Co- Aquatainenceship 9
Summary: You’re just two ex-assassins trying to navigate your way through normalcy, but you’re also huge idiots. In an attempt at getting Bucky out of his shell, you offer to catch him up on everything he’s missed. Including trashy YA novels.
Pairing: cw!Bucky Barnes x female!Reader
Word count: 6.4k
A/N: I have been struggling so hard to write lately :(( quick shoutout to @sanguineterrain for helping me find the end to the chap but also the courage to get it done!!
Warnings: angst, talk about depression, fluff, injuries, blood, and stitches. can't forget smoking
Series Masterlist
So you don’t talk about it. It being your feelings, but you didn’t want to when he was out of town for the next week, doing a multitude of interviews with Tony and Natasha. Pepper had come up with a simple PR plan to roll out the new phase of the Avengers, and it included Bucky. They wanted to show people he was harmless, but you’re not sure putting him on live television was such a good idea. He glared down at every camera, and intimidated every interviewer despite their best efforts at making him look less intimidating. You tease him relentlessly when his days are over, but he begs you to stop watching them. You give in after day three when you keep hearing the same handful of answers.
With your time off, you almost don’t know what to do. You try filling every moment that you’re awake because if you think, you spiral. So you run, smoke a whole pack a day, and sometimes box.
On one of your slower days, you wander up to the roof. Not many people go up there, and Tony hates it when they do, but there’s two shitty plastic lawn chairs to gaze up at the stars. Everything feels unsettled and shifted, but just looking up and zoning out helped.
“I thought you quit years ago.” Steve moves the spare chair next to yours and it groans under his weight.
“No need to keep the clueless act, Stevie.” You stub the cigarette out anyway, knowing the smell still puts him off. Bucky had told you his anxieties only came from when he was a small kid with asthma before the serum. “Bucky let the cat out of the bag months ago.”
“Well, I’m surprised it never occurred to you sooner.”
“Just wanted to tell myself you didn’t notice I guess. I know how you feel about them.”
Steve stays quiet as he leans back, the chair creaking so loud you’re sure it’s going to break.
“How are you doing? Really. You never liked time off before.”
“No, I know. You were right. I needed it.” You sigh. “Everything feels kinda fucked. I’ve never really felt… lost. There was always an end goal somewhere. How did you always know that you were doing the right thing?”
“I didn’t.” He says honestly. You know it by the haunted look in his eyes. “But it always felt right. Sometimes things just don’t turn out, no matter how well you stick to the plan.”
“Right.” You look down to the gravel, still feeling a little small. Even when admitting he wasn’t always right, Steve felt so perfect to you. The great American hero, but in your eyes, the altruistic big brother. “Never did say sorry for the kid dying, did I?”
“No, y/n. You didn’t—“
“I’m not-“ you interrupt then sigh, trying to gather your words. Steve’s patient, watching you without judgment. “I’m not saying sorry for getting him killed. I already did that, but I’m just saying. He was on our team. I’m just sorry we lost someone on our team.”
“You lose people sometimes.”
“Still sucks though.”
“It does.”
It’s quiet as you both look up to watch the stars and the occasional plane fly by. You liked these little moments with him. He always knew how to lift your spirits, just the slightest bit, even if you were the one venting most of the time. You’re sure he’s just happy to see you not locked up in your room for days on end.
“I think I might need more time?” It comes out more as a question than a statement, feeling a sudden rush of tears.
“I’ll let Tony know.” He almost goes into work mode until he looks over at you looking a little crushed. “Come on. Sam’s back from his sisters and I know you love her cooking. Maybe Bruce will show you some of his new gadgets too.”
He leads you back to the roof door, holding it open for you. It’s almost too quiet in the elevator and you’ve honestly been dying to ask.
“So…” you start, turning to him with a sly grin. “Do I get to know her name?”
“Who?”
“The girl you’ve been seeing, Steve.” You roll your eyes. “You had a red kiss stain on your cheek all of Monday afternoon.”
His face turns as red as the lipstick that had been stuck to him and you almost double over in laughter.
“Buck is only gone for one more day, you know.”
Your laughter stops. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“If I recall correctly, you smelled a lot like Bucky's cologne when you came back Monday.”
“Can we rewind and I make fun of you for saying gadgets instead?”
