A/N: Still of Bucky Barnes in my header taken by a still made by @rainbowkisses31. It’s just what I needed, I hope you don’t mind!
Starring: Senator!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Assassin!Reader
Summary: Bucky broke your heart. You didn’t expect to see him on a job.
Warnings: 18+ Only. Angst. Oh angst. Lots of feelings. Unprotected sex. Oral sex (f receiving). Bucky being a menace.
Word count: 3892
Divider by: @firefly-graphics
You adjust your earpiece, scanning the crowd at the political fundraiser as you blend into the background. It’s a sea of expensive gowns, suits, and forced smiles, but you’re not here for idle chatter. Your target for tonight is Valentina Allegra De Fontaine— Val for short. Her dealings have been raising enough eyebrows to catch the attention of some high-level players—your employers. It’s supposed to be a simple recon mission, but that changes the second you see him.
Bucky Barnes.
You haven’t seen him in over a year, not since things between you ended. And there he is, mingling with the upper crust, looking just as good as ever. His dark hair is a bit longer, the salt and pepper in his beard a striking contrast to the image burned into your memory. It’s unfair, really—how he can look so composed while your heart clenches painfully in your chest.
You step further into the shadows, hoping to avoid his attention. It’s been too long, but not long enough for the unresolved tension to dissipate. Seeing him now, as Senator Barnes, reminds you of how much has changed. He’s no longer the man haunted by his past, trying to make amends for sins that weren’t his fault. He’s powerful, respected—redeemed in the public eye. But you knew him before all that.
He hasn’t spotted you yet. You’re not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.
You edge toward the far side of the room, keeping a low profile, but it’s impossible not to steal glances in Bucky’s direction. The way he carries himself now, with such calm assurance, is a far cry from the man you used to know. There’s still a trace of that hardness in his eyes, a remnant of the Winter Soldier’s past, but there’s something else too—something softer, more refined.
You tell yourself to focus. Val is your target, not Bucky. She’s standing at the other end of the room, talking to some prominent political figures. Her influence is growing, and that makes her dangerous. But despite your best efforts, your attention keeps drifting back to Bucky.
Then, as if sensing the weight of your gaze, he turns.
Your breath catches. For a moment, time slows. His sharp blue eyes lock onto yours across the room, and in that instant, you know there’s no escaping this reunion. The recognition in his eyes is immediate, the brief flicker of surprise quickly masked by something deeper, something unreadable. His lips part as if to speak, but the distance between you is too great.
Before you can decide whether to slip away or stand your ground, he’s already moving toward you. Each step he takes feels deliberate, calculated, like a predator closing in on its prey. You square your shoulders, refusing to be the one to back down. If he wants to talk, then fine, let’s talk.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Bucky’s voice is low when he reaches you, still the same voice that would talk to you well into the morning on nights you couldn’t fall asleep.
You manage a tight smile, keeping your tone neutral. “Didn’t know you were the political type.”
He gives a small chuckle, though there’s no humor in his eyes. “Guess we’ve both changed.”
You swallow, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Yeah, guess we have.”
For a moment, silence stretches between you, heavy with things unsaid. His gaze softens, just slightly, as if he’s remembering the same things you are—the late nights, the shared laughs, the comfort of each other’s presence. But the wall is still there, solid and stoic, keeping you both at bay.
“Senator Barnes,” a voice interrupts, and you both turn to see an aide approaching. “You’re needed for the closing remarks.”
Bucky’s eyes stay on you for just a beat longer before he nods to the aide. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Then, turning back to you, his expression shifts, becoming guarded once more. “We should talk later.”
You want to say no, that it’s better to leave the past where it belongs. But something in the way he looks at you—soft yet steady—makes you hesitate.
“We’ll see,” you reply, before slipping away into the crowd.
You make your way toward the exit, your mind spinning. Seeing Bucky again dredged up emotions you thought you’d buried, and now you’re left wondering if you can keep your distance or if something will pull you back in. The mission isn’t over yet, and neither, it seems, is your connection to him.
You step out into the cool night air, letting the noise of the fundraiser fade behind you until it’s just the sound of your heels and the swish of your dress keeping you company. The emotions from seeing Bucky lingers in your chest, and you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time you see him tonight. But you push the thought aside and focus on the task at hand—getting back to the safehouse. Val didn’t do anything suspicious yet, but tonight was only about observation.
