miss possessive - congressman bucky barnes
okay not my best work, i swear i have like nine drafts i've come up with in a week, none of them good enough to post.
this is inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae even though i completely lost sight of the song really quickly
you really had no right to be so jealous.
you watched him from across the floor, sipping on your flute of champagne. you'd grabbed it off of one of those waiters' trays as they were walking about the room.
it tasted like shit. you didn't like the taste of wine, and it wasn't even enough to get you drunk.
you knew this kind of event was difficult for him to sit through, but hey, he made his choice going into politics.
you watched as he made his rounds, speaking to various donors and attempting to charm them. you watched as all their wives fawned over your-
you watched as all their wives fawned over him, bringing him in for a hug instead of a handshake. of course they were interested; he was the best looking man here. yes, he was the oldest man in the room, but appeared to be the youngest and was, regardless, easily the most attractive. and all the thirty-some wives of the cranky old rich white men wanted him.
it pissed you off. not that you had the right to be pissed, but. oh well. you're just a girl.
after two flutes of champagne, you watch as one of the donors receives a phone call, leaving his wife with Bucky. ever the gentleman, he would never leave a woman all by herself in a room full of sharks who might try to snatch her up.
Bucky was very much a different man than he was in the forties, of course. doesn't mean he lost the ability to attract every woman in the room.
you can't stand idly by as she puts his hands all over him, and he can't take his eyes off of her. no, of course he would never go for a married woman. what he did know, though, was that if he pissed her off, her husband wouldn't donate to his campaign.
you roll your eyes and decide it's time for some hard liquor.
you hide in the corner of the room, drinking your much stronger beverage as fast as possible. no, getting drunk at a professional event isn't the best idea, but what do you care. you're not the star of the show.
he's the brilliant ex-POW who's turned his entire life around in a whole new century. he's the gorgeous soldier who not only survived, but is also electing to do something meaningful with his life.
he's the star of every thought you have of your future, but that can't possibly come to surface now. it's not the time or place.
watching him entertain this woman truly boils your blood, but at least you have some actual alcohol in your system now. you no longer feel the need to justify why her hands on his pristine suit makes you want to grab her by the diamonds around her neck and yank her off of him. you can justify your desire to grab him by the tie to pull him away from her and yell at him for not focusing on what's important.
you bite your tongue. you knew it was all a ploy.
doesn't mean you had to like it.
while you stand at the bar waiting for your second beverage of the evening, a man comes up next to you, and the bartender takes his drink order.
you give him a small, awkward smile as you briefly make eye contact. you're kind of shocked: he's definitely the only man in this room who appears to be younger than 60, Bucky excluded.
you almost startle when he speaks up, introducing himself. Michael, he says his name is.
you turn to actually face him this time. roughly 40, plenty taller than you, and brown hair sprinkled with some greys in there. your perfect type. you quietly tell yourself you're done drinking–no way you're gonna fuck this up. if you weren't so mad about Bucky's new admirer, you might be a tad less inclined to speak to him, but…
you step closer as you give him a real smile and introduce yourself.
"so, correct me if I'm wrong, but something tells me you're here alone tonight," he begins, indicating to your left hand. no ring.
"you would be correct," you tell him. "I could say the same about you."
he smiles back at you. it's so beautiful you forget all about your boss and the woman he's now got on his arm as he continues to walk around–
well. you almost forget. good enough.
"you would also be correct."
you explain why you're here, you work for one of the candidates. although, you don't tell him who, exactly. he explains why he's here, one of the patrons. you have to pry the information out of him, but you appreciate it: he's trying to talk to you without flashing his money in your face. it's noble, you think.
you eventually learn he's interested in actually getting to know the candidates' campaigns, not just what they think they can offer him in return for his money.
"you know, I would be happy to learn more about your boss' campaign. from one of the people who probably understands it best," he tells you. you're slightly taken aback for a moment, not aware this was a business interaction. you never even told him who your boss was, so it was confusing, to say the least.
you felt stupid for thinking he was actually interested, for thinking that he was flirting with you.
"oh, of course-" you begin to tell him, but he interjects, "after I take you out, perhaps?"
your smile perks back up subconsciously. so you didn't have it wrong.
"I would love that," you tell him, carefully taking the lapels of his jacket into your hands. you feel his hands come to your waist, and it's like a jolt of energy runs up your spine.
you look closer and almost flip your shit as you see his eyes up close. they're Bucky's eyes. he's not Bucky, sadly, but.
