crazyunsexycool

[crazyunsexycool]

🪻 Val, all of your writing is magnificent but I can never go past a loving sacrifice! I think it was the first (or one of the first) fics of yours I read, and I adore everything about it! I want to know if you have a favourite scene from that fic? Also, was there a particular inspiration you had for that fic? How did your brilliant mind come up with that story?

Em my Darling!!

Wow A Loving Sacrifice that was the first one shot I ever wrote. I actually reread it a few days ago and it’s my second favorite Steve one-shot I’ve written.

I think my favorite scene was after Bucky gets saved and Steve goes into the temple and the Goddess appears to Steve. And the scene right after that where Steve worships her ���😈😈 .

I remember that I had started reading fics (for the first time) a few months before I started writing this fic and they were all Steve related (he’ll always have my heart). I was learning about canon vs AUs and all that stuff and I thought how cool would it be if Steve was a hunter. But what inspired me to write it as a Hunter x Goddess AU were 2 things the quote I added at the end.

I had that screenshot saved in my phone for years and I always loved it so much. The second was a conversation I had with my nephew and he was learning about Ancient Rome and Greece in class. He was telling me how Zeus feared humans (who originally were beings with 4 arms, 4 legs, two faces) because they were too powerful so he separated them and they would spend the rest of their lives searching for their other half.

I thought it was a cool idea and thought it would be better by adding another issue that would separate them which was humans and gods should never be together but we know how this story ends. 😉😉

[crazyunsexycool]

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

[crazyunsexycool]

the cost of freedom [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Bucky thought he could outrun his past, but HYDRA always finds a way to drag him back. A confrontation with Ross reveals a chilling ultimatum—become the Winter Soldier again, or lose everything. When Bucky races back to your apartment, it’s already too late. You’re gone, leaving only an unmade bed and the echoes of a fight you never saw coming.

Word Count: 6600

Tags/warnings: 18+ employer x employee. descriptions of blood, gore, torturing, canon-typical violence

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

It took hours to track a lead. Hours of sifting through stolen HYDRA files, scanning security footage, and making phone calls that led nowhere. The longer it took, the more frantic Bucky became.

He barely blinked, barely breathed. He kept seeing you. The way you looked when you found out he had left in the middle of the night. Angry. Hurt. Now? You were out there, alone, and—

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t think like that.

“We’ll find her, man,” Sam reassured him. “We just need—”

Then, Sam’s tablet pinged.

Bucky’s head snapped up.

“What?”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the screen. A location. An old HYDRA facility in Russia, shut down years ago. But—

“There was a private jet that left from New York last night,” Sam muttered. “Took a direct flight to a small airstrip not far from here.”

A small airstrip, leading straight to the facility.

Bucky moved before he could even reigster Sam’s words.

“Let’s go.”

Bucky sat alone in the cockpit of the jet, his gaze locked on the darkening skies outside. He couldn’t focus on the dull hum of the engines, the tightness in his chest growing with every passing minute. His knee bounced up and down nervously, his fingers drumming against the armrest in a constant rhythm that did nothing to calm him.

Sam glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. "We should be landing in a few hours," he said, his voice steady, as though they were just about to embark on any other mission. "Gotta say, Buck, you're wound up tighter than usual."

Bucky didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His thoughts were too consumed with the image of your face—your terrified eyes as you were ripped away from him. The last time he had seen you, you were tangled in his sheets, your laughter light and carefree, your lips swollen from his kisses. But now? Now, you were gone, and all that remained was a sickening void.

He thought back to the intel they had stolen from Hydra, to the images and files that confirmed everything they feared. Neo Hydra was still alive. They had been quietly recruiting soldiers—testing them, preparing them for something bigger. Something darker. And now, you were caught in the middle of it, just like Ross had warned.

Sam’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "We're gonna find her, Buck. You hear me? We’re gonna find her." His hand clapped Bucky’s shoulder, pulling him out of his head.

Bucky nodded, but it was an empty gesture. The knot in his stomach tightened. Would you still be you? After all Hydra had done to him, to others, would they erase everything you were? Would they break you just like they tried to break him?

He gripped the armrest tighter, the metal of his fingers creaking under the strain.

Somewhere, amidst all the chaos, Bucky passed out. It had been nearly two days now, and Bucky had not slept a wink since Tokyo. The moment Bucky closed his eyes, he felt himself falling, a deep, suffocating plunge into darkness. His breath caught in his throat as the nightmare consumed him.

It wasn’t a peaceful dream, but instead, it was one filled with twisted and contorted images of everything he feared. Blood. Screams. The cold, sharp taste of metal in his mouth.

And then—you.

Your face flashed before his eyes, but it wasn’t the soft, loving expression he was used to. Instead, you looked terrified, your eyes wide with fear. You were backed into a corner, hands held up as though pleading with him, begging him to stop.

Steel walls surrounded him. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned his nose.

Chains rattled.

He turned his head.

You were crying.

"Bucky, please." Your voice was hoarse, raw. "It’s me. Please wake up."

His heart clenched—but his hands didn’t move.

He tried to run to you. To stop this. To wake up.

But then he saw himself.

Or rather—the Winter Soldier.

Standing over you, mask on, eyes empty.

A gloved hand wrapped around your throat. Your body jerked as he lifted you from the chair, feet kicking, eyes wide in panic.

The Soldier cocked his head. Observing you like you were nothing.

"Bucky," you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks. "Please, I know you're in there.”

He tried to reach for you, to pull you away from the terror that surrounded you, but something in his mind snapped. The familiar, chilling command echoed in his skull. Winter Soldier. It was like a switch was flipped, and he was no longer Bucky Barnes.

His body moved without his permission, his hands now cold and unfeeling. He reached out to grab you, his metal hand wrapping around your throat, lifting you off the ground with ease.

"Please, Bucky…!" Your voice was strangled, barely a whisper. Your hands were frantic, clawing at his wrist, but he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t the man you loved anymore. He was the Winter Soldier.

His vision blurred as your face twisted in agony. Blood splattered against the cold concrete walls. Your scream tore through the air, and still, he couldn’t stop. He slammed you into the wall, the sound of bone cracking against it echoing in his mind.

“No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No, no—this isn’t real—”

And then—blackness.

His hands—tightened around your throat. A crack. Your body twitched.

Bucky screamed.

But the Soldier smirked.

Blood dripped from his fingers as he let you go, your body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

Bucky jerked awake.

His breath came in ragged gasps. His fingers twitched like they still held your throat.

His stomach churned. He almost threw up. He reached for his gun on instinct. His hands were shaking.

“Bad dream?”

Sam’s voice barely registered.

Bucky swallowed. His throat was dry, his heartbeat hammering so hard he thought it would split his chest open.

“She’s in danger.” His voice was raw, hoarse. “We need to get there. Faster.”

Sam didn’t argue.

The Quinjet surged forward.

Bucky clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe.

He couldn’t lose you.

Not like this. Not ever. 

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The cold hit you like a wave as you slowly regained consciousness, your head heavy and your limbs unresponsive. You blinked, struggling to open your eyes as your surroundings slowly came into focus.

You were strapped to a chair, your arms bound tightly with thick ropes. Your muscles ached from struggling. Your head throbbed, each movement sending a sharp pain through your skull. The air smelled of sterile metal and chemicals. You didn’t know where you were, but the gut-wrenching realisation hit you—Hydra had you.

You heard the bulkhead doors open with a loud drilling, barely watching as a cloaked figure entered the room. A small frame with her hood concealing her face slightly, but as she stepped into the light you noticed the familiarity in her eyes. It was her. 

Tara was standing in front of you, her figure looming as her shadow stretched across the floor. She wore the same cold, calculating expression that Bucky had seen when they worked together, but now there was something more sinister behind her smile.

You tried to speak, but your throat was raw, dry. You managed a faint, hoarse whisper, “W-why?”

Tara tilted her head, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, bending down to catch your gaze. “I’m not here to explain myself. I’m here to get answers.”

She stepped back, nodding to the scientist in the corner. He moved toward you, a needle in his hand. Your heart skipped a beat. You had been injected before, but not like this. Not when you were helpless, not when they had you pinned down.

“No,” you rasped, your voice barely a sound. “No more.”

Tara laughed softly, shaking her head. “Oh, sweet girl. You don’t get to decide what happens next.” She snapped her fingers, and the scientist shoved the needle into your arm, injecting something cold and burning into your bloodstream. “If it makes you feel better, we want nothing to do with you. We’ll release you when we get what we want. You’re merely just bait.”

Pain. Fire. It spread through your veins like wildfire, and your body reacted violently. Your skin flushed, and your breath hitched as you tried to breathe through the suffocating agony. But it didn’t stop. It never stopped.

Tara’s voice cut through the haze of pain. “Tell me about James Barnes,” she asked, her tone light, almost casual. “What do you know? What has he told you?”

Your head spun, the room tilting as the drugs coursed through your system. But you couldn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t.

“She’s resisting,” one of the doctors remarked. Your hands balled into fists and you squeezed your eyes tight shut, praying this was no more than just a dream. A really bad dream.

She crouched down to your level, her eyes cold as ice. “You don’t want to make this difficult, do you? We can keep playing this game. I’ll keep giving you doses until you talk.” She traced a finger along your jaw, a cruel mockery of affection. “But you can save us both some time. Just tell me what I need to know.”

You tried to shake your head, tried to refuse, but the words were stuck.

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I want to know everything, sweetheart. How he touches you. How he keeps you so close. What secrets is he hiding from me?”

Your stomach churned, your vision swimming. “I won’t tell you… anything.”

Tara’s smile grew wider, her eyes glinting with something dark. “That’s okay. We’ll get it out of you anyway.” She straightened up, giving a signal to the scientist. "Another dose."

“No—” you gasped, but the needle was already at your arm. The world slipped away, and everything went black.

Tara stood in front of you, and when you came to, her red lips were painted with a mocking smile.

“Welcome back, honey.” Tara’s voice was almost gentle. Like you were old friends. Like she wasn’t your captor. “You passed out for a second.”

You swallowed, forcing your tongue to work. “Where—”

“Shh.” Tara pressed a gloved finger to your lips. “You should save your strength. We have a lot to talk about.”

You glared at her. “Fuck. You.”

Tara laughed. A low, melodic sound.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You think this is bad? We haven’t even started yet.”

Your throat was dry. "Go to hell."

Tara chuckled. "Been there, honey. Didn’t care for it."

The lab coat man stepped forward again. Another syringe. Another injection.

A rush of cold. Then a surge of heat.

Your thoughts turned to static.

“We’re going to try again,” Tara leaned in, voice a purr. "What do you know about James Buchanan Barnes?"

You clenched your jaw.

Tara sighed dramatically. "Come on. No need to be stubborn. We already know so much. We know how he looks at you. How he touches you. How he keeps you close."

She smiled. "Tell me, does he talk in his sleep? Does he whisper any secrets when he's inside you?"

Your stomach churned, bile rising in your throat.

Tara's eyes gleamed.

"We need him to comply," she murmured. "Ross wants him back under control. And if Bucky doesn’t come willingly… Well." She clicked her tongue. "I suppose we’ll have to break him. Again."

No.

Your heart pounded.

You had to stay quiet.

Had to protect him.

Tara sighed. "Fine. Be difficult. But the more you fight, the worse it gets."

She turned to the man in the lab coat.

"Give her another dose."

"No—"

The needle pierced your skin.

Everything blurred.

The world spun.

Then—nothing.

Tara traced a finger over your jaw, watching.

"You’ll break," she murmured.

She turned to the doctor.

"Let me know the second she starts talking."

The man nodded.

Tara smirked.

If Bucky wouldn’t willingly become the Winter Soldier again, they’d give him no choice.

She glanced at your motionless form.

"Everyone breaks eventually."

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Bucky and Sam moved swiftly through the dense forest that surrounded the compound, the cover of night working to their advantage. The compound loomed ahead, a towering, concrete structure, its stark silhouette cutting through the moonlight. The tension in the air was palpable, both of them knowing they didn’t have much time.

Bucky glanced at Sam, his expression cold, eyes narrowed. “Stay close,” he muttered, his voice low, almost drowned out by the hum of the surrounding wind. There was a certain edge to his tone, an urgency that wasn’t lost on Sam.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Sam replied with a quick, sharp grin. He checked his gear, making sure everything was in place—his wings were retracted, and his pack was light but packed with enough firepower to make a dent if they ran into trouble. “I’ve been through worse than this.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He didn’t have time for jokes. Every minute they spent here felt like a minute closer to losing you. His knuckles tightened around the handle of his gun, and he motioned for Sam to follow.

They reached the outer wall, a series of high fences topped with barbed wire. Sam shot Bucky a questioning look.

Bucky simply gave him a curt nod. “Climbing’s the least of our problems. We go in hot.”

With a sharp motion, Bucky pulled a grappling hook from his pack and fired it upward. The hook latched on to the top of the fence, and he pulled himself up, followed by Sam. They moved quickly, silently—two shadows blending with the night.

Once over the wall, Bucky crouched low, scanning the compound below. The area was guarded, security cameras mounted at every corner, but it wasn’t impossible. Bucky’s mind was already racing through his options.

Sam smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, I’ve never understood why you like to do things the hard way.”

Bucky didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to. "This is the easy way." His lips curled into a grim, determined smile.

Without another word, they slipped through the compound's perimeter, moving with deadly precision. They passed two guards near the entrance, their backs turned as they chatted—too focused on their conversation to notice the two silent figures creeping past. One of them reached for his radio, but before he could speak, Sam was on him, his arm wrapping around the man’s throat in a swift, practised move, cutting off his breath until the guard slumped into unconsciousness.

Bucky handled the second guard. He didn’t even need to think. His arm shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist before he could draw his weapon. A quick twist, and the guard was on the ground, unconscious before he could react. Bucky’s metal hand had done most of the work, but he didn’t care. It was all business now.

“We’re almost there,” Bucky muttered, already moving forward. Sam followed, his eyes alert, scanning the area.

As they neared the entrance of the compound, Bucky held up a hand, signaling for Sam to stop. He crept up to the security door, using a small device to disable the locks silently. The door clicked open, and he motioned for Sam to enter first.

"After you," Sam said with a teasing smile, but Bucky wasn’t in the mood. Not now.

They slipped inside, entering the darkened halls of the compound. There were no lights, no sounds. It felt eerily quiet—too quiet. The only noise was the steady, mechanical hum of the building’s systems. But Bucky didn’t care. He wasn’t going to stop until he found you.

Sam gave him a sideways glance. “You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point, man. I know you’re all brooding and moody, but I’ve been following your lead for too damn long. Can we at least have some fun while kicking ass?”

Bucky let out a low sigh. “Not now, Sam.”

Sam chuckled but didn’t push. He knew better than anyone that when Bucky had his sights set on something, nothing else mattered. Still, the quiet moments between the two of them were rare, and Sam couldn’t help but inject a little levity into the situation.

“Fine,” Sam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just save the jokes for later. But you owe me a beer after this, alright?”

Bucky finally glanced at him, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I’ll owe you a whole damn bar, if we make it out of here.”

That was as close to an answer as Sam was going to get.

They continued through the compound, moving from hallway to hallway, methodical in their approach. Bucky was the tip of the spear, always a few steps ahead, while Sam provided backup. When they encountered guards, they didn’t hesitate. One by one, they silently took down the enemy, knocking them out with swift, brutal precision.

Bucky’s mind was racing, but his body was on autopilot. He didn’t have time to think about the damage he was doing. Every hit, every knockout was a small victory, but they were far from the end. He had one goal. You.

As they reached the lower levels of the compound, the intensity grew. The hallways narrowed, and the sound of guards grew louder. Sam, ever the tactician, looked at Bucky.

“Okay, this is where we make it count,” Sam said. “I’m gonna take the left side; you take the right. We knock them out quick and keep moving. Deal?”

Bucky didn’t even acknowledge him verbally—he just nodded and headed toward the right. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall as guards neared. Bucky crouched low, his body tense, ready for anything.

The first guard turned the corner and walked right into Bucky. The soldier’s eyes widened in shock, but Bucky wasted no time. He slammed his metal fist into the man’s chest, knocking the wind out of him before quickly neutralizing him with a series of precise moves. A second guard rushed from behind, but Sam was there, sweeping him off his feet with a swift kick to the stomach.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Sam for a split second—just long enough to give him a nod of approval.

“You keep doing that,” Bucky muttered, “and I might start to like you.”

“Didn’t know you liked me at all,” Sam replied with a grin, but it faded quickly. “We’re close. We gotta pick it up.”

Bucky didn’t need to hear more. He stormed ahead, his eyes locked on the door that led deeper into the facility. They were running out of time.

Bucky and Sam moved through the dark corridors of the Hydra compound with precision, their steps silent against the cold concrete. Every breath was measured, every movement calculated. They’d taken down at least a dozen guards on their way in, but something about the eerie silence ahead set Bucky’s teeth on edge.

"This is too easy," Sam muttered under his breath, adjusting the grip on his weapon.

Bucky didn’t respond, but he felt it too. The air was thick with tension, charged with something just out of reach. He flexed his metal fingers, the faint whir of the plates shifting against each other grounding him.

They turned a corner, moving toward what their intel suggested was the main lab. Bucky’s stomach clenched at the thought of what they might find inside—of what they might find you inside.

Then—

A blur of movement. A sudden gust of air.

Before Bucky could react, a body crashed into him with the force of a freight train, sending him slamming into the nearest wall. The impact rattled his ribs, and the back of his head cracked against concrete.

"Shit!" Sam shouted, immediately opening fire, but his bullets barely slowed the figure rushing him.

Bucky pushed off the wall just in time to see them.

Four figures, broad-shouldered and impossibly fast, their eyes burning with unnatural intensity. Their movements were too controlled, too powerful. Bucky didn’t need to see the Hydra insignia branded onto their uniforms to know—these were super soldiers.

One lunged at Sam, grabbing his arm and twisting. Sam barely managed to maneuver his wings, using them to shove the attacker backward, but the man hardly flinched.

Bucky surged forward, driving his vibranium fist into the chest of the soldier in front of him. The impact sent the man stumbling back, but not down. Not down.

"Of course Hydra's been cooking up more of you bastards," Bucky snarled, dodging a swing aimed at his head.

The soldier grinned—actually grinned—before grabbing Bucky by the collar and slamming him through a rusted metal door.

The world spun as Bucky hit the ground hard, pain lancing up his spine. But there was no time to recover. Heavy footsteps thundered toward him, and he rolled just in time to avoid a boot coming down where his head had been.

"Buck, you good?!" Sam called out, his voice strained.

Bucky barely had time to register the question before another soldier was on him. He blocked a punch with his metal arm, twisting the attacker’s wrist with a sickening crack. The man barely flinched before using his free hand to drive a fist into Bucky’s ribs.

Bucky coughed, the taste of copper flooding his mouth. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to stay focused. He had no choice.

Sam was still fighting off two of them. Bucky took on the other two. It wasn’t the first time he’d fought his own kind, but that didn’t make it any easier.

He caught a glimpse of one of the soldiers pulling something from his belt—a syringe, dark liquid gleaming inside.

Bucky barely had time to react before the needle was driven into his neck.

A rush of ice spread through his veins, paralyzing him mid-motion. His knees buckled. The room spun violently.

His last thought before the darkness swallowed him whole was you.

When he came to, the first thing he registered was the cold. A sharp, clinical chill seeped into his skin, familiar in a way that made his stomach churn. He tried to move, but something held his head in place—straps, metal, unyielding. His heart pounded. His arms were restrained, bound to the chair. He flexed his fingers, but the leather bindings barely budged.

No. No, no, no.

The second thing he registered was the sound of quiet, broken sobs.

His chest tightened. He knew that sound.

You.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he forced his head forward as much as the restraints would allow. There you were—directly in front of him, slumped forward, arms chained above your head, wrists raw and bleeding. Your body trembled violently, your legs barely holding you up. A deep, ugly bruise marred your cheek, and there were needle marks dotting your forearm.

Bile rose in his throat.

"Sweetheart," his voice cracked, hoarse, laced with panic. He struggled against his bindings, every muscle in his body straining. "Hey, I'm here. Look at me."

You stirred at the sound of his voice, a shaky breath escaping your lips. Your eyes fluttered open—dazed, unfocused. The moment your gaze found his, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

"B-Bucky…" Your voice was barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion and pain.

His metal arm jerked against the restraints, servos whining as he pulled with all his strength. Nothing.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked, forcing himself to focus.

A groan sounded from the far side of the room. Bucky turned his head as much as he could, eyes narrowing at the sight of Sam slumped against the wall, unconscious. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his head tilted at an awkward angle.

Before Bucky could call out to him, the door creaked open. Heavy boots echoed off the concrete floor as a figure stepped inside. Bucky forced his breath to steady, schooling his features into something emotionless, but his fists clenched at the sight of the person approaching.

