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sithbvcky · 12 days

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.01: FRANKENSTEIN

As the adopted daughter of Tony Stark, your role becomes even more twisted and entangled when you meet and fall in love with one James Barnes. Unbeknownst to you, your world is about to flip upside down. Bucky x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2,466 *this was an anon request* A/N: I decided to make this a mini series and I hope you don't mind that I took some creative liberty with the concept!

Since you discovered you were adopted, you took it upon yourself to try and discover who you really were. You didn’t hold it against your father, keeping your adoption secret from you for so long. When your powers first appeared, that should’ve been your first clue that you were different. First it was the voices in your head, hearing conversations from buildings across the street. Then the telekinesis made itself known, accidentally throwing and breaking objects in fits of anger. As you grew, you felt more and more volatile. That at any moment you could burst. So you left. Telling your father you were going to find your birth mother. In typical Stark fashion, he sent you all the intel he could gather on who she was.

“I’m sorry I lied.” He said, giving you a hug.

“I understand. I’ll be in touch.” You said.

And with that, you boarded the next plane to Bucharest. Romania was the last known location of your birth mother. That was all Tony could dig up, everything else on the woman appeared to be lost to time. With your backpack and a whole lot of guts, you stepped off the plane and went to where she was last seen.

An old apartment building, badly in need of some repairs but still rather charming. You went over the basic Romanian in your head, only what you needed to get by. The woman at the front desk looked you up and down,

“Excuse me, I am looking for someone who used to live here, Mariana was her name.” You spoke in very broken Romanian. The woman stared at you with squinted eyes.

“I’m sorry my Romanian is bad, but please I just need to know where she is.” You tried again, holding up the copy of the address and the name that Tony had provided you.

“No english.” The woman grumbled, going back to her administrative duties.

“Please, I need your help. I have to find her.” You pleaded, the woman waved her hands to dismiss you.

"Ma’am, she is looking for someone that lived here.” A man’s voice speaking perfect Romanian startled you. You turned around to see who it was and was struck by his appearance. Tall, handsome with clear blue eyes and long brown hair. You noticed he was wearing gloves and carrying a plastic bag full of fresh plums. The woman responded to him in the same grumpy tone,

“She’s asking the name of the woman you’re looking for.” The man looked at you and you felt yourself dumbfounded. Clearing your throat you answered,

“Uh, her name was Mariana she used to live here. I just want to know where she went.” You answered, cursing yourself from being so easily distracted by an attractive man. You watched him as he translated your words to the woman who grumbled something back to him.

“She said no one by that name has lived here for at least three years.” He said, and you sighed.

“Does she know where she went?” You asked and the man translated. The woman muttered something to him before turning around to retreat into her office. The man sighed and turned to you,

“I’m sorry, she said she doesn’t know.”

You ran an exasperated hand through your hair and folded the copy of the address back up and slid it into your backpack.

“Thanks for the help.” You waved, adjusting the straps of the backpack and moving to walk back out of the building. You were almost out the door when the man called to you,

“Who is it you’re looking for, exactly?” He asked, “I-if you don’t mind me asking.” He added as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“Uh, she’s my birth mother and this was the last place she was.” You answered. The man nodded,

“What are you going to do now?” He inquired.

“I guess start back at square one. Try to see the city while I’m here.” You shrugged and he nodded again.

“Well, thanks again for the translating.” You turned and walked out of the building, before you could get halfway down the side walk, you heard the man call out.

“Hey, do you have a place to stay?” He asked, jogging up to you.

“No, but I’m sure I can find a hotel or something.” You said.

“Don’t worry about it, I got her to spare a room for you if you wanted it. No one really lives in this old building anyways.” He offered, with a flash of a smirk.

“Except you.” You teased, and he looked down at his feet bashfully.

“Look, I can help you find your mother, if you want.” He stated, taking you off guard. “I’m sort of good at finding people.”

“What are you like a private detective or something?” You joked.

“Something like that. Only if you want my help.”

You paused for a moment to think. A man you don’t know was offering his services to help you find your birth mother, the same man who stepped in and helped you with your broken Romanian. The smarter part of you would’ve turned and run but you were desperate. And, if things turned out bad you did have an arsenal at your disposal.

“Can you teach me any Romanian?” You asked with a smile and he flashed one of his own.

“Sure.”

The woman gave you a key to a room just down the hall from the man. He walked you to your door,

“Thanks again, uh’ You pointed at him,

“Ah, James you can call me James.”

You nodded,

“Thanks James, I’m Y/N.”

“Anytime, Y/N. Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he walked off to his room and you unlocked yours. It was small and nothing compared to the place you had back in New York thanks to your father. But it was cozy and you didn’t mind the intimacy that came with it.

That night, you were plagued with a horrific nightmare. Faces you knew well and some you only recognized, tearing each other apart. So much violence, friends turned on each other. Your father lying on the ground covered in blood. When you awoke, your room was trashed. As if someone had come in and tore through the place but nothing was missing. Then it dawned on you, your powers. Once they seemed to be only be triggered by anger but now, perhaps that nightmare caused you to have an episode while you were unconscious. God. You hoped no one heard you and that the damage remained contained to your room.

When you were dressed, you stepped out of your room to see James doing the same. He flashed a smile as he walked towards you.

“I was on my way to get coffee, if you want to join me.” He offered. He showed no sign of knowing what happened last night, and there seemed to be no damage anywhere else that you could see.

“Sure, that sounds great actually.”

The coffee shop was only a few blocks down from the apartment building. James bought you both coffee which you insisted he didn’t have to. Outside, you found a quiet place to sit down away from the other patrons.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked.

“What?” You looked at him with surprise, did he hear you after all?

“I just meant it’s a new place and I know sometimes it can be hard to sleep.” He assured, seeing he’d caused you some sort of unease. You shook your head,

“Oh, uh, yeah I slept fine. Thanks.” You took a sip of your latte and cursed your paranoia. A moment of silence passed between you.

“So, what are you doing out here?” You asked,

“Just traveling, seeing Europe.” He answered somewhat nervously. You don’t know why but it felt like he was hiding something. Which to be fair you couldn’t judge since you were doing the same.

“Where are you from? You speak perfect Romanian but I just can’t shake the feeling that you’re American like me.” You continued and James smirked,

“You got me. I was born in Brooklyn.” He admitted.

“I knew it.” You chuckled, taking another sip of coffee.

“And you? Where are you from?” He asked.

“Manhattan. At least that’s where I spent a lot of my life.” You answered and he nodded.

“Right. Do you know why you’re mother would’ve been here?” He wondered. You shrugged,

“No idea. There’s no record of her except for that address, everything else seems to have been lost.”

“Did you ever think maybe it was destroyed on purpose?” James asked, and you blinked in surprise. You hadn’t even considered the idea that someone had purposely destroyed all records of your mothers existence.

“No, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not sure why someone would.” You said, but you knew exactly why. If you were as powerful as you are now you could only imagine she was just as powerful if not more. But who would do such a thing?

“Believe me, people do things for reasons you may never understand.” James said. You nodded, he was right after all. But even if you might never understand why, you needed to know who.

“Is there anything else you know about her? Anything at all.” You shook your head,

“Not much, my father mentioned she might’ve been on the run but he wasn’t sure from what or where.”

“Is he your birth father or?” James wondered.

“No, he adopted me when I was three. I didn’t know any better than so I thought he was my real father. He acted like it. I wish he was.” You admitted with sigh. James nodded.

“Well, knowing she might’ve been on the run is a good lead. I know some places she might’ve gone.”

“You’ve been on the run?” You asked, bringing your cup of coffee up to your lips.

“Maybe once or twice.” He huffed.

“Thanks again, for all of your help. You don’t even know me but it really means a lot. I owe you.” You admitted and James pursed his lips into a small smile.

“You’re company is payment enough.”

The blush crept up on your cheeks no matter how much you tried to hide it. You finished your coffee and headed James walked you back to the apartment, saying he was going to investigate one of those places. You asked to come along but he insisted it wasn’t the type of place you would want to be.

Later that evening, you heard a soft knock on your door. Looking through the small peep hole you saw James waiting outside patiently. For a moment you studied his features, the way he looked around him like he was expecting someone to appear. “I hope she’s not asleep.” You hadn’t meant to, but sometimes unintentionally you could hear others thoughts. Even though you normally would try to block them out, you were terribly curious about this man. And something in you knew he was more than he seemed. “Don’t mess up, Bucky. Maybe this is the only chance you got at normalcy.”

You opened the door and his eyes brightened,

“Uh, hi. Hope I didn’t disturb you.” He said awkwardly.

“No, I was just lost in thought, how did it go?” You asked. Putting that mental block back so more of his thoughts would creep through. You stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment,

“Uh, not bad.” He hesitated a moment before taking the cue and entering.

“Did you find something?” You asked eagerly.

“Kind of, someone there had seen someone named Mariana there a while back.” James answered.

“What else did they say about her?”

“That she seemed paranoid, like someone was after her and if she stopped too long she’d be found.” He said.

“Did she ever mention who? Or what?” You inquired, gesturing for him to take a seatr at the small kitchen table. James shook his head and sat down,

“They didn’t know who was coming after her. However.” James paused as you sat down across from him, anticipating his next words.

“They did say a group of men, like bounty hunters, came in asking about her not long after she left.” He finished and you took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“That would make sense why her records were destroyed, someone doesn’t want her to be found.” You surmised.

“Y/N.” James hesitated before he spoke again. “Are you sure you don’t know any reason why someone would try to erase her?”

You did know. It wasn’t a certain answer but it was the most logical one. But should you tell him? Does he deserve to know the truth of who you are? How you struggle daily to keep your powers under control. How you felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

“Y/N?” He asked again and you snapped yourself back out of your thoughts. Looking into his eyes, you saw something you hadn’t seen before. Past the tiredness you saw pain, intense pain. And do you decided to tell the truth,

“I haven’t been completely honest with you.” You started, your eyes shifting to your hands fidgeting on the table.

“When I was little, something happened to me. I could start hearing peoples thoughts, voices in my head fighting for dominance.” You paused, looking up to see James watching you intently but you didn’t sense any judgement.

“Then I started being able to move things without touching them. I’d broken a lot of glass and antiques on accident. As I grew I was able to get it under control a little better but sometimes when I’m unconscious or angry I can’t keep it at bay. It’s like a monster inside me at all times just waiting to be let out.” You finished, still nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for him to leave or curse at you for being a mutant and hiding the danger. Instead, he took took the glove on his left hand off, revealing a gleaming metal hand.

