#also feat. bucky's awful therapist

[samwpmarleau]

fic: clippers

aka 1,500 words of me continuing to not accept bucky’s tfatws hair

Dr. Raynor had recommended it, though Bucky suspects she wasn’t the only person involved. These days, there’s a whole pack of people with say-so over his life, getting their jollies by hanging freedom over his head. She said it might help with people’s perception of him if he looked less like he did as an assassin. If he looked more like the young war hero who fought Nazis.

(Saving the universe counts for nothing, does it? he’d wanted to say but didn’t.)

It had irked him, the suggestion. Perhaps because it wasn’t really a suggestion. Raynor had thought he was resisting just to be contrary. He hadn’t had an issue with dressing like a twenty-first century civilian, after all, nor concealing his metal arm beneath jackets and gloves, so what’s the problem, James?

(That’s different, he’d wanted to say but didn’t. That’s so I don’t frighten anyone. So I don’t get stared at and invite questions people don’t want the answers to.)

All right, maybe part of him was just being contrary, because he’s already at his wits’ fucking end with how many conditions and surrendering of liberties this goddamn pardon has. But as he stands at the mirror, sharpened scissors in hand, it is not contrariness that makes him hesitate.

Nor is it the unfamiliarity of cutting his own hair, for he’s done that many times before, both before the war and since. He’s even got a picture to reference of some duck-lipped model showing off what Bucky can only describe as Generic Modern Man Haircut. He’d be Just Some Guy walking down the street with it, which is exactly what the government wants.

So, he does it both because he must and because any reason he can think of to not do it sounds pathetic, and although it’s not the fresh sort of cut he’d get from a proper barber, it’s serviceable. A few strategic passes of gel to disguise any unevenness and he’d be good to go.

(He’d tried that once, in Romania, having a professional touch up the ends, had even managed to tamp down his discomfort through the shampooing and smalltalk. The minute the man brandished the scissors and approached Bucky’s head with them, however, it was all he could do to not take those scissors and stab the man in the carotid out of pure reflex. He’d made it to the alleyway outside before expelling the street mici he’d had only an hour earlier, overcome by how easy the murder would have been. How natural. How he could have eliminated the entire shop of innocents before anyone knew what hit them. Erase the security tape, if there was one, and slip back into the ghost he was for seventy years. He’d returned in the dead of night to leave an envelope with a note of apology and a wad of lei and, needless to say, from then on the only blades that touched his hair were his own.)

He doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror, once all is said and done. Which is a bit ludicrous; it’s a haircut, not plastic surgery, and for most of his conscious life he’d had short hair. This shouldn’t be any different. Yet, still he stands there in the bathroom with scissors in his hand and a sink full of brunette strands, for far longer than is reasonable.

He sucks it up, eventually, adjusts to the new length — or lack thereof. In fairness, some of it is easier. Showers are shorter, his hair tie budget is nonexistent, the drain clogs with less frequency, and he doesn’t look quite so much like a drowned rat when it rains.

Dr. Raynor is pleased when he shows up. She says it suits him, that it makes him look normal, that folks will have a harder time recognizing him as the Winter Soldier.

(They already don’t recognize me, he wants to say but doesn’t. I could be standing in front of a newscast about myself and no one would notice. I spent the better part of a century in the shadows — you think I don’t know how to hide?)

“James,” she says in that self-righteous way she does so well, “this is progress.”

She must be right, for she’s got that fancy, framed degree up on her wall that says she’s right, and there’s the goddamn pardon thing that means he cannot step one foot over the line no matter how ridiculous that line is. He utters a thank-you to her, white-knuckles his way through the session, and continues trying to cobble together a life.

Sam brings it up one day, after Walker, the Flag Smashers, and Bucky’s tentative integration into the Wilsons’ orbit. “Meant to say, looks good, man.”

It’s an innocuous statement, really. Well, it should be. Sam regards him a little too long, a little too probingly, for Bucky to believe that it is, in fact, innocuous. Sam’s gauging his reaction is what he’s doing, so Bucky denies a reaction that permits any gauging at all. The slight frown that appears between Sam’s brows tells him he succeeded.

Sam keeps up the ruse nonetheless, following it up with a playful insult as to Bucky’s cutting skills. He texts him the address of someone who is, allegedly, the best barber in Louisiana, tells him he made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. Bucky goes. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do these days.

He’s the only white guy in the place, which elicits both stares from the other patrons and a hearty laugh from the barber resetting his station. “Sergeant Barnes?”

“How’d you guess?” Bucky deadpans, earning himself another laugh.

