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softevnstan · 1 year

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³.⍭ 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

pairing. bucky barnes x gender netural!reader

summary. you couldn't believe the name that graced the file on your desk for your new patient. james 'bucky' barnes. you'd heard of him - even studied some of his history during college for psychology classes. never would you have imagined he'd be sent to your office, looking for help.

a.n. yeahhh i couldn't do this as just a one time thing. this is going to be a multi-part i write to update every now and again. so for today you have crumbs of what your first session is like. as someone who's been diagnosed with c-ptsd and has a butt-load of trauma, i'm writing bucky's experience in therapy based on my own. that being said i do not condone patient/therapist irl or any of that power balance outside of fiction. gross. that's the only disclaimer for this series tho going forward, i'm not gonna tag that everytime.

edit. part two is here yall

“So, Mr. Barnes, from what I’m understanding, you'd like to make me your primary therapist and discontinue working with Doctor Raynor?” Perhaps if you knew you’d be in this situation, you would’ve mentally prepared yourself a little better for the day when you got up out of bed that morning.

Being a therapist certainly wasn’t without its obstacles, no – It’s a lot to listen to someone else’s problems and just how many callus and evil things happen in the world. It also has its moments where it reminds you just how vile people can be, too. From children all the way to elderly, you’ve seen countless patients. They come back because you’re passionate about your job; Not looking at these people as paychecks but as living, breathing people. And sometimes people just need someone to talk to; there’s no shame in that.

You just never anticipated you’d have a war hero on your office couch, though. That was not on the radar when you were working towards your Master’s Degree.

James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes sat across from your beige and brown striped armchair on the couch. He looked lonely in the middle; For a man so broad, it would be impressive how small he could make himself if not for the fact it was simultaneously heart wrenching. Cobalt eyes struggled to meet your gaze from the moment he walked into the office to begin the session. His body looked awfully stiff, and his eyes dark like he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in weeks. Perhaps months.

“Yes.” He answers stiffly, “Please.” At least he’s sure to mind his manners despite the clear discomfort radiating from the soldier across from you. But his quiet and taut demeanor is discouraging: “It’s important that you are comfortable here, Mr. Barnes. Therapy is something that works best when it doesn’t feel forced…” “I am comfortable,” Bucky jumps to correct, earning a slight raise of a brow from you before schooling your expression once more. “Comfortable enough. I’m just new to… this.” The man makes a vague gesture with his hands between the both of you; Aching eyes speaking more than words ever will when Bucky briefly raises them to look at you.

The first step is wanting to heal. Bucky’s already showing initiative by being present - by putting his foot forward to try to find a therapist better suited to him rather than just throwing his hands up after the first dead end. That’s good. You can work with that.

Your lips curl into a soft, welcoming smile. “Change can be scary, especially when we don’t understand what all is changing or what could come from it. With us working together, though, I can only do as much as you let me. It’s going to be intimidating, and you may not like it, but I want to help you feel better, Mr. Barnes. You deserve to feel better.” Positive reinforcements are always a good thing so long as they’re not condescending or passive aggressive. It’s all in the delivery, you’ve learned. It’s important patients feel comfortable when they’re with you – how else are they expected to be honest, then?

Bucky looks quizzically for a few moments before once more averting his anxious gaze. It made your heart hurt to see a man so beaten down and on edge; it felt so obvious to you, but then again, you were educated on how to find the tells. You could read him like a book right then. Feel everything radiating off of him, almost.

“What kind of things will you do..?” Bucky inquires after a beat.

“Well, I’d like you to start keeping a journal that we could use for our sessions. It’ll help you keep a record of what you’re feeling and we could use it like a workbook – there’d be homework involved, but there’d be nothing I know you can’t handle.”

“Homework?”

You smile, a nod of your head: “Work sheets, sometimes I’ll ask you to read something for me or answer a few questions, sometimes I’ll give you a worksheet you can use when necessary – then the next time I see you, we’ll go over what you’ve brought back and assess together so I can help you understand.”

He’s tentative to the idea, you can see it. It’s clear Bucky is very selective and reserved. You can only imagine how much strife this poor man has been through. But you see the light in him. You do. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to get better.

“...I don’t want to be unhappy anymore,” Bucky says, almost not catching the words if not for the fact the room is silent except for the two of you. “I can help you, Bucky,” you assure him, voice sincere. “We just need to work together and let me give you the tools to be happy. Do you think you can do that for me, Mr. Barnes?”

It’s clear your words seem to rock Bucky in some way, because he looks at you with something that almost resembles shock. As if he’s never heard anyone say something like that to him, has never wanted to help him become himself again. And if his experiences with Raynor is anything to base off of, Bucky needs a proper support system and someone who’s there with his best interest in mind. You can be that for him - even if it is your job irregardless.

He’s silent, eyes darting away and breaking the brief moment of eye contact between the both of you. Then, a nod.

“I can try.” it might as well be a promise.

“That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”

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cybernetic-asset · 9 months

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#rp #bucky barnes #roleplay #winter soldier #recovering bucky #open #htp #captain america #rp prompt #prompt #hydra trash #Idk

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buckys-metal-arm · 4 months

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I've seen a lot of theories about what Bucky did to make money in Romania and I put forth:

Math tutor Bucky.

Like. Think about it. Not only did it mention he excelled in the classroom on his Smithsonian description at the end of TWS, but Bucky was a sniper, meaning he had to know a LOT of math, and I doubt that'd be something HYDRA would want to brainwash out of him seeing as he'd need that during his Winter Soldier years. He speaks Romanian so he can talk to the kids, and even though how math is taught may have changed since the 40s he can still teach them a way that gets them to the correct answer. Maybe some might find his way of doing it easier even idk.

I don't know how it would start or why parents would suddenly start trusting their kids to be around this sad hobo looking man that they're 99% sure is squatting in an apartment (in my headcanon he is), but eventually they end up trusting him and he kinda likes it. He doesn't make much money off it, but the parents pay in cash so it isn't traceable (good for someone on the run), and it pays enough that he's able to buy food, do laundry, and maybe some new clothes if he saves up. Or at least, some things from the local thrift store.