You wait outside Bucky's building, bouncing anxiously as you hope you timed his departure from the compound correctly. Some passerby give you looks as you hang out on the edge of the curb, leaning casually against the car beside you. The roar of a motorcycle makes you perk up, turning just in time to catch him pulling up and killing the engine. You stay in your spot, two cars away as he removes his helmet and goes for his things. Not before acknowledging your presence of course. His hair has been trimmed since you’ve last seen him in person and his face is completely smooth. It makes him look less intimidating upon first glance, and you know for a fact the pepper made him do it. He had looked even less intimidating on tv, being dressed in lighter colored clothing, opposite of the black clothes he wears now.
“Steve said you weren’t around.” Bucky says when he’s standing in front of you, looking as antsy as you probably do.
“I was a little busy with this.” You gesture to the old and pale colored jeep wrangler behind you. “Ta-da!”
“It’s a jeep.” He states simply.
“Well. Yeah, but it’s my Jeep. That I drove alone.”
“Wait, you…” realization dawns on him and you quickly pull out the temporary paper one the dmv gave you.
“You’re looking at the new owner of a driver's license!” You barely show it off before he’s pulling you into a hug, spinning you around. He sets you down, hands lingering on your hips as you let out remnants of laughter.
“Everyone better watch out with that lead foot of yours, doll.”
You give his shoulder a good punch, which only makes him laugh. There’s a moment where you watch his eyes fall to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Home always looked good on him, the bags under his eyes lessening from the inconsistent sleep. He just always looked happy to be in Brooklyn, that boyishness returning full force. He's taking a step back and picking up his bags that he dropped in excitement and invites you in with a nod toward his building.
“You could have let yourself in.” He says when you’re alone in the elevator.
“I don’t need your neighbors thinking I’m some crazy ex or something trying to break in.”
“Sounds like you need a key then.”
You hope you keep your cool, but by the smug look on his face, your shock is obvious.
“Beer?” Bucky offers, setting his bags down by the couch to be forgotten until later.
“Yes please.”
“We can sit out on the fire escape if you want a smoke.” He had noticed when your anxious energy hadn’t dissipated. “Go ahead. I’ll grab a few.”
You climb outside, taking a seat on one of the stools he’d placed there when you found yourselves there more often than on his couch. Your leg bounces because you’re going to tell him damn it. Avoiding the conversation is only going to make things worse. It already has if your fight was anything to go off of. His tags sit heavy on your chest, and you toy with them while he moves around his kitchen. He’d heard them clinking together when you walked, but he wasn’t going to bring it up until you did. He didn’t really have any real need for them, and he gave them to you for a reason. A promise. That didn’t have to end every time he came home. Plus, he imagined the simple chain looked great on you, and he can’t find it in himself to scold his brain for thinking of your chest. Not even naked. God, he’s become a simp. Even though he’s still not completely sure what that means.
His footsteps have you hiding the tags back underneath the collar of your shirt.
“Careful,” he warns when the bottle almost slips through your nervous hand. Grabbing your favorite pack of cigarettes from the window sill, he taps it against his palm a few times before slipping one out, lighting it and offering it to you.
“I’m quitting,” you blurt out.
“Oh.” He isn’t sure what to say as he rolls the cigarette between his fingertips, unsure of what to do with it now. “Steve get to you finally?”
“Not- I mean I do feel a little guilty now that I know he knows but, no. I’m not quitting smoking. I’m quitting the team, Buck. It’s why I got my license, a car.”
It’s quiet for a long time, and you avoid looking at him in fear of seeing the possible rejection on his face. Eventually, you take the cigarette he keeps playing with instead of smoking, and take in a long breath as he thinks to himself. You wait with baited breath, and when he looks at you calmly, you blow it out quickly.
“Where are you gonna go?” There’s concern hidden underneath the curiosity, but you’re able to decipher it from his tone.
“Not sure.” You shake your head as you offer it back, letting him take a drag as you steal a sip of beer. “They’re kind enough to scout a few places. Make sure it’s safe.”
“And what will you do?”
Turning your head, you smile softly as you shake your head once more. “I never really thought about that. What did you do in your time in Romania?”
No one’s asked him that out of genuine curiosity before. It was always accusatory or for the record. He’s taken by surprise, in all honesty.
“Whatever odd jobs I could find. Nothing with official paperwork.”
“Of course.” You respond softly, understanding it would have created problems. “Well, my offer still stands,” you tease a bit as you reach for your own beer. “I think it’d be fun to be roomies.”
