#bucky x assistant!reader

[hollyseb]

A COLLISION OF FATE - CEO!BUCKY X ASSISTANT READER (one-shot)

warnings; swearing, minors dni

2.4k words

summary; As an assistant to the powerful CEO Bucky Barnes, you’ve always kept things strictly professional—maybe even a little distant. But when a chaotic morning commute turns your world upside down, you find yourself relying on your boss in unexpected ways.

authors note; this is my first fic in a while so please let me know what you think!

Fuck.

You couldn’t help but pull the bed sheets over your head as your alarm sounded. You’d slept terribly, anticipation stewing in your chest all night long. A huge day at work loomed ahead. Your boss trusted you with organising a client meeting for a massive company project, and despite your meticulous preparations, anxiety gnawed at you relentlessly.

This marks your fourth month as an assistant to Mr Barnes, CEO of Barnes Industries. Your boss embodies power and leadership, standing well over six feet. He has a presence that’s impossible to ignore, although you often find yourself trying to; avoiding his piercing gaze, shrinking away from his broad figure. He intimidated you.

You’d learned to anticipate his needs, not just to impress him but perhaps as an attempt to keep your conversations to a minimum. Although you had managed to settle into your role, growing accustomed to your boss’ high standards, you often felt a sense of apprehension. You were overwhelmed by how important he was. Mr Barnes wasn’t just your boss - he was a force of nature.

The two of you maintained a strictly professional relationship, even lingering towards slightly cold sometimes. You liked to do what he needed you to do, and then get out of his way. However, every now and then, you’d catch him watching you with a look that lingered a moment too long. You’d always assume there was something on your face, or a smudge on your shirt, anything that might explain why he was staring. But when you checked, there was never anything there.

For Bucky, it started with the little things. He noticed how you always made sure his coffee was exactly how he liked it, down to the last detail, even on the most hectic mornings. You remembered the smallest preferences he had, the things he rarely even thought about himself—like the way you would quietly replace the pens in his office with the specific brand he preferred, or how you always ensured there was a bottle of his favorite water in the conference room before every meeting. These weren’t just the actions of a diligent assistant; they were gestures that spoke of someone who genuinely cared, someone who paid attention to him in a way that no one else ever had.

Your snoozed alarm began to sound again, piercing your thoughts like a violent shriek. Just get through the meeting, you told yourself, before ultimately deciding to drag yourself out of bed. The thought repeated like a mantra. Is it normal to feel this worried about disappointing your boss? You thought, before swatting away the idea. You didn’t need to focus on that for now.

A hot shower did little to wash away the anxiety that clinged to you. Your movements were robotic as you went through your morning routine, driven by the pressure of the meeting.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone, the screen lighting up with a soft glow. 7:45 AM. It felt as though the numbers were taunting you. You ran a hand down your face, bracing yourself for the day.

Time to go.

After locking the door to your small, cozy apartment, you made your way down the narrow, communal staircase. The morning air hitting you with a welcomed bite as you stepped outside into the car park.

You slid into the drivers seat of your aging Mini, the familiar creak of the door and worn leather seat beneath you provided a familiar comfort. It wasn't much, but it was yours, the car you'd had since you were 17. You shifted into gear and gripped the steering wheel, the hum of the engine almost grounding you.

Just get through the meeting, you repeated, merging into the flow of morning traffic. You let your mind drift to the day's plans, mentally rehearsing the things you had to organise when you arrived at the office… calling the clients to confirm their attendance, setting up the meeting room, dropping the itinerary off at Mr Barnes’ desk.

As you approached a red light just a few blocks from the office, you felt a fleeting sense of calm. Your heartbeat, which had been a relentless drumbeat of anxiety, finally began to settle into a more regular rhythm. The office was so close, the meeting so imminent. All you had to do now was make it through the last stretch of traffic and face the day.

Without warning, a loud, violent crashing noise shattered the calm. The force of the impact threw you forward, your seatbelt straining against your body painfully. The contents of your bag spilling into the passenger seat footwell alongside the sound of crunching metal. Your mind was blank, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

What the -?

Your heart raced, your breaths leaving in shallow and quick successions. The realisation hit you like a second wave of impact - you’d been rear-ended.

You gripped the steering wheel like a vice, catching sight of your pale face as movement caught your attention in the rear view mirror. the driver of the car behind you was already out of his vehicle, storming towards you.

Rather than waiting for you to get out the car, he began shouting at you through the closed window. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted, his voice echoing violently.

He looked to be in his mid thirties, dressed in a wrinkled suit, face red with anger and eyes practically bulging out his head.

You took a deep breath, adrenaline surging through your veins. Stay calm, don’t escalate. You unbuckle your seatbelt, ignoring the dull pain of where it had dug into you, stepping out your beloved car.

“Do you even know how to fucking drive?” He yelled, arms flailing. “I’m going to be late for work because of you, stupid bitch”

You were taken aback by his blatant profanity. Humiliation rising in your body as bystanders gawked at the interaction.

You blinked, your nerves fraying under his aggression. “I was stopped at the light. You hit me,” you said, voice trembling.

”Bullshit!” He spat, inching towards your face. “You stopped like a fucking moron and now look at my fucking car!”, he pointed in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek black BMW, barely scratched.

The sight of your car, however, made your stomach turn. The bumper was shrewd across the concrete, the metal contorted dramatically. You’d come off much worse than him. You could feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“This is all your fault!”, he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You’re going to pay every cent for the damage you’ve caused.”

Before you could respond, he lunged closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “Do you even realise how fucking pathetic you look right now? Crying because you’ve ruined my car-“

The man was interrupted. A firm, authoritative voice cutting through his ramblings like steel.

“Is there a problem here?”

You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was - Bucky Barnes. The sight of him hit you like a tidal wave. For a split second, you were frozen, breath catching in your throat.

Bucky’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on the angry driver, his expression a mask of controlled authority. Your eyes shifted between the two, noticing how Bucky towered over the man.

The man’s voice was quieter than before, his composure tense. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I’m her boss,” he said, his tone calm but edged with a warning. “And I suggest you step back before you make this any worse.”

The anger in the man’s stance faltered, replaced by a grudging recognition that he was outmatched. With a final glare towards you, he stormed back to his car.

You exhaled, realising you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice shaky from adrenaline.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening a fraction. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low and filled with a warmth which contrasted the icy authority he had shown moments before.

You watched the way his eyes trailed down your shaking body for any obvious signs of injury.

You nodded in response. “Y-yes, I’m okay. Just a bit shaken”, a forced smile pursing against your lips.

He leaned down slightly, lowering himself to your height, his face inches from yours. Placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “You don’t have to put a brave face on with me. Are you really okay?”

The depth of his concern was more than you expected, combined with the gentleness of his touch, you felt like your head was spinning.

”Thank you, Mr Barnes”, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I’m okay, I promise”.

Bucky’s expression softened even more. “Let me take you to the office. I’ll sort you out and make sure everything’s taken care of.” Bucky said, his voice low and earnest.

His words soothed you. He placed a firm but gentle hand on your mid-back, guiding you towards his car. The warmth of his touch was a comforting contrast to the cold air. You found solace in the protective way he guided you.

When you reached his car, Bucky opened the passenger door for you with a quiet, practiced grace. His movements were deliberate and careful, as if he wanted to ensure you felt as secure as possible.

Bucky closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side. As he settled into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the rear view mirror, his gaze flicking over to you. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Barnes, when it’s just us two. James will do.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, feeling a sudden rush of warmth. You faltered for a split second under the heat of his stare. “Okay, James”, you said quietly.

He gave a small, approving smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get you to the office.”

Your boss wouldn’t let you know, but the way you trembled when that man was yelling at you, the way his words reduced you to feeling small and insignificant, made Bucky’s blood boil. His usual calm and composed demeanor was barely holding back the fury simmering beneath the surface. The sight of you being treated so harshly, so unfairly, sparked something primal in him—something protective and fierce.

Arriving at the office, Bucky parked with a practised ease and opened your door, offering a supportive hand as you stepped out. Eyes glazing over you again to see if you were moving with any discomfort.

As you walked into the building, you were met with a flurry of activity. Bucky led you to your room, settling you into your office chair with a soft, reassuring hand on your back.

“Take a moment to breathe,” he instructed, his voice a mix of warmth and authority. “I’ll handle the meeting for now, okay? You’ve had a rough morning.”

You nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Bucky made a few quick phone calls and sent some emails, managing the meeting logistics with the efficiency and competence that defined him.

Throughout the morning, Bucky periodically checked in on you. Each time, his concern was evident, his questions simple but genuine. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” he would ask, always with that soft, protective tone.

By lunchtime, Bucky made sure you had something to eat. He watched with a mixture of satisfaction and relief as you ate, noting the gradual return of color to your cheeks.

As the workday wound down, you wrapped up your tasks and prepared to head home. Bucky had been a steadfast support throughout the day, ensuring that you felt taken care of and that everything went smoothly despite the morning’s chaos.

As you gathered your things, Bucky approached with a rare, genuine smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Much better, thanks to you,” you said, returning his smile. “I really appreciate everything today.”

”Well I would love to drive you home, but I still have a few more things to wrap up. One of my drivers will take you, okay?”, your boss said, leaning against the door frame of your office.

You opened your mouth to politely decline, feeling that he had already done enough for you today. However, you faltered when he raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his expression, you knew there was no point in arguing.

“Alright,” you agreed, feeling a warmth spread through you at his insistence. “Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied, a part of him wanted to grin at your obedience as he circled back to his office.

The ride home was quiet, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You were exhausted, but there was also a strange sense of anticipation that you couldn’t quite explain.

When the car pulled up outside your apartment, you thanked the driver and stepped out. The cool evening air was refreshing after the long day, and you were eager to wash the day away with a hot shower and a bottle of wine.

But as you approached your apartment building, something caught your eye. Parked in your usual spot was a familiar-looking Mini, only this one was brand new. The gleaming paint, the spotless interior—it was unmistakably the same make and model as your beloved old car, but this one was perfect in every way.

There’s no way, you thought.

Your heart pounded as you took a hesitant step closer, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. There was no mistaking it—this was a gift, one that had been carefully chosen to replace what you had lost earlier today.

A note was tucked under the windshield wiper. With trembling hands, you pulled it free and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable.

You’ve had a rough day. I hope this makes it a little easier. – James

A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You never expected something like this. Bucky hadn’t just replaced your car—he’d chosen something that he knew would mean something to you, something that was a perfect reflection of who you were.

As you stood there, staring at the car that now felt like a symbol of so much more, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you and Bucky had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone.

A collision of fate.

————————————————————-

TAGLIST!

@sashaisready @matchat3a @writingpastmybedtime @melsunshine @lex-the-flex @himawariizephyr @jbbarnesgirl @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @sagebarness @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @selella @armystay89 @globetrotter28 @iwritewithpenandpaper @casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @buckydarling09 @kandis-mom @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive - congressman bucky barnes

okay not my best work, i swear i have like nine drafts i've come up with in a week, none of them good enough to post.

this is inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae even though i completely lost sight of the song really quickly

part 2

part 3

~~~

you really had no right to be so jealous.

you watched him from across the floor, sipping on your flute of champagne. you'd grabbed it off of one of those waiters' trays as they were walking about the room.

it tasted like shit. you didn't like the taste of wine, and it wasn't even enough to get you drunk.

you knew this kind of event was difficult for him to sit through, but hey, he made his choice going into politics.

you watched as he made his rounds, speaking to various donors and attempting to charm them. you watched as all their wives fawned over your-

no.

you watched as all their wives fawned over him, bringing him in for a hug instead of a handshake. of course they were interested; he was the best looking man here. yes, he was the oldest man in the room, but appeared to be the youngest and was, regardless, easily the most attractive. and all the thirty-some wives of the cranky old rich white men wanted him.

it pissed you off. not that you had the right to be pissed, but. oh well. you're just a girl.

after two flutes of champagne, you watch as one of the donors receives a phone call, leaving his wife with Bucky. ever the gentleman, he would never leave a woman all by herself in a room full of sharks who might try to snatch her up. 

Bucky was very much a different man than he was in the forties, of course. doesn't mean he lost the ability to attract every woman in the room.

you can't stand idly by as she puts his hands all over him, and he can't take his eyes off of her. no, of course he would never go for a married woman. what he did know, though, was that if he pissed her off, her husband wouldn't donate to his campaign.

you roll your eyes and decide it's time for some hard liquor.

you hide in the corner of the room, drinking your much stronger beverage as fast as possible. no, getting drunk at a professional event isn't the best idea, but what do you care. you're not the star of the show.

he is.

he's the brilliant ex-POW who's turned his entire life around in a whole new century. he's the gorgeous soldier who not only survived, but is also electing to do something meaningful with his life. 

he's the star tonight.

he's the star of every thought you have of your future, but that can't possibly come to surface now. it's not the time or place. 

watching him entertain this woman truly boils your blood, but at least you have some actual alcohol in your system now. you no longer feel the need to justify why her hands on his pristine suit makes you want to grab her by the diamonds around her neck and yank her off of him. you can justify your desire to grab him by the tie to pull him away from her and yell at him for not focusing on what's important. 

you bite your tongue. you knew it was all a ploy.

doesn't mean you had to like it. 

~~~

while you stand at the bar waiting for your second beverage of the evening, a man comes up next to you, and the bartender takes his drink order. 

you give him a small, awkward smile as you briefly make eye contact. you're kind of shocked: he's definitely the only man in this room who appears to be younger than 60, Bucky excluded.

you almost startle when he speaks up, introducing himself. Michael, he says his name is.

you turn to actually face him this time. roughly 40, plenty taller than you, and brown hair sprinkled with some greys in there. your perfect type. you quietly tell yourself you're done drinking–no way you're gonna fuck this up. if you weren't so mad about Bucky's new admirer, you might be a tad less inclined to speak to him, but… 

you step closer as you give him a real smile and introduce yourself.

"so, correct me if I'm wrong, but something tells me you're here alone tonight," he begins, indicating to your left hand. no ring. 

you laugh a little. 

"you would be correct," you tell him. "I could say the same about you."

he smiles back at you. it's so beautiful you forget all about your boss and the woman he's now got on his arm as he continues to walk around–

well. you almost forget. good enough.

"you would also be correct."

you explain why you're here, you work for one of the candidates. although, you don't tell him who, exactly. he explains why he's here, one of the patrons. you have to pry the information out of him, but you appreciate it: he's trying to talk to you without flashing his money in your face. it's noble, you think.

you eventually learn he's interested in actually getting to know the candidates' campaigns, not just what they think they can offer him in return for his money.

"you know, I would be happy to learn more about your boss' campaign. from one of the people who probably understands it best," he tells you. you're slightly taken aback for a moment, not aware this was a business interaction. you never even told him who your boss was, so it was confusing, to say the least.

you felt stupid for thinking he was actually interested, for thinking that he was flirting with you.

"oh, of course-" you begin to tell him, but he interjects, "after I take you out, perhaps?"

your smile perks back up subconsciously. so you didn't have it wrong.

"I would love that," you tell him, carefully taking the lapels of his jacket into your hands. you feel his hands come to your waist, and it's like a jolt of energy runs up your spine.

you look closer and almost flip your shit as you see his eyes up close. they're Bucky's eyes. he's not Bucky, sadly, but. 

you're fucked.

"maybe dinner can happen... another time?" you offer, hoping he gets the hint. you realize you probably look like a whore throwing yourself at him like this.

he chuckles. "I've got a room upstairs, if you'd like to come have drinks instead of dinner."

hell yes. you're gonna score tonight, even if it's not with the man you dream about with your hands between your legs every night-

"I would," you say, and bite your tongue. "I just... have to stick around until this thing is over. yeah?"

he nods and steps back. "I suppose I should also do what I came here for," he chuckles. "I'll come find you later?"

you smile and you feel your face go pink. "sounds good."

you can't help the fact that your gaze reverts immediately back to your boss the second the man walks off. Bucky hasn't spared you a single glance all evening, but the second you look back at him this time, you're suddenly staring into his beautiful eyes. 

he holds eye contact with you for what feels like an eternity. his expression is muted, no real emotion showing. maybe... curiosity?

of course he's not going to look mad, or upset, or jealous. you have to stop thinking he'd ever look at you with anything other than pure professionalism.

because he's everything. and you're just a kid, lost in the world, desperately in love with your boss, and everything is fucking falling apart around you.

at least you've got a rich, hot, older man ready to fuck you tonight.

~~~

you kept to your word to yourself and didn't drink for the rest of the night, although you continued hovering at the bar for the semblance of safety it provided.

you continued staring at Bucky for the next two hours. the clingy woman's husband had, in fact, returned and took her away from Bucky. clearly, she was pissed, but tried to hide it. you had to bite back a smirk.

he didn't look back at you once for the rest of the evening.

eventually, the crowd dies down. you realize that now, you have to explain to your boss that you won't be riding back to the office with him, effectively telling him your exact plans for the rest of the night. embarrassing!

you're almost ready to bite the bullet and bid Bucky a good night, scanning the room for him, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

"we still on for drinks?"

you plaster a smile on your face as you turn around to the man standing behind you.

"absolutely," you say, taking his hands. "lead the way."

you begin to follow the man, telling yourself to try and remember to shoot your boss a text to 'not worry about you' before getting your clothes torn off by this man who's currently whisking you away.

you get into the elevator with him, what's his name, you think? oh, Michael, and yank him in hard, crashing your mouths together, putting all of your energy into how badly you need this.

you're startled by the sound of a clanging of metal, ripping your mouth away from the man's and turning to face the noise.

well, apparently, you were too eager and stupid enough to not wait for the elevator doors to entirely shut, because you see now that the noise was a result of Bucky's vibranium arm grabbing the elevator door. he pushes it open and steps inside, eyes piercing daggers through you the whole time.

you stand there, appalled. the man gently pulls away from you, reaching out a hand to attempt to shake Bucky's hand.

"Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure," he begins. "my apologies for this... less than ideal meeting."

Bucky doesn't even look at the man, eyeing you up and down, taking in your smudged lipstick and the way your dress is slightly out of place.

the man attempts once more to interject. "Mr. Barnes, please, don't worry about her. why don't us men go back downstairs and have a real discussion? I'd love to hear more about your campaign."

wait. why do his words sound like they're throwing you under the bus, almost?

Bucky notices it, too, you realize. he tilts his head in the man's direction before actually averting his gaze to look at him.

"and leave the lady all by herself?" he asks.

"don't worry about that. she's... inconsequential. if you and I can just go back downstairs and–"

"what did you just say?" Bucky asks. you swear he doesn't look like your boss anymore, but someone... else.

the man is taken aback by Bucky's demeanor. his mouth gapes like an idiot.

"you do know this is my assistant, right?" Bucky asks him. the man's face goes pale as the pieces slot together in his head.

"Mr. Barnes, my apologies, truly," he says.

you just stand there feeling more stupid than ever. inconsequential? wow, okay. you almost don't even care that he's dismissing your entire existence, but you can't stand the fact that he's doing it in front of Bucky. you care more about what Bucky thinks of you than literally anyone else, and now? now he's going to see you as a fucking slut who isn't even good enough for a man to commit to for one night.

god, you're pathetic.

"shouldn't you be apologizing to her?" Bucky grits.

the elevator doors open to the man's floor, and he mumbles a sorry under his breath as he runs out.

great. not only do you look pathetic in front of your boss, but you're not getting fucked tonight, either. just great.

the doors shut behind Bucky, who has now returned his gaze to you. you wonder if he's going to press the button to go back to the lobby.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Barnes," you say, swallowing your embarrassment as you stand up straight and adjust your dress.

he just stares at you.

"what?" you ask.

"are you okay?" he asks, and he looks genuinely concerned.

you know he cares about you, you're his assistant, after all. but that's it.

"fine," you assure him, and begin to reach behind him to press the button to take you back down to the lobby.

he gently grabs your wrist before you can.

you look at him, confused. you know your face says it all.

"Mr.–" you begin.

"Bucky," he corrects.

"can I press the button, Mr. Barnes?"

he still hasn't let go of your wrist. you feel stupid for enjoying the feel of his metal hand against your skin, for getting to feel a part of him that's real.

"you know, you clearly picked out the worst of the men here tonight," he observes.

you roll your eyes and pull your wrist away from him before you do something stupid.

"are you kidding? this place was riddled with capitalist billionaires and politicians. like you," you say, smirking.

he chuckles a little.

you can't help yourself, though. can't let it go unsaid.

"clearly you had some interested parties of your own tonight."

he rolls his eyes and finally turns away from you, pressing the button for the lobby. you let out a quiet sigh of relief. being in this elevator any longer, with him? that would just about kill you.

"you noticed that, huh?" he asks.

"who didn't?" you mumble. but of course, he's not just a politician, he's an enhanced, so he hears it.

"look, I knew she was married, I was never going to-" he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

"oh, I don't care what she does in her own fucked-up marriage."

oh my god. what did you just say? did you just admit to the fact that the only reason you did care was because she was fawning over Bucky?

fuck.

the elevator doors open, and you rush out.

you can hear the smirk on his face as he trails after you.

"so, you were really going to sleep with that guy, huh?" he teases.

you stop in your tracks. most everyone has left by now, leaving only you and Bucky in the room aside from the clean-up crew. you turn back to face him.

"can we just go?"

he nods and calls for the car to come around.

~~~

twenty minutes, you remind yourself.

in twenty minutes, you'll have made it back to the office, and you can go get in your own car and take yourself back to your own place and you won't have to be sitting thigh to thigh with your boss in the back of a limo that would totally be hot to fuck in-

he clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him.

"what that guy said..." he begins. you roll your eyes in anger at the reminder. you didn't even care he said it, you just wish he hadn't said it in front of Bucky.

you wave your hand as though waving off the thought, and waving off Bucky's concern. but it doesn't quite work like that.

"you're not inconsequential."

he says it with such a conviction you feel it deep in your bones, in the very core of your being. he sounds so authentic that it almost hurts.

a million thoughts swirl in your head. you could say i know, you could get defensive, you could say thanks, Bucky...

a better one pops in your head.

"how did you know where I was? you didn't see me all evening."

the limo stops moving. the driver rolls down the divider to grumble something about traffic at this hour? before rolling it back up again.

great. now it's going to take even longer to get home to your vibrator.

Bucky sees the interruption as a way to drop the matter. you press it.

"Mr. Barnes?"

"god, would you stop calling me that?"

you see him turn away from you to look out the window, biting his lip and rubbing his forehead. you've now frustrated him, and he's mad at you. this is good. it's easier for you to deal with him being angry at you than him being nice to you.

you know he just wants you to call him Bucky, but you're a smartass.

"yeah, okay, sorry. Sergeant Barnes," you mumble, smirking to yourself.

he about flips his shit. why is he getting so worked up?

"seriously?" he asks, turning back to you. his eyes are blown back, in anger, probably. not lust, like you wish they were. because you're just a stupid kid, and he's just your boss with a lifetime of trauma. you could never understand him the way you wanted to.

"what?" you say, biting your lip as you smile, continuing to tease him.

you swear that for a second, he glances down to your lips.

SHIT!

in that embarrassing moment, you realize your lipstick is still smudged across your face from the moment in the elevator. your heart rate shoots up as you bury your head in your chest, bringing your hand to wipe away the mess of your face, before turning to face the opposite way from him.

you are, well and truly, stuck in traffic. some concert, or sports game, or whatever...

which means you're stuck, pressed up against your boss, in the back of this tiny limo right now, for only god knows how much longer.

you're pulling your phone out of your clutch when he says your name.

you want to lean into the feeling, how smooth it is. how crisp his voice is, how pretty it sounds saying your name, as though he's genuinely paying you any attention whatsoever.

"you're not inconsequential."

it flares your anger, all of it coming up from your gut and into your throat, as you respond.

"god, would you forget it already?" you snap.

shit, shit, shit. you fucked up. you just snapped at your boss, of all people. you try to backtrack, throw out a million comments of "sorry," but that's it, you're getting fired.

you finally look back at him, and he's actually looking at you. like, it feels like he's staring into your soul, seeing all the pieces of you that you're trying to keep hidden from him.

the car begins moving again.

~~~

he watches you, trying to figure you out, as always.

he can't think of a better word for it than the fact that you genuinely amuse him.

he sees the look in your eyes, the way you're desperately trying to cover up the shame you feel over what happened in the elevator. he's trying to be gentle about it, trying to assure you that what the man said was utter bullshit, but you keep shutting him down.

god, and you look so...

no. you're, like, 80-plus years younger than him (he rubs his temples every time he remembers his age) and employed by him. any interest on his part would be purely inappropriate, a gross misuse of his position of power.

and god, his fucking age, man. he shouldn't even be around anymore-

anyways.

you look at him with those fucking doe eyes, going back and forth between anger, and shame, and something else he can't quite pinpoint.

this is probably the worst part of what happened. you're always so unapologetically yourself, but he can tell this man has gotten under your skin.

even if it's not his job to comfort you, he doesn't want you to feel like that. because who you are is perfect. 

~~~

one minute, you're staring into his eyes, trying to read the look on his face. 

the next, you're bracing yourself as the car spins out of control, feeling hit after hit of various cars all crashing into you sequentially.

you don't register it until after it's all over. the way he's wrapped himself around you as though to protect you. his flesh arm cradles your head to his chest and his vibranium hand wraps itself around the back of your neck.

you take a few deep breaths and begin to pull away from him, looking up to his face as you do. his eyes widen in shock as he looks at you. what? what is it?

"fuck, we gotta get you to a hospital." 

~~~

part 2

part 3

masterlist

tag list

tagged: @clavedelune

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Mixing Business With Pleasure » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Assistant!Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky decide to mix business with pleasure after work hours.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, female receiving, fingering, unprotected sex, office sex, Sergeant kink, praise kink, vibranium arm kink, size kink, pet names

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF MADE BY ME!

“Sergeant Barnes, I have those papers you asked for earlier.” You say, walking in his office.

You stopped short of the door when you realized noticed that Bucky was on the phone.

“Oh, sorry.” You apologized softly.

“It’s ok. You can stay. I’ll be done in a minute.” Bucky whispers.

You nodded and put the papers on his desk and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. You sat there patiently while you waited for Bucky to get off the phone. He got off the phone a few minutes later.

“Sorry about that. Fundraiser stuff.” He says.

Bucky walks to his desk and picked up the papers you put on his desk a few minutes ago.

“Is there anything else you want me to do before I go home?” You asked.

“No, that’s it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says with a smile.

You smiled back and stood up, walking towards the door.

“Actually…” Bucky stops you. “Can you stay for a little bit?” He asks.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.” You replied.

“One more thing, close and lock the door.” He says.

You nodded and did as you were told. You wondered why Bucky wanted the door closed and locked, but you didn’t question it. You walked back over to him, standing a couple feet away from him. Bucky walked around his desk.

“C’mere.” He motions you over to him.

You walked over to him. Bucky’s eyes scanned your body. He licked his lips, loving the way your dress looks on you. He walked closer to you. You walked backwards till you were stopped by his desk. Your breathing got heavier when his body was practically against yours. He put his hands on the edge of his desk, trapping you between his body and his desk.

“Sergeant Barnes…” You whispered. “I thought we weren’t allowed to mix business with pleasure.” You say.

“It won’t hurt to indulge a bit. Besides, we’ve earned it from how hard we worked this week.” Bucky says in almost a whisper, his voice sounding husky.

There’s no secret that you and Bucky are attracted to each other. You tried not to let it show. You’ve always thought it was wrong to mix business with pleasure, but maybe this time is different. Plus, it is after work hours. So why not indulge a bit like Bucky said. After all, you two have been working hard this week.

You gasped softly when you felt his lips on your neck. Bucky places soft kisses on your neck. His beard scratched against your skin, which feels so good. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access. He chuckles lightly against your skin.

“I knew you would want to indulge in this as much as I do.” Bucky murmurs softly.

You hummed in response. Bucky kissed you hungrily. You moaned against his lips. He picked you up and placed you on a clear spot on his desk. You spread your legs so he could in between them. You could feel how hard his cock is against your panty covered pussy.

You pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders. Bucky took it off and tossed it on his desk chair. You loosened his tie and took it off, tossing it on his desk chair where his jacket is. Your fingers unbuttoned every one of the buttons on his shirt, revealing his perfectly sculpted body. Your hands roamed his body, feeling all of his muscles. Bucky took his shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it on his chair where his clothes are starting to pile up.

Bucky’s hands found their way under your skirt to your panties. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down. He shoved the wet fabric in his pocket. You watched his right hand go in between your legs. You moaned softly when his fingers brushed against your clit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Bucky whispers. “Are you gonna to be a good girl for me, babydoll?” He asks, whispering in your ear.

“Yes.” You replied. “I’ll be so good for you, Sergeant.” You whispered.

Bucky sank to his knees in between your legs. His hands caressed your thighs as his face moved closer to your pussy. His tongue licked from your entrance to your clit. You moaned softly.

“Fuck, you taste amazing.” He almost whispers.

You sat up on your elbows and watched as he ate you out like a starved man. Bucky put one of his hands on your stomach to hold you down. You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning too loud, scared that someone might hear what you guys are doing in Bucky’s office after hours, even though you two are the only ones in the building right now.

“We’re the only ones here. Let me hear those pretty moans, babydoll.” Bucky says softly.

His name left your lips multiple times. Bucky was pleased to hear your moans. It was like music to his ears. The sound of your moans went straight to his cock, making it uncomfortably hard in his dress pants.

“Sergeant Barnes…” You moaned breathlessly, tilting your head back.

One of your hands found its way to his hair, carding your fingers through his soft slicked back hair. Your other hand kept you propped up on his desk. You stared down at your boss in between your legs as he ate you out. Bucky’s eyes flicked up at you. His blue eyes are now darkened with lust. He winked at you.

“I want-” You were cut off by a moan.

“What do you want, babydoll? Tell me what you want.” Bucky says huskily, giving your clit a few flicked either his tongue.

“I want your fingers.” You finally say.

“Which ones?” He smirks, wiggling his fingers.

“These ones.” You pointed at his vibranium fingers.

Bucky smirks at you. He has seen the way you stare at his vibranium arm when his jacket is off and his shirt sleeves are rolled up.

Bucky pulled his mouth away from your pussy. He brought his vibranium fingers up to your pussy and rubbed them in between your folds, coating them in your slick. You moaned at the cool feeling of the vibranium against your pussy. He then slid two fingers in your pussy. He fucked you with them at a decent pace. Your mouth fell open, moaning softly.

“Yes, fuck, Sergeant!” You moaned. “Just like that!” You moaned again.

His fingers moved faster. He curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside of you perfectly. You moaned loud each time he hit that spot. His vibranium thumb began to rub your clit in circles. Bucky’s name left your lips like a soft chant.

Bucky stood upright in between your legs, his fingers still fucking you. You could feel his hard bulge pressed against your inner thigh. He kissed you hungrily. You parted your lips just enough for him to slide his tongue in your mouth. You moaned against his lips.

“Sergeant…” You tilted your head back. “Fuck me please.” You begged.

“Cum for me first, doll face and then I’ll fuck this sweet pussy.” Bucky says.

Bucky sped up the thrust sped of his fingers. He curled them each time, hitting that one spot inside of you perfectly. You arched your back, pressing your chest against his. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came on his vibranium fingers. Bucky gave your clit a few more rubs before pulling them out of your pussy.

“Holy shit…” You breathed.

After you caught your breath, your fingers unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his dress pants. Bucky unbuttoned your blouse, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders and onto the desk behind you. He licks his lips when he seen your lace bra. You bit your bottom lip and reached your hands behind your back, unclasping your bra, letting it fall from your chest.

You kissed him hungrily and slid a hand in his dress pants, rubbing his hard cock through his boxers. Bucky moans against your lips. He then took your hand out of his pants so he could pull down his pants and boxers just enough for his hard cock to spring out. He pulled you closer to him, your ass on the edge of the desk. He stroked his cock a couple times before rubbing it against your slick folds, coating it with your slick. A gasp left your lips when the tip of his cock entered your pussy. His tip alone split you open.

“Oh fuck…” You moaned, tilting your head back. “You’re so big.” You moaned again.

Bucky moans at how tight you are, loving the way your pussy squeezes his cock. He watches as his cock slides in your pussy. It’s sinful and hot. He couldn’t help but thrust faster. You wrapped your arms around his strong body, your nails digging in his skin. You pressed your lips against his skin, kissing along his skin softly. Your teeth nipped on the skin of his collarbone, marking him up.

Should you be leaving hickeys and scratches on your boss? No. Should your boss be fucking you senseless on his desk? No. Do either of you care? No. Something about all of this feels so right to you guys and you guys love it and neither of you want it to stop.

Bucky spread your legs wider and leaned over you, fucking you at a better angle. His cock hit that one spot inside of you perfectly. A pornographic moan left your lips. It was music to Bucky’s ears.

“Is that your little spot, doll face?” Bucky asks softly in your ear.

“Yes!” You answered and gasped softly. “Please don’t stop!” You moaned.

“I fucking won’t.” He growls softly.

Bucky increased the pace of his thrusts. Your nails dug in his skin, leaving red scratch marks on his back. He reached a hand in between the two of you, blindly feeling for your clit and found it with ease. You gasped when you felt the cool vibranium of his fingers on your clit. His vibranium fingers rubbed your clit in circles, helping your orgasm build up, in which it started to.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned.

A low moan left Bucky’s lips when he felt your pussy squeeze around his cock.

“You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that, babydoll.” He pants.

His orgasm built up, along with yours. Your legs started to shake a little bit. You felt the coil in your stomach about to snap. Your orgasm was about to come crashing down on you.

“I can feel you getting close, doll. You gonna cum?” Bucky asks.

“Mhmm, yes!” You moaned.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” He whispers in your ear.

You arched your back in pleasure, pressing your breasts against his chest. A pornographic moan left your lips as you came.

“That’s a good girl.” He praises softly.

Bucky’s orgasm wasn’t too far behind yours. He leaned his forehead against your shoulder. His thrusts got sloppy, but he regained rhythm. A mix of a growl and a moan left his lips as he came, coming deep inside of you.

“Holy shit…” Bucky moans.

His thrusts came to a stop. He stayed in between your legs for a moment, his cock still inside of you.

“I’m so glad that I hired you.” Bucky says with a smile.

You smiled back and pecked his lips softly. He then pulled his cock out of you and cleaned the two of you up with tissues before you two got dressed. You checked the time on your phone. It was later than either of you expected.

“I’ll drive you home.” He says.

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.” You smiled.

“Call me Bucky.” He politely corrects you and smiles.

“Bucky.” You say softly with a smile.

This the first time and definitely not the last time you and Bucky mix business with pleasure.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes]

coney island | bucky barnes

summary: on the day of the election, you find bucky at his safe place and he shows you, his assistant friend around.

warnings: kissing, tooth rotting fluff, angst (if you squint) <3 + sexual tension; bucky is a sweetheart; both are down bad for each other; insecure bucky (?) kinda; i made shit up about coney island, i have never been there, sorry; a LOT of obsession over eyes; use of pet names (doll, sweetheart, sweets); no use of y/n; misuse of political jargon? author is clueless about political jargon lol; author thinks the ending is bad; I AM SHIT AT WRITING SUMMARIES SORRY!

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x assistant!reader

author's note: this is kind of inspired by @dreamwritesimagines lovely series Declassified and its 6th chapter, but its still completely different. but do give Declassfied a read, because it is my favourite congressman bucky fic! i'm sorry if the ending is weird :/ I worked literally two weeks for this fic, pls show some love!

words: 7.2k (my creativity has been sucked out of me)

masterlist | for my other works <3

divider by @toastray

Bucky Barnes didn’t have time for love.

It’s what he believed; It's what he let everyone believe; It’s what you witnessed everyday.

You knew how tight his schedules were; You knew how much work had to be done; You knew how much stress burdened him. He had absurdly timed meetings, endless galas, campaigns that he had to take care of. The whole Valentina thing didn’t help him either. He had too many things on his mind and you noticed how it affected him. His pretty blue eyes would go dimmer, his left shoulder would start to ache more and you don’t even know how many hours he slept during the night. 

Actually. You knew. 

It was your job to know. To understand how many hours he slept because those eyebags didn’t do well during interviews; to understand how cranky he was going to get during the day so that you could schedule meetings with the more considerate figures amongst USA’s political landscape; to understand whether he would listen to you at least once during the day.

You knew, not only because it was your job as his assistant, manager and manhandler, but also because you have been in the hell that is politics for a long time. He might have been alive for longer than you, but you had more experience in this than him and you understood that the work he was doing, slaving his and your ass off for was worth it. So, yeah, you knew that Bucky Barnes didn’t have time for love. 

But maybe, after sleep deprived and joy filling nights under the crappy office lights, your chest bloomed, just a little bit, as you hoped that there might be a cracked window, a chance, for some space in his heavy heart. 

—

It was the day of the election. 

You were running around with papers in your hand, phones blowing off with god knows what notifications and trying to find where the fuck James Buchanan Barnes is. The office was a whirlpool of chaos; people were sprinting, shouting over phones and all the pots of coffee were empty—and in the middle of this whirlpool, was you. 

And all you could think about was why Congressman Barnes not picking up his goddamn phone. 

You huffed and smoothened out your dress. He could’ve at least texted you, but now you had to resort to asking his driver, even though the poor man was not a reliable source. Bucky couldn’t stand another person driving him, like a chauffeur, like a child, like a handler. You had tried to convince him it was for his safety and that he was the driver’s boss, not the other way around, but he was so fucking stubborn, it made you want to pull out your hair. 

I haven’t got the foggiest clue, ma’am.

Your lips curled a little at the old man’s lingo, but the worry in your heart and the stress in your brain only intensified. You thanked the man and kept your phone aside. You dismissed your manager, who asked you to draft up a speech, one that James Barnes would have to deliver, in case he lost—which was the popular opinion amongst many people. Many people that you threw out of your life, because ever since you started working for him, beside him and by him, and even if he made your life aggravating, you absolutely devoted your time, body, mind and soul to his ideas.

His dedication.

Him.

So, you stood outside his office, his space inside your chaotic office, with a false sliver of hope that he might be hiding himself in there, or maybe a note—tucked under his desk, in the secret crevice that only you knew. 

You opened the door, cautiously walked around his desk and put your hand underneath the table to inspect. A sigh of relief left your body and your shoulder relaxed a bit as your fingers felt the small paper, a note in secrecy, left just for you. You hated to admit it but knowing this part of Bucky, knowing that he would inform you, if no one, even with a piece of paper that was meant for you, made you feel special: a warmth, akin to giddiness, settling in your stomach. 

You opened the note and opened it up, only to have your hopes crash and burn. Your stomach twisted in knots at the blatant vagueness of the message written. 

I can’t be there, but I'm safe. Don’t call for a search party, doll, I want to be alone. 

You rolled your eyes at his teasing remark, but the nauseous feeling in your stomach was clawing away at you. You needed to find him. This was his moment. His and yours. You wanted to be with him, enjoy the night, reap the fruits of your hard work. Yes, maybe you were being too sure of him winning, but you had done everything in your capacity and his to make sure he gets this win. Because he deserved it. Because he was the only one that genuinely cared. Which was why you were attracted to him.

In a professional, ideological way, of course. 

And if he knew anything about you, it was that you were as stubborn as he was. 

So, you almost ran past everyone in your office, ignoring their quizzical, inconsequential looks, your manager’s booming voice and grabbed your coat: because you will not let that man be on his own tonight. You were selfish, perhaps, but he owed you this. After all, you were a team, were you not? 

You called his driver and got in the car. 

“Coney Island, please?”

—

He recognized your perfume, immediately. 

It had notes of lavender, mixed with Jasmine and mandarin: your favourite perfume. At least he hoped it was, considering he was the one that gifted you the YSL perfume on your birthday and since then it was the only one you wore. At least around him. It was sweet and stubborn, just like you. The way you constantly nagged him and bossed him around, never left him alone yet still cared for him in an unconditional, unstaggering kind of way. It reminded him of you: when you calmed him down after one of his panic attacks for the first time, when you fumed at him for not memorizing the speech you had carefully curated for him and when he turned up at your house just for you to yell at him while serving him your sweet, drenched in maple syrup, pancakes. 

You didn't approach him, not yet, still a few steps behind. The abundant breeze was doing a splendid job of flying your hair around and you tugged your coat around you, as if it was second skin.

“I told you not to put up a search party for me, doll.”

“I am not a search party, Bucky.” 

“You are my assistant.” 

There was a pause. A moment of hesitation after his teasing remark, where your heart sank as you spoke up again. 

“Do you not want me here? With you?”

Your words were not accusatory, but rather fragile, a soft question that held your heart. Your gentle tone made him shudder, his heart skipping a dangerous beat. He had your back towards you, which tensed and slumped a little. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, breathing in the salty, sea air. “I don’t want numbers. I don’t want the…office.”

“I am not the office.” You recoiled and Bucky pursed his lips.

“You are my assistant.”

Your heart sank. Yes, you were aware he wanted to be alone, but his words still felt like shards in your chest. Your nose started to sting and you looked away from his back, to the ocean and breathed in. Did he only think of you as his assistant? Was that all that entailed between you?

It was a hit you were not prepared for. But Bucky understood your silence, almost reading your thoughts, your questions, your heartbreaking doubts. Because no, you were not only his assistant. After months of working together, spending every waking moment with each other, which ultimately included you holding yourself back from slapping him after his constant non-cooperation and him teasing you to your absolute flustered state: you were not only his assistant—you were his safe space now.

He opened his mouth again, to speak out, tell you that you meant much more to him, to ease the ache in your heart and the hurt in your silence. But before he even got his words out, you plopped down next to him. He turned to look at you, only to have his breath taken away.

You had taken your hair down from your restricting bun that made him wince after he saw it in the morning: it flowed freely now, your beautiful locks flying around haphazardly, just how he liked it. You had taken off your blazer, leaving you in your pretty blouse with a sweetheart neckline and your pantsuit. Your forehead didn’t hold fatigue lines, which he constantly tried to dissipate. But your face held a soft glow; One that he had seen rarely, only when you and him were alone: moments when he made terrible jokes, gossiped about other senators and congressmen, and made you laugh. Moments where he saw you, raw, vulnerable, unbearably you, under the warm light of the lamp in his living room, when you used to come to his aid and cared for him. The soft glow he believed was only reserved for him. 

His heart softened in his chest. 

You didn’t look like his assistant anymore.

“I am your friend, Bucky.” You gently stated, as if it wasn’t somewhat of a gross understatement. Because you held a place in his heart that was right beside Sam, his other safe space. You turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his, your soft gaze that wrapped him in a hug as it met his clear, stormy blues. You gave him a small smile, easing his heart and looked back at the ocean again. 

“I bet you used to drag Steve here for ill-advised mischief.” 

He scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes at your teasing remark. But his shoulders were relaxed as he gazed at you. Sweet and stubborn. He shook his head and gave out a chuckle which warmed your heart.

“He was the one who got into ill–advised mischief.” He mocked your words. “I was the one who saved his ass.”

“Whatever you say, Sarge.” 

Bucky glared at you, playfully with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. You giggled and imagined a young Bucky alongside Steve, wreaking havoc wherever they went. There was a comfortable silence between you after, only the crashing of waves and the excited yells of children filling you up with happiness. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “How did you find me?” 

You turned at him and gave him a deadpan look. He raised his hands in defence at your pointed look with raised brows. “Just asking a question.” 

“When your boss tells you all the tales about him and his partner in crime at the Coney Island and how it reminded him of simpler times, you catch on.” You quipped. 

“Back to being your boss, again?” He asked. You pursed your lips and glanced at your lap, your fingers fidgeting. 

“You know you deserve it, right?”

He huffed, exasperated. “I thought I told you—”

“I am not talking about numbers, James.” His eyes flicked up at you. You only ever used his first name, but the way you said it made his insides melt. “All I am saying is that,” You breathed and bore your eyes in his.

“You have worked so hard. You care more about these people than anyone I have ever seen, talked to or even worked for. The way you speak for them—the veterans, the soldiers, the people of the city ranging from all the minorities that deserve proper rights, such as universal healthcare—Bucky, I could go on and on.” You completely turned your body toward him, your eyes holding more compassion than he had ever witnessed. You held brain–wracking eye contact with him, your body crackling with sudden butterflies and fuzziness.

“All I know is that you actually care, Bucky. You are not one of those wolfish, perverted, power-lusted people that just crave control. You are the exact opposite—genuine, caring…” You gulped under his intense gaze, his blue eyes carving into your soul as you poured your heart out. “...loving. A completely bonafide candidate…and even if this whole thing was just to get information on Valentina, you were still doing good.”

Your hand reached out to his, reassuring. “You deserve it, more than anyone.”

A loud silence took over you both, but you didn’t, or more than that you both couldn’t escape each other’s gazes. Tension crackled between you both, like a silent bonfire, providing intense warmth in the windy atmosphere. Your cheeks and nose were flushed, from the wind or Bucky’s unrelenting eyes, you didn’t know, because all you could think about is how his eyes perfectly resembled the ocean, under a stormy sky. Yet they provided comfort and you couldn’t look away. As if they were a drug. 

Bucky cleared his throat and your whole face flushed as you looked away from his face. 

“You should be a motivational speaker.” He said quietly. 

“There is a reason why I write all of your speeches, Barnes.” You scoffed. He gave you a small smile, but one that reached his eyes, crinkled around his cheeks. Why was he making you feel giddy? “Come on, you gotta show me around this place. You know I have never been here?”

Bucky stared at you incredulously. “What the hell do you mean you’ve never been to Coney Island?” 

“You do realize I work 100 hours a week, right?” You quipped, making Bucky shake his head. 

“I told you, you can take a leave whenever you want.”

“And leave you alone? How would you even survive without me?” You raised your brows at him, challenging him. He just shook his head, giving you an annoyed look, but safe to say, he was elated. To be here, with you. 

“So are you going to show me around or what?”

—

“I am NOT getting on that, Bucky.”

“Live a little, doll. Besides probably isn’t even that hard—”

“Says the super soldier! Did you not see the way that man got yeeted across—”

“He did not get yeeted across—what the fuck is ‘yeeted’?”

You rolled your eyes and stared at the bull ride that they had recently installed at the park—and there was no fucking way you were going to get on that. 

“I’ll pay you 100$! Come on, doll—” He spoke up again.

“I may complain about it, but I get paid enough to deal with you.”

Bucky looked at the bull, the girl on it with a cowboy hat letting out drunken yelps while other people cheered her on.

He moved his eyes back and forth, from the ride to you, and then his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but you could catch on easily. You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head, hardening your glare at his forming smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” He shrugged, nonchalantly. “Just thought you never backed down from a challenge.” He said, in a dangerously low tone, challenging you. Your jaw dropped, just a little, at this man’s audacity! Slowly, a ghost of a smirk formed on your face as well. 

“Okay, fine, I'll go on the goddamn bull, but only if you come with me.” You raised your brows and Bucky rolled his eyes, tilting his head. “Seriously?”

“Oh, okay. I see you are one of the people that easily backs down from a challenge.” You mocked his words, jabbing back at him. His eyes narrowed at you but then a sly smirk greeted his face. The smirk that made you fucking crazy. It was when you knew he was not going to back down. That smirk aggravated you to no end, because that smirk came into display whenever he was not going to listen to a single word you said about the press training and he’s going fuck up everything. That fucking smirk, infuriated you, because you saw it often, especially after he flustered you, made you stutter or even saw a small sign of a blush dusted on your cheeks. That smirk made you go weak in your knees. And it frustrated you. 

Goosebumps arose on your skin as you felt Bucky’s warmth creep up your body, even if he was just walking towards you, agonizingly slowly, as if he was teasing you, hunting you, craving you. He stepped forward, his hands in his pockets, that goddamn smirk paired with those devilish eyes, and did you just notice how hot he looked with just a pair of trousers, shirt and his loosened tie? Fuck. 

You gulped as he towered over you. You could smell his cologne. Your knees almost buckled. What the fuck was happening? Why was he so close? And why did it feel like you just wanted to grab that tie and—

Suddenly, the cheers slowed down, faded away, you didn’t know why—because all you could think about was why he was making you feel hot? Parched? Starved? All because of what, his cologne? The tie? His hands? That fucking smirk? 

Somewhere in the background, the girl got off the bull, more drunk now than she was before, clinging onto her girlfriends, giggling about god knows what.

The host took the mic again and called out for volunteers—all while your cheeks had turned burning red. Bucky started to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face, his pretty pink lips almost brushing your cheek as he pressed them against your ear. You shuddered, restraining the need to hold onto Bucky’s shoulders so that your trembling knees would have some support. 

“After you, sweetheart.”

—

You don’t know how you survived that. But your head was spinning, your body was fuzzy and warm, and your balance—completely uncontrolled. Bucky still had his hands around your waist, steadying you, as he did on the bull ride. You gulped down, the warmth of his hands leaving you trembling, and somehow you found yourself falling again.

Your knees buckled and he held you up, his hands tightening, almost lifting you off the ground, as if you weighed absolutely nothing. It scared you. How comfortable you felt, almost leaning into him, craving more of his touch—not only because of how addicting it was—but also because he grounded you. Comforted you. Kept you steady when you felt like the world was going to disappear underneath you. 

“That was one hell of a ride.” He whispered, near your ear, his breath spanning your face, making you go hot. You hummed, voice strained, afraid of what will come out of your mouth. Because all you do, all you could feel right now were his hands. His body. His warmth. The way his metal hand drew soothing circles on your waist, as if he knew it was the perfect cure to your nausea. The way his chest was almost pressed against your back, radiating the kind of intensity you did not dare to confront. The way his sweet words kissed your neck, smooth like honey, voice like velvet. 

“Are you okay, sweets?”

Sweets. That was new. You tried not to bask in the tooth rotting attention he gave you, the absolute saccharine–like concern laced in his voice, for you. 

You turned around, abruptly, to look at him. His eyes looked at you like as if you were the only person he cared about. Like right now, in this moment, only you mattered. Not the thousand children running around, the women giggling and complaining and the men shouting and groaning. It made you feel…cherished. Something you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

You cleared your throat and looked away, blushing. “Yeah, yeah…”

But he was relentless, determined to hold your eyes, understand how you’re feeling. He bent down, his face looking for your eyes, seeking you out. Your eyes flicked back to him and you almost gasped because those fucking blue eyes, god, they left no room for you to wallow in distress. “I’m perfectly fine, Bucky.” You whispered, your eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. 

Bucky froze. He followed your gaze and reciprocated it. His perfect blue eyes dropped down to your perfect lips. He licked his lips, as if he craved something. Someone. You. 

Suddenly, a loud bell rang, a loud announcement, a swift yet harsh slice in the middle of…whatever just happened. You both broke apart, his hands ghosting your waist, and you resisted tugging him close to you again, missing the solace his hands provided. 

“The last ride for the Wonder Wheel is starting in 20 minutes!”   

It happened fast. His hands found yours again, gripping them like vice, like he wouldn’t let go of you ever again. His eyes widened as he processed the words said over the microphone.

And you started running.

“What—Bucky!”

“Come on, we can’t miss the ferris wheel!” An impish smile adorned his face, and your heart raced faster than ever before. “I’m wearing heels, Bucky!”

“I can carry you—”

“Absolutely not—” 

Bucky let out a giggle and it was as if time had stopped because right now, it felt like both of you were back in the 1940’s. 

And he was happy.

—

where the fuck are you

and where is the man of the hour

You gulped down the wash of anxiety as you looked at the text. You resisted looking at your watch, but you knew it was time. They were going to start counting the votes. And you both were supposed to be there, at your office, in the conference room, where they had set up a dinner spread. You had insisted on booking the bar that Bucky liked, that all your co–workers liked, but least to say your manager was a bitch. “Keep it professional or you will drown.”

Who even says that?

You internally scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

come here, right now, he looks like he’s about to explode. 

Your nerves and stress were conjoining hands and you could feel it. There was no way they would get to the office, in time. You imagined your manager throwing disapproving glares at you for more than two months, he will probably give you warnings disguised as threats. Maybe throw in some crude insinuating comments about you and Bucky. “Trust me, committing to your responsibilities is more dignifying than ignoring and…sleeping your way up. Just look at Senator Gray’s assistant—”

You shook your head, remembering the lewdness of his comments. Keep it professional.

He would explode if he could see what was happening right now.

You were standing in the line, ready for the next and last ferris wheel ride for the day. There were kids jumping up and down, frustrated workers who tried to calm the complaining parents.

Your body was tensing up because the count was going to start soon. They will announce who got the most votes. Declare whether your hard work paid off. Whether Bucky won. If it was the end to your team, your partnership, whatever you both were. Would Bucky want a new team in DC? Would you have to move to DC? Or was he going to have to hire another assistant—

Bucky squeezed your hand, gleefully. He looked back at you and all your worries melted away, drained from your body all because of that damn smile. He probably had no idea that he was blowing your concerns away. Because, right now, blind enthusiasm was buzzing from his body, almost resembling that of the kids near you. He looked younger, if that was possible. The worry lines from his forehead, long faded away. His posture was more confident. Welcoming. Relaxed. His shoulders no longer slumped from stress, fatigue and paranoia. No longer was he seeking out the ways anything could go even slightly wrong.

He was just there. In the present, without any burdens on his body, without constantly having to stare down the barrel of a gun. With you.

Not his assistant. Not his manager.

Just you. 

You moved ahead of the line and Bucky did not let go of your hand. He kept it, in his, safeguarded, as if he was preventing anyone taking you away. So that you wouldn’t fade into the crowd. So that this moment wouldn’t vanish. 

As both of you got in front of the line, waiting to get entry, Bucky immediately reached for his pocket. “How much for two?”

The operator gave the price and then looked up. You felt Bucky’s hand freeze in yours, his body going tense. The operator was giving him weird looks and stood, almost defensive in front of the booth. “Have I seen you somewhere?”

You quickly answered. “No, you haven’t.” But he just looks you over, dismissively. A few seconds after he tries to wrack his brain, Bucky clears his throat. “Listen, we’re just trying to get on the ride…if you could please move aside?” 

He hesitantly moves aside, letting you both on the booth. “Have a nice ride, I guess.”

You both sit, side by side, thighs almost touching, intensity crackling. The booth starts to move and the wind sweeps through both of you, calmly. You glance at him; Bucky was peering at the sky, as you moved upwards, towards it.

He looked…melancholic. Longing. Almost forlorn. As if he never thought he’d see the sky like this again. As if he would never feel the same wonder he felt when he was just a boy with a childlike laugh and an unnecessary bravery to take on the world. 

But here he was. With you. And it felt surreal. 

“Can I ask you something?” You softly broke his silence. He sighed and looked back at you, nodding to let you continue. “For a man who hates being in the spotlight, hates overbearing attention and certainly hates talking to snooty senators, discussing power moves to win over people’s votes, why did you even step into politics?”

He was taken aback. Bucky looked at you as if you asked him to solve the question of all the why’s in the universe—that would have been easier. His gaze started to become distant, his eyes seeking answers that he did not like to face. 

“Even if you leave Val aside, Bucky, you have more than enough resources and capabilities to spy on her and her plans. Why politics?” You ask, gently.

Your tone was soft. Free. Like sunshine mixed with the kind of care he didn’t dare yearn for in the last 70 years. Like he wasn’t just a ghost; a trauma–filled bomb that everyone was waiting to blast. Like he was a person. Whole. Deserving. Your words didn’t slash through him; They didn’t glare at him, daunting, demanding, as if they were entitled to an answer. Your words, your sweet words were a soft nudge. A nudge that he needed. 

“I–,” His breath shook and you slipped closer to him. Gazing at his eyes, holding his sight, reassuring, that you both were the only one existing there right now. “Amends.” His voice broke. Bucky thought you would flinch, but you stayed put. Not leaving him astray. 

“After the court–mandated therapy ended, I didn’t know what to do with myself. With this,” He looked at his hands. “I felt the obligation, the need to make it right. Wipe it off, all of it, from my hands. After the Flag–Smashers and when I saw the things they went through, I couldn’t just sit. I thought—” He gulped, breath trembling. But then you moved closer, held his hand, as if a sign. A silent promise. You rubbed soothing circles on his hand with your thumb and he grasped your small palm with his rough, calloused hand. You didn’t force him. Pressure him to go ahead. 

“I thought that maybe, this way, I could make a difference. Make lives easier. Safer.”

He exhaled, like he had just let a flood of his emotions flow after holding it for so long with his walls. And you stayed. You didn’t push. You let him exist. Without any judgement. His breath trembled, heartbeat hammering in his ear, brain numbing as he finally let himself feel. And you.

You grounded him. You let him breathe. Understand his emotions. You weren’t prudent around him like you were watching him; observing; stalking: just so you can capture the moment he fucks up. 

A sudden ping threatened to interrupt this. The secret oasis that you both had carved in the night. He thought you would move away to check it, your incessant notifications, abandoning him and leaving him high and dry without your warmth. Your kindness. Your perfume. But you didn’t budge; didn’t move an inch from your place. Your eyes didn’t leave his and it was as if they wrapped him up in a security blanket. You softly smiled at him and lifted your hand, gently tucking Bucky’s outgrown hair behind his hair. You gazed at him with such care, such intricacy, so much affection, that he would have melted right there. 

“You can find a way to make a difference without torturing yourself, honey.” 

He grew shy. “I didn’t realize it at the moment. Thought this was the only way.” You softly chuckled. “I can make a list for you: community service, youth programs, fundraisers for veterans. You can’t make a difference if you suffer inside. If you feel suffocated.” 

He breathed in deeply, taking in your words. 

“Thank you.”

“Bucky—”

“No, hush,” He took your face in his pulsing, warm hands. “Let me say this please.” You nodded, wordlessly. “You—” He let out a shaky breath and smiled at you, oh-so-softly. “You have been here for me, through this hell, like no one has.” 

“You stood by me, helped me, tolerated my uncooperative ass and you still look at me like I deserve something. Care. Hope. Peace…Love. If it weren’t for you…someone who took more than necessary effort to understand me, help me, know me, I wouldn’t have lasted.” You gasped, and his big hands resting against your reddening cheeks started caressing you. He looked at you like you hung the stars up for him. Like you were the only reason. His oxygen. His breath. 

“Thank you so much for everything.”

Tears welled into your eyes. You leaned into his touch, his hands that molded perfectly with your face. You were about to open your mouth to say something, until your phone started buzzing again. “Oh god, it must be the results.” You put your hand on his which was still resting on your cheek. “I won’t ask if you don’t want to know, Bucky. This is your moment,” He pursed his lips, hesitating for a moment. But then he looked at you. 

You. Who has been here with him throughout every step. Through his first media press, through all of the stupid, pretentious galas, through all of the debriefs. You, who sat with him in silence when he could not bear another noise; who held him at his worst, when the nightmares used to come back and he couldn’t stop trembling; who made him mac and cheese at 3 am because he hadn’t had any decent meals. You, who worked your ass off, ensuring his ideas would come into execution; You, who defended him at every corner when Bucky’s career as Winter Soldier came up; You, who was more faithful in him than he was in himself.

“This is your moment as much as it is mine, doll.” He leaned forward and your heart started pacing faster. As if his earnest words hadn’t already made your insides flutter: he kissed your forehead. A long, meaningful peck. That held more weight, that defied every other sign of affection ever. He lingered, his lips still ghosting over the crown of your head. You closed your eyes, reeling in this moment, holding it close, not wanting it to fade away. He sighed and you knew it was time.

“Hey?” You picked up the call. Nerves were firing through Bucky’s body and he squeezed your hand, trying to ground himself. He couldn’t bring himself to eavesdrop on your friend’s words nor was his anxiety sparing any energy for him to decipher your expressions. What if he didn’t win? Would you leave him? Would you find some other upcoming political hotshot to work for? What would he do with his life? 

Almost as if you could read his doubts and anxiety—you didn’t need to, they were literally jumping off his body—you squeezed his hand back and consoled him. A small gasp left you, spreading rapid goosebumps on his skin. He couldn’t understand whether it was a good one or not. Wouldn’t you smile if it was good news? God, what he would give to see that smile…Does that mean he lost? Your hand slipped out of his and his heart broke in two. 

Of course, he lost. 

You quietly said goodbye to your friend and cut the call. He gulped as he saw more tears in your eyes and he hoped for the worst. For a regretful look, a fit of anger. But he got something worse: unfathomable silence. Your silence. Not a peep of a word. Not one indication of what you just interpreted from the call. You slowly raised your tear–filled eyes and Bucky was stumped. He didn’t know whether you were going to sob or kiss him. He wished it was the latter. Wait, what?

But then suddenly, in that cramped space of the booth, you lunged towards him.

His breath got knocked out of his lungs as you pressed your body against him. Quivering. Barely Containing. Your hands slid from his shoulders to his neck and you nuzzled your face into his neck. Bucky froze as you whispered something. 

“We won.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “We won?”

You lifted your head. Tears threatening to fall out, your cheeks filled with glee and your wobbly smile giving him more life than anything else possibly could. 

“We won, Bucky. You won.” Bucky completely engulfed you, holding you tighter to his chest, burying his head in your neck. He was consumed. By your sweet and stubborn scent, by your honeyed words and soft sobs of joy. His hands ran from your back to your waist, wrapping them around you as if you would vanish into thin air. He had to cherish you. Hold you. 

You sighed into his body, almost as if your souls were entwined, breathing in each other, as if you couldn’t live without each other. You softened more to his touch, melting like snow in his warmth when he ran his hands from your back to your waist. He smelled like faint citrus and lavender, his woody scent completely enthralling your senses.

You both clutched onto each other, embraced each other, because you found comfort. Both of you found home. 

“You are the only reason.” He whispered.

“W-What?” You asked, quietly between hiccups. 

He cradled your face in his hands and looked at you. He scanned your face, taking in every intricate detail: How cute you looked with your nose red and puffy eyes; How your perfect lips spoke with sweet melodies aligned in every word; Your hair, cascading like an angel’s and your eyes, god, your eyes looking at him like he hung up the moon for you. And to be honest, he would. And you would be worth it.

He locked it in his mind, for safekeeping, because he never wanted anyone else to witness you in your state right now. Because that? That was for him. Just him. And he was damn sure, he wouldn’t let anyone else see you like this. Because right now, even with your eyes, fresh out of tears, your cheeks stained, your face red, and your heaving breaths: you were utter and complete perfection. 

“You are the only reason I am right here. As Congressman James Buchanan Barnes. As a man. I wouldn’t have done it without you, doll. You are my reason. My miracle. My rock. You put up with me, you stood by me, you defended me, you trusted me. Believed in me.”

He rested his forehead against yours.

You processed his words, the fervour in his voice, the great vehemence throwing you off. “We did it, James.”

You pulled him closer, tugging him at his shirt, like you couldn’t get enough of him. Your hands travelled from his chest, to his collar, to his stubble. You looked into his eyes, your hands softly caressing his beard, his cheeks, as if you were holding the object of your desires for the first time in your life. Like what you have been waiting for, yearning for is right here, in front of you, close enough to kiss. Both of you understood that this was more than just a victory. 

You slowly leaned in. Hesitantly, to see how he would react. But almost immediately, Bucky locked his eyes on your lips; gazing at them like he has been wanting to ravish them for months, years. Your eyes were still on his, shy, asking for permission. But you didn’t need any, because according to Bucky’s mind and body, he has been yours to take for longer than he could care to admit.

His lips brushed against yours, like a question. You gasp, just slightly, with feather-like volume, delicate, willing. But that gasp sent a nuclear reaction through Bucky’s body, like fire; Something more sweeter had taken over him and his mind. 

Because then his lips were on you.

Not fast, not rough, not aggressive in any way. But with a slow and agonizing intent. There was desperation, but in a way that said ‘I have been waiting too long for this, so I am going to savor every single second.’ And that, he did.

He tasted you. Gently. Sweetly. Softly. Lightly. Almost as if he kissed you any deeper, he would drown and he would never be able to resurface. As if he was still afraid; Afraid, that you might pull back from him. Feather–like, in case this was just a dream—a figment of his imagination, like paradise—which would make his reality a nightmare. 

But god, he was already addicted. To the way you tasted; the way you slightly gasped when he kissed you; to the way you melted into his touch. You tasted like faint cotton candy that he just bought for you and your raspberry mouth freshener—the one you were so picky about because ‘the regular mint ones left a weird aftertaste’. He was addicted to the way you breathed him in, to the way you let him take you. Because that just meant that you trusted him.

And that you did. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of Bucky’s stomach.

When you sighed into the kiss, you knew your soul and heart had been snatched. Stolen. Taken away from you. You poured every ounce of your love in the kiss; your heart was palpitating through your chest, your hands and your ears. You could feel him everywhere.

His breath, his kisses, his soft groans and hums. The tingly feeling in your stomach just raged throughout your body. Just because of him. His scent. His hair. His oh-so-perfectly soft lips. 

You felt like you were floating. His lips felt like a dream but also secure. Secure in a way that says ‘I will always be there for you’. In a way that said ‘you are my future’. 

What felt like an eternity that fell too short, you both pulled away, unwillingly. But you didn’t let go: none of you wanted to. You were lost in each other, dazed by each other’s touch. His hands were at your waist, now gripping, almost lifting you from your position, putting you on his lap. One of your palms was resting on his broad chest, unclenching and clenching his shirt, the one on his nape, softly scratching his baby hair. 

Your heads softly banged against each other as you rested your foreheads. He breathed softly and you bit your lip, shying away from his eyes. He lifted your chin with his index finger, searching for your eyes, his intense gaze making heat crawl up your neck.

Bucky leaned down and softly kissed your nose and you let out a giggle. Joy bubbling up both of you, with barely contained smiles. He took his thumb and sweetly caressed your lower lip and pecked you. “You are my everything.” He whispered, content adorned his face. You kissed his cheek, lovingly: “I love you. Bucky,”

“You have been the only person who made me feel safe, made me feel seen, made me feel special.”

“Do you remember that day when I had to skip work because I couldn’t even get out of my bed?”

He frowned. “Because of your period cramps?” You nodded and scanned his face. “You fought with my manager and you skipped too. You came home with insane amounts of chocolate, cold coffee and even a new heatable plushie.” 

“That day, you took care of me, like no one ever had. And I didn't even have to ask you…You made sure my blankets were fresh so I would be comfortable, you put on my favourite TV show and you held me while I cried about a dog I saw on the street.”

“You cooked for me, my favourite meal, that nobody had ever taken the effort to do before. You made sure I didn’t overwork myself and you reassured me again and again. Even if it might’ve been strenuous. How could I not fall for you?” You kissed him again. 

"You're perfect, Bucky. I love your eyes and the way they light up when you're with the people you care for. I love your smile and how raw and vulnerable you are when you are actually happy. The way you make sure everybody is comfortable and safe. You, Bucky, you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, my love. Your existence, Bucky; Every since we started working in that crappy office, you made my life easier, you instantly made all my worries fade. I didn't know I could be this happy in my life."

There were unshed tears in Bucky's eyes.

“I love you so much.” You said, gentle tears welling up in your eyes and Bucky cradled your face again. “I love you more, my doll.” You giggled as he leaned in yet again, kissing you more deeply, more fervently, more firm. 

So, yes. You concluded that: Bucky Barnes did have time for love. Because Bucky Barnes’ heart belonged to you. He was yours and you were his. 

Under that sky, at coney island, on that ferris wheel, you both began. Began to create a life together, for each other and by each other. You both vowed to never let each other go and whatever whirlwinds came in your way, you would face them together.

At coney island, Bucky and you promised each other love, like an oath, never to be broken and always to be held.

if you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did —lana del ray thank you for reading! requests are open <3 reblog, like and comment!

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Please can we have more Yan justice league?

Maybe the reader has a boyfriend in the military so she doesn't see him much and when he comes back to visit, the go on a fancy date before they crash it?

It would make it even better if they reacted to the boyfriend about to propose to her!

A Day in Life: Heartbreaks

Synopsis: A day in your life where your yanderes find a secret of yours and tell you another one.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader; Modern!40s!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Tw: Bucky you’re one of my fav characters from Marvel, I'm so sorry I did u dirty😭; Heavy mentions of cheating and NO forgiving; Stalking; English isn’t my 1st language.

Word count: 1k

Requested? Duh.

Extra notes: I should be studying instead of writing this. Also omg I got so many requests in just a few hours, thank you very much!! I'm writing them all!!

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Since most of your days became filled with stress and anxiety, you started appreciating even more moments where you could just forget all your problems, from small ones — like, lack of motivation to go to the gym, bad hair days and an ingredient you forgot at your fridge and became rotten—, and big, out of your control ones — like seven superheroes, who you see almost everyday, stalking you.

Your boyfriend getting back was one of the best dic(k)strations.

Bucky was a sergeant, he spent weeks, even months, away from you on missions. It was hard, but you were both busy people, so your mind was usually too stimulated to think about boy problems only all day, most adults were, and you believed the hard work would be worth it one day. The future was hopefully bright.

The League never mentioned him. Actually, some of them implied more than once that they thought you were available, so they probably didn't know about your relationship. You didn't use much social media and your boyfriend got especially busy this year, so it made sense.

He paid for you to get your nails done earlier and took you to a nice restaurant. After that, Bucky took you for a walk around the city, lively and beautiful even at night, and stopped at the park where your first date happened. Everything was fine, until he got on his knees. Suddenly, seven, mostly colorful, figures descended upon you from out of nowhere, screaming.

— (Y/N)! YOU CAN'T MARRY HIM! — Flash’s voice startled you, confirming your suspicions to who the group was.

You growled.

— SERIOUSLY? LEAVE ME ALONE! IT'S MY DAY OFF! — Bucky, who had swiftly gotten up with his fast reflexes as soon as the heroes charged, blinked at the sight. He looked between you all.

— Doll? What’s this? — You looked apologetic at him.

— Sorry, Bucky. Since I got my job, my bosses got… Protective over me… — You didn't want him to get hurt. Bucky and his friends had a great sense of justice and hated bullies. He would surely want to do something if he knew the true extent of things. You also didn't want to ruin the vision he had of his idols.

Since their obsessive behavior started, you just counted your lucky stars that they would just get tired of you one day or wouldn't sabotage your relationships. They seemed fine with you having friends, but dating was different.

You turned to the League.

— Go! — They shook their heads.

— You can't trust this bastard, darling. We have proof of his betrayal to you. — You looked at Wonder Woman skeptically and crossed your arms. Bucky gulped.

— Oh, really? How so? — You raised an eyebrow.

Batman fiddled with his wrist computer, a second later, a protection was shown and different pictures and videos of your man talking and being very intimate with someone very familiar to you appeared. Your stomach churned and your heart ached.

— This is fake! Doll, you have to believe me! — Bucky cried out and got in front of you, holding your shoulders, trying to cover your vision from the images. You took a step back and kept looking at the images.

The League had more than enough means necessary to fake all of this, but you knew Natasha was Bucky’s ex, and they were still friends and coworkers, even with their intense heartbreak. You sometimes got insecure and worried since they spent so much time together, but he always told you you had nothing to worry about…

You gulped.

The League was all glaring at his back while he shouted a hundred words per minute, desperately trying to convince you he was telling the truth.

Superman growled and walked forward until he grabbed Bucky by his shoulders and pulled him away from you.

— Stay away from them, you asshole. (Y/N), I would never do that to you. — You ignored Green Lantern's words, like you were doing since the pacifier incident. You knew he was getting desperate and that made you specially scared, but at least he gave you some distance.

— Not now. — Batman took a step forward. — A few hours ago, we discovered your relationship. For security reasons, we searched, and found these pictures and conversations from his second social accounts, that he uses to commit his cheating.

— He didn't try to hide much, he thought he wouldn't get caught. — Flash stated.

— I-I need more proof… These could be old… — Your first words spoken made Bucky shut up. Mind scrambling for something.

— Let the Lasso of Truth speak for him. — In a second, the Lasso was thrown around Bucky's torso and he was squirming. — Speak, you worthless mortal! — Wonder Woman ordered.

Bucky was able to struggle for a few seconds, before he blurted out.

— It's truth! It's truth! I told her we broke up and started dating her again! I thought I could have you both at the same time!

You gasped. Your hand shot to your chest.

Flash was on your side in a second, trying to hug and comfort you, but you pushed him away. You started crying from heartbreak and anger.

— HOW COULD YOU?! — You glared at him and pointed at his face.

— Doll… I swear I love you both. But I'm also narcissistic, insecure and look down on women. — The Lasso was really doing its job. You laughed humorlessly.

You had nothing to say anymore. No reason to stay. You took advantage of his tied arms and got close, punched his nose, and stomped away.

The League contemplated going after you and trying to bring you comfort, but Batman and Martian Manhunter decided to just let Bucky go (after intimidating him so as to not get close to you again) and follow you discreetly, watching you from the shadows, intervening only if necessary.

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@wandalfnation

[firelilyfox]

Not your personal assistant

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Having a secret relationship with Bucky, but not all secrets meant to last.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing. fluffy fluff. sfw. secret relationship. indicated nsfw content. couple kissing. found family vibe. mocking & teasing. tears.

————————-

His lips left traces of hot kisses on the side of your neck while he laid on top of you. 

This wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. You buried your hands in his dark hair, pulling him closer to you. Bucky moaned against your skin and sent pleasant shivers through your body. 

„I could do this all night“, he mumbled against your lips. His hands cupping your waist. Your bare chest was pressed against his and he moved his hips with a steady rhythm, sending your mind to the edge of satisfaction. 

„Good thing that we have all night for ourself.“ You smiled and Bucky hooked one bionic finger under your chin to raise it. 

„Let’s make it last.“ 

*The Next Morning*

„You are late … again“, John grunted as you entered the conference room. The rest of the Team was already there. Bob greeting you with a smile and an awkward little wave. Alexei and Ava were discussing something and didn’t even notice your appearance. 

And Yelena frowned over Johns comment and throws a pen at him. He failed to catch it and the pen hit him at the back of his head. „Don’t be a dick, Walker. If i were working for you, then I wouldn’t show up at all.“ 

„I would never have you as my personal assistant“, he snorted. „You can’t even make a cup of coffee.“ 

That’s when Ava snapped her head around in indignation. „Excuse me? She is not your personal assistant. She is our assistant. And without her we would’ve been hunted with torches and pitchforks by now.“ 

Walker rolled is eyes. „Yeah yeah whatever. But she is late!“ 

„Well, so is Bucky. Will you also hold this against him?“ Bob asked shrugging. 

The urge to defend you made you smile a bit. It really felt like a family arguing about some minor disagreement, mocking each other at every chance they get. You could see in Walkers face, that he wanted to counter with something clever, but the words died in his throat when Bucky entered the room. 

„Yeah Walker, would you?“ He asked with a cocky grin on his handsome face. Bucky stood behind you and even though you weren’t touching, you could feel him with every fiber of your being. 

John narrowed his eyes, defeated but pissed. „Fuck off. Whatever. Can we get started now? I have places to be.“ 

„And where would that be? Getting a spine transplantation?“ Ava mocked him. 

That made everyone laugh. Well except for Walker obviously. He just rolled his eyes and flipped them off, before he sat down at the large table. You clenched your fingers tighter around the documents pressed against your chest, when you felt a reassuring touch on the small of your back. Just for a second. Then Bucky stepped around you and sat down next to Yelena. 

Her eyes narrowed and she studied your face a little to extensively. When you sat down next to Bob and across from her and Bucky, she smirked. Something tells you that she suspects something. You tried your hardest to keep a cool and collected expression on your face. Even when the way Bucky flexed his bionic hand a few times made your lower stomach ache, craving for his touch. 

The meeting with the Ministry of Defense went surprisingly well. Never you’d been so lucky with a contract before. Especially when you think back to the past couple weeks. Instead of diving into work, you’d been very distracted by a certain super soldier. 

You’ve tried to deny it. For months you ignored all of your thoughts about him and the feelings that had been attached to it. But on one fateful night all of your walls, that you build around your heart, were torn down by Bucky. 

He just grabbed and kissed you. You were defenseless against the overwhelming passion and attraction you felt for him. Nothing could stop you now. From that moment on, the two of you weren’t able to keep your hands off of each other. Every night Bucky sneaked in your room and stayed until the sun almost rises over the skyline. 

So understandably slowed down a bit. But the others didn’t noticed anything that had been going on between the two of you. 

Not until today apparently. 

„So“, Yelena exclaimed when you stepped into the kitchen. „You and Barnes, huh?“ 

You almost dropped the full coffeecup. „What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ 

You tried to smoothen your dress a bit, to hide the sudden shake in your hands. Yelena grinned and lifted herself on the kitchen counter. 

„You can’t fool me! I totally saw you getting all flustered back in there.“ 

„What is flooded?“ Alexei asked alarmed when he joined the conversation. 

Yelena sighted dramatically. „Not flooded, Dad. Flustered. Bucky makes her nervous.“ 

„Why? Is he mean to you?“ Now Alexei sounded even more alarmed. „I will teach him manners! You don’t scare a woman!“ He stormed out of the kitchen, still cursing in russian before you even said a word. 

„Ohh shit. I should stop him before he gets himself hurt.“ Yelena jumped off the counter, but turned back to you before she left. „I won’t tell anyone. Don’t worry.“ 

Well that was … unfortunate. Suddenly you wished you stayed in bed this morning. Not just because you could still feel Bucky hugging you tightly, with a arm wrapped around you and how his face was buried in your neck. But because of what a mess this day already had become. 

And you couldn’t catch a break. 

„Bucky are you kidding me?“ Walkers voice was thundering against the walls of the hallway. You peek around the corner and saw the two men having a stare off. 

„I don’t know what you want me to say, Walker.“ 

John threw his hands in the air. „That you’re fucking my personal assistant!“ 

The accusation in his tone felt like a knife twisting inside your guts. Bucky got alarmingly silent. His whole body was tense and from where you stand, his eyes narrowed with a unspoken warning. „She is not your personal anything, Walker! And I’m not fucking her.“ 

The knife just got twisted again. You were well aware, that you said something similar to Yelena, but hearing it from him hurts. You never discussed what that thing was between you and him. And you weren’t interested in finding out while eavesdropping on Bucky and John. 

So you left before you could hear another word. 

„Oh c’mon! Don’t try to lie to me. You are such a bad liar!“ 

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. „I’m not lying. Because I don’t fuck her. I …“ He hesitated because he realized, that he never said those words out loud. Those three very important words. And he didn’t wanted to say them to someone other than you first. „I have feelings for her.“ 

Walkers mouth dropped open. „Oh you can’t be serious! You fell for my…“ 

Bucky grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. „If you ever call her your personal assistant again, I will break your face, John. I fucking mean it.“ 

Walker raised his hands submissively. „Fine! Fine. It’s your funeral if this shit goes down and end in a huge mess.“ 

„It won’t. Ever.“ 

When the night dawned Bucky found you in your room, still wearing this damn dress that had him in a chokehold since the second he saw you in it. How it highlighted your curves and flattered your stunning frame. Even though it fit you phenomenal, he couldn’t stop imagining ripping it off your body. 

„I’ve missed you, doll.“ He mumbled while hugging you from behind. You felt so right in his arms. So perfectly made for him to hold you. 

You shoulders tensed, slightly, but Bucky noticed anyway. „Oh. Yeah, busy day.“ 

„You seem upset, love. What’s wrong?“ 

Bucky loosened his hug, only to be able to turn you around to face him. To his surprise, he found you crying. Dried tears traced on your cheeks and your nose was red. 

„I’m sorry, it’s stupid. I just got caught up overthinking.“ You avoided his gaze, but Bucky cupped your face gently to make you look him in the eyes. 

„About what? What is going on in that pretty head of yours?“ More tears filled your eyes and Bucky almost regretted asking. The last thing he wanted was for you to cry.  

„I just … I heard you.“ 

„You have to be more specific, doll. I talk a lot when the day is long.“ 

You snorted. „No you don’t.“ 

„Okay, maybe I don’t talk that much. But something I said made you upset. And I want to know why.“ 

You sniffled and blinked the tears away. „I heard you talking to Walker about … us. And he accused you of fucking me. I know we haven’t talked about this much and I don’t want to make things weird or awkward!“ The words just burst out of you like a waterfall, and now there was no stopping in sight. 

„But I …“ Bucky started. 

You overheard him. „It’s okay as it is really! I have no idea why I reacted that way, because we never said it would be something serious. We never said it was more. I just …“ 

Bucky stopped you from talking more nonsense by pressing his lips on yours. He smiled during the kiss, because he couldn’t believe how much you’ve misread the situation. 

„You’re cute when you overthink“, he mumbled against your lips. 

Your fingers clawed into his jacket, holding on to Bucky as if he were the anchor to your floating self. „W-What?“ 

„I told Walker I wasn’t just fucking you. I told him that I fell for you, love.“ He brushed a loose strand of hair out of your face. „Didn’t you hear that part?“ 

You shook your head. „I left before that.“ 

Bucky smiled and kissed your forehead and then the tip of your nose. „Maybe it’s better this way. That way I can tell you without anyone hearing it.“ 

You tilt your head, looking at him with widened eyes. Bucky wiped the fresh tears away with his thumb. 

„I am in love with you, doll.“ He whispered with a soft smile. „I never thought I would say those words or even feel this way for someone. But you proved me wrong. I am so madly in love with you, that it scares the shit out of me.“ 

A little clumsy you got up on your tiptoes, crushing your lips on his and digging your hands into his hair. The relieved sigh hanging between you two. 

„I feel the same. I love you, Bucky.“ You beamed. 

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and sweeps you off your feet in more ways than one. 

————————

Thank youuu for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙 (but please don’t copy my work)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

[rhynestonez]

BY THE BOOK ( PART 1)

Congressman! Bucky X Assistant! Reader

Summary: Freshly fired and desperate, you apply to a poorly written government job—only to end up assistant to Congressman James Barnes, a quiet war hero with no clue how to run an office.

You knew something was off the moment you stepped into the office.

Not the usual “It’s-Monday-and-everyone-hates-their-lives” kind of off. No, this was quieter. Tighter. Like the whole floor was holding its breath and pretending not to look directly at you. Hallie from HR waved at you with a little too much teeth. Greg didn’t make his usual awkward dad-joke at the coffee machine. And your boss—well, he hadn’t shown his face at all.

The silence followed you all the way to your desk, cubicle 3B. You sat down, booted up your sluggish desktop, and tried to shake the feeling crawling over your skin. Maybe you were just paranoid. Maybe Hallie had finally figured out that you stole her granola bars from the break room and this was her revenge.

Or maybe you were about to get fired. “Hey..” came a voice from above you, making your stomach drop. You looked up. It was Jason—your supervisor. Clipboard in hand. Nervous energy oozing off him like sweat.

“Could you… come with me for a sec?” And there it was. The death knell. The walk to the conference room felt like a funeral procession. One that only you had RSVP’d to.

You passed by desks you used to joke around with. Smiled tightly at coworkers who suddenly became very busy with their spreadsheets. The same people you shared frozen yogurt with two days ago now wouldn’t meet your eyes. It was like being a ghost at your own job. Still here, but already halfway gone.

Jason opened the door for you. There were two people inside.

HR Hallie and one of the senior managers. The manager smiled sympathetically, like he’d just euthanized your childhood pet and wanted you to know he felt really bad about it.

You sat down. And they began.

Something about restructuring. Budget cuts. A shift in departmental focus. You were “valued.” and “appreciated.” and “not being let go because of performance.” but the bottom line was the same.

You were being released back into the wild.

You nodded a lot. Smiled even more. Signed the papers they gave you without reading them. You felt numb, like your brain was trying to protect you from registering the slow-motion collapse of your paycheck, your routine, your health insurance.

“Do you want a moment to gather your things?” Hallie asked gently, as though you might burst into tears.

“No, I’m good.” you said too quickly, already rising to your feet. “I don’t even have that much stuff.”

Another lie. You had so much stuff.

Back at your cubicle, the walk of shame began. You grabbed the cardboard box someone had thoughtfully left on your chair. You avoided looking up, knowing what you’d see- coworkers pretending to be busy while stealing glances, faces frozen in sympathetic guilt. The worst kind.

You packed in a fog. Mousepad. Desk cactus. Your favorite pens. The ceramic mug you stole from the supply closet. The birthday card everyone signed last month with forced little messages like “You’re crushing it!” and “Don’t forget us when you’re famous!”

Well. You wouldn’t have to worry about that.

Jason hovered awkwardly nearby like a shadow. “You sure you don’t need help carrying anything?”

“Nope. Just my dignity.”It slipped out before you could stop it. He gave a stiff chuckle. You wanted to melt into the floor.

You made your way to the elevator like it was the final scene of a dramatic indie film. Box in arms. Head held high. Pretending this wasn’t the most humiliating day of your professional life. The elevator doors opened. No applause. Just an old man coughing inside.

Perfect.

You got home two hours later. Kicked off your shoes, dumped the box on the floor of your living room, and collapsed on the couch like a deflated balloon. You stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above you.

And that’s where you stayed. For the rest of the day. And most of the next.

You ate chips straight out of the bag. Watched reality TV you’d never admit to enjoying. Didn’t shower. Only left the couch to grab more snacks or charge your phone. You were spiraling—but it was a soft spiral. One wrapped in blankets and denial.