I also like to think at least one parent takes pity on the sad man that tutors their Cristian and helped bring his Calculus grade up to a C+ when he was in danger of failing before and they force ask him to stay for dinner whenever he's over for sessions and make sure to send him home with as many leftovers as he can carry

Edited to add: @stuckyfingers added this to the reblog and I loved it so much I had to mention it to the original post!!

#bucky barnes #mcu #kes rewrites the mcu #i just think it would work at least a little #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #i don't remember who's post i saw that put forth the idea of bucky being a squatter but it makes sense and also breaks my heart #he deserved a safe place that was his to recover #and deserved a support system while he was there trying to recover and remember who he is

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crushedbyhyperbole · 1 year

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His Words

Summary: Bucky doesn’t know who he is or who he used to be, but he knows three things; he can’t get caught again, he needs to conquer the monster in his head, and he needs help to do it. He puts his trust in you, his fishnets and corset clad angel of mercy - Goddess Noir.

Words: ~4.2k

A/N: Sub!Bucky x Dom!Reader. Set after the warehouse scene in CACW, this is a canon-divergent story of how Bucky became free his trigger words (kind of). There’s mentions of hypnotism and sexual conditioning, reader is Goddess Noir - a seasoned dominatrix who cares for her subs. I’m far from an expert in any of this - it’s not written for accuracy though I try to be as informed as I can be.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy, and humbly request your feedback. I love hearing from you guys and appreciate all the love you can give ❤

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, emotional distress/comfort, dom/sub, coming untouched, bondage, mentions of: past trauma/edging/conditioning.

***18+ content - please don’t continue if you’re underage***

His desperation had been unsurmountable. All that fear. All that hate. He had burned with it, even as he had come back to himself in that dingy warehouse with the weapon clamped in a vice. The memory of the dark place his mind went to when the words took over left him feeling nauseous. A tangy sour taste lingered in the back of his throat, bile and bitterness for all of the things they’d made him do.

Those two men weren’t any different, clamping him into a piece of equipment to take his choice away.

One had said he knew him. He had said he was his friend. The man from the bridge.

He didn’t have any friends. Only handlers and superiors. There had been something… once. A lifetime ago, when he wasn’t this thing they made him into. When he wasn’t a monster. He got flashes of it sometimes when, triggered by smells and tastes, he would recall something he forgot he ever had; family. They were all gone now. Lost to history.

The struggle to free himself had been short, shifting the plates of the weapon like an articulated track, he had slipped free and silently exited via the rear access. The two men had underestimated him, but he knew they would come after him as soon as they realised he was gone. He hadn’t wanted to hurt them, he hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone, but he would if he had to. All he wanted was to disappear and never be found. To go where the things inside him couldn’t get free ever again.

In the months since his escape, he’d seen his face on the news and in the papers of every town and city in every country he passed through on his trek across Europe and back. He knew he couldn’t settle but he had to find someone who could help him, someone who would help him. That’s how he found you.

Your black and silver business card had saved his life. The words “The Goddess” in silver swirling font on the glossy card, and a phone number on the back. Though he hadn’t realised how lucky he was then, he certainly knew it now. The lowlife who had passed it to him had smirked when, in desperate whispers, he had asked for someone who dealt in hypnotism and wasn’t afraid to break moral codes.

You weren’t even the first person he had tried, but you had been the last. He feared that his disguises weren’t good enough, that the Interpol would find him and turn him over to the American Government, or worse, HYDRA would claim him. There was constant hypervigilance and the crushing worry that one of the handful of people he had sought out would turn him over, get him caught. He was exhausted.

You had been different. So far removed from what he expected that he wasn’t sure he was even in the right place when he walked through your door. Your warm smile had drawn him in but your attire spoke of sex and desire. Behind you, an open door drew his gaze. The red glow did little to hide the contents; a cushioned table with restraints, a large cage, a wall display of implements you no doubt used to inflict pain.

He balked, turning hastily to leave.

“Bucky, is it?” Your voice was soft as you use the name he had given to you on the phone. He turned his head to watch you over his shoulder. He couldn’t fully remember if that was his name, but the man on the bridge had been so sure.

Hastily you swung a white robe around yourself, covering your tight black corset and plunging cleavage. The red glow diminished as you closed the door with a soft click.

He knew he should run but something about you told him to stay. He nodded, silently searching your face for any sign of deception.

“Do you want to sit?”

He eyed the dark leather sofa suspiciously. A curt nod and he moved cautiously to sit.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

He swallowed, a slight croak escaping his throat, little used for speaking. “W-water please.”

You smiled brightly and filled a paper cup from a water cooler in the corner. You set it on the table in from of him and stepped back, creating a reassuring distance between you.

“I think I know why you’re here.” You perched your bottom on the edge of your desk, fishnet clad legs crossed at the ankles where your glossy black shoes yielded heels sharp enough they could be used as weapons.

He swallowed. If you had recognised him, he might have to leave quickly. He didn’t want to hurt you but the people who would come looking for him might.

“This is a safe space, Bucky.” You said softly. “There isn’t anything that you can tell me that would shock me or make me judge you.”

“That isn’t a promise you can ever hope to keep.” It was the longest sentence he had said since his phone call to you when the words do you do hypnosis? and I need your help came tumbling from his lips.

“Can you help me understand? I want to help you, Bucky.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. If he told you everything he knew and everything he had done, you would call the authorities and he would have to disappear again. The reports in the news about him had started to fall away of late, the infamous Winter Soldier vanished without a trace. He would have to do it all over again.

“Would you be more comfortable somewhere less intimidating? I can tell you’re nervous about being here.”

“No.” He snapped. “No.” Softer but still fearful. “Here is fine. It’s just-” he clenched his jaw. “It’s just not something I can trust anyone with.”

“Then start with what you can tell me and see how we go from there?”

He nodded, resigning himself to the telling of his tale. You were a reassuring presence despite being a stranger. Your vibe good and supportive, a total contrast to the image he had gotten from the inside of red-lit room. He decided to trust you. His journey away from HYDRA and the words that made him their slave had to begin somewhere. One trusting step after another.

