bonkybuchananbarnes

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

Hypersonic Missiles

Summary : Congressman Barnes falls in love with a fiercely progressive senator. What happens when he starts regretting going into politics at all?

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x senator! reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Cursing, Fluff!!!! Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Sexual references, sexual themes, and implied sex, though no overly graphic descriptions. hurt/comfort. Based on the spoiler-y leak from cinema con that Bucky barely lasts half a term as a congressman.

Word count : 9k

Note : This is based on the song of the same title by Sam Fender. I am on a roll, folks. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes never meant to get involved in politics.

He’d done the hero thing. The therapy thing. The ‘try to date but freak out in the middle of brunch’ thing. He even tried the ‘live in Brooklyn and pretend to be normal’ thing, which mostly involved awkward small talk at the local bodega and staring at walls for unhealthy amounts of time.

Running for Congress had been… weird. 

It was just a dare that people gave him, and he took it half-seriously. 

He didn’t think he’d actually get in. 

It was supposed to be one term, a few speeches, some votes. Smile for the camera, shake some hands, look like a functioning member of society. Do enough to convince the world—and maybe himself—that he wasn’t just a broken weapon trying to pass as a man.

And then he met you.

An independent senator born into old money—exactly the kind of person he was supposed to be suspicious of. Legacy Ivy League, tailored suits and dresses that probably cost more than his first apartment, and the kind of name people recognised from museum wings and political dynasties.

But you were something else entirely.

You were a walking contradiction: born into wealth, but ferociously progressive. The kind of person who argued that people like you should be taxed more. That inherited wealth was a societal rot, and the system was rigged in your favour. You were intelligent, articulate, relentless— and you meant every word.

He first saw you during a bloated committee hearing on national defense spending. Bucky had spent most of it zoning out, trying not to twitch every time someone mentioned “strategic elimination” like they were ordering lunch. And then you walked in— heels clicking, shoulder squared like you were preparing to box a colleague. 

When you took the floor, you destroyed a five-star general with nothing but a mildly uninterested tone and a stack of paper. 

Technically, he was supposed to be paying attention. Taking notes, even engaging in conversation. But his brain short-circuited somewhere around “our national priorities are upside down,” and all he could think was very sinful thoughts about you.

It was deeply humiliating.

He wasn’t some starry-eyed intern. He was a hundred-year-old super soldier with a metal arm and enough emotional trauma to fill several Olympic-sized swimming pools. But you had him blushing like a teenager and rethinking every life choice that led to this moment.

“General,” you said, voice sharp as glass, “let me get this straight. You’re asking for a thirty-two billion dollar increase to the black budget, and yet you can’t provide so much as a redacted audit?”

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the space. Not yet.

“I have constituents rationing insulin and getting evicted over hundred-dollar rent hikes,” you continued, “And you’re sitting there telling me you need more stealth bombers?”

“Senator, we need to keep foreign powers in check—”

“Oh?” You tilted your head and smiled a scalpel. “Since you’re asking for a blank check, let’s have a little transparency. I want a full accounting of every regime change operation we’ve bankrolled with taxpayer dollars. How many foreign elections have we meddled in this year, General?”

The room shifted. You heard the uneasy scrape of a chair leg, felt the flicker of glances darted like knives.

The general’s teeth clenched. “Senator—”

You leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished wood, spine straight as a bayonet.

“This isn’t about national security,” you said, like the room belonged to you. “This is about institutional gluttony. This is about feeding the military-industrial complex while our infrastructure rots and veterans sleep on the streets.”

That one hit him.

Bucky shifted on his feet, pulse getting too quick for comfort as your words carved clean through the theater of power like you had no time for pageantry. 

God, you were so pretty.

Not pretty like a diamond on a pedestal. Pretty like lightning. Pretty like the kind of woman who left men aching and terrified all the same. Pretty like you’d taste like red wine and righteous fury.

Bucky adjusted his tie. Bad move. His hand was shaking.

“Until then,” you said to the general. “you’ll have to win your wars with the money you already wasted.”

Then the general backed off, and Bucky watched the way your mouth pressed into a faint, satisfied line. You turned slightly, eye sweeping the room. You didn’t look at him, not really, but it still hit like a sucker punch.

It was his first week. He hadn’t voted yet. He hadn’t been whipped into line by the party. And there you were, ruining and making his day at the same time. 

The first person in the chamber who didn’t sound like a politician. 

He watched you sit down, watched your blazer slide just enough to flash the curve of your throat, the delicate line of your collarbone, and he thought:

Oh, I’m fucked.

—

It didn’t stop there.

He started noticing your name everywhere. Not just in headlines or on committees, but stamped onto action. He did some research, and found that your office quietly funded a network of off-the-books health clinics in rural counties the state wouldn’t touch. Through your “charity”—technically a nonpartisan foundation—you rerouted your family’s trust fund into safe needle exchanges, mobile mental health vans, domestic violence shelters in red districts, and reproductive care buses that crossed state lines.

He soon realised you didn’t wait for the system to work. You circumvented it.

And then you got back on the floor, dragging corrupt policy into the light with a dangerous smile. 

“If we have money for drones, we have money for dialysis. If we can find $14 million to research a new combat exosuit, we can find money to put roofs over people’s heads,” you said once. “Let me be clear: I'm not against defense. I'm against waste. I'm against empire. I'm against bleeding the people dry while contractors get rich off fear. Patriotism isn’t writing blank checks to private corporations. It’s making sure kids don’t go to school hungry.”

And when anyone tried to counter, quoting national security you said, “Fine. But fund healthcare. Fund education. Fund the VA. Fund cyber security that doesn’t involve selling civilian data to private firms. Don’t sit here and sell me a war machine when our bridges are collapsing and towns still don't have clean water.”

And every time, Bucky felt something deep inside him unravel.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He was supposed to stay quiet, play the game, and vote his party’s way.

But you weren’t playing. You were rewriting it.

And he was obsessed.

He’d scroll through C-SPAN footage like it was porn, watching you deliver moral beatdowns with the prettiest smile he’d ever seen in his overextended life. He caught himself lingering outside your office more than once, pretending to check his phone, knowing your aides saw him. Knowing you probably did, too.

—

AFTER HOURS

U.S. Capitol – Private Committee Room

It was Bucky’s second month in Congress when you called for a private meeting.

You just put your name on his schedule— no context, no agenda.

He told himself it was probably routine. Some strategic alignment thing. You were an independent— you needed people you could count on. 

Or perhaps, it was a courtesy meeting. Maybe you wanted to trade notes on legislation or something.

Bucky spent the three days leading up to the meeting nervous. He didn’t know why. 

You were younger than him, one of the youngest senators ever sworn in. Smaller than him, too—he was a six-foot hunk of super soldier beef, and yet you were the one who made his palms sweat.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened the door to the meeting room you booked out. 

Definitely not this.

The room was dark, save for the warm glow of a desk lamp and the shimmer of DC lights bleeding in from the window. 

You were at the head of the long table—blazer off, sleeves rolled to your elbows, collar loosened just enough to show a line of cleavage that made his thoughts derail immediately.

You looked up when he entered. “Close the door, Barnes.”

He froze for a second.

You arched an eyebrow. “Unless you want them to hear how badly I’m going to make you admit what you really think.”

His heartbeat spiked. 

He closed the door and locked it.

You didn’t stand, didn’t even offer a seat.

He sat anyway, opposite you.

“You’ve been voting neutral on defense amendments,” you said, voice smooth as butter and sharp as the stiletto heels you always wore. “Even when they gut oversight. Even when they reroute billions to black ops programs.”

“I’m not here to make waves.”

“That’s a coward’s answer,” you said calmly, though he could hear the grit through your teeth. “And you are not a coward.”

His muscles flexed. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you haven’t said a damn word in committee,” you said, “I know you abstained on the surveillance expansion, but signed off on the military budget with a barely legible signature.”

You stood.

Bucky sat straighter, his breath hitching. 

Fuck.

He watched you walk as you circled the table.

“I’ve read your file,” you said, now behind him. Your voice was close, borderline intimate. He could feel your breath in his ears, feel his body trying not to react. “Not the redacted fluff they released to the public. The real one. I know what you were turned into. What they did to you. What you could be.”

His fists clenched in his lap. Where were you going with this? 

“I’m not trying to use you, Barnes,” you murmured, and your tone shifted— now gentler, more empathetic. “I’m trying to wake you up.” 

You leaned in. Your lips grazed the shell of his ear, and that was when he stopped breathing.

“You’re not a weapon anymore,” you whispered, “But you could be a bomb, placed exactly where they won’t see it coming.”

He let out a deep breath through his nose. “And what?” he managed to rasp, “You light the fuse?”

You moved in front of him now, stepped between his knees, hands braced on the table behind you.

It was so casual, so maddeningly dominant, towering over him without ever needing the height.

It was devastating.

“I fund clinics they won’t touch. I move money across invisible lines to make sure queer kids in red states stand a chance. I've bought entire warehouses full of Narcan to smuggle into countries that don't believe in harm reduction,” you slammed a first in the table behind you, “I’ve turned every cent of my family’s blood-soaked money into a spear— and I’m not done yet. I have already lit the fuse, Barnes. I just need someone to spread the fire with me.”

Bucky knew exactly what you were doing. You weren’t virtue signalling— you were trying to set a standard. You need him to know what that standard was.

He stared, chest heaving, locked on the soft dip of your throat, on the way your shirt pulled just a little too tight across your chest, how your lipstick hadn’t smudged even a little.

“You… is this even allowed?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“I’m free to do as I wish with the money I inherited,” you told him.

You leaned down again, just enough to let your neckline dip further—just enough for him to realise how much he wanted to fall to his knees for you and stay there.

“Tell me something, Barnes,” you said. “When you look at all those men selling war—do you want to follow them?”

“…No.”

“Do you want to stop them?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

You smiled a wicked smile then. It tasted like victory.

“Then stop compromising for your party’s sake. You’re not Switzerland, James. You’re a powder keg with a heart,” you sighed, brushing dust off his shirt, “Be useful.”

And just like that, you stepped back, smoothed out your sleeves, picked up your folders, already reading through your next meeting like you hadn’t just dismantled his thoughts.

But before you opened the door to leave, you paused.

“Next time you vote,” you said, looking back. “Try using the part of you that’s still dangerous. Not the part that wants to be forgiven.”

Bucky knew he shared values with the party he belonged in. But for the first time, he wondered if they lacked the spine.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

House Floor – Defense Authorization Act Vote, Section 42: Expansion of Overseas Military Facilities

This was the kind of amendment that slipped under most radars— buried in bureaucratic language, pretending to be“regional stabilisation.” On paper, it looked harmless. Just another billion-dollar expansion of drone bases and “forward operating stations” in oil-rich regions that happened to be politically unstable.

For most in the room, it was routine.

For Bucky Barnes, it was a line he couldn’t cross. Not after he was used as the Winter Soldier. 

He sat there, card in hand, listening as name after name was called. Every “yea” felt like a drumbeat, a reminder of how easy it was to slip back into the machine, how easy it was to disappear into the grind of votes until your hands were bloody and your conscience ran dry.

He could see all these men in suits who’d never seen war, pushing buttons that sent kids to die. And then he saw you, across the chamber, watching him like you already knew.

You didn’t blink.

“Congressman Barnes?” the clerk called out.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Nay.”

The room didn’t react all that much. One no vote in a sea of yeses. The machine kept churning.

But you heard him.

—

TWENTY MINUTES LATER

Antechamber off the Rotunda

You didn’t knock. Just opened the door and stepped in like you had every right—which, of course, you did.

You found him leaning against the far wall, jacket off, tie loose, eyes fixed on some invisible point in the middle distance.

“You broke party line,” you said.

He didn’t look at you. To be honest, he didn’t know what to say.

You walked in slowly, like you weren’t sure whether you wanted to punch him or drag him into your office. Maybe both.

“You know what you just voted against?”

“I read the whole thing,” he said, looking down. “The base in northern Syria is going to displace an entire village. The one in Nigeria is three miles from an elementary school. And the contractors running ‘support services’ are private militias with a human rights record almost as bad as Hydra’s. I recognised one of their tattoos, actually. The head of the program used to work for the winter soldier program.”

You stared at him.

He finally turned to look at you.

“I watched them build empires with blood,” he said. “I’m not signing off another one.”

You let the confession just sit there for a few seconds, untouched. 

Then, you stepped closer, “You think you’re a good man for finally seeing it?”

“No,” he said. “I think I’m already too late.”

You were close now— almost chest to chest.

His breath was shallow, but steady, as if stepped into a fight he wasn’t sure he wanted to win.

You tilted your head, “Then why do it?”

He looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to the present. “Because you asked me to stop pretending.”

And that—that did something to you.

He wasn’t apologising. He wasn’t posturing. 

He was offering.

Not a clean conscience. Not redemption.

But loyalty to the version of himself that you saw. 

Your hand came up, fingers brushing the lapel of his shirt.

And then—because this wasn’t the time, and because you both knew what would happen if you gave in now—you let go and stepped back.

“You’re not off the hook,” you said, already walking toward the door. “You’ve got a long way to go before I believe you’re not still sleepwalking.”

He didn’t follow.

But when you glanced back just once, he saw your… approval.

The kind that could either kill a man or remake him.

Bucky was excited to see which he would fall under. 

—

After that, tension built. 

Every committee hearing, every closed-door strategy meeting, every hallway brush of shoulders was… charged now.

He started showing up more— to panels you hadn’t invited him to, to press conferences where he had no reason to be. He stayed just outside your orbit like he was waiting for permission to fall into it.

And when you challenged someone in session, his eyes would find yours like he was feeding off it. 

Like he wanted to kneel in the wake of your ambition.

But it wasn’t just the glances. It was the touch.

It started small. His hand would graze your lower back when he passed behind you in a hearing room. His fingers brushed yours when he handed over a folder. One late night, he reached around you to grab a glass and let his knuckles drag across your waist. You never stopped him.

He was bolder after that.

“You know,” he whispered once, as the two of you stood shoulder to shoulder behind the Senate chamber, “you could tell me to behave. Just once. I’d probably listen.”

You didn’t look at him, but chuckled, “You wouldn’t.”

And he laughed and leaned closer, like he couldn’t help it. “Only one way to find out.”

Another night, at a policy summit out of town, he found you in the hallway of the hotel after your keynote. He was loose-tied and grinning, one hand pressed against the wall beside your head. He couldn’t really get drunk, but he was a little drunk on you. A little desperate for permission he hadn’t figured out how to ask for yet.

“You keep looking at me like I’m a problem you’re trying to solve,” he said.

You raised a brow. “You are a problem.”

“And what if I want to be?” His tone dropped. “For you.”

You just stepped forward, close enough that he had to either move back or let you invade his space. He didn’t move.

“You really think you’re ready for that kind of trouble, Congressman?” you whispered, sultry, fingers ghosting over the hem of his shirt.

He shuddered.

And just like that, you knew that he liked it when you were the one in control.

—

After that night, he became flirty in a way that barely skirted on professional, but always left you wondering if he’d drop to his knees the moment you told him to. He called you “Senator” with that smooth Brooklyn drawl, as if he knew it drove you insane. He touched your fingers when he passed you documents. Let his thigh press against yours under the table during closed sessions.

And every time you checked on him, you felt him fold just a little more.

He was waiting, waiting, and wound tight around your little finger, loving every second of it.

—

THREE MONTHS LATER

U.S. Capitol – Outside the Senate Floor

It started with a vote.

Of course it did.

He blindsided you on the floor. Not by going against the party line—that wasn’t new anymore—but by attaching an amendment you hadn’t signed off on. One that would gut your infrastructure bill if the wrong committee caught wind of it.

You barely made it off the Senate floor before you turned on him.

“Barnes,” you snapped, heels sharp against the marble.

He slowed to a stop, irritatingly casual. 

You shoved open the door to an empty hearing room and walked inside, not even checking to see if he followed. You knew he would.

The door clicked shut behind him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you hissed, turning to the supersoldier. “You went behind my back.”

He didn’t flinch. Just crossed his arms, standing his ground. “I strengthened your bill.”

“You undermined it. That amendment will kill support in Appropriations, and you know it.”

“I know the version you want passed is safer for everyone except the people who need it most.”

You stared at him, breath hitching. 

“You’re not the only one who gets to steal the show, Senator.” His voice was low, controlled. But there was heat behind it. It sounded almost…. reckless, almost hungry.

You stepped in closer.

“Don’t you dare— ugh, fuck!” You raised your hands, exasperated. “You could’ve talked to me! You chose to pull that stunt in public. You wanted to make a point.”

He tilted his head, smiling a beautiful smile. but it was all teeth. “Maybe I wanted to see how far I could push you.”

Shit.

There it was.

You were toe to toe now. You could feel the tension rippling off him in waves. It barely contained under the surface that unruly front he liked to wear for everyone else. Not for you.

Never for you.

“Even if I did tell you,” he said to fill the silence, “Would you have listened?” he said again, almost smug. 

Fuck him.

You should’ve torn into him. Told him he was reckless, self-righteous, impossible to work with at times. 

Instead, you grabbed the folder from the table beside you and flipped it open—anything to put distance between you and that fucking look on his gorgeous face.

But the moment your eyes read the amendment again, the realisation hit like a gut punch.

Damn it.

It was good.

Not just some posturing idealist’s rewrite—it actually filled in what you hadn’t been able to get past the budget committee. 

He proposed relocating funds from defense surplus, rebalanced long-term projections so the bill could stretch further without tanking in Appropriations.

But you still hated that he’d gone behind your back.

You hated even more that it worked.

You looked up slowly. “Goddamn you, Barnes.”

You threw the files on the fucking floor.

And before you could stop yourself—before you could think about how wrong this was, how stupid—you grabbed his lapel, yanked him down, and kissed him.

His hands were on you in an instant, his metal one gripping your waist like he’d been waiting for this moment for months, the human one cradling the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. His mouth met yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You made a sound—half a growl, half a whimper—and pushed him back against the wall, biting his lower lip as he groaned into your mouth. Your hands were under his jacket, fingers brushing the belt at his side, trying to pry it off before giving up and letting your palm run under his shirt instead, feeling every plane of muscle.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This was a scandal waiting to happen.

But you liked the feeling of him moaning in your goddamn mouth too much to care.

And then—knock knock knock.

You froze.

“Senator?” your secretary called through the door. “They’re looking for you upstairs.”

You jerked back instantly, heart beating too fast for your ribcage to handle. Bucky blinked down at you, lips swollen.

Shit.

Your hand pressed to his chest firmly, pushing him back. “Don’t—don’t say anything.

He raised a brow, still dazed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“No one can know,” you hissed, “No one.”

He just nodded, eyes raking over you. “Whatever you say, Senator.”

You adjusted your suit jacket, tried to fix your hair, ignored the heat still thrumming between your thighs.

And as you opened the door to leave, you thought to yourself—

Fuck. What did I just do?

—

The week after the kiss was brutal.

You shut him out.

No meetings. No calls. His name popped up on your calendar twice and both times, you had your scheduler cancel. You claimed conflict: Travel got in the way. There were urgent committee matters. Anything to avoid sitting across from him. 

Because you didn’t trust yourself to be around him. 

You didn’t trust the way your body reacted at the thought of his mouth on yours. How it replayed on loop when you closed your eyes. You didn’t trust that if he gave you that look again, that you wouldn’t grab him and make an even bigger mistake.

But Bucky noticed.

And it wrecked him.

His expression wasn’t quite as cocky. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. And in the one hearing you couldn’t avoid, he was burning a hole through the side of your head with his stare, as if daring you to acknowledge him. 

You didn’t.

—

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Freedom Forum Benefit

It was an annual auction event, all champagne and schmoozing and high-dollar promises. You wore black and entered with your head high, your staff two steps behind you.

You felt untouchable.

Until you saw him.

Bucky stood near the bar, fake-laughing at something a donor said, until he saw you.

His expression instantly changed.

He looked like he’d been sucker-punched.

He was in a gorgeous black suit that hugged his shoulders sin incarnate, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make you remember exactly what you’d tasted last week. His hair was slicked back, his stubble rough.

He barely lasted an hour before finding you again.

You’d just stepped out into one of the gallery’s quieter hallways, wine glass in hand, needing a break from the circus when you heard his footsteps. 

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Bucky said quietly.

You took a breath, controlled. “I’ve been working.”

“Bullshit.”

You turned to him and sighed. “This isn’t the time.”

“Then tell me when the time is,” he said, exasperated, “because I’ve been trying to give you space, and you’ve been using it to pretend none of it happened.”

“We kissed,” you narrowed your eyes and finished the rest of your wine. “It was a mistake.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth like he didn’t believe a word you said. “Funny. Didn’t feel like a mistake when your hands were under my shirt.”

“That was—” Your voice hitched. “We weren’t thinking clearly.”

“I was.” His voice dropped. “I’ve been thinking about it every second since.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realised he’d cornered you there. He didn’t touch you—he wouldn’t—but he stood so close you could smell the spice of his cologne.

“You looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive,” he said. “And what, now you’re telling me you don’t feel the same?”

Your pulse thundered in your temple as he pushed in closer.

“Tell me to back off,” he said. “Say the word and I’ll walk away.”

You didn’t.

Instead, you whispered, “Come home with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Tonight. After the gala,” you told him, “if you want to talk this out, I’d rather not do it in public.”

His breath caught.

You could see him recalibrate—like every wire in his body short-circuited, then surged back online.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, okay.”

—

LATER THAT NIGHT

Your Residence

And when the gala ended, the motorcade took you back to your place, careful not to attract any unwanted attention.

You locked the door behind you, turned, and gave him that look.

That look that made his knees weak and his mouth dry.

He followed you into the kitchen like gravity had shifted in your favour. 

You poured yourself a glass of water to sober up, not that you were too drunk to begin with. “You wanna talk?” You asked, “Then talk.”

What?

“That’s it?” he asked, almost hurt. “You shut me out for a week, pretend it never happened, and now I’m just—what? Why did you even bring me here? You want me to be your secret late-night one night stand?”

You turned slowly, arms crossing as you took him in.

“No,” you said coolly. “You’re a scandal waiting to happen.”

He flinched.

You stepped closer. “A walking PR nightmare, and those pretty eyes could cost me reelection. You’ve got a mouth that’s going to get you in trouble if you don’t stop pouting.”

“I’m not—” he started, defensive, but his voice cracked.

“Poor Congressman Barnes,” You tilted your head. “Thought one kiss made him special?”

He opened his mouth, but you were already closing the space between you.

“Because you’re right. You fucking are,” you said through gritted teeth. Your hand found its way to his chest, fingers curling around the silk of his tie. You tugged. “Because you know you’re a good man now, Congressman Barnes.”

He gritted his teeth. “I never said that.”

You tilted your head. “But you voted like one. You voted against drone strikes in civilian zones. Against privatized cyber warfare. Against mandatory surveillance of activist groups.”

You stepped closer, “You stood on the floor yesterday, opposing my proposition of keeping tabs on vigilantes and said ‘a government that fears its people more than it protects them is not a democracy—it’s an empire in decline.’ And you changed my mind. Do you know how hard it is to make me change my mind?”

He was breathing hard now.

“And fuck, darling…” you drawled, “I just can’t resist a good man,” your voice was so sweet and sour, like you wanted this but knew you shouldn’t let yourself have it. “You think I’ve been pretending nothing happened?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve spent every day this week trying not to picture you on your knees between hearings.”

He took a deep, shaky breath. His hands clenched at his sides.

“I’ve been rewriting statements while imagining how pretty you’d look with my hand in your hair between my legs. I’ve been arguing tax reform while wondering if you’d whimper when I told you to open your mouth.”

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

“I told myself I wouldn’t touch you again. Not because I didn’t want to,” you leaned in, lips at his ear, “but because you’d let me. And I just. Can’t. Resist. A. Good. Man.”

He was trembling now.

You stepped back, “But here you are. In my home. Looking at me like you need me to take control.”

“I do,” he said, voice hoarse, wrecked. “I do.”

You shoved him back against the island kitchen and climbed on top of him like a campaign you meant to win. Your mouth found his ear, hot breath slipping into the space where his composure used to live.

“Then be good, congressman,” you purred, teeth grazing the shell of his ear, “Can you do that for me?”

He groaned, deep and wrecked. It didn’t take long before he was grabbing and tearing.

Clothes came off in pieces. Buttons hit the floor. His tie stayed wrapped around your wrist because you yanked it free and didn’t want to let it go. Zippers were wrecked like decorum— ripped right through. He switched over your position, lifting you up and laying you out across your marble kitchen island instead. 

His hand slid down your thigh and then up, right where you needed him.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “You wanted this.”

You arched beneath him, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, the other fisted in his hair.

“I wanted to ruin you.”

His eyes shot to yours, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

“You already have.”

That night, you learned that Bucky Barnes fucks like he fights. He was precise. He was relentless. He was a machine, a man trained to outlast anything. 

So you rocked together there in your marble kitchen like the Capitol couldn’t burn fast enough. You bit his lip. He swore against your throat. He grabbed your hips like you were both anchoring him and tearing him apart.

At one point, you leaned in close and said, “I should filibuster you. Keep you here for hours. See how long it takes before you break protocol.”

He whimpered.

And when it was over—when you both were trembling and flushed and too ruined to speak—you dragged your nails down his chest and whispered, “Still think I’ve been pretending nothing happened?”

He could only shake his head.

“You ruined me,” he said, quiet. “And I liked it.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite in it. “Don’t get poetic,” you reminded, “You still tanked my vote yesterday.”

He leaned his forehead against your chest, groaning.

“Fuck, I know,” he laughed, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re gonna destroy me in committee next week.”

“I might.”

He looked up again, playful while still managing to be sincere. “Will you at least destroy me like this again afterward?”

You tried to be annoyed. You tried to remember all the ways he drove you insane. But his voice was a little hoarse, his hands were still on your hips like you were the only solid thing left in the world.

And you knew what that meant— loyalty. 

Not weakness. Not worship.

But it lived in between.

You slid off the sticky counter, standing on shaky legs, and he caught your hand before you could step away fully.

“Stay,” he said.

You looked at him. Bare, naked, still burning from the inside out.

“You’re in my house,” you chuckled.

“I know.” His thumb brushed the inside of your wrists.

Fuck, this wasn’t just politics anymore.

This wasn’t strategy or tension. This was something you could walk away from unscathed.

You pulled him up with both hands and pressed a kiss to his mouth— much softer this time.

“I’ll stay,” you said, “if you do, too.”

And he did.

—

And things… evolved.

He kept it clean in public. Professional. 

Well… mostly. He’d place the occasional hand on your lower back, he’d give you kisses on your temple when no one was around.

But behind closed doors, your townhouse became home base. He cooked surprisingly well. 

He’d make pancakes on Sundays. Steak when you were pissed off. Toast and black coffee after sex so good it felt like treason.

You’d read from draft bills while lying across the bed in nothing but his flannel shirt. He’d rest his chin on your thigh, half-listening, half-worshipping.

Sometimes you'd argue between kisses, about anything and everything. Foreign policy. Trade sanctions. Use of force authorizations.

Once, after a particularly vicious day on the floor, you were pacing the living room, still in heels, when he sank down to his knees in front of you, hands sliding slowly up your calves.

“Ma’am,” he murmured, eyes dark with devotion, “I’m just a humble public servant.”

Then you made him shut up and prove it.

And he did. On the floor. With his mouth. With his hands. With everything he had.

His house was no better off.

The bed smelled like sweat and parchment. There are bills marked with lipstick smudges. A copy of the Intelligence Committee’s black-budget proposal lay under the couch with a condom wrapper on top of it.

He read your notes. You wore his shirts. He’d eat you out mid-argument, face between your thighs while you’re yelling about how best to handle money-driven foreign ambassadors.

“I’m not voting for that amendment,” you’d gasped. 

He dragged  his mouth away from you for just one second.

“I’ll change your mind.”

You didn’t win that one.

—

AFTER MIDNIGHT

Your Office

Even your place of work wasn’t safe from Bucky Barnes.

You’d tried to draw a line—several, in fact—but Bucky never much cared for red tape. Or rules. Or doors, apparently, because he stepped into your office without knocking, shutting and locking it behind him with a soft click. 

A Homeland Security report sat open on your desk, pages half-read and already bleeding red ink from your pen. You tried to stay focused, legs crossed. 

But then he was there and he dropped to his knees in front of your chair like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

He pushed your skirt up with both hands—one warm and calloused, the other cool and metal— like it was his constitutional duty.

“I’ve got a briefing in the morning,” you said, trying to keep your voice even and failing.

“I’ll be quick,” he said, his mouth was anything but.

He was thorough. He took his time, tongue tracing patterns into you like your pleasure was classified intelligence and he was breaking into it for the first time. 

When you came undone, legs locked tight around his shoulders, one hand tangled in his dark hair, the other gripping the armrest of your chair—you didn’t scream his name. You threw your head back, tried to remember how to breathe, and with the last shred of composure you could muster, you said, “Recess adjourned.”

He grinned into you, smug and satisfied, like he’d just won a vote with both sides of the aisle.

And just like always, he made you wonder which of you really held the power.

—

SIX MONTHS LATER

Barnes' Residence

Even now that he had you, Bucky still found congress to be a little… too much. 

The marble halls, the cameras, the backroom deals— none of it felt like him. Not really.

You found him in his house, suit jacket crumpled on the floor, tie discarded somewhere on the kitchen counter. His metal hand rubbed slow circles over his tired temple as he sat slumped on the couch. He looked so out of place in his own home.

You padded over quietly, barefoot, your old oversized campaign shirt hanging off your body.

“You didn’t even make it to the bedroom,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair.

He leaned into your touch immediately. He craved you. 

“They're pissed,” he said, eyes closed. “My whole damn party. Said I vote too… independent. That I don't ‘play nice.’ As if any of this should be about sides.”

Your heart broke just a little. You hated what this job did to him— how it wore him down and made him question if he was doing enough. You climbed onto the couch without hesitation, curling into his side until your head was tucked under his chin and his arms were around you.

“You’re not here to play nice,” you whispered against his chest. “You’re here to do what’s right. And that means they’re going to be mad sometimes. But I’m proud of you, James.”

He let out a quiet breath—almost a laugh, almost a sigh—as his arms tightened around you. 

“This is so fucked,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I spent a year of my life trying to get elected only to regret it.”

You pulled back just enough to cup his cheek, guiding his eyes to yours. His blue eyes were tired, but still full of fire.

“You don’t have to pretend,” you said. “Not with me. If you want to leave politics tomorrow, I’ll be the first to pack up your office. If you stay, I’ll be in the front row of every speech.”

A slow smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your nose. You giggled, and he did it again, because he loved the sound— because it reminded him that he managed to tame a senator with knives for a tongue.

God, how did he even end up in a relationship with a career politician?

His metal hand came up to cradle the back of your head as he kissed you.

And later, as you lay tangled in each other beneath a blanket on the couch, he whispered sleepily, nose brushing yours. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You know what I’d vote for?”

You smiled. “What?”

“More nights like this. Just you and me. No debates. No bills. Just… us.”

You kissed him softly. “Unanimously approved.”

He smiled his real smile—the one he only saved for you. And for the first time in days, he looked like he could breathe again.

—

ONE MONTH LATER

House Floor – Supersoldier Proposal Hearing

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine walked into that chamber.

And when the CIA director came in, people listened.

Her heels clicked like gunfire against the polished marble.

She presented her proposal like it was already law. A radical new supersoldier program. No more Avengers. 

You watched it unfold with ice in your veins. Her plan took fear into account, and weaponised it. It was disguised as strategy. 

And Congress—both parties—ate it up.

Except Bucky.

He stood alone.

“I’ve been in that program,” he said, and you heard the crack in his voice even if no one else did. “You don’t force heroes. You don’t use people. You don’t turn them into weapons just because you’re scared of the next big threat.”

Val didn’t miss a beat. She turned toward him with that shark-like smile and ripped into him. 

Not his policies.

Him. 

His past. His record. The Winter Soldier. The man who was programmed. 

“You, of all people, are going to lecture us on this?” she sneered. “You’re a reminder of why this program is necessary.”

He stood there, eyes glassy, but he didn’t yell. He didn’t fight.

He just walked out.

—

LATER THAT NIGHT

Your Residence

You found him hours later in your dark bedroom, after a social event. He hadn’t turned anything on. No lamp. No TV. 

Bucky was sitting on the edge of your bed, his back hunched, hands limp in his lap. His suit still clung to him like a cage. His tie was crooked and loose, shirt wrinkled like he’d pulled and scratched anxiously at it. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths he only took when he was trying his hardest not to break down.

He didn’t even look up when you stepped inside, he just kept staring at the floor like it stretched miles beneath him.

You stepped inside the room and knelt in front of him carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. You reached for his shoes, slipping them off one by one. He blinked slowly, as if only now noticing you were there.

You took the suit jacket away gently, as if it were battle armour. In a way, it was. 

The tie followed. Then the first few buttons of his shirt. Bit by bit, until only the man remained.

And that’s when he broke.

A quiet sound escaped him— a sound that broke your heart. His shoulders trembled, and his hands came up to cover his face. “I can’t do this,” he choked out, barely audible. “I can’t—this place, these people… they don’t want me. Not really.”

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, knees on either side of his hips, arms sliding around his neck

“They’ll never trust me,” he went on, breath catching, hot tears leaking past his finger before burying his face in your neck. 

“No matter what I do. No matter how many times I show up, or fight, or play by their goddamn rules. I’m still the monster in the room.”

“James,” you whispered, pressing your cheek to his temple as his arms wrapped around you. “You are not a monster.”

He held onto you like he was drowning, his tears soaking into your blouse. “I thought if I did everything right… if I followed every step they gave me, every rule, maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could fix me.”

You pulled back just enough to cup his face— your thumbs brushing at his tear-streaked cheeks.

“You are not broken,” you said, driving the point home. “You are brave. And kind. And you’ve saved more lives than they’ll ever understand. You carry more pain than they ever will—and still, you choose to fight.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

“And I love you for that,” you breathed. The words escaped before you could second-guess them. “I love you, Bucky. All of you. Not just the soldier. Not just the survivor. But the man who still believes there’s something worth fighting for.“

His breath hitched —and then he was crying in earnest. He was not hiding begin silent tears anymore. 

Was that the first time you’d said it?

He didn’t answer right away. Just buried his face in your shoulder and cried like he hadn’t in years, because he knew, no matter how intimidating you seem to be on the house floor, it was safe to fall apart here, with you. 

“I just…” he finally whispered, voice barely there. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to face them again. I just want to be with you.”

You pressed a kiss to his hair, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “Then be with me,” you whispered, a small smile breaking through the ache in your chest. “We’ll figure it out together.”

His metal hand came up and settled between your shoulder blades. 

He nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. 

—

Later that night, when he was done crying his heart out, he became… calmer.

Still exhausted and red-eyed, but calmer nonetheless. 

You found him in the kitchen, his shirt still unbuttoned, stained faintly with some red sauce from the food you ordered in for him. He’d forgotten to take his socks off, and one sleeve was slightly rolled higher than the other. 

There was still plenty of food on the counter.

And next to it was a printed copy of Valentina’s proposal.

She sent it to him, not because he asked. She wanted to taunt him.

He must’ve read it a dozen times. Couldn't stop. Couldn't help touching it, even though every word made his skin crawl.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

“You know…” you said finally, your voice steady. “I know what you’ve been doing,” 

He didn’t turn around, but he froze. 

What were you talking about?

“I’ve known for a while,” you went on, stepping closer. You had found the files accidentally, when you were looking for a pearl necklace in one of his drawers. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up… until now.”

You watched the tension ripple through his shoulders.

“You’ve been keeping tabs,” you continued, “The former Red Room Widows. The Soviet super soldier who’s still off the grid. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who can phase through walls. Even that fucking dollar store Cap. You’re thinking of building something, are you Bucky?”

He still didn’t face you, but his hand dropped to his sides.

“You’re… putting a team together,” you said, more gently now. “I… don’t need to know the details. But I see what you’re trying to do.”

He turned then.

He hadn’t known how to bring it up to you. Hell, he hadn’t even known if it was really going to happen. It had all started as just instinct— keeping an eye on the kind of people most had written off as monsters or mistakes. People like him.

And what was he supposed to say, anyway? To you—his girlfriend, a sitting member of the Senate? That he was considering building a team made of people with blood on their hands and trauma in their bones? That he was offering them redemption not because he was certain they deserved it, but because he hoped they did?

He couldn’t picture your reaction. Would you be proud? Horrified? Would you see him as foolish… or as the same broken man they once turned into a weapon?

So he had said nothing… until now.

“You’re right.” The words fell out of him like a confession. 

He ran a hand through his hair, mussed and sauce-stained and tired as hell. “This… this whole thing,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the chaos of the kitchen—the proposal, the uneaten food. “Politics. Committees. Playing nice with people who smile while they sharpen their knives behind your back.”

He looked down at himself, and for a second, you thought he might shatter all over again. “I never wanted this,” he whispered. “I just wanted to help. I thought—if I did this job, played the game—maybe I could protect people. Maybe I could stop people like Valentina from getting a foothold.”

“But this isn’t it,” he said quietly. “Maybe it is for you. God, it is. Every time I see you on that floor, you own it. You belong there.”

His breath caught, a shaky exhale slipping past his lips.

“I… don’t,” he whispered. “Fuck, I try—I… I sit in those chambers and pretend I’m part of it, but I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin. This is not who I am supposed to be.”

You came up and slid your arms around his waist. His breath hitched, and his hand came to rest at the small of your back—metal fingers curling in tight.

“Then who are you supposed to be, darling?” you asked, not caring that your blouse was now stained, too.

He hesitated. The answer had been in him for so long, it was almost scary to say out loud.

“I’s supposed to be in the field,” he admitted. “Tracking these threats. Taking them out before they grow roots.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “But I don’t have Stark money. Or a tower. Or a government stamp of approval. Half the people in D.C. still think I’m one bad day away from a murder. It would be impossible to get fucking funding for this.”

“Well…” You smiled the kind of smile that could wage wars and stitch hearts back together. It always made his chest ache in the best way. “I transferred… a little something to your account,” you said with a shrug.

Bucky blinked. “You… you what?”

You chuckled, and it was insane how mundane you were going on about this. “It’s from my discretionary fund. Technically it’s filed under ‘independent research security initiative,’ if anyone’s asking.”

His brows furrowed, “You’re—wait, you’re funding this?”

You stepped in closer and kissed his jawline. “It’s barely a dent in my inheritance,” you said. “And if it means I get to sleep at night knowing you’re out there doing what you were meant to do? Then, yeah, sweetheart—I’m backing your project.”

He stared like you’d just handed him the world on a silver platter, then kissed the nape of his neck and told him it had been his all along.

“You’re… serious,” he breathed.

You gave an amused laugh, brushing your fingers along the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “Do you even know me?” you whispered. “I am always serious when I believe in something.” You leaned in, close enough that your lips ghosted over his. “And I believe in you, James Buchanan Barnes. I always have.”

He sighed— along with a half-sob, half-laugh—and crushed your body in his arms like he was terrified you weren’t real. He kissed you like you were the only clean air left on Earth and he’d been suffocating for years.

And when you pulled back, your hands cradling his face, your thumbs gently chasing the dampness from under his eyes, your voice was nothing short of conviction. 

His eyes glistened with tears— and finally you saw a spark return. 

A purpose.

“I don’t deserve you,” he choked, barely holding himself together.

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “No, sweetheart,” you murmured, brushing your thumb gently along his cheek. “The world doesn’t deserve you.”

Your fingers reached up and slipped into his hair, combing through it, grounding him one tender touch at a time. “But it needs you anyway. So quit Congress if that’s what it takes. I’ve got this— I can hold the line in the halls. You take the field, yeah?”

His arms wrapped around you tighter, like he was afraid you were too good to be true. 

He held onto you with everything he had left, bending down and burying his face in the curve of your neck like your skin was the only place in the world he felt safe.

He still smelled like stress, coffee, and metal but under it all, he smelled like home.

And then—barely a whisper, he told you. “I love you.”

Oh.

Your smile bloomed as you pressed your forehead to his, fingers curling at the nape of his neck like you never wanted to let go. “I know,” you whispered back, “I know, darling.”

—

By morning, his resignation letter was written. You proofread it over pancakes, still wearing one of his t-shirts, a pen tucked behind your ear and syrup on your fingers.

He read through it again at the kitchen table, hair still messy from sleep. He hadn’t even bothered to put on any trousers. 

But his eyes were more focused than you’ve seen in weeks.

You even brought him coffee in his favorite mug (the custom one you got from Etsy that said I Fought Hydra and All I Got Was This Lousy Mug), and pressed a kiss to his temple before handing him a pen.

“You sure?” you asked.

He looked at you like you’d just asked if the sky was blue and nodded. 

By afternoon, his first mission plan was already sketched out on the back of a napkin—next to a plate of half-eaten fries and a mostly empty bottle of ketchup.

“This is not normal,” you muttered, staring at the haphazard yet oddly brilliant strategy chart scribbled in blue ink and crumbs. “You’re literally building a rogue ops unit on a paper towel.”

“It’s got character,” Bucky said, popping a grape in his mouth like a smug little gremlin.

You helped him map out every potential recruit. The names rolled off your tongue like a to-do list: Yelena Belova. Alexei Shostakov. Ava Starr. Antonia Dreykov. And—because the universe had a sense of humor—John fuckin’ Walker.

Red tape covered your living room floor like crime scene string art. The place looked less like a D.C. home and more like a joint ops bunker. A Post-it with “Call Sam” was stuck to your microwave. You had government dossiers, encrypted USB drives, and half a dozen color-coded sticky notes labeled ‘THREAT LEVEL: Eh, manageable.’

It was chaos. Beautiful, ridiculous, late-stage-caffeine chaos.

All of that, and you were still in your pajamas.

Bucky looked at the mess of documents, then at you—hair tangled, chewing the end of a pen, a folder in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other.

“You sure you don’t want to fund a think tank like a normal senator, sweetheart?” he asked with a smile.

You shook your head. “Think tanks don’t get to blow stuff up with their hot ex-assassin boyfriends.”

He laughed as he leaned over and kissed your forehead. “You’re absolutely out of your mind,” he murmured.

“I’m in love,” you said simply, poking his chest. “Which is a lot more dangerous.”

By evening, the resignation was submitted. The burner phones were ready. You’ve tracked every recruit to their last known location.

Bucky Barnes was no longer a congressman.

But for the first time in a long, long time, he was exactly what the world needed.

Not a suit. Not a symbol.

A good man. 

With a good heart. 

-end.

Extra Note : so many tag requests got buried in all your wonderful comments! if you'd like to be tagged in the general Bucky masterlist, please message me either personally, or write to my inbox! <3

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@cjand10

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

Siren

Summary : Bucky is obsessed with you. He is insanely, hopelessly, unhealthily obsessed with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Grumpy x Sunshine, Wife!reader, sweet!reader, sex references. Love taken to an extreme. A lot of cursing, Congressman!Bucky, threats, obsessive love bordering on stalking, possessive love. Overprotective!Bucky, Jealous! Bucky, dark!Bucky, dark!you, Overprotective!you. You are Sam and Sarah’s childhood best friend, canon-typical violence. I feel like I have to disclose that Bucky does not hurt you at any point in this story. Let me know if I miss anything! 

Word count : 8.9k

Note : This is probably my most cursing-heavy story. This is fictional story, so please do not get into an unhealthily obsessive relationship irl. I will also be posting a new part of Super Soldier Support Group tomorrow! Enjoy!

It started with a casual gathering at the Wilson Family home. Nothing fancy, just good food, loud music, and a backyard full of people laughing. 

It was warm, the kind of sticky Louisiana heat that made the air feel weirdly refreshing— the perfect day for Sam to throw one of his famous family cookouts.

Bucky hadn’t wanted to go, not that day anyway. He had not been sleeping well that week, and that made him grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual. 

He wasn’t sure if he could handle the crowd, or the small talk. 

But Sam had insisted, and somehow a sleep-deprived Bucky found himself standing in the corner of the docks, watching from a distance while the party went on without him.

Then he saw you.

And suddenly, everything stopped.

You were laughing, standing next to Sarah and helping with the food. You had this bright energy about you, like sunshine breaking through a dark cloud.

From the very first moment he saw you, something inside Bucky snapped. It wasn’t attraction—it was possession. His brain, his soul, whatever dark, broken part of him that was still capable of love— latched onto you like a parasite. You were too beautiful. Too sweet. Too—fuck, what was he thinking?

“C’mon man,” Sam’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Don’t just stand there looking like you’re planning a murder. I want you to meet someone.”

Bucky frowned but let Sam drag him forward anyway. His stomach twisted when he realised Sam was leading him straight to you.

“This is my childhood best friend,” Sam introduced you, “Be nice to her, Buck.”

You turned from your conversation to face him, and…Jesus Christ.

This was even worse up close. You had such a pretty smile, and the most wonderful eyes. You didn’t even have to try to brighten up the room.

“Hi,” you greeted, offering your hand.

Bucky hesitated. He didn’t like touching strangers—hell, he barely liked touching people he knew—but then you looked at him again, and—fuck.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his flesh fingers wrapped around yours.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t react the way people so often did when they realised who he was. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” you said softly. “Sam’s told me a lot about you.”

Bucky’s heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. All he could manage was a stiff nod.

Sam, standing beside you, cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes at Bucky. “Be civil, okay?” He was already overthinking this, assuming this could go sideways fast. Sam wanted you two to get along more than anything in the world— he would at least want his childhood best friend and his work best friend to be able to stand in a room together without ripping each other’s head off— but he wasn’t counting on it.

Confused, you scrunched your nose. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Bucky wanted to know the same thing.

“Because,” Sam said, exasperated, “you’re polar opposites. You’re too damn nice for your own good, and Barnes here is all doom and gloom. He hates people. You love people.”

You turned your eyes back to Bucky, considering the former winter soldier before smiling, and subsequently melting Bucky’s heart. 

“I don’t know, Sam,” you said. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

—

Bucky kept his distance throughout the day. 

Not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

You were too much. Too sweet, it felt like he was getting a sugar rush just looking at you. 

It was overwhelming. 

And it wasn’t just that he liked you. It was worse than that. 

In the short time he had known you, he had already begun craving you.

But you made it worse.

You sought him out, found excuses to talk to him, tried to make him laugh.

And god help him, but he liked it.

He liked the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled at him. He liked the way you said his name. He liked the way your hand traced his metal arm when you spoke to him.

“Bucky,” you called at one point, while Sam worked the grill, “Try this.”

He glanced down at the spoon you were holding out to him, brows furrowed. “What is it?”

You chuckled like you already knew you had him wrapped around your finger. “Just try it.”

He sighed, and then you pressed a hand to his chest, steadying yourself as you lifted the spoon to his lips.

He froze, and before he could even process what was happening, he was opening his mouth, letting you feed him.

You watched him, waiting for his reaction. “Well?”

Bucky blinked, chewing slowly. It was… good. Really good.

But admitting that felt like surrender, so he just shrugged. “It’s fine.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. “Liar.”

Then, you laughed. 

He didn’t just want to hear it again—he needed to. It was like a drug, a high he had to chase. 

Fuck.

That was it.

That was the moment he was done for.

Because you had no idea what you’d just done. No idea that you had ruined him.

No idea that he had just decided— you were his.

—

Later, after the sun had set and most of the guests had left, Bucky sat at the edge of the porch, elbows on his knees, watching you.

Or, more accurately, he was staring at you.

You were a few feet away, laughing as AJ and Cass ran circles around you, their small hands grabbing at your arms as you playfully tried to catch them.

Bucky couldn’t look away.

He knew you were going to be his downfall, and yet he didn’t even want to fight it.

“What’s up with you, Buck?” Sam asked, sitting beside him.

Bucky didn’t move, he didn’t even respond. He barely even registered that Sam was there at all.

Sam followed his line of sight, and then groaned. “Oh, hell no.”

Still, Bucky said nothing.

Sam snapped his fingers in front of Bucky’s face. “Yo. Terminator.”

Bucky blinked. He only just realised Sam was there. “What?”

“What?” Sam repeated, voice rising. “Don’t what me! What the fuck was that?”

Bucky frowned. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Sam chuckled, teasing. “You’ve been staring at her like you’re about to drag her off to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and keep her there forever.”

Bucky’s muscles tensed. The idea did sound appealing.

“She’s nice,” Bucky said flatly.

Sam let out an amused laugh. “Nice? Nice? Barnes, you look like you want to fucking eat my childhood best friend—what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sam was joking, but he wasn’t wrong.

Bucky did want to devour you. He wanted to claim you, protect you, make sure no one else ever got the chance to touch you the way he wanted to.

It was bad.

Because for the first time in decades, Bucky wanted.

Mine, he thought. Mine, mine, mine.

And god help anyone who tried to get in his way.

—

At first, Sam was just relieved that you and Bucky got along.