"maybe dinner can happen... another time?" you offer, hoping he gets the hint. you realize you probably look like a whore throwing yourself at him like this.
he chuckles. "I've got a room upstairs, if you'd like to come have drinks instead of dinner."
hell yes. you're gonna score tonight, even if it's not with the man you dream about with your hands between your legs every night-
"I would," you say, and bite your tongue. "I just... have to stick around until this thing is over. yeah?"
he nods and steps back. "I suppose I should also do what I came here for," he chuckles. "I'll come find you later?"
you smile and you feel your face go pink. "sounds good."
you can't help the fact that your gaze reverts immediately back to your boss the second the man walks off. Bucky hasn't spared you a single glance all evening, but the second you look back at him this time, you're suddenly staring into his beautiful eyes.
he holds eye contact with you for what feels like an eternity. his expression is muted, no real emotion showing. maybe... curiosity?
of course he's not going to look mad, or upset, or jealous. you have to stop thinking he'd ever look at you with anything other than pure professionalism.
because he's everything. and you're just a kid, lost in the world, desperately in love with your boss, and everything is fucking falling apart around you.
at least you've got a rich, hot, older man ready to fuck you tonight.
you kept to your word to yourself and didn't drink for the rest of the night, although you continued hovering at the bar for the semblance of safety it provided.
you continued staring at Bucky for the next two hours. the clingy woman's husband had, in fact, returned and took her away from Bucky. clearly, she was pissed, but tried to hide it. you had to bite back a smirk.
he didn't look back at you once for the rest of the evening.
eventually, the crowd dies down. you realize that now, you have to explain to your boss that you won't be riding back to the office with him, effectively telling him your exact plans for the rest of the night. embarrassing!
you're almost ready to bite the bullet and bid Bucky a good night, scanning the room for him, when you hear a voice from behind you.
"we still on for drinks?"
you plaster a smile on your face as you turn around to the man standing behind you.
"absolutely," you say, taking his hands. "lead the way."
you begin to follow the man, telling yourself to try and remember to shoot your boss a text to 'not worry about you' before getting your clothes torn off by this man who's currently whisking you away.
you get into the elevator with him, what's his name, you think? oh, Michael, and yank him in hard, crashing your mouths together, putting all of your energy into how badly you need this.
you're startled by the sound of a clanging of metal, ripping your mouth away from the man's and turning to face the noise.
well, apparently, you were too eager and stupid enough to not wait for the elevator doors to entirely shut, because you see now that the noise was a result of Bucky's vibranium arm grabbing the elevator door. he pushes it open and steps inside, eyes piercing daggers through you the whole time.
you stand there, appalled. the man gently pulls away from you, reaching out a hand to attempt to shake Bucky's hand.
"Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure," he begins. "my apologies for this... less than ideal meeting."
Bucky doesn't even look at the man, eyeing you up and down, taking in your smudged lipstick and the way your dress is slightly out of place.
the man attempts once more to interject. "Mr. Barnes, please, don't worry about her. why don't us men go back downstairs and have a real discussion? I'd love to hear more about your campaign."
wait. why do his words sound like they're throwing you under the bus, almost?
Bucky notices it, too, you realize. he tilts his head in the man's direction before actually averting his gaze to look at him.
"and leave the lady all by herself?" he asks.
"don't worry about that. she's... inconsequential. if you and I can just go back downstairs and–"
"what did you just say?" Bucky asks. you swear he doesn't look like your boss anymore, but someone... else.
the man is taken aback by Bucky's demeanor. his mouth gapes like an idiot.
"you do know this is my assistant, right?" Bucky asks him. the man's face goes pale as the pieces slot together in his head.
"Mr. Barnes, my apologies, truly," he says.
you just stand there feeling more stupid than ever. inconsequential? wow, okay. you almost don't even care that he's dismissing your entire existence, but you can't stand the fact that he's doing it in front of Bucky. you care more about what Bucky thinks of you than literally anyone else, and now? now he's going to see you as a fucking slut who isn't even good enough for a man to commit to for one night.
"shouldn't you be apologizing to her?" Bucky grits.
the elevator doors open to the man's floor, and he mumbles a sorry under his breath as he runs out.
great. not only do you look pathetic in front of your boss, but you're not getting fucked tonight, either. just great.
the doors shut behind Bucky, who has now returned his gaze to you. you wonder if he's going to press the button to go back to the lobby.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Barnes," you say, swallowing your embarrassment as you stand up straight and adjust your dress.
"are you okay?" he asks, and he looks genuinely concerned.
you know he cares about you, you're his assistant, after all. but that's it.
"fine," you assure him, and begin to reach behind him to press the button to take you back down to the lobby.
he gently grabs your wrist before you can.
you look at him, confused. you know your face says it all.
"can I press the button, Mr. Barnes?"
he still hasn't let go of your wrist. you feel stupid for enjoying the feel of his metal hand against your skin, for getting to feel a part of him that's real.
"you know, you clearly picked out the worst of the men here tonight," he observes.
you roll your eyes and pull your wrist away from him before you do something stupid.
"are you kidding? this place was riddled with capitalist billionaires and politicians. like you," you say, smirking.
you can't help yourself, though. can't let it go unsaid.
"clearly you had some interested parties of your own tonight."
he rolls his eyes and finally turns away from you, pressing the button for the lobby. you let out a quiet sigh of relief. being in this elevator any longer, with him? that would just about kill you.
"you noticed that, huh?" he asks.
