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cherrybubblebullet · 1 day ago

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The Imperfect Couple - 1 | Bucky

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

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

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

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

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

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

You were exhausted. Having just returned from covering another incident, you were familiar with the grueling reality of being a journalist in a foreign country.

Limited access compared to local reporters made the job even more challenging. Despite your fatigue, this was the career you had chosen and loved.

When you arrived at your apartment, you noticed a woman waiting for you. She was shorter and bustier than you, with curly, short red hair. The woman approached you with a confident stride.

“Hello. My name is Natasha,” she introduced herself, handing you a business card.

You glanced at the card, noting her affiliation with the Secret Service.

Is this for real?

“Yes. How may I help you?” You asked, confusion evident in your voice as you fumbled with your keys at the doorknob.

“I’m here to bring you back home,” Natasha replied.

“Why?” you asked, still trying to process why a Secret Service agent would be looking for you.

“Because your husband is looking for you,” Natasha said.

You froze, your mind struggling to make sense of what you had just heard. Turning slowly, you looked at Natasha, your face betraying a hint of incredulous amusement. “I’m sorry? You must be mistaken. I’ve been divorced for years.”

“Yes, I know the story,” Natasha said, her tone steady.

“Goodbye then,” you said quickly, attempting to close the door. The mention of your ex-husband was something you had left behind, and you wanted nothing to do with it.

“The divorce was never finalized,” Natasha said firmly.

“What?” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in disbelief. You had signed the documents, or so you thought. You swung the door open wide and saw two more men standing beside Natasha, their presence making it clear you were outnumbered—three to one.

“Seems like you’ve come to understand the situation,” Natasha said. “I’ll explain everything, but for now, you need to follow me.”

What she meant by following her quickly became apparent as the men gently but firmly guided you toward a car.

Inside, you hoped Natasha would provide answers, but she continued making calls, leaving you in a state of growing frustration.

Upon arriving at the airport, you realized it was not a regular one but a private jet facility.

“Let’s go,” Natasha said, gesturing toward the plane’s stairs.

As you climbed aboard, you noticed Natasha following closely behind. An air steward offered you a tray with a cup of jasmine tea. You took a sip, the delicate aroma providing a brief moment of comfort.

“Let me guess, this is his plane?” you asked, your tone tinged with suspicion.

“Yes,” Natasha nodded.

As the plane took off, the tension in the cabin was palpable.

“You still haven’t said a word,” you remarked, trying to break the silence.

“Because of the timing and for precautions,” Natasha said, her expression serious. “You won’t like what I’m going to say.”

“Tell me something I don’t hate more. You know how much I despise my ex-husband and his family,” you snapped, the bitterness clear in your voice. The memories of their interference and disdain for your background still stung deeply.

“Your husband is going to be the candidate for Vice President,” Natasha said, her voice steady despite the gravity of the news.

“...What?” you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you processed the information.

Natasha didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she pulled out a tablet and handed it to you. On the screen, you saw a video of your ex-husband. He stood proudly in a suit, smiling and raising his arms as the crowd erupted in cheers.

The title beneath the video read, “James Barnes: The Youngest Candidate for Vice President.”

You gasped, your disbelief palpable. “This is a joke.”

“Hundreds of supporters don’t think it’s a joke, ma’am,” Natasha replied, her tone matter-of-fact.

“And the reason I’m here is because he needs you,” she continued.

You clenched your fists in anger. The reason for your resentment was clear: his ambition and his family’s obsessive involvement in politics. Their relentless meddling had been one of the key reasons for your separation.

“Turn this plane around,” you demanded, your voice strained. You didn’t understand why, but exhaustion was overtaking you, and your eyes felt heavy.

Natasha glanced at her watch, a hint of sympathy in her gaze. “You must be feeling sleepy.”

You widened your eyes and looked at the tea cup, realizing its effects. You shot Natasha a glare, frustration mixing with fatigue.

“I’m just doing my job, ma’am,” Natasha said, accepting a blanket from the air stewardess.

You wanted to protest, but the energy drained from you. As your vision dimmed, you felt a wave of drowsiness. You closed your eyes and succumbed to sleep.

Natasha watched you as you fell asleep, then carefully draped the blanket over you. She turned to her colleagues with a resolute expression. “Tell him to pick up his wife.”

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

You slowly regained consciousness, your head feeling heavy and foggy. As you blinked open your eyes, the reality of your surroundings became clear: you were still on the airplane, but it had stopped moving. The plane had arrived, and you were still groggy from the drugs.

“Welcome home,” a familiar voice said.

You widened your eyes, trying to focus on the figure before you. There, standing with a knowing smile, was your ex-husband, Bucky.

His smile seemed almost out of place given the situation, and you found it impossible to return it. You struggled to sit up, your limbs feeling leaden.

“Of course,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “The last thing I needed was to wake up and see your smug face.”

Bucky’s expression remained impassive. “Careful now. You wouldn’t want to offend the future Vice President.”

“Future Vice President, huh?” you shot back, your irritation flaring. “Is that why you dragged me back here? You need a trophy wife to complete your perfect image?”

“You’re not just a trophy wife,” Bucky said, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re a crucial part of my public image. A divorce would be a PR disaster.”