And before he knew it, the four of you—you, Bucky, Sam, and Joaquin—started hanging out regularly. When she was available, Sarah was there too, usually when the get-togethers happened at her place. It wasn’t anything official, just casual. You’d grab coffee, go on late-night walks along the docks. Sometimes, the five of you spent lazy afternoons at Sarah’s while Cass and AJ tried to rope you into whatever game they were playing.

On the surface, it was just friends spending time together.

But Bucky was always a little bit too possessive.

No one really noticed.

Like when Joaquin would make a joke and you’d laugh a little too hard, Bucky would step in, resting his arm on the back of your chair. When you and Sarah got into a playful argument, and Bucky would subtly shift between you, his body positioned like a barrier.

Or when someone at a bar got a little too interested in you, and Bucky would just stare at them until they backed the fuck off.

You didn’t seem to notice.

You just smiled at Bucky. You reached for his hand when you were deep in thought, leaned into him when you laughed, gave him hugs without him even having to ask.

And he let you.

Because if he couldn’t have you the way he wanted, then he’d settle for this—for now.

—

One day, you heard a knock on your door late at night. 

When you opened it, you found Sam, Joaquin, and Bucky standing there—bruised, bloodied, and looking entirely too pleased with themselves for three men who had clearly just come back from a rough mission.

You sighed. “Come in, boys.”

They filed in, Sam  grinning as he collapsed onto your couch. Joaquin gave you a sheepish ‘sorry’ look before following. Bucky just hovered near the door.

“Sit,” you told him, already grabbing your first aid kit.

He hesitated, then dropped onto the chair closest to you. you knelt beside him.

His knuckles were raw, a few cuts marred his face, and there was a forming bruise on his forehead. You worked on him, dabbing antiseptic onto his wounds.

“Hold still,” you whispered when he shifted under your touch. When you finished, without thinking, you pressed a fleeting kiss to the bruise on his forehead. “For good measure,” you said sheepishly.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

But before he could say anything, you moved on to Sam and Joaquin, fussing over them with the same level of care.

He felt his stomach twist in dread. 

Bucky knew this was irrational. He knew you were just being a good friend.

And yet, as he sat there, watching your hands tend to them—watching you murmur reassurances, watching Joaquin grin at you and Sam chuckle under his breath— with bated breath.

He shouldn’t be jealous. He shouldn’t. You were also Sam’s friend. You were also Joaquin’s friend.

After all, you had taken care of him first. That had to mean something… right?

—

The bar was alive with noise, filled with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional thud of a pool ball being sunk into a pocket. It was one of those rare nights when there were no missions to worry about, no need to be on high alert. Even Sarah managed to get a babysitter for the kids. 

Sarah and Sam stood near the pool table, casually sipping on their non-alcoholic beers. Bucky nursed his whiskey— not that it would do anything to his enhanced metabolism. You had your mocktail, sweet and bright, just like you.

And then there was Joaquin.

He had spent the last hour or so flirting with the bartender, grinning as she giggled and slid him free drink after free drink. He, of course, took every single one without hesitation.

Now, he was absolutely sloshed.

“Joaquin,” Sam teased, arms crossed as he watched your drunk friend lean against the pool table. “You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

Joaquin shot him finger guns. “Gracias, hermano.”

“No,” Sarah scowled, shaking her head, pointing to the blonde behind the bar. “He’s lucky she thinks he’s pretty.”

“Let’s be honest, everyone thinks I’m pretty,” Joaquin declared, before missing his shot so badly that the cue ball bounced off the table.

Bucky rolled his eyes and let out a small laugh. 

You were next, so you stepped up to take your shot. “If anyone fucks up my shot, I am going to scream.”

And then, like a fucking menace, Joaquin swatted your pool cue mid-shot.

You gasped. “You little shit!”

Joaquin cackled.

“That’s it,” you huffed, shaking your head as you set the cue aside. “I’m getting you some water to sober up before you do something actually stupid.”

Sarah took her turn next, and Bucky… felt happy. He was among friends, leaning against the table, watching the game.

Life was good, right?

That bliss lasted all of three minutes before he realised… you were taking too long.

It didn’t take that long to get a glass of water.

He glanced up, scanning the bar for you. 

His stomach dropped. 

You were leaning against the bar, smiling up at some guy. Some asshole who looked way too interested, who was saying something that made you laugh.

Bucky’s chest burned.

Mine, he thought. 

But no. No, no, no. He had no right to feel like this. You weren’t his. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He was just a friend.

Then why the fuck did he want to break that guy’s fucking ankles for being too goddamn close to you?

Bucky knew you were beautiful. But that fucker didn’t get to look at you like that. He didn’t get to act all high and mighty, like he even had a chance—

Bucky’s grip on his pool cue tightened.

CRACK.

The cue snapped clean in half.

Sarah’s head snapped toward him. “Man— what happened?”

Sam raised a brow. “You good?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His breathing was all messed up. 

“I gotta go,” he said hastily. 

Sarah blinked. “You just crushed wood like it was a damn breadstick.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and left.

—

When he got back to his hotel in the heart of New Orleans, he sat on the edge of his bed, fingers twitching.

Then, he texted you.

Got an emergency. Had to go early.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.

Oh okay!!! Hope everything’s alright <3!

You were so fucking sweet. So fucking clueless.

You had no idea that the emergency… was you.

And that if he hadn’t left, he would have smashed that guy’s face in. 

—

That night, Bucky couldn’t sleep.

It was driving him insane.

The second he closed his eyes, all he could see was you, laughing at the bar, that asshole touching you, and your body leaned just a little too close—fuck.

The obsession burned in his chest. He needed to know. Needed to be sure.

So, like a fucking lunatic, he found himself outside your Louisiana apartment at four in the morning, perched on your fire escape like a creep.

The window was dark, and there didn’t seem to be any movement inside. Maybe you weren’t even home. Maybe you were— No. No, stop. Fuck.

His metal fingers gripped against the railing. If you had taken that guy home—if that motherfucker was in there, in your bed— he didn’t know what he’d do.

"Whatcha doin’?" 

Bucky jumped, damn near slipped right off the fire escape. His heart nearly stopped.

He whirled around, ready to fight, only to see you, standing behind him.

The fuck—?

"Jesus Christ," he rasped, staring at you like you’d just teleported out of thin air. "Why are you on the fire escape?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Why are you on the fire escape?"

Bucky scowled. “I asked you first.”

You shrugged, completely unfazed, and just climbed through the window. "I forgot my keys."

Bucky blinked.

You turned to look at him expectantly. “Well? Are you coming in or what?”

…What the fuck was wrong with you? Why weren’t you scared?

Still, he followed you inside.

—

You made him tea.

He sat on your couch, cradling the mug in his hands while you curled up beside him, watching him with curiosity.

“So,” you started casually, “what was the emergency?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Nothing much,” he lied. “I fixed it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why were you lurking outside my apartment like some weirdo?”

“I wasn’t lurking.”

You hummed, unconvinced, and sipped your tea.

Bucky let out a deep breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “I was just… checking on you.”

Your lips curved up. “Why?”

He hesitated. He couldn’t tell you the truth. Couldn’t tell you that he’d nearly lost his fucking mind at the thought of you with someone else.

But then, as if he could read your mind, you said, “If you were worried about the guy at the bar, don’t be. He’s just an old friend from high school.” You tilted your head reassuringly. “And he’s gay.”

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Oh, he was a fucking idiot.

Embarrassment flooded his chest in waves, but it did nothing to ease the gnawing possessiveness coiling around his ribs. It didn’t matter that the guy wasn’t a threat. It didn’t change the fact that Bucky had wanted to break him in half for so much as looking at you.

You set your mug down, shifting closer. “Bucky,” you murmured, “what’s wrong?”

He clenched his teeth. “I have to say something.”

You tilted your head, adorably waiting.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” The words felt dragged out from his throat like he’d been choking on them.

You took a deep breath. “Oh?”

Bucky let out a huff of air, fingers twitching at his sides. “I think—I know—I love you.”

There it was. The confession he could never take back.

Your eyes relaxed as you put your mug down. 

That’s it. This was your rejection. Bucky was sure. 

But then, without hesitation, you cradled his cheeks gently and pulled him down in a bruising kiss.

Bucky groaned into your mouth, hands fisting in your skirt, pulling you closer.

And when you whispered, “I love you, too,” against his lips—

He was fucking gone.

Love wasn’t supposed to be this… all-consuming. It wasn’t supposed to feel like madness. But that was what his love was.

He was everywhere—his greedy hands, both metal and flesh. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, and Bucky growled, lifting you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding against him in a way that sent his brain into overload.

And when you rocked your hips against his again. when you gasped at him, teasing, taunting—

Bucky snapped.

Suddenly, you were beneath him, pinned to the couch, his body trapping you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasped.

You bit your lip, eyes dark. “Then show me.”

And fuck, did he.

—

The next morning, Bucky jolted awake to the ring of your doorbell. 

For a second, he was disoriented, his brain sluggish, mind still drunk on you.

You were sprawled half on top of him, face buried against his chest. His metal arm was wrapped around you, fingers splayed across your bare back.

The bell rang impatiently again. And then— knock knock knock.

"Yo, wake up!" Sarah shouted.

His eyes flicked to the clock— 9:42 AM.

Carefully, he untangled himself from you, doing his best not to wake you as he slid out of bed. He barely managed to pull his sweats on before another knock rattled the door.

He opened it.

“Huh,” Sarah grinned.

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “What?”

“Don’t what me.” Sarah gestured, pointing an accusatory finger at Bucky’s chest. “What the fuck is this?”

Bucky’s teeth clenched. “None of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is.” Sarah crossed him her arms and almost cackled.

Bucky just let out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was still way too tired for this.

Sarah smirked, waggling her eyebrows. “So? How was it? You’re, like, a hundred years old— did your back hold up?”

“Go,” Bucky gritted.

“Relax,” Sarah shook her head, shoving your wallet into his chest. "Your girl left this in my car."

Bucky blinked, but his mind was still buffering on the part when she called you his girl. "Sarah—“

She held up her hand. "Hey, I’m happy for you. Really. But I’ve known her since we were both in diapers, so uh—" she leaned in. "If you hurt her, just know I will kill you."

Bucky huffed. As if. “Yeah, yeah."

"Good talk." She said as she turned to leave.

From the bed, you stirred, mumbling sleepily, “Was that Sarah?”

Bucky climbed back in beside you. “Don’t worry about it.”

You hummed, curling back into his chest. “Mmkay.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Mine, he thought.

And this time, you knew it too.

—

It had been two years since that night when everything changed.

You had since moved to Brooklyn with Bucky, and had since built a home together.

Two years of waking up with you in his bed.

Two years of you stealing his shirts, dancing around the kitchen in nothing but one of his Henleys and a pair of socks.

Two years of Bucky being so obsessed with you it was a goddamn miracle he let you leave out of his sight at all.

His hand was always on you—on your lower back, your thigh, wrapped around your wrist when you got too distracted in public. His eyes always tracked you whenever you so much as moved. 

Bucky knew it probably wasn’t healthy to be this obsessed— but who the fuck cares?

Besides, no one had noticed. Not really.

Sam rolled his eyes when Bucky hovered too close in public. Joaquin just assumed Bucky was overprotective. Sarah thought it was sweet.

None of them knew just how deep it went.

How Bucky watched you when you slept, how he memorised the way your breath hitched when you dreamed. How he could track scent in a crowd, how he could tell the different sounds of your shoes.

How, sometimes, he just stared at you with this feral, carnal need to keep you his forever.

So one night, he did something about it.

It wasn’t a grand proposal. There were no speeches, no flowers, no kneeling at all.

Bucky just slipped a diamond ring onto your finger as you sat curled up beside him on the couch.

"Let’s get married," he said.

It was not a question. It was a statement.

You looked down at your hand and blinked, joy seeping into your chest. You looked back up at him, tilting your head.

“Okay,” you smiled.

Of course you were gonna marry him. Of course.

It was the most obvious thing in the world.

And Buck felt something primal and dark settle inside him. 

“Good girl,” he said, grabbing your chin and tilling them up to kiss you. 

—

The ceremony was small — just a few close friends and family.

Sam stood at the front, grinning like an idiot, though he was definitely in tears. He tried to deny it, but everyone knew when Sarah dramatically announced she was out of tissues and had to make a store run.

You wore a simple white dress, the sunlight making the lace look holy. 

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off you. He wasn’t sure how he could even breathe. You were so goddamn beautiful, and all he could think was mine.

Mine, mine, mine. 

He held your hands tightly, every vow he spoke was drenched in devotion.

When Sam pronounced you husband and wife, Bucky crashed his lips against yours, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you so desperately it was like he thought you'd disappear. Joaquin cheered, Sarah covered AJ and Cass’ eyes, and Sam muttered something about needing another box of tissues.

But Bucky didn’t care. You were his wife. 

His. 

Later, at the small reception, he barely let you out of his sight. His hand stayed glued to your waist, his lips brushed against your temple every other minute. He religiously watched the way you smiled, the way you laughed, admired the sparkle of your wedding ring — a ring he’d spent months obsessing over.

“Mine,” he whispered against your skin more times than you could count.

—

A year after the wedding, Bucky somehow found himself on the campaign trail. Sam had roped him into it, convinced the world needed someone like him in Capitol Hill— someone with a backbone, a heart, and a no-bullshit attitude. And because Bucky couldn’t say no to his best friend (or to you, when you’d smiled and told him he’d be perfect for it), he ran.

And won.

He was now Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

But no matter how powerful or important he became, you were still his priority. You were the first person he called after every meeting, the one who made the stuffy suits and long hours bearable. 

And fuck, did he spoil you rotten. He got a four-bedroom Brownstone when you both moved to DC. For the kids to grow up in, he had told you, when you were ready, of course. The house was under your name.

He bought you designer dresses, diamond earrings, the kind of perfume that smelled like liquid gold. Anything you so much as look at, Bucky was ordering it before you even thought to ask.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you’d say, laughing as another velvet box showed up at your doorstep.

“I want to,” Bucky would grumble, nuzzling into your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “I’m your husband. I want to make sure you have everything you want.”

And he meant it.

Then one day, you asked for something that actually made him think.

“I want a pretty knife.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“For self-defense,” you explained casually. “You know. Just in case.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. “You?” He asked, still trying to make sense of it. “But Sweetheart, you’re—” He paused, searching for the right word. “You’re so… sweet.”

You smiled at him…. And that fucking smile.

Bucky swore you could’ve asked him for the moon and he would’ve tried to lasso it down for you. But a knife? He wasn’t sure whether you could even use it.

Still, you wanted it. So you got it.

Bucky made a few calls, and soon you had a beautifully crafted knife with a marble handle. He even made you practice holding it, standing behind you with his arms wrapped around yours, guiding your hand in slow movements.

You caught on so quickly. He was so proud.

But despite all the lessons, Bucky wasn’t entirely convinced you’d ever actually use it.

“Baby, if anyone even looks at you the wrong way, I’d handle it,” he insisted one night, watching you twirl the knife in your fingers like a toy. “No one’s gonna touch you.”

You giggled, leaning up to kiss him. “Just in case, okay?”

Bucky nodded, nipping at your collarbone, “Okay.”

—

Sometimes, the world forgot Bucky Barnes had always been a dangerous man.

Sure, to the public, he was a polished congressman— the war hero turned politician, a man who fought for justice and all that. At the state galas, he smiled for the cameras, shook hands with donors, and played the role of the perfect politician. And with your radiant and sweet charm on his arm, everyone ate it up. You were the darling wife of Congressman Barnes, the woman who could make the room hold their breath.

But they didn’t realise how violently obsessed Bucky was with you.

He watched every interaction you had at those events. He eventually had a little notepad where he hastily scribbled the name of every man who looked at you too long,  an arrogant politician who thought they could pry you away from him. They thought you were too innocent to be with the former winter soldier— They thought they could whisper something suggestive in your ear or brush their hand along your back without consequence.

But Bucky always noticed.

He’d smile, even laugh sometimes, as if the petty attempts didn’t bother him. But they did. They fucking consumed him. His teeth would grind against each other, his grip on your waist would tighten, and his eyes would darken into a stormy blue— all while the poor bastard standing in front of him had no idea just how badly he’d fucked up.

Bucky had a routine. After the gala, he’d walk you out and hand you to his driver.

He would lean down, whispering softly into your ear.

“Head to the car, baby. I’ve got something to take care of.”

You never questioned it. You’d smile, kiss his cheek, and do as he asked.

And once you were gone, Bucky would… pay them a visit.

The man who let his hand wander a little too low on your back? The one who called you “darling” like he had any fucking right? 

Bucky found him in a secluded corner of the marbled building of Washington DC, his steel-blue eyes cold and calculating.

“You think you can touch what’s mine?” Bucky growled.

He had always been clever. He had always chosen a corner with no cameras. No witnesses. Then, he’d whisper a threat, one that left grown men trembling.

But sometimes threats weren’t enough.

One time, he got fed up with a senator’s son who had too much to drink. He’d cornered you by the bar, his hand grabbing your arm and waist, lips curling into a wicked smirk. 

You’d laughed politely, excused yourself, and found your way back to Bucky. But the damage had been done

Later that night, Bucky found him.

It wasn’t pretty.

The next morning, the senator’s son was seen with a cast on his wrist, stammering about a “bad fall.” 

No one questioned it, 

After all, accidents happen.

That sick, satisfied feeling always found its way to his chest. Though the real satisfaction always came when he hopped in the car. 

He’d find you taking off your heels, waiting for him in the back seat. You’d smile at him, oblivious to the violence he’d just left in his wake. And when you asked, “Did everything go okay?” Bucky would just smile, lean down, and kiss you.

Because Bucky Barnes was a kind person, a great friend, a wonderful husband, and an honest man. But after decades of isolation, torture, and conditioning, he would never truly be a good man again. But for you, he would pretend to be.

—

Still, like any other job, Bucky had bad weeks. And this week had been hell.

Bucky had come home late every night.

Between his work in Congress and the bills he was trying to push through, the DC police department had asked for his help in identifying some vigilante called Siren.

Now, he barely had time to breathe.

You hated seeing him like this. He was always so strong, so put-together, but lately, stress had carved itself into his shoulders, a permanent tightness in his back muscles.

It didn’t help that Senator Mitchell was being a prick, as usual. The man thrived on opposing Bucky’s every move, shooting down every proposal like it was his life’s mission to make your husband miserable.

And then there was Congressman Davis. From what you’ve heard, he was an arrogant, insufferable bastard who had spent the last few weeks blocking one of Bucky’s most important bills.

So when Bucky had muttered “God, I fucking hate that guy” over breakfast one morning, you’d simply nodded.

The next day, Congressman Davis didn’t show up to work.

Broke both legs in a freak accident, according to the news.

Bucky had stared at the article. “That’s… weird.”

“You think?” you tilted your head.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “Honestly, I don’t have time to care. Mitchell is still a pain in my ass, and now the DC police want me to help them identify some masked vigilante tearing through the city.”

That made your stomach flip, but you kept your eyes neutral as he tossed a thick file onto the table.

“Siren?” you asked, watching him flip through the grainy surveillance images. The black-clad figure was barely visible. The only clear detail was the glint of a knife in her hand.

Bucky snorted. “What kind of name is Siren, anyway?”

You shrugged. “I think it’s kinda sexy.”

Bucky shot you an amused look.

You shrugged, leaning on the counter. “What do they want from you?”

“They want me to analyse the footage, see if I recognise any combat techniques,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples. “As if I can ID someone from a couple of blurry images.”

You hummed in response, flipping through the file again. 

“Maybe she doesn’t wanna be found.” you offered.

“No shit.” Bucky frowned. 

—

That night, Bucky sat at his desk, eyes narrowed at the open file in front of him. His fingers tapped against the wood as he studied the images again. Something about her was… familiar. 

You watched from the doorway, wrapped in a silk robe.

He needs a distraction, you thought. 

You walked across the room, slipping behind him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you pressed fluttering kisses to his neck.

Bucky sighed, leaning into your touch. “Baby…”

“You’re stressed,” you whispered, biting the lobe of his ear.

“I just— I can’t get a read on her,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. “On top of that, I have to deal with Mitchell tomorrow.”

You glanced at the photo he was studying—Siren, breaking the arm of an arms dealer. Poetic justice.

You said nothing, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 

Your fingers trailed lower, sliding down his chest, nails lightly scraping against his skin through his shirt. “I think you need a break.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Baby, I—”

When you stepped back, his words died in his throat.

Because you had untied your robe.

And underneath, a lingerie set that he’d picked out for you weeks ago, the one that had him practically drooling when you tried it on.

The chair scraped back so fast it nearly toppled over.

Then, Bucky was lifting you onto the desk, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up your sides, mapping out every inch of exposed skin as if he hadn’t memorised everything already. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, lips ghosting over your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, sweet girl.”

You giggled, threading your fingers through his hair. “I just thought my dear husband needed a break.” You batted your eyes innocently.

Bucky’s lips met yours in a bruising kiss. His hands kneaded your hips, pulling you flush against him, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

“S’not fair,” he muttered against your lips, his lovely Brooklyn drawl slipping out. “I was workin’.”

“Oh?” You smiled innocently, nails raking down his back. “You wanna go back to your case?”

Bucky growled, lifting you effortlessly as your legs wrapped around his waist. “Fuck no.”

And with that, he carried you to your bedroom. 

Siren was forgotten, for now. 

—

That night, after you stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body, you casually said, “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

Bucky frowned immediately, towel-drying his damp hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “Alone?”

You’d done this before, but never this late. 

You rolled your eyes. “I can handle myself, honey.”

He crossed his arms, “That’s not the point.”

You sighed, stepping forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let you go—reluctantly. At least you had your knife with you. 

—

By the time you got back, you were sweaty, chest rising and falling like you’d just finished a workout.

Bucky, who was sitting on the couch, immediately stood up and walked over to you. He looked at you, studying in the slight flush in your cheeks, the damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

He tilted his head. “You said you were going for a walk.”

You wiped at your brow. “Yeah, well… guess I went for a jog instead.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you jog?”

You shrugged. “Felt like I had some energy to burn.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, trying to assess the situation, but then you stood on your toes and kissed him.

Suddenly, he wasn’t questioning anything anymore.

—

The next day in Capitol Hill, Senator Mitchell had a black eye.

A nasty one, too. It was swollen and bruised, red against his pale skin.

Mitchell barely spoke all session, and when Bucky had the floor, the senator didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t sneer. Didn’t open his mouth to object.

He just sat there, shifting uncomfortably, trying his hardest not to look at Bucky.

Weird.

—

Before heading home, Bucky had one last piece of business to handle.

An overconfident diplomat from last week’s charity gala had overstayed his welcome in the city, unlucky for him. 

He had touched your arm without permission, his fingers lingering just a little too long on your skin. Bucky had been across the room that night, but even distance couldn’t dull his rage. 

By the end of the night, the bastard had vanished into the crowd.

That had been frustrating. But patience was something Bucky had in abundance when it came to protecting what was his.

So when he overheard a passing remark today that the diplomat was still in town, he found out where he was staying and simply went to the hotel lobby.

Bucky sat comfortably in a leather armchair, looking like just another guest winding down from a long day. He even smiled when his target stepped through the elevator doors.

Bucky stood and intercepted the man, placing himself just close enough that escape wouldn’t be an option. “Nice to see you again,” Bucky greeted, his voice almost pleasant. The diplomat barely had time to register the danger before Bucky leaned in, that same eerie smile still in place.

“If you so much as look at my wife again, I’ll break your fucking nose so badly, they’ll have to rebuild it from the inside out. And even then, it’ll never sit fucking right ever again.” Bucky said, though his tone was conversational. To anyone else, it would look as if he was commenting on the weather. “And that’ll be the least of your problems.”

The man swallowed hard, his overconfidence crumbling.

Satisfied, Bucky patted his shoulder once, before walking away. On the drive home, he pulled a pen from the glove compartment and calmly crossed the man's name off his list.

When he finally stepped through the door, he smiled to see you finishing up dinner. Bucky told you he could just hire a personal chef, but you insisted that you wanted to make his meals, to be his perfect housewife. 

Without a word, he tugged you into his lap, burying his face against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, “You know you’re mine, right, baby?” he said, his hands tightening around you. “Only mine.”

—

The next morning, you found him in the kitchen, reading over yet another Siren case file.

You pouted, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his back. “Buckyyy.”

He chuckled, placing his hand over yours. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I lost my knife,” you mumbled.

Bucky paused. “Lost it?”

No. No, you wouldn’t be so careless. 

Did someone take it from you? Did someone touch you?

The mere thought sent Bucky into a violent spiral, his fingers itched for blood.

Because if someone had taken it from you—if someone had dared to lay their filthy hands on what was his—they were going to wish they were never alive.

You nodded against his skin. “I think I dropped it during my morning run.”

He turned, relieved that you were just a bit careless. He lifted your chin with two fingers, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you gave him your best adorable pout. 

“My sweet girl,” he said. “You gotta be more careful.”

You blinked up at him, a little upset. “I liked that knife.”

He chuckled before letting out a deep breath. He could never be mad at you. So he just exhaled, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ll get you another one, baby. Whatever you want.”

You beamed. “Really?”

“Of course.” His fingers tightened slightly on your chin. “But you tell me next time you go for an early run. Don’t like you out there alone.”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You worry too much.”

—

Within a week, Bucky gave you a new knife— a replacement for the one you lost. But calling it just a knife would be an insult.

It was stunning.

The handle was custom-made, dark metal inlaid with delicate floral, perfectly molded to fit your grip. The blade was wickedly sharp, and yet, it wasn’t just a weapon. It was art.

You turned it over in your hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. “You spoil me," you said, testing the weight in your palm. It was perfect.

Bucky smiled, satisfied. "Darling, I haven’t even started."

And just when you thought he couldn’t get any worse, he handed you something else— a little holster, custom-made to hold your new knife. The leather was buttery soft, made to fit against your thigh or tuck neatly under your jacket.

“Specially made for you,” he said proudly, brushing his lips over your cheek, then your jaw. “Gotta keep my good girl safe.”

Your stomach flipped.

What you didn’t know was that, because Bucky was a completely unhinged, lovesick lunatic, he had slipped a tiny tracking device into your holster—one discreet enough that you’d never notice. But that wasn’t all. The device also had a built-in listening function, so it was silently transmitting your location and every sound around you straight to a hidden app on his phone.

Not because he didn’t trust you.

But because the thought of you out there, alone without his protection— drove him insane.

So he made sure that, no matter where you went, he’d always be able to find you.

So now, if anyone so much as breathed wrong in your direction, Bucky would hear it. 

And he’d handle it.

—

The next morning, Bucky’s phone rang. It was an unlisted number from DC Police.

He sighed, already dreading whatever mess was waiting for him. But before he even thought about leaving, he had to take care of something far more important.

You.

Still hazy from sleep, you barely had time to blink before Bucky was on you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his lips peppering gentle yet desperate kisses across every inch of exposed skin. Your cheek, your shoulders, the delicate curve of your throat.

"Just reminding you how much I love you before I go to work,” he nuzzled you.

You hummed, tilting your head to grant him better access. He took full advantage, dragging his mouth down your throat, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there. His teeth grazed your pulse point, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Be good, baby,” he whispered against your lips, still unwilling to leave. 

You smiled, all sweet innocence. “I’m always a good girl.”

Bucky groaned, pressing one last kiss to your lips before reluctantly pulling away.

For now.

—

The moment Bucky stepped into the precinct, conversations halted. Officers froze, whispering behind their hands.

Bucky’s eyes flickered around the room, landing on the open file waiting for him on the table.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

Detective Ramirez, a no-nonsense woman who had been working in DC longer than most high schoolers have been alive, flipping through the folder. “We did a lot of digging last night… and Siren’s been operating a lot longer than we thought.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as she laid out the evidence.

“We traced activity back a couple years. Louisiana. Then Brooklyn. And now, D.C.” 

Huh. What a weird coincidence. Those are all the places you’ve lived in.

She shook her head. “She’s been at this for a long time.”

The grainy surveillance images showed the same shadowy figure— always disappearing before authorities could get close. But it was clear now. This wasn’t just some local vigilante.

“She started with street-level criminals—gangs, traffickers, arms dealers. But lately?” Ramirez slid a new set of photos across the table.

Congressman Davis. Senator Mitchell.

What?

“Both men had been attacked in the last three months. Different incidents. Different locations. But the same signature,” she explained, shaking her head. They’re terrified,” Ramirez continued. “Refused to talk, barely gave us any details because they’re convinced Siren will come back and… finish the job.”

Bucky stayed silent, his mind racing. 

Something wasn’t adding up.

“And then there’s this in the crime scene. We believe it’s hers.” Ramirez reached into an evidence bag, carefully unwrapping something small wrapped in cloth. She placed it on the table and slid it toward him.

Bucky’s stomach dropped.

A knife.

Not just any knife.

Your knife.

The one he had given you.

The one you had lost.

He reached for it, turning it over in his gloved hand. It was unmistakable in its design.

Bucky clenched his teeth, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

Because if he let anything slip—if they saw even the slightest reaction—he wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this.

—

Bucky came home late that night, his mind clouded and fearful.

The evidence was stacked against you, but he refused to believe it. You couldn't be Siren. No—maybe she had stolen your knife. Maybe someone was trying to frame you. Maybe—

Then he saw the note.

"Went for a run. Be back soon <3"

Bullshit.

His gut twisted with the kind of instinctual, primal warning that had kept him alive for decades. Maybe he thought the handwriting was too neat, or maybe just knew when you were lying to him. He always did.

Metal knuckle curling into a ball, he pulled out his phone and tapped into the hidden tracking signal embedded in your holster.

You were nowhere near a park, or a public road for that matter. Instead, you were in a wealthy neighbourhood on the other side of town.

Then he turned on the listening device.

A second later, your voice crackled through the speaker. You sounded eerily calm. “A little birdie told me you were planning to block the new Veteran Act."

Bucky’s breath hitched. He had told you about that bill he had been spearheading. About how Jones—that corrupt prick—was going to block it before it even had a chance.

And now you must be standing in front of him, threatening him.

He heard the unmistakable whisper of a blade slicing through the air.

Jones hesitated. “You’re insane—”

"Approve it,” he heard you sneer, “Or I’ll come back and finish the job."

Bucky’s heart slammed against his ribs. He was torn between wanting to go to you—to drag you away from this, to keep you safe—and just listening.

In hindsight, he should have known.

The "walks." The "runs." The way you had picked up knifework too quickly when he had first put a blade in your hands. The first night he kissed you, he had found you on your fire escape—because you had been doing vigilante shit after the pool bar. 

And then you spoke again, this time in a sweet sing-song tone, “If you don’t, I’ll put your head underwater until the bubbles stop."

Jones went silent.

Bucky knew you had taken mixed martial arts as a kid for self-defense, but he had never thought much of it— never imagined you still practiced, still used it.

And then, “O-okay, okay—I will.”

Fuck.

He had to admit it now. You were Siren.

Sweet, innocent you. The woman who pressed sleepy kisses against his collarbone in the morning. The woman who curled up in his lap at night, blinking up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

But that wasn’t all you were.

You were this, too. You were a predator hiding in plain sight.

And instead of being freaked out—instead of feeling betrayed or angry—Bucky was… turned on.

His breaths were uneven, chest rising and falling with arousal.

Because he knew this wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t corrupting you.

You were always like this.

Maybe, you were just waiting for someone who would be just as sick as you are.

And you found him.

—

The second you slipped through the back door, you felt his eyes on you.

You had been careful. So fucking careful.

You had changed in the garden shed.  You wiped the sweat and dirt from your skin, slipping into an oversized hoodie, leggings, sneakers that were scuffed just enough to sell the illusion. By the time you stepped inside, you looked like nothing more than a tired, unsuspecting wife coming home from an innocent late-night run.

So you played your part.

You plastered a sleepy smile onto your face. “Hey, honey."

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

He just sat there, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together.

What’s going on?

"How’s Senator Jones?" He said calmly, too calmly. 

Your stomach plummeted.

The room felt like it had shrunk, walls pressing in. Everything was suffocating.

You blinked at him, feigning confusion. “What?"

Bucky tilted his head, the ghost of an amused smile playing at his lips.

"I know you’re Siren."

Your breath stalled.

A million reasons went through your rolodex of excuses, each one weaker than the last. But when you looked at him, at the certainty in his eyes, you knew there was no use denying it.

He knew.

But two could play at that game.

So instead of panic, you kept yourself calm. 

“Oh?” You arched a brow, voice smooth as silk. "And how’s that diplomat from that gala? Heard you took care of him."

For the first time since you came back, Bucky faltered.

“Y-You knew?” He stammered.

You saw the moment it hit him, the way his pupils blew wide.

"Of course I knew, baby,” you said sweetly, stepping closer. You could see the tension in his shoulders, "I know about your list, Bucky. I see your murderous rage every time."

Bucky’s muscles tightened. His breath became shallow, heart thrumming against his ribs.

You sighed, walking past him to a compartment under the island kitchen, pulling out a small, battered notebook. You flipped it open, then placed it in his hands.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around it as he scanned the pages.

What was this?

It was his list—mirrored.

The same names. The same faces. The same fucking targets. So you could keep track of who he was after. 

But alongside them, you had your own notes. Your observations.

Log entries tracking him— where he had been sighted, what areas he had stalked, what time he usually came home. Notes on when he was distracted. When he was asleep. When you could slip out and do your little crime fighting routine. You had copies of all the numbers in his contacts— classified or otherwise.

You even had pictures of him from the goddamn Capitol Hill security cameras. From his usual coffee shops. From his favourite supermarket.

His hands started shaking, because between the scribbled words, between the ink and the scratched-out sentences, there’s something familiar.

Not just in the thoughts.

But in the way they’re written. They were scrawled in a rush, like they were obsessive.

And then, just beneath one of the messier lines, there’s a word—so small, so easy to miss. ‘Mine.’

Sweet, darling, unassuming you, had a dark side.

You were just like him.

A perfect reflection. A mirror image of his own madness.

His throat felt dry. "You—" He swallowed. "You kept track of me?"

You tilted your head innocently. "Oh, sweetheart."

But if you thought that was something—

Bucky moved, crossing the room and yanked open the bottom drawer of the TV stand. His movements were almost aggressive as he pulled out a thick, leather-bound book.

Not his little notebook. 

This was different.

And then he handed it to you.

The second you flipped it open, your heart stopped.

It wasn’t names.

It wasn’t targets.

It was you.

Pages upon pages, filled with cramped, meticulous handwriting.

Your detailed wardrobe, all of your perfumes, observations of what you smelled like after a shower versus after a long day. An analysis of how your voice changed when you were lying. The exact shade your lips turned when you were cold. Your coffee orders in all the cafes you’ve ever been to, your favourite snacks. There was even a paragraph of the way you twirled your fork when you ate pasta. The names and addresses of all of your exes— where they lived, where they work, where they shop.

Your entire existence, laid bare.

A record. A worship. A fucking obsession.

Then, you both realised. 

You were just two absolute fucking lunatics, hopelessly, unhealthily obsessed with each other.

The two of you had been circling each other like predators for years— watching, tracking, leaving breadcrumbs of obsession in each other’s worlds without even realising it.

You weren’t just people to each other.

You were religion.

You were scripture.

Two minds running parallel, equally deranged, equally consumed— until you inevitably collided. 

You licked your lips slowly, the corner of your mouth curling as you looked up at him through your lashes. You knew what you were doing— of course you did.

With a voice as saccharine as it was wicked, you whispered, "I’m still your good girl."

Bucky fucking shattered.

A wrecked groan tore from his throat. His grip felt like iron chains as he gripped your waist, shoving you against the nearest surface— the kitchen counters. But you barely noticed, too focused on the way his hands clawed at you, like even after all these years, he still needed to mark you, ruin you.

His lips were on you in an instant, first on your lips, then trailing down your throat.

And then he dropped to his knees.

A fucking worshipper at your altar.

A zealot ready to die a martyr.

His hands gripped your thighs, firm enough to bruise, and he tilted his head up to look at you, pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted.

He was completely undone. Completely yours.

A satisfied smile spread across your face as you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him whimper.

"But you’re also my good boy,” you teased, “aren’t you?"

His groan was ruinous.

His eyes were wild, desperate, and fucking feral.

"Yeah, baby," he nodded, voice wrecked, hands trailing up, gripping the curve of your hips. "Yours. All yours.”

And then—

He showed you.

Because Bucky Barnes will never be a good man again.

But for you?

He’d be anything.

-end.

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@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

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@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

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@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

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@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

guys I know I'm working on There She Goes but I just had an epiphany; a Bucky × reader fic where reader is a magical girl!! i loosely based this idea off of kiana khansmith's 'pretty pretty please I don't want to be a magical girl' and I'm ecstatic on starting this series for you guys!!

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

The Campaign 

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x personal assistant/PR!manager Reader

Synopsis: Hired as Barnes’ personal assistant and PR!manager, he was constantly pushing your buttons when it came to maintaining his public image and managing his day-to-day routines. But as much as he stresses you out, you find yourself falling head over heels over your boss.

Content warnings: fluffy and crack, small angst, swearing, mentions of smoke and drinking, a little steamy but not smutty, no use of y/n, you are so tired of his bs but he loves you, pining, boss x employee relationship, friends to lovers situation

a/n: this might be my favourite piece I have written for Bucky. I also tried to keep it gender-neutral. I also apologize if I get stuff wrong about how voting and congress works, I am not American lol. also i did not proof read this sorry!

word count: 5k (whew)

It was only 7:30 am and you could use a glass of Bourbon and a cigarette. 

You ought to just go radio silent one of these days. Clearly, you were not paid enough to be James Buchanan Barnes’ glorified babysitter. Everyday, there was something new going on with the former Winter Soldier and today was the worst one yet. An early morning call from Sam Wilson always meant bad news, but whatever he had to say gave you a raging migraine and it hasn’t reached 9 am yet.

‘You’re kidding me. What got released to the public?’ you screeched over the phone.

This is how you found yourself marching into your boss’s apartment with a bedhead you barely cared to fix, and a poorly done business causal outfit, with a hefty pile of files bound together with several manila binders under your arm. 

‘James, you open this door right now!’ you hollered, accompanying your anger with an booming knock on his door. 

An exasperated sigh was heard through the thin walls. You were soon met with a tired Bucky Barnes who was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. ‘Y’know, it’s really unprofessional to address your boss by their first name.’

Shoving the mental image of his delectable half-naked figure in the back of your head, you shoved the man out of the way and stomped into his kitchen island. You were too mad to ogle your boss that you unfortunately found very attractive.

‘You got a Scotch? I could really use a glass right now.’ you murmured, grabbing the nearest glass and scattering the files onto his marbled counter.

Bucky checked his watch on his wrist. ‘The fuck do you need a glass of Scotch for? Sweetheart, it’s only 7:50am!’

You resorted to a cold glass of milk, since there was no liquor to be found. ‘Look at the files I dropped and you tell me, James.’ 

The super soldier shuffled his way toward the pile of paperwork. As he quickly scanned around, a growing smirk grew on his lips. Noticing this, you groaned, rubbing your fingers over the deepening crease on your brows.

‘Do you know what I woke up with, James? I woke up with Captain America panicking over the phone because someone decided to leak the information I worked so hard to bury!’ you fumed. Swirling your glass of milk like it was hard liquor, you gulped it down, trying to calm your steaming head.

Bucky’s vibranium, fingers grazed over the paper and picked it up. It read ‘POTENTIAL CONGRESSMAN JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ASSASSINATION OF JFK?’

He inquisitive tilted his head in confusion. ‘I thought everyone knew this?’

A nice smooth roll of tobacco sounded so good right now. 

‘Are you KIDDING me?! What part of ‘I worked so hard to bury the information’ don’t you understand?!’ you bellowed, startling the man in front of you. Slapping both of your palms on the marbled counter, Bucky could see you heaving and seething from anger.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. He carefully made his way towards your side and wrapped you with a side hug. His fleshed fingers slowly rubbed your arms up and down in an attempt to soothe your anger. ‘Alright, alright. I guess I slipped up that one interview where I jokingly said ‘the president better watch his back.’ Someone probably took that to heart and found out that I might’ve assassinated JFK.’

You turned your head and squinted. ‘You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut.’

‘Maybe you can shut it for me, sweetheart.’ Bucky teased.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, fighting the growing blush on your cheeks. It was safe to say that your relationship with Bucky has gone past strictly business professional. The two of you grew close for the past year, and you felt that there was something more. But, for the sake of the job nature and your sanity, you couldn’t act upon it.

A gentle smack on his chest caused him to let go of you. ‘Alright you smooth talker. That might've worked during the 40s, but you’re asking to get smacked by women if you say that.’ 

‘But Sam taught me that last week.’ Bucky shrugged.

‘That’s it. I don’t care if he’s Captain America, I’m limiting his visitation hours with you, Mr. Barnes.’ you scoffed. Grabbing the glass that was sitting on the counter, you reached for the milk carton to pour another.

The super soldier gave you a knowing look. ‘Honestly? I’ll be glad if you did. He talks too much sometimes.’

A grin donned your features as you downed another glass of milk. ‘Didn’t expect you to agree to that. Go get dressed Barnes, I called for another press conference at 10am and you better explain yourself.’

‘Yes ma’am.’ he saluted. As he made his way to his room, he paused, and looked back at you. Pursing your lips in anticipation, you expected him to throw a snarky comment at you. And that’s exactly what he did.

‘Y’know, this information coming to the public isn’t that bad. I heard the Gen Z were into that kind of thing.’ Bucky teasingly quipped.

He was met with a flying salt shaker to his head.

✪✪✪

Your ‘Days Bucky doesn’t tarnish his public image’ counter reset to 0 two days later.

A few hours ago, Bucky appeared at a charity gala that was hosted by Stark Industries. It surprised you, knowing the history between his time as the Winter Soldier and him being responsible for the murder of Howard and Maria Stark. Alas, you learned a long time ago that politics was a messy, dirty game, and you were just a personal assistant to yet another political candidate.

Yet, Bucky wasn’t just another politician you assisted, he was basically a dashing 110-year-old dashing man who always found himself leaving a mess wherever he went.

And tonight was one of those nights. It was going so well during the gala, all he had to do was sit pretty and make mindless talk with the other important figures. You knew that he didn’t want to go in the first place, so you made a deal with him; if he went and did not make a commotion, you would treat him to your favourite Shawarma spot in New York. He complied, and was doing so well.

Until you found yourself catering to his wounds back in his apartment.

The super soldier grunted in pain as your fingers pressed antibiotics into his open scratch on his forehead. 

‘Hey, are you trying to hurt me more?’ he whined.

Paying no mind to his complaint, you continued to apply more, digging into the wound even further.

‘Jesus, sweetheart! At this point you’re hurting me more than trying to patch my wounds!’ Bucky moaned, wincing as you finally put a gauze on the wounded area. 

‘Yeah right.’ you finally shot back. ‘You have super soldier serum running through your veins Barnes. You’re a big boy, you can deal with it.’

Looking away from the man, you rummaged through the first aid kit on lap as you searched for more gauze. As your eyes raised up to face him again, Bucky gave you an apologetic stare, like a whimpering puppy.

‘Save it James.’ you huffed, continuing to patch the wound on his flesh arm. ‘You broke your promise, so you’re not getting Shawarma with me tonight.’

‘Aww, come on! I really didn’t mean to!’ he pouted. James Buchanan Barnes. Pouting at his personal assistant. If only the world could see that.

‘Oh really?’ your voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘You didn’t mean to uppercut John Walker in the face in a public event?’

‘Listen sweetheart, he started it!’

‘I find that hard to believe Barnes.’

Bucky pleaded to you with his sky blue eyes. ‘You have to believe me. There’s a reason why I did it.’

A sarcastic laugh escaped your lungs. ‘Do you really live to annoy and stress me out all the time James?’ You bit the medical tape, ripping a piece and placing it on top of the gauze that was placed on his arm.

Silence filled Bucky’s living room before he finally confessed. ‘I didn’t like the way he spoke about you.’

Your eyes widened with his revelation, and halted your actions. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you stared at the super soldier in disbelief. ‘What?’ 

Bucky pursed his lips before he continued. ‘I know, I know. He was taunting me. Walker came to me wanting to make small talk and I guess he was getting cocky and started to talk smack about you. Degrading you and your abilities. Called you names, diminished your accomplishments. I couldn’t stand there and let him do that to you sweetheart.’

It was like Bucky squeezed your heart with his mechanical arm. Blood started to rush towards your ears, with your neck heating up. Your boss cared enough to defend you, even when you were absent.

His eyes gazed down to your hands as he took it with his fleshed ones. ‘I know it seems that I make your life a hundred times harder. Always cleaning up my messes, always making sure that I can win my campaign. It’s the least I can do for you while you do so much for me.’

You continued to stare at him. His confession knocked your breath away. All this time he genuinely cared for you.

He looked up once more and gazed upon your eyes. ‘I’ll fix this myself sweetheart. Go get rest tonight.’

He quietly searched your eyes for some sort of answer, while you continued to sit in silence.

After what seemed an eternity, he was met with your answer.

‘Bucky, you absolute idiot.’ you whispered, with tears pricking your eyes. ‘Thank you. You’re a good friend.’

The word friend stung his heart, but it was for the best. Wanting to pursue a relationship beyond friendship would be selfish on his part. He always wanted to, since he harboured a little crush on you ever since you first entered his life. But Bucky knew, he should know, that he can’t have everything in life. It would be too selfish. After all, he didn’t deserve it.

‘Yeah.’ he croaked. ‘So, am I off the hook now? Can we get some shawarma?’

A shaky sigh escaped your lips. Resuming your task to patch him up, a small smile adorned your lips as you shook your head.

‘After this, change to something casual. By the way, you’re paying.’ you jested.

A low chuckle escaped Bucky’s lungs, and you laughed with him in response. Although you wished for something more, you were content with the way things were right now.

✪✪✪

Tonight was the big day. It was election day. The results of your hard work will determine if it was enough for Bucky to be elected as a congressman. After today, you could finally rest easy, and possibly continue working for him as an assistant to a congressman. After all, you found yourself attached to him after a year of working with him. 

However, as soon as you walked into his apartment, you wished that you worked for someone else.

‘Alright Barnes, are you ready to go? The car is waiting-’ your voice faded as your eyes landed on the frazzled super soldier.

His medium cut hair was a mess, with strands sticking up in every direction. His navy blue blazer was scattered on the floor. The white long sleeve dress shirt he wore was unbuttoned, unironed and stained with red sauce. However, the white wife beater he wore underneath was miraculously unstained. The notebook, which had the speech you wrote, was lying on the counter, smothered with pizza sauce. Most of all, his other arm was missing.

Bucky froze midway from biting a pizza slice as you barged in. His wide eyes stared at you in shock, with the pizza bending down and dripping onto his white garment. He looked down with his mouth hanging open once he realized that he messed up his outfit of the night.

Your feet felt like they were stuck on the ground as you stared at your boss incredulously.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, are you shitting me?! The election gala is in one hour!’ you scolded him. 

Slamming the front door shut, you angrily sauntered into the kitchen area, picking up his fallen blazer and draping it on your arm.

‘Hey sweetheart.’ Bucky said casually, continuing to munch on his pizza as he glazed over the notebook once more. You look stunning.’

‘Sweet talk isn’t going to get me less angry Barnes! I literally got that dress shirt last week, and you stained it!’ you fumed, walking to his side and grabbing the shirt by the collar, forcing him to shed it off of his body, leaving him with just his navy blue dress pants and wife beater. ‘Please don’t tell me this isn’t the only dress shirt you have!’

‘Well, can I wear my black one?’ he innocently asked, gobbling up the last piece into his mouth. Bucky looked at your form, and stepped back as he saw you vibrating with anger.

It was your turn to stare at Bucky Barnes. This man was supposed to be all ready to go for his campaign night. Instead, you were looking at the feared ex-assassin stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk in his apartment complex. If it wasn’t for the given circumstance, you would’ve laughed and snuck a photo of him.

You let out a loud groan in response, and dialed for a cleaner to expedite an urgent laundry order. Once you finished with the call, Bucky made his way towards you, and stuck out the notebook you made for him.

‘This speech is too long.’ he declared.

‘You had a week to learn it James. Not my fault you were procrastinating.’ Tilting your body to the side, you eyed the area where his vibranium arm should be. ‘Also, where is your arm?’

Bucky nervously pursed his lips shut as your eyes squinted at him. Thinking about where he could’ve placed it, your eyes wandered to the dishwasher behind, seeing it was running a cycle. Putting two and two together in your head, your eyes slowly glanced back at the man in front of you.

‘James-’

‘Listen sweetheart’ he started. His fleshed hand nervously rubbed against the back of his neck.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, did you put your fucking Wakandan-made vibranium arm in your dishwasher?!’ you sputtered in disbelief. 

