Inspired By Taylor Swift Series

tolerate it.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader 

summary: you tolