#President Buchanan

[blondebrainpowered]

When Abraham Lincoln was elected President, he was gifted two kittens from Secretary of State William Seward in August of 1861. The President doted on the cats, which he named Tabby and Dixie, so much so that he once fed Tabby from the table during a formal dinner at the White House. Embarrassed by Abe's action, Mary Todd Lincoln told him it was "shameful in front of their guests." The President replied, "If the gold fork was good enough for former President James Buchanan, I think it is good enough for Tabby." Lincoln's friend Caleb Carman recalled how the President would pick up one of the cats and "talk to it for half an hour at a time." The cats apparently won the President over with their quiet adoration. At one point during his first term, Lincoln said in frustration, "Dixie is smarter than my whole cabinet! And... furthermore... she doesn't talk back!"

Information Source: Digital Research Library of Illinois History

[deadpresidents]

I know it is still early but do you know if there is any interesting history facts about the new president and vp

I'm still a little dazed and trying to wrap my head around the position the American voters have put us in for the years to come, so you'll have to give me a little more time to put everything into more historical context, but there a few quick tidbits to mention.

The obvious historical tidbit was the one everyone had already been talking about: Trump is the second President to win non-consecutive terms in the White House, after Grover Cleveland, who won the 1884 election (against James G. Blaine), lost the 1888 election to Benjamin Harrison, and then defeated Harrison in 1892.

The ages of Trump and Vance also stand out. Trump will be the oldest President ever inaugurated when he is sworn in: Biden was 78 years, 61 days old when he took office in January 2021; Trump will be 78 years, 220 days old. After Inauguration Day, these will be the five oldest Presidents at the beginning of their term: 1. Donald Trump (2nd Administration): 78 years, 220 days 2. Joe Biden: 78 years, 61 days 3. Donald Trump (1st Administration): 70 years, 220 days 4. Ronald Reagan: 69 years, 349 days 5. William Henry Harrison: 68 years, 23 days

Vance is on the other end of the spectrum. He'll be the third-youngest Vice President in history when he is sworn in. Here's what the list of five youngest VPs in history will look like after Inauguration Day: 1. John C. Breckinridge: 36 years, 47 days 2. Richard Nixon: 40 years, 11 days 3. JD Vance: 40 years, 171 days 4. Dan Quayle: 41 years, 351 days 5. Theodore Roosevelt: 42 years, 128 days

And the age difference between Trump and Vance is, by a significant margin, the biggest age difference between a President and Vice President in American history. Trump is 38 years, 49 days older than Vance -- in fact, Trump is almost twice Vance's age. The next biggest age difference was James Buchanan, who was 29 years, 273 days older than his Vice President, John C. Breckinridge.

[reynoldsrap4949]

Buchanan’s home, Wheatlands is a fabulous, well maintained home. I had no idea it was here but am reputed to have him in my ancestry line, according to Grandma Reynolds. Just luck to stumble on it. He was cultured, loved sweets, had gout, a great conversationalist who loved dinner parties AND. The WORST President in U. S. History. Pre-Lincoln as the mood was set for the Civil War. Ineffective in bringing the country together. Technically he did not have slaves but he fought 2 of his sister’s as indentured servants for Wheatland. A bachelor with niece Harriett Lane, a charming hostess and diplomat. After loosing 2 sons, she funded Pediatric Health at John’s Hopkins. The Harriett Lane Handbook was valuable during my training so she lives on. I had no idea about her history. Typical.

Arboretum there and lovely spring time gardens.

[airasilver]

[sleevebuscemii]

happy ten years to the movie that if it never came out i wouldve had a wife and kids and a husband and a phD and a pulitzer prize and a house by now. i couldve been somebody but unfortunately ‘im your friend’ ‘youre my mission’ ‘then finish it. cuz im with you till the end of the line’ so.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 7

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky’s gut had been gnawing at him for weeks, a familiar, nagging feeling whenever Ian was around. Something about the man didn’t sit right, and Bucky couldn’t shake the sense that he’d seen this behavior before. His instincts kicked in, and he ordered someone to dig deeper into Ian’s past.

The brown envelope arrived the next day. Bucky sat at his desk, his eyes narrowing as he tore it open. Inside were the results of the investigation—pages that painted a much darker picture than he’d anticipated. As he skimmed the documents, his jaw clenched, and a low curse escaped his lips, “Shit.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next day, you and Bucky arrived at a shelter for single mothers, a stop on the campaign trail. The women inside had experienced hardships most people couldn’t imagine, fleeing from abusive partners and trying to rebuild their lives. Their stories of survival hung in the air, unspoken but palpable in their tired eyes and wary smiles.

You moved through the room, serving food and making small talk with the women, trying your best to offer some comfort. As you handed a plate to one woman, you said softly, “I understand what kind of psychological torment you’ve been through. I hope you stay strong.”

The moment the words left your mouth, what you’d meant as a word of encouragement didn’t land the way you’d hoped.

Later that night, a video of the conversation went viral. It was clear someone had recorded the interaction and released it online. Bucky knew this had to be the work of his opponents, seizing the opportunity to discredit you—and by extension, him.

You watched the video, feeling a pit form in your stomach as the comments poured in:

"Stay strong? She doesn’t seem like someone who’s ever been through what we have."

"She wouldn’t understand. She lives in a happy home. How could she possibly know what it’s like to run from someone who’s supposed to love you?"

Their words cut deep, slicing through your carefully constructed image. They didn’t know the truth—that your marriage to Bucky was its own kind of prison. Pretending to be the perfect wife had taken a toll on you, but no one saw behind the curtain.

You froze, feeling exposed, as if they’d somehow sensed the cracks in your façade. You had become so good at lying, at convincing the world that you and Bucky were happy, that now, faced with these women who had lived through real pain, you felt like a fraud.

Furthermore, you wanted to tell them that you understood, that you too had felt trapped and powerless. But the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you smiled for the cameras, playing your part, knowing that your life was being documented as an example of “happiness.”

Then your eyes landed on a comment that sent you reeling:

"If they’re so happy, wouldn’t they have a kid by now?"

The question hung in the air, mocking you. They didn’t know the truth—how could they? And yet, their words seemed to pierce through the mask you’d been wearing for so long.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The silence between you and Bucky was heavy, almost suffocating. You hadn’t said much since the shelter incident, and Bucky could sense your stress in the way you barely touched your food or drank any water. You sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the untouched plate in front of you.

Bucky watched you for a moment before stepping closer, his brow furrowing with concern. He gently touched your forehead, his fingers warm against your skin.

“You have a fever,” he said, his voice low with worry.

You immediately pulled away from his hand, your body instinctively recoiling. Your stress had a way of manifesting physically, and whenever you were overwhelmed, your body shut down. This was no different.

“Don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice hollow.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew this would happen, knew how your body responded when you were pushed too far. Without a word, he slipped his arm around you, supporting you as he guided you toward your room. You didn’t resist, too tired to fight.

“Just leave,” you said once you reached your room, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Bucky ignored your words. He sat you down on the edge of the bed, gently lifting your feet into his lap. You stiffened in surprise as his hands began to massage your aching feet. The familiarity of the gesture caught you off guard—he used to do this all the time when you were together, especially on nights when you came home exhausted, too tired to even think.

Your face grew warmer, though not just because of the fever. The tension between the two of you was palpable, a mix of unresolved emotions and unspoken words hanging in the air. Bucky’s touch, once comforting, now felt like it held the weight of all the things left unsaid.

“I’ll bring the medicine,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer now.

You didn’t respond, too lost in the swirl of emotions flooding your mind. The way his hands moved, the care in his touch—it was all too familiar. It made your chest tighten with memories of when things weren’t this complicated.

As Bucky stood to leave, you finally spoke, your voice quiet and raw. “Why are you doing this?”

He paused, turning back to face you. “Because I care. I always do” His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it was as if the walls you’d built between you both cracked, if only just a little.

You didn’t respond, not knowing what to say. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy as the exhaustion of the day and the fever pulled at you. Bucky noticed, his eyes softening. Without another word, he pulled the blanket over you and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You lay there, your mind racing despite your body’s exhaustion. His touch, his words, they lingered long after he’d gone. You hated that he still had this effect on you. And yet, deep down, there was a part of you that wanted to believe him, wanted to let your guard down. But after everything, how could you?