‘Hear me out! I couldn’t put it in the washing machine, it would tumble around and break it! The dishwasher cleans it very well!’

‘So you casually put Wakandan tech that’s probably millions of dollars in a machine that’s meant for washing dishes?’ A growing headache was creeping up. Good thing you brought Tylenol.

‘I got it for free.’ he mumbled. 

Scoffing in disbelief, you raised your arms in frustration and stomped towards the front door. ‘Whatever! It feels like I’m arguing with a child. You’re a grown man for Pete’s sake!’

‘Technically, I’m 110 years old-’

‘Right. You’re the perfect age to be running for congress.’ you snarked back. It was Bucky's turn to stare at you incredulously. 

The man huffed with exhaustion. You had enough, you were going to leave him be and wait for him in the car. But before you could turn the doorknob, he spoke up. ‘Sweetheart, listen! I’m nervous as hell for tonight. Everything that I worked for, everything you worked for is happening right now, and I don’t want to fuck this up.’ 

Upon hearing his confession, your hand paused midway from grabbing the knob. A deep sigh left your lips while you looked down, before facing him once more. The worried expression in his beautiful bright blue eyes was enough for you to cave in.

Sighing once more, you gently smiled at him. ‘Oh, Bucky. What would you do without me?’ you breathed, walking towards him.

A breathy chuckle came out of his lips as you made your way in front of him. Gently fingers combed his greasy hair, and he glanced down at you, looking at you with unspoken endearment. ‘Not much, I’m afraid. You’re basically the glue holding me together.’

A mischievous glint shone in your irises. ‘I hope you’re not referring to me as your mother figure James.’

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Lowering his head towards your ear, he lightly blew air, causing you to shiver. ‘Oh sweetheart, you’re much much much more than a caretaker for me.’

His words caused a squeezing sensation in your abdomen. Refusing to fall for his lacy words as you had to keep a professional boundary between the two of you (which was blurring by the second), your palms gently pushed him off.

You had to draw the line between you and your boss. ‘Save your sultry words for the event tonight Barnes. Pretty sure there’s some beautiful women who’s willing to throw themselves at you.’ 

Bucky paused, and you saw a storm of emotions brewing in his expressive eyes before he answered. ‘I don’t need that-’ he started, before he cut you off.

‘Tick tock, Barnes! We have to get going here, you’re lucky that the laundromat is willing to do an express order for you!’ you blurted out, trying to extinguish the awkward atmosphere. ‘I’ll head there right now. In the meantime, get dressed, fix your hair, and for God’s sake James, get your fucking arm out of the dishwasher.’

Bucky licked his lips and huffed out of frustration. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he obeyed your command and silently cleaned up the kitchen area. He threw a knowing look towards you, as he watched your figure promptly leave his flat. 

The super soldier made a mental note that tonight was the night he was going to finally make a move, if he won the election.

On the other side of the door, your sweaty palm clenched the fabric of your dress that was covering your chest. Too close, it was too close. You wanted to keep this job, to keep being close to your friend and crush without compromising the ethicality of it. It hurt, but with the given situation, it was the best you could do. You were content with being with him, even if you were just the personal assistant-pr manager-and glorified babysitter of Bucky Barnes.

Shaking your head out of your thoughts, you slapped both your cheeks together, then made your way towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

You deserved a smooth glass of Bourbon tonight.

✪✪✪

He won.

He actually won. A little part of you didn’t believe it, but Bucky won a seat at the congress. The former Winter Soldier who probably assassinated a dozen American politicians and presidents, was now a politician himself. Now that you thought about it, it was ironic, but nevertheless the way American politics worked.

You were also sure that Gen Z voters were solely responsible for his win. After all, no one could resist a handsome and buff super soldier running for congress. It was like offering the best piece of candy to a child.

But now that your task was complete, you weren’t sure whether you would continue your job as his personal assistant and PR manager. With all things considered, you were the perfect person for the job. You knew his routine and schedule with the back of his hand. Sure, there were moments that caused you to rip your hair out from stress, but in the end, you genuinely enjoyed being by Bucky’s side.

With your cheek on your palm as it rested on the window of the car, you zoned out as your eyes followed the streetlights. You were so deep in thought that you failed to notice that Bucky was grazing his real hand over yours, which was resting on the leather seat. He glanced at you, with eyes wavering with concern.

‘You alright sweetheart?’ Bucky murmured, gently caressing your hand.

‘Hn? Yeah, just tired.’ you answered listlessly, still not noticing his touch.

The rest of the car ride back to his apartment complex was silent. Once the two of you made it inside, Bucky carefully closed the front door shut as you shrugged off your coat and plopped yourself on his couch. You stretched your neck back and looked up to the ceiling and sighed with exhaustion.

The super soldier let out a chuckle at this sight of you. He had never seen you this exhausted, and honestly found it cute.

‘Long day?’ he quipped, sitting beside you.

You felt the couch dip to your left. ‘Tell me about it.’ you sighed.

Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head to face your boss. Gazing softly into his eyes, you smiled. ‘Congratulation on your win Bucky. You deserved it.’

Bucky’s eyes crinkled with a smile. ‘It was all thanks to you sweetheart. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

The two of you laughed, then sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company.

You looked down at your lap and nervously rubbed your fingers. Pursing your lips, you gained the courage to let him know that you wanted to continue your work as his assistant. 

While you were lost in your head trying to figure out the words, Bucky was in his own personal debate. It was either tonight or never. He had to let you know how he felt.

After a lingering silence, you spoke up first.

‘James, I want-’

‘You’re fired.’ he said bluntly. 

The words faded from your lips, slowly reeling in the words he had said. Your eyes widened in shock, with the corner of your eyes prickling with tears.

‘Fired?’ you echoed back. ‘You’re firing me?’

Your worst fear came true. He didn’t want you anymore. You trembled with anxiety, taking in the sinking feeling that you weren’t needed anymore.

Realizing that his words were coming out wrong, Bucky tried to explain himself. ‘Wait! Sweetheart let me explain-!’

Rage filled your being as the usually endearing nickname rolled off his tongue. ‘You have the balls to call me sweetheart when you’re firing me?! After all I have done for you Barnes! The sleepless nights, the anxiety I endured for your stupid campaign! You’re just going to throw me aside now that you’ve won?! I can’t believe-’ you exploded as you got up from the couch and started pacing around the living room.

Bucky growled your name in frustration, causing your rambling to stop. Walking up to you, he placed a firm hold on your shoulders as he directed you to come face to face. His pupils wavered as you bore his eyes straight into yours, with tears starting to prick in the bottom of his eyelids.

‘I’m firing you because I’m in love with you.’ Bucky quietly professed.

A tidal wave of emotions washed over you upon hearing his words. The angry expression that you wore immediately melted into confusion, mixed with hope.

‘You’re firing me because you’re in love with me?’ you slowly drawled.

An exasperated airless chuckle left his lungs. ‘I know how stupid it sounds. God, sweetheart, you make me so stupid with love.’ A gently warm hand cupped your cheek carefully.

Bucky’s eyes stared into yours with a longing expression. ‘This past year, all you’ve done is take care of me. You fixed my fuck ups. Made sure I was well rested and prepared. I would be lying if I said I would’ve gone through this gruelling campaign without you. Because my love, you held me together, even when I wanted to fall apart.’

Your lips slowly parted, with your eyes glossy with tears. ‘Bucky-’ you muttered, before he cut you off.

Bucky rested his forehead into yours as he shut his eyes. You could feel his hot breath nervously wavering as he continued his confession. ‘Sweetheart, you took care of me this whole time, even when I didn’t deserve it. Now it’s my turn to take care of you, and the only way to do that is to fire you.’

His eyes opened once more, revealing his sky blue eyes that were now glossy. When you didn’t answer him back, he heaved a heavy sigh, his pupils wavering even more as he tried to look for your answer in your eyes.. ‘Please say something.’ he begged.

Finally convinced that you weren’t daydreaming, you gave Bucky an answer.

Leaning your head close to his, your lips gently grazed over his plush ones, sweetly pressing your lips on him. He slowly returned your kiss, lips parting slightly to capture his over your bottom lip. Your hands wandered to his blazer, grabbing the collar as you brought him close to your body. His vibranium arm cradled the back of your head, inhaling deeply as you parted your own lips to kiss him once more. 

Bucky tilted his head and partially opened his lips, urging you to open your mouth as he poked his tongue through, licking your teeth in the process. A low moan escaped his throat as he messily massaged his tongue against yours.

Maybe you did deserve this after dealing with his bullshit for a year.

However, while the two of you were busy inhaling one another, his pressing weight was causing you to lose your balance. Once you realized however, it was too late. You and Bucky broke the kiss as you tumbled onto the carpeted floor, with him falling on top of you.

‘Woah!’ you yelped, expecting your head to hit the ground. Your eyes squeezed shut, expecting an impact, but was met with Bucky’s warm hand cradling the back of your head, absorbing the fall.

He may have cushioned your fall, but his body landed on yours, knocking the wind from your lung in the process. Bucky’s chest rumbled with laughter as you squeaked in discomfort. ‘You’re heavy, James.’

‘Sorry.’ he hummed amusingly. The super soldier brought himself off of you, lifting his body inches away from yours as his elbows rested on your sides.

If you told your past self that a year from now, that your boss confessed to you the night he won his election campaign, they would’ve slapped you silly, telling you that you’re delusional. But here you were, gazing into his eyes lovingly while he stroked your head endearingly. 

‘So.’ you started.

‘So.’ he mimed back.

‘Now that I’m unemployed thanks to you, you’re going to help me find a new job.’

Bucky pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. ‘Already done and taken care of.’

Your eyebrow shot up. ‘What did you do now, James?’

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. ‘I cashed in a favour from Sam. You’re going to be his PR manager now.’

Your face twisted into frustration. ‘Oh god. Working for him might be slightly worse than working for you.’

‘Excuse me!’ he scoffed out of offence. ‘Working with me is a pleasure!’

You sniffed in sarcasm as you pushed him off to sit up. Bucky took it as an opportunity to tackle you into the floor once more.

‘Bucky stop it!’ you shrieked as he poked his fingers to your sides.

‘Nope.’ he said, popping the ‘P’ on his tongue.

The super soldier found himself facing you once more, and peppered your face with kisses. His stubbled beard tickled you.

‘You know Bucky, there were several times where I wanted to quit working for you because you were unbearable.’ you joked as he continued to smother you.

‘Well,’ he started between kisses. ‘Now that I fired you and promoted you to my partner, you’re stuck with me. I’ll be taking care of you now.’

A bright smile appeared on your lips. Bucky took notice and mirrored the same smile as he dipped down to kiss your lips once more.

What was thought to be the most stressful night of your life ended up with you sprawled out on the floor with your ex-boss-turned boyfriend. 

Not that you could complain. For once in your life you were glad that you got fired from your job. The average working person would never say that.

But then again, your boss was far from average. He was an unbearable and incredibly sassy 110 year old super soldier turned politician who consistently pushed your buttons when it came to setting him straight for the sake of his political career.

With all things considered, it was no wonder that you fell in love with him. And you couldn't have had it any other way.

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

The Lady, or The Tiger?

Summary : Bucky is in love with you, but he doesn't even know what you really look like. What happens when he finds out?

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x shapeshifter!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Implied Thunderbolt!bucky and reader, body dysmorphia, insecurity, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, scarring, canon-typical violence, cursing, just very sweet Bucky overall!!

Word count : 6.5k

Note : This is inspired by the short story of the same title by Frank R. Stockton. this is purely self-indulgent, and I hope it makes sense lol. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes had had crushes before.

He’d had shallow crushes in a time less complicated than this one. He had surface-level attraction in a time before war, before Hydra. 

But this—whatever this was—was different.

Because he didn’t even know what you really looked like.

—

It started on a mission. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, fighting an enemy like you always did. The team were outnumbered, outgunned, and, in your case, out of patience.

Bucky had seen you fight before. He had seen you shapeshift before, but not like this. Not to this extent.

He knew you were powerful, but watching you now, he realised he had underestimated you.

First, you became a wolf, tearing through enemy lines with fangs bared and claws ripping through Kevlar like paper. One second, you were on one side of the battlefield, the next, he heard a strangled scream cut through the air as you took down another enemy.

Then, before he could blink, you changed again. Where the wolf had been, a tiny canary now darted through the chaos. You weaved between bullets, slipping through spaces too small for a person, too quick to be caught.

Someone swung at you, thinking they could hit you out of the air. They were fools.

Mid-air, you shifted again, bones stretching, limbs lengthening into wings. You were a vulture now, with a wingspan wide enough to darken the floor underneath your next victim. You dove, talons slashing deep, raking across an unsuspecting throat before pulling away just as fast.

Bucky watched the soldier drop to the ground, hands clutching his neck. He was not dead, but perhaps he wished he were.

You hit the ground running, becoming human again. You stole the face of the very man you had just incapacitated. 

With your new form, you walked straight into the enemy’s ranks.

Bucky wanted to call out for you, wanted to tell you to be careful. But he had learned to trust you.

The fools let you pass.

You slipped between them, and when they turned their backs—you struck.

Bucky heard the thud of bodies hitting the ground before he even saw you move.

Then… you were Yelena.

You stood side by side with actual Yelena, sowing just enough confusion for the real Yelena to place a bullet into an enemy’s shoulder.

Yelena turned to give you a half-impressed, half-annoyed look, “Show-off,” she teased.

Laughing, you shifted into your favourite form— a tiger.

Bucky had seen it before, but that didn’t make it any less mesmerising.

There was something different about you when you became the beast. It wasn’t just power. It was confidence and grace—like you belonged in this form more than you did as a human.

A soldier aimed at you.

Before he could fire, you lunged.

You closed the distance in a heartbeat. One powerful swipe of your claws sent the man flying, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

Bucky barely registered the rest of the fight. All he saw was you, moving like a predator among prey.

And when it was over, you changed once more.

When you turned back, you were someone new. Not yourself. Never yourself, and not even the last human form you had taken. This time, you wore the face of a female soldier who had fled earlier. 

A fitting end.

But even though Bucky knew it wasn’t what you really looked like— nobody did— he could help but feel his heartbeat speed up.

—

Here’s the thing.

You changed constantly.

Sometimes it was subtle. A shift in the arch of your brow, a slight change in the curve of your cheekbones. Other times, it was drastic—different hair, different undertones in your skin, different eyes. 

Sometimes, you were a whole new person.

The first time Alexei saw a complete stranger in the kitchen at 7 a.m., he nearly threw a chair.

Yelena had to physically hold him back while Ava sighed. "It’s her."

Alexei squinted. "No, it is not."

Yelena rolled her eyes. "It is, you idiot. She just looks like someone else today."

Alexei hesitated, staring at the unfamiliar woman—short black hair, light brown eyes. Then, slowly, he lowered the chair. "Oh." 

He said. "I hate when she does this."

You—looking nothing like the person you were yesterday—smiled while sipping your coffee. "Good morning to you too, Alexei."

The team was used to it by now. Sort of. 

They still did a double take every time a stranger was suddenly walking through the compound, but after months of working with you, the confusion would last a minute or two before they remembered.

Bucky, though? It didn’t matter who you were or what you looked like, he always knew.

It didn’t matter if your hair was brown one week and blonde the next. If your skin was warmer or cooler. If your eyes were blue or green or as black as the void.

He always knew.

Because he knew you.

He could tell from the way you tilted your head when you were amused. He could tell from the way your fingers drummed against the counter when you were thinking. He could tell from the way your weight shifted onto one leg when you were trying to focus.

You could change faces a thousand times, but Bucky could still pick you out of a lineup.

Once, Bucky walked into the common room and immediately sighed.

John Walker—or at least, someone who looked like John Walker—was rummaging through the fridge.

"You know I know it’s you, right?" Bucky called you out.

‘John’—you—paused your raid, looking over your shoulder with mock offense. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Bucky crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Cut it out."

You rolled your eyes—John’s eyes—before grabbing a Snickers bar before shutting the fridge and walking off toward your room.

Bucky could only chuckle to himself.

And later, when the real John stomped into the room demanding, "Who the hell stole my Snickers?"

Bucky just shook his head and kept his mouth shut.

See, some people thought your powers were unsettling.

The way you could become anyone, wear any face, slip into any crowd without a second glance.

But not Bucky.

Bucky thought your powers were incredible— how you wielded yourself like art.

He always found it so curious, those weeks where you had soft freckles across your nose, only for them to vanish the next time he saw you. He was curious when your cheekbones sat lower, your jawline changed, your hands grew slender or strong depending on the day.

It fascinated him. And maybe that was why he watched you so much.

But no matter what face you wore, no matter what shape you took, he never noticed what you were doing.

How you changed—little by little, feature by feature—to match the women who flirted with him. The ones who made him smile, the ones who made him chuckle. 

God, did you want his attention the way they had it.

Because he never looked at you the way he looked at those girls.

The ones who were sweet.

The ones who weren’t killers.

You remembered every single one of them.

You remembered the waitress at that restaurant— she had soft freckles across her cheeks. She flirted as she refilled his drink, twirling her hair. 

You remembered the CIA agent the team met with after a debrief— she had playful green eyes, and she asked Bucky out for coffee. He said he would have loved to, but had prior commitments.

You remembered the cashier at the grocery store— she had delicate cheekbones, a laugh so sweet that Bucky had given her a sweet smile.

So you took their features, one by one, as if testing them out. As if trying to see which one would make him look at you the way you wanted him to.

But Bucky never noticed.

He never said anything when, one week, your freckles were just a little darker. When your irises became green. When your cheekbones became finer.

And fuck, did it frustrate you when it didn’t work. 

Because no matter what you changed, no matter how much you molded yourself into what you thought he wanted, Bucky never looked at you the way he looked at them.

Or so you thought.

—

The TV flickered in the dim light of the common room, casting colourful shadows against the walls. You were curled up on one side of the couch, Bucky on the other, both half-watching the show— some crime drama. The kind you liked because it was predictable. The kind Bucky liked because it gave him something to focus on besides his own mind.

And then, without thinking too much of it, you changed.

One moment, you were you—whoever you were today. The next, you were her, the actress on the screen.

Your hair became her wavy hair, same cheekbones, same eyes that feigned concern in whatever high-stakes scene played out. You… well, she was gorgeous. Perhaps she would catch Bucky’s attention.

Bucky blinked. Still, he didn’t look at you any differently. “So… we doing this look this week?”

“Maybe,” You shrugged, hiding your disappointment. “Maybe I’ll just take the hair.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

The two of you went back to watching, but you could feel his eyes on you. No matter how much you shifted, how much you changed, Bucky always looked at you like he saw straight through all of it.

A few moments passed in silence before he spoke up again. “Can I ask…” he started, “Why the tiger?”

You hesitated, still staring at the screen without really taking any information in. “I—”

Bucky adjusted in his seat beside you. “You don’t have to say,” he quickly amended, “if you don’t want to.”

“No, I…” You let out a deep breath, rubbing your thumb against your palm in an attempt to soothe yourself.

Well, Bucky didn’t know much about your past. Only that you had been forced to fight in cages for other people’s entertainment.

But you remembered one particular day perfectly. 

This was a time where you had still worn your true form. 

That day, the cage felt smaller than usual.

You noticed it the second you stepped inside, the scent of blood thick in the air. Something— someone had died here before you.

The roar of the crowd came in from all sides, but you tuned them out— you had learned to.

This was just another fight, right? Another opponent. Another night of surviving.

Then the gates opened.

And instead of a man, like you were used to, they sent in a tiger.

Her muscles bulged unnaturally, veins pulsing beneath striped skin.

Fuck.

They had drugged her. Pumped her full of steroids and made her very angry in the process.

And now they wanted you to kill her. Or her to kill you. It really didn’t make a difference— as long as it was entertaining.

The moment its paws hit the ground, it charged.

You barely dodged in time, twisting out of the way as her claws ripped across the metal floor.

Your heart pounded.

You shifted into one of the men you fought before— he was bigger, stronger. Perhaps he stood a chance. But the tiger just clawed at you, teeth raking on your thighs as you lost focus— forcing you to shift back to your true form. 

This wasn’t a fight—this was a slaughter.

You were fast, but the beast was faster.

The next hit of her claws landed.

You felt white-hot pain on your face as she slashed just shy of your eyes. You slammed into the cage wall, breath ripping from your lungs.

The crowd roared.

You could taste blood.

The tiger circled back, readying for the kill.

And then, something in you snapped.

You had spent your whole life wearing masks, shifting your face, your body, your form to survive. But you have never shifted to anything other than human.

Never an animal.

But this time, you didn’t just change.

You became.

Your bones crackle, muscles twisting out of and into place. You barely realised what you were doing until you were on all fours, claws digging into the bloodstained metal.

The tiger saw herself staring back at her.

And cats were intelligent— even the beast needed time to process the change.

She hesitated for a second. Just long enough for you to lunge.

The fight was a blur of fur and teeth, two beasts, two creatures built to kill, fighting in a cage that neither of you had chosen to fight in. 

After you struck the final blow, the tiger collapsed beneath you, blood pooling beneath her body, breath shuddering out in uneven gasps.

You should have finished her off, should've ended her suffering.

But you couldn’t. So you waited. 

The moment you saw the light leaving its eyes, you knew that the beast had never been the real enemy.

You had both been forced to fight. Forced to survive.

And from that day forward, you never let yourself forget that the tiger had died in that cage, but it had lived on in you.

Every time you shifted into her in battle, the form wasn’t just a weapon, it was a tribute to the tiger.

To all the lives you had been forced to take in that ring.

To the animal you had once been forced to become was the one you chose to embrace.

To this day, you weren’t sure if it had been you or the tiger who truly escaped the ring.

“I just… I don’t want to feel like prey,” you finally said, pulling yourself from the memory.

“I know how that feels,” he replied.

You looked over at him.

His teeth were clenched tight, his blue eyes a shade darker than you’re used to.

Much like you didn’t talk much about your past, neither did he. But he knew enough to understand that you had spent your life fighting where weakness wasn’t an option.

He was watching you again when the corner of his mouth twitched into a teasing smile. “Y’know, the tiger does suit you.”

“Hm?” You arched an eyebrow.

He nodded, grinning. “Dramatic. And a bit scary.”

You stretched to his side to smack his arm. “I am not dramatic.”

“You just shapeshifted into her,” he pointed at the screen, “mid-episode.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. For a moment, you just sat there, watching each other.

“Can I…”, after a pause, he started again, “Can I see?”

You blinked. “See what?”

He hesitated. “What you really look like.”

Your eyes softened. You looked to the screen to see another actress in a new scene. She was beautiful, too. You playfully shifted into her. “Who’s to say this isn’t my true form?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Funny.”

You let out a jagged laugh. “Nice try, Barnes. But no.”

Bucky put his hands up in surrender, and let it go. He figured you would tell him when you were ready. 

Because, see— Bucky never found any particular form you took to be prettier than the others.

He found you beautiful.

Not your stolen faces. Not your stolen body. Not the countless disguises you wore.

Just you.

If only you knew.

—

The week after that, you were in the middle of a mission that had gone south.

You weren’t sure when exactly things had gone wrong for you. One moment, everything was controlled, the next, there was a knife slicing into your side.

You’d barely registered it at first, too busy shifting into different forms and fighting for your life. 

By the time the jet landed back at HQ, you were barely holding on. Your vision blurred, shouting into different forms uncontrollably.

You weren’t going to last much longer.

"Hey, easy," Yelena reached for you as you stepped off. "Let’s get you patched up—"

You were losing control— no no no no no! 

You forced yourself into focus once again.

Fuck, you were losing blood, you were losing control of what you looked like— Concentrate, dammit!

Finally, you shifted. 

It started with fur. 

Then claws. 

Then teeth. 

The wounded tiger—you—snarled, baring your teeth at your teammates.

Yelena froze. Ava stiffened. The entire room went silent

Then, in a blur of motion, you growled and bolted, claws scraping against the floor, muscles coiling in desperation. Even as the beast, blood streaked your fur, dripping from the deep gash in your side to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” Alexei said, just above a whisper.

“She…” Yelena’s voice trailed off as she stared at the empty hallway. “I—” She let out a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. She felt betrayed by your lack of trust— the entire team did. “After all this time, she’s still scared.”

No one said what you were afraid of, and they didn’t have to.

They all knew how fiercely you kept your true form a secret, but no one knew why.

Still, Yelena knew better than to go after you.

But Bucky…

He just stood there, fists clenched.

He had seen you wear a thousand faces, slip in and out of bodies as if shapeshifting was as natural as breathing. But tonight, you would rather bleed out than let them see you as you are.

