..... Ok. This is where I hit post and then run and hide because I'm SCARED that I didn't stick the landing... It's always my biggest fear when I post a series.
Thank you for letting me edge you oh so gently for so long, I sincerely hope that this chapter - and the final chapter in a couple of days - are the ending you've been wanting!
Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Warnings: suggestive, still tense
Word Count: 1061 (I think you might forgive me though)
Series Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist
The flight felt endless. Yelena and Walker bickered across the aisle, Ava snored, slumped against the window, and you and Bucky sat shoulder to shoulder in silence so taut it rumbled louder than the engines.
Every time you shifted, his knee brushed yours; every time he exhaled, you caught the ghost of his breath against your temple. You’d both promised a talk, but there hadn’t been a single moment alone - not since the barn, not since the elevator.
“I couldn’t have gotten changed?” You scowled at Yelena, gesturing to your boots.
She shrugged apologetically. “We’ll be back soon.”
It didn’t take long. You were back at a reasonably well equipped outpost with enough time to get some sleep. Yelena ordered the shifts. John and Ava took first watch and you slept fitfully next to Yelena.
When your watch pinged to wake you for your turn, the rest of outpost was asleep around you, bodies stacked across the floor. The only light came from the dim moonlight, flickering softly through the window.
The door was propped open so you made your way outside.
“Been up long?”
Bucky shifted along the bench to make space for you. “Swapped with Walker an hour ago.”
You watched the treeline silently.
Your fingers brushed against his once, accidentally, and then again - deliberately this time - and he caught your hand before you could pull back. His thumb traced slow, thoughtful circles across your skin, as if memorising the shape of you.
“I’ve been alone longer than you’ve been alive.” He whispered.
The silence after that was so sharp it hurt. You shifted, inching just close enough that your knee pressed against his. It wasn’t much. Barely anything. But it was enough.
You turned toward him, you breath catching. “What are we doing, Bucky?”
His eyes lifted to yours, unreadable and full of heat. “You really gotta ask me that?”
“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. “I don’t know what you want.”
He was still for a long moment, jaw tight, before he leaned in - not kissing you yet, just close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips.
“What I want?” he murmured. “I want you to be mine.”
Your breath hitched.
“I want to wake up and see you next to me. I want to know you’re safe, that you’re not runnin’ into hell without me watchin’ your back. I want you to be my girl.”
His thumb brushed along your jaw, slow and reverent.
“I want to take care of you. Not because you need it - God knows you don’t - but because I need it. Because I need you.”
Your heart stuttered, the weight of his words sinking in. “Bucky…”
He gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.
You cut him off with a kiss. It was slow at first, careful, until it wasn’t - until restraint slipped into hunger. His hand tangled in your hair, his breath catching as you deepened the kiss.
He pulled you into his lap, your knees biting into the wooden slats of the bench.
When he finally broke away, his voice was a rasp against your ear. “Not here. If I start, doll, I won’t stop.”
You leaned into him, immediately closing the space between you again, everything you’d wanted for so long in the palm of your hand, the pulse in his neck thrumming against your lips.
His hands found your hips, pulling you closer, instinct and breathless need had you arching your body into him.
“Don’t,” he whispered, the word half a plea. “Not here. Not when I can’t -” He cut himself off with a low groan.
You swallowed hard. “Then tell me.”
That earned you a look - dark, fierce and achingly tender. “You really want to know what I’d do if half the team weren’t ten feet away right now?”
You nodded before you could stop yourself.
He leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear. “I’d take my time with you. Real slow. I’d touch you until you forgot your name. Until every sound you made was mine.”
Your chest rose too fast, heat spreading through you like wildfire. You rolled your hips against him. “Bucky…”
“Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “That’s how I want to hear it.”
His mouth closed over the hollow of your throat, and you felt the shiver run all the way down your spine. “Where’s your patience now, sweetheart?” he teased softly.
You tugged his hair gently, searching for his mouth before he could say anything else. When your lips met, the world went silent.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t neat. It was every half-swallowed feeling, every stolen glance, every time you’d almost said something and didn’t. He kissed like he’d been starving for you - like this was survival - and you met him just as hungrily, fingers curling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
You felt him exhale into your mouth, a broken sound that made your knees weak. When he finally pulled back, just barely, his lips hovered against yours - breathing the same air, the same want.
His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard. His thumb brushed over your jaw slowly.
“That,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “is exactly what I want to do to you. Over and over. Until you even forget how to say my name.”
You let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You’re cruel.”
“Hmm,” his mouth ghosted over yours again. “For now.”
A twig snapped somewhere behind the camp and you both froze - just enough of a reminder of where you were, of the too-thin walls and sleeping teammates nearby.
But neither of you moved for a long moment. His hand lingered on your hip, his thumb drawing idle circles against your skin - too gentle for the way your pulse hammered.
Finally he said, low and certain, “When this mission’s over, I’m done waiting.”
You met his eyes, pulse roaring in your ears. “Good. Because I’m done pretending.”
He smiled at that - quiet, knowing - and for the rest of the night, you sat side by side, watching the horizon brightening in the early sunlight, the promise of what waited between you burning like a secret fire neither of you wanted to put out.
Neither of you moved, caught between wanting and waiting - knowing that this, right here, was the promise before everything changed.
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader
Summary: Sometimes the best defense is offense.
Warnings: Explicit language, angst, MDNI.
Word Count: 3.4k
Series Masterlist
There were many things you could say about being blackmailed.
For starters, it usually came with the job. Politics was a dirty game, and everyone was programmed to use each other’s secrets to gain the upper hand, you had spent your entire life watching your father do the same.
So in theory, you knew how to deal with it.
In practice?
It fucking sucked.
“Can you please stop looking at people as if you’re two seconds away from killing them?”
Bucky’s eyes darted around the hallway as you both walked through the security, but he made no sign of hearing you. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he stepped closer to you when someone walked past you too close, and you huffed out a breath.
“Bucky.”
“Hm?”
“I’m being blackmailed with zero proof, not getting death threats,” you said. “And at this point, I’m more worried about other people’s safety than mine because I honestly think you’re going to tackle someone to the ground if they approach me.”
“I might if it’s a stranger.”
“Jesus Christ.” You pulled him by the arm to the corner of the hallway. “You’re not on a mission, Barnes. Remember? You’re doing diplomacy and shit nowadays.”
“Someone threatened you.”
“Blackmailed me, and to repeat, she has no proof.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky insisted. “It happened when I wasn’t around, I’m not going to make the same mistake.”
“You’re literally acting like a super soldier assassin rather than a congressman.”
“Me acting like a congressman ended up with you getting threatened in daylight, I think I’m allowed to act like a super soldier assassin right now.”
“How do I say chill out in Russian?” you asked while Bucky narrowed his eyes at someone over your shoulder.
“Остынь.”
“That was rhetorical—”
“Do you know that guy?”
You followed his line of sight to wave at the guy who scurried out of the hallway the moment he saw Bucky’s glare, and you turned to him with a sigh.
“Yeah, Bucky. He’s in Gray’s clean energy team, I work with him.”
He hummed, looking around the hallway as if trying to detect any potential threat and you snapped your fingers in front of his face.
“Snap out of it!”
He licked his lips, his eyes finding yours.
“When are we sitting down with Caleb?”
“After lunch,” you said with a sigh. “And I need to have dinner with my parents tonight, so today will be so much fun.”
He winced. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“But are you okay?” he insisted and you shook your head slightly, then started walking to the office with him following you close.
“I only had like two nightmares about the situation,” you muttered. “You know what I was thinking? Maybe I can use tonight to fish for information.”
“You said your father wouldn’t help.”
“He’s not gonna know that he’s helping,” you said. “We need something solid on Valentina. You know, mutual assured destruction; you threaten my career, I threaten yours.”
“She’s not gonna do anything to your career,” he assured you. “And I’m going to dig up whatever secrets she has even before the hearings start, I’m working on it.”
“We should also be working on the last editions for the veteran bill, we’re gonna present it in two weeks.”
“I can multitask,” he said with a small smile. “I don’t get tired, remember?”
You shot him a playful glare. “Any chance there’s still some of that serum somewhere?”
“I’d ask Zomo but we’re not exactly on speaking terms,” he stated. “Not to mention, it’d be a terrible idea.”
You gasped as you both walked into the office. “I’d make a terrific super soldier!”
Kelsey tilted her head. “Good morning to you too.”
“Kels, tell him I’d make an amazing super soldier if I could get my hands on the serum,” you insisted while Brian frowned at you both and Bucky shook his head fervently.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“You do know that serum amplifies everything, right?”
“Are you saying I’m secretly evil and that’d turn me into a super villain?”
“I’m pretty sure super villains have couches,” Kelsey mused and you pointed at her.
“That’s irrelevant to the conversation.”
“You’re hyperfocused to the point of obsession.” Bucky counted with his fingers. “The most ambitious person I’ve met even if you’re using it for good, not to mention you can be a bit—uh…”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “What?”
“Aggressive.”
“I’m not fucking aggressive!”
“That’s a very aggressive tone,” Kelsey said. “And he does have a point, Birdie. You’re intense even without the serum.”
“Thanks Kels,” Bucky said and you put your hand on your hip.
“Name one time I was aggressive.”
“I can show it because we have it on video,” Kelsey said. “Brian, what did she do when Frank tried to give you some bullshit work just because you’re an intern?”
Brian’s eyes widened. “Can I stay out of this discussion?”
“This is workplace bullying,” you insisted, gesturing at Bucky and Kelsey. “I’m being bullied right now.”
“No serum for you,” Bucky teased you as he walked to his office and you went to sit on Kelsey’s desk. She stole a look at Brian before she turned to you.
“Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” you mumbled. “It’s gonna be such a peaceful day, I can already tell.”
*
Caleb was the best PR person you had ever met in your entire life, but much like having a doctor friend; you weren’t looking forward to the time you’d need his expertise.
And yet, as he said, there was nothing wrong with covering all the fronts before something could go wrong.
“Okay.” Caleb down and put the file on Bucky’s desk. “Just think of me as your psychiatrist but the type who can’t call the police.”
“They can’t call the police either, Caleb.”
“They can if there’s a threat,” he pointed out and you crossed your legs, sitting across from Bucky’s desk. Bucky looked like he wished to be anywhere but here, swiveling the office chair from side to side slightly, drumming his fingertips on the desk. “Anyways, I need to ask you some questions and I need honest answers, alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Just so that I know how I’ll approach the issue if De Fontaine goes through with her threat,” he said. “I need to know if there’s anything she can use as actual proof. Bucky?”
“I don’t know what proof means in this situation.”
Caleb turned to you. “Any nudes?”
“Whoa!” Bucky exclaimed. “That’s private!”
“There’s no such a thing as private. Birdie?”
“Not on his phone.”
Caleb pulled his brows together. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t answer him.”
“Well he’s not exactly great with smart phones, so I took a couple of polaroids and put them in his wallet.”
Bucky buried his face in his hands while Caleb took a deep breath.
“Please tell me your face isn’t—”
“I’m not that reckless, Caleb,” you answered before he could ask. “Obviously my face isn’t visible.”
Bucky lowered his hands to frown at you. “You didn’t trust me?”
“It’s a photo in your wallet.” You shrugged your shoulders. “You could have dropped it, accidents happen.”
“I wouldn’t just leave that around—”
“Not the discussion right now!” Caleb cut him off. “Birdie, would anyone be able to tell it’s you?”
“Um…”
“Those photos don’t exist anymore, can we move on?” Bucky asked, the tips of his ears turning pink, and you and Caleb both turned to look at him.
“Hm?”
“I—” Bucky cleared his throat. “I couldn’t just keep them after you asked for a break, it would’ve been disrespectful to you. So they don’t exist anymore.”
Why did you find this romantic was the main question here, but Caleb came up with another one.
“When you say they don’t exist...?”
“Burned them,” Bucky told him, “to make sure no one else would see.”
Alright, seriously.
Why was the fact that he had burned your nude polaroids making you melt?
“Alright, one less thing to worry about,” Caleb said while Bucky gave you a small smile. “Next question. Did you two ever hook up here?”
“Nope.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Seriously?” Caleb asked. “I would.”
You shook your head. “I’m too paranoid to have sex anywhere except home.”
Caleb made a face. “You’re like a nun or something.”
“I just don’t like public sex, that doesn’t make me a nun!” you whispered and pointed at Bucky. “I can be spicy, ask him! He has my nudes.”
“Had,” Bucky pointed out and you waved a hand dismissively.
“Had!” you corrected yourself. “Still.”
Bucky ran a hand over his stubble. “Is this conversation going anywhere?”
“Yep,” Caleb said while you crossed your arms. “So it seems like we’re pretty safe but just in case it does come out, we need to have a game plan. Bucky would walk away mostly unharmed—”
“I can resign.”
“You’re not resigning!” Caleb and you both spoke at the same time and Bucky shrugged his shoulders.
“It could help the situation.”
“It would make it worse,” you said. “It would make it look like some sort of workplace misconduct happened.”
“And that’s the exact reason we can’t move you to any other team either, at least officially,” Caleb said. “It wouldn’t be a good look.”
You heaved a sigh. “I know.”
A silence fell upon the office and Caleb scoffed a laugh.
“Maybe people in the Victorian age were onto something,” he said. “Life would’ve been so simple if we could just save your reputation and make everyone shut up with a quick wedding.”
You grinned. “Fly to Vegas and be back for the vote.”
“I mean,” Bucky muttered. “Just say the word.”
Your head snapped up and you gawked at Bucky for a couple of seconds, at a loss for words. Your ears were muffled from the blood rushing in them, your heart pacing in your chest and Caleb looked between you two with his mouth agape, then managed to close his mouth and stood up.
“I just remembered, Kels wanted to talk to me,” he said breathlessly, gesturing at the door before he rushed out of the office and closed the door behind him, leaving you completely dumbfounded.
You tried to find your voice: “You’re not serious.”
The look in Bucky’s eyes was genuine confusion. “Why are you acting so surprised?”
“Why—” You stammered. “Why am I acting surprised that you’re implying—”
“I’m not implying anything, I’m flat out saying it.”
“Bucky…” You let out a breath. “That’s not—that’s an incredibly serious decision, you can’t possibly be ready to change your whole life when I say so.”
“Why not?”
“There are so many things to consider—”
“You know how I feel about you,” he said as if he was talking about the easiest conclusion in the world. “What do you think I’ve been doing, just messing around?”
Breathe.
You had to breathe.
“We’re on a break,” you managed to squeak with a weak voice and he bit inside his cheek.
“I know,” he said after a beat. “You were the one who asked for a break, so you tell me. Are things easier yet, or are we just torturing ourselves?”
“You know that’s not what I—” You started but someone knocked on his door and opened it, Kelsey giving you an apologetic look as if she did not want to disturb you two.
“Congressman Gary is here, Mr. Barnes,” she said and you licked your lips, then got up from the chair as Congressman Gary stepped in.
“Can we, um, ” you stammered. “Can we continue this uh…this meeting later on?”
“Sure,” Bucky said and you cleared your throat, then offered a small smile to Congressman Gary before you walked out of the room and closed the door behind you.
“Holy shit!” Caleb whispered as Kelsey pulled you by the arm to the corner of the office. “Is he serious?”
You nodded your head, your heart still pounding in your ears.
“That’s his idea of break?” Kelsey whispered and you exhaled, then motioned at the door.
“I need to take some fresh air,” you mumbled, taking a step towards the door but before you could reach there, Lucas popped his head in around the frame.
“Hey, you ready?”
You blinked dumbly. “…What?”
“The meeting with Gray?” he asked with a laugh. “I sent you one thousand emails yesterday, we’re waiting for you.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.” He shot you an amused look. “Come on.”
You stole a look at Kelsey and Caleb, then swallowed thickly.
“Right,” you said and grabbed your purse off your desk, then walked past him for him to follow you.
“You okay?”
You took a shaky breath, then tried to smile.
“Sure,” you said. “Just too much caffeine, that’s it.”
*
You didn’t have time to talk to Bucky the rest of the day and even though you wanted to wait for his meeting to be over, Kelsey told you it would take a while so you had no option other than going to your parents’ place.
Strangely enough, when the maid opened the door, your father hadn’t even come to greet you. Your mother stood up to hug you when you entered the living room and you frowned slightly.
“Hi honey!”
“Hi mom,” you said. “Where’s dad?”
“Oh, he…” she trailed off. “He’s waiting for you in his study. He said he needed to talk to you before dinner.”
Your frown deepened. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll go and check with the chef while you two talk.”
She walked away from you and you nibbled on your lip, tension sinking your stomach. You lingered in the hallway for a couple of seconds, then threw your shoulders back and made your way to your father’s study to knock on the door.
“Come in.”
You opened the door and stepped inside to find him sitting behind his desk, his eyes fixated on the screen of his laptop.
“Hey,” you said, “You wanted to talk to me?”
He nodded, his jaw clenching for a second before he gestured at the seat across from his desk.
“Take a seat.”
The familiar fear from your childhood was back with its full force, churning your stomach and trembling your hands but you slowly perched on the edge of the seat, licking your lips.
“What’s going on?”
“Were you going to tell me De Fontaine has leverage over you?”
Your eyes snapped to his and you managed to let out a fake laugh.
“She doesn’t have leverage over me.”
“No?”
You shook your head. “What, you listen to some workplace gossip now?”
“Is that what it is?” he asked you. “Some workplace gossip?”
“She wants Bucky to back off, and she knows if public believes that it’ll hurt his career. It’s just strategy based on some bullshit lie.”
“Some bullshit lie,” he repeated and you rolled your eyes.
“Obviously.”
He nodded slowly and clicked his tongue, then turned the laptop screen to you.
And your heart dropped to your stomach.
It was a picture of you on the street on the Sunday morning after Lucas’s birthday, right after you had told Bucky you wanted a break.
“You see,” your father said, “when I was informed that Valentina has something on you, I figured I’d check rather than just trusting you blindly. This is you Sunday morning, on the street right behind Barnes’s house.” He clicked on the next picture of you in Lucas’s birthday party. “And this is you Saturday night at your friend’s party. The same clothes.”
You pulled back slightly, your mind going overdrive with the list of excuses you could use.
“So then I figured, I’d get some footage from Barnes’s backyard because journalists are always hanging around the street across his front door,” he said and clicked on the next picture where you were hopping over the fence to Bucky’s backyard. “Day and night. Multiple times.”
Your throat tightened.
“…I can explain that.”
He raised his brows, a mocking smile curling his lips.
“There are already so many rumors about him and me, and I figured if people—just because—just because I stay over at his place sometimes doesn’t mean—”
The rest of your sentence got lost in a gasp in your throat when he slammed his hand on the desk, making you flinch.
“Have you lost your mind?” he roared. “What the hell were you thinking? You are supposed to be smarter than this—”
“Hey!” you snapped back. “Do not fucking raise your voice at me, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
He clicked his tongue.
“I’m talking to my daughter whom I raised better than this.”
“You mean the nannies you hired raised me better than this.”
He let out a bitter laugh.
“Aw, this is the excuse you’re going with?” he mocked you. “Is that what you’re going to tell the press hounding you when this affair comes out? Mommy and daddy didn’t pay attention to you growing up, so you decided to sleep with your boss—”
“Careful there.”
“Who’s probably going to throw you to the wolves the moment it comes out—”
“You don’t even know him, okay?” you shot back. “He would never do that, he loves me!”
…Okay.
Let’s try it in a way that is less of a Disney princess, more of a grown ass woman.
“I know how it sounds,” you added when he tilted his head as if he was listening to the nonsense of a child. “But I know him—”
“You’re that much of a cliché?”
You gritted your teeth, glaring at him.
“I mean, why did you try so hard to climb all the way up to the top if you were going to throw all that away for some man?”
“I’m not throwing away anything.”
“Do you know what they’re going to call you?” he asked, making you swallow thickly. “The press? The public? Everyone in the Congress?”
“No,” you growled, looking him in the eye. “Do tell me though. What are they going to call me?”
That made him fall quiet for a moment before he took a deep breath like he was trying to calm himself down.
“I warned you before,” he said. “About what would happen.”
“Threatened me, you mean.”
“And it’s only a matter of time someone thinks of using these.” He motioned at the screen. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take a small holiday out of the country while I handle things here—”
“I’m not leaving.”
“And the only way you get out of this unscathed,” he continued as if he didn’t hear you, “is if we sacrifice Barnes instead of you.”
You stared at him, shaking your head fervently. “No.”
“Someone has to go down for this affair sweetheart, it’s not going to be you.”
“It’s not going to be Bucky either.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen to me—”
“No, you listen to me,” you cut him off. “You think things have been bad between you and I? You have no idea how much worse I can make it.”
He frowned at you.
“Because if you try to hurt him,” you said. “I swear to God, you will never, ever see me again. I will move out of the city, probably with him, and you’ll be dead to me. I won’t visit, I won’t call, I won’t text, I won’t acknowledge you in any way.”
He heaved a sigh, saying your name and you got up from your seat, then pressed your palms on the desk to lean in a little so that you could lock your eyes with his.
“I’ll choose him if you make me choose between you and him,” you stated. “And I won’t look back. And dad, I don’t care what you think is the best move, but let me be very clear. There is no fucking scenario in which I ever let Bucky get hurt.”
He stared at you, taken aback by the low growl of your tone that didn’t even sound like you, and you raised your hands from the desk, then took a step back.
“Tell mom something came up at work,” you said. “Because there’s no way I’m having dinner with you until you apologize to me.”
With that, you walked away from him and made your way through the hallway to get out of the house, then slammed the door shut behind you, your heart still pacing.
i love how they go hard for each other, like pleaaaaaase, bucky's ready to get married and pop some kids, and birdie won't hesitate to choose him and his safety over anything/everyone. i love them so much, oh my god!!!
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader
Summary: Calling a bluff isn’t so simple.
Warnings: Explicit language, angst, MDNI.
Word Count: 3.7k
Series Masterlist
One of the best things about working in politics was that, usually, it was so chaotic and high speed that you would barely have the time to think about anything else but the job.
Usually being the key word.
But in better news, your old psychiatrist would’ve been proud because in your opinion, you were nailing this whole work-life balance bullshit. Every day for the last week you had been sparing the last couple of minutes of your lunch time to crying in the bathroom to acknowledge your feelings before going back to work on the veteran bill, so it sounded balanced enough.
Even though Sam had told you it wasn’t what work-life balance was.
“Birdie, do you have a moment?”
“I have like one thousand things to do and I need to make sure to stay away from my boss who happens to be my maybe ex maybe not ex-boyfriend because I’m not even sure where we stand on this break thing,” you muttered to her as you rushed up the stairs to the Capitol with your coffee cup in your hand. “What’s up?”
Kelsey gave you an apologetic smile. “I have news.”
“Good news?”
“Nope.”
You let out a whine. “What is it?”
“Okay so bad news or bad news?”
“Jesus Christ,” you said, running a hand over your face. “Lay it on me.”
“So we had to move up Bucky’s interview with the journalist to afternoon,” she said. “And Caleb is still drafting the statement for the press conference.”
You stopped dead in your tracks. “Kels, I know for a fact that you’re not asking me to prepare him.”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking you.”
“I’m supposed to be staying out of his way!” you hissed through your teeth while she led you through the security before you two made your to the hallway leading to Bucky’s office. “Fine. And the other news?”
“The reason why we had to move it up is because he’s having a meeting with Murray and Vivien at 3 about the veteran bill.”
“…I’m calling in sick.”
“You’re physically in the Capitol,” she reminded you as you tossed your bag on your desk and sent a quick text to Lucas. “I know it makes things very messy, but he’s still a congressman and you’re still his right hand woman—”
“Not my official title.”
“His girlfriend.”
“Also not my title.”
“The only person who can push him up in the political ladder?”
You sat back on your desk and stole a look at Bucky’s closed door. “He’s in?”
“Mm hm. Go.”
You swallowed thickly before you let out a breath and grabbed the folder Kelsey was holding out for you, then you got up from your desk.
“This is gonna be fun,” you murmured and fixed your hair before you knocked on Bucky’s door, then opened it to peek your head in.
Oh God, this was going to be rough.
Your heart did a flip as soon as his eyes met yours, that fond light glimmering in them as you offered him a small smile.
“Hey, can I come in?”
A look of surprise flashed over his face before he nodded fervently.
“Sure!” he said. “Yeah, of course.”
“So um…” You stepped in and closed the door behind you. “Since Caleb is swamped with the press release, I figured you and I could go over the questions before the interview.”
Confusion pinched his brows together.
“You sure?”
“We’ve done it a thousand times, Bucky.”
“No I mean, I thought you’d pass it to someone else.”
“We’re both adults and it’s business,” you forced yourself to say as you took your seat across from his desk, then opened the folder in your lap. “It’s fine.”
He cleared his throat and brushed his hands through his hair like he was trying to get rid of nervousness while you tilted your head with a small smile.
“Are you growing out your hair?”
He paused for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah. Do you like—um, do you not like—is it bad?”
“Not at all,” you said, coaxing a proud smile out of him, his eyes shining with excitement. “Looks great. Hey, maybe we can get you a haircare lobbyist or something.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Mm, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Keep it together.
Keep it together, you’re on a break.
You sat up straighter and grabbed a pen. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this.”
“Mr. Barnes,” you said, your tone turning completely professional. “Welcome back to DC.”
“Thank you, and welcome to the Capitol.”
“Pleasantries etc etc,” you mumbled, going over the notes. “Are you happy to be back home?”
Bucky took a look at his own file that you had prepared and asked Caleb to put on his desk earlier today.
“Well although I love DC, my home will always be Brooklyn—are you sure this doesn’t sound ungrateful?”
“Nope,” you said. “It shows that you’re not one of the politicians who drops their hometown the moment they get elected for the horserace here. It’ll make you sound loyal.”
He took a note on the paper, nodding his head.
