Summary: Henry Loomis x fe!reader -> After your shirt gets torn on the island, Henry gives you one of his.
Disclaimer: Spoilers for Jurassic World Rebirth, fluff, friends (to maybe lovers?), Henry cleans reader's wounds, just a short one.
Landing on the sandy shores, you couldn’t stop coughing. Between nearly drowning in the waves and the adrenaline pumping from when you all had to jump from the boat, you were struggling to catch your breath.
“Are you okay? Let me see.”
Henry practically slid beside you, onto his knees in the sand as he helped you sit up. You couldn’t tell whose blood you were wearing.
“I think-” you coughed, again. “I think I hit a rock.”
Henry nodded. “You’ve torn your shirt.”
Trying to see, you gave a sigh as you suddenly held most of the back panel of your shirt in your hand.
“Shit.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got an extra. But we’ve gotta move. They’re amphibious.”
You groaned, rolling onto your front and watching him run back to the group in order to grab the supplies needed. “Of course they are.”
“Anybody want to hear the back-up plan?”
“She has a back up plan?”
“She doesn’t get out of bed without a back up plan.”
Following Zora through the jungle as she explained her back up plan, you focused on trying to tie the remaining fabric of your shirt around the cut across your arm.
“Here, let me.”
Taking a moment to breathe, you let Henry wrap your arm in the torn fabric. “Thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
“No more than the rest of you.”
Henry cracked a slight smile. “You’re gonna get hurt without a cover-up.”
“Tell me about it.”
Thankfully, the cami you were wearing underneath your shirt kept some of your skin covered. But not efficiently as your shirt had done.
“Here,” Henry said as he pulled his bag around him. Reaching inside, he pulled out a blue denim shirt. “Wear this, it should help.”
“Thanks.”
Letting the fabric fall around your arms and you put it on, you buttoned up most of it before tying the rest of it around your waist and covering the top of your cargo trousers.
“We better catch up to the others.”
“Oh, yeah.”
You’d met Dr Henry Loomis just once before this not-so-sanctioned trip. You’d been visiting one of Alan Grant’s digs with Ellie Settler. You’d been a student of hers, once upon a time.
You had been brought on the extraction trip as a secondary expert and official personnel. There was no telling what kind of bug bites people could get out in the jungle. Especially one that had mutant dinosaurs roaming the grounds.
It had been a brief meeting – an exchange of names and a handshake before you both left Ellie and Alan to ‘talk’.
The second time you met him was on the way to meet Duncan Kincade.
You hissed as you properly cleaned your wound. Laying low for a couple of hours in order to try and build up some more energy gave you a chance to finally search through your medical kit.
“Want some help?”
Looking up, you spotted Henry standing a few feet away. “Please. Fixing my dominant arm isn’t exactly easy.”
Taking a seat beside you, you let Henry take the swab as well as your arm into his grip. “Just tell me if it hurts.”
You nodded. “It’s okay. Just do it.”
A small hiss escaped you, but Henry kept a firm but gentle grip on your upper arm. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? The speed of the boat and…everything else…hitting a rock, on top of all of that?”
You nodded. “I’ll be fine. I think I got lucky this time. No broken bones. At least…I don’t think so.”
“Adrenaline?”
You nodded slightly before feeling your hand finally relax in Henry’s as he moved to clean the grazes on the back of your knuckles. Your hand wouldn’t stop shaking.
“When it finally wears off, then I’ll know if I’ve really broken anything.”
“Here’s to hoping you haven’t.”
You cracked a smile before shortly hissing and trying to relax a little more under Henry’s touch.
Thankfully, you had managed to survive jumping from a boat, hitting a rock under water, collecting the last two samples of blood and getting to safety on the boat from the docks – all without breaking a bone.
“How’s the arm?”
You looked at it for a moment before Henry took a seat beside you. “Healing. How’s the head?”
After falling more than two hundred feet from a rock and hitting every canopy and branch on the way down, the only thing Henry had crawled out of the water with was a couple of bruises and a scar just below his hairline.
“Healing,” he smiled. “Thanks to you.”
“So who are we giving it to?” You asked as you watched Zora stand and sit beside Duncan.
WHUMPTOBER DAY SIXTEEN :Prompt: necrosis/wound cleaning.
Summary: Tim helps you with your wounds.
Warnings: mentions of injury. Necrosis.