“I can’t, sweets.” He looks to his lap dejectedly.
“No, I- I understand.” You try to not show the hurt despite not being fully serious about the offer. “Your home is in Brooklyn. It’ll probably be closer to Steve and Sam… and I was totally kidding.”
“I mean, I can’t. They want me for at least another year.”
“What? Who exactly is ‘they?’ Tony? Fury?”
“Don’t make a fuss,” he pleads. I’m not sure I’m worth all this, Steve.
“Why not?”
“Gotta pay my dues. It came with my parole.”
You stand, clenching your jaw as you move to lean over the railing. There’s a heavy sigh from behind you and the old fire escape creaks when he moves next to you.
“It’s not just about me having to work for them, is it?” He’s quiet, cautious.
“Who’s gonna look after you when I’m gone?”
“when it’s not you, it’s Steve.”
“Steve doesn’t make a fuss like I do.”
“Well, you both know how to make yourselves heard.” It makes your mouth twitch but you work hard to keep frowning. “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”
“It’s nice to have help though.”
“It is.” He smiles. “But you’ll visit and when you do, you can help me with normal things. Like when the damn tv misbehaves.”
“You need to be nicer to it or you’re buying another one.”
He chuckles softly, plucking the cigarette from between your fingers. As he takes a drag, you see the frown and stress line between his eyebrows. Tilting your head, you wait for it to dissipate along with the smoke, but it never does.
“What? Worried about me? I’ll be fine, Buck.”
He flicks the excess ash off with his thumb, watching some of it fall on his boot. “Your mother reached out to me. I guess Emily seeing me on tv sent her into a frenzy, but she said she wants to look for you again.”
“What did you say?” You wrap your arms around yourself, a nervous habit. It isn’t his fault she reached out, so you keep your anxiety from turning into anger.
“That Avengers don’t really take missing persons cases.” There’s an obvious pause, you realize, as he sticks the cigarette between his teeth to run his hands through his hair anxiously. “But that I would reach out to some of my contacts. That being… you.”
“I’m scared shitless.” You take the cigarette right from his mouth. At this point, you aren’t sure why you share when you both just end up stealing it from one another.
“I know that.” He leans against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. You’re not sure if the railing or his shirt can handle the pressure. “It just got me thinking, if you’re getting out, it’s a good time to let them know. You don’t have to worry about anyone going after them. Worry about running into them either.”
“I think I’ll always worry.”
“I’ll go with you if you don’t think you can do it alone.”
“You would?” It surprises you. “You always said you didn’t want to go with me to meet them. That you’d rather lose another arm.”
“I never-“ he sighs, defeated, realizing he may have said it once facetiously. “I was being a coward. Couldn’t do it for my sister, so how could I do it for you?”
“Your sister was alive?”
“Passed before we became friends.”
“Buck…”
“Look, it’s not about me, sweets.” He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your chest presses against him and you’re sure he can feel your heart racing. “You want me there?”
“Yes.” You wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing him into a tight hug. “What would I do without you?”
“Crash and burn evidently.”
You pinch his ribs, making him yelp in surprise.
You let Bucky reach out to your mom, too afraid to do it yourself. She answers almost instantly and then you’re met with the fact that you actually have to set up a time to meet. You’re too overwhelmed so you let her pick, and when the day finally arrives, you think you’re going to be sick.
“We aren’t taking your bike?” You practically pout when you meet with Bucky at his place to go meet your parents.
“We can if you really want, but I was afraid Emily would want a ride and I’m not putting your mother through that kind of stress.”
“Oh, you make a good point.” The nerves come through in your tight laugh.
“Is that okay?”
“Yes!” You answer all too quickly. “Yes. It’s just… it's been awhile since I’ve done the whole train thing.” It’s only a half lie on why you were acting so nervous, but you don’t have to explain for him to know.
“I’ll be close by.” Bucky holds his arm out for you to loop yours through and leads you to the subway.
It’s jam packed for the middle of the day, but Bucky takes care of the passes, what platform you need to be at and when. Anything to prevent you from getting any more stressed than you already are. On the train, you’re pressed into Bucky, your back meeting his front. When the train moves and you bump further into him, unable to get a hold of anything in time, he just reaches around to hold you in place.
“I got ya,” he whispers into your neck, making your stomach flip over.
