling softly at you. “I just want to make you feel good all the time.”

“And that’s what’s so life ruining. Lemme see that thing.” You groaned when he poked his tongue out of the side of his mouth, leaning up to drag your tongue over the stud and grinning when he let out a low purr. “How many piercings do you have, Rogers? The Prince Albert was brain breaking enough, then you add this. I don’t know how many more surprises I can take.”