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The rule is that it’s nothing.
That’s what you agreed on. That’s what he suggested. That first time, when you’d finished washing your hair in his shower, and he’d made you breakfast, and you thought this was going to be something. Bucky was the one who said that he wanted to do this again, but didn’t want it to be complicated. He’s the one who reminded you that he doesn’t do relationships right now, because between work and everything else, he simply doesn’t have time for one.
He’s the one who made a bad joke about his arm, and not wanting to put that kinda shit on someone.
You’re the one who just stared at him, your heart breaking up like the cereal in front of you.
You’d put up with him. You already put up with him.
When his arm got blown off and he got honorably discharged, you told him to take a chance on those new prosthetic trials. When he said he wanted to do something more with his family money, you used all your free time to help with his campaign. When he got sworn into the house, you drove down to DC to watch the ceremony.
Hugged him after. Pressed your face into his neck, listening the drum of his heartbeat and smiling against his skin, because even if it didn’t belong to you, at least it was strong and steady. At least when you pulled back, Bucky smiled at you.
You put up with him. It’s not a task, when just his smile makes you feel like you’re the brightest thing in the world.
But he’d said that he had fun, but this shouldn’t be something.
And you’d nodded. Hadn’t said okay, or that you were fine with that. You weren’t.
You left your heart on the floor of Bucky’s apartment, and at least twice a month you go to see it again. He’ll have an event, you’ll have a long weekend. He’s visiting family, you’re heading up to DC for some work.
He smiles at you, and you smile back. You float through the night, waiting for the moment.
Bucky’s eyes to start dragging over your body. The drink in his hand getting neglected as he takes you in, his sentences get shorter and shorter as he starts to grow impatient.
Then he taps your wrist with a soft finger. Raises his brows in a silent question.
You still never say anything. You don’t want to lie to him, ever.
So he drags you out of the bar or gala. And you start to breathe again, when he slams the door behind him and kisses you against the wall. His metal hand bunches up your skirt or drags down your pants, teasing over your soaked underwear while he leaves lovebruises on your neck.
“All for me?” He’ll tease, and you’ll nod a little stupidly.
It’s overwhelming, the rush of pleasure and emotion that he can drag from you so easily. You feel alive, when he shoves your face into the pillow and fucks you like an animal. Bucky’s hand wraps around your throat while he forces to you look at him, his face painted with hunger and focus as he pounds ruthlessly in your cunt, and it’s never easier to breathe.
Sometimes he flips you over, covering your whole body with his while his balls slap against your clit, and tears escape your eyes. They’re muffled in the pillow, but Bucky still catches them, grabbing your jaw and twisting it to give you a soft, teasing kiss.
“Messy girl,” he’ll murmur against your lips. “I know, sweetheart, you’re takin’ it so good-“
He mistakes the sobs for desire. And in part, they are. You’re not a crier during sex, except when it’s Bucky, and his hitting deeper than anyone else can while toying so lazily with your clit.
But it’s also just tears.
For yourself. And how this is all you’re ever going to get.
But it’s nothing. You’ve long accepted that it’s nothing.
If you were braver, you’d tell him you were done. That you wanted someone who fucks you stupid, makes you breakfast, then holds your hand while you walk through the grocery market. That as long as that can’t be him, you’re not young enough to keep waiting, and not old enough to not care anymore.
You’re not braver.
You come like a dog when he calls. You spread your legs every time his hand trails up your thigh. You stare at your phone in the hope of a text, you trail after him at parties in an attempt to hurry up that moment. When, for a glorious few hours, Bucky’s whole world narrows down to you.
But it’s nothing.
For him, it’s a fleeting night, and then just nothing.
You’re trying to take baby steps, to clean yourself of him. To heal the brand he’s left on your skin, that makes anyone else’s touch feel wrong. You might not be brave yet, but you can be strong.
There was a party tonight. And it’s nothing to Bucky, so you can play pretend that it’s nothing to you.
You dress the same way you always do, when you and Bucky are attending the same party. It doesn’t matter if it’s one of his fancy congressman parties or just a get together thrown by high school friends, you do your hair up and put on red lipstick. Wear something dark blue that compliments your skin, highlighting ever dip and curve that you know Bucky’s hands love to pretend they’ve memorized.