You burrow further into him, arm resting over his, and pretend to hide into him. It just was hard being in the same city you were taken, on a train no less on your way to school, but you knew how to blend in with ease. You know even better that kirsch could never take you again, assured many times by Steve that you had gone through with that plan, and he was buried alone. You could always use your anxiety to your advantage to get lost in a crowd, but Bucky keeps you in place easily. Ignoring your obvious nail biting, a curse to yourself as you loved Natasha’s flawless natural nails, he only swats at your hand once.
When you get off the train and head above ground, Bucky gets distracted by a floral stand along the way. Despite your eye rolling, you’re endeared by his insistence of getting flowers any time he meets a girl's mother. You think you might get down on one knee when he gets a single rose for your little sister. Your palms begin to sweat when you enter the park you agreed to meet at and when you see your mom and dad sitting on a bench watching your sister, you stop.
“Oh,” you breathe out, feeling like all the air has escaped your lungs.
“You okay?” Bucky brings a hand to your lower back, worried by the look on your face.
“Yeah I just- it’s really happening.” You turn to look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed with worry. “Just scared… give me one second to take it all in.”
“Take all the time you need, sweets.”
“Maybe we should’ve rethought the flowers.” You turn to him quickly, too afraid to be the one to catch your parents attention first. “Or the whole thing.”
“Y/N—“
“My mother is a florist for christ's sake,” you try to argue. “The carnations were a terrible idea. Why’d I let you get away with that?”
“I’m not sure that matters at this point.”
Turning, you see your mother, and then consequently your father, both watching you in happy shock.
“Oh, my baby.” You hear your mom's voice crack as she stands from the bench, just as afraid as you are to move any closer. You do when she takes a tentative step forward, hand pressed against her own chest. Nearly running, you collide into the both of them, arms wrapping around them desperately as they cling on to you just as tight.
“Hi,” is all you can muster against your mom's shoulder.
“You’ve- well you’ve grown!” She lets out a wet laugh as she takes you in, almost in disbelief at what she was seeing.
“It’s been, um, awhile.” You try to blink the tears away. Glancing behind you, Bucky stands where you left him. You wave him over subtly, not fully prepared to be on your own. “Mom, you’ve met Bucky.”
“Yes! Mr. Barnes,” she holds out a hand which he takes before offering the flowers.
“Mr. Bucky! Mr. Bucky!” Emily comes bounding up to all of you, ponytail bouncing. “You did it? You found her?”
“He did.” You kneel down to get to her level. “You must be Emily.”
She looks up at you in awe, and it’s a little shy, but she hugs you to cover it up. Bucky gives you the single rose to give her, and she jumps in excitement. The questions begin, and Bucky is quick to pick up on your nervous glances to your little sister. You had promised full transparency, but you wanted to filter what the little five year old got to hear. He offers to take her on a quick walk, which your dad seems hesitant about, but you reassure him quickly. Then you’re all sitting and they look at you too expectantly. It’s hard at first, telling them how scared you were and what all you went through, and maybe you lighten up a few details. The tears in their eyes never go away, and when you explain what Steve and the rest of the team did for you, your mother looks relieved.
“Sorry, but why now?” Your father asks innocently.
“What do you mean?”
“You said that man, Kirsch, died six years ago, right? How come you didn’t reach out sooner?”
You look away, unsure at first, but then you see Bucky holding your little sister's hand, and laughing at some story she’s expertly telling. The answer is almost entirely her. They got another girl, and they didn’t have to worry about you any more, but in all honesty, when Tony found your parents' information, Emily didn’t exist at all. Your parents were still in grief and in denial. You aren’t sure what changed. Maybe it was the fact that Emily just happened to be a surprise, and they figured they could try again. Without you. So you had agreed to join the team instead of facing rejection or disappointment.
“I dunno,” your voice is small as you look at your hands. “I- I was an assassin. Didn’t think there was much redemption in that.”
“Oh, sweetheart…”
“Look, I know that you’re my parents and you’ll love me no matter what, but you said that when I was a kid. I stopped being that kid the day I got taken and I’ve killed people. it just- the idea of you being disappointed just made me too scared.”
Neither of them try to give you any platitudes. Instead, they hug you tight, and let you cry. No one tries to carry the blame over anyone else. You’ve all somehow come to that silent agreement. They just end up doing exactly what you need, love you.
“Em sure is a firecracker.” You comment once the tears are over and she’s begged Bucky to let her hang from his prosthetic arm just ‘one more time!’