Word count: 666
MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024
⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤
Tim frowned as he watched you hobble across the room with a noticeable limp. You had been injured a few weeks ago; a nasty hit to the thigh with a knife. The would had been deep and painful and would more than likely leave a scar. You were supposed to be on crutches, but you had abandoned those after the first week and a half and were now resorting to limping through the manor now you weren’t on bed rest.
“You shouldn’t be walking on that.” Tim chided as he glanced up at you from his computer screen. He had been staring at it for the last three hours, only leaving to go to the bathroom or to refill his coffee.
“Yeah but I’m sick of staying in bed.” You said, continuing to limp towards the kitchen. It was strange. After two or so weeks the wound should have healed up somewhat, but it seemed you were still struggling with it. And normally it wouldn’t have been a problem, but Tim often overthought and wanted to be safer than sorry. With a huff, Tim stood, walking over to you. He placed a gentle hand on your back and guided you to sit down.
“Sit.” He said. It was practically an order as he gave you no choice but to.
You let out a hiss as you sat, the pain in your leg twinging. Tim gave you a look.
“How many times have you been told to stay off this leg.” He tutted. “If you want to get better you need to rest.”
“I was just going to the kitchen.” You argued back.
“You could have asked one of us”
“There’s no point in asking one of you when it’s just easier to get there myself.”
“Clearly you can’t. You’re still limping…..is it still bothering you that much?”
“A little…”
“That means yes then.” Tim rephrased. He knew you had a habit of downplaying your pain. He helps you straighten out your leg gently, taking a look at the bandages. “How long ago did you change these?”
“Uh….two I think. Alfred did them for me.” He had been doing a good job of making sure your wound was clean and free from infection.
Tim pursed his lips. “You mind if I take a look? They probably need changing anyway”
“Go ahead.”
“Alright.” Tim stood before going to get the medical kit. “Don’t move.” He pointed at you. “I mean it.”
“Yes, Sir.” You mock saluted.
Tim returned a minute later, and as much as you would have liked to have left you did stay in your place for him. Gingerly he took your leg between his hands and began to unwrap the bandages. There was no sign of blood, which was a good sign. However when he revealed the wound, he let out a hiss though his teeth.
Some of the skin around the wound had began to turn a nasty grey-ish colour. Necrosis. Likely a sign of infection or lack of blood to the cells which has caused them to die.
“Well shit….. no wonder it’s been bothering you so much, sweetheart.”
“Necrosis?” You swallowed thickly.
“Looks like it. It’s infected, kid.”
“Shit.”
“Hey. Don’t think like that. We’ll get you on some antibiotics and see how that helps and go from there, yeah? I’ll let B know. You’ll be fine, we’ll sort it, kid.”
“Thank you.”
“Now let’s get this bandaged for you, hm?” He said, reaching into the medical kit and pulling out a fresh bandage and some sterile wipes. Gently he cleaned the area, his touch gentle so as to not cause you any more harm, before he tossed the wipe away and began to re-wrap the wound. The bandage sat snug but not suffocating around your thigh. “There you go kid.
“Thank you.”
“Now get some rest while I go and talk to B.”
“Alright.”
“No walking on that leg.” Tim warned. “I mean it. No wandering off.”
When he woke up, he found himself laying in his bed with his shirt off and you next to him with a bowl of water and a rag. He tried to get up, but you gently pushed him back into bed. “Don’t move much, okay?” You said as you started to clean his side. “You’re lucky—nearly got an organ hurt.”
The rain behind your voice pattered lightly on the tin roof above him, and the candlelight flickered in your eyes. He could see the stool next to you covered with bandages and bloodied rags. He looked back up at you with a questionable look, but his eyes softened when you lifted his head and brought a glass of water to his lips. He greedily drank the whole thing, his hand taking it from you as he sat up partly. When he was done, he gave you back the glass and laid down once more. He didn’t realize he was thirsty until the glass was empty.
“Thank you,” he breathed, his head resting on the pillow. Even he was shocked when those words left his lips, but his eyes harden to mask any hint of weakness. “How long have I been out?”
“About two or three hours,” you answered, dabbing his side. “I had enough time to get all the small cuts and scrapes. Now, I’m doing the big one on your side.”
“What ‘bout my head?”
He watched you lift a brow before going back to his side. “I need you sitting up for that one. I think it might be a concussion, but I can’t be sure without an x-ray.”
His hand shot up and gripped your wrist, tightly squeezing it, as his eyes harden. “Don’t say ‘at,” his accent was more perendinate than before. “Can’t go to no hospital.”