Something for his attention, because it really is that bad.
And you can’t break that habit quite yet.
But at the very least, don’t follow him around. When you arrive, you let Natasha pull you away to get a drink. You stick to her side until she goes to play some dart game with the boys and Yelena. Normally you’d follow her, and stand right next to Bucky, hoping that your arms will brush.
Instead you go over to Wanda and Ava, and keep your back turned to the rest of the room.
“Barnes is staring.” Wanda hums, giving you a knowing look—she’s too good at reading people, it’s annoying—and you just stare at your cup.
She wouldn’t lie about that.
He’s probably just wondering why you’re not sitting at his feet, waiting for his attention. You can’t turn around, because you’ll see his confused, sad little frown, and you’ll break.
You know you’re still going to end up on your knees tonight, or pinned to his chest, or with your legs pressed to your chest as he folds you in half. The least to can do is not break.
So you don’t turn around.
It’s nothing. You just have to keep remembering that to Bucky, it’s nothing.
His rule. You’re only following his words the same way you always do, like they’re gospel.
At some point, Wanda introduces you to some guy who works with Vision and Tony in tech. He’s charming. Slicked back brown hair and pretty eyes, not quite as tall and broad as Bucky but still strong looking. He’s a little older, and makes a lot of bad jokes—a little full of himself, but most rich men are—and leers over you like you’re something he wants to take a bite out of.
It’s not your best moment, how you entertain him. How you giggle at his jokes and twirl your hair, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes. It makes your stomach boil with shame, because no matter how insufferable this man is, you’re still leading him on.
He won’t lay a single hand on you tonight. The closest he gets is when he passes you another drink, and his fingers brush your wrist. You smile sweetly, and pretend to take a sip before setting the drink down.
The man’s eyes glitter, when you ask exactly what he does for a living. He spends a solid half hour talking about crypto and AI like he’s some sort of pioneer.
You’ve spoken to Tony about these things. You know half of what he’s saying is bullshit.
But he calls you pretty after, so you giggle again, and just keep mindlessly flirting.
And it’s nothing.
Nothing to you. Nothing to the man—you’ve already forgotten his fucking name—and nothing that’s going to break you free of Bucky’s spell. If anything, you just fall further under. Bucky’s never even flirted with you, and his every word has always been more captivating than this… Buffon of a man. His praise had always made you flush.
You would’ve taken a drink he handed you. When you ask what he’s doing at work, he always just rolls his eyes and grumble nothin’ important, doll, even if you know that’s a lie.
He asks you questions about your life. He makes better jokes, and has prettier eyes.
But you keep flirting, because it’s nothing.
But for something that’s nothing, you’ve never seen Bucky make that face before.
You just look for a second, because you’re weak.
You do a double take, because he looks murderous. His brows are knit, his mouth in a tight line, his jaw working like he’s struggling not to shout something. His metal hand is crushing his plastic cup, and his chest looks like it’s taking such shallow breaths.
He’s staring at you.
And you thought you’d been on the end of all of Bucky’s stares. The hungry ones, while he peels your clothing off or watches you work him in his hand, your tits bouncing and thighs squeezing as you smile down at him. You’ve seen his annoyed stare, when you make a dumb joke and he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t want to laugh. His thinking stare, when he falls silent to consider a question far more seriously than he meant it.
Even his sad stare, when you sat with him after his surgery. When he told you that he felt half-human, and you held his metal hand.
Told him that you didn’t care what he was made of. He was still all Bucky, and that’s what you loved.
He’d stared at you that night. Then just leaned down, and rested his face on your shoulder. You’d stroked his hair, and stayed there as long as he needed.
You’d thought that was the worst Bucky stare you could receive. The hollow one, so obviously full of pain and sadness.
But this stare.
It’s furious.
And it makes a lot more heat pool between your thighs than it probably should.
Sam whacks Bucky’s chest, obviously in the middle of some story.
Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second.
You swallow, and look back to the man you’ve seemingly attached yourself to for the night. You can still feel Bucky’s stare, and you won’t be able to clean yourself of his brand. It’s sinking back into you every single second, and you’re not even strong enough to go where he can’t stare.
It makes your body sing with excitement. It’s Bucky’s attention.