“Is that right?” you snapped. “You’re using me as a prop, aren’t you? You couldn’t just leave me alone. Some of us have lives outside your political games.”

“You think this is bad?” Bucky said, frustration seeping into his voice. “Imagine what would happen if the public found out about our separation. It’s all about maintaining appearances.”

“You’re still the same,” you said, your anger flaring.

Bucky’s expression hardened. “Let’s be honest here. You wouldn’t have left if you didn’t think I was using you. But if you think this is a game, you’re wrong. I need you to play along until the election.”

“And if I refuse?” you challenged.

“One year,” Bucky said, his gaze steady. “Until the election is over. Then I’ll give you anything you want. Just play the part of a happy wife until then.”

You knew why he needed you. His political career depended on maintaining a perfect public image. Only a few people were aware of your separation, so you had to pretend to be a happy married couple to avoid public scrutiny.

As you struggled to stand, Bucky stepped forward to help you. His touch was steady but impersonal. Both of you exited the jet, greeted by a throng of press and cameras. The narrative they were fed was clear: the Vice Presidential candidate picking up his sick wife.

With the press closing in, you turned to Bucky and said, “I see you’ve thought this through. Dragging me back here like a prized possession. What’s next? A public appearance where we hold hands and share a tearful reunion?”

Bucky met your gaze with a calm but resolute expression. “It’s not just about appearances. The election is critical, and I need stability. Having you here will help maintain that.”

“You’re the only one I could turn to. I need you,” he said.

The words “I need you” echoed with the same urgency he once used, the very words that had drawn you to him. But now, they felt hollow.

Bucky’s expression remained unchanged. He had no apologies to offer, and the facade of your ‘happy marriage’ had to remain intact.

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cherrybubblebullet · 1 day ago

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That toxic department better be shut down. I was ready to fight through the page.

Okay but let’s talk about that flashback. The twins BOTH crushing on Bucky?? I smell disaster and I’m HERE for it.

Her Turn Now - 2

Character: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Twin sisters. Opposite worlds. The eldest is a tough, no-nonsense soldier. The youngest is a quiet, hardworking corporate girl. They rarely meet—until the younger sister collapses from stress, hiding months of workplace bullying.

Furious and protective, the soldier twin trades places with her. Heels off, boots on. Now, the office has no idea what's coming.

She doesn’t play nice. She doesn’t play fair. And while she's serving justice in a pencil skirt, the ruthless CEO starts to take notice…

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

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , -

Working in an office really doesn't suit you.

In battle, things are simple. When someone annoys you, you shut them up—with a fist or a boot to the face. Problem solved. But here?

Here, you’re surrounded by high heels, fake smiles, and the sharp click-clack of keyboards... and every single sound grates your nerves.

You grit your teeth, nails tapping against the desk, fists clenched under the table just to stop yourself from punching someone in the throat. You’ve only been here two hours, and already, you’re planning five different ways to commit corporate homicide.

Your respect for Levi just skyrocketed. Eight months she endured this hell? You can barely last one morning.

'Should you? Yes, you can.' 'Lock the door. Grab the stapler. Use the pencil. There are weapons everywhere.'

That little voice in your head sounds far too convincing. If it were the real you—Captain McCain—you’d be halfway through your rampage by now. But no. You're Levi now.

And if Levi McCain loses her cool? That delicate record she’s worked so hard to build will shatter.

Just then, a thick stack of papers lands on your desk with a loud thwack. You glance up. Some guy—you don’t even know his name—doesn’t look at you, just keeps walking like you’re invisible.

"What the hell is this?" you mutter under your breath.

Another assignment. Charts. Reports. Forecast analysis? You squint at the spreadsheet like it’s in another language. Honestly, it might as well be.

They're piling it on, testing you. You've been here two hours, and already they’ve dumped more work on your desk than a full week’s load.

You inhale slowly. Count to five. Calm. You’re supposed to be Levi. Quiet. Polite. Fragile. Yeah, right.

But you didn’t come into this unarmed. Oh no. You came with a secret weapon.

Thanks to Casey.

The night before your little infiltration mission, she handed you a sleek tablet loaded with a custom AI system she’s been tinkering with.

"You’re a genius in combat, boss. Not in spreadsheets," she said with a smirk. "I built this so you can focus on wrecking those bastards emotionally instead."

So while everyone else thinks you’re slaving over numbers, you're calmly sipping your coffee and letting Casey’s AI handle the data analysis.

Now, with zero hesitation, you lift the freshly completed reports and toss them right back at the guy’s desk with a smooth flick of your wrist.

He freezes, staring at the documents like you just performed black magic.

Around the office, heads start turning. Whispers ripple through the floor like electricity.

'How did she finish that so fast?' 'Wasn’t that supposed to take a day?' 'Did she make any mistakes?'

You lean back in your chair, legs crossed, eyes sharp. You don’t say a word. Just stare at them all like a predator in disguise.

Let them wonder. Let them whisper.

You’re just getting started.

You weren’t made for this world of polite requests and passive-aggressive comments—and you’re done pretending.

When someone dumps files on your desk and tells you to print them, you don’t even look up.

“Do it yourself. The printer’s right on your table.”

Another, bolder one strolls over, holding out a coffee order list.

“Buy some for the team, will you? Get that caramel thing we like.”