—

Bucky hesitated outside your door, his metal hand clenched at his side. He had been standing there for fifteen minutes now.

It was quiet. A bit too quiet.

Then, he heard a small sound, a muffled grunt. You sounded shaky… and in a lot of pain.

His fists curled into itself. He knew you wouldn’t ask for help, knew you’d rather grit your teeth and bleed out that show your face, but he couldn’t let you hurt yourself to preserve whatever secrets you may keep. He simply could not lose you.

So he made the choice for you.

He pushed your door open.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. To be honest, he expected the tiger more than anything. Or, at the very least, another borrowed face.

But instead, it was… you.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. It was the first time your spinal muscles were not taut in concentration. 

This must be you.

Not shifted. Just you, hunched over the bed, struggling to stitch a deep gash in your side. He couldn't really see your face since your back was facing the door, but it was you nonetheless. Your fingers trembled, slick with blood. The sheets beneath you were stained red.

Oh.

You.

His train of thought tripped over itself, trying to catch up. He’d fought beside you, bled beside you, but he’d never seen this.

And then you heard the door.

Your breath hitched, panic crashing in your chest. In an instant, you forced yourself into focus again and used whatever energy you had left to shift into the tiger with a snarl. You bared your teeth, your golden eyes locking onto his.

But Bucky didn’t flinch. Didn’t even move.

He just… looked at you.

He held his hands up as if to say, I’m not here to hurt you.

Even as a tiger, your wound was still open, blood dripping onto the floor. Losing more blood than you could afford, you swayed on your paws.

"You’re going to bleed out,” Bucky said, almost gently.

The beast– you– panted, trying to suppress a whimper.

"You need help stitching that,” he pointed out.

Your heart pounded. No. No, you couldn’t— you wouldn’t show him—

You shifted again. This time into him.

Your breaths became shallow as you stared at him through his own eyes, hoping that it would make him uncomfortable enough to push him away.

Bucky only blinked.

He was used to this. In his nightmares, at least, he would see another version of himself. So he barely reacted, except for the little wince he had when his— your— side was still gaping open.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, speaking with his voice.

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No, you’re not.”

"I can handle—"

“You’re going to bleed out.”

"I said—" Then, suddenly, your body failed you.

Maybe it was the pain. Maybe the blood loss. Maybe you were just too damn tired to maintain the shift.

Your form flickered, wavered, and then your appearance shattered.

No no no no no no—

You…

You looked like you again. 

Fuck.

Immediately, Bucky’s eyes darted over your face, like he was memorising it, like he was starving for it.

The scar must’ve been the first thing he saw. It was a brutal, jagged thing that carved down your cheek, over your jaw— the one the tiger had given you. 

It was ugly. 

It was permanent.

You flinched, trying to gather your focus, to shift again, but—

"Don’t." he said, his voice was soft. It wasn’t an order– it was a plea.

He reached for you, but you jerked away, eyes glued to the floor. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t stand to see the revulsion, the horror, the disgusts that must be in his eyes.

But when you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes none of that was there.

He looked like he was… relieved. Like he had been waiting so long to see you.

Slowly, Bucky reached out, fingers brushing over yours. "Let me help.”

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know why, but… you let him.

You let Bucky sit you down on the bed.

You were still bleeding. The wound was sluggish but persistent, seeping through the fabric of your torn clothes.

He ripped a strip from his already-ruined shirt. It was clear he had done this too many times before.

Fuck, you wanted to ask him, what do you think of me?

Now that he had finally seen you, no shifts, no disguises—just you, scarred and imperfect. Would he look at you differently? Would he turn away after this is over? Did he regret ever stepping inside this room?

"Hold still," he said, pressing the torn fabric against your wound.

The sting was sharp enough to make your fingers dig into the mattress, a hiss slipping past your teeth. Bucky kept working, stitching you up with patience, with care.

You still can't believe it.

He was finally looking at you.

Not at the faces you’d stolen, not at the masks you wore— but you. Scar and all.

And you still didn’t know what he thought of it.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours. You flinched as he pushed the needle through your skin again.

"You okay?" he asked.

You swallowed hard. "Yeah."

That was a lie.

But Bucky didn’t call you out on it, though. He just nodded, going back to not letting you die.

Then, with a certainty you rarely ever heard from him, he said, "You know this is my favourite, right?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"This," he gestured at you— your true face, your real body— all the parts you always kept hidden. "It’s my favourite."

You let out a short, disbelieving scoff and shook your head. "Please. I’ve seen myself in the mirror, Bucky. Don’t lie to my face."

His lips pressed into a firm line. "I’m not lying." His voice was so sure of himself, there was no room for argument. "You’re gorgeous," he continued. "Why don’t you show this more?"

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t, because you didn't believe him. 

Because even if you did, if you let him see how much you wanted to believe him, you knew you’d shatter inside and out.

Bucky’s fingers brushed against your side, pressing another strip of fabric into the wound to soak up some of the blood. You hissed, but he continued, finishing the last of the stitches.

"There,” he sterilised the cut, “That should hold."

You sat there in silence as he cleaned up your blood.

You should’ve said something— anything, really. But all you could do was stare at the floor.

“The scar…” you started, “It makes me look weak.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re full of shit."

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"I know it’s not that," he said, nodding toward your cheek. “You’ve fought beside us long enough to know you’re not weak. So what is it?”

He reached to your face, his human fingers carefully ghosting over the scar.

You flinched.

He didn’t pull away.

His touch was so gentle, almost like he admired it. Like he found you—scar and all—fascinating. "Why do you do this to yourself?" he asked.

What?

How dare he?

How dare he demand an answer from you, when all you had ever fucking tried to do was be perfect for him?

To look good for him? To try to be everything that he could ever wan?

How dare he demand a reason for your imperfection like you hadn’t spent years hiding it from the world and months changing for him.

"Get out." you finally said.

His brows furrowed, confused. "What?"

"I said get out!" You almost shouted.

Your body betrayed you then. Uncontrollably, erratically, your form shifted.

First, you became the waitress with the freckles. Then the agent with the green eyes. Then the cashier with the sharp cheekbones. Faces you had practiced in the mirror, over and over again.

Bucky knew those faces.

They were the same women Alexei had always tried to convince him to ask out.

The ones he never truly wanted.

What…

Why were you them?

Why were you drifting, becoming people he had never looked twice at?

"Get out," you repeated desperately.

Bucky hesitated. He didn’t want to leave. But… perhaps you needed time. Perhaps you needed space.

So he stood up and walked to the doorway.

"Please," he said softly, "don’t shut yourself out."

And then, he walked away.

—

Later, he found you in the kitchen.

You sat quietly at the table, sipping tea as if nothing had happened. 

But you didn't look like you.

You had shapeshifted again. This time, you were Ava.

Ava had mentioned something about going to see Hope van Dyne, so naturally, you took her place at HQ. It was easier this way— disappearing into someone else’s skin, and if your teammates were to see you, they would just assume Ava was back in the compound and wouldn’t have to answer any questions. 

You used to think that shifting was a good way to hide, but maybe if you had Ava’s ability instead, if you could turn invisible, it would be better. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to be anything at all.

You looked up when Bucky entered, and for just a moment, you looked like you were bracing yourself. 

“I know it’s you,” he said.

Your fingers tightened around the mug before you set it down, hands trembling just a little.

"You don’t have to hide," Bucky said as he took the bar stool beside you. "It’s just you and me."

You exhaled, and your exhaustion gave way.

With a blink, you let yourself shift back, skin and bone realigning into the version of yourself you hated most. The most imperfect version of you.

Godammit. You would never admit it, but it was easier to exist when you weren’t constantly holding onto the shapeshift, keeping yourself together 24/7.

“Sorry,” you sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “For snapping.” You hesitated, looking away. Even now you couldn't bear to let him really see you.“And… thank you. For the stitching.”

Bucky nodded. “Of course.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Bucky rubbed a hand over his stubble before he finally gave in.

“I just—” He swallowed. His throat was dry. “I can’t—fuck—I have to ask. I—”

“Bucky,” you warned.

“But—”

“Bucky, stop.”

He let out a deep breath, shaking his head. “Right. Sorry.”

You looked down, your eyes fixed on your very real, calloused hands. “Besides,” you continued. “You probably already know why.”

Of course he did— he had time to think. He had put two and two together.

“I want to hear it from you.” He said softly.

You stared into your tea, watching your own reflection ripple on the surface.

“I wasn’t lying,” you admitted. “It did start because I hated showing weakness. But then I got close to you…”

Bucky’s breath hitched.

“And then I saw the women who flirted with you,” you said, voice even quieter now. “The ones you seemed to like. The ones you spent time with.” You let out a small, joyless laugh. “And I—I don’t know if I’ll ever measure up. So I started using different features from the women you seemed interested in. Hoping that maybe… just maybe… I could get your attention.”

Bucky clenched his fists at his sides, heart pounding against his ribs. For the first time in a very long time, he felt sick to his stomach. You had altered yourself— changed—because of him? How could you think you owed any man anything?

“You’re—” He whispered, shaking his head. “You’re beautiful,” he said, almost desperately. “Just as you are.”

What?

What?

How could he—? How could he look at you, at this, and say that? How could he see all your scars, all your flaws, and think you were beautiful?

You had spent so much time in this charade, in this act, so many years pretending, that the idea of being wanted as you were felt… impossible.

“Don’t lie to me,” you whispered.

“I’m not—”

"Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up every goddamn day and hate the face staring back at you in the mirror?" Your voice cracked open. "I’ve spent my whole life shifting, hiding, changing—to survive, and then—" You inhaled sharply, nails digging into your palms. “And then I wanted to change because maybe—maybe—if I was different, if I looked like them, you’d—”

You choked, unable to bring yourself to finish.

“But I do,” he admitted. “I know because… I have to look in the mirror knowing what I did. What he—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “What the Winter Soldier did to my body. With my body. And unlike you, I can’t change my face as I wish.”

Oh.

“I am this.” He met your eyes. And I… I want you to be you around me, too.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his frustration bleeding into the realm of desperation. "I have been in love with you—in every form you’ve ever taken." He turned to you even when you wouldn't even look at him. "Every single one."

Your stomach twisted. Your heart felt like it had stopped entirely.

"But you—" You shook your head. “You never—”

“I don’t give a damn about anyone else,” Bucky said. His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know if you’d let him.

He let out an unsteady breath. “I just... You’re a shapeshifter. You could look like anyone. I didn’t think appearance would even matter to you.”

A hollow laugh slipped past your lips. “Of course it matters,” you whispered. “I wanted to be… more.”

Bucky could’ve sworn his heart broke in a million little pieces. 

His human fingers brushed against your chin and gently nudged you to look at him. This time, you didn't even bother resisting. Slowly, he cradled your face and held you like you were real as you were, like you weren’t just clay, made to be changed and reshaped.

“Nothing could possibly be more than this,” he said.

What?

His eyes softened, the blue looking so unbearably honest. "You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “You’ve always been beautiful."

His metal hand reached for you, too, so carefully, as if he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers if he wasn’t gentle enough. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. 

But you shook your head, pulling away—not far, just enough to make his chest ache.

“No, I….” you started. 

His brows pulled together,  “What?”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked. “If you’re telling the truth… if you really mean this—” You took a deep breath, shaking your head again, tears brimming at the edges of your eyes. “Bucky, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

You were breaking, right in front of him. Perhaps you were too deep in your own lie that you couldn’t bear to hear the truth.

He had seen you wear a thousand faces, slip into a hundred different lives, but this was the real you. And the fact that you looked so lost in it made his heart hurt.

“You think I’m lying about loving you?” His voice was hoarse.

He had kept it to himself for so long— locked it away, buried it deep, convinced himself it wasn’t worth the risk. And yet now, for one reason or another, saying it out loud felt so easy.

Loving you was easy.

“Bucky,” you said, tears now streaming down your face. “I barely even know who I am.”

“I do,” he smiled softly. “You’re kind, and stubborn, and a little too fucking reckless for your own good and….  I-I don’t care how long it takes for you to see that, I just… I just want you.” His throat bobbed. “Not the faces you think I want. Not the versions of yourself you think you have to be. You.”

You let out a strangled sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and wiped your face with trembling hands.

And then—slowly, carefully—you let yourself lean forward.

Not shifting. Not changing.

You were content just being close to him when he asked—

“Can I kiss you?”

It came out barely above a whisper, like he was afraid you’d say no.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands pressing against his chest without thinking. 

And… you knew.

You had always been his. In any shape, in any form.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and you pulled him in, crashing your lips into his.

His hands slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, pulling you closer.

You melted against him. Fuck, you can’t even remember the last time you kissed someone without being someone you weren’t. As just… you.

He kissed you deeper, his hands gripping you like he never wanted to let go. He kissed you like he meant it, like he’d been waiting forever, the way his lips moved against yours. It was heated and so wonderfully desperate. 

His human hand curled at the nape of your neck, his metal one gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You weren’t used to being touched like this. Not as yourself.

You had spent years perfecting faces that weren’t yours, slipping into bodies that fit the moment, creating versions of yourself that were easier to accept. Easier to see.

You broke away first, gasping softly, your forehead resting against his. Your heart was hammering, your body still buzzing from the way he kissed you like he needed you to breathe.

His fingers found your chin. He traced the shape of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. Then, slowly, he leaned in again—not to kiss your lips, but to press his mouth against the scar that ran along your cheek.

His lips trailed down the raised skin, like he loved it as much as he loved you.

You had spent so long erasing your imperfections. Every time you shifted, you smoothed out the flaws, reshaped the angles, softened the lines. The scar had always been the first thing to go, but Bucky wasn’t afraid of it.

He was embracing it.

His metal hand—once a weapon—cradled your face.

You felt the brim of tears before they fell.

Bucky must have noticed, because he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, thumb brushing away the tears.

“You okay?” he murmured.

For the first time, you were looking at yourself through his eyes. And in them, there was no disgust, no disappointment. No expectation for you to be anything other than who you were.

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

He smiled.

And then the door swung open.

“Hey, Bucky, have you seen—” John Walker stopped mid-sentence.

Bucky froze, his head snapping toward the door, and you barely had time to react before John was staring directly at you.

“Whoa,” John said, eyebrows shooting up. He looked between the two of you, amused. “Who’s the girl, Barnes?”

Bucky’s grip on you tightened. “It’s her,” he said.

John blinked. Then he squinted.

“Oh,” he said, his eyes studying over your face with… recognition.

“It is you,” he said finally.

Your stomach twisted.

His head tilted slightly, looking at the features you didn’t pick, the ones that weren’t polished or curated or designed to be pleasing. His eyes landed on the scar across your cheek.

Your fingers twitched, a familiar shame creeping in as you waited for the disgust.

But instead, he said, “Nice scar.” He nodded approvingly. “Very badass.”

You blinked. “What?” you said before you could stop yourself.

John shrugged. “It is. Makes you look cool.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then it opened again. You didn’t know what to say.

John picked up something from the couch, then shook his head. “Well. Good for you two. Seriously.”

He turned, making his way back toward the door before pausing.

“Oh, and for the love of god,” he said joking, “use protection.”

You let out an embarrassed, choked sound, burying your face in Bucky’s shoulder as John continued, “And don’t be too loud.”

Bucky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave, Walker.”

John chuckled, before finally disappearing down the hall.

You huffed, your face still buried against Bucky’s chest. “I hate him,” you joked.

“You and me both,” Bucky laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

You sighed.

You could still feel the ghost of Bucky’s lips on your scar, the warmth lingering like an imprint on your skin. His hands hadn’t moved from you—one still resting on your waist, the other curled at your jaw, his thumb absently stroking over your cheekbone as if he couldn’t stop himself.

He let his fingers trail from your jaw to the line of your throat. He traced the dip of your collarbone, the shape of your shoulder. He followed the ridge of the scar on your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

A sigh clawed its way up your throat as you buried yourself against him. 

Bucky’s lips found your hair, the corner of your forehead, and then the place where your pulse fluttered at your throat. 

The question of Bucky’s decision to love you as you were was one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it.

And so I leave it with all of you:

Which survived the cage fighting ring—the lady, or the tiger?

Perhaps, both lived in you. 

Perhaps, Bucky chose to love both. 

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (4)

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Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

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chapter summary: You run into him on your morning jog and make it your mission to bombard him with your running playlist.

chapter warnings: swearing

A/N: we're slowly getting there, its now time for the pining game! a smaller chapter, but definetly filled with fluff!

Word count: 2k-ish

Living in the Avengers Tower had its perks. Nothing can ever beat the breathtaking skyline view from your room, especially during the nighttime. New York in itself was a bustling city, with so much to do and so much to experience that you swear there was something out there new waiting for you.

But God knows it’s not a place for peace and quiet.

As a pretty big celebrity, you did enjoy the attention, the fame and the power. However, you needed moment to unwind from the glitz and glamour. So every once in a while, you would head out to Washington, D.C. and stay at Sam’s place for a while. It was peaceful and quiet, and you thoroughly enjoyed the quiet sunrise as you went out on a run around the memorial park.

It was Steve’s favourite place to do a morning jog. It was also the place where he first met Sam.

The cold morning chill gently grazed your skin as you paced around the park. It was 6 am, with the sunrise slowly peeping through the horizon. A beautiful mixture of pink, orange and yellow scattered throughout the clear sky as you jogged past the Monument. 

Your hoodie bounced up and down with each step. The wired headphones you were wearing were blasting in your eardrums as you paced yourself to the beat. A small husk of smoke floated around your face as you kept a steady rhythm of breath.

In your peripheral, a small glint of light reflected onto a familiar vibranium arm. Your head followed your eyes, and you found yourself looking at Bucky, jogging on the opposite side of the man made lake. 

Now you would be lying if you didn’t think that Barnes wasn’t a good looking man. An epitome of the male species. While the majority of people flocked towards the blonde, blue-eyed super soldier who sported the colours of the American flag, you were more lenient towards his quiet, brunette best friend. His dark hair contrasted with his magnificent blue steel eyes which harboured so much emotion. A man who spoke less and showed more was so attractive to you. And you’d also be lying if you denied that you found yourself staring at the man several times during the day. During training, Bucky would wear that black compression long sleeve that left little to the imagination. The one rare occasion of him walking around the kitchen area in the middle of the night with nothing but grey sweatpants will forever be embedded in your mind. That mission in Shanghai? You zoned out staring at his wide back because he was wearing a black wife beater (since he gave up his jacket for you). A lot of men and women chased after you, but your crush on Bucky has captured you a long time ago. Oh, what you give to hold onto his pectorals, they looked so soft and-

*CLANG*

With your mind lost in the clouds thinking of the super soldier, your dumbass ran right into the pole and hit your forehead while turning the corner. The impact left you stunned, making you collapse onto the ground, with your earphones scattering next to you. 

The impact noise was loud enough for Bucky to notice. His eyes widened as it trailed to your form collapsing backfirst to the pavement. Shaking his head, he rushed towards you, wanting to make sure that you didn’t pass out. 

You gurgled in pain as you instinctively reached for your forehead, gripping it in pain. ‘Shit. That's going to leave a nasty bruise.’ you hissed in pain.

The sun was getting higher and higher by the minute, and its rays were starting to give you a raging headache. Your eyes shut as you took laboured breaths, calming your beating heart and lungs from the run. 

Yet, when you heard his deep timbre voice, the blood started to pump a bit faster. ‘Oh, be still my beating heart.’ your mind begged.

‘Hey.’ you could sense his smile through his voice. ‘You alright? I saw you run headfirst into that pole.’

‘Uh huh.’ you croaked. ‘Just peachy.’

The sky suddenly dimmed. Finally deciding to peer up, your gaze landed on a pair of bright blue eyes and a handsomely rugged face looking down at you with a teasing smirk. His brown hair fell to the sides of his jaw, swaying along with the gentle breeze.

Sweet Jesus this man will be the death of you.

‘You probably need to wear those weird glasses at all times. Considering you can’t see what’s in front of you.’ Bucky chuckled.

‘You’ve been hanging out with Sammy wayyyy too much.’ you rebutted. Planting your palms on the warm pavement, you prepared to pick yourself up from the ground until a strong hand was shoved in front of your face. With no hesitation, you grabbed it and was hoisted up and into his chest.

Ah. He was wearing that black compression long sleeve again and you finally noticed.

You crooned your head and looked up at him. Bucky was gazing down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘I should’ve recorded you. It would’ve gone viral on Twitter.’

A scoff gasp escaped your lips as you gently pushed yourself off of his chest with your palms. So warm.

‘As if you know how to record on your phone, you geezer.’ you snarked, fighting down the blush that was creeping up your cheeks. ‘Who are you and what have you done with Bucky?’

A soft chuckle escaped his lungs. ‘No stupid nickname for me today, Sunshine?’

Your mouth gaped open, realizing that he finally called you something else than your legal name. ‘Seriously, are you a shapeshifter or something? This isn’t the brooding man I know.’

‘Well, I thought we were friends now?’ he questioned, tilting his head in confusion.

‘Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to be so-’ you gestured, ‘friendly.’

Bucky shrugged. ‘Therapy is kind of helping I guess. Working on, uh, amends. Doc also told me to open up.’

Your eyes softened at his revelation. He was trying so hard. He was fighting mental battles, which you knew were the hardest to overcome. He was a strong man, physically and mentally.

As if your stupid crush couldn’t get any deeper.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you. The earphones that are now dangling to yours side were quietly blaring, and Bucky’s ears picked it up.

‘What are you listening to?’ he pointed.

You glanced down and picked up the buds to listen closely. A smile danced on your lips as you recognized the tune.

‘Stevie Wonder of course. This track is called Isn’t She Lovely. One of my favourites!’ 

Your palm stretched out towards him, offering the right earbud. Bucky’s eyes flickered, thinking for a second before he took it and placed it in his ear. You noticed his eyebrows furled, listening intently to the flowing melody.

After listening for a minute, he glanced at you and scoffed. ‘All of these songs you’re showing me cheesy love songs.’

‘Excuse me mister! Stevie didn’t write this song for his lover, he wrote it for his daughter.’ you explained.

Bucky raised his eyebrow slightly. ‘Ah. Well, I actually liked it.’

You puffed your chest with pride, and the super soldier couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re doing that weird thing again, puffing your chest like a bird.’

‘What? Can I not be proud that a man from the 40s is liking my awesome recommendations? I basically saved your music taste!’ you implored.

‘Well…’ Bucky pondered. ‘I like Trouble Man a bit better.’

You squint your eyes as the brunette stared at you amusingly. ‘Sam is going to get his ass whooped.’ you lowly muttered.

Your watch’s alarm went off. Apparently it was now 6:30am. 

A loud growl went off in yours and Bucky’s stomach. ‘Hey, wanna get breakfast at Sam’s place?’ you offered as you slowly started to walk.

‘You didn’t know? I’m also staying at his place too. Just dropped off my stuff this morning.’

He deadpanned as he followed you.

‘In that case Mr. Barnes, lead the way!’

—-

Sam had to stop letting superheroes into his home. Sure, he was also one too, but his closest friends were two super soldiers, and a big time superstar. The three of you could single handedly summon all of Washington, and he did not want people flocking to his humble abode.

As he sauntered down the stairs, he noticed that Bucky’s tactical boots were neatly placed in the foyer. Great. First, you had to crash during the week he was staying at D.C, and now his cyborg bestie decided he was going to crash as well. 

Sam made a mental note to change the locks before he left for New York.

Eager to make a big breakfast for himself, he walked towards the kitchen, only to see you and Bucky sitting shoulder to shoulder on the counter. The two of you were fixated on his phone, and he could see that he was on some sort of music streaming service.

‘There you go Bucko, now you have my running playlist saved on your phone!’ you bubbled.

Bucky stared at you incredulously. ‘What’s with the name of your playlist? ‘Songs that will turn your Super Saiyan?’

‘So you see-’

‘What are you two doing, flirting in my kitchen?’ Sam boomed as he stood behind the both of you.

Bucky instinctively swung his mechanical arm, while you screeched and flailed your arms, hitting Sam in the process.

‘Fucking hell!’ the poor man grunts as he knocks back into the stove. ‘Now y’all trying to kill me in my own home?!’

You whip around and sighed in relief when you see it was just Sam who creeped. ‘Jesus, Sam! Don’t sneak up like that!’

‘Yeah.’ Bucky agreed, leaning against the counter.

The brown-eyed man squinted, his eyes alternating between you and the super soldier. ‘You guys aren’t subtle.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about Sammy. I was just showing him my running playlist.’

Bucky grunted in agreement.

‘Whatever. Give me that phone! I need to see what kind of atrocious playlist you came up with this time, Sunshine.’ Sam jeered. He snatched the phone lying on the counter and started scrolling through the playlist.