Eventually, shame crept in like an uninvited guest. You opened your laptop. The screen glowed like an accusation. You pulled up a job board. Your search history from last time was still there: “office jobs near me.” “remote jobs for introverts.” “do I really need health insurance if I’m careful.”

You scrolled.

Most listings made you want to evaporate. Corporate jargon. Unrealistic qualifications. $40K salaries requiring six degrees and willingness to be emotionally abused. You were about to close the tab when something caught your eye.

“ASSISTANT NEEDED – GOVT JOB”

No punctuation. No detail. The kind of post that practically begged you to ignore it.

So naturally, you clicked.

“Man needs help. With papers. Office stuff. Maybe coffee sometimes. Not illegal. Good pay. Please have experience with Microsoft… the word one. And fast typing. Not too fast. Just normal. Must be trustworthy. And not annoying.”

You stared. You re-read it. You laughed. Out loud. For the first time all day.

“This has to be a joke..” you muttered, mouth curled into a tired grin. The name at the bottom just said: Congressman J. Barnes.

You weren’t sure if it was real. You weren’t sure you cared. You clicked “Apply.” Attached your outdated résumé. Wrote “Available immediately” in the cover letter box. And hit send. “God help whoever’s desk that lands on.” you muttered, already tossing your laptop to the side.

You figured you’d never hear from them again. But the next morning, your phone rang. Unknown number. You squinted at it.

Half of you wanted to let it go to voicemail. The other half wanted to believe in a miracle. You answered.

“Hi, is this..?” a chipper voice asked, trailing off a little like she was reading your name off a list. “This is Gemma, from the Office of Congressman Barnes. He’d like to bring you in for an interview.” You blinked.

“…oh.”

-

You stood in front of your closet like it had personally offended you. Somewhere between the third blazer and sixth wave of panic, you realized you had no idea what to wear to a government job interview.

Especially one that might’ve been posted by a man who thinks Microsoft Word is called “Microsoft the word one.”

“I don’t even know what I’m applying for..” you muttered to yourself, yanking out a wrinkled blouse that hadn’t seen daylight since your cousin’s wedding. “Is this for a desk job? A CIA field mission? Coffee courier to a congressman with a mysterious past?”

Because let’s be honest—you Googled him.

Congressman James B. Barnes. And let’s just say the results… were not what you expected.

There were official headshots: clean-cut, classic suit, stoic stare. But then there were older photos. Grayscale. Battle-worn. Like something out of a history book. You clicked deeper into the rabbit hole and discovered enough chaos to make your resume feel wildly underqualified.

War hero. Former assassin. Reformed government weapon.

Now… congressman?

“This man needs more than an assistant-“ you muttered, buttoning your shirt with trembling fingers. “He needs a therapist. Maybe a nap.”

And then there was that job description. The weirdly direct, charmingly awkward message that had made you laugh harder than you had in days.

“Man needs help. With papers. Office stuff. Maybe coffee sometimes.”You could not imagine this man typing that. But you kind of wanted to meet whoever did.

The morning of the interview arrived far too quickly. You barely slept. Your nerves were frayed. Your eyeliner was uneven.

You triple-checked your bag: résumé (printed on fancy paper you borrowed from your neighbor), breath mints, water bottle, emergency chocolate, and a sticky note with the name Gemma – Front Office Contact written in panicked caps.

The Capitol Hill building was less intimidating than you expected. Smaller. Like it didn’t quite get the memo that it was hosting a literal congressman. Security was tight but polite. The guard at the front desk glanced at your visitor badge, then up at you.

“You here for Barnes?” You nodded. He snorted. “Good luck.” You opened your mouth to ask what that meant—but he waved you through before you could.

Great. Definitely not ominous at all.

The elevator dinged open on the third floor, revealing a hallway lined with framed press clippings, black-and-white photos, and one strange oil painting that made your eyes sore.

You approached the office door and hesitated for exactly one soul-crushing moment.

You could still turn around. Blame traffic. Say you got the wrong building. But instead, you knocked. “Come in!” a bright voice called.

You opened the door and were immediately greeted by a perky woman in a lavender button up—Gemma, you assumed—who smiled like she just saw a long lost friend.

“You made it!” she said, motioning you in. “Right on time. I love that. He’ll love that. Timeliness is kind of… a thing.”

You smiled nervously. “I’m a big fan of clocks.”

God. You were already spiraling.

Gemma didn’t seem to notice. She gestured for you to sit in a sleek waiting chair beside a bookshelf stacked with…well. Mostly military history. And something called ‘how to overcome being antisocial’ which honestly felt like a cry for help.

“He’s just finishing a call-“ she chirped. “Shouldn’t be more than a minute.” You nodded. Hands folded tightly in your lap. The silence stretched.

Then you heard it. A low voice. Just beyond the closed office door. Rough. Steady. Calm like a storm cloud.

You couldn’t make out the words—but something about the tone made your skin prickle. So this is him.

James Barnes.

Your potential boss. War hero turned congressman. Possibly the worst job poster in the history of the internet.

You felt a laugh catch in your throat and swallowed it back. This was fine. Normal. You were in control. “Can I ask..” you whispered to Gemma, leaning slightly closer. “Did… he actually write that job post?”

She blinked, then smiled guiltily. “I… typed it. But he dictated it.. I suggested we workshop it but he said—and I quote—‘If they’re the right person, they’ll understand what I meant.’” Your stomach did a weird little flip. “Right.” You mumbled, eyebrow twitching slightly. The door opened. You straightened instinctively. And there he was.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hair slicked back neatly. Navy-blue shirt rolled at the sleeves. One hand in his pocket. The other—metal, unmistakable—still adjusting the watch on his wrist.

He looked up. Eyes like winter. And when they landed on you… he actually smiled. Just a little. Not the polished politician kind. The real kind. A bit tired. A bit curious. A bit… surprised.

“You’re early.” he said. Voice just like you imagined—low, quiet, steady. “That’s good.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Your brain offered nothing useful except: Holy shit he’s hot.

Gemma, bless her soul, stepped in. “This is the applicant we spoke about.” He nodded. Extended a hand. You shook it, startled by how warm the metal felt. Strong but careful. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to use.

“Nice to meet you.” he said. “I’m Bucky.” You blinked, then instinctively gave your name. “-but I’m sure you already knew that from my application..” He huffed a soft laugh. Not unkind. Just amused.

“Well-“ he said, stepping aside and gesturing to the door behind him. “Let’s talk.”

His office was quiet. Not the peaceful kind—more like the kind of silence that follows a bomb going off. Thick, slightly tense, and filled with the unspoken energy of “I didn’t plan for this.”

You sat down as Bucky gestured vaguely at the chair across from him and lowered himself into his own, the leather creaking under his weight. He didn’t speak at first—just opened a drawer, pulled out a pen, then closed the drawer again. Looked at the pen like he forgot what to do with it.

You smoothed your blouse, the long skirt you wore and cleared your throat lightly, trying to keep your posture professional. His office was cluttered but lived-in, stacks of folders on the floor and two mugs on his desk—one clearly from yesterday. Or possibly last week. You couldn’t tell.

He opened a folder, blinked at the blank sheet inside, then closed it. Then looked up at you. Then back down. Then exhaled through his nose like this was already too much.

You offered a polite smile. “Should I… begin?”

He cleared his throat. “No—I mean. I’ll start.”

You folded your hands in your lap, waiting. Silence. He tapped the pen against the desk. Slowly. Then, after a beat too long.

“…Why do you want this job?”

It came out flat. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure it was the right question but figured it sounded interview-y enough to work.

You sat up straighter, shifting into the persona you’d practiced in the mirror. “Well, first and foremost, I believe I can bring organizational cohesion and administrative fluidity to your daily operations. I have extensive experience in interdepartmental coordination, and I thrive in high-pressure environments with adaptive logistics.”

Bucky blinked. His brow furrowed. “…Right.”

You smiled, trying not to panic. “Also I’m really good at, you know, keeping things… tidy.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

You saw him glance at your résumé—upside down—and then make a noise deep in his throat. His eyes scanned the desk like he was searching for help. Or divine intervention.

Another long pause. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then tried again: “Do you… type fast?”

You hesitated. “Yes. Around 85 words per minute, depending on format.”

He nodded like that meant something. “Cool.”

You both sat in the silence of that word for a second too long.

“…Are you… looking for someone with any particular certifications?” you offered, trying to help. He blinked again. “Hm?”

“Like government clearance, or scheduling software—”

“Oh. Uh. No. I just need someone who… knows how to do things. Like calendars. Paper stuff.”

“Calendars and paper,” you repeated with a kind smile. “Yeah.” Another pause. He fiddled with the pen cap, then tossed it onto the desk like it had personally betrayed him.

“Have you ever worked for someone…as an assistant?”

You straightened a little. “I’ve worked in team dynamics with various communication styles, so technically no, but I’m adaptable. I understand how to read nonverbal cues and maintain effective workflow even without constant direction.”

Bucky stared. He tilted his head a little, like he was trying to decipher a foreign language.

“…So you’ve never done it before?”

You smiled again. “Correct.” Oh god..

“Okay.” More silence.

You could see the panic just barely behind his neutral expression. It sat in his shoulders, in the way his fingers tapped against the desk like Morse code. He clearly hadn’t expected to do this himself. Or at all.

You tried to fill the space.

“I uhm- also have experience managing travel itineraries, liaising with constituents, and handling confidential information with discretion. I’m extremely punctual, digitally literate, and can operate independently.”

He gave you a slow blink. “…You sound like a brochure.” You froze. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No—it’s fine. I just. Didn’t catch… half those words.” You flushed immediately. “Sorry—I’m nervous. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s—it’s not bad.” He shifted, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re just… a lot more professional than I thought.”

You tried to laugh. “Well, your job posting did say ‘not annoying,’ so I figured I should overachieve.” That actually made the corner of his mouth twitch. Not a smile. But close.

“I actually didn’t write that part.” You lifted a brow. “Oh?”

“I said ‘don’t hire anyone weird.’ Gemma translated.” You laughed quietly, the tension cracking a little. Then he rubbed his chin and asked, out of nowhere.

“…Do you like cats?”

You blinked. “Um—yes.” He nodded slowly, like this was very serious. “Good.” And then nothing else. You waited.

He leaned back in his chair, clearly out of questions. After a moment, you gently asked “Would you like to know about my references-Or work history?”

“No.” he said. Then added “I read the résumé.” You could see it sticking halfway out from under his coffee mug.

“I don’t really know what to ask.” he admitted finally, voice lower, quieter. “I’ve never had an assistant before. I usually just… figure things out alone.” There was a flicker of something vulnerable in that. Something human. And tired.

You softened. “I can help with that.” He looked at you for a long moment. Then nodded once. “Okay.”

You blinked. “So… am I hired?”He stood up abruptly. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Eight a.m.” You scrambled to your feet. “Right—great! Should I bring—?”

“Coffee. If you want.”

You tilted your head. “How do you take it?”He paused. Shrugged. “I don’t know. Gemma makes it.” You laughed despite yourself. “Guess I’ll improvise.” You reached for the door, and with a nervous sigh you stepped out.

The door clicked shut behind you. Bucky exhaled slowly. Then sat back down in his chair like he’d just returned from war.

He stared at the coffee mug on his desk.

“Calendars and… liaisoning.” he mumbled under his breath, brow furrowed. “What the hell is a liaison.”

Right then, the door cracked open again—without knocking—and Gemma poked her head in like a cartoon squirrel.

“So?” she asked, too brightly.

Behind her, Jace from accounting and Maya from policy hovered in the hallway, definitely pretending they weren’t listening.

Bucky glanced at them all. “What?”

Gemma stepped inside fully. “How’d the interview go?” He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Just fine?” she asked, moving closer. “You’ve had that same piece of pen cap in your hand for twenty minutes.” He looked down. He had, in fact, snapped it clean in half.

“She was really impressive.” he said, almost defensively. “Said a lotta smart stuff. Big words. I think she knows what she’s doing.”

Jace leaned into the doorway. “Did you ask her that weird cat question again?”

Bucky squinted. “It’s a valid question.”

“Sure-“ Maya said, sipping from a mug. “Because nothing says ‘professional screening process’ like ‘Would you feed my cat if I forgot.’”

Bucky muttered something under his breath and grabbed the crumpled receipt off his desk, folding it in half.

“She’s not annoying.”

“Oh well then.” Gemma grinned, hands on her hips. “Hire her immediately, let’s throw a party.”

“I did.” Bucky said flatly. They all stared. “You what?” He shrugged. “She starts tomorrow.”

Jace whistled. “Hope she brings her own chair. The spare one in your office still has three screws missing.”

“I can fix it.”

Maya blinked. “Really now?”

“I’ll try, she’ll be a good addition here..”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “Wow. High praise already.” Bucky ignored them, turning back to his papers—but not before glancing once toward the door you’d just walked out of.

“Aw-“ Gemma teased. “Are you flustered, Congressman?” He didn’t respond. But his ears did go a little pink.

“Get out.”

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Pretty P.A. Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion modeling agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her.    **curvy reader** **Y/N/N = Your nickname** Warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from Bucky), some violence, blood, smut

Next chapter

“So let’s raise a glass one last time to our fearless leader and King of Fashion, Tony Stark!”  Steve said loudly, raising his champagne glass high and turning towards Tony.  Everyone in the room raised their glasses and cheered Tony’s name, who was holding back some tears behind his blue tinted sunglasses.  He smiled quickly and raised his glass before taking a big swig of his champagne, and everyone else joined him.  They all clapped afterwards and Tony gave a short bow.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said loudly, gesturing for everyone to quiet down.  “I just want to thank all of you for being here and believing in us, in this, in me, and for trusting me with your careers all these years.  And I’d like to thank a couple of people specifically who have made this the greatest career I could have ever hoped for, and without whom I would not be here today.  First to my wife, Pepper,” he turned to her next to him and everyone clapped for her.  “You have always been my best friend and biggest supporter, and the reason I get up in the morning.  And I’d also like to thank my work wife,” he turned to Y/N with a playful smile on his face.  Y/N laughed and covered her face with her hands, everyone else laughing and clapping their hands for her.  “Without you, Olympus Modeling would not be what it is today,” a collective affirmation of voices came from the people around them.  Y/N shook her head and looked down.  “You have been my confidant, my checks and balances, my ride or die, and I’m pretty sure my life would have imploded 13 years ago if you hadn’t come along.  Thank you for everything that you’ve done for me, and for this agency.  Each of us owe our careers to you in some part,” Tony looked over the room of models, talent scouts and editors.  They all nodded in agreement, wide smiles on their faces as they looked at her.  

“Now, I know I’ve been secretive on who I’m being replaced with.  I wanted to be sure that whoever I handed my pretty P.A. down to would be worthy of her,” he said, looping an arm around Y/N’s shoulders.  She rolled her eyes.  “I’m sure most if not all of you know him.  He started his modeling career here at Olympus before becoming a mega supermodel in his own right.  Please give a warm welcome to my protege, the new director of Olympus Modeling, Bucky Barnes!”

The room erupted in applause.  Bucky Barnes came walking forward from the back of the room where he had been hiding in the sea of beautiful faces.  Y/N knew who he was, and had worked with him when he was first starting out as a model years before.  He was generally nice from what she could remember, and insanely attractive.  His long, dark brown hair and beard were now slowly streaking with white and gray around his temples and his chin, making him look even more handsome if that was possible, and his bright blue eyes stunned Y/N every time.  His career had been one for the ages, modeling and walking for almost every fashion house at least once, and he was a staple at every fashion week.  He walked up to Tony with a wide easy smile and hugged him tight.  He turned to Pepper and gave her a small hug before turning to Y/N.  She didn’t expect him to hug her but he did, giving her a short hug that she quickly reciprocated.  He was tall and broad, firm muscles under her hands that she politely and barely touched before pulling away.  He turned back to the crowd of people and politely smiled.

“I trust you all to be on your best behavior and give Bucky the deference and respect you’d give me…then triple it,” Tony laughed.  “Bucky,” he gestured to him to speak.

Bucky nodded before addressing the room.  “Hello everyone!  I’m excited to get started.  I’ve been longtime friends with some of you,” he winked at Steve and looked at a couple of other models, “and as for the rest of you I look forward to getting to know you better.  I plan to do as Olympus has always done and be a beacon of beauty in all its forms.  I want you all to know that I know where you’re coming from, I’ve been there, and I want you all to have safe, productive, and successful careers.  So thank you, Tony,” he turned to him and clapped a hand on his back, “for entrusting me with your legacy.  I hope to make you proud.”

Tony gave him an appreciative smile and sniffed quickly.  “Ahem, enough of this sappy shit.  So, let’s party, and then I’ll be out of your hair.  Drink up!” he shouted and the DJ in the back of the room started the music.  Tony kissed Pepper then turned to Bucky and Y/N.  “Office?”  They both nodded and followed him into what was now Bucky’s office.  Tony closed the door to muffle the music and sat at the main chair one last time.  He rubbed the desk gently before looking up at them sitting across from him.  

“Y/N, I’m sure you remember Bucky,” he said, gesturing to him.  Y/N nodded and turned to Bucky, giving him a small smile.  Bucky gave her a short smile back.  “Bucky, I just wanted to make sure you understand what I’m entrusting you with when it comes to Y/N.”

“Tony, don’t–” Y/N started, leaning forward.

“No, I need to say this,” he gave her a sharp look.  She shut her mouth and sat back, looking down at her hands in her lap.  “I was perfectly serious when I said this place wouldn’t exist with her.  She has been the one constant in my life since she came here 13 years ago, and she will be your greatest asset as you start your journey here.”  Bucky looked at Y/N briefly then back to Tony.  “I also consider her like the daughter I never had.”

“Other than the actual daughter you have,” Y/N muttered, a wry smile on her face.

“She’s only 6, she’ll get over it,” Tony waved away her comment.  “The point is, I love this girl,” he said, pointing to Y/N as he stared deeply at Bucky, “and want her to have a long and happy career here.  I hope that you two can find a good footing together and make this place great, or even greater than I’ve been able to achieve.”

Bucky shifted in his seat before leaning slightly forward.  “I’m sure with how much you and everyone else has been singing her praises, we’ll get along just fine,” he said.  His smooth voice made Y/N chance a glance at him.  His bright blue eyes gave her a long look before settling back on Tony.  

Tony nodded, seeming satisfied with his answer.  He then turned to Y/N and his smile turned watery.  “Oh, Tony, come on,” she said, a lump starting to form in her throat.  “Don’t make me cry in front of my new boss.”

Tony chuckled before looking back at Bucky.  “Could you give us one last minute in this office together?”

Bucky smiled and nodded before standing and walking out, gently shutting the door behind him.  Tony turned back to Y/N and held his hands out to her over the desk.  She quickly sat up and reached for his hands, intertwining them.  He looked at her for a long moment.  “I’m going to miss you,” he said warmly.

“And I’ll miss you,” Y/N said, the tears starting to build in her eyes.  

“It’s been a long but good 13 years,” he sighed, his thumbs rubbing along her knuckles.

“It has,” she agreed with a tight lipped smile.  “Thank you for giving me that chance all those years ago, and teaching me…well, everything I know, really,” she huffed a laugh.  Her tears finally spilled over and she sniffed hurriedly.

“Thank you for everything,” Tony said, his voice trembling.  “He’s a good guy, and I hope you two can take Olympus to the next level.  You’re the best in the business, sweetheart, don’t forget that.”

“All because of you,” Y/N said, her voice straining.  

Tony let go of her hands and stood, rounding the desk and holding his arms open.  Y/N quickly stood and embraced him.  “If he’s not good to you, you call me,” he warned.

Y/N laughed.  “I think I can handle myself.”

[buckrecs]

do you have a ceo bucky list ?

CEO!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

With Love by @jobean12-blog

Bucky might be the most powerful, successful, smartest, sexiest, most perfect CEO in all of New York but he’s your sweet and soft husband first and knows just how to show it.

Cuffing Season by @lunarbuck

Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes

SERIES

The Bienville by @indyluckycharlie

Bucky is the young CEO of his family’s publishing house. A year into the role and working his ass off, he’s finally taking a much needed vacation (upon the advice of his well-meaning family and friends). Solo and feeling a little lost, Bucky finds himself getting a little attached to the front desk receptionist, a local who grew up on the islands and dreams of bigger things.

Monster-In-Law by @holylulusworld

Your mother-in-law is the worst. She will try anything to ruin your loving relationship with Bucky. Will she succeed?

Beneath The Milky Twilight by @bucksangel

Being Mr. Barnes’ personal assistant has been tough, balancing a full time job while taking care of your younger brothers has you running yourself thin. Then, things take a sharp turn after a dinner with your boss when you disclose your financial situation.

Not Me by @simsadventures

Billionaire/entrepreneur Bucky is married to seemingly timid and meek wife, the reader. While he hates her with all he has, she tried to act her part as the wife of the big CEO. And while their relationship falls apart more and more, they both realised there might be more to the story than they previously believed. Will they be able to repair the damage that’s been done, or will they find happiness in somebody else’s arms?

Eye For An Eye by @sinner-as-saint

Battered and bruising, Y/N is out to seek sweet revenge from a man, James Buchanan Barnes, who tore her family apart 10 years ago. Y/N’s plan was simple; infiltrate his life, mess with his head, toy with his heart and leave him broken. Headstrong, she will stop at nothing, not even when it comes down to her being the villain in her own story...

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (PART 2)

You need to make ends meet. How far are you willing to go?

Mob! Bucky x reader

Part 1 can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/737816177450041344/bartender-part-1

AN; thank you for all the love on part 1!

Warnings: drinking, gun violence, references to the mob, blood, MINORS DNI

Summary; bartending for an elite club to make ends meet. you don’t realise you’ve stumbled into the lair of Bucky Barnes.

He paid for my fee? What the fuck?

Now you knew something was up. First the staring, and now this. Your head was reeling with questions as you made your way inside your apartment, gently closing the door. He is just taking care of one of his employees.

Slipping into your pajamas and flicking the kettle on, you decided to attempt to unwind from your night. Everything was fine until this man decided to act all unpredictable.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky couldn’t be any more pleased that you had accepted a ride from one of his drivers. You hadn’t questioned how the driver had started heading in the direction of your apartment block before you had revealed your address. He hoped you were flattered by the lift.

He wasn’t used to this. To pursuing his women. Most would flock to him, laying down at his feet. Providing nothing but a quick, cheap fuck.

When Bucky had left the club, he instantly headed to his office, shaking Steve off when he suggested he should head home.

“Steve, just leave me”, Bucky sighed as Steve reluctantly let his friend out of his grip. He could see the blaze in Bucky’s eyes, the focus in his upper body. There was no stopping him when he was like this, this drive was how he had risen through the ranks of the mob so ruthlessly.

Bucky sat in his office chair. He’d received your name and address from Sam, and Steve had found your social media sites. He grinned when he told his driver your address, having to hold himself back from scoping out the apartment block, but his grin grew even more when he opened your social media accounts. A couple pictures of you smiling with Nat, one from your graduation, and none with a boyfriend. He wasn’t expecting that.

You were so different. He found himself wondering about you, pondering your past and how you’d come to work at one of his clubs. He wondered if you knew what you were getting yourself in for, the people you were working for. Part of him wanted to tell you to run while you could, to turn your back and never return, but another part of him felt glad. Signing the contract to bartend his club was the perfect entanglement of your lives. He always got what he wanted.

When you arrived at the club the next night, he made sure to request you to serve his drinks.

When Nat told you the news, that he wanted you to deliver his drinks, you felt your face scrunch. Why me? You didn’t want a repeat of yesterday's events, so you told Nat to help you reapply your lipgloss, and attempt to give you some form of a pep talk before you grabbed the tray of five straight whiskeys.

“He wouldn’t ask you to serve his drinks if he didn’t think you were a good server. Now pucker your lips-” Nat explained absentmindedly.

“It’s just so weird. I mean, it was so awkward yesterday”

“Maybe he likes that?” You giggled. No way. Nevertheless, you appreciated Nat’s efforts to calm your nerves.

She continued, “well I know plenty of women would pay to serve him so…”, she elbowed you, referencing his good looks.

“Nat. That just makes it worse! He’s hot and he knows it, and he knows I know it-“, you rambled.

“And maybe he finds you hot”, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at that, as your best friend handed the tray of drinks to you.

Deep breath. He’s just a man. You’ve got this.

Heading up the stairs to the secluded room again, you felt a little shaky. As you drew the curtain back, the same silence fell over the room. It was all the same men from last night, the tall blond one, the dark skinned one, one sitting in a red suit and the long haired brunette.

You spoke first. Surprising yourself at that. “H-hello. I just wanted to thank you for the ride home last night… and also I have five whiskeys.”

The man at the head of the table let out an exhale, shaking his hair away from his face, “it was no problem honey. There will be one waiting outside for you tonight too.”

You were taken aback. A small, but grateful smile gracing your face. Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“That’s… really kind of you, thank you. I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“Ah-ah-ah”, Bucky tsked, standing up from his chair. God, he is massive. So tall. So broad. Your head craned to look up at him. Your stomach was flipping at his comment, “you won’t pay me back for anything”, he grabbed the tray from your hands, fingers brushing yours.

You sent him a smile, opening your mouth to wish him a thank you before leaving. You left the room with your hands shaking.

Bucky was obsessed with the way he made you nervous, and the way your dress cinched your waist. He saw everything. The way your hands shook when he brushed your fingers, the way your eyes lit up when you took in his build, and the way your cheeks flushed when he let his eyes roam your figure. He felt his cock grow hard when he saw that you didn’t spare a glance to any of the other men in the room, just him. You were his. Whether you knew it or not.

You let elation carry you through the rest of the night. You spent the next few hours behind the bar, your eyes trailing to the curtained room far more often than you liked. With watching Nat flirt with the regulars, and poke you in the ribs occasionally, you felt yourself relax into your role.

That was until you heard a popping sound. Repeatedly. And then screaming.

You were paralysed. Deafened by the noise, and then the sight of masked men enclosing the club, shoving guests down, smashing glasses, and shooting their guns into the air.

Panic seized you, gripping you by the throat. Nat pulled you onto the ground harshly, your chin smacking the cold floor behind the bar.

“Just be quiet. It’s okay. They’ll be here for boss, not us”, Nat explained frantically, as if she’d experienced this before. You couldn’t breath, just wheezing in manufactured gasps, eyes wide.

“N-Nat. I’m so scared”, you felt tears pooling in your eyes as the club quietened. You could hear footsteps. Quick ones. People were leaving. You assured yourself that maybe they weren’t trying to hurt anyone.

You could hear the men approaching the bar. Oh my god, this is it. You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to stop the scene unfolding before you.

Your whole body seizing up as you felt a hand grab your upper arm, pulling you up, holding your body against theirs. You couldn’t see who it was, and your thoughts ran at a hundred miles-per-hour. As the figure pulled you to your feet, you looked across the bar, Bucky’s associates restraining the men. Sam kicked the gun from one's hand, then pushed him into the ground. Steve had the other backed into a corner, repeatedly pounding him in the jaw.

“Shh, shh, shh. I’ve got you. Let’s go. Come on.” The voice in your ear soothed you. You recognised it as Bucky’s. He brushed your hair from your face and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his rough hand. You could hear him yell something to Steve about grabbing Nat, but the pounding in your ears began to drown him out. He was practically walking for you, your feet barely scraping the floor.

He led you to the car parked outside the back of the club. Sitting you down and pulling the seat belt across your body. He was drinking you in. Looking at your red eyes and swollen lips.

“I am so sorry, honey. I have a… couple of enemies in the city. That will never, ever happen again”, he faltered over his words, carefully picking them.

You were shell shocked. Only able to nod in a fake understanding. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

“Look, let me take you home”, Bucky brushed a strand of disturbed hair behind your ear, his thumb running across your bottom lip. God you look gorgeous. He was obsessed with your swollen lips and the way you were clinging to him as if he was the weight holding you to reality. He hated the situation, the imposing mob hydra infiltrating his club at a poor attempt to establish fear, but god you looked insane.

He grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb over your palm. He tried to explain, briefly, the situation. He ran a company which focused on the safety of citizens in the city. Some tried to breach that. To bring drugs, disorder and chaos in the city as a quick way to make money. You didn’t need to know all the details, he thought. He knew he was omitting information, making himself out to be the good guy. He’d done things he was ashamed of. Wronged good people. Eliminated the competition. Acted ruthlessly to own the city. But you didn't need to know that.

He was drunk on the way you were shaking in his arms. The power that he had to comfort you. He couldn’t help but smile. An open fire by the enemy mob has done nothing but bring me closer to what I want.

Bucky helped you get out of the car, walking you up to your apartment. Even after everything you’d witnessed, your boss helping you up the stairs to your flat brought you to reality. You didn’t question how he knew which floor and door to stop at.

“I-thank you for walking me back but, you should go now”, you couldn’t meet his eyes. The events of the night were catching up on you. You wanted to call Nat and lay in bed.

The tall man made you look at him, picking up your chin with his forefinger. He turned his head slightly as you locked eyes with him. You were just so gorgeous. He wanted to kiss you. But not like this. Not when you were this shocked. He wanted to make it special. Rose petals and champagne. Not like this. So he made a point to look at your chin, bloodied from hitting the ground earlier.

“At least let me clean this up”, god he was so convincing. You opened your door and let him follow you in. You grabbed your first aid kit from your bathroom, telling him to make himself comfortable.

You let him wipe your chin, and gently place a plaster over it. His free hand rubbing circles into your shoulder and the nape of your neck. It was close, sensual even. He felt his cock still at the way you closed your eyes and let your head tilt back when his thumb hit your sensitive spot. He wanted you like this all the time. Relaxed, open, and submissive. You allowed yourself to bask in his touch, and the comfort it brought. You deserve this after the day you’ve had.

“Please, come into my office tomorrow, I can’t have you coming back into work in this state. I need you to feel completely comfortable”, Bucky practically demanded. He wanted to take care of you so badly.

You breathed a sigh of relief. You could confide in him. You could ease yourself back into the club. Unaware of the undertones of comfortable.

“T-thank you Bucky. I’ll be there.” You dropped your eyes and thanked him for the care. He ran his hands down your arms before retreating towards the door. You needed this job, and you needed the money. This situation can’t change that.

You slipped into bed, questioning what exactly you would be doing with your boss tomorrow.

Meanwhile Bucky headed back to the club. There were two masked men in his basement he needed to deal with.

Next part here! https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/738091620032987136/the-bartender-part-3

TAGLIST

@melsunshine @scott-loki-barnes

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive part 3 - nsfw congressman bucky barnes

okay so forgive me i know nothing about how it works to be elected for congress i apologize

also just pretend that Bucky's assistant is like lowkey his campaign manager ok please humor me.

part 1

part 2