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You woke up, feeling the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your limbs, but something was different. The fever that had clouded your mind the night before was gone, leaving you with a sense of relief. Slowly, you sat up, glancing around the room. Bucky wasn’t here. It was the first time you’d been alone in the apartment since arriving.

The quietness felt strange, almost eerie. For a moment, you simply sat there, trying to shake the grogginess from your mind. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to explore the space. The apartment was large, meticulously designed, but there was a personal touch to it that reflected both of you. You wandered through the rooms until you stopped at his office.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open. His office was a mess—papers and law books were scattered across the desk and shelves, as if he’d been too busy to organize anything. But something caught your eye, an area that was surprisingly tidy amidst the chaos: his vinyl collection. It was neatly arranged, displayed with care, each record in perfect order.

Bucky loved collecting vinyls. You remembered that about him. As you approached the collection, your eyes scanned the spines of the records. Most of them were from artists both of you used to listen to. Your fingers grazed over the albums, a nostalgic pang in your chest.

Then, something unusual caught your attention. Tucked between the vinyl sleeves was a piece of paper, slightly worn. Frowning, you pulled it out and realized it wasn’t just any paper—it was a letter.

You stared at the handwriting, your heart skipping a beat. It was Bucky’s handwriting. Slowly, your eyes widened as recognition dawned on you. It was a letter he never sent. A letter to you.

Your pulse quickened as a rush of emotions hit you. Should you open it? Guilt twisted in your stomach, but then that familiar voice—the devil on your shoulder—spoke louder. He wrote this for you. He never sent it, but it’s yours.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you quickly hid the letter under your shirt, glancing around the office as if someone might walk in at any moment. Your heart raced as you hurried back to your room, the letter burning against your skin like a secret you weren’t supposed to know.

Once in the safety of your room, you sat on the bed, staring at the letter in your hands. The room felt smaller, your breaths shallow. Was this right? Should you be reading this? But you couldn’t stop yourself.

With trembling fingers, you opened the first letter.

It was short, written in Bucky’s familiar scrawl.

"I’m sorry. I know everything we went through must have been painful for you, more than I ever realized at the time. We were close, but we never truly communicated. I knew you were hurting, and I did nothing to stop it. That’s my fault. I’m the one to blame.

One day, if we ever meet again, I hope you’ll give me another chance. You deserve happiness, and I wish you the best of luck in finding it, even if it’s not with me."

You blinked, feeling a lump form in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. An apology. Words you thought you’d never hear—or read—from him. Your hands shook as you carefully unfolded another letter.

"I read your article. It’s really good. I always knew you’d make a great writer. You’ve always had a way with words. I’m proud of you. I hope you have a safe journey."

The words blurred for a moment as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You never knew he was following your work, that he cared enough to read what you wrote. It felt like a secret window into a part of him you thought had closed off to you long ago.

With a deep breath, you opened the final letter, bracing yourself.

"I’m worried about you. Going to a war zone as a journalist—it’s dangerous, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Please be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. I pray every day that you’re safe."

Your chest tightened as you finished reading, the rawness of his words washing over you. Bucky had been worried about you all this time. His concern, his pride—it was all there, hidden in these letters you were never supposed to find. And yet, here you were, holding the pieces of his heart in your hands.

It was overwhelming. You didn’t know how to feel—angry, confused, touched. All you knew was that the walls you had built to protect yourself were starting to crack, and you weren’t sure if you could put them back together.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You and Bucky met Greg again to prepare before heading to the TV station for the debate. Greg, always thinking ahead, was pacing as he went over the final details. His sharp gaze darted between you and Bucky, trying to ensure everything would go smoothly.

As the minutes ticked by, Greg suddenly paused, his face lighting up with an idea. "Perhaps," he suggested, "before Bucky heads out for the debate, you could give him a peck on the cheek. You know, for the cameras. A little show of affection can go a long way."

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, your expression neutral. "Okay," you agreed simply. The decision seemed easy enough—just a small gesture for the public eye. However, from the corner of your eye, you noticed Bucky’s brow arch slightly, a glint of surprise crossing his features.