The quiet of the street calms your nerves, or at least it starts to. That is, until you sense it.
The presence.
Your instincts kick in, honed from years of training with the Avengers, and you freeze mid-step. Someone is behind you. Someone who’s very good at staying hidden.
You whip around, but it’s too late. Bucky’s already there, closer than you expected, moving with a silence that only someone like him could master. Your heart skips a beat, your fight-or-flight reflex kicking into overdrive.
“Still sneaky,” you mutter, trying to mask your surprise with a steady voice. “Some things never change, huh?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Old habits die hard.”
You fold your arms, trying to shake off the adrenaline, but he’s watching you too closely for comfort. “What do you want, Barnes?”
He steps even closer, his presence overwhelming in the quiet night. You can’t help but feel a little cornered.
“You.” The word is simple, direct, and it catches you off guard. Before you can respond, he adds, “Thought we could catch up. Away from the crowd.”
You raise an eyebrow, your pulse still racing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Bucky tilts his head slightly, the smirk still in place. “Well, I wasn’t really asking.” His voice is playful, but there’s an edge to it—something teasingly dangerous that makes your heart thump for different reasons.
You take a step back, eyes narrowing, but before you can say anything else, the low whirr of his bionic arm fills the silence, his metal fingers flexing with a soft, mechanical hum.
“Look,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes, “you can come willingly… or I’ve got other ways.” The metallic grip tightens slightly, just for effect, the sound unmistakable. You know he’s joking, but it’s the kind of joke that only Bucky could pull off—the kind that flirts with the line between danger and familiarity.
You stare at him, half-exasperated, half-impressed by the audacity of it. “You’re still an asshole, you know that?”
He chuckles, taking another step closer, and despite yourself, you don’t move away. “Yeah, but you liked that about me, remember?”
You roll your eyes, though there’s a small smile forming on your lips. “Fine. Lead the way.”
Bucky’s grin widens, and for just a moment, the cold exterior drops, and you see the man you once knew—the one who trusted you with his broken pieces. He turns, gesturing for you to follow him, and you do, though the tension between you hasn’t lessened. If anything, it’s growing stronger with every step.
As you walk beside him, you can’t help but wonder what this night will bring. Closure? Old wounds reopened? Or something else entirely?
The walk to Bucky’s apartment is filled with easy conversation, despite the underlying coil tightening between you. He walks beside you, hands in his pockets, looking far too casual for someone who just threatened to kidnap you—with a smirk, of course. You fall into your old rhythm without much effort, trading barbs like no time has passed at all.
“So, Senator Barnes, huh?” you tease, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Who’d have thought?”
Bucky chuckles, his gaze flicking over to you. “Yeah, well… It's a little different from the whole ‘brainwashed assassin’ gig. Less world-saving, more handshaking. You’d hate it.”
“Probably,” you admit with a grin. “Do they know how much you hate suits?”
“Still hate ‘em,” he says, tugging at his tie for emphasis. “But the job comes with perks. Decent coffee in the office now.”
“Ah, right. The important things,” you quip, keeping pace with him easily. “Coffee and ties. Glad to see your priorities haven’t shifted too much.”
“Hey, gotta have something to look forward to in the mornings,” Bucky shoots back, the glint of humor in his eyes making him look younger—more like the man he used to be.
The conversation flows easily, each sarcastic jab softened by shared memories. You banter back and forth, pretending that neither of you are hyper-aware of the fact that you’re on your way to his place. There’s an undeniable simmer underneath the surface, bubbling just out of reach, but you both seem content to leave it unspoken… for now.
By the time you reach his building, you’re surprised by how much lighter you feel. The laughter, the easy camaraderie—it’s like slipping back into something familiar, something you’ve both been missing.
When you step into his apartment, the first thing you notice is how neat and inviting it is. There’s warmth to it, a sense of home you didn’t expect.
You turn to him, genuine admiration in your voice. “This place is… really nice, Bucky. I’m proud of you. Everything you’ve overcome… You’ve done well for yourself.”
He pauses, caught off guard by the sincerity in your words. For a brief moment, the playful banter fades, replaced by something softer, more real. His gaze softens as he looks at you, his expression unreadable.
“Thanks,” he says quietly, his voice a little rougher now. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
You both stand there, trying to reach beyond what’s in front of you to see what the other is holding back deep inside. Then, just like that, the moment passes.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, already moving toward the small bar near the kitchen. “Wine?”