You raise a brow and don’t even break stride as you type, voice flat and sharp.

“Try Uber Eats. Or your own damn legs.”

They blink, stunned, as you go back to work like the conversation never happened.

Lunch hour can’t come fast enough. You head down to the building’s park—if you don’t get some air, you might actually kill someone.

You sit on the bench, arms crossed, legs tense. The sun is warm, but your mood is ice. Your jaw still clenched tight.

Then you hear it—laughter.

Voices carry across the grass. Familiar ones.

You glance to your left.

A group of men are huddled in the smoking area—coworkers from your department. Laughing, puffing away, basking in their own stink. You recognize the manager too.

You stay still. Listen.

One of them exhales smoke and scoffs.

“Can’t believe Levi came in today. What’s she trying to prove, showing up now?”

Another snickers.

“Yeah, like she belongs at the celebration. After everything? Please.”

The manager—Levi’s direct boss—chimes in, laughing low and mean.

“She probably thought we’d be happy to see her. Delusional.”

The first guy adds, “Well, no one tell her where we’re going tonight, alright?”

Another laughs. “As if she’s invited. The restaurant doesn’t take extras anyway.”

And then—what finally makes your blood boil—

“If she hadn’t flagged that budget error last quarter, we’d have had bigger bonuses. What a buzzkill. Should’ve just kept her mouth shut.”

Silence hits your chest like a gut punch.

Your hands ball into fists on your lap.

So that’s how they talk about her. About Levi. After all her quiet effort. Her eight months of biting her tongue, holding back, working herself into the ground.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You sit there until they finish their smokes and saunter off, laughing like nothing happened.

When they’re gone, you finally exhale—and realize your hands are trembling. One still clutches your phone.

You hit speed dial.

“Yeah, boss?” Casey answers, casual as always.

You look up at the sky. Your voice is calm. Too calm.

“Prepare a runaway car. Gloves. Face mask. And night vision goggles.”

Casey pauses.

“…Do you need a lawyer too?”

You let out a slow breath.

“I don’t think I’ll need it. But yeah, just in case.”

You hang up.

No more playing nice.

They wanted Levi to stay quiet. Big mistake. They got you instead.

💥💥💥💥

The restaurant was packed—but only with them. Levi’s entire department had booked the place for a night of fake smiles and undeserved celebration. Laughter rang loud. Glasses clinked. Wine flowed freely.

The manager, drunk on his own ego, stood up and raised his glass. “To us—the real backbone of this company!”

Cheers followed. Forced. Loud. Hollow.

Then— Darkness.

The lights went out without warning.

A beat of silence. Confused murmurs.

“Probably just for a while,” someone said, chuckling nervously.

Then— “Uhk!”

A rough, strangled sound.

“Sounded like a duck getting choked,” the manager joked, and the room erupted in laughter.

But the laughter didn’t last.

It was replaced by chaos.

A chair crashed to the floor. A plate shattered. A man screamed. Another was silenced mid-sentence by a punch to the gut.

One by one, they dropped.

No warning. No mercy. Male. Female. Coworker. Manager. None of them were spared.

They didn’t even see who hit them.

Fists, elbows, knees—precise and brutal. The air filled with the sound of bodies slamming into tables, glass crunching beneath shoes, and groans of disbelief.

The manager took the worst of it. A swift kick to the chest sent him straight into the dessert table. A metal tray slammed across his face. His hands scrambled for cover that didn’t exist.

By the end, the room was wrecked. People groaned and whimpered in the dark, crawling, gasping, too stunned to react.

Only one person walked out untouched.

Calm steps. Back straight. Breath steady. No fear. No remorse.

As you stepped past the broken chaos, your thoughts were razor-sharp.

'Karma takes her sweet time… So I gave her a hand.'

🏢🏢🏢🏢

The Next Morning

A sleek black sedan sat idling on the curb. The tinted windows reflected the city skyline, but inside, the air was tense.

In the back seat, Bucky Barnes—CEO, sharp-suited and sharp-jawed—sat in silence. His dark eyes were unreadable as he glanced out the window. His posture was relaxed, but his fingers drummed lightly against his thigh. A storm brewed behind that calm exterior.

“I thought you were joking when you called me,” Bucky finally said, voice low and cool.

He had just landed from London, where he’d been in talks with a major international partner. The time difference and chaos hadn’t fazed him—what did was the reason for the call.

Kyle, his vice president, sat beside him. Unlike Bucky, Kyle looked restless, flicking through files on his tablet.

“I wish it was a joke,” Kyle muttered. “But it’s real.”

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning back. “If it is, then good.”

Kyle blinked. “Good? You’re joking, right? Twenty-nine people were admitted to the hospital last night.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. I've been trying to clean out that bloodsucking department for years. They're toxic, slow, and arrogant. Half of them think they run this company. Maybe now they'll shut up.”

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh god...”

Bucky raised a brow. “There were supposed to be thirty people, including the intern. Why is the count only twenty-nine?”

“One of them didn’t show up,” Kyle replied, swiping through his screen. “Or maybe she wasn’t invited. Probably the same one they suspected was being bullied.”

At that, Bucky’s face tightened.

“The bullied one?” His voice dropped, low and sharp. “And no one thought to warn me?”