‘That’s my phone Wilson, you can’t just take it!’ Bucky protested. His pleas were ignored as the man continued to scroll.

‘Sunshine, this playlist is a mess. ABBA and Kanye West in one playlist?’ Sam exasperated.

You shrugged. ‘I pick songs based on vibes.’

Tossing the phone back to Bucky, Sam started to make breakfast. ‘You know, for a musical artist, you got an interesting taste.’

‘Are you implying I have bad taste in music Sammy?’

‘I wasn’t talking about music, Sunshine.’ Sam teased, looking back at you.

A ferocious blush blossomed on your cheeks. ‘Stop saying stupid things Thomas.’

‘Oh, ho ho. Using middle names are we now?’ Sam shot back as he grabbed eggs out of the fridge. 

While you and Sam were busy bantering, Bucky stared at you with softness in his sky blue eyes. His vibranium arm gently whirled as he slowly inched his fleshed hand next to yours, which was placed on the counter. A calm smile graced his lips as he unconsciously grazed his pinky against yours. You never noticed, you were too busy goading Sam about how bad his music taste was.

Of course, Sam, who was always observant, noticed. A knowing smirk donned on his lips, but he didn’t say anything regarding the matter.

‘Alright, since I’m now the official Airbnb host for the Avengers, I’ll make a complimentary breakfast. How do you guys like your eggs?’

—-

3 days later…

—-

Natalia Alianovna Romanova lived a life where nothing would phase her anymore. At least, that's what she thought. 

She's lived through alien invasions, Artificial Intelligence gaining consciousness and expressing the need for genocide, hell she's fought against her own team. 

But she didn't expect to see Bucky Barnes bopping his head with Apple Airpods in his ear while using his vibranium arm to reach for the colourful box of Lucky Charms on the top cabinet.

It was like she had whiplash. Or maybe an aneurysm. Whatever she was seeing, it couldn't be real. 

The redhead carefully watched as the ex-assassin hum a colourful tune as he absentmindedly grabbed a ceramic bowl and spoon and started making his breakfast. 

Natasha could recognize that tune anywhere; you had religiously played it over the speakers in the compound to the point that Tony had to personally invite Stevie Wonder to come and hold a concert to get you to shut up about it. 

Bucky was humming Isn't She Lovely. One of your favourites. 

The woman couldn't help but smile to herself. You already got to him and it's only been a week (or was it two?). She honestly thought it would take longer, but it was nice to see the former Winter Soldier that she fought years ago a different man. A man on a path of healing.

She could definitely relate to him.

Her conclusion from her analysis? You were good for him. 

The super soldier was so enamoured with his bowl of cereal and with the music in his eardrums that when he finally looked up, he slightly stumbled over the side in surprise when his eyes bore into Natasha's. The look of shock quickly turned into a scowl as he quickly picked up his bowl and scurried out of the kitchen, mumbling about how people just can't leave him and his Lucky Charms in peace. 

A small chuckle came out of her painted lips as she watched the man speed walk into the bedroom area. She definitely did not miss the red tint of his ears. He was embarrassed. Cute. 

She had to tell you what she discovered this early morning.

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

----------------------------------------------------------

chapter summary: Tony forces you and Bucky to team up for the first time, and of course, it goes horrendously wrong.

chapter warnings: slight nudity, mentions of marijuana, sexual innuendos, creepy men, catcalling.

A/N: here we go! all aboard the sunshine and bucky train!

Word count: 4.6k

‘Are you guys having a staring contest?’ you asked as you sat across from Bucky and Sam in the briefing room.

Your best friend and soon-to-be part-of-your-himbo-collection friend were busy getting lost in each other’s eyes while you settled in to wait for the team meeting.

You glanced down to their legs which were touching knee to knee as they were squinting at each other, refusing to lose against one another. 

‘Am I interrupting something here? Maybe get a room instead of eye fucking each other in Steven’s Holy Briefing Room?’ you spoke out, just a tad louder than usual.

No response from either man. Sam’s eyes started to water and Bucky began to smirk at this sight.

‘What a bunch of immature losers.’ you thought as you brought yourself to the other side of the desk and situated yourself in front of them. Spreading your arms with a wide stretch, you got your palms together with a thunderous clap, accompanied by a small but very bright flash of light that emitted from your hands.

‘Fuck!’ ‘Shit!’ Both Avengers both swore at the same time in surprise. The super soldier reeled back and slammed his metal arm on the desk in response, while your Birdy boy quickly covered his eyes with his palms.

‘Sunshine! What was that for!? Are you trying to blind me? I was about to win a bet! Thanks to you I lost 20 bucks!’ Sam screeched. Once he finally recovered, he raised his head and squinted at your face. A large mischievous grin from you gave him a small shiver down the spine. 

‘How- What? What was that?’ Bucky groaned. He was going to get a massive headache from this stunt that you just pulled on him. The poor man slowly glanced up at you with a look that would kill you ten times over.

‘Well, the two of you were busy getting lost in each other’s eyes, so I had to resort to flashing you guys.’ you scoffed.

‘You can always flash us a different way Sunshine.’ Sam teased.

‘And take the risk of the paparazzi getting pictures of my glorious body? No way! Unless they’re willing to pay me the big bucks!’ 

‘Is anyone going to answer my questions?’ Bucky cut in. ‘(Y/n), what kind of power is that?’

‘Oh I’m so sorry my dear!’ you said with playful sarcasm. Jumping on the table and twisting your body to face closer to him, you continued your bantering. ‘How could I leave you hanging?’ 

The brunette-brooding man stared at you, clearly tired of your squabbling bullshit.

You mirrored his action right back at him.

Sam did alternate takes on you and Bucky, with a dangerously high smirk creeping up on his features.

After the small starting contest, you finally decided to answer. ‘I have photokinesis! You know, bending lights and stuff. In other words, I’m a ball of light! Which is why everyone here calls me Sunshine.’ you explained, drawing the last sentence like it left a bad taste in your mouth. 

His eyebrow raised slightly with this revelation. ‘So you’re a lightbulb.’

A genuine look of confusion spread on your features. ‘Pardon?’

You could hear Sam stifling a laugh to your side. You shot him a quick side-eye.

‘You know, like a fluorescent light? How about a lamp? Like that jumping light in one of those animation movies’ Bucky continued. A small teasing smile appeared. It was the first time you saw him smile.

Your heart fluttered. But you wouldn’t let it be known. 

‘Did you just call me the Pixar lamp?’ you gawked.

The macho Birdman lost his cool as he started to howl with laughter. ‘Oh, Tinman got some jokes now huh? Looks like he’s matching your energy Sunshine and trust me, I thought I’d never see the day.’

A smile of genuine disbelief and humour appeared on your lips as Bucky was adamant about continuing his name-calling streak. You wouldn’t believe, the grumpy technically-old-man-but-handsome-guy was actually opening up to you. 

It was only a matter of time until he rightfully joined your Himbo squad.

As Bucky opened his mouth, the room’s door suddenly burst open, with Tony, Steve, Clint, Natasha, Bruce and Thor walking in. Your eyes zeroed in and lit up as you saw your favourite God of Thunder march in.

‘David Hasselhoff! I missed you!’ you called out as you quickly hopped off the table and ran towards the blond man. 

Sam didn’t miss the frown that suddenly appeared on Bucky’s lips.

‘Sunlight! I told you my name is Thor, remember? Do you always forget my name every time we meet?’ He greeted you back with a smile. Your arms spread open as you hugged him, and Thor couldn’t help but laugh. 

Tony, who was sick of you and questioned why he even let you on the team, grabbed your shirt collar and peeled you away from the god, much to your dismay.

‘Get your slimy hands off of me Stonk!’ you cried out.

Tony sighed. ‘Alright Sunshine, I know you want to spend more time with Baywatch over here but we got work to do. I already let you in on this meeting despite your busy world tour schedule, so don’t make me regret my decision kid.’ 

To the side, Bruce muttered to Natasha; ‘You would think she’s related to Tony.’

The redhead smiled in response. “To be honest they're more like twins.’

‘Oh god, that's even worse.’ the scientist chuckled airlessly. 

The Earth's Mightiest Heroes situated themselves in their respective seats. However, instead of taking your usual spot next to Tony and Thor, you decided to sit between Sam and Bucky. This didn't go unnoticed, but everyone decided to keep their thoughts to themselves that day. 

Steve started to ramble on about some bad guy having access to confidential government information and being willing to sell it out. 

God, you hated these briefings. It was so boring. Maybe if the Captain did a song and dance it would catch your attention. But for now, you could always rely on Natasha to tell you the bits and bobs you actually needed to know. 

‘Psst. Bucko. Did you listen to the best album of the century yet?’ you whispered, nudging your left leg to his right. 

‘Stop talking. I'm trying to pay attention.’ he grumbled. 

A mischievous glint sparkled in your eye as you propped your hand to hide your (one-sided) conversation. ‘Oh don't be such a stick into the mud. I heard Nat that you were humming Isn't She Lovely this morning. What do you think?’

You felt a large foot pressing on top of yours in response. A sharp inhale escaped your lungs as the foot pressed harder into yours. 

‘Stop. Talking.’ he growled. 

A squeak unwillingly escaped your lips as Bucky's foot firmly stepped on yours. Sam looked at you weirdly as you gave him a pained smile. 

‘Bunkos.’ you pleaded. ‘Stop-’ 

He dug in even more. You swore you saw a vein pop up in his temple as he clenched his jaw in annoyance. Of course, he stared into you, but instead of his brooding stare, there was a mixture of annoyance and slight amusement. 

‘What a masochist.’ your mind echoed. 

‘Okay!’ you whispered harshly. ‘I’ll shut up’

‘-thank you Barnes and (Y/n) for volunteering on this mission!’ Tony called out in the front. 

Like deer in headlights, the two of you froze as the entire team turned their heads to face you and Bucky.

It was never a good sign when Tony used your actual name.

—-----

The only thing soothing your nerves at the moment was the quiet hum of the Quintet as it speedily and soundlessly sped in the night sky. The reason for your nervousness?

It took everything under your power to not look at the bionic staring machine situated across from you. 

‘You’ll get used to it.’ Sam had said to you earlier.

You’re starting to think that he's lying to you. 

Like a powerful magnet, you couldn't help but draw your eyes onto his very blue ones. The way he was staring at you made you wonder if he had gears in his head, like a machine. 

‘For the record, I think this can be a great bonding time for the both of us!’ you said with fake enthusiasm. 

It's amazing how a man can only blink 3 times in the span of 3 minutes and still project a burning gaze into someone in front of them. 

Then Bucky finally spoke back, ‘You and your big mouth got us stuck here on a mission we both don't want to do Lamp.’

For once in your life someone was genuinely pushing your buttons. And that someone was Golden Boy’s best friend; Bucky Barnes. 

‘You know what? Sure it was my fault we ended up in this situation, but know this Binky.’ you started as you brought up your finger to point at him. ‘At the end of this mission, we WILL be friends.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Fluorescent Lights.’

‘Dude. That's not even an insult.’

Bucky let out a low ‘hmph’ as he faced away from you, staring elsewhere that wasn't you. 

Whatever. You could deal with his pissy attitude later. 

‘Hey, Sam with the Plan! What's the rundown on this mission?’ you called out to the pilot in the front. 

‘You know, maybe if you actually listened to Steve you would know what's going on!’ he spat back. 

‘You know what? Consider your free pass to see Megan Thee Stallion cancelled!’ 

Sam whined. ‘Alright, fine! Tony wants you and Mr. Cyborg here to infiltrate a restaurant in Shanghai where there's a meetup between a former SHIELD official who's been selling confidential government information to an underground buyer!’ he shot back. 

‘Hey, you guys know I'm right here you know!’Bucky interfered. 

A sudden turbulence shook the Quinjet, causing the three of you to rock forward. 

‘Woah!’ you yelled as you were suddenly launched towards Bucky. Closing your eyes to the impact, you expected him to move to the side and to meet face forward with the wall of the jet. 

Instead, you heard a grunt and felt a tough chest cushioning the impact. Arms instantly wrapped around your torso as you landed. Your eyes shot open, whipping your head up to only see the super soldier’s blue iris bearing into yours. 

First thing you noticed:

They're really blue. 

His arms were strong.

You liked being held by strong arms.

This revelation caused your brain to haywire.

‘You’re heavy.’ he muttered. He truly hadn't meant it, he just didn't know what else to say when you were literally pressed on his body.

‘Sorry!’ you squeaked, scrambling to get off him. No snarky response from you, all you could think about was his strong arms wrapping around you.

You pushed yourself off of him and promptly made your way back to your side. 

You failed to see that his ears were bloodshot red. 

A pair of brown eyes watched from the front as the interesting scene unfolded. 

‘Woah there Sunshine! Jumping from man to man are you?’ Sam teased. 

Your lips pursed shut in response. Sam’s eyes widened. There was no way that you, the snarky and boisterous diva, and possibly one of the most famous people on the planet, was flustered over a man who barely tolerated you. 

‘Are you…? You're actually speechless?!’ he shrieked.

‘ShutbthefuckupSamorI’llshoveupastickupyourass!’ you hissed back. 

Bucky couldn’t wait until he got back to his room. A raging headache was approaching and all he wanted was to sleep.

‘That’s what you get for never strapping up when we’re in the air!’ Sam chuckled, drawing his focus back to the front. ‘By the way, ETA is 5 minutes. I’m dropping y’all off just outside the city. Take Nat’s motorbike near the exit, you’ll need it to get to the restaurant.’

That was a signal to gear up. Promptly getting from your respective seats, you and Bucky started to prepare. On the seat were your special glasses, which also doubled as your disguise and a black tactical jacket. Grabbing the glasses, you put them on, while also adjusting the earpiece in your left ear.

‘That’s all you’re wearing? What’s with the glasses?’ Bucky’s scruffy voice piped up.

Your eyes darted at him, who was in the middle of attaching a gun holster to his thigh.

‘A disguise.’

‘You can’t be serious, anyone can recognize you with those on.’

‘No, these are special. First, Tony made these for me. For some reason, no one knows it's me when I rock them. Think of it as the Superman effect.’

‘Who?’

‘Secondly, these prevent me from blinding myself with my light. Pretty neat huh?’

‘Hn.’ was the only response from Bucky as he continued to zip his tactical jacket. As he finished, he quickly made his way towards the motorbike as Sam began descending the jet.

‘Sunshine, Barnes, remember that you just need to steal those confidential documents. Don’t make a scene! Just grab them and come back! I’ll meet you guys back here!’ Sam instructed as he opened up the Quinjet.

Bucky triggered the motorcycle on. The engine roared as it came to life. The super soldier hopped on and beckoned you to sit behind him. You grinned in response. Oh, how you missed missions while you were on tour.

‘See you later Sammy! Don’t miss me too much!’ you saluted as the bike started to leave.

The Quinjet was a few feet off of the pavement, but it didn’t stop Bucky from revving the engine to full speed. Adrenaline started pumping into your veins, causing you to shriek in excitement as you and he flew off and raced into the bustling busy nightlife in Shanghai.

It took less than 10 minutes for the two of you to reach the location. The building’s bright neon lights highlighted the street, and even though you had no idea what it read, you knew exactly what kind of atmosphere it held.

‘Wow. Whoever this buyer and seller is, they are kinky.’ you whistled.

Bucky clicked the engine off as he parked the motorbike near the curb. A confused expression graced his face. ‘What’s so kinky about a restaurant?’

Smiling in disbelief, you pointed at the poster of a dancer wearing very little and posing provocatively. ‘Bucko, I’m afraid to let you know that this isn't a restaurant. This is a strip club .’

‘What’s a strip club-’ he started before the gears started turning in his big head.

The realization drained the colour of his face. 

‘Oh no. Oh no no no.’ he muttered as he scurried to get back on the motorbike. ‘(Y/n), I am not going in there.’

‘Hey! You can’t just ditch me! We both need to get in and get those documents! Who knows what world-ending secret this person is selling?’ you flailed. Grabbing the collar of his jacket, you yanked the larger man back to prevent him from leaving.

‘No! My dignity is on the line!’

‘What dignity? Bro, you’re an ex-assassin for a terrorist cult for 70 years but you draw the line at naked women?’

‘My Ma taught me decency and self-respect!’ he argued.

A sigh escaped your chest. ‘Alright, I get it. I don’t like this either but we’re on a mission here and we need to get this done. Good thing I brought some money because I just created a plan that will get us in and out faster than you could say ‘Stupid people say what.’

Bucky looked at you in disbelief as you walked to the nearby clothing store. With no choice but to follow, he followed you. 

He hummed in thought.

‘Stupid people say wh-HEY!’ 

—------------------

‘I never want to be on a mission with you ever again.’ The brooding soldier protested as the two of you pushed in yourselves between moving bodies. The music in the club was unbearably loud, the air reeked of weed, and the neon laser lights were unbearable.

Bucky was currently wearing a nice navy blue silk three-piece with a matching tie. On his feet were nice brown leather dress shoes that contrasted nicely with his outfit. Two matching leather gloves which were also blue covered his hands. His shoulder-long hair was slicked back with gel. He didn’t want to admit it, but he cleaned up nicely.

On the other hand, you were wearing a large faux fur coat that pooled to the floor. He doesn’t even know what you’re wearing inside the coat, but he knows you’re wearing ridiculously high heels because you are way taller than you usually are. Despite the getup, you were still wearing those same glasses.

‘This is a horrible idea.’ he muttered in your ear. The two of you made your way to the bar and sat down on the stools.

‘This idea is the best shot distracting the buyer and seller as you snag what we need!’ you hissed back.

‘Forget that, it looks like I’m pimping you out!’ your partner objected.

‘Wait, how do you know-? Oh right, you’ve been hanging out way too much with Sammy.’

The two of you watched closely as a hooded figure made its way toward a clean-shaven bald man who definitely looked like bad news on the far left table, which was situated in front of a circular stage.

‘Buck, on your 9 o’clock. Looks like the meet-up is happening now.’ you lowly murmured.

The former assassin discreetly looked to his left. The hooded figure’s arm pulled out a brown folder and slid it towards the suspicious man.

Bucky was about to approach when he heard you yelp. He whipped his head to see a Chinese woman with heavy makeup grabbing your arm. She was speaking to you in Mandarin, and the tone she was using sounded like she wanted you to do something.

‘Hey miss! Let go! What are you saying? I don’t understand you!’ you refuted. The grip on your arm grew stronger as you tried to shake the woman off. You observed her closely, realizing that she looked like the manager of the establishment.

Realizing that it was no use, you urged Bucky to stop the exchange as you saw him frozen, not knowing what to do. ‘Go! Take the documents and go!’

His eyes shadowed as he frantically looked at the exchange and back at you. Once he realized that there was no choice but to follow your order, he shot you an apologetic look as he ran off. 

Bucky's mechanical arm whirled as his metallic fingers clenched into a fist. Making his way towards the two suspicious individuals, he raised his right arm and clenched on the hooded figure’s shoulder, making them flinch. The man sitting across raised an eyebrow.

‘Can I help you sir?’ the man asked, his voice dripped with maliciousness. 

‘Uh.’ his brain stuttered, struggling on what to say as an excuse. ‘I need that seat.’

‘But I sat here first!’

The super soldier felt the hooded individual’s shoulders tense as they registered his voice. Bucky grew suspicious and yanked down their hood. To his surprise, flowing blond locks gracefully sat on their shoulders. The person turned around with wide eyes, and his blood ran cold once he realized who the person behind the scheme was.

‘Sharon?’ he said incredulously.

‘Bucky? She gaped with shock. ‘What are you doing here?’

The man watching the scene unfold in front of him scampered back from the seat. ‘Wait… you mean Barnes? The Winter Soldier?’

Hearing that old name being thrown casually left a bad taste in Bucky’s mouth. His jaw clenched in response.

‘What’s in that folder Sharon?’ he pressed, gripping her shoulder firmly.

Her eyes wavered. This was not the ideal situation for her, and she had to get out of there, fast.

Realizing that she was hesitant, Bucky prepared himself to snatch the folder that was now laid out on the table in front of them before a booming announcement stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t understand a single word but one; Sunshine.

So much for staying undercover. ‘Screw you and your stupid plan’ he thought.

His worst nightmare came true when gazed upon the circular stage and saw you standing there, with nothing on but a skimpy pink bra and thong with those insane pink high heels.

Everything he’s known and seen about you has been against his will. He wished he could head back to Wakanda and get them to erase any memory he has of you.

The tips of his ears began to flare up as you started to pole dance on the stage to a raunchy rap tune. Bucky wanted to take eyes off desperately, but couldn’t get himself to do it as he kept his gaze glued to your provocative performance. 

For some reason, he felt the need to shed his jacket.

The sound of Sharon’s gasp caused his eyes to finally break away from you. ‘Isn’t that…? What’s (Y/n) doing here? Why is she here dancing to Cardi B?’

The bad man whistled. ‘Damn, she’s hot! Let me get closer to try to get a glimpse of her ass-’

The man stopped and screamed in pain. A regular person would think that he suddenly collapsed for no reason, but Bucky saw what actually happened. While you were dancing, you shot a small energy light that was the size of a bullet into the bald man’s right calf.

Your partner looked up to you once more. He was met with your warning glare, as if you were saying ‘I gave you a leeway. Now get out of here with the document.’

No need to tell him twice. Bucky reached over the seats and dove into the table, snagging the brown envelope as he rolled off, body slamming into the stage.

The next few minutes were a blur. As he quickly got to his feet, Sharon attempted to slam her baton on his head, but he was quick enough to deflect it with his vibranium arm, pushing her away. Scanning the area quickly, he booked for the exit once he found it.

Meanwhile, you ripped off your heels and hopped off the stage. The sharp heel met with the face of the bald man as he tried to get up. Men in tactical gear started to flood into the bar, trying to stop you from escaping.

‘Oh come on!’ you huffed, grabbing your heels like a pair of batons. You realize that your outfit was probably not the best idea to fight in. Zeroing in on a fluffy white coat on a nearby bench, you ran barefooted and snatched it, wearing the sleeves as fast as you could. The soldiers inched closer and closer as you jumped over the tables and chairs. One of them tried to grab the collar of the coat, however you formed a small ball of light and smacked them with it.

Once you freed yourself from the onslaught of men, you booked for the exit and ran out of the strip club and into the cold streets of Shanghai.

—-----

It took you half an hour to find Bucky outside the city, near where Sam dropped you off. You found the man sitting on a fallen log off the road, with the motorbike parked beside him. As you walked closer you noticed his once slicked-back hair was slightly frizzled, with strands of his brown hair framing his ruggish face. The once blue silk suit was tattered, with the left side ripped in half, showcasing his bare calf. The gloves he once wore were long gone.

‘Hey Bucky.’ you softly called out.

He looked up to see your figure slightly limping towards him. The faux fur coat you had was ripped in half, so you made a makeshift skirt to cover your almost bare bottom. The pair of heels were being held with your left hand, while you hugged yourself with your right arm. It was a miracle that those glasses still remained on your face.

You sat beside him. ‘Did you get it?’

A long silence lingered before he answered. He raised the folder up. ‘Right here.’

A small smile adorned your lips. ‘Mission accomplished.’

He frowned. ‘That mission went wrong in so many ways.’

‘Did you have a better idea?’

‘No, but if I did, it wouldn’t involve endangering you!’ you admitted.

Your eyes went wide from the revelation. ‘Why would you care? I thought you hated me! I thought I was annoying you! Which I admit, I was purposely doing!’

‘You may be annoying but my God (Y/n), I don’t wish for you to be injured or hurt!’ he confessed.

You’ve never been more shocked in your life. Looking closely at Bucky’s face you realized that he wasn’t entirely mad at you. There was also concern etched into his face.

The super soldier ran real fingers through his hair as he looked down at his feet. ‘Listen I-’ he started. ‘You’re okay. You’re tolerable. You just need to tone it down though but truthfully, I don’t mind your company.’

A small ‘o’ graced your lips. A spark of possible friendship was there, and you were going to take it.

You let out an airy chuckle. ‘I appreciate your concern, Bucko. But I promise I’m okay. 

Besides,’ you gave him a shoulder nudge before you continued, ‘your confession made me feel much better.’

Bucky smiled softly. ‘I’m starting to regret it.’ he teased.

The two of you laughed softly before silence took over again.

The muted rustle of the leaves indicated that it was getting colder. Your body took notice, especially since you were half-naked with only a bra on. A shiver ran up your spine as the wind continued to blow.