It means that when he does get a hold of you, he’ll be relentless. And it might be nothing to him, but it’s everything to you.
Nothing.
He’s the one who said it’s nothing.
But he’s still staring. Even after you signal Yelena to get you away from the man—and she does so very dramatically, with a shout that her hamster is dying and you’re the only one who can save him—Bucky still doesn’t stop staring at you.
His shoulders relax a little.
You catch him shooting daggered glares at the man for the rest of the night. He crushes his cup fully, and stomps off with a grumble that he’ll clean it up.
The man claps him on the back with a laugh about how ladies must love that kind of strength.
Bucky looks right at you, eyes shining in the dark.
“You got no fuckin’ idea.”
You swallow.
It’s nothing.
But it sounds like it’s about to be something.
Bucky doesn’t tap your wrist tonight. He finds you in the kitchen while everyone else is out in the living room, screeching into Wanda’s karaoke machine in a way the neighbors can’t love. He crowds your space, pressing into you from behind, and leaves a sloppy, wet kiss on your throat.
You gasp, grabbing at the counter for support. “Bucky- Everyone’s right there-“
“They’re busy.” He mutters, moving his lips up your jaw. “Let’s go. Half an hour.”
“That’s- What about the party-“
“Don’t care. They won’t even fuckin’ notice.” His mouth ghosts over the shell of your ear, voice a low, dangerous promise. “You head out first. My place.”
“Bucky-“ His hand slides up your thigh, and you bite back a moan. “Fuck- you can’t just-“
He grabs your jaw, twisting your face back, and pulls you into a long, deep kiss. The kind of kiss he’s only ever given you when he was buried balls deep inside you.
And you break. Just like that, you’re putty in his arms again, grabbing his arm to keep steady and melting back into his chest.
Bucky breaks the kiss lazily, pressing a second, softer one to your open mouth before pulling back.
His eyes are darkened, searing right into your soul as he takes in your slack face. His thumb smears a little drool over your chin, and he makes a satisfied sound.
“Fuck it.” He mutters to himself. “We’re goin’ now.”
You blink at him, but just nod. You don’t know what’s gotten into him.
But if that was any promise of the night to come, you can’t find it in you to really fucking care.
Neither of you bother with goodbyes. Bucky doesn’t give the chance for them. He mutters that they’re all so drunk they won’t even notice, and pulls you outside with your fingers intertwined. You’re led to his bike, and when you ask if he’s sober enough to drive, he just laughs.
“I keep a clear head, doll. You know that.” He pauses, something heavier flashing over his face. “But- You feelin’ yourself?”
You nod, and his throat bobs.
“What about that drink.”
“What drink?”
“The one hair gel passed you. You know, you shouldn’t take shit from strangers-“
“I know that.” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “And I didn’t drink it.”
“Hm.” Bucky’s shoulders relax. “Good.”
You didn’t know he saw that. You don’t know why he bothered looking.
And he holds you in front of him, on his bike. Wraps you in his strong arms, your back pressed to his broad chest, his strong, intoxicating smell making you feel more drunk that anything you had tonight. When you get to his place, he carries you upstairs and into his apartment.
None of this feels like nothing.
Your heart kickstarts, the moment he tosses you on the bed, and this feels like fucking everything.
“Clothing off.” He orders, already yanking his shirt over his head, and you scramble to obey the order.
You barely get your shirt over your head, before Bucky’s on you. His grab your ankles, tugging you down the bed, and kisses the inside of your calf. You stare up at him, your shirt still bundled in your hands, and try not to whine as his repeats the motion, hands sliding slowly up your legs.
“Bucky-“
“Shh.” He shoots you a glare, slowly spreading your thighs. “I’m barely touchin’ you, doll, you can’t already be beggin’ for me.”
You swallow, watching him with wide eyes. He uses these golden lamps that you bought him, when he finally moved out of the place he’d been sharing with Steve since they were eighteen. They always make him look like an angel above you, the light casting a strange kind of halo on dark hair, his tanned skin glowing and holy against yours.
It had enchanted you, the first time he’d switched one on. Now, it just drags you further under the spell he never even knows he’s casting.
Bucky shines, in the dark. Untouchable. Yours, until the sun rises in the morning and he goes back to masquerading as a man rather than the god that you silently worship. You’ll leave his alter, the silk sheets stained with your devotion, the chamber of his room echoing with your prayers.