He’s gotten better at controlling his fears, his impulses, so the barber’s array of scissors and razors does not send him straight into the alleyway like it did years ago. The soul food from around the corner stays firmly in his stomach. The barber himself — Marcus — is jovial, considerate, and does his best to counter the uneasiness Bucky knows must be rolling off him in waves. Some good-natured shit-talking to cap things off.

Despite it all, when Marcus asks, “Just maintenance, sarge? Or you lookin’ for something new?” Bucky pauses.

And pauses some more, prompting Marcus to ask again, “Mr. Barnes?”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, realizing he’s a few more seconds of silence away from making Marcus genuinely concerned. “I just, uh …”

“I got a few suggestions, if you need,” Marcus offers. “Bit of fade on the sides, or —”

“No,” Bucky blurts out.

Marcus holds his hands up. “All right, no fade then.”

“That’s not — I didn’t mean —” Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose, exhales through his mouth. “I’m not trying to be rude, it’s …”

Bucky looks in the mirror again. Takes in the same face he’s seen for the past seven months, ever since Dr. Raynor gave him the suggestion-that-wasn’t-a-suggestion. He trusts in Marcus’s talents, that even Sam would find it worthy of a compliment.

(He can’t say he’d turn down a compliment from Sarah either, flirting ban be damned. It’d be Sam’s own fault, anyway.)

“I’m growing it out,” Bucky declares, as much to himself as to Marcus.

“Okay, cool. I can see it.” Then Marcus adds, almost pleads, “I gotta at least clean it up. No disrespect, but did you use a hacksaw?”

Bucky lets his mind drift as Marcus’s twang launches into another story. Half an hour later, he comes away with a list of must-watches and must-eats, plus a full pamphlet on how to not fuck up Marcus’s handiwork. After a generous tip and firm handshake, Bucky emerges from the shop feeling … not strange, exactly, but something.

The unspoken change, once it’s noticed in the months afterwards, garners him a variety of responses from the Wilson clan. When Bucky’s birthday rolls around, Sam and the giggling boys go in on a smorgasbord of scrunchies and clips that Bucky’s fairly certain were designed for a six-year-old girl. More seriously, a tin of pomade that Bucky knows is damn expensive.

For Sarah’s part, several hours later, the pain-pleasure of her knotting her fingers in his hair as she gasps out his name like a prayer is, he thinks, a resounding endorsement.

(Dr. Raynor would — possibly literally — smack him in the face with disappointment if she saw. Walker’d taken care of that, though, of her say-so having any bearing on his choices. Not that Bucky plans on sending the man a thank-you note or anything.)

As it nears his shoulders, Bucky supposes it does make him resemble the Winter Soldier. More than the bright-eyed draftee who gave his life for god and country, anyway, or the subject of the post-Snap government’s rebranding campaign.

Except, in his reflection he also sees the fugitive who’d been coaxed by his elderly neighbor into Sunday dinners of enough sarmale and mămăligă and papanași to give even his metabolism a run for its money. The man who’d been gifted new life, goats, and an affectionate nickname by Wakandans who never once looked at him with fear. The reluctant soldier who stood side-by-side with a talking raccoon and Asgardian god against an alien onslaught.

And maybe it’s silly to put so much stock in something as simple as hair. Maybe Bucky’s value system is in worse shape than his ability to tell fact from fiction when he wakes from a dream (a memory?).

But when he stares into the mirror with the Louisiana heat sticking hair and clothes alike to his skin, a house full of scampering feet, bickering, and hot breakfast just outside the door, it is not the Winter Soldier or James Barnes The Upstanding Member of Society that he sees. He sees himself. Just himself.

“You good, Buck?” Sarah asks when he comes downstairs, worry in her eyes. “You were in there awhile.”

“Yeah,” he wants to say — and does, because he can, because it’s the truth. A smile creeps onto his face. “I’m good.”

#idk man i saw some tweets about how bucky is seemingly going back to the long hair for thunderbolts and went oh??? #anyway. there's a bit of #bucky x sarah #because i couldn't help myself but most of this is gen if that matters #also feat. bucky's awful therapist #bucky barnes #christina raynor #sam wilson #sarah wilson #marvel fic #my fic

[rivers-rambles21]

The one with the road trip

Part 15 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Warnings | 18+ only  - no smut but mentions of it

Chapter 15 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1 | Masterlist

Apologies for any mistakes, this has been written on my phone and its a bit difficult to edit. Once I’m back with a working laptop I’ll give it a once over :)

Bucky had intended on renting a bike so you could ride down to Louisiana but with Sam’s suit it would’ve been an impossible feat. 