“So your time away from DC garnered a lot of attention and rumors,” you continued. “Even more than other politicians’ actions in DC, as many have stated. Do you feel like you’re being held to a different standard than your colleagues?”
“Yep.”
“Bucky.” You shot him a look. “Focus.”
“But it’s less about politics and more about me,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “Why can’t she just ask about the bill we’re trying to pass?”
“Because half of the people who will read that interview couldn’t care less about politics,” you said. “Politics is the Trojan Horse, she’ll try to goad you into personal questions.”
“…Great.”
You leaned forward and tapped your pen on his folder. “Come on. Different standard?”
“It is a different standard but I also got used to it during my campaign, pause, smile but make it nostalgic—” He blinked a couple of times, “Did you seriously put body language clues here?”
“Obviously, she will be reading your body language and you will be the perfect mixture of caring but calm.” You frowned. “Hold on. Why does it sound like this is the first time you’re reading this?”
His head snapped up and he hesitated for a moment, shifting in his seat as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
“Funny you should mention that—”
Your eyes widened. “Are you trying to kill me, Barnes?”
“I’ve been distracted,” he defended himself as your jaw dropped and you leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “No no, listen, I know what you’re gonna say but I was gonna—”
“You were gonna go into an interview without preparation?!”
“I had the file right here!”
“As part of the decor?”
“I’m reading it now!” he said quickly, his eyes darting over the lines while you slipped a little in your seat, massaging your temples.
“You can’t just not read my notes, Bucky.”
“To repeat, I’ve been—what the hell is this?”
“Hm?”
“Question seven.”
You dropped your hands, trying to keep your expression calm. “It’s a question about your personal life.”
“Love life, you mean.”
You shrugged your shoulders. “Semantics.”
“You’re not serious.”
“She’s gonna ask you that,” you told him. “You know how curious people are about that.”
“I’m not gonna answer.”
“That’s not an option.”
“You didn’t even—” He held up the paper for you. “Why did you leave it blank?”
You nibbled on your lip, your stomach in knots. “Elephant in the room? I don’t know where you stand.”
He scoffed a laugh. “Where I stand?”
“Where we—” You motioned between you and him. “Where we stand, I mean.”
He stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying.
“Where I stand is,” he started, “that I’m in love with you but you want to be on a break.”
You were torn between lunging to his arms and storming out of the office but you managed to keep it together, biting inside your cheek.
“So go on,” he said with a bitter laugh, “translate that into the language of politics. You’re the expert on that.”
That made your brows pull into a confused frown.
“You can’t resent me for doing my job, Bucky.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
You scoffed a laugh, then cleared your throat and got up from your seat.
“I’m gonna go over these and send you the corrected version, I think it needs more nuance,” you said, tapping your pen on your file. “You’ll have it in half an hour.”
He ran a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m not gonna go into this here, we’re working,” you cut him off. “And if I may add, respectfully, you had zero problems with me translating things into the language of politics when it was working in your favor.”
You turned around and walked out of the office without looking back, ignoring him saying your name.
*
Keeping yourself busy wasn’t that difficult in Capitol, for which you were grateful. After having a quick meeting with Lucas and his team, you had decided to grab coffee and were now climbing the marble stairs outside, your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear while you held your coffee with one hand and files with the other.
“Susan!” you greeted her with a smile. “How did the interview go?”
“Well I just talked to Caleb, and since you’re Bucky’s right arm, I figured I’d bring you up to speed.”
“Well, I’m not—thanks.” You corrected yourself. “How was it?”
“Politics wise, it was good.”
You raised your brows. “Hm?”
“Bucky Barnes as a Congressman,” she said while you sipped your coffee, “he’s very clear, I understand his political stance, his goals, what he wants to change. Bucky Barnes as a person remains a mystery even after an hour of interviewing him.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, shutting your eyes for a moment before opening them again.
“A mystery?”
“Listen, I like you and I think you’re smart as fuck, so do you mind if I give it to you straight?”
…Bucky didn’t follow your notes.
You clicked your tongue. “Please.”
“People want to see the man behind the war hero turned Winter Soldier turned Congressman Barnes.”
“And we’re absolutely open to—”
“You might be but he’s not.”
Shit.
“Susan…” You heaved a sigh. “He’s um, he’s a very private person.”
“And I respect that but my readers—scratch that, everyone who did or did not vote for him is more interested in him than politics,” she said. “Which I’m guessing is the reason why you guys wanted me to be the person who interviewed him, to find the balance between politics and him as a person. But the most straightforward answer I got from him about his personal life in that whole interview was when I mentioned that picture of him and Vivien Garson.”
You gripped the files tighter. “What did he say?”
“He said there is nothing between him and Congresswoman Garson, nor will there ever be. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was insulted with how defensive he got.”
“He gets defensive whenever someone asks him about his romantic life,” you assured her as you dug your purse to see if your charger was there. “You should’ve seen how he reacted when those pictures first came out. I suppose in the 40s people kept everything to themselves or something.”
“Apparently.”
“Any chance I can ask how you’ll write it?” you asked and she let out a small laugh.
“I suppose I can lean into the mysterious bad boy thing. People seem to like it almost as much as they like learning about him.”
A smile lit up your face. “I appreciate that Susan. Hey, drinks on me whenever you’re free?”
“You bet. I’ll text you,” she said and hung up, and you threw your head back.
“God damn it Bucky…” you mumbled before you dug deeper into your purse, but apparently you had forgotten your charger back at your office. A groan left your lips and you stomped your way into the Capitol before you climbed the stairs, then entered the office.
Caleb and Kelsey exchanged glances before they turned to steal a glance at the half open door of Bucky’s office while you heaved a sigh, rushing to your desk.
“Hey guys,” you said. “Caleb, Susan called me, she’s gonna have to go a little off script but it still works.”
“Birdie, that’s what I was gonna tell you.” Caleb jumped up on his feet. “If you could step out with me for a moment?”
You pulled open your drawer. “I forgot my charger!”
“I’ll lend you mine, come on.”
“No, mine is—” you started but froze when you heard Vivien’s voice calling out your name from Bucky’s office. Your stomach dropped as Kelsey winced and Caleb scrunched up his face.
Bucky’s 3 o’clock.
“What the fuck?” you mouthed at Caleb and he rolled his eyes.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
You huffed out and grabbed the file, then made your way to his office, your heart pacing in your chest. Bucky’s blue eyes were fixed on you and he looked very on edge, Congressman Murray was still reading the papers in front of him, and Vivien eyed you up and down before smiling at you.
“Hi,” she said. “I thought I heard your voice.”
You wondered once again whether it was too late to call in sick, but you managed to plaster a polite smile on your face.
“Ma’am.”
“I saw your impromptu interview with that reporter,” she said and pointed at Bucky with her thumb. “How many people are trying to steal you away from him?”
Bucky’s head whipped around. “What?”
“I’ve had a couple of offers,” you replied, making him frown.
“Huh?”
“I hate to tell you this Barnes but people are after your girl,” Murray joked, causing Bucky to tighten his jaw. You shifted your weight, clearing your throat while Vivien grinned and motioned at the seat beside her with her pen.
“Pull up a chair.”
Oh hell no.
“Um…” you said. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m working with Congresswoman Gray’s team about the clean energy bill, ma’am. Mr. Barnes was informed about this before.”
“Right.” Bucky nodded his head. “Go ahead, tell Gray I said hi.”
“Oh come on,” Vivien said. “Stay. I’m kind of curious about the reason why everyone is impressed with you when it comes to bills. Impress me—”
“You don’t have to impress anyone, much less anyone in this room,” Bucky’s voice was so stern that for a moment, both you and Vivien turned to look at him. Murray lifted his head from the paper, and Vivien raised her brows before tilting her head like she was trying to read your mind.
That was subtle.
“I was voted class president in 6th grade unanimously,” you deadpanned. “I can tie a cherry stem in my mouth, and I can hold my breath underwater for two minutes. I’ve been told it’s impressive.”
Bucky’s lips twitched as a stunned silence fell upon the room and Murray leaned back like he was having way too much fun. Vivien narrowed her eyes.
“What was your title again?”
“She’s the smartest person in this place and she’s my right hand,” Bucky answered on your behalf before you could so much as open your mouth. “And I’ll have to excuse myself from this meeting if you can’t show her respect.”
Shit.
This was not going to help the rumors, nor Vivien’s growing dislike for you.
You widened your eyes, trying to warn Bucky silently and smiled at Vivien who looked very surprised at Bucky’s reaction. Murray cleared his throat.
“I’m sure there’s no need for that.”
“There’s absolutely no need for that,” you said in a haste. “I’d better go before Congresswoman Gray starts the meeting. Have a good day sir. Ma’am.”
With that, you walked out of the office, grabbed the charger on your desk and motioned Caleb to follow you outside.
*
“I’m just saying, if he’s not careful—”
“People will be able to tell,” Caleb finished your sentence for you. “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if people found out you were dating after you guys broke up?”
“We didn’t break up, we’re taking a break—and no, it wouldn’t be hilarious, Caleb!” you hissed through your teeth while Caleb popped a fry in his mouth before looking around. You two were on a bench just outside the Capitol building, the food Caleb had bought from street vendor placed between you two. If it were another time, you would’ve been worried about the one hundred tasks you were supposed to finish within the week, but you were way too grumpy to even focus.
Thanks to Vivien.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Gray’s meeting?”
“I attended it in the morning, that was just an excuse to stay away from Bucky,” you mumbled, reaching out to grab a fry. “Anyway, he’s supposed to be more careful!”
“Talk to him then.”
You tucked one leg under you and dangled other off the edge of the bench. “You talk to him.”
“I wasn’t the one who proclaimed my love, fucked, then asked for a break from the guy!” he counted with his fingers, making you glare at him.
“It’s not as if I’m enjoying the aforementioned break, Caleb!”
“I didn’t say you enjoy it, I’m just saying, if he’s tanking one simple interview…”
“He didn’t tank it, it’s fine.”
“Mystery guy is not the narrative we were pushing, Birdie.”
“I’m just saying, it could’ve been worse considering—holy shit.”
“What?” Caleb asked and followed your line of sight. “Is that Valentina de Fontaine?”
You gawked at her as she talked to Mel who hurriedly took notes on her phone before Valentina’s eyes fell on you. She paused only for a moment before she muttered something to Mel, then started walking towards you.
“Is she coming here?” Caleb asked, his eyes widening. “Is the director of the CIA coming here while I’m eating fries?”
“Seems that way—hello Mrs. de Fontaine!” You sat up straighter when she reached you and she said your name to greet you, then turned to Caleb.
“And you’re Caleb, right?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Would you mind giving us a minute, Caleb?”
Shit.
You had no idea what this was about, but it couldn’t be good. Considering Bucky was working with Congressman Gary and Congresswoman Elkins to find out what Valentina was hiding, and the fact that Valentina had worked with your father before all pointed at the same thing; she was corrupt and she did not like Bucky.
You waved at Mel subtly who smiled at you back while Caleb got up from the bench.
“I’ll just be over there.” He motioned at Capitol before he walked away from you and you cleared your throat.
“Ma’am.”
“I was under the impression that you’d be inside making people cry.”
Ah.
“I don’t—um,” you stammered. “That video was just a misunderstanding.”
“And the interview with that reporter?”
“Also a misunderstanding.” You nodded fervently. “A huge one—may I ask what this is about?”
“Oh I just wanted to talk to you,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “About two things.”
“Me, ma’am?”
“Well, your father didn’t mention how much of a shark his daughter was, and I sure as hell didn’t see you before you came into Capitol,” she said. “Had I known, I would’ve called dibs a long time ago. Whatever Barnes is paying you, I can pay double.”
Holy fuck, this was a job offer.
CIA was offering you a job.
Your heart was pacing so fast that you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself down.
“I like working for Mr. Barnes, ma’am,” you said. “I appreciate the offer though.”
She eyed you up and down. “Even if I’d pay you more?”
“It’s not—it’s not about the money, ma’am,” you said. “With all due respect, my father has enough money to buy a country somewhere, but I worked two jobs at college to pay my tuition. I don’t care about money.”
“I see.” A sly smile curled her lips. “He’s that good in bed?”
Your head shot up, your stomach sinking before you remembered to control your expression.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I mean he is easy on the eye but this type of loyalty can’t be explained with just that.”
“There’s nothing between—”
“Oh please, who hasn’t had an affair in this place?” She nodded at the Capitol building. “I’m pretty sure it’s entry level requirement.”
“Mrs. De Fontaine, I—”
“This brings us to the second reason why I’m here,” she cut you off. “I gather you two can’t afford a scandal right now, so tell your man to stay out of that committee Gary and Elkins are putting together, will you? I have enough on my plate, I cannot be dealing with that as well.” She scoffed. “Impeachment. What a fucking joke.”
“I don’t have that kind of pull on Mr. Barnes, ma’am,” you said, looking her in the eye. “Nor do we have that kind of relationship. We’re strictly professional.”
“You think anyone believes that?”
“I think if what you’re accusing me of weren’t a lie, this threat would come with some sort of proof,” you forced yourself to say. “You’re the CIA after all.”
That made her tilt her head with an impressed smile.
“Now I can see the family resemblance,” she muttered. “You’re right. I don’t exactly have the proof. Yet.”
You arched a brow, keeping your gaze on her.
“However,” she said. “How long do you think you can keep that a secret if your father and the media and the CIA is watching you? That’s way too many eyes, don’t you think?”
You made sure to keep your expression completely flat, but she seemed to have picked up on your slightest mimic because her smile widened, then she stood up.
“I’ll let you think on that,” she said silkily before she walked away from you to the Capitol, and Caleb strode his way to you.
“What was that?” he asked and you let out a breath, crossing your arms before slipping a little on the bench.
“That means,” you mumbled, “break or not, Bucky and I are in trouble.”
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader
Summary: Tension is bound to explode eventually.
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, drinking, mentions of getting high with edibles, partying, angst, MDNI.
Word Count: 3.8k
Series Masterlist
Okay, maybe, just maybe, trying to solve the very obvious –glaring even— issue in your secret relationship with sex instead of actually talking it out was not exactly a good thing.
You didn’t like that someone else was flirting with him, he didn’t like that you were going to the birthday party of the guy who had been flirting with you for a while, and yet, the solution you had found to address the problem was less verbal and more…
Physical.
“Quick question, are we getting drunk tonight?”
You put your lip gloss down and fixed your hair, your eyes finding Kelsey’s in the mirror while Caleb walked into the bathroom, then jumped to sit on the sink.
“You guys can get drunk,” you told them. “I’m not gonna.”
Kelsey hummed. “Because of Bucky?”
“I just don’t want to get drunk with a bunch of people from work.”
“But also because of Bucky.” Caleb grinned. “I still cannot believe you’re sleeping with my boss.”
“I mean if it makes you feel any better, I’m also sleeping with my boss.”
Kelsey wiggled her brows. “And you keep saying you guys don’t do roleplay.”
“We don’t!” you exclaimed and paused. “Well we—we haven’t. Yet.”
“What would Bucky be into?” Caleb mused and snapped his fingers. “Oh! Soldier and naughty nurse?”
“Caleb, the man has trauma,” you deadpanned. “In case you forgot, he got captured by HYDRA when he was a soldier and was experimented on for decades. Something tells me anything concerning soldiers or nurses is not his idea of roleplay.”
“Boss and secretary it is,” Kelsey murmured and you thought for a moment.
“Like secretaries now or like back then?”
“What does it matter?”
“I’d need to learn the lingo from the 40s—” you started but was cut off when your phone started vibrating on the counter. You grabbed it and stepped out of the bathroom, taking your phone to your ear.
“Hi Buck!” you said breathlessly. “Are we still on for after the club?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, there’s just a small problem.”
“What?”
“You remember how we said we trust each other?”
You pulled your brows together. “Yeah?”
“Vivien just called me.”
You stopped dead in your tracks in the middle of the living room, your stomach doing a painful flip as you tapped your finger on the back of your phone to distract yourself.
“…Oh?”
“She uh, apparently one of the lobbyists has been pressuring her a lot about the bill and she just got this text and long story short, she needs help. She was pretty spooked so she asked if I could go get her from the Capitol.”
You blinked a couple of times. “Sorry, what?”
“If she is in danger, I need to help.”
Ah.
Of course.
Of course that would jumpstart Bucky’s unstoppable urge to help anyone and everyone.
“I just wanted to let you know, in case—” he paused for a second. “I just figured you should know.”
You dragged the tip of your tongue over your bottom lip, trying to control the anger bubbling in your stomach.
“She wants you to go get her from the Capitol?” you asked. “Capitol as in swarming with security 24/7 Capitol?”
“Sweetheart.”
“On a Saturday night?”
“I get that it sounds off.”
“Do you?” The question came out harsher than you meant and he let out a breath.
“I don’t think she’s lying,” he told you. “And either way if she’s in trouble, I need to help. I’ll just take her to her place to make sure she’s safe, that’s it.”
Fucking—
Alright.
Alright, you had to stay calm.
“Birdie?”
“I’m here,” you managed to say, closing your eyes to take a deep breath before you opened them again. “I um…sure. I appreciate the heads up and I mean, you can’t not help, I suppose.”
You could, but you won’t.
“You okay?”
You gritted your teeth before you forced yourself to smile.
“Sure!” you exclaimed, your voice way too high pitched. “Uh huh. Just—”
“Birdie, the Uber is here!” Kelsey called out from the door and you pinched the bridge of your nose.
“Gotta go,” you mumbled. “Just be careful, please?”
And don’t let her flirt with you.
You hung up and stomped on your foot, a groan leaving your lips.
“Hey, everything okay?” Caleb asked and you gritted your teeth, then turned around.
“I’ll tell you guys on the way,” you said, walking to the door. “Let’s go.”
*
D.C. wasn’t New York, but the clubs weren’t half bad.
Though you were annoyed beyond words and couldn’t stop checking your phone, you knew you had to play it cool in front of other people. You had been holding the same drink for the last hour, taking little sips to take your time, and you had turned down the edible that one of Lucas’s friends brought so it was safe to say that you were the soberest person at the entire party.
And the grumpiest.
“You okay, Birdie?” Caleb asked and you tried to smile.
“Mm hm.”
“No you’re not,” Kelsey said, grabbing the cocktail glass from you to put another one into your hand. “And it’s okay if you’re pissed off.”
“I’m not pissed off.”
“Your boyfriend is playing the knight in shining armor for Miss Hot Shot Congresswoman,” Kelsey said while you heaved a sigh. “You’re allowed to be pissed off.”
“I trust him,” you forced yourself to say, keeping your eyes on the dancefloor. “Just like he trusts me. We’re both adults, so…”
“Doesn’t mean you have to like it,” Caleb said. “And bottoms up, come on.”
You took a huge sip of your drink, checking your phone again before you took a deep breath.
“I’m gonna get some fresh air.”
“Want us to come with you?”
You shook your head fervently. “I’ll be right back, you guys have fun. Go dance or something!”
“I’m dragging you to the dancefloor when you come back!” Caleb called out as you walked away from them to make your way out of the club. Fresh air hit your burning face, making you heave a sigh and lean back to the wall before you went to sit on the bench across the road.
It was fine.
You trusted him. Even if Vivien flirted with him, you knew very well that Bucky wouldn’t return those advances, not in a million years.
It didn’t mean you appreciated him being on her speed dial for some reason.
“You look tortured,” Lucas’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your head whipped around as he flung himself next to you. “What’s up, Hurricane?”
“What are you doing here, birthday boy?” you asked back with a smile and he shrugged his shoulders.
“Just making sure you’re okay.”
“Well, I’m not as drunk as you.” You grinned. “Or high.”
“Eh, barely.”
“How many fingers am I holding?” you asked, holding up two fingers and he squinted his eyes.
“Four.”
You scoffed a laugh. “Why do I feel like we’re gonna have to carry you home?”
He waved a hand in the air. “I’m fine,” he said and jerked his thumb back in the direction of the club. “Some of my friends in there are crushing on you.”
You pulled your brows together. “What?”
“Mm hm. Josh has been asking me about you.”
“I don’t even know which one is Josh.”
He clicked his tongue. “I’ll just tell him you’re not interested.”
“Much obliged,” you said, leaning back to look up at the sky, but he kept his eyes on you, making you turn to him after a couple of seconds. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Nothing, it’s just…you look—you’re very pretty.”
Shit. Shit.
Abort fucking mission.
“And you, my friend, are very drunk,” you told him, your heartbeat speeding up. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
“But—”
“Inside,” you cut him off and jumped on your feet to pull him by the arm. “People are going to wonder where the birthday boy is, and I can’t have them blame me.”
“They’re not gonna do that!” he insisted as you both walked into the club but unlike before, a lot of people from the Capitol were in the lounge instead of the dancefloor, all of them looking at their phones and joking around.
“Birdie!” Kelsey rushed to you. “Hey, do you mind coming to the bathroom with me?”
“Told you—I fucking told you man!” One of Lucas’s coworkers slapped another guy’s arm. “You owe me ten bucks.”
“What’s going on?” you asked Kelsey while Lucas made his way to his friends and Caleb approached you.
“Okay, whatever you’re feeling, trust me I feel worse,” he muttered, making your frown deepen.
“What?” you asked him and he exchanged glances with Kelsey before he handed you his phone with a sigh.
It was one of the gossip accounts, with Bucky and Vivien’s picture in front of what you assumed to be her place. If it were anyone else it could’ve been a normal picture; they weren’t even standing close but of course to anyone who read the caption, it was anything but friendly.
Fuck. This. Shit.
“The prom king and queen of the Capitol, Jesus Christ,” Lucas commented while you gawked at the screen, barely paying attention to the chatter.
“Don’t you guys hate it when pretty people date pretty people?”
“I was gonna call them JFK and Jackie but then I remembered he fucking offed the guy—”
“Who’s a power couple in politics?”
“Dude, you work in politics!”
You gritted your teeth, trying your hardest to keep your expression under control before you grabbed Kelsey’s drink to down it, then approached the table.
“Hey, is there any left of those gummies?”
Josh scrambled to take out the small pack from his pocket and you offered him a smile, then popped a gummy in your mouth and downed the rest of Kelsey’s drink.
“Uh oh,” Caleb muttered. “You know what? I’m gonna call Buck to um—” He looked around to see Lucas’s team listening to him. “To ask him what he wants to do with PR.”
“Birdie?” Kelsey said and you turned to her while Caleb took his phone to his ear and stepped outside.
“Hm?”
“You okay honey? I thought we were doing sober night tonight.”
“Oh I’m great!” you exclaimed and pointed at the bar. “I’m gonna go get another drink, want anything?”
*
Jesus Christ, you were drunk.
And high.
And trying to climb Bucky’s fence.
So all those three things combined made it even harder to be subtle. Maybe you should’ve climbed more trees when you were a child instead of your father making you study philosophy and world history as well as politics.
You could recite the whole text of Machiavelli’s Prince when you were 8, but you couldn’t spend more than an hour in the nature.
“Fuck—just—” You held onto the top of the fence while trying to get the cuff of your jeans from where it was stuck. “Get the fuck—”
“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky’s voice made your head whip around and you gawked at him, a smile lighting up your face.
“Bucky! Hi!”
“Just…” He ran a hand over his face as he made his way to you. “Don’t mov—”
Before he could finish his sentence, you slipped off the fence and Bucky lunged to catch you mid-air. You let out a giggle.
“Great reflexes Sergeant,” you teased him as he gently put you down.
“I need to get a door here,” he mumbled while you batted your lashes at him.
“You’re so pretty.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Um—no,” you said but your swaying made it less convincing than you meant it to. He heaved a sigh and helped you into the house, and you gasped when you saw Alpine rushing to the hallway.
“Alpine!” you exclaimed, your voice high pitched enough to break a glass if you were an opera singer. Bucky winced for a moment, opening his mouth a little and rubbing the spot near his ear as if he was trying to get rid of the ringing while you ran to Alpine to pick her up.
“Hi my beautiful cute precious little princess!” you squealed, pressing kisses on her little head. “Do you know how cute you are? Do you?”
“Mrow?”
“Do you want a princess costume?” you asked her. “I’m gonna get you a princess costume, and then—then like, a mermaid costume because I saw one on the internet—why do you not have your own social media? We should get Caleb look into that!”
“Birdie, sweetheart…”
Alpine held onto your top as if she was bowing to the inevitable while you buried your face into her fur.
“Your father is terrible with social media, but we need to get you your own page and stuff, that’d be fun!”
Bucky came to take Alpine from you and put her down, making you pout.
“Do you think…what do you think Alpine thinks about me?” you asked him while he pulled you under the light, holding your chin between his thumb and pointer to lift your head.
“Darling, look up for me.”
You winced. “Too bright.”
“You didn’t hit your head before I caught you?” he asked and you shook your head. “You sure?”
“Uh huh.”
“What did you drink?”
“Just a couple of cocktails,” you said and giggled. “And a gummy!”
“Candy doesn’t make you drunk, Birdie.”
“No like, it was an edible.”
Bucky raised his brows. “So you’re drunk and high?”
“Barely drunk and barely high.” You waved a hand in the air and he shook his head slightly, pursing his lips.
“Great.”
You made a face when nausea hit you again. “I threw up twice before coming here but if I do throw up, promise me you’re gonna stay outside the bathroom.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s gross and you’re gonna get grossed out and then you’re never gonna want to fuck me again—where are we going?”
“You are going to bed and I’m getting you a glass of water,” he said as he led you to the bedroom and helped you into the bed. You frowned at the ceiling.
“Your ceiling is spinning.”
“That’s just you, Birdie.”
“Can you ask Alpine what she thinks of me?” you mumbled into the pillow and he bit back a smile.
“Mm hm. Wait here, I’ll bring you some water.”
“Mkay,” you murmured, pulling the pillow to yourself as he left the room, and took a deep breath to inhale his cologne on the pillow before you closed your eyes, sleep creeping up on you.