“I ain’t sayin’ you’re going,” you said, snapping your wrist away. “I’m saying it might be. Hear the word? Might?” You took your rag again and finished washing his wounded side. “I’m almost do with this. I’ll have you sit up so I can wrap it right. I don’t want you to bleed through the bandages.”
Johnny closed his eyes and felt his body betray him again. With every touch and move you made, his skin craved more and more of your touch. He breathed deep and listened to the sound of rain on the roof. The simpleness of hearing the metal making a noise and dinging with every rain drop only brought his mind to better clarity. He hated that he was feeling more lighter with you near, and he hated that he leaned into your hand as you placed a clean, cold rag on his forehead to help with the headache. He hated how your fingers combed through his hair as if he were a dog. He hated how he yearned for the gentle pull from you and the way his head would fall was oh-so-satisfying to feel. His hunger was still on the rise, but something new was growing in his chest...something different.
Tell him you hate him. Tell him you want him dead after this.
Have him hunt you down for sport, not for pleasure. Once he has you pinned, kiss his lips with sweet ambrosia on tongue, taking him back to Eden.
the smell of blood was pungent as hannibal lecter opened the door to his home. he looked around the foyer, shrugging off his suit jacket and setting it on the chair beside the front entrance.
“y/n?” he called, trudging cautiously down the hall and into the living area. the scent of blood was heavier now, filling the man’s nose with the strong, metallic smell. “y/n.” he called again, louder. he heard faint, jagged breathing.
“in here.” your voice was barely above a whisper. hannibal made haste to the kitchen, finding you hovering over the sink. you try to look up at him.
“i couldn’t find your medical supplies.” you laughed, coughing.
hannibal scanned you, and for a second, worry shrouded his face. “what happened, y/n.”
you shook your head. “don’t worry about it, han. just help me find a med kit.”
“what happened.” his voice shook; you’d never heard him sound so desperate, so angry. you blinked.
“it was just…” you sighed, furrowing your brows. “…a stupid fight.”
he clicked his tongue. “who.”
“han—”
“who, y/n.”
“i don’t know. i barely got a good look at the guy.” you sighed, wincing. hannibal dug through his drawers for a med kit.
“go sit at the table.”
you obliged, too tired to keep standing. you dragged your way to the dining area, slumping down into a chair.
soon after, hannibal appeared beside you.
“where all are you wounded?” he asked, opening up the box.
“my face, mostly.” you looked down at your bloodied hands. “and my knuckles.” he nodded, grabbing a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
“this will sting.” he grabbed the damp rag beside the med kit and poured peroxide on it. “you might want to hold onto me.”
“i’m sure i can handle a little more pain.” you laughed dryly. hannibal shook his head, dabbing the rag against your cheek. you winced, hand grabbing his forearm.
“i thought you said you could handle a little more pain.” he commented.
“guess i miscalculated.” he placed his pointer and middle finger under your chin, tilting your head up slightly.
“yes, you did.” he gazed into your eyes for a moment. then said, “why did you come here instead of going home?”
“your house was conveniently close.” you shrugged. “and because i knew my roommates would freak out if they saw what happened.” you smiled at him weakly. “you’re calmer in these situations.”
he nodded, dabbing your forehead. “i see.” it was quiet for a moment. “did he look worse by the end of it?”
you grinned. “you bet.”
the corner of his lip quivered up into a resemblance of a smile. “that’s my boy.”
you felt your heart skip a beat. “your boy, huh?”
“yes.” he reached for your hand and lifted it, running his thumb over your knuckles. “my boy.” he bent slightly and pressed his lips to your wounds. “mine.”
you blinked. then you smiled. “isn’t this breaching our doctor-patient relationship?”
hannibal looked at you. “we’ve breached our doctor-patient relationship many times.” he said. “i don’t see how this is any different.”
you shook your head, watching as he cleaned your knuckles. “it’s different because you know how i feel about you.” you sighed, tongue in cheek. “and, despite knowing this, you’ve never told me how you feel.”
“about knowing your feelings for me?” he asked. “or about how i never told you mine.”
“both.”
hannibal thought for a brief moment. “knowing your feelings for me doesn’t bother me.”
“yeah, i can tell.”
“i think it’s mostly because of my feelings towards you.”
you blinked. “and… what are those feelings?”