"who didn't?" you mumble. but of course, he's not just a politician, he's an enhanced, so he hears it.
"look, I knew she was married, I was never going to-" he begins to explain, but you cut him off.
"oh, I don't care what she does in her own fucked-up marriage."
oh my god. what did you just say? did you just admit to the fact that the only reason you did care was because she was fawning over Bucky?
the elevator doors open, and you rush out.
you can hear the smirk on his face as he trails after you.
"so, you were really going to sleep with that guy, huh?" he teases.
you stop in your tracks. most everyone has left by now, leaving only you and Bucky in the room aside from the clean-up crew. you turn back to face him.
he nods and calls for the car to come around.
twenty minutes, you remind yourself.
in twenty minutes, you'll have made it back to the office, and you can go get in your own car and take yourself back to your own place and you won't have to be sitting thigh to thigh with your boss in the back of a limo that would totally be hot to fuck in-
he clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him.
"what that guy said..." he begins. you roll your eyes in anger at the reminder. you didn't even care he said it, you just wish he hadn't said it in front of Bucky.
you wave your hand as though waving off the thought, and waving off Bucky's concern. but it doesn't quite work like that.
"you're not inconsequential."
he says it with such a conviction you feel it deep in your bones, in the very core of your being. he sounds so authentic that it almost hurts.
a million thoughts swirl in your head. you could say i know, you could get defensive, you could say thanks, Bucky...
a better one pops in your head.
"how did you know where I was? you didn't see me all evening."
the limo stops moving. the driver rolls down the divider to grumble something about traffic at this hour? before rolling it back up again.
great. now it's going to take even longer to get home to your vibrator.
Bucky sees the interruption as a way to drop the matter. you press it.
"god, would you stop calling me that?"
you see him turn away from you to look out the window, biting his lip and rubbing his forehead. you've now frustrated him, and he's mad at you. this is good. it's easier for you to deal with him being angry at you than him being nice to you.
you know he just wants you to call him Bucky, but you're a smartass.
"yeah, okay, sorry. Sergeant Barnes," you mumble, smirking to yourself.
he about flips his shit. why is he getting so worked up?
"seriously?" he asks, turning back to you. his eyes are blown back, in anger, probably. not lust, like you wish they were. because you're just a stupid kid, and he's just your boss with a lifetime of trauma. you could never understand him the way you wanted to.
"what?" you say, biting your lip as you smile, continuing to tease him.
you swear that for a second, he glances down to your lips.
in that embarrassing moment, you realize your lipstick is still smudged across your face from the moment in the elevator. your heart rate shoots up as you bury your head in your chest, bringing your hand to wipe away the mess of your face, before turning to face the opposite way from him.
you are, well and truly, stuck in traffic. some concert, or sports game, or whatever...
which means you're stuck, pressed up against your boss, in the back of this tiny limo right now, for only god knows how much longer.
you're pulling your phone out of your clutch when he says your name.
you want to lean into the feeling, how smooth it is. how crisp his voice is, how pretty it sounds saying your name, as though he's genuinely paying you any attention whatsoever.
"you're not inconsequential."
it flares your anger, all of it coming up from your gut and into your throat, as you respond.
"god, would you forget it already?" you snap.
shit, shit, shit. you fucked up. you just snapped at your boss, of all people. you try to backtrack, throw out a million comments of "sorry," but that's it, you're getting fired.
you finally look back at him, and he's actually looking at you. like, it feels like he's staring into your soul, seeing all the pieces of you that you're trying to keep hidden from him.
the car begins moving again.
he watches you, trying to figure you out, as always.
he can't think of a better word for it than the fact that you genuinely amuse him.
he sees the look in your eyes, the way you're desperately trying to cover up the shame you feel over what happened in the elevator. he's trying to be gentle about it, trying to assure you that what the man said was utter bullshit, but you keep shutting him down.
no. you're, like, 80-plus years younger than him (he rubs his temples every time he remembers his age) and employed by him. any interest on his part would be purely inappropriate, a gross misuse of his position of power.
and god, his fucking age, man. he shouldn't even be around anymore-
you look at him with those fucking doe eyes, going back and forth between anger, and shame, and something else he can't quite pinpoint.
this is probably the worst part of what happened. you're always so unapologetically yourself, but he can tell this man has gotten under your skin.
even if it's not his job to comfort you, he doesn't want you to feel like that. because who you are is perfect.
one minute, you're staring into his eyes, trying to read the look on his face.
the next, you're bracing yourself as the car spins out of control, feeling hit after hit of various cars all crashing into you sequentially.
you don't register it until after it's all over. the way he's wrapped himself around you as though to protect you. his flesh arm cradles your head to his chest and his vibranium hand wraps itself around the back of your neck.
you take a few deep breaths and begin to pull away from him, looking up to his face as you do. his eyes widen in shock as he looks at you. what? what is it?
"fuck, we gotta get you to a hospital."
part 2 out by friday 3/28/25!