Bucky glanced at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "How about a kiss on the lips instead?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your exasperation. "Shut up," you muttered, though the warmth of the moment lingered between you. Bucky chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the brief banter as Greg scribbled down notes, already planning how to work this into the media strategy.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The day of the debate finally arrived. The room buzzed with tension as cameras were positioned, reporters whispered amongst themselves, and the stage was set. You stood backstage with Bucky, watching as the other candidates made their entrances. Edgar, running for president, was calm and composed, the very image of a seasoned politician.

Then there was Brock, another candidate for vice president—and Bucky’s long-time rival. The two had been at odds for years, their competition fierce and personal. The air between them crackled with animosity as they took their places.

As the debate began, the moderators threw sharp, pointed questions at the candidates, each probing their policies and character. Bucky was in his element, answering each question with practiced ease. His words were clear, his tone confident, and his delivery flawless. Every question thrown at him was met with a precise, well-thought-out response.

Moderator: "Mr. Barnes, what would be your first priority in office?"

Bucky: "My first priority is to address healthcare. Ensuring affordable and accessible healthcare is the cornerstone of a strong nation. We must invest in preventive care and make it easier for families to access the support they need."

The audience nodded in agreement, and even the other candidates seemed to respect his answer. Brock, however, was struggling. Every time he tried to match Bucky’s eloquence, he stumbled, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to make a point.

Moderator: "Mr. Rumlow, what is your stance on education reform?"

Brock: "Well, uh, we need to… to invest in schools, yes, but we can’t just throw money at the problem. We need accountability, and we need… um, better results."

His answer lacked the conviction and clarity that Bucky’s did, and you could see the frustration in Brock’s face as the debate went on.

The tension between the two men simmered, especially as Bucky continued to outshine him with every answer. But just when it seemed like Bucky had the upper hand, Brock saw an opening—and took it.

At the height of the debate, Brock's voice cut through the air, sharp and malicious. "You talk a lot about honesty and integrity, Barnes. But what about your brother? Didn’t he hit someone and never face any punishment?"

The room fell silent, a heavy, uncomfortable stillness filling the space. From your spot backstage, you could feel the tension roll off Bucky in waves. His muscles tensed beside you, his jaw clenched tight. This was his darkest family secret, one he’d hoped to keep buried. But now, here it was, dragged into the spotlight in front of a national audience.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he shot Brock a cold, hard glare. For a moment, it looked like Bucky might lose his composure. The silence stretched on, the entire room holding its breath, waiting for his response.

But then, with a deep breath, Bucky straightened, his voice steady but laced with restrained anger. "My brother's actions were reprehensible, and there is no excuse for them. But unlike my opponent, I believe in accountability—and my family has taken steps to address that privately. This debate is about the future of this country, not digging up personal attacks to avoid talking about real issues."

The room shifted as Bucky’s calm yet pointed response cut through the tension. Brock, visibly thrown by how easily Bucky had deflected his attack, fumbled for his next words, but the damage had been done. Bucky had taken control once again, leaving Brock at a loss.

Backstage, you watched the scene unfold, a mixture of relief and pride swelling within you. Bucky had handled the moment with grace.

But you knew you couldn’t rest. With Shawn’s dark secret now exposed, it meant that your marriage to Bucky could be the next scandal to surface.

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[reckless007]

@official-buckybarnes 👀

[starlight-tequila]

I'm probably extremely right and extremely wrong

[doodle-blight]

US President Cards

I started making cards of the US presidents a few months ago.

I still need to work on finishing the whole set. They’re a gift to my APUSH teacher ✨

[pranklinfierce]

Since like 11* people on Instagram either commented or SU'd when I posted this in a story, this image proved compelling enough to share elsewhere.

This is a real video that you can watch here

I immediately had too many thoughts to keep to myself so these are my notes:

*it used to say 9 but then more people SU'd

[ghoststillhaunting]

Bucky Has A Fuck Ass Name

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love Bucky, but he has a truly unfortunate name (like seriously, who in their right mind would name their kid after one of the top 5 worst presidents in American history).

So I propose the headcannon that his parents were immigrants and, in an attempt to assimilate into American society better, they decided to give their child an American sounding name and what's more patriotic than naming your child after a US president! However, they didn't know anything about the US presidents (cause really, as a non-American, why would you?) so they just kind of picked the first one they saw that sounded good and just went with it. Unfortunately, that just so happened to be James Buchanan.

