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mandylove1000 · 2 years ago

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Nothing Breaks Like A Heart

Summary: You finally confess your feelings to Bucky, hoping he might like you back. He turns you down.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Avenger!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of heavy drinking, no other significant warnings really without spoiling the plot 🤫

Word count: 6.5k

A/N: If you enjoyed this one, please do leave a comment / feedback / reblog! ❤️

Loving Bucky was like drinking honey. It was warm and comforting, sweet and overwhelming for your senses. You looked forward to seeing his face everyday and adored hearing him laugh, his whole face creasing when he doubled over at something funny you had said.

He had become an unlikely close ally since you joined the team. More than just a colleague. The time you’d spent together in the last year had been a defining period for you, as you had really grown to treasure his presence in your life.

God, the way this man made you feel. You didn’t think you’d ever be lucky enough to meet someone who would make you so happy.

It would be even better if you actually had the gall to tell him how you felt.

Being emotionally vulnerable was difficult. You wanted more, but it was scary. However, you recalled a piece of advice that one of your college professors had told you years ago, wise words which stuck with you. If you never try, the answer will always be no.

You had it set in your mind that you were going to tell him. You were, but maybe not today. You would wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Your inner turmoil was frustrating. You fought androids and aliens and god knows what else, but you were afraid of this?

It could mess everything up, you reasoned. If he didn’t return your feelings, then you would make everything awkward, and maybe you would lose him even as a friend. You didn't know if you could handle that.

Despite this, a tiny hopeful voice in your head told you that Bucky felt the same about you. The way he always looked for a reason to spend time with you, how he shared his deepest secrets with you. The way you always partnered up on missions, and how you always had each other's backs. The way he comforted you when you were sad, allowing you to cry on his chest, soothing fingers stroking your hair.

When you first joined the team, he had been the first one to properly befriend you. Your first encounter was in the kitchen, where you had ended up in the middle of the night after being unable to sleep.

You were shocked to see Bucky propped up on a breakfast stool at the kitchen island, book in hand. You had waved nervously at him, going over to the fridge to get a carton of chocolate milk.

“Can’t sleep?” he grunted. You glanced to see what it was reading, seeing 'The Hobbit' embossed in gold letters across a hardback cover.

“Yeah,” you said softly, tugging down at the hem of your sleep shirt. You hadn’t exchanged many words with him at this point, but he seemed friendly enough. “You want a glass?”

He contemplated for a second before he nodded. “Sure.”

You ended up sitting opposite each other, glasses of chocolate milk in hand.

“How come you’re awake?”

Bucky smiled wryly. “I have trouble sleeping.”

“Nightmares?”

“Something like that.”

You hummed to yourself, taking a sip of the sweet beverage. There was something childish but comforting about chocolate milk - you always used to have it with your mom when you were small.

“How you feeling?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence. “Settling in?”

You nodded, the grip around your glass tightening. “Yeah, kind of. Everyone’s nice.”

Bucky seemed to know that you wanted to say more, silently promoting you with his eyes to continue.

“Everybody seems very tight knit - I guess that makes me a bit nervous? Trying to fit in.” You looked down, chewing on your lower lip. "I've always had a bit of trouble with that."

“I get you,” Bucky said, eyes still observing you. They were the color of cobalt - stunning. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll do just fine.”

That was the first meeting, and since then, you had only grown closer to him. Your mid-night conversations were a frequent occurrence. At least once or twice a week, you’d find each other in the kitchen at ungodly hours. Over time, you had introduced other activities to pass the time - board games, watching TV shows, fun idle gossip. Each time, you were always accompanied by chocolate milk.

“My mom died when I was six,” you had told Bucky during one of your late night rendezvous, half a year into your time with the team. “I don’t have many memories of her, but I remember that whenever I was sick or sad, she would have chocolate milk with me. It always cheered me up.”

You exchanged nuggets of information about each others pasts, and soon, you were sure that Bucky knew enough about you to write your biography. You felt surprisingly fine, opening up to him about anything and everything.

The seasons passed in a flash, and it was suddenly the one year anniversary of your joining the team. You found Bucky in the kitchen once again, at 3AM on a Thursday. You had a smile ready on your face, though your limbs ached. They were littered with bruises and cuts from your latest mission, but seeing him put a bounce in your step.

