#recovered bucky barnes

[underthemexicansun]

Grumpy Bucky in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier.

[cobrafantasies]

[ccappucino]

The recovered letters of Steven Grant Rogers

[thoughtless-errant-gnat]

stucky.... i haven't heard that name in years....

[stuckydrewx]

Idc how good Bucky looks I am NOT watching thunderbolts fuck that shit they’re gonna mischaracterise everyone. 😭

[astranix]

bucky barnes energy

this is peak retired assassin. This is like a literal hitman. look at how casual he is . Wild

[meraki-yao]

I had a 20 minute meltdown over the fact that apparently BUCKY BARNES IS A CONGRESSMAN NOW???!!!!

I just—I have so many questions

[everythingmarvelbxm1012]

Not Normal

Summary - What do you do when you walk into your kitchen at 3 AM and a stranger is looking for supplies?

Notes - Takes place soon after the end of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, hours after the post-credit scene with Bucky in the museum. 1.1k words

*Don’t repost or translate my work without my permission. *These characters and world do not belong to me.

You were dealing with A LOT of things. For one, you were just fired from one of your jobs that morning; two, your phone had suddenly died part way through the day and for whatever reason your charger was not working; three, your grandmother had quickly called to ask when you were getting married after your sister, who was four years younger than you, had gotten engaged the day prior; and four, your groceries dumped everywhere after the bag broke at the bottom. So you were definitely not in the mood to walk into your kitchen around 3 AM to find a stranger rummaging through your cabinets and drawers.

You nearly screamed upon seeing the figure. He was covered nearly head-to-toe in dark clothing. Pants, boots, a t-shirt and hoodie, though his right arm had been removed from the sleeve and the short sleeve of the t-shirt rolled up. He had brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders. Fortunately, you had powers. You didn’t know where they came from, but you had used them enough to feel comfortable to defend yourself, so you just let yourself be angry.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!” What you hadn’t realized was that the man hadn’t really registered that you were standing there and he quickly swiveled on his heel, raising a gun.

“Who are you?”

‘What the hell kind of a question is that,’ you thought to yourself. You cleared your throat. “The person whose kitchen you just broke into!” You stated, disdain written in your voice. You stood there, looking over the small pile of first-aid things he had piled onto your island kitchen. Before you could ask any questions he was talking again.

“Don’t scream. Just need supplies. Bullet to the shoulder,” he mumbled. He mumbled it so quietly you wondered if he was just trying to reassure himself of what he was doing rather than telling you. The gun was still raised though the arm that held it almost seemed to lose some tension, if that was the right way to put that.

“What are you doing in my kitchen,” you emphasized the ‘my.’ You knew why he was in a kitchen, just unsure of why it was your’s.

He slowly lowered the gun a few inches, but it wasn’t completely facing down. You knew you could protect yourself if you needed to. “Look. I don’t want to start trouble,” he stated a little more forcefully, the muscles in his jaw tightened momentarily before loosening again.

“You started trouble when you broke into MY kitchen!” You stood there, unmoving, unfazed by his slight change in demeanor.

He lifted some gauze from the kitchen island, only staring down at it before speaking again. “Look lady, I just need to patch myself up. Then I’m gone.”

“You’re not going to do it well with one arm,” you responded. Nobody could possibly patch up a bullet wound in the shoulder with one arm. He didn’t respond, just tried to glance over at the wound, before reaching toward it with his other arm which is hidden by the sleeve of his hoodie. “No! You cannot do it with one arm,” you insisted, rolling your eyes. “If you are going to steal my things, don't waste them.” He slowly lowered the gun, though he kept finger around the trigger.

If it was a more reasonable hour you might have kicked the stranger out, but you weren’t about to let him waste the good money you spent on those items. Before he could stop you, and honestly before you were even thinking all of it though you were pulling more supplies out of your kitchen drawers before organizing them a bit more. You forcefully pointed towards the stool. “Sit.”