He won’t think twice of it. Deities don’t find it strange, to be sacred.
Bucky doesn’t ever question, why when he tells you to be quiet, you can’t do anything but shut your mouth. Doesn’t wonder why you’ll argue with him about everything else, but the moment he’s got his mouth on you, you’re barely more than a toy for his pleasure.
You wish he cared for you less. It would be easier to hate what you become, under his hands.
But Bucky hums in approval, at your silence. Kisses up your leg, then over your clothed core, and squeezes his hands on your ass.
“That’s my good girl.” He whispers, and a breathy, pleased sigh leaves your lips.
His.
Here, on these holy grounds, you’re Bucky’s.
And that the prize that you’ve wrought, for the impossibly high price that you’re willing to pay. That Bucky doesn’t even know he’s charging.
A single second, where you’re just his.
“You were ignoring me tonight.” He mutters, kissing over the soft skin of your stomach, and your head shoots up.
“It- We were at a party-“
“You can talk to me at a party.” He kisses under your breast, sliding a hand around your back to unhook your bra. “Weirder if you don’t, sweetheart. Sam thought we were fightin’-“
You try to think of a smart response about how he doesn’t own your time—he does, but to Bucky that means nothing—but the words fall flat on your tongue when Bucky pulls your bra away, and wraps his warm mouth around your nipple.
Your back arches off the bed, your fingers shooting into Bucky’s hair as a loud moan of his name escapes your lips. Bucky’s hums, his metal hand kneading at your neglected breast, and your toes curl as he works you up with kitten licks and a pinch of your sensitive bud.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You try to crane your neck up to look at him, and the sight alone almost pulls you apart.
His broad, muscles back over your body, that halo around his head, pretty eyes shining on yours in the dim light.
He’s like looking into the Sun. Blinding and imprinting on your eyes, capturing your gaze under tears prick at your eyes, and you collapse back into the sheets with a pathetic moan. Bucky chuckles, nipping your breast, and kisses back down your body at a torturously slow pace.
“Were we fighting?” He kisses your hipbone, as he pulls down your pants. “You pissed at me about somethin’?”
It takes you a second to register that as a questions. “I- I don’t- I don’t think so-“
“You don’t think so,” he drawls, and you shake your head frantically.
“No- I- I wasn’t mad-“
“But you weren’t talkin’ to me.” Bucky’s lips travel over your abdomen, his breath tickling at your inner thigh.
You’re still holding onto his hair like a lifeline, tugging on it with every teasing touch and mocking word. Usually, a yank of it with have him drilling you into the mattress.
Tonight, it doesn’t seem to sway him at all.
“Didn’t even look at me, for hours.” Bucky’s voice is heavy. Almost cold. “Made me spend the whole damn night wondering if I’d done something wrong to my favorite girl.” He slides his hands back under your ass, squeezing it once before digging his fingers into your hips and picking your lower body up off the bed.
He’s sitting on his knees above you, your soaked underwear within inches of his face. You’re limp in his hands, grabbing at the sheets now that he’s out of reach, but Bucky doesn’t give you anything. He just holds you in the air and glares down at you, a darkness in his eyes that you’ve never really seen before.
He’s angry. With you. His fingers dig into your skin, and his jaw is locked as he just glowers.
It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, but there’s a fire brimming behind his eyes. A fire you want to swallow you whole.
“Bucky-“ You try to roll your hips, your arms wrapping around your own stomach. “I- I wasn’t mad, please-“
“Hands off.” He snaps, shooting a glare at your arms, and you whine. “Now, doll.”
You whine, but slowly pry your arms away. Bucky nods in tight approval, examining your almost bare body. His tongue flicks over his lips, and you might be close to tears with desperation.
He’s barely even touched you yet.
“Arms over your head.” He grunts, and you slowly drag them up, exposing you ever further to his glare. “Keep ‘em there.”
You nod weakly, opening your mouth to plead again, but Bucky doesn’t give you the chance.
“You say you weren’t pissed at me.” He mutters, slowly guiding one of your legs over his shoulder. Locking you against his body. “But then you spend the whole fuckin’ night acting like you were gonna go home with some other asshole. Don’t even give me the damn time, when I was waitin’ for you. That’s not very nice, is it baby.”