Bucky was staring down at his phone, the glow illuminating his face in the semi-darkness. It was chiming loudly with notifications, his expression unreadable.

“What’s that?” you asked, making your presence known.

Bucky already had a glass of milk out for you. He placed his phone down, grimacing.

“Sam got me doing this online dating thing,” he said casually. Your smile fell, unable to hide your surprise. “Modern dating is kind of crazy. Women are so much bolder than in the 40s."

Online dating? What?

“I didn’t know you started online dating,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You didn’t even know Bucky was Iooking to date. You were deflated - any hopes that Bucky returned your crush were promptly dashed. You tried to swallow your disappointment.

“I wasn’t, really,” he said. “I guess it’s not the worst idea, though.”

Damn you, Sam Wilson, you thought.

“You meet women in real life all the time,” you said, taking your usual seat across him. “No one catch your interest?” You played nonchalantly with your fingers, trying not to pick your nails - a nervous habit.

Bucky pursed his lips, eyes landing on you for a moment before he looked at the ceiling.

“Ah, I don’t know.”

“You met anyone nice so far?” you probed, your jealousy spiking.

“Early days,” he responded. He slid his phone across the surface of the island, showing you the dating app he had open. The girls were plentiful, all beautiful and clearly enthusiastic. Bucky’s inbox was full of flirtatious greetings, but you noticed he hadn’t yet responded to a single one.

“Hmm.” You struggled to keep your face neutral. You felt the sinking realization that he must have never thought of you that way. Otherwise, why would he be looking for someone when you were right there?

You couldn't focus properly on the conversation anymore, your mind racing as Bucky moved the topic onto something unrelated.

Fantasising about Bucky had been dangerous. You had spent so much time imagining the day you would finally confess, and he would reciprocate your feelings and you would have the happy relationship you yearned for. Even if you didn’t confess first, you were hoping he would.

Up until now, you had sometimes told yourself that Bucky was just being patient. That he was old-fashioned, so he was taking his time in courting you.

You realized now that you were simply never considered an option.

The next few weeks were torturous. Christmas was fast-approaching, but you were far from being in the festive mood. You had to put on a front with Bucky now, pretend everything was alright and not feel too tempted to ask about the progress of his dating life. Things were tough, and you were feeling unhappier day by day.

You had always known, deep down, that your feelings for him were more than just a crush, and had been for many months. It ached, the feeling of knowing your emotions were not returned.

One horrible part of you wondered why. Were you not sexy enough? Not smart enough? Not charming enough?

Maybe all of the above.

Seeing Bucky nowadays made you ache. You found yourself feeling sad whenever he cracked jokes with you, shared his thoughts with you, when the backs of his hands brushed against yours as you walked side by side.

He would find someone that he actually wanted to be with, to do all that and more. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew he had no idea that you were in so much pain, that he had single handedly eviscerated you.

Tony's Christmas party was a perfect opportunity to drown your sorrows. So cliché. You knew it was a bad idea, but that didn't stop you knocking back drink after drink by the bar, ignoring Natasha's requests to dance. After all, if all the Hollywood rom-coms you had watched were any indication, this was one of the key steps to getting over a guy.

The party was kicking off, and the room was spinning like a ride at a fairground. Your alcohol tolerance had always been low, and now you were paying for your actions. Your skin was burning hot and prickling, and you were struggling to walk straight. Although, this was exactly what you wanted - it was somehow cathartic, purging you of all the pent of frustration inside.

A dark figure appeared in your eye line. Your vision refocused until you realized who it was - your favorite, handsome face was looking very annoyed right now, mouth set in a firm line.

“You’re drunk,” Bucky stated, his voice filled with annoyance.

“Duh.”

“I’m taking you back to your room,” he said, his hand latching around your bicep.

“No,” you said indignantly, jerking away. Your face blanched at the sudden movement. “I don’t feel well."

Bucky rolled his eyes, opting to steer you towards the balcony instead for some fresh air. He shut the French doors behind you, allowing the silent night air to consume you, isolating the two of you from the crowd.

“Sit,” he said, gently helping you down onto a wrought iron bench. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t drink.”

“I know.”

“Something wrong?” Bucky knew that the answer was yes - there was no other reason for you to be drinking unless you were upset or mad.