“Wonder where she gets that from,” your father teases, side-eyeing you. “I should probably relieve your friend there.”
“Friend, hm?” Your mother nudges your shoulder when your dad is far enough away.
“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “Yes. Bucky is a friend.”
“A friend who brought your mother flowers.”
“He’s old fashioned.”
Your mother hums, not quite believing you, and drops it. But when he gives you a smile over his shoulder, you seem unable to.
“He’s… complicated.” Your shoulders and smile drop when his attention is taken away. “We both sort of are. I’m not sure it’ll go anywhere.”
“How come?”
“I’m quitting the whole avenging thing. Moving somewhere else. Close enough to see you guys of course, but…”
“Far enough to make it complicated with him?”
“It’s all a bit complicated.” You sigh.
“Let life settle down again. It’ll surprise you.”
After you all grab a quick bite to eat, you part ways, accepting too many stickers from your little sister on the way. On the train back, you’re both able to sit, and you recall the way your parents had looked exactly the same, just a little older. You have to retrace their faces from old memories to remember the way they look now.
“You’re staring.” You tell Bucky on the third stop.
“Just… observing.” You give him a pointed look at his response you gave him too many times. “I’m proud of you for doing that.”
“Oh my god,” you balk. “Do not make me cry on this train!”
“I’m serious!”
“I know, but I swear to god, if I cry one more time today…” you leave the empty threat out in the open, face softening at his sincerity. “Thank you.”
“So, when is your last mission?” He changes the subject to work quickly.
“My last mission was my last one.”
“Oh, so you’re just done now?” He almost seems disappointed by that.
“Well, Steve’s putting me on desk duty until I decide what to do. Where to go. Thinking I might actually get some sort of degree.”
“Don’t you have enough credits for at least three?”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, apparently they’re begging Tony to make me decide. I’ll have to take a few extra to, you know, finish it out, but I dunno. Maybe linguistics since I have the most credits for that, but what actual paying job can I get with that?”
“You’ll figure it out. You’ve got time.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.” You pout and play with the zipper of his leather jacket. “So. Your sister.” Bucky sighs because he knew you wouldn’t be able to drop it, but he isn’t annoyed. “Was she the same one from the photo of you dancing?”
“Yes, Rebecca.”
“It’s okay you couldn’t go see her.” You’re cautious, watching his posture and facial expressions closely. “I wish you could have, though.”
“I was still recovering.” They hadn’t even given him his new arm, yet. “I’m not sure they would’ve even entertained the idea, and I know that just makes you mad, but…”
“No, I get it.” You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth even through the layers. “I was on a short leash too. Still haven’t decided if it was good or not, but they unfortunately had a very good point.”
“You’re still a flight risk sometimes,” he teases.
“I think I’ve found my reason to stay.”
Laying your head on his shoulder, you let the noise of the subway take over between you.
Tapping your pen against your desk, you try to not let your head drop from boredom. Steve was right in saying you were never good with time off, but you didn’t realize desk work would be ten times worse. You yearn to text your fellow teammates about any and all updates on their respective missions, begging for the nitty gritty details. You’ll even take having to hear about a black eye adorning Bucky’s face for the sake of your brain not rotting, but they give you nothing. Everything seems to go perfect, and you’re left bitterly tapping your pen as you stare at numbers. It’s been three weeks of this. You had even bought matching pants and blazers in excitement. The initial giddiness in a change of pace had worn off quickly, and you became a part of the corporate drones you had heard so much about from your endless journey of media deep dives. You honestly consider starting a fight. Drama. Something.
A knock on your cubicle brings you out of your wallowing. Bucky, a beautiful reprieve, stands with a takeout bag in hand.
“What’s this?” You eye him warily, but smile at the interruption.
“Heard the fridge busted and you lost your lunch for the day.” He has this knowing look, like he had heard your grumbled curses and banging a fist on the fridge door that morning. It wasn’t your proudest moment. “Have you taken your break yet?”
“No.” Your grin grows bigger, the thought of getting Bucky for an entire hour uninterrupted making your skin crawl with anticipation. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Take your break with me and you’ll find out, doll.”
You find a bench outside, looking out to the large field, and he unpacks the food for you. You’re giddy as he hands the take out bowl of dim sum. The sun feels warm on your skin, and you’re just relieved to get out of the dreary office.