He started with the words, and what they did to him. Then he told you how they put them there, the torture and conditioning that took them years to achieve. Then he told you who, and that was where realisation kicked in. A brief flicker of recognition in your eyes, and a sharply inhaled breath, but that was all. You sat and listened to him tell you everything, all the while you watched him compassionately.

When he was done, glassy-eyed and emotionally exhausted, he looked up at you with big pleading eyes. “Will you help me?”

“Yes, Bucky. I’ll help you.”

He didn’t know why you decided to help him. He had told you he couldn’t pay you, at least not yet anyway. But you had agreed to help him anyway and he would be eternally thankful of any help you could give. The fear of you reporting him to the authorities was still there, stronger than ever when you sent him away and asked him to come back a few days later. You had needed to clear some time for him where he could be safe and undiscovered.

He had done as you asked, doing recon on your building in the time beforehand. Watching your clients come and go, some half-hourly, some hourly. He knew you were some kind of sex worker but that wasn’t what you had offered him. You had offered him hope.

The first session he had with you was just talking. You asked him questions and he tried to answer them honestly. You had sat by him, close enough to touch him but you hadn’t. You asked about the words, what they were and how they felt. You were not surprised that they were in Russian. You made notes, promising to burn them once your task was done.

You had learned those words over time, their meaning and their pronunciation. You called him Bucky, instead of The Asset or Soldat. Your touch was kind when he allowed it. Soon he began to crave it, if not for its gentleness then for its intimacy.

The hypnosis took time. Your voice was soft and warm. You felt safe to him, and soon, you began to feel like home. The more you progressed, the more willing he became, allowing you to delve deeper and create a warm spot in his cold mind. To give him comfort from the horrors that plagued him. Of course, they never fully went away. He would carry them with him always.

Bucky came to love the sound of your voice and the way you made him feel. Subconsciously relaxing when you spoke, feelings of care and support rising up above all else but no matter how hard you tried, the words still made him a monster. He would sink back into the darkness when the words claimed him, ready to comply.

+++

“I don’t know what else to try,” you sighed, sipping your coffee as you warmed your hands on the hot ceramic. Your feet were resting in his lap as he massaged them through your fluffy socks.

Bucky had been staying at your loft for several weeks now. It had been safer for him and more convenient for you to keep an eye on him. Some of the hypnosis you had done with him really took a toll on him and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were growing a soft spot for the man who no longer wanted to be The Winter Soldier.

“I feel good.” He said with a subtle smile. “You’ve done more for me than I can ever repay you for, but I understand, it was a long shot anyway. I’ll just have to make sure they don’t find me again.”

“There is still something, I can try,” you hesitated, “but I don’t think it’s something that you’d want.”

“I’m willing to try anything.”

“You might regret saying that.” You chuckled dryly.

When you explained that you could repurpose the words, he looked at you blankly. They were rooted so deep in his mind by the torment he had gone through that they could possibly always be with him, but they didn’t have to have the same effect. That complete loss of control caused by the painful torture and conditioning could be changed. The foundations were already there in his mind, all you would have to do would be to recondition him.

“So, you’re saying that I won’t be a slave anymore? I won’t have to kill people? I won’t lose control?”

“No, I’m saying that your loss of control can be redirected. I’m saying you can be reconditioned for another purpose.”

Bucky looked at you so fearfully that you regretted bringing this up at all.

“What purpose?”

“Some other relinquishment of control, perhaps. You would have to be willing to let it happen or it won’t take.”

“Would you have to torture me?”

“God, no!” You sat forward, shifting your feet from his lap and taking his hands in yours. “Pleasure over pain any day of the week, Bucky. I would want you to feel good no matter what.”

“So you could reprogram me to feel pleasure instead?”

“I could try.”

The moment he took to process your offer was fleeting. His eyes snapped to yours, resolute.

“I’ll do it.”

+++

The journey had been long. Months of conditioning him in your rooms. He had asked for blue lights instead of red; red reminded him of his past. The trust he put in you was unequivocal. He was no less than flawless.

Given his history, his willingness to submit to you was astounding. You worked hard to build a strong bond with him, never once straying from the agreement you had both set out, never once taking something for yourself, no matter how much you wanted to. Bucky was perfect, but he was anything but yours. You had to remind yourself of that when he called you by your chosen title, and in the throes of pleasure moaned so perfectly for you. Goddess.

You had made him climax many times before, edging him and reinforcing the pleasurable association between sensations throughout his body and the words. It had taken months of work, almost daily sessions. In addition to your regular clients, your work with Bucky ate into your free time but you didn’t care. Being with him this way was the most rewarding thing you have ever done. The way he mewled with pleasure when you touched him, the way his skin on his neck and chest flushed hot and red when he was about to orgasm. He still seemed innocent because you had never fucked him. You couldn’t. That wasn’t what he needed or wanted so you couldn’t and wouldn’t project that on to him.

Over time you had managed to repurpose all but his final trigger word, instead of relieving him of his free will, the words now built pleasure, anticipation. All but that last one. Ironic that the Russian word for freight car should thwart you when your goal was to make him come like a freight train.

This final word had eluded capture no matter how many times you made him orgasm whilst chanting it. And when you strung all the words together, that final one was always the crux. The words ya gotov otvichet would fall from his lips and he would await your orders, perfectly docile and emotionless.

You thought you had it this time though.

Bucky lay completely naked on your table, his muscles hard, his cock still soft. The deep blue lights in the room made you feel trippy, slightly dizzy even. It was disconcerting but you endured it for him.

Under your instruction, he tested the heavy-duty cuffs that bound his wrists and ankles. Bucky had insisted on them, installing them himself, before the very first attempt you made with his first word. They had never been needed but Bucky wouldn’t not hear any protests that they weren’t necessary. He needed this security, so you had bound him.

At your request, he gave you his safe word. A word he had chosen for himself. The only one he could choose for himself since the others were chosen for him. Hotdog.