“I wanted to forget,” you croaked, leaning your head back to get a proper look at him. The sight of him devastated you. He looked so beautiful, so far out of your reach.

“Forget what?”

You stared up at the ink black sky, at the stars. The night air was cool against your burning skin. Everything was quiet, save the sound of his breathing in your ear as he leaned close to you. In that intoxicated moment, you thought you had nothing to lose, forgetting that Bucky was truly your everything.

“How much I love you,” you whispered, tilting your head to look at him through beseeching eyes.

Bucky sucked in a breath of air. His entire stance became rigid at your words. The way you stared at him imploringly confirmed that he hadn’t misheard.

“How long?” He was frowning even as you gave him a trembling, sad smile.

“A long time.”

He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch you, but settled it back down on his thigh. Your face crumpled at his obvious discomfort.

“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.

Those words alone were enough to make your throat tighten and the needles in your chest multiply ten-fold.

“Tell me you feel the same way,” you said suddenly. It was a plead. You hated how desperate you were in this moment, but you needed him to know how you felt, and you needed to know whether you had a chance. Call it liquid courage, but you felt like you had nothing to lose when you grasped one of his calloused hands in yours.

Bucky was silent for a long time, staring at you with sadness and regret in his eyes. You hated how uncomfortable you must’ve been making him. God, what were you thinking, burdening him with your feelings and putting him in this position? You scolded yourself mentally, feeling nauseous.

Your hand was tight around his, your knuckles white. With every silent second that passed, your fingers loosened, falling limp. His hand was warm, yet you had never felt so cold.

He pulled his hand free, clenching it into a fist.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Each word was a knife sinking into your chest. The realization hit you suddenly, thick and sour.

You felt bile rise in your throat. You stood up then, the floor shaking beneath you. You almost collapsed.

“Be careful - ”

“Oh god,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

You darted away with surprising speed, wrenching the doors open and hurrying back inside the room. You ignored the sounds of him calling you as you rushed through the crowd, trying to put one foot steadily in front of you and praying you wouldn’t fall.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

You held the tears in until you returned to your bedroom, slamming the door shut. You bolted into the en-suite and fell onto your knees in front of the toilet, the acid in your throat finally seeing the surface as you vomited.

Your stomach heaved, emptying yourself of all its contents. But you couldn’t get rid of the horrible, cloying feeling in your gut that came with Bucky’s rejection.

You fell asleep on the bathroom floor, tear tracks on your face and fresh wound in your heart.

You were dreading seeing him the next morning. Thankfully, you arrived in the conference room before he did. The others were there already, gathered around the table. Sam took one look at you and snickered. You were dressed in black, hair in disarray and a pair of large sunglasses on your face.

“Someone had a bit too much fun last night,” he sang.

You grimaced, closing your eyes at the way his voice boomed in your overly sensitive ears. “Stop shouting,” you croaked.

Bucky entered a few minutes later. You kept your head down, refusing to look at him or otherwise acknowledge his presence. To the others, your hostility could be passed off as a result of your clear hangover. But the excruciating humiliation of your confession to him hung between the two of you, making you squirm in your seat.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, keeping your sunglasses on and staring stoically at Steve as he delivered the mission briefing. As soon as he dismissed the team, you jogged out of the room, but was accosted by Bucky in the hallway.

“Can we talk?” he asked loudly.

You didn’t want to make a scene. You put a fake smile on.

“Sure.” Your eyes were still swollen behind your dark shades as you tried not to let the sight of him bring out any more tears.

He led you into an empty room a few doors down. His face was set like stone, only the slightest crease in his forehead hinting at something akin to distress.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said carefully.

“It’s okay.” You winced in discomfort, even just the sound of your own voice bringing you pain. You wondered if he had rehearsed a speech, to let you down easy.

“You should never drink that much again.” His voice was sharp, critical.

“I can take care of myself,” you said, taken aback by his tone.

“It’s not worth it,” he said, his attitude easing up. “I’m not worth it. I don’t want you to feel this way because of me."

You felt your shoulders sag. You felt so tired, defeated.

"I can't control the way I feel," you whispered.

Bucky kept a reasonable distance between the two of you, like he was afraid to go near you now that the pair of you were alone. You wished you could read his mind, know what he was thinking.

His next words were chilling. "You’re my friend, and I care a lot about you.”