Tara.

A slow, knowing smirk curled her lips as she stopped in front of him, arms crossed.

"Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky’s throat was dry, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He couldn’t take his eyes off you—off the way your body swayed with exhaustion, your wrists raw and bleeding against the restraints. His stomach churned violently, but he forced himself to push it all down.

His focus snapped back to Tara as she stood before him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Let them go," Bucky rasped, his voice thick with desperation. He swallowed hard. "I’ll do whatever you want—just let them go."

Tara tilted her head, her expression flickering with something close to amusement. "Anything?" she echoed, arching a brow.

"Anything," Bucky repeated, his voice firm despite the panic creeping into his chest.

Tara hummed, stepping closer, her fingers tracing along the edge of the machine clamped around Bucky’s head. "You know, I actually believe you." She leaned down, her face inches from his, voice barely above a whisper. "That’s what makes this so tragic."

Bucky’s breath hitched, a shiver crawling up his spine.

She straightened, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before glancing over her shoulder at you.

"But it’s too late, James," she said lightly, almost like an afterthought. "You don’t get to make deals anymore. You had your chance to come back willingly. Now, we take what we want."

Bucky’s heart plummeted. He jerked against the restraints, metal arm straining, his muscles screaming in protest.

"Tara, please," he ground out, voice rough. "Don't do this."

Her expression softened into something almost pitying, but there was no real warmth in her gaze. "I’m not doing anything, Bucky," she murmured. "You are."

A sharp click echoed through the room as she turned the dial on the machine.

A sickening chill wrapped around Bucky’s spine as the realization hit him all at once.

They were going to break him all over again.

"Долгожданный. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет." Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak.

His body freezes. His head snaps to the side as if a switch has been flipped. The words—the trigger words—cut through him like a blade. His hands, once steady, begin to tremble. His jaw clenches as the familiar coldness floods his mind, drowning out everything else. His breath hitches as the first wave of memories comes crashing down—the blood, the chaos, the killing. His stomach twists into a tight knot, and his body begins to obey, his mind too far gone to fight it.

“Печь. Девять. Благоприятно.” Furnace. Nine. Benign.

The Russian words fall from the commander’s lips like a prayer, sealing his fate. The darkness starts to settle in, swirling and suffocating. It’s like a distant echo that fills his ears, the voices of his past commanding him. You’re the Winter Soldier now. You have no choice.

He breaks out of his chair, restraints snapping with ease as his power overwhelms him. Bucky takes a step, the metallic scrape of his arm echoing in the room as his metal hand clenches into a fist. His body is no longer his own. His mind? It’s trapped, locked behind the cage of trigger words that Hydra had used to control him.

“Возвращение домой. Один. Грузовой вагон.” Homecoming. One. Freight car.

The last set of words, spoken with finality, rips through him like a scream. The Winter Soldier is awake.

He feels it. The cold numbness. The lack of emotion. The killer instincts that rise to the surface, ready to be unleashed.

His eyes glaze over, now completely empty of any warmth, replaced only with the familiar, deadly focus of a soldier bred for violence. Bucky, or what’s left of him, looks up to see the door to the room where you’re being held. His heart tightens, his mind still fighting—Please, not you.

He steps forward, his movements precise, no longer weighed down by guilt. The door to the chamber slides open with a soft hiss, revealing you.

Tied up. Helpless.

Bucky's heart skips a beat. The sight of you—of everything Hydra has done to you—almost snaps him out of the trance, but it’s too late. The mission is clear. He must follow orders.

Without hesitation, he walks toward you, his face cold, void of any emotion. His steps are silent, each one a signal of the inevitable. The Winter Soldier has come to fulfill his purpose.

He reaches down, his cold metal fingers brushing the ropes binding you. His body trembles, fighting against the flood of emotions threatening to break through the surface. I won’t do it. I won’t hurt her.

But just as he’s about to release you, a sharp voice cuts through the silence.

“Winter Soldier.”

The words are simple, direct, and final. Hydra’s orders, engraved in his mind. His fingers twitch.

“Kill her.”

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. No.

His body reacts before he can stop it, and his hands reach for the knife at his belt. But as the blade slides from its sheath, his vision flashes—images of you. Smiling, laughing. You’re not supposed to be here. The weight of what’s about to happen crashes over him like a tidal wave. His vision blurs, and the room seems to spin. I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore. I’m Bucky Barnes. I’m not a killer. I’m not a weapon. I won’t hurt her.

But the metal hand grips the hilt of the knife tighter. His body is still under their control. He raises it slowly, his eyes locked on you, filled with unspeakable pain. He feels sick. He wants to scream, to break free, to be anything other than this... monster.

And then, just before his hand can reach its target, something inside him snaps. He can’t do this.

With one brutal motion, he drives the knife into the nearest Hydra agent, cutting them down with a swiftness that only the Winter Soldier knows. The sight of the agent falling to the ground breaks the trance.

The man who was once Bucky Barnes roars in fury, his instincts taking over. Enough. With all the strength he has left, Bucky fights the trigger words, the programming, his mind screaming at him to resist. His arm swings wide, the knife flashing through the air, taking down one Hydra agent after another.

The Winter Soldier is still there, but so is Bucky.

Bucky throws the knife to the ground, his fists now the only weapons he needs. He tears through the Hydra soldiers one by one, not caring who they are, just knowing they are obstacles standing between him and you.

He reaches your side, his breath ragged, the coldness still threatening to consume him.

Bucky moved fast, his hands surprisingly gentle as he unfastened the restraints holding you down. "I got you," he murmured, voice rough with urgency. "I got you, doll."

The moment the last restraint came undone, your body sagged forward. Bucky caught you before you could collapse, his arms steady around you. You barely had the strength to hold on, your fingers weakly clutching at his jacket.

Sam groaned from the other side of the room, stirring as he struggled against the haze of sedation. Bucky glanced toward him, tightening his grip on you as he barked, "Wilson, you still with me?"

Sam let out a pained breath. "Yeah… yeah, I'm good. Just give me a damn second." He blinked hard, forcing himself upright with a wince.

Bucky didn’t wait. He lifted you into his arms with ease, cradling you against his chest. You felt so light, so fragile, and it made his stomach twist with something dark. He had seen you scared before, but never like this. Never so small, so vulnerable.

Your head rested against his shoulder, and even through the haze, you managed to breathe his name. "Bucky…"

"I'm here, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Just hang on."

Sam pushed himself up, shaking off the last of the sedation. "We need to move, now.”

As if on cue, the alarms blared to life again—red lights flashing, a distorted siren wailing through the corridors.

Then—footsteps.

Heavy, rapid footsteps.

Bucky turned toward the sound, his jaw clenching. The super soldiers were coming.

"Shit," Sam cursed. "We’ve got company."

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He adjusted his grip on you and bolted toward the exit, Sam right beside him.

Gunfire erupted behind them. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, sparks flying. Bucky ducked his head, shielding you with his body as he sprinted down the hallway.

"They're catching up!" Sam warned, his wings flaring slightly as he turned, firing a few rounds over his shoulder. "We need a way out!"

Bucky’s mind raced. The facility was a damn maze, but he had memorized the exits when they first infiltrated. "Loading bay. This way!"

They tore through the compound, soldiers flooding in behind them, but Bucky didn’t stop. He could hear the super soldiers gaining on them, their footsteps eerily controlled, their breathing steady despite the chase.

A door came into view—an exit. Sunlight streamed through the cracks.

Bucky tightened his hold on you. "Almost there, doll."

They burst through the door into the open air, the cold Russian wind slamming into them. The jet was nearby, engines already humming.

"Get her on board!" Sam shouted, turning to provide cover fire.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted up the ramp, carrying you inside as more gunfire erupted behind him.

Sam followed, slamming his hand against the control panel. The hatch began to close just as the first super soldier reached them, their glowing eyes locked onto Bucky with eerie intensity.

The jet lifted off.

Bucky didn’t look back. He sank to his knees, still holding you, his breath heavy, his heart pounding.

The jet hums with the low, steady rumble of engines, the only sound in the air as Bucky holds you in his arms. You’re awake now, but your eyes are still glazed with the effects of the drugs, your body still shaky from everything that happened.

But Bucky? Bucky is so much more than just the man who saved you. He’s the man who’s been carrying this guilt for so long, and now, with you here, safe in his arms, he’s struggling to breathe.

You’re alive.

You’re here.

His hand is still gently cradling the back of your head, and he feels the weight of everything that’s happened press down on him. He can’t let this go. Not now. Not when he knows he almost lost you.

He speaks, his voice breaking through the silence of the cabin. "I couldn’t lose you," he says softly, his forehead resting against yours, breath shaky. “I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

A shudder runs through you, and you blink, finally seeing him clearly. His eyes, wide with a mixture of panic and relief, meet yours. His lips tremble, as though the weight of the moment is too much for him to handle.

“I couldn’t either,” you murmur, a tear slipping down your cheek as you look up at him. The truth is undeniable now. The love you've been hiding, the fear that had kept you from admitting it—it all comes rushing to the surface. "I thought I was going to lose you forever. I couldn’t—couldn’t bear it. Bucky… I was so scared.”

You feel the heat of his breath as his lips hover just above your forehead. "I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."

You shake your head, the words you've held inside for so long breaking free now that you're here, safe, with him. "But you’ve always been here, Bucky," you say, your voice low, but with a fire in it that you haven’t felt before. “I’ve always known that, in some way, you’d be here. But I was afraid to really let you in. To let myself love you."

Bucky’s breath hitches at your confession, and something fierce flares in his chest—something that feels like relief, like this burden that’s been on both of your shoulders for so long, finally lifting.

His fingers gently stroke your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that falls, his voice raw. “I never wanted you to feel that way. I just... I didn’t want to drag you into all of this. Into me. But you—you’ve always been there. Always.”

Your chest tightens as his words hit you, his honesty so brutal, so raw that it knocks the breath out of you. He looks at you like he’s afraid. Afraid of losing you, afraid of failing you again.

“I’m done being afraid, Bucky,” you whisper, your lips trembling. “I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you. I’ve just—been too scared to say it.”

A tremor runs through him, and he closes his eyes for a moment, as though holding onto that truth you just gave him with everything he has. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that. I—" His voice cracks, and he pauses, breathing in sharply. "I love you. I love you more than I thought I was capable of."

The words spill from his lips like a confession. You can feel the intensity of his feelings pouring into the space between you, and suddenly, the world outside the jet seems far away. There’s just the two of you—two broken, imperfect souls who’ve found each other, against all odds.

You reach for him, your hands finding his, your fingers lacing with his. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

Bucky pulls you to him then, not gently, but urgently—like he’s been starved for this moment, for you. His lips crash against yours, and for a brief moment, all the fear, all the chaos, fades into the background. It’s just the two of you, and he’s holding you like he’s never going to let you go.

You kiss him back with the same intensity, hands clutching at him, desperate for this connection. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as though you’re the only thing that matters. And you are.

He pulls away only slightly, his breath ragged, but he doesn’t break the contact between your bodies. “I won’t leave you again, (Y/N),” he promises, his voice hoarse, like the words are everything.

You press your forehead against his, the weight of everything finally beginning to sink in. “And I won’t let you go. Ever again.”

There’s a long pause, a silence that feels infinite before you speak again—this time, your voice a whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he breathes out, and for the first time in so long, he lets himself feel the truth of those words. Completely. He lets himself believe it.

The jet’s engines hum softly as you sit together, hearts intertwined, both of you aware that the world still lies ahead, but for now, this moment is everything. You’re safe, for now. And nothing will ever break this bond.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr

[if you want to be added or removed from taglist, lmk<3]

[crazyunsexycool]

Idk how I missed this but omg!!! I love Steve in every AU!! I can’t wait to see their story unfold!!

Defense Mode

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2,829 Summary: Your new AI bot wasn’t a purchase made on a whim or a way to treat yourself. He was a necessity, a shield of protection that you so desperately, desperately needed. Warnings: AU. AI!Bot!Steve. Allusions to stalking. Reader is anxious, stressed, and prone to panic.  

A/N: Surprise! I finished this much sooner than I thought I would. I’m very excited to introduce you to AI!Steve. I hope you enjoy him ❤️

SUPERIOR AI MASTERLIST

You were already hovering near the front door when a sharp knock sounded. 

Despite the way you were expecting the delivery, and you’d heard the vehicle pull up your long driveway just a moment ago, you still startled at the sound, your heart jackhammering in your chest as you darted forward to undo the three locks on your front door before easing it open.

A pair of warm, brown eyes greeted you first, and you mustered a small smile to mirror the one on Sam Wilson’s face. 

Last week’s video call hadn’t done him justice; he was even more handsome in person, and something about his demeanor emanated calm and reassurance and had some of the tension knotting your shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Sam spoke your name with a questioning lilt, his smile growing into a grin as you nodded in confirmation. He held out his hand to you, and you accepted the firm but gentle shake, your wide gaze darting to the tall, broad figure standing just behind Sam.

Your new AI bot was gorgeous.

And unexpectedly so. 

Even though you had given Sam, your Superior AI custom developer, some preferred physical attributes, you still hadn’t expected what looked like a Greek god come to life to arrive on your doorstep.

His skin was flawless, his blonde hair stylishly swooped up from his forehead, and his bright blue eyes watched you closely. You were glad you went with the more casual outfit of jeans, a light gray t-shirt, and brown leather jacket. Even though the default navy stealth security uniform had stirred something in you, it had also made you anxious, and that wasn’t something you needed more of right now.

“This is Steve Rogers,” Sam stepped aside and introduced you to your new security AI, who instantly stepped forward and met your gaze without wavering.

He greeted you with a polite, “Ma’am,” his own large hand extending to swallow yours for a beat before he once again clasped his hands behind his back as he stood at attention.

You just blinked at him for a moment, your mouth gaping and your hand tingling as it fell back to your side. After a long, awkward beat, Sam cleared his throat. When your gaze snapped to him, he gave you another warm smile. 

“Should we head inside so I can walk you through initiation and setup?”

“Yes, of course!” you blustered, feeling heat creep up your neck and into your cheeks as you stepped back and waved Sam and Steve inside.

You waited until they moved past you and deeper into the living room before you closed the front door and did up all three locks out of habit.

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place was in the middle of nowhere,” Sam said as his observant gaze flickered around the open floorplan of your new home.

The cabin was practically across the country from where you used to live, tucked away up north in the woods outside of a sparsely populated town that you had never heard of before deciding to move here. 

Thankfully the structure had been in good condition overall, so it hadn’t eaten into your savings too much to make the downpayment and then do some much needed updates to make it more livable and cozy.

Even if you knew no amount of stunning scenery, soothing candle scents, and impossibly soft throw blankets would really do much to put a dent in your perpetual state of fight or flight, you had tried your best to make the cabin a home, one you could maybe learn to love and covet one day.

One day when you were able to feel anything beyond terrified, paranoid, and like you were living in a waking nightmare.

Realizing Sam and Steve were both staring at you, awaiting a response, you shook yourself. “Yeah, it just felt right…and necessary, after everything,” you muttered as you hugged yourself tightly and joined Sam and Steve in the middle of the living room.

“Understandable,” Sam murmured, watching you for a moment before he clapped Steve on the shoulder. “So, Steve is the latest and greatest from Superior AI’s Security Shield Edition lineup, meaning his programming is rooted in security and protection.”

“Good,” you breathed.

And you meant it. 

Security and protection were what you needed now, more than anything else.

“He’s actually modeled after one of the most talented and decorated men to ever serve in the army, and his programming is outfitted with various combat training, defense methods, weapons training, basic medic knowledge and training,” Sam listed off. “Steve’s strategic and a keen observer, and he’s also very emotionally intelligent and loyal.” Grinning, Sam’s proud gaze moved from Steve to you as he finished, “He’s pretty much the perfect soldier meets a good man.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” your smile was tremulous as you gazed between Sam and Steve.

“Let me show you the security failsafe,” Sam waved you closer as Steve turned his back to you both. “This is exclusive to the Security Shield models. The power button on the nape? It only responds to your fingerprints, that way only you can power down or turn on the bot.”

Sam swiped his finger over the nape of Steve’s neck, and you watched as a turquoise neon light appeared. It was shaped like the Superior AI logo and sat at the base of Steve’s nape.

“Now, since I’ve already programmed you as the primary user and put those digital fingerprints you submitted to good use, I’m not able to power him on or off.” Sam demonstrated this by holding his thumb against the glowing button. 

Nothing happened, and Steve remained with his back to you both, standing tall and at attention. 

“Now, you try.”

You stepped closer, slightly shaking as you touched your thumb to the power button, amazed by how warm and soft Steve’s skin felt.

How human.

After three seconds, Steve’s form slackened and slumped forward, making you squeak in surprise and retract your touch.

Chuckling, Sam stepped forward. “Again, only you as the primary user can power him on or off.” Sam pressed his own thumb to the power button for almost five seconds, and you watched, once again, as nothing happened. 

Once he stepped away and nodded toward you, you touched the power button and held your thumb in place for a few seconds, not startled as much this time around when Steve suddenly powered up and stood tall and at attention once more.

He turned to you, a small smile curling his plump, pink lips as he greeted you with another respectful, “Ma’am.”

“And he knows my…situation?” you asked Sam, hugging yourself tighter as you tried to suppress the onslaught of memories and feelings from the past six months that were always boiling just beneath the surface.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve answered. “My memory has been updated with all of the data on your situation and the offender. The only remaining steps to complete setup are for you to sync me with your home security system, which will also give me access to the security cameras monitoring your property, and for you to complete your primary user welcome questionnaire to update all of your preferences and requests beyond security and protection.” Steve hesitated, waiting until your gaze met his. “I will keep you safe, whatever it takes.”

Even though Steve wasn’t even human, something about the way he was watching you, and how earnest his promise was, had your breath hitching as a lump of emotion swelled in your throat.

Blinking back the hot burn of tears from your eyes, you took a minute to try to pull yourself together, your voice wobbling anyway when you finally whispered out a quiet, “Thank you, Steve.” 

Your embarrassed gaze fell away, so you missed the way both Steve and Sam seemed to soften at your distress, sharing a brief look before Steve stepped forward and gently squeezed your shoulder in comfort.

You couldn’t remember the last time that you were on the receiving end of a soft, innocent touch–a touch meant to soothe–probably not since you were with…

Shuddering, you quickly shook away that thought. Shooting Steve a grateful smile, your gazes locked and lingered on the other for a moment, until–

“Alright, well,” Sam clapped, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It looks like you’re in good hands, so I’ll leave you to it. You have my number and email if you need anything else or have any issues.”

“Thank you, Sam, for all of your help throughout this entire process, and for being so understanding of my situation,” you told him as you followed him to the front door.

“It was my pleasure,” he shot you one more of those big, warm smiles of his. “You take care of yourself, okay? And you let Steve help with that, it’s why he’s here.”

You nodded, watching as Sam undid the locks on your door before letting himself outside. As soon as the door shut, you moved forward and redid the locks, feeling a little self-conscious as you slowly turned around to find Steve watching you.

After a long moment of awkward silence, he cocked his head to the side. “How about you sync me to your security system, and then we can schedule some time tomorrow for you to complete your welcome questionnaire, that way you’re not too overwhelmed?”

“Yes,” you nodded, grateful for the distraction and something to keep your mind occupied in a healthy way, but also thankful for how Steve was being mindful of not stressing you out. “I’ll go grab my tablet, just give me a moment.”

“Of course,” Steve murmured, his watchful gaze glued to you as you hurried from the room and out of sight.

A few hours later, as the sun began to set, you couldn’t help but hover by the living room windows, fretfully watching as it grew darker outside with each passing moment.

Your eyes jumped from one end of the line of trees circling your property to the other, avid in their observation, desperately trying to spot movement beyond that caused by nature or wildlife.

Desperately making sure he wasn’t out there, watching and waiting.

Feeling that familiar sense of panic lapping at you, you nibbled on your thumbnail, staring outside a moment longer before hurrying toward the front door. You double checked that all the locks were engaged before doing the same to the security system via the little digital panel on the wall beside the front door.

And then you were moving toward the windows again, ever vigilant as it grew harder to see through the darkness surrounding your home.

When a warm hand touched your shoulder, you jumped and shrieked, spinning around to find Steve taking a step back, holding his hands up in a gesture to convey he didn’t mean you any harm as he watched you with a slight furrow to his brow.

“Forgive me, ma’am,” he started, but you cut him off with an almost hysterical laugh. 

“No! That was all me, God, I’m so sorry. I’m a mess,” you pressed a hand to your chest, aware of the way your heart was racing, as you took a deep breath and exhaled it shakily. Your shy gaze met Steve’s and you mustered a small smile. “You’re so quiet, I forgot you were here. I guess it will take some time to get used to all this.”