He settled for hiring an SUV and added you both to the insurance so you could take it in turns driving on the long trip down south. 

“Been together one day and we’re already on our first trip” You teased as you rested your feet on the dash, taking in the scenery as Bucky drove. His metal hand gripped the steering wheel as he peaked a glance over to your bare legs, resisting the urge to pull over. 

“You’re the one having a mid life crisis doll not me” You feigned offense and swatted the soldier beside you, pleased to get a hit in as he tried to dodge your attack. His eyes remained on the road as he grasped your hand in his. “Less of that thank you” He laughed, bringing your hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on the back before giving it back to rest on your thigh, his hand not leaving yours. 

“Looking forward to seeing Sam again?” He didn’t respond but his face said it all. “You’re so dramatic” You chuckled as you leant down to root around in your bag for the road trip snacks. Retrieving a bag of cashews, you offered it to Bucky who gladly took a handful. 

“I just know he’s going to ask a billion questions about stuff we’ve not even discussed yet, that we’re probably not even ready to talk about. He didn’t stop asking about you y’know? Y/n this, Y/n that…he kept threatening to ask you out.” 

“Oh he did” 

The car swerved slightly as Bucky's grip on the wheel tightened, his concentration lapsing for a split second. 

“He did what?” He asked, tearing his eyes from the road to glance over at you. 

“It was just a bit of harmless flirting-” You began before being cut off. 

“We flirted.” Bucky stated, his jaw clenching. 

“We also did a lot of things just friends don’t do. Relax Sarge, he only asked to get a reaction out of me.” 

Bucky grunted in response, knowing his reaction was a tad over the top but he couldn’t help it. You were his. 

“We could always mess with him in return.” You pondered as you took a swig of your drink. “Maybe hold off on telling him about us, it’s only meant to be a flying visit anyway isn’t it? So we wouldn’t have to pretend for long… play him at his own game?” 

Bucky smirked in response, completely on board with your little plan.

  The next few hours passed with the typical car games and a quick power nap as Bucky continued driving. 

“How long until you start at Starks?” 

“A month thank god, the GRC wanted me gone pretty quickly, I didn't have to work my notice which was a blessing really. I’ll schedule a day to go and clear out my desk and say my goodbyes. Will you still get your pension if we live out of the country?” 

“I’m not sure to be honest, I can pick up work wherever we are though, it wouldn’t be the first time. I’m good with my hands” 

“You’re telling me” You muttered under your breath. Bucky heard you loud and clear and let out a laugh as he recalled how you spent most of last night. “Are we crazy? Travelling with no plan, barely any money and only just starting out as a couple?” 

“Oh absolutely”

Eventually Bucky took a break from driving after you stopped for food in a roadside diner. It had been a while since you’d driven but you wanted to give Bucky the chance to get some sleep, something you knew he still struggled with. 

Despite telling him to try and get some sleep on the back seats, he remained upfront with you, doing his best to battle the drowsiness that had overcome him. He’d not gotten much rest the past few weeks, from battling the Flag Smashers in Europe, to hunting down Zemo and then back to New York. In truth he was worried he’d have a nightmare and wasn’t sure on how he’d react but upon your insistence, he tried to get some shut eye. After an hour or so he dropped off, the sound of you humming along to a song on the radio sending him off into a dreamless sleep. 

Bucky couldn’t quite believe it, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept without being haunted by memories of the Winter Soldier. Granted, he only got four hours of sleep , but it was the best he’d felt in a long time.

When it came to your turn to get some shut eye Bucky insisted on stopping over in a hotel for the night. You’d tried to convince him a motel would suffice after you lost the battle of you sleeping in the car but he was victorious. 

To be frank, after spending so many hours in the car, you were grateful to be sleeping in a bed with your super soldier by your side. 

As you slept, Bucky took the time to fire off a few emails advising he’d be ending his lease. Having slept earlier, he felt energised and was content in browsing the internet as you slept tucked into his arm. 

He did his best not to wake you as he opened a selfie from Shuri of her with Ayo and Nomble, a chuckle escaping his lips as Shuri and Nomble looked to be thoroughly enjoying themselves on a boat trip in New York whilst Ayo sulked in the background. 

He also replied to an email from his therapist's office, letting them know he’d be absent from his next session but planned on returning the following week.

Bucky was tempted to let Sam know he was coming but thought it best to surprise him.

The next day was much of the same, both of you switching the drive and stopping off at diners for food. Due to the lack of respect Bucky had for the speed limit, you were making good time and would be in Delacroix the following morning. 