Kyle nodded. “Yes. That’s what I was told.”

Bucky leaned forward, jaw clenched. “I’ve been asking H.R. for weeks for an update. They keep giving me the runaround. I don’t even know her name!”

“She canceled her statement,” Kyle said, tapping his tablet. “But this is the person who filed with H.R. before backing out.”

He handed Bucky the screen.

Bucky took one look at the photo—and froze.

His face went still. No words. Just quiet, cold fury building behind his eyes. His hand gripped the tablet a little too tightly.

Kyle watched carefully. “You okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

He just kept staring at the photo.

And in that silence, the air inside the car grew heavier.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was about to get involved.

🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢

Back at the office, you were the only one who came in.

The silence was almost peaceful. You hummed a light tune, your fingers dancing across the keyboard as you typed—line by line—a resignation letter.

It was time. Levi deserved better. A company that didn’t treat her like trash. Not this toxic circus masked as a professional environment.

You clicked ‘Print’, and just as the printer began to whir, your phone rang.

“Yeah, Mom?” you answered casually, leaning back in your chair.

Your mother’s voice was calm but firm. “Your sister told me everything”

You sighed. “I’ve handled it.”

“They cry in pain?”

“Choked in their tears,” you said with a smirk, watching the printer spit out the paper.

“Good.” A pause. “Do you need a lawyer? I have a lot of friends whose husbands are great lawyers.”

You chuckled. “No, Mom. Everything’s under control.”

“Good job, baby.”

"Is Dad at home?" you asked.

"He’s still on a trip with his friends," your mom replied.

"What if he finds out about Levi?"

"Only God knows, honey."

You picked up the resignation letter and glanced at Levi’s name at the top. “This will be my last day… or should I say, ‘Levi’s’ last day. I’ve already printed the resignation letter.”

“No, dear! Don’t give the letter,” your mother said suddenly.

You paused, frowning. “Why not?”

“Because—”

She didn’t finish.

You froze mid-step.

Two figures walked into the department.

You turned your head slowly, eyes widening as you saw who it was.

Your hand, still holding the letter, trembled slightly.

Of all people…

'What the hell are you doing here?'

*****

Yesterday, at the McCain House

The black SUV rolled quietly into the driveway. The engine cut off, and the passenger door opened. Ortiz stepped out first, then turned to help Levi out of the car. Her movements were slow, stiff. Casey gently supported her from the other side, guiding her carefully as if she might break.

Levi squinted at the familiar front porch, her expression puzzled.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ortiz exchanged a glance with Casey before replying, “Captain said staying in the city would only stress you out more. The doctor agreed.”

Before Levi could respond, the sound of laughter echoed from inside the house—warm, bright, and unmistakably familiar. As they stepped through the front door, they saw Elle McCain, Levi’s mother, laughing with two of her friends in the sitting room.

Elle's eyes widened when she spotted her daughter.

“Levi? Honey?” she asked in surprise, setting her teacup down and rising to her feet.

Levi offered her mother a tired smile. “Hi, Mom. I just need some rest. We’ll talk later.” She didn’t wait for a reply and slowly made her way upstairs.

Elle blinked, clearly confused by her daughter’s sudden arrival and unusual demeanor. Her gaze shifted to the two people standing in the doorway.

“Ortiz. Casey.” Her tone softened, recognizing them instantly. “You two again. Have you eaten any home-cooked food since you got back?”

Both of them stood straighter. “No, ma’am,” they answered in unison.

“There’s pork ribs, mashed potatoes, peach cobbler, and iced tea in the kitchen,” Elle said with a knowing smile.

The moment she listed the food, both Ortiz and Casey's stomachs practically growled in unison.

“Thank you, ma’am!” they said quickly and hurried off toward the kitchen.

Elle waited patiently until her friends left later that evening. Once the house was quiet again, she climbed the stairs and gently knocked on Levi’s door. No response. She opened it slowly and stepped inside.

Levi was curled up on the bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket pulled over her head like a cocoon. The only thing visible was the slight rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.

Elle walked to the bed and sat on the edge, then carefully pulled the blanket down from Levi’s face.

The sight broke her heart.

Levi’s face was pale and gaunt. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken. Her once-vibrant presence was now drained and brittle.

“My daughter…” Elle whispered, her voice catching. “What happened to you?”

Levi turned her head away, unable to meet her mother’s eyes.

Elle placed a hand on Levi’s shoulder, gentle but firm. “Does your sister know? Is that why her friends brought you here?”

Levi gave a slow nod, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elle stood abruptly. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Who did this to you?”

Levi hesitated, then whispered, “It’s a long story.”

Elle crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got all night.”

Levi sighed, knowing she couldn’t avoid this. So she began to speak. Slowly at first, then all at once. She told her mother everything—what she endured at the company, how the bullying escalated, how she lost weight, sleep, confidence. How she tried to tough it out. And how her sister—impulsive, fearless—took matters into her own hands.

It took Elle a long moment to fully grasp it all.

“So... your sister is pretending to be you. She’s working at the company. In your place.”

Levi nodded again.

Elle’s expression darkened. “Good. Let them taste hell.”

“Mom…” Levi said gently.

Elle sat down again beside her daughter. “Honey, you’re a smart kid. Why the hell did you stay in that toxic place for so long?”