~~~

nothing could have prepared you for the utter chaos that would come when you got the news.

he's been elected.

everyone in the office is running around. the constant ringing of phones continues to fill the room, people are loudly talking over each other, trying to celebrate and stay on task at the same time. 

it's insanity, really.

right now, you feel like you're going crazier than anyone else. you have to coordinate everyone, make sure things are getting done, and you're scrambling for time. 

Bucky has to give a speech tonight that you have to prep him for, accompany him to, and you've barely even finished making the arrangements for the press and the location and the timing and where the hell is Bucky?

you're just trying to keep up, let alone remind yourself that you're going to be jobless after this. 

you're on the phone, still on hold, all while typing out your formal thank-you note to go out to the donors. 

amongst all the chatter and everyone continually bothering you, you were getting fed up of sitting at your desk. so when you found Bucky's office empty, you figured it's a relatively quiet spot. you can finally get some work done, and no one will look for you here. perfect.

when the person on the other line finally takes you off hold, Bucky opens the door and walks in. you mouth sorry to him for having taken up his desk, and try to make your phone discussion as short as possible.

he's standing there, on the other side of the desk, watching you with a small smirk on his face. you can't help but smile back at him while you continue to talk, maintaining the intense eye contact you've held since he entered. 

fuck, he looks good. hands in his pockets, hair slicked back, wearing that navy blue suit that makes his shoulders look broad and his waist look snatched as fuck. 

the past months have been insanely stressful, both of you working long hours, all of it leading up to today. yet it's been utter bliss getting to spend every minute with him, getting to sleep in his bed on nights you work way too late and are too tired to drive home. 

you finally hang up the phone and sigh in exhaustion, leaning back into his chair and rubbing your forehead. "fuck, who knew it would be this crazy when it finally happened?" you comment. 

"I just can't believe it happened," he admits to you, still standing there, still looking so delectable. 

you look back up at him. "of course it happened. you deserve this." 

he can see the tiredness in your smile, the way the stress has been following you around all day. he knows you're both going to be here late tonight, even after he gives his acceptance speech this evening. 

he watches as you prepare to stand from his chair, shutting your laptop. "sorry for stealing your office, my desk-" you begin, but he interrupts, walking around the desk and standing in front of you.

"where do you think you're going?" he teases. 

"uh, my desk," you quip back. what's he getting at...  

"nope. you're not going anywhere," he smiles, gently urging you to sit back in the chair. you do, but begin to protest, "Bucky, I have so much-" 

your words catch in your throat as you watch him get down on his knees in front of you. 

it's probably the hottest thing you've ever seen, but you have so much work, you can't do this here, not now-

"Bucky," you gasp as he begins to run his hands up your thighs, under your pencil skirt. "I'm so busy, and we're literally in the office, and..." you trail off as he begins to put his mouth on the inside of your thighs.

you try to protest some more, but he tells you off. 

"you gonna keep whining, or are you gonna let me make you feel good?" 

you feel lightheaded in only the best way. you nod. this is so reckless, and so unlike you, but fuck if you don't love the sight of him on his knees in front of you. 

you let him lift your hips as he rolls the skirt up just high enough to expose your entire lower half, still in awe of how strong he is, how easily he can move you without even trying. 

you feel him run his thumb up and down the wet spot on your underwear. you can't even feel embarrassed at how quickly he turned you into a drenched mess because you know he loves it. 

"that's it, that's right," he coos as you lean back in the chair, letting your eyes shut. "just relax for me." 

if you had told yourself when you first started this job that you would end up sitting in your boss' chair, with said boss about to eat you out in said chair, you wouldn't have believed it. you'd have called yourself delusional. and yet, here you are. 

you watch him use both hands to peel your panties down to your ankles before diving in. 

fuck, his tongue is exquisite. 

this is so wrong. you have so much to do. you can hear the people outside buzzing around the office, trying to get things done for you and for him, and you're in here doing this?

you don't care.

you run your hands through his hair, gripping tightly as you grind your hips against his face. in this moment, screw everything else. it's just you and him. 

the five o'clock shadow on his face does nothing but work you up even more. you lean into the feeling, letting go of all the stress, and reminding yourself of the good things, like Bucky's mouth between your legs. 

you're probably suffocating him, you realize, and force yourself to get a grip, letting go of his hair to give him room to breathe. 

he pulls back. "nah, baby, come on-"

"don't want you to asphyxiate," you pant.

"fucking hell, baby, want you to take what you need." 

no way you're saying no to that.

you lace your fingers back in his hair, interlocking them at the back of his head, and you do exactly as he told you. 

you're probably a fucking sight right now, rutting against his face like there's no tomorrow, but god it feels so good. 

he loves when you finally let loose, letting go of all inhibition to let him get you off. 

"that's right, baby, come on," he encourages, pulling back for just a minute, replacing his mouth with his fingers. "look at me."

with all the strength you can muster, you look down at him, eyes surely black with lust for him. god, his face is soaked. you let out a groan at the sight. 

"you're gonna come like this, with my mouth on you, then I'm gonna bend you over my desk, got it?"

he doesn't give you the chance to respond before his tongue is back on you, and it doesn't take much longer. your mind goes fuzzy, cotton in your ears, and you're willing it, just waiting for the drop–

you exhale deeply when it finally happens, and you let him work you through it until you twitch from overstimulation.

a moment passes where you finally catch your breath, and then he’s picking you up by the hips and seating you on the desk. your hands come to his shoulders lazily as he manhandles you, not even opening your eyes, too engulfed in the aftermath of the pleasure he's just drawn from you. 

you suppose he forgot about bending you over the desk, because he’s facing you and pulling you in to kiss him as he unbuckles his belt and pushes your legs apart with his hips. 

“you okay, baby?” he asks. 

you nod your head, eyes still shut, smiling. he chuckles. “there you go. that’s what I like to see, all fucked out 'cause of me, isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

you nod as he brings his hand to your face, cradling your head and running his thumb over the faded scar on your forehead before bringing his lips to press a light kiss to it.

you know he still feels terrible about the accident, even months later. you remind him as often as you can that it’s not his fault, shit happens. he makes sure to remind you every day how beautiful you are, scar or no scar. 

and then he’s stretching you out on his dick, making you moan out wantonly. 

he begins rambling in your ear as you cling to him, barely able to listen to his words with the feeling of him fucking you on his desk.

“this is all I’m gonna be thinking about tonight, baby,” he begins. “gonna be at that podium… reading whatever fuck-ass words on the teleprompter… thinking about you, baby,” he says, rubbing his hand over the scar again. his words are messy and breathy as he tries to get them out, but it’s music to your ears, listening to him as he takes you apart, only for him. 

“love you so much, don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispers. you lift your head from his shoulder and press your lips messily to his. there’s little coordination, and you’re too busy moaning out into the room, barely making any effort to actually kiss him, but it’s perfect. with him, it’s always perfect. 

“love you,” you whine as you get closer. “so… much… love you.”

“gonna let me fill you up, baby?” 

the fog in your head lifts for a moment as you remember where you are. you shake your head. “not now… later,” you urge him. “later, Bucky, promise.” 

he nods, and you dig your nails into his shoulders as you clamp down on him, reaching your peak. 

he pulls out only moments before he comes, making a mess all over his hands. 

you breathe heavily, leaning back on the desk, resting your weight on your palms as he cleans the both of you up. 

your eyes barely open to look up at the clock. fuck, you just lost so much time.

“Bucky, fuck, I have so much to do–” you begin, but he cuts you off with his lips on yours. 

“I know, baby. I know. but just think, tonight, after my speech, we’ll come back here and do this all over again, yeah?”

you nod. the night ahead is guaranteed to be the busiest one yet, but you know he’ll make good on his promise regardless. he’d do anything for you.

~~~

part 1

part 2

masterlist

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tag list:

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[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Better Job Offer » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky witnesses how horrible your boss is to you so he steps in and stands up for you. He also offers you a better job as his assistant, in which you happily accept.

Warnings: Angst (not you and Bucky), Fluff, language, crying, pet names

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

GIF MADE BY ME!

Bucky was walking down the street to a nearby coffee shop when he heard and seen your boss yelling at you. He stopped in his tracks with a great amount of distance between you and him to watch, just in case things got out of hand.

“What is this?” Your boss asks.

“Ice coffee.” You answered.

“I told you I wanted hot coffee, not ice coffee!” She says loudly.

“You told me you wanted ice coffee.” You say, recalling her words from a few minutes ago.

“I did not say that! Either you weren’t listening or you’re just fucking stupid!” She says loudly.

She took the lid off the cup and threw the ice coffee at you. You gasped at the coldness of the coffee and ice cubes. The coffee got all over your brand new shirt. Bucky’s jaw clenched when he saw that. He walked over to you.

“That was completely uncalled for.” Bucky says to your boss.

“She got my coffee order wrong.” Your boss says.

“So you resorted to throwing it at her?” He asks.

“Yes, because she’s fucking stupid and doesn’t know how to get anything right.” She says.

Your eyes teared up and your bottom lip quivered, a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

“She’s human. Humans make mistakes.” He says.

“Not like her. Besides, she’s barely human. She’s an idiot.” She says, looking at you.

To be honest, you hate your job. You’ve been wanting to quit for a while. You were always scared to speak up to her.

“I quit!” You finally say.

“Excuse me?” Your boss says.

“I quit!” You repeated.

“You can’t quit.” She says.

“Yes she can. She can do whatever the hell she wants.” Bucky says.

Your boss scoffs before approaching you and got in your face.

“I want your shit off your desk today.” She says.

Your boss walked away. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Are you ok, ma’am?” Bucky politely asks.

“Besides being soaked in coffee and being out of a job, I’m ok.” You say.

Bucky went inside of the coffee shop and got some napkins. He gave them to you and you tried to dry the coffee on your shirt.

“What’s your name?” Bucky asks.

“Y/N.” You tell him.

“I’m Bucky.” He introduces himself. “Can I buy you a coffee?” He asks.

“I would like that.” You smiled.

You threw away the coffee soaked napkins and walked inside the coffee shop with Bucky. You ordered your usual coffee and so did he. You and him sat down at a table to talk for a little bit.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do now that I don’t have a job.” You say.

“If you’re up for it, I have a job offer for you.” He says.

“What kind of job?” You asked.

“I need an assistant.” He tells you. “All you have to do is tell me about yourself and the job is yours.” He says.

“Are you sure you want me to be your assistant?” You asked. “You heard what my now old boss said. I’m a stupid fucking idiot that can’t get anything right.” You say, looking down.

“Hey.” He put a comforting hand on your hand, getting you to look at him. “Don’t listen to a word she said. She’s a bitch. In my opinion, I think you have potential to be an amazing assistant.” He says, making you smile.

“When do you want to interview me?” You asked.

“Does tomorrow morning at 9am work for you?” He asks.

“Yes.” You replied.

“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow, doll.” He smiles.

You and Bucky exchanged phone numbers before leaving the coffee shop. You went to your now old job to clean out your desk and went home. You wanted to get out of the coffee soaked shirt. That’s what you exactly did when you got home. You pretreated it before it stained. You made sure to print out your résumé for your job interview with Bucky tomorrow. You also picked out an outfit for your interview with Bucky tomorrow.

———

When you got there, you patiently and nervously waited for Bucky. One of your legs was bouncing up and down while you were fidgeting with your fingers.

“Sergeant Barnes will see you now.” A woman said.

You got up and followed her to Bucky’s office.

“Sergeant Barnes, your 9 o’clock is here.” The woman says to Bucky.

“Great! Thank you!” Bucky smiles as he stood up and walked over to you.

The woman gave Bucky a nod before walking out of his office. Bucky closed the door before turning his full attention to you.

“Good morning. How are you?” Bucky smiles, holding his hand out for you to shake.

“Good morning. I actually slept well last night and I don’t know why I just told you that.” You say nervously.

“Are you nervous?” He asks.

You nodded.

“It’s ok. I understand.” He smiles.

Bucky gestures for you to sit down, in which you did. He sat down in his desk chair. You nervously handed him your résumé. He took it and looked at it. You looked at the pictures on his desk, smiling when you seen a picture of him and Steve Rogers.

“Your résumé looks great.” Bucky says.

“Would it help if I said I played sports when I was a teenager?” You asked.

You felt stupid for asking that, but it was just your nerves talking. Literally.

“That’s nice to know, but you won’t be using athletic skills while you’re working for me.” He says with a smile.

“Working for you?” You asked, making sure you heard him right.

“You got the job.” He smiles.

“Oh my god! Really? Thank you so much!” You say happily and excitedly.

“You’re welcome, doll.” He says softly.

Bucky stood up from his desk chair and walked over to you. You stood up from the chair. He held his hand out for you to shake, in which you did.

“How about I show you to your new office?” Bucky suggests.

“I would like that.” You say.

You followed Bucky out of his office and across the hall to an empty office that only has a desk and a chair in there. It’s nice, spacious, and big.

“Holy shit…” You mumbled, looking around the office.

“Do you like it?” He asks. “If not, I can show you another one if you’d like.” He says.

“I like it!” You say fast. “It’s just- it’s way bigger than my old office. My old boss gave me a small supply closet as an office.” You say.

Bucky put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Forget about her. You have a way better job now.” He says softly.

You looked up at him and gave him a smile.

“Do you have any questions?” He asks.

“I have two questions.” You say. “When do I start and am I allowed to decorate my office?” You asked.

“You start tomorrow morning and you can decorate this office any way you want.” He replies.

“Really? Oh, thank you!” You exclaimed happily.

You gave him a hug, catching both of you by surprise.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry! My excitement got away from me!” You apologized profusely.

“It’s ok. I understand.” Bucky says with a smile.

Bucky, being the gentleman he is, walked you to your car after your interview.

“Thank you for the job, Mr. Barnes.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles. “Call me Bucky.” He adds.

“Bucky.” You smiled.

———

The next morning, you made sure to wake up early so you had enough time to get ready. Normally, you’re never excited to go to work, but today you are excited. You think it’s because you have a new and better job. You have a feeling you’re going to love it.

When you got to work, everyone is so welcoming. They smiled at you and said good morning to you. When you opened the door to your new office, you seen a vase of flowers on your desk. You smiled and walked over to your desk, admiring how pretty the flowers are. You were curious to know who got you flowers. That’s when you found a small card in the midst of the flowers. You picked it out of the flowers and read it, smiling when you seen you got you the flowers.

Good luck on your first day of your new job. You’ll do great.

-Bucky

“I see you love the flowers I got you.” Bucky says as he walks in your office.

“You’re so sweet. Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome, doll. I wanted to make you feel welcome.” He says with a smile.

“I do feel welcomed.” You smiled.

“I’ll let you decorate your office to your liking. Let me know if you need anything.” He says.

“I’m the assistant. Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?” You playfully joked.

“Good point, doll face.” He chuckles. “I thought you’d like to ease into the job today.” He says sweetly.

“You’re so sweet, Bucky.” You say again and smiled.

“I have a feeling that we’re going to work well together.” He says with a smile.

“Me too.” You say, smiling back.

Bucky gives you a smile before leaving you to decorate your office. You looked around your office with a smile on your face. Even though it’s your first day, you absolutely love this job. You love it more than your old job. You wouldn’t change it for the world.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[artficlly]

this is (not) fine [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x personal assistant!reader

personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), public (ish) sex?, wall sex (?), okay they fuck in an elevator guys, kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, insecure/self-conscious reader undertones, reader is an overthinker, reader is horny lol, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.1k

A/N: hi, hopefully this will keep you all fed while i work on part five to lessons in lovemaking. finally getting around to some of these requests in my inbox. this one is based off this request, but i changed it up so the reader is a PA instead of an avenger. lmk your thoughts thanx for reading <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You’d never pegged Natasha as the type who enjoyed flowers.

No, she struck you more as the encrypted-flash-drive-on-a-park-bench type, the kind of woman who appreciated mysteries with teeth. A custom leather jacket, stitched with the same precision she used to dismantle a glock. One of those sleek, low motorcycles. Not daisies. Not peonies. And definitely not whatever soft, pastel nonsense Bucky was currently handing over cash for.

You stood a few feet away, halfway hidden behind a sidewalk sign advertising oat milk lattes and gluten-free muffins, clutching a cardboard drink tray and a bag full of vegan pastries in a death grip. The barista had spelt ‘Bruce’ as ‘Broose’ again, and under any other circumstance, that would've made you laugh, but now it felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.

You liked Natasha. You respected her. You just didn’t think she had it in her to giggle over roses like the girls in those sappy rom-coms Clint insisted he hated (right before he would watch three in a row, a beer in each hand). But there Bucky was, brushing pollen off a bouquet of pale pink ranunculus, face soft in a way you’d never seen during mission briefings or sparring sessions.

And suddenly, you were building a list in your head of all the things you were sure Natasha Romanoff would rather receive as a romantic gesture: a knife, balanced perfectly for throwing, an expensive bottle of vodka, a vintage chess set with hand-carved pieces, a bottle of expensive ink and a fountain pen with a sharp nib, cookies—messy ones—overloaded with chocolate chips, or simply just black coffee, straight from the pot, no sugar, no cream. Yet, as Bucky handed it over to the redhead, she smiled. Smiled. And suddenly you felt like you were witnessing a scene you were not welcome to. 

Truthfully, it stung. Maybe it stung a little more than what was appropriate. You’d been harbouring a quiet crush on the dark-haired, sullen supersoldier from the moment he joined the team. Fresh out of Wakanda, new vibranium arm in tow, and god, he was handsome. Not in the polished, television commercial way Steve was, but in a way that made your pulse skip and your thoughts stall mid-sentence. He had the kind of face you didn’t know how to look at for too long, sharpened jaw, stormy-blue eyes, and a mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something he’d regret.

There was something electric about his stillness. Like if you leaned in close enough, you’d hear the hum of danger beneath his skin. He walked like a man who never quite trusted, drifting through the tower like he expected a fight around every corner. He barely spoke, but when he did, his voice was low and gravel-worn, something that settled right in your gut and made its home there.

He never smiled. Not really. But sometimes—sometimes—you’d catch a flicker of it when Sam teased him, or when Steve nudged him just right, and it was devastating.

And yeah, maybe you had a soft spot for broken things trying to heal.

As the Avengers’ personal assistant, it was your job to keep everyone comfortable, informed, and running like clockwork. You were a one-person organisational machine, constantly juggling the chaos that came with managing a tower full of enhanced individuals with the emotional range of a brick wall to a nuclear reactor. Your days were a blur of colour-coded schedules, back-to-back briefings, and the never-ending group chats.

You coordinated mission debriefs, booked international flights with military clearance, and handled press requests that would make most people cry. You endured complaints when Thor overloaded the power grid again, trying to make toast, and even replaced the mugs he shattered before anyone noticed. You wrangled Clint’s kids when they came to visit, sourced obscure snacks from remote parts of the world because Sam liked those protein bars, not the other ones, and Steve wouldn’t touch anything processed. You replaced a record number of coffee machines, hunted down whatever special detergent could get oil out of Tony’s designer shirts. You knew which brand of muscle balm Banner preferred and how to order it without triggering a random Homeland Security check.

And then there was Bucky.

With him, it was always a little extra, whether he noticed or not. His schedule came first in your Monday morning rounds. You made sure the pantry was stocked with the Eastern European tea he liked but never asked for, and remembered the exact setting he preferred on the tower’s training room temperature controls. You adjusted group plans so he’d be paired with Steve or Sam, just in case the crowds and questions became overwhelming. When he disappeared for a few hours, you didn’t ask questions, but you made sure no one came looking. You even swapped out the scratchy tags in his mission gear with soft ones, because he never complained, but you noticed the way he fidgeted with them.

Every day, you’d beam at him like some hopelessly love-struck idiot when you handed over his usual coffee—black, two brown sugars, just the way he liked it—and in return, he’d offer little more than a grunt. A low, barely-there sound that most people wouldn’t even register as a greeting. But you did. Somehow, that grunt became the highlight of your day.

So yeah, maybe seeing him hand over flowers to Natasha broke something in you. Not just a hairline fracture, but a quiet, splintering break that left your chest aching in places you didn’t know could hurt. Still, you understood. Natasha belonged to his world, effortlessly cool, all smoke, shadows and secrets. Yet she was kind. Not cold or unapproachable, just… carved from something rarer than you. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to be extraordinary, she just was.

And you? You were the sweet, well-meaning assistant who made people laugh in the kitchen, who fetched dry cleaning and remembered everyone’s birthdays. You were the one who labelled tupperware and chased down Clint’s kids with bandaids. You were an afterthought, the background noise in the buzzing hive which was the Avengers Tower. 

So maybe you could justify feeling jealous, but angry? No. Not really. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. And it wasn’t their fault that you’d let yourself hope.

—

Two weeks later, and you timed it perfectly, like you always did.

Just as the door to Bucky’s apartment clicked open, you rounded the corner—folder in hand, clipboard tucked tight to your side. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of ventilation and the soft thud of your heels against the carpet. Bucky stepped out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair tied back, and his hoodie sleeves shoved up just enough to show the gleam of vibranium. Predictable. It was routine, every morning just before six he would meet with Steve in the gym. On Mondays, you’d catch him just as he exited his apartment, unload the details for the week, a freshly printed schedule and all. 

“Morning,” you said lightly, handing him the week’s itinerary. His reply was his usual, a grunt. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just Bucky. That gruff, barely-there sound that once felt like a small victory. The kind of grunt that used to warm your chest when he followed it with a question, even if you knew the answer was printed in the folder you’d triple-checked. You always answered anyway. You liked having his attention, even just for a few seconds.

You used to dress the folders up with care, multicoloured sticky notes marking key tasks (blue for meetings, yellow for reminders, red for anything urgent and green for personal events). You’d highlight sections like traffic lights, add stickers you thought might make him smile, sometimes even scribble little crooked cartoons in the margins with cheesy encouragements—seize the day! 

The folder looked rather sad today, just a plain manila folder packed with stapled papers. No colours. No stickers. No effort. Just the essentials. You didn’t let your fingers dawdle when he took it. Didn’t smile like you used to. Just handed it over and kept your gaze somewhere past his shoulder.

Bucky took it slowly, eyes flicking down at the cover like he was trying to spot something that wasn’t there. His brow pinched, barely, but enough for you to notice. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, like he thought maybe he’d missed a note tucked inside.

You nodded and turned to leave, forcing yourself to shift your mind to your next chore mentally, restocking med supplies in the Quinjet, cross-checking Clint’s revised travel forms, hunting down the coffee machine Tony had threatened to ‘repurpose as target practice’. You’d have to order a replacement before the morning debrief. Double-check everyone’s dietary preferences. Update Steve on the tech room schedule. Get maintenance to repaint the lines in the training room because someone (probably Thor) had scuffed them again.

You stayed busy. It helped. Kind of.

But the guilt still trailed you like a shadow.

It was probably obvious how abruptly you changed. The way your voice had lost its warmth. The way your gaze dodged his like it might burn you. You wondered if he noticed, if he thought you'd simply grown tired of him. Maybe he had. That was better than the truth that you couldn’t stand to be near him, not when every glance felt like pressing fingers to a bruise you’d caused yourself. 

You had made your choice, professionalism. The kind of cool, curated detachment you admired in Natasha, only it felt all wrong on you, like an ill-fitting coat. You knew it was for the better, not mixing up work and matters of the heart. You’d already let your little crush spiral too far, thinking maybe—just maybe—if you tried hard enough, you’d earn more than a grunt. That he might see you as something more than the charming assistant with her clipboard and her stupid stickers. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. And that was fine. It had to be.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart over a man who had no idea he’d broken your heart.

But it was Bucky’s voice, soft and unsure, that startled you from your thoughts. “Hey.”

You paused mid-step and turned, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes as your fingers curled against the clipboard. “What’s up?”

He shifted his weight, clearly caught off guard by the fact that you stopped walking at all. He was rather devastating to look at when he grew all shy and unsure, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the folder like he didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t quite meet your eye as his weight shifted nervously, like he hadn’t thought before he called out. 

“Uh. Nothin’. Just—” He raised the folder slightly, an awkward gesture. “You usually give me the rundown. Y’know… what everyone’s doing. Who’s where. Who I’m stuck with.”

You swallowed. Of course, he’d noticed. Of course, he’d grown used to your chatter about meetings and mission rosters, about who was off-world and who was due back, like it was the weather. The casual, effortless way you used to tell him what movie was playing, who cheated at Monopoly the night before, or which team member had stolen the last protein bar. You’d always done it to help, keep him grounded, and make him feel like part of the team, like he belonged. 

But after what you’d seen two weeks ago, you were sure he didn’t need that from you anymore. Natasha would look out for him now. She’d keep him balanced, keep him fed, keep him from slipping through the cracks.

“Nothing interesting’s happening,” you shrugged. “Just the usual.”

He didn’t move. “Well… there’s that dinner. On Friday.”

You gave a curt nod, tone clipped. “Yes.”

“Wanda’s dinner,” he added, as if you hadn’t already acknowledged it.

“Correct.”

He hesitated again, brows drawing together in a faint crease of worry. You could see him floundering, stuck in some internal scramble. It made your chest ache because you knew that look. You’d helped talk him down from that look more times than anyone else in the tower probably realised.

You sighed quietly through your nose, against your better judgment, against every wall you’d tried to build in the past week, you caved. He looked five seconds away from spiralling.

“It’s in there,” you offered gently, nodding toward the folder. “On your schedule.”

“Right. It’s just… for me, you usually…” His voice trailed off, frustration and uncertainty knotting in his brow. “Sorry. You’re probably busy—”

That felt like a punch to the gut. 

You shook your head and, before your pride could stop you, your feet were already moving back toward him. His eyes dropped as you reached into your pocket for a pen, scribbling ‘Wanda’s Dinner – Friday’ on a green sticky note. Green for personal events, always. You hesitated, then added a smiley face underneath. You peeled it off and stuck it neatly onto the folder in Bucky’s hands. 

His eyes dropped to it, finger brushing over the paper like he didn’t quite understand why it mattered so much. “Thanks.”

You just nodded, already stepping back, spine straight, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering in your throat.

“She said…” Bucky cleared his throat, clearly not done with the conversation. “Wanda said she’s going to do curry.”

You paused, unsure what to do with the information. Why was he telling you that? Why was he still talking?

“That’s nice,” you said carefully, not sure what to do with this strange, lingering version of him.

“Are you going?” he asked suddenly, and you frowned.

“I wasn’t invited—” You began, already covering from the invasive thoughts, already working to mask the sting. You didn’t want to imagine them next to each other over curry, leaning close, whispering in the way people did when they thought no one else was watching. It would only make the crack in your chest worse.

“You should go,” Bucky said quickly, cutting across your thoughts. “I’ll tell Wanda you’re coming.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be busy that night anyway…” You lied through your teeth, heart thumping hard against your breastbone as Bucky’s face crumpled a bit. You cut in before he could argue any further.  “You’re going to be late. For the gym. It’s nearly six.”

“Right, shit, yeah. Sorry, I just…” He trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you around.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if you were more confused or stunned by his sudden jitters.

—

Before the whole flowers incident, you made it your unofficial mission to ‘accidentally’ bump into Bucky as many times as humanly possible in a day. Now? It was the opposite. Every hallway was a trap to avoid, every room a potential ambush. Navigating the Tower had turned into something between a tactical stealth op and a personal game of hide-and-seek.

Unfortunately, your strategy for quiet withdrawal hadn’t gone unnoticed.

In fact, Bucky had picked up on your sudden cold shoulder almost immediately. The folder debacle had only been the first of many increasingly awkward run-ins.

There was the time you’d practically sprinted away from the elevator when the doors slid open to reveal him standing inside, a brow raised and coffee in hand. Or when you turned a corner too fast and walked straight into him, muttering a rushed apology before disappearing again like you were being hunted. Then there was the silent, painful breakfast you’d shared at the communal kitchen counter, where you busied yourself with peeling an orange for ten minutes straight while he sat beside you, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.

You’d even pretended to be asleep on the common room couch when he walked in one evening, piles of paperwork scattered, laptop still open, only for him to drape a throw blanket over you before quietly leaving again.

And yet, instead of giving you space like you’d expected and hoped for, he seemed to find any excuse to be around you. He trailed after you like some misplaced puppy whenever he wasn’t buried in a mission or holed up in a meeting.

You’d assumed that the moment you stepped back, he’d naturally gravitate toward spending more time with Natasha. It made sense. Why wouldn’t he want to be around her? They were obviously dating, even if they hadn’t made it official yet. Maybe it was one of those quiet, close things kept just between friends, like Steve and Sam. Who were you to come barreling in and expose their secret entanglement? You expected Bucky to be relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of your babbling, your perfectly-timed coffee deliveries, or the not-so-subtle gifts you littered around. 

But if anything, Bucky seemed determined to figure you out. Like your sudden shift had become his new pet project, and he was personally committed to cracking the case.

You’d taken the back hallway, the long, winding route that steered well clear of the gym on your way to the shared office. High-traffic areas were too risky now—too many chances to run into him. But clearly, Bucky had caught onto your little detours, because as you turned the corner, there he was, headed straight toward you.

You froze for half a second, pulse quickening. Turning around would be too obvious. Suspicious. He’d know exactly what you were doing, and then your carefully-constructed avoidance strategy would unravel entirely. If he suspected anything now, you were one panicked backpedal away from confirming it.

It was a nightmare. And a daydream.

A part of you, some soft, hopelessly romantic piece, ached at the sight of him, at the quiet way he seemed to look for you, worry always etched into his brow like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. But the rational part of your mind, the part that had dragged you into this self-imposed emotional lockdown, screamed that letting him get closer again would only undo all the fragile healing you’d managed to piece together.

So you steeled yourself.

Shoulders squared. Laptop and paperwork clutched like a lifeline. Eyes locked on an imaginary point just past his shoulder. If you kept walking and moved quickly, calmly, maybe he’d let you go. Perhaps he’d pretend not to notice how your pace picked up and your gaze carefully avoided his.

You nearly made it.

But of course, he noticed.

“Hey, wait—”

His voice was hesitant, just enough pressure to pull you to a stop. Your footsteps faded into the hush of the corridor, your spine straightening instinctively as you turned. Bucky stood a few paces behind, one hand lifted halfway between reaching and retreating, like he’d almost grabbed your arm but lost the nerve. 

He looked sheepish. Timid, even. It killed you.

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. “Did I… forget to grab my coffee this morning? Or… did you not bring it?”

A pause. Too long. You could feel the beat of your pulse behind your sternum as you forced a casual shake of your head.

“No, sorry. That’s on me. Slipped my mind.”

The lie didn’t sit well in your mouth.

It hadn’t slipped your mind, in fact, it was still sitting on the corner of your desk, cooling beside a stack of unfinished paperwork. You’d brewed it, as always. Even used the brown sugar he liked. But then you’d walked away from it, deliberately, like some idiotic breadcrumb trail you hoped he might follow.

God, you were pathetic.

Your stupid fucking brain couldn’t even decide what it wanted anymore. One half of you was charting escape routes through the tower to avoid him, the other was fantasising about him pinning you to the nearest wall. From the way your thighs pressed together now, breath catching as his voice brushed over you, maybe the answer wasn’t distance at all. Perhaps you just wanted to taste him—

He didn’t move. Just stood there, one brow lifted, faint worry creasing the edge of his expression.

“You’re usually down by the gym by nine,” he said, his voice low. “It’s eleven.”

“I’m running a bit behind today.”

“You usually text me if you’re running behind.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “I didn’t this time.”

He paused, the silence between you laced with something dangerously close to concern. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a small laugh, trying to shake off how his low, worried voice made heat pool in your gut. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem off.”

There it was. Soft, plain and far too knowing. He said it in that maddeningly sincere way that only he could manage. Like he actually gave a damn. Like this wasn’t unravelling you by the day.

Your shoulders tensed. “Off?”

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Just… I dunno. You’ve been quiet lately.”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know about the hours you spent spinning in your head like a lunatic, trying to compartmentalise this crush until it shrank into something survivable. About the way you’d stared blankly at Tinder profiles, your phone clutched in your hand, wondering why no one else ever came close, why none of them were him.

Why you couldn’t stop thinking that if you’d just told him—confessed that stupid crush before Natasha did—maybe you wouldn’t be standing here now like some stray mutt, sniffing around for scraps of attention.

Maybe then he’d be yours.

Maybe then you wouldn’t be fantasising about quitting just to put yourself out of your own misery like some lame racehorse.

“I’ve just got a lot on my plate,” you finally mustered, tone strained. “Tony’s soirée. The fittings. Admin crap. Didn’t even have breakfast today.”

His brows furrowed further. “That’s not good.”

“I’ll survive.”

Would you, though?

Would you survive the heat that flared low in your stomach every time he got too close? Would you survive the ache that gnawed behind your ribs every time he glanced over at Natasha like you didn’t exist? Would you survive the constant, desperate craving to be touched by him? To be looked at like she was looked at?

He didn’t speak for a second, and for a moment, you were sure he could smell the reek of desperation on you.

“The oranges in the fridge are gone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And the tea. The fancy one,” he added. “The one with the dried raspberries in it. You’re the one who always restocks them, aren’t you?”

You looked down, fingers clenching around your folder. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping forward a half-inch, enough to make your breath hitch. “I just… I didn’t realise it was you. Doing all of that.”

Of course, he hadn’t because you’d made it invisible. Seamless. That was the kind of care you practised—silent, anticipatory, never asked for, never returned. You had cared for him with a thousand tiny efforts, but he never noticed until you stopped.

You looked up, and the hallway felt suddenly too narrow. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. Gentle, confused, like he was trying to work you out and couldn’t quite bear not knowing.

You dropped your gaze. “I said I’ll do it.”

He paused. You could feel him thinking again.

Then, to your disappointment, he slowly nodded. “Okay.”

But he didn’t move. Not right away. He lingered like someone who hadn’t yet decided if leaving was the right call, like he was caught between concern and curiosity. 

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just nodded and turned, walking away quickly before he could see your face fall, before he could catch the naked want in your expression, the way your heart was clawing against your ribs, screaming for you to turn around and ruin everything.

—

If time travel were an option, you'd gladly launch yourself into a wormhole and strangle your past self for being stupid—no, lovesick—enough to organise this little errand. You deserve it, really. A swift kick to the gut from future-you for being this hopeless.

It had all started a month ago, when you, like a fool, volunteered to collect the tailored suits and dresses for some little soirée Tony Stark had decided to throw. Of course, in true Tony fashion, what was pitched as a ‘casual get-together’ had evolved into a full-blown, black-tie spectacle. The first warning sign? Tony footing the bill for everyone to have custom outfits made to their specifications. Translation…this was going to be a thing.

You’d spent weeks wrangling Avengers into fitting appointments, helping them choose fabrics and cuts, managing last-minute alterations and tracking shipments. It was exhausting but under control…until the catch. The aggravating, absurdly attractive, brooding catch currently sitting across from you in the tailor’s waiting room, his knee bounced like it was transmitting a detailed morse code manifesto on every possible way he planned to ruin your day.

The plan had been simple: grab an Uber, pick up the garments, pressed, stitched, and boxed to perfection and head back to the tower. But then you got the call. The one that told you Bucky Barnes had missed his final fitting, and that his suit needed some last-minute adjustments...

Of course he did.

Of all your perfectly laid plans, it only took one missed appointment to bring it all crashing down. Now here you were, stuck waiting beside the man who occupied far too much of your brain lately, silently praying the tailor would finish quickly so you could escape before your sanity, or your dignity, completely unravelled.

“I really am sorry,” Bucky said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Between the brooding and the nervous leg tapping, he’d spent the last five minutes watching the side of your face with an expression so guilty it was practically carved into him.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” You replied, though it came out a little too tight, a little too forced, like you were speaking through clenched teeth. Which, maybe you were. Not that it mattered. Not when you could smell his cologne from how damn close he was sitting. God, you wanted to lean over and bury your face in his chest and just inhale—

You straightened abruptly, shoulders stiffening as the tailor entered the room, and mentally reacquainted yourself with the concept of boundaries.

It had been an hour—sixty minutes of waiting while Bucky’s suit got its final adjustments. An hour of you trying to distract yourself with work emails and unanswered texts, pretending the man beside you wasn’t single-handedly causing your emotional stability to nosedive. At least when he’d stepped away to get re-measured, you could breathe without risking spontaneous emotional combustion.

This wasn’t like you. You weren’t usually this wound up. Maybe it was the exhaustion, days of juggling your regular duties with Tony’s ever-growing list of soirée demands. Perhaps it was the heartbreak. Or the missed meals. Or the fact that you genuinely had no idea what day it was anymore.

“Would you like to try it on before we package it up for travel?” the tailor asked, her voice gentle. A measuring tape hung loosely around her neck, her pinned bun fraying slightly at the edges.

Bucky looked at you again, eyes flicking toward yours like he needed permission. You swallowed what was left of your pride and gave him a slight, strained nod.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry—again—this is probably eating into your whole afternoon, I know how busy you are—”

“It’s fine. Really. Just go.”

He offered a sheepish smile before disappearing behind the velvet curtain, tugging it closed with a rustle. You pressed your fingers to your temples, let your head drop into your hands, and exhaled through your nose like it might stop your heart from trying to break out of your chest.

Across the counter, the tailor glanced up at you with a sympathetic look as she readied the boxes for the other garments. “Long day?” she asked gently.

You lifted your head, managing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Only going to get longer.”

You were still nursing the tail end of your sigh when the velvet curtain swished open again.

And then your brain stopped working.

Bucky stepped out in full formal attire, sharp navy suit, tailored within an inch of its life. The cut of it hugged his frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. A deep navy waistcoat peeked out beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the light just enough to look expensive without being flashy. His tie was already perfectly knotted, like he’d done this a hundred times, and the sleeves of his shirt revealed just enough of the polished metal edge of his vibranium arm to make your mouth dry.

He cleared his throat softly, tugging at one cuff. “How’s it look?”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Words? No. Words were gone. Your vocabulary had packed up and left the building.

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly mistaking your slack-jawed silence for disapproval. “It’s weird, right? The waistcoat maybe doesn’t work, I told her I wasn’t sure about it—”

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. “No, it’s… It’s perfect. You look… great. Seriously.”

His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his face. Relief, maybe? 

“Yeah?” he said, glancing down at himself, tugging slightly at the jacket hem. “I feel better about it now. The sleeves fit properly this time. Thanks for waiting.”

The tailor beamed from behind the counter, clearly proud of her work. “Wonderful. I’ll box it up immediately once you’re out of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the tailor turned to you with a friendly smile before he could disappear again.

“And for you, would you like to try your gown on as well before I pack it away?”

You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your holy-shit-Bucky-hot-hot-hot haze. “My what?”

She gestured toward the row of garment bags. “Mr. Stark sent over your measurements earlier this month. There’s a gown here for you.”

You frowned. “That must be a mistake. I’m just the assistant. None of those are for me.”

The tailor hesitated. “I don’t think so… He was very clear. Your name was attached to the order.”

Before you could argue, Bucky cut in smoothly, like he’d seen this train coming and stepped in to redirect it.

“Tony probably just wanted you to look the part, too,” he said, voice low and casual. “You’ve done all the work, he probably figured you deserved to enjoy the night a little. Might as well try it on, just in case.”

You glanced at him, but he didn’t look smug or teasing. Just… earnest. Calm. Like he meant it. Which made it all the harder to protest.

“Fine.” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Just to check it fits.”

The tailor clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. It’s a beautiful gown, I promise.”

You gave Bucky one last side-eye before following her toward the changing rooms, the fabric bag already in her hands.

From behind, you could hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Just wait 'til you see her,” the tailor murmured to herself, and you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply nervous.

The gown was heavier than you expected. Luxurious fabric slipped off the hanger like water, pooling in your arms as she handed it over with the kind of reverence usually reserved for wedding dresses.

“I’ll give you a minute,” she smiled, disappearing to finish boxing up the suits.

Left alone in the changing room, you peeled out of your clothes, letting the gown slide on over your hips, your waist, up past your ribs. It clung like it had been sewn directly onto your body, the bodice snug, the neckline just daring enough to make you blush. 

You twisted to try to reach the zipper at the back, fingers fumbling and straining, but the angle was impossible. You spent the better part of five minutes twisting in the mirror like a lunatic, trying to reach the zipper that refused to budge. Your arms ached. The corset bodice was half-fastened. You were flushed, annoyed, and far too aware of the sliver of bare spine still exposed.

You were about to peek your head out and ask the tailor for help when a low voice cut in behind the curtain.

“Need a hand?”

You flinched, fabric clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bucky! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was rougher than usual, like he’d just cleared his throat. “Heard you cursing. Tailor said she’d be a minute out back.”

You hesitated, and your voice came out thin. “Yeah. I—I can’t get it up.”

“Okay,” he replied, oddly determined. “Turn around.”

You cracked the curtain open a pinch. He ducked inside, too broad for the narrow space, his frame practically filling it. He was careful not to look at you directly, at least at first.

You turned slowly, presenting your back. “Just the zipper,” you murmured, barely trusting your own voice.

“Sure,”

A single fingertip, cold metal, dragged up from the base of your spine to the dip between your shoulder blades. It barely touched the skin, but you shuddered from the sensation. Bucky wasn’t even fastening yet, just tracing the line the zipper would follow. The sound you made was too soft to catch. 

The zipper came up slowly. Agonisingly. His knuckles brushed your skin every inch of the way, not by accident. No, this was too slow, too precise, to be innocent.

He was savouring it.

His other hand steadied you, palm ghosting just over your hip. His breath fanned warm against your shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he commented.

You swallowed hard, unable to muster a response. 

When he reached the top, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, he swept your hair off your shoulder completely, fingertips grazing the line of your throat as he let it fall over one side.

He leaned in. Not touching, but close. Mouth just behind your ear. The heat of his breath against your neck. 

“Should’ve let me help sooner,” he whispered, voice like a purr. “Would’ve had you dressed in seconds.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere halfway as your lungs deflated in shock. And maybe it was the gown. Or the silence. Or the way your thighs pressed together of their own accord, but you didn’t move. You didn’t step away.

You leaned in.

Only a fraction. Just enough.

He noticed.

You could feel it in the slight shift of his stance. The faint sound of him exhaling a chuckle through his nose. The way his hand brushed ever-so-slightly along the small of your back before falling away.

And then he was gone.

He stepped back like nothing had happened. Like the tension wasn’t choking the air between you. You turned toward the mirror in a daze.

The dress shimmered in the soft light. Deep, elegant, form-fitting. The neckline exposed the curve of your breasts, the slit at your thigh scandalous enough to make you self-conscious.

You caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching you, but not with the restrained professionalism you were used to. It was only the sudden reentrance of the tailor that made him hesitate in whatever words were forming on his tongue. He stepped aside, finally giving you space to exit. And you did—legs shaky, palms sweating—like a deer walking straight back into the forest fire, pretending it wasn’t about to burn.

—

Your plan to avoid Bucky after the tailor incident had gone off without a hitch, maybe a little too well. You'd buried yourself in helping Tony pull together the final touches for his ‘soirée’ (which, if you were honest, was less soirée and more ‘black tie circus in a penthouse’).

You'd been so laser-focused on your tasks that you'd almost managed not to think about Bucky in that goddamn changing room. His fingers ghosting up your bare spine like a spark setting fire to dry kindling. You’d folded instantly. Your body betrayed you instantly while your brain screamed to keep it together. Pathetic.

The moral implications of whatever that moment had been were filed away for another day. Were you the other woman? Was Natasha going to slit your throat in your sleep? What was Bucky doing, touching you like that—in a public changing room, no less—when he had a bombshell redhead waiting for him back at the Tower?

No time for that now. Not when Tony’s precious ‘soirée’ was already in full swing upstairs and the caterers had somehow forgotten an entire section of the food. You’d scrambled together an emergency order from some overpriced restaurant Tony swore he was ‘basically family’ with, and by some miracle, they came through in the nick of time.

Now you were in damage control mode, hauling three boxes of overpriced canapés up to the penthouse. Your heels bit into your feet with every step, your dress clung too tightly to bend properly without your tits spilling out, and your patience was hanging on by a single goddamn thread.

You pressed the elevator button with your elbow and exhaled as the doors slid open.

Drop off the food. Grab a free drink. Drown your Bucky-related sorrows. Maybe, just maybe, keep the beast between your legs from waking at the mere sight of him.

The doors began to close. You shifted your weight, careful with the boxes balanced in your arms—

Then someone slipped through at the last second.

Him.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

Tall and devastating as usual in his dark navy suit, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief, or maybe carelessness. You weren’t sure which one made you feel worse.

Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to the floor, feigning sudden, all-consuming interest in the stability of your precarious tower of hors d'oeuvres. But teetering stacks of overpriced finger food or not, Bucky didn’t seem inclined to play along with your avoidance act. Not now. Not when the elevator doors had sealed you in together, finally, and you were without escape.

You winced at the sound of his sharp inhale, the question already pressing past his lips before the elevator even jolted into motion.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

You didn’t look up. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you muttered, “What?”

“I just…” His voice was rough. Tired. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit.

He stepped forward slightly. Not enough to be invasive. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You hardly talk to me anymore,” he continued. “Won’t even look at me unless it’s about work. And even then, it’s like you’re somewhere else. Did I do something to offend you? Hurt you? Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

The elevator hummed to life beneath your feet, gliding upward smoothly. You shifted your weight, bracing against the cool metal rail, eyes stubbornly fixed on the buttons, anywhere but his maddeningly perfect face.

“You haven’t done anything,” you said quietly, the words tasting sour the second they left your mouth.

“Then why are you doing it now?” he asked, eyes searching yours. “Why won’t you even look at me?”

“Bucky…”

“Please. Just tell me.”

You hesitated. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for your arm, then faltered, falling back to his side. Your grip tightened on the containers, your fingers slick with sweat. “It’s not you,” you murmured. “It’s me… I just…”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Please,” he said again, quieter now. “Tell me the truth.”

And that was what did it. The tremor in his voice. The way his brow creased like he couldn’t stand not knowing. Something broke open inside your chest, raw and unhealed. The dam cracked, split, then gave way completely, and the truth came spilling out before you had the chance to swallow it back down. You were exhausted. Wound tight. Running on fumes and nerves and far too many feelings. You’d tell him, you decided. Then drop off the canapés, quit on the spot, and flee the country if necessary. Stark would write you a killer reference. You’d survive.

“Okay,” you said, breath hitching as a nervous laugh bubbled out, half-bitter, half-resigned. “You want the truth? Fine. You’re going to think I’ve completely lost it.”

He stayed quiet, letting you spiral.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered. “I like you, Bucky. There. I said it. I like you. And it was fine—manageable—until it wasn’t. Until I started imagining things. Thinking maybe… maybe you liked me too.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but unreadable.

“I’ve had this massive, embarrassing crush on you since the moment I met you. And I know it’s weird, and probably unprofessional because you’re kinda my boss, but not. Technically, Tony’s my boss, but I basically manage everything around here, and—ugh, I’m rambling.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I like you. And I’ve been avoiding you because it was getting out of hand. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it felt wrong. Especially since you’re dating Natasha, which just made everything worse—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice sharp. “I’m not dating Natasha.”

Your eyes snapped open. “That’s what you took from all of that?”

“No, I—wait. You think I’m dating Natasha?”

“Yes!” you burst out, cheeks flaming. “I saw you! At the Sunday market about a month ago with the flowers—”

His brow furrowed. “What flowers?”

“The bouquet you gave her.”

“I didn’t give Natasha flowers.”

You let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “I saw you. It was that dumb little market Tony makes me go to for those overpriced vegan pastries Pepper loves—”

Bucky stared at you, confused. And then, slowly, understanding clicked into place. His face contorted like he’d just remembered he’d left his stove on.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “The flowers. Those weren’t for Natasha. They were for Wanda.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“Vision,” Bucky groaned. “It was their anniversary. He was stuck on the phone trying to get a fancy reservation and begged me to pick them up. Natasha tagged along because she was hunting for jewellery for Maria’s birthday. That’s all it was.”

You blinked at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied earnestly. “I didn’t know you thought that. I swear, I’m not with Natasha. I never was.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god.”

“Hey—”

“No. No-no-no.” You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to sink straight through the floor. “This is mortifying. I literally thought you were in a secret relationship. I’ve been avoiding you like the plague. I’ve been thinking about moving cities. I googled how hard it is to change your name legally.”

He snorted. “You’re not serious.”

You opened your eyes, and the horror must have been plain on your face because Bucky’s expression melted into something far too amused. “Oh, you are.”

“I might never recover from this,” you mumbled. 

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”

“I confessed my undying crush and accused you of being in love with someone else in the span of like, sixty seconds.”

His mouth twitched, lips threatening a smile. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re spiralling.”

“I’m going to chuck these hors d'oeuvres at your head.”

As if mocking your attempt at dignity, the elevator gave a slight mechanical whirr, nearly at the top floor. The distant hum of the party pulsed just beyond those sleek doors.

You straightened suddenly, panic creeping into your chest. “Okay, I’m going to deliver these and then I’m leaving. Possibly forever. Please never speak to me again.”

But Bucky, ever faster than you, stepped in.

And before you could react, he pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt. The tower of overpriced hors d'oeuvres wobbled dangerously in your arms. “Oh my god,” you gasped, teetering.

Bucky was already moving, steady hands catching the top box before it could topple, plucking the rest from your shaking grasp. He crouched to stack them on the floor carefully, then rose slowly, smirking as you stood frozen, mouth agape in pure horrified disbelief.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?”

“No more running,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You could barely breathe. “You stopped the elevator?”

“Didn’t want to risk the doors opening and you disappearing into the night,” he said, a little too pleased with himself.

“I hate you,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel his breath. “No, you don’t.”

You were going to die right here in a metal box. With your dignity in ruins and the man of your dumb, desperate daydreams giving you that look.

And somehow, somehow, you didn’t even want to stop him.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t shut down. Please.”

You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes and immediately wished you hadn’t. They were dark. Hungry. That gaze alone could melt you to the floor.

He stepped closer again. And again. Until his frame caged in you, his arms braced on either side of your head, the heat of his body swallowing you whole.

“I like you too,” he said, low, rough, like it was pulled from deep inside. “Christ, I was so blind. I didn’t see it. It didn’t click until that day at the tailor, until I saw you in this damn dress.”

Your breath hitched.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for excuses just to be near you. I keep the notes you leave me with the stupid little drawings. I like looking at them. Thinking about you.”

Your heart felt like it might crack your ribs.

“I smelled every shampoo at the store one day,” he confessed, almost sheepish, almost proud. “Hoped I’d find the one you use. Because you smell so fucking good. It’s been driving me crazy.”

“Bucky…”

“I don’t know. You make me feel special. Seen. Like I’m not some monster, like I’m normal. And then one day you were just… gone. I didn’t realise all the little things you did for me that I never noticed.” He groaned, somehow pressing closer. “I missed the sound of your voice… and it made it hurt even more… I lie awake at night, every night, thinking about you and how much I want to kiss you—”

“Bucky.” You interrupted, and he looked back at you with a barely contained hunger. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

You gasped into it, and he swallowed it whole, groaning as he pressed harder, deeper, hands sliding down to your thighs as he grabbed one and hitched it up around his waist. You clung to his shoulders, lips parted as he slotted himself between your legs, guiding you up until your ass was perched on the elevator’s handrail bar.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “Tell me that you want this, tell me that you want me.”

Your head fell back against the wall, lips swollen, breath shaking. His mouth travelled to your jaw, your throat, hands digging into your hips.

It was dizzying. Chaotic. Perfect. 

“I want you, Bucky.” You panted.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered again, but this time it was different, lower. Hungrier.

His hand slid along your thigh, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of your dress. You panted as he kissed across your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands settled on your knees, then slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.

“Bucky—” your voice was barely more than a whisper, a tremble of anticipation and disbelief.

But he didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees.

Right there. In the goddamn elevator.

You almost came on the spot at the sight, lips swollen and slick with saliva, pupils blown, the slight smudge of your lipstick on his chin. His hands slid up the back of your calves, kneading into the flesh like he was savouring the shape of you. Your dress inched upwards, his mouth suddenly pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

Your breath hitched. Your hands shot to the railing behind you, clutching tight.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice wrecked with want, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with something dangerous. Devotion, desire, something molten and drowning. Then his mouth moved higher.

Another kiss. Inner thigh this time. Then another, and another, slow, lingering, like he was memorising you. He disappeared until the fabric of your skirt, only the back of his head, dark locks messy peaking out from between the slit. 

You moaned, soft and involuntary, your hips twitching at the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your panties. He nuzzled in close, his nose brushing against you, and his hands pressed firmly to your thighs to keep you spread.

“I’ve thought about how you’d taste,” he muttered, lips grazing the soaked lace. “How you’d sound.”

You whimpered.

And then, he peeled your panties to the side.

The groan that tore from him was obscene.

“Jesus,” he hissed, voice muffled. “You’re fucking perfect.”

And then, his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Relentless. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in it as his tongue licked into you with precision, with hunger, with something close to worship. He devoured you like he was starving. Slow circles, then quick flicks, his mouth dragging across your clit with maddening rhythm. You writhed against the rail, your leg still wrapped around his shoulder, the other trembling against the elevator wall.

“Oh my god—Bucky—fuck—”

Your words slurred together, breath coming in ragged gasps as he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. One of his arms snaked around your thigh, pinning you in place, as if he thought you might try to escape. As if he’d let you.

His tongue slid down, dipping into you, then back up, his mouth latching onto your clit with a filthy, wet sound that made your spine arch. You were unravelling, fast, dizzy, overwhelmed.

He pulled back just enough to pant. “I could stay here all night.”

His mouth was merciless. His grip was unrelenting on your thighs, mouth working you over like a man possessed—

Bzzzzt.

A shrill, sudden buzz sounded from the elevator’s emergency panel, followed by a crackling voice.

“Hello? This is Tower Maintenance. We’re registering an emergency stop on lift three. Is there an issue?”

You froze. Every muscle in your body went rigid, as if someone had cracked open your spine and poured ice water down it. Dread spread like frost through your veins. Your heart thudded painfully in your throat, threatening to climb up and out entirely.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

This was it. This was how you died—legs spread, Bucky between them, and Tower Maintenance on the fucking line.

Bucky, in sharp contrast, did not freeze.

He groaned softly with wicked glee, his mouth still very much between your legs. The sound vibrated against the most sinful part of you, and then he doubled down. Mouth and hands working with infuriating, diabolical precision, like he’d just taken the intercom as a challenge.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, the other shaking as you reached blindly for the emergency call button, trying not to sound like you were seconds away from being ruined.

Your voice came out like a panicked squeak. “Hi! Uh—h-hi, yes, sorry! Must’ve been a—a small electrical fault. I’m fine! Everything’s… fine!”

Bucky nipped at your thigh in response.

There was a pause. You could feel the suspicion through the line.

“Ma’am, we’re not showing any electrical inconsistencies in that shaft. Did you press the stop button?”

You shot a wide-eyed glare down at the man currently devouring you.

Another wave of pleasure threatened to knock the air from your lungs. You were barely holding it together, every nerve ending aflame, skin flushed, thighs shaking. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your spine did little to ground you.

You cleared your throat, struggling to piece together something—anything—resembling human speech. “Oh. Oh, that—um, I must’ve bumped it. With my elbow. While holding a tray. It’s, uh—crowded. In here.”

Bucky chose that exact moment to suck hard, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the helpless sound that nearly escaped.

A longer pause. You could practically hear them frowning.

“…Right. Well, we’re releasing the stop now. Please remain calm.”

The line disconnected.

The elevator jolted slightly as it roared back to life.

Bucky gave a dark chuckle. “Crowded, huh?” Then—with zero mercy—he sped up.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back against the wall, “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You shattered.

It hit hard, hot and blinding. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as he groaned against you, mouth not stopping for a second, drawing it out, milking every twitch, every whimper. You barely had time to breathe, let alone moan, your hands flying to steady yourself just as the elevator dinged cheerily and the doors slid open.

Right into the penthouse. Packed full of people, who by some miracle, were utterly oblivious to your predicament. 

You staggered slightly as Bucky stood smoothly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, one arm slipping around your waist to steady you while the other casually reached down and grabbed the stack of forgotten canapés off the floor like he hadn’t just—

“Evening,” he greeted a passing staff member, utterly unbothered.

You were glowing crimson, pupils blown, lips parted, trying hard to fix your face. Bucky guided you forward, his hand warm on your back, keeping you between him and the crowd as your legs trembled. You barely managed to set the tray on the nearest table before someone whistled.

“Well, damn,” came Sam’s voice from the drinks bar. He gave you both a once-over, a wicked grin spreading. “Buck, next time you’re gonna eat face in the elevator, maybe wipe the lipstick off your chin first.”

Bucky only smirked and licked his bottom lip slow, on purpose, you were sure of it.

You nearly combusted on the spot.

“Bathroom?” he murmured into your ear, low and gravelly.

You nodded quickly and wordlessly.

He guided you with all the smugness of a man who had no regrets, his hand just a little too low on your back to be innocent.

---

hi, if you enjoyed please let me know! drop a comment below, reblog or send me something through my inbox! thank you for reading my work :) if you want to stay up to date with any series updates or new one-shots being posted, follow my sideblog @artficlly-updates and turn on notifications.

[thegirlnextdoorssister]

Hello! Long time no talk.

So, I have hopped on the dating app train. Any tips and tricks yall may have would be greatly appreciated. 

[thecubanator2]

I’m a sucker for a good nickname

Cuffing Season

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x f!assistant!reader (any race)

WC: 6.3k

Summary: Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes

Warnings: boss/assistant dynamic, swearing, pet names [Sir, little dove], oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), mentions of alcohol (everyone is of age!)

A/N: This one has been in the works for a while, originally i'd wanted to post it on Bucky's birthday but that didn't work out :/ anyhoo... I hope you enjoy it!! Please let me know what you think <3

main masterlist | one shot masterlist

You’re never late; it’s one of your best qualities. It’s honestly part of the reason Mr. Barnes had hired you even though some of the other applicants had more experience. As the assistant to the CEO, your days are filled with coffee runs, phone calls, and lots of ‘yes sirs,’ but you certainly don’t mind. It’s a good job, pays well, and Mr. Barnes is incredibly easy on the eyes.

You set down a fresh cup of coffee on Mr. Barnes’s desk precisely one minute before he’s supposed to arrive. He’d never asked you to do it, but the first time you left the coffee for him and saw that smile he barely ever shows off, you knew you’d have to do it every morning. It’s the highlight of your day.

The ding of the elevator startles you, and you scamper out of your boss’s office just as the doors slide open, revealing the mountain of a man you work for. His hair is clipped short and tight. His clothes fit perfectly; you’ve never seen this man not looking his best. You sit down at your desk outside his office and type away at your computer, playing the game you do every morning with him. You pretend like you don’t know where the coffee comes from, and he pretends to be surprised.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” you say brightly. It’s 7 AM, and before getting this job, you’d never been a morning person. A lot can change when people are properly motivated.

“Good morning, Dove,” he replies, looking up from his phone for just a moment to meet your eyes. The nickname had taken you by surprise the first time he said it, but now it rolls off his tongue so easily, and you can’t deny the effect it has on you.

You spin around in your chair to peek through the window in his office, watching as Mr. Barnes picks up the coffee cup you’d left on his desk. He smiles down at it and shakes his head. He does this every morning.

“Excuse me, miss?” A nasally voice calls from a few feet away. Instantly you know who it is, and any happiness watching Mr. Barnes had brought you evaporates. You spin back around in your chair and find Patricia, the head of Finances, tapping her foot on the other side of your desk. She knows your name; you’ve worked for Mr. Barnes for two years now. She just chooses not to call you by it. It’s probably a way for her to feel more powerful than you, you think.

“How can I help you, Patricia?” You ask sweetly. She cringes and rolls her eyes, continuing to tap her foot.

“Production and Marketing just dropped off these reports. Please give them to James and make sure he gets my note.” On top of the two report folders is a hot pink post-it note with frilly writing on it. You take the folders from Patricia and smile at her instead of responding to what she’s said. She walks away, heels clicking on the floor.

You glance down at the note and find exactly what you always do. Patricia has been trying to seduce Mr. Barnes for longer than you’ve worked for him, and you can see why she’s been so unsuccessful. Her flirtatious notes are lackluster and just uncreative. You want to crumple the note and throw it out, but Mr. Barnes has told you not to interfere with his business, so you don’t.

After checking that he’s not on the phone, you knock on his office door a few times. He grunts that you can come in, and you gently open the door. Over the past two years of working for Mr. Barnes, you’ve picked up on what bothers him. He hates when people throw his door open or slam it shut. He hates when people wear too strong of perfume or cologne. He hates cold coffee but only drinks tea iced.

“I have reports from Marketing and Production for you, Mr. Barnes. Patricia just dropped them off along with a note for you on top.” You set them down on an empty spot on his desk, and you catch him rolling his eyes when he sees the pink note Patricia left.

“Is this one as bad as the others?” He asks, peeling the note off the folder. You stifle a little laugh knowing you shouldn’t be reading them, but it’s hard to keep your curiosity at bay.

“Honestly, it’s not as bad as the last one, certainly less graphic.” Mr. Barnes snorts out a laugh and pulls out a folder from his desk. When he flips it open, you see all of Patricia’s notes from the past few years stuck in there. Mr. Barnes adds the newest note and tosses the folder back into the drawer he grabbed it from.

“Thank you for bringing these in, Dove.” You take note that he’s nearly done with the coffee you’d brought him earlier. You’ll make sure to get him his tea soon.

“Of course, Sir.” You give him a smile and a nod, then turn around to start heading out when you remember he has a few new meetings today. “Oh, and also–”

“Why don’t you call me James?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. A hint of a grin sits on his face, and you bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling at it.

“Because you are the CEO, and I am your lowly servant,” you reply with a teasing tone. Sometimes, on days you’re feeling bold, you joke around with Mr. Barnes. And sometimes, when he’s feeling generous, he teases you right back.

“My lowly servant, huh?” You nod and raise your eyebrows as if it’s the only truth you’ve ever known. “Well then, what did my lowly servant need to tell me?” You lose the battle with yourself and smile like an idiot at him.

“You have a meeting with Mr. Rogers at noon and with Mr. Banner at three. They both called to confirm, and I told them you’d email them ASAP.” Mr. Barnes nods, and you see the glint in his blue eyes. It means he’s up to something. You’d think that after two years, you’d be better at figuring out what he’s planning, but Mr. Barnes is the most confusing and elusive man on the planet.

“Thank you, Dove.” You flash him another smile, then sit back down at your desk. Though you do your work, your thoughts cling to the look in Mr. Barnes’s eye. What did it mean?

Your question remains unanswered as the week goes on. It isn’t until Friday rolls around that you get some sort of answer. Your desk phone rings, and the sound pulls you from the email you were reading.

“Good afternoon, you’ve reached the office of James Barnes. How can I help you today?” You scribble your pen on a pad of paper to get the ink flowing when you hear the familiar voice of Steve Rogers on the other end. Steve has been a long-time partner of the company and a lifelong friend of Mr. Barnes. He stops by frequently and always brings you a bagel from the shop down the street.

“Dove! Just the girl I was lookin’ for.” You laugh a little but listen as he continues. “So, as you probably know, it’s the big guy’s birthday on Wednesday. ” Actually, you didn’t know that. In the two years you’d worked for Mr. Barnes, he’d never mentioned his birthday. Other people had celebrations at the office, but never the CEO. You’d tried stalking him on social media, but he was nowhere to be found. Even Google didn’t have the info.

“Oh, wow, no, I didn’t know,” you say, guiltily chewing on one of your nails.

“Honestly that doesn’t surprise me, Buck hates celebrating. But, this is a big one so I’m not giving him a choice. Since the man never takes off work, we can’t celebrate on Wednesday so I’m thinking Saturday. Can you clear up his schedule and get him to the party?” You flounder for a second, unsure how to respond. You glance down at the calendar in front of you when Mr. Barnes swings his office door open.

“Dove, is that a call for me?”

“Uh, no– I mean–” You feel sweat beading on the back of your neck. “Um, Sir? Are you still there? I can do that. That works for me. Thanks!” Without waiting for a response from Steve, you slam the phone down into the receiver and act as natural as possible.

“Are you okay?” Mr. Barnes asks, taking another step toward your desk. “You never get that flustered on the phone, is something going on?” You’re surprised he’s noticed how good you are on the phone normally.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say, trying to sound chipper to compensate for how clearly nervous you are. “Just feeling kind of out of it, is all.” Mr. Barnes nods, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you.

“Okay, just let me know if you need anything.” You force a smile, and it’s tight on your face. He doesn’t buy it.

“Of course, thank you, Sir”

"Call me James, Dove. How many times do I have to ask?” His words are teasing, but you can tell he's really asking.

“One more time, please, Mr. Barnes” He rolls his eyes at you, and once he's in the elevator, you give yourself a pat on the back for your banter.

You quickly go through Mr. Barnes’s schedule and confirm that Saturday is wide open. Then, you shoot Steve an email. Your final task for the day is to find him the perfect gift, but what do you buy the man who already has everything?

When you walk into the office Wednesday morning, you're full of nerves. You make sure to arrive extra early to set up the few birthday items you've brought. You certainly wouldn't call them decorations, Mr. Barnes is a no-nonsense man, and you imagine he doesn't like balloons and streamers.

First, you set down his coffee, making sure the "happy birthday" note you'd left on it faces his desk chair. Then, you tuck the birthday card you'd written into his planner. Finally, you place your gift on his organizer's 'in' shelf. The box is small and wrapped in plain navy blue paper, a thin white ribbon tied into a simple bow sits on top. You haven't put your name on anything you've brought. You never tell him when you go out of your way to do things for him. Why start now?

You glance at your watch and see that Mr. Barnes will be arriving in a few minutes, so you make your way back out to your desk. An email from Steve pops into your inbox detailing the plans for Saturday. You cringe a little bit, remembering what you'd agreed to do, but Steve seems pretty excited, so hopefully, it'll all be worth it.

Somehow, you have to wrangle Mr. Barnes and deliver him to his surprise party at a restaurant on Saturday. How are you going to do this? You're not sure yet.

You begin typing out a response to Steve when Mr. Barnes's familiar heavy footsteps make their way toward you. "Good morning, Dove," he says in his usual tone. You give him a friendly smile and try not to give away your excitement.

"Good morning, Sir." The second his office door swings shut, you swivel around and watch his reaction to your surprise. After the first sip of his coffee, Mr. Barnes looks at the cup and sees the note. He doesn't smile like you expect him to. Instead, his brow furrows, and he shakes his head a little.

Shit.

Then, he pulls his planner out of the drawer and flips it open to today, March 10. Your card catches his attention, and as he reads it, the crease between his eyebrows fades just a bit. The sparkle in his eyes returns, but again no smile.

Finally, he notices the gift box. You weren't sure about it when you'd bought it, and now seeing his reaction to everything else, you have half a mind to snatch it out of his fingers before he opens it.

You don't take it from him. Instead, you watch as he carefully tears open the paper. He opens the velvet box and stares down at your gift—two custom engraved cufflinks. You'd seen them in the store window and were instantly drawn to them. The shop owner let you do the engraving for free, and you couldn't say no.

Mr. Barnes pulls the silver cufflinks from the protective satin and runs his fingers over them. It'd been easy to come up with what to engrave them with, though now you're having some doubts. They read, "Till the end of the line,' You've heard the stories from Steve about how Mr. Barnes had said that since childhood, then it eventually became the unofficial slogan for the company.

He must feel your eyes on him because suddenly Mr. Barnes's blue eyes shoot up to meet yours. You've been caught, and you can't really pretend like you hadn't been staring. The look he gives you sends shivers down your spine; you feel frozen.

You fight against that feeling and turn back to your desk. Though you can still feel his eyes on you, you focus on your emails and any messages that have been left overnight. Once you hear him shuffling around in his office, you finally relax a bit. Your thoughts swim with doubt about if you should've gotten him the present, but the damage has already been done.

The phone on your desk rings, and when you glance down at the name of the caller, Mr. Barnes' extension flashes back at you. You pick up the phone and try not to sound too nervous. "Yes, Sir?" You ask timidly.

"I'm going home for the day. Reschedule my meetings." He hangs up and a minute later, storms out of the office. He doesn't even say goodbye.

Saturday comes sooner than you’re ready for, and you’re more stressed than ever. Mr. Barnes didn’t come to work the rest of the week; no one had heard from him. You’d called Steve to see if you still had to get Mr. Barnes to the party, and despite your attempts to get out of it, Steve insisted.

You park across the street from Mr. Barnes' building and lean your forehead against the car window, staring up at the top floor. He lives in the penthouse, but he owns the whole building. It took you all day yesterday to come up with your plan to get Mr. Barnes to his party, but now, sitting outside, you’re not sure if it’ll work.

After glancing at your phone quickly to check the time, you know it’s now or never. You clamber somewhat ungracefully out of your car and into the building. The receptionist gives you a look as you walk straight to the elevator bank, but you ignore her and press the button to call the lift.

The penthouse button taunts you as it flashes, your heart beats in your throat as the elevator rises up up up to your inevitable doom. When did you become so pessimistic? Mr. Barnes isn’t that bad; he’s always been kind to you. There’s nothing to worry about.

The elevator dings, and the chrome doors slide open to reveal a sleek black door. It’s the only place to go, so you step in front of it. The door, too, seems to mock you; you can see your reflection in the paint. You look timid, meek. How are you supposed to get Mr. Barnes to go to a party he obviously doesn’t want to attend? He seemed to have hated your birthday gift. Will he even open the door for you ? There’s only one way to find out.

You knock three times.

Silence. Shit.

“Mr. Barnes?” You call, knocking a few more times. “Mr. Barnes, it’s me. Are you available?” You hear a slight noise from the other side of the door, and your heart speeds up a bit. The door swings open, and there he is.

Mr. Barnes stands in front of you in all his shirtless glory. Your eyes trail down his shoulders, chest, and abs, but before they can reach the waistband of his sweatpants, you snap out of it.

“Why are you here?” He asks, leaning against the door frame. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, showing off the V of his lower abs. Your mouth waters but you scold yourself. You’re not here to ogle your boss. You’re here to get him to his secret birthday party that he is sure to hate.

“There’s an emergency,” you say, twisting your fingers together behind your back. It was the only plan you could come up with, and as the words leave your mouth, you know how silly it sounds.

“An emergency,” he repeats. Mr. Barnes lets his eyes roam your figure, you’re not dressed for work, but you’re not quite dressed for the party either. You didn’t want to tip him off to your plan, so you’re wearing a black skirt that’s a bit shorter than you’d normally choose for work and your favorite blue blouse that hugs your figure. “You don’t look dressed for an emergency,” he adds, his eyes flicking back up to yours.

“Well, it’s the weekend,” you reply pitifully. “May I come in?” You ask as you push past him and step into the penthouse. It’s bold of you. You’re never bold around him. The space is huge, you can’t imagine how much it would cost to rent it. You stride toward the couch and try to ignore the feeling of Mr. Barnes’ piercing blue eyes on your back.

“What’s gotten into you, Dove?” He mumbles as you sit on his couch. You cross your legs and fold your hands in your lap while Mr. Barnes sits beside you, reaching an arm along the back of the sofa. This wasn’t part of your plan. You turn to face him and force your eyes to stay trained on his.

“I got a call from HR. They need you to make an appearance today. It’s urgent.” You hate the way your voice wavers on the lie; you’ve never been able to lie to Mr. Barnes. He huffs a laugh and smirks. He knows you’re hiding something. His fingers twitch as they shift down the couch and to your hair. He twirls a lock of it gently, and your breaths shudder.

“You’ve never been good at lyin’, little Dove,” he says in a gravelly voice that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers continue to twirl in your hair, making it harder for you to focus on your plan.

“Well, I have no idea why you would say that, Mr. Barnes. Now, I must insist that you come with me to the location so you can get the situation under control.” You stand abruptly and wobble on your heels. One of his hands shoots out to stable you, strong fingers gripping your waist.

“Oh, if you insist, Dove,” he says teasingly. He doesn’t stand; he just holds you and stares. Mr. Barnes looks at you like he could devour you, like a predator stalking its prey. You let out a shaky breath, but he still doesn’t join you.

“Please,” you say quietly. Your boss shifts on the couch, spreading his legs slightly. His sweatpants are tighter around his thighs, leaving little to the imagination. He looks incredible. “Please.” It’s pitiful that you’re begging Mr. Barnes to show up to his own birthday, but you can’t stop yourself.

Mr. Barnes smirks up at you from the couch, and you swear your heart stops beating. He’s still holding onto your waist, and without thinking, you rest your hands on his wrists, holding onto him. He rises, standing at his full height, and towers over you.

In the light of his apartment, his blue eyes look brighter than ever. They shine like glass, mirrors reflecting the image of yourself back to you. You’re trapped, he’s caught you, but even though everything inside you is screaming at you, you don’t mind.

You’ve always thought Mr. Barnes was attractive, you have eyes for christ-sake, but you never thought you’d act on anything. And it’s so much more than his looks. It’s his sense of humor, his personality. The way he takes care of everyone around him while maintaining his grumpy persona. It’s the kindness in his eyes, his smile lines, his mind.

“What’re you thinking about, Dove,” he asks, a small smile on his lips. He smells amazing, pine and sandalwood filling your nose. It makes your head fuzzy, your knees weak.

“That we’re gonna be late,” you say, not fighting the haze that overtakes your head. Mr. Barnes’ hands leave your waist and trail up your body, up your arms, until they find your face. He stands, cupping your cheeks, fingers reaching back into your hair, thumbs rubbing circles on your skin.

“No such thing as late when you’re the boss, Dove,” he replies, wetting his bottom lip. The boss. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it, about Mr. Barnes clearing his desk to sit you on top of it. You’ve thought about his hands on you, exploring your skin. The way his lips might feel on your neck.

You feel the slightest amount of pressure from his hands, and it’s enough to bring you back to the present, out of your thoughts. You suck in a deep breath but just get a head full of his incredible smell.

“Mr. Barnes, I–”

“Can I ask you something?” He whispers, breath fanning out on your face.

You nod.

“Let me kiss you.” You must be dreaming. This isn’t happening. His fingers rub your cheeks, his calloused skin screaming that no, you’re not dreaming. This is real, and oh fuck it’s happening.

“That’s not a question.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“Let me try again.” He tilts your head up so you have nowhere to run and leans in, pressing his lips to yours. Mr. Barnes tastes like coffee and something sweet, like chocolate. He’s warm and welcoming, but there’s power in his kiss. That power makes you clench your thighs; it makes butterflies explode in your lower belly.

“James,” you say with a shuddering breath when he pulls away to breathe. It’s the first time you’ve called him that, and judging by the smirk on his lips, he likes it.

“Fuck, Dove, you can’t do that to me.” He shifts, and you feel his erection brush against your front. The idea that you turn him on, that he feels the way you do, makes you want him even more.

James shifts his hands and lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your hands hook around the back of his neck, and he looks up at you with a devastating smile. He nips at your collarbone, where it’s exposed by your blouse. His hands grip your waist and ass with strong hands. Despite having a desk job, James keeps up his strength. You can feel his abs beneath your core, providing the perfect friction, but it’s not quite enough.

“James,” you mumble against his lips, nipping slightly at them. He’s a damn good kisser, better than you ever imagined.

“Say it again, baby,” he mumbles, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“James,” this time, it comes out a moan. He kisses you lifeless, stealing your breath from your lungs. He kisses away your worries, your thoughts of the surprise party, the stress of work. James groans and shifts you to grind your core against his shirtless abs, and you swear your soul leaves your body.

“I fuckin’ love it when you say my name, but you know what’d be even better?” James walks the two of you over to his couch and sits so you’re straddling him as he sits upright. You shake your head in response. You’re not sure anything could be better than this.

“No, I don’t, Sir,” you say, using his title without realizing it. James groans, and his head lolls back against the couch.

“You can call me that, or you could call me Bucky.” Bucky. You’ve only ever heard Mr. Rogers and Mr. Wilson call him that, never anyone else.

“Bucky.” It feels good on your tongue; it sounds sweet in your ears.

“You can call me that any time, okay little Dove? I fuckin’ love the way you say it.” He attaches his lips to your neck, kissing you sweetly. He nips at the skin, biting it gently, causing you to moan.

“Bucky,” your voice surprises you, but it spurs Bucky on. His hands wander down your body, caressing each inch, every curve. He fingers the buttons on your blouse and flicks them open to expose your bra. It’s black, nothing fancy, but the way he stares, it’s like you’re wearing the most expensive lingerie.

“Holy fuck,” he moans, palming your chest with his large hands. You lean into the touch, encouraging him. Bucky smiles; it’s a mischievous thing full of ideas for you. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

You glance down at Bucky, the way he looks at you; no one’s ever looked at you like that. No one’s ever called you perfect. He looks at you like he’s never seen anything like you.

“No,” you reply, letting your hands travel up and down his arms.

“Well, then I’m never gonna shut up about how fucking gorgeous you are, pretty girl. You were made for me.” He captures your lips again, and his hands grip your hips. You take the lead, gently grinding against his crotch. The friction on your clit makes you buzz with energy, but it’s not enough. You need more.

“Bucky,” you groan, but he understands. He presses harder against you, moving with you in perfect time.

“Gettin’ greedy, pretty girl, you want more?” He taunts in a sugary sweet voice.

“Please, Bucky,” you beg, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“I love when you say that.” He flips the two of you over and lays you down on the couch, your head resting on the cushions. Bucky rests himself on top of you, kissing you and feeling you. It’s almost too much; your brain is screaming at you to do something, anything to help you with the need for him.

It’s like he can read your mind. Bucky begins to shift himself down off the couch, so he’s kneeling in front of you. Your breath catches in your throat; you’ve never seen him like this.

He parts your legs, settling between them, and leans down to where you need him most. Bucky’s fingers gently push your panties to the side. It’s like he’s in a trance. His eyes flash to yours, and you know you’re a goner.

Electricity shoots through your body when he brings his lips to your clit. You relax into the plush couch and let your eyes fall shut. Bucky is a fucking expert, and it’s honestly unfair that you’ve had to wait this long to find out. He works you up easily, finding all the right spots that make you go crazy. Your fingers reach into his hair, tugging it lightly. He groans, spurring you on.

“Holy shit, Bucky,” you moan, curling your toes. He holds your legs open with his hands, but you know if he wasn’t, they’d be wrapped around his head. A moment later, you’re on the edge, the band in your belly is about to snap, and you chant his name like a prayer, begging him to keep going.

He doesn’t let up. His fingers dig into your skin as yours scratch his scalp. When you come, it’s intense, it’s all-encompassing, and you swear you blackout for a second. Bucky litters kisses along your thighs and abdomen as you come down from the high, letting his hands wander and soothe you.

Eventually, Bucky pulls away, and you whine at his absence. “So fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” he says with a grin, licking his lips. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.” You stare at him, and it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time. His smile is so genuine, and it fits his face perfectly. You can now see that lines on his face that you’d once thought are from being broody are actually from his smile. You’ve just never seen the real thing before.

“I need you,” you whisper vulnerably. Bucky’s eyes soften, and he crawls on top of you and kisses you deeply.

“Music to my fuckin’ ears, Dove,” he mumbles against your lips. He kisses down your neck before pulling away and digging through his coffee table until he pulls out a condom. You watch him unabashedly as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes and rolls on the condom. He does the entire thing with a smile, watching you watch him.

Bucky leans back down, positioning himself between your legs. His cock lays heavy on your abdomen, and you suck in a breath.

“Please,” you whisper, staring up at Bucky’s bright blue eyes. He kisses your forehead, breathing you in. He leans his forehead against yours and lines his cock up with your pussy.

“Fuck, Dove, need you so bad.” You nod, and he presses himself into you. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, leaving tiny crescent moons in his skin.

“Bucky,” you shutter. Your mind is void of coherent thought; all you can think about is Bucky pressing himself into you, of how it feels to have him all over you.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, Dove,” he says through gritted teeth. When he’s fully seated inside of you, you feel like you’re about to split in half. He’s big, bigger than you’ve ever had and you’re honestly surprised he fit.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan, resisting the urge to wiggle your hips. The way he’s pressing into you, you can’t tell where you start and he ends.

“Made for me,” he whispers as he sets his pace. He thrusts hard and deep; you can practically feel him in your throat. “So perfect, Dove.” Bucky kisses you before moving one of his hands down to where your bodies meet, finding your clit easily. He rubs slow, languid circles despite the pace he’s set.

Bucky is gorgeous like this. In the office, he keeps all his emotions locked away; he’s stoic and grumpy. Now, he shows you everything. His brow is furrowed with concentration; he bites his lips as he pounds into you.

He hits spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed, taking you closer and closer to your peak. Your hands scrape up Bucky’s back, feeling the rippling muscles below his skin. His strength amazes you and makes you want to explore more of him.

You can tell Bucky is close by the way his hips start to stutter, losing pace. You’re nearly there as well, and you tell Bucky as much, begging him to not stop, to please keep going. He doesn’t slow down, but he fucks you harder, deeper, than before. He leans down and kisses you, it’s all teeth and tongue, but it’s perfect.

You come when he bites your lip, it sends you flying over the edge, and you practically scream. Bucky comes too; he holds you tightly to himself as you both recover.

Your phone rings loudly from wherever you’d dropped it earlier, and it startles both you and Bucky. He pushes himself up off of you despite your protests, but you know you need to answer the phone.

Bucky chuckles to himself as you find the offending electronic and answer the call. Mr. Rogers’ contact flashes on the screen, and your eyes go wide. You’re so so late.

“Hello,” you say, holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder. You try to gather your clothes, but Bucky has already done that for you.

“Where are you?” Mr. Rogers asks, sounding a little frantic. You mouth thank you to Bucky and dress without dropping the phone.

“Sorry, traffic,” you lie, buttoning up your blouse. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Mr. Rogers sighs loudly on the other side, but there’s not much you can do about it now. How did you let this situation get so out of hand? You don’t regret it, not one bit, but maybe you could’ve chosen a better time to have the best sex of your life.

“Okay, please get here quick. People are getting antsy.” Your stomach turns; this isn’t going well.

“Of course.” Mr. Rogers hangs up, and you finish dressing frantically, your nerves about the party suddenly returning.

“What was that about?” Bucky asks, wearing only his boxers. Your mouth waters as you look at him, but you know you can’t get distracted again.

“Oh, uh, HR. We’re late,” you flounder, attempting to keep eye contact with Bucky while lying. He raises a suspicious eyebrow at you but nods. Maybe he bought it this time.

“I’ll get dressed then we can go,” he says, kissing your cheek before heading to his room to dress. You let out a big breath and check your messages, finding that Mr. Rogers had texted you four times before calling. You’re definitely going to be in trouble when you and Bucky arrive at the party.

A few moments later, Bucky strolls out of his room in his usual PR outfit; a nice suit, tie, and dress shoes. He fiddles with the cuffs on his shirt, and you shove your phone into your purse, now isn’t the time to stress about something you no longer have control over.

“I’ll drive,” you say quickly before he can object. Again, Bucky nods.

The venue of Bucky’s surprise party is a restaurant 10 minutes from his place. You get there quickly, and the second you pull into the parking lot, Bucky shakes his head.

“What?” You ask, pulling your keys out of the ignition. The two of you get out of the car and begin to walk toward the entrance. You shoot Mr. Rogers a quick ‘we’re here’ text and say a little prayer that people are still there after the wait.

“Nothin’ Dove,” he says, resting a hand on your lower back. When you walk into the restaurant, the hostess welcomes the two of you and walks you to the back of the building. She opens the door to the large party space, and you’re greeted by a room full of people shouting, “Surprise!”

Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs a little, then glances down at you at his side. He squeezes your waist. You’d expected him to let go by now.

“Thanks, everyone,” he says, running his other hand through his hair. Mr. Rogers pushes through the crowd and claps Bucky on the back.

“Happy birthday, Buck,” he shouts, handing Bucky a beer. Mr. Rogers moves to hug you, and you return the gesture, though Bucky’s hand remains on you. “That’s new,” he says, pointing to the point of contact.

You stare up at Mr. Rogers, not sure how to respond, but Bucky smiles.

“Been a long time coming,” Bucky says gently, letting his eyes roam your face. Steve laughs and squeezes your shoulder before heading out to keep talking to the other party-goers.

The party is in full swing, and as you mingle, you start to relax. Bucky makes his way to each person and thanks them for coming even though he doesn’t like celebrating his birthday. After people have given all their birthday toasts, Bucky finds his way back to you. As you’re about to ask how he’s doing, Steve suggests that Bucky say a few words.

Bucky begrudgingly raises his glass, and everyone does the same.

“If you know me, you know I don’t like my birthday. But, if you know Steve, you know he doesn’t care. Thanks, Stevie, for the party; here’s to it being the last.” On that morbid note, everyone drinks from their glasses. You watch as Bucky drinks, and something flashes near his wrist. He’s wearing the cufflinks you bought him.

“I thought you didn’t like ‘em,” you say, catching his wrist. You thumb over the cufflink, feeling the tiny engraved words.

“What? Why?” Bucky furrows his brow, watching you fiddle with his wrist.

“Your reaction, I just thought you didn’t like them.” Bucky flips his hand so he’s holding yours, calloused skin rough against you.

“I was just surprised, is all,” he says gently. “I don’t like celebrating my birthday, and when I saw you’d gotten me a gift, I knew something was up. I went to talk to Steve to try to get him to cancel the party, but he wouldn’t listen. The cufflinks are beautiful, and I love what they say. It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten, Dove. Probably my favorite thing I’ve gotten for my birthday.”

Bucky’s eyes are soft. You sink into them and nearly get lost.

“I’m glad you like them,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

“I love em.” A wide smile spreads across your face and soon, Bucky wears one as well. It suits him.

“Happy Birthday, Mr. Barnes,” you say, teasing him a little. Bucky rolls his eyes and kisses your forehead.

“You know, I actually take it back. My favorite thing I’ve gotten for my birthday, hands down, has to be the little stunt you pulled back at my place.” You feel yourself getting turned on at his admission, at the mischievous grin he flashes as he speaks.

“Really?” You ask, trying not to make how much you want him too obvious.

“Really, Dove. The sounds you make, the way you taste, the feeling of your pussy gripping the fuck out of my cock. There’s nothin’ better.” You sway on your heels, leaning into Bucky.

“Shit,” you mutter, feeling your arousal increasing.

“Why don’t you let me have another taste? How’s that sound, dove?” He asks, taunting you.

“Please.”

“If it’s always gonna be like this, I think I might just have to start celebrating my birthday again,” Bucky says on a laugh, guiding you toward the bathroom. “Happy birthday to me.”

please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my future works! must be 18+

@peaches1958 @prettylittlepluviophile @writerwrites @w0nderw0mansw0rld @haws3x @meetmeatyourworst @cwbucky

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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