“That’s understandable,” Steve smiled softly, gesturing toward the coffee table where a steaming bowl of stew and a small plate with a big hunk of fresh artisan bread sat awaiting you. “I took the liberty of making you dinner, I hope that’s okay?”

“I…” you blinked in surprise, that familiar feeling of tears welling returning as you stared at the dinner spread. “It’s more than okay, it’s very much appreciated, Steve, thank you. I haven’t been great about remembering to eat or even having the energy to cook much, to be honest.”

You moved toward the sofa, shooting your still surprised gaze his way as you sat down.

“Sam made sure my caretaking programming was top notch and fully enabled. He figured you could use it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s not wrong.” 

“Of course, you can disable or tweak the programming however you want…” Steve started, but went quiet as you shook your head. 

“No, you’re perfect.” Realizing how that sounded, you froze, your face heating as you glanced at Steve to find a small, close-lipped smile aimed your way. “Uh, I just mean…Sam was right, yet again, I could definitely use the caretaking.”

“I’m glad you find my support satisfactory,” Steve murmured. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

Cradling the bowl of stew against your chest with one hand, you held a spoon in the other as you sank back against your soft, cushy sofa, and slowly began to eat. You were quiet as you did so, enjoying the flavorful stew and how comforting it was. 

But your eyes remained on Steve, watching as he moved toward the windows and pulled down the blinds before drawing the curtains closed for good measure. Next he headed toward the fireplace across from you, adding another log to the dwindling flames and stoking the fire back to a warm, roaring glow.

When he was done, Steve moved toward the corner of the room, clasping his hands behind his back, his posture alert as his gaze met yours.

You finished chewing your mouthful of food, swallowing before telling him, “You can sit with me,” you nodded toward the adjacent armchair. “You don’t need to be at attention 24/7, or call me ‘ma’am.’ I’d prefer if you were more casual actually, I think I’d feel less on edge, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Steve nodded. “I’ll make note of these preferences,” he said as he moved closer and eased his big body into the armchair a few feet away.

The both of you once again fell quiet, but it wasn’t nearly as awkward as you thought it maybe should be. Much like Sam’s demeanor, something about Steve soothed you, made you feel safe. 

Perhaps it was the fact that his literal purpose was to protect you at all costs. 

You may still be living in a waking nightmare, but you weren’t alone anymore. You had help now. And knowing that had you breathing just a little bit easier.

Once you were finished eating, you sat forward and set the empty bowl and plate on the table. “It was really good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” There was a pause, and, from the corner of your eye, you saw Steve’s head tilt to the side ever so slightly before he spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What?” you asked, confused as you glanced over at him.

“What happened with the offender? Maybe it would be good for you, to get it all out?”

There was something both tempting and terrifying about Steve’s offer. You felt anxiety prickle along your skin as you reached for the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa and tucked it around you, like it could somehow shield you from your current reality. 

“Do you have therapist programming too?” You joked as you peeked over at Steve. 

“Not exactly.” His eyes twinkled as he continued, “But I can grab a notepad and you can recline on the sofa if you’d like. You can even tell me about your childhood, and you’ll get bonus points if your parents were terrible.”

You stared at him for a long beat, your lips parted in surprise before you asked, “Was that…a joke?”

Steve smiled and shrugged, and you swore something in his features seemed to warm as you laughed in delight at this discovery. 

That your new AI had a sense of humor and it was a little trollish.

“I’m glad Sam chose you for me,” you whispered.

Steve’s amused grin softened to something more…tender, and it had your heart skipping a beat in a way that had nothing to do with fear or panic, for once. 

He was quiet as he watched you, patiently awaiting your decision as you mulled over his offer.

Finally, you released a shaky sigh, nodding slowly as your eyes met Steve’s. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Maybe it will be helpful for you to hear it all from me firsthand, and maybe…” you shuddered, swallowing hard as you went on, “Maybe it will be helpful for me, too, to just…get it all out, like you said.”

You paused for a moment, your eyes going distant as you finally allowed your mind to go there, back to the very beginning six months ago.

When you first met him. 

Even though your voice was soft and shaky to start, you began to tell Steve about how it all began, about this awful situation you now found yourself in…

About your stalker.

Eeeeep! I’m so happy to bring AI!Steve to life. I hope you enjoyed this first part. I’d be so very grateful and ecstatic if you took a moment to drop me a comment or reblog to let me know what you thought. Thank you ❤️

—

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️

[crazyunsexycool]

I’m screaming!!!! I can just imagine Lloyd paying attention to which flowers his Omega gravitates to the most and then immediately making a huge section of those flowers just for her. No one but him can go into that section with her!! 🥺🥺🥺

Hoe Thought Request

PT!Lloyd taking his cute omega out for a walk in his courtyard.

-Zombie

@thezombieprostitute Ohhhh 🥺 I love them!!!! And now I’m feeling so soft because…

The way this experience is just so unexpectedly soft making for Lloyd?!? I’m imagining it’s your first time outside of his manor and really taking in the full picture of your new home. And it’s so overwhelming and has you so 🥺 and emotional, but you’re a good, obedient omega, so you’re trying to not cause a fuss.

But of course Lloyd is so observant. He notices the way your breath hitches when you kind of do a slow 360 spin and just take in your new home. How beautiful the surroundings are. How big and expensive.

And the courtyard and gardens! You’ve truly never seen anything so beautiful. You don’t even realize the way you’re clasping a hand to your chest because you’re just so genuinely overcome by how stunning everything is. You’ve never seen so many flowers, so many different colors, such exquisitely crafted sculptures and decor!!

This was supposed to be a quick breather outside in between work for Lloyd, but when he sees how absolutely taken you are—how emotional even though you’re trying to hide it—his alpha instincts immediately kick in. He digs his phone from his pocket and makes a quick call to his assistant, cancelling the rest of his meetings for the day.

When you turn to him, worried you may have upset him or done something wrong to disrupt his plans, he just gives you his patented smirk!smile and pulls you close. “None of that, pumpkin, I’d just much rather spend the day out here with you.”

And that’s exactly what he does ☺️

Join in on my shameless hoe weakend!

[crazyunsexycool]

Omg this chapter was so so so good!!!

echoes of hydra [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Bucky comes face-to-face with Ross, uncovering a sinister truth that threatens to pull him back into the past he swore he’d never return to. But as he fights to hold onto his freedom, an unseen threat is already closing in. When he returns to your apartment, something is very, very wrong.

Word Count: 3300

Tags/warnings: 18+ employer x employee. no smut in this chapter -- wow, first chapter with no smut, but lots of plot! lots of development. hopefully lots of jaw-dropping moments. please let me know if you enjoy it!

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The gala was in full swing by the time Bucky arrived. Dressed in a sharp black suit, he walked through the grand ballroom, ignoring the whispers and curious glances thrown his way. He knew what people were saying — most likely talking about the assault and his “rumoured” lover. He wasn’t exactly a welcomed guest in circles like these, but that didn’t matter. Even if Bucky played his card right, his past meant that he would always be an outlier when it came to politics; and that was down to an unforgivable system. Bucky denied a champagne flute and slipped past the few people who made an effort to talk to him. After all, he wasn’t here to make friends.

Ross was the centre of attention, surrounded by political figures, military officials, and wealthy benefactors. Bucky scanned the room, catching sight of Tara, who was eyeing him with thinly veiled suspicion. She wore a sleek, emerald green dress, hugging her curves and her honey blonde hair bounced off her shoulders. It was the first time he’d seen her since Tokyo. Tara offered Bucky a smile, followed by a small wave, but the Congressman just nodded his head in polite acknowledgement. Slipping through the crowds of people, Bucky made his way toward the hallways leading to Ross’ private office.

Two security guards stood outside the door, tall and straight. But they were nothing that Captain America couldn’t make quick work out of. Once the guards were down and hidden, Bucky and Sam slipped into the unoccupied room.

Sam kept watch while Bucky hacked into Ross’ computer. The files he found made his stomach drop. A black budget project—one that used to belong to SHIELD before Hydra infiltrated it. Except now, it was active again, and Ross was making financial transactions straight to Hydra remnants.

Bucky clenched his jaw. Hydra wasn’t dead. It had just changed its face.

And Ross was funding it.

Bucky scrolled through the files, his breath coming out heavier the deeper he dug. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

Sam leaned over his shoulder, brows furrowing. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “It’s worse.” He tapped the screen. “These transactions—they’re going directly to Hydra cells. And look at this—” He pulled up another document. “It’s a classified super soldier development program. This is exactly what they did to me, Sam. They’re doing it again.”

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This is bigger than we thought.”

Bucky’s hands curled into fists. “We have to shut this down. If Ross is making deals with Hydra, then—”

A noise outside the office made them both go still.

Sam shot him a look. “Time to go.”

Bucky copied as much of the data as he could onto a flash drive before ejecting it and slipping it into his pocket. “We’re not done here,” he muttered.

Sam gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, no shit.”

With that, they slipped back into the gala, acting like nothing had happened—while knowing damn well that everything had just changed.

The gala was a spectacle of excess—golden chandeliers dripping with light, champagne flowing freely, and Washington’s elite mingling in hushed, calculated conversations. Bucky barely had time to scan the room before Tara was on him, again.

“Congressman Barnes,” she greeted smoothly, her voice warm, familiar. Like a trap he hadn’t seen springing shut.

She was stunning in the green silk, the dress skimming her frame effortlessly. There was something about the way she looked at him—soft, concerned, like she wasn’t the same woman who had just weeks ago been flirting with him behind closed doors.

“Tara.” He kept his tone neutral.

She sighed, giving him a small, almost exasperated smile. “Are we really doing this? The cold, distant thing?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Not sure what you mean.”

Tara tilted her head. “You’ve been avoiding me. And don’t tell me you haven’t, because I know when you’re keeping me at arm’s length.”

He exhaled sharply. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” she murmured, stepping closer, her fingers grazing his wrist. “That’s why I’m worried about you.”

That caught him off guard. His eyes flickered over her face, searching. Her expression seemed genuine, but now Bucky was unsure about everything. Tara was actually hired by Ross to be Bucky’s campaign manager. He called her “the best in the business”, noting her as a favour to Bucky, but now that Bucky couldn’t trust Ross, he was even more hesitant when it came to his overly flirtatious employee. 

Tara took the opportunity, slipping her hand into his and tugging him gently toward the dance floor. “Just one dance. For old times’ sake.”

He should have said no.

But Tara was good at this—at keeping him on the hook just enough to make him doubt his instincts. She had always been a little too good at reading him, at knowing exactly how to manipulate a situation without making it obvious.

Best in the business.

So, against his better judgment, he let her pull him into a slow waltz.

“You’re good at this,” Tara beamed, her eyes sparkling.

Bucky shrugged. “We did this type of thing a lot back in the 40s.”

“Seemed like an easier time to live in,” Tara replied.

“During the war?” Bucky knotted his eyebrows together. “It was hell. People dying around you and nothing you could do about it, my soldiers… my men…”

“That’s right, you were a Seargent weren’t you?” Tara said. “Strange to imagine you in the whole get up.” She gestured her hands down his body, referring to his militia uniform. “Bet you looked good.”

Bucky scanned the room, looking for Sam, and looking for a quick exit. He didn’t have time for this. 

“Hey, Tara, how would you like to take some time off?’ Bucky proposed.

“Seriously?” Tara choked back a laugh. “I’m your campaign manager, and not to be blunt, but your campaign, if we can still call it that,  is in roaring flames right now. I don’t think I have ever had to deal with such a mess before.” Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and she peered up at him with something that almost looked like sincerity. “I mean it, Bucky. I’m worried about you.”

He scoffed, keeping his grip firm but careful. “Since when?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Since you started getting reckless. Since you stopped trusting the people who actually want to help you.”

“Help me?” His brows furrowed. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“I know you think I’ve been working against you, but I haven’t,” she insisted, lowering her voice. “If I wanted to ruin you, I could have done it a long time ago.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So why haven’t you?”

Tara swallowed, gaze flickering over his face before she spoke, quiet and careful. “Because I care about you.”

Bucky’s grip on her waist twitched.

She leaned in just a fraction. “And her.”

His breath caught.

Tara took advantage of the hesitation. “I know you think she’s in danger because of me. But it’s not that simple. You and I both know there are bigger players in this than Ross.”

Bucky’s stomach tightened. “What do you know?”

Tara hesitated, then dropped her gaze for a moment, as if debating something. When she looked back up, she was the picture of conflicted loyalty. “I’ve heard things. Things I don’t like. And if you keep digging, you’re going to find yourself in a hole you can’t crawl out of.”

He searched her face, but she was good—so damn good at this. At making him question everything.

Still, his gut told him she wasn’t lying about one thing: whatever was going on, it was bigger than just Ross.

Tara exhaled softly like she had made some kind of decision. “Let me help you, Bucky. I can get you access to things you can’t reach on your own. I can feed you information.”

His fingers curled tighter against her back. “And why would you do that?”

Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might actually be telling the truth when she said, “Because I don’t want to see you lose.”

The music swelled around them.

Bucky stared at her, weighing his next words carefully.

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he murmured, “Fine.”

Tara smiled, squeezing his hand as the song came to an end. “Good.”

As she stepped back, she let her fingers graze against his one last time. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

And then she was gone.

Bucky stood there, pulse hammering, knowing he had just walked into something much more dangerous than he’d realised.

When he turned, Sam was already waiting for him by the bar, arms crossed.

“She’s playing you, man.” He sighed, handing Bucky a glass of whiskey. 

Bucky exhaled sharply. “I know.”

Sam lifted a brow. “Then what’s the plan?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“We let her think she’s winning.”

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The phone rings a second time, and you hear Bucky’s gruff voice on the other end. He sounds tired, strained.

“Yeah?” he mutters, his tone rough, but there’s a hint of relief.

“You didn’t answer my messages, Bucky,” you snap, unable to hide the frustration in your voice. “You were gone all night, all day… I… I was worried.”

There’s a brief silence on his end. You can hear the faint rustling of paper or something else in the background. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, softer.

“I’m sorry. It was... it was complicated,” Bucky replies, his words measured. “But I’m fine. I’ll explain later.”

You’re not buying it. “No. I need answers now, Bucky. Where were you?” You feel the anger bubbling up, a mix of betrayal and confusion. “You didn’t even text me back.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he finally says, voice low, almost apologetic, but his words still have a cold edge. “But trust me, you wouldn’t want to know the truth about last night.”

Your chest tightens as you hear the unease in his voice, but you can’t understand why he’s being so distant. “Why wouldn’t I? What’s going on, Bucky?”

He’s silent for a moment too long. “I’ll tell you when I can, okay? Just... don’t get involved in this. Please. It’s not what you think.”

The way he says it, the quiet urgency, sends a pang of fear through you. “What are you not telling me?”

“I’m doing this to protect you,” Bucky’s voice cracks ever so slightly, and then he quickly adds, “I have to go.”

Before you can protest, he hangs up, leaving you alone with your racing heart and mounting frustration.

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The tension in Ross's office was thick, nearly suffocating. Bucky stood in front of the massive desk, his jaw clenched tight as he stared down at the man who had orchestrated so much of the chaos in his life. Sam was there, close by, but this conversation was one Bucky had to handle himself. Ross was always a master at twisting people, at manipulating them, and Bucky wasn’t sure he could trust anyone else to see through the layers of lies that surrounded him.

Ross finally broke the silence, a calm smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Bucky, I had a feeling you’d come. You've always been a determined one, I’ll give you that.”

“I didn’t come here for your games, Ross,” Bucky growled, his fists tightening at his sides. “I know about Hydra. I know about the program you're running.”

Ross didn’t flinch. He leaned back in his chair, the dim light from his desk lamp casting a shadow over his face. “Hydra? What do you think we’re doing here, Bucky? It’s bigger than just that. Hydra has a vision, and I’m merely… facilitating it. Helping them with something far more important than the petty battles of the past.”

“You’re playing with people’s lives,” Bucky shot back, his voice low and menacing. “Neo-Hydra is recruiting soldiers. They're testing them, just like they did with me. You’re funding them. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Ross’s eyes flickered with something Bucky couldn’t quite place. He remained calm, however, swirling the ice in his glass of water. “I’m not the one testing anyone, Bucky. I’m keeping the peace. Hydra is out there, and they’ve offered me a way to contain my… condition.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “Your condition?”

Ross’s lips twisted into a small, knowing smile. “Yes, Bucky. My condition. The one that your friend, Sam, knows all too well. I’ve been dealing with gamma radiation poisoning for years now. It’s a little… problematic. But Hydra’s been helping me manage it. They’re giving me medication to keep it under control.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted as he realized the implication. “You mean the serum… the one that turned you into… that?” The last word came out with disgust, referring to Ross’s transformation into the Red Hulk.

Ross shrugged, uncaring, as if the transformation into the Hulk was just another side effect of life. “Yes, that’s the one. I’m not as lucky as you, Bucky. I can’t control it. The medication Hydra provides keeps me from losing control. If they take that away, I’ll die—or worse, I’ll destroy everything in my path.”

“So you’re working with them because you’re afraid?” Sam spoke up, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You’re really willing to sell out for some pills? To let them control you like this?”

Ross’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I have a choice. Hydra is playing their game, and I’m playing mine. They want you, Bucky. They want the Winter Soldier back. They want the ultimate weapon, and they want you to lead their new super soldier program. You’re their golden ticket. You can either join me and help lead it—or you’ll be a liability. A threat.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re telling me they want me to go back? To be their soldier again? I’d rather die than let them have that control over me again.”

Ross’s smile returned, but it was cold, calculating. “That’s the choice you have, Bucky. You either step up and lead Hydra’s army, or they’ll go after everything you care about. I can’t stop them from doing what they want. But you… you can save yourself. And them. If you help us.”

Bucky’s heart pounded. “I’ll never be your weapon again, Ross. Not for you. Not for Hydra. Never again.”

Ross leaned in, his voice lowering, his tone deadly serious. “Then I guess you’ll have to live with the consequences. And trust me, Bucky, they won’t be pretty. I suggest you go pay a visit to someone you care about. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her… after all, she’s so important to you, isn’t she?”

Bucky’s gut twisted at the insinuation. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ross’ expression hardens. “HYDRA is already watching you. They’ll come for you, and they’ll come for her too.”

Bucky stiffens, the mention of you sending a flash of panic through him. “Touch her, and I’ll burn everything down.”

Ross smirks, knowing he’s hit a nerve. “Then you’ll have to make a choice, Barnes. Help us, or watch everything you care about crumble.”

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Bucky’s footsteps echo in the hallway as he approaches the door to the apartment. The familiar scent of the place—your perfume, the faint trace of coffee, the warmth of your presence—hits him as he twists the doorknob. He’s been gone longer than he intended, but the mission is far from over. Sam and him are still on the trail, but Bucky can’t shake the feeling that something is off. His mind races with what Ross said—about you being a target. He pushes the thought away, hoping it’s nothing.

The door swings open with a soft creak, and Bucky steps inside.

The apartment is eerily quiet. The usual comforting hum of city sounds outside the window is muted, and the silence wraps around him like a heavy blanket. The first thing he notices is that the apartment feels... empty. Too empty. The familiar clutter of your things—your books, the shoes scattered near the door, the coffee mug on the counter—are all in place, yet something is missing.

You’re not there.

A cold shiver runs down Bucky’s spine. He steps further inside, his heart pounding louder with each footstep. His eyes scan the apartment, his breath caught in his chest.

The bed is unmade, sheets tangled as though you were abruptly pulled from it. The sight of it sends a rush of panic through him. His hand instinctively reaches for his phone, checking for messages, but there’s nothing. Just a string of texts he never answered.

Bucky’s fingers tremble as he scrolls through the messages from you—texts that were sent when he was with Sam, the ones he had ignored. A low growl escapes his chest when he sees the last one: Where are you? Why didn’t you come back last night? I’m worried.

He swipes the screen off, his mind spinning. Something’s wrong. His body moves on autopilot, the adrenaline already kicking in. He checks the bathroom, the kitchen, each room, but finds nothing out of place. No signs of struggle. No indication of what happened, but the absence of you feels deafening.

His gut tightens, and the gnawing fear is undeniable now.

Bucky strides over to the nightstand, his hand brushing across your belongings—a necklace you’d left there earlier, the book you were reading. His fingers curl around the edges of the book, but he can’t shake the unsettling thought that something’s been taken. Something more than just your presence. Something vital.

She’s gone.

He rips the front door open, his breath quickening. He steps out onto the landing, looking down the hallway like he’s expecting you to be there. But there’s no sign of you. No sign of any struggle. No broken locks, no shattered glass.

She’s been taken.

The realization hits him like a brick. His pulse thunders in his ears as he rushes back into the apartment, his eyes wild as he scans every inch, desperate to find something—anything—that could explain where you are. But there’s nothing. Only emptiness.