“That place gave me a lot of benefits,” Levi murmured. “And I had a friend there…”

Elle narrowed her eyes. “A friend? You stayed because of someone?”

Levi nodded slowly. “I wanted to work beside him.”

Elle’s voice lowered. “Who is this person?”

Levi hesitated, her voice trembling just slightly. “He’s…”

*****

Back to the present time…

You froze.

The two figures who stepped into the department caught you mid-sentence with your mother. You slowly lowered your phone, your eyes widening in disbelief.

Standing there was someone you hadn’t seen in years—but you'd recognize him anywhere. Tall, sharp-featured, with piercing blue eyes and hair swept back like he always used to wear it.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He stepped closer, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Levi?” His voice was softer now—gentler than you remembered. “I’m sorry I’m too late. Are you alright?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice. “Yeah… yeah.”

But you weren’t. Not really.

Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to break free. You hadn't seen Bucky in what felt like a lifetime. Not since high school. And back then, you and Levi had shared more than just the same face—you shared the same crush.

You both liked the same food—steak medium rare with garlic butter. You listened to the same music—acoustic rock. You even loved the same person.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky looked at you—really looked. “I should’ve found out sooner,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I had no idea what was going on in this department. The H.R. covered it up… and the manager too. They knew we knew each other. That’s why they hid it.”

You blinked. “You knew?”

“I recognized your name the first time it landed on my desk,” he admitted. “But I thought maybe I was just imagining things. Until Kyle told me what really happened.”

You nodded slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. Of course Levi never wanted to quit. Was it because… of him?

Your chest tightened.

Bucky took a breath and stepped closer. “You don’t have to work in this department anymore. Starting today, you’ll be my assistant.”

That’s when your heart really started to race.

It beat so fast, you were sure Bucky could hear it. Was this what it felt like… meeting your long-time crush again after all these years?

But it wasn’t your name he’d said with such warmth. It was Levi’s.

You weren’t just standing in someone else’s department. You were standing in someone else’s shoes. And it hit you harder than you expected.

You swallowed down the sudden tightness in your chest. Why did your chest feel tight? It was just a high school crush—a long time ago.

You glanced down, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

‘Alright, Levi…’ you thought. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll hold the door open for you—so you can finally be with Bucky.’

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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cherrybubblebullet · 2 days ago

Photo

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cherrybubblebullet · 2 days ago

Text

“What’s it like having a video editor as a partner?”

I get Krennic thirst traps on demand.

That’s what.

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cherrybubblebullet · 2 days ago

Text

This has the energy of a drama, action flick, and a rom-com all rolled into one. Chapter 1 and I’m hooked.

Her Turn Now - 1

Character: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Furious and protective, the soldier twin trades places with her. Heels off, boots on. Now, the office has no idea what's coming.

She doesn’t play nice. She doesn’t play fair. And while she's serving justice in a pencil skirt, the ruthless CEO starts to take notice…

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

The wind changes.

Hot and dry, it kicks sand over the bodies cooling in the sun. Your rifle hangs loose in your grip now, barrel lowered, fingers flexing to shake off the stiffness. The shot was perfect. You always make it perfect. But perfection doesn’t quiet the unease crawling up your spine.

You stand, brushing the dirt from your pants as Ortiz approaches, helmet tucked under his arm and grinning like a fool.

“You ever miss?” he teases, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Only when I want to,” you reply, dry as the desert air.

He laughs and offers a knuckle bump. “Clean job, Captain. You’ll get the brass off our backs for at least two weeks.”

Behind him, Casey whoops and twirls her rifle like a baton. “Permission to call this op a goddamn masterpiece?”

“You’d call it that even if we lost a leg,” Dom snorts, limping slightly with his pack slung uneven on his back. “You get weird after adrenaline.”

“Shut up, Dom,” Casey says, tossing him a canteen. “We pulled it off. No casualties. No surprises. That deserves at least one drink.”

“Ten,” Ortiz corrects. “We’re going home, remember? Full leave. We’ll be stateside by midnight.”

Cheers go up again. Someone claps you on the back, but your mind’s already drifting.

Home.

It’s a word that never feels quite real to you. You’ve lived longer in war zones than anywhere with walls and blankets that weren’t standard issue. But your sister’s there. She is your constant. Her soft voice over the phone. Her awkward texts. The way she tries not to make you feel guilty for never showing up.

You’re thinking of her when you board the transport. When the team settles in with helmets off and boots kicked up, comparing bruises like trophies.

Ortiz nudges your shoulder as the engines roar. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously,” he says. “When’s the last time you actually rested during leave?”

You raise a brow. “What are you, my mother?”

“Nope. Just the guy who has to carry your grumpy ass through every op.”

There’s laughter, the kind that only comes after a mission survived. The kind that releases tension built over days of silence and killing. It’s always loud after the quiet. Always messy after the clean shot.

As the transport lifts, Dom leans forward. “So what’s the first thing everyone’s doing when we land?”

“Pizza,” Casey answers immediately.

“Beer,” Ortiz adds.

“Shower,” someone mumbles from the back.

You smirk faintly. “Sleep.”

“No boyfriend waiting, Captain?” Casey teases.

You just stare at her. That shuts her up.