“I- I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-“
“Didn’t mean to what.” Bucky snaps, running his free hand down your spine. “Didn’t mean to act like I didn’t exists. Like Stark’s goddamn errand boy could give you what I do? Like he could make you feel half as fuckin’ good?”
“No- I didn’t- Bucky-“ Your fingers flex, and it takes everything in you not to reach for him. “It wasn’t like that, I promise-“
“Hm. Sure looked like that.” He nips at the inside of your thigh, and your hips almost jump off the bed. “Had me worryin’ you’d forgotten who this pussy belonged to, doll. Think you might need a reminder.”
Your mouth falls open in a loud, broken moan as Bucky presses an open, wet kiss over your clit through your underwear. You grab at the pillows, rolling your hips up into his face, and he groans against your heat.
“Bucky- Fuck-“
He squeezes your breast, pulling your core up higher into his face, and starts to eat you out through your panties. They’re already wet and ruined, soaked from his teasing and attention, and every time Bucky moans the fabric vibrates against your core like a sin. You almost scream, when his teeth graze over your clit.
Your arms fly up to grab for him, and Bucky growls.
He doesn’t pull back, as he moves up to bed. He tosses your leg off his shoulder and bends your knees up to your chest. Keeps you pinned like that with his metal arm under them, and uses the free hand to grab your arms and hold them back up. You whine, straining against him, but it’s fruitless. Bucky has you how he wants you.
And he won’t let up until you’re a trembling, ruined mess under his hands.
The new angle works too well. Bucky pushes his tongue into your dripping pussy through your underwear, and hits so impossibly deep you start to see stars. You can’t grind with how your legs are trapped, can’t tug at his hair, can’t do anything but take everything he gives you. Every lick and groan, every thrust of his tongue and press of his nose over your sensitive nerves. You try to warn him, when you get close to release, but it comes out only a loud, needy babble.
You cum hard and fast, your body shaking and tears sliding down your cheeks from the overwhelming please. Bucky rises up, wiping his chin slowly, and slowly drags his thumb back and forth over your overstimulated clit. You shudder, staring up at him with your best pleading eyes, and he chuckles.
“Always look so gorgeous, babydoll. Look like a fuckin’ angel.” He lets go of your hands, and they fly up, trying to grab for him.
Bucky lets you scramble against his arm—still holding your knees up—watching with vague amusement as you whine like some animal in heat. Eventually he takes a small mercy, dragging one of your hands to twine with his metal one.
“Still so fuckin’ needy, even when I give ya’ what you want.” He hums, slowly playing with the destroyed fabric of your panties. “You like these?”
You shake your head, breathing heavy through your nose. Bucky yanks them off like they were made of flimsy string, and his thumb goes right back to your clit. Rubbing slow, firm circles around it, building the heat back up in your body so fast you almost topple right back over the edge.
“Bucky-“ You moan, because it’s the only word you know anymore.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches your face contort in broken, hopeless desire, his metal thumb dragging back and forth on the back of your hand.
“So pretty.” He muses to himself, stopping his torment of your clit for a single second. Landing a sharp slap against your soaked cunt, before resuming his torture. “Such a good girl, takin’ what I give you. Gettin’ all cockdrunk before I even fuckin’ get inside you. Pretty fuckin’ pussy, begging me to fuck it-“ He spits on your clit, and you blink up at him in a drunken, thoroughly wrecked daze, a high whine leaving your throat.
Something softens in his eyes, at your openly hopeless expression. He leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. You try to crane your neck up to meet him, but Bucky fists your hair, pulling you carefully back down into the mattress. You somehow manage to melt up into him, like the ocean being called up into the crowds. The heat in your body is so consuming you might as well be only mist.
Bucky’s the only thing keeping you together, while still being the one who’s pulling you apart.
Nothing new.
Nothing but the way his hand drags back down, grabbing so possessively at your body. The way his kiss deepens, like he doesn’t he’s already marked on your lips like a tattoo.
“Doin’ so good for me,” he murmurs against your lips, and you just hum in response. “My sweet girl, gonna fuck ya just like this. Never let you forget again, how you’re fuckin’-“ He angles his face, the kiss pressing even deeper than before. “Mine.”