“i like you.” he looked at you. “does that bother you, y/n?”
you stilled. slowly, you shook your head. “no. it doesn’t.”
he smiled gently. “good.” he grabbed a roll of gauze, upwrapped it, and wrapped them around your knuckles. he started to clean your other hand, then wrapped those knuckles, too.
“does this change things, doctor lecter?” you asked, looking down at your hand in his. he stared at you, then lifted his hand. standing, he pressed two knuckles under your chin, tilting your head up.
“only if you think things have changed.” he muttered. “and sometimes, change is a good thing.”
“this could potentially be a bad thing.” you said.
“yes, it could.” the corners of his lips quirked in a smile. “but, it’s worth the risk, don’t you agree?”
you smiled gently. “i think so.” he pulled you up, your chest pressing against his.
“good.” he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a sweet, gentle kiss. you grabbed his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed. he placed a hand on your hip, keening against your lips. his lips trailed down to your neck.
“hannibal…” your left hand ran to the nape of his neck.
“shh…” he rubbed your hip slowly. you tugged at the short strands of his hair.
soon, too soon, he pulled away. you whined.
“han…”
he kissed your forehead. “it’s alright, y/n.” he cupped your chin. “you’ll be able to indulge in me soon.” he smiled gently. “let it bloom naturally and at its own pace.” he kissed you again. “i promise you’ll enjoy what’s in store.”
———
a/n: i hope you enjoyed !! send me requests and/or commissions !! (mostly of hannibal)
and then because i’m a softie at my core. pls some caretaking for poor gun wizard…./
AHHHHH He's not free yet, but his chimerat familiar (kudos to my friend @dragonfangart on Cara or tumblr for the design) managed to sneak in. While the familiar can't free him, he can provide some comfort and did manage to sneak in a rag soaked in healing potions.
Send asks to continue Torrin's interrogation! Osian still needs that information about guard patterns after all.
If you want to be on the tag list or have a name idea for the chimerat familiar, let me know either in the comments or reblogs or smoke signals or whatever.
Thanks to @its-my-whump for the inspiration on this. I just really had to put this idea to paper.
Whumpee inhaled sharply when the cold, damp gauze made contact with their skin. It was like fire erupting across their side. They strained to remain still, tightening their white-knuckle grip on the medic’s work table. Their muscles clenched whenever anything touched the edges of the slash on their stomach, which only made the pain flare hotter. They were allowed a moment of respite while Medic discarded the now blood-soaked gauze and prepared a new one. They tried to keep their panting subtle, as though they didn’t already look like a fool biting down on the collar of their own shirt. Too soon, Medic had another antiseptic-soaked sponge and resumed their work. Whumpee wasn’t prepared, and the bloom of pain felt somehow stronger than the last. Unable to brace themselves, they let slip a quiet whine.
Medic paused. “Do you need an anesthetic?” they asked bluntly. Whumpee aggressively shook their head. That would mean more needles and more waiting and they just wanted to be done already. Medic raised an eyebrow at them. “Do you want an anesthetic?” Whumpee had to think about that one. The answer was yes. Of course yes, a thousand times over. But that would look bad. Their other teammates, the ones with more prestige and experience, would never do that. They shook their head again. Medic looked like they wanted to say something else, but just sighed and resumed their work. The next time the antiseptic touched Whumpee’s wound, they were very careful to not make a sound.
"Hold still," Caretaker spat, shoving Whumpee back down once more. Whumpee whimpered again, "H-hurts."
"Yeah, well that's not my fault now, is it??? You were the one who decided to go back to Whumper after I specifically warned you not to!"
Whumpee sobbed, "N-not my fault."
Caretaker pressed the bloodied rag deeper into one of Whumpee's cuts that they were cleaning, making Whumpee yelp. "M-my fault. Sh-should've listened to you."
"Yes, you should've, but now you've learned your lesson, havent you?"
"Y-yes. 'm s-sorry."
"Good. I know you are."
Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky are seemingly a recipe for disaster. But after a mission goes awry, things begin to change.
Disclaimer: Kinda enemies-to-lovers, fluff, angst, Bucky helps clean your wounds, Bucky on his knees for you. Descriptions/mentions of blood and death. Happy ending. Not Proof Read.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t they know putting us together is a recipe for disaster?”
Bucky shrugged and threw another pack into the ket. “Apparently, they don’t care. They need people to take the mission and the only two people trained well enough and available are…us.”
You stared at him in disbelief. It wasn’t like it was some massive secret you were both keeping. It was just simple. You and Bucky didn’t work well together. You never had done. Probably because you never got along away from work, either.