The hum of the engine fills the space between conversations. Outside, the sky turns golden with sunset. The kind of view that makes people homesick.

Your phone vibrates.

You frown, glancing at the screen. Unknown number.

You step away from the others, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss McCain? The emergency contact for Levi McCain?” The voice on the other end stumbles. Young. Nervous. “I’m calling from Central Hospital. Your sister was just admitted.”

Your stomach tightens.

“What happened?”

“She—she overdosed. We think it was intentional. She’s stable… for now. But… we don’t know how long she was alone.”

Everything stops.

The engine hum. The voices. The light.

You stare ahead, unblinking, as the nurse keeps talking—but you’re no longer listening.

Ortiz appears beside you, reading your face like a battlefield map. “Captain?”

You shove the phone into your vest and push past him.

“I need a vehicle. I need to get to her.”

“Wait, what happened?”

“She’s in the hospital.” Your voice is low. Firm. “She almost—” You bite it back. “I need to move.”

“You’re supposed to report to the Colonel,” Dom says, confused.

“Screw the Colonel.”

You’re already walking.

Ortiz curses and signals the rest. “Gear up. We’re going with her.”

And without question, they follow.

Because no one’s ever seen you panic. Not once. Not in fire, not in blood. But now your steps are too fast, your hands are shaking, and your silence is loud enough to make them all afraid.

You’ve never asked for help.

But this time, they don’t wait for you to ask.

🏥🏥🏥🏥

“Levi McCain? Is she here?” you demand, breath sharp and uneven, as you rush to the front desk of the ER.

The nurse behind the counter startles, eyes darting from you to the uniformed soldiers flooding in behind. “Uh… yes. She’s in—uh—room six. But please—”

You don’t wait. Your boots hit the linoleum with a jarring rhythm, your team trailing behind in shocked silence.

You reach the room and freeze in the doorway.

There she is.

Your twin.

Levi.

Lying on the hospital bed like a broken version of herself. Her skin, once vibrant and flushed with the soft glow of moisturizers and tinted creams, looks gray under the fluorescent lights. Her cheeks are hollowed, clavicles sharper. She used to wear soft pastels, delicate accessories. Now, even the hospital gown dwarfs her frame.

She looks like a stranger wearing your sister’s face.

A nurse adjusts her IV line, and that’s when Levi stirs. Her eyes flutter open, disoriented at first—then she sees you.

She blinks, frowns faintly, and turns her face away.

“Who told her to come here?” she mutters, voice rough.

“That’s the first thing you say?” you breathe out, the ache rising in your throat. You cross the room in two strides and kneel beside her bed. “That’s what you say to someone worried to death?”

You pull her into a hug, your arms wrapping around her fragile frame.

It feels like hugging a memory.

God, when did she get this thin?

You hadn’t seen her in eight months. The last video call, she had looked tired, but you figured it was just work. Stress. The corporate world was brutal. But Levi always looked put together. She was the polished one. The softer one. The one who smiled at strangers and didn’t scare boys off just by standing too straight.

Now, her spine juts through the back of the gown. You can feel every rib.

You pull back, your hands trembling as you study her face—sunken, pale, eyes rimmed with dark circles. She refuses to look at you. Shame? Guilt? You can’t tell.

“Levi,” you say gently, tilting her chin so you can meet her eyes. “Look at me.”

Her lashes flutter, and she finally meets your gaze. There's something broken behind them.

“What happened?” your voice is low, steady. “Did someone hurt you? A stalker? An ex?”

You hate how your mind is racing with threats. Levi was always the one guys fawned over. Back in school, your locker was left untouched. Hers? Overflowing with chocolates, roses, handwritten notes. The golden twin. The soft one. The one they thought they could handle.

She shakes her head.

“No,” she murmurs and pushes your arms away, slowly lying back against the pillows. Her movement is tired, almost defiant.

You stare at her. Frustration rising like bile.

“Levi.” You step back but your voice sharpens. “You’re in a hospital bed. Don’t act like you’re fine.”

She doesn’t answer.

“I’ll call Mom and Dad.”

“No!” she snaps, grabbing your wrist with weak fingers. Her eyes widen.

You freeze.

“Why?” you ask, heart pounding. “Why are you being so secretive?”

“If Dad finds out…” she swallows hard, tears welling but not falling, “he’ll kill everyone.”

Your breath catches.

“Everyone?” you repeat. The word hits heavy. “So it’s not just one person who did this to you? What kind of hell did you get dragged into, Levi?”

She gives a bitter, humorless scoff. “Problem? You think this is just one problem? I’m drowning in it. All of it. You have no idea how deep it goes.”

You crouch beside her again, your voice softening. “Then tell me. Stop talking in riddles. I can help you.”

She looks at you. Silent. Torn.

“I’m not asking anymore.” Your jaw clenches. “If you don’t tell me, I will tell Dad.”

She flinches, lips parting like she’s been struck.

“No—don’t. Please.”

You hold your ground.

“Then talk to me.”

Levi’s fingers trembled as she held onto the edge of the blanket. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke, “It started with the manager.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

She looked at you then, her eyes glassy, and the words came out in a shaky rush. “There was a budget report. A mistake. I thought I was helping when I pointed it out. I did it privately, not to humiliate him, I swear. But... after that? Everything changed.”