You tapped into your alter-ego headspace without fully submerging yourself. This wasn’t roleplay, it was far more delicate and treacherous than that. Bucky’s mind could hang in the balance if this all went wrong. It was something you had wrestled with early on, whether it was morally right to do this, but he was low on options and you had wanted to help him if you could, so you quashed any qualms you had and concentrated on moving forward.

“Are you ready to begin?” Your voice was kind but firm.

Bucky nodded and mumbled “yes Goddess” as he closed his eyes and waited for you to begin.

Your chest bloomed with pride. He was so good, so patient, so trusting. “Good.”

Bucky took a deep breath in through his nose and out through quivering lips, readying himself as best he could.

“Zhelaniye.”

Breath quickening, bucky sighed heavily. The feeling of desire took hold, and he longed for release. His cock twitched as blood flowed into it, making it hard, laying solid and heavy against his abdomen.

“Rzhaviy.”

He stirred, eyes flickering behind closed lids as the muscles in his stomach clenched, his hips lifting slightly from the padded surface of the table. His cock twitched vertical, swelling more before dropping back against his stomach.

“Semnadsat.”

He moaned. Breath caught in his throat. Teeth catching his full lower lip and biting down. You hoped he wouldn’t be so far gone that he drew blood so when he released his lip, licking afterwards, you were relieved.

“Rassviyet.”

A gasp. A sigh. They punctuated his thrusting hips as he sought friction against his erection. You longed to touch him, to give him what he needed but that would defeat the object. He needed to do this without being touched, with only the words to guide him on the journey you had spent months preparing him for.

“Pech.”

Bucky groaned heavily, his chest heaving as he panted against his growing pleasure. A pearl of precum beaded on his tip, growing in size until it dripped off onto the skin of his stomach. When his cock twitched it created a gossamer string of silken liquid in the gap underneath his risen cock. You licked your lips, watching him come undone.

“Devyat.”

He fairly cried out as soon as the word had left your lips, hands clenched into fists, teeth bared slightly. The skin on his neck began to flush deep pink and you knew he was starting to get close.

“Dobroserdechniy.”

A held breath escaped him as a drawn out moan that had heat pooling between your legs. The sounds of him were enough to soak your panties, want and desire clamouring in your chest. Bucky thrust his hip up repeatedly, fucking into the air as his cock throbbed relentlessly.

“Vozvrashcheniy na rodinu.”

Whimpering now, tears formed under his closed lashes, trickling forth from the corners of his eyes down into the hair above his ears. His chest was wracked with panting gasps, and the skin there flushed an angry red. He was just about there, right on the edge.

“Odin.”

All muscles taut, from his clenched jaw and straining neck right the way down to his arched feet and curled toes, Bucky clung on to the edge of oblivion. The glistening tip of his cock was so engorged it looked bruised, an angry purple-red that strained against the skin. He twitched violently, balls tightening, fluid leaking from his tip.

“Gruzovoy vagon.”

Bucky’s breathy cry echoed around the room like a chorus of angels. His release almost explosive as he spilled over himself in waves, pumping jizm out over his chest and stomach. He thrashed on the table, hips jutting up, back arched in unadulterated pleasure.

His grunts became whimpers and his throbbing cock slowed. You rushed forward an whispered his name, laying your hand gently on his sternum to let him know you were there. His eyes cracked open briefly and he licked at his reddened lips, gasping as he came back to himself.

You increased the lights so you could release him, rubbing his wrists and ankles to make sure the blood flow was good with a few pinched toes and fingertips. You wiped him down with a warm flannel cloth and took his hand to get him to sit. He went with you easily, still in a daze.

“Bucky?” You whispered and he shivered. You hoped beyond hope that he was alright. He hadn’t said the words yet but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

You wrapped him in a red plaid fleece blanket you kept just in case and stepped between his open knees, pulling the blanket closed around him. His breathing was still laboured and he looked thoroughly wrecked.

“Bucky, talk to me.”

His mouth started to turn upwards into a smile but didn’t make it that far before the dam broke and his mouth twisted. Relieved sobs and a river of tears flowed from him as the realisation set in. You had spoken his words and he was still there, in the light. The darkness hadn’t claimed him this time. He was free. Free of the pain. Free of the fear. Free of him.

“You’re ok. You’re ok.” You reassured him as he broke down in front of you. “I’m here.”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to you, resting his head on your shoulder as he wept, sobbing and sniffling against your hair and skin. When his arms tightened around you and held you closer, you couldn’t help but grin. It had worked. It had finally worked.

Cuddled against you, for what felt like an hour, Bucky finally settled. He lifted his head to look at you through bloodshot eyes. His lips were raw and swollen too but there was peace there under the evidence of his emotional experience. You stroked his hair back and looked up into his eyes. He hadn’t said a word since you had begun and you needed to know he was alright.

“Talk to me, Bucky.” You whispered, hands cupping his face gently. “I need your words.”

He blushed slightly, looking down coyly before meeting your gaze firmly. “Thank you, Goddess.”

The barked laugh that escaped you was full of delight. After all of that, he still managed to make your proud. “You had me worried.” You let out a relieved breath. “I’m going to get you some water, but I’ll be right back, okay? Is there anything else you want or need?”

“There is one thing, Goddess.”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you, Goddess?”

Your heart jolted in your chest. This was something you had wanted for quite some time but had been unable to cross that line. Now that Bucky was asking, could you really deny him this one thing? Normally you wouldn’t kiss clients, rarely would you have sex with them either unless it was a part of their experience.

“You would like to kiss me? Is that right, Bucky?” That was exactly what he had asked for and the distinction was important. He wanted to kiss you, not he wanted you to kiss him.

“Very much so, Goddess, yes.”

You searched his face looking for any sign that there might be something wrong but all you could see was adoration and bliss behind the puffiness of his eyes and mouth.

“You’re going to drink some water first.” You said, cupping his face in your hands once more. “And if you want to kiss me when you’re done then, yes, you may.”

Bucky grinned brightly, a flash of brilliance before his face relaxed again. He took the cup of water and downed it without hesitation, handing the paper cup back to you with a shaking hand.