“Are you sleeping okay?” Bucky looks over your face once more, but you’ve covered the heavy bags underneath your eyes with makeup. A skill you’ve learned over the years to hide any injuries if necessary for work.
“Is this a friendly lunch or an interrogation?” Your voice is light, almost teasing to hide the nervous pain you feel from the question. If his intention hadn’t been because you couldn’t take your lunch, it would almost feel like a betrayal.
“Friendly.” His frown deepens, insulted by your insinuation. “I want to know you’re okay. You’ve been… small.”
“Small?” A soft laugh escapes at that.
“You’re usually so present and there, but these past few weeks,” he looks down and shakes his head. “I can see your mind wandering, and you’re not here much anymore. Just don’t want to see you that bad again.”
“Well, I’ve been leaving my room.” Your hands find something to fidget with, and you’re hesitant to look at him.
“Sweets,” he sets down his bowl and takes your nervous hands. Looking him in the eye, you can see a million words processing in his mind as he searches in your eyes. “I can help. If you want it or need it.”
“Buck,” you roll your eyes, unable to keep this conversation serious. “You help me just fine.”
“You swear?” He looks for your tells, but comes up empty. He looks so scared and you can’t seem to understand why. Why would someone worry so much about you? “No night terrors? Anything?”
“There’s… been a few nightmares, but look,” you wave off his worry, letting one of your hands escape. He refuses to let the other one go, slotting your fingers together in urgency. “I’m getting out of bed and going to a mind numbing job everyday. That’s good, right? I normally just… wallow in self pity. I’m not great, but I’m good, Buck. No need to stress.”
“Y/N, I…” he hesitates, watching the microexpressions in your face change at the use of your name. No cute terms of endearment. You soften so much, he stops himself from telling you outright that he loves you. Because he can see the tiredness in your eyes despite your expert makeup skills, and he tells himself to wait just a little longer. It isn’t the right time, and he doesn’t want to overwhelm you any more than you already are. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Nat wants to take me out for drinks tonight. As an unofficial goodbye party. Why don’t you come?” You want to prove to him that you’re doing fine, even though you would much rather get in bed early with a book.
“Can’t.” He looks sheepish as he picks his lunch back up. “Doing some recon later.”
“Well, I appreciate this, thank you.”
The sharp sound of knocking interrupts you from getting ready, hair halfway pulled back as you were about to fix your makeup. You’re afraid it’s Nat, as you get up to open the door, having shown up early. Bucky leans heavily against the doorframe. He’s beat up pretty good, bottom lip busted and scattered bruises littering his face. There’s dirt on his tac gear that he still has on, but most of all he looks tired.
“I didn’t know you were back so soon.”
“Finished early,” he grumbles out. Taking note of his leaning, your eyes fall down his arm, and you see blood on his hand that presses into his side.
“Jesus, buck!” Without a second thought, you pull him into your room. Both of you stumble over his weight as he leans against you heavily.
“‘M fine,” he mumbles as you drop him a bit unceremoniously onto the love seat in front of the window.
“I- we…” Normally you’re more level headed than this, but you usually have the time to get in the proper head space before missions. A surprise visit covered in blood was going to give you some panic. “I need to go get help.”
Just before you can walk away, Bucky’s free hand grabs your wrist. “They taught you how to stitch someone up, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but this requires a trip to the infirmary. Not my bedroom.” You gesture vaguely to his still bleeding wound.
“I’m not going to the infirmary.” he says firmly, the grip he has on your wrist tightening slightly.
“You are bleeding on my couch.” You can see where it just starts to soak into the material. That stain will never come out, you know it.
“I don’t need it to be perfect. Just something to get me by for the next few days.” It wasn’t going to take long to heal, but that didn’t mean they could just leave it be and hope for the best. “Come on, before someone overhears.”
Rolling your eyes with a dramatic huff, you pull your wrist from his grasp to go close the door. Not before poking your head out into the hallway, looking for any signs of life. When you know you’re in the clear, you close her door, and head straight for the bathroom. While shuffling in the cabinet underneath the sink for the kit you swear you own, you raise your voice slightly to speak to him.
“We need to stop the bleeding before I can do anything.” You almost shout in victory when you spot the red box, and grab a few towels. “First we’ll need to get your shirt off.”
As he struggles out of his layers, you drag your nightstand closer to lay out all of the items as neatly as you can. Taking one of the hand towels, you have him hold it firmly in place so you can go scrub your hands clean. It’s nearly soaked through by the time you find a comfortable position to work in.
