sambucky + "i don't love you anymore"
“What?” Bucky asked, his voice high and scared despite himself, and Sam blinked at him in confusion.
“The name of the song,” Sam said. “You asked me what it’s called. It’s I Don’t Love You Anymore.”
“Oh,” Bucky said. “Oh. Right. Right! Thanks,” he said, trying to quell the beating of his heart. It was fine, it was fine. Sam still loved him, Sam hadn’t finally come to his senses and realized he was too good for Bucky, that Bucky was too rough, too damaged, too gone for him. “That’s a stupid name,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor.
Sam looked at him, his eyes searching Bucky’s face, his face unreadable to him. “Yeah,” Sam said. “It is. I couldn’t ever say those words to someone.”
Bucky looked up at that, into Sam’s eyes. “You don’t know that,” he said, trying to sound casual and unbothered but the fear and doubt and insecurity breaching every single syllable.
“I do,” Sam said, and Bucky swallowed. He looked so serious, so confident that he’d never say it. That he’d never one day hear something that was too much for him, something that would change his opinion of Bucky forever and make him realize that this, that they, weren’t supposed to work out. Sam must have seen the doubt on Bucky’s face, because he reached out, holding Bucky’s vibranium hand in his own. “You trust me to carry the shield but not to keep loving you? C’mon, Buck.”
When Bucky didn’t say anything, Sam squeezed his hand. “If you can’t believe it for yourself, can you trust me to know it until you do too?” he asked.
It was easier following Sam into battle, to know that he’d be an amazing Captain America. It was just a fact that Sam was great, a fact as clear and obvious as the fact that they breathed air and had a heartbeat. It was harder to think that someone as good as Sam could love him, could keep loving him. He opened his mouth, ready to tell Sam, when he caught another look in Sam’s eyes that he’d missed before. An earnestness, a love that Bucky recognized all too well.
Bucky didn’t think he would ever believe it, not fully. But he wanted to. He wanted to wake up next to Sam every day, follow him into battle, go back to their home every day and believe it. He looked at Sam, forcing himself not to waver or look away, his voice coming out strained but constant nevertheless.
Send me a ship + a sentence and I’ll write the next 5 [or more] Sentences.
