Different oneshots between Marvel Cinematic Universe's Bucky Barnes X Y/n (Female Reader) Most of them are an alternative universe, so doesn't match the mcu Storyline, some do, some don't, some oneshots are big, most are average sized or small, (In...
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Title: "Healing Fractures."
Summary: Post-Endgame, in New York City, you are Bucky’s therapist.
You sit behind your desk, eyes skimming over the day's schedule. There, at the bottom of the list, was the name you always both dreaded and anticipated: James "Bucky" Barnes.
Your last patient.
Therapy wasn't easy with Bucky. The infamous Winter Soldier who'd saved the world, lost so much, and now spent hours sitting in your office with his gruff demeanor, never letting you get too close. But despite the tension between you, there was something else there-an odd connection. Maybe it was that you both came from broken places.
Maybe it was that you cared more than you should.
As if summoned by your thoughts, a sharp knock sounds at your door. You don't even get the chance to answer before the door creaks open and there he stands, looking as brooding and grim as ever. Bucky Barnes-6 feet of storm cloud energy, his metal arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket, and a permanent scowl etched on his face.
"Barnes," you say with a nod, motioning for him to take a seat.
"Y/N," he mutters, plopping down on the couch with an air of annoyance, legs sprawled out like he owns the place.
"Good to see you, too," you deadpan, making a note on your pad. He smirks slightly, though he tries to hide it behind his usual mask of indifference.
"You know the drill by now," you start, glancing at him with raised eyebrows. "How was your week? Nightmares, flashbacks, existential crises?" You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable grumble of a non-answer.
He shrugs. "Fine."
"Care to elaborate?"
"No."
You suppress an eye-roll. Bucky's not one to open up easily, if at all. Your sessions often turned into verbal sparring matches, with him refusing to talk, and you needling him until something slipped out. Not ideal therapy, but it was your dynamic. Frenemies at best. And somehow, it worked. Kind of.
"You know, therapy only works if you talk," you prod, not for the first time.
He glares at you, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours with a hint of irritation. "What do you want me to say? That I'm broken? That I wake up every night thinking I'm still the Winter Soldier? That I don't deserve to be here?"
Your breath catches. It wasn't often that he showed this kind of vulnerability, and when he did, it hit hard. You uncross your arms, softening your tone.