You make a happy sound in response, but somewhere through the fog of sex, his words drive through you, stinging and cruel.
You’re not his. You’re nothing.
He can’t say something like that, when it’s all nothing.
But he does. And just like every time before, you fall for it.
Bucky drags his cock through your swollen pussy lips, bumping the head against your clit. He kisses you the whole time, strangely gentle and cautious, and swallows your moan when he finally pushes inside. The position lets him drive into you deep, so deep there isn’t a place you can’t feel him. Dragging against your walls, pressing over the most sensitive places inside of you, splitting you open and filling you up until you’re only able to blink at him through teary eyes and moan.
Bucky presses his brow tight against yours, his eyes dropping down to where he’s sliding in and out of you. Your nails dig into his neck, your breathing shallow and broken up with gasps of his name, and he looks back up to you with shining, blown out eyes.
He kisses you, lips molding over yours, tiny groans leaving his mouth every time you flutter around him.
You squeak, when his pace starts to pick up. The room fills with the wet sound of Bucky drilling into you, his balls slapping against your ass and hands grabbing every inch of your skin.
“Mine.” He growls against your lips, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. “Say it, say you’re mine-“
“Yours.” You pull the words from the deepest part of your chest. The part where your heart is beating again, from being in his arms. “I’m yours, Bucky, I’m yours- Please-“
He presses up on your knees, fucking you like a man possessed.
Your orgasm slams into you, and you’re too trapped beneath him to do anything but scream his name, your eyes rolling and mouth hanging open.
Bucky just keeps kissing you, as he fucks you through your release, his own close behind.
He cums with your name spilling out of his mouth, your walls clenching tight around him as he empties into your pussy. Slides slowly in and out, chest heaving, eyes still trapped on yours. His cum drips out of your hole, down your ass.
Bucky gathers it on his fingers. Feeds it too you with an unreadable expression.
“There you go, baby.” He mutters as you lick his fingers clean. “That’s my girl.”
You hum around his fingers.
His girl.
But you’re not.
You’re just not.
And you don’t know what that was, but you’re afraid to ask. Why he’d say such horrible, beautiful things. Why he’d kiss your shoulder, kiss you, with such care and tentative adoration.
Why he was even mad in the first place, when nothing really happened at all.
You swallow every question. Some things are better not to know.
Bucky helps you clean up. He always does, because he’s an insufferably good man, on top of everything else. He lets you use his shower, sleep in his bed, eat his food. So close to everything you want, but fleeting.
A single moment, before it all becomes nothing again.
Sometimes you’ll watch a movie. Laugh with him, before you leave your heart again. Savor the small things you get, while you’re allowed to have them.
But tonight, Bucky doesn’t climb back into bed with you. He stands at the foot of the mattress, arms crossed over his chest, and clears his throat. Grunts your name.
“Yeah?” You blink up at him, and his throat bobs.
He fixes his gaze over your head, words clipped and short.
“We need to stop doing this.”
Your mouth falls open, and this time, your heart isn’t falling out of your chest.
It’s fracturing. Pounding in your throat, about to burst into something you won’t be able to clean up.
“Wha- What?” Your voice breaks, as you sit up a little taller. Everything is blurring in the world but Bucky.
Just staring over your head. Cold again, but without any of the fire. Without anything at all.
“Why?” You whisper, and he shrugs.
“Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t. You should just shake your head, because it’s not supposed to be something that destroys you.
But it destroyed you a long time ago. You let it, because it felt good to be in pieces Bucky knew how to put back together, even if he didn’t realize he was doing it.
Now he’s just going to leave you. Act like this was nothing-
It was nothing. He said it was nothing.
If it was nothing, he shouldn’t have made you say you were his, before tossing you onto the curb without warning. He shouldn’t have held you like you were priceless, if he was going to treat you like second-hand junk.
He didn’t give a warning. He just fucked you stupid and begging, left bruises on your throat and under your skin, and now he’s trying to act like it’s all been nothing.
You put up with him. You put up with moods and bad nights and days without contact. You put up with his sudden insatiable desire, then determination to act like he’s never seen you as anything but a friend in the morning.
He started this.
That first night, he kissed you. Then told you it was nothing.
And you put up with it.
But this.