*
You had no idea how much you slept, but when you woke up your head was pounding, you were groggy and tired and in a terrible, terrible mood. A groan left your lips and you tried to get enough saliva in your mouth to swallow, making a face. Bucky, who was probably in the living room now, had made you drink water last night but apparently that wasn’t enough to get rid of your double hangover, so you forced yourself to get out of the bed and stumbled your way to his bathroom, grimacing at your reflection.
You looked like a total mess.
It took you some time to make yourself look presentable but by the time you left the bathroom, you looked considerably better so you made your way to the kitchen where Bucky was talking on the phone.
“No, that’s not what—it’s just a gossip account, I don’t even know why those things exist in the first place!”
Ah.
He looked over his shoulder when he heard you and licked his lips.
“I’ll call you later man,” he muttered and hung up to put the phone on the kitchen island, making you shift in your spot.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
Right.
Okay then, not only were you in a terrible mood, but also things were going to be very tense and weird.
You jerked your head at the phone, trying to play it cool. “Sam?”
“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “He…he saw that stupid post.”
You nibbled on your lip and offered him a weak smile. “Ah.”
“I made coffee if you want?” He motioned at the coffee machine and you sat down on the stool.
“I’d like a cup, thanks.”
He filled you a cup and put it in front of you, and you held the cup between your hands, the warmth seeping to your palms. You tapped your fingernails on the ceramic, both of you in complete silence as if—
As if you were waiting for the storm but neither of you wanted to be the one to start it.
But Bucky did, after a full minute of complete quiet.
“How was your night?”
As subtle as a brick through window, that one.
“It was good,” you muttered. “Yours?”
“Good.”
The pounding in your head was getting even worse and you ran a hand over your face before you took a sip.
“I didn’t know I’m not gonna get drunk meant I’m gonna get high.”
You could swear you could hear the electricity crackling in the kitchen, but you forced yourself to focus and put the mug down, shrugging your shoulders.
“Someone brought gummies,” you said. “It was a party.”
Bucky blinked a couple of times.
“Wait, someone? Not even someone you know?” he asked. “You took an edible from someone you don’t know?”
“Not a stranger, he’s Lucas’s friend.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath as if he was reminding himself to keep it together.
“Birdie, I’m really trying here,” he said, his voice calm as your head shot up. “I thought we agreed—”
“You’re—” you cut him off, gawking at him. “You’re trying?”
Calm down.
Calm the fuck down.
You’re hangover, and you’re angry at the situation, not him.
Bucky paused for a moment like he was taken aback by your reaction and a curt laugh escaped your mouth before you clenched your teeth, pushed the stool back and stood up.
“You know what, it was um…” Your voice was shaking with how badly you were trying to stay calm and collected. “It was a mistake to come here, I’m just gonna go.”
“What?” Bucky asked, confusion pinching his brows. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m hangover, we’re both angry and this is a bad idea, so I should just—”
“I’m not angry.”
“Cut the bullshit Bucky, you’re furious,” you snapped and he huffed out a bitter laugh, his eyes sharpening as he ran a hand over his jaw.
“Well I’m not very thrilled that my girlfriend got drunk and high at a club now that you mention it.”
“No?” you taunted him. “You rushed off to save the damsel in distress and got photographed doing so, do I look thrilled from where you’re standing?”
“For the millionth time, it’s just some gossip page!” he snapped. “Who cares?”
“I care when my boyfriend drops everything to go pick up the woman who, I quote, wants to wine and dine him.”
“She could’ve been in danger! What was I supposed to do, say no?”
“There are like one thousand security guards in that place, yes you were supposed to say no!”
“Like you said no to that party?” he asked back coldly. “Does that prick even know you’re in a relationship?”
“Bucky, you know I can’t!”
“You don’t have to tell him it’s me,” he insisted. “Did you even imply that you’re not single or is he still hoping—”
“Why are you acting like keeping this a secret is my choice?”
He gave you an incredulous look, a dry chuckle spilling from his mouth. “I mean it sure as hell is not my choice.”
“You think this is easy for me?” you asked. “You think it’s fun pretending like everything is fine when she’s flirting with you in front of me, when the whole Capitol was giggling about how much of a power couple you two made last night, when—” You pointed at the door, your voice rising with each word, “When my own fucking mother was talking about just how good you looked together, you think I’m having fun?”
“She what?”
“And hey, you get to treat Lucas like shit,” you said with a hysterical burst of laugh. “Which is fine, do whatever you want, but do you know what would happen if I pulled half of the shit you pulled in public? Two options; I get branded as the unprofessional naïve idiot who has a schoolgirl crush on you, or I’m fucking my way to the top. Do you realize how humiliating it is?”
“I—”
“So my only option when she is flirting with you is to stand there like a—like a goddamn office ornament, like an accessory, which by the way, brings back the memories—” Your voice cracked and you huffed out a laugh, blinking back the tears. “And you’re fucking trying?”
A look of realization dawned on his face. “Birdie…”
“I fucked up, got high and drunk.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Caleb and Kels were there, nothing could ever happen and you know that very well. But don’t fucking pretend like we’re on equal ground here because ever since I met you, I have been listening to the whole country telling me about how good of a couple you make with other women, and although the names of those women keep changing, one thing stays the same; it’s never my name. How’s that for trying?”
A silence fell upon the room and you sniffled, then wiped at your eyes with more force than necessary.
“I can’t, I…” You trailed off, your head still pounding and before you’d had the chance to stop yourself, the words had already left your lips. “I think we need some time.”
That made his head whip up, pure panic flashing in his eyes.
“Wha—Birdie, no.” He shook his head frantically and took a step towards you, his throat bobbing. “No no no, let’s—baby, let’s talk about it, okay?”
“We don’t talk about it though,” you told him with a bitter smile. “Not really. We just fuck it out of our system until the same problem arises, and it keeps happening, and we keep not addressing it.”
His breathing was fast but he kept completely quiet as if you could disappear from his reach at the wrong word, his gaze locked on you as you licked your lips.
“We’ve bent it as far as it goes, Buck,” you rasped out. “Any more and it’ll break.”
He pulled back a little, his eyes growing distant as he pulled his gaze off of you like he was still processing what was happening. It felt like someone was twisting a knife in your chest and you knew just how you were going to start sobbing if you stayed there a moment longer so you took a step, a hysterical laugh climbing your throat.
“I can’t even use the fucking front door…” you muttered and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him there frozen as you passed the hallway, and slammed the backdoor shut behind you.
Summary : He’s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.
The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.
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You sank into the couch, the leather cool beneath your palms as your eyes roamed the room. Shelves lined with books, a neat row of decanters on a low cabinet, a fireplace quietly dormant. But no TV. Your brows pinched slightly. No TV? Of course he wouldn’t. The man didn’t strike you as someone who wasted hours with background noise.
Movement pulled your attention. Bucky returned from the kitchen, the faint sound of porcelain clinking against his rings. He carried two mugs, one black and one white. Without ceremony, he set the white one in front of you. Steam curled upward.
You lifted it cautiously. Mint. Not just mint—your favorite blend, the one you drank after sleepless nights, deadlines, stress. A flicker of surprise warmed your chest. 'How did he...'
Bucky lowered himself into the armchair opposite, his long frame folding with quiet precision. He set his own mug down, leaned back, and crossed one leg over the other. His eyes flicked over you, reading more than you wanted him to. “Seems like you got hit real bad.”
You gave a dry laugh, shaking your head as you cupped the mug between your hands. “Well, imagine being me. Losing a few hundred million overnight.”
His mouth curved in something too sharp to be sympathy. “Doyle, right? The golden boy?”
The smirk cut deeper than any insult. You froze, searching his face. Then it clicked. You inhaled sharply. “You… you knew all along.”
He didn’t answer, not right away. Instead, he reached to the low table beside him, picked up a folder, and held it out. You hesitated before taking it, flipping it open. The pages were a mess of financial breakdowns—overleveraged assets, inflated valuations, hidden liabilities tucked behind shell accounts. The kind of rot no surface-level audit could catch.
Your throat tightened as you scanned line after line. This wasn’t sudden collapse. This was slow decay, disguised as momentum.
“Remember the first time Doyle came to us?” Bucky’s voice was calm, almost conversational.
Of course you remembered. That was the day you’d burst into the meeting, so sure of yourself, throwing in your sharp pitch before anyone else could blink. The day his eyes had really seen you.
“Doyle was a risk-taker who thought short-term wins would cover long-term cracks.” Bucky’s tone was clipped, the kind of language you’d heard in boardrooms. “His cash flow looked strong on the surface, but it was leverage on leverage. No sustainability. I was about to call him out when you cut in.”
Heat rushed to your face, the weight of the folder suddenly heavy in your lap. Your voice came out quieter than you meant. “So it’s all my fault.”
“Your beginner ambition did that.” He leaned back further, watching you with an unnerving stillness. “Like I said—you were lucky before. Luck won’t carry you through every deal.”
The words landed like a scalpel, precise and cutting. You stared down at the numbers again, your chest tightening with a mix of shame and the bitter urge to prove him wrong.
“I’m an idiot,” you said quietly, closing the folder. “That’s why I came here. To ask guidance from the best.” You lifted your eyes and forced a small smile.
Bucky’s mouth twitched, not quite amusement. “Compliments won’t get you anywhere.”
“Really?” you tilted your head, the corner of your lips curving. “My sweet words open a lot of doors for me.”
For the first time, his gaze lingered longer than it should. He knew you weren’t lying. You had that natural pull—charisma, charm, whatever people wanted to call it. You wielded it like a weapon, bending boardrooms, swaying clients, cutting through walls that would’ve taken others years to climb. That was your talent, your magnetism. And as much as he wanted to dismiss it, Bucky couldn’t deny the truth: you drew people in. Including him.
“If you want to solve this Doyle mess…” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice steady and deliberate, “first, stop trying to patch a sinking ship. Fox doesn’t need Doyle’s account—it needs the perception that Fox knows how to manage risk.”
You frowned. “Perception?”
“Yes.” His tone sharpened, businesslike. “You don’t need to save Doyle. You need to pivot. Reframe the narrative. Position Fox as the firm that identified Doyle’s flaws before anyone else did. Make it public that you’re cutting ties on your own terms, not being dragged down with him.”
You blinked. “So… make his downfall my win?”
“Exactly.” He nodded once. “You prepare a clean exit strategy. Draft a statement highlighting Fox’s standards, risk management, responsibility to clients. If you frame it right, investors won’t see failure—they’ll see strength. And your bosses won’t fire you. They’ll think you saved them from a disaster.”
Your lips parted as you considered it. It was ruthless, cold, but brilliant.
Bucky leaned back again, arms folding across his chest. “Doyle’s leverage is toxic. The sooner you cut him loose, the less splashback you get. Don’t go down with him. Make him the cautionary tale, and Fox the hero.”
The realization hit you like lightning, your pulse quickening. “I… I can do that.”
“You can,” he said simply. His eyes flickered to the way your smile broke through, the fire sparking back in your expression. Damn it. That same fire he once had. The one that burned him alive.
You set the folder aside and turned to him with a sly smile. “How can I thank you?”
He tilted his head slightly, suspicious. “By not making the same mistake again.”
But you didn’t listen. Instead, you rose from the couch and crossed the short distance between you. His eyes followed your every step, guarded but unwavering. You stopped beside his chair, then lowered yourself to your knees, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.
Bucky’s breath caught—just for a second. He saw it in your eyes, the raw want mixed with determination. That dangerous mix of ambition and desire. It was almost enough to pull him in. His gaze lingered on your lips, then on your eyes, searching for restraint he barely had left.
The silence between you thickened, a charged stillness that made your chest ache with anticipation. When he raised his hand, your heart leapt—you thought he’d finally close the distance, finally give in. You leaned ever so slightly, hoping.
Instead, his broad palm pressed gently over your eyes, shutting them. His voice was quiet, almost rough. “Go home. I don’t want people gossiping that you spent the night with a business rival.”
Your heart sank, crashing as fast as it had lifted. You stayed still for a moment, caught between humiliation and stubbornness, before you pulled away from his touch. His hand lingered in the air, empty now.
You forced a smirk, though your chest burned. “What if I don’t mind the gossip?”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. God, you were such a sly fox—clever, relentless, always twisting his words into another move on the board. He admired it as much as it infuriated him.
He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m tired,” he said flatly, though the slight rasp in his voice betrayed him. “And it’s late. I don’t want to play word games with you tonight.”
The dismissal cut deep. Still, beneath it, you caught the edge of something else—something he refused to name.
You sighed, dragging your hand down your face, the weight of frustration mingling with a mischievous spark. “I can feel the tension between us,” you muttered, your voice low and coaxing. “Can you at least give me a sexy goodbye?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching. “Sexy goodbye?” he repeated, the words dry on his tongue, like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to ask.
“Yes,” you said firmly, leaning closer with a smirk. “Tell me—what should I do to make you like me?”
For a moment, he just stared at you, as though deciding whether to give you a serious answer or throw one of his usual walls in your face. Finally, he tilted his head and said, “You can start by giving me some space.”
You clutched your chest with exaggerated dramatics, stumbling back as though the words were a dagger. “Ouch. Right in the heart.”
For the first time that evening, he actually chuckled. It wasn’t loud—it never was with him—but it was real, a small crack in the stone. His eyes softened briefly before he looked away, trying to hide it. Inwardly, he admitted something to himself: he liked teasing you. He liked watching how far you’d go, how long you’d push before finally breaking. Every other woman he’d met eventually gave up. You? You looked like you had no quit in you, and that unnerved him as much as it fascinated him.
You stopped at his entrance, your hand resting on the doorframe. He loomed behind you, close enough that you could feel his presence, heavy and inescapable. You turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, your voice carrying a sly edge. “One day, Barnes. You’ll regret letting me walk away like this.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. He just stood there, watching as you stepped out into the night.
You walked down the street, your heels tapping against the pavement, and not once did you glance back. But you didn’t need to—because Bucky didn’t move. He stayed rooted at his doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his eyes tracking your figure until you were swallowed by the dark. Only when you finally disappeared did he shut the door, the quiet echo of it ringing through the empty house.
Meanwhile, your thoughts chased you down the street. It was exhausting, trying to break through to him. Every smile, every tease, every risky move—it all slid off him like rain on glass. You bit your lip, muttering to yourself, “It’s really difficult to make Bucky like me.”
But even through the disappointment, the fire inside you didn’t dim. If anything, his resistance only made you want him more.
*****
The next morning you walked into Fox & Co. with your chin lifted and a confidence you didn’t entirely feel but refused to let anyone question. Your heels clicked against the marble floor like a declaration of war. The receptionist gave you a nervous smile, murmuring that the executives were already waiting in the conference room.
You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was heavy with tension: Fox & Co.’s executives sat in a row, their faces taut, while Doyle lounged back in his chair, wearing that smug grin you had grown to despise. His perfectly tailored suit looked like armor, and the watch on his wrist gleamed like a trophy.
“Ah, our star strategist,” Doyle drawled, gesturing lazily toward the empty chair across from him. “I hope you have answers.”
You met his eyes, not breaking stride as you took your seat. “I always have answers.”
One of the senior executives, Mr. Halpern, cleared his throat, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Let’s not waste time. Doyle, your quarterly reports don’t match the numbers from your subsidiaries. There are discrepancies in liquidity and unexplained expenses.”
Doyle waved a dismissive hand. “Every company has loose ends. That’s why I paid this company, isn’t it?” He turned his grin on you. “So. Fix it.”
The words ignited something sharp in your chest. He was daring you to fail. You leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the polished table. “This isn’t a loose end. This is a crack in the foundation. You’re overleveraged, and your subsidiaries are propping each other up like dominoes. If one tips, the whole structure collapses.”
Murmurs rippled through the executives. Doyle’s grin faltered. “That’s a dramatic metaphor.”
“It’s a fact,” you shot back, pulling out a folder you had spent half the night preparing. You slid it across the table. “Here’s the data trail. Your cash flow is tied up in shell movements. You’re chasing growth with borrowed time. Which means—” you paused, letting them lean in—“you need to pivot. Now.”
Halpern adjusted his glasses, scanning the papers quickly. His brows shot up. “She’s right. If we don’t adjust, in six months this could sink us.”
Doyle leaned back, his jaw tightening. “And your brilliant solution?”
You took a slow breath, feeling the weight of the room tilt toward you. “Liquidate the weakest arm before it drags everything else down. Take the loss, but secure the core. Use the freed capital to reinforce your strongest revenue stream. It’s not glamorous, but it’s survival.”
The executives exchanged looks. One of them, a woman who had barely spoken all meeting, nodded firmly. “It’s aggressive, but it would stabilize us. It buys time. Confidence.”
Doyle’s fingers drummed on the table, his mask slipping for the first time. His grin was gone. “You’re asking me to kill one of my own companies.”
“I’m asking you to save the rest,” you countered.
Silence followed. The weight of the decision hung in the air like a blade. Finally, Halpern leaned forward, his voice steady. “I vote in favor of her solution.”
One by one, the other executives nodded.
Doyle’s jaw clenched, but there was no denying it—the room had shifted. Against his will, the power belonged to you now.
You sat back in your chair, your pulse still racing but your expression calm, collected. You allowed yourself the faintest smile. “That’s why you hired me.”
******
After the meeting, your boss clasped your shoulder with genuine pride. “Well done. That was surgical. You may have just saved us millions.” Doyle only muttered something under his breath, face stormy with resentment. You smiled politely, but your thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Your fingers hovered over your phone as you stepped into the hallway, a half-written message glowing on the screen: You’ll never guess what I pulled off today. But Bucky’s voice echoed in your memory. Give me space. With a sigh, you deleted the draft and slid the phone back into your bag.
By lunchtime, your usual restaurant was crammed with the city’s rush-hour crowd. You turned down a quieter side street and found an Italian place with three empty tables left. The smell of garlic and tomato hit you as you sat down and ordered a pasta and espresso.
Within minutes the place filled up. You glanced toward the entrance and blinked. Familiar blond hair, the sharp profile of a man you hadn’t seen in years.
“Professor Rogers!” you called, raising a hand.
Steve’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be—” He smiled, weaving his way through the tables. “Didn’t expect to see one of my former students running the business world.”
You laughed as he slid into the chair across from you. “I wouldn’t say running. More like stumbling forward at high speed.”
They chatted lightly as the food arrived—work, old classes, a joke about your research paper that nearly broke his grading scale. Then, as he twirled his fork through the pasta, Steve tilted his head. “So… how’s Bucky treating you?”
Your fork froze halfway to your lips. “You knew?”
Steve shrugged, casual but with that twinkle in his eye. “He asked me about you, that’s all.”
The words were enough to ignite a spark in your chest. He asked about me. You leaned forward. “You two are close?”
“We grew up together. If you want to know more about him…” Steve teased.
“Perfect,” you grinned. “Then tell me—why is Bucky like a brick wall? I’ve tried to seduce him more than once. Nothing works.”
Steve nearly choked on his food. “What?!” He coughed into his napkin, grabbed his water, and took a long drink. Wiping his mouth, he gave you a look halfway between disbelief and amusement. “Wow. You don’t hold back, do you?”
You tilted your head, waiting.
Steve exhaled. “Alright. Here’s the thing about Bucky. Women are drawn to him because he’s steady. He works harder than anyone, he doesn’t bend, he doesn’t break. That looks attractive—at first.”
You frowned. “At first?”
“They think they can change him,” Steve said simply. “They fall for the mystery, the control, the way he makes them feel safe. But after a while? That same work ethic, that same focus—they start to resent it. They want more time. More attention. They want him to soften, to give up the drive that defines him. And Bucky… he can’t. He won’t. The job, the pressure—it’s in his bones.”
His words lodged deep in you. You stirred your pasta, suddenly quiet.
Steve leaned back, watching you carefully. “I saw it with every woman he dated. Sweet at the start, full of admiration. But then they tried to turn him into their dream man, someone he wasn’t. When he didn’t change, they blamed him. The last one—his fiancée—left him for someone else. Someone easier.”
You blinked, trying to imagine Bucky at an altar, abandoned. The thought twisted something inside you.
Steve sighed. “That’s why he’s the way he is now. A wall. It’s not that he doesn’t feel. It’s that he learned the hard way he can’t be what those women wanted. And he’s not going to put himself through that again.”
You set your fork down, your appetite gone. For the first time, the chase you’d been so proud of felt fragile, complicated. If what Steve said was true, maybe this wasn’t just a game to win. Maybe you were trying to scale a wall built from scars.
You leaned forward, determination sparking again. “I’m not like them.”
Steve gave a quiet laugh, not mocking but heavy with memory. “Every woman who came before you said the same thing.”
Your chest tightened. “But I mean it. I don’t want him to change.”
“You say that now,” Steve replied, his voice calm, steady, like a professor correcting a student. “But wait until you’re the one left alone at midnight while he’s still at the office. Wait until you’ve had three dinners grow cold, waiting for him to walk through the door. At first, you’ll tell yourself you admire his dedication. Then you’ll start to feel neglected. That admiration curdles into resentment faster than you think.”
You swallowed hard, the words striking too close.
Steve leaned in, lowering his voice. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it. Maybe you can. But Bucky doesn’t believe anyone can. That’s why he keeps the wall up. It’s not indifference—it’s survival. He’s protecting himself from the cycle repeating again.”
For a moment you couldn’t find your voice. The noise of the restaurant blurred into the background, the clatter of dishes, the hum of conversation all fading.
Finally, you said, almost in a whisper, “Then how do I prove I’m different?”
Steve held your gaze, kind but unflinching. “That’s not a question for me. That’s a question for him. But let me warn you—Bucky doesn’t open doors for anyone who knocks. He only unlocks them when he decides it’s worth the risk.”
His words sank deep, heavier than you wanted to admit. You stabbed at your pasta without tasting it, your thoughts spinning. The chase suddenly felt sharper, more dangerous.
*****
That night, lying in bed, the ceiling felt too close, like it was pressing down on you. Steve’s words wouldn’t leave your head, replaying in a loop until they pierced through your stubborn pride.
You realized something brutal: you had never really seen Bucky. Not fully. Not the man, with his flaws, his history, his scars. You only saw the figure you wanted him to be—the mentor, the idol, the untouchable prize. You painted him in the colors of your ambition, and it blinded you.
You thought you were different. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you were just another voice trying to tell him he should be more, or less, or someone else entirely. That’s what broke him before. No wonder he recoiled.
A quiet laugh escaped you, bitter and sharp. “Idolizing is just another kind of cage,” you whispered to the dark. And you’d been the one trying to lock him in.
Bucky was right. He didn’t need your admiration, your stubborn chase, or your endless games. He needed space. And maybe… so did you.
Because if you were honest, you hadn’t given yourself room to breathe either. You had been sprinting since the day you walked into his office, trying to prove something—to him, to yourself, maybe to the whole damn world. You didn’t stop to ask if you even knew who you were outside of that chase.
Your chest ached, but there was a strange clarity in it. If you wanted to stand in front of him one day as an equal, it couldn’t be as his shadow. You needed to live, to fail, to succeed, to see the world with your own eyes, not through his reflection.
For the first time in months, you let yourself close your eyes without a plan, without a scheme, without a line prepared for tomorrow. Just one thought carried you into sleep:
'I’ll stop chasing. For now. And if fate is kind, when we meet again, he’ll see me—not the girl who idolized him, but the woman who learned to stand on her own.'
Author’s Note: Hey guys, sorry for the delay. There’s been ongoing protests in my country, and every night I get stuck in traffic becauae the protesters blocked the road. By the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to write.
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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle.
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Summary : He’s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.
The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.
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"Didn't think you'd make it," you tease, your voice a low murmur meant only for him. "Thought you'd be too busy brooding in the shadows."
He doesn't smile. He barely even looks at you. "Wouldn't want to disappoint," he says, his tone clipped and dry. He takes a long sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the room, purposefully avoiding yours. He acts like you're a minor inconvenience, a fly to be swatted away.
You simply laugh, a warm, melodic sound that draws the attention of a few nearby guests. “Oh, you never do,” you say, stepping closer. You lean in, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “I have a feeling you never disappoint at all.”
He finally turns his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. The air between you becomes charged, a silent challenge passing between you. He still doesn’t flinch, his expression a mask of indifference. “Find someone else,” he says, his voice flat. "I'm not the man for you."
It was a physical blow, a solid punch to your chest that steals your breath. You won't let him see the pain. You take a slow sip of champagne, the bubbles doing little to soothe the sting.
You straighten your posture, a confident, knowing smile still on your face. "If you want to fight."
Bucky’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn't move, but his shoulders tense, a readiness for a confrontation that has nothing to do with fists. His dark eyes lock onto yours, giving nothing away. He knows you're not talking about a brawl. He knows exactly what you’re offering.
"Let's do it," you say, your voice low and husky, a promise in the air between you. "Because I want you to be mine."
He looks away, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he gestures to the crowd. “There's many choices here. Pick one.” His gaze sweeps over the room filled with old money and the new money climbing their way to the top.
Your eyes follow his gesture, but you shake your head, a small, genuine smile curving your lips. “They’re not as handsome as you.”
Bucky scoffs, a sound that's half-annoyance, half-amusement. “What about Doyle?” He points with his chin to a man across the room, surrounded by executives. Doyle, a poster child for new money, holds court, his confidence radiating.
You look at him, at his perfectly tailored suit and his easy charm. He is handsome, undeniably so. But something about him irritates you—a mirror image of the very confidence you project. You turn back to Bucky and find him watching you, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
“You don’t think he deserves you.” The words are a quiet taunt.
The smirk. You despise that smirk, the way it makes your insides twist. The way he knows you so well, sees through all your armor. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.
"Stop looking at me like I'm a prize." His voice is low, a hard edge to it that cuts through your teasing nature completely. He's not playing this game anymore. His posture shifts, his body language an open challenge.
You set your champagne glass on the bar counter behind him with a finality that feels like a gauntlet thrown. “Well, since you want to see me with another man, so be it.”