You stayed quiet, listening, though your fists clenched at your sides.

“No one would sit with me at lunch. People stopped answering my emails. My desk got moved… shoved into the corner like I didn’t belong. I started getting dumped with work. Not just mine—everyone’s. Even intern jobs. Like printing flyers. Making coffee. Picking up supplies.”

She laughed bitterly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I thought I could bear with it. Keep my head down. I didn’t want to cause trouble, I thought… maybe it would pass. But it didn’t.”

Your heart sank as you watched your twin’s composure fall apart piece by piece.

“I was the popular one, remember?” she whispered. “People used to like me. I didn’t know how to be invisible. And then the silence, the fake smiles, the isolation… It was too much. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I just… wanted to feel normal again.”

You noticed her hand twitch over the thin hospital blanket.

“I started taking antidepressants. Just one at first. Then two. Then I didn’t count anymore. I didn’t even realize how many I took today until I was on the floor.”

Her voice broke, and so did something inside you.

“Fuck, Levi…” you gasped, your voice sharp with disbelief and fury. “I’m gonna kill them.”

“No! Don’t,” she cried out, grabbing your wrist with all the strength she could muster.

“Why do you care about them when they nearly killed you?” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened today?”

She looked away, biting her lip, eyes stinging with tears. “Because it was my dream job.”

You stepped back, stunned. “Your dream?”

“You don’t understand…” she said softly, the words barely forming. “You’ve always belonged in the military, just like Dad. You fit in, you have command, respect. I don’t. I never liked the field, the isolation, the rules. I liked people. I liked the city, the rhythm, the energy. I wanted to work in a glass building, wear heels, drink overpriced coffee, and be someone.”

Her voice cracked again, and you saw the girl who used to twirl in front of her closet, planning outfits the night before school, asking for your opinion even though she knew you’d just grunt and shrug.

You exhaled through your nose, jaw clenched. She wasn’t weak. She had just been broken by the very world she thought would lift her up.

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and a doctor stepped in—a woman in a navy scrub top and tired eyes.

“The patient needs to rest,” she said kindly but firmly.

You nodded, even though you didn’t want to let go of your sister again.

“Get some sleep, okay?” you said quietly to Levi.

She didn’t answer, but you saw her grip the edge of the blanket again—like a child afraid to be alone.

You gave her one last glance before stepping out.

The hallway outside the room was quieter now. Your team stood at a respectful distance. You waited for the doctor to finish checking Levi’s IV and then approached her.

“Doctor,” you said, voice lower now, steady. “Can I ask what exactly happened to my twin?”

The doctor nodded. “She’s under extreme psychological stress. High cortisol levels. Insomnia, malnourishment, emotional collapse. Her body is running on fumes. She’s lucky she didn’t go into cardiac arrest.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“She needs time. Not just physically—but mentally. If she keeps going at this rate, we’ll be seeing her again. And next time, it might be too late.”

“I agree,” you said with a firm nod. “She needs to rest. Whatever it takes.”

The doctor gave a soft sigh. “We’ll run a few more tests. If everything looks stable, she might be discharged tomorrow. But she’s not out of the woods.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

You left the hallway and walked outside the hospital’s automatic doors. The night air hit you like a slap—cool, heavy with city noise and distant sirens.

You sighed.

It felt like the adrenaline from the mission earlier had evaporated. The celebration, the cheer of your team, the taste of victory—it all felt meaningless now. Because the person you’d spent your life protecting had been suffering right under your nose.

****

“Boss.”

The familiar voice made you flinch. You spun around instinctively, your hand twitching toward your holster.

“What the—?” you breathed. “Ortiz?”

He stood just a few feet away, hands raised in mock surrender, the rest of your team fanned out behind him in the shadows of the hospital parking lot.

“What are you guys doing here?” you asked, heart still pounding from the scare—and everything else.

Casey tilted her head with a dry smirk. “You seriously didn’t notice we’ve been tailing you since you left the ER?”

You blinked. “No.” Honestly, how could you have noticed? Your mind was still spinning with the image of Levi’s pale face, the IV in her arm, and the way she clutched your wrist, begging you not to retaliate.

Your voice dropped, distant. “Wait… does that mean no one reported back to the Captain?”

“Well…” Ortiz rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “We sacrificed Dom instead. He’s probably getting chewed out by the Colonel right now.”

Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped your throat. It was brief, but it grounded you for a moment. You looked at them—your team, your family in the field. And for the first time since Levi’s overdose, something settled inside you.

Casey stepped forward, voice softer. “We’re sorry about what happened to your sister.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks. I mean it.”

Their presence helped. A little. Enough to make you stand straighter.

Your eyes darkened. “I’m gonna deal with those bastards who bullied her.”

Your tone dropped so low it vibrated with rage, and the shift in energy was immediate. The entire team stiffened. You were known to be ruthless on mission—but this was personal. The kind of personal that made trained killers hesitate.

Ortiz raised an eyebrow. “You never told us you had a twin.”

“I did,” you said without looking at him. “I said I had a sister.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t exactly say she looked like your mirror image.” Casey added, crossing her arms. “That was kind of a shock.”

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the concrete. “Levi and I... we used to be inseparable growing up. But we chose different paths. She stayed in the city. Corporate dreams, bright lights. I took Dad’s rifle and joined the army.”