Bucky’s chest tightens, his throat closing up as a knot of fear and fury builds inside him. The darkness of what’s coming bears down on him like a wave, suffocating him. He can feel it—the icy grip of HYDRA’s influence. He’d been too late. He’d been reckless. And now, they’ve got you.

“Dammit!” Bucky slams his fist into the wall, the sound of impact reverberating through the quiet room. His mind races, trying to piece everything together. Who would have taken you? Why? Was it Ross? HYDRA?

His thoughts turned to Tara. She’d been at the gala. She had known where he was. She had acted innocent, but Bucky’s gut told him that something was off. The pieces of the puzzle begin to click into place, and he felt a cold rage boil within him.

But none of it matters now. The only thing that matters is finding you.

Bucky takes a deep breath, forcing his pulse to slow down, but the adrenaline won’t stop pounding in his chest. The room spins, and he knows time is running out. They’ve taken you. And he’s going to make sure they regret it.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, and dialing Sam’s number, his voice gruff and urgent when he picks up.

“Sam, it’s happening. She’s gone. HYDRA has her.”

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[crazyunsexycool]

brooklyn baby [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Hiding out in your Brooklyn apartment, Bucky finally lets his guard down, opening up about his past and the ghosts that still haunt him. As they navigate their growing connection, the threat looming over them becomes impossible to ignore. When an old friend shows up with a plan, Bucky is forced to decide—stay in the shadows or fight back before it’s too late.

Word Count: 3100

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, m!receiving oral, handjobs, riding, delayed gratification, edging, praise kink, you take care of your boss

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The fallout from the airport fight spiralled faster than either of you could have imagined. The media had latched onto the image of Bucky punching the man to the ground, and within hours, every major outlet was dissecting it. The headlines were brutal.

“James Barnes: Hero or Menace?”

“Ex-Winter Soldier Loses Control—Again.”

“Congressman Barnes’ Violent Outburst Sparks Controversy.”

The press swarmed as soon as you landed. Paparazzi lined the exits, their cameras flashing like a relentless storm, and reporters shouted over one another.

“Congressman Barnes! Was the attack premeditated?”

“Do you think your violent history makes you unfit for office?”

“Who was the woman with you? A secret lover?”

“Will there be an investigation?”

The tension sat thick between you. The worst part? The whispers were growing. Bucky wasn’t just under scrutiny for the fight—someone was leaking information. Photos of the two of you together, too close in quiet moments, grainy images taken from a distance that suggested something more than professionalism. A calculated attack.

You scrolled through your phone, reading the latest articles.

“Sources close to Barnes reveal he’s been engaging in an unprofessional relationship with a member of his staff.”

“Anonymous insiders claim the Congressman has been seen getting intimate with his assistant behind closed doors.”

“A political scandal brewing?”

Your stomach twisted. “Bucky…” You hesitated, then turned your screen toward him.

He barely spared it a glance. “I know,” he muttered. “I saw it this morning.”

Your heart pounded. “Who’s doing this?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know. But I have a feeling.”

And then there was Tara. She had been oddly distant all morning—no witty remarks, no passive-aggressive jabs. Just silence. That alone made your skin crawl.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then cursed under his breath. “I need to call Sam.”

You frowned. “Sam?”

“If they think they can silence me, they’re wrong.” His expression darkened. “This isn’t just about the fight. It’s bigger than that. Someone’s trying to control me. And I won’t let them.”

You swallowed hard. “Bucky… what are you planning?”

He finally looked at you, his blue eyes stormy and determined. “I’m going to find out who’s behind this. And I’m going to bring them down.”

The drive back to Brooklyn was quiet, but not uncomfortable. After everything that had happened—the fight at the airport, the media storm, the looming threats—you were both exhausted. The city lights blurred past the car windows, and Bucky’s fingers twitched on his thigh as if itching to reach for you.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your apartment building, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Home. For now, at least.

Bucky followed you inside, scanning the surroundings like a soldier surveying new territory. He had been in your space before, but never like this—never in a way that felt so permanent, so inevitable.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you murmured, slipping off your coat. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t sit. Instead, he wandered over to the bookshelf near your window, eyes tracing over the spines of books and the small trinkets you had collected over the years.

“You’re a reader,” he noted, running his fingers along the edges of a few well-worn novels.

You smiled, handing him a glass of water. “Always have been. I used to spend hours at the library as a kid.”

He hummed, taking a sip. “Me too.”

That surprised you. “Really?”

Bucky leaned against the windowsill, a small, wistful smile playing at his lips. “Yeah. My ma worked long hours, so sometimes she’d drop me and Rebecca off at the library. I’d read anything I could get my hands on—adventure stories, war novels, even poetry.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Steve always made fun of me for that one.”

Your chest warmed at the thought of a younger Bucky, lost in books, before the war, before everything. “I think that’s sweet. Rebecca is…?”

“My youngest sister,” Bucky answered, his lips curling into a small smile. “She lives up in Indiana, in a care-home. I try and visit when I can but, it’s a busy life. I think she’d like you, actually.”

The last part made your heart warm. You walked over to the Congressman, passing him a glass of neat whiskey. His favourite. “You have more than one sister?”

“I have— had— three sisters. Rebecca, Betty, and Winnie. Becca is the only one still with us. I was the older brother, always doing my best to take care of them. I taught them how to read, actually.” Bucky laughed fondly at the memory and took a swig of his drink. You gazed up at him, mesmerised. He had never opened up like this before, and it felt good to know he was this comfortable around you. 

“I bet you were the most wonderful big brother,” you said, rubbing your hand on Bucky’s shoulder soothingly. You felt the knots under his skin, the tension.

“I tried to be,” Bucky replied. “I miss my sisters all the time. When HYDRA kidnapped me, my sisters had to bury me. They believed me to be dead. In the fifties, Betty passed away from a short-lived illness, and in the seventies, we lost Winnie too. I never got the chance to see them again.”

You were lost for words. No person should have ever gone through something like that. You were beginning to understand now why Bucky’s campaigning was so important to him, and why he was so worried about a Super Soldier revival. 

“I think… I think I’d like to meet Rebecca one day. I’m sure she has some funny stories about her big brother.”

Bucky laughed. “I’d like for you to meet her too. She’s so important to me, you know?”

“Of course.”  You replied. 

“When I came back, got my freedom, I tracked her down. When she saw me, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven,” Bucky revealed, his blue eyes wide with sadness. “I got to learn all about the life she lived without me. Got herself a husband and had kids, then grandkids, a dog too. She named her son after me, actually. I used to long for that sort of thing. A family. But I guess the universe had other ideas.” Bucky glanced at you, his gaze softer now that he had shared that. “What about you? What was your childhood like?”

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Not as interesting as yours, I’m sure. I moved around a lot. Never really had a place that felt like home until I came here.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly. “You got family?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but we’re not close.”

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for that. Instead, he simply said, “Then this is home.”

Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. Home was never a place for you, not when you moved about so much. You couldn’t afford to make a place a home, but that comfort and care and love that a home was supposed to give, you had found with Bucky. No matter if you were in his office, flying on his jet or in a Tokyo hotel room. Bucky felt like home.

You looked away, clearing your throat. “You hungry?”

Bucky smirked. “Depends. You offering to cook?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Barnes.”

But the teasing felt good. Normal. Like, despite everything, the world hadn’t completely spun off its axis.

Eventually, after sharing stories of childhood mischief and Brooklyn winters, you both ended up in your bedroom. The weight of the past few days, the exhaustion, the tension—it all melted away as you curled into each other.

Bucky’s hands were warm as they traced your spine, and his breath was steady against your neck.

“You tired?” he murmured.

You should have been. But with his body pressed against yours, sleep was the last thing on your mind.

“No,” you whispered, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened. “Good.”

His lips were on yours before you could say another word, slow and deep, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he rolled you onto your back. His hands wandered, exploring, claiming, but when his fingers brushed the hem of your sleep shorts, you pulled back.

“Let me,” you whispered, your hands already working at the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bucky’s breath hitched. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

And God, you did. You had felt him before, had touched him, but you had never taken him in your mouth, never had the chance to make him fall apart beneath you.

Bucky swallowed hard, watching as you moved down the bed, your hands sliding his sweatpants and boxers down in one slow motion. His cock was already hard, thick and flushed, twitching slightly as the cool air hit him.

You licked your lips. “You’re so big…”

Bucky groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart…”

You started slow, kissing the tip, licking a teasing stripe up his length. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if resisting the urge to grab your hair.

When you finally took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him in deep, Bucky let out a strangled moan.

“Jesus—” His hand found the back of your head, his hips lifting slightly off the bed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, savouring the way he twitched under your tongue. The weight of him in your hand was heavy, thick, veins pulsing against your palm as you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck, baby…”

His voice was rough, edged with desperation, and it made you even wetter, the power of having him like this sending a thrill through your body. You flicked your tongue over the head, teasing the slit before wrapping your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper.

Bucky groaned, his hand sliding into your hair, not pushing, just resting there, fingers flexing every time you swallowed around him. His thighs were tense, his abs flexing under the soft glow of the bedroom light as you bobbed your head, letting saliva drip down his shaft, making everything slick and messy.

“Jesus—” His voice cracked when you took him even deeper, your throat constricting as you forced yourself to take more. “God, you’re—fuck, you’re so good at that.”

His praise made heat pool between your legs, and you moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Shit, shit—” His grip tightened in your hair as you started to work him harder, stroking him with your hand in tandem with your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head, sucking him in deep before pulling off just to tease him with kitten licks.

Bucky’s breath hitched. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, sweat beading along his collarbone as he fought for control. “If you keep that up, I’m not gonna last.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, grinning as you pumped him with your hand. “Maybe I don’t want you to last.”

His eyes darkened. “You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “I want you to lose control.”

Bucky let out a strangled sound, his cock twitching in your grip. “Oh, fuck.”

Before he could even think about stopping you, you took him back into your mouth, sucking him even harder, your tongue tracing every ridge and vein, your hand twisting at the base. The lewd, wet sounds filled the room, mixing with Bucky’s harsh breaths, the curses falling from his lips.

“Shit—” His head fell back, eyes screwing shut as his thighs trembled. “I—baby, I’m gonna—”

You didn’t stop. You wanted it, wanted to taste him, to push him over the edge, and when you swallowed around him, that was it.

Bucky came with a broken moan, his body shuddering as he spilled into your mouth. You took it all, swallowing every drop, your tongue swirling to clean him up before you finally pulled back, pressing a teasing kiss to his sensitive tip.

Bucky was still catching his breath when you climbed up his body, straddling his lap. His hands found your hips instinctively, his fingers pressing into your skin as he looked up at you with blown pupils, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he rasped.

You smirked, grinding your soaked core against his still-hard cock. “You’re still hard.”

Bucky groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “You ride me right now, I swear to God, I’ll—”

You didn’t let him finish. You reached between your bodies, lining him up before sinking down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.

Bucky’s jaw went slack. “Holy—fuck.”

You gasped, the stretch stealing your breath, your fingers digging into his chest for balance. He filled you so perfectly, so deep, the pressure overwhelming in the best way.

Bucky groaned, his hands dragging up your waist. “Goddamn, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

You started to move, rolling your hips, setting a slow, teasing rhythm that had Bucky cursing under his breath. His hands gripped your ass, guiding you, his jaw clenched like he was barely holding it together.

“Faster,” he gritted out.

You obeyed, picking up the pace, bouncing on him as your nails raked down his chest. He was so deep, hitting the perfect spot with every movement, and when he reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight circles, you cried out, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Bucky groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

The pleasure coiled tight, your body tensing before it snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You moaned his name, your walls pulsing around him as you clung to him, trembling.

Bucky wasn’t far behind. He gritted out a curse, his hands gripping you tight as he drove up into you a few more times before he spilled deep inside you, his whole body tensing beneath you.

You both stayed there, panting, your forehead resting against his.

Bucky let out a breathless laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smirked, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “But what a way to go.”

Bucky let out a breathless laugh. “That was…”

You grinned. “Good?”

He reached for you, pulling you back up and kissing you, his tongue sweeping against yours. “More than good.”

You curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, and for the first time in days, you felt safe.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’ve got you.”

And you believed him.

You closed your eyes and within minutes, you drifted into a well-needed sleep. But Bucky? Bucky was wide awake. He could not shake the thoughts of a new super soldier serum, and he could not rest until he got clarity. He didn’t even care about the campaign anymore, all he cared about was you and the possibility that more unconsenting people — more soldiers — would have to go through what he went through for seventy years.

Bucky lay there staring at the ceiling, occasionally picking up his phone to check the headlines, a reminder of the threats to you and your career.  When the room was dark and your breathing had evened out, Bucky slipped out of bed. He dressed quickly, his movements silent, and with one last glance at you, he slipped out the door.

Sam Wilson, none other than Captain America himself, was waiting for him in a parked car outside.

Bucky followed Sam through the dimly lit parking lot, the cool night air doing little to settle the storm in his chest. He hadn’t told you where he was going, just slipped out while you were sleeping, your body curled up in the sheets that still smelled like him. He hated leaving you like that, but this—this was bigger than both of you.

Sam leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed as he studied Bucky with sharp, knowing eyes. “You look like shit,” Sam remarked. “Rough night?”

Bucky huffed out a dry chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that.”

Sam nodded, then got straight to business. “There’s a gala happening for Ross tonight. Big event, all the right people in the room. And guess who got an invite?” He tapped his chest. “Captain America, plus one.”

Bucky arched a brow. “You asking me to be your date?”

“I’m asking you to help me dig up whatever the hell Ross is hiding,” Sam corrected. “I was gonna take Joaquin, but I think you need to be there more than he does.”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “You really think we’ll find something?”

Sam gave him a look. “I know we will.”

That was all the convincing Bucky needed.

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The sunlight creeping through the curtains was what finally pulled you from sleep. You reached across the bed instinctively, but your hand met cold sheets. Your brows furrowed as your fingers skimmed the emptiness beside you.

“Bucky?” you murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Silence.

You sat up, glancing around the dimly lit bedroom. His clothes were gone. The shoes he’d left by the door—gone. You reached for your phone, a strange weight settling in your chest as you unlocked it. No messages. No missed calls.

What the hell?

Your fingers hovered over his contact, debating whether to call him. Instead, you sent a text:

Where did you go?

A few minutes passed. No response.

Another message.

Bucky?

Still nothing. The weight in your chest grew heavier.

Frustration gnawed at you as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, standing abruptly. Did he just leave? No note, no explanation? After everything last night?

You pulled on a hoodie, shoving your phone in the pocket before heading toward the kitchen. You needed coffee. And maybe an explanation for why Bucky Barnes had a habit of disappearing on you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway

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[crazyunsexycool]

in too deep [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Bucky pulls away, leaving the reader caught between desire and confusion as hidden dangers close in. Tensions escalate when a secret is exposed, threatening everything they've built. With the stakes higher than ever, Bucky uncovers a shocking truth that could change everything—but it comes at a dangerous cost.

Word Count: 2700

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, f!receiving oral, fingering, taunting, mutual masturbation, delayed gratification, sex in a public space, praise kink, bit of humiliation, bucky talks you through it (also lots of angst but it's all building up now!!!)

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The airport lounge was quiet, dimly lit, with only the occasional murmur of voices from other travellers passing through. You were seated in a plush chair across from Bucky, legs crossed, fingers skimming absently over the rim of your water glass, but your mind was elsewhere.

On him.

On the way his jaw was tense, his fingers tapping idly against his knee. On the way he’d kissed you in the car—claimed you, told you he’d always choose you.

But mostly, on the way his gaze was fixed on you now, heavy and unreadable, like he was thinking about something, deciding something.

Then he said it.

“I heard you.”

Your breath caught, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was low, deliberate. “Last night. I heard you in your room.”

Your stomach plummeted.

You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe as the meaning of his words sank in.

No. No, he couldn’t mean—

“I heard the way you said my name, sweetheart,” Bucky continued, tilting his head slightly, watching the way your face burned with realisation. “Knew exactly what you were doin’. Know exactly how pretty you sound when you—”

“Bucky,” you hissed, warning and wide-eyed, glancing around as if someone might hear.

He smirked, but his eyes were dark and hungry.

“You have no idea what that did to me,” he murmured, voice like gravel and honey. “Had to listen to you fall apart for me, and I couldn’t even—” He inhaled sharply, his fingers clenching on his knee. “Couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

You swallowed, pressing your thighs together beneath the table. “I—”

“You wanna know what I did?” Bucky cut in, his voice deceptively soft.

You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t want to know. But you did.

“I had to take care of it, right then and there,” he said. “Pictured you in that bed, touching yourself, saying my name. Didn’t even make it to the shower—just fisted my cock right there, thinking about how bad you must’ve needed me.”

Your breath hitched, heat creeping up your spine, pooling low in your belly.

“And you know what?” Bucky’s lips curved into a lazy smirk. “It wasn’t enough.”

Your thighs clenched harder.

Bucky leaned back, watching you with sharp amusement. “You’re quiet, sweetheart. Cat got your tongue?”

You glared at him, shifting in your seat, but the smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Then he tilted his head toward the hallway leading to the private restrooms.

“Come with me,” he murmured.

Your breath caught. “Bucky, we can’t—”

“You’re gonna tell me no?” he challenged, voice dripping with pure sin.

God, you should say no. This was reckless. Stupid.

But the look in his eyes said he wasn’t asking.

And you didn’t want to say no.

So you stood.

And followed.

You barely made it into the small, dimly lit private restroom before Bucky was on you.

His hands gripped your hips, pushing you back against the marble counter, his breath hot against your ear. “Lock the door,” he rasped.

Your fingers fumbled, twisting the lock into place just as Bucky’s lips found your neck. He sucked lightly, his stubble grazing against your skin as his hands slipped beneath your blazer, pushing it off your shoulders.

“You think I didn’t feel it?” he murmured between kisses, his hands slipping down to your thighs, pushing your dress up. “How wet you were for me at dinner?”

Your head tilted back as his lips ghosted over your pulse.

“Was gonna be good,” he continued, his fingers tracing the damp lace of your panties. “Was gonna wait. But you—you kept looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Your breath hitched as he dragged a single finger over the soaked fabric.

“Like you wanted me to lose control.”

Bucky tugged your panties down, letting them drop to the floor. His eyes burned into yours as he sank to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs to spread you open for him.

You gasped as he licked into you without hesitation.

The first slow drag of his tongue made you tremble, your hands gripping the counter behind you for support. Bucky groaned against you, the vibrations sending a sharp pulse of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck—Bucky—”

His grip on your thighs tightened as he pulled you closer, burying himself between your legs like he was starving.

Messy. Filthy. Like he needed this.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, and Bucky growled, dragging his tongue through your folds before sucking lightly on your clit.

You bit down on your lip to keep from moaning too loud, but he noticed.

“Don’t get shy now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers teasing at your entrance. “Wanna hear how bad you need me. Just like last night.”

A single finger pushed inside, curling just right, and your knees nearly buckled.

“Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, adding another finger, stretching you as he worked his tongue over your clit with slow, devastating precision. “So tight for me, baby. You been aching for me since last night, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, your hips rolling to meet his movements, chasing the pleasure building in your core.

Bucky groaned, his free hand gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise. “Knew it,” he muttered, his tongue flicking faster. “Could hear it in your voice when you said my name. So desperate. So fuckin’ sweet.”

You were close. The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, your body tensing as his fingers pumped into you harder, deeper—

Then he pulled away.

You nearly sobbed. “Bucky—”

He stood, grabbing your wrists and guiding your hands down between you.

“Show me,” he said, voice wrecked. “Show me how you touched yourself for me.”

Your breath stuttered, your thighs shaking, but under his dark, hungry gaze, you did as he asked.

Your fingers dipped between your legs, circling your clit the way you had the night before, and Bucky groaned.

“Jesus Christ.”

His own hand slid down, palming himself through his slacks before he hastily undid his belt. You gasped as he pulled his cock free, thick and already leaking.

“Look at you,” he murmured, stroking himself slowly as he watched you. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

The sight of him, the way his fist moved over his cock in time with your own movements, sent another rush of heat through you.

“You like this?” he rasped, his thumb teasing the tip. “Like knowing I’m losing my mind over you?”

You nodded, breathless, fingers moving faster.

Bucky groaned, his free hand gripping your hip as his strokes grew rougher.

“Wanna come with me, baby?” he panted.

You whimpered, nodding again.

“That’s it. Just like that—fuck—”

His jaw clenched, his body shuddering as he reached his peak, and the sight of him coming apart—his head tilting back, his lips parting, his cock twitching in his fist—sent you spiraling over the edge right after him.

Your walls pulsed around nothing, your legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Bucky’s forehead dropped to yours as you both caught your breath, his hands smoothing over your shaking thighs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, chuckling hoarsely. “We’re a mess.”

You laughed breathlessly, leaning against him.