You turn and walk away, the graceful glide of your dress cutting a path through the throng of people. Your eyes scan the room until you spot Julian, a quiet but successful tech mogul known for his reserved demeanor and his deep, intelligent eyes. He's the opposite of Doyle and his flashy confidence, and that's exactly why you choose him. He's the kind of man Bucky would see as a genuine threat. You want to make him know exactly what he's missing.
Jimmy, ever perceptive, sidles up to Bucky again. “I could feel the tension from the other galaxy.”
Bucky scoffs, a dry, dismissive sound, but his eyes are fixed on you, on the way your hand rests on Julian’s arm, on the easy smile Julian gives you.
"Why did you let her go? I could see that…” Jimmy’s voice trails off as Bucky’s gaze turns into a sharp, cold glare. Geez, why does Bucky always scare me, even though I'm the one who owns the company? Jimmy thinks to himself, backing away slightly.
Bucky ignores him, his eyes dropping to the bar counter. The half-empty glass you were drinking from stands there. He looks at the tip of the rim, where a faint print of your lipstick remains. A slow, knowing smirk replaces the glare. “She’ll come back.”
Jimmy just stares, baffled.
Bucky pats Jimmy's shoulder, a gesture that feels more like a final word than a friendly sign-off. “I’ll go back first,” he says, and without another word, he turns and leaves.
You see him from across the room, his broad back disappearing into the crowd. A sudden, cold wave of disappointment washes over you. The confident act shatters for a split second. All of this—the flirtatious words, the dramatic walk-away, the calculated choice of Julian—was all for him. And he just walked away.
The game was supposed to end with him chasing you. He was supposed to feel the ache of jealousy, the sting of your absence. Instead, he simply left. You feel a pang of genuine hurt, the kind that can only come from a high-stakes gamble that didn’t pay off. You’ve won the room, but you're losing the war.
****
The city is yours.
Fox and Co. is a wildfire, and you are the flame. You’re pulling in clients, winning pitches with ease, and every room lights up when you walk in. The buzz follows you from one high-rise to the next. Whispers become murmurs, and murmurs become public comparisons. "The young star" versus "the seasoned veteran." Bucky versus you.
At industry events, executives link your names together like two halves of a sentence. "Barnes has experience," they say, "but she’s the future."
In his office, the quiet hum of the city a distant drone, Jimmy stands with a familiar frown. “Didn’t your ego get hurt?” he asks, watching his friend. He knows Bucky is competitive, a man who doesn’t lose well.
Bucky doesn’t look up from the documents he’s reviewing. “She’s smart and she’s thriving. What’s there to be mad about?”
“Exactly,” Jimmy says, throwing his hands up in a frustrated gesture. “I'm blaming you for letting her go.”
Bucky finally lifts his head, his gaze steady and intense. “She hasn’t hit the wall yet.”
“Excuse me?” Jimmy says, his confusion clear.
Bucky leans back in his chair, the leather groaning softly. “Right now, she’s flying. Every door opens for her. She hasn't had a single major failure. She's running on pure momentum and luck. She hasn’t had a real problem to solve yet.” He taps the documents on his desk, the sound sharp and final.
“You could’ve taught her that here,” Jimmy insists, a hint of desperation in his voice.
Bucky lets out a humorless laugh. “It would have complicated things when she developed feelings for me.” He gestures to the office around him. “Besides, this company forbids romance between employees.”
Jimmy's thoughts race. Is he serious? He’s always been so buttoned-up about office policy. But to let go of that kind of talent, for… feelings? He’s either completely full of it, or he really did feel something. The man is an enigma.
“Especially with interns. It would have overcomplicated everything,” Bucky adds, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
Jimmy throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I get it. I give up.”
“And for Doyle,” Bucky says, pushing a thick folder across the desk.
“That name still gives me nightmares,” Jimmy groans, rubbing his temples. Doyle was supposed to be their biggest catch this year, a massive account they’d spent months courting. Then, out of the blue, he cut the contract and willingly paid the hefty penalty.
“The numbers aren’t good. He’s a sinking ship.” Bucky says.
Jimmy opens the folder and his eyes widen. He looks at the financials, the projections, and the hidden liabilities. Then he looks at Bucky, a slow smile spreading across his face. “It’s true what they say. Silence is golden.”
Bucky simply nods in agreement. He turns his chair to face the window, the city stretching out below him. He watches the tiny cars move like ants, a vast, complex machine. He wonders if you’re out there, in one of those buildings, still riding the high. He wonders how you’ll handle it when the wall finally comes, when the luck runs out, and a real problem lands on your desk.
He wonders how long you can keep flying before you fall.
*****
The fall from the sky is jarring. For the first time, the lights aren't illuminating a path for you; they're blinding you. The wall you've heard so much about is finally here, and it's a cold, unforgiving slab of concrete.
The problem has a name: Doyle.
He was the "biggest catch," a client you'd brought in with the kind of confidence that made your name a whispered legend in boardrooms. His numbers looked solid on paper, a perfect, rising graph. But the deeper you dig, the more you realize it's all a fabrication. His books are a labyrinth of shell companies and overinflated assets. A ghost ship floating on a sea of debt. You've been trying to find the data hole, a single point of truth to expose the fraud, but every lead is a dead end.
Your team looks to you, their faces a mixture of expectation and quiet fear. But you have no answers. The confident smile you wear has become a brittle mask.
Fox’s executives, who once praised you as the future, now stand back, their message clear: You brought this on yourself. You handle it. The pressure mounts, higher and higher, a suffocating weight on your shoulders. The calls from Doyle’s team are evasive, and the emails are filled with legal jargon designed to intimidate.
You've always had a solution. Always. But this time, you have nothing. The fierce, determined confidence that has defined you for so long is gone, replaced by a hollow echo of panic. You fight it, digging deeper into the numbers, spending days and nights at your desk, but it’s no use. You are losing. The feeling is alien, terrifying.
Eventually, the resistance breaks. Your pride, a formidable shield, shatters. You turn off your computer, the screen’s reflection showing a woman you barely recognize. Defeated. You grab your jacket, the familiar weight on your shoulders a small comfort, and walk out of the building. The city lights are a blur as you make your way to your car, a single destination in mind.
****
At his house, Bucky is on his couch, a sports game playing on the TV. He sips a beer, the evening a rare moment of peace.
The doorbell rings. A quick glance at the CCTV screen has him doing a double-take. "What the…?" he mutters, setting his beer down. He walks to the door, a mix of disbelief and curiosity on his face. He opens the door quickly, his eyes immediately going to your back. "How did you find my…?"
He stops cold when you turn around. Under the stark light of the street lamp, he sees it. The exhaustion etched into your face, the defeat in your shoulders, and in your eyes, a glistening sheen of unshed tears. The usual fire is gone, replaced by a quiet desperation.
You look at him, your voice softer than he's ever heard it. "I need your help."
Your voice, stripped of its usual bravado, hits him harder than any challenge. In that single moment, he knows the walls you built are finally down, and for the first time, he sees the real you. And a dark, possessive satisfaction curls in his gut. This is exactly where he wanted you to be.
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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle.
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A little follow-up to yesterday's Towel 😏 This time, you're in search of toothpaste.
Warnings: nudity, flirty Bucky
Word Count: 500
Bucky Masterlist
It was days later. Weeks even. Nothing had happened. Nothing was going to happen.
You'd put it so far to the back of your mind that you only really remembered it when he held you eye for a second too long.
As if he was remembering what was underneath your threadbare ABBA t-shirt.
You yanked that same t-shirt over your head and went to brush your teeth. Yelena had big plans which involved knife shopping of all things.
The toothpaste was looking a little low, but surely there would be enough to just squeeze out for you to use.
After squishing and smushing the tube, it became clear that was not going to happen.
You left your door wide open, skipped Bob's room - he always pinched everyone else's and was likely the reason you had no toothpaste in the first place - and went to Bucky's room.
You knocked firmly - loudly - and gave the door a little push.
“Hey, you in? Can I borrow -”
You stopped.
His door swung shut behind you.
He was in the doorway to the bathroom - towel in hand, drying his hair.
The only towel.
Your eyes landed exactly where they shouldn't and widened like saucers.
“Holy shit.”
The ceiling.
You looked up, your chin decidedly pointing up enough to make it clear that you definitely weren't looking at Bucky.
Naked Bucky.
“Something you need?” He asked, the amusement very clear in his voice.
That smug bastard.
“No! Nope, I will go to Lena instead. I didn't see anything.”
“You absolutely did.” He echoed you, but sounded far happier about it.
Oh. Is that how it's gonna be? You bit the bullet, determined not to let him have the upper hand.
You looked down from the ceiling and held his eye.
Then you let your gaze drop - slowly, deliberately, taking your fill from head to toe before meeting his eyes again with a steady look.
“Ok, I guess I did. So now we're even.”
“Even, huh?” He leaned against the doorframe, towel loose in his hand, clearly not worried about modesty.
You stayed fixed on his face, not that that was really much help.
His hair was damp, curling at his temple, a bead of water sliding down his chest.
“Yep.” You crossed your arms, tilting your head like you were the one in control. “Besides, I didn’t see anything worth remembering.”
That earned you a sharp bark of laughter. He shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Am I though?” You mused with a shrug.
“Uh-huh.” He dragged the towel slowly over his shoulder, his smirk widening as your throat went dry. “But, y'know, if it helps you sleep at night, doll?”
You turned, aiming for the door. “There's nothing keeping me up at night, Barnes. Don't you worry about that.”
Behind you came his laugh again - low, husky, and totally unbothered.
“Funny,” he murmured, not even pretending to hide his grin, “’cause I’ve been up every night thinkin’ about you.”
You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on you as you escaped, but you felt it anyway, seared between your shoulder blades.
what's next? he sees her eating ice cream but reader's not fast enough so he decides he needs to help her before she makes a mess? ya know, like a good teammate making sure the communal spaces stay clean!!!
Summary : He’s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.
The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.
Character : boss!Bucky x rival!FemaleReader
Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -
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You didn’t bother to collect your things from your desk. Let them throw it all away. If your notes, your pens, your favorite mug meant nothing to them, then fine. You told yourself it meant nothing to you too.
On the way down in the elevator, you still believed it. You held your phone in your hand, thumb hovering, then deliberately blocked every contact connected to the office. No late-night messages. No half-hearted “keep in touch.” Clean cut. Clean break.
But when the doors slid open into the lobby, it hit you.
This was it. You wouldn’t walk through these glass doors again. You wouldn’t stop by the café across the street before morning meetings, or hear the low chatter of your colleagues as they teased each other on Fridays. You wouldn’t see their faces at all.
And worst of all—you wouldn’t see him.
Bucky.
Your idol. Your impossible crush. The man who had been the reason you pushed harder, worked longer, studied until your eyes burned. You’d come every morning knowing he was upstairs, and now—he was nothing more than someone you’d once worked under.
The pressure in your chest broke. Your eyes blurred hot and wet, and you muttered under your breath, “Fuck.” The tears came faster than you could wipe them away.
People passing through the lobby slowed their steps, eyes flicking toward you, curiosity sharp and unkind. You turned away quickly, fumbling in your bag with trembling fingers. At last, you pulled out a face mask and slid it over your mouth, then dug deeper for your sunglasses. Your mother’s voice echoed in your memory—her insistence that you should always carry them. You used to laugh, call it unnecessary, even silly. Now you slipped them on with shaky hands and felt, for the first time, grateful. At least they hid the mess of your face.
Your heels clicked across the marble floor. The glass doors opened with a whoosh, spilling you out into the street, into the bright light of day that felt too sharp, too indifferent.
You stopped once at the curb, lifting your gaze toward the steel and glass tower. Your throat closed around the words, but you forced them out anyway, soft and final.
“Goodbye.”
You turned away before your tears could fall again, and this time you didn’t look back.
*****
Bucky pushed through the glass doors of the office, the morning light still clinging to his shoulders. Habit made his eyes flick to the desk outside his office. Empty. No bright smile waiting.
No cheerful “Good morning” followed by the inevitable question if he wanted coffee.
The desk sat too neat, too still, like it hadn’t been touched in days.
“It’s rare for our intern to come late,” Marlon said, falling into step behind him.
“She’s not coming anymore,” Bucky’s secretary replied without looking up, her fingers still flying across her keyboard.
Marlon frowned, pausing in the hallway. “Does that mean her internship is over? She didn’t want to continue?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “That’s a shame. We really need people like her. Competent.”
“She wasn’t supposed to stay.” Bucky’s voice was even, clipped. He adjusted his cufflinks as if the motion could steady him, then added, quieter, “This place isn’t for her.”
Marlon blinked, taken aback. But Bucky didn’t wait for a reply. He pushed open his office door and closed it firmly behind him.
Marlon glanced at the secretary, gesturing vaguely toward the shut door. “What’s up with him?”
She only shrugged, eyes still on her screen.
“Is he mad she isn’t making his coffee anymore?” Marlon muttered, half-joking, though his tone carried genuine curiosity.
The secretary gave him nothing.
Marlon shook his head and walked away, still baffled.
Inside the office, Bucky set his bag down on the desk and stared at the stack of files waiting for him. Logic told him this was how it worked—interns came and went. He’d seen it a hundred times. But for some reason, the silence outside his office felt heavier than usual.
A sharp knock broke through his thoughts. He didn’t need to look at the door to know who it was.
“Hey, hey… what’s up, buddy?” Jimmy’s voice was all forced lightness as he pushed the door open.
Bucky didn’t answer. He kept his gaze fixed on his computer screen, scrolling through a report he wasn’t really reading.
Jimmy strolled inside anyway, hands in his pockets. “Little birdie told me someone walked out of this office crying this morning.”
That made Bucky’s eyes flick up, just for a second.
Jimmy snapped his fingers, grinning like he’d won a bet. “Aha. I knew it. You fired her.” He pointed a finger right at him.
Bucky said nothing at first. He didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. His jaw just tightened.
“Why, Bucky?” Jimmy leaned against the edge of the desk, searching his face. “Why? She’s the reason Doyle even chose us.”
“The deal’s already locked,” Bucky said evenly. “Proposal’s in, signatures pending. Contract execution phase doesn’t rely on her anymore.” His tone was matter-of-fact, almost bored. “It’s set and sailed. That’s the business.”
Jimmy groaned and dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. “I don’t get you, man. She could’ve been the next rainmaker. You don’t see people like that often. Driven. Sharp. Makes clients lean in when she talks.”
Bucky leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. “Potential doesn’t guarantee longevity. And if someone burns too fast, they burn out. You want stability, not fireworks.”
Jimmy shook his head, exasperated. “Well, I trust your judgment. Always have. And I won’t push it.” He raised both hands in surrender, backing away from the desk. “But still… seems like a waste.”
Without waiting for a reply, he slipped out the door, leaving Bucky alone with the weight of silence again.
The folder hit the desk with a hard thud, the sound rattling in the silence of his office. Papers slid askew, but Bucky didn’t care. He pressed his hands to the wood, head bowed for a moment before he exhaled through his teeth.
Why the hell was everyone painting him as the villain?
He knew exactly why he let you go. He wasn’t blind. The way you looked at him wasn’t professional — it was sharper, hungrier. Hero worship laced with something reckless. Like he was both your idol and your prize.
And to him, that was poison.
Because he’d lived that stage of life already. Young. Fresh. Too many doors flung open just because he was ambitious enough to shove his way through. He thought effort alone would protect him. He thought he was untouchable. Until the crash came — layoffs, failures, a string of gut punches that taught him how hard the world really hit. That was what made him cautious. That was what carved the steel into his bones.
You hadn’t had that yet. You were still unscarred. You still believed success bent to willpower. The age gap wasn’t just ten years — it was the distance between someone who still believed, and someone who knew better. And he knew the moment you tasted heartbreak — the real kind, the kind that cracks you open and leaves you crawling — you’d move on. You’d forget him. He was sure of it.
And the truth? His department didn’t have a place for you anyway. There was one open role, but it needed someone seasoned, someone battle-tested. Not you. Not yet. Keeping you on would’ve been a dead end, no matter how brilliant you were.
So yes, he ended it. Clean, final, surgical.
Because in his mind, letting you go wasn’t cruelty. It was the only way to force you forward. A sharp mind like yours didn’t deserve to sit in limbo as someone’s intern. You deserved a company that would pay you, fight for you, challenge you.
But as he looked down at the folder he’d slammed shut, his jaw tight, Bucky hated the taste of his own decision. On paper, it was perfect logic. Unshakable.
And yet… he could still hear the faint echo of your heels walking out.
*****
It had been three days since you’d been fired, and the walls of your apartment were starting to feel like they were shrinking in on you. Curtains drawn, dishes stacking, and the couch had become your coffin. Blanket cocooned around you, popcorn in one hand, half-melted ice cream in the other. You hadn’t stepped outside, hadn’t even thought about it.
Your roommate, finally out of patience, sent for backup.
The door burst open without warning. Ivy didn’t just walk in — she stormed in, every step echoing like she was hitting her mark onstage. A theater actress to her core, she flung her arms wide, her coat swinging like she was about to break into song.
“Where’s the dead girl?”
Your roommate pointed at the couch.
Ivy gasped. You could almost hear the orchestra sting behind it. “Oh my god. Who hurt you?”
You didn’t bother sitting up. Your voice was flat, muffled through popcorn. “My crush fired me. He hates me.”
Ivy clutched her chest like the drama queen she was. “No, babe. He didn’t fire you. He ejected you from mediocrity.” She was pacing now, hands in the air like she was preaching to the gods. “He was like, ‘Fly, my queen. This office chair cannot contain your greatness.’ He knew that company couldn’t handle your legendary stats. So he set you free so the world could witness your power.”
You stared at her, spoon dangling from your lips. “…I think you need therapy.”
“I’m literally your therapy.” She plopped down beside you, prying the ice cream out of your grip.
You sulked deeper into the blanket. “I don’t think I can do this. He hates me.”
“No,” Ivy said firmly, pointing her spoon at you like it was a sword. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just… allergic to excellence. And unfortunately for him, you radiate it like secondhand smoke.”
You let out a weak laugh, but it died quick. “I turned down Fox and Co. for him. Do you get that? I could’ve had a real offer, but instead I became an intern so I could work with him. Isn’t my sacrifice enough?”
Ivy tilted her head, studying you like she was about to deliver a monologue. “Listen to me. Men like that? They don’t fall for sacrifice. They fall for gravity. For power. He doesn’t want someone orbiting him — he wants someone who can tilt the whole damn universe.”
Your chest went tight. “…So I should become Saturn.”
“Exactly!” Ivy clapped, nearly knocking over the popcorn bowl. “Rings. Aura. Moons. The whole celestial package. Let him choke on his own atmosphere while you glow like you were born to.”
You groaned, dragging the blanket over your face. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Babe, nothing about you is easy,” Ivy said, tugging the blanket down. Her eyes softened, even if her tone stayed dramatic. “But you’re bigger than this heartbreak. You don’t see it yet, but one day you’re gonna laugh about crying over a man who couldn’t even match your spreadsheets.”
That made you snort, though your throat ached.
Ivy leaned in closer. “Now get up. Shower. We’re going to the spa. It’s time to treat yo’self. Rebirth montage, baby.”
From the kitchen, your roommate called, “Can I join?”
Both of you shouted back without hesitation. “Of course!”
Hours later, the three of you lay in warm robes, cucumber water sweating on the little side tables. Your skin smelled of lavender, steam still clinging to your hair, your muscles unwinding for the first time in days.
The weight in your chest had lifted, not gone, but lighter. Enough that you could finally breathe.
You picked up your phone, thumb hesitating only a second before you hit the call button.
“Hi,” you said when the line clicked. “Is the offer still available?”
*****
Six months later, the ballroom shimmered with low golden light and the quiet hum of moneyed voices. A private gathering, only the highest tier of executives allowed through the doors. Crystal glasses clinked, deals were murmured between sips of wine, and every corner carried the quiet weight of power.
Bucky stood near the edge of the room, listening without listening. Jimmy, ever the social one, leaned on the marble bar beside him, swirling his drink with careless ease.
“Fox and Co. made insane improvements this quarter,” someone across the table said. “Their profits? Off the charts. And get this—every employee got bonuses. All of them.”
Jimmy grimaced. “Don’t let my employees hear that.” He lifted his glass, muttering into the rim. “Fox and Co. also seduced one of our clients. Doyle.”
That made a ripple of murmurs around the circle.
“Really?” a guest asked, surprised.
Bucky’s expression didn’t shift. He kept his gaze steady, unreadable, though the name lodged like stone in his chest.
“I heard it’s because of the new strategist they hired,” another chimed in. “She’s incredible.”
That word — strategist — caught him off guard. His eyes flicked up, searching.
“Ooh,” someone said suddenly, nodding toward the entrance. “That’s her.”
The room shifted. All eyes turned toward the doorway as a new figure stepped in.
You.
The air seemed to tighten as you crossed the threshold, walking just behind the CEO of Fox and Co. and his wife. Draped in a sleek dress that spoke of restraint and precision, not flash, you carried yourself with an ease that was almost dangerous. No more the intern clinging to the edges of someone else’s spotlight — now, you stood in the center of it.
Strategic Development Lead, that's your title now.
For half a second, Bucky’s composure cracked. Shock flickered across his face before discipline forced it back down. He’d known you were talented, stubborn even. But this? You had turned yourself into something untouchable.
Beside him, Jimmy caught the reaction he didn’t voice. He nudged Bucky’s shoulder with a knowing grin. “Isn’t that your intern?”
Bucky didn’t answer. His pulse ticked in his jaw.
“I told you we shouldn’t have let her go,” Jimmy muttered, frustration lining his voice. Then he left him standing there, gritting his teeth as he moved deeper into the crowd.
But Bucky didn’t move. He couldn’t. His gaze stayed locked on you, watching the way executives angled their bodies toward you, eager for your attention. You smiled, exchanged handshakes, owned every corner you stepped into. The kind of presence people built careers trying to fake.
And then your eyes found his.
You didn’t hesitate. You crossed the floor with measured grace, every step deliberate until you were standing in front of him.
“Now look what you made me do,” you said softly, a smile touching your lips but not your eyes.
Bucky’s throat went tight. He said nothing, but inside, something shifted. A tension he hadn’t let himself name.
“You shouldn’t have thrown me away,” you continued, voice steady, confident. “Look what I’ve done for Fox and Co.”
He stared, silent, while your words landed like a strike he deserved.
And in the quiet, your thought burned unspoken: If this doesn’t impress you, I don’t know what ever will.
Bucky’s chest tightened. He should have felt only logic, the reassurance of choices made, the cold distance of reason. Instead, all he could see was the fire in your eyes, the way you carried yourself now — and all he could feel was the sharp pull of regret tangled with something heavier.
For the first time, James Buchanan Barnes began to realize he wasn’t just watching you. He was drawn to you.
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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle.Check it out!Link for Arrogant Ex-HusbandAmazon.comLink for Dad I Can't Let You GoAmazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store
i hope it burns, barnes. i hope it buuuuuuuuuuurns.
i need him to crawl on his knees for her pls. he needs to grovel in such a way all man-made sins are forgiven and we reach utopia. like. can you make him cry, too? ahhhhhhhhhhhh 😂
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader
Summary: Secret relationships come with possessiveness.
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, MDNI.
Word Count: 5.1k
Series Masterlist
You should’ve known Sam would be proven right about secret relationships being difficult sooner than later but in your defense, you were too distracted to even think about that.
Or too lovesick.
Either or.
“I’m begging you to pick a couch.”
You slurped on your milkshake, your eyes darting over your phone screen before you stole a look in the direction of the open kitchen, then slipped a little on Bucky’s couch to make yourself comfortable.
“Hm?”
“Couch.”
“I told you,” you murmured while you typed your reply to an email, “a couch is a huge commitment.”
“It’s a piece of furniture,” Bucky insisted. “Arguably the most important one for your comfort in the living room.”
“We have pillows in the living room.” You put your phone down when he turned to grab the brown takeout bag from the kitchen island, and you shot him an overly innocent smile. “They’re comfy.”
“I’ll buy you the couch, just tell me what kind.”
“Also no.”
“Great, then I’ll ask Caleb and—stop working.”
Your head shot up and you frowned at his back while he poured the fries from the bag into a plate, not even looking at you.
“Do you have eyes on the back of your head?”
“You’re very obvious,” he corrected you and walked past the kitchen island to fling himself on the couch, then put the plates on the small table and held out his hand. You pouted your lips, huffing out a breath.
“Just one email!”
“Nope, because just one email will turn into a whole meeting via emails.” He curled his fingers, motioning for your phone. “Come on. We said we’d separate work and this.”
You groaned and handed him the phone.
“Thank you,” he said, putting it on the table as well and his eyes widened when you grabbed a fry to dip it into your milkshake. “Birdie, what…?”
You grinned. “Hold on, you haven’t tried this before?”
“I doubt anyone has,” he stated while you popped the fry in your mouth.
“You should try it.”
“That looks disgusting.”
“It’s delicious!” You dipped another fry and held it up for him. “Try it!”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He took a bite of his own food and you shrugged your shoulders.
“Your loss, Barnes,” you muttered as you snuggled closer to him and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to his chest. A smile pulled at your lips while you chewed on the fry, then tucked your legs under you and turned the TV on.
“I still cannot believe you don’t have any subscriptions.” You changed the channels. “I mean honestly—”
You stopped talking when you came across a news channel that was livestreaming Valentina Allegra De Fontaine’s press release about some CIA mission. You tilted your head when you saw Mel at the corner of the frame and pointed at the screen with the remote.
“She’s nice,” you commented and Bucky shot you a quizzical glance.
“De Fontaine?”
“No, Mel,” you said. “Her assistant. I met her at the ball, she gave me mints because I was puking my guts out.”
He gave your arm an assuring squeeze. “She sounds nice.”
“I haven’t met De Fontaine though.”