“I know what that feels like. To feel like a monster, like theres someone else living inside you.” His voice trembled slightly as he flexed the metal fingers. You reached out to place your hand on his, the cool metal stinging your warm hand. He looked at you with surprise, no one had held that hand. That hand had brought nothing but pain and suffering. But he didn’t pull away from your touch,

“I’m sorry.” You said, moving your hand back. James shook his head,

“Don’t be sorry. One day, I’ll tell you about how I got it.”

“I’m glad I met you, James.” You smiled solemnly.

“I’m glad I met you.”

#bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #buckybarnes #sebastianstan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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deliciousangelfestival · 6 months

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Cozy Secrets || Bucky Barnes

Character: Spy!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: Y/N discovers her seemingly perfect roommate, Bucky, is a spy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 , -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

In the heart of the bustling city, Y/N found herself looking for the perfect roommate. Her previous housemate had bid adieu after getting engaged, leaving Y/N in the lurch to find a suitable replacement.

After countless interviews, Y/N finally stumbled upon what seemed to be the answer to her roommate's quest – Bucky, a sports photographer with a penchant for cleanliness and a propensity for quiet nights.

His nocturnal work hours meshed well with Y/N's daytime routine, and his willingness to contribute to the apartment's upkeep made him the ideal housemate.

The first three months of their living arrangement went smoothly. He was always punctual with rent, impeccably tidy, and even willing to take on household chores without complaint – he was the roommate Y/N had always dreamed of.

However, something twisted happened one day when she returned home later than usual.

As she swung open the door, ready to unwind in her sanctuary, her eyes widened in disbelief and horror.

Her once-immaculate living space was now a chaotic mess, and right in the middle of the turmoil were two men engaged in a heated scuffle, with Bucky caught in the crossfire.

"Excuse me, what the heck is this?" Y/N exclaimed, her initial shock transforming into a mix of rage and confusion. The three combatants froze, turning their attention to Y/N.

The two men, realizing they were caught in the act, exchanged nervous glances but didn't utter a word. Bucky seized the opportunity for a strategic move in the split second of confusion.

With a swift motion, he expertly maneuvered between the brawlers and shut them down with a series of impeccably executed moves, leaving them in a stunned heap on the floor.

"Bucky, what in the world is happening here?" Y/N demanded, her eyes darting between the mess and her roommate, who was now defensive.

Bucky, seeing the need for a more honest approach, took a deep breath and decided to come clean. "Y/N, there's something you should know. I'm not just a sports photographer. I'm actually a spy."

Y/N stared at him, her initial anger giving way to sheer disbelief. "A spy? Are you serious, Bucky? Is this some sort of elaborate prank?"

Bucky shook his head, his expression serious. "No, I'm dead serious. I chose this apartment because it provides the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on a target across the building. Those guys you just saw? They were after the same target, and things got a bit out of hand."

Y/N blinked, processing this unexpected revelation. "Wait, so you're telling me that all this time, while I thought you were just a neat freak sports photographer, you've been living a double life as a spy?"

Looking genuinely remorseful, Bucky began, "Y/N, I'm really sorry about the mess. This wasn't supposed to happen, and I didn't mean to put you in this situation. It was a mistake, and I take full responsibility."

Y/N, arms still crossed, nodded. "Apologies won't fix my now-ruined living room, Bucky. This is unacceptable. I thought I finally found the perfect roommate, not a spy who turns my place into a battlefield."

Bucky, understanding the gravity of the situation, nodded solemnly. "I understand, Y/N. My agency will cover the expenses for the repairs and replacements. I'll make sure everything is back to normal. You have my word."

True to his word, Bucky coordinated with his agency, ensuring a team was dispatched to clean up the aftermath of the brawl. Broken items were replaced with new ones, and the apartment was restored to its former glory.

A few days later, as Y/N surveyed the now spotless living room, Bucky approached her tentatively. "I hope this makes up for the mess, Y/N. I really didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Y/N, now feeling a bit more forgiving, sighed. "Fine, Bucky. You've cleaned up your mess, literally. But I still need time to get over the fact that my roommate is a spy who uses my apartment for covert operations."

Bucky hesitated, "Y/N, I hope you don't want me to move out. I really like it here."

As Y/N contemplated whether she should ask Bucky to find a new place, her phone buzzed with a notification about her upcoming high school reunion. The idea of attending filled her with dread.

"Ugh, a high school reunion," she muttered to herself.

Bucky, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. "Problem with the reunion?"

Y/N grimaced. "I despise those events.” She doesn’t want to meet the popular girl from her school who constantly bullies her. But this time, she wants to show off. She got an excellent job nice apartment. But there’s one she doesn’t have.

A boyfriend.

Y/N looked Bucky from head to toe and mumbled, “What if..." But this idea was insane; she shook her head.

Bucky looked curious. "What if what?"

“Nothing.”

Bucky, understanding the high school dynamics, chuckled. "Ah, trying to one-up the mean girls from the past. So you need someone to accompany you? I'm in.”

Y/N fell silent for a moment, a realization slowly dawning on her. "You knew about my personal life?"

Bucky rubbed his head, a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. He didn't deny it, saying, "Well, I'm a spy, and my agency does background checks on everyone."

Her hands now covering her face, Y/N sighed, "Oh no...."

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. "What do you think? With my spy skills, I bet I could impress everyone at the reunion. In exchange, please don't kick me out. Pleasee...."

Y/N grumbled, her frustration apparent. "Fine."

Bucky grinned, a mix of relief and amusement in his eyes. "Thanks Y/N. I swear you won’t regret this."

As they navigated the quirks of their unique living situation, little did they know that more surprises and adventures awaited them in the days ahead.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

#buckybarnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #winter soldier #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #sebastian x y/n #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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undercoverpena · 11 months

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v. you make me feel wild

javier peña x f!reader | chapter five of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: it's happening. everyone stay calm. also, we have a new header ;) wordcount: 2.2k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Woke up this morning and remembered that we’re going to meet

I may have also woke up smiling

On a scale of Javi smiles was it bigger than the one when we destressed one another?

bigger you flirt

I’ve learnt from you. Never used to be like this. I was innocent before talking to you.

somehow baby I doubt that

We can argue about it later if you want? When I kick your ass at the crossword.

cant wait. try not to let those assholes get you down

I’m on my best behaviour this week. Need them to not revoke going to Houston.

oh any special reason

Not really.

ouch baby

Ask silly questions, win silly prizes.

im going to houston too

Oh are you? Any special reason?

gonna meet this beautiful woman who is an outrageous flirt

Great now I'm blushing.

you make it so easy

I have to go, the meeting is beginning, I'm sorry. Speak later, baby xx

Pop doesn’t bring it up, even if he knows. He waits—like dads do.

Forcing Javi to bring it up, all awkward—sweat pebbling around his neck, lower spine and brow. Not helped by the sun beating down on them, having to shout parts over the occasional animal grunt heard over their discussion as they repair the barn door.

Lately, his Pop leaves him to do bits like this alone. But he’s been hovering. More since the phone calls began and a level above that since he walked in on him the other night.

He stews in it. Allows it to thicken before he really brings it up—unsure whether to come out with it or skate around it. The two of them have gotten out of practice when it comes to sharing.

Javi is more used to lying to save face than being honest.

A hazard of his old job, he supposed. A mask he applied so his old man didn’t worry. Now, with those same occupational worries gone, Javi still finds it hard to let people in. Truly in. Not wanting to discuss Colombia, discuss Cali or Escobar.

It all adds to a pile of things the two Peñas don't talk about.

This wasn’t even bad news. It was good. Precisely what everyone wanted—including him—yet the words still seem to ball up in his throat. Rounding off, becoming a lump that sits.

Making it hard to breathe as he lifts a piece of wood; making it hard to twist when he moves to grab the hammer.

So much so, the words eventually just burst out of him. More like a confession than anything else.

“—that must have been real embarrassing for you.”

He can hear you stifling a laugh. His verbal reenactment of the conversation in the field with his Pop having tickled you.

“You’re an awful person,” he says, twisting the cord around his finger, smirking.

“If you feel that way, baby. We can always not meet.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. We’re meeting,” he says, coating his words in playfulness, even if there's a serious undertone remaining.

Turning on the spot, he leans against the wall. Finger looping more of the cord—hearing you lightly laugh.

“What... what is the plan, anyway?”

You hum, and he hears you shifting. Likely getting comfortable or reaching for something.

He’s learnt that often when he calls, you’re on your sofa—a blanket, sometimes over your lap. You like to be cosy, even if it's a warm day.

Other times you’re in your room, sitting on the bed—or under the sheets. It depends entirely on how warm you are, and how you’re feeling.

“Well, work will pay for my hotel for my two-night stay, and then if we, y'know, wanted to stay, I’ll just need to sort a room out for after.”

“How long have you managed to book off?”

It comes out shaky, more than he means it to.

Some of the finer details of your two’s meet left simmering in the centre of your usual conversations.

Both of you are evidently too afraid to ask.

“I’ll have managed to book off the week. Two days, including the day I land, for work and then the rest—if you're not a weirdo—can be with you.”

Grinning, he leans his head back, resting it against the wall. “Bit late now for you to be worrying about me being a weirdo, baby. I know the sounds you make when I make you—“

“Javi!”

Smirking, he bites the inside of his cheek. “It sounds good. Tell me the hotel, and I can book a room there.”

He hears it, the relief. The way you let out a breath, it blowing down the phone—making him smile.

“Y-you don’t mind?”

“You expected me to?”

Pausing, he hears you shuffle again. Sounding more like you’re on your bed than your sofa. “I mean, no. I guess I wasn’t sure what you’d assume. Cause, while there’s a good chance when I see you, I’ll want to spend every waking moment with you, there’s, y’know…”

Grinning, he curls the phone line around his palm, fingers sliding between parts. “The chance it could be a lot?”

“I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

He doubts you could.

From what he knows of you, he’s sure of it.

But, he also isn’t quite ready to confess he’s already pretty head over heels for you. That he is without seeing your face, knowing how tall you are—whether you have dimples or not, whether you smile with your lips or your entire face.

“How’re you gonna fuck this up, baby?”

You go silent, wondering if that’s the point you’ve shrugged to no one but your apartment.