You nod, still taking in the space. “Wine sounds good.”
He pours you a glass and hands it over, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a jolt of warmth up your arm. You take a sip, trying to focus on the rich taste of the red liquid and not the way his eyes linger on you.
“So,” he starts, leaning casually against the counter, “how’s the contract-for-hire life treating you? Still chasing down bad guys?”
You shrug, swirling the wine in your glass. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s boring surveillance work these days. But, you know, it pays the bills.”
He smirks. “Still sounds better than committee meetings.”
“I don’t know,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “You might have a future in politics. You’ve got that whole brooding, mysterious thing going for you.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s why they voted me in. The brooding.”
The conversation flows easily again, both of you relaxing into the comfort of familiarity. But there’s an undercurrent now, something neither of you can ignore.
After a while, you put your glass down on the counter and lean back against the wall, Bucky’s eyes stripping away the barrier you so carefully put around yourself in the months prior. The atmosphere shifts again, the playful edge softening into something more, something neither of you are bothering to hide anymore.
Bucky takes a step toward you, then another, his eyes locked onto yours. You don’t move, your pulse quickening as he closes the distance. The room feels smaller, the air thicker.
“Bucky…” you start, but your voice falters as he reaches you, his body just inches from yours.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he places one hand on the wall beside your head, his other hand coming to rest lightly on your hip. The heat of his touch seeps through your clothes, sending a quiver up your spine.
His eyes flicker down to your lips, and that’s when you know—he’s not going to ask, he’s just going to do.
In the next breath, Bucky closes the space between you, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce intensity that steals your breath. The kiss is deep, demanding, and you respond without hesitation, your hands fisting in his shirt as you pull him closer.
It’s like no time has passed at all, like all the emotions you’ve both buried have resurfaced in an instant. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s finally letting himself feel everything he’s been holding back.
Your back presses against the wall, the solid weight of his body pinning you there, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matches your own.
When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
You swallow hard, your heart racing, his words settling heavily in your chest.
“I missed you too,” you admit, the truth undeniable.
The moment hangs in the air, your breaths mingling as you stand pressed between Bucky and the wall. His hand remains on your hip, firm but not forceful, while the other stays braced against the wall, caging you in. There’s no space between you now, just the heat of his body and the overwhelming pulse of your own heart as it pounds against your chest.
His lips find yours again, slower this time but no less intense. Each kiss feels like a release of everything left unsaid between you, and you respond in kind, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Bucky lets out a low, satisfied sound from deep in his chest, and it sends a thrill through you.
His lips trail away from your mouth, finding the soft skin along your jawline, his breath warm against your skin. You gasp, the sensation sending a rush of warmth through your body as he presses closer, the cool metal of his bionic arm brushing against your side in contrast to the heat of his touch.
“Bucky,” you breathe, trying to catch your breath, though you make no effort to push him away. His name comes out as a soft plea, though you’re not even sure what you’re asking for. All you know is that after all this time, after everything, being here with him feels inevitable, like no amount of time or distance could have changed this pull between you.
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his breathing uneven as he searches your face, like he’s trying to gauge whether you want him to stop. His gaze is intense, but there’s something vulnerable there too, something raw that you’ve only seen glimpses of before.
But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this moment to slip away.
You pull him back to you, capturing his lips with yours again, and that seems to be all the answer he needs. His arm slips around your waist, holding you against him as he deepens the kiss, his hand moving up your back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Every touch, every movement feels deliberate, as if he’s trying to memorize the way you feel against him after all this time.
When you break apart again, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads resting together as you try to steady yourself. The air between you is wrought with desire, but there’s more than just passion here. There’s history, memories, and a connection that never really faded, no matter how much time has passed.
Bucky’s thumb brushes gently along your side, his voice a steady rumble as he speaks. “I never stopped thinking about you,” he admits, his words carrying something you hadn’t expected. “No matter how hard I tried… you were always there.”
You swallow, your chest tight with emotion, but you don’t pull away. “I didn’t forget you either,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “I couldn’t.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside his apartment feeling miles away. The only thing that matters is this—being here, in this moment, with him.