“I have,” Bucky muttered and you raised your brows.
“And the verdict?”
“I don’t trust her,” he said. “She’s hiding something.”
“I’d say the head of the CIA is known to hide things.”
“Not because of the CIA,” he said. “Gary thinks she’s corrupt.”
You blinked a couple of times. “Oh she definitely—hold on, Congressman Gary? He said that?”
“Mm hm. Elkins too.”
You sat up straight to see him better. “Elkins? As in, Congresswoman for decades Elkins?”
“Yeah.”
“Did they say corrupt how?”
“Shadow ops.”
You let out a whistle and stole a look at the screen again. “Oh, that means she’s in trouble.”
“This counts as you working—”
“Do they have documentation to prove she’s corrupt?” you cut him off and he shook his head.
“Not yet, but they’re on it,” he said. “And to repeat, we said we’d leave work at work—”
“And I told you I can’t just quit cold turkey.” You brushed him off and grabbed your phone. “Just give me one sec—yeah, there we go. This makes perfect sense.”
“What?”
You turned the screen so that he could see it better.
“My mom and dad used to throw these Christmas parties,” you said. “At first it was about entertainment for my mom, then it became a meddling opportunity for the corrupt and rich thanks to my dad. He kept the tradition even after the blip, with my mom gone—”
“Wait, you haven’t told me that,” he interrupted you. “She was snapped?”
“Mm hm.” You offered him a small smile. “I’m telling you, if it were my dad instead of my mom, politics would’ve been in a much better condition right now. I mean don’t get me wrong, my dad has always been corrupt but when my mom was out of the picture, there was nothing holding him back. He put all his attention on his work and…voila. He has the majority of political people in his pocket.”
“Were you okay?”
You scrunched up your nose. “It was hard at first,” you admitted. “It’s fine now— but look who’s in the picture. This is after Blip.”
Bucky frowned at the screen. “You’re saying your father has something on her?”
“I’m saying you don’t just get invited to these parties unless you work with or for my father. She is smart and ambitious, so my guess is they did work together at one point or another. Has to be something off the books because now that I think about it, my father’s assistant said something about her visiting my dad’s vacation house one time when she called me to ask whether I’d be visiting in the holidays.”
“And this picture is while your mother was gone?”
“Mm hm.”
“Any chance that whole work thing evolved into something else?”
“Oh, no way.” You shook your head. “Listen, my father is evil as fuck, he technically falls under the definition of a war criminal with the bills and the people he has funded and he manipulates anyone and everyone, but if there is one thing that I can be sure of is that he genuinely loves my mom. Even during the blip, he didn’t look at another woman twice.”
“You’re that sure of it?”
“That’s his one redeeming quality, believe it or not,” you murmured and tapped on the screen. “It’s work related. The only question is, whether he has something on her or whether they’re working together.”
Bucky looked to be deep in thought.
“Do you think Gary or Elkins could use your father to—”
“Impossible,” you said with a chuckle. “Nope.”
“Even if he gets affected when it comes out she’s corrupt?”
“My father doesn’t get affected by anything, in any possible scenario. He has too much power, the system is not gonna work against him.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Trust me, it took me some time to deal with that fact but…”
When he saw the expression on your face, he gave you a small smile and gently pulled the phone out of your hand.
“Still counts as working,” he said as if giving you a secret, coaxing a laugh out of you. “Change the channel.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, and changed the channel.
“Okay, we have…horror movie, news channel, rom com, Sinatra documentary—oh my God, I totally forgot!” You jumped on your feet, making him pull his brows together.
“What is happening?”
“You distracted me with sex when I first got here so I forgot—I have something for you!” you called out as you rushed to the hallway to find the large tote bag you had more or less thrown on the floor the moment Bucky had pulled you into a kiss, then made your way back into the living room to stand in front of Bucky with a huge grin. Bucky looked entertained already as he gave a look at the tote bag you were hugging to your chest, his lips curling into a smile.
“What’s that?” he asked as he got up from the couch and you took a deep breath.
“So,” you said, rocking on the balls of your feet. “You remember how you were trying to make me feel better after that attack back in New York, and we discovered we both listen to Billie Holliday? And Ella Fitzgerald?”
“Of course I remember.”
“And I was thinking, dating stuff changes in time, right? For example, back in 80s people used to make mixed cassette tapes, and then it turned into CDs, nowadays we just make playlists but you’re not overly fond of digital stuff.”
He nodded his head and you gave him a bright smile, then pulled out the cardboard sleeve out of the tote bag.
“So I got you a mixed vinyl!”
His jaw dropped as he took the cardboard sleeve from you, then pulled out the vinyl carefully as if it was made of precious glass, letting out a breath.
“How—?”
“To be honest, I didn’t even know they could do that,” you admitted. “But apparently they can, I found this vintage record store which led me to another record store and the guy was very helpful so um, there you go! It’s like a playlist but you can play it on your phonogram.”
The light in his eyes was soft as he looked down at you. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah!” you said. “Consider it our relationship playlist or something.”
He let out a small chuckle before pulling you into a kiss and you felt yourself melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Darling, I don’t know what to say,” he murmured, his hand cradling the back of your head. “Thank you.”
A giggle climbed your throat. “I’m glad you like it.”
“But I didn’t…” he trailed off, frowning slightly like he was angry at himself. “I didn’t get you anything—”
“Debatable, I got multiple orgasms earlier today thanks to you.” You held both hands in front of you with your palms facing down, lifting one higher than the other as if you were weighing two options. “Vinyl vs orgasms, obviously orgasms.”
A smirk twitched his mouth. “Very romantic.”
“Right?” you mused as you pulled him down to kiss him again. “I’m nothing if not romantic.”
*
You were way too focused on reading and editing the packet on your laptop screen that you didn’t even realize your name being called until Kelsey threw a pen at your desk, making your head snap up before you took out your earphones.
“Hm?”
“I can hear your music from here.” Caleb called out from his desk and you wiggled your brows.
“I have great taste in music, thank you very much. Kels?”
“Our little deer needs to ask you something.” Kelsey pointed at Brian who rushed to you with files in his arms.
“Ma’am, sorry to disturb you,” he said breathlessly, trying to shuffle through the pages without dropping the files. “Um, I was wondering—”
“Sit down,” you said with a small smile and pulled a seat next to you. “And calm down, and breathe. What’s going on?”
He sat down and put the files on your desk, then grabbed a file to open it.
“Um, I was wondering if Congresswoman Gray’s team might have missed something?”
You pulled your brows together.
“Lucas usually doesn’t miss stuff but there’s a first time for everything,” you muttered as you took it from him. “What’s the problem?”
“This article right here,” he said, pointing at the page. “This is for the taxes, we have the PTC but there’s supposed to be a cross reference with ITC, investment—”
“Investment tax credit,” you finished his sentence for him and shuffled through the pages. “No yeah, you’re right. I think this is the—ah, there we go.” You clicked your tongue when you checked the first page. “This is the draft from last week, they edited it two days ago, they must’ve given you the wrong one.”
He nodded his head fervently. “It was very crowded there, maybe they got confused.”
“Want me to email them?”
“Would you?” Brian asked, his eyes widening. “I’d appreciate it ma’am, thank you so much.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “Good catch though! You’re very thorough, anyone else would’ve missed it.”
He gave you a proud smile and Kelsey let out an ‘aw’.
“He’s too cute,” she said. “Brian honey, have you eaten today?”
“Not yet ma’am but I’ve had four cups of coffee.”
Your head whipped around.
“Whoa, what?” you asked. “Brian, that’s not healthy.”
Caleb gave you a look. “I’ve literally seen you consume four energy drinks on top of multiple cups of coffee, and now you’re judging him?”
“That’s different,” you defended yourself. “He’s nineteen, and he’s under my responsibility.”
“Our responsibility,” Kelsey corrected you and pointed at Brian. “Birdie is right, go get some food from the cafeteria.”
“But I have to finish—”
“That can wait until after you eat.” You pushed the files out of his reach. “Go. I’ll email Lucas in the meantime.”
Brian thought for a moment, pursing his lips before he stood up.
“I’ll be quick,” he said and rushed out of the office while you shook your head, turning back to your screen.
You had only read half a page when click of heels came closer before someone stepped into the office.
“Hi, I had an appointment with Barnes?”
You had heard the voice on TV and even in the hallways a couple of times, so even before you turned your head, you knew who it was. Congresswoman Garson was already making waves in the Capitol—and in the world of politics, for that matter. She was incredibly smart, her district adored her and had made sure she won in a landslide, she was already accomplished even though it was only her second term in the Congress, and press loved her.
And she was very pretty.
She gave you a polite smile which you returned while Kelsey jumped on her feet.
“This way, Congresswoman Garson,” she said as she led her to Bucky’s door, then knocked on it and opened it. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky standing up as she stepped in, then Kelsey closed the door while Caleb scooted his chair closer to you.
“Who’s that?”
“Vivien Garson,” you said. “She’s gonna be the next big name in politics.”
“Really?”
“Mm hm.”
“I like that we’re getting more and more attractive politicians, to be honest,” he said. “Bucky, her…This is how change starts.”
“She was here before Bucky,” you said with a grin. “But I get the idea.”
Caleb leaned back in his chair to make himself comfortable, focusing his attention on his phone and you turned to your screen again so that you could send Lucas a quick email before getting back to work.
By the time Vivien’s meeting with Bucky was over, Brian was back and the whole office was working on their own thing so it was pretty quiet for once. You didn’t put your earphones in just in case Brian had any other questions, so when Bucky’s door opened, you were in the middle of adding some footnotes to the page you were on so that Bucky could take a look at them later on.
“I have to admit, I did not think you would drive such a hard bargain,” Vivien stated as Bucky walked her to the door. “Murray forgot to mention that.”
“Left it out, you mean,” Bucky joked while she turned around to give him a small smile.
“Mm hm,” she said. “I’m gonna be honest, when Murray said we should bring you aboard with this bill, I thought he was being himself—you know, nostalgic veteran who bonds with other nostalgic veterans.”
Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not exactly nostalgic.”
Vivien tilted her head.
“Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t start with a story from his time in the military in your first conversation.”
“He made me start with a story,” Bucky pointed out, making her smile widen. “Made is the keyword here.”
“Figures,” she said with a sigh. “Well Barnes, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you out for lunch now. When are you free?”
Oh.
Alright.
Both Caleb and Kelsey turned to gawk at you in sync, along with Bucky who stole a look at you but you forced yourself to keep your gaze on the screen as you paused only for a moment before you continued typing.
You were not going to react. This was your workplace, you could not risk any whispers or gossip, not to mention—
Going to lunch with others wasn’t exactly unheard from in the Capitol. They were probably going to work on the bill together with Congressman Murray, it was professional.
Just like you were professional.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky swallowing thickly before he cleared his throat, motioning at Kelsey.
“I’m full the whole week or—or even longer, right Kelsey?”
“Yep!” Kelsey said without a beat. “Even during lunch, Mr. Barnes. Your schedule is packed.”
Vivien hummed, a mischievous grin pulling at her lips.
“Ah,” she said. “Well then, wine and dine it is.”
Nope.
Nope, that was not professional, not even a little but—
But you had to keep your anger in check, even though it felt like you were trying to control a goddamn wildfire.
“My assistant will contact yours,” she said silkily and walked out of the office, leaving everyone quite dumbfounded. You could see Tim and Lisa whispering in the corner while Caleb hissed in a breath and mouthed something to Kelsey who pursed her lips. Bucky ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat.
“Birdie, do you—uh, do you have a moment?”
You looked up at him, willing yourself to keep a calm expression.
“Sure,” you said and pushed your chair back to follow him to the office, repeating in your head over and over again to stay calm and collected.
This was work.
You had to be professional.
Not to mention, Sam had already told you. It was expected; no one knew you and Bucky were dating, so of course people were going to flirt with him.
Case and point, the hot and smart congresswoman.
Anger was burning your throat but you bit inside your cheek to focus while Bucky closed the door behind him and walked to you.
“I’m not going on dinner,” he said breathlessly like it was crucial that you knew that. “Or—or lunch.”
Keep. Your. Shit. Together.
You nodded your head. “Okay.”
“With her, I mean,” he added, motioning at the door. “No way.”
“Alright.”
“I mean I thought I was being friendly when I joked about Murray—you asked me to make friends with other people here and I figured— I didn’t think she’d think I was interested in uh, in going on dinner with her. Or see her outside. Out of the Capitol, I mean.”
Calm down.
You’re at work, calm the fuck down.
“Okay.”
“Are we okay?” he asked and you nodded your head again.
“Sure.”
If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought the infamous Winter Soldier, the man who could stand decades of torture, the legend who was built to never crack under any kind of pressure, was nervous.
“See, I want to believe you but just yesterday you gave me a spontaneous tirade about how milkshake is better than ice cream, so one word answers aren’t exactly convincing.”
You took a deep breath, crossing your arms just so that you could do something with your hands.
“We’re okay.”
“I wasn’t flirting with her or anything—do you want to be in the room in the next meeting?” he asked. “We can arrange that.”
That managed to twitch your lips into a smile despite you trying to stop it, and you shook your head.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Are you sure?” he insisted. “I mean, are you—are you upset?”
I’m fucking furious, thanks for asking.
You nibbled on your lip, your stomach still churning in anger but you managed to shake your head.
“No,” you said. “No, I trust you.”
“…Do you?”
You arched a brow. “Shouldn’t I?”
“No—no, you should!” he said in a rush. “You should, but I’d understand it if that pissed you off.”
“It didn’t piss me off.” You lied through your teeth and offered him a forced smile. “It happens, as long as you don’t flirt back, we’re fine.”
He shook his head fervently. “I would never.”
“Good.” You gestured at him. “Glad we cleared that out—”
You were cut off when Kelsey knocked on the door and opened it to peek her head in.
“Mr Barnes,” she said loudly so that the rest of the people outside could hear. “Your eleven o’clock is here.”
Bucky looked at you as if asking for your permission and you gave him a curt nod, then took a step back.
“I’ll talk to you later,” you said and walked out of the office, anger still pulsing in your temples.
*
Funny thing about anger was that the more you tried to repress it, the more powerful it got. For the whole day you tried to focus on anything else, but it kept burning your insides, making your jaw ache from how hard you were clenching it.
You needed to go home before you exploded on someone who didn’t deserve it and appear unprofessional.
Maybe a hot shower and snacks would help.
“Birdie?”
“Hm?”
“You’ve been glaring at the screen for the last hour.” Caleb said and you shrugged your shoulders, still keeping your eyes on the screen.
“I’m reading.”
“No you’re not,” Kelsey pointed out. “Hey, should we go drinking tonight?”
“Oh that sounds like a good plan!” Caleb said as Bucky’s door opened and he stepped out. “Bucky! Do you want to join us?”
“Join what?” he asked, coming to lean back on your desk and offering you a small smile that you returned. “Where are we going?”
“To the pub.”
He pulled his brows together and looked around the office before lowering his voice.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“We’ll be there too,” Caleb muttered. “It’ll look like a team thing.”
“You want to go?” Bucky asked you and you shrugged your shoulders again.
“Why not? I could use a drink.”
“I didn’t like the cocktails at that place we went to the other day,” Kelsey said while Brian walked into the office. “We’re going somewhere else.”
“Ma’am?” Brian said, making you turn to him. “I was wondering, do I write any report or something if I’m here overtime?”
You frowned slightly. “You don’t have to stay overtime, Brian. We’re leaving at the usual hour.”
“Um—yeah but Congressman Murray’s team is pulling an all-nighter tonight and they said I should stay to bring them coffee and stuff.”
You blinked a couple of times. “…Say what now?”
“When I dropped off the files you asked me to—”
“You’re not working overtime to bring anyone coffee, Brian,” Bucky said and Brian shook his head.
“Oh I really don’t mind, Mr. Barnes!”
“It doesn’t matter if you mind it or not, buddy,” Bucky said gently like he was trying to assure him. “You can’t let people push you around like that, okay?”
“But they said interns—”
“Who?” you cut him off, your voice low with fury and Brian looked over his shoulder as if he wanted to check the hallway, then turned to you again.
“Frank,” he said. “He’s a little intimidating but I think he means well.”
You let out a dry laugh, then shook your head and got up from your chair, making Bucky frown.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m gonna teach Frank some manners,” you said through your teeth as you snatched your phone off your desk and strode to the door. “And you can’t get involved.”
For the record, you knew half of this anger was because of what had happened earlier with Bucky and Vivien. This was just a way to channel it, but it didn’t mean people could just push your intern around; your internship had been terrible, and you weren’t going to let the same thing happen to Brian, he was way too sweet for that.
You walked down the hallway, your heels clicking on the marble floor and you took a deep breath when you reached Murray’s team’s office. Regardless of how angry you were, you had to remember that you were still at work so no matter how much you wanted to yell at someone, you couldn’t.
That was just unprofessional.
You stepped into the office to find the whole team there, Frank laughing at someone’s joke behind his desk and you licked your lips, then cleared your throat.
“Frank.”
He turned his head.
“Well well, if this isn’t the Hurricane on Heels,” he joked as he stood up. “How can I help you?”
“You can help me by not giving my intern bullshit orders,” you told him and he grinned, his eyes locked in yours.
“He’s an intern,” he reminded you. “Interns have to do whatever we say, that’s what they’re here for.”
“He’s my intern, and that’s not what he’s here for.”
“So he tattled to his mommy, is that it?”
Keep your anger in check.
Keep your fucking anger in check, there are people here.
“I don’t have the time or the crayons to explain this to you,” you said, “so I’m gonna, you know, speak very slowly in a way that you’ll understand.”
Some people in Frank’s team stifled their laughs.
“My intern is here for me to give him work,” you said as if you were talking to a toddler and motioned at him. “He doesn’t work for you, and he isn’t your butler. Okay?”
Frank pursed his lips and glared at the people watching you, then turned to you and held up his hands.
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Great,” you said and turned around but before you stepped out, you heard his murmur under his breath.
“Fucking bitch.”
Ah.
Alright then, today’s lottery winner.
Anger shot through your system so fast that it made you almost lightheaded, your jaw tightening as you took a deep breath, a deranged smile pulling at your lips before you turned around to look at him, the whole office falling into silence.
“What did you just say to me?” you asked calmly and Frank paused only for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No?” you asked. “You don’t have the guts to repeat it?”
He blinked a couple of times, shifting his weight.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Right,” you said and stepped closer. “Frank, I need you to use all those three brain cells that you possess and at least try to listen to me, alright? I know that mommy told you you’re his special special boy, and daddy had to pull a lot of strings just so that his lazy asshole of a son could cosplay a functional member of the society in the Congress, but I don’t have humor you.”
He stole a look around the room and cleared his throat. “Maybe we should step out.”
“No, this is happening right here,” you growled, coming closer to him. “I don’t know why you are under this impression that you can order someone in my own team to do anything for you, but let me get this very clear, you do not have the position to pretend you can order people around. No one in my office including my intern is going to be taking orders from a guy who is the living, breathing proof that we’re in the golden age of dumbassery.”
“I—”
“No no, you know what you are, Frank? You are the personification of a linen condom back in ancient Egyptian times,” you cut him off. “You’re not useful even if you somehow convinced people otherwise, your results are less than satisfactory, and there are so many better alternatives coming to replace you.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see multiple people recording you two, but you paid them no mind as you glared daggers at Frank who looked like he was at a loss for words.
“What is your function here?” you asked him. “Seriously, what is it? You can’t write a fucking draft to save your life, you can’t come up with any good ideas, I had to spend hours to correct that fucking abomination you call a report, why do you think you’re here? Because trust me, Murray will see your report—unedited, by the way— and mine in the next meeting he has with my boss, and I’ll make sure to point out every single mistake that you’ve made.”
You pressed your palms on the desk to lean in as Frank sat down—more like fell down— on his chair, staring at you.
“Do you think he’ll be as forgiving?” You tut-tutted. “The man used to be in the military, something tells me he doesn’t have much room for inadequacy.”
His eyes widened and he shook his head. “There’s no need for that.”
“I decide if there’s any need for that—”
“Murray doesn't need to—”
Before you knew it, your father was speaking through your mouth, your voice rising. “Do not interrupt me when I’m talking!”
Frank sat up straighter as if you pricked him with a needle and stopped talking immediately.
“So,” you said, your voice calmer. “I’ll ask again. What the fuck did you just say to me?”
The whole office was quiet as Frank swallowed thickly, opening his mouth and closing it again when no sound came out, then he took a trembling breath.
“…I’m sorry.”
You raised your brows and gave him a small smile.
“There,” you said. “Was it so hard?”
You pushed yourself off the desk and heaved a sigh while Frank looked like he was ready to curl up into himself to disappear, and whispers filled the office as you took a step back.
“Anyone else who thinks interns are here for you guys to use them as your punching bags?” you asked the rest of the office and some of them shook their heads fervently while the others murmured ‘no’ under their breaths.
“Good,” you said and nodded at Frank. “Glad we cleared that out. Feel free to contact me if you have any questions about my edits on the report.”
With that, you turned around and walked out of the office, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway.
Summary : He’s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.
The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.
Character : boss!Bucky x intern!FemaleReader
Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , -
Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi🙏🏻
You had been proving yourself since the day Emily quit. Coming in earlier than everyone else, stopping by each desk with a smile to ask if they wanted coffee, returning with a tray balanced in your hands. You handled the copy machine like a pro, printed whatever was needed before anyone had to ask twice, and soon people trusted you with more than the bare minimum.
Effort never betrayed you. You’d learned that growing up. It was the only constant you could control. And now, you’d earned your place in this room. Your co-workers knew it. They handed you work because they knew you’d deliver.
But there was still one person whose trust you hadn’t cracked.
Bucky Barnes.
The thought had crossed your mind to play it dangerously — maybe a thigh-skimming skirt, a silk blouse, standing at his desk until he noticed. But you weren’t that desperate, and you weren’t about to end your career before it started with a sexual harassment report. You’d get to him another way. As long as you stayed close, as long as you left a good impression, there would be an offer waiting after this internship was done.
Inside Bucky’s office, the blinds were half-closed. From the narrow gap, Vice President Jimmy Cameron caught sight of you, chatting with two senior associates like you’d been there for years.
“Is that her?” Jimmy asked.
Across the room, Marlon glanced at where Jimmy was pointing. “Who?”
Bucky didn’t look up from the Doyle proposal in his hands. He hated to admit it, but your numbers were airtight.
“The intern Doyle chose,” Jimmy said.
That made Bucky glance up for a second. “Yes.”
Jimmy stepped closer. “Accept her after her internship’s done. What else can she do if she can land a deal with Doyle?”
“It’s not my decision,” Bucky said flatly.
“She works in your department.” Jimmy’s tone was easy but loaded. “If not, I’ll take her in mine.”
“Do what you want.”
Jimmy’s mouth twitched at the dismissive reply, but he didn’t press. “By the way… please don’t hate me for this, but this year our company has to attend the financial conference.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. He hated conferences. Endless schmoozing, fake smiles, and pointless speeches. “And why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to go,” Jimmy said without hesitation. “Bring the team. Also her.”
“If it’s not because your family owns the company, I’d tell you no to your face.”
Jimmy only grinned. “Thanks, man. Knew I could count on you.” Then he walked out.
Bucky exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He buzzed his secretary. “Tell the department there’s a conference tomorrow. I’ll either pick who’s going or someone can volunteer.”
Word traveled fast. The second you heard, you were already leaning forward in your chair. “Yes. I’ll go.”
Most of the team had families and no interest in last-minute travel. In the end, only six names went on the list — you and Bucky among them.
“Yeah… business trip,” you said with a grin that could’ve lit the room.
“Don’t get excited,” Bucky said, stepping over to your desk. He set a thick folder in front of you. “This has to be done tonight.”
“Tonight?” Your brows shot up. Tomorrow was the flight. You still had to pack.
“If you can’t finish it, you can’t come.”
You leaned back, lips curling in a slow smile. “It’s a challenge then. I’ll finish it.”
Back at your desk, you cracked the folder open. The assignment was brutal — a complete market forecast with a cross-analysis of Doyle’s competitors, sourcing all public financial data and creating a visual deck for Bucky to present. This was the kind of thing a junior associate could take a week to prepare.
Around you, a few co-workers exchanged glances, silently agreeing it was overkill.
By the time people started leaving for the night, you were still at your desk, surrounded by open tabs, highlighted pages, and half-drunk coffee. Bucky was gathering his coat when his eyes flicked your way.
You were bent slightly forward, one hand on the mouse, the other jotting notes without looking at the page, lips pressed together in focus.
For a moment, he just watched. The rest of the office was quiet, but you looked like you belonged in the center of it — determined, unshaken, yours eyes sharp under the glow of your monitor.
He left without a word, certain you’d never finish in time. But there was something about the way you hadn’t even noticed him standing there.
Something that unsettled him.
******
At the airport, five of them were already checked in and waiting near the gate. Thirty minutes before boarding, the group started glancing toward the entrance.
“Where is she?” one of them muttered.
“Do you think she can even make it?” another whispered.
Bucky hadn’t said a word. He stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the clock. “Let’s go,” he finally said, turning toward the gate.
“But—”
“I’m here!”
You appeared from the crowd, dragging your carry-on behind you, a backpack slung over one shoulder. You were out of breath but smiling like you’d just won a race.
Your co-workers blinked in surprise, then grinned as you jogged the last few steps to join them.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You…” His tone held a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “You’re done with the assignment I gave you?”
The adrenaline from the four coffees still burned in your veins. “Yes. And I’ve emailed it to you.”
In truth, you were running on fumes. Your muscles were trembling, your eyelids heavy, but there was no way you’d admit it. You hadn’t even had time to pack yourself — your roommate had stuffed your clothes into a suitcase while you finished the report, then shoved you into the car and drove you here. The price for that favor? You’d be paying the rent next month. Worth it. A month of tight finances was nothing compared to a business trip with Bucky Barnes.