Then—

A sharp knock on the door.

You both froze.

“Sir?” a voice called from the other side. “Your flight’s ready for boarding.”

Shit.

Bucky smirked, tucking himself back into his pants, straightening his shirt. “Guess we should go, huh?”

You quickly fixed your dress, cheeks still burning as you avoided his smug gaze.

“Shut up,” you muttered, pushing past him.

But his fingers caught your wrist, tugging you back just long enough to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled away, his blue eyes were dark and serious.

“We’re not done, sweetheart.”

And with that, he opened the door, striding out as if he hadn’t just wrecked you in an airport bathroom.

You swallowed hard, straightened your posture, and followed.

Bucky guided you onto the private jet, his hand resting low on your back as he led you up the steps. His touch lingered, even as he pulled away to greet the flight attendant with a nod. The moment you stepped inside, the quiet luxury of the cabin wrapped around you—dim lighting, plush leather seats, and the soft hum of the engines warming up beneath your feet.

The door sealed shut behind you both. Just like that, you were alone.

Bucky’s presence was overwhelming. You could still feel the ghost of his lips from the airport, the way he had held you, kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His words from the car echoed in your head.

I will always choose you.

But there was something else, something unsaid hanging between you now.

You settled into your seat, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Bucky sat across from you, but his gaze never wavered. He looked at you like he was still devouring the sight of you, his jaw tight, his fingers flexing over the armrest.

The jet began to taxi down the runway. You fastened your seatbelt, but Bucky didn’t move.

You gripped the armrests. The jet lifted off the ground, but your stomach was already in freefall.

Bucky sat beside you, arms crossed, gaze distant. His mind was elsewhere.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, watching him.

His jaw clenched. He let out a long breath, fingers tapping against his bicep. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted. “Something I probably shouldn’t say out loud.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You can tell me.”

Bucky hesitated. Then, in a low voice, he said, “I think they’re making more.”

“More what?”

“More of me.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest.

“Bucky—”

“I know what the government is capable of,” he said, voice hollow. “I know what they do in the dark, what they erase from history. If they want a new version of me, they’ll make one. And I can’t let that happen.”

Your fingers tightened on his sleeve. “We’ll figure this out,” you promised.

His blue eyes met yours, searching. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Because I believe in you.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his head dipping. You reached up, brushing your fingers against his jaw.

And for the first time, he let himself lean into your touch.

“You must know someone close to the President, someone with intel…” you suggested in a questioning tone.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I might know someone.”

“And you know, Buck, having more people being like you wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” You smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. 

For a moment, Bucky could breathe. He shifted his weight and tried to relax. At least he was with you, and you were safe, and in that moment, he vowed to keep you safe for the rest of his life.

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As soon as the plane touched down in New York City, you felt an air of unease. 

The fallout had been immediate.

By the time the plane had landed, the internet had exploded with footage of Bucky’s punch, headlines twisting the story in every possible direction. Some called him a hero, others a violent liability. The press swarmed the airport, cameras flashing like gunfire, voices rising over each other.

“Congressman Barnes! Do you regret the attack?” “Was this an overreaction, or do you have a history of violence?” “Are you fit for office?”

Security barely kept them at bay as you and Bucky were ushered toward the car waiting outside. But inside the SUV, Bucky was silent, his jaw tight, gaze locked on the window as the city blurred past. His hand was balled into a fist, vibranium fingers that you could tell were strained by the look on his face. And you felt utterly helpless. 

“I can fix this,” you murmured. You weren’t sure how. It was an empty promise, but you knew you had to reassure him right now.

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was flat. Empty. Stoic. 

“It does matter,” you argued. “People will understand—”

“They never understand,” he snapped. The muscle in his jaw ticked, his fingers flexing against his knee. “You think the government will let me walk away from this? You think Ross and Val won’t use this against me? I’m their puppet. My strings are snapping, and they don’t want The Winter Soldier to have any part in politics.”

Your stomach twisted at his words.

“You’re a free man.” You reminded him but Bucky just shook his head.

You’d heard stories and rumours and whisperings about Bucky and his past. The Winter Soldier. You were just as aware as the rest of the world, but of course, you had never asked him about it. After all, you were merely just his assistant, and to bring up something of such magnitude would have been inappropriate. This was the first time you’d seen him talk and open up about something so significant and you knew, you knew deep inside that his feelings on this matter were more than valid after what he had been through.

Deep down, you knew he was right.

The carphone rang. No Caller ID.

Bucky let it ring once. Twice. Then he answered.

“Barnes,” he said stiffly.

You couldn’t hear what was said, but you watched his face shift—first rigid, then darkening, then still.

His fingers clenched around the phone. Something unfamiliar and frightening flickered across his face.

“You don’t get to tell me what I am,” he said quietly.

Silence.

Then, he ended the call, exhaling sharply before tossing the phone onto the seat between you.

“What did they say?” you asked hesitantly like you were scared to find out.

Bucky let out a humourless laugh. “They’re building a case,” he muttered. “They’re gonna paint me as unstable. As dangerous. And if I don’t play nice—” He turned to you then, his eyes dark and cold. “They’ll come after you, too.”

A chill ran through you. “What do you mean?”

“They know everything,” he said. “They know about us.”

Your breath caught. How was that possible? You had both been so careful. You couldn’t help but think about both yours and Bucky’s career. This is what you had feared the whole time, and now it was coming to fruition. 

Bucky leaned in slightly, voice low. “They’ll twist it. Say you’re influencing me. That I’m compromised. They’ll ruin you just to keep me in line.”

Fear crawled up your spine, but anger burned just as hot. “They can’t do that—”

“They can,” he said simply. “They always have. This is what they do,” Bucky explained. “I was lucky the government didn’t kill me for what I did back when I—.”

“That wasn’t you.” You reminded him, interruptive and stern. You saw the conflict in his eyes. He still didn’t forgive himself for what The Winter Soldier did. 

“But it was,” He choked out, his blue eyes ice cold with fear. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Bucky, don’t worry about me. We need to damage control. This is your campaign we’re talking about…”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of it settled between you, suffocating.

Finally, you exhaled. “Let’s go back to my apartment in Brooklyn, lay low for a few days until we figure out a plan.”

Bucky stared ahead, eyes unreadable.

“Brooklyn,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was born in Brooklyn.” 

You offered Bucky a warm smile and interlocked your fingers with his. “Then let's go home.”

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Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003

[if you want to be added or removed from taglist, lmk<3]

[crazyunsexycool]

😭😭😭😭 please not her imagining her mama and papa bear!! I’m so sorry…. I hurt my own feelings with this one 😭😭😭😭

Hello Darling….

I have the angstiest an ask for First Crush so feel free to ignore if you don’t like it or anything but here goes…

The Blip happens after Bucky and his girls are together. It started out as a regular mission that went sideways.

1st scenario: how would Mama and Abigail react/deal with Bucky being gone.

2nd scenario: how would Mama react/deal with Bucky and Abigail being gone.

3rd scenario: how would Abigail react to seeing her mama disappear and then learn that Bucky is gone too. Bonus: who would take care of Abigail in this instance

4th scenario: Bucky survives the Blip but not his girls….

Again feel free to ignore if you don’t like it!!

Val!?!? How could you do this to me??

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I can't let my brain go there. 😭

If Abby has to witness you turning to ash in front of her, her little brain will shatter. And when there's no Bucky?? Our little Abby won't recover. She'll end up in an institution.

Of course Steve will want custody of her, but he has no true relationship to her. The government will look towards her paternal family to claim her. And with the government being swamped by misplaced children, Abby will be lost in the foster care system. Abby will withdraw into herself and play out her imaginary life with you and Bucky. She'll lose touch with reality. Even when Steve actually wins custody of her or you return from the Blip, Abby is too far gone. Mentally, she'll never recover.

[crazyunsexycool]

dangerous liaisons [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: After a heated argument at dinner, the dynamic shifts between you and Bucky. Bucky swears that from this moment onwards, he will respect your decision to maintain a strictly professional relationship, but is that really what your heart desires?

Word Count: 3000

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, m masturbation, making out, very brief description of an assault, bucky gets violent, politics, jealousy, high stakes

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, the Tokyo moonlight glowing behind him through the hotel window. His jaw was clenched, his fists pressing into his thighs as he tried to shake the sound of your voice from his head.

But it was impossible.

You had been moaning his name.

Before you, Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he had actually fallen for someone, or if he had ever. Sure, he’d been with women before, but it was never anything serious. Back in the day, he dated to marry, and now, for the longest time, he’d never even considered marriage to be an aspect of his life. He didn’t have time for it; from being a soldier to a weapon to an Avenger to a politician, but then again, there had never been someone quite like you. 

He tried to shake the feelings, he really did. Bucky had no idea how to navigate something of this magnitude.

What really got to Bucky was the way you were so angry about the whole thing. He was trying, really. He’d already told you just about how he was feeling, how special you were to him. He’d be lying to himself if he thought you weren’t interested — he would’ve given it up by now. But he saw that glint in your eye and the way your lips would turn into a smile under his gaze and he noticed things. Bucky was perceptive. 

He had gone after you last night. Ignoring your words, ignoring the way you told him not to follow. But when he reached the door to your hotel room, hand raised to knock, he heard it—your breathless, desperate whimpers. His name, spilling from your lips.

He had never felt anything like it.

It had sent a raw, primal heat flooding through him, straight to his cock. He had backed away, gone to his own room, but the damage was done.

Now, he sat in the dark, his cock throbbing in his hand as he fisted himself to the memory of you. His jaw tightened, head tilting back as he stroked himself, trying to chase relief—but it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

All he wanted was you — not Tara, not anyone else, just you. But he had already pushed you away and he knew you wouldn’t entertain a conversation. Bucky had tried. There wasn’t much more that could be done. You wanted things to remain professional, and so for you, Bucky would accept that. 

Bucky gritted his teeth as his release hit him, his body tensing, his breath ragged as he spilled over his stomach. His muscles twitched with frustration, the pleasure barely scratching the itch that had burrowed into his skin.

He needed you.

But the next day, when you walked into breakfast, you wouldn’t even look at him.

The morning was heavy with unspoken words. You sat at the long hotel breakfast table, staring at the untouched coffee in front of you, stirring it absentmindedly while avoiding the one person you could feel watching you.

Bucky sat across from you, his own plate barely touched. He wasn’t talking much—just quietly sipping his coffee, the muscles in his jaw tight. The rest of the team carried on like normal, chatting about the last press conference, the success of the trip, and the flight home later that afternoon. But you? You felt suffocated by the silence stretching between you and Bucky.

“Late night?” Tara’s voice was playful as she slid into the chair beside Bucky, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She gave him a smirk before tossing you a glance, like she knew something. “You disappeared pretty quickly after dinner.”

You tensed, gripping the spoon in your coffee just a little harder.

Bucky, to his credit, didn’t look at her. Instead, he took another slow sip, then set the mug down with a quiet clink.“Didn’t feel like sticking around,” he muttered, voice flat.

Tara raised a brow. “Shame. We could’ve had a drink, unwound a little. The trip’s been exhausting.”

Your stomach twisted. You weren’t sure why—you had no right to feel possessive over him, not after everything—but something about the way she spoke to him, the way she looked at him, made your skin crawl.

Bucky exhaled through his nose and finally looked up—not at Tara, but at you. His eyes searched yours, but you gave him nothing. Instead, you picked up your coffee and took a slow sip, pretending not to care, pretending you weren’t still reeling from everything that had happened last night.

“I’ll be outside,” you said abruptly, pushing back your chair. The sound scraped against the floor, drawing a few glances, but you didn’t care.

Bucky didn’t stop you. But when you turned to leave, you could feel his eyes trailing after you, burning a hole in your back.

And the worst part?

You wanted to turn around. It took all the strength you could muster to just keep on walking. 

This was hurting you so much and the pain was unprecedented. You should have never crossed the line between professional and personal. And now you were facing the repercussions. You decided to travel to the Embassy in preparation for the press conference later today. You figured if you got there early, you could distract yourself with some work. It just sucked that your work was Bucky — being his assistant and figuring out his life for him, organising meetings and campaigns and press releases. 

Slipping into the back of a cab, you pulled out your tablet and opened up your emails only to see an invite to the Late Late Show with Jimmy Coors. You knew, deep down, that having a moment on cable television would work wonders for Bucky’s campaign, but it’s not something you could exactly agree to without having a conversation with him first. Fuck, a conversation. You were going to have to speak to him at some point. Otherwise, you could be out of a job. After stewing on it for a mere few seconds, you replied to the email.

Congressman Barnes will honourably accept the invitation to be on the Late Late Show, with the sole intention of promoting his campaign. Please direct all relevant documents to this email address. 

You managed to cram a good amount of work in at the Embassy offices before you noticed the commotion outside, as Bucky’s Mercedes pulled up along with his security and campaign advisory team. Time to face the music.

The conference room was packed. Cameras flashed, journalists murmured, and every seat was filled with eager reporters ready to pick apart every word Bucky said. You felt nervous for him, you always did. You knew that if you were in his position, you’d crumble under the pressure. But he’d been through worse. 

You stood off to the side, hands clasped in front of you, eyes trained on him. He looked good—too good, dressed in a dark navy suit that fit him like sin, his tie loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly in control.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Bucky Barnes was always in control. Always composed, always measured. Even after last night. Even after the things he knew you had done alone in your hotel room.

“Congressman Barnes,” a journalist called out, and you straightened. “Considering the recent diplomatic talks, do you believe this summit has strengthened U.S. relations with Japan?”

Bucky leaned forward slightly, his voice smooth, authoritative. “I do. We’ve had productive discussions about trade regulations and infrastructure, and I think we’re walking away with a stronger foundation for future collaboration. Open dialogue is key to international relationships.”

Another journalist spoke up. “There’s been some criticism about your approach to negotiations—some say you’re too aggressive, too direct. How do you respond to that?”

Bucky gave a knowing smirk. “I don’t believe in wasting time. I say what needs to be said, and I stand by my convictions. If that’s aggressive, then so be it.”

There were quiet chuckles from the audience, but you could tell the reporters weren’t done yet.

Then came the question you hadn’t expected.

“What do you think of the rumours about the government reinventing the Super Soldier Serum to enhance the US military?” One lady asked, prompting commotion amongst the other journalists in the audience.

Bucky’s jaw ticked, and he shot you a confused look. This was the first you had heard of such a rumour, and also the first time Congressman had acknowledged you all day. When Bucky didn’t reply, the journalist spoke up again.

“How do you respond to the allegations that you killed President JFK?”

Jesus Christ, they were hounding him. You wanted to storm onto the stage and put an end to this madness. How could they ask such invasive questions? Bucky swallowed before speaking up.

“For seventy years I was trained to infiltrate, assassinate and destabilise. If I wanted to, I could have taken a whole country down in one night. I will not run away from my past. Not anymore. I am proud to be your Congressman and do everything I can to make the world a better, safer place. That means no more war and, for as long as I am alive, no more Super Soldiers.”

In a daze, the journalist scrambled down to her notebook and scribbled his response. You breathed an air of relief but your heart still sank in your chest. Bucky never liked talking about his past, not even to you, and you could understand why. So for him to speak up in a room full of needy, clingy, journalists, in a conference that was being globally televised… that couldn’t have been easy. 

“Congressman Barnes, you’ve been in the public eye for years now, but you’ve kept your personal life relatively private. Is there anyone special in your life right now?”

There it was. The question that had seemed to dominate every single press conference since landing in Japan. Your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky didn’t even blink. He leaned back in his chair, running his tongue along his bottom lip in thought before answering, “I’m focused on my work right now. Love isn’t a priority for me.”

The words felt like a slap, business as usual.

You stared at him, your heart thudding against your ribs.

Bucky didn’t look at you. Didn’t hesitate, didn’t stumble. Just a clean, simple answer, like it was nothing.

Tara, standing beside you, leaned in and whispered, “Yikes. Guess that means you’re out of the running.” Her voice was quiet, teasing, but there was an edge to it.

Your jaw tightened. “Maybe I’m not interested in running at all.”

She hummed, unconvinced, her gaze flicking toward Bucky. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You turned to her then, sharp and pointed. “Shouldn’t you be doing your job instead of making catty comments?”

Tara only smirked, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Just an observation, sweetheart. No need to get defensive.”

You clenched your teeth, but you didn’t rise to it. Instead, you turned your attention back to Bucky, who was wrapping up the conference.

Your pulse was still racing.

You weren’t sure if it was from anger, embarrassment, or something far worse.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

It was late afternoon now, and you were standing at the curb back outside the hotel, waiting for the driver to pick you and Bucky up for the airport. You tried distracting yourself with your PDA, but neither you nor Bucky had spoken a word to each other since last night. You wondered if the silence and tension were hurting him, as much as it was hurting you. 

Today had been hard.

You noticed the press on the other side of the road, and paparazzi too, waving around cameras and making discussion amongst themselves.

Bucky stood rigid, about three or four meters away from you. You tried to find the right words, to say something to him. Anything. You felt as though you owed him an apology. You were so embarrassed after the previous night and the scene you caused at dinner. You acted in total jealousy. But how could you even say that to him? Thoughts raced in your mind a million miles an hour and suddenly, you felt the blood drain out of your skin. You felt your soul leave your body before it even registered: hand skimming your lower back, resting just above the curve of your ass.

You jumped slightly in shock, looking to your left to find a man. He was tall, well-dressed, and persistent. And his hand was still on you. 

"You alone, sweetheart?" he asked, stepping into your space.

You forced a polite smile, stepping back. “I-I’m waiting for someone."

"Shame," he smirked, his eyes dragging over you. "A girl like you shouldn’t be left waiting."

You stiffened as he reached out, brushing his fingers along your arm.

Before you could react, before you could even breathe, Bucky moved.

It happened in a blur.

Bucky’s fist slammed into the guy’s face. A sickening crack echoed through the air as the man dropped to the pavement, unconscious.

Gasps erupted around you. Paparazzi cameras flashed wildly. People shouted.

"Bucky—!" you gasped, grabbing his arm and noticing the purple bruises already beginning to dash over his knuckles. 

But his chest was heaving, eyes dark with pure, unfiltered rage.

"Did he touch you?" Bucky’s voice was low, dangerous. Bucky knew the answer, he saw it with his own eyes. 

"I—he—Bucky, let’s go." You pulled him toward the car, shoving him inside before the chaos exploded further.

The second the doors closed behind you, the air between you crackled with tension.

"You didn’t have to do that," you muttered, staring out the window. “You could have killed him.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. "He put his hands on you,” he replied simply like his violent response was unapologetically warranted. Honestly, the guy got what he deserved but people saw. Paparazzi saw. What were people going to say when Bucky returned to the US? You dreaded to even think. “He’s lucky I didn’t use my other hand.”

You frowned, looking at the Congressman with concern in your eyes. “Bucky…” you whispered. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question.

When he didn’t reply, you sighed. "You can’t just punch everyone who looks at me the wrong way."

He turned to you then, something fierce and unguarded in his eyes.

"You think this is about anyone else?" he said quietly. "You really don’t get it, do you?"

Your breath caught.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice so small you were unsure if Bucky could even hear. “I do get it.” 

“Did you hear what they said at the conference?” Bucky asked, his voice low. “They’re reinventing the Super Soldier Serum.”

You knew this was plaguing him, you were just surprised he was bringing it up with you.

“It’s just a rumour…” you said softly, placing your hand over Bucky’s hoping to ease him just a little bit. 

“They can’t do that, if they do that, it will be like history repeating itself. I can’t let that happen.”

You could sense the fear in Bucky’s voice. The vulnerability.

But there was only so much Bucky could do, after all, he wasn't President. “We can investigate it when we get back home. But for now, let’s just be together, please.” Bucky didn’t move and you felt your eyes prick with hot tears.

You’d really fucked it up now. Everything. Trying to comfort him felt foreign, and you wished it didn't. It was like he didn't trust you anymore, and could you blame him? For the past few days you had been essentially stringing him along, reluctant to have a serious conversation or address your feelings.

Because you were too damn scared.

And now he was burdened with his workload and politics and the fact he'd just knocked a man unconscious on the street; not to mention this thing that was going on between you two.

“Please, Bucky… say something.” You begged, holding back a sob. You were losing him. All you wanted was him, this whole time, and you just kept pushing him away. 

Bucky shifted in his seat and pulled his hand from underneath yours. He looked you in the eye.

“You want me to say something?” He asked rhetorically, all hardness in his face softening. His expression was still unreadable. You nodded and sniffed as he searched your eyes for answers. “Okay. Fine. You confuse me.”

You scoffed but smiled, relieved he was finally opening up. “That’s fair,” you replied. “I confuse me too.”

Bucky hummed, waiting for you to say more. You owed it to him.