You looked up, jaw set. “We don’t see each other as much now. I thought she was happy…”

Casey’s face softened. “You didn’t know.”

You shook your head. “I should have. She’s my twin.”

There was a pause. Then Ortiz asked the question everyone was thinking.

“So… you going to take revenge for your sister?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, a slow smirk crept across your face. That dangerous, unhinged one that usually preceded a wild, nearly illegal plan.

“Of course,” you said. “Now we’re speaking the same language.”

Casey narrowed her eyes. “How?”

You cracked your knuckles and leaned against the hood of a parked SUV. “I’ve got a crazy idea. And I think you guys are going to think I’ve finally lost it.”

Twenty minutes later, anyone walking through the hospital parking lot would be confused—and maybe a little alarmed—at the sight of a group of soldiers in full tactical gear huddled in a tight circle, whispering like they were planning a heist.

Casey leaned back first. “That’s insane.”

“But you're not saying no,” you said with a grin.

She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “I’m not.”

Ortiz tapped the butt of his sidearm. “It could work. It’s risky as hell—but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. Just depends on your timing.”

You looked at each of them in turn. These were the people who’d bled beside you, shielded you, and followed your orders into gunfire and chaos. Now, they were standing by you in a war that wasn’t waged with bullets—but with dignity.

You smiled, something feral in your eyes. “If I have you all backing me up, I can do anything.”

Casey extended her fist. “Then give them hell, boss.”

🏢🏢🏢🏢

Another day. But nothing about today felt normal.

You stood at the base of the high-rise tower, the glass windows reflecting the clouds above like the building was trying to scrape the sky itself. It was a far cry from the concrete and steel of the military barracks you were used to—no gun oil in the air, no shouted commands, no weight of a vest strapped across your chest.

And definitely no uniform.

Instead, you wore a fitted blazer over a soft cream blouse, a knee-length skirt hugging your frame, and black heels that clicked sharply with every step you took. Your hair was tied up neatly, your makeup done just like Levi would wear it—light, approachable, perfect.

Your spine straightened. You weren’t you today. You were Levi McCain.

You stepped through the revolving glass door, nodding slightly at the security guard stationed by the gate. Your heels echoed through the marble-tiled lobby as you approached the access gates. Flashing the ID badge that bore your sister’s name and face, you passed through without a word.

The elevator ride felt like a countdown.

By the time the doors slid open onto Levi’s floor, you were fully in character. Warm smile. Relaxed posture. You even adjusted your voice to match hers—softer, friendlier, a little hesitant.

Heads turned.

People paused mid-conversation, frozen like they'd seen a ghost. A junior associate dropped her pen. A guy by the water cooler stared like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Levi McCain,” came a voice from the far end of the room.

You turned.

The manager. Mid-forties. Too much confidence for too little talent. She strutted forward, arms folded, a condescending smile tugging at her lips.

“You're back from your sick leave,” she said, loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

You kept Levi’s warm tone, smile intact. “Yes. Feeling much better, thank you for asking.”

You bowed your head slightly and walked past her, graceful and calm. But inside, your fists were clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms.

You scanned the office with sharp eyes. Levi’s desk had been pushed aside, away from the windows, tucked behind a pillar near the printer—out of sight, out of mind. Her nameplate was gone. Her chair was missing a wheel.

The woman next to that desk shifted uncomfortably when you met her eyes. She looked away immediately.

You placed your bag down slowly and took your seat—Levi’s seat.

So this is how they did it. No punches. No bruises. No screaming. Just slow, silent cruelty. Isolation. Overwork. Smiles that meant nothing and eyes that cut deep.

You glanced down at the corner of the desk. A tiny scratch in the wood. You imagined your sister sitting here, day after day, alone, drowning in work that wasn’t hers, pretending it didn’t break her.

It broke her anyway.

But they hadn’t counted on this.

They didn’t know that Levi McCain had a twin with military training, a temper, and a very different definition of what justice looked like.

You crossed one leg over the other and cracked your knuckles discreetly under the desk.

They didn’t use their fists here. But that was fine. You’d show them how.

*****

The car hummed steadily along the highway.

Ortiz had one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly to the rhythm of a rock song playing low from the speakers. Casey sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror.

In the back seat, Levi stirred—eyes fluttering open. Her head leaned against the window, a small crease on her brow as she blinked, confused.

She straightened up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was groggy, soft. “Where... where am I?”

Casey twisted around in her seat, meeting her eyes. Even after a full mission, bloodshed, and chaos, the sight of Levi still sent a chill down her spine. Same face. Same eyes. But the expression—fragile, hesitant—was nothing like her twin.

“You’re safe,” Casey said gently. “We’re taking you home.”

Levi’s eyes widened, panic rising fast. “Where is she? Where’s my sister?”

“She’s handling your problem,” Casey replied, voice calm but firm. “Everything will be alright.”

Levi shot forward in her seat, fingers gripping the headrest in front of her. “No. No, no, no—you don’t understand! Anyone stuck in a room with her... they won’t survive!”

Ortiz laughed under his breath, eyes still on the road. “Well, that’s the point.”

He and Casey exchanged a knowing smirk as Levi shrank back in her seat, looking horrified.

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