Bucky checked his phone. Sure enough, there it was. He opened the file, his thumb scrolling slowly through the neatly formatted slides. “Good job,” he said finally, his voice low but even.
You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Now let’s catch our flight.”
On the plane, the others filed into their economy seats while you sank into yours, exhaustion finally catching you. The hum of the engines and the lingering caffeine crash pulled you under almost immediately.
A few rows back, your co-workers exchanged glances, watching the way you slept with your head tipped to the side, your expression soft in a way they’d never seen at the office. One of them murmured something under their breath, and another gave a small shake of their head — their judgment clear without words.
They all knew who had given you that impossible task. And they all knew who was sitting in first class, alone.
Up front, Bucky shifted in his seat, feeling an inexplicable chill between his shoulder blades. He didn’t have to turn around to know the looks being thrown his way. He told himself it didn’t matter.
But for some reason, he found himself thinking about the way you’d run toward them at the gate — grinning, breathless, refusing to lose.
******
Florida heat wrapped around you the second you stepped out of the cab, but the blast of the convention center’s air conditioning felt like stepping into a different world. The carpeted floors, the sound of heels clicking, the low murmur of conversations — this was the real world. Deals were made here. Careers were built here.
Bucky glanced at you as they walked toward registration. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
You grinned. “Okay.”
Inside, Doyle spotted you immediately. “Hey, guys!” His easy smile was the same as it had been back in the boardroom.
“Doyle,” Bucky said with a polite nod.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Doyle said, shaking hands with both of you.
“It’s work,” Bucky replied.
“Always,” Doyle agreed, then turned to you. “How’s my favorite intern?”
“Busy,” you said with a small laugh. “But good.”
They slipped into a brief conversation about market shifts and recent deals, trading observations like tennis volleys. Doyle listened when you spoke, nodding thoughtfully as if your words carried weight. When the conversation wound down, he leaned closer. “I’m holding a party tomorrow night. You two should come. It’s smaller, just my people — no press.”
“We’ll see,” Bucky said before you could answer.
Doyle smirked. “I’ll save you a drink anyway.” Then he moved on to greet someone else.
Not long after, you spotted familiar faces in the crowd — two of your old classmates from Columbia.
“Hey!” you called, weaving through a cluster of attendees until you reached them. Both of them were in sharp suits, the name tags on their jackets reading Fox and Co. — one of the most prestigious firms in the city.
They grinned when they saw you. “So you really did it? You turned down Fox and Co. to work here?” one of them asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
You shrugged lightly. “I like it here.”
They glanced past you toward where Bucky stood. “I get it,” one of them said with a knowing smile.
From behind, Bucky’s voice was quiet but firm. “You can talk to them.”
You looked back at him, nodded once, and followed your friends into a quieter corner. It had been a while since you’d seen them, and the easy banter slipped right back into place.
“I knew you were the type to obsess over something until you got it,” one of them teased. “It was him, wasn’t it? Your idol? The reason you studied like crazy?”
You chuckled. “You know me so well.”
The other one shook his head. “You’re still a crazy bitch.”
The three of you burst into laughter, shoulders bumping, the sound light and unrestrained.
Across the room, Bucky watched. He didn’t realize how tightly his jaw was set until Marlon spoke next to him.
“So she got offered Fox and Co. and chose to work here? As an intern?”
“What’s so special about Fox and Co.? Our company is one of the best,” Bucky said sharply, still looking at you.
Marlon raised both hands, surrendering the conversation. “Not touching that one.”
Bucky’s gaze didn’t move from you. It shouldn’t have mattered who you were laughing with. It shouldn’t have mattered that they were your age, matching your energy effortlessly.
But it did.
Because in the end, you hadn’t chosen them.
You’d chosen to work with him.
*****
The hotel ballroom was warm with golden light, the soft clink of glasses mixing with the low hum of music. Your co-workers had been watching the entrance since before you arrived. When you finally stepped in, conversation stilled for a moment.
The dress you wore was sleek but modest, navy fabric that skimmed your figure without clinging, neckline high, hem falling just past the knee. A professional choice, perfectly in line with the event.
“What?” you asked, brows lifting when you caught the way your team was staring.
“Nothing,” one of them said a little too quickly, exchanging a glance with the others.
You folded your arms. “What?”
“We just… had a bet,” another admitted.
“A bet about what?”
“That you’d wear something… you know. Sexy. Because of your thing for Bucky.”
You let out a small scoff. “This is for business. We have to be professional.” Then, as you stepped past them toward the bar, you slowed beside Bucky, leaned in just enough for your words to be private. “But just for you, I’ll tell you I’m wearing lingerie underneath this dress.”
Bucky choked on his drink. “Uh—” He coughed into his fist, his ears turning faintly pink.
You chuckled and moved on before he could answer.
Doyle appeared then, greeting everyone with his usual easy charm. He looked completely at home in the center of the room, glass in hand, smile practiced yet warm. “Glad you could make it,” he said, clasping Bucky’s hand before turning to you. “And I have to say, I’m more than satisfied with the plan you two came up with — especially the adjustments you made.”
You inclined your head. “Glad to hear it.”
“I’ll have my lawyer send the paperwork tomorrow,” Doyle added. “Now, enough business talk. Join me on the dance floor.”
The group moved with him, laughing, glasses in hand. Everyone except Bucky.
From his seat, he watched you slip into the crowd, smiling and talking easily with people your age. You moved like you belonged there — confident, alive, glowing in a way that wasn’t for anyone but yourself. But he also caught the way your eyes flicked to him between conversations, sharp and deliberate.
Bucky knew that look. The look of someone hunting. And he hated how much he felt it.
You were young. Still at the start of your career. And him? He’d already been through the grind, the mistakes, the exhaustion. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could be what you needed — and that irritated him almost as much as seeing you laugh with people who could be.
Eventually, you slipped away from the floor, weaving through the tables until you stopped beside him. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“Not my thing,” Bucky said without looking at you, swirling the drink in his glass.
“You just sit here alone all night?”
He glanced at you then, a faint edge to his voice. “I’m not here to have fun.”
“That’s your problem,” you said lightly, leaning a hip against the table. “You never let yourself enjoy anything.”
“This is work,” he reminded you.
“So? Work can still be fun.”
His jaw tightened. “Not everything is as easy as you make it look.”
You tilted your head. “You think I’ve had it easy?”
“I think you’re still in the bubble. First year out, things fall into place, people notice you. But life’s not always going to bend for you. And I…” He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not good enough for you.”
You blinked at him, steady. “You can’t decide that for me.”
“You’re valuable. Smart. There’s a lot you haven’t seen yet.”
Your pulse jumped at the way his voice softened on that word — valuable. “And you think I’ll see it if I go out there?”
“When you go out there, you’ll realize there’s a lot you’ve been missing,” he said quietly, looking past you at the dance floor.
You smiled faintly, though there was a bite to it. “Like you don’t know until you try.”
The elevator ride up to the hotel floors was silent, except for the faint hum of the machinery. You stood beside Bucky, the soft scent of his cologne threading through the faint traces of wine and perfume that clung to the night.
His gaze flicked back to you at that, sharp and unreadable, but he didn’t answer.
******
When the doors slid open, the hall was quiet, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. You walked side by side, your shoulder almost brushing his.
“You didn’t have fun tonight,” you said at last.
“I wasn’t there to have fun.” His tone was flat, but his eyes flicked toward you.
“Then why come?”
“Because it’s my job.”
You smirked faintly. “You could’ve fooled me. Looked like you spent most of the night watching me.”
He stopped, just for a second, and the way his gaze sharpened made your breath catch. “I was making sure you didn’t get in trouble.”
“That’s not your job.”
“Someone has to do it,” he said, voice low.
You took a step closer. “Maybe I like trouble.”
His jaw flexed. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Your pulse was pounding now. “What if I can finish it?”
For a moment, the air between you tightened. He was looking at you like he wanted to close the space — like he wanted to know exactly what would happen if he did.
But then, his shoulders shifted back. He looked away, breaking whatever was holding you both still. “Go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
The disappointment was a physical thing in your chest, but you masked it with a small, almost taunting smile. “Goodnight, boss.”
He walked you the rest of the way to your room. You unlocked the door, lingering in the frame. For a heartbeat, you thought he might change his mind. But he only nodded once and turned away.
You closed the door slowly, pressing your back against it, your heart still racing.
The next morning, the hotel lounge was full of groggy voices and half-hearted greetings. Your co-workers nursed black coffees and greasy breakfasts, the evidence of Doyle’s party still hanging in their eyes.
“Where’s our boss?” someone asked.
“He left,” another answered. “Took the first flight out.”
You stared at your untouched plate, the words settling like a stone in your stomach. He’d left before you’d even woken up.
******
Monday morning came with the weight of a hangover you hadn’t earned. Not from Doyle’s champagne, but from the silence. The kind that had followed you from the moment you’d learned Bucky had taken the earliest flight home without a word.
Your brows knit. “Why?”
You hadn’t even made it to your desk before a voice from HR stopped you.
“Can you come with me?”
“Just… come,” the woman said, holding the door open to a small glass-walled office.
You sat across from her desk, the faint scent of paper and coffee doing nothing to calm the pulse in your temples. She folded her hands, wearing that practiced HR smile that always came before bad news.
“The company really appreciates your work,” she began. “But unfortunately, there’s no open position. Yet.”
You stared at her. “So you’re firing me.”
“Sadly, yes. But the company hasn’t ignored what you’ve done. We’d like to compensate you for your hard work.”
“How much?”
She hesitated. “We can’t tell you the numbers yet.”
You leaned back in the chair, crossing your legs. “Under a hundred thousand?”
Her eyes widened just slightly, the way people do when you’ve hit too close to the truth.
“I brought in a deal worth millions. At least four hundred thousand would sound right,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended.
“We—” she started, but you cut her off with a wave of your hand.
“Keep the money. I don’t need it.”
Your voice was calm, but inside you felt something split. Not just frustration at losing a job you’d bled hours into. This was different. This was the kind of disappointment that crawled into your chest and stayed there.
You’d given everything — the long nights, the impossible assignments, the win with Doyle. And he… Bucky… hadn’t even had the guts to look you in the eye.
Maybe that old saying was true: never meet your idol. Because when you do, you find out they’re human. And humans are capable of walking away without a word.
You left HR without another glance, the echo of your heels down the hallway louder than the muted office chatter. You didn’t head for your desk. There was no point.
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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle.
Check it out!
Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband
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Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store
oh this was so messed up 🥺 they’re doing my girl dirtyyyyy what the heck???
really hoping bucky has no idea and he’s just as shocked when he finds out, maybe even reaches out. but if he had something to do with it……… 🥲 i can’t even think about it. can’t wait for the next chapter!
Pairing: Congressman! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ just in case. Fluff. Slight Angst. Eventual Smut.
Summary: Bucky agrees to a discreet cleaning service to tend to his apartment while he’s away. He never expected the care of someone he’d never met to become the gentlest part of his daily life.
Word Count: 8.1k
Previous Chapter
They didn’t see each other again. Not right away. Which was fine. As it should be.
So she nearly dropped the bag of lentils when she walked into the kitchen one Thursday and found him there. Leaning against the counter, glass of water in hand, a folder tucked under his arm. Suit pants, no jacket. Just a white undershirt that fit like it was stitched with malicious intent.
She froze. When did he enter?
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said finally, hoping her voice didn’t betray anything. Hoping her eyes hadn’t lingered on his chest more than intended.
He looked up. Blinked, like he wasn’t expecting to be greeted.
“Hey- um,” he shifted slightly, the folder under his arm creasing as he moved. “Don’t mind me. Things ended earlier today.”
“Oh.” She opened a cabinet and made a show of putting in the lentils, as if it required serious attention.
“I, uh-” He hesitated, cleared his throat. “I’ll go work on this and let you be. If you need anything, let me know.”
Then he gave her a nod. Casual, like they hadn’t stood frozen in the kitchen weeks ago while Maroon 5 declared things that were very much not workplace appropriate.
She smiled politely and nodded back. “Of course, sir.”
He walked down the hallway to the closed room at the back. The one she never touched, never even dusted the doorknob. The sound of it clicking shut broke the tension like a match snapping between fingers. She finally exhaled.
The next week, it happened again. Tuesday this time. He was already home when she arrived, lounging at the kitchen island, flipping through a file and halfway through a cup of coffee.
Then Thursday again.
Then Tuesday, two weeks later.
He never asked her to change anything. Never gave directions or tried to chat. He just… stayed there, while she worked in the kitchen. Then retired to the closed room.
She tried not to notice how often his eyes followed her movements when he thought she wouldn’t catch him. Tried not to notice how she started tidying slower when he was near.
He found himself adjusting his schedule. A suddenly rescheduled meeting, a constituent call that could be taken from home, or a bill review that started conveniently early. He’d arrive, shed his jacket, and gravitate towards the kitchen, a glass of water, a cup of coffee or a sandwich, his silent excuse. He’d sit on a stool at the island, ostensibly engrossed in his work, but his peripheral vision was constantly on her.
He didn't replay her dance in the kitchen more than he should. Of course he didn't. But the memory would sometimes surface, and then a quick and private smile would set at the corner of his lips before he consciously smoothed it away. He’d catch himself with a sharp, internal reprimand. Don’t be an idiot. She’s working. But her presence, the scent of jasmine and something else, something warm and alive, was a something he hadn't known he desperately needed in there. It was the antithesis of the sterile, silent apartment he usually returned to.
He’d watch her hands. The way they moved, efficient yet surprisingly gentle. How she wiped down the counters, not with a harsh scrub, but a soft, circular motion. How she folded the dish towels with almost meditative care. Sometimes, she’d hum a low tune, barely audible, and he’d find himself unconsciously slowing his breathing, matching her rhythm.
She, in turn, became accustomed to his presence. The initial jolt of surprise changed into a low awareness. She’d still offer a polite, “Good afternoon, sir,” but her voice held less tension, her shoulders a fraction less stiff. She learned the cadence of his movements: the soft thud of his briefcase, the quiet scrape of the stool as he sat, the rustle of papers. She found herself instinctively leaving him space, not just physically, but in the flow of her work. She’d clean around him, her movements fluid and unobtrusive, a silent dance of shared space.
One Tuesday, she was wiping down the stovetop, her back to him, when she heard the soft click of his pen. “Poppy seeds,” he murmured, so low she almost missed it.
She paused, her hand still on the rag. “Sir?”
He cleared his throat, not looking up from his file. “The cake. You said they were poppy seeds.”
A warmth spread through her chest. “Yes,” she said, turning slightly, a small, unbidden smile touching her lips. “That’s right.”
He nodded, a barely perceptible dip of his head. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
She opened the spice cabinet and paused. There, between the usual jars of cinnamon and sugar, was a new addition.
Not a crinkled bag, not a sample-sized pouch, but a full glass jar, filled to the brim with tiny dark poppy seeds.
He’d meant it.
He really liked the cake.
She smiled a little, almost despite herself, and started gathering the rest of the ingredients: flour, sugar, lemons. She laid everything out on the counter, fully aware of him sitting somewhere behind her. His attention wasn’t loud, but she felt it, like warmth against the back of her neck.
She tied on her apron, tugged the knot tightly at her waist, and moved on autopilot: dry ingredients into a bowl, whisk in hand, eyes fixed on the ingredients, she didn’t need the recipe. The plan was to get the cake in the oven so she could clean the rest of the apartment while it baked.
She was just reaching for the oil bottle when a voice spoke up behind her, low and closer than she expected.
“Oil instead of butter?”
She startled. A soft gasp escaped her lips, her free hand flying to her chest as she spun around.
The bowl nearly slipped from her other hand.
He stood just behind her, a little too close.
His eyes were wide with immediate regret, his posture pulled slightly inward.
“Shit, sorry,” he said, holding up his hands slightly, like he hadn’t meant to corner her. “Didn’t mean to sneak up.”
His voice had softened a little. He looked… apologetic. Maybe a little sheepish. She nodded, still trying to calm her breathing.
“I just-” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking toward the counter, “Noticed the oil,” he said, gesturing toward the bottle. “My ma used to bake like that. Butter was expensive to waste in baking, so she stuck with oil. Especially during the lean years.”
He nodded slightly toward the jar of poppy seeds, a faint smile on his lips, soft with something older. “No fancy stuff like that, though.”
That surprised her, hearing him say it so casually. She wouldn’t have expected him to talk about his mother.
She watched him for a second, her heartbeat starting to level out.
“The oil keeps it soft for longer,” she offered, “Even when it’s cold.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.”
Then he stepped back, like he realized how close he’d gotten, and she turned back to her work, still feeling the heat of the moment under her skin.
----
Days turned into weeks. He started asking for small variations, what if, instead of lemon, she made the cake with tangerine, for example? So she reworked a tangerine recipe she liked, adjusted it to include the seeds, and experimented with a glaze.
He’d try it quietly, give a thoughtful nod, and sometimes leave the empty plate drying in the sink with a neatly folded napkin beside it. The “sir” began to feel weird each time she said it. One Thursday, she was at the sink, washing dishes, the sound of running water filling the space between them.
Then he spoke from the kitchen island. “You know,” he said, “you don’t have to call me ‘sir’.” Her hands paused in the water. She turned her head, half-expecting him to be flipping through papers again, but he wasn’t. He was watching her. Calm. Open. With something gentle behind his eyes. “It’s… James,” he added, with a small, almost hesitant smile. “Or- uh- Bucky. Whatever you prefer.”
She blinked. Water dripped from her fingertips. That line between them, the formality she’d never dared step over, cracked with a couple of words. A slow smile spread across her face. Real and warm. “Okay,” she said quietly. “James.”
He nodded, like that settled something. Then, without fanfare, he returned to his file.
It felt easier. Lighter. Like a window had just been opened, and neither of them needed to hold their breath anymore.
----
That ease, however, was short-lived. One afternoon, the doorbell rang, a sharp, insistent noise that cut through the quiet of the apartment. Bucky’s head snapped up from his file, with annoyance painted across his face. He wasn’t expecting anyone.
He pushed off the stool and headed for the door, shifting his posture subtly. He tensed before opening. Who let him get inside the building?
“Barnes! You old hermit, finally caught you at home!”
The voice was loud, theatrical. Congressman Thorne stepped inside before he was invited, already mid-monologue. His smile never quite reached his eyes.
He scanned the apartment. Then his gaze landed on her, just coming out of the bathroom, cleaning caddy in hand. The look he gave her was brief but assessing before he turned to Bucky again.
Bucky forced a tight chuckle. “Congressman Thorne. To what do I owe the… unexpected pleasure?”
As he saw the man keeping his gaze on her, he gestured vaguely in her direction, with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Don’t mind her. Just the cleaning service.” He didn’t meet her eyes.
Thorne gave her a cursory nod, then clapped Bucky’s shoulder like they were old friends. “Pleasure? Barnes, I’m counting votes. That infrastructure bill I’m pushing? It’s tight. I figured a face-to-face, off-the-record chat might sway the scales better than a dozen ignored emails.”
He made himself at home on the couch, pulling out a tablet without waiting for permission.
She retreated to the kitchen, quiet and professional. But even behind the wall, Thorne’s booming voice can be heard easily, a grating contrast to Bucky’s low, measured responses. She unpacked the caddy, mentally sorting the next steps, laundry, folding, and prep for ironing next visit. Her hands kept moving. Her ears kept straining.
Ten minutes in, Thorne’s voice rose again. “Honestly, Barnes, you’re a terrible host. You’ve got me working hard here and haven’t even offered a man a damn coffee. What kind of hospitality is this?”
Bucky’s jaw tensed. He cursed himself silently. Right. Coffee. Basic manners. He started toward the kitchen, unsure. “Right, uh, coffee. I can-”
“Nonsense,” Thorne cut in, laughing like he found Bucky’s domestic instinct adorable. “That’s what the service is for.”
Bucky tried, “Technically, she just cleans, does laundry-”
“She’s paid. If you’re home, she serves the household. That’s how this works.” Then, louder: “Dear, you in the kitchen, I know you can hear me. Be a gem and make a decent cup of coffee, would you?”
Bucky stilled.
The audacity hit him like a slap. The way Thorne spoke to her, as if she were some kind of lowly servant. This was his home. But politics had taught him what was worth a confrontation… and what wasn’t. Not here. Not with this man.
She appeared at the doorway, her face blank, her apron off, and in a composed posture. Professional to the letter. Her gaze flicked to Bucky -just a second- but he saw the hint of something swirling beneath her surface.
“Would you also like a coffee, sir?” she asked, her voice perfectly smooth. No cracks. No tells.
Bucky hesitated.
He wanted to say, Don’t. He wanted to look Thorne in the eye and tell him to get his own damn drink. But Thorne was already smirking, relaxed, as if this were the natural order of things.
“Just for the congressman, thank you,” Bucky said at last.
His voice was clipped. Cold. He didn’t look at her again, not because he didn’t want to, but because looking would give too much away.
And for now, appearances were everything.
----
She turned, her back to them, and walked into the kitchen. The dismissive tone from Thorne stung with a sharp, unexpected prick. It wasn’t just the words, but the casual way he’d said them, as if she were indeed furniture, or a particularly well-trained dog. Just the cleaning service. Bucky’s voice echoed in her head, cold and precise.
It stung, perhaps, because the company’s policy of no-interaction had always acted as a shield, protecting her from these kinds of situations. It gave her anonymity, distance, some kind of armor. It had allowed her to move through expensive spaces like a ghost, unnoticed and untouched by the power dynamics, the inherent imbalance. But now that thin veil was gone.
She reached for the coffee maker with steady hands that didn’t feel steady. Let’s be real, she told herself. She was the service. No matter that he’d told her to drop the “sir.” No matter that he’d sat at the kitchen island, talking about recipes, this and that, or told her about his ma like it was something personal.
They weren’t friends. They never were.
She got paid to scrub his bathroom and make some meals. And she’d do well to remember that.
Whatever idea she’d gotten in her head, whatever hopeful daydreams had before sleep, counting the days until she could go back to the apartment, wondering if he would be there, clearly, it was just that. A daydream. A foolish, unprofessional fantasy that didn’t belong in the real world.
Her fingers pressed the coffee grounds down harder than needed. The machine hissed to life.
She would make the coffee.
She would serve it.
And she’d remember her place.
----
She finished in silence. No more humming, no soft steps between rooms, no pause by the spice rack where she sometimes lingered. Just movement, efficient and mechanical. She served the coffee without a word, with her eyes fixed on the mug, never meeting either man’s gaze. Then she disappeared down the hall to finish folding the last of the laundry.
When she returned, her coat was already draped over one arm, her bag on her shoulder. There was no service exit, no discreet hallway to slip through unseen. If she wanted to leave, she had to pass through the living room. She walked toward the door, deliberately trying to pass unnoticed.
Bucky looked up just before she reached it. His gaze met hers, uncertain, flickering with something he didn’t have the freedom to say, not in front of Thorne, who followed the moment with curiosity behind his smirk.
She paused by the door and bowed her head slightly. “I’m retiring for the afternoon, sir.” Her voice was polite. Professional. Not cold, but distant.
Bucky managed a stiff nod, caught between the heat crawling up his neck and the weight of Thorne’s eyes, amused and appraising. “Of course,” he said quietly.
She nodded once and stepped out, the door clicking closed behind her.
Thorne, either as a joke or out of malice, leaned back with a casual smirk on his face. “Careful, Barnes,” he said, voice light but laced with something sour. “Give them too much leeway and next thing you know, the press runs a juicy Congressman & the Maid piece. Happens all the time, salacious headlines. Real messy.”
He chuckled at his own comment, a low, unpleasant sound.
Bucky’s jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching once, hard. He wanted to lash out, to wipe that smug smirk off Thorne’s face. But his short time in this new world had taught him a brutal kind of self-control.
He took a slow breath, forcing the anger down, replacing it with a cool, almost icy politeness.
“Thorne,” he said, his voice low, devoid of any warmth, “I assure you, my staff is entirely professional.” He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on the other man. “Perhaps we should focus on the bill, unless you’ve exhausted your arguments for it?” He didn't raise his voice, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable. His eyes held a warning that went beyond mere political decorum.
Thorne’s grin faltered. Not entirely, men like him didn’t shed arrogance that easily, but enough. He cleared his throat and looked down at his tablet.
“Right. Infrastructure,” he muttered. “Where were we…”
----
The next week, when he got home, he noticed she hadn’t been in the apartment. He found himself pacing, wondering if the company had reassigned her. The jasmine scent was gone, replaced by a generic, sterile cleaner. The food in the fridge was bland, pre-packaged. He hated it.
On Tuesday, he made sure he was home. He waited, restless, until he heard the familiar click of the door. When she walked into the living room, she was already wearing her apron, tied tight, and her hair pulled back so severely it looked painful. Her movements were clipped and precise, almost robotic. Her voice, when she offered a stiff, "Good afternoon, sir," was devoid of any warmth. Back to square one. Or worse.
She avoided the kitchen, gravitating towards the living room and the bedroom, cleaning surfaces meticulously even though they were already gleaming, like she was hoping he’d vanish.
He made noise. Poured himself water. Flipped a page too loudly. Nothing.
So he waited. She'd have to clean the kitchen eventually. Cook. Without other chores to do, she had no other option but to go there.
Finally, she moved towards the kitchen. She started with the sink, exaggeratedly slowly, as if trying to prolong the task, to avoid facing him. Then she worked around him like he was part of the furniture, not worth even a glance.
He couldn't take it anymore. He pushed off the stool, and the scrape of the wood against the tile was loud in the sudden silence. She flinched, tensing her shoulders. He approached her slowly, not close enough to crowd her, but close enough that she couldn’t pretend anymore. His hands hung loosely at his sides.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the rigid professionalism she exuded.
She kept her back to him, shrugging her shoulders tightly. "Nothing, sir," she said in almost a whisper. "Just trying to keep things professional."
He didn't like it. Not one bit.