“I got so jealous of Tara the other night,” you admitted sheepishly with an anxious exhale, a sharp pain in your chest making you flinch as you spoke the words out loud. You were in the car, and there was nowhere to run. You knew you had to have this conversation sooner rather than later. It had to be done. “I— I didn’t know why but I know why now. I um— I couldn’t stand the way she was all over you, and the way you entertained it. I wanted that to be me.”

Bucky blinked hard, but again, he didn't speak.

“And when you touched me under the table… I felt hot with rage. I couldn’t understand. Did you want me or her?”

Bucky pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, passion-filled movement. In shock, you parted your lips, and Bucky took no time to slip his tongue in, intoxicated with the urge to taste every part of you. You moaned your thoughts and feelings from last night resurfacing. Fuck, you’d missed this. You missed him. 

You pulled on his dark brown hair and ran your fingers through the length of it before clicking open your seatbelt and sliding onto his lap, straddling him, without breaking the kiss. Bucky’s hands roamed your body, his erection growing and pressing between his briefs and dresspants, begging to be released.

When you pulled away to catch your breath, Bucky held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“You, it’s you. I always want you.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs

[if you want to be added or removed from taglist, lmk<3]

[crazyunsexycool]

doomsday reunions!

[crazyunsexycool]

the art of pretending [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: A night of diplomacy turns into a battlefield of unspoken emotions as you and Bucky navigate the blurred lines between professionalism and desire. At an exclusive congressional dinner, Bucky plays the charming politician, effortlessly entertaining the room—including Tara, whose flirtations don’t go unnoticed. When a confrontation emerges, it leaves you wondering where your future lies.

Word Count: 2600

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, f masturbation, f recieving oral, fingering, touching n teasing, jealousy and lots of angst/high tension.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The sleek black car hummed beneath you, gliding through the Tokyo streets as city lights flickered against the tinted windows. You sat stiffly beside Bucky, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your legs crossed at the ankles—a perfect picture of professionalism. You admired the city, it was so beautiful, and you felt safe here. Actually, you felt safe anywhere as long as you had Bucky by your side; that’s something you were slowly beginning to realise. You and Bucky had always maintained some level of professionalism, at least until the previous night in the office, the private jet, and then the dressing room. God, you don’t know what had come over you. 

And tonight was feeling no different. The city lights sparkled and glittered, not too dissimilar to the crystals on your dress.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Bucky cleared his throat, nudging his finger over your hand to garner your attention. The cold night air caught in your throat and you reached over to roll the car window up. “Cold?” Bucky asked.

“I’m okay,” you replied quietly, not looking at him, and instead keeping your eyes fixated on your view as the car sped down the road.

Bucky moved his hand so it rested lazily on his thigh, just inches from yours. The space between you felt charged, crackling with the remnants of everything that had happened hours ago—his hands on you in the dressing room, his mouth leaving you breathless. And now, here you were, heading to a dinner where you were supposed to be composed, and focused.

But then you felt it—the slow, deliberate brush of his fingers against your knee.

Your breath hitched.

“Bucky,” you whispered, keeping your eyes fixed ahead as the driver navigated the roads.

He didn’t answer. He just kept going, fingers trailing up the slit of your dress, creeping higher, teasing. Your pulse pounded as his knuckles ghosted over your bare thigh, the warmth of his touch sending a ripple of heat through your body.

“Jesus doll, you look so beautiful tonight. Like a movie star. Like Katherine Hepburn or Greta Garbo.” He sighed, his eyes raking your body, taking in the sight before him.

You twisted your face. “Who?”

“What do you mean ‘who’?” Bucky frowned and you laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up, you loved getting to witness these small but cherished moments where the conversation wasn’t about politics or finances.

“Are these some 1930s movie stars, by any chance?” You asked, nudging into him as the driver took a sharp turn.

“Well, yeah— but— everyone knows Katherine Hepburn!” Bucky exclaimed, a small chuckle leaving his lips. He was your boss, sure, but you loved seeing this side of him. Despite there being a hardness about him, a quality that all politicians had to have in order to demonstrate some element of success, you know Bucky well enough to see the goodness in his heart. He really was a kind person deep inside; despite what the other running Congressmen seemed to believe. You were lucky to be on his side during the campaign. 

“I think you look really handsome,” you blurted out, immediately hating the way the words sounded as they left your lips.

Fuck, why did you even say that? It was true. And you were only trying to return his compliment. A silence filled the car. You wondered when the last time someone had called Bucky handsome. Some time passed by.

“How long til we get to the restaurant?” Bucky asked the driver. 

“About ten minutes.”

“You know,” Bucky said, leaning over to whisper in your ear. “We could do a lot in ten minutes.”

You turned your head slightly, shooting him a warning look, but he was infuriatingly casual—his gaze fixed outside the window, jaw set like he wasn’t currently ruining you with just his fingertips.

“Stop,” you said quietly, voice tight.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Why?”

Your nails dug into the seat. “Because we have a job to do.”

“And?” His fingers pressed just a little higher, dangerously close to your core. “When has that stopped us before?”

You sucked in a breath. He was teasing, toying with you, pushing the limits just to see you unravel. And goddammit, it was working.

Before he could go any further, you grabbed his wrist and squeezed, hard. He chuckled under his breath, finally retreating, but the damage was done.

Your entire body was alight, flushed, and aching.

And he knew it.

You tapped the button on the door to open the car window and let some fresh air in. 

——————<3——————

The restaurant was nothing short of extravagant—warm candlelight, polished silverware, and the low hum of conversation filling the air. It was the kind of place where power players gathered, where policy was shaped over expensive wine.

You sat beside Bucky, every movement carefully measured, your expression neutral. But the moment his campaign manager, Tara, took her seat across from Bucky, you felt it shift.

She was stunning, accomplished, and unapologetically bold. She leaned in when she spoke, her hand occasionally brushing Bucky’s arm as she laughed. And Bucky?

He let her.

“You’re really taking this whole ‘Congressman’ thing in stride,” Tara mused, twirling her wine glass between her fingers. “I have to admit, Barnes, I wasn’t sure you had the… patience for politics.”

Bucky smirked, his voice smooth. “It’s growing on me.”

Your stomach twisted.

“The people need someone like you. Someone so…strong.” Tara brushed her hand over Bucky’s bicep and you scowled, forcing yourself to look down at the table and not glare.

The discussion around the table dipped in and out of politics—trade agreements, diplomatic relations, foreign policy. You tried to focus, tried to listen as a senator across the table spoke about economic strategies, but your ears caught every little interaction between Bucky and Tara.

“You clean up nice, Congressman,” she said, tilting her head, eyes flickering over his suit. “Hard to imagine you used to be a soldier.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, I do own more than tactical gear.

You clenched your jaw.

Tara smirked. “Shame. I always liked the rugged look.”

A few of the other politicians chuckled at that, but you couldn’t. Not when you were gripping your napkin so tightly it nearly tore.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough, you felt it—his hand on your thigh.

Under the table. Hidden.

Your breath caught.

He was still talking politics, still engaging effortlessly in conversation, but his fingers were slowly inching higher, pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh like he had every right to touch you.

It was maddening. It was infuriating.

And after watching him flirt so easily with Tara, it made you angry.

Without thinking, you slapped his hand away.

The soft thud was drowned out by the clinking of glasses and murmured conversation, but Bucky felt it. You knew he did.

His head snapped toward you, a flicker of confusion in his blue eyes. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you pushed back your chair and stood abruptly.

“I need some air,” you muttered, barely glancing at the table before you turned and walked away.

You stepped outside into the crisp night air, your heart pounding. You shouldn’t feel this way. It was unprofessional. Unreasonable. And yet, the ache in your chest wouldn’t go away. Footsteps sounded behind you. You knew who it was before he even spoke.

“Doll.”

You closed your eyes for a brief second before turning. Bucky stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. The golden glow of the city lights cast shadows over his face, making him look impossibly beautiful.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” you said quietly, arms crossing over your chest.

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “You walked out in the middle of dinner. You really think I wasn’t going to come after you?”

You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head. “Why do you care?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Something dangerous.

“Why do you?” he countered.

Your throat tightened. “Because I take my job seriously, Bucky. I take this whole thing seriously. And I don’t play games.”

“Neither do I,” he said, his voice low.

You scoffed. “Right. That’s why you let Tara throw herself at you all night.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand over his jaw. “It’s politics, sweetheart. You know that.”

“No,” you said, voice laced with something raw. “I don’t. Because I don’t flirt my way through diplomacy.”

His jaw clenched. “You think that’s what I was doing?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But I do know that you can’t touch me under the table like I’m yours while giving her your attention like you’re hers.”

Silence.

Bucky exhaled slowly, stepping closer, until his warmth was undeniable. You could smell the honeyed whiskey on him, mixed with his cologne. He smelt divine. All you wanted to do was to go home and crawl into his arms. Tokyo was suddenly becoming tiring and maybe you didn’t feel safe anymore. 

“Come back inside,” he said softly.

You looked up at him, searching his face. Searching for something you needed to hear.

And when you found nothing, you turned away.

“I’m going back to my room. Good night, sir.” You announced quietly. 

Bucky placed his hand on your arm. “I’m not interested in Tara.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Good night Bucky.” You repeated lamely, tears pricking your eyes. Bucky followed you as you began to walk away.

“You know how I feel. You just don’t want to accept it,” Bucky called after you. “I’ve been clear with you since the other night when we were working late. You’re the one who won’t make her mind up, so don’t turn it in on me.”

That made you pause in your tracks. “This might just be another one of your escapades, Bucky, but I take my role seriously. I’ve wanted to get into politics my whole life and this is the closest I have ever got. I can’t afford to jeopardise that and the way you just— the way you—“ The words died on your tongue when Bucky pressed his lips against yours.

There it was. The ease. The safety.

You pulled away, tears now spilling from your eyes.

“Doll…” Bucky said softly, wiping away your tears. You pulled his hand off your face.

“I have to go,” you said. “Enjoy your dinner. Please don’t follow me back to the hotel.”

And with that, Bucky watched as you slid into the car and drove away. 

When you got back to the hotel, you kicked off your heels and slipped out of your expensive gown, not caring that it would get crumpled as it pooled on the floor. You jumped into bed, revelling in the softness of the sheets and closed your eyes. 

You just wanted to forget the whole evening, but you couldn’t stop thinking of Bucky. You squeezed your eyes tight, trying to force yourself to sleep, but you imagined Bucky at dinner with Tara and your stomach twisted into a knot.

Deep down, your feelings were becoming more and more evident. But how would that look — if the world found out you were fucking about with your boss? It would destroy any potential career in politics that you aspired for. 

The bed felt empty without Bucky and you had been hoping that tonight you wouldn’t be going to bed alone. Shamelessly, you let your hand wander down between your legs as you began to touch yourself over the top of the fabric of your panties. You sighed, your body immediately relaxing. 

“Sweet girl, you like that don’t you?” Bucky asked, licking a stripe between your folds. His beard grazed at your skin and his teeth nipped at you teasingly. “Taste so sweet.”

“Please Bucky, I want you,” you moaned, balling your hands into fists, grabbing the blankets beneath you as pleasure coursed through your veins.

“You have me. I’m yours.” Bucky promised, hovering over you now and placing a kiss to your forehead. He positioned himself between your legs and thrust into you with one deep motion. 

You dip your fingers under the waistband of your panties as your imagination runs wild, pushing a digit inside of you. Compared to Bucky though, it’s small and you feel empty and you only crave him more. 

“I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.” He mumbled over and over again, pussy drunk and in love. He moaned your name like it was a prayer.

You bit down into the pillow as your orgasm shook through you, crying out the congressman’s name. 

Oh, you were in trouble. 

———-<3——----

Bucky hadn’t planned on following you.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he slipped out of the restaurant minutes after you did, ignoring the questioning glances from the congressmen and Tara’s teasing smirk. But the second you had walked away—turned your back on him with finality in your voice—something in his chest had twisted painfully, something raw and unfamiliar. He wasn’t ready to let you go, not like this.

So he followed.

His footsteps were quiet as he made his way down the hotel hallway, stopping just outside your door. He raised a hand to knock, ready to demand—no, beg—you to talk to him. To let him in, even if he wasn’t sure what he’d say. But then—

Then he heard it.

A soft, muffled whimper.

His body went rigid. His breath hitched, muscles coiling tight beneath his suit. His fingers curled into a fist, but he didn’t knock. He couldn’t.

Because he heard it again. And this time, it was unmistakable.

A moan—his name, whispered in the dark.

Bucky’s head fell back against the door with a quiet thud, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. Fuck.

Heat surged through his veins, pooling low in his stomach as he listened—helpless, captivated, drowning in the sound of your pleasure. The soft rustle of sheets, the quiet, desperate little gasps that slipped past your lips. He could picture it too easily—your body arching, thighs trembling, fingers pressing between your legs where he should be instead.

His breathing turned shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven movements. His hand dropped from the door, fingers twitching at his side, torn between walking away and breaking it down.

You wanted him.

Even after everything, even after you had told him to stay away. Even after you had pushed his hand away beneath the dinner table. You wanted him enough to lay in that bed, all alone, and touch yourself to the thought of him.

Bucky exhaled sharply, his forehead still resting against the wood. His restraint was hanging by a thread. He should leave. He should turn around, go back to his own damn room, and pretend he never heard a fucking thing.

But his name fell from your lips again—breathy, wrecked, perfect—and suddenly, the thought of walking away felt impossible.

———-<3———-

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog

[if you want to be added or removed from taglist, lmk<3]

[crazyunsexycool]

the perfect fit [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: While preparing for an important congressional dinner, Bucky takes his personal assistant shopping for the perfect dress. But when the tension between them becomes unbearable, they find themselves tangled in a moment of reckless passion inside a dressing room. As professionalism crumbles, Bucky makes it clear—he’s done holding back.

Word Count: 2200

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, p in v, f receiving oral, exhibitionism kind of\sex in public, body worship, bucky is sooooo obsessed with you.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The morning after Tokyo was a delicate thing—silent, tentative, and wrapped in the weight of everything that had been said and done. You had woken up with Bucky’s arm draped over your waist, his body warm and solid behind you. For a few perfect moments, it felt like something real. Something permanent.

But then reality came crashing back in.

You had pulled away first, slipping from the bed before the morning light could make things more complicated than they already were. Bucky had let you go, watching you dress in silence, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable, yet recognisable. And just like that, you had fallen back into your roles—assistant and congressman, professional and detached, as if the night before hadn’t happened.

Only, it had happened. And no amount of careful distance could change that.

The rest of the day had been routine, filled with meetings and preparations for the upcoming professional dinner with members of Congress. The event was a crucial one, meant to secure relationships and reinforce Bucky’s place in the political world. You had spent the afternoon coordinating details, ensuring everything ran smoothly, pretending not to feel the way his gaze lingered on you whenever you walked into a room.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Bucky called for you.

"We need to get you something to wear for tonight," he reminded, standing near the window of his hotel suite, his tie loosened just enough to make him look devastatingly good. "I want you to look nice."

You blinked. “Is it really essential I attend the dinner? It’s you that they want to see.”

Bucky frowned. “Where I go, you go. I’m not spending an evening with those stuck-up politicians without you by my side. Besides, if things go haywire, I need you there.”

You hesitated, knowing he was right. Bucky knew how to behave, but sometimes, when challenged, he could act a little irrationally, especially when it came to the campaign. His fight was so important to him. Bucky represented every person who had ever been misunderstood. 

“I could borrow a dress from Tara, I suppose.” You shrugged. Truthfully, you’d been sort of intimidated by Tara. She had golden tan skin and long legs and honey blonde hair. Asking her to borrow a dress would have been your own personal nightmare, but you’d rather do that than have Bucky spend his money on you.

‘Tara doesn’t have any dresses either,” He gave you a look that made your stomach twist. “At least, not the kind of dress that I want you to wear."

That should not have sent heat rushing to your core. But it did. He was really adamant about seeing you in this dress.

You swallowed hard, gathering your composure. "Fine. I’ll find something."

"I’ll take you."

That made you pause. "You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he cut in, voice low. "Come on."

You knew it was a bad idea. But you followed him anyway.

———-<3———-

The boutique was upscale, discreet, and filled with racks of elegant evening wear. You had tried to refuse when Bucky insisted on taking you shopping for the formal congressional dinner that evening, but he had been adamant. "I want to do this for you," he'd said, and that was that.

Now, you stood in front of a three-way mirror, examining yourself in a sleek, midnight blue dress that hugged every curve. Small Swarvoski crystals delicately outlined the hem of the dress, and as it caught the light, it sparkled. It was undoubtedly stunning—but you barely noticed. Your focus was on the man sitting in a plush chair a few feet away, his sharp gaze locked on you like a predator watching his prey.

Bucky had been quiet the entire time, watching you try on different dresses with an unreadable expression. But this time? This time, you saw it. The way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers flexed against the armrest. The way his blue eyes darkened with something unmistakable.

Heat pooled in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, adjusting the thin straps of the dress. "What do you think?” You were nervous to ask.

Bucky stood slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate. He stepped toward you, his warmth pressing against your back as his hands ghosted over your bare shoulders. His eyes met yours in the mirror.

"You know exactly what I think," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. 

A shiver ran down your spine. "Bucky—"

"Shh," he whispered, his hands trailing down your arms, then lower, fingertips grazing the sides of your waist. "Turn around."

You obeyed, heart pounding. The moment you faced him, his hands slid to your hips, fingers pressing possessively into the fabric.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," you breathed.

"Like what?" His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His question was innocently taunting. 

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat. ”Like you’re about to ruin me."

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips. "Doll, you have no idea."

Before you could protest, he was backing you into the nearest fitting room, the heavy curtain falling shut behind him. His mouth crashed into yours, all restraint crumbling as he kissed you with desperate, unrelenting hunger. His hands roamed, gripping, teasing, pulling you impossibly closer.

You gasped as he spun you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands were on your thighs, bunching up the silky fabric of your dress, pushing it higher and higher until his fingers met bare skin.

"Bucky, someone could hear—"

"Let 'em." His lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. "You’re mine, sweetheart. I don’t care who knows it."

Your mind spun, torn between the scandal of it and the undeniable, dizzying need for him. Your hands clawed at his shirt, tugging it loose as his fingers slid under the fabric of your panties, teasing, tormenting.

You muffled a moan against his shoulder, and he chuckled darkly. "That’s right, baby. Be quiet for me. Think you can do that?"

Bucky dropped to his knees before you, his large hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the silky fabric of the dress higher until it bunched around your hips. He exhaled heavily, eyes dark and filled with reverence as he took you in.

This was madness. Reckless. Completely unprofessional.

And yet, you knew—there was no stopping him. No stopping this.

The dinner could wait. Right now, you had far more pressing matters to attend to.

And just like that, the last bit of restraint between you shattered.

"You're perfect," he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His stubble scraped deliciously, sending a shiver up your spine.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the expensive fabric of his suit as his lips trailed higher, his breath warm against your bare skin. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with agonizing slowness. The anticipation sent heat pooling between your legs, your breath coming in soft, desperate gasps.

Bucky glanced up, his pupils blown wide. "Gotta be quiet for me, sweetheart. Think you can do that?"

You barely had time to nod before his mouth was on you, his tongue sweeping through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke. A strangled moan caught in your throat, your body arching as pleasure flooded through you.

He hummed against you, his grip tightening on your thighs to keep you steady. "That's it, baby. Just let me take care of you."

The way he worshipped you—every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck—had you unraveling too fast, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you deeper into the blissful haze of him. And when his lips closed around your clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, you bit down on your own wrist to stifle the cry threatening to spill free.

Bucky groaned against you, his own restraint barely hanging by a thread. "So fuckin' sweet," he muttered, the vibrations sending you spiraling over the edge.

You came undone with a silent cry, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Bucky didn't stop, drawing out every last aftershock until you were nothing but a boneless mess against the mirror.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes were full of something dark and dangerous. He pressed a kiss to your thigh before rising to his feet, his hands framing your face as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"I could do that all day," he rasped against your lips. "But we’ve got a dinner to get to."

Your breath came in shaky gasps as he smirked, smoothing down your dress like nothing had happened. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

This was far from over.

Before you could catch your breath, Bucky’s hands slid back down your body, gripping your thighs as he hoisted you up against the wall. A gasp slipped from your lips, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his body flush against yours.

"Still want me to stop?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and teasing.

Your fingers tangled in his hair. "No," you whispered. "Please, don’t stop."

That was all he needed. With a desperate groan, Bucky hiked your dress up further, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between them. The sharp sound of his belt unbuckling filled the small dressing room, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he freed himself.

The first push was slow, agonizing, stretching you around him in a way that had your nails digging into his shoulders. He cursed under his breath, his forehead dropping to yours as he sank in inch by inch, savouring the way your body clenched around him.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he ground out, his voice strained. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

Your legs tightened around his waist as he started to move, each thrust deliberate, controlled—like he was savouring every moment. But you could feel the tension in him, the barely restrained hunger threatening to snap.