You and Sam, Sam and Bucky, Bucky and Steve, Steve and you. You all got along just fine. But you and Bucky? No. Like you said, it was a recipe for disaster.
“Pack your stuff. We’re leaving in five.”
You didn’t exactly have much time to grumble. The mission needed to be done. A mission that qualified under both of your job titles.
Maybe you should have taken Sam up on his offer to take a break.
The jet ride was silent between both of you the entire way there. You prepared and unprepared the medical kits three times over. You packed, unpacked and repacked your overnight bag. You knew what was in it already, even though you knew you’d never used it. Everything was still fresh.
“Would you quit doing that?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“If I hear another zip, I’m gonna zip you in one of them.” Bucky grumbled as he flicked a button on the control panel.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. You ignored his threat and continued what you were doing. You already knew the mission brief like the back of your hand. You had done for years.
After the third long zip, Bucky placed the jet on autopilot for the rest of the way. He didn’t exactly make his movements subtle as he threw himself from the pilot chair and made his way over to you.
Taking the bag from you, he zipped it closed and threw it onto the ground. It landed with a thud.
“Stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re being annoying.”
“I’m just being cautious.”
Bucky just tilted his head. “There’s being cautious, then there’s being this.”
Leaning your hands against the table in front of you, you looked up at him. “And what is so wrong with this?”
“Nothing. When a normal person is doing it.” Bucky just leaned down and picked up the bag before turning to put it back in its original place, where you’d found it.
“I am a normal person.”
Bucky chuckled as he stuffed it back into place. “Oh, sweetheart. You are far from normal.” Turning around to you, the flirty edge to his voice was gone and replaced with his usual demeanour towards you; bluntness. “We both are.”
You watched as he walked away and back to the front of the jet. You cussed at yourself for checking out his ass as he did so. But you followed him anyway, sitting in the second seat, right beside him.
“Get your seatbelt on. We should be landing soon.”
You grumbled but followed his instructions anyway. Part of you might have nearly killed him once, and maybe it still did – just under different circumstances. But safety first.
The mission ran as smoothly as it would be trying to have a bull ballet dance through a china shop. But you both got out of there alive.
Barely.
Bucky watched as you stood in front of the mirror on the jet. It was set up just between the array of weapons. Your tactical vest was long gone, however the holster around your thigh still remained. Whilst Bucky had been forced to take on Kate Bishop's advice at adding a little colour into his uniform – the furthest he went was dark blue.
You remained in black. Black t-shirt, black tactical trousers, boots. With the addition of red blood seeping from your wound.
You had to peel your t-shirt from your wound. There was just a little too much blood for your liking. It didn’t help that your adrenaline was starting to slow down, leaving you with a wave of shakes to deal with. They were mostly focused on your legs which wasn’t helping your case in trying to stand and look in the mirror.
“C’mere.”
You turned for a split second, realising Bucky was walking to you. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Give it.”
“No.”
“Y/n.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
Bucky stood a little taller. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
“Because I don’t need it. I’m fine.”
“Y/n, you’re bleeding out. Literally.”
You ignored him. “I’m dealing with it.”
Bucky watched as you hissed and closed your eyes, looking away from the wound you were trying to clean. His voice fell softer and he held his hand out. “Just let me help.”
Bucky tried to ignore the feeling he got in his chest when you finally opened your eyes and looked at him. He could see the colour of your eyes so clearly, as well as the pain you’d probably mask once you’d both touched ground back at the compound.
Finally, you let that barricade down. Just long enough to accept his help.
Handing the cloth over to him, he gently moved you until you were leaning against the weapons table top. You needed to stand in order for him to clean it properly.
Then he dropped onto one knee.
You hissed, “Take it easy. Please.”
“I’m trying.”
He carefully dabbed at the wound, before reaching behind you for the medical box. “I want you to go to Cho when we get back.”
“I-”
“Don’t you dare say you’ll be fine. You’re going.” Bucky looked away from your gaze and back at your wound. “We both are. Besides,” Bucky’s hand held you firmly on the back of your thigh. “You’ve not stopped shaking.”
“That’s normal.”
“Maybe,” Bucky shrugged. “But you’re still going.”
Any other time, you would have fought him on it more. But you didn’t have the energy to.
Once he’d covered up your wound, he looked around your body before his blue gaze locked onto your eyes. “Anywhere else?”
