Summary: You find a familiar face in your home after a long day.
Warnings: Pining, fluff, feels, swearing, sass, a bit of humor, mentions of blood and trauma, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)
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To say that you had a rough work day was an understatement. Between spilling your drink all over yourself on your way to your desk, being unprepared for a last minute meeting (which your boss called you out on), and your system crashing right before your report was finished, you were done. All you wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a stiff drink. Anything to forget that you had to stay at that place to get a paycheck.
I can't even fuck out my frustrations since I'm painfully single. I really need to buy a new toy.
The moment you walked in your front door, you knew it wouldn't be a relaxing evening. The glow from the living room gave it away. Sighing, you tossed your bag and keys down before heading into the room. You weren't shocked when you saw Bucky Barnes slumped against your couch, but you weren't exactly happy either.
The dark tactical gear clashed with the soft throw pillows surrounding the soldier. He often looked larger than his 6'3" height since he took up space, but he somehow looked like he belonged there. He cut his long locks some time ago, his short, dark hair urging you to run your fingers through it. Maybe you could pull it if he gave you the chance.
I would have a crush on a man who may have a death wish. "Hey, doll," he smirked when he acknowledged your presence. "We really need to stop meeting like this."
"Well, maybe we would if you would STOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE!"
He seemed to wince more at your tone than the wound on his right arm. "What can I say? You and your place are comforting."
You tried to ignore the way your heart raced faster at his sincerity. "You're bleeding on my couch!"
"Sorry. I'll get it cleaned or replaced. I promise," he swore as he sat up more, smiling a bit when you rushed over to help.
"That's what you said about my rug," you muttered as you sat down. How does someone bleeding smell so good? He already had your first aid kit, water and towels on the coffee table. He knew by heart where you kept everything. "What happened this time? Who did this to you?"
Bucky's smile widened as he shifted to give you more room. "Why? Will you take him out for me?"
"I just might," you said. Truthfully, your heart stopped whenever you saw him in a state like this, even though he bounced back quickly. And you wanted to hurt anyone who hurt him.
I've got it bad. Why am I like this?
"I'm flattered, but I handled him and you don't need to worry about it. Fucker had a knife up his sleeve though. Not as nice as mine," he told you as you opened the kit, taking a moment to figure out what you needed to clean the wound with.