"Look at you," he murmured, tilting your chin up so he could watch your expression in the mirror. "Wearing this pretty little dress just for me… and now I’m ruining it."

The words sent heat shooting through you, your head falling back as he picked up the pace, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate. The silk of the dress bunched around your waist, the delicate fabric caught between your bodies as he fucked you hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to ensure you’d feel him for days.

"Bucky—" You barely choked out his name before he silenced you with a bruising kiss, swallowing every moan, every broken gasp.

The coil of pleasure tightened low in your stomach, winding dangerously tight as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, his metal hand cool against overheated skin as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

"Come for me, baby," he rasped against your lips. "Let me feel it."

And just like that, you shattered, your body arching as pleasure crashed over you in waves, dragging him down with you. He groaned against your neck, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his breath ragged and uneven.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the aftermath, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

Then, with a lazy smirk, Bucky reached down, smoothing the crumpled fabric of your dress. "Guess we’re buying this one."

You laughed breathlessly, resting your forehead against his. "Yeah, no way we’re leaving it behind now."

His hands lingered on your hips, his eyes dark with something that looked dangerously close to devotion. "You really are somethin’ else, sweetheart."

And as much as you knew this was reckless, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You hummed, lacing your fingers in his hand and bringing it up to your face, pressing a chaste kiss across his knuckles. 

“Does this feel wrong to you?” You asked, out of nowhere. “What we’re doing… I feel like it’s supposed to feel wrong but it doesn’t. It actually feels right. For once it feels like I’m doing the right thing.”

His hand was so much bigger than yours. Before Bucky could reply, you gasped, noticing the time on his wristwatch.

“Shit, we’re gonna be so late for dinner. We have to go now!”

Bucky stayed still. “It’s okay if we’re a little late, no?”

“No Buck,” you laughed softly. “You have to make a good impression. There’s going to be senators at this dinner.”

Bucky grumbled. “I’m not dressed.” 

“Well, we’re at the tailors. I say it’s your turn. Let’s grab you a tuxedo.” You beamed, staying in the dress that you’d be wearing for dinner and pulling the Congressman out of the fitting room. “I’m thinking something dark blue… so we can match each other?” You suggested; lips pursed into a smirk.

“Whatever you want, darling.” He replied, following you out of the fitting room.

———-<3———-

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @mybuckynotyours @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog

[if you want to be added or removed from taglist, lmk<3]

[crazyunsexycool]

classified desire [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: In Tokyo for an international conference, you watch Bucky command the stage with effortless confidence—until a question about his love life throws you off balance. His public denial of looking for love stings more than it should, leaving you questioning everything between you. But back at the hotel, tension boils over into heated confessions and even hotter passion, forcing you both to confront the truth you’ve been running from: this was never just a distraction.

Word Count: 1800

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, p in v, bit of bdsm vibes/slapping, rough sex, intimacy, miscommunications, slow burn with sex

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The conference hall was buzzing with flashing cameras and murmuring reporters, the air thick with anticipation. You stood off to the side, clipboard in hand, watching as Bucky Barnes took the stage with the effortless confidence of a seasoned politician. Dressed in a crisp navy suit, his tie perfectly knotted, he was the picture of control—composed, articulate, and undeniably commanding.

The panel began smoothly, with Bucky fielding questions about foreign policy, trade relations, and security initiatives. His answers were precise, measured, and laced with just the right amount of charisma. You knew he was good at this—of course, you did. But seeing him like this, holding an entire room captive with nothing but his presence and his words, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost unfair how attractive he was when he was in his element.

Then, the inevitable happened.

"Congressman Barnes," a journalist called out. "You’ve been in the public eye for quite some time now, and naturally, people are curious. Is there anyone special in your life? Any plans to settle down?"

The question sent a jolt through you, your grip tightening on your clipboard. You kept your expression neutral, but your heart pounded as you waited for his answer.

Bucky gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I appreciate the curiosity, but no, I’m not looking for love. My focus is on my work. There’s a lot to be done, and right now, that’s where all my attention is."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to remain composed. It was the answer he had to give, the one that made sense. But it still stung. You knew what last night had been—what all of this was. Just a distraction. You had told yourself the same thing, hadn’t you? So why did it feel like a punch to the gut?

The conference continued, but you barely registered the rest of it. Your eyes remained on Bucky, on the way he commanded the room, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t afford to let your feelings get in the way. You were here to do a job, and that was all this had ever been.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The car ride back to the hotel was silent. Bucky sat beside you, his fingers tapping idly against his thigh, but he didn’t say a word. You didn’t either. It was better that way.

By the time you arrived, exhaustion had settled deep in your bones. You should have gone straight to your room, should have put as much distance as possible between you and the man who had just reminded the entire world that love was the last thing on his mind.

But instead, you found yourself outside his door.

He opened it without a word, stepping aside to let you in. The tension was immediate—thick, suffocating. You turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Nice answer today," you said, your voice clipped. "Really convincing."

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The conference had fallen over an hour long, and yet Bucky knew exactly which question you were referring to. ”What did you want me to say?"

Your breath caught at the suddenness in his voice, but you recovered quickly. "I wanted you to be honest.” You said plainly. 

"I was honest," he shot back, stepping closer. "I can’t afford to be looking for love, remember? Isn’t that what you said? That this—whatever this is—needs to wait?"

You hated the way your stomach twisted at his words, hated the way you had set this boundary and were now resenting him for respecting it. "I don’t know what you want from me, Bucky."

He exhaled sharply, eyes darkening. "I want you. Fuck, I always want you. But I’m not going to beg for something you’re not ready to give."

The room felt too small, the air too hot. Every muscle in your body was tense, fighting against the pull, against the overwhelming desire that had never gone away.

Then Bucky moved. One second, there was space between you. The next, he had you against the wall, his hands framing your face, his mouth crashing into yours.

The kiss was searing—deep, desperate, full of all the things neither of you had been able to say. You whimpered against his lips, fingers fisting his shirt as he pressed his body against yours, erasing every inch of space.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your skin, just like he had on the plane.

You didn’t.

When he kissed you, it was like the world stopped spinning, and nothing else mattered. Your job didn’t matter, his job didn’t matter, it was like you were the only two people and in this very moment you made up one whole. That was it — that was his superpower. 

Instead, you pulled him closer, capturing his lips again in a kiss that stole your breath. That was all the confirmation he needed. He lifted you easily, damn Super Soldier, carrying you across the room before lowering you onto the plush hotel bed. You sighed in contentment as you hit the warm sheets, enveloping into the softness of them.

Within seconds, your blouse and bra were off and discarded haphazardly on the floor. 

Bucky’s hands roamed, mapping every curve and every inch of skin he could reach. His mouth followed, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. When he reached the waistband of your skirt, he paused, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, voice thick with need.

“Well, it’s been about ten hours since the plane…” you retorted smartly, but he was quick to wipe the smirk off your face when he pinched at your nipple.

You shivered as he peeled away the rest of your clothes, his hands reverent, his touch almost worshipful. He took his time, savoring every reaction, every gasp and moan that spilled from your lips as he explored your body with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue.

Bucky wasted no time, getting onto his knees and pulling your legs up so they rested on his shoulders. He towered over you, his metal hand reaching to cup at your face. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you.” He growled, pushing his cock between your folds teasingly. “Eye contact, doll.”

Just like the plane, by the time he finally slid inside you, you were already unraveling. He moved slowly at first, dragging out every sensation, making sure you felt every inch of him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered your name like a prayer.

"You feel so fucking perfect," he groaned, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips tightening. "Like you were made for me."

Your nails raked down his back, pulling him impossibly closer. “Bucky—"

You closed your eyes briefly, and you felt a sharp sting come to your face. Bucky slapped you, and his thumb grazed your cheekbone as he kept you pinned down. “I told you, eyes open. On me at all times.”

“Eyes on you,” you repeated breathlessly, focusing extra hard. His eyes were so beautiful, blue like the ocean yet dark with lust. The eye contact made it feel even more intimate than it had before. It was like Bucky was reading your mind, staring into your soul. Often, you struggled to read Bucky’s expression, but he always knew exactly what was going on in your head. 108 years of experience on this planet would do that to someone, you guessed.

“Mhm, I’m close.” Bucky groaned, his dark brown hair sticking to his skin as he picked up his pace, faster and deeper.

“Fill me up,” you mumbled, pulling his face down to your lips for another messy kiss. “I want to feel you inside of me for the rest of the day, leaking out…”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky cursed before spilling his seed into you. You cried and arched your back into him, your walls clamping down on his cock, milking him for all he had. “You’re perfect.”

The words made you feel warm inside.

Or maybe it wasn’t just the words. 

As your bodies cooled and your breathing evened out, silence settled over the room once more. Bucky lay beside you, one arm draped over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

"Say something," he murmured after a while.

You stared at the ceiling, your heart still racing. "I don’t know what to say."

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. "Then just listen. Because I need you to understand something."

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Bucky exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. "I meant what I said today. I wasn’t lying—I can’t afford to look for love. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I don’t want you."

Your throat tightened. "Bucky—"

"No," he cut you off gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You keep saying this has to wait, that it can’t happen now. But you’re the only one putting those rules in place. Not me. I’m not afraid of what this means. I’m not afraid of loving you. So if you are, just tell me. But don’t pretend like this doesn’t matter."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. You had spent so long convincing yourself that this couldn’t happen, that it would ruin everything. But lying here, wrapped up in him, listening to him say the things you had been too afraid to admit…

You realised you had already lost the fight.

You reached for him, cupping his face, pulling him into a kiss that was soft, lingering. When you pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but his grip on you tightened, as if afraid you would disappear.

"I don’t want to be afraid anymore," you whispered. “Bucky… I—“

A loud knock at the door startled both you and the Congressman. You flinched at the noise, and Bucky’s grip on you tightened. 

“Mr. Barnes, dinner reservation has been set for 7pm.” A soft voice called out. The voice belonged to Tara, Bucky’s campaign manager. She had flew out to Tokyo earlier in the day to organise the press conference. 

You lay there, frozen in his arms. “You were saying…?” Bucky coughed awkwardly.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “We have dinner reservations?”

“I guess so.” Bucky sighed, rolling onto his back.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” You thought out loud.

“Well then, we best go shopping.” Bucky smiled before pulling both himself and you out of the bed.

You came so close. So close to admitting your feelings to yourself but maybe now wasn’t the right time. This felt so new and fresh, and the startling of Tara banging on the door just reminded you that your job had to come first. Without this job, you had nothing.

You just hoped that Bucky would understand. 

---------------------- <3

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @mybuckynotyours @sunday-bug @bunnyfella

[crazyunsexycool]

mile high club [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: When you and the Congressman cross professional boundaries, Bucky finds it hard to keep his hands off you, but you still worry that he sees you as a distraction to his upcoming campaign.

Word Count: 1700

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, p in v, fingering, just general filth, smidge of plot.

Author's note: this was written because it was highly requested. if people enjoy the way i write for congressman!bucky, i am happy to turn this into a series of smutty one shots. but please let me know! if i don't know i can't do it. thanks! <3

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The hum of the jet engine filled the private cabin, a low, steady sound that did nothing to settle the tension crackling between you and Bucky. The air up here felt thinner, charged with something you couldn’t name—something you hadn’t been able to shake since earlier that evening, when he had kissed you breathless in his office, his hands tangled in your hair, his body pressed flush against yours.

For years, it had been strictly professional. You prided yourself on that. You were Bucky Barnes’ personal assistant, the woman who kept his schedule tight, his image pristine, his affairs in order. He was a congressman, after all—one of the most powerful men in Washington, and you had always been painfully aware of the stakes. Of what would happen if you blurred the lines.

But you had always noticed him, too. The way his sleeves strained against his forearms, the rasp in his voice when he was exhausted, the rare smirk that made your stomach tighten. You had harboured your crush in silence, burying it under professionalism, refusing to acknowledge it. Until tonight.

That had been only hours ago. Since then, you had barely spoken, but the weight of what had happened lingered between you. Now, on this flight to Tokyo, where the air was warm, the whiskey in your glass burned sweet, and Bucky Barnes looked at you like he was ready to devour you whole, the tension was unbearable. You, on the other hand, were looking everywhere but him, afraid to catch your boss’ line of sight. You weren’t scared of him — no. As a matter of fact, you were probably one of the only people in the world who was not scared of the ex-Winter Soldier because you saw Bucky for who he really was: a man who wanted to implement change and focus on the greater good. 

He sat across from you, his tie loosened, his blue eyes dark as he watched you sip your drink. He looked at ease—relaxed, even. But you knew him better than that. There was a tension in his jaw, a hunger in the way his fingers tapped idly against the armrest.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally, his voice smooth, controlled.

You smirked, setting your glass down on the polished table between you. “You’ve been busy, Congressman.”

His lips twitched, amusement flickering across his face before he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “That’s not what I meant.” Bucky murmured, reaching out to trail a single finger along the exposed skin of your thigh. Goosebumps erupted in its wake. 

Your breath hitched. The warmth of his touch sent a slow, deliberate ache between your legs, and God, you wanted to fight it. You wanted to be strong, to resist. But it was impossible when he looked at you like that—like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, exactly how you would come undone for him.

“Bucky— you should really rehearse your speech for the Tokyo conference…” your words trailed off, not a single part of you meaning them, displaying every effort to keep your boss hard at work and not helplessly distracted by you. You felt a familiar heat between your legs as his pupils blew black and he looked up at you with lust. 

Wearily, you called his name again and it was barely a whisper before he was in front of you, his large hands gripping the arms of your chair, caging you in. His cologne wrapped around you—clean, woodsy, intoxicating. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, lips inches from yours. “Tell me, and I will.”

You should have. You knew you should have.

Instead, you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “You’re not very good at following orders, Congressman.”

His lips parted, a low groan slipping from them before his mouth crashed into yours. He loved when you called him that, and you knew it. The kiss was slow at first—hot, teasing, meant to drive you insane. But when you sighed into him, his patience snapped. His hands were on you, dragging you up, pressing you against the cool leather wall of the cabin, his hips flush against yours.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he growled, kissing a hot trail down your neck, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse.

You arched into him, your hands raking through his hair, tugging at his tie. “Then it’s mutual.”

Bucky chuckled darkly, nipping at your pulse point before spinning you around, pressing your front against the wall. His hands roamed lower, lower, hiking your skirt up.

“You ever done this before?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Thirty-five thousand feet in the air?”

You gasped as his fingers slid beneath your panties, tracing the slick heat waiting for him. “No.”

His smirk was wicked against your skin. “Guess I get to ruin you all over again.”

Bucky didn’t waste time. His fingers teased, tracing lazy circles over your sensitive skin before pressing into you, stretching you, filling you so deliciously slow you nearly whimpered. His other, Vibranium hand, came up to cover your mouth, muffling the sound as his lips brushed over your ear.

“Shh,” he whispered, voice thick with control he was barely holding onto. “Wouldn’t want the pilot to hear, would we?”

You remembered how just hours earlier, you were nearly walked in on, and heat coiled deep in your stomach, your nails digging into the leather wall as Bucky worked you open, curling his fingers just right, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. His mouth moved along your shoulder, kissing, nipping, soothing, his breath warm against your skin.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he murmured, his fingers plunging deeper, his thumb circling in just the right way. “Falling apart for me. Only for me.”

You bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet as the pleasure built, hot and overwhelming. Your knees threatened to buckle, but Bucky held you firm, his body a solid, unyielding force against you.

“Bucky—” your voice was barely a breath, a plea, and he groaned, twisting his fingers just so, sending you tumbling over the edge.

The world blurred, heat surging through you, white-hot pleasure crashing down in waves as Bucky swallowed every sound, pressing kisses to the back of your neck as you trembled in his arms.

As the aftershocks faded, he slowly withdrew, his hands smoothing over your hips, grounding you. But he wasn’t done.

A rough hand tilted your chin, his lips claiming yours in a slow, heated kiss before he hoisted you onto the polished table, nudging your legs apart with his knee. His breath was warm against your lips as he smirked. “What do you want, doll? Come on, use your words for me.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. “I want you to fuck me, Congressman.” You said it without shame and just sheer desperation. 

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he grabbed your hips, dragging you to the edge of the table. The sound of fabric rustling filled the cabin, the cool air brushing against your fevered skin as he freed himself.

His thick length pressed against your entrance, teasing, stretching you just enough to make you squirm. His thumb found your clit, circling lazily, coaxing another desperate whimper from your lips.

“Patience,” he murmured, watching you with dark, hungry eyes as he inched inside, sinking into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

The stretch was exquisite, overwhelming, stealing the breath from your lungs. You clung to him, nails raking down his back as he filled you completely, groaning at the way your body clenched around him.

“Fuck,” he ground out, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel—Jesus, you feel perfect.”

He pulled back only to snap his hips forward again, the force making the table creak beneath you. You gasped, your back arching, pleasure sparking along every nerve ending as he set a slow, punishing rhythm, dragging out every ounce of pleasure until you were a trembling, desperate mess beneath him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, watching the way your lips parted, your breath coming in ragged pants. “Taking me so well. So fucking sweet for me.”

You whimpered as he angled his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you, sending stars exploding behind your eyes. Your fingers dug into his biceps, nails biting into the firm muscle.

“Bucky—please—”

He grinned, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Please what?”

Your head fell back as he rolled his hips again, slow and deep, leaving you gasping. “Please—I need—”

His smirk darkened as he drove into you harder, faster, the intensity building, the pleasure unbearable. “Say it,” he growled against your throat. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” you choked out, hands fisting in his shirt. “Need you. Need to come.”

He groaned, his movements turning rougher, desperate, his fingers slipping between you to work your clit, pushing you closer, higher—

Until you shattered, pleasure ripping through you in waves, leaving you breathless, boneless, clinging to him as he followed with a low, guttural moan, spilling inside you, his body shuddering against yours.

As you both caught your breath, Bucky let out a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Hope you’re not too tired, sweetheart,” he murmured, running a hand up your thigh. “We’ve still got a long flight ahead of us.”

---------------------- <3

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @mybuckynotyours @sunday-bug @bunnyfella

[crazyunsexycool]

after hours [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: As Congressman Bucky Barnes' personal assistant, you've always maintained professionalism. But when a late-night work session turns intimate, boundaries blur, and hidden desires come to light.

Word Count: 2000

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, hint of voyeurism, f recieving oral, fingering, just general filth, smidge of plot. there's enough here for a part 2 if it's what the people wanted.

Masterlist

congress & carnality masterlist

The glow of the city skyline filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Congressman Bucky Barnes’ office, casting long shadows over mahogany and leather. The soft hum of your laptop was the only sound filling the room, save for the occasional rustle of paper as you flipped through his notes.

It was well past midnight. The congressional building was deserted. Just you and him, working late—again.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders to ease the tension there. “You still with me, Congressman?” you teased, not looking up from your screen. The blue light was starting to hurt your eyes. 

“I’d be a damn fool to fall asleep while you’re talking.” His voice was low, rough with exhaustion. Or was it something else?

You finally glanced up—and nearly lost your train of thought.

Bucky had discarded his suit jacket hours ago, leaving him in just his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His tie was loosened, the top button undone, and his hair was slightly disheveled—probably from him running a hand through it out of frustration.

God, he looked good.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to focus. “Sir, we need to go over your talking points for tomorrow’s press conference.”

Bucky sighed and leaned back in his chair, arms stretching behind his head. The movement made his shirt pull taut across his chest. “Can’t we take a break? And you know you can call me Bucky when we’re in private.”

“We’ve already taken three,” you pointed out, biting your lip, noting how all feelings of professionalism were lost on him right now. “At this rate, you’re going to wing it in front of the entire nation.”

He smirked. “Haven’t I charmed my way out of worse?”

You gave him a pointed look. “You’re not just a charming face, Barnes. You actually have to do your job.”

His smirk faltered, and something unreadable flickered across his face. “You always do that.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t leave yours. His legs spread wide as he leaned forward in his chair, pressing his elbows into his dress pants and linking his fingers together. He displayed his usual stoic expression, the one that you struggled so much to read. 

You frowned. “Do what?”

His eyes searched yours, intense and unwavering. “You see me. Not just the congressman. Not the soldier. Just… me.”

Your breath hitched. You had no idea where this was coming from, but you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

“Bucky…”

“C’mere,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You hesitated. The air between you felt heavier than before, thick with something unspoken. You’d spent so many nights like this—late hours, stolen glances, brushing fingers when he handed you a file. But neither of you had ever crossed that line.

This felt like the edge of it.

Still, you moved toward him, stopping just short of his desk. “What is it?”

He reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist before trailing up your arm in a slow, deliberate touch. “You work too damn hard,” he murmured, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. “Always taking care of me. Who takes care of you?”