“I don’t know.” You answered truthfully. Your body was too sore and too tired to move. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off and sleep was in desperate need to take over.
Bucky’s fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. He’d seen you get hit multiple times, so it was probably a safe bet you did have other wounds that needed tending to.
“Can I?”
For the first time in your life, you didn’t fight him on it. You didn’t even speak. Just helped him but gave up halfway through.
He stood, helping you remove your shirt. He made a mental list; a little of bruises, blood stains but only a few were your own, and one slice right across your collarbone.
“I’m gonna need to clean that before you get an infection.”
You tried your hardest to ignore how intimate it felt having Bucky lower the strap of your sports bra in order to get a clearer look at your wound.
His gaze locked onto yours but unlike the usual bluntness, there was a softness there. “This is gonna hurt, but it should only last a few seconds.”
You didn’t break eye contact as you nodded. But you closed your eyes when the stinging began. You leaned into Bucky’s arm, your own fingers wrapping around his arm. “I’m sorry.”
It was the first time you’d heard those words sound genuine coming out of Bucky’s mouth.
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
Once more, he cleaned your wound in silence. But once he was done, he took a look at your t-shirt. You couldn’t put that back on. Even if it was black, the weight of it alone would be too much for your body to carry after the day you’d both had.
It was blood soaked.
Bucky walked away for a moment before zipping something open and returning. “Lift your arms.”
You did so, feeling a soft cotton t-shirt float over your body. As you looked down at it on your body, you felt Bucky’s hand push your fallen hair from your face and you looked up at him.
“Whose is this?”
“Mine,” he told you. “Tired?”
You nodded. “Exhausted.”
“Do you trust me?”
You shrugged. “I’ve got a loaded pistol strapped to my thigh, if I don’t.”
It was a rare moment that followed. Bucky smiled. Just for a flash, just an instant. A breathy, genuine smile. His fingers were still in your hair.
“Understood.” Then he took your hand. “Come with me.”
With your hand still in his, you stood beside him as he pulled out one of the benches on the jet and it folded out into a bed. It wasn’t a comfortable and homely bed or anything. But it was somewhere you’d be able to sleep.
“We won’t be back for a few hours. You should get some sleep.”
You nodded. Bucky just helped you onto the bed before covering you up with one of the Shield assigned blankets. With one final brush of his hand on top of your head, he turned away.
“Bucky?”
He turned back.
“Thank you.”
Again, he smiled. Just a little. A ghost of his previous one. “Get some sleep.”
You don’t remember closing your eyes. You just remember waking up warm. Beside you, Bucky was lying on his back, an arm under his head as well as the pillow. His breathing was even and you were holding onto his other arm that had somehow made it around your back and waist.
Meanwhile, your other hand lay just over his heart.
You could feel his heartbeat. Steady. Calm.
Another time, you would have probably hit him in the chest to wake him up. You would have crawled away from the bed and gone to check how far away home was. You would have never thought about waking up beside him, ever again.
But something was different.
Seeing his smile. Feeling his heartbeat.
Something was different.
So, you didn’t wake him. Instead, you leaned closer into him and smiled as you felt his arm and his hand tighten their grip around you for a moment before relaxing once more. And you fell back to sleep.
The next time you woke up, you were in your own bed.
Alone.
And it hurt.
As you sat up, you found yourself in different clothes. Less sore, more bandaged. But one thing was still the same.
You were in Bucky’s t-shirt.
Slowly moving, you pulled yourself from your bed and looked out of your window. It was still morning. Forgetting your slippers, you made your way out of your room and down the hall into the kitchen.
Everyone was out.
All except one.
“Morning.”
You looked over and saw Bucky. Grey sweats and a henley.
“Morning,” you replied. “How did I-”
“You were fast asleep by the time we landed so I took you straight to Cho. Your wound had opened up and I didn’t want you bleeding out.” Bucky explained. “Your levels were too high so she sedated you. Once everything was okay, Cho thought it might be better for you to wake up in your own bed rather than a hospital one.”
“So you…”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I carried you to bed.”
You looked around, a little confused. If another version of you walked through the door, they’d be asking where your holster went and if Bucky had taken proper care of it. But instead you simply said, “Thank you.”
“We only landed back yesterday morning so you’ve not missed much. Want something to eat?”
“Uh, I don’t-”
Bucky stood. “I’ll make you something to eat. Sit down. Want some coffee?”
“Please.”
Bucky had a coffee cup in front of you a few seconds later. Then he started whipping up breakfast.