The emphasis on the word ‘friend’ didn’t go unnoticed. The way he looked at you was orchestrated, pointed. He was letting you know, in no uncertain terms, what he wanted to say. You were almost grateful that he didn’t directly bring up how you had told him you loved him, as if to save you your last shred of dignity.

He stared at you now with such intensity, the meaning clear in the way he looked at you. We are just friends.

He was doing you a favour. Still, your heart shattered. Your hands were shaking. There it was again - that awful, stinging pain of rejection.

“Okay,” you said faintly.

“I'm sorry if I ever made you think that we could be anything more," he began. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

“Let’s not do this,” you interrupted. If he kept speaking, you felt like you might die. You wished the ground would swallow you up.

Bucky licked his lips but remained silent.

“Please..." You hated how your voice shook. "I would really appreciate it if we could just move on. Let’s not bring this up again. It would really help me.”

Bucky folded his arms tightly across his chest, nodding stiffly.

“Okay.”

You backed away from him, grateful your eyes were hidden. You left the room and didn’t look back.

You managed to act normal around Bucky. Well, semi-normal. The rest of the team didn't even seem to notice anything was amiss - you still spoke to Bucky, managed to look at him as if the very sight didn't break your heart, kept a smile on your face.

But that was in front of them. For anything else which wasn't out of necessity or mission-related, you avoided interacting with him. When you woke up in the middle of the night, you no longer plodded into the kitchen, instead staying in your bed, sobbing and staring at the ceiling.

You no longer laughed and joked with him. You turned your attention to the others instead, talking to Steve and Clint and Natasha and whoever else was there, in a desperate attempt to hide the fact that you were trying to keep it together. You wanted to keep your mind distracted.

It was horrible.

Things would not be the same again, at least not for a little while. You needed time to make yourself get over him.

It was easier, when Bucky returned to the compound one night with a blonde on his arm. She was giggling and clinging onto him, and your heart sank when they stumbled into the elevator just as you were making your way to your floor.

You couldn't have been more shocked at the sight of them. Bucky had red prints all over his cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. The smell of alcohol was in the air.

"You're not supposed to have civilians in here," was the only thing you managed to say, shock infiltrating your system. The blonde giggled.

"Oops."

Bucky only shrugged, his hand slipping into hers as the elevator rose. Your heart clenched.

He was doing this on purpose. He wanted to show you that he had no interest in you, leave you without any doubts. You didn’t know that Bucky had it in him, to be so cruel. If you weren't trying to hold back your tears, you would've almost felt impressed by his antics. The worst thing was, you truly understood why he was doing this.

You think you may have hated him in that moment.

The elevator doors dinged open, and you stumbled out. Tears began prickling in your eyes, and you were sure Bucky could see.

You didn't say anything as you marched to your room, the elevator doors sliding shut.

You had always been good at pretending. Pretending you were happy when you weren't, pretending you were calm when you were furious, pretending you knew the answer when you didn't.

Bucky saw past a lot of that. He could tell when you were lying, could see when you were holding back. He read you like an open book.

He was important to you, and still would be even if he had rejected your confession and rubbed the presence of another girl in your face. You told yourself that it was a good thing - he was performing a service, encouraging you to move on. Besides, he didn't owe you a thing. He could do whatever he wanted with anyone else.

You couldn't lie convincingly to yourself.

Bucky's birthday rolled around all too quickly. You had it marked in your calendar, though you would've remembered even without the reminder.

Despite your conflicted feelings, you wanted to get him a gift. You had planned the perfect one months ago and had enlisted Bruce's help in finding it. You still wanted to see the look on his face when he opened it.

Bucky roamed the hallways on your floor the morning of his birthday, frowning slightly when your bedroom door opened, Bruce appearing in the frame. He caught a glimpse of where you were perched on your bed, face flushed in mild excitement.

Bucky gave Bruce a smile which may have looked more like a grimace, the latter giving him a polite nod before continuing on. Your door swung inwards, but Bucky stuck a hand between it and the frame, poking his head through.

"What's that all about?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

You shuffled something behind your back. You hadn't spoken to Bucky much as of late, barely acknowledging any of the awkward encounters that had occurred in the past months, instead choosing to face him with a professional-politeness.

