~summary: the media always told you that the famous art critic bucky barnes is an arrogant, rude playboy and you agree, but something still draws you to him. is there a deeper reason to why he acts the way he does or is he the class A jackass you first met?
summary: the media always told you that the famous art critic bucky barnes is an arrogant, rude playboy and you agree, but something still draws you to him. is there a deeper reason to why he acts the way he does or is he the class A jackass you first met?
art critic!bucky x artist!reader
word count: about 2.1k
series masterlist ~ part 1~ part 2 ~
“Ms. y/l/n, this is NYU Langone Health, you need to come to the hospital as soon as possible. James Buchanan Barnes has been in an accident.”
You didn’t bother listening to the rest of the voicemail. You were exhausted but adrenaline shot through your veins. You jerked up standing wide awake. You ran out of your apartment with desperation.
Your insults to him could not be the last words you told him, they just couldn’t. Cause though part of you hated him, part of you knew Bucky had become part of your life far more than he knew.
You sprinted down the stairs back down, the way you had just a couple of minutes prior, but with new determination. You jumped over the last couple set steps with a boom you knew would echo through the halls and would leave a couple of complaints but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care to think about why the hospital had called you instead of a family member or even Steve. You threw yourself in your car and just started pulling out. Your car was already on the road when it occurred to you you didn’t know where the hospital was.
“Shit.” You didn’t have your phone with you cause you forgot it on your couch in your haste. Your brain really wasn’t helping you out today.
The rest of the drive was a blur as you got lost in your thoughts. Everything was cloudy in your head. Somehow, muscle memory must’ve kicked in cause you made it to the hospital. You didn’t have time to be confused though, as you run in, the doors slamming open.
You quickly scanned the room looking for the front desk. You must’ve looked like a lunatic. You were breathing hard and your hair was a complete mess from running.
You still managed to reach the front desk asking, “I want to see James Barnes, he--” You gasped for breath. “--he was just in an accident, came in a couple minutes ago.”
The receptionist looked at you with a concerned look on her face but just clicked her keys on the keyboard.
“Miss, could you tell me the patient’s name?”
“James Barnes,” you told her. She typed some more.
“Are you a relative?” she asked annoyingly calm for your stressful day.
“Uh, no, I’m a--” What were you? You tentatively continued, “a friend, I’m a friend.” She looked you over.
“And your name?”
“Y/n y/l/n.” More keyboard clicking.
“Ah, yes. You’re set as one of his emergency contacts.”
What? You thought. The receptionist continued.
“James Barnes is in room 206, go right into that hallway, take two lefts.” You let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” you said breathy.
“Oh, and--” She stopped you before you started speed walking again. “You better make it quick, he’s going to have surgery in a couple of minutes.” You nodded in acknowledgment.
You walked down the hall, two lefts counting the rooms.
“...194, 196, 198, 200, 202, 204, 206-- aha!” You were about to burst in when you realized it probably wasn’t the brightest idea, so you settled for a gentle knock. The reply came immediately.
“Who is it?” It was the same voice you had fought with on the phone a mere hour earlier, but it sounded much more gravely and in pain. You cleared your throat.
“It’s um-- it’s y/n.” The pause between his answer felt like hours even though it couldn’t have been more than a minute. You bit your lip anxiously. You heard him shift in his bed before saying, “Come in,” as if he was too weak to retort with a nasty reply.
You warily pushed the door open. There he was, looking as good as ever, on an off white hospital bed. The only change you noticed in his appearance was windblown hair, and more importantly, some blue, shockingly large shards of glass inserted in his left shoulder, bandaged with some white newly scarlet dyed medical tape. You subconsciously moved closer to him.
“...what happened to you?” you uttered under your breath without meaning to. Your arm reached out to skim his wound. He winced, his face contorting in pain. Realizing what you did you stepped back.
“Oh-- sorry, um--” You didn’t know what to say. Bucky hissed from the pain.
“It’s alright, I can handle it.” his response wasn’t full of venom, just strained. It reminded you of his voice after you had yelled at him in the car and all the guilt from before flooded back into you. You looked down at your feet.
“Hey, uh, I’m really sorry about earlier. I,” You took a shaky breath, “I didn’t mean any of it. I was just riled up. I-I understand if you if can’t forgive me, but I just needed you to know, you’re not any of those things I said.” You don’t know what you were expecting when you said that but you weren’t expecting Bucky to chuckle sadly.
“No, no, you were right. I’m arrogant and selfish. I’ve known for a while but you’re just the one who said it out loud to me first. Guess I just didn’t want to confront the truth.” He tilted his head toward you with a smirk before avoiding eye contact again. “I’m really sorry for being such a jackass to you.”
Did--did he just apologize to me?
“It’s okay,” you replied sheepishly. You gave him a smile.
“To be honest, you aren’t that bad anyway.” He made a faux shocked look.
“Did you just give me a compliment? I am truly baffled,” he teased. You almost slapped him but realized it would probably actually hurt due to his injury.
