daydreamgoddess14

[daydreamgoddess14]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[daydreamgoddess14]

This is my aesthetic. I've found it at last. mountain road signs bearing sexual puns.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Sebastian Stan for Vogue Italia

[daydreamgoddess14]

Show me how unwell you are by telling me what your top song of 2025 is so far

[daydreamgoddess14]

On Writing

@azriona tagged me in this about a million years ago 😂 Her wonderful answers are HERE

🍓 How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I've always loved writing my own little things and when I discovered that you could do it for any fandom and publish it... that was it - winner! I lurked on the outskirts for a long time - I think I vaguely remember writing some stuff back when I was at uni but I don't think I published it anywhere so actually, I only started posting in Feb 2023. Which sounds CRAZY now I think about it.

🍇How many fandoms have you written in?

I would say 4 where I've had multiple long works, but then there's a handful of smaller fics or shorts so I guess you could roll it up to about 8?

🍈How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Like I said above, not that long on here or AO3. In the first fic I posted on AO3, I say it's been about 15 years since I last published but I can't find any record of that - I think I'd started something so wiped the slate clean back in 2023 when I decided to dive in properly.

🍎Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Totally depends. If I'm working on something that's got me fully in it's clenches then I'm writing, writing, writing like a mad woman. More often though it's probably 50/50. The reading lists I do (nearly) every week have helped here because I just assumed that I didn't read that much but it turns out I do. It also helps me stay accountable when it comes to reminding me to reblog and comment on the things I like.

🍌What is one way you've improved as a writer?

I think I've gotten better at letting the fic breathe a bit - I don't stick to a chapter word count or a fic word count, if I need to take the time to explain something or have something take longer then it takes longer. I always thought I could never write something 20/30/50k in length but I do that on the regular now.

🍑Do you have any bad habits as a writer?

I feel like I repeat phrases and words 😅 That old find a great sentence then realise you've used it two paragraphs previously - that's me all over!

🍍 What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I don't think there's anything SUPER weird... I know more about Congressional districts and what people actually do in Congress now thanks to the Congressman Barnes fic, and my knowledge of F1 is being put to the test on the F1 fic I'm working on atm...

🍉What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

All of them. Just all of them. It honestly blows me away that people read my stuff and sent me comments and notes and messages - I love it so much, it brings me so much happiness and joy to know that people have engaged with something I've done.

🍐What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

No fringes here tbh, I know my lane and I know what I like 😂

🥭What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Angst, I always struggle with it. You'll never find an unhappy ending in my works (I don't think!)

🍏What is the easiest type?

Flirty, witty, funny banter. I could just write pages and pages of conversation. Especially when there's like a group of people talking over each other and all trying to get a word in... I worry it's tricky to read but I love writing it!

🍑Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I've recently moved my writing to Ellipsus - work have blocked Google drive and if I can, I use my laptop so I couldn't access anything anymore. At first I was terrified to make the change but actually, I love Ellipsus more than Google docs. I write anywhere and everywhere I can whenever I have a spare few minutes. Sometimes I manage to get 40 words down before I have to do something else, sometimes I get loads of time. It does mean I have to re-read and go over what I've done quite a lot though, which isn't ideal.

🍋What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

So only a few months ago I would have said that the Bucky Barnes fandom was too intimidating to me to even consider. I thought I'd get zero readers, that the tag was just going to be full of these incredible, seasoned writers with thousands of followers, who get mentioned on TikTok and they're basically Tumblr celebs... but I was brave and posted anyway as part of a Valentine's/birthday celebration - the fic was my own gift to myself, and I never looked back. This is the most welcoming, encouraging and supportive fandom. There is more fanfic cake that I could consume in a whole lifetime, the other bloggers, writers and readers are the most glorious humans I've encountered, and I just feel so happy to be here with my cake slices for you all. Honestly, posting that 'first' fanfic back in 2023 has changed me. I have this incredible (frustrating) hobby for myself that I adore and I got to meet some wonderful people - genuine friends - doing it. Literally what's not to love about that?!

And then on the other side of the coin there is also probably some smut or sex act that I'm too vanilla to write. I have an unofficial mini-series of new to my writing sex acts. So far we've had pussy slapping and face sitting.

🍇 What made you choose your username?

I needed a name so I wasn't just some blank blog tbh. I also wanted something that wasn't tied to a specific fandom and that I could use on other platforms like AO3 or Twatter.

Tagging people who I think might like to chitchat on this subject - and cos I'm super nosy - @cillmequick @dreamer-98 @noforkingclue @dreamwritesimagines @knowledgeableknitter @ramp-it-up @buckysleftbicep @buckyseternaldoll @themareverine 💕

[daydreamgoddess14]

Spamming you with more weird asks (no rush, and you don't have to answer all if you don't want): 1, 7, 9, 11, 12, 14, 15, 18, 20, 21, 29, 30, 44, 48, 50, 55, 66, 73, 76, 86, 88, 90, 91, 94

Oooh Kellie! So many! 😂 I love it!

Asks game HERE

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

I love a nice glass, but I am very loyal to my tea mugs (not cups!)

7. earbuds or headphones?

Earbuds but I never remember to charge them so I always end up tangled in headphones 😂

9. favorite smell in the summer?

BBQ!

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Cereal or toast

12. name of your favorite playlist?

Currently, of my own it's probably TRL - the playlist I've just made for the new F1 fic. I've also found one called songs Sam Wilson forces a reluctant Bucky Barnes to listen to in the car which is excellent!

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Probably Haribo Tangfastics

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

The Handmaid's Tale or An Inspector Calls

18. ideal weather?

Bright, clear, warm-ish

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

I prefer being able to sit on my laptop but more often than not it's just on my phone

21. obsession from childhood?

Umm... I can't really think of anything... 🤔

29. best way to bond with you?

I'm a simple girlie, I just love to talk about mutual obsessions and things we both love 🤷‍♀️

30. places that you find sacred?

Places that mean a lot to me - where we've spent time as a family or where I feel at home.

44. favorite scent for soap?

Vanilla

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Strawberry - juicy and sweet😂

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

My friends or the kiddos

55. favorite fairy tale?

Beauty and the Beast

66. favorite flower(s)?

Peonies

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

I don't think I have anything super weird... the sweet/salty combo probably

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Roasted 🤤

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies

88. your greatest wish?

To enjoy life and love and the people around me

90. luckiest mistake?

A failed job interview which wound up in me getting a similar job for the same company 6 months later

91. boxes or bags?

Boxes

94. favorite season?

Spring

Thanks Kel! 😘

[daydreamgoddess14]

He's a menace! 🥵🥵🥵

Play with it

Sinner Hours 2 (smut)

Bucky x fem!reader

Word count - 1.7k

Warnings - smut. 18+ MDNI. oral (m receiving), smug teasing bucky, softdom!bucky, kinda shy reader, size kink, pnv (unprotected), dirty talk. No mentions of y/n.

You’re curled up on the bed with a book in your hand when he walks in from his shower. Her hair is still wet at the ends, and he has a towel tied around his waist. Your eyes track his every movement, as he drops the towel to the ground, and is now bare in front of you. Your breath catches when you see his chiseled body, the abs, and the v line ending at his waist. He is not that hard now, but you can only think about one thing, and it’s that you want to taste him.

Now he’s pulling up the grey sweatpants that make him look ridiculously unfair, and you cannot stop your face from tracing the outline of him. It borders on the kind of casual that makes you immediately want to climb him like a tree. He notices your staring. What else did you expect? Of course he does.

“What’s that look for, doll?” His voice is low, teasing, already thick with mischief. He crosses the room in a few easy strides and drops down onto the mattress beside you, sinking it with his weight. His arm drapes across your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but the way he’s looking at you says he’s got something else in mind.

“You’ve been sittin’ here all cozy, waitin’ for me?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Then his hand lands heavy on your thigh. His fingers flex, and inch higher and higher, like he’s threatening your sanity with each touch. He’s so close to where you actually want him, but he’s not giving you the satisfaction. “Or you just hopin’ I’ll give you somethin’ better to hold onto?”

You make a sound that’s half laugh, half nervous inhale, trying to focus on your book, but he plucks it from your hands and tosses it aside. “Hey—”

“Shh. Pay attention to me, baby,” he murmurs, tilting your chin so you have no choice but to look at him. His blue eyes glint with trouble. “Got somethin’ fun for you to do.”

You swallow, heat already creeping up your neck, knowing very well what his idea of fun is. “What?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

His mouth curls in a smirk that makes your stomach flip. He leans back against the pillows, spreads his legs a little wider, and taps his fingers against the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wanna play with it, baby?” His tone is light and playful, and painfully casual, but the look on his face is nothing short of filthy. “Go on. Take it out for me.”

Your breath catches, even after all this time he still has the power to make you flustered with just a few words. You blink at him, wide-eyed, but he just raises his brows like he’s waiting for you to obey.

“Don’t tell me my sweet girl’s shy now,” he drawls, reaching down to adjust himself through the fabric. The outline alone makes your thighs clench. “I saw the way you looked at me. Always starin’, always wonderin’ if I’m hard for you.” He leans in, his mouth brushing your ear. “Newsflash, doll — I’m always fuckin’ hard for you.”

The words that come out of his mouth leave you dizzy. Your hands move before your brain can catch up, tugging at the waistband. He lifts his hips, makes it easier for you, like he’s enjoying the little show of hesitation.

When you finally slide his cock free, thick and heavy against your palm, he exhales a sharp laugh. “There it is. Look at that. Can’t even wrap those sweet little hands around it, huh?”

Your lips part, flustered, but his hand catches your wrist, guiding your fingers to curl around him properly. He squeezes your hand tight around his length, forcing a gasp from you as you feel the weight of him.

“See how big I am for you? My perfect girl with her perfect hands,” he murmurs, his voice getting rougher. “Bet your pretty pussy’s already wet just from holdin’ me.”

Your face burns, and he laughs again, the sound cruel and fond all at once. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re blushin’. Fuckin’ adorable. You think I don’t know exactly what’s runnin’ through that head?” He pushes your hand down, makes you stroke him slow. “Say it. Say you love playin’ with my cock.”

You glance at him, lips trembling, enjoying this as much as he does, if not more. “I— I do.”

“That’s right,” he growls, gripping the back of your neck and tugging you close until your nose brushes the side of his jaw. “My good girl. Always so eager to please me.” He places a quick peck on the space between your brows.

You can feel your pulse racing as you stroke him, the weight of him hot and solid in your palm. He moans low, bucking into your hand. And the sound alone is enough to send your own arousal spiraling.

“Look at that. You’re squeezin’ your thighs together already, huh?” He smirks, glancing down at you. “Fuck, you’re so sweet. Touchin’ me like I’m fragile, like I won’t grab you by that pretty hair and fuck your throat raw if I want to.” His words are both threat and promise, and your body reacts to it much before your numb brain can catch up.

Your breath stutters, and his grin sharpens. “You like it when I talk to you like that, don’t you? My innocent little thing, sittin’ there with wide eyes while you jerk me off. So fuckin’ dirty underneath it all.” His words are taunting you now, that makes your head spin in such a delicious way.