Finally, Bucky leans back slightly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. There’s a tenderness in his gaze now, an openness you haven’t seen in him in years. “I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he murmurs, his voice quieter, more uncertain now. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”
Your heart twists at his words, but you shake your head. “This isn’t a mistake, Bucky,” you say firmly, your hand coming to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “We’re different people now, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”
He exhales a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it in for a long time. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, his gaze flickering down to your mouth before meeting your eyes again. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.
You smile, a soft, bittersweet smile, and shake your head again. “Maybe not,” you tease lightly, your voice gentle. “But you’ve got me anyway.”
His lips curve into a small smile, and in that moment, it feels like something between you finally clicks into place. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, and when he pulls back, the intensity between you has shifted into something warmer, something steadier.
There’s still so much unsaid, so much you’ll need to talk about, but for now, you’re content to simply be here, wrapped in the comfort of his arms. Bucky steps back slightly, his hand sliding down to rest on your waist. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
“I could say the same thing about you.” Your eyes trail down his body, taking in his broad shoulders and muscular chest about to burst through the fabric of his dress shirt.
“I want to take you upstairs and ruin you.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” You challenged.
“Not a thing,” he whispered, before scooping you up into his arms. You let out a surprised yelp, your arms wrapping around his neck as he carried you upstairs, his stride confident and sure.
He kicked open the bedroom door, depositing you onto the soft mattress. His eyes never left yours as he began to undress, his jacket quickly strewn on a chair in the corner. His shirt hits the floor followed by his undershirt. Briefly, you close your eyes and memories play through your mind of nights when you would run your fingers along the intricate gold pattern of Bucky’s mechanical arm while he slept. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as he revealed more and more of his toned body.
"Like what you see?" Bucky asked, a cocky grin on his face as he stood there in just his boxers, his erection straining against the fabric.
You raised an eyebrow playfully. "Maybe," you teased, sitting up and reaching for the zipper of your gown. Bucky watched, his eyes darkening with desire as you slowly stripped, revealing your matching lace bra and panties.
He climbed onto the bed, his body covering yours as he captured your lips in a fierce kiss. Your hands roamed over his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin mixed with the coolness of metal. Bucky's hand found the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a practiced ease. He pulled back, his eyes taking in the sight of your bare breasts.
"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmured, his head dipping down to take one nipple into his mouth. You gasped, your back arching as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud. His hand found your other breast, his fingers pinching and rolling the nipple, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.
Your hands found his boxers, pushing them down, freeing his cock. You wrapped your hand around the length, marveling at the feel of him, hard and hot in your hand. Bucky groaned, his hips thrusting into your touch.
He pulled back, his eyes meeting yours. "I need to taste you," he growled, his hand slipping into the waistband of your panties. He made quick work of garment, pulling them down your legs and tossing them to the floor.
He settled between your legs, licking his lips as he lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue on your clit sent a lighting bolt through you. You moaned, your hips bucking against his mouth. Bucky chuckled, the vibrations sending another wave of ecstasy through you.
He licked and sucked, his fingers sliding into you, preparing you to take his cock. You writhed beneath him, your hands fisting the sheets as you chased your release. Bucky's fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars. The man still knew your body, like he hadn’t gone a year without it in his hands.
"Bucky," you gasped, your orgasm crashing over you. Bucky continued to lick and suck, riding out your orgasm with you.
As you came down from your high, Bucky moved up your body, his cock poised at your entrance. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, the taste of you still on his tongue. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
You nodded, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. Bucky slid into you, filling you completely. You both moaned, the sensation overwhelming. Bucky began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Bucky groaned, his head dipping down to capture your nipple in his mouth. You groaned, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust.
Bucky flipped you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. He slid back into you, his hands gripping your hips as he began to fuck you harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with your cries and his grunts.
"Harder," you demanded, looking back at him over your shoulder. Bucky complied, his hips moving faster, his cock driving deeper into you.
"Fuck, I'm close," Bucky grits, his fingers digging into your flesh. You reached down, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in quick circles.
"Me too," you gasped, another explosion building. Bucky's metal hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as he leaned down, his lips sucking a bruise into the tender skin of your neck.
Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, shockwaves of bliss making your mind go blank. Bucky groaned, his release following yours, his cock shooting his seed deep inside your cunt.
You both collapsed onto the bed, panting and sweaty. Bucky pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing against your forehead. "Next time," he murmured, his voice filled with promise. "Next time, I'm fucking your ass."