When his eyes met yours you froze. Bucky had submitted to you willingly but it wasn’t his natural state. The glint in his eye as he reached out to pull you forward between his spread legs once more, was intoxicating.

He stroked his fingertips across your cheek, sliding them into the hair behind your ear, his metal hand rested on your waist. “Is this okay?” He asked in a whisper. Your preferred title forgotten in the moment but you didn’t mind, not for this.

“Yes.” Breathy and needy.

Bucky leaned in slowly, allowing you time to stop him if you needed to. When his lips met yours it was in the lightest touch. He grazed his lips back and forth, coaxing yours apart slightly before sealing the kiss gently. There was no tongue, no teeth, just a sweet pressing of his mouth to yours as he held you there for a while, savouring you.

When he parted from you, a sigh left your lips and he grinned. Resting his forehead on yours he held you as he had before, stroking his thumb where your cheek met your ear.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while but I didn’t think you would let me.” He confessed.

You chuckled. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while but didn’t think it was appropriate.”

“Can I do it again, Goddess?”

“Yes, Bucky, you may.”

He claimed your mouth in a sensual kiss, mouths open, his tongue licking into you like you were a delicacy to be savoured. Bucky slowly devoured you and it felt amazing. You closed your eyes to the world and sunk into the feeling of his lips on yours, his taste mixing with yours. This thing between you was evolving into something new. What it would be, you had no idea but that in itself was exciting. Who would have thought that meeting the world’s most wanted assassin would prove to be the most fulfilling experience of your life. Things were still dangerous for him, for both of you, but from this moment forward you were both in it together. You and Bucky against the world.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes sub #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes needs a hug #bucky barnes recovering #sub!bucky #bucky barnes fluff #Winter Soldier #bucky smut #bucky needs help #cloudy's writing

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underthemexicansun · 1 month

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I just want to take care of Bucky Barnes. Like I want to cook for him and do his laundry and buy him books to read and put all his pieces back together again and show him he’s deserving of love and care. But I also want to have hot, dirty sex with him and I want him to choke me and take his anger out on me. I want him to call me his good girl and ruin me for anyone else.

#bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #recovering! Bucky #Bucky Barnes love #marvel bucky barnes #ya feel me?#bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan #I just want to fix him #can you tell I was put #in the role of “fixer #as a kid #I also grew up to become a therapist

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burberrycanary · 3 months

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Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions)

His phone stays silent.

He hopes wherever Bucky is, he’s safe and comfortable and warm.

It’s an old thought, already worn smooth with handling as Steve picks the feeling back up. But this ain’t the same.

Bucky can take care of himself and has, even when so badly hurt Steve’s mind can’t understand any part: how such a thing can be done to a man, how Bucky came out on the other side still with his whole self, rediscovered, rebuilt—Steve doesn’t know the word for a thing like that. Whatever Bucky did in those two lost years: that struggle he took on, alone.

But every miracle has a mystery at the heart of it, or all you’d have is some unlikely turn you didn’t see coming but makes sense just fine, passed through and looking back.

A lot in Steve’s life doesn’t make sense.

But then Steve has had a life that’s blazed with terrible miracles.

A man goes into a box and the same man and a different man comes out. The box can be as small as a coffin or as big as a blood-soaked century.

Read Chapter 38 on AO3

Many thanks to my betas @village-skeptic, @booksandabeer and @zenaidamacrouras1 🥰

#stucky #stucky fic #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stevebucky #stevebucky fic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes recovering #steve roger x bucky barnes fic #stucky fanfiction #river!verse #lost vocabularies that might express #otp: till the end of the line #otp: even when i had nothing i had you #the existential loneliness of steven g. rogers #bucky barnes needs a hug #steve rogers also needs a hug #steve makes better choices #he's trying folks

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gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes · 2 years

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Lost soldier

a collaboration by @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes and @cobaltmoonysart for the @capreversebb

Fic Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Clint Barton, Various MCU Characters

Word Count: 25K

Main Tags: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Memory Loss, Loss of Identity, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Falling In Love Again, Healing in Wakanda, Happy Ending

Summary:

Tailing two suspicious men in suits, Peter Parker comes across a wounded Bucky Barnes in an alley. Together with Ned, they construct a plan to locate and find Captain Rogers. Things don’t go as expected, beginning a madcap ride through the streets of Brooklyn, meeting a cast of characters, clashing with Hydra, and ending with a stolen quinjet to Wakanda.

Excerpt: below the cut

Natasha answered on the first try. “They found you already?”

Clint kept his voice low and his eyes forward; he didn’t want to be overheard talking to Romanov. “What? No.”

“Other problems?”

“When were you going to tell me Rogers was gay?”

He could almost hear the snark of her grin on the other line. Was he the only one who didn’t know? Again?

“Does it matter?”

Clint considered the question. Did it matter?

“It sure the hell does. Barnes is more important than I thought. We’re dealing with a significant other here, and that compromises Rogers. How long has this been going on?”

“Oh,” Nat hesitated evilly to make him wait. “Since 1936, give or take.”

READ THE ENTIRE WORK ON AO3!

Groveling on the ground with thanks to @hanitrash for the beta, cheerleading, and promotion! SO glad I met you! Here’s to boys finding the perfect socks!

Also, major kudos to the mods. This bang was a ton of fun, and I’ll definitely be participating in the next one! ❤️

#stucky #capreversebb #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #steve and bucky #stucky fic #Bucky Barnes recovering #post winter soldier #canon divergence #fluff #humor #romance #happy ending #cobaltmoonyart #gfawkes #CapRBB 2022 #CapRBB

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month

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Awww, somebody translated my fic What the Hell is a Sexual Surrogate? into Russian!

Thanks WTF Infinity Starbucks 2024!

You can read it here in English:

And here in Russian:

#fanfic #fanfiction #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #stucky #steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #stucky fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #mcu fanfiction #ao3 author #fic translation #russian translation #sex therapy #bucky barnes recovering

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rebelmeg · 3 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Avengers Team Members & James "Bucky" Barnes Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Thor (Marvel) Additional Tags: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Scars, Guilt, Touch-Starved, Nightmares, Avengers Family, Protective Avengers, Developing Friendships Summary:

While Bucky recovers from everything he's been through, the Avengers all pitch in to help him where they can. Russian lullabies, unexpected hugs, and other things aren't what he thought he'd need, but it turns out that his bizarre support group seems to know exactly how to do exactly that: support.