His hand drops to your chest, tugging at your shirt until your bra is pushed down, breasts spilling into his palm. He groans, pinching your nipple between calloused fingers. “Goddamn. I swear, doll, I’m obsessed with these tits. Could spend all day with my cock between them, watchin’ my cum drip down that sweet chest.”

A whimper escapes your lips and your thighs press tighter together, which does absolutely nothing to the ache between them, but he catches it. “Mm, yeah. You’re soaked, aren’t you? Just from holdin’ me. From listenin’ to me tell you how I’m gonna use you.”

“Bucky—” your voice is broken.

“That’s it, baby. Moan my name while you play with my cock. Fuckin’ music to my ears.” The words are rough with want.

He sits up suddenly, grabs your wrist again, and pumps himself with your hand faster as he’s gritting his teeth. The rhythm is almost faltering. “You’re mine. You know that, right? Nobody else gets to see you like this. Nobody else gets to hear the sweet little noises you make when I’m stretchin’ you open.”

His words leave you dizzy and panting again. You can barely focus on anything but the slick drag of your hand, the heavy heat in your palm, and the way his voice winds tighter with every stroke.

“You wanna taste, don’t you?” he asks, eyes dark, and his lips curling in a wicked grin.

You nod, breathless and your lips are already parting to take him in. He chuckles at how eager you are, a little mean but very pleased. “Go on, doll. Open up for me.”

The moment your lips close around the head, he lets out a groan that rattles through his chest. His hand fists in your hair, holding you there as he rocks forward, pushing deeper.

“Fuck, yeah. Look at you. Mouth stuffed full already, and I’ve barely given you half. You’re so good for me, baby. My perfect little cockdrunk angel.”

His words send another shockwave right through your core, making you want to take him deeper and to please him even more.

You whimper around him, the sound vibrating through his length. He curses and tugs at your hair tighter. “Goddamn. You’re killin’ me. You love it, don’t you? Bein’ on your knees for me, chokin’ on this cock like it’s your job.”

You try to nod, but his hips snap forward harder, forcing you to take more, tears threatening to prick at your eyes as he uses your mouth. He glances down, grinning at the sight of you gagging around him. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart. Take every fuckin’ inch,” his voice is rough, making your whole body tremble with need.

When he finally pulls you off, his cock slipping off your lips from a wet pop, you’re gasping, spit dripping down your chin. He strokes his cock slow, the head flushed and wet. “Look at the mess you made. My filthy girl. Bet you want me to fuck that sweet pussy until you’re cryin’, huh?”

Your answer is a broken sound, and his grin sharpens. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give it to you. I’ll fill you up so good you’ll forget your own fuckin’ name.”

He flips you onto your back before you can breathe, tearing your clothes out of the way, ripping the fabric with a roughness that makes your pulse spike. He’s pressing the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, he’s pushing in so slow, and stretching you open. You arch up to him and the moan that rips from your throat makes his eyes roll back.

“Christ, doll. You feel like heaven. Always so tight, so fuckin’ wet for me.” He bottoms out with a groan, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You were made for me. Made for this cock.”

You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can’t do anything but take it as he starts to move. His strokes are long and hard that have your nails digging into his back. He fucks you like he’s got a point to prove, his dirty words spilling against your ear with every thrust.

“Yeah, baby. Take it. Take it all. My sweet girl, squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good. Gonna fuck you dumb, make you forget everything but me.”

You’re babbling, moaning his name, begging without words, and he eats it up, grinning against your neck. “There it is. My cockdrunk angel. Can’t even think straight, can you? Just need me to fill you huh?” He’s taunting you, but that just makes you want him even more, if that’s even possible.

His words bring you right to the edge. And in no time, you’re shaking apart under him and he’s spilling inside you with a roar, gripping your hips so tight you’re sure you’re going to be wearing the bruises tomorrow.

Then, like the smug bastard that he is, he leans into your ear, and whispers, “Told you it’d be more fun than your book, baby.”

[daydreamgoddess14]

Soooo good!!

Days without you

Sinner Hours

Bucky x fem!reader. Smut.

Summary - he’s back home after a mission. you’ve spent days without him and you are simply too ✨horny✨

Warnings - 18+. MDNI. No mentions of y/n. Reader is super horny, oral (m receiving), pnv (unprotected sex), nipple play, spit play (i think), teasing Bucky. Again, reader is really really horny and absolutely shameless (i’m sorry I was so horny). Also this is my first time writing a FULL scene, so be kind 🥺. Also still learning dirty talk (so it can be a little cheesy, i will get better at it i promise). And, I think that’s about it.

Word count - 2k

The door isn’t even shut before you’re on him. It is just a pure need that you just crash right into him. His hands immediately grip your hips, and your hands are clawing at him. Days of missing him are soon forgotten when he kisses you. You moan into the kiss and he rasps, “not even a hello baby?”

You don’t answer him in words. Your fingers are on his jacket. You yank the zipper like it has personally wronged you. The teeth get snagged and you let out a frustrated whimper which somehow amuses him because he’s asking, “missed me, sweetheart?” His words are lazy, drawn out, like he already knows exactly how much you’ve missed him but he wants to hear you say it just so he can use it against you later.

You do answer him this time, “yes,” which comes out more like a whine than anything else, and he huffs a laugh, hands moving to cup your ass.

You finally get rid of his jacket, and your fingers run through the t-shirt he’s wearing, tugging it over his head, and your lips are on his chest, abs, wherever you can reach him. You move upwards and he lets out a breathy sigh when your mouth finds his again.

His hands now move with that brutal confidence you can never brace for. One hand cups your jaw, fingers tilting your face just enough to keep you locked in. The other fists in your hair, tight enough to make your scalp sting in the way that makes your stomach clench. He drags you in until you’re fully pressed against him, the space between you almost non-existent.

That’s when you feel him. The thick press of his cock. It’s right there against your stomach, already hard and hot, making your pulse hammer in your ears. You can’t even stop the noise that slips out—a needy, cracked whimper that feels like it’s been ripped straight out of you.

He eats that sound like it’s his goddamn dinner, swallowing it with another deep kiss.

You’ve had enough. You have one thing and only one thing on your mind. Sinking to your knees, your hands move straight to his belt. Your movements are clumsy and impatient, because your head is fogged and you’re pretty sure your brain has turned into mush. All you can think is to get him out and taste him.

The leather resists, twisting against you. You fumble once again, the clink of the buckle sharp in the quiet, your fingers slipping against the smooth metal. Your frustration spikes, and you mutter a curse.

“Aww, what’s the matter, doll?” His voice is pure, smug mockery. He’s looking down at you like he’s watching his favorite dirty movie, and you’re the star. “Too wound up to work those pretty hands?”

The words hit you and heat blooms in your belly. You ignore it, grit your teeth, and try again, yanking at the strap with more force than sense.

His warm hand closes over yours, halting your frantic tugs. “Easy,” he murmurs, voice deliberately slow and patient, like you’re a skittish little thing instead of someone two seconds away from shoving him to the ground and riding him until you both forget your names.

“Bucky,” you warn, though it comes out thinner, breathier than you’d like. More like you’re aching than you’re warning him.

“That desperate, huh?” His smirk deepens, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Could’ve called me, sweetheart. I’d have talked you through it over the phone. Made you come from miles away.”

You snap your eyes up to him, narrowing them. But he just looks even more pleased with himself, the bastard.

“You—” The word is more of a growl, and you shove his hand away, finally jerking the buckle open with a sharp pull. The belt slides free, and your knuckles brush against the thick bulge under his jeans. He inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Mhm,” he hums approvingly, voice lower now, a warning wrapped in praise. “There she is.”

You waste no time. You hook your fingers into the waistband and drag both jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, exposing him. He’s heavy, flushed. The sight alone makes heat slick between your thighs, and your mouth waters.

You don’t even give him a second to breathe. You lean in and take the head into your mouth. Your lips stretch around him as your tongue sweeps over the flushed skin. The first taste is salt and heat, familiar enough to make your knees ache harder against the hardwood.

He exhales your name in a ragged groan, the sound breaking halfway through. His metal fingers slide into your hair immediately.

You sink deeper, tongue pressed flat against the underside, until the weight of him fills your mouth. The stretch burns your jaw just right, and you pull back slowly, only to take him again, wetter this time.

Spit drips over your bottom lip, your chin already slick by the time you drag your mouth off him to lick a slow stripe from base to tip. Your fist wraps around him where your mouth isn’t, your palm sliding easily over the mess you’ve made.

His abs tense, his jaw working as he looks down at you with that half-lidded stare that says he’s already thinking about how to ruin you later. That thought alone makes you clench, even without him inside you.

You feel him twitch against your tongue once. “That mouth…” His voice is thick with arousal. “Been thinking about it for days, baby.”

You hum around him deliberately, letting the vibration spill down his length. You push forward until your nose brushes the base. Your throat tightens around him, eyes watering, but you don’t pull back.

When you do, you drag him out slowly, every inch wet, before you sink forward again with more speed. The rhythm gets messy fast. Spit and slick sounds fill the room.

He grunts above you, hips shifting forward despite himself, and the heat in his eyes tells you exactly what kind of trouble you’re in once he gets his hands on you.

His hips twitch and you know he is right there on the edge when you hear the tiniest hitch in his breath. But before you can push him over it, his hand tightens hard in your hair, holding you in place for a beat before giving a rough tug that makes your scalp sting.

You come off him with a gasp, lips wet and swollen, your chin slick. A thin, glistening string stretches between your mouth and the thick head of his cock before it finally snaps, falling warm and sticky on your chest.

“Why—”

He is panting, eyes dark, thumb swiping slow across your bottom lip. He presses against it just enough to make you part for him, but instead of letting it go, he drags his thumb upward, smearing the spit across your cheek in lazy strokes.

“Not coming in your mouth tonight, doll,” he says, voice low and rough. “Need to fuck you ‘til I’m empty. Want to fill you so deep you’re dripping down your thighs.”

The words hit you straight between your legs, almost making you feel dizzy just hearing those words.

He pulls you to your feet as he settles on the couch. You are now straddling his lap. His jeans are still shoved low enough that you can sink down over him without much movement, and his hands are on you immediately. One grips the curve of your ass so tight you feel the press of his fingers through your skin, the other fists in your hair to drag you down into a kiss.

It is filthy. Your spit mixed with the salt of himself still lingering on your tongue.

You grind against him, his thick cock pressing right against the soaked center of your panties.

“Bucky…” It is barely a breath, as your nails dig his shoulders.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, like he has been inside your head the whole time. His fingers move to the lace at your centre. He just pushes it to the side, and slides his tip over your slick folds, taunting you.

You let out a whiney moan, which only makes him tease you more. You hold his shoulders stronger, and sink yourself into him, or at least you try. Thankfully, he decides to be merciful because he’s immediately pushing into you.

But his pace is slow. So slow that you can feel every single inch of him entering you. You feel the stretch, and your walls clench around him like you don’t want to let him out again. Inch by inch, he fills you, the drag sending shocks to your spine, and your thighs tighten against him.

As he bottoms out, his forehead drops to yours, both of you breathing like you just ran a whole fucking mile. “Oh my god,” your words are against his mouth as he captures you in another kiss.

“That’s it,” he groans, as if he’s still holding back. “Take me, doll. Been dreaming about this for days. Fucking days.”

Your hips move on him, rolling against him like your body has its own mind. He meets you in perfect rhythm, every deep thrust making your breath catch. Both of his hands dig deeper into your hip, and you’re sure he’s leaving marks all over your body.

But you want his fingers somewhere else. Taking his metal arm from your hip, you place his hand exactly where you want it. His fingers are on your slick as he thrusts into you.

Now, you take his other hand and make him touch you over your thin blouse. A low laugh rumbles out of him. “Oh, I see. Greedy little thing doesn’t just want my cock, she wants me to play with her tits and cunt too?” His tone is pure sin. “Could’ve just said so, doll. You know I’m obsessed with these.”

Your half lidded eyes look at him shameless, “yes, Bucky, please,” you plead.

He doesn’t waste time by pulling the shirt off you. He just tugs it down easily with his flesh hand, and rolls your nipple with two fingers. You arch your back, so much so, the places where your bodies are touching come more into contact as if you are melting right into him.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He leans down to the level of your tits and takes one nipple into his mouth, while his cock keeps driving into you with unrelenting force. You gasp at the warmth of his tongue, and it turns to a moan when he slightly bites the bud.

He pulls off your tits to look at you, as he drives deeper into you. But his flesh hand is still squeezing your other tit.

“So soft. Love watching them bounce when I fuck you like this.”

Your moan is shameless, your hips jerking forward into him.

“Already got me buried inside you and you still want more,” he says, his voice a low rasp against your lips. “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?”

“Yes. Everything. Please, Bucky.” You pant.

“Good girl.” It sends shivers straight to your cunt, even though he’s driving deep into you, and your bodies couldn’t be more in contact even if you tried.

His hips start snapping harder and faster now, the sound of his cock sliding into your soaked heat loud. He groans deep every time you clench around him. “I love you like this. So fucking wet for me. You’ve no idea what I’d do to keep you like this all the time.”

The pressure builds fast in your stomach. His fingers pinch your nipple just hard enough to make you gasp, his other hand circling your clit with perfect, ruthless precision. You can’t stop the broken, desperate sounds spilling from your mouth, your body straining against his.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he pants, eyes locked on you. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock and milk me.”

It crashes over you so hard you almost sob, as your orgasm rips through you. Your walls clamp down around him hard, milking him with every spasm.

He uses your trembling, fucked-out body, driving into you deeper, each thrust punching obscene moans out of you.

“Gonna… fuck… I’m gonna fill you, doll,” he growls. His breath stutters, he groans your name and spills hot inside you.

You stay in his lap. Your thighs are trembling now, his twitching cock still buried inside you. You can feel his release leaking out.

His voice is pure sin, “greedy little doll, next time I’m gonna edge you until you’re crying for me.” In contrast, his lips are on your temple, and you feel his hands roaming your back.

Also I named fluff as sweetheart hours, so I named smut s sinner hours. I know its corny but I liked it, and I made headers for both because why not

[daydreamgoddess14]

one thing about me is if i say “the next chapter will come out later this week!” there is a 78.94% chance that that’s a lie and at the end of the week, i’ll still sit at a word count of zero

“the next chapter will come out later this week!” => expect it the following week instead

“the next chapter will come out in two days!” => make that three and a half

“the next chapter will come out tomorrow!” => actually it’s coming out tonight

[daydreamgoddess14]

Bahaha!!! I LOVED this!!!

That was 🤌

You Drive Me Crazy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The Thunderbolts are used to you and Bucky’s harmless teasing and bickering, but in all of the time the two of you have been together they’ve never seen you fight. However, when an argument breaks out after a mission, they realize that your relationship is a lot more passionate (and entertaining) than they previously thought.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of violence, No sex but things get a lil hot and heavy at the end, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author's Note: This cute and crazy lil drabble is almost completely inspired by the argument scene in the movie Trainwreck. Also, it’s my first Thunderbolts drabble! I hope you guys like it!!

-

You burst out of the elevator and into the tower, Bucky hot on your heels.

“Don’t walk away from me, I’m not done.” His voice borders between a shout and a growl. He reaches for you again, and you dart away. The movement only makes him look even more furious.

“I am done. Fight over. I’m calling it now.”

He says something in Romanian. Whether it be a curse or some infuriated comment, you’re not sure. Still, you whirl on him and shove your finger into his chest. “You know for a fucking fact that I don’t speak that. Knock that shit off right now, Barnes.”

“Oh, so now you want to-“

“Oh my God, what the hell is happening?” Yelena says from the couch, and you hear Ava’s exhausted voice as she walks out of the elevator and drops down beside her.

“Don’t ask.” She sounds exhausted.

You ignore them. Bucky ignores them.

“You were supposed to wait for my signal.” Bucky says, again, and you meet his words with an exaggerated groan.

“For the last time, I saw the shot and I took it. You would have done the same fucking thing if you-“

“If John hadn’t blocked you, you would have died.”

John’s voice cuts through the fight, and he sounds just as exhausted as Ava as he makes his own way to the couch. “If I hadn’t blocked her, the plane ride back would have at least been a whole lot quieter.”

“Shut up.” You and Bucky snap in unison, both fixing him with your own glares. He throws his hands up in mock surrender.

Bucky keeps going. “You never listen. That’s the problem, doll. You need to-“

“Don’t doll me right now. You’re not the only capable member of this team, Sarge. I can take care of myself if you would just-“

“You almost got shot! Again!”

“But I didn’t!”

“Oh great!” Bucky’s own hands fly up, rage still sparking in his eyes. “That makes all of it go away. Everything’s fine now.”

Yelena’s voice cuts through now. “How long have they been doing this?”

“Hours.” John and Ava respond, sounding more worn out from listening to the two of you than they do from the battle.

The fight continues. Right in the middle of the common room.

It’s one of those arguments that just doesn’t stop. Anger and adrenaline and the horror of nearly losing each other keep the fire fueled to the point that you lose the original point of why you’re fighting. You’re just matching each other’s energy now, both refusing to back down.

“They’ll never stop. We will never sleep again.” Yelena says at one point, though none of them have left the couch. In fact, they’ve all watched and commented to each other through the entire argument, all feigning annoyance but clearly too entertained to want to leave the room.

“And you’re always kicking the blankets off of the bed in your sleep!” He shouts at one point. You feel multiple pairs of eyes move to him, and then back to you when you respond like your little audience is watching a movie. There might be popcorn out by this point. You’re too angry to care.

“Because you run like a furnace and you’re always attached to me like a fucking octopus when we sleep!”

“Oh, so you want me to sleep on the other side of the bed now?”

“No! I love it! But it’s fucking hot and we don’t need ten pounds of comforter on top of us!”

“Maybe I want ten pounds of comforter on top of us!”

“Do you?!”

“No!”

The argument moves all around the room. In front of the couch. Near the hall. In the kitchen. The energy remains the same.

“And you know what? You go down on me too much!” You shout, poking your finger into his chest.

“What?!”

“No, you - don’t look at me like I’m crazy. You do! And you act like it’s for me but I think it’s really for you because you’re such a good person whose always trying to help people and-“

“So you want me to go down on you less?”

“Don’t twist this into me not wanting you to go down on me as much! That’s ridiculous. Of course I want you to go down on me that much.”

“I want to go down on you that much. Are you telling me to take it down a notch?”

“No! Of course not! I- okay, just forget this whole part of the argument. Keep doing that.”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

“This is starting to get gross.” John says, and you both turn to him again to shout at him to shut up in perfect unison before you continue.

Ten minutes later, you’re still going. No one has moved.

“And maybe if you woke up later than dawn every day, you would be less grumpy all the time!”

“Why are we fighting?!” He shouts back, and his words finally seem to crack through the spell.

You still refuse to back down. “Because you’re so annoyingly protective all the time. We’ve covered this. You’re just-“

“Because I love you.” He snaps, energy still furious despite his words. “And the idea of anything happening to you makes me lose my mind. Why can’t you see that? Why are you always arguing with me about it?!”

“Because I love you too! I took the shot because they were aiming at you, jackass!”

He surges forward, crashing his mouth to yours with so much force that it knocks you backwards into the wall. Your hands fly up to tangle in his hair. His fly down to the backs of your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he all but snarls into your mouth.

If you weren’t so distracted by Bucky, you might see money exchange hands on the other side of the room.

“You see this? Passion.” Alexei says, and everyone groans. “Is good thing. They fight with love. Like warriors.”

“They’re basically eating each other.” Ava says, tone laced with disgust.

Bucky’s mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you groan, and the sound immediately draws his mouth back to yours.

“Okay, I’m done. I have a feeling they’re not going to make it to their room, and I definitely don’t need to see that.” John says, standing from his spot on the couch. The others stand, too, all grumbling with annoyance. The moment the couch is free, before they’ve even left the room, Bucky throws you down on it and crawls on top of you.

“Drive me fucking crazy.” He’s murmuring against your neck, calloused hands sliding up beneath your shirt as his hips press against yours. You make a noise that makes him grip you harder, his teeth scraping against your skin. “Gonna make you-“

His words are cut off by a cup of water splashing over the two of you, cold and shocking, and you both shout with surprise. You look up, only for another cup of water to splash on you.

“Take it to your room! It’s like two floors below us!”

You almost laugh, despite the heat still surging through you, and sputter as a third splash of water lands on you. Did they all get cups of water? Seriously?

“Okay, we get it! Stop with the-“ You start to say, only to squeak in surprise as Bucky stands and pulls you with him, wrapping your legs around his waist once more as he starts moving towards the elevator. He’s soaked, hair sticking to his face as he presses you up against the wall and slams his mouth back against yours, hand flying out to slam against one of the buttons - you don’t even know if it’s the right one - before it comes back up to start ripping at your tactical gear.

“Oh God, not in the elevator. It’s easier to disinfect the couch!”

The words are lost as the doors close, and there’s no more fighting after that.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Always the writer, never the reader.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Jack Lowden via Instagram

[daydreamgoddess14]

eeeep I love it so much! she's such a badass!

Could I be added to the tag list please?

It's Not Just A Crush - 4

Summary : He’s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.

The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.

Character : boss!Bucky x rival!FemaleReader

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -

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

You didn’t bother to collect your things from your desk. Let them throw it all away. If your notes, your pens, your favorite mug meant nothing to them, then fine. You told yourself it meant nothing to you too.

On the way down in the elevator, you still believed it. You held your phone in your hand, thumb hovering, then deliberately blocked every contact connected to the office. No late-night messages. No half-hearted “keep in touch.” Clean cut. Clean break.

But when the doors slid open into the lobby, it hit you.

This was it. You wouldn’t walk through these glass doors again. You wouldn’t stop by the café across the street before morning meetings, or hear the low chatter of your colleagues as they teased each other on Fridays. You wouldn’t see their faces at all.

And worst of all—you wouldn’t see him.

Bucky.