The warmth they'd cultivated, the smiles, all had been shattered, replaced by this cold, distant politeness. This version of her felt like losing something he hadn’t realized he’d started to hope for. He wanted to reach out, to tell her it was okay, that Thorne was an ass, that she didn't have to put up this wall. But he didn't know how to do it. Technically, she wasn't doing anything wrong.
"Is this about the visit?" he asked, unable to stop himself. "Did I offend you?"
She finally turned around, her face carefully blank, but her eyes had something he couldn't quite decipher. "Oh no, you didn't offend me, sir," she said, her voice still clipped, formal. "But I was reminded of my place, so I think it's better-"
"You are not a thing," he cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended, a sudden surge of frustration breaking through his carefully constructed composure. He took a step closer, his hands clenching at his sides. "I- I like to talk to you when we have the opportunity. It's a fucking household, not a museum. And you are part of it. I'm not well-versed in acting in front of politicians yet, but something like that won't happen again."
Her eyes widened slightly. She wasn’t expecting that.
She looked down, voice barely above a whisper. “It was just coffee. And he was right. I’m supposed to attend to you if you’re present.”
His jaw worked. He stepped in closer, voice lower now. “But things can be asked politely. You know that.”
She didn’t reply right away. Just nodded once, tight and hesitantly.
----
He didn’t press. Not right away.
He gave her space, but his presence on the days he was there was more watchful.
The next Tuesday, when she arrived, he was already in the kitchen. A mug of steaming coffee in his hand.
He lifted it slightly in her direction, a silent offer.
She hesitated. Her eyes flicked from the mug to his face, then back. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt heavier than it looked. She shook her head, barely a movement.
He nodded once, said nothing, and set the second mug down on the counter near her, just within reach. Then he turned back to his file.
Later that day, she was bracing her shoulder against the heavy living room couch, trying to move it aside to vacuum underneath. It was always the worst part, the awkward angle, the stubborn weight. She grunted under her breath.
Then a shadow passed over her. She looked up to find him standing beside her, vibranium arm catching the afternoon light.
He didn’t say a word, just bent down, gripping the base of the couch effortlessly with his metal fingers. With a single, fluid motion, he lifted it, balancing the three-seater as if it were made of cardboard, and gave her an expectant look.
Her lips parted, just slightly. The effortless power of that action was… impressive.
She felt heat rise up her neck. A flutter in her chest that hadn’t happened in years.
Pinning like a teenager, she thought, horrified.
But she nodded, accepting his help, and ducked her head to guide the vacuum beneath. Her hands felt clumsy. Her movements suddenly became self-conscious under his gaze.
He held the couch until she finished, then set it down with the same unbothered precision.
After that, it became a routine.
He didn’t hover, but when something needed lifting, a box of files, a window stuck in its frame, the dining table for a deep clean, he was there. No offer. No announcement. Just a silent, strong presence, anticipating her needs.
And she… stopped resisting.
Stopped pretending she didn’t notice the way the air shifted when he was near. How the apartment, so sterile at first, now felt like it pulsed with something warm. Something shared.
Her voice softened. Her posture relaxed.
The “sir” grew rarer, falling away altogether on the quieter days.
Once, while drying a plate, she’d murmured, “Thanks, James,” without even thinking.
He hadn’t said anything. Just gave a small nod, but he didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the afternoon.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they found their way back to the warmth that had been cracked by that visit.
Not quite the same as before.
But almost.
----
The storm started mid-afternoon. The rain tapped against the windows in a relentless assault. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, then faded into nothing.
Bucky was in the backroom, had been all day. The phantom pain in his arm became a bitch. The humidity always did it, a dull ache that burned at the nerves, a ghost limb screaming for attention, leaving him short-tempered and sweating. He’d removed his arm hours ago, tired of the involuntary twitching, the useless reflex of a limb that wasn't there. The scar tissue pulled against the metal, irritated and angry.
So he sat in silence, in the quiet of the closed room, with the prosthesis resting on the desk.
When she arrived, he didn’t call out.
Didn’t greet her, didn’t make the usual noise so she’d know he was around.
She, meanwhile, started her routine oblivious of his ordeal. She moved through the apartment humming a low tune as she dusted the living room shelves. Then, a faint sound from the back of the apartment, a muffled sneeze. Her hand paused mid-air.
Oh.
So he was there after all. Her brow furrowed.
He hadn’t said anything. Not even a “hey.” Not a sound all the time she was there. Maybe he was on a call. Maybe he was resting. Or maybe -her stomach twisted a little- she’d done something wrong. Said something too familiar. Took too long to clean under the couch. Looked at him too long when he moved past her last Thursday, with that black henley she had never seen before. Oh god, was she that obvious and made him uncomfortable?
She slapped herself mentally for spiraling and pretending things that really weren't granted. He was her fucking boss, and he didn’t even have to be there to begin with. Less had the obligation to greet her. So, a little dejected, she sighed and continued with her work, more carefully after that. Didn’t hum again. Moved quietly.
On the other side of the closed door, Bucky sat in his chair, rubbing at the edge of the scar near his collarbone, eyes closed, jaw clenched. He could hear her. He could picture exactly where she was standing. The sound of her footsteps was familiar now, and he liked to hear them.
He tried to suppress the impulse to open the door. He felt like shit, surely looked like it, and, even if he showed his vibranium arm in the open now, he still was a little unsure about showing himself without it. Showing himself to her without it. It felt too vulnerable.
He pressed his forehead against the wooden rim of the desk, waiting for her to pass, waiting for the familiar sounds to move further away, leaving him in his solitary, aching silence.
----
The storm had deepened within the afternoon, and the rain came in sheets now, harder and meaner, wind shoving against the windows like fists. The power hadn’t been cut completely, but the lights flickered once, twice, then held. The apartment, already shadowed by the heavy clouds, plunged into a deeper, oppressive gloom.
From inside the back room, Bucky sat hunched in his chair, arm still off, trying not to grind his teeth against the phantom stabs twisting through his shoulder. He hated how much space the pain took in his mind. He hated more that she was out there, somewhere in the apartment, and he was hiding.
He heard the vacuum running faintly from the hallway, then the soft scrape as she unplugged it and dragged it toward the living room.
A moment later, the power went off.
Then, came a loud clatter.
A dull, painful thunk, then a sharp gasp, bitten off.
Bucky’s eyes snapped open. The pain in his arm, for a split second, was forgotten. He felt like an idiot, being enclosed in here, hiding from her, while she was out there, alone in the dark. He pushed himself out of the chair, ignoring the protest from his aching shoulder.
The second yelp was softer, a low, frustrated sound, like someone cursing through clenched teeth.
He fumbled for the doorknob and pulled the door open.
The hallway was cast in soft gray light. She was on her knees, not far from the vacuum, cradling her left arm tightly to her chest. A spray bottle rolled lazily in a circle beside her. One of the TV rack doors had been flung open, she must’ve hit it.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
She froze, then looked up, surprised. He was next to her in a blink, in a plain black T-shirt and one arm. Her eyes didn’t linger on the missing limb. She didn’t gawk. She didn’t show a flicker of surprise, only distress in her wide eyes.
“I didn’t think -sorry- I didn’t mean to make a fuss,” she said quickly.
“You didn’t,” he cut in. “Did you fall?”
She shifted slightly, clearly wincing. “Tripped on the damn cord. Tried to catch myself on the doorframe. Didn’t see the rack edge until it was in my elbow.”
He was already kneeling in front of her, balancing easily despite the lack of his prosthesis. The closeness startled her. It felt treacherously good, the kind of proximity she shouldn’t want. His cologne floated faintly between them, clean and warm, a scent she’d noticed before but never this close. The worry in his face didn’t help either.
Her voice was quieter now. “You weren’t out all day. I thought- never mind.”
His eyes dropped to her arm. Red was blooming through the sleeve, not pouring, but enough to make his stomach clench. A dark, angry stain spreading against the pale fabric.
“You’re bleeding,” he muttered, more to himself. “Shit.”
“Just a scrape.” She tried to sound dismissive, but her voice trembled.
“I’ve had scrapes. That’s not a scrape.” His voice was firm with resolve, leaving no room for argument. “Come on. Sit.” He gestured toward the couch, then rose and offered her his hand.
She hesitated. “You sure you’re okay to-”
“I’m not the one who fell.”
She took it. Her fingers were cool against his palm, a feather-light touch. He gently led her toward the couch and helped her sit. The room smelled faintly of the lemon polish.
“I’ll get the kit,” he muttered, already turning around.
She nodded, not looking at him.
When he returned, seeing her sitting there, quiet, holding herself like she didn’t want to be a burden, and again, it affected him more than he expected.
He knelt, setting the kit beside him, and met her eyes.
“Let me?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze looking for permission.
She nodded, and he reached for her arm, careful, cautious.
“Roll up your sleeve?” he asked, his thumb gently nudging the fabric.
She tried, but winced. He took over, gently tugging the fabric back, revealing the bright scrape blooming just above the elbow. Angry, some broken skin. Already starting to swell.
He hissed softly through his teeth. His brow furrowed in concentration as he picked up a small bottle of antiseptic from the kit. He tried to twist the cap, but his fingers fumbled weirdly with the smooth plastic. He rotated it, pressed down, twisted again, a low grunt of frustration escaping him. The cap refused to budge.
Clearly, it was a more challenging task with one hand.
He leaned into it, tensing his shoulders, a faint sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead despite the cool air. The fucking pain was killing him.
She watched him, feeling ridiculous and useless, sitting there, holding her arm. It was just a scrape. And the poor man was trying his best without a limb.
“Here, let me,” she said softly, reaching out her uninjured hand towards the bottle.
He shook his head, a quick, jerky motion. “Don’t move the arm.” His gaze was still fixed on the stubborn cap, his jaw clenched.
“You’re not considering the safety cap,” she explained gently, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. “It’s not about force, you have to push down the cap, then swirl it. They’re for little children, not to open them easily.”
He paused, with his hand still on the bottle, tilting his head slightly as he considered her words. Then he looked up at her, with a flicker of something -perhaps mild embarrassment- in his eyes. He seemed to think for a beat, then a faint, almost shy smile touched his lips.
“Alright, let’s do teamwork, then,” he said, meeting her gaze. “You hold it, I uncap. Then I grab the cotton, you pour some of this thing on it, and I apply it.” He held the bottle out to her, his hand steady despite the tremors of pain.
She took the bottle, brushing his fingers in the process. Then she pressed down on the cap, twisted, and with a soft pop, it opened. She handed it back to him.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet, a little breathless. “It’s… a little too much fuss for a scratch.” She gestured vaguely at her elbow, then at the first aid kit.
He shook his head, already reaching for a sterile cotton pad. “Call me old-fashioned, but I can’t let you do this alone.” His gaze, when it met hers, was firm. “In fact, why don’t you go home early? Don’t cook. I’ll order something.” His brow furrowed with concern. “It’s going to swell more if you’re moving around.”
She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a surprising wave of gratitude. “That’s very sweet of you, James,” she said, using his name softly, almost instinctively. “But I still have to do one more house before going home. And it’d be easier to take the bus from here instead of from the one near my place.”
He frowned, a deep line appearing between his brows. Somehow… he hadn’t thought about the other homes. Not once. Not really.
“But the rain-” he started, gesturing vaguely towards the drumming against the windows.
“The company doesn’t care about the rain or a scratch on my elbow,” she pointed out, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. “Neither does the client, who expects his home to be clean when he gets there.”
It was unreasonable, he knew, to fuss like that, to even be that naive as to suggest she skip work because she’d tripped or the weather was bad. But still, something inside him bristled at the idea of her going house to house in wet clothes, hurt and tired. He remembered her ma going to work sick after his father died. The world just kept spinning. He didn’t like it. He wanted her at home, resting and comfortable.
“You’re right,” he said finally, dragging a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t my place to say that.”
Still, he added -softer this time, more stubborn than apologetic- “But I don’t want you cooking today.”
“I promise I’m more than capable of cooking with a scraped elbow-” she began, trying to sound reassuring.
At that moment, the stabbing pain in his shoulder peaked, a sharp, white-hot agony that made him wince before he could mask it. His jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed shut for a fleeting second, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips.
Then he looked down and away, like it embarrassed him to have shown that to her.
She stilled.
“…Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
Bucky’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”
It was immediate, practiced, too quick to be convincing. He didn’t meet her eyes as he started to close the first aid kit, fumbling a little with the flap.
“You were fussing over a scrape and a bruise,” she said, voice gentle but pointed. “So I can fuss too about you.”
That made him pause.
He stilled, the flap of the kit half-fastened in his hand. His eyes lifted slowly and met hers. For a moment, he just looked at her, as if weighing something, measuring the weight of truth in his mouth. Finally, he exhaled through his nose, low and tired.
“It’s the arm,” he muttered. “Or more precisely, the absence of it.”
She didn’t speak, just gave a single slow nod, like she understood.
He glanced down at his shoulder, where the shirt hung awkwardly loose. “Phantom pain,” he added. “It’s- bad when it’s humid. The nerves light up like they’re still alive. Like the arm is still there, burning.”
Her voice stayed quiet, even. “Do you have medication for that? Nerve blocks or something?”
He huffed a humorless sound. “My metabolism burns most of it off before it can even do anything. Painkillers don’t stick. Tried a few things. Never lasted.”
She seemed to absorb that, dropping her gaze briefly to his arm, not the absence of it, but the place where it used to be. Then she looked up again.
“…Have you tried acupuncture?”
He blinked, caught off-guard. “Needles?”
She gave a tiny shrug. “Sometimes it works for nerve pain.”
“I figured they’d snap before they broke the skin,” he muttered, almost to himself.
A beat passed. Then he tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You seem to know a little about this.”
Her fingers twitched at her apron, and she flicked her eyes away. “My, uh… my ex had a leg prosthesis. Below the knee.”
Soft. Not embarrassed, just cautious. Like she wasn’t sure if that was something she should say aloud.
Bucky’s gaze didn’t move from her. “Did he have it- the phantom pain, too?”
She nodded. “Mostly at night. Or when it was cold. He used to get this-” she gestured vaguely toward her own leg, “burning feeling. Said it was like the limb still wanted to move.”
“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. “Sounds about right.”
They stood there in silence for a long moment. The thunder outside cracked again, distant but deep. The apartment dimmed slightly with the passing of a cloud, and the overhead light flickered once.
Neither of them moved.
"Um- I don’t want to overstep,” she said, brushing her fingers nervously in her apron. Would he take it the wrong way? Was it too personal, too close to something she had no right to offer? She took a slow breath anyway. “But… have you ever tried guided meditation?”
He blinked at her. His shoulders sagged a little as he exhaled, dropping his gaze. “No,” he said after a pause. Just that.
Her pulse spiked. This was past her job, and maybe he’d hear more in it than she meant to admit. “Want to give it a try?” she asked gently. “I used to… you know. When it got really bad, I’d sit with him and do it.” She swallowed. “It helped. Sometimes.”
His eyes lifted at that. There was something unreadable in them. Surprise, maybe. Doubt. A little curiosity.
The idea sounded like bullshit. Bucky had been poked, prodded, sedated, reprogrammed, hypnotized, and rewired. He didn’t trust anything that had to do with closing his eyes and letting go. But she was here, just offering to sit with him and try something that could help. And maybe, with her voice... it would be different.
He let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
She smiled softly. “Exactly.”
He rubbed his scarred shoulder with the heel of his palm. “So, how does it work?”
“Well,” she said, smoothing the front of her apron again, “you sit somewhere comfortable. Or lie down. And I just… talk you through breathing. Where to put your thoughts. How to let go of the ones that hurt.”
Bucky tilted his head, uncertain. “Sounds like a sham.”
“Most good things do,” she murmured.
That earned her a quiet huff from him, but it wasn’t annoyed, it was closer to amused. “Alright,” he said gruffly. “Let’s try it.”
“You’ll want a pillow,” she added.
----
Bucky lay down on the couch, slowly, and the leather creaked beneath him, stretching with his weight. He exhaled through his nose, trying not to wince as he shifted his body to a position that wouldn’t tug at the scarred edge of his shoulder. She sat on the floor beside him, but a little behind, with her legs folded under her, just out of his line of sight. It was intentional, she knew some people felt self-conscious if they were being watched during moments like this.
“Close your eyes,” she said softly, voice low and even.
He didn’t move.
“I can tell you’re not doing it,” she added, just as gently, with the faintest thread of a smile under the words.
He sighed, long and slow, and let a reluctant, muttered, “Fine,” slip past his lips.
She let the quiet stretch for a second before her voice came again, firmer now. “It won’t work if you don’t cooperate. Are you sure you want to try this?”
“Yeah,” he said, and it was a little hoarse. “I just- sorry. Please. Continue.”
Another pause.
“Alright,” she said, her voice a soft murmur, “Just breathe with me. Deep breath in.”
Bucky did a shallow, tight intake of air that rattled slightly in his chest.
“No,” she said gently, “deeper than that. Like you’re breathing in clean air for the first time. Fill your stomach first, then your chest. All the way up.”
He tried again, and this time the breath was full, slow, and even. A long, shuddering exhale followed it.
“That’s it. Now, start by noticing the places where your body touches the couch. Your shoulders, your back, your heels. Feel your weight sinking into it… like gravity’s pulling just a little stronger today.”
She waited.
“Now breathe in again through your nose, slow and deep. Hold it for three counts. One… two… three… and let it go, nice and slow, like you’re letting air out of a balloon. Try again.”
She listened as he did, matching her pace. His breathing slowed almost despite himself. The air around them felt stiller. A faint twitch ran through the corner of his mouth, not quite a frown, not quite a release.
“Let your jaw unclench. Relax your forehead. Let your arms go heavy. Even the phantom one, try to let it feel heavy, too. Let it drift.”
His throat bobbed once, the faintest shiver running through his body as the muscles along his back loosened. He exhaled again, deeper this time.
“Imagine the pain as static. White noise. Just a sound your mind’s gotten used to tuning into. Now, picture turning the volume down. Little by little.”
He did.
“Now, focus on your breathing again. Let it be the only thing. In through the nose… hold… and out. That’s it.”
Outside, the rain still tapped against the windows, but he didn’t notice it anymore. Somewhere between her voice and the imagined weightlessness, the pain dulled. Not gone, not erased, but quieted. Something to acknowledge and release, not to fight. His jaw, which had been clenched tight since he couldn’t remember, loosened.. His hand stopped twitching. For a few minutes, there was just her voice.
Nothing else.
He didn't realize how tired he was until her voice seemed to wrap around him. His thoughts, usually a relentless, paranoid carousel, began to slow. The faces, the missions, the memories, they were still there, but they were no longer screaming for his attention. They were just… thoughts. Something he could observe and let go.
After what felt like a long time, the words slowed, then stopped.
He lay there for another minute. He felt… spent. Drained. But the pain, for the first time in what felt like forever, was no longer in the driver’s seat. It was a passenger, silent and dormant, and for the first time since that day, he felt like he could breathe without being controlled by it.
----
She understood. Maybe not the exact feel of his pain, but its depth. She'd seen it before, in Lance. Some days it was so bad he couldn’t speak, didn’t want to eat, couldn’t be touched. And Bucky… well, what he'd endured went beyond a battlefield. Sometimes, pain came with shame. And shame came with silence. Especially for men like him. Soldiers. Survivors. Men are taught to never flinch, never fall. That was why he was locked in that room.
She let the silence stretch for a moment longer. Then her voice came back, soft but purposeful.
“Alright. I want you to picture something now. A forest path. You're alone. No pressure, no eyes on you. Just your steps, and the sound of leaves underfoot. Everything smells like damp moss, like pine. Sunlight filters through the branches.”
Her words rolled slowly, like a gentle current, wrapping around his consciousness.
“The further you walk, the quieter everything gets. No traffic. No voices. Just birds, wind, and your breath.”
She shifted slightly, the fabric of her pants rustling faintly as she adjusted her seat behind him.
“You find a stream. Clear, slow water. You follow it, and it leads you to a lake, hidden between trees. The kind no one’s mapped. Like it’s been waiting just for you.”
Bucky’s chest rose, held, and exhaled.
“No one’s there. You’re not in a rush. The sun's warm. The water, even warmer.”
A pause.
“You undress. Not because you’re supposed to, but because you want to. The air is soft. The breeze is kind. You step into the lake, slowly. It welcomes you.”
She smiled faintly, voice lowering into a kind of hush.
“Float. Let the water hold you up. You don’t have to carry anything. Not your weight. Not your name. Not the pain.”
Her voice hitched barely, but kept going.
“The surface cradles you. The sun kisses your face, your chest. Even the places that ache. It sees everything, and still... it’s gentle with you.”
She heard his breath deepen. Knew he was still there, still listening. Still floating. So she said no more. Let the quiet swell again, only leaving the sound of her breathing near his shoulder.
Let the water do the rest.
----
After another long moment of silence, her voice returned, a little more solid now. “Alright, James. When you’re ready, you can come back now. The path is always there.”
He blinked, a slow, deliberate motion. Then pushed himself upright, the leather couch groaning beneath him. He ran a hand over his face, clumsy with the weight of whatever he’d just emerged from. He felt disoriented, like he’d just woken from a long, deep sleep he hadn’t known he needed. He looked at her, his expression was a mix of awe and bewilderment.
“Well,” he said, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I’ll be damned.”
She rose, unfolding her legs and brushing her palms on her apron. She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “It can be… surprising, the first time.”
He shook his head, a faint, almost amused smile on his lips. “Surprising? That’s… that’s not the word I’d use. I haven’t felt that quiet in my head in a long, long time.” The honesty in his voice was a little unsettling, even to him. It felt like a confession.
She busied herself with the scattered items on the floor, picking up the spray bottle she had dropped. “It’s just about retraining the brain,” she said, a little too quickly. “Giving it a new focus. Giving those nerve signals something else to respond to.”
But he didn’t believe that. Not really.
It wasn’t just “science,” he thought, watching her. It was you. Her voice in the dark. He hadn’t simply followed a path, he had followed her, trusted her to walk through the minefield of his mind without triggering anything fatal. And she had. She had been gentle. She had been kind. She gave him a place to rest. He realized, with a jolt, that he trusted her. The kind of trust he had only felt toward very few people after he became the Soldat.
He watched her, a knot of feelings threading in his chest. “Thank you,” he said, the words feeling too small, too inadequate for what she had just given him. “For… this.”
She felt the heat of his gaze, the weight of his sincerity. The answer rose to her lips -anytime- but the voice in her head, the one built of rent bills and ruined dreams and every reality check she’d ever swallowed, cut in. He's your boss. Don't be a fool.
Still, the wall didn’t go up all the way.
She turned around, meeting his tired gaze. A small, genuine smile graced her lips. “You’re welcome,” she said softly, the words filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with her job. “It’s- I’m glad it helped.”
She held his gaze for a moment longer than she should have before she took a step back, brushing the frame of the doorway with her fingers. “I’ll let you rest,” she added, not quite breaking the spell, but weakening it enough for both to breathe.
“Thanks for the elbow,” she added, “Guess we’re even.” She then tugged the vacuum behind her, retreating toward the laundry room. Fast, like she knew if she remained a second longer, she might say something she couldn’t take back.
Bucky sat there, still half-slouched on the couch, feeling his body heavy. He leaned forward, draping his right arm loosely across his knee.
He’d closed his eyes. Let her inside his head.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that without force, without drugs, without protocol.
And she hadn't asked for anything in return.
No agenda.
She had just… helped.
He leaned back into the couch, exhaling slowly, his eyes drawn toward the hallway she’d gone down. He wasn’t used to kindness. Not the real kind. Not the kind that asked for nothing.
If he was honest with himself, something had changed. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to run from it.
He let his head tip back against the cushion and stared at the ceiling for a long time.
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader
Summary: Misunderstandings can create issues.
Warnings: Explicit language, adult themes, MDNI.
Word Count: 4.4k
Series Masterlist
You couldn’t even decide on the exact reason why you were so on edge at this point.
Maybe it was your secret relationship.
Maybe it was the fact that your father, who had half of the Congress in his pocket, had threatened your secret boyfriend.
Maybe it was the fact that you knew if the said relationship came out, you would be torn to pieces.
Or maybe you were drinking too much coffee.
You tried to balance the coffee cup tray on your arm while you checked your emails on your phone with your other hand, humming a song to yourself and making your way down the hallway to Bucky’s office. You quickly typed in your response, rolling your eyes and stepped into the office, then made a beeline to Kelsey’s desk past Tim and Lisa’s.
“Here you go,” you said, putting the tray on her desk so that you could take out her cup of coffee and yours. “Considering you didn’t come home last night, I’m guessing it was a long night.”
“And a fun one,” she said, her gaze drifting to the corner of the room. “Speaking of fun, promise me you won’t overreact.”
You took a sip of your coffee. “Hm?”
“And that you’ll give him a chance.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hi ma’am!” A voice came from the corner of the room, making you look over your shoulder. The young guy at the corner couldn’t be older than twenty and he was holding a file to his chest, an excited smile lighting up his face. “Thank you so much for the opportunity, I promise you won’t regret it.”
You blinked a couple of times. “Um…hello, who are you?”
“I’m Brian,” he said, rushing to shake your hand but tripping over the strap of his satchel on the floor in the process. “Sorry! Cong—Congressman Barnes hired me to be your intern.”
“He’s adorable, I want to give him chocolate and wrap him in a blanket,” Kelsey commented while you gawked at him.
“Sorry, what?”
“Birdie, don’t overreact,” Kelsey reminded you and you took a deep breath, irritation making your jaw clench.
“Excuse me for a moment, Brian,” you said through your teeth and made your way to Bucky’s office, knocked on the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind you. Bucky’s head shot up, a smile pulling at his lips as he stood up.
“Morning darling.”
You had to remind yourself not to melt as he approached you to pull you closer, but you forced yourself to pull back, making him tilt his head in confusion.