You let out a shaky breath. “You pay me to take care of you.”

“Hmph, s'pose I do.” His voice had dropped to something even lower, more dangerous.

You should pull away. You should remind him that this was not professional. But the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing grounding him—made your resolve crumble.

“Bucky…” Your voice was barely above a whisper now.

He stood slowly, stepping around the desk until he was right in front of you. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“If I cross this line,” he murmured, “I’m not going back.”

His words bit at your skin. Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Maybe I don’t want you to. Maybe I want you.”

His eyes darkened. That was all the permission he needed.

His lips were on yours before you could think, before you could breathe. The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant—like he was waiting for you to push him away. But when you fisted your hands in his shirt and pulled him closer, he groaned and deepened the kiss, his hands landing on your waist, gripping like he’d been waiting years for this.

Heat coiled low in your stomach as he backed you against the edge of his desk, his thigh slotting between yours.

“This okay?” he rasped against your lips.

You nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”

His lips curled into a smirk before he kissed you again—this time with no hesitation, no restraint.

His movements were slow and controlled, like he had all the time in the world. He pulled you into his lap, hands palming at your waist before running up your chest and stopping at your face. He gazed into your eyes and for a moment, you felt your heart stop. 

“You drive me crazy,” Bucky breathes into admittance. “You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, and on impulse, you press a chaste kiss to the digit. Something primal ignites in Bucky, and he kisses you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging enough just to make him groan into your mouth. The sound sent a shockwave into you, heat pooling low into your stomach. Bucky’s lips left yours, only temporarily, as he trailed down your jaw, your throat, his breath warm as he took his time.

You gasped as his mouth found that one spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out ton taste your skin before he pressed a slow, open mouthed kiss there. 

“You’re always so put together,” he murmured, lips burshing against your pulse point. “So professional.”

His hands slid down your sides, slow and deliberate.

“Tell me to stop.” He whispered, coaxing you.

You couldn’t.

You’re only response was to pull him closer, tilting your head to give him more access. He groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your hips and pushing you up onto his desk, slotting himself between your legs.

Bucky ran his hand up your leg, stopping when he got to your upper thigh, when he started to feel the heat omit from your womanhood. You let out a gasp that you didn’t know you were holding when he suddenly removed his hand and pulled back just enough to look at you — really look at you. 

“Been wanting you like this for so damn long,” he admitted, voice rough with restraint. “Look at you, all spread out on my desk.”

You feel your face flush with heat as his gaze racks your body. 

“Take me.” You sigh, and Bucky smirks, wasting no time and pushing up your pencil skirt so it bunches at your waist. He pulls your panties down, revealing your glistening folds to him.

“All this… for me?” Bucky asks, his voice dark, but the exasperation isn’t lost on you. He makes you feel small, at his mercy, as his broadness towers over you. 

Licking his lip, Bucky hums as he starts working his tongue at you, lapping at your clit and relishing your taste. Your fingernails scratch at the expensive wood table beneath you as your stomach coils with pleasure. The brassiness of his beard scratches at your skin, but it just turns you on even more. He’s good —no doubt had more experience than the average non-Super Soldier guy. His teeth teasingly graze at you, and just as you’re about to finish, he stops, pressing a kiss to your mound.

He brings his calloused fingers to your cunt and your body twitches at just the slighest of his touch. “Wait—“ you call out, and Bucky immediately freezes, stops what he is doing and looks at you with concern in his ocean eyes.

You reach out and grab his other arm, his Vibranium arm, and replace his flesh hand with that one. Bucky almost looks hesitant. “Are— are you sure?” His cheeks turn pink, and your heart wants to burst. 

God, he’s perfect.

“When I said I want you, I meant all of you.” You smile and press a kiss to his forehead.

Bucky slips his finger into your core, and you let out a moan, arching your back as it hits the spot. Bucky reacts to the moan and hums with contentment. “That’s my girl.”

The coldness of the metal sends shivers down your body, and you feel yourself clamp down on him. As he curled his finger inside of you, you catch a glimpse of his cock pressing against his light grey dress pants. You moan apologetically as you imagine it inside of you, and just then, Bucky pushes a second digit into you.

“Please— more— that’s so good—“ you breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Hear that?” Bucky murmured, returning his tongue back to your clit. “You beg so pretty for me.”

Your breath hitched as Bucky suddenly removed his fingers, and his metal hand ghosted over your hip, pinning you into the desk, exactly where he wanted you. 

“You keep— you tease,” you groan, chastising him almost. Bucky’s ice blue eyes seem to darken as his pupils blow. 

“Oh doll,” Bucky sighs. “Tell me what you want.”

This time, his flesh hand returns to your core and without warning, he pushes his three fingers inside of you as his thumb strategically circles your clit. “I like to feel you.” He mumbled, licking a white hot stripe down your neck. 

“I can’t— I’m close—“

Before you could finish your sentence, his finger closed around your most sensitive spot.

And then, a knock at the door. “Congressman? Your private jet is here.” 

Your entire body went rigid as you glanced over to see the silhouette of a man behind the frosted doors to Bucky’s office. Somehow, you'd totally forgotten that Bucky had plans to fly out tonight if he was going to make it to Tokyo for the conference in the morning. The man was only meters away from you both, and had no idea your boss was busy fucking you beyond belief. 

“Ah shit!” You cried, feeling yourself near the edge just as Bucky’s driver interrupted. But Bucky paid no attention.

“Be there in a minute.” He called back, his voice perfectly calm. 

And when he said a minute, he meant a minute. As if on cue, you fell apart, white-hot pleasure crashing over you and his hand muffling the desperate moan that threatened to escape your body as your body rifed and shook beneath him. 

Bucky groaned as he felt you unravel, his hands gripping your thighs as he licked you through, taking everything you gave him. By the time he pulled back, his lips were swollen, and his smirk was wicked.

“Think he heard you, sweetheart?” Bucky teased, pressing a lingering kiss to your inner thigh. 

You were too dazed to even glare at him.

But when he stood, smoothing his tie, his expression softened. He cupped your face, thumb brushing over your lips before kissing you slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. When he finally pulled away, he smirked.

“Looks like we got a plane to catch,” he announced. You dizzily pushed yourself up and hopped off his desk. “Better fix your skirt. Don’t want anyone knowing what I just did to you, do we?”

You swore you were going to kill him.

But first?

You were going to let him do it again.

[crazyunsexycool]

Aaahhhh!!!! I love this beginning!!!

meet cute [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Congress & Carnality Prologue

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Moving to New York was supposed to be a fresh start. You didn’t expect to cross paths with a stranger who offered a helping hand—or that fate would throw him back into your life in the most unexpected way. Now, navigating a new job and an enigmatic boss, you start to wonder if this city has more surprises in store than you bargained for.

Word Count: 3100

Tags/warnings: 18+ fic series. employer x employee.

Masterlist

congress & carnality masterlist

Brooklyn was alive with the hum of the city—horns blaring, distant laughter floating through the air, the occasional shout of a street vendor trying to make a sale. The summer heat had begun to cool with the setting sun, but your skin still stuck to the fabric of your shirt as you strained to lift the last of the boxes from the moving van.

It wasn’t going well.

You gritted your teeth, adjusting your grip on the heavy cardboard box labeled BOOKS – HEAVY AS HELL in thick marker. You had been ambitious, thinking you could handle moving all your things alone. Your new apartment was on the third floor, the elevator was out of service, and your arms were already aching.

"Come on, come on," you muttered under your breath, trying to shift the weight in your hands. Just a few more steps to the front door—

"You need a hand with that?"

The deep voice startled you, making you jump. You turned too quickly, and the box wobbled dangerously in your arms, your grip slipping. Before you could react, strong hands reached out, steadying it with ease.

"Whoa—got it," the man said smoothly, catching the box before it could meet the pavement.

Your heart pounded, both from the near disaster and the sudden presence of him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your stomach flip. His dark hair was a little longer, pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. But it was his eyes that caught you—steel blue, sharp and assessing, yet softened by something unreadable.

He was handsome. Like, ridiculously handsome. And familiar.

“I saw you from across the street,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Looked like you needed a hand. Forgive me for overstepping, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Was this man trapped in the 40s? “No you’re all good,” You swallowed, clearing your throat. "Uh—thanks."

"You sure you got this?" he asked, glancing at you with a teasing smirk as he easily lifted the box like it weighed nothing. "Looked like you were about to start a wrestling match with it."

You narrowed your eyes. "I had it under control."

"Right," he drawled, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you were losing?"

Your lips pressed together, but despite yourself, you let out a small huff of laughter. "Fine. Maybe I was struggling a little."

"Kinda figured," he said, shifting the box effortlessly under one arm. "Where to?"

You hesitated. "You really don’t have to—"

"Third floor?"

You sighed in defeat. "…Yes."

"Then I’m helping."

You knew better than to argue with someone who looked like they could carry your entire bookshelf up the stairs without breaking a sweat. You grabbed a smaller box to at least pretend you were contributing and led him toward the building.

"You new to the area?" he asked as you climbed the stairs, barely winded. Meanwhile, your legs were already burning.

"Yeah," you panted. "Just moved here for work."

"Work, huh?" His voice held a note of interest.

"Technically nowhere yet," you admitted with a dry laugh. "I have an interview tomorrow."

"Big deal?"

"Could be. It’s for a political assistant position."

His steps faltered just for a second, so brief you almost missed it.

"Politics, huh?"

"Yeah. Not my first choice, but… I need the money. And I figure it’s a good stepping stone."

He hummed, unreadable. "Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll get it.”

You raised a brow at that, watching him effortlessly balance the heavy box in one hand. His other hand, clad in a single dark leather glove, flexed as he adjusted his grip.

Your curiosity got the better of you. "What’s with the glove?” 

His expression didn’t change, but there was the slightest pause before he shrugged. "Fashion statement."

You smirked. "Oh, sure. You just had to be the guy who wears one leather glove in the middle of summer."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "Real trendsetter."

You laughed, eyeing his physique. "Are you a bodybuilder or something?"

He grinned, a soft blush kissing his cheeks when he realised you were checking him out. "Something like that."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You’re being very mysterious."

"Am I?" His smirk widened.

"Yes. And it’s suspicious."

"You think I’m suspicious?"

"A little."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

Your stomach did an unexpected flip at that, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on not tripping over the stairs.

When you reached your apartment, he set the box down effortlessly while you huffed and wiped sweat from your brow. He turned to you, rubbing his palms together as if dusting them off.

"There you go. Least I could do.”

You hesitated. "Thanks… I uh— I appreciate your help,” You said awkwardly, extending your arm to shake the man’s gloved hand. You registered the weight of it, a strong and firm grip. “Do you live round here?”

“Ah, no,” The man replied. “Used to. Was born here, actually. But that was a while ago and everything looks so different now. I hardly recognise it,” You quirked an eyebrow. The man appeared no older than 40 and you could’ve sworn the neighbourhood hadn’t changed that much.  “I live in uptown Manhattan.”

You laughed. “Wow, fancy,” you tutted, jokingly rolling your eyes. “How come you’re here in Brooklyn?”

“Promised I’d meet with Sam for a drink later, he’s a friend, I mean, he’s actually more of a headache,” he replied, clearly unimpressed with himself.

“You know I didn’t catch your name.” You laughed. In the past five minutes you’d learned the name of this Brooklyn-born body builder’s friend and discussed his keen eye for fashion trends, and yet, you didn’t even know his name. 

Something flickered across his face, a split-second hesitation. Then, smoothly, he said, "Bucky."

Bucky.

The name stirred something in your mind. But before you could dwell on it, he was already backing up, a small smirk on his lips.

"Good luck tomorrow," he said. "Hope you get the job."

You wanted to say something else—to ask if you’d see him again. But the words caught in your throat, and before you could untangle them, he was already turning down the hallway, disappearing into the stairwell.

You sighed, shaking your head. If it’s meant to be…

Yeah, right. What were the chances you'd ever run into him again?

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Late. You were so late.

When your eyes fluttered open that morning, it was already too bright outside. Too bright meant one thing—you had overslept.

The moment you turned your head to check the time on your phone, panic set in like ice in your veins.

8:43 AM.

Your interview was at 9:30 AM.

In Manhattan.

Your stomach dropped.

"Shit—!"

You flew out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as you scrambled to the bathroom, fumbling to brush your teeth while simultaneously yanking a hairbrush through your tangled strands. Your carefully planned, professional morning routine? Completely out the window.

By the time you threw on your blouse and blazer—both slightly wrinkled—and snatched up your bag, it was already 8:57.You bolted down the stairs of your apartment building, the adrenaline in your veins the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

The subway was packed. Of course it was—rush hour in New York.

You squeezed yourself into the train, clutching onto the pole with one hand while you rifled through your bag with the other, checking for your resume.

Crumpled.

Great.

The train lurched forward, and you stumbled, mumbling a curse. Your reflection in the dirty subway window revealed wide, stressed-out eyes, flushed cheeks, and a shirt that looked like it had been rolled into a ball before you put it on. Fantastic first impression.

The train ride felt eternal, every stop stretching time like torture.

By the time you finally made it to Uptown Manhattan, you were sweating. You raced up the steps to street level, nearly twisting your ankle in your heels as you sprinted down the crowded sidewalk.

The office building came into view, towering over you with its sleek glass facade. You skidded to a stop inside, gasping for breath as you approached the receptionist.

"I'm—I'm here for the—interview," you panted, pushing hair from your face.

She barely glanced up. "Mr. Barnes is expecting you."

You straightened, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Mr. Barnes? The name meant nothing to you. You nodded, smoothing your clothes before pushing through the doors.

And then—you froze.

Because sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, was Bucky.

Your Bucky.

Except… not your Bucky.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

Oh. Oh.

His smirk was slow and smug, his eyes filled with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

"Surprise," he murmured, a coy smile playing on his lips.

Your stomach plummeted.

Oh, shit.

The straight navy blue suit was very different to the black tec-top he was wearing when you had met him yesterday. His hair had been combed back with a little product placed in it to keep it from falling out of his face. You stood there, still, like a tin of milk, blinking in disbelief at the Congressman you were stood before. 

“Well, you could at least take a seat, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled, pulling your seat out like a gentleman. 

Your legs moved on autopilot, your mind still reeling as you sank down into the chair. You tried to steady your breathing, smoothing your clammy hands over your skirt as you forced yourself to focus.

He walked over to the drinks trolley, picking out a crystal glass. “Want a drink?”

“Wa-water would be good,” you swallowed, stiffly sitting into the chair and taking your crumpled resume out of your purse, doing your best to straighten it out the best you could. 

“You’re thirty minutes late,” Bucky acknowledged. “But your shirt is inside out so I won’t be too harsh on you.”

You gasped looking down at yourself. He was right. How had that even happened? 

Bucky handed you the glass of ice water and slid into the chair, opposite you, behind the obnoxiously large mahogany wood desk. 

“You're staring.” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form words. Any words.

"You—You're him!" you finally sputtered. “Congressman James Buchanan Barnes!"

“Just Bucky is fine," he corrected, his lips twitching. "But yeah. Still me."

Your pulse thundered in your ears. "You're—You're a Congressman?"

His smirk widened. "Something like that."

You shot him a glare. "That’s the same thing you said when I asked if you were a bodybuilder."

"I was being vague for a reason."

"You—!" You exhaled sharply, gripping the folder in your hands so tightly the edges crumpled. Your eyes scanned your resume one last time before handing it over to him. ”This is the political assistant job?"

"That would be correct."

"And you’re the one hiring for it?"

Another nod.

You could kill him.

Bucky only watched you with a maddeningly calm expression, clearly enjoying your struggle to process reality. This was still an interview. Your interview. And you were going to nail it—whether or not the man across from you was someone who had once carried your heavy-ass book box like it weighed nothing.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "So," he said, voice settling into something more businesslike. "Tell me why you want to work for me."

You straightened, lifting your chin. "I'm interested in politics, and I think working as a congressional assistant would be a valuable step in gaining experience."

He arched a brow. "But not your dream job?"

You hesitated. "No," you admitted. "But I want to learn. I want to understand how things work from the inside."

His sharp blue gaze studied you for a long moment. "And you’re okay working in a… morally gray environment?"

Your brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Bucky sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Politics isn't exactly clean. There's a lot of… persuasion, deal-making, bending the truth."

You swallowed. "I can handle it."

That made him smile. It was small, approving.

"Alright, then," he said, leaning back. "You’re hired."

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"Congratulations, sweetheart." His grin was teasing. "You just became my new assistant.”

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Bucky led you through the winding halls of the congressional office, his presence steady beside you. The space was sleek—wood-paneled walls, modern glass partitions, the faint hum of ringing phones and muted conversations filling the air. You tried to take it all in, the sheer gravity of where you were now working.

You had just started feeling like you could breathe again when Bucky turned a corner and led you into an open office space filled with desks, most of them occupied by young, fast-talking, coffee-fueled staffers who barely spared you a glance.

But one person did notice you immediately.

She was perched against the edge of a desk, legs crossed, her deep red dress fitted to perfection. She had long honey blonde hair, pristine makeup, and an air of effortless authority that made it clear she was used to being in charge.

Her gaze swept over you in an instant—assessing, calculating. And then she smirked.

"So, this is the new girl?"

You forced a polite smile, ignoring the sharp prickle of discomfort that ran down your spine. "That’s me."

Tara’s eyes flicked over to Bucky, amusement dancing in her gaze. "I see why you hired her."

Your stomach clenched at the implication.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bucky cut in smoothly, his tone firm. "Tara."

She glanced at him, feigning innocence. "What? It’s just an observation."

"You promised to play nice," he reminded her.

She hummed, tilting her head at you. "I am being nice."

You arched a brow. "I'd hate to see what not nice looks like."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh, you’ll find out," she said lightly before pushing off the desk. "Welcome to the team, sweetheart." With that, she strode past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

You exhaled, finally turning back to Bucky. "Well. She seems charming."

Bucky chuckled. "You’ll get used to her."

"I doubt that."

His smirk grew. "Tara’s tough, but she’s good at her job."

You folded your arms. "Is she always like that?"

"Like what?"

You shot him a flat look. "You know what."

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "She’s protective. She likes to test people."

"Test people? Or test me?"

Bucky’s lips twitched. "A little of both."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push further.

"Come on," he said, nodding towards the exit. "You survived your first day. That means you deserve a reward."

You frowned. "A reward?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Coffee. On me."

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The café Bucky led you to was small, nestled into a quiet corner of Manhattan. It had warm lighting, the scent of roasted espresso beans filling the air, and a cozy charm that made you instantly feel at ease.

You stepped inside, grateful for the slower pace compared to the chaos of the office. Bucky guided you to a table near the window, and as you sat, you let out a long breath.

"Better?" he asked, watching you.

You nodded. "Much."

A barista came by to take your orders—Bucky got a simple black coffee, while you opted for something with far too much sugar and whipped cream.

As soon as the barista left, you looked at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. "So. Congressman Barnes."

Bucky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can just call me Bucky, y'know."

You smirked. "Oh, I know. But I’m still reeling from the fact that you didn’t tell me you were a politician when I met you."

"I didn’t lie to you," he said innocently. "I just… didn’t offer unnecessary details."

You scoffed. "Not unnecessary! You made me think you were some guy who just walked around offering free labour to people moving into their apartments."

He shrugged. "Maybe I am that guy."

"Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of England."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I’ll admit it—I should’ve told you."

You leaned forward, propping your elbows on the table. "Why didn’t you?"

His smirk faded just slightly, his eyes darkening.

"Would you have acted differently?" he asked. "If you knew who I was?"

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Would you have?

You weren’t sure.

He saw the conflict on your face and smiled knowingly. "Exactly."

You huffed. "Still. You let me ramble on about my job search when you knew you were the one I was applying to work for!"

He grinned. "That was my favorite part."

You kicked him lightly under the table.

He chuckled, reaching for his coffee as the barista returned with your drinks. You took a slow sip of yours, savoring the warmth, before glancing at him again.

"So, tell me," you said. "What exactly does being your assistant entail?"

Bucky smirked. "Keeping me in line."

You snorted. "That sounds like a full-time job and overtime."

"You’re not wrong," he admitted. "You’ll help with scheduling, policy briefings, liaising with the press. And, sometimes…" He hesitated. "You’ll deal with people like Tara."

You made a face. "Ah. So ‘babysitter’ should be in the job description."

He chuckled. "Something like that."

There was a moment of quiet between you two, the soft hum of café chatter around you.

Then Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time.

"I wanted to ask you out for coffee the other day," he admitted. "When I helped you move."

Your breath caught.

"But I chickened out," he continued, looking down at his cup. "Figured I missed my chance."

You tilted your head. "And now?"

"Now?" He looked up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "Now, I finally have an excuse."

Your pulse stuttered.

Fate.

You had told yourself that if it was meant to be, you’d cross paths again.

And here you were.

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