This is why he goes by Bucky cause he absolutely hates his name with a burning passion and hates the association with the real life fuck ass president. Steve, cause he's a little shit, teases him about it all the time, calling him "Mr. President" and comparing Bucky to the motherfucker. Steve thinks it's the funniest shit ever, Bucky does not.

[deadpresidents]

"General Pierce is a sound radical Democrat of the old Jeffersonian school, and possesses highly respectable abilities. I think he is firm and energetic, without which no man is fit to be President. Should he fall into proper hands, he will administer the Government wisely and well."

-- James Buchanan, in a July 26, 1852 letter to reporter John Binns, on Franklin Pierce, who had just won the Democratic Presidential nomination as a dark horse candidate at the 1852 Democratic National Convention in Baltimore.

Buchanan had been a leading candidate for the nomination throughout the convention but could not win enough votes to put him over the top. Pierce became a compromise candidate when his name was first introduced on the 35th ballot, and clinched the nomination on the 49th ballot.

[official-wanda-wilson]

If Bucky gets 100% by the end of this, he's the best president

Which he is

[angryblueoat]

Major shoutout to Harriet Lane for making the seating plans for like every White House dinner. Can you imagine the stress. The nation rested upon her shoulders

[mentalmeles]

Putting this out into the ether so it’s not just in my head anymore—

But Steve Rogers being so bitterly disappointed in who’s taking office today. He swears he’s seeing red with how angry he is. Wasn’t this what he fought to prevent? Isn’t this what he died for? To keep men like this from taking power and building a nation based on hate? And to think it’s his own nation… Again…. He thought that we were better than this…..

It’s only when Bucky places a strong, but kind hand on his shoulder that Steve’s grief ebbs just a bit. And Bucky, despite looking so, so tired himself, simply says—

“The fight’s not over yet, Steve.”

And somehow, despite everything that’s wrong with the world, it’s enough.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 6

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“How long have you known him?” Bucky’s voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, watching every reaction.

“Five years,” you answered, keeping your tone steady. You didn’t want him to pick up on any hint of tension.

Bucky frowned, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at him. Ian seemed like a typical journalist, but something else about him gnawed at Bucky's instincts.

He rarely interacted with foreign reporters, so why did Ian’s presence feel… off? He was sure he'd figure out why this feeling wouldn't leave him.

Before either of you could say more, Greg appeared, clipboard in hand, and gave you both a pointed look. “Alright, you two, time to get ready. The event’s about to start. Let’s make sure everything runs smoothly.”

You nodded, feeling the butterflies in your stomach begin to stir. You’d been on stages before, but not like this. Not with Bucky, not under the gaze of an entire country.

Bucky noticed your hesitation and moved closer, placing a firm hand on your lower back. “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

You looked up at him, trying to read his eyes. Was he just saying that for the cameras? Or was there something deeper there? It was getting harder to tell. You nodded anyway, more for yourself than for him, and straightened up. You had to play your part, just as you always did.

At the Convention

The large venue buzzed with excitement, lights shining down on the stage like spotlights in an arena. When Steve Rogers walked up to the podium, the room went silent, all eyes on him. He was the golden candidate—charismatic, confident, the embodiment of what the people wanted.

The room buzzed with anticipation as Steve Rogers approached the podium, every eye in the venue locked onto him. He stood tall, his presence commanding, radiating the quiet strength he was known for. After a brief moment, he began speaking, his voice steady but filled with passion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Americans," Steve’s voice echoed with gravitas, "Today, we stand at the threshold of a new era. We face challenges that require not just strong leadership, but leadership rooted in integrity, honor, and the unyielding belief in the power of the people."

The crowd quieted further, hanging on his every word.

"For too long, we’ve watched division grow. But I believe in the strength of unity, the strength of standing together—one nation, bound by a shared responsibility to protect our freedom, our families, and our future. And I pledge to lead with the same unwavering commitment that I’ve given to this country my entire life."

He took a brief pause, allowing his words to sink in, then continued, his tone growing more impassioned.

"I am not just here as a candidate, but as a father, a husband, and a son," he said, gesturing toward his wife, Peggy, and their children standing nearby, his parents behind them. "I want a better world for my family—just as I want a better world for yours. A world where opportunity isn’t reserved for the few but shared by the many. A world where every child grows up in safety, with access to education, health, and the opportunity to pursue their dreams."