Notes: For my @buckybarnesbingo square B5 – support group and my @lyricalescape bingo square G1 - "The changing tides reflect the light. The day is new."

#rebelmeg's fanfic #buckybarnesbingo2023 #lyrical escape bingo #bucky barns fanfiction #avengers #bucky & avengers #supportive friends #avengers family #bucky recovering #fanfic #mcu

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softevnstan · 1 year

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³.⍭ 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 - PART II.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender netural!reader

a.n. you guys responded really well for part one so i wanted to work on part two. no beta, we die like men. i have no fully formed plan with this so i apologize if i got anyone's hopes up. see part one here (make sure you read that first, otherwise, parts of this won't make sense). i also hate using 'y/n', but i don't know how not to, so i heavily recommend the 'InteractiveFics' chrome extension - it'll automatically correct 'Y/N' to the name of your choosing (and can replace other terms)

w.c. 3.6k

tags. depression mention, suicide mention, ptsd mention, therapy, recovering!bucky barnes, patient x therapist (as a whole for the series), not 100% accurate therapy - based on my own perspective and experiences.

‘What am I doing here?’ Bucky's mind played like a broken record, brain scouring for any reason to excuse himself from this appointment altogether.

Was it too late to slip out of the room? Surely not - the secretary was one of the four people (including himself) that sat in the same gray room, and she didn't seem to be paying too much mind hunched over her desk in a seek-and-find book.

The waiting room was dark - lacking any real windows in the area given it was part of a larger building that housed the offices. Bucky had taken the stairs up to the second floor after stepping into the building and searched the stretched hall for your office number and silver nameplate on the walls. Upon finally finding it, Bucky couldn't help but see it as a blessing and a curse. No more wandering aimlessly with the inkling of tension that'd begun to grow with the anxiety of someone approaching him to potentially redirect him. But it also meant he was now another excuse short for skipping this referral appointment entirely.

When stepping in, the atmosphere wasn't near as comforting as he'd been hoping. The space was dark and dimly lit by the glow of orange lamps; chairs sat neatly along the wall with a coffee table, scattered with magazines that had been flipped through countlessly since they'd been there. There was a rounded desk to the left of entering the room where an older woman sat, glasses sitting on the end of her nose and the signs of aging prevalent in her graying hair. Along the back wall, there are several doors; Individual offices, Bucky's brain supplied.

There were shelves of books and an overwhelming amount of fake plants in the room. The closest window that Bucky could scour out immediately was a narrow, rectangular one. Lone by itself given the layout of the office building not allowing for it. Hardly any natural light seeped into the room. If the actual offices with the therapists were as gloomy as this, Bucky would have better luck abandoning all hope right then and excusing himself. Save him another uncomfortable experience in the mental health field.

Working with Raynor wasn't exactly what Bucky needed as a first experience in therapy. Before the 70 years that he'd spent under HYDRA's thumb, there were no resources like this at home. Mental Health hardly existed as a concept - no awareness of the rippling effects of war or aid for the soldiers that would return traumatized and self-loathing. Hell, men beat their wives back then like property. That was even without the PSTD and fragile masculinity slammed on top.

Not his father, thank a god that Bucky isn't sure he even believes in anymore.

Christina was rough around the edges. A former officer in the military, one would think she may be perfect for the job in regard to Bucky's emotional baggage and the weight he carries. She wasn't. That was something Bucky only began to learn months later with Sam's help; That while Dr. Raynor was not a bad woman, she was not what Bucky had needed to begin opening up to people. The clipped energy that filled a room when sharing a space with Christina made it near impossible to relax fully; When Bucky was being a little difficult on his bad days (yes, he can admit he's difficult), instead of approaching him with patience, Raynor would combat his comments with her own condescending ones. It felt more like a weekly brawl where he had something to prove rather than a safe space to begin the healing process.

It was like ripping open a healing wound, wondering why it wouldn't improve, and being confused when it worsens under brutal treatment.

Dr. Raynor was not what Bucky needed, simply put.

But the one that woman did right with all certainty was to at least aid in redirecting Bucky to someone that can help him produce better results.

That's what landed him there. In the waiting room of your office with an appointment at 3:15 p.m.

Your praise was sung of being someone who was more approachable and positive, albeit not naively so. When Bucky was peering at reviews and your background check - comforting his own paranoia - he'd seen nothing but kind things said. How patient you were. How compassionate; How you make your patients feel heard and understood. How you provide the tools to create a proper support system and show people how to live again. Bucky tries not to get his hopes up for things, but he was certainly beginning to spark hope when he was able to look more into your reviews. It made him want to try again rather than give up.

But sitting in that dim-lit office, he's not sure how confident he is in that statement anymore. Bucky's left leg bounces in an anxious fidget. His shoulders are tight, arms folded over his chest in a closed-off stance while he sits back in one of the empty chairs of the waiting room. To anyone else, Bucky probably looks angry at the world - it's just him hiding his nerves. Never an intentional expression worn, it's simply become a default to wrinkle his forehead and wear a tired face.

Bucky could still leave. The heavy door that he'd pushed open to get in taunts him from where he sits.

And it's right as he's weighing out the consequences of bailing on this idea altogether that the sound of a door opening grabs his attention. Head turning in the direction of the noise, tired eyes squinting slightly for a brief moment when light pours into the room. A woman in roughly her thirties steps out of the first door lining the back wall, followed by you. Bucky is only certain of that fact because he recognizes your face from the LinkedIn profile you have.

"Thank you again for coming in, Greta, I'm looking forward to hearing about your daughter's Bat Mitzvah; tell her happy birthday for me." you tell the woman that's begun her leave.

"Of course, I hope your next session goes well," beams a woman, assumedly 'Greta'.

Bucky sucks his bottom lip in, worrying the skin between his teeth before sighing out through his nose. Attempting to take a steadying breath to appease his nerves when--

"Mr. Barnes?" your voice prompts.

