#trauma dumping

“why are you crying” and they just casually mentioned your sexual abuser without knowing so you gotta keep it nonchalant and hit this pose

You hummed in response, your eyes half-closed, already relaxed against him.

“It’s not a criticism, okay ? Not even close. And if you don’t wanna answer, it’s okay, you don’t have- ”

“Buck,” you cut in softly, a small smirk tugging at your lips even if he couldn’t see it, “ask your question.”

He exhaled quietly, like he was still debating whether to go through with it.

“Why… hum… why are you so attached to the whole thing about not leaving during a fight ?” he finally asked. “It’s a great thing, don’t get me wrong, but I just… I don’t know. I guess I’ve never been with someone who wants to end the fight instead of… running from it.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your fingers, which had been absentmindedly resting against his shirt, stilled slightly. Your gaze unfocused as you stared ahead, your mind already drifting somewhere you didn’t visit often.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him.

You just needed a second.

“You know how I never really grew up with… affection, right ?” you said quietly.

Bucky’s hand didn’t stop moving in your hair. If anything, it slowed just a little, more deliberate now, more attentive.

“I know it’s not that big of a deal,” you added quickly, almost reflexively. “I mean, a lot of people have it worse, but- ”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his voice firm in a way that made you pause. “Having parents who don’t show love to their kids isn’t okay. Doesn’t matter what anyone else went through.”

You let out a small breath.

“I know…”

There was a brief silence before you continued, your voice softer now, less guarded.

“My parents were always fighting. About everything and nothing at the same time. I’m not saying they were bad people, it wasn’t always like that. When things were good… they were really good. You could tell they loved each other.”

Your lips pressed together faintly.

“But they never ended a fight. There was never an apology, never a real resolution. They’d just… let it sit, let time pass, and then an hour later everything would go back to normal like nothing happened.”

Bucky stayed quiet, listening, his chest steady beneath your cheek.

“My dad would leave,” you went on, your voice distant now. “Take his car, or lock himself in his office just to get away. But my mom… she’d follow him. She couldn’t let it go, even when the fight was about nothing. And she never really let him talk. It was always… louder, faster, more.”

A small, bitter laugh slipped from your lips.

“I think they really loved each other. But it was never enough to stop the fights.”

Bucky’s fingers slowed even more, almost still now, like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

“My dad would shut down sometimes,” you continued. “Either not respond at all or just get… cold. And my mom would take everything personally. Even things that had nothing to do with her. You couldn’t say anything without it turning into something bigger.”

You swallowed slightly, your voice quieter now.

“And… I don’t want you leaving during a fight because of that too. I told you how my dad used to leave with his car, right ? To make sure my mom wouldn’t follow him.”

Bucky hummed softly, encouraging you to keep going, his hand gently brushing along your scalp again.

“When I was sixteen… they had a fight. A pretty big one. Bigger than usual.”

You paused, your breath catching just slightly.

“I don’t even remember what it was about. But my dad left that day. Took his car. My mom left too, said she needed air… that she’d go get something to eat or whatever.”

Your fingers curled faintly against his shirt.

“So I was alone when the phone rang.”

Bucky pressed a soft, grounding kiss to the top of your head.

“It was the police,” you whispered. “They told me my dad had been in an accident.”

Your voice faltered for just a second.

“He didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmured, his arms tightening slightly around you.

“They said he didn’t die right away,” you continued, your voice quieter, heavier. “He died in the ambulance.”

A pause.

“I think that’s worse.”

Your eyes burned faintly, but you didn’t look up.

“Because he died thinking my mom hated him. And she came home to find out her husband of thirty years was gone.”

Silence settled between you, thick but not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.

Bucky didn’t rush you. Didn’t try to fix it. He just held you, steady and present.

“That’s why,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, more certain. “That’s why I don’t let things slide. And why I don’t want you to leave in the middle of a fight.”

You shifted slightly against him, your cheek pressing closer to his chest.

“Because I never want something to happen to one of us while the other thinks they’re not loved.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hand coming to cradle the back of your head more firmly, pressing another soft kiss there.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “And I promise… I won’t ever let you think I don’t love you.”

A small pause. Then, softer...

“And just so you know… you’re doing pretty good in this relationship.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, one eyebrow raising.

“Pretty good ?”

A faint grin tugged at his lips.

“Pretty fucking great, I’d say.”

You couldn’t help it. You smiled, a quiet laugh escaping you as Bucky Barnes leaned down, pressing kisses all over your face, messy, affectionate, completely unfiltered in a way that made your chest feel warm and light all at once.

“You’re doing pretty great, too,” you murmured, your hands coming up to rest against his chest, steadying yourself as he kept going. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he mumbled against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek again before finally pulling back just enough to look at you.

The moment settled after that. Quieter, softer.

Your laughter faded into something more thoughtful, your gaze lingering on his as the playfulness slowly gave way to something deeper.

“That’s why I hate fighting,” you admitted after a second, your voice lower now, more vulnerable. “Because if I’m being honest… I’m scared to act like my mom sometimes.”

Bucky’s expression shifted immediately, the teasing gone, replaced by something attentive and steady. His hand came up instinctively, brushing lightly along your arm, grounding you.

“I know we don’t really fight,” you continued, your eyes flickering briefly away before finding his again. “And when we do, it’s for a reason. And we always fix it, we always talk, we don’t just leave things hanging…”

Your fingers curled slightly against his shirt.

“But I’m scared that one day I’ll start getting to you when you don’t deserve it. Like she did.”

For a second, Bucky just looked at you like he was trying to understand how you could even think that about yourself.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he said quietly.

You frowned slightly, like you didn’t quite believe him.

“Yeah ?” you challenged softly.

A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Because you kinda turn me on when you’re mad.”

You blinked.

“And I’ll probably kiss you before you even get the chance to make me mad enough to want to leave.”

Your hand came up instinctively, giving his chest a light slap.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, completely unfazed, his smile widening just a little. “But you still love me.”

You held his gaze for a second, your expression softening despite yourself, something fond and certain settling in your eyes.

“I can’t say I don’t.”

That was enough for him.

Bucky smiled — soft, real — and leaned down, closing the distance between you in a gentle kiss. There was no rush in it, no urgency, just something warm and steady, something that felt like home.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.