“I’ve heard I’m a lot,” you say quietly.

Something snaps in him, a fracture running through him. “That’s alright. Steve told me I’m an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole—“

“And I promise you’re not a lot. If anything, you could actually talk more to me.”

“Shut up, I talk loads.”

He smiles, biting the inside of his cheek as he sighs. “I'm excited to see you.”

“Me too.”

Moving closer to the wall, he swallows, looking at the chipped tile in his kitchen. “You’re not gonna fuck this up, baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise. Let me book the room for the same amount of days as you, and then we can take it from there,” he says.

Struggling to hide his smile as you excitedly tell him you'll go grab your hotel details. More so when he's sure he heard you trip over something.

Are we going to do this when we meet?

you want to still do the crossword together

Yeah! We can find a place to pick up the paper if you want?

id like that

Good! Now, hit me with the next one so I can get some sleep so I can see you quicker.

got me blushing baby

7th word is d from ciders and clue is replacing, nine

Insteadof. This one is easy.

yeah im beginning to see that

Maybe we’re getting good at it?

let’s put it to the test, self-confidence six

Okay that one did take me a second but it’s aplomb.

you amaze me

Thank you. I think I should try and get some sleep, don’t want to look half-dead when I see you.

I doubt you ever could

I can’t believe I’m going to see the face that matches that suave voice.

suave ay. cant wait to see how pretty your smile is

You’re making me blush again.

tomorrow ill get to see it in person

You will. Goodnight, baby.

If I wasn’t meeting you it would be criminal being up this early.

Actually, it isn't even early. It is still night.

morning to you to baby I’m about to get on the road

Ok, I'm going to make myself the largest coffee.

Also if you’re not there after half an hour I’ll just head to the hotel.

hermosa I’m picking you up

I know but just in case, least you know I won’t be standing around.

you won’t be because I’ll be there

Javi, this way you have options to take one look at me and drive the other way.

I won’t do that

I’m just giving options and in case there is traffic

hermosa, im not going to stand you up

Okay, can’t blame a girl for wanting to help.

you can help me by getting your ass to the airport

Getting bossy, are we? I like it.

fuck baby you cant say things like that to me when i need to leave

Just something to think about on your long drive. Please drive safe, baby. See you soon.

see you in several hours

Javi is surprised at how smooth the drive is.

He watches the sun rise up as the miles tick on, sliding his aviators from his shirt to up on his nose. He finds a surprising road stop that serves not-bad coffee.

The kind that doesn’t leave that cheap tinge on his tongue or bitterly sitting in the back of his throat.

He doesn’t feel nervous, either.

And on top of that, he finds a parking spot at the airport with ease.

In a way, he worries it’s too good to be true. That such smoothness now means a rocky hill later.

That’s when the nerves kick in. It sitting, fluttering in his stomach—at first, all little wings and then all of a sudden something larger.

Shifting the parking brake into place, he turns the key to silence the car. His pulse creates a beat—steady, almost orchestral—as he glances up at the sea of people stepping out of the airport.

This is it.

He’s been trying not to picture you—attempting not to turn shapes into something solid. Javi wants the experience when his eyes land on you, as though his world is in black and white, and then he’ll see colour.

It’s what he hopes.

A part, small but insistent, keeps chipping away at him, reminding him to plan for the worst. To have a backup plan—a way out.

Picking up his phone, he stares at the blank screen. Somewhat reassured that you hadn’t either texted that you’d arrived earlier—or worse, you’d changed your mind.

Lifting his chin, sliding his palm over his jeans, he takes a breath—deep, heavy, the kind that expands his chest until it can’t anymore.

You should have landed by now.

His eyes glance at the time on his watch as he takes another breath. Checking down at his shirt, making sure for the hundredth time he hadn’t spilt coffee—ensuring dark brown hadn’t stained pink.

It’s what you had asked for.

How will I know it’s you? youll know Because you’re oh so handsome? yes that and ill wear bright pink For me? You spoil me.

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he brushes his palm over his face.

It’s only then that he allows his eyes to flick from face to face, worry creeping in. It trying to merge with the happiness he’s been stifling on the drive. Scanning and scanning, glancing and glancing—

Then, in a worn denim jacket, legs out, dragging a battered suitcase behind, he sees you.

Or who he hopes is you.

If it is, you look nervous. It makes you stand out from the crowd of bustling people around you, as they struggle to get past you, and you struggle to force it behind a smile or banish it from your cheeks.

Even from here, it pulsates. You finding it more difficult as shaky hands pull out something from your pocket, unfolding it, before he sees the most ridiculous hand-drawn sign in between your fingers.

It’s definitely you.

You who has scratched Javi P onto a piece of paper, all accompanied by a worried expression on your face as you shift from leg to leg.

Javi isn’t sure why you made the sign. You didn’t need it.

Somehow, against all logic and odds, he knew it was you. His arm shoving the car door wide as he exits, not looking back to check it slams into place as he crosses to you, watching, waiting with his heart in his throat for your eyes to land on him.

And when they do.

It’s an eclipse.

It hits your eyes first, making them gleam like a beacon guiding him home. Then it reaches your cheeks, lips sliding up, teeth showing as you lower the sign, staring at him as he moves closer, forgetting all the others around the two of you.

As though a single soul has never even existed outside the two of you.

It’s just him and you.

Coming to a stop in front of you, he lets himself stare you up and down—voice and texts stitching themselves to the face he now sees.

Flexing his fingers at his side, Javi watches you slowly lick your lips as his heart slides back into its rightful place. The nerves slowly stop fluttering, and his mind begins to catch back up with him.

And the only thought that remains is: You're beautiful.

More than his mind could ever conjure or create.

“Hi,” you say.

And it falls like glitter from your lips to his ears.

His lips are unable to relax from their grin, spreading wider, cheeks aching as he fights running his knuckles against your cheek. “Hi.”

an: if this was a sitcom, this would be my season finale... but alas it isn’t, so you only have to wait a week for them to be hanging out *wink, wink*

✨ also, check out this really cool moodboard a beautiful soul made for LNT for the birthday bash

next chapter ->

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gardens-light · 11 months

Text

On The Run

After discovering Optimus Prime in your family barn, normality seemed to briefly throw itself out of the window.

The leader of the Autobots couldn't be anymore in your debt. For as you spend every waking moment putting him back together- repairing and replacing parts of him to the best of your skill.

Admittedly, he almost gave up on humanity. As time seemed to prove itself that they would always look after their own, and protect what's theirs- no matter the cost. Betrayal unleashed it's ugly face to him multiple times, slapping him with the reality that Earth may not be safe for him and his Autobots anymore.

Yet here you stand before him. A warm smile with an aura of glittering hope, burning away his darkness of doubt. It was as though the Universe itself spoke through you, giving Optimus a warmth he thought was forgotten long ago. But he cannot help wander... how far could his trust in you really go...?

Content: Mild coarse language. Events takes place in Transformers- Age of Extinction. (Minor spoilers.) Mention of weaponry. Reader insert.

Word count- 2,800k

Sparkmate Series: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (End)

"Don't move like that."

Your hands pressed against Optimus' chest plate as you stood upon the scaffolding.

"The welds are still fresh. Transforming back into your truck form could ruin them- it would be like undoing stitches on a wound."

His Spark burst like small firecrackers as your delicate fingers brushed across his chassis. Jolts of electricity rush through his wires, as your touch run up towards his neck. Heat swept through his metal plates, as you reached up towards his cheek.

"You still need to heal, Big Guy. You of all people should know these things takes time..."

Optimus' optics snapped open. Your touch still lingering upon his chest plate like a ghostly inferred sensation. The memory of the previous hours of the day, playing on repeat within his processors. The haze of sleepiness soon rubbed off, his surroundings becoming faminular again.

His optics scanned the barn, the nocturnal wildlife outside disturbed the still night air. Your small whimpers of your voice caught his attention, Optimus' spark gave a warming glow as he looked down at you.

Engine grease staining your hands, as you curled up upon an old couch. Sleeping peacefully on your side, resting your head in the crook of your elbow.

Optimus' servo touched his lower abdomen, his digits feeling a fresh weld stretching up his side. A gentle sigh left him.

She must of pulled another all nighter.

Grabbing a blanket with his free servo, Optimus carefully draped it along your body. Allowing the tip of his index finger to trace your curves.

His Spark hummed, filling his chest with gentle warmth. Optimus quickly pulled away from you, placing his servo over his Spark.

No. Closing his optics, a heavy sigh left his mouth. Shaking his helm before the thought could permanently fixed itself to his processors. Nothing like that exists. It's just a romanticide idea...

---

"Y/N!" Tessa's voice shouted from the porch.

Stopping mid-weld upon Optimus' side. Gently tapping on the metal sheet, signaling for the Autobot to hold it in place while you pulled down your goggles around your neck.

"I don't like the tone of her voice..." you looked up at Optimus. He saw the worry shining in your eyes. "Hold that tightly, it's only half welded. Hide in there."

His optics followed your pointed finger, "go underneath the floorboards. It might be cramped for you, but it keep you be safe. Don't come out till I say."

Quickly leaving the barn and closing the door behind you. Swallowing down your nerves, as the sight of multiple black cars parked all across the gravel driveway and front lawn. Followed by your dad's truck.

"Oh no..."

A helicopter hovered a few meters away from the house. Disturbing the still air. As soon as the black vehicles parked, multiple heavy armoured individuals got out and scouted the farm.

A man wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses approached you, as your dad came to your side.

"Sweetie..?"

"I donno, Dad-"

"Mr Cade Yeager, my name is James Savoy. I'm a federal agent." Savoy took a look around the property. "My men and I are trying to track down an abandoned truck."

You watched one of the men walk past Tessa. Her eyes staring something in her hands, her fingers playing with the object. You saw her adjusting her breath to a calm rhythm, before looking up in your direction.

"It's a nice spread you've got here." Your attention turned back to Savoy. "Too bad she's up for sale."

"Thanks, and she's not." Cade boldly spoke. "And do you mean that truck?" he pointed to an vintage ute covered in rust, the grass and flowers started to reclaim it for many years now.

"Afraid not... y'know Mr Yeager. We received a call from someone whom is concerned about this truck. That wasn't you?"

You briefly glanced daggers to Tessa's direction. She quickly shook her head rapidly, using her index finger to draw a cross over her heart.