Your idol. Your impossible crush. The man who had been the reason you pushed harder, worked longer, studied until your eyes burned. You’d come every morning knowing he was upstairs, and now—he was nothing more than someone you’d once worked under.

The pressure in your chest broke. Your eyes blurred hot and wet, and you muttered under your breath, “Fuck.” The tears came faster than you could wipe them away.

People passing through the lobby slowed their steps, eyes flicking toward you, curiosity sharp and unkind. You turned away quickly, fumbling in your bag with trembling fingers. At last, you pulled out a face mask and slid it over your mouth, then dug deeper for your sunglasses. Your mother’s voice echoed in your memory—her insistence that you should always carry them. You used to laugh, call it unnecessary, even silly. Now you slipped them on with shaky hands and felt, for the first time, grateful. At least they hid the mess of your face.

Your heels clicked across the marble floor. The glass doors opened with a whoosh, spilling you out into the street, into the bright light of day that felt too sharp, too indifferent.

You stopped once at the curb, lifting your gaze toward the steel and glass tower. Your throat closed around the words, but you forced them out anyway, soft and final.

“Goodbye.”

You turned away before your tears could fall again, and this time you didn’t look back.

*****

Bucky pushed through the glass doors of the office, the morning light still clinging to his shoulders. Habit made his eyes flick to the desk outside his office. Empty. No bright smile waiting.

No cheerful “Good morning” followed by the inevitable question if he wanted coffee.

The desk sat too neat, too still, like it hadn’t been touched in days.

“It’s rare for our intern to come late,” Marlon said, falling into step behind him.

“She’s not coming anymore,” Bucky’s secretary replied without looking up, her fingers still flying across her keyboard.

Marlon frowned, pausing in the hallway. “Does that mean her internship is over? She didn’t want to continue?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “That’s a shame. We really need people like her. Competent.”

“She wasn’t supposed to stay.” Bucky’s voice was even, clipped. He adjusted his cufflinks as if the motion could steady him, then added, quieter, “This place isn’t for her.”

Marlon blinked, taken aback. But Bucky didn’t wait for a reply. He pushed open his office door and closed it firmly behind him.

Marlon glanced at the secretary, gesturing vaguely toward the shut door. “What’s up with him?”

She only shrugged, eyes still on her screen.

“Is he mad she isn’t making his coffee anymore?” Marlon muttered, half-joking, though his tone carried genuine curiosity.

The secretary gave him nothing.

Marlon shook his head and walked away, still baffled.

Inside the office, Bucky set his bag down on the desk and stared at the stack of files waiting for him. Logic told him this was how it worked—interns came and went. He’d seen it a hundred times. But for some reason, the silence outside his office felt heavier than usual.

A sharp knock broke through his thoughts. He didn’t need to look at the door to know who it was.

“Hey, hey… what’s up, buddy?” Jimmy’s voice was all forced lightness as he pushed the door open.

Bucky didn’t answer. He kept his gaze fixed on his computer screen, scrolling through a report he wasn’t really reading.

Jimmy strolled inside anyway, hands in his pockets. “Little birdie told me someone walked out of this office crying this morning.”

That made Bucky’s eyes flick up, just for a second.

Jimmy snapped his fingers, grinning like he’d won a bet. “Aha. I knew it. You fired her.” He pointed a finger right at him.

Bucky said nothing at first. He didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. His jaw just tightened.

“Why, Bucky?” Jimmy leaned against the edge of the desk, searching his face. “Why? She’s the reason Doyle even chose us.”

“The deal’s already locked,” Bucky said evenly. “Proposal’s in, signatures pending. Contract execution phase doesn’t rely on her anymore.” His tone was matter-of-fact, almost bored. “It’s set and sailed. That’s the business.”

Jimmy groaned and dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. “I don’t get you, man. She could’ve been the next rainmaker. You don’t see people like that often. Driven. Sharp. Makes clients lean in when she talks.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. “Potential doesn’t guarantee longevity. And if someone burns too fast, they burn out. You want stability, not fireworks.”

Jimmy shook his head, exasperated. “Well, I trust your judgment. Always have. And I won’t push it.” He raised both hands in surrender, backing away from the desk. “But still… seems like a waste.”

Without waiting for a reply, he slipped out the door, leaving Bucky alone with the weight of silence again.

The folder hit the desk with a hard thud, the sound rattling in the silence of his office. Papers slid askew, but Bucky didn’t care. He pressed his hands to the wood, head bowed for a moment before he exhaled through his teeth.

Why the hell was everyone painting him as the villain?

He knew exactly why he let you go. He wasn’t blind. The way you looked at him wasn’t professional — it was sharper, hungrier. Hero worship laced with something reckless. Like he was both your idol and your prize.

And to him, that was poison.

Because he’d lived that stage of life already. Young. Fresh. Too many doors flung open just because he was ambitious enough to shove his way through. He thought effort alone would protect him. He thought he was untouchable. Until the crash came — layoffs, failures, a string of gut punches that taught him how hard the world really hit. That was what made him cautious. That was what carved the steel into his bones.

You hadn’t had that yet. You were still unscarred. You still believed success bent to willpower. The age gap wasn’t just ten years — it was the distance between someone who still believed, and someone who knew better. And he knew the moment you tasted heartbreak — the real kind, the kind that cracks you open and leaves you crawling — you’d move on. You’d forget him. He was sure of it.

And the truth? His department didn’t have a place for you anyway. There was one open role, but it needed someone seasoned, someone battle-tested. Not you. Not yet. Keeping you on would’ve been a dead end, no matter how brilliant you were.

So yes, he ended it. Clean, final, surgical.

Because in his mind, letting you go wasn’t cruelty. It was the only way to force you forward. A sharp mind like yours didn’t deserve to sit in limbo as someone’s intern. You deserved a company that would pay you, fight for you, challenge you.

But as he looked down at the folder he’d slammed shut, his jaw tight, Bucky hated the taste of his own decision. On paper, it was perfect logic. Unshakable.

And yet… he could still hear the faint echo of your heels walking out.

*****

It had been three days since you’d been fired, and the walls of your apartment were starting to feel like they were shrinking in on you. Curtains drawn, dishes stacking, and the couch had become your coffin. Blanket cocooned around you, popcorn in one hand, half-melted ice cream in the other. You hadn’t stepped outside, hadn’t even thought about it.

Your roommate, finally out of patience, sent for backup.

The door burst open without warning. Ivy didn’t just walk in — she stormed in, every step echoing like she was hitting her mark onstage. A theater actress to her core, she flung her arms wide, her coat swinging like she was about to break into song.

“Where’s the dead girl?”

Your roommate pointed at the couch.

Ivy gasped. You could almost hear the orchestra sting behind it. “Oh my god. Who hurt you?”

You didn’t bother sitting up. Your voice was flat, muffled through popcorn. “My crush fired me. He hates me.”

Ivy clutched her chest like the drama queen she was. “No, babe. He didn’t fire you. He ejected you from mediocrity.” She was pacing now, hands in the air like she was preaching to the gods. “He was like, ‘Fly, my queen. This office chair cannot contain your greatness.’ He knew that company couldn’t handle your legendary stats. So he set you free so the world could witness your power.”

You stared at her, spoon dangling from your lips. “…I think you need therapy.”

“I’m literally your therapy.” She plopped down beside you, prying the ice cream out of your grip.

You sulked deeper into the blanket. “I don’t think I can do this. He hates me.”

“No,” Ivy said firmly, pointing her spoon at you like it was a sword. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just… allergic to excellence. And unfortunately for him, you radiate it like secondhand smoke.”

You let out a weak laugh, but it died quick. “I turned down Fox and Co. for him. Do you get that? I could’ve had a real offer, but instead I became an intern so I could work with him. Isn’t my sacrifice enough?”

Ivy tilted her head, studying you like she was about to deliver a monologue. “Listen to me. Men like that? They don’t fall for sacrifice. They fall for gravity. For power. He doesn’t want someone orbiting him — he wants someone who can tilt the whole damn universe.”

Your chest went tight. “…So I should become Saturn.”

“Exactly!” Ivy clapped, nearly knocking over the popcorn bowl. “Rings. Aura. Moons. The whole celestial package. Let him choke on his own atmosphere while you glow like you were born to.”

You groaned, dragging the blanket over your face. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Babe, nothing about you is easy,” Ivy said, tugging the blanket down. Her eyes softened, even if her tone stayed dramatic. “But you’re bigger than this heartbreak. You don’t see it yet, but one day you’re gonna laugh about crying over a man who couldn’t even match your spreadsheets.”

That made you snort, though your throat ached.

Ivy leaned in closer. “Now get up. Shower. We’re going to the spa. It’s time to treat yo’self. Rebirth montage, baby.”

From the kitchen, your roommate called, “Can I join?”

Both of you shouted back without hesitation. “Of course!”

Hours later, the three of you lay in warm robes, cucumber water sweating on the little side tables. Your skin smelled of lavender, steam still clinging to your hair, your muscles unwinding for the first time in days.

The weight in your chest had lifted, not gone, but lighter. Enough that you could finally breathe.

You picked up your phone, thumb hesitating only a second before you hit the call button.

“Hi,” you said when the line clicked. “Is the offer still available?”

*****

Six months later, the ballroom shimmered with low golden light and the quiet hum of moneyed voices. A private gathering, only the highest tier of executives allowed through the doors. Crystal glasses clinked, deals were murmured between sips of wine, and every corner carried the quiet weight of power.

Bucky stood near the edge of the room, listening without listening. Jimmy, ever the social one, leaned on the marble bar beside him, swirling his drink with careless ease.

“Fox and Co. made insane improvements this quarter,” someone across the table said. “Their profits? Off the charts. And get this—every employee got bonuses. All of them.”

Jimmy grimaced. “Don’t let my employees hear that.” He lifted his glass, muttering into the rim. “Fox and Co. also seduced one of our clients. Doyle.”

That made a ripple of murmurs around the circle.

“Really?” a guest asked, surprised.

Bucky’s expression didn’t shift. He kept his gaze steady, unreadable, though the name lodged like stone in his chest.

“I heard it’s because of the new strategist they hired,” another chimed in. “She’s incredible.”

That word — strategist — caught him off guard. His eyes flicked up, searching.

“Ooh,” someone said suddenly, nodding toward the entrance. “That’s her.”

The room shifted. All eyes turned toward the doorway as a new figure stepped in.

You.

The air seemed to tighten as you crossed the threshold, walking just behind the CEO of Fox and Co. and his wife. Draped in a sleek dress that spoke of restraint and precision, not flash, you carried yourself with an ease that was almost dangerous. No more the intern clinging to the edges of someone else’s spotlight — now, you stood in the center of it.

Strategic Development Lead, that's your title now.

For half a second, Bucky’s composure cracked. Shock flickered across his face before discipline forced it back down. He’d known you were talented, stubborn even. But this? You had turned yourself into something untouchable.

Beside him, Jimmy caught the reaction he didn’t voice. He nudged Bucky’s shoulder with a knowing grin. “Isn’t that your intern?”

Bucky didn’t answer. His pulse ticked in his jaw.