"Nothing," you said, not particularly aware of what it would look like to have Bruce emerge from your bedroom.

"Is something going on between you two?" he asked directly. He gave a laugh void of humor, the sound escaping him in a huff. "Do you have a thing for emotionally damaged men?" He gestured to himself with his vibranium arm.

The small smile on your lips fell. Anger simmered in your eyes.

How could he? How could he reduce his feelings for you to nothing and stomp on them like it was trash?

You stood and marched towards him, a wave of fury overcoming you, thrusting a wrapped parcel into his hands.

"He helped me get your present, actually. Happy birthday," you spat, watching as Bucky's mouth fell open silently. You pushed past him, unable to look him in the eyes, feeling your stomach twist.

Bucky remained rooted to the spot, fiddling with the wrapping paper hesitantly before he ripped it open.

It was a first edition copy of 'The Grapes of Wrath', excellent condition. The subject of Bucky's favorite books came up after your first encounter when you saw him reading 'The Hobbit'.

"Is it about angry grapes?" you had asked, confused when Bucky laughed. He promised he would buy it and lend you the book one day.

Bucky's ground his teeth, every cell in his body telling him to go after you. But, for all the reasons he had told himself since the day of your confession, he made himself stay put.

Bucky had missed out on a lot in his life since falling off that train in the Austrian Alps. His whole trajectory had changed, and instead of growing old in his century, he found himself in the 21st, thrust into the modern world and navigating his new life.

He always thought, back in the 40s, that he would meet a nice girl and settle down after the war. He would live in a cozy, tiny home and have three kids, maybe four.

He missed out on that and more - though he had been quite the playboy back in his time, he had never experienced true love. He had never met that one woman he would die for.

Bucky had commented off-hand once on how lucky Steve was to meet Peggy before he went into the ice. Steve had reminisced on that with a bittersweet smile, before telling him, you’ll find your Peggy.

Falling in love with you had blindsided him. At first, he viewed you as a friend, a sweet girl who he grew to trust.

Then, he realized that he was slowly being drawn to you, like magnets he couldn’t pull apart. He realized that everything you did was endearing, that you occupied his thought space all the time, that having you around helped him feel comfortable, safe.

You were young, determined, and so innocent. You were somebody who deserved someone as pure and good as you. You weren’t his Peggy - you were something more, so unique and unapologetically you, and he wanted you as his person so badly.

But you deserved someone good. Somebody like Steve, who stood for the best values and only acted for the good of mankind. Not someone morally-gray and jaded like Bucky.

He wanted someone to spend his life with, for sure. If he couldn’t have his idyllic life in the post-war period, then he still wanted to find a partner in this new, still-unfamiliar time.

You fit that profile. He wanted you.

But he would never forgive himself if he weighed you down with his sins.

When you told him you loved him, his heart had broke. He wanted to tell you how much he valued you, how he dreamed of kissing you. He wanted to be a part of your happy ending.

But how much of a happy ending could he really give you? Could he give you children, knowing they would always be in danger from his enemies? Could he give you a wedded, domestic life, when all he knew was how to fight and cause pain?

He had to make his sacrifice for the greater good. Even if he had to crush you, he had to do it.

Someone like Bucky wasn’t supposed to get happy endings. You were, but just not with him.

You couldn't stand to be around him anymore. It was affecting your concentration, your work. It reached a breaking point two weeks after Bucky's birthday, when you requested to speak to Steve privately.

"You want to leave?" he asked, his face appalled.

You nodded curtly. "You’ll still be able to contact me, if you really need me. But I don't think I can stay here anymore."

Steve didn't look as confused at your profession as you expected.

"Is this about Bucky?"

You cringed. God, did he know about everything that happened?

"I don't know what's going on between the two of you," he clarified quickly, "but I can see that something happened. He's not the same, either."

"I'm not in a good place right now," you admitted shamefully. "I'm not saying that this is goodbye forever, Steve. But for my own sanity, I think I need a break."

Steve heaved a sigh. "I know you wouldn't ask unless you really needed it. And you don't need my permission, you know."

"I know," you said, giving him a small smile. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'll be here whenever the team needs it. Emergencies only," you joked. "But for now I think I'll get out of here. Maybe go upstate."

"Have you told him?"

"Don't need to," you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.

"I think he would like to know."