"The only thing I'm concerned about is you being on my property without permission."

Savoy scoffed at your dad's words.

"You know, there's a rule about people messing with people from Texas-"

"And we don't know what truck you're talking about."

Savoy took a step towards you, taking off his sunglasses allowing his narrowed stare to burn into your eyes. "The kind that cost American lives!... Ma'am..."

Savoy studied your firm expression before turning back to his men, "search the property!"

"What? What you mean 'search the property'? You don't have a warrant!" Cade protested.

Savoy glared at him, stepping into Cade's personal space. "My face is my warrant"

You swallowed nervously, trying to keep steady shallow breaths as you watched the men move throughout the farm. Roaming into the house and approaching the barn. Voices scratched over their radios, as the buzz of drones flew above.

Cade turned and looked at you, "what is going on Y/N?-"

"I don't know, Dad..."

His brown eyes studied you, "you sure?... I'm happy to vouch for you but I need to know what it is."

You hesitated before speaking, " I. Don't. Know..."

---

"The fuck is all this junk?"

"A hoarder's yard. That's what."

Optimus looked up at the floorboards, hearing voices and footsteps of the agents entering the barn. Trying to lower himself further down in the cramped floor space, his face wincing in pain as the half welded sheet dug into his thighs. Automatically covering it up with his servo.

"Clear!"

A groan escaped from an agent's lips. His footsteps retreating back to the barn doors, "there's no signs. We've got nothing."

Optimus rested his helm against the dirt wall.

"Sir! We have a live armed missile in the trash!"

The Autobot's wide optics quickly glanced up back up.

Oh no... Y/N!!

---

"Shit..." you hissed under your breath. Feeling Cade's questioning daggers immediately turning your way.

"I-I thought it was a dud." You lowly admitted. Hands clenched into fists.

Savoy's glaze switched between you and Cade.

"Look! Okay, yes. Yes, I found a truck. All right!" you admitted.

Tessa kept shaking her head. Cade leaned towards you, muttering your name.

"I towed it back for the parts, and left it here on the driveway last night. This morning it was gone." You gazed at Savoy. "When? Where? I don't know- I swear to God. That's as much as I know about him!"

You tried to approach Tessa. Eyes staring at the ground, Cade's voice shouted questions at you as he followed. But Savoy grabbed your arm.

"Ma'am-"

"What?-"

"You just said 'him'." Savoy smiled as your terrified expression told him everything. "Take them down!"

Your heart jumped into your throat. Fear running up your spine, as the agents forcefully grabbed Cade and Tessa, throwing them down against the grass.

"They don't know about the truck!" you protested. "I know! I know about it! Please, let them go!"

Savoy grabbed your jaw, forcefully making you look at him. "What kind of woman betrays her flesh-and-blood brethren, for some alien metal?"

"He's more human than you ever be!"

He groaned, wiping your spit away from his face. Savoy's fist made contact with your face, two agents restrained you by the arms holding you up. As Savoy grabbed your jaw again.

Clicking his fingers, the agents restraining Cade and Tessa pulled out their weapons. Clocking the gun and removing the safety.

"You'd kill my family?!-"

"If I have to. You've got ten seconds to tell me where the truck is."

Cade fought against the agent whom knelt against his back. "Don't you fucking dare touch my daughters! Hurt them and I'll kill you!"

Tears ran down Tessa's face as she yelled out for you and Cade. The sound of a gunshot made you flinch.

"Next one will go through your father's head." Savoy warned. "Now, the truck-"

"I've told you everything I know!" you protested. "He was here, and now he's gone! That's all I swear!"

---

"I'm telling you the truth!" your voice cried. Hearing the pain in your tone made Optimus' Spark weep. "He's not here! I swear! He's not here!"

"Tell your men to back off! Don't you dare fucking shoot my daughters!"

"Y/N! Y/N! Please!"

The cries from you and your family wurld around Optimus' head. Hearing Savoy countdown from ten, as he continued yelling his demands at you.

Optimus withdraw his cannon from his back plates. Clocking it, allowing the weapon to light up and wurl. Allowing his face guard to untuck from his faceplate and cover his mouth.

Let's roll!

Erupting from underground, Optimus opened fire at his enemies. Blowing them out of the way, and reducing the barn to splinters.

"Here I am!" his machical voice roared, standing at his full height. Allowing all to see him.

His Spark pulsating fast as his optics laid on you. Rage filled him as he changed the output of his cannon, firing non-lethal EMP's in your direction.

"Stay away from her!"

You knelt to the ground, using your arms to shield you from the blast as the agents flew away from you. Tessa and Cade quickly rushed to your side.

"What the fuck is going on?" Cade yelled over the comotion.

"Run Y/N!" you looked up at Optimus as his cannon returned to deadly rounds. "They're going to kill you! Get out of here!"

Heeding the Autobot's warning, grabbing your sister and dad by their hands. Running towards the wheatfield on the left of the farm. Two missiles came from above. Turning your once family home into nothing but rubble.

Without warning the sound of a car engine roared in the air, quickly stopping at the bottom of the wheatfield. As a white Hatchback raced down the hill, and came skidding to a halt before the three of you.

The passenger door flew open. "Hurry! Get in the car!" the male driver yelled.

"Daddy! Y/N! Get in the car!" Tessa shouted. Shoving your dad into the front passenger seat, and trying to pull you into the back with her.

"What about Optimus? We can't just leave him!-"

"Stop protesting, Y/N! And get in the car!"

"Perimeter! Optimus moving your way!" Savoy yelled into the receiver of his radio.

Optimus looked ahead. Breathing a little easier, once his scanners assured him you were at a safe distance. Seeing the Hatchback race down the road, a low groan escaped Optimus' mouth as he crouched down. Forcing his metal plates to shift, loud churning noises rumbled throughout his mechanical body, as he transformed back into a truck.

You and Tessa clung onto the roll cage for dear life, as the hatchback raced down the open fields.

"What's happening, baby? Who are these guys?" the male driver asked Tessa, looking at her reflection through the rearview mirror.

"It's the truck!" she yelled over the engine. "They want my sister's truck!-"

"Truck?! What truck?!" Cade looked at you over his shoulder. He turned to Tess, "who are 'they'?" his attention fell back onto the male driver. "Who are you? And who the hell are you calling, 'baby?'-"

Tessa and the driver paused.

"I know you heard me!-"

"He's Tessa's boyfriend!" you cried out.

Cade's eyes widened, "what?-"

"His name is Shane! I saw him leaving Tessa's room in his underwear!"

"What?!-"

Tessa punched your arm, "well Y/N brought home a Transformer!"

You punched her back. "If you're going to tell a secret. At least get it right! Optimus was already in the barn!"

"At least I tried to keep your secret!-"

"If we survive this. You two girls have a lot of explaining to do!" Cade shouted.

You and Tessa slouched back in the rear seats.

Shane bit his lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "Mr Yeager, this was not how I wanted us to meet ok?-"

"Introduction later!" Cade yelled. "Just shut up and drive the car!"

Two black cars appeared in Shane's rearview mirror. Putting the accelerator closer to the ground, the Hatchback raced through the neighboring paddocks.

"I'm going to try and lose them in the cornfield!" Shane spoke over the roaring engine, as he took a sharp right turn. Driving down a dirt road, kicking up dust and dirt behind him.

A scream left your mouth, as your wide-eyed gaze saw one of the black cars quickly emerging from the tall corn. "Watch out!-"

"Brace for impact!"

Heeding Shane's warning, you and Tessa grabbed hold of the handles above the passenger door. Reaching out for one another, as the car t-boned into the side of Shane.

Screams filled the car, as everyone tried to shield their eyes from the rain of glass. Forcing the Hatchback off the dirt track and into the tall field, Shane kept surprising control of the car. The vehicle swerved in and out of trees.

The speed chase continued onto the main road. Shane weaved in and out of oncoming traffic, effortlessly changing lanes and avoiding pedestrians. Other drivers bleeped their horns and flashed their headlights.

Tessa scrunched up her face, as the sound of crashing cars piled up behind as Shane drove through red lights. And sped through traffic.

Your heart beat hard against your ribcage. Anxiety and adrenaline raced through your veins. Closing your eyes and placing a hand over your stomach as Shane drifted around a corner.

"Great! Now they're firing at us!" Tessa said as bullets ricocheted off the Hatchback.

You and her quickly braced yourselves against the driver and front passenger seat.

"Man! I don't know how I'm driving so good!" Shane exclaimed with a smile. "It's like, today I've gone to a whole other level-"

"Road! Focus!" Cade shouted.

"Shane! Look out!" he drifted around another corner as Tessa's warning came to him.

Your stomach turned into a sickening knot, "I honestly don't know how long I can hold myself together-"

"Y/N! If you throw up on my jeans. I will never forgive you!"

You looked up at Tessa, giving her questioning eyes. "That's your concern right now?!-"

"Hang on!" Shane momentarily stopped the car. Skidding to the side, before putting his foot down on the pedal again and crashing through an empty cafe.

Exiting through the back alley and down an old, forgotten road.

"Lose them through the factory, Shane!"

"You got it, Babe!"

Racing around the empty car park of an abandoned factory. Swerving around corners and driving through large gaps in the building.

"I thought you knew how to drive this thing!" you shouted, as it appeared nothing Shane did was working in losing the tail chasers.

Optimus' Spark raced through his wires, as he drifted and turned through the factory. His scanners having a hard time keeping track of the little Hatchback. Metal plates shifted and groaned as he unleashed his full height, jumping from roof to roof of the factory in an attempt to keep up with you.

You quickly looked out the back window, as Optimus' voice called out for you. Your eyes widening as he rolled in the way of the black cars, causing them to slam into him and setting alight upon collision.

"Take them upstairs!" Tessa pointed from the backseat.

"We're gonna lose them on the fifth floor!" Shane agreed.

The knot in your stomach tightened as the Hatchback entered a multi-story car park. Your skin turned pale, bracing yourself against the back of your dad's seat, as the car drifted around corners and moved up the levels.

"Do that thing, Shane!"

"You know it-"

"What? What thing?" your panicky tone questioned.

"What we're about to do is gonna be kinda scary." Somehow Shane's tone didn't sound much of a warning, as he failed to hide the excitement in his tone.

Pressing the accelerator fully against the floor, Shane looked at Tessa through the rearview mirror. "Ready, Babe?"