The applause began to rise, but Steve held his hand up gently, signaling for quiet once more.

"This is not just my campaign. This is our campaign. Together, we will fight for a future that respects the dignity of every individual. We will build an America where justice is not selective but a right for all. Where leadership is about service—not power."

His voice crescendoed, igniting the room.

"Because I believe in us. I believe in the promise of America, and I believe in the strength of the American people. Together, we will rise to meet the challenges of today, and together, we will create a brighter, fairer, and stronger tomorrow."

The room erupted into thunderous applause as Steve’s words settled over the crowd. He stepped back, waving, as Peggy and their children joined him at the front of the stage, a living testament to the family values he championed.

With that, Steve Rogers sealed the moment—an electrifying speech that echoed far beyond the walls of the convention hall.

The crowd erupted into applause as Steve stepped aside, making way for Bucky.

Now it was his turn.

You watched as Bucky walked to the podium with the practiced ease of a man who was born for this. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, the overhead lights catching the sharp angles of his face. As soon as he began speaking, the room hushed again.

“I want to thank everyone for being here today,” Bucky started, his voice strong, yet warm. “Serving alongside Steve has been the honor of my life, and I am proud to stand here as the candidate for Vice President. My family—my parents Julius and Caroline, my siblings Shawn and Hazel, my nephew Nate, and my brother-in-law Tim—are with me today.” He motioned to the side, where they all stood. Caroline’s expression was as rigid as ever, while Julius offered a rare smile.

Then Bucky’s eyes found you.

“And of course, my wife. She’s been my rock. She’s stood by me through the hardest times, and I can’t imagine being here without her.” His voice softened, but the sincerity in his words cut through the noise in your head.

You smiled on cue, the kind of smile you’d perfected over years of practice. But inside, everything felt muddled. Bucky spoke as though you were his whole world, but you knew the truth. This was a performance. A calculated move to protect his image.

The applause was thunderous, but it sounded far away as you fought the emotions swirling inside you. Bucky looked the part—strong, dependable, built for this kind of role. He was doing everything right.

But you? You were pretending. The smile you wore for the cameras wasn’t for him; it was for the part of you that wanted to see Caroline suffer, to see her envy every look Bucky gave you on that stage. But underneath the spite, you felt something deeper, something far more complicated.

'Can I really keep doing this?' The question lodged itself in your mind as the applause rang out again.

You watched Bucky continue his speech, looking every bit the man of the moment. He thrived in this atmosphere, while you felt like you were drowning in a sea of lies. Every glance from the audience, every flash from the cameras, reminded you that none of this was real.

When he finished, the room erupted in applause again. Bucky turned to you, offering his hand. The warmth of his palm against yours was meant to be reassuring, but it only deepened your confusion.

As you both exited the stage, his grip tightened slightly, just enough for you to notice. He leaned down, voice low in your ear. “You did great,” he whispered. His words were laced with a strange tenderness that made your stomach flip.

You nodded, but deep down, the weight of this act was crushing you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As the convention wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse, you and Bucky maneuvered Tim’s wheelchair carefully. The excitement of the day was still buzzing in the air, but you could sense the underlying tension between Bucky and Ian as Ian approached you and Tim.

Ian greeted you with a friendly smile. “Hey, I’m working on a piece about the election from the perspective of the candidates’ families. What’s it like for you and your family during all this?”

Bucky, standing beside you, made a subtle move to place himself between you and Ian, a protective gesture that didn't go unnoticed. “I’m not sure if that’s appropriate,” Bucky began, but Tim cut him off.

“Of course! I’ve never been interviewed before. It’ll be good to share my side,” Tim said eagerly, his eyes bright with enthusiasm.

Bucky looked at Tim, then at you, his frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw. He sighed and stepped aside, unable to argue with Tim’s excitement or your reluctance to refuse a friend’s request.

Ian turned to you, his expression curious. “You never mentioned your brother before. It’s clear you two have a strong bond.”

“She’s a private person,” Tim interjected with a hint of pride.

Ian raised an eyebrow, glancing back at you. “You really seem to know her well.”