“We’re not really on speaking terms,” you said bluntly.

Steve clasped a heavy hand on your shoulder. He knew better than to argue. He was sure you’d figure things out for yourself, anyway. “I’ll miss you.”

Now that you had completed the professional courtesy, you decided that you would leave in a few days. You still had some matters to wrap up, and to say goodbye to your teammates. You loved them, and they deserved a proper farewell.

"This isn't goodbye," Nat had said sternly, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice was quiet and soft in your ear as she whispered, "If you need me, I'll be there."

You squeezed her tight, threatening to tear up. "Thank you."

"Keep your ass out of trouble," Clint had said, winking at you. “And check in with us now and again, yeah?”

Sam was clearly unhappy about everything. And he definitely noticed that you had picked a day to make your announcement when Bucky was conveniently away from the compound.

"Am I gonna see you again?" he asked, raising his eyebrows after you'd embraced.

"Couldn't get rid of me if you tried," you promised, punching his arm.

You retired to your bedroom that night, sure that Bucky would hear the news later after he came back. You kept your phone switched off and door locked for the rest of the evening, making sure the your belongings were packed.

Just past midnight, you crept out of your room, duffel bag over your shoulder. You made your way through the compound, down the floors into the underground garage. Bucky's motorbike wasn't there - he still hadn't returned.

You were grateful. You climbed into your car, and tossed your belongings in the back. You had to stop thinking about him - if you let yourself do it for too long, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to go.

With a heavy heart, you left this chapter of your life behind.

Your phone rang for days afterwards. Missed calls, voicemails left unanswered, texts left unread.

You couldn't bear to face him. If you pretended he didn't exist, maybe it would ease the pain.

You didn't know where you were driving to. You simply knew you had to get as far away as possible, clear your head. You were at a crossroads, and you needed to pull yourself together, but for now you would allow yourself to wallow.

You had been spending each night in a different motel. Wake up, drive, sleep. Wake up, drive, sleep. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and Bucky Barnes as possible.

You had no idea how you had gotten everything so wrong. Did you really misinterpret the signals? Was every intimate moment between the two of you simply platonic?

You didn't want to feel so beat up over a guy, but he wasn't just any guy. He was the first man you had ever loved.

Life was funny, sometimes. You supposed that you couldn't always expect happy endings.

You kicked open the door of the latest motel, a bag of takeout in your hands. You noticed the dark, shadowy figure on your bed in an instant, your hand sliding to the dagger sheathed in your belt on reflex. Before your brain even had time to catch up with what you were seeing, you had aimed and launched it, shocked when a familiar voice rang out.

"Calm down, tiger," he rasped. The bedside light flicked on, and Bucky was suddenly there, twirling your dagger between his fingers. He tossed it to the side, letting it land on the carpet with a soft thud.

A week had passed since you last saw him. Seeing him sent an electrifying jolt straight through your core.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. You were shocked, but your first thought was that something terrible had happened. "Is it the team? Are they in danger?"

Bucky looked irate, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His hands were knotted together, worry hiding beneath his anger.

"I've been calling you for days. You left without saying goodbye. Hell, you left without saying anything." His voice was gruff and accusatory.

That gave you the answer you needed. The team were fine, and he was simply here to rant. You felt the initial shock of his appearance wear off.

He stood up and stepped towards you, and that was when you noticed the state he was in. His usually close shaven beard was slightly unkempt, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked worn out.

"Yeah," you retorted, "I kind of did that on purpose."

"Why?" His voice was a whisper. "Why would you do that?"

You were exasperated. You did not envision yourself having to explain your decisions to him. His appearance both delighted and depressed you. It was tiring, having these two sides battle each other whenever you saw him. Your love for him versus his heavy rejection.

"I can't be around you anymore," you admitted, your voice tight. "I thought I could, but I can't."

"Why the hell not?" he pressed stubbornly.

"You know why!" you cried out. "Why are you doing this to me, Bucky? I told you I loved you and, okay, you don't love me. Fair enough," you said, frustrated. "But to go out of your way to hurt me? Remind me that I'm nothing more than a friend? Bring other girls back to the compound so you can fuck them?"

Bucky flinched. "I never - "

"No!" you shouted, cutting him off. "You don't get to do this, Bucky." You felt wetness on your cheeks, and realized you were crying. It only made you more exasperated. "You don't get to tear my heart out of my chest and come here when I've been trying to get away from you."