“Let me see?” You ask softly.
Your hands hover over his as he peels the towel back with a tiny wince. It wasn’t as much as you’d like but you could work with it. Using the same towel, you hold it under the wound, pouring disinfectant over it and then patting it dry. He tries to not hiss in pain the entire time, jaw clenched tight. While you turn to get the needle and thread ready, he slings his arm over the back of the couch to grant you easy access.
“What were you thinking?” You ask quietly, the needle going through his skin easily.
“Yippee, I’m a hero,” Bucky deadpans.
“You seem to have forgotten I’m the one stitching you up. Should I check for a concussion too? Maybe terminal dumbass disorder while we’re at it.”
“What do you want me to say?” He flinches when you stab him harshly out of anger.
“I don’t like you going on solo missions.” Shaking your head softly, you keep focus on the task at hand rather than his reaction to that. “You should have asked me to come along. I was probably the only one who didn’t have anything going on.”
“You said you had the night off.”
You hum softly, not impressed with his lame excuse. “Well, now I get to end it by cleaning a stain that might never come out.”
“Shit,” he mutters, not having realized the blood reached the cushions. Without thinking, he moves to check the damage.
“Hey, hey, whoa!” Your hand falls onto his stomach to steady him, nearly having pierced his skin in the wrong place. “Easy, hotshot. I’m not quite finished yet.”
Your hand glides over his skin before returning back to where it had been previously.
“Got blood on your dress too.” Bucky mumbles, taking the fabric between the fingertips of his free hand.
“It’s okay, I-“ you laugh softly, bashful as his skin grazes against your legs. “I didn’t really want to go.”
“How come?”
“I dunno. Maybe Nat would say I’m looking for a reason to back out, but I’d rather be here with you. Bloody or not.”
There’s a thick silence as his hand falls on your thigh, squeezing in surprise by the admission. You scoff, returning to your needlework so you don’t get embarrassed by looking him in the eye.
“God, that sounded corny. I just- well, it’s true. I don’t wanna go to a bar full of strangers where some guy is probably going to hit on me or insult me by accident. Probably wouldn’t put up with me torturing him with candy or cheesy movies that physically make you cringe. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I want a guy who’s gonna dance with me because he knows I never have. If… if that makes sense.”
It’s a full admission, he’s beginning to realize. It’s him. You want him. Even though you can’t make yourself say the words, he still knows you mean it. Because you wouldn’t be shaking otherwise. You had the steadiness of a sharpshooter, and the only time you faltered was when feelings got involved. You’re so close, it doesn’t take much movement for his lips to capture yours, causing you to freeze and almost drop the needle. His hand slides up your thigh, sneaking underneath the skirt of your dress because he needs to feel your warmth. To know that he’s actually kissing the woman of his dreams.
“Hey,” you whisper against his lips, laughter bubbling in your throat. Pulling back, you see the slight fear in his eyes. “I should finish this up before we… do whatever, don’t you think?”
“I’ll be fine.” He leans back in, but frowns when a hand on his chest stops him. Albeit a little dramatically, he throws his head back on the couch and lets your gentle hands continue working. It’s silent for a while, and while you’re tying the knot to finish, he speaks again. “I think you should stay.”
“Buck,” your shoulders drop at that, and set the tools down. “I can’t. They’ve already found a place for me. I’m supposed to be getting a fresh start. I mean… how are we supposed to do this? Won’t it just be–”
“Complicated?”
Your face burns in embarrassment. “You heard that?”
“Doll,” he shakes his head, not wanting you to worry about that, and holds your cheek in his flesh hand, thumb tracing a circle along your jaw. “It’s now or never. I already thought I would lose you when you leave.”
“Of course you won’t!”
“You’ve got everyone here. Wasn’t I your reason for staying?”
“Yes, but I–” you realize you’re doing it again. You’re running away to avoid the hard feelings. The fear of rejection or worse. Loss. “Steve’s gonna be so pissed.”
“Who cares?”
Fuck.
“I’m scared.” Your voice shakes along with the hand that you bring up to the nape of his neck, and press your forehead against his.
“That’s okay, sweets. I am too.”
“Okay.” You breathe out as you close your eyes. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
Bucky kisses you like you’re leaving, but he stays, wrapped in your arms until the exhaustion makes him sleep.
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