“We may not always show it, but we’re very close. She’s been like a second mother to me, especially after I lost my leg,” Tim said, his voice carrying an unusual warmth.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at the unexpected praise from your brother. It was rare to hear him speak so openly about his feelings.

Ian smiled as he jotted down notes. “This story is going to resonate with a lot of people.”

After a while, Tim excused himself, leaving you and Ian alone. Ian’s demeanor shifted subtly, becoming more serious.

“Thanks for giving him the chance to speak,” you said with a slight edge. “You know, it feels like you just handed him a chance to embarrass me.”

Ian chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Isn’t that what siblings do? Cherish these moments of difference before it’s too late.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean,-?”

Before you could ask, Ian pulled you aside, his face set with determination. “I heard there’s a divorce in your marriage.”

You stiffened, your eyes widening in surprise. “How did you find out?”

Ian’s smirk was almost smug. “Don’t underestimate my skills. You vanished, then reappeared, acting like everything’s perfect. I pieced it together from the campaign.”

He leaned closer, his frustration evident. “Not once did you mention him. And now, suddenly, you’re playing the loving wife. It’s irritating.”

You crossed your arms, feeling a wave of anger and discomfort. “Are you planning to use this information?”

Ian’s expression softened, though his eyes were intense. “I don’t know yet. But a few people already know.”

You flinched at his words, a shiver running down your spine.

Ian’s voice dropped to a reassuring whisper. “Don’t worry. They’ve only heard rumors. No one has solid evidence. I could protect you. Because you deserve someone better.”

You gulped, unable to speak. Ian’s concern seemed genuine, but you couldn’t shake off the pain from your marriage with Bucky. Your emotions were still tangled, and you didn’t want to get involved with Ian’s feelings, especially now.

You glanced up and saw Bucky watching you from across the room. His eyes were locked on you, his gaze sharp and intense. It felt like he was assessing every movement, every word. The tension in his stare made your heart race, and you could almost feel his frustration and jealousy from afar.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As the car sped through the night, the backseat felt increasingly cramped, the air thick with unspoken tension. You stared out the window, trying to avoid Bucky’s piercing gaze. The city lights flickered past, a blur of neon and shadows, as you stewed over the conversation with Ian and the unresolved questions it left.

Bucky's silence was more oppressive than any words. His jaw was set tight, and the muscles in his neck were rigid. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, laced with an edge of command. “Don’t meet Ian anymore.”

You continued to look out the window, your reflection a ghostly image against the darkened glass. “He knew about the divorce,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his grip on the seat tightening. He was silent for a moment, the weight of your revelation settling in. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. “Well, that means I’m on the right track. Every politician has skeletons in their closet.”

You turned your head sharply to face him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not afraid if the rumor leaks out?”

Bucky’s gaze remained steady, but his jaw tightened slightly. “I’m not gonna lie, I am afraid. But I’m more worried about how it’ll affect you.” He paused “But look at the bright side. It narrows down the list of people who knew about our marriage.”

You turned to him, eyes narrowing in frustration. “You’re playing with fire, Bucky.”

He leaned closer, the space between you shrinking rapidly. His expression softened into a smirk, but his eyes held a dangerous glint. “I’ll win this for you. I still remember that moment when you wished me to win, just to spite my mother. I need that brave Y/N.”

You could feel the heat from his body, his breath mingling with yours as he drew nearer. The car’s dim lighting accentuated the intensity in his eyes, a smoldering gaze that made your pulse quicken. “Don’t make this about me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bucky’s smirk deepened, and he moved even closer, his face inches from yours. “But babe, this is all for you,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl.

His proximity was overwhelming, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You swallowed hard, the line between anger and something else entirely blurring as his lips almost brushed against yours.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were caught between the anger at his manipulation and the undeniable pull of the unresolved feelings you still harbored for him. The confined space of the car seemed to shrink around you, the air charged with a mix of frustration and unspoken desire.

Bucky’s gaze locked onto yours, his smirk fading into an expression of intense focus. His hand reached out, fingertips grazing your cheek in a feather-light touch that made your skin tingle. “I need you to trust me,” he said softly, his voice carrying an almost desperate edge.

You hated him for the pain he’d caused, but his touch betrayed your emotions, making it hard to stay firm. And he knew it. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face.only the charged, almost unbearable closeness between you.

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