He stormed up to you, hands reaching for you, but you batted him away.

"Don't!" Your hand hit his chest, barely moving him an inch. "Just stop! Please!" Your voice broke, and you shook with tears. The dam had broke, and seeing him here was just too much.

"Please don't cry," he pleaded, his face anguished.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice breaking. "What do you want from me?"

Bucky looked so upset, taking another step forward, but you walked backwards until you hit the door.

"You don't want me," you exclaimed through your tears. You needed him to understand how much pain you were in just by seeing him. "You can't be here, Bucky. I can't look at you and remember how you just don't love me back."

Bucky pulled you into his arms, tightening them when you struggled. He was stronger than you - you had no choice but to become a prisoner against his chest. You were crying as you had many times before in his hold, but this time it felt different. Your heart was pounding and you were aching, wanting to melt into him but also aware of the anger and sadness flaring within you. It was torture.

"It hurts too much," you managed to get out through your wailing sobs.

He didn't say anything until you stilled. He let you cry, your tears soaking through his shirt. Your quiet sniffs and hiccups accompanied his words when he finally spoke.

"You weren't supposed to appear in my life," he said, his voice tense. "You weren't supposed to be so wonderful, so comforting. You made me feel so safe."

You didn't say anything, confusion rendering you temporarily speechless.

"I thought I was fine on my own. I've been a soldier all my life, just focusing on fighting everyone else's battles. And then I met you."

You had no idea where this was going as Bucky's arms seemed to tighten all the more around you.

"It felt...strange, how I wanted to kiss you. How I wanted you there, next to me, all the time.”

You looked up at Bucky, really taking in his exhausted eyes, his chapped lips, the way he was looking at you now with an exquisite softness.

"I felt like I was doing something wrong. I thought - I don't want to - ruin you," he said. "You are so young and have your whole future ahead of you and I didn't want to bring you down with all of me. My history, my demons, my baggage. And I ended up hurting you."

A spark of hope appeared, wanting to ignite into a flame. You expelled a shaky breath.

"Do you love me?" you asked, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued to hold you.

He nodded, his words like velvet. "How could I not? Of course I love you."

Of course, he said. But your insecurities prevailed, and you shook your head.

"You did a good job of hiding it," you said sadly.

Bucky closed his eyes regretfully.

"I know. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought if I could push you away, make you fall out of love with me, you would find someone worthy."

"What makes you think you're not worthy?" you retorted.

"Some days, I feel like no amount of good deeds I do can redeem me," he murmured.

"Bucky," you said slowly. "You're one of the best men I've ever known. Your heart is so kind."

"I'm sorry." He grasped one of your hands, brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry I hurt you. Part of me thought you would shrug, get over it and find someone else."

Your smile was full of sorrow. "Then you have no idea how much you truly mean to me.

Bucky cupped the side of your face. Seeing you in this state had truly been a wake up call for him. When he found out you had left the compound, all his resolve had crumbled. He realized that he had hurt you so deeply that you couldn’t physically be around him. That was when he knew that the connection between the two of you was too rare to let it slip, when he felt an immense pain at the idea of never seeing you again.

Having you in front of him now was heartbreaking. Your eyes were puffy, and you looked tired and so frail. He loved you, and you were supposed to take care of the people you loved. He swore on his life that he would dedicate himself to showing you what you really meant to him.

"When you asked me what I'm doing here," Bucky said, a hopeful smile on his face, "It's to tell you that I love you, so much. And I'm here to take you home."

You nodded, fresh tears filling your eyes, except this time they were borne from happiness.

"Let's go."

He had already packed your belongings for you, you realized when he released you to hoist your bags over his shoulder, which he had placed by the door. He paused, slipping his hand into his pocket and placing a tiny kid-sized carton into your hand. "Almost forgot. For the journey."

Chocolate milk.

You threw your arms around him, jumping to hook your legs around his hips. He dropped your bags as you kissed him, his hands reaching to support your thighs as he returned it with equal passion.

"This room is paid for," you gasped into his mouth. "Let's go back tomorrow."

He was silent when he walked back to fall onto the bed with you on top of him, his mouth never once leaving yours.

#I’m ugly sobbing

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