“-it was like I didn’t exist. Honestly it was the most humbling experience of my life” 

“Sergeant Barnes in his uniform… now that is something I’ve got to see.” 

“Maybe one day”  

Your eyebrow perked at the thought. “Good god man” You groaned dramatically and sank further into your seat, giggling as you caught sight of the blush covering his cheeks. “For what it’s worth, lack of nutrients from the rationing clearly messed with her eyesight.” You were genuinely baffled how Peggy didn’t swoon for the man next to you.

“Where were you in the 40’s when I needed you huh?” 

“I doubt I’d have been your type” 

“Intelligent, strong woman with a great sense of humor? And thats not even mentioning your ass.. Oh no, definitely not my type” He replied sarcastically. 

“Ha ha fine, I’ll take your word for it.” 

“I’d have taken you dancing, maybe gone to a show or even the carnival. Anything you wanted.” He took your hand in his again and kissed the back of it as he pondered just how he’d of won you over back then. He usually didn't like to dwell on life before the war, the pain of losing his family and the future he lost was too much but having you in his life somehow made the memories hurt less. Having you with him now along with the future he could picture with you helped him make peace with his past life and accept that it wasn’t something he could ever go back to. 

When Steve was returning the stones, he did wonder whether he should go back with him but the realisation that there wasn’t anything waiting for him apart from a time that he didn't belong to made his decision to remain in the present resolute. And by god was he thankful he stayed.

On your way to your final hotel before arriving at Sams, you’d taken over the driving and had kept Bucky entertained with your off key singing and terrible car games. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” As it turns out, Bucky was a sore loser. 

“What? It counts!!” 

“You cannot see bacteria Y/N” 

“Yes I can! It’s right...right… right there!” You pointed to a random bit of the car interior and held back a laugh at a clearly unamused Bucky.

“You’re so full of shit” 

“How do you know I can’t see it huh? Guess it’s my turn again, I spy with my little -” 

“No” He cut off as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Absolutely not. I’m going to choose a game.” 

You let out a little smile and continued focusing on the road until the super soldier landed on something he liked. 

“Okay okay, would you rather sounds fun. Doll, would you rather have the superpower of being invisible or ability to fly.” 

“Aw come on Buck these are tame! If I have to answer, without a doubt invisibility.” 

“Not dirty enough for you sweetheart?” A tingle rang down your spine at your new nickname. “I’d have to agree, invisibility easily.” 

“Buck you’re an actual superhero, you’ve already got powers, leave some for us mere mortals!” 

“... you think I’m a superhero?” 

“....you’re literally an Avenger.” You reached across towards the man beside you, keeping your eyes on the road as you pressed your hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at your sarcasm and swatted your hand away from his head. “Fine you made your point.” 

You shook your head as you returned your hand to the steering wheel, tapping away to the song on the radio. 

“The rest of these questions are boring” He muttered as he furiously scrolled through his cell. 

“C’mon, go R rated” 

“It’s no fun when I already know the answers to these!” 

“Pfft doubtful, come on, hit me” 

“Spit or swallow, you’re a swallower doll.See?” 

“Okay okay! You’re right, I give in. How about we just ask each other some questions?” 

“But you already know everything,” He remarked, throwing a few cashews into his mouth. 

“When did you first see me as someone other than a friend?” You’d thrown him off guard with that question, his hand stuck in mid air as he went to throw more snacks into his mouth. 

“Wouldn't you rather know my most embarrassing sexual encounters?” He offered but was met with silence. “Fine……. I’ve never seen you as just a friend. Yes we were friends before we became more and honestly Y/n if it never progressed further than just friendship I would’ve been fine with it, more than fine with it y’know? Meeting you was the best fucking thing-” “Buck, it’s okay” Your hand reached out towards him and squeezed his thigh as you kept your eyes on the road. 

“There’s more… before we officially met in the lobby when that creep wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, I’d seen you around. I was coming back from lunch with Yori and he was complaining about having gone for burgers instead of our usual and there you were, headphones in completely oblivious to the world and searching for your keys in your purse as usual. You were just so carefree - everything I wanted to be. And then a couple of days later we met and I was a goner.”

You bit your lip as you fought back a smile, overwhelmed by his honesty. It was a welcome feeling, knowing you weren’t the only one that felt an attraction almost immediately. 

“I’d seen you around too, before we officially met I mean. It’s kind of hard to miss you” You chuckled as you snuck a glimpse over at him and found him doing his usual glare. “It was pretty early on for me as well, do you remember when we went for coffee?” 