“I told you we shouldn’t have let her go,” Jimmy muttered, frustration lining his voice. Then he left him standing there, gritting his teeth as he moved deeper into the crowd.

But Bucky didn’t move. He couldn’t. His gaze stayed locked on you, watching the way executives angled their bodies toward you, eager for your attention. You smiled, exchanged handshakes, owned every corner you stepped into. The kind of presence people built careers trying to fake.

And then your eyes found his.

You didn’t hesitate. You crossed the floor with measured grace, every step deliberate until you were standing in front of him.

“Now look what you made me do,” you said softly, a smile touching your lips but not your eyes.

Bucky’s throat went tight. He said nothing, but inside, something shifted. A tension he hadn’t let himself name.

“You shouldn’t have thrown me away,” you continued, voice steady, confident. “Look what I’ve done for Fox and Co.”

He stared, silent, while your words landed like a strike he deserved.

And in the quiet, your thought burned unspoken: If this doesn’t impress you, I don’t know what ever will.

Bucky’s chest tightened. He should have felt only logic, the reassurance of choices made, the cold distance of reason. Instead, all he could see was the fire in your eyes, the way you carried yourself now — and all he could feel was the sharp pull of regret tangled with something heavier.

For the first time, James Buchanan Barnes began to realize he wasn’t just watching you. He was drawn to you.

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[daydreamgoddess14]

ohhh! 😲

It's Not Just A Crush - 3

Summary : He���s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.

The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.

Character : boss!Bucky x intern!FemaleReader

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -

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

You had been proving yourself since the day Emily quit. Coming in earlier than everyone else, stopping by each desk with a smile to ask if they wanted coffee, returning with a tray balanced in your hands. You handled the copy machine like a pro, printed whatever was needed before anyone had to ask twice, and soon people trusted you with more than the bare minimum.

Effort never betrayed you. You’d learned that growing up. It was the only constant you could control. And now, you’d earned your place in this room. Your co-workers knew it. They handed you work because they knew you’d deliver.

But there was still one person whose trust you hadn’t cracked.

Bucky Barnes.

The thought had crossed your mind to play it dangerously — maybe a thigh-skimming skirt, a silk blouse, standing at his desk until he noticed. But you weren’t that desperate, and you weren’t about to end your career before it started with a sexual harassment report. You’d get to him another way. As long as you stayed close, as long as you left a good impression, there would be an offer waiting after this internship was done.

Inside Bucky’s office, the blinds were half-closed. From the narrow gap, Vice President Jimmy Cameron caught sight of you, chatting with two senior associates like you’d been there for years.

“Is that her?” Jimmy asked.

Across the room, Marlon glanced at where Jimmy was pointing. “Who?”

Bucky didn’t look up from the Doyle proposal in his hands. He hated to admit it, but your numbers were airtight.

“The intern Doyle chose,” Jimmy said.

That made Bucky glance up for a second. “Yes.”

Jimmy stepped closer. “Accept her after her internship’s done. What else can she do if she can land a deal with Doyle?”

“It’s not my decision,” Bucky said flatly.

“She works in your department.” Jimmy’s tone was easy but loaded. “If not, I’ll take her in mine.”

“Do what you want.”

Jimmy’s mouth twitched at the dismissive reply, but he didn’t press. “By the way… please don’t hate me for this, but this year our company has to attend the financial conference.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He hated conferences. Endless schmoozing, fake smiles, and pointless speeches. “And why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to go,” Jimmy said without hesitation. “Bring the team. Also her.”

“If it’s not because your family owns the company, I’d tell you no to your face.”

Jimmy only grinned. “Thanks, man. Knew I could count on you.” Then he walked out.

Bucky exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He buzzed his secretary. “Tell the department there’s a conference tomorrow. I’ll either pick who’s going or someone can volunteer.”

Word traveled fast. The second you heard, you were already leaning forward in your chair. “Yes. I’ll go.”

Most of the team had families and no interest in last-minute travel. In the end, only six names went on the list — you and Bucky among them.

“Yeah… business trip,” you said with a grin that could’ve lit the room.

“Don’t get excited,” Bucky said, stepping over to your desk. He set a thick folder in front of you. “This has to be done tonight.”

“Tonight?” Your brows shot up. Tomorrow was the flight. You still had to pack.

“If you can’t finish it, you can’t come.”

You leaned back, lips curling in a slow smile. “It’s a challenge then. I’ll finish it.”

Back at your desk, you cracked the folder open. The assignment was brutal — a complete market forecast with a cross-analysis of Doyle’s competitors, sourcing all public financial data and creating a visual deck for Bucky to present. This was the kind of thing a junior associate could take a week to prepare.

Around you, a few co-workers exchanged glances, silently agreeing it was overkill.

By the time people started leaving for the night, you were still at your desk, surrounded by open tabs, highlighted pages, and half-drunk coffee. Bucky was gathering his coat when his eyes flicked your way.

You were bent slightly forward, one hand on the mouse, the other jotting notes without looking at the page, lips pressed together in focus.

For a moment, he just watched. The rest of the office was quiet, but you looked like you belonged in the center of it — determined, unshaken, yours eyes sharp under the glow of your monitor.

He left without a word, certain you’d never finish in time. But there was something about the way you hadn’t even noticed him standing there.

Something that unsettled him.

******

At the airport, five of them were already checked in and waiting near the gate. Thirty minutes before boarding, the group started glancing toward the entrance.

“Where is she?” one of them muttered.

“Do you think she can even make it?” another whispered.

Bucky hadn’t said a word. He stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the clock. “Let’s go,” he finally said, turning toward the gate.

“But—”

“I’m here!”

You appeared from the crowd, dragging your carry-on behind you, a backpack slung over one shoulder. You were out of breath but smiling like you’d just won a race.

Your co-workers blinked in surprise, then grinned as you jogged the last few steps to join them.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You…” His tone held a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “You’re done with the assignment I gave you?”

The adrenaline from the four coffees still burned in your veins. “Yes. And I’ve emailed it to you.”

In truth, you were running on fumes. Your muscles were trembling, your eyelids heavy, but there was no way you’d admit it. You hadn’t even had time to pack yourself — your roommate had stuffed your clothes into a suitcase while you finished the report, then shoved you into the car and drove you here. The price for that favor? You’d be paying the rent next month. Worth it. A month of tight finances was nothing compared to a business trip with Bucky Barnes.

Bucky checked his phone. Sure enough, there it was. He opened the file, his thumb scrolling slowly through the neatly formatted slides. “Good job,” he said finally, his voice low but even.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Now let’s catch our flight.”

On the plane, the others filed into their economy seats while you sank into yours, exhaustion finally catching you. The hum of the engines and the lingering caffeine crash pulled you under almost immediately.

A few rows back, your co-workers exchanged glances, watching the way you slept with your head tipped to the side, your expression soft in a way they’d never seen at the office. One of them murmured something under their breath, and another gave a small shake of their head — their judgment clear without words.

They all knew who had given you that impossible task. And they all knew who was sitting in first class, alone.

Up front, Bucky shifted in his seat, feeling an inexplicable chill between his shoulder blades. He didn’t have to turn around to know the looks being thrown his way. He told himself it didn’t matter.

But for some reason, he found himself thinking about the way you’d run toward them at the gate — grinning, breathless, refusing to lose.

******

Florida heat wrapped around you the second you stepped out of the cab, but the blast of the convention center’s air conditioning felt like stepping into a different world. The carpeted floors, the sound of heels clicking, the low murmur of conversations — this was the real world. Deals were made here. Careers were built here.

Bucky glanced at you as they walked toward registration. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You grinned. “Okay.”

Inside, Doyle spotted you immediately. “Hey, guys!” His easy smile was the same as it had been back in the boardroom.

“Doyle,” Bucky said with a polite nod.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Doyle said, shaking hands with both of you.

“It’s work,” Bucky replied.

“Always,” Doyle agreed, then turned to you. “How’s my favorite intern?”

“Busy,” you said with a small laugh. “But good.”

They slipped into a brief conversation about market shifts and recent deals, trading observations like tennis volleys. Doyle listened when you spoke, nodding thoughtfully as if your words carried weight. When the conversation wound down, he leaned closer. “I’m holding a party tomorrow night. You two should come. It’s smaller, just my people — no press.”

“We’ll see,” Bucky said before you could answer.

Doyle smirked. “I’ll save you a drink anyway.” Then he moved on to greet someone else.

Not long after, you spotted familiar faces in the crowd — two of your old classmates from Columbia.

“Hey!” you called, weaving through a cluster of attendees until you reached them. Both of them were in sharp suits, the name tags on their jackets reading Fox and Co. — one of the most prestigious firms in the city.

They grinned when they saw you. “So you really did it? You turned down Fox and Co. to work here?” one of them asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

You shrugged lightly. “I like it here.”

They glanced past you toward where Bucky stood. “I get it,” one of them said with a knowing smile.

From behind, Bucky’s voice was quiet but firm. “You can talk to them.”

You looked back at him, nodded once, and followed your friends into a quieter corner. It had been a while since you’d seen them, and the easy banter slipped right back into place.

“I knew you were the type to obsess over something until you got it,” one of them teased. “It was him, wasn’t it? Your idol? The reason you studied like crazy?”

You chuckled. “You know me so well.”

The other one shook his head. “You’re still a crazy bitch.”

The three of you burst into laughter, shoulders bumping, the sound light and unrestrained.

Across the room, Bucky watched. He didn’t realize how tightly his jaw was set until Marlon spoke next to him.

“So she got offered Fox and Co. and chose to work here? As an intern?”

“What’s so special about Fox and Co.? Our company is one of the best,” Bucky said sharply, still looking at you.

Marlon raised both hands, surrendering the conversation. “Not touching that one.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t move from you. It shouldn’t have mattered who you were laughing with. It shouldn’t have mattered that they were your age, matching your energy effortlessly.

But it did.

Because in the end, you hadn’t chosen them.

You’d chosen to work with him.

*****

The hotel ballroom was warm with golden light, the soft clink of glasses mixing with the low hum of music. Your co-workers had been watching the entrance since before you arrived. When you finally stepped in, conversation stilled for a moment.

The dress you wore was sleek but modest, navy fabric that skimmed your figure without clinging, neckline high, hem falling just past the knee. A professional choice, perfectly in line with the event.

“What?” you asked, brows lifting when you caught the way your team was staring.

“Nothing,” one of them said a little too quickly, exchanging a glance with the others.

You folded your arms. “What?”

“We just… had a bet,” another admitted.

“A bet about what?”

“That you’d wear something… you know. Sexy. Because of your thing for Bucky.”

You let out a small scoff. “This is for business. We have to be professional.” Then, as you stepped past them toward the bar, you slowed beside Bucky, leaned in just enough for your words to be private. “But just for you, I’ll tell you I’m wearing lingerie underneath this dress.”

Bucky choked on his drink. “Uh—” He coughed into his fist, his ears turning faintly pink.

You chuckled and moved on before he could answer.

Doyle appeared then, greeting everyone with his usual easy charm. He looked completely at home in the center of the room, glass in hand, smile practiced yet warm. “Glad you could make it,” he said, clasping Bucky’s hand before turning to you. “And I have to say, I’m more than satisfied with the plan you two came up with — especially the adjustments you made.”