"Got it" she said, leaning as far forward as she could. Grabbing onto the handbrake.

"Three. Two. One.. Pull!"

At Shane's command, Tessa pulled the handbrake as hard as she could. Causing the car to sharply stop, then turn right and continue racing towards a ramp that hung out of a window.

"No! No! No!" Cade cried.

The pit of your stomach lifted during the brief seconds of weightlessness. Until it dropped hard once gravity pulled you back down. A high pitch scream left your mouth, hands clutching into the back of Cade's seat, ripping the fabric. As you closed your eyes tightly.

By some miracle the Hatchback roughly landed on a ramp upon the ground. The two black cars behind you wasn't so lucky.

"You two girls are so grounded!" Cade shouted, as Shane drifted around one more corner.

Churning and clunking noises begun to erupt from the engine. The car finally came to an abrupt halt, as Shane slammed on the breaks.

Smoke begun to leak out of the hood.

"Shit! We gotta go!"

Shane and Cade quickly got out of the Hatchback. Optimus blared his horn, rolling up a few feet behind.

"Optimus!" you shouted as Cade helped you get out of the car.

The four of you ran towards the rusty truck. Quickly dodging the rain of bullets from above. Once safely inside, the Autobot sped out of the car park and raced towards the entrance to the highway.

#x reader #transformers x reader #optimus x reader #optimus prime #autobot x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers fanfiction #transformers bayverse #optimus prime bayverse #optimus prime x you #fanfic writing #bayverse transformers #fanfiction #gardens light

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smartgarage1 · 7 months

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periprose · 1 year

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Therapy

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky Barnes is your newest patient at your clinic. As a therapist, you know all about having to maintain decency and professional respect with your patients, even when they seem unruly. But Bucky isn't just any ordinary man– he's the top earner of the Russian mafia down in Brighton Beach, and he's temperamental and not really down with therapy. He's only seeing you out of necessity, and the last thing you're expecting is other strange developments in your relationship.

Genre: Deeply inspired by Tony Soprano and Melfi's relationship on the Sopranos, Mafia!Bucky Barnes, not really pro mafia, doctor-patient to friends to lovers, lots of psychology and therapy talk throughout, fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Bucky waits as the secretary informs him that his therapist will be ready for him soon, and he’s sweating bullets, feeling like a child who’s been told to wait for a punishment from the school principal.

He has absolutely no idea what you’ll be like– he was just recommended a therapist by his physician, because apparently his blood pressure is unfortunately incredibly high for someone his age, and it’s going to become an issue later on if he doesn’t fix it now.

Of course, Bucky knows that stress comes with the job, so no wonder his blood pressure is so high. He can’t exactly be his gang’s boss if he’s having heart palpitations and needing to sit down every few moments when he should be intimidating his enemies and rivals. The Russian mafia requires him to be almost perfect at every instance, so they can keep their riches and luxuries growing. He’s one of their top earners, but this goddamn stress is starting to ruin things for him.

He’s come here under the guise that he’s out repairing his car, even telling his mother and his sister that, and his underlings aren’t going to argue with him regardless of what he says. It’s a good thing this office is in New York, so he didn’t have to travel to anywhere particularly suspicious.

But Bucky still feels so strange, so unlike himself, feeling both wary and somewhat angry by this situation that he’s in, where the grey carpet and the equally dull pink-grey of the walls makes him feel like he’s trapped. Trapped in this skyscraper, when really he should be down at Sam’s bar, clinking his drink next to Steve’s and watching the sun set on Brighton Beach.

And he would be, if it wasn’t for the constant, clenched fear in his heart, the pit in his stomach that never seems to go away despite his attempts to fill it with drinks and the women and other vices, and he feels a chill– he wonders if he will ever successfully remove himself from this lifestyle, or if he even wants to. Bucky sometimes believes that it’s more likely he’ll die here.

Bucky thinks for a moment that he should leave. Now, while he still can, because he thinks this appointment is probably pointless.

“Mr. Barnes?” You open your office door, and Bucky sighs and stands up. “Right this way.”

He notices you don’t exactly look how he envisioned. You have a no-nonsense appearance– none of that frilly new age bullshit he was expecting, no crystal bracelets or spiritual tattoos or extra piercings– you have a khaki blazer on and tidy slacks. Your hair is coiffed in a way that says respectable, but you also don’t have the time to try too hard with your looks. Your glasses make you look intelligent, but also scary in how you peer at him.

He follows you into your office– everything is in a cushy shade of brown, from the carpets to the sofa chairs, way up to the wood paneling and shelves surrounding your desk, and the framed certificates displaying your knowledge, and it's immediately more comforting than the outside room. Bucky wonders if that's by design.

He sits down on an armchair, and his fingers, out of their own accord, grip the armrests as if he’s dying. Hell, maybe he is.

"I've done a little bit of reading on why you're here." You start murmuring over your patient files on your desk as you look for his particular one. "Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones… ah, there it is. James Buchanan Barnes."

"...Bucky is fine." He clenches his jaw– no one has called him James in literal decades, and he's not going to let some fancy doctor like you start. Bucky barely wants to be here as it is.

"In this office, we have a level of professional respect that needs to be maintained." You correct him gently, not because he did anything wrong, but just as a careful reminder. "I will address you as Mr. Barnes. Is that okay?"

"Sure." Bucky feels tense, waiting for the hour to go by any faster than it currently is. You look at him– not in a way that makes him feel as if he's being sized up, because he'd definitely make a backhanded comment about that– but in a way that articulates some form of curiosity.

It's to Bucky's displeasure that he can't tell whether or not it's just simply the look of a therapist, or if you’re really, truly interested in him. He nods at you– you understand he wants you to get on with it.

“Okay. So you’re here because you’ve been having high blood pressure, and heart palpitations.” You scan over the note written by his physician– scrawled in a hasty cursive– and look back up at him. “You’re in good shape, and you’re a bit too young to be having age-related heart problems.”

“Nice observation, doc.” Bucky retorts, and you half-smile at that– your best patients have always been the snarky ones, and you figure it’s because they have that sense of humour that is sometimes needed for therapy. “Obviously I’m stressed the fuck out.”

“Stressed, Mr. Barnes?” You cross your arms, and sit down in front of him in your own armchair, starting the session legitimately. “And why do you think that it is?”

“I said it was obvious. Aren’t you a doctor? Shouldn’t you be smarter than this?” Bucky shakes his head, wondering why he has to delve into something so clear. “My jobs, doc. They take too much out of me these days– it’s a wonder I don’t just end it.”

You ignore the perceived slight against your intelligence. “Why can’t you end it, Mr. Barnes?”

“...There’s too many people counting on me.” Bucky sighs in exasperation. “My mother, she’s not gonna be able to fend for herself if I’m not bringing in the income– I’ve considered putting her in a home, but she thinks I’m trying to get rid of her– and my baby sister, Rebecca, she’s used to a certain, uh, lifestyle now. It’s not very fair of me to take that away from her.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “That’s not even counting the rest of my family.”

“Your family, or your ‘family?’” You mimic quotation marks, meaning his crime family, and Bucky swallows. “Mr. Barnes, I’d like to remind you. Don’t say anything that would require me to break the patient-doctor confidentiality agreement.”

Bucky takes this to mean that you know what he does for a living, and he’s not stupid– he was never going to get really into that, say anything that would really, truly implicate him, he knows all about the laws around snitching– he just thought to the rest of the world, his reputation wouldn't precede him quite as much.

“Okay. Should I start with where it all began, or just what’s on my mind?” Bucky wrinkles his forehead as he thinks, and you leave the floor open for him to begin wherever he likes.

Bucky starts with how his latest “room cleaning” (you assume he’s putting up a front as a janitor) went south, because there are certain stains that you can never get rid of.

“Usually, I’m quick on my feet– I know the rules and laws around disposing of “stains,” and I only have a limited amount of time before the smell starts getting worse and neighbours start asking questions.” Bucky illuminates for you, and you get the feeling stains don’t exactly just mean blood, maybe body disposal or something like that.

“This time, though?” Bucky continues, and his voice gets raspy, as patients’ often do, when they start elaborating and getting to the difficult parts of their experiences. “Steve asked me what was wrong, why was I frozen in place, and I leaned against the wall, couldn’t say anything.”

“I was feeling that… y’know, that loud sort of thumping–” Bucky suddenly motions to his head, unable to look quite at you, instead feeling the sensation he was describing. “Like a heartbeat, but in my head?”

“Yes. I know what you mean.” You write this down as well. “Those are signs of your heart palpitations– most likely the pressure in your head was induced from a panic attack.”

“Right.” Bucky swallows the lump in his throat. “It was too loud to even keep my eyes open, Jesus– it was scary, I started yelling at Steve and then I… I turned over to the side, and puked.”

“So you’re struggling with maintaining your composure. Letting loose with anger, panic, other aggressive emotions.” You note, and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but it’s worse than that. That stuff can be… useful, in my line of work.” Bucky cracks a few of his knuckles. “I can’t exactly do my fucking work if I’m puking up shit, right?”

“Sure. But we’re here to focus on why. On what’s going on with your mental health.” You gently prod him to keep going.

“My sister, Rebecca, she’s saying she’s gonna go audition for movies.” Bucky explains, with a sideways, sarcastic smirk that has you thinking this guy doesn’t look half bad. “Not adult movies, mind you, doc– I immediately thought that and tried to talk her out of– but real Hollywood productions, something that a New Money socialite like her could potentially get into, for real.”

“Tell me what the conversation was like.”

“Well, Rebecca’s been going to acting classes, and she told me that it was just a hobby. Just something all the other girls in Brighton were doing.” Bucky nonchalantly scratches his cheek, but his jaw clenches as he continues. “But she sat me down, and said ‘Buck, my teacher says I have a real good shot at making it. I know how you feel about this, but I can’t just sit and spend the rest of my life doing nothing.’ Listen, doc, she has a point– I’ve always felt a little bad that Rebecca just sits there, looking pretty. But I didn’t want her to go and do this, and–”

Bucky inhales. “I couldn’t speak to her. I felt dizzy, and I sat down, and I felt like I had to… I had to either run or fight this thing before it got too far.”

“Fight-or-flight.” You affirm, and you point at him with a well-groomed fingernail. “Hm. That sounds like the real issue.”

Bucky frowns at that.

“Huh?”