Running away isn't a choice anymore. Not realistically.

So Bucky drops his arms and feels the taut muscles in his shoulders before trying to force them to settle. Rolling broad muscle under his leather coat before pressing off the armrests of the wooden chair with gloved hands to get up. His eyes remain averted from your face, but he crosses the room to you nevertheless.

"It's nice to meet you, James, if you'd please step in here with me," you hold the door open for Bucky; Allowing him to step into the relatively small space.

But it's not suffocating, he notices.

It's actually a stark contrast to the heavy waiting room he'd just been sitting in for the past 10 minutes or so. The light of day pours in from the tall, wide window on the back wall of the room. In the brief space where the window doesn't occupy the wall, there's a bookcase sat with countless psychology books. A soft-looking loveseat is pressed against the wall to Bucky's right, and across from that is a matching single chair with an end table. On the table sits a lamp, a box of tissues, and what appears to be a selection of colorful fidget toys. The walls are hogged by large framed photos; some of paintings, some of hyper-realistic photos or art. The floor is a deep gray-brown carpet, the walls painted a soft eggshell. Plants sit on the shelf in front of the window, drinking in the sun; He spots a Wandering Jew, two cactuses (both different breeds), and a succulent perched comfortably.

"Have a seat," your voice interrupts the way Bucky studies the room, and promptly he moves to the loveseat. Lowering himself into it, it's significantly more comfortable than the chair he was just sitting in. Still, Bucky sits stiffly. Uncomfortable; refraining from letting his back touch the couch and posture coming across as closed up without him even realizing it.

Like a mantra, belittling thoughts play on a broken loop through his head.

This isn't going to work. It's going to end badly. I'm going to be seen as a monster all the same. I'm a bad person, I don't deserve this. Other people deserve it more. I'm wasting everyone's time.

The thoughts spiral heavier and heavier for Bucky, even as you close the door; successfully sectioning him and you off from the rest of the world. His jaw sets as you move to sit across from him.

Bucky silently wishes the moment would end before it's even begun.

He wants to go back to his apartment, even if it makes him just as miserable.

“So, Mr. Barnes, from what I’m understanding, you'd like to make me your primary therapist and discontinue working with Doctor Raynor?”

Bucky wants to heal. You see it in him. The first step is admitting you have an issue; that there is something wrong. Not that Bucky is wrong, but his headspace surely is a defunct mess; The task ahead of you in untangling said mess is daunting, but Bucky is worthy of it. He deserves it. Even if he doesn't realize that yet.

He deserves to have someone who's willing to help him understand and put the pieces back together. Not simply throw their hands up the first time that Bucky struggles and leave him to fend for himself - this man was done far too much fending by himself.

It's clear by the silence followed by the words, 'That’s all I’ll ever ask of you', that Bucky isn't sure what to say. Rather than allowing the quiet to eat at him, you continue the conversation. Save him from the anxiety he might be feeling in being unable to muster a reply.

"So, Bucky - Can I call you 'Bucky'?" You ask, sure to keep a warm and approachable composure. Bucky's comfort is your priority; If he feels unwelcomed, he won't come back.

A stiff nod comes from the man across you. He still struggles to meet your gaze; Eventually, you'll both work on that, but for now, you don't mind. Let him take things at his own pace.

"So, Bucky," you reiterate, leaning back in your armchair and crossing your legs at the ankle. Your shoulders ease and you relax into your seat. "How about we start by getting to know you a little bit; Where you'd like to work first and what some of your immediate issues are, in your opinion."

Bucky's teeth clench - you can tell because his jaw flexes and it pulls on your heartstrings for a moment. His shoulders look so tight, his body so stiff. Chiseled features are hard, and his face doesn't seem nearly as full as you'd seen in museums and textbooks while growing up and learning American History. Dare you even say he almost looks sunken in, with dark rings around his eyes and sadness in gray hues.

You wonder how he sleeps at night - if he even does. If he eats the way he should. It's heartbreaking to see a man carved into such a husk.

"Raynor was working with me to make amends," Bucky starts, and surely that doesn't mean what you think it does-- "To make things right for what I did as the Winter Soldier, as a condition of my pardon."

"There's nothing to make right, Bucky." You answer almost immediately; your blood feeling hot for half a moment. You saw history unfold right before you, living in New York. Hearing the chaos of HYDRA overtaking SHIELD in 2014, that Boy Wonder 'Bucky Barnes' was still alive. Many things were kept from the public, as much as they could be, but one thing was for certain. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could see that Bucky was another victim of HYDRA's. Not the catalyst for the carnage. An unwilling piece of the puzzle.

You have to stop yourself from becoming too expressive, though. Despite the quickness of your words, you maintain an evenness to them. "Now, I won't pretend to know what's happened with it all; That's something for us to talk about with time. But I can promise you right now, Bucky, that I am not Dr. Raynor. And while we can revise the conditions of your pardon, you won't be trying to fix mistakes you didn't make. We're here to help you."

Another break of silence, and Bucky has begun to fidget with his hands. Kneading them together in his lap; your own gaze flickering briefly to watch the leather rub on leather.

"I... I don't know what to say," Bucky speaks, his voice soft and timid. Unmatching the hardness of his face.

A small crease forms between his brows, eyes downcast but briefly lifting to peer at you.

"You don't have to know what to say right now," you gently tell him. "I know you may not agree with my perspective on things right now, but please hear me when I tell you that I'm not here to judge you. You're a survivor, Bucky."

A soft huff comes from him - lip curling into a crooked grin that's humorless. Bucky shakes his head right after, and the expression falls. You watch curiously.

"I'm sorry, it's... Everyone seems to either look at me like the pariah or like a victim." Bucky explains, and for a moment, your lips form a soft smile. You lean forward, shifting your position once more to lean in a little closer to Bucky's space without outright intruding on it.

"You're a survivor," you reiterate. Making sure he hears it. "And there is no shame in being a survivor - I'm a survivor and don't consider it derogatory, it's exactly what I am."