You inclined your head. “Glad to hear it.”

“I’ll have my lawyer send the paperwork tomorrow,” Doyle added. “Now, enough business talk. Join me on the dance floor.”

The group moved with him, laughing, glasses in hand. Everyone except Bucky.

From his seat, he watched you slip into the crowd, smiling and talking easily with people your age. You moved like you belonged there — confident, alive, glowing in a way that wasn’t for anyone but yourself. But he also caught the way your eyes flicked to him between conversations, sharp and deliberate.

Bucky knew that look. The look of someone hunting. And he hated how much he felt it.

You were young. Still at the start of your career. And him? He’d already been through the grind, the mistakes, the exhaustion. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could be what you needed — and that irritated him almost as much as seeing you laugh with people who could be.

Eventually, you slipped away from the floor, weaving through the tables until you stopped beside him. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Not my thing,” Bucky said without looking at you, swirling the drink in his glass.

“You just sit here alone all night?”

He glanced at you then, a faint edge to his voice. “I’m not here to have fun.”

“That’s your problem,” you said lightly, leaning a hip against the table. “You never let yourself enjoy anything.”

“This is work,” he reminded you.

“So? Work can still be fun.”

His jaw tightened. “Not everything is as easy as you make it look.”

You tilted your head. “You think I’ve had it easy?”

“I think you’re still in the bubble. First year out, things fall into place, people notice you. But life’s not always going to bend for you. And I…” He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not good enough for you.”

You blinked at him, steady. “You can’t decide that for me.”

“You’re valuable. Smart. There’s a lot you haven’t seen yet.”

Your pulse jumped at the way his voice softened on that word — valuable. “And you think I’ll see it if I go out there?”

“When you go out there, you’ll realize there’s a lot you’ve been missing,” he said quietly, looking past you at the dance floor.

You smiled faintly, though there was a bite to it. “Like you don’t know until you try.”

His gaze flicked back to you at that, sharp and unreadable, but he didn’t answer.

******

The elevator ride up to the hotel floors was silent, except for the faint hum of the machinery. You stood beside Bucky, the soft scent of his cologne threading through the faint traces of wine and perfume that clung to the night.

When the doors slid open, the hall was quiet, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. You walked side by side, your shoulder almost brushing his.

“You didn’t have fun tonight,” you said at last.

“I wasn’t there to have fun.” His tone was flat, but his eyes flicked toward you.

“Then why come?”

“Because it’s my job.”

You smirked faintly. “You could’ve fooled me. Looked like you spent most of the night watching me.”

He stopped, just for a second, and the way his gaze sharpened made your breath catch. “I was making sure you didn’t get in trouble.”

“That’s not your job.”

“Someone has to do it,” he said, voice low.

You took a step closer. “Maybe I like trouble.”

His jaw flexed. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Your pulse was pounding now. “What if I can finish it?”

For a moment, the air between you tightened. He was looking at you like he wanted to close the space — like he wanted to know exactly what would happen if he did.

But then, his shoulders shifted back. He looked away, breaking whatever was holding you both still. “Go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

The disappointment was a physical thing in your chest, but you masked it with a small, almost taunting smile. “Goodnight, boss.”

He walked you the rest of the way to your room. You unlocked the door, lingering in the frame. For a heartbeat, you thought he might change his mind. But he only nodded once and turned away.

You closed the door slowly, pressing your back against it, your heart still racing.

The next morning, the hotel lounge was full of groggy voices and half-hearted greetings. Your co-workers nursed black coffees and greasy breakfasts, the evidence of Doyle’s party still hanging in their eyes.

“Where’s our boss?” someone asked.

“He left,” another answered. “Took the first flight out.”

You stared at your untouched plate, the words settling like a stone in your stomach. He’d left before you’d even woken up.

******

Monday morning came with the weight of a hangover you hadn’t earned. Not from Doyle’s champagne, but from the silence. The kind that had followed you from the moment you’d learned Bucky had taken the earliest flight home without a word.

You hadn’t even made it to your desk before a voice from HR stopped you.

“Can you come with me?”

Your brows knit. “Why?”

“Just… come,” the woman said, holding the door open to a small glass-walled office.

You sat across from her desk, the faint scent of paper and coffee doing nothing to calm the pulse in your temples. She folded her hands, wearing that practiced HR smile that always came before bad news.

“The company really appreciates your work,” she began. “But unfortunately, there’s no open position. Yet.”

You stared at her. “So you’re firing me.”

“Sadly, yes. But the company hasn’t ignored what you’ve done. We’d like to compensate you for your hard work.”

“How much?”

She hesitated. “We can’t tell you the numbers yet.”

You leaned back in the chair, crossing your legs. “Under a hundred thousand?”

Her eyes widened just slightly, the way people do when you’ve hit too close to the truth.

“I brought in a deal worth millions. At least four hundred thousand would sound right,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended.

“We—” she started, but you cut her off with a wave of your hand.

“Keep the money. I don’t need it.”

Your voice was calm, but inside you felt something split. Not just frustration at losing a job you’d bled hours into. This was different. This was the kind of disappointment that crawled into your chest and stayed there.

You’d given everything — the long nights, the impossible assignments, the win with Doyle. And he… Bucky… hadn’t even had the guts to look you in the eye.

Maybe that old saying was true: never meet your idol. Because when you do, you find out they’re human. And humans are capable of walking away without a word.

You left HR without another glance, the echo of your heels down the hallway louder than the muted office chatter. You didn’t head for your desk. There was no point.

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[daydreamgoddess14]

I'm devouring this! It's brilliant!

It's Not Just A Crush - 2

Summary : He’s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.

The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.

Character : boss!Bucky x intern!FemaleReader

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -

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The office was still half-dark when you arrived. Only the faint hum of the building’s systems filled the air. Your heels echoed too loudly on the marble floor, betraying how early it really was. You dropped your bag on your desk and powered up your laptop, pretending this was normal for you. It wasn’t.

You knew he’d be here soon. He always came early—too early for a man who claimed to have a life outside of work.

Five minutes later, you heard it: the soft, steady click of polished shoes approaching. You didn’t look up right away. That would make it obvious. Instead, you kept your eyes on the glowing screen, posture sharp, fingers poised like you were already drowning in data.

Bucky passed by. You could feel it more than see it—the quiet weight of him, the faint scent of expensive cologne, the controlled rhythm of his steps.

He glanced in your direction. Just once.

Then kept walking.

No nod. No “good morning.” Not even the tiniest flicker of acknowledgment.

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing your expression neutral.

Of course he wouldn’t say anything. Compliments from James Buchanan Barnes weren’t given; they had to be stolen. And apparently, even showing up before sunrise wasn’t enough to earn one.

You stared at the screen, not seeing the words.

What does it take to make you notice me, my handsome boss?

He was probably already in his office, tying perfection into a Windsor knot for the second time today, completely unaware that you’d rearranged your entire morning just to exist in the same silent hour as him.

Dense. That’s what he was. Brilliant, impossible, infuriatingly dense.

You started typing anyway. If you couldn’t get his attention with small things, you’d make him notice in ways he couldn’t ignore.

After lunch, your phone buzzed: “Barnes. Office.”

You walked in to find him already standing by the window, arms folded. The city stretched behind him, but his focus was on the folder in his hand.

“I reviewed your proposal,” he said, voice clipped. “It’s not bad. But Doyle will want projections broken down by quarter, supplier negotiations drafted, and contingency plans for every region. I also want mock-up visuals for the social push.”

You blinked. “All of that?”

“Yes.” He finally turned to face you. “And I need it ready in an hour. We’re meeting Doyle before close of business.”

It wasn’t just a revision. It was a full rebuild. For anyone else, that would be a warning shot—do the math, see the clock, panic, fail.

But instead, something in you sparked.

“One hour?” you asked, almost smiling. “Fine.”

His brows knit. “You understand what I just asked for, right?”

“Perfectly.” You grabbed the folder from his hand. “Quarterly projections, supplier drafts, regional contingencies, and mock-ups. Got it.”

You didn’t wait for him to dismiss you. You turned on your heel, already planning the order of attack.

Behind you, he said, “You’ll need help.”

You didn’t slow down. “I don’t.”

Back at your desk, you tore into the work like it was a challenge meant for you. Numbers first, then graphs, then visuals. Fingers flying, coffee untouched. You didn’t even notice people stopping to watch as you pulled data and charts at a speed that should’ve been impossible.

By the time you printed the last page, your pulse was fast but steady. You checked the clock: fifty-two minutes.

You walked back to his office, papers in hand.

He looked up, clearly not expecting you this soon. “You’re done?”

“Of course.” You set the folder on his desk. “You said one hour.”

He flipped through it, eyes scanning. Silence. No criticism. No quick corrections. Just that faint tension in his jaw again.

You leaned against the chair. “You thought I’d give up.”

He didn’t answer. Which was an answer.

Instead, he closed the folder, slid it aside, and said, “Get your coat. We’re meeting Doyle.”

In the split second before he looked away, you caught it—barely there, quick as a pulse. A smile. Controlled, almost hidden.

It vanished as fast as it appeared, but it was enough.

Enough to make the impossible hour worth it.

Enough to remind you why you were playing this game in the first place.

*****

Doyle’s office looked nothing like the high-rise firms you were used to. The walls were glass, but covered in scribbles from dry-erase markers. Shelves were cluttered with tech prototypes, sneakers, and energy drinks instead of awards. Someone zipped past on a scooter. It felt fast, restless, alive.

Doyle leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers as Bucky finished outlining the last section of the proposal. “This,” Doyle said, tapping the folder, “is exactly what I wanted. Clean numbers, but with teeth. Quick turnaround too. Not bad, Barnes.”

“Glad it works for you,” Bucky replied, measured as always. “Contracts will be ready by end of the week.”

Doyle’s attention shifted to you. “Let me guess. You’re the one who put this together?”

You kept your tone even. “I refined the strategy, yes.”

He smiled. “Impressive. Maybe I should steal you. You’d survive here better than half my staff.”

Bucky glanced your way, ready to cut in, but you got there first. “Thank you,” you said smoothly, “but I’m loyal to my company.”

It wasn’t rehearsed. It just came out that way—steady, unapologetic, almost sharp.

Doyle blinked, then laughed. “Relax, I’m joking. Barnes, your intern’s quicker on the defense than most execs I meet.”

Bucky didn’t laugh. He didn’t say anything. Just watched you for a second longer than necessary before refocusing on Doyle.

“Let’s move forward,” Doyle said. “Send me the final breakdown tomorrow. I think we’re good.”

“Understood,” Bucky said.

The meeting ended on firm handshakes and a clear schedule. Doyle’s team dispersed, already buzzing about next steps.

In the elevator down, the city stretched wide beneath you. You stood side by side, the silence heavy but not empty. Bucky’s reflection in the glass wasn’t as unreadable as usual—there was something else there. Not approval exactly. Something quieter. Sharper. Like he was rethinking something about you.

You didn’t look at him directly, but you smiled to yourself.