“You’re not just afraid of losing your sister– you clearly have a fear of what the future entails. You’re exhibiting symptoms of PTSD.” You clarify, and Bucky shifts around in his seat, wanting more of an explanation. “You’re in a constant state of panic because you don’t know what life will bring you.”

That explanation rings through him, and he’s drawn to a silence.

“But why now?” Bucky eventually mutters, staring down at the carpet again, this time focusing on a piece of lint that hadn’t been vacuumed. “Isn’t life always uncertain?”

“Well, PTSD is built up because of past trauma. Anything can really induce it again– something that’s triggered you appropriately, whether it be through similar emotions or similar events.” You think that over, and then nod. “It sounds as if you are experiencing a relapse in trauma… perhaps due to the nature of your work, or because the lack of control with Rebecca– possibly leading to a blown cover or her newfound independence– and most likely of all, it could be because you have not let go of those feelings and use them in response to many different situations. It’s not uncommon, Mr. Barnes, to become used to traumatic responses as ‘how it’s supposed to be.’ If it’s all you know, you won’t expect any different until it’s too late.”

Bucky realizes that that’s exactly how he felt when he was sitting in the waiting room. Like all of this was useless, an attempt to fix something that he felt was totally ordinary. If it wasn’t for the extremity of his recent reactions, he would’ve just kept going on like this.

Something about this revelation pisses him off.

“I believe we should try to focus on this and work through it.” You check the clock, and then smile professionally at him. “That’s all the time we have for today. Any parting questions, thoughts, ideas?”

Bucky is still silent. He is mulling over the fact that you’ve already seemed to figure him out, at least partially– he wanted more of a challenge, more of something to use against you so he could successfully call therapy a bunch of bullshit. He feels a sense of relief that the hour is over, but also annoyance over the fact that he wants to keep going.

“...Thanks, doc.” Bucky bids you goodbye, and you nod and walk him to the door.

You feel the animosity in the air, but you know that’s not rare, especially considering who your patient is.

Mr. Barnes is terrifying when he glares at you.

His third session had started off with a story about a “coworker” he had to have a talking to, and when you pried just a bit deeper, wanting to know what exactly the coworker had done, he inhaled sharply, and stared you down with those blue-grey eyes.

You don’t know how to respond to his silence, to his mob boss intimidation tactics. Bucky might be the most difficult patient you’ve had so far, and you do not want to push too far and hurt yourself in the process.

You maintain your poker face, needing to do so to maintain the safe space you have made not just for Bucky, but for yourself. If he ever came forward too quickly, attacked you– it would be the end of your relationship with him.

“Why did you stop speaking, Mr. Barnes?” You break the silence, and Bucky continues to stare you down. “I thought we were getting towards a–”

"You think I'm stupid, huh?" Bucky scoffs at you. "You want me to reveal everything about myself, right? This isn't enough to make me make a fool of myself. Doesn't matter if you keep offering me little platitudes, or if your office is nice and warm, or if you happen to be a very pretty, smart doctor lady. It's not gonna fucking work on me."

You look taken aback for just a moment, and then smile neatly at him. "Wonderful, Mr. Barnes. I think you're making significant progress."

"Really?" Bucky furrows his brows. "You're not gonna tell me I'm rejecting change, or some shit like that?"

"Funny you should mention one of the main pillars of therapy." You bite your lip as you think. “No, this is actually a part of it, is it not? You are formulating a response to the change, which means you are getting results, somewhere inside you. You don’t have to tell me what exactly it is, Mr. Barnes, it’s evident in the way you reject it.”

“God, how do I get you off my back then?” Bucky sighs and then laughs a little. “Okay, fine, doc. I’m only trying this shit so I can do my work, get it? Don’t try to rehabilitate me.”

“Noted.” You pretend to write that down, but actually write three times three equals nine. Just a random sentence that looks like something important.

You won’t be upfront about this, because you don’t want to scare him away– but therapy is not some sort of quick fix. Rehabilitation will have to be apart of Bucky Barnes’ regime someday, at least as the end result of his therapy, or he’ll never have the mental strength he needs to move on.

Several of your clients have had to build up the right state of mind in order to then remove themselves from the situation. Bucky can’t be any different.

“Alright. Sorry.” Bucky doesn’t usually apologize, ever, but something about how your eyes– normally so reserved in their emotions– became wide-eyed, slightly fearful of him, made him want to take a step back and stop. “Should I keep going?”

You’re taking a moment, because you want to know why he snapped like that. What exactly did you say? Should you avoid the phrase next time? How do you help Bucky and protect yourself? Is it worth delving deeply into his past, when you risk getting hurt by his tendencies?

Every therapist has this moment, you know that. Some of your colleagues have passed on patients to you when they felt that it was too much for them. And you have an inkling that Bucky is going to be the one to watch for you.

You think that Bucky doesn’t like when you ask for specifics. Or that he’s getting frustrated that you’re getting to him, so he pushes back– but really, just like you said, if Bucky was truly not being changed by any of this, he wouldn’t be responding at all. You decide to be patient.

“You can keep going if you would like to.” You respond quietly, carefully, and Bucky nods and continues on with his story.

“So the guy– the coworker– he’s been harassing one of my other coworkers, right. And that little guy is pretty wet behind the ears, too young to really stand up for himself.” Bucky is shaking his head in quiet disappointment. “So the second he came too close– did too much that he shouldn’t have done– I ended it.”

“I see.”

“And it’s not that I didn’t want to do it– I did wanna end that particular situation, doc. It was just that the kid wasn’t doing enough to fight back, but after I did it, everything felt…” Bucky trails off, staring at the floor, his eyes beginning to water. “Different. Bad. All this shit I do is for a reason, and I usually… I like it. But the kid started wailing, crying, and for a second, I felt really shit about the whole thing. Like I shouldn’t have gone that far.”

You take a moment to write that down, that Bucky is beginning to feel some semblance of regret.

“But you know what’s crazy, doc? Even though I feel bad about it, I still want to do it. Doesn’t that sound insane?” Bucky swallows, and he looks at you, maybe for comfort, maybe for an explanation. “I can’t stop– I won’t stop. I just need to keep going and stop being such a pussy about it.”

“You’re focusing on the wrong aspect, Mr. Barnes.” You chime in, and he shakes his head, tapping at his arm rest. “Why did you feel bad? What about this younger man had you feeling, well, out of sorts?”

“I told you already, doc, he was screaming and crying and it was just– it was too much.” Bucky repeats, but he feels himself growing smaller, suddenly feeling tiny, just like when he was a young man starting out in this world. “I guess… maybe, just maybe it brought up some bad stuff inside me.”

“Yes, this is the problem. Being in these situations will take a toll on you– even if you still need to do them, Mr. Barnes– and so you’re beginning to feel the memories roll back in. It’s all a part of how you’ve been unintentionally triggering yourself the last few years, I’m guessing, because you can’t simply forget the bad times forever.” You point out to him, and he shuts his eyes.

“Yeah, so I’m a fucking psycho? There’s a whole bunch of things about myself that I don’t even know?” Bucky scoffs at himself, feeling very unmasculine and more like a baby.

“Don’t tear yourself down that much.” You remark, not unkindly. “I myself have had many bad, sad, unspeakable times– people are more broken than you realize.”

“Yeah, really?” Bucky looks mystified. “What kinda trouble could a lady like you get into? You’re very clever, and you’re probably well-off… I’d figure you’d keep your nose outta bad shit.”

“It’s not that simple, is it?” You lean back in your chair, pick a loose thread off your blazer. “Sometimes bad shit picks you, Mr. Barnes. That’s why we should not blame ourselves for things outside of our control.”

“Hey, don’t leave me hanging.” Bucky shoots back suddenly, sitting more present and aware of you than he had before. “What happened to you, doc?”

“That’s not why we’re here, Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Bucky is half smiling, looking more roguish and understandably a little intrigued. “You’ve been hearing all about me, the least I deserve is some reciprocation.”

You blink. “Mr. Barnes, you’re paying me to be here for you. My advice is–”

“Alright, alright. Letting it go now.” Bucky raises his hands in a gesture meant to stop you from continuing. “Keep your secrets, it makes you more mysterious. More hot.”

You raise your eyebrows and then laugh. Just a little snort– and Bucky smiles.

“Okay, Mr. Barnes. We’ve got about seven minutes left, so I’ll tell you a little about myself.” You start, and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“You’re that desperate to keep me from finding you attractive? What is this, patients and doctors aren’t allowed to–”

“They’re definitely not.” You silence him, but you can tell from his expression he likes the challenge. “Anyways. I’m thirty-three years old, I have two degrees, a PhD in psychology and a bachelor’s in social work– I did both at the same time– I’ve lived in New York my whole life, and my mother still believes that I haven’t done enough. Always going on about how I’m wasting my potential.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky pinches his forehead. “It’s always the smart girls like you who get way too much hate thrown at them. Even with two degrees, she’s like that? Want me to talk to her? Have a little one-on-one?”

“No, no.” You start laughing for real and then have to compose yourself, but Bucky has a different expression now, a sort of soft look in his eyes, and you find yourself turning a little warm. “I appreciate that, Mr. Barnes, but there’s no way I could let you do that.”

“Well, at least you considered it.” Bucky smiles and you feel a strange fit of passion inside you, that this guy who hardly knows you is willing to go that far.

That perhaps, even as a shadowy, veiled observer, meant to impart advice and be relatively untouchable… you could be touched, too.

You swallow, ignoring the thought that he’s rather handsome.

You’re out shopping for a new dress. It’s your sister-in-law’s birthday, and you know she wanted a bit of a fancy dinner for whatever reason. She’s turning 31, so there’s nothing special about it, but your brother, Viz, insisted that you go along with it.

“Wanda, Wanda, Wanda…” You mumble under your breath. She loves red, so you know you have to stay away from that colour. You’re leaning towards a navy-blue, simple dress with no details, just to be hidden in the background with.

“Hey, doc. Didn’t think I’d see you here.” Bucky suddenly ambushes you from the aisle, and you blink before refusing to make eye contact with him.

It’s fine that you’re his therapist, but in public? You worry about the perception on your work. Bucky is kind of infamous– sometimes your secretary will ask for gory details on what he does. You’ve never shared anything, but you also know that Bucky himself is relatively confidential about the whole thing.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes.” You utter quietly, and he tuts and grins at your expression.

“Why do you look so scared?” He snorts, and with an overly familiar touch, his hand is on your shoulder.