Bucky's brow knits up slightly and his attention is on you fully. Arguably the longest so far since he's been in this room with you. He looks as though he's searching for something and the answer is somehow embedded in you, and deep down, you want to give him whatever it is he's searching for.

You're a survivor, too. It's what made you good at your job. Being able to empathize to a degree with the individuals that come to you; To be able to share your own experiences and show the person sitting in front of you that they are not alone. People like to feel heard and understood. And sometimes the best way to for that is to sit with someone who's been through something similar.

Though you certainly didn't have experience as a prisoner of war who was genetically engineered...

His pink lips part as though he wants to speak, but whatever words were that die on Bucky's tongue when his mouth clamps shut and he finally averts his attention. You follow his gaze briefly to find him looking out the window parallel to him on his right. The light peeked in through the sheer curtains and lit the side of his face partially. You wonder if the sunlight makes him warm at all.

"Do you want me to draw the curtains for you, Bucky?" You offer, wondering if perhaps it's distracting to him.

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm not used to this." "Can you explain what 'this' is?" You ask, gently prompting him in hopes he keeps talking. "I, uhm..." His voice trails - clearly searching for the words. "You're... Calm. I don't entirely know how to explain it. We haven't been talking that long but I was, uh, intimidated to meet you. My precious therapy experiences haven't been the best..." It's the most he's said in a single sitting, you're impressed.

"And that's alright - sometimes not every therapist works out. Many people struggle to understand that therapy is not a 'one size fits all' matter. Sometimes we have to feel out situations and feel out people. If you decide at any point you're no longer comfortable speaking with me, I understand and will be more than happy to help you find another therapist that can specialize in your concerns." Always deliberate as to not call Bucky's situation 'problems' or 'what's wrong'. The last thing you'd want is for him to feel as though he is the root problem in his life. He's not.

"Thank you," the man murmurs softly, and you can tell it's another moment he's unsure what to say. Even the words feel as though it took quite a deal of effort to muster from Bucky. That's okay - sometimes people need to warm up. You're not surprised in the least that Bucky isn't an open book, you wouldn't be if you went through even half of what he did.

"...I'll tell you what," You begin, Bucky's attention drawing right back to you rather than the world outside the glass. "How about we start small, you and I, okay? We don't have to touch anything heavy yet, we can start simple."

"Simple?" Bucky echoes.

"Mhm," a confident nod from you, "I hope I don't sound rude at all, but I can tell you're someone who's carrying a whole lot more than they let on."

That earns a skeptical look from Bucky. You wonder in a brief moment where you potentially lost him when he answers that question for you:

"I'm sure you can." The response comes out almost irritated. No elaboration.

For a moment your mind scrambles, wondering, before it clicks. Still, you encourage Bucky to use his words. "What do you mean?"

A long sigh comes through his nose. "Oh, c'mon," he tries, but you simply look expectantly. Bucky needs to communicate, if they have no form of communication, they have nothing. "Y'know, everyone seems to know about me. Everything with HYDRA..." His expression is progressively hardening; He's lumping you with everyone else. You see it. Even if Bucky doesn't realize what he's doing, he's trying to build that wall again. Brick himself out and separate himself.

"No," You reply, "I only know what you want to share with me, Bucky. I didn't follow your story as it was happening - though I'd be lying if I said I was entirely clueless. Whatever I knew prior to meeting you today, though, doesn't matter. I want to know you. Not what everyone else's perception of you, is. Consider us strangers."

Then, as if to prove your point, you shift forward even more in your seat. Uncrossing your legs and sitting them flat on the floor as you offer your right hand out.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bucky, I'm Dr. Y/N." Maybe the notion seems silly - and it is, honestly. You've both been talking this long.

Bucky is a little taken aback by the gesture; Blinking at you cluelessly for a moment before he huffs again. This time, his half-hearted grin doesn't look so bitter when he offers his right hand out tentatively. A ginger shake, as though he's scared he's going to break you, and the leather of his glove is warm against your palm.

While he doesn't verbally reciprocate the gesture, his expression speaks for him. A conversation without words.

It's clear that it's a bit more comforting to Bucky. For a brief moment he seemed as though he was ready to leave without coming back, but with quick thinking, you're relieved to have reeled him in once more.

"Anything about you outside of this room means nothing to me," you promise. "It's up to you how much you share. No one else."

Bucky's smile pulls just a tad bit wider, and you consider it a victory.

"We'll start simple," You repeat, pulling your hand from his to pick up the notepad on the table beside you. Flipping to a clean page and clicking your pen - you don't miss the way Bucky looks at you almost worriedly. As if you've picked up a weapon when in reality it's a pen and paper.

"I'd like you to find a nice journal that you like. One that you won't be afraid to write in, and one that you'll feel comfortable using. Next week when we see each other, I'd like you to bring it with you." You effortlessly speak while your pen scrawls away on the small lines sheet in front of you - your handwriting reads out on the paper, 'BRING A NOTEBOOK THAT YOU'RE COMFORTABLE WITH USING :)'

You tear the paper from the metal rings that bind it and pass it over to Bucky. He takes it wordlessly, looking at the piece of paper in his hands.

"That's it...?" Bucky ponders aloud. "That's it." Another gentle smile you wear. "Journaling is an extremely useful tool for going through our feelings and helping us take a step back and breathe. It can help us avoid dramatizing situations unintentionally, and it can help us develop a sense of mindfulness and gratitude. You don't need to write anything in it just yet, but if you'd like to decorate it, I won't stop you. Whatever makes you feel comfortable to begin writing in it."

"...Dr. Raynor didn't have me keep a journal," the soldier murmurs. "I'm not Dr. Raynor." you answer simply.

Your first session with Bucky seems to go well on all accounts. Sure there were a few brief tense moments, but you like to hope he'll return. At the end of the day, that's Bucky's decision. If he chooses to continue with you as his therapist, though, you want to help him in any way he can.

He doesn't know it yet, but you're determined. By the end of your time together, you want to have helped Bucky obtain a new perspective and help him live. Not simply survive.

After he leaves your office, you make sure to fill your schedule in for the same time next week.

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