You’re not going to put up with this.
“Yes.” You snap, your anger lending your voice strength. “It matters. You can’t just dump me after that, James. That’s not how this works.”
Bucky visibly flinches at his full name, his eyes dropping to yours in shock.
Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him stumble over his words. “It’s- I’m not dumping you-“
“So what are you doing?”
“I’m cutting it off-“
“That’s another way to say dumping, dumbass.”
“It’s not fucking-“ Bucky runs a hand through his hair, staring at you in disbelief. “Christ, woman, I’m telling you I’m done with this, I don’t need another reason-“
“Yes, you do.”
“Are you serious? You can’t just tell me we’re not done-“
“Really?” You give him a challenging look, shifting up onto your knees. “Because that’s what I’m doing, James.”
He gapes at you, shaking his head. “You’re- We’re done-“
“Why?”
“Because I said so-“
“Why are you saying so.”
“Because-“
“That’s not a real reason-“
“Because I’m trying to fucking help you!” He shouts your name, expression furious and panicked all at once, and you freeze. “Long as we’re doing this, long as I’m holding on to you, you’re never going to get a chance to-“ He grits his teeth, the words sounding like they pain him to say. “Find someone. Be happy. And I can’t keep fuckin’ waiting for you to-“ Bucky cuts himself off, glaring at you with hollow, sunken eyes. “You know what? Never mind. We’re done so you can go be with that dick from the party or whatever. That a good enough reason for you, sweetheart?”
He spits those last words like they’re poison, and you just stare up at him.
The words wash over you like sudden rain. Cold and sinking into your bones. Impossible to breathe, as you choke on the weight.
Wouldn’t want to put that kind of shit on someone, he said.
And you’d laughed. You hadn’t meant it, but you laughed.
The rain clears, and soil you thought was dead starts to bloom.
Something you’d never even thought you’d be allowed to plant, starts to grow.
“I am happy,” you whisper, and Bucky blinks.
Rasps your name, but you shake your head.
“I’m happy, Bucky, I’m happy with you, I’m happy when I’m here and when we eat breakfast and when you text me and when we talk. I’m happy when you smile at me, and I’m happy whenever you come to me for something, and I’m happy- I’m happy when you’re happy.” You wrap your arms around yourself, voice breaking under the pressure of your own love. “I have someone, I have you and I’m happy, and I don’t want to stop because I’m not happy right now, and there’s never a good enough reason but I- I-“
Bucky says your name again. Almost a plea.
The words fall out of you so easily. You can’t believe they spent so long lodged in your throat.
You say them, and you feel light and free.
“I love you, Bucky.” You whisper. “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I- I don’t want anyone else.”
Bucky’s silent for so long. Your words hang in the air like a blade, pointed at both your throats.
“No, you don’t.” He finally rasps, and you shake your head.
“Yes, I do.”
“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be good for you-“
“You’ve spent three years being good for me.”
“I’m a lot to put up with-“
“I don’t complain.”
He swallows, body straining. Like he wants to reach for you, but can’t. “I can’t love you like you deserve-“
“But you can love me.” You whisper, crawling to the edge of the bed. “And that’s all I want.”
You stare up at him, right within arms reach. Bucky takes an unsteady step forwards.
“What happens if I say I love you now?” He asks, voice more uncertain than you’ve ever heard it.
So you just smile, and hold out your hand. “I’d say I love you back.”
Bucky’s throat bobs. He looks at you hand, then back to you. You’ve never seen him really cry before, but a broken sob rattles through his throat, and your heart burns for him as a few stray tears slide down his cheeks.
It burns, and burns, but you just wait.
And when Bucky tackles you into a hug, his face pressing into your neck and body shaking on your arms, your heart mends itself back together.
“I’m sorry.” He says against your skin, and you just hum softly. Run your fingers through his hair, and hold him close.
You’re never going to let him go.
“It’s okay.” You whisper. “We’re okay.”
“I shouldn’t’ve-“
“I know. But it’s okay.”
“You- you deserve-“
“I want you.” You tell him, and he holds you tighter. “Can- Can I have you? Please?”
Bucky nods, and your heartbeats like it’s going to grow wings.
“You have me,” he says your name. Like it’s holy.
Like it’s his.
“You’ve always had me.”