“And you ordered us two cups of sugar? Yeah I remember” 

“Mocha Latte’s aren’t bad for you… they just give you a bit of a buzz” 

“Especially if you order extra cream…” 

“Anyway! I’ve always been attracted to you, I’m not blind y’know but after seeing this dark looming strong man consume a drink like that, and have some residue cream left on his lower lip mind you, I just knew that it was more than just a crush. There’s something oddly charming and attractive about seeing someone so intimidating be so soft. It’s like I’m the only one who gets to see that side of you and I love it” 

Bucky didn't quite know what to say, he was slightly flustered at the compliments you were throwing at him and by the knowledge that you’d been interested far earlier than he had ever dreamed of. 

“We’re idiots aren’t we? For not realising sooner.” 

“Oh without a doubt”

Tag list:

@iamtheonewhocares @indigo123789 @xpurpleglitter

If you want to be added drop me a message

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #tfatws #ao3 #fic #bucky fic #bucky fluff

[dreadnought-dear-captain]

You Asked, I Told + Chapter 33 Update

Hello everyone! First off, I am so, so, SO sorry for taking so long to update. I am about to put the finishing touches on Chapter 33, and if all goes according to plan, I should have it for you between March 7th-9th - just in time for Captain Marvel! Meow. This chapter is clocking in at OVER 30,000 WORDS, so although it has taken me an abysmally long time to complete it, I hope the length will make it somewhat worthwhile. 

And now for your Asks! These contain a spoiler for chapter 15 and some milder spoilers for some of the later chapters (30-32-ish). 

I understand this completely. I have problems with a lot of military fics because of their verisimilitude (or lack thereof). I will say in general that I have had a good deal of affiliation with military-related environments and individuals in my life and that I have done my research to the best of my abilities. Part of why I take so long to update is the immense amount of research I do. That said, as I mentioned at the beginning of the fic, sometimes I may stretch or alter the details (a platoon/fire team/company is not as small as I portray it, same with convoy sizes etc.) in order to make it easier for me to write. And I will just plain screw stuff up because I’m a person. But over all, the most important thing for me is to capture the themes of deployment, war, recovery, readjustment (or not), trauma, etc. and convey these things with realism. But I do try to get a lot of the details right, too. 

I hope a lot of this stuff rings true to you in the fic. I invite you and other uniformed personnel and veterans to DM me and let me know how I can make the details ring truer. I have shaped the work in other ways based on feedback and am willing to do it further, provided I don’t have a good reason for making things the way they are now. 

Yeah, I’m sorry I had to turn off anons because of the trolls. I’m glad you enjoyed the emotional catharsis for Steve here. He really needed to actually feel his emotions rather than turning everything into pain and puke. (BTW, meta note, I write a lot of vomit for some reason. I know it’s a large part of being a heavy drinker, because you just can’t drink that much and not puke a lot, and I wanted Steve to be a puker because I wanted to showcase a huge somatic reaction, but yeesh, what is UP with the all the puke? I hate vomit IRL, so much.)

And I am the worst queer in the world, as I was just told by a virtual stranger yesterday, because I have NOT seen A Star is Born yet. But I am going to watch it this week! I’m glad that it rang true with this depiction of addiction. Relapse is messy, and it happens on anniversaries - Oh, the anniversary relapse is a BIG thing in recovery. I’m excited to see the parallels now. Thank you for the rec!

I am actually TERRIBLE at recommending fic in the sense that I barely read any at all :(    I’m ruined for most fics these days because if it’s not profoundly, painfully realistic, I have trouble buying into it. I hate that I’m so picky now. I wish I had a bunch of great recs I’m holding out on, but if you’ve seen my bookmarks, you’ve seen many of the ones that stick out most for me. A lot of them are because I love the writing itself, which helps me get my creative wheels turning when I need to craft good prose. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.

But seriously, @praximeter​‘s The Night War: 60th Anniversary Edition FTW. It’s my all time favorite fic and one of the most excellent character studies - and one of the best studies in trauma - I’ve ever read. Talk about an unreliable narrator. And it raises some excellent questions about who we let fight and under what circumstances - how much do we use people in war, even if they’re clearly so compromised from trauma that they can barely function? You’ve got to REALLY read it, though. It’s not a lazy read. Highly recommended, though. Be prepared to have your guts torn out of your body and thrown on the floor and danced upon by Prax. It makes her Mask Fic look like a giggling prance through the daisies.