“Damn it, he’s back,” you said cheekily. Your face faltered a bit though when you looked back at his arm.
“What happened?” you wondered out loud. Bucky twiddled his thumbs nervously at the question.
“It was nothing,” he brushed off.
“A vase on a shelf just fell off onto me. A freak accident.”
“Oh,” you replied, but you were dubious of his answer.
“Where’d it happen?” You pried more. You swear for a moment his eyes widened nervously. He scratched his face.
“It was just in my office,” he skipped over. You sensed an awkward silence coming. Luckily the nurses ushered you out before that happened for Bucky’s surgery. You briefly mumbled good luck and walked back past the waiting room, out the exit, and into the parking lot. You knew it was going to be a long night of waiting and worrying. Despite that, you still couldn’t get a question out of your mind.
Why did Bucky lie about how he got his injury? You pondered as you walked. You shook your head to clear your mind because it wasn’t any of your business...right? You clicked your car keys and unlocked the door.
You switched on the light and felt around your car for a minute. You found what you were looking for with an “Aha!”. It was the drawing of the carnation.
You found some more art supplies and closed the door. You swiftly walked back to the waiting room, scanned the room for a chair with no one near it, and sat yourself down.
The one thing that had always gotten you through your hard times was art, and it was going to get you through this one.
For 8 painful hours, you waited. Your brain drifted to the thought of Bucky dying many times, but every time it did, you just forced yourself to work on the drawing. Even when the piece looked done, you just kept adding. It was the only way you were keeping sane. Multiple times you had almost fallen asleep before jolting awake. It was hell.
But finally, when you felt like you were about to pass out, you felt something tap your shoulder. That surprised you so much you jumped in your seat. It was a doctor.
“Miss-” she looked down at her clipboard. “y/n, I’m Doctor Reed. I have an update on James.” That got your attention. You nodded for her to continue. She cleared her throat.
“I have some good news and some bad news. Do you have a preference on which you’d like to hear first?” You shook your head, your anxiety was growing and you really just wanted to get this over with.
“James is okay. The surgery went very well and he should be free to leave in around two to three weeks, though we’ll keep you posted.” She took a deep breath before resuming. “The unfortunate part is that...we’ve...we’ve had to amputate his arm.”
Your hands moved to cover your mouth as water flooded your eyes.
“We did everything that we could, but his cuts were infected before he arrived. If we chose to keep his arm, best-case scenario, he would’ve had a dead limb.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.
“...And worst-case scenario?” you asked knowing you’d regret it. Dr. Reed hesitated.
“He could have died.” She kept talking but you couldn’t listen. It was all a blur.
He’s alive, he’s alive, you reminded yourself. You took an uneven breath.
“Can I see him?” The doctor nodded.
“You can, he may still be a bit woozy from the pain killers.” You muttered a thank you and collected your things, and allowed the doctor to escort you to his room. Your felt half dead but you kept walking. Remembering the path from earlier you found room 206 easily.
Without bothering to knock you pushed the door halfway open. His eyes were glassy and drooped. At the sight of you, he tried to scramble up to a sitting position but failed. He helplessly fell back onto his bed.
That’s when you opened the door completely to see a cavity where his left arm was supposed to be. You held in a gasp. You dropped your art things in a chair and rushed to his side.
“Are you alright?” you asked.
“Mmmm, were you worried?” His voice sounded sloppy and uncontrolled. Like he’d just woken from a year’s nap.
“Yeah, a little,” you replied with endearment, the ends of your mouth twitching upwards. Bucky proceeded to GIGGLE. To say that was amusing would’ve been an understatement. That was until he grabbed you by your shirt and pulled you closer to him.
He whispered loudly, “Can I tell you a secret?” You smiled and answered expecting a stupid, drugged joke.
“Sure Buck.” He somehow pulled you even closer. You could feel his breath. His lips parted.
“It wasn’t a freak accident.” You pulled back, alarmed.
“What?” He shushed you.
“My marketing agent and I have been arguing for a while. Tonight he got super mad at mee,” he said with childlike movements, elongating each syllable. You were frozen in place as you listened.
“Cause the tabloids heard me talking to youuu. They think you’re my girlfriend, but that would ruin my brand as a playboy. Or that’s what he says,” he continued.
“My agent found out and we started to argue. When I wasn’t looking he,” He looked around jerkily.
“You promise not to tell?” He questioned. At this point, you were very freaked out.
“Uh, yeah, of course. What-what’d he do?” He looked at you, obviously not understanding the weight of what he was saying. He opened his mouth to speak.
“My marketing agent broke the vase on me.”
Oh shit.
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.
“Shouldn’t you tell the police? Like right now?” you said, starting to panic.
“He’ll be long gone by now anyway.” He began to drift off.
“No, wait--” It was no use. He nuzzled into his shoulder and proceeded to fall unconscious again. You were hyperventilating.
What were you supposed to do now?
sorry this chapter took so long! my internet went down for a couple days :( anyways, feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading!