*****

The restaurant was quiet, all low lights and dark wood. The kind of place where deals were signed over rare wine and whispered secrets. You didn’t care about any of that. What mattered was that James Buchanan Barnes was sitting across from you, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jacket on the back of his chair, looking almost relaxed.

Almost.

The waiter left after pouring the wine. Bucky picked up his glass but didn’t drink. His eyes stayed on you, steady and unreadable.

“The project’s a success,” he said finally. “Because of you. It was… unexpected. But in the end, we got it.”

You smiled. “Thank you. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

He didn’t smile back, but his voice softened a fraction. “It was.”

Your chest warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the wine. You tried not to look too pleased and failed completely.

You’d dreamed of this—sitting across from him, not as some invisible intern but as someone who mattered. Someone who earned this seat.

He set his glass down. “I have a question for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you choose to come in as an intern? You graduated cum laude. You could’ve walked into a full-time position anywhere.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Because I wanted to work here.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Why?”

You leaned forward, elbows brushing the edge of the table. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He blinked. “I don’t.” Blunt. No apology.

You leaned back this time, crossing your arms, studying him like you were deciding how much to reveal. “You were the guest speaker at Columbia a few years ago. I was in the audience.”

His jaw shifted. “There were a lot of people there.”

“Exactly,” you said with a small smile. “A lot of people wanted to meet James Barnes. The youngest executive in this firm’s history. The one who closed his first major deal before thirty. The guy every business magazine couldn’t stop writing about.”

His eyes stayed on you, but something in them changed—just barely.

“And I wanted to be like you,” you added, voice low, deliberate. “That’s why I studied harder than anyone. That’s why I’m here.”

The table went quiet. You could feel the hum of the room, the low murmur of other conversations, but between you, there was only that stillness.

Finally, you smiled again, lighter this time. “Also, the only position open in the company was an internship.”

That almost drew a reaction from him—something like a laugh caught in his throat. Almost.

He picked up his glass again, more to give his hands something to do than anything else. Inside, though, the calm he wore like armor felt… less certain. People admired his work all the time, but this was different. It wasn’t flattery; it was fact wrapped in something sharper.

You watched him, chin resting on your hand. Then, because you never believed in subtlety, you added, “You know, Barnes, I didn’t come here just to sit behind a desk.”

His eyes flicked up. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you said, slow and shameless, “I didn’t spend years chasing excellence just to fetch coffee. I came here for the top. For the challenge. For the man everyone says is impossible to impress.”

The words landed like a spark. You saw it in the way his hand stilled on the stem of his glass.

You set your fork down and leaned back, wineglass in hand. “You know, boss,” you said casually, “I’m starting to think you don’t enjoy compliments.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly. “They’re not useful.”

“They’re motivating,” you countered.

“They’re distracting.”

“Maybe you just don’t know what to do when someone admires you.”

His gaze flicked to you, sharp for a beat before he looked away. “I know how to focus on work.”

You smiled. “Work is easy. People are harder.”

“You seem pretty good at both.”

“That almost sounds like praise,” you said lightly.

He didn’t take the bait. “You’re ambitious. I respect that.”

You rested your chin on your hand. “Ambition’s boring without something—or someone—worth chasing.”

That made him pause. He picked up his glass, buying time before answering. “Careful. You’re in a competitive field. Chase the wrong thing, and it’ll burn you.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe I like the fire.”

For a moment, the air between you shifted—tightened. He looked at you then, fully, like he was reassessing what kind of person sat across from him.

You didn’t blink. You held his stare, your voice calm but steady. “You’re really not used to people pushing back, are you, boss?”

He smirked—quick, restrained, but there. “Not from interns.”

“Then I guess I’m not like your other interns.”

Silence again. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Bucky set his glass down, his tone clipped but softer than before. “Finish your food. We have an early start tomorrow.”

You smiled to yourself. He hadn’t told you to stop. He hadn’t told you no.

And that was enough—for now.

*****

You were sorting through reports when two assistants passed by your corner.

“They say the new intern’s the CEO’s niece,” one whispered.

“Seriously? That explains why she got placed in Barnes’ department,” the other replied. “She asked if she could work directly under him.”

Your pen paused mid-note.

Placed in his department. Wants to work close to him.

You didn’t look up. Didn’t let your face show anything. But inside, a sharp heat twisted. Your own desk was practically in exile, the farthest corner of the floor. It had taken weeks of flawless work just to get Bucky to even know your name.

And now some girl could just walk in and sit near his office because of her last name?

By the afternoon, you’d seen her—Emily. Perfect hair, perfect confidence, smiling at everyone like she already belonged. She dropped “my uncle” into casual conversation twice in the first hour. People were buzzing, curious.

You didn’t approach her. You waited.

The next few days were… entertaining. You had work piled high—quarterly data, supplier breakdowns, contingency projections—and you didn’t flinch. You thrived on this pace. Emily, on the other hand, wasn’t built for it. By day three, she looked like she hadn’t slept. Papers stacked on her desk like barricades, calls going unanswered, her smile long gone.

You noticed her watching you more than once. Watching how fast you moved through your tasks, how you didn’t just finish but perfected them. How you didn’t complain.

Finally, late in the day, she walked over to your desk. Her tone was polite, but there was something desperate under it.

“You’re… really good at this,” she said.

“Thanks,” you replied without looking up.

“I mean it. I’ve been drowning for days and you…” she gestured at your cleared workspace, “…you make it look easy.”

“Practice,” you said, typing another line. “And discipline.”

She hesitated, then leaned in closer. Lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret.

“Maybe you could help me out,” she said. “Take some of my tasks. Just for now. I can make it worth your while.”

You stopped typing and finally looked at her. “Worth my while?”

She smiled—like it was obvious. “I can guarantee you a permanent job here. My uncle runs this company. If I tell him you’re the reason I’m doing so well…” She let the sentence hang, expecting you to bite.

Instead, you smiled back—slow, sharp, nothing friendly about it.

“No thanks.”

Her expression faltered. “Do you even understand what you’re turning down?”

“I understand perfectly,” you said, voice calm and precise. “And I don’t need it.”

You turned back to your laptop, dismissing her without a second glance. She stood there, flustered, then walked away.

That evening, while picking up prints, you let the right words slip to the right ears:

“She asked me to do her work.”

“She said her uncle would get me hired if I helped her cheat.”

“Imagine thinking that works here.”

By morning, the whispers spread.

“She’s only here because of her uncle.”

“She actually tried to pass off her work.”

“Typical nepotism.”

Emily felt it. The way people avoided sitting near her. The sudden cold silence in conversations. The smiles that weren’t real anymore.

You stayed professional, polite, untouchable.

By the end of the week, HR sent an email: Emily—internship terminated by mutual agreement.

When someone mentioned it to Bucky, he didn’t even look up from his contract. “There was another intern?”

At your desk, you didn’t pause your typing. But inside, your thoughts curled like smoke: Good. He’s mine.

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

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Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

[daydreamgoddess14]

👀 ohhh I enjoyed this!

It's Not Just A Crush - 1 | Bucky

Summary : He’s cold, older, and always in control. You’re the intern who just outplayed him in front of a billion-dollar client. Now you work late nights under his watch, daring him to look. He keeps his distance. You want to ruin his composure.

The tension isn’t the only thing growing between you.

Character : boss!Bucky x intern!FemaleReader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , -

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

The conference room gleamed with glass and polished tension. Suits filled every seat around the oval table, sleeves creased, smiles taut. Someone poured still water into tall glasses without ever making eye contact. The city burned behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, but inside, everything felt colder. The kind of cold that came with money.

You sat at the far end. Quiet. Watching.

Across the room, James Buchanan Barnes, adjusted his cufflink with mechanical precision. He didn’t glance at anyone once since walking in. Only focus at his client. His voice, when it came, was low and clipped, made to be obeyed. This was your boss. The one and only. The reason you chose this place to work.

“Our firm understands that Rawlston doesn’t just want results,” Bucky said, pacing. “You want impact. Visibility. Scale.” He clicked the remote. The slide changed. His jaw was set so tight you could see the tension from across the room.

The client, a younger executive named Doyle, leaned back in his chair. Restless. Flashy watch. Legs crossed too easily. He was new money, no doubt, with the sharp instincts of someone who’d built his way out of nothing. He didn’t look convinced.

“I know your portfolio,” Doyle said. “And it’s clean. Polished. But we want something that bleeds a little. The old rules don’t thrill people anymore. Give me something with an edge. I want my competitors to be nervous.”

The room shifted. A few glances. Silent calculations. Bucky, to his credit, didn’t flinch.

“We’re prepared to scale back-end logistics and maximize exposure through exclusive markets. The numbers are conservative but strong. You’ll lead with strength.”

Doyle tilted his head. “That’s nice. But I don’t want to be nice. I want adrenaline.”

Your pulse flicked. Maybe it was the word. Maybe it was the silence that followed, wide and heavy like a held breath.

You leaned forward.

“Then take the risk,” you said.

Every head turned.

You felt the weight of the room twist toward you, like the wind suddenly changing direction. Bucky stilled mid-stride.

You didn’t blink.

“Scale now. Fast and loud. Don’t wait for safe margins. Corner the Southeast market and flood socials with strategic leaks before you finalize anything. You’re not selling polish. You’re selling disruption.”

Doyle sat up. “Finally. Now that sounds like a move.” He smirked. “And who are you?”

You smiled. “Just the intern.”

Laughter broke the surface. Doyle laughed loudest. “Give her a raise. That’s the first honest pitch I’ve heard today.”

Bucky didn’t move. His hands were clasped behind his back, a pose too clean to be natural. He let Doyle shake his hand, jaw locked in a smile so tight it might have cracked bone. And when Doyle reached to shake yours too, Bucky stepped half a second too late to intercept. Too late to stop Doyle from saying, “Bring her along next time.”

Then the door closed behind the client, and the room emptied like someone had cut the air out. Silence returned. And it was heavier this time.

You could feel him before you saw him.

“You think that was smart?” Bucky’s voice cut from behind. He didn’t sound angry. Not exactly. He sounded quiet in the way fire is before it explodes.

You turned, slowly. He was standing by the window now, hands still behind his back, spine straight like a blade. You could see his reflection in the glass. Not looking at you. Not yet.

“How dare you. That wasn’t your place.”

The words dropped like stone. No inflection. Just steel.

You crossed your arms. “The client liked it.”

“He liked the idea,” Bucky said, turning now, “because he’s young, cocky, and new. He wants fire. Fine. But most clients don’t. They want control. You gamble like that in front of anyone else, and they’ll laugh us out the door.”

You shrugged. “Then let them. Maybe we should stop pitching to people afraid of new.”

“You’re an intern.” His voice sharpened. “Not a partner. You don’t get to dictate risk. You observe. You learn. You do not interrupt. And you definitely do not undercut me in the middle of a billion-dollar meeting.”

Your stomach turned, but your face didn’t show it. You stared at him instead, letting silence stretch too long. He hated that. Hated the way you wouldn’t back down.

“This is not a game,” he said again, lower now. “This is real life. And we play with billions.”

You studied him. His tie was perfect. His voice was crisp. His control was still intact.