Yeah - I think the last chapter was exhausting and distressing and disheartening for many. And it was maybe a bit confusing, in regards to Bucky’s relapse. On one hand, he’s a hawt LITERAL mess. But on the other hand... this is not unexpected. This is part of recovery, especially for a lifelong alcoholic. He planned it. He took some steps to mitigate risk. He was not trying to off himself. He had a limit set. He just didn’t want to cope in healthy ways anymore and he made an informed adult choice to drink a fuckton of vodka for a week. Was it healthy? Good GOD, no. But he was doing it with an oddly sound mind, right? He tried other means of coping first. He gave it his best, and he decided to do this instead. And he cleaned up his mess after and put his clothes on and did the big boy thing and called his therapist. So even though it was awful and gross and sad, you could also look at it as a stark contrast from his Carle Place days. And he LOOKED AT HIS DICK...!!!!! HOLY SHIT. That is a feat 19 months in the making. And he did it sober. That in itself is impressive. 

But I can definitely see pain for a lot of people, and the exhaustion of this chapter, the OH GOD just STOP IT, here we go AGAIN. And that is how friends and families and loved ones of addicts can feel, and the addicts themselves! Tired. Just tired of the same old thing, over and over. But he also made a lot of objective progress in important ways. Even if it doesn’t feel like it because the progress is covered in old pizza crust and vomit and dildos (yes, even the BIG ONE). 

This is referring to Chapter 15, when Bucky was in the hospital after his surgeries, yes? I don’t think he needed a trach tube, actually. He had his weapon up to his face to aim at the enemy, so his neck/airway didn’t sustain any major injuries because his arms and rifle took the brunt of the shrapnel. His internal organs were spared from major injuries because of his body armor. He needed to have his collapsed lung decompressed in the field, but that was it. That might have been followed up with more drainage later at a field hospital. I figured his alveoli were ruptured from the IED blast wave, leading to the collapsed lung, which is usually treated with 100% oxygen, so no trach needed there. And when I researched other reasons why one would need a trach, I didn’t see anything that would really apply to him. So no trach for Bucky! You can spare him that little bit of misery in your imagination, if you WANT.

Haha, yes, the “enjoyed... I think?” parallels the “I’m glad... I think?” that I feel/write when people say they’re wrecked by the fic. I’m so glad this has encouraged you to do some research! I’d love to know what on. There are so many threads to chase. Just glance at the TAGS, my God. Choose your own adventure. Thank you for letting me know you’re enjoying and that it’s sparking your curiosity!

Ugh, I would love to say that I have a great schedule for updating planned, but as you can probably surmise, I am slow and unpredictable. My life has gotten much, much busier since I started writing this fic and my work far more draining, so both time and energy aren’t on my side these days. I don’t dare to promise an update on any kind of schedule because I just can’t say. I’m sorry. And you’re absolutely right - it’s because I want to deliver the best quality I can. And I’m also trying to give you huge meaty chapters, too. But I HOPE it won’t be another five months before the next update. I really do. The next chapter will probably be shorter, so that’ll help. I will really do my best. 

This is a GREAT question. I think it’s important to note that dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) - although originally designed for borderline personality disorder (BPD) - is trans-diagnostic treatment as a skills group. This means that it can be for anyone who needs help with regulating emotions and managing their relationships better. We don’t really know what Bucky’s diagnosis is. BUCKY doesn’t know what it is. All he knows is that Scott identified his functional life problems and thought the group would be a good fit. Bucky sure does have some BPD traits, but it’s also important to note that some of these traits can also be present in someone with a fuckton of trauma - especially from childhood. 

I set out to write someone with just a lot of trauma, really. Someone who had difficulties with regulating emotions as a core problem. Someone who used sex and booze and avoidance to manage everything. And also someone with a lot of attachment and intimacy and trust problems, which can really all look like BPD! And they can all look like developmental trauma! I wanted it to not be entirely clear what was going on, because that’s often how people appear in real life. We’re not quite sure what Scott makes of him, except that he sees he needs healthy skills DESPERATELY and wanted to get him in this group ASAP. (Good call, Scott!) 

Okay, everyone! Thank you so much for all the love and great questions!! I’ll be in touch in a couple weeks with more BW for you. Thank you for all of your support and patience <3

#YOU ASKED I TOLD #asks

[pendragonfics]

Caught Me By Surprise

Paring: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Tags: female reader, therapist reader, fluff, bucky-centric, happy ending

Summary: Bucky is having trouble adjusting to the modern times, so, being the great pal Steve is, he recommends him an assistant, who goes by the name of _______.