“Is everything okay?”
“Nope.” You pointed at the door. “You hired an intern for me?”
Realization dawned on his face and he ran a hand through his hair.
“Okay, before you say no—”
“I am saying no.”
“We talked about this.”
“You talked about this.”
“I gave you two options,” he reminded you. “Time off or this. You chose this.”
“Yeah and we said I’d give the okay!”
“And you didn’t give the okay to any of them,” he said patiently. “I gave you a stack of resumes, you looked me in the eye and pushed them off the desk into the trash can. I’m half convinced Alpine learned that trick from you.”
“So your solution was to—to—” You flailed your arms. “To intern trap me?”
“Intern trap you?”
“It’s like baby trapping me but worse.”
He rubbed his forehead like confusion was giving him a headache. “That’s not a thing—how is that worse?”
“I can follow my parents’ example and give the baby to a goddamn nanny!” You snapped, stomping on your foot. “Who am I gonna give the intern to?”
“No one,” he said. “He’s here to help you with the workload.”
You shook your head. “I don’t need help.”
“I’m not risking another panic attack, sweetheart.”
“I’m not gonna have a panic attack!” you hissed. “I can handle the workload.”
“I’m not saying you can’t—”
“You are saying I can’t!” you insisted. “Assign him to someone else.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, the familiar insecurities churning your stomach again as you scoffed a laugh, pacing in the room.
“Bucky,” you said, trying your hardest to stay calm. “I can’t have people think I’m incompetent—”
“No one is going to think that,” he told you. “There are so many people who have interns.”
“Yeah, incompetent people who can’t do their own jobs!”
“Just give him a chance,” Bucky said. “You might like him. You don’t even have to give him anything to do on his first day, just give him a tour or something.”
“A tour?” you repeated and went to the door to swing it open, then leaned back to the doorframe. “Brian, would you like a tour of the Capitol?”
He nodded his head like an excited puppy. “Yeah!”
“Great.” You pointed at the entrance. “There’s the door, you can just—”
You were cut off when Bucky said your name, the serious tone of his voice making you frown at him, and as if on cue Congressman Riley walked through the entrance.
“Good morning,” he said. “Barnes, you’ve got a moment?”
Bucky stole a look at you, then nodded at him.
“Uh, sure.”
“Hi there.” Congressman Riley greeted you as he stepped into Bucky’s office and you forced yourself to smile at him.
“Hello sir,” you said and turned to Bucky. “Before I forget, Mr. Barnes, I’m afraid I won’t be staying after hours today, but if you need any assistance with the packet, you can contact anyone else on the team.”
He was smart enough to understand what you were referring to and he blinked a couple of times. “I was under the impression we would work on that together.”
“Oh, not this evening I’m afraid, I have this mental health thing I need to attend to,” you said, your voice completely professional. “It was on the calendar, has it escaped your notice?”
“Let the girl go, Barnes,” Congressman Riley joked. “She has a health thing. I can lend you someone from my team for the evening.”
Bucky raised his brows at you, and you smiled at him.
“Have a wonderful day,” you said and walked out of the office, with Brian rushing after you to catch up with you.
“Ma’am?”
“Come on,” you told him. “Time for your tour, I guess.”
*
For the record, you were aware that Brian wasn’t to blame.
The guy, as Kelsey had put it, was kind of adorable. He hung onto your every word, he was excited to be in the Capitol, he was apparently a genius and you could already tell that he was hardworking.
He wasn’t the problem. You were.
Your head was swirling with insecurities, the ones that you knew were nonsense but still couldn’t stop. The idea of not being good at your job, the idea of people seeing your shortcomings such as your inability to cope with stress in the form of a panic attack, the idea of being replaceable; they all made a terrific combination to sink your stomach and fill you with fury.
Did Bucky actually think you weren’t going to be able to focus and do your goddamn job now that you two were dating? Was this his way of letting you down gently and take away your responsibilities one by one, thinking that you wouldn’t be able to recognize what was happening?
Maybe this was the first step of changing your position in the Congress; finding someone that you could teach the ropes, and then putting him where you were.
Your eyes were darting over the same line for what felt like the hundredth time when you heard someone pull the chair across from yours and plop down, making your head shoot up.
“Is this take your kid to work day?” Lucas grinned, jerking his head in Brian’s direction. “Or a school trip?”
You sulked. “Very funny.”
“What is your name, Victorian orphan?”
“I’m Brian.” Brian quickly extended his hand to shake Lucas’s. “It’s an honor, sir. And I graduated college this year actually, but I got accepted when I was sixteen, that’s why I look younger than other interns.”
Lucas turned to you. “Are we breaking any child labor laws by employing him?”
“No sir, I’m nineteen—”
“Don’t take him seriously,” you told Brian. “Brian, this is Lucas. Lucas, Brian is my intern. He’s gonna be uh…around.”
“You’ve got an intern?” Lucas asked with a small laugh. “Whoa, maybe I should apply to work for Barnes. I’ve been begging Gray for an intern for like a year.”
“I’m very grateful for the opportunity,” Brian said breathlessly. “Seriously, I—it’s been my dream since I was a kid.”
“Adorable and a genius.” Lucas pointed at you with his thumb. “Your mentor scared the shit out of an Executive Assistant on her first week, and I’ve seen her bring an adult man to the verge of tears when he tried to pull rank on her. She’s gonna eat you alive, welcome to politics.”
“Again, don’t listen to him.”
Lucas lowered his voice as if he was giving Brian a secret. “There’s a reason we call her Hurricane on Heels.”
“Brian you’re not gonna be calling me that, and Lucas, stop hazing my intern.”
“This brings back memories though,” Lucas said with a smile. “Do you remember your first internship?”
You groaned. “Yep. I still have everyone’s coffee orders memorized.”
“I was summoned to bring condoms to my boss’s place in the middle of the night,” he muttered, making you let out a laugh.
“There was this one time, they sent me to the archive and I had to sort out all the documents in the last decade and put them in chronological order,” you said. “I didn’t go home that weekend, basically showered with my deodorant, and Max—my boyfriend back then— had to bring new clothes to the firm so that I could look presentable on Monday.”
“We’re not gonna do that to you, interns aren’t allowed in the archives,” Lucas motioned at Brian. “You’d better memorize everyone’s coffee orders though. Or condom preferences.”
“You don’t have to do any of that,” you told him. “You’re here to learn the job, not to be anyone’s butler. If anyone else other than me tries to give you any work, you come and tell me, alright?”
Lucas hummed. “Look at you breaking the trauma chain.”
“It’s no problem, I can—I can bring coffee or…condoms, ma’am,” Brian said, making you grimace.
“I’m not gonna ask you to do that, Brian,” you said while Lucas chuckled. “Neither will anyone else at the office. And stop calling me ma’am.”
Lucas drummed his fingers on the desk. “See, this is why people will vote for you when you run for office, Hurricane. No one will have anything bad to say about you.”
You raised your brows. “I’m not gonna run for office.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been told I don’t look good in pantsuits,” you deadpanned. “Did you see the revisions I sent you?”
“Mm hm. I sent you an email on Sunday, you didn’t get back.”
You licked your lips.
“Yeah my…my phone was acting weird, I had to get it fixed.”
“Here I was thinking you were enjoying your Sunday away from your phone,” he joked and you shot him a look.
“Have you met me?”
“Yep. Exactly why I sent you that email on a Sunday, you workaholic.”
“Takes one to know one, Lucas.”
He leaned back on his chair. “Speaking of work,” he said. “I need your help with something.”
“The clean energy bill?”
“Nope,” he said. “A buddy of mine is working on this Constituent Outreach Packet, I have no idea why Lawrence gave him that but I promised him I’d help him out but it never hurts to have someone else look it over.”
You took a look at your schedule, then shrugged your shoulders.
“Sure.”
“You’re an angel,” Lucas said, letting out a breath. “I’m serious, I’m buying you dinner sometime.”
You scoffed a laugh at the mental image of Bucky hearing that.
“Don’t intimidate my intern and we’ll call it even.” You brushed him off as you grabbed your files and stood up. “Come on Brian. You can sit and observe while we work.”
*
Focusing your whole attention on the packets and bills and revisions had worked, at least until you left the Capitol. You had made sure to stay away from Bucky’s way and didn’t drop by the office for the entire day; opting to go straight home instead.
Yet, now that you were alone with your thoughts, you were way too restless. You had tried to distract yourself but nothing helped with the uncomfortable sinking in your stomach, or the spiraling in your mind.
And to make today even more fun, you had a stress headache.
Even though you knew you were being nonsense and that Bucky would never plan to push you out of the picture, that stupid voice in your head refused to shut the fuck up, so here you were, simmering in your bed with your eyes closed in an attempt to soothe the headache. You grimaced when someone knocked on the door and opened it, making you slide deeper into your sheets, pressing your palms on your eyes.
“Caleb, whatever it is, it can wait.”
“We’re gonna have to disagree on that one.” Bucky’s deep voice shot through the quiet room, making you lift your hands from your eyes and sit up straight. Your heartbeat got faster at the sight of his handsome face even though you were still irrationally angry about the intern issue, not even noticing he had his hands behind his back like he was hiding something as you got up from the bed.
“Caleb let you in?”
“Mm hm.”
“Thanks a lot, Brutus!” You called out and heard Caleb’s groan.
“We have been listening to the same Lana Del Rey song for four fucking hours!” he replied. “Enough is enough, I’m like two seconds away from crashing Kelsey’s date just to listen to something else.”
You rolled your eyes and turned to Bucky, but before you could say anything he whipped out a bouquet of flowers behind his back and held them out for you.
Oh dear God, you were actually going to melt.
You couldn’t help but smile, but then your head shot up, panic filling your system.
“Bucky, if any journalist saw you at the door with flowers—”
“I didn’t use the front door.”
You blinked a couple of times. “Come again?”
“I climbed up the fire escape.”
“…You climbed up the fire escape as in the old, half broken death trap on the outer wall?” You pointed at the window and he nodded.
“Yeah. We need to do something about those stairs.”
You tried to resist the urge to fling yourself into his arms, pausing for a second before you took the flowers from him.
“Thank you,” you murmured. “They’re very beautiful.”
He offered you a tightlipped smile.
“Birdie…” he started but you walked past him to make your way through the living room to the kitchen, ignoring Caleb sitting by the kitchen island, snacking and working on something on his laptop. Bucky followed you suit, and out of the corner of your eye you could see him exchange glances with Caleb while you rummaged through the kitchen cabinets.
“Kels brought a vase, where did we put it?”
Caleb pointed at one of the cabinets and grinned. “How come I don’t get flowers, Bucky?”
“The same reason why you don’t have to be here right now,” Bucky said and he frowned.
“Listen, I pay rent so I’m planning on making my money’s worth,” Caleb said as you cut a small part of the stems. “Although, thank you for climbing the fire escape and making my job easier, it would’ve been a bit difficult to explain that pic to the public.”
“Making your job easier was the only thing in my mind,” Bucky deadpanned and Caleb pointed a finger at him.
“Listen here, Congressman Cullen—”
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“She didn’t tell you who Edward Cullen is?”
“She only told me about uh— about Pedro Pascal.”
“I still cannot believe you didn’t know Pedro Pascal before us.”
“I’m not good with pop culture, that’s your job.”
You filled the vase with water, put the flowers into it, picked it up and made your way back to your room with Bucky following you, Caleb calling out after you that he would put his earphones on and turn the volume to max just in case you wanted to make up. Bucky shook his head slightly, closing the door behind him as you put the vase on your small desk.
“Can we talk?”
“Depends,” you said. “Will I be talking to my boss or my boyfriend?”
The look in his eyes was almost reprimanding. “Your boyfriend.”
“Terrific,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “My boss is being an ass.”
“For doing what you and I already agreed to?” he asked. “You gave me no other choice, Birdie.”
“You had a choice,” you protested. “Not hiring an intern, for example.”
“Why are you so against this?”
You opened your mouth then closed it again, your lips pulling into a petulant pout as you glared up at him.
“No seriously,” Bucky insisted. “You didn’t react like this to any of the interns who were helping you out during the campaign. What changed?”
“They weren’t helping me out, they were helping the team.”
“I’ve heard them talk about you giving them work numerous times.”
“Well—it—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “It was different.”
“How?”
“Would you have done this anyway if you and I weren’t dating?” you asked back, making him frown.
“I told you I would do this before I had any idea you reciprocated.”
Anxiety churned your stomach and you ran a hand over your face, leaning back to the small desk.
“Birdie I’m really trying to understand—”
“Are you replacing me?” you cut him off, unable to keep the question in any longer and Bucky let out a scoff of laugh as if you had made a joke in the middle of a very important argument, but a look of realization dawned on his face upon seeing your expression.
“Jesus,” he said after a pause. “You’re serious.”
“No shit I’m serious, Bucky!” you snapped. “What is the plan here? Is this—like, is this your way of letting me down easy? Like, you’re gonna divide my responsibilities and I’ll have to teach people my job so that it’ll be easier to replace me?”
He gawked at you, seemingly at a loss for words which made it easier for you to rant as you paced in the room.
“You don’t think I can handle the pressure because of that stupid panic attack, or things changed because we’re dating so I’ll have to find my successor for a smooth transition in the office, is that it? Diminish the work I do—”
“Whoa, whoa!” Bucky stopped you. “Sweetheart…”
“I don’t know what influenced that decision, being my boss or being my boyfriend but either way, I can take care of myself, and you can’t be my boyfriend at work, not to mention I was working on my career long before I became your girlfriend—”
“I know that,” he assured you. “That’s not what is happening.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s not the 1940s anymore, you know?” he joked, his lips twitching into a teasing smile. “You’re a little old fashioned if you think career and relationship have to be counteractive, get with the modern times.”
“So this is about you thinking I can’t handle it because of the panic attack and trying to replace me, and then you—”
He cut you off by leaning down to kiss you, effectively shutting both you and your mind at the same time. His flesh hand cradled the back of your head while his vibranium arm sneaked around your waist, and you melted into his chest, a sigh leaving your lips when he pulled back. His hand slipped from the back of your head to lift your chin gently, your eyes fluttering open, that familiar daze taking over you again.
“Can I defend myself against that very creative theory?” he asked and you pouted with a frown, forcing yourself to focus.
“So you deny it.”
“Vehemently,” he added and a small chuckle vibrated his chest. “Wait, who do you think I’m replacing you with?”
“I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Brian.”
“So in other words, I’m putting a baby deer into a spaceship cockpit and hoping for the best?”
“He’s a genius—”
“In case it has escaped your attention, so are you darling.”
“I didn’t get accepted into college when I was sixteen though,” you pointed out. “And it doesn’t—it doesn’t have to be Brian. Maybe you’re just dividing my responsibilities until the right candidate comes along.”
He smiled softly. “Or maybe I’d rather resign myself than to replace you?”
You rolled your eyes. “Bucky, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he told you. “Come on, you know it as well as I do that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
“That’s really not true.”
“And the minute you decide to change jobs or quit, I might as well because that won’t work out, and even if it did, I won’t even want to be there. What am I going to do in the Congress if I don’t have you, just hang out?”
“You need to give yourself more credit,” you insisted. “I didn’t win the election, you did.”
“Mm hm. Thanks to whose efforts?”
“The team!”
“The team did a pretty good job but you made the whole thing happen,” he said. “And besides, I don’t…”
You tilted your head when he paused, your anger forgotten. “What?”
“The more time I spend in the Congress, the more I feel like I’m not meant to be there,” he muttered. “Like I’m not meant to be a politician.”
You pulled back a little, your stomach dropping when you remembered your father’s words.
“Bucky…”
“That’s not the point—the point is,” Bucky said, “I didn’t hire Brian to replace you, or undermine you. You know me better than that.”
You couldn’t help but bury your face into his chest just so that you could blink back the tears before he could even see them rushing to your eyes. He nuzzled into your hair, his hand cradling the back of your head again.
“I’m trying to make things easier for you,” he muttered. “Just that, alright? I know you’re very much capable of doing things by yourself, but why did we win the election if you’re still gonna be taking on everything by yourself?”
“So that people will see,” you mumbled into his chest and he hummed.
“People already saw,” he told you. “You’ve proven yourself, sweetheart. You don’t have to go above and beyond, everyone is already impressed.”
You entwined your fingers with his vibranium ones and took a deep breath, his pleasant scent filling your nostrils and soothing the insecurities in your mind almost immediately.
“You should’ve told me,” he said. “Instead of avoiding me all day.”
“I was busy with my intern,” you replied, making him huff out a laugh.
“And the verdict?”
You pulled back a little to look up at him.
“He’s not half bad,” you muttered. “I didn’t even ask you, why did you hire him? I mean, I get that he’s a genius and everything, but why him from all the other resumes?”
“He graduated from the same college as you,” he said. “I figured you’d want to mentor someone whom you have something in common with.”
You could feel a smile warming your face.
“Not to mention, Kelsey said the guy is cute so he’s not gonna be annoying to you,” he added, making you giggle.
“He is cute. Kels does have a point, one look at him and I want to wrap him in a blanket and give him chocolate.”
“See? Not annoying, that’s a plus.”
You bit inside your cheek, then cleared your throat.
“Very well then,” you said. “I can put him on spellcheck duty for now. And maybe content check of references and footnotes in packet drafts.”
“There we go.”
You pursed your lips, rubbing at your eyes with a frown.
“Sorry,” you mumbled. “About this whole thing. I don’t know why but I have this thing, I keep thinking people will say I’m incompetent and my mind spirals and…”
“Anyone who says that about you won’t get to repeat that, it’s a little hard to say things if all their teeth are broken.”
A laugh climbed your throat. “You can’t be my boyfriend at work.”
“As you keep telling me.” If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve though he was sulking. “That’s the only reason why we wasted time talking about packets yesterday instead of going to a supply closet after the meeting.”
Your eyes widened. “There were other people in the office, Bucky!”
“My point about the supply closet.” He pulled you into a kiss, lifting you off the floor. You let out a squeal that turned into a giggle as you both fell on the bed and he propped himself up on his arm to see you better, the fond light in his eyes making your cheeks burn. His thumb stroked your cheekbone before he pressed his lips to your temple.
“Still quiet?”
You could swear your heart was melting but you managed to nod, then rested your palm on his chest, his strong heartbeat drumming under your hand.
“Still warm?”
You felt him smile.
“Yeah,” he said as you pulled his shirt off his head, his dog tags dangling between you before he leaned down to kiss you, but you grasped the chain of his dog tags, turning your head to look at the door before gazing up at him.
“We’re not alone though,” you whispered, making him smirk at you.
“Think you can be quiet, beautiful?”
You couldn’t help but grin, then tugged at the chain of his dog tags to pull him into a kiss.
Winter Soldier!Bucky x fem!Reader, 9 chapters plus prologue & epilogue. This chapter is rated Mature, but others are Explicit for sexual contact, which considering it’s the Winter Soldier should be considered vaguely dub!con within an established relationship. Updates will be Tuesdays & Thursdays until complete.
Chapter Summary:
The truth comes out.
Full notes on AO3, but please note the Trigger Warning for Dub!con above.
“He’s not your asset anymore,” you say, shaking, but the Soldier pulls you into him, holds you tight, his metal fingers digging into your forearm. You struggle against him—and there it is, the quick-release.
The arm falls with a clunk as you race away. You barely make three steps before you’re tackled to the ground by one of the henchmen, and you scream as your knee hits the concrete, hard and jarring, both in pain and frustration.
“Hey, there, pretty girl,” says the henchmen, a syrupy slick voice in your ear, as his hand gropes to brush the side of your breast.
Just as fast, his weight is gone, and there’s a crack. You stay face-down on the concrete, breathing hard, as the asshole’s body falls to the ground beside you, eyes slowly going dull.
“That was unwise,” says the scar-faced man coldly.
“She’s mine,” growls the Soldier standing over you, and you hear the click of his arm reattaching.
“Hmm. Get her up.”
The Soldier lifts you up with one swift move that leaves your head spinning. “I can give you information about the Avengers. Where they are, how to eliminate them in one move.”
“You asshole,” you shriek, and shove at him, scratching his face with your fingernails, digging under his skin, drawing blood. Not that he seems to feel it; the Soldier tightens his left hand around your forearm and you scream at the sudden sharp pain. “I can’t wait for them to find us and shoot you dead.”
“And I should believe you, why?” sneers the scar-faced man.
The Soldier shakes you. “Ask her. She’ll confirm.”
“Like hell I will!”
The scar-faced man leans in close, and you hold your breath. “What an excellent idea.”
You spit at him, blood mixed with saliva. It hits him on the cheek, and he wipes it away with a handkerchief and a grim, almost admiring smile. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“My dear girl,” he says. “You don’t seem to understand. You don’t have a choice.”
And then he says something else, and with that word, the veils around your mind begin to drop. “Krasevye….”
*
The world is bleary, confused, too loud and too soft and too bright and too dark, all at once. It’s easier to focus on the small details: the feel of the hard floor under your cheek, the chill in the air, the sound of men talking, barking orders, of the Soldier responding, rote and dry.
Your mouth is dry, thick like cotton. Your head aches, like you’ve woken before you were ready. Your eyes won’t focus, and you push yourself out of whatever fog you’re in, trying to make sense of it.
“—this may be our best chance to remove the remaining Avengers from the playing field.”
“We’ll arrange for immediate transport.”
None of them look at you. They’re busy on the other side of the room, walking around a large table, pointing and plotting, orders thrown in every direction. The Soldier, Scarface, minions in uniform.
You remember Scarface, speaking to you, words in Russian, overlapping with words you’d heard from the Soldier’s lips against your skin. Bucky, in the half-light from a dying fire, and Scarface, glowing in the pink and blue of a nightclub, raising a glass to you in a congratulatory toast.
It burns, the images, deep in your heart. Burns so badly you can barely breathe with it, barely think past it.
“We’ll come in fast and with full power. Less chance of tipping them off.”
“They’ll suspect anyway.” The Soldier, his voice brisk and gruff. “They’re too well trained not to be wary.”
“Then we use that against them.”
You feel sick, even as you stand. But still no one notices you. Not even when you cross to the table, and pull the gun right out of a guard’s holster, and hold it at Scarface’s spine.
Your finger rests on the trigger. It wouldn’t take much.
It’s still somehow too much.
“You can’t do anything if you’re paralyzed,” you say, your voice shaking. “One shot. That’s all it’ll take.”
“Is that so?” says Scarface mildly. “Soldier.”
He moves fast, and hard, and the gun clatters to the ground as he twists it from your fingers. There’s not even a shot to ricochet; before you can blink, the Soldier has your arms locked behind you, held tight to him. His breath dancing in your hair as he turns you to face Scarface, a sardonic smile on his twisted lips.
“You should have just shot me,” he says. “But then, you have wasted a great deal of my time to talking.”
You blink at him, confused. “I’ve never talked to you in my life.”
“Haven’t you? Since the day you walked into the Tower, you’ve been mine. Giving me every bit of information you learned about its security and its occupants. There is not a single shred of information that you have not given to me, willingly and without hesitation.”
You stare at him, shaking your slowly. “No. That’s not… I wouldn’t!”
He leans closer to you. “Krasevye. Chuvstvennyy. Hochu tebya…”
You blink, hard, shaking your head as the fog begins to form around you. The Soldier’s fingers digging into your skin helps. “I don’t… stop it. What are you…?”
“You told me the names of the guards at the front desk: Leo, John, Hassan, Ali. There are three main entrances on Park, 42nd, and Atlantic, but also three other access points that lead into the garage, only accessible by employees with driving privileges. Supplies are delivered to an unmarked door on an alley that cuts through 45th to Atlantic, and must be pre-arranged by calling a specific number. The last access code you used was 513678, and while it was due to expire in another two weeks, it would have been cancelled the moment you were taken by the Soldier, per protocol.
“I know, because you told me. Mixed in with the daily habits and lunch orders and office gossip. There is not one scrap of information that passes through that Tower that you did not give me, willingly, every time I asked. So when I thank you for your service, remember. You have been mine, from the very beginning. And do you know the most important thing you have given me?”
Your breathing speeds up, your heart pounds. Your eyes are wide on him, horror dawning.
“You have given me back my Soldier. A piece of luck, his taking an interest in you, one I did not anticipate but welcomed nonetheless. Without you, I would never have been able to access the Tower and remind him of his loyalties. And without you, I would not be able to use him to destroy the Avengers for good.”
“You bastard,” you hiss, and you try to lunge for him, but the Soldier holds you fast.
You twist, and somehow, jam your shoulder into the Soldier’s solar plexus, and your elbow into his groin. Even the Soldier can’t stand under that assault; he lets go of you just long enough for you to take two steps toward Scarface.
But that’s all you do, before two additional guards flank you. You try to fight, but it’s no use, and to make it worse, one of them punches you in the stomach, just to the side of your still-healing wound, which makes you scream in pain.
No help comes. When you lift your head, you see the Soldier first, on one knee, hands clenched at his side, jaw tight with pain, eyes staring into the middle distance.
“Yes, hold yourself,” the man sneers at him, and the Soldier’s jaw works, though he doesn’t move. The man glances back at you. “She’s rather outlived her usefulness, of course. We can hardly use her in the field again. But I suppose you will do as the Asset’s plaything, since he has taken a liking to you. And I’m sure he’d like to repay the favor you paid him.”
You feel sick, light, loose; the Soldier growls.
“They’ll kill you for taking him,” you spit. “Steve broke his programming before. He can do it again.”
The man’s eyes widen. “My dear girl. Don’t play games with me. You saw Steve Rogers fall. Why do you think they haven’t come to save you yet? Why save you, when you’re the one who killed him?”
Your eyes widen. “No. I—Tony went after him! He’s fine!”
“Take her to her room,” snaps the man. “The Soldier can play when his work is done.”
They drag you away before you can scream, but not before you see the Soldier, staring wide-eyed at you, before he turns back to the table where the plans are being made, determination on his face.
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