You know you should be pushing him aside, so not to ruin the careful, purposefully respectful relationship between you two, but it’s also in public– Bucky has no reason to follow your rules here– and he’s not one to be trifled with.

“Not scared, just, uh, taken off guard.” You admit, and he laughs a little. “I’m just dress shopping.”

“I can see that.” Bucky gently pulls the dress you’re holding so he can look at it carefully. “That’s not you, I don’t think. The style is too frumpy– you look better in what you wear in the office.”

“Oh, really? So what is ‘me’, Mr. Barnes?” You wonder how long Bucky has been checking you out, supposedly enough that he knows your style.

“Mmm… something like this?” He holds up a dress that just barely can be called one, black rhinestone straps being held together with skinny strips of fabric that would barely cover your breasts or ass, and you roll your eyes and put it back on the rack. “I’m kidding, just kidding. That’s more the local strippers’ vibe, I know.”

“You’re revealing a bit about your habits, huh.” You look at him pointedly.

“Hey, blame the job. That’s where most dudes want to meet up.” Bucky scans through the rack and then picks up a much more you dress, something maroon, little embroidered flowers and filigree in the threadwork, and fitted enough that it would show off your body. Shorter than you would’ve liked, but you figure that’s Bucky’s gaze coming in.

“Wow.” You reach out for it, and Bucky gives you a smile that you’re sure has dazzled many, many women.

“I’ll, uh, let you try that on. I’m heading to work, but I’ll see ya around, doc.” Bucky flashes a quick wave at you and heads on out, and you’re left feeling like you wanted more out of him.

The next session with Bucky, probably the ninth or tenth, he’s a lot more agreeable. A lot more open about what’s going on.

“My ma, you know, she’s getting into a bit of a hostile nature. I don’t know what spurred it on.” Bucky shakes his head and looks towards the ceiling. “She never used to get so upset over some of these things�� last week she got upset because the wallpaper of her new sitting room was too dark or something– and I think she’s losing it. She’s losing control and doesn’t know what to do.”

“You’re right, Mr. Barnes. How does that affect you?” You lean in as you write this down. “How will you respond to that?”

“I think I get it, you know, doc? I feel like I can’t control everything all the time either.” Bucky begins a rhythm, showing his understanding of the situation. “She’s not wrong that it’s annoying when the little things don’t work out… sometimes it’s like all the small things are building up and then everything feels shit and you have to start screaming.”

“Good. Yes, exactly.” You nod your agreement, and Bucky nods and keeps going.

“I don’t know what I can do. Sometimes it feels like she’s got something, some undiagnosed illness, because even if I support her, she’s not always listening.” Bucky sounds despondent. “I say that she’s not at fault for what happens to her. That she’s not crazy, just in a bad place. But she tells me to fuck off, too, and I don’t… I can’t say I don’t deserve that, because I know I haven’t been the best son. I am the one of the things she can’t control, and even if there’s been some good, some helpful stuff… I still know she loathes me.”

“It’s difficult to come to terms with some of the negative things you may have done to her.” You feel more invested in Bucky’s story than you thought you would– you can see tears building up in his eyes. “But I commend you for doing your best, Mr. Barnes. I hope you can recognize this is a big milestone in your own personal development– even if it is difficult to rebuild your relationship with your mother, you are still there for her, and you can see what she needs. You must understand that your mother’s reaction to you is outside of your control. You can simply try your best to continue on with this knowledge and her, or move on past it– I believe you will make the right decision, though.”

Bucky sniffs a little, and wipes his eyes. “Thanks, doc. I’m glad we have these talks– you make me feel smarter.”

You half-smile at that. “I’m only showing you what you are already capable of, Mr. Barnes.”

He snickers a little. “My ma would like you.”

You feel a swell of pride and fondness that Bucky would say such a thing, even if you have no idea how true that it is, and you do your best to just keep that repressed. You can’t go on as his therapist if you’re starting to get too involved.

Bucky asks if he can pay you double for your services and you insist that he doesn’t need to do that. You feel as if you’ve gained more than just a well-paying client– you enjoy your sessions with him now.

Wanda’s birthday dinner is swanky, at some upper-class Italian place down by Brighton. Wanda is half-amused, half-irritated that you’re wearing such a lovely red-toned dress, but she says nothing of it.

Viz, your brother, is kind of weird around you. He seems to notice something about you.

“Anything different at work? Maybe a pay raise, something like that?” He asks out of curiosity at the dinner table, and you shake your head. “Ah, well. You just seem so smiley, sis.”

“Yeah. Just glowing, and at my birthday, too.” Wanda jokes, and you don’t have any answers.

You feel as if you know the reason why– and he shows up just as you’re thinking it.

Bucky is dressed in a nice blazer, dress pants, looking much more slick than he often does at your office. He comes in with most likely another member of his gang, and together they go sit in a corner booth.

You feel your face flush a deep red– he looks gorgeous, almost as if he could ditch being a mob boss and become an actor or a model instead. You can’t help but glance at him, hoping he’ll catch your eyes.

Eventually, you get up to use the restroom. You stumble a little on your heels– and it’s that motion that causes Bucky to look up again.

He’s taken aback– it’s you, but you look stunning, far more beautiful than he had ever seen you look during your sessions together, and that’s saying a lot because you were already incredibly distracting before, and a part of him is jealous and wonders why you’ve held yourself away from him like that. But Bucky is more rational now, and he knows that you haven’t done anything to make him attracted to you. He’s just like that.

He notices, with a bit of a possessive, satisfied flair, that you’re wearing the dress he picked. Bucky was right, it does suit you a lot, and he enjoys being able to make out your figure while having a bit of it left to his imagination. He sees the dip of your collar, where your cleavage is just beginning to come out, and bites his lip, hoping that he’d get to see more soon if he was so lucky.

You pass by his table, pulling your shawl a little tighter around you, and Bucky waves at you. You seem to blush– and he likes it a lot, likes being able to make the smart, always-one-step-ahead doctor flustered– and it’s like your roles have been switched, that you are now looking for his approval.

He gives it you readily. “You look great, doc. Love the hair– and the dress.”

“Ah… thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You beam warmly at him, and continue on your way to the washroom.

“Who the hell was that?” Steve asks, scratching his beard.

“Uh, right. That was my therapist.”

“That was your therapist?” Steve splutters, and Bucky shoves him a little. “Jesus, man. I need to get me one of those. She was hot.”

Bucky agrees with him, but still tells him to fuck off. He doesn’t want to share you.

He motions to one of the waitresses, and tells her he’d like to pay for your table anonymously. When the bill arrives, many hours later, Wanda is incredibly confused on who would pay for her birthday dinner– she’s convinced it must be a secret birthday gift, and you only take credit for it because you don’t want to be found out like this.

You had no idea Bucky would do that for you.

A few weeks later, at another session, Bucky seems easily drawn to you. More than before.

“Rebecca’s getting ready. She gets a little too dolled up nowadays– but she knows no guy is going to talk shit with her now.” Bucky admits, and you wonder where this story is going. “She can tell I’m different, she keeps asking me what’s going on.”

“You’re very free to tell her what’s going on, Mr. Barnes.”

“Yes… but…” Bucky omits the fact that Rebecca seems certain he’s into a girl. She’s always had this weird uncanny ability to tell when Bucky’s got his eyes set on someone, whether it be some random girl at the bar, or someone like you– you’re one in a million for Bucky.

Someone he really, truly likes.

He clears his throat– he knows it’s inappropriate, it’s wrong, but he can’t help himself. You are too sweet, too lovable and kind and intelligent in ways that he’s not entirely familiar with, so it’s entirely too easy for him to simply give in and fall for you.

He knows the boundaries you set. Respect, professional respect for the space that you’re in. It would be especially bad because of the nature of his work– he knows that even if he could protect you, you probably don’t want to be involved in that lifestyle.

“I don’t want to break your cover, doc. It’s best if I just tell her nothing about it for now.” Bucky concludes, and you shrug at that. “Anyways– I found out that she was going to go out with Steve, that ugly ass motherfucker that I still keep around for some reason, and I just yelled at her. I thought I was over it, but I’m not.”

“Have you considered that your sister is an adult who knows what she’s getting into?” You suggest. “She might not be the one to get hurt. Perhaps she wants the same thing he does– as you’ve said before, Steve is rather good at hooking up with women and running away afterwards.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s terrible– he loves girls and doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he’s full of commitment issues.” Bucky waves Steve’s issues aside while you are impressed at how quickly he was able to suss that out. “Rebecca is gonna be the death of me. She can live her own life, I’m not concerned about that– it’s that I know she’s doing this shit to rile me up.”

“Ah, I see.” You hum over that. “You could simply pretend not to care– many people stop those kind of actions when they see it’s not having an effect.”

“That’s true.” Bucky still shudders. “Still, if they fuck up– both of them– I will spend the rest of my life hearing their arguments.”

“Why not try to find an alternative person for Rebecca to date, then?” You think for a moment. “Or maybe she could find an actor of some sort. I don’t believe she means for this to last in a long term way.”

“Okay, that could also be true.” Bucky admits, and his eyes find yours. “Maybe I’m just looking for the worst outcome.”

Bucky seems better and better with every session– in this case it seems like his personal problems have been rectified just halfway into it– and he still spends the rest of the hour talking to you.

“You still worried about your brother’s new kid?” Bucky asks, remembering how last time he left the session he heard you yelling into your cellphone about it.

“That was a private conversation, but, uh, yes.” You decide to answer him honestly. “Yes, I am worried. My brother can sometimes be very– unemotional, detached, and it’s bad for his first child to grow up in that environment.”

“Hey, at least the kid has you. Therapist aunt– I bet you’ll help out in some ways.” Bucky points at you, and you agree with that. “Talk to your brother more. He’ll listen if he sees that you’re serious.”

You know Bucky’s right, but you have to wonder when you started taking advice from him– it’s almost as if he’s giving you little mafia tidbits, like intimidating your brother by persisting at the conversation– and you actually don’t mind it.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You get up to bid him goodbye.

Bucky has an unreadable expression as he leaves, and he gently, but firmly, grasps your hand before going out the door, a grip that feels strangely intimate, and you’re left standing there with an urge for more, your mouth agape in a bit of shock.

Bucky calls a week later sounding incredibly apologetic.

“I’m sorry, doc. I can’t make today’s session.” He sounds strangely heartbroken.