Word Count: 1,918

Posting Date:  2016-05-20

Current Date: 2017-05-09

When Steve Rogers came to him one rainy afternoon in the upstate New York facility knocking on his door, he had ignored him. Not out of spite, and not on purpose. Bucky Barnes was a man in a shell, a shell which protected him from lashing out like HYDRA had programmed him to do for the last seventy years.

He had expected his best friend to announce a meeting, or dinner being served.

Not that he had hired an assistant for Bucky.

The dark haired super soldier just wanted to break a wall, hearing those words. Assistant. What was he, a middle aged corporate in a tall building and a taller paycheck? Tony Stark had an assistant. That red-head, Pepper.

Bucky didn't need - or want! - someone to tail him. To assist him.

Yet, he held onto those words that day. The man in the memories that came slowly back, painfully, quietly; the memories of 1940's James Buchanan Barnes were not of an irate or grumbling man. He had been kind, and flirtatious - things Bucky didn't really find himself feeling anymore. He attributed his anger to the fact he'd murdered many, many people who didn't deserve it, and that he was just a sour old man in a twenty-nine year old's body.

"Buck?" Steve called through the door. It had been a week since he'd done the similar thing, except now it was nine o'clock in the morning, on the dot. "Remember that assistant I told you about? She's here ... are you coming out to greet her?"

At once, Bucky opened the door. The dark circles under his eyes told a telltale story of his usual sleep patterns mixing with the anxiety of his - assistant. What a title. Couldn't Steve had used a better word to describe this woman? Babysitter. Therapist. Anything was better than 'assistant'.

"C'mon, don't stare, I know I'm a mess," Bucky grumbles. "Is she already here, or do we have to wait outside?"

Steve shook his head, and clapping Bucky's back, began to walk down the way to the main area. "No, she's here. And her name's ______. Don't call her Ma'am or a Dame or doll, and never call her Miss _______ - she hates that."

The ex-Winter Soldier paused. "Wait, you know her?"

The blonde captain nodded. "Yeah, quite well. She helped me adjust into the 21st Century, as you can see." he winked, shoving his hands into his worn jeans. Steve must have been tinkering with his bike again, grease was all over his arms. "I'm sure it's going to be just fine. You're going to love her."

Bucky held onto his chuckle. He hadn't loved much in a long time. Maybe the first thing he had loved since his slow transition to himself was having a warm bed to sleep in every night. But he wasn't sure.

"...yeah, I know Sam! Didn't anyone tell you we were in high school together? Oh my - I bet he never told you he totally rocked the 'fro back in the day?" Bucky's ears caught onto a new voice.

A nice voice. It caught him by surprise.

Turning the corner, and half-hiding behind Steve (which was an easy feat now he became a meatball since the last time he had tried to hide behind Steve), he saw Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff and Thor standing around a girl who seemed short in comparison to their hero-esque heights.

"Mornin' Cap! I see you're up bright and early!" The girl beamed a bright smile, moving toward the two super soldiers with a hand outstretched to shake. "And this is James?"

Bucky paused. Nobody - not even Steve, really - had called him that. Not in his most recent memory, at least. His mind ran a million miles an hour to match his pulse, and for once, Bucky wasn't sure if he had the situation under control - and not because of himself.

You were the prettiest person he had seen in a while. And he'd seen Romanoff around the base.

The (h/c) haired girl seemed to sense his discomfort and withdrew her hand away at once. "Not a toucher? Sorry, I should have asked first. I'm ______. I'll be a sort of assistant in trying to get you to adapt to your surroundings. I've had all sorts of training and degrees to get me qualified enough to work for the Avengers, so don't you worry."

Bucky's throat cleared enough for him to speak, but before he could, Steve made a noise. "Ah, _______, I think you read the file I sent you wrong ... his preferred name is Bucky."

Bucky made a noise, and at once, everyone in the room's eyes were on him. "It's okay. I - I like James too."

______ smiled. "Okay, B-James ... so, why don't we get started? Let's go to somewhere comfortable, and you can tell me all the things you're having trouble with, from televisions to nightmares, current issues - you name it!" His new assistant laughed. "I think you and I are going to have lots of fun together, James!"

_____ was right. After months of training, sitting down with _______ and learning many techniques to overcome stress, the depression that easily sinks in ex-soldiers, world history, pop music, Bucky could feel a difference. Not only was he being able to sleep at night, he could join in with the Maximoff twins' movie discussions, reach out better to his team, and, for the first time in seventy odd years, Bucky felt like living.

"So, whether or not you like this, this is our last session," you announced one morning.

Bucky's hear dropped. He didn't want to admit it, but over the last eleven months, he had fallen very deeply and very completely in love with you. And now you were going?