“Are you okay?”
Bucky looked over his shoulder at you. “I didn’t get hit if that’s what you’re asking.”
You nodded.
“Cho gave me the all clear.”
You nodded, sipping your coffee. “Good.”
For the next three days, you couldn’t shake the disappointment you felt each time you woke up alone. Rather than beside Bucky.
You hated it.
You used to hate him.
Strongly dislike.
You and Bucky never got along. You were more likely to fight him than you were to want to…wake up beside him. Then, one day, you stopped fighting him. And he stopped fighting you.
It was the weirdest thing.
And you enjoyed it.
Which you hated.
“What’s going on with you and Bucky?” You heard Kate ask you as you emptied your clip.
Locking the safety on your gun before you threw it down, you tore the headphones from your ears and sighed.
“I don’t know.”
“You like each other now?”
“Apparently.”
“When did that happen?”
The target came flying at you. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You tore the paper from the poster and stuck a new one up. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”
The target went flying back and you loaded another clip before emptying it onto the paper. Kate stood beside you as the paper came flying back.
“We’re gonna need pizza.”
Thirty minutes later, you were sitting in her apartment with two pizzas on the coffee table.
“And he was just there?”
You nodded. “He was just lay there, asleep, looking far too fucking handsome for me to hate his guts. And when he touched me…”
Kate tried her best to hide her smile. “You liked it?”
You just flopped back into the sofa cushions. “I didn’t want him to let me go.”
Kate stopped trying to hide her smile. “This is amazing.”
“It’s terrible.”
“It’s a recipe for love!”
You shook your head. “It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
Kate sat back. “Okay. If this is just because you two nearly killed each other in your previous lives, then that is complete bull. That is in the past. And, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve thought he’s handsome.”
You just glared at Kate. The memory of coming across some old Shield photographs and spotting a very handsome 40s soldier flashed across your mind, Kate’s voice echoing that the guy you said you’d marry if you were back in the 40s was actually Bucky.
“And it’s not like you’ve not checked him out before.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kate just tilted her head. “Well, you’re not exactly subtle.”
“Kate.”
“Relax. The others don’t know. But I know you. So I know. I think you should talk to him.”
You sat up. “Absolutely not.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Didn’t you just hear me? Me and Bucky…we’re a recipe for a disaster. It can only end in tragedy. If I talk to him about this…”
You didn’t even want to think about what would come after that. Eternal regret, shame, fear, humiliation.
Kate took your hand. “Hey. You don’t have to do anything now. But if you do have feelings for him, you’re gonna have to deal with them eventually.”
You sighed. “I know. I know.”
A year later, you still hadn’t dealt with them. At first you thought maybe it was some kind of ‘soldier, nurse’ thing. Like how soldiers fell in love with their nurses because they’d helped them get back to normal health.
But then the statutes of limitations ran out. And it only got worse. He was in your head all the damn time. Everytime you fell asleep, his memory was there. His voice was the first thing you heard in the morning. And when movie nights took place and Kate somehow worked it so the only available seat for you was beside Bucky, you were asleep almost instantly.
Once his arm was behind you on the sofa and he moved you to lean against him, his excuse being to get you to stop wriggling, your entire body relaxed.
“Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
You could hear the smile on his face, “Good.”
Halfway through the movie, his arm would drop from the back of the sofa to being around you, his fingers dancing up and down your arm absentmindedly.
When you were asleep, and the movie had ended, Bucky wordlessly pulled the blanket he’d covered you with, away. Then he picked you up and carried you to bed.
His presence being the last thing you felt before sinking into your bed wasn’t helping your feelings any.
But it didn’t matter.
Because almost eighteen months on from that day when you’d woken up laying beside him, he got hurt.
A mission had gone sideways. Too far sideways. Like, drop off the edge of the world sideways. And Bucky was in trouble. You’d put a call into Shuri. They had everything waiting to help him once the jet landed.
You stayed by his bedside for three days whilst he healed.
“Has she slept at all?” Steve asked Shuri as they stood outside of the medical room.
“A little, but not enough to be considered okay.” Shuri said. “She loves him, doesn’t she?”
Steve took a moment before nodding. “Secret is, he loves her, too. But their history…”
“I know the White Wolf’s history. I know little of her though.”
Steve took in a breath and walked away with Shuri as he explained. “They’ve met before. Years before I found him. The Winter Soldier programme had been a part of her training. A ghost she could barely remember. But then, after she joined Shield-”
“Agent Barton?”