“Hey, that’s alright, Mr. Barnes. I’ll see what I can do in terms of refunding you.” You hope that’s all he called for. Recently there was something in the news about the Russian gangs of Brighton Beach having a kerfuffle with the cops– you can only assume that’s what Bucky’s gotten into, and you feel kind of guilty that you let yourself get so close to him.

“No, that’s alright. Keep the cash, I don’t mind that.” Bucky yells something incoherent, there are alarming gun-shot like sounds in the background, and then he comes back to the phone. “Listen, doc– I’m sorry, you can do without me as a patient. I don’t wanna risk anything with you, and if that means you gotta let me go, then do it.”

You are silent for a moment.

You’re hopeless, and you know it.

All it took was for Bucky to be the one who was genuinely concerned for you– for him to put you first when he’s surely in a dangerous situation right now– and you’re smiling like a damn fool, wishing that you could just let him go. You don’t want to.

You know you’re appealing to a dangerous man, but you don’t care.

“It’s okay, Mr. Barnes. Our sessions can continue.” You murmur, and Bucky laughs on the other side of the phone.

“Alright, doc. I had a feeling you didn’t want to let go of our progress.” He states, and you wonder if he knows about your feelings for him.

He might just be thinking that you are entirely sophisticated about this whole thing. He doesn’t know that you’ve dreamed of him, silly domestic dreams where Bucky is the husband to your doting self, or ones where you tell him your fears and he listens, and vows to protect you, or extremely explicit dreams where he simply shuts you up with a kiss and spreads your legs. You do not know how to stop these– you feel that you have gained too much by liking him. It’s been a while since you’ve crushed on someone and felt that it could go somewhere.

At the very least, you do want to at least ensure his success as a patient of yours. You will get over this, it’s just that… you still have a sheepish smile even after Bucky has hung up the phone, and that’s not good.

You make a note not to go any further than this.

At your next session, Bucky is despondent, clearly not telling you something that bothers him. He spends most of the session rather upset and quiet.

“Doc, do you think I’m a good man?” He says it with not a hint of irony.

You fall quiet. You don’t know if a murderer will ever be considered a good man, and you don’t want to make that moral conclusion. You’re not a god.

“I don’t think that’s up to me, Mr. Barnes.” You start, and Bucky immediately pelts you with more questions.

“But you think I’m morally repugnant, right? That’s something I read on the news the other day.” Bucky scoffs at himself. “I can’t believe I thought I was better than that.”

“You can be, if you want to be. I’m not saying it forgives your past transgressions, but–” You fix your vision on him. “You have to make the choice to be a good man before you can ask others if you are.”

“And you think I have that potential?”

“...Yes. I’m not just saying this as your therapist, Mr. Barnes.” You swallow and then answer him honestly. “I believe if you want to be a better man, you have it in you to do so. You want the truth, right?”

Bucky nods, and leans closer in.

“Being a good man, a good person, can not be synonymous with being apart of the mafia. I’m somewhat apologetic about this, but–” You wince at your own fears at his reaction. “Eventually you would have to leave, not just to be a better man, but to be a healed person, both mentally and physically.”

“...” Bucky stares you down for a bit.

“Okay, doc. I hear you.” He leans back in his seat, and you let go of a breath you had no idea you were holding. “I’ll try to take your advice.”

You’re not sure how much faith you can have in him. Something about the way Bucky stares at you and leaves this time, it screams control issues again– perhaps this is the last time you’d ever see him. You brace yourself for a no-show next week, and a phone call cancelling his appointments.

It saddens you– you’ll miss him.

Unfortunately for you, Bucky shows up at your next session with a bouquet of flowers. Chrysanthemums- you’re very sure Bucky has done this because of the framed photo in your office of them. He’s being a little too thoughtful, and you’re worried.

“Mr. Barnes. You’re a little early.” You start off, and sit at your chair.

“I’ve paid for the hour, don’t worry.” He grins and then approaches you, looking at the floor, your face, and then back at your desk again. He’s clearly nervous.

“Go out with me, doc.” Bucky offers, and you shake your head, just out of principle.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just feel that you’re desperately searching for a way to fulfill–”

“Enough of the shrink talk! Jesus Christ.” Bucky scowls, and then fixes himself, standing upright as you back up a little. “Do you have any idea how I feel? How I think about you at every second? You’re fucking up my work, too–”

“That’s not really my fault–” You try, but Bucky shushes you, walking towards you and grasping your hands so quickly that you cannot help but look up at him again. His blue eyes are squinting, peering so desperately into your own, turning grey with how serious he is.

You’re mildly frightened, but you would be lying if you said you never saw the signs of his attraction before. How his gaze lingered on you for far too long, how he would occasionally comment on your beauty, how he would constantly compliment your intelligence… you at first thought that perhaps Mr. Barnes was bad at recognizing the difference between a woman who was into him, and a woman who simply had emotional intelligence. You could blame the way that society expects women to mother their partners for that.

But lately you had been feeling something new, something you didn’t suspect would happen. And there wasn’t anything wrong with that– therapy is a personal practice after all, you can’t blame yourself for your own feelings– but you never thought he would reciprocate so clearly, holding your hand like this. He always seemed enigmatic until now, and you wish you could change things.

Even worse, you could tell he was making progress– he was really trying to be more than what he thought of himself. He could be kind, sweet even, and it’s with some embarrassment and fondness that you find yourself looking forward to his appointments. Lately you’ve caught yourself smiling about him for no reason, even though you feel this relationship– a budding one between the two of you– could change things for the worse, and you don’t want that for him.

Bucky traces your knuckles with his thumb, and he leans in towards you, whispering very, very carefully.

“I like you. I think you’re very special in a way that cannot be found in other people. I don’t want you to be scared of me… I just want you to know that I’m interested in you.” Bucky kisses your hand, and you are drawn to a silence, unable to figure out what to say.

“Mr. Barnes–” You start, and then stop yourself. “Bucky… I don’t want to be the reason why you didn’t get better.”

“But I am better, don’t you get it? God, for a doctor, you can really be dense.” Bucky snickers and then holds your hands closer. “I like you. I think you’re wonderful. Smart, beautiful, a real challenge. I think you’re why I’m better, and not just because of therapy– Jesus, that’s fucking cheesy but it’s true– sometimes I know I can’t keep being the White Wolf, the boss of this gang, because you make me think it over, and I want to do right by you and what you’ve taught me.”

“So you’re going to remove yourself from your gang?” You ask honestly, peering up into Bucky’s eyes to see if he’s telling the truth. He looks so solemn– so sure of himself.

“I already knew that I needed to, doc. I knew it when you said that I was hurting myself by being there. Of course there are some things that I like about it–” He cuts himself off, and presses his forehead to yours, grasping your cheeks. “The gang isn’t going to survive very long, anyways. Everyone knows it can only last so long, and a lot of them are moving on into the show business.”

“I didn’t think Hollywood was so transparent on their mafia connections.” You whisper, and Bucky snickers at your response. “But what about your heart palpitations?”

“They’ve been reduced by a lot. I used your trauma response workshopping thing and it helped me.” Bucky takes on a funny little smile. “And I think the only thing fucking up my heart now is you. I used to have it figured out, you know? But I can’t continue another day being that guy. Let me take you out, please.”

Bucky’s final plea rings through you, and you can’t find it in you to reject him this time. He’s got you wrapped around his finger– and being so candid, so honest about how he felt, really every therapist’s dream– you search his eyes and it’s no surprise when Bucky leans in to kiss you.

Your eyes are wide open as he does, in shock, because you’re not expecting him to do this, and he moves– his hands wrap around your waist and he inhales as his tongue sweeps against your own, and you kiss back before you can tell yourself not to.

Bucky pulls back, breathing hard, and you feel yourself turn warm at his reaction. You watch as his face comes towards yours again– you have to pull away, too.

“What is it?” Bucky sounds a little wary.

“If we continue like this– I can’t be your therapist anymore. I can’t do both things, it would unethical and hard to separate.” You swallow, and then nod. “Promise me you won’t use me for therapy anymore, Bucky.”

“I… of course, doc. I would never expect both from you.” He sounds sorry about it, at least. “I’m not trying to use you– I really, really like you.”

He hums as he leans in for another kiss and this time you let yourself have at him– why not let yourself have a little fun, right, even if it’s in your place of work– and Bucky lifts you up easily, his mouth connecting to your jaw, and then neck, before setting you down at your desk.

“I think I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.” He shares, and you look affronted.

“Are you telling me you weren’t focused?” You push his chest, but Bucky holds your hands back.

“Of course I was focused, I just had a different subject in mind.” Bucky brushes aside a piece of your hair. “You can’t tell me I’m the first man to have fallen for you like this– I have to think that in an enclosed space like this, most guys are checking out the pretty doctor.”

“Uh… well maybe there’s been others, but–” As you say this, Bucky’s eyes narrow a little and you remember that he is kind of the jealous type. “None of them have been as forward as you. None of them asked me out.”

“Good.” Bucky leans in and kisses you again, and you’re very glad your office door is shut and locked.

Bucky lifts you again, easily, his mouth connecting with yours and then to where your collarbone just peeks out of your top, and he sits you down on his lap on the armchair where he often states his opinions and thoughts on his life. Bucky seems to be admiring you– you can’t escape his gaze as he looks at you from side to side.

“If you’re not a mob boss anymore… all I ask is if you’re serious about this. About me?” You ask, so earnestly, that Bucky has to feel some crushing regret about how he never quite told you the truth.

“I never… I never did all that stuff with girls. It was a front, you know, it is a front for a lot of gang members. They gotta show that they’re desirable.” Bucky shakes his head. “But I was more focused on, uh… cleaning up ‘stains’, talking to ‘coworkers’, you feel me? I was addicted to that violent, electric feeling. Never again, though.”

“Okay. I trust you.” You’re not sure why you believe him so strongly, but you do, and even if every red flag in your therapist knowledge is currently being raised right now (trauma bonding, love bombing, manipulation, the list goes on and on)– you think he’s being honest. You do believe based on everything Bucky has told you previously, that he doesn’t mess around with girls, and he is trying to leave behind his lifestyle. You can even see it in his latest heart analysis results, as his physician showed you recently.

You’re so grateful that you helped him in this way. That you got him to reach his fullest potential. And a little evil, selfish part of you likes that he chose you, too, as he leans in and kisses you again.

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