"Why?" He didn't look you in the eye. He couldn't.

You give a sad chuckle, "Well, my boss says if you're progressed this far, I don't need to help you catch up on Star Trek: The Next Generation when there's other veterans out there who need help adjusting."

Bucky nodded. "Huh. I guess you're right. So, what's today for? Goodbyes?"

You frown. "James, today's session is to remind you where you've come. I'm here to show you how much you've grown over almost a year!" You touch his arm gently, and hand him a small green file. "Have a look. It's my notes."

Bucky slides the papers out. In a scrawl that's nearly unreadable, he does his best to discern the text -

Quiet, timid, prone to anger outbursts when directly asked questions on tender subject.

James Barnes spoke softly today! No shouting at all. Also doesn't react negatively to touch anymore.

James says he is sleeping better, but nightmares are still there. He will improve. I know.

Discovered takeaway pizza in our impromptu pizza party, and ate three whole large pizzas. James also spoke in an inside voice. Did not sound angry at all (though it might have been the pizza talking).

In a quiz he scored 9 out of 10 in history in the last ten years, has reduced reaction to loud noises and reports less nightmares. He is recovering well.

James Barnes is a TV addict! He is catching up through reality TV. His favourite show is The Office. I don't watch it but he's very into it. I suspect because their lives is quite different to his.

Bucky Barnes didn't react to a sudden movement badly!

James -

"Wow, these aren't that detailed," Bucky noted, flipping through the rest of the pages. "Some assistant you are."

You rolled your eyes, and smoothed your shirt from wrinkles. "These are just what I'm allowed to show you. Besides, don't you get it? I'm super proud of you." You nudge him in the side, and go to stand up. "I've invited Sam and Steve to come up today so we can have a pizza party again. But this time I ordered a lot more pizza."

Bucky nodded, and for a moment, the air was silent between the two of them. " ... _______, before they get here ... will I ever see you again?"

He watches you pause, and lick your lips. "I don't know, James. The future is always unclear for people like me. I never know where I could be relocated, and that's on a six m-,"

She's interrupted by the cheers from Sam and Steve ascending toward them, arms laden with enough pizza for a woman and three superheroes. "Did we interrupt?" Sam asks, landing the lunch between the coasters on the table.

"No," Bucky speaks up. "Pizza party ahoy."

Sam beams, and raises two thumbs up. "Pizza party ahoy!"

Before he knows it, all the pizza is gone and he has to wave goodbye to you as you're taken away by one of Stark's black cars and act like he isn't going to miss seeing you three times a week and inside, under all the layers that make up James Buchanan Barnes, he's afraid he will never see you again in his dreams, too.

"Aw, no need for the long face, buddy-pal," Tony claps him on the back. "It's not the end."

Bucky shakes his head. He digresses. He's still looking where the car left a slight cloud of dust behind, and all of his thoughts are of you. "No, Tony. It is."

Pietro Maximoff peeks his head out the door, and calls out to the pair of them. "Bucky?" The white haired speedster calls out in his accent. "The phone is for you. It's ______."

At once, Bucky rushes to the phone. It's corded - a nostalgia thing Stark has, and Bucky doesn't mind - and at once the receiver is in his hands. "Hello?" He breathes.

"James," your voice crackles through the phone, the reception making your words sound slightly nasally. "I have to tell you something."

His throat dries. What do you have to say? Did you leave your wallet here? Did you forget to flush the toilet or hug him goodbye, is that why you're calling?

"Now that I'm not your assistant anymore, I can tell you. Okay, here goes." You take a deep breath. "I like you, James. And not in the friend way like Thor and Steve."

He breathes again. "You do?" Bucky whispers.

He can hear you nod, almost. "Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you until now. But I've already called my boss to give my notice, I'm not going to be a case-by-case worker any more. They're - they're going to let me freelance my job for the Avengers." Bucky can't believe his ears. "Did you hear that, James? It means -,"

"You're coming home, to me," Bucky finishes. And for the first time in ages he has a smile on his face. "How long will you be until you're here again?"

You giggle. "I'll be there in three days. I've got an apartment to move out of, you know?" There's a sigh, and a line of static, and then he hears your voice again. Oh, how he loves your voice. "Bucky?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you. I've loved you since the pizza party where I had no pizza." You confess.

Taking the opportunity, Bucky braves his nerves. "I love you too," he tells you. "I've loved you since I first saw you. You were the first person who I saw in my life who seemed to truly stand out, and be true to who they were. You are pure, and pretty and perfect." He confides. "I love you, _______."

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