Steve chuckled. “He kinda has a reputation for picking up agents from the other side. But, yeah. After she joined Shield, they met again. Hand to hand combat. They both walked away bleeding. Once Bucky was himself again, with their history and personalities they never really clicked. Until about a year and a half ago when I watched Bucky be in the same position as Y/n today.”
“He didn’t leave her side?”
Steve shook his head. “Not until he was ordered to by Doctor Cho. But even then, he watched out for her overnight. Has barely left her side since.”
Shuri nodded. “I’ll try and get her to sleep.”
Steve nodded. “Thank you.”
A few hours later, Shuri walked inside. You had the times Bucky was due for a check up memorised.
“Is everything okay?”
“With Bucky, yes. He’s gonna be just fine. I’m here about you. Come with me.”
You looked back at Bucky. You were still holding his hand.
“He’ll be okay. He’s sleeping. Come on.”
Reluctantly, you followed Shuri. She took you to a bathroom where you could get a warm shower before she showed you the clothes Steve had brought with him. Your clothes, which also happened to include the t-shirt Bucky had placed on you. Freshly washed and still warm.
“Once you’re dressed, sleep. He would want to make sure you’re okay, too.”
You nodded, understanding what she was saying.
After your shower, it wasn’t long before you fell asleep. But you weren’t asleep for very long. As the moon had settled itself high with the stars, you walked yourself back to Bucky’s medical room.
Where you found the Queen sat by his side.
You bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“It is alright. Come in. Close the door.”
You did so before slowly walking to the other side of his bed and sitting down.
“He’s okay,” the Queen smiled. “That t-shirt?”
You looked down and smiled, clutching the hem. “Yeah, it’s..it’s his.”
“You care for him.”
You shrugged. “He’s my friend.”
“You love him.”
You faltered. “I-”
The Queen chuckled. “It’ll be our secret. Though, if you wish for it to remain that way, I suggest you get better at hiding your feelings.”
You chuckled a little. “Yeah.”
“But you don’t want to?”
You grimaced. “I…it’s not like I don’t…I don’t know anymore. All I know is one day I went from him being the last person I wanted to be around, to suddenly being…the only one.”
The Queen just smiled at you, but you didn’t fully notice because your gaze was focused on Bucky. Fast asleep, mending and looking far too handsome whilst doing it.
“If you want my advice, tell him. Life is far too short to waste time. Look at him. Sergeant Barnes might be a soldier out of time, but he's not immortal. And neither are you. My advice is just do it.”
Kate would be fainting with excitement knowing the Queen of Wakanda was giving you the same advice she had given you.
Taking one final look at Bucky, the Queen excused herself. But not before stopping by the door to say, “History is in the past. You’d both make a lovely couple. Welcome back, White Wolf.”
You nearly gave yourself whiplash. Bucky was awake. He gave a tired smile to the Queen before looking at you.
“Hey, sweetheart,”
You stood up and sat beside him on the bed, hugging him. A soft chuckle came from his chest. “Take it easy. I might start thinking you missed me.”
You leaned back. “You almost died, Bucky.”
“But you saved me.”
“Shuri saved me.”
Bucky smiled. “And who called her? You saved me, sweetheart.”
“I should go and find-”
Bucky held onto your hand. A motion you hadn’t been used to since, for the last three days, you’d been holding his hand as he lay still. “Don’t. Just…stay here. Someone will come soon. I just…” Bucky finally breathed. “I just want to be with you for a while.”
“You really scared me.”
Bucky nodded. “I know.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
Bucky chuckled. “You have my word.”
A few moments of silence settled over you both as you looked at each other.
“I’m really glad you’re okay.”
Bucky slowly lifted his hand until he was cupping your cheek. “Lucky for me, I had someone to get back to.”
A smile broke out on your face after a moment. Bucky was alive. Better yet, he’d come back for you.
“Considering I almost lost my life, please tell me I don’t have to wait any longer to kiss you. I know we didn’t get the most normal start but-”
You cut him off with a searing kiss. You could feel his hand at the back of your head, holding you closer.
“Aren’t you the one always saying we’re far from normal?” You asked, breathless as the kiss broke apart for a moment.
“Being normal is overrated.”
Bucky kissed you again like you were his lifeline. His reason for breathing. And, in a way, you were. He’d had feelings for you for a long time. And, although the list of important reasons had been shortening over the last couple of years, there was one reason that remained.