Mostly.

He didn’t expect you to smile. So you did.

“Perhaps this is the game I want to play.”

The line slipped out quieter than you intended. And still, it cracked something.

Bucky stared at you. Fully, finally. Something in his expression changed—only for a second—but enough to notice. His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a warning. You couldn’t tell which one you preferred.

His jaw clenched. “Since you’re the one who proposed the idea, give me the proposal as quick as possible.”

You met his stare. “Okay, boss.”

You turned first.

Didn’t look back. But your spine burned as you walked to the door, each step echoing louder than it should in the hollow quiet.

When the latch clicked shut behind you, you didn’t breathe. Not for a second.

Then, finally, you exhaled—and it came out jagged. Heat pooled beneath your skin. Not just nerves. Not even pride. It was fire.

You’d finally gotten his attention.

Not just as an intern. Not as someone they sent to fetch coffee or organize calendars. He’d seen you today. Really looked. And you saw it in the way his mask cracked, barely, when you smiled. You saw it in the pause—one beat too long—when your words landed.

You weren’t wrong about the client. Doyle didn’t want polish. He didn’t want a folder of safe numbers and recycled slogans. He wanted adrenaline. And you gave it to him. Because you knew. You’d read his profile, his press history, his pattern of aggressive acquisitions and his obsession with being the loudest man in the room.

Bucky hadn’t underestimated the client. He never did. But he played the long game. Controlled. Measured. Always playing safe, like the company trained him to.

You weren’t like that.

And neither was Doyle.

So you took the risk. You stepped into the fire and let the whole room see you. And now—now—you’d caught the attention of both the client and the man you’d been watching since the first day you walked through this building.

Bucky.

Your boss.

The man who never raised his voice. Never lost control. Who never even looked at you unless he had to.

Until now.

You made your way back through the corridor, past glass offices and blurred silhouettes. The heels of your shoes clacked sharper now, like a drumbeat. Your fingers tingled.

Your desk was tucked near the back corner of the floor, a little too close to the copy room. Temporary. Disposable. Like most interns. But tonight, it felt like a base camp before a war.

You dropped your blazer over the chair and rolled up your sleeves. Pulled open your laptop. There was a faint scratch of your breath as you powered through your bookmarked tabs, client briefings, market trend forecasts, and Doyle’s business history. You’d already prepared most of it. You always did. You’d been waiting for a moment like this.

If you had to stay here until dawn, you would. If you had to miss the last train, fall asleep on your desk, run on nothing but vending machine coffee and spite, you would.

Because this wasn’t about the proposal anymore.

This was about him.

About the way his voice tightened when he said your name. The way his eyes sharpened—not with anger, but something buried deeper, something more dangerous—when you challenged him. You saw it. In his posture. In the way his jaw ticked. The way his control slipped for half a second.

He noticed you.

And God, you wanted more.

You opened a blank document and titled it Doyle Pitch: High-Risk Expansion Strategy. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

But not you.

You weren’t just doing this to impress the client. You were doing this for the man behind the glass office with the door you still weren’t allowed to knock on.

'Finally, Bucky, my handsome boss. You notice me.'

You wanted him to see what you could do.

You could’ve worked anywhere after graduation. Columbia, cum laude, top of your class. Offers lined up like dominoes.

But no. You wanted this firm. His floor. And the only opening?

Internship.

Damn Bucky. The things you’d do for him.

You sighed and clicked open a blank document. Time to make a billion-dollar proposal. Or die trying.

You wanted to make him lose that control he guarded like armor.

So you typed. Faster. Sharper. Every word is a message. Every strategy is a challenge. And outside the glass, the lights of the city bled against the night like fire on water.

To get his attention, you won’t play safe.

***************

His headache was a slow throb behind the eyes. Too much noise in that boardroom. Too much heat in your voice.

Bucky sat alone in his office, the city a quiet smear of lights behind him. He reached for the aspirin tucked inside the drawer beside a stack of contracts and unopened HR memos. He rarely needed them. Today was an exception.

The folder on his desk was your intern profile.

He flipped it open. Your credentials were solid. Too solid for someone just getting coffee. Dean’s List. Research assistant. Fluent in Mandarin and sarcasm, apparently, if he factored in how you looked at him.

Then his eyes landed on the last line: Alma mater: Columbia University.

His brows furrowed.

Same as him.

He hadn’t made the connection earlier. He stared at the name longer than he needed to, his jaw tightening.

That’s why you went easy on him? Why you smiled like you knew something about him no one else did?

He leaned back in the chair and reached for his phone.

“Steve Rogers,” the voice answered after the first ring, still clear, still too chipper for a tenured professor working at night.

“Steve. It’s Bucky.”

“Bucky. You’re alive. I thought you’d finally been consumed by one of your three-piece suits.”

“Not tonight,” Bucky said dryly. “I’m calling about an intern.”

There was a pause on the line.

“I didn’t think you talked to your interns.”

“I don’t,” Bucky muttered. “But this one… She cut me off in front of a client.” He gave Steve your name. 

Steve laughed. Full-hearted. “She have sharp eyes, little smile? Smarter than everyone in the room and knows it?”

Bucky froze. “Yeah.”

“Of course I know her. She’s a menace. I’m glad she graduated. Finally, some peace.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Bucky blinked, shook his head. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t sit still. She doesn’t wait her turn. Every class was a war zone. She’d poke holes in my syllabus for sport. Refused to accept anything just because I said so.” Steve exhaled, then softened. “But she’s brilliant. Relentless. If she’s in your office, watch her. She’ll either burn the building down or save it.”

Bucky rubbed his temple. “Both seem likely.”

“Yeah, well. I always said she reminded me of someone.”

“Don’t start,” Bucky said.

“I’m just saying,” Steve chuckled, “if she makes you nervous, it’s probably because she reminds you of the version of yourself before you became allergic to feelings.”

Bucky hung up before Steve could say anything else. He stared at the call log for a second too long, then set the phone down carefully. Deliberately.

He didn’t like the mess of it. The unpredictability. The way you hadn’t even looked scared when you interrupted him.

No intern had ever challenged him like that.

No intern had ever made him feel like they were watching him before he could watch them.

He turned toward the glass wall of his office.

You were still at your desk.

Everyone else had gone home. But not you.

You had your legs tucked under you like you forgot this was a billion-dollar firm. Head bowed over your screen, hair falling over your cheek. Fingers moved fast. Eyes sharper than ever. Focused. So focused it almost unnerved him.

He watched the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking. The way you moved without hesitation. Like you belonged here more than anyone.

His headache hadn’t left. But now it had changed. It throbbed differently. Lower. Deeper. Like something waking.

He knew what this was.

It was the beginning of trouble.

And he couldn’t look away.

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Warnings: angry sex, rough kissing, possessive Bucky, arguing/fighting, wall sex, thigh-grabbing, needy desperation, pride getting wrecked, language, a little softness at the end.

----------

The stairs creaked under your boots, each step sharp, each word sharper.

“You don’t get to decide that for me, Bucky,” you snapped, your voice cutting through the dimly lit hallway. Your hand trailed the railing, knuckles white, clinging to some semblance of control as your pulse pounded.

He followed close behind, his jaw set, his breaths ragged with frustration. “You don’t listen—”

“Because you don’t talk!” you shot back, turning halfway up the flight to glare at him. His eyes burned, storm-dark, and you knew this wasn’t going to end at the top of the stairs.

“You think you know better?” he challenged, climbing another step.

“I think you’re so used to shutting down that you’d rather bury me in silence than admit you’re scared!”

The words hit harder than you intended. His metal hand twitched at his side, fingers curling and uncurling, like the only thing keeping him from unraveling was that grip. You turned away, continuing upward, your shoulders shaking with anger you didn’t want him to see.

But he didn’t let you get away.

Bucky’s hand shot out, warm flesh wrapping tight around your wrist. He yanked you back mid-sentence, spinning you until your spine collided with the wall. The old plaster rattled. Your breath caught.

“Enough,” he growled, low and dangerous, forehead pressing to yours with the weight of a man who had reached his breaking point. His chest rose and fell against you, heat radiating from his body like a storm pressing close.

You opened your mouth, ready to keep fighting, because that’s what you did—you never let him win this easily. But then his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was nothing sweet. It was furious, hungry, like every word you’d thrown at each other had condensed into this single, desperate collision. His teeth scraped your bottom lip, his hand tightening on your wrist as if daring you to pull away.

You didn’t.

The railing dug into your palm as you clutched it for balance, knees weakening under the sheer force of him. His other hand slid beneath the hem of your dress, rough fingertips searing your skin, dragging upward until he gripped your thigh and hitched your leg around his waist.

“Bucky—” you gasped into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound with another kiss, deeper, harsher.

He didn’t give you space to think. Didn’t give you room to retreat into reason. His body pinned you to the wall, his weight anchoring you there, his breath hot and ragged against your cheek.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered against your lips, his voice breaking on the edge of something dangerous and tender all at once.

Your head fell back against the wall, a sharp laugh caught between a moan. “You think you’re any better?”

The words only spurred him on. His hips pressed forward, and then—one strong, punishing thrust.

The fight shattered on your tongue. Your nails scraped down his back, clutching at fabric and leather, desperate for purchase as pleasure ripped through the anger still buzzing in your veins. Every gasp between you was laced with pride and defiance crumbling into something rawer.

The stairs groaned with the rhythm of his movements, each thrust harder, deeper, as if he could bury every unspoken fear inside of you. Your dress rode higher, your leg trembling where it clung to him, but he held you steady, his grip bruising and grounding all at once.

You tried to hold onto the argument, to remind yourself why you were angry—but all that came out were broken gasps of his name, lips parted against his ear as your body betrayed you.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice hoarse, thrusts quickening. “Say you need me.”

You shook your head, defiant even now. But the way you clutched him tighter, nails digging crescents into his shoulders, gave you away.

“Doll,” he rasped, forehead pressing hard to yours, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality. “Say it.”

Your pride buckled first.

“I—need you,” you breathed, the words a surrender and a claim all at once.

His eyes closed, relief and devastation flickering across his face, and then he kissed you again, softer now, but no less desperate. The kiss deepened as your body arched against his, the heat coiling low in your belly until it broke, shattering through you with a cry muffled against his mouth.

Bucky followed you down, his own release tearing from him in a groan that shook against your chest. He held you through it, his hand gripping your thigh so tightly you knew you’d carry the mark come morning.

The world steadied in the aftermath. Only your harsh breaths filled the narrow staircase, tangled with the faint creak of settling wood.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against your temple, his body still pressed firmly to yours, as if letting go meant undoing everything you’d just salvaged from the wreckage of your argument.

Finally, you exhaled, a shaky laugh spilling free. “Well. That’s one way to end a fight.”

Bucky’s lips brushed the corner of your mouth, his voice gravel soft. “Not done fighting for you, doll. Never will be.”

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the faint stubble there, your anger dissolved into something warmer, fragile. “Guess I can live with that.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, like an apology and a promise wrapped in one.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, the wall still cool against your back, but none of it mattered anymore. The fight was over—not because someone had won, but because you’d both chosen to lose, together.