There is a short pause before the stranger places his gun at his hip and sits in the stool. There is another moment of silence as you wash your hands before standing by his shoulder and letting out a heavy sigh. “Have you removed the bullet?”

The man shook his head. You nodded, knowing it was better to leave the bullet in there than remove it, in case it lodged itself into or near a vein, or other nerve endings. “Good.” You turned on the light hanging above where the mystery man sat to get a better view, before pulling a soft washcloth from the drawer near you and before opening the bottle of saline solution already on the counter. You proceeded to get some saline solution over the cloth before beginning to clean the wound without looking away from your work.

You looked up momentarily, actually getting a better visual of his face under the light. His jaw was clenched and his blue eyes would have been more pleasant except that they were rather stern, cold, calculated, as he looked just past you. Whatever he was feeling in that moment, you would not be able to figure out. His face seemed to be absolutely blank. If he was in pain he was not showing it at that moment.

You then went back to your work, noting for the first time how it did not look horrible, making you wonder how long ago it had happened and how long he had been dodging around people’s homes and taking supplies. You finished cleaning the wound and the area before throwing the washcloth to the side. He was damned lucky to be alive, but his presence was still a bit unnerving so you chose to not mention the fortunate situation of that. You pulled some gauze and slowly wrapped the wound and the area, carefully, making sure to not wrap it too tightly. “There, done.”

You took a few steps back, not bothering to look at your work and pulling a half-full bottle of ibuprofen and Tylenol from the cabinet as he sat there, seemingly unable to move. You shoved them into his other hand, which you realized was gloved, which you thought odd but did not spend too much thinking about it. Something inside of you felt sorry for the man. All you knew was that some guy had been shot and apparently needed to sneak supplies, so maybe that should have been a red flag. What surprised you is that he actually spoke up.

“You’re not normal, are you?” His voice was completely even, face still blank.

“Depends upon how you define normal.”

There was more silence, before he spoke again. “Well, most people probably won’t patch up a guy who broke into their house, then give them medicine.”

“Maybe.” You only shrugged before deciding it was time to sleep. Okay, maybe you helped patch the guy up, but you didn’t trust him enough to let him stay on your couch. For all you knew you were harboring a fugitive. “I do need you to leave now.” He didn’t even nod, just slipped the painkillers into his pocket without another word, before exiting through the main door to your apartment leaving you with a million questions you didn’t get answers to for a few years.

[underthemexicansun]

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

[sanguineterrain]

"love is stored in the kitchen."

for my very dear best friend lavenderbucky. merry late christmas, i love you <3

(p.s: bucky made apple cake for steve)

[ccappucino]

[imposterogers]

they were ill for putting this song on during this scene. they were ILL. unhinged and UNWELL. 

‘there is a tavern in the town, in the town and there my true love sits’ 

‘and now my love who once was true to me takes this dark damsel on his knee // and now I see him nevermore, nevermore; he never knocks upon my door’

‘oh, dig my grave both wide and deep, wide and deep; put tombstones at my head and feet’

[softevnstan]

³.⍭ 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

pairing. bucky barnes x gender netural!reader

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

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

edit. part two is here yall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Homework?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”

[lynlee494]

I'll Use You (As A Focal Point): Chapter Nine is out!

Bucky knows Steve Rogers would not hurt him, now, that once he had even loved Bucky Barnes. He knows with certainty that Steve would do everything he could to keep him out of Hydra’s grip. Whether Steve would because it is the right thing, or because he is Bucky, worries at him. Bucky isn’t who Steve remembers, he’s been a tool for the enemy whose every action since he gave in had been designed to hurt, the ripple of pain far reaching. Immeasurable.

How can he hold Steve to their whispered promise, echoing across so many memories, in the face of that? Not when Bucky isn’t sure it can survive it.

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

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

Math tutor Bucky.

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

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

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

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

[burberrycanary]

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

His phone stays silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read Chapter 38 on AO3

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