You tried so hard to diveron your freezing body. Distracting yourself by looking at Bucky’s mechanical arm would hopefully help. Honing your sights on the silver and gold plating, you noticed that it glistened softly against the moonlight. How pretty.

Meanwhile, Bucky noticed your shivering figure. Concern graced his face once more, causing him to shed his jacket off. He hesitated before he gingerly placed it over your cold shoulders.

You were genuinely surprised once you felt the sudden warmth drape on you. As if on instinct, your fingers clutched the sides of the coat as you wrapped yourself with the jacket.

‘Thank you.’ you quietly spoke as you faced Bucky once more.

He didn’t smile, but his eyes spoke for him. He cared. Cared enough to give you his jacket.

‘So,’ you broke the silence. ‘Does that mean we’re friends?’

The man hummed. ‘Only if you stop those stupid nicknames you give me.’

‘As if! It’s a necessary requirement to have a nickname picked out by me if you want to be friends with me!’ 

Bucky stared at you with disbelief. You stuck out your tongue back at him.

Knowing that he can’t argue with you, he shook his head. ‘I’m going to call Sam. I need to go back and eat.’

‘Slow your roll Binky, we’re in Shanghai! Before we go back we have to try their special Shanghai Fried Noodles! I’m not in the mood for some boring American food.’ you persuaded. 

A tired sigh escaped his lips. ‘Sure. Why not? We’re here anyways.’

You squealed in excitement as the two of you hopped onto the motorbike. As he started the engine you pondered about something.

‘I can hear you thinking Lightshade. What do you want?’ he groaned.

‘Say, do you have your phone with you? Want to listen to some Stevie Wonder while we get there?’

Without a word, Bucky passes you his phone.

This night was your favourite night ever.

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (2)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

----------------------------------------------------------

chapter summary: You try to get to know the new kid on the block and notice that he has Steve's little brown notebook.

chapter warnings: none. although has a bit of angst!

A/N: i have SOOOO many ideas for this fic i'm actually excited for once lol

also, sam wilson is sooooo best friend coded but one of these days i'm going to make him an x reader fic. he's so underrated and needs more love.

Word count: 2k-ish?

Bucky frowned as his spoon of cereal lingered midway from his bowl and his mouth. His eyes bore into your figure as he watched you plop down on the dining table and sat across him. The books and papers that you once held on to scattered throughout the kitchen table. The brooding man watched as one of your pens that escaped your pencil case roll into his cereal bowl with a small ‘clink’.

‘Good morning Bucky!’ you greeted cheerily. With your elbows propped up on the kitchen table, you set your face between your two palms as you stared at him with a cheery expression. 

Was the sun rising even higher this morning or did the room suddenly get unbearably bright?

His left eye twitched.

Ignoring your greeting, Bucky shovelled the spoon of cereal into his mouth and returned his focus back to his breakfast bowl.

The cold demeanor didn’t phase you at all. You were determined to become Bucky Barnes' friend. He was tall and handsome. You just had to add him to your collection of himbos, which currently consisted of Thor, Steve and Sam.

Maybe Bruce Banner too on a good day.

‘Did you sleep well on your first night here?’

A long pause before he answered. ‘Not really.’

‘Hm. How do you like the Tower?’

‘It’s okay.’

‘You’re lying. You used to live in this super ugly and run down apartment in Bucharest. Trust me sweet stuff, Stevie showed me photos. Don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy this insane upgrade.’ you huffed as you crossed your arms.

Bucky’s eyes flickered up and squinted at you when you called him sweet stuff. The nickname didn’t sit right with him.

‘Don’t you ever stop talking? God, you’re worse than Sam.’ he groaned.

‘Why thank you! Always wanted to one up him in something.’

The man stared at you incredulously, annoyed and slightly impressed that everything he did did not phase you at all.

You leaned in closer. ‘Wow, Sammy was right. You do have a staring problem. Not that I mind though. You’re very handsome and your blue eyes are stunning.’ you blurted out suddenly.

The super soldier flinched back. He knew that you were straight forward, but this was just crazy for him. It was too much for him to bear.

You blinked at his sudden action. Then a laugh escaped your stomach. 

‘Alright, I know you’re from the 40s and during that era women were still prissy little dames, but there’s now way you can’t be foreign to an idea of straightforward women!’ you said between your fits of laughter.

Bucky warily watched you laugh as he began to eat again. He needed to finish his bowl of cereal. He had to get to his therapy session with Dr. Raynor. Not that he wanted to go anyways, he had to because of his pardon. 

It was going to be a loooong day for him.

Once you calmed down from your laughing fit, your eyes made their way towards a small brown notebook resting next to Bucky’s bowl of Lucky Charms.

‘Hey, isn’t that Stevies? Why do you have it?’ you inquired, pointing to the book.

Bucky made a ‘hm?’ noise as his eyes followed to where you were pointing at.

You found that particular action of his cute.

‘He gave it to me. No longer has a use for it, scratched out all the things he did on the list.’ he answered.

Your mouth made an ‘o’ shape in response. But before he could blink, your hands snatched the book from his side.

‘Hey!’ he yelped as he hopelessly tried to snag the book back. 

‘Nice try Buckaroos, but they call me Sunshine for a reason!’ you gleefully said.

‘Don’t call me that.’

Ignoring his last sentence, you opened the notebook. The pages were slightly yellowed and crumpled on the edges, meaning it was well used. Your fingertips skimmed through the small pages until you landed on the list. Scanning down the written words, your eyes stopped at something you knew Sam brought up.

‘Ah, of course. The Troubleman by Marvin Gaye. Tsk tsk, Sammy, your taste could be better.’ you tutted, shaking your head at the same time. ‘Bucko, have you listened to the Troubleman yet?’

‘I like 40s music.’ he responded.

‘I get it, Bing Crosby is the goat. But let me do you one better; Stevie Wonder - Songs In The Key Of Life. You won’t regret it.’ 

Bucky regretted looking up at you. Your chest was puffed up like a bird trying to attract a mate. You looked really proud at your suggestion.

It was so stupid it almost made him laugh. Keyword; almost.

‘Sunshine, are you downplaying Marvin Gaye right now?’ Sam called out as he shuffled next to you. In his hands were two iced lattes, one which he gracefully slid over in front of you.

A small smirk danced on your lips as you dramatically clutched your chest, letting out the fakest gasp Bucky has ever heard. 

‘You wound me! Why would I ever downplay Marvin Gaye? He made Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, which is a brilliant song by the way.’ 

‘That song wasn’t even on the Troubleman album!’ Sam exasperated as he threw up his hands in the air in frustration. 

Bucky watched as you and Sam bickered about who the superior artist was; Stevie Wonder or Marvin Gaye. He wanted to slip away quietly and leave, but strangely he kept his place and sat through the whole debacle. 

Maybe it was because he secretly found the two of you amusing. But he would never admit that. 

‘Of course I would know better! I'm a singer after all!’ you scoffed, throwing a diva fit towards Sam.

Now that interested Bucky. 

‘You’re a singer?’ he piqued up slowly.

A sudden silence suddenly filled the dining area as you and Sam slowly turned away from each other and faced the super soldier. A bright smile replaced your scowl as Bucky’s sudden interest in your career made you ecstatic. 

‘Why yes I am! Do you want to see one of my music videos? Hold on, let me put on Spotify for you and show you my newest hit!’ you excitedly proposed to him. 

‘Hold on, run that back. Bucky, you're asking questions about people? Sweet Jesus this is an amazing development!’ Sam praised. 

James Barnes regretted opening his inquisitive mouth. 

‘Nevermind, forget what I said.’ he sighed. 

Bucky tried to get up from his chair and move somewhere else so he could eat his Lucky Charms in peace, but your flailing hands got in the way as you ran to his side (how did you get there so fast?)

‘Come on Buck! Don't leave yet! You asked if I sang, so I gotta show you that I do sing!’ you pleaded. 

‘Listen (Y/n), don't call me Buck. Only Steve can call me that. Also, I need to leave, I'm going to be late with my appointment with Dr. Raynor.’ 

His strong arm gently moved you out of his way as he quickly turned the corner to the bedroom area. The two of you simply watched as he disappeared down the hall.

You left a small sigh of defeat. So much for making an acquaintance.

Sam gave you a sympathetic look. ‘Listen Sunshine, I know you’re ecstatic about another hot man living here but you gotta give him some space. He's been through a lot.’

‘And you think I haven't?’ you snapped back. ‘Sam, it may look like fun and games but believe me, I know what it's like to be alone. And I don't want him to be alone.’ you quietly finished. Your fingers timidly grazed your left arm as a pathetic attempt to soothe yourself.

He softened his gaze with your confession. ‘Look at you, so empathetic and understanding. Is that why you were so adamant on befriending Thor as well?’ 

A teasing look suddenly appeared on your features, replacing the once sad smile that once danced on your face. ‘Nah Sammy, I was just hellbent on seeing his big blond beautiful self everyday.’

An aggressive eye roll and a playful smirk was all you got in response from Sam. ‘Anywho, I see you got your papers scattered again. Writing a new song?’

Your fingers lightly tapped against the cool marble dining table. ‘To be honest with you, it's getting harder these days to write a good authentic original piece of music.’ you sadly confessed. 

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with sampling a few hooks here or there you know.’ Sam piqued.��

‘Oh?’ you said, raising your eyebrows. ‘So I supposed I can sample some Marvin Gaye?’ 

You were met by a light push of Sam's shoulders against yours as he gave you a painful smile. ‘Now you're pushing your luck Sunshine. I don't give you permission to tarnish his work.’

‘You wound me, and here I thought you were my best friend!’ you mourned mockingly.

A light laugh passed his lips, with you following after. 

—------------

God he hated public transit. Everything was too loud. New York subways has to be one of the levels of hell that he was taught as a young boy, because that's how he felt right now sitting in the rickety old subway car on the way to Dr. Raynor's.

Hell. He was in hell. Like he already wasn't living in hell for the past 70 years. 

His eyes met with the homeless man sitting across from him. The old scrawny dude stared back at him, unblinkingly with eyes that looked like they were popping out of their sockets. Bucky felt like there were holes being burned into his eyes.  

Maybe he did have a staring problem. 

A sigh left his lips. Breaking away from the homeless man’s burning gaze, Bucky hung his head low as he rummaged his metal fingers through his brown mop of hair. He just wanted to live in peace, after continuously fighting for almost a century without a break. Steve’s proposition for him to live at the Avengers tower didn’t exactly warrant the peace he wanted. But even if he didn’t want to admit it, he needed to stop pushing people away.

The rest of the ride was a blur and before he knew it, he found himself on that uncomfortable couch in the office room, facing the empty chair in front of it. Dr. Raynor was yet to arrive, so he sat in silence waiting for her.

The quiet tick of the moving clock was the only thing Bucky heard, until his super hearing picked up a song being played by the radio in the reception area. It was very faint, but he could hear it clear as day; it was your voice singing.

A fraction of an inch of his eyes widened as he carefully listened. Your singing voice was not what he expected. While he was introduced to your boisterous and outgoing talking voice, it contrasted to what he was hearing right now. A beautiful melody ripped through your throat as you sang with passion, with a catchy tune accompanying you.

He would hate to admit it, but it wasn’t terrible.

Actually, he really enjoyed it.

He zoned out as he listened through the whole song, not noticing that the therapist walked and took her place on the seat in front of him.

‘-es Barnes? Are you ready to start?’ Dr. Raynor started.

Bucky snapped it out. It was almost like your voice called to him like a siren singing to a sailor.

He warily looked up at Dr. Raynor and let out a tired smile. ‘Sorry doc, was out of it for a second.’ 

She shot him an incredulous look before she started the session.

…

A half hour painfully passed by. The therapy session came to a close.

Dr. Raynor sighed. ‘James, you need to stop pushing people away. You only contact Steve, and you don’t even answer Sam’s texts. That is so sad.’

The super soldier clenched his jaw but said nothing. She was right. Steve was right. He was given a chance of redemption, something he felt he didn’t deserve. There were people who wanted to reach out to him. Steve, Sam, some others.

And you.

‘Yeah.’ he croaked. 

The doctor closed her notebook and got up to leave. ‘I’ll see you next week Bucky.’

A small click of a door is all he heard.

Walking out of the room and into the reception area, he slowly made his way towards the exit before he paused, then reached out of the pen sitting at the counter of the check in desk. Pulling out the brown notebook from his breast pocket, he flipped his fleshed fingers to a fresh page and began to scribble something down.

(Y/n). Sunshine.

Stevie Wonder -  Songs In The Key Of Life.

As quickly as he wrote, Bucky shut the notebook and shoved it back into his breast pocket of his leather jacket and walked out, with a new song of yours faintly playing in the reception area once more.

He would have to ask about your favourite song in that album when he got back to the Tower.

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (1)

Next Chapter

Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

----------------------------------------------------------

chapter warnings: swearing. thats all!

A/N: suddenly im trusted back to my 2018 marvel phase with an unhealthy obsession with bucky barnes! i wanted to give bucky barnes a 2000s romcom trope and so here it is. hope yall like it! lmk what you guys think, this is like a pilot episode tbh.

btw, you guys have a nickname. i'll alternate between that and (Y/N).

Word count: 2k

'(Y/n), no.'

‘(Y/n), yes.’

‘(Y/n), you can’t just ditch your world tour just because Star Spangled Spandex and I are having a pissing contest!’ Tony yelled.

‘Come onnnnn Tony! I want in on this tea! And besides, what's got you and Cap’s panties in a twist?’ you questioned. 

The two of you were sitting in front of each other, with the Avengers common table between your bodies. On the far side of the room was Peter, sitting on the couch and drinking orange juice from a straw while he watched you and Tony argue. 

Spiderboy finished the drink a minute ago, but he was still sucking on the straw, which made an unbearably annoying noise. 

‘Can you fucking stop that!?’ you screeched as you hurled a ball of photokinesis towards him. Peter yelped as he rolled to his left and dodged your attack, which resulted in the incineration of the couch. 

‘You asshole! Are you trying to kill me!?’ he exclaimed, as he clutched onto his chest. 

‘Stop clutching your pearls Penis Parker.’ you snarked. 

Tony stared at you incredulously. ‘You are so getting me a new couch Sunshine.’

You hated it when he called you that. You had photokinetic power, which in Layman's terms was being able to manipulate light at will and shoot power blasts. But Tony always insisted on calling you Sunshine because you were literally a ball of light. 

‘As I was saying Tony, why are you and Cap fighting again?’ you questioned.

The man in front of you sighed. ‘He wants to bring Barnes into our Tower. And for obvious reasons I don't want him here.’

‘Tony you gotta stop restricting hot men from living here. I want my daily fix!’ you pouted. 

The older man scoffed. ‘And that's the other thing! Even though you're a superstar and an Avenger you act like you don't have paparazzi in your closet! Keep your shit together Sunshine, I don't want another PR incident!’

‘Listen! Thor is so kissable. It just so happened that he turned his head while I was trying to kiss his cheek. And it was also a coincidence that the paparazzi were also there. Don't you want to kiss him too?’ you argued. 

‘She's right you know, Thor is a very kissable guy.’ Peter muttered with his mouth full of popcorn as he watched the two of you like a tennis match.

Tony’s eyes zeroed in on the brunette boy. ‘You’re in hot water kid.’

‘I’ve been in hot water for the past month.’ Peter muttered. 

‘Anyways… I’m still staying to see this lovers quarrel between you two. It's like watching a divorce and it's sooooo juicy.’ you said with a toothy grin.

‘Listen Sunshine, this isn't worth missing your show on. Besides, why would you miss the chance to shake some ass with Megan Thee Stallion? I clearly remember you complaining to me how she was impossible to get a hold of for your tour.’ Tony pleaded. 

‘Hm.. how about we compromise? You come down to Texas with me tonight, and Cap too. I want to see you guys argue after my show.’ you proposed. 

‘Girl please, you think Sir Chasity can handle all of that seeing you and Meg shake some ass on stage? He's clearly a Victorian child and it's going to kill him.’ He scoffed. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Peter ferociously shake his head in agreement.

You rolled your eyes and got up. ‘Whatever. At least I tried. It's been so boring lately here at the Tower. Would it kill for a girl to find some juicy entertainment? It seems to only happen when I'm gone on tour.’ you mumbled. 

Peter got up and shuffled towards you and grinned at you with a mouthful of food. ‘Don’t worry (Y/N), if there's a earth shattering danger, we’ll give you a call.’ 

‘We? Kid we speaking French now?’ Tony exasperated towards the boy. 

‘Boringgggg. Just give me a call when you finally let Mr. Armed and Dangerous live here, and I might just move back here for good.’ you announced while you walked your way out,

‘Stop going after abnormally tall and muscular men Sunshine!’ Tony called out behind you.

‘In your dreams Stark!’ you hollered back.

Skipping a step as you strutted to the elevators, you smiled to yourself. Growing up, you were the complete opposite of who you are now. Orphaned and alone because you were a freak of nature, you turned to music and singing to soothe the pain in your heart. Music saved your life, and it raised you to fame. The Avengers side gig was only an accident; you were discovered by Tony when you shot one of his satellites down from space. But now, you were quite fond of the man you now considered to be your uncle, and the whole team. And you couldn’t ask for anything else.

Humming your way down as you patiently rose the elevator, your tune was cut short when you arrived at the ground floor. The elevator opened, and you came face to face with Sam Wilson.

‘Well look who it is! It’s the superstar Sunshine!’ He greeted you with a wide smile.

‘Sammy! I missed you cutie!’ you squealed as you engulfed him into a hug.

‘Woah! Didn’t know I was being missed baby! Hold on, aren’t you supposed to be in Texas right now?’ he questioned.

The two of you walked towards the lobby of the Avengers Tower and stood near the entrance. ‘Yeah, I was about to head out actually. Talked with Tony a bit since I heard what was going on with him and Cap.’

Sam scratched the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, it’s been rough. Steve’s visiting Bucky at his place right now, and I just left. Is Tony still against him moving in here and being a part of the team?’

‘To be honest Sammy? I think I made it worse.’ you laughed.

The Falcon left out an airless laugh. ‘Of course you did. Now, get out of here! Your fans are waiting for you.’ he said as he lightly shoved you towards the door.

‘Now hold on! Come with me!’ you invited him, grabbing his arm.

‘And why would I?’

‘I’m performing with Megan Thee Stallion tonight. I thought you would know since I'm performing in Texas tonight.’

Sam’s eyes opened a fraction of an inch before he yanked you out with him. ‘Well, what are we waiting for!?’ he excitedly said while you let out a hearty laugh.

—----------------

While you loved performing at concerts, you hated the extreme exhaustion that came with it after it was all done. 

You sprawled out on the back of the Quinjet, breathing deeply as you tried to cool down. Your belongings were scattered on the floor of the jet, and they gently swayed as Sam flew you back to the tower. 

‘Man oh man, that was an awesome show! And when you brought out Meg? I thought I was about to lose it when she gave me a shoutout.’ Sam sighed dreamily.

‘You’re welcome Sammy! Now, I think you owe me something in return.’ you declared softly. You didn’t have the energy anymore. Once you reached back to the Tower you were going to crash. 

‘And what would that be, Sunshine?’ he teased.

Before you could answer, your phone rang. It was Tony.

‘What’s up, Tony Stank?’

All you got back was a sigh.

‘So… you’re not going to ask about how my night was?’ you snarked.

‘I’m sure your night was one hundred percent better than mine. Listen Sunshine, you got what you wanted.’

‘Tony, oh my god. You did not.’ you said as you suddenly sprang up.

‘Wait what’s happening?’ Sam questioned as he looked back at you.

‘Eyes on the sky Birdy! I’m not trying to die tonight!’ you exclaimed at him.

‘Tony if you’re not lying, I could kiss you over the phone right now!’

A retching noise came out of your phone. ‘Save that for Manchurian Candidate, (Y/n). Just get here safely and you’ll see him.’ Then he hung up.

‘Sam if you don’t hurry up I will jump out of this jet and go back to the Tower myself. A new man has entered my roster!’ you declared.

‘You got it baby.’ Sam laughed as he accelerated the Quinjet to get the both of you home faster.

—----------

“Steve, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Bucky muttered softly as he looked around the empty common room. He nervously played with the string of his worn down backpack, which held his entire life.

“Buck, listen. You can’t just isolate everyone. You need this.” Steve gently reprimanded him.

The former Winter Soldier’s eyes warily scanned the area and sighed deeply. “Listen, Tony doesn’t even want me here.”

The Captain placed a firm hand on his best friend’s metal shoulder. “Hey, if T’challa was able to make it up with you, hell, the government pardoned you! I’m sure Tony will eventually come around too.’ he conveyed. 

‘Hey, you said a bad language word Cap.’ you called out.

The two super soldiers turned around to see you and Sam standing. 

Steve sighed. ‘Come on (Y/n). It’s been years.’

‘You already know I’m never going to let you live this down Stevie.’ you sassed back.

‘Stevie?’ Bucky questioned the nickname under his breath.

You cocked your head and smiled brightly when you set your eyes on the gorgeous brooding man. Hastily making your way in front of him, Bucky tensed up at your foregoing attitude as you stuck out your hand.

‘I believe this is the first time we ever met! My name is (Y/n) (L/n). It’s so nice to see a new face here everyday, I was starting to get bored of everyone here.’ you introduced yourself.

Bucky simply stared at you. He swore that you were slightly glowing, and not because you were so chirpy.

‘Aw, you don’t mean that Sunshine! You’re telling me that you’re bored of me?’ Sam playfully whined behind you.

You shot a playful glare at your friend.

‘Sunshine?’ Bucky questioned. ‘What’s with these awfully affectionate nicknames?’ he thought.

A tense smile broke out on your face as you turned around to face Bucky. ‘An unfortunate nickname that I’m stuck with due to my unique abilities. And no, I’m not showing it right now.’

Staring back at the man, you suddenly became very self aware. ‘He’s got the same gorgeous eyes as Thor’ you thought.

‘Also, that nickname is not the only thing you’ll be stuck with.’ Tony suddenly called out, breaking your train of thought.

Whipping your head to the open kitchen, Tony is standing with his arms folded. He shot you a deadly smile.

‘Alright, Stonks. I can smell your plan from here. What do you have to say to all of us here?’ you shot at him.

The suave man took striding steps towards you and the three men beside you. Stopping in front of you, he gripped both of your shoulders as he smirked at you. 

‘You got what you wanted Sunshine. Since you wanted Mr. Armed and Dangerous to say here so bad, he’s going to be yours and Steve’s responsibility!’ he declared.

‘What?’ Bucky blurted.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Steve exclaimed.

Sam stifled a laugh.

‘Oh god.’ you muttered as you brought your hands to your face. ‘This is going to ruin the tour.’

Tony let out a hearty chuckle, but was cut short when you gasped.

‘Wait! Oh my god are you serious Tony? I get to be with him? Like a lot?’ you asked excitedly.

Bucky, who was clearly bigger and stronger than you in any way, shape or form, stepped back from your sudden outburst. Sam eyed him weirdly.

‘Uh, yeah? Also, you’re awfully excited for someone who just said their tour was ruined.’ Tony nervously said.

Steve shot Tony a wary look. The man simply shrugged.

A small light started to flicker out of your head. Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight. You made your way towards the super soldier as you grabbed onto his flesh arms and gave a side hug.

The ex-assassin froze at the sudden physical contact as you started to flicker more out of excitement.

‘Oh we’re going to be such good friends!’ you squealed.

James Buchanan Barnes, a man who was once greatly feared, was now scared for his life. He gave Steve a deadly stare. His best friend simply shrugged and returned a smile.

Oh God, what did he get himself into?

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

K's Masterlist

Hi! I'm K, I love to write. I'm not new to fanfic writing but this new blog is for me to write everything Marvel!

Also taking requests!

Marvel

Bucky Barnes:

The Campaign (one shot)

Ao3 link

Hired as Barnes’ personal assistant and PR manager, he was constantly pushing your buttons when it came to maintaining his public image and managing his day-to-day routines. But as much as he stresses you out, you find yourself falling head over heels over your boss.

There She Goes (Series)

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post civil war where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Ao3 Link

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | End

I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl but the Avengers Won't Stop Going After Me! (WIP)

Bucky Barnes x Magical Girl!Reader

Series tags: Polar opposites attract, crack and fluff fic, post-Winter Soldier movie AU

After gaining your magical girl powers for a few years ago, you become bored with your gifts. Unfortunately for you, an incident with Steve Rogers causes the Avengers to chase after you (as your magical girl self) in hopes to recruit you. On top of that, you constantly run into Bucky Barnes (as your regular self), and he's also on the run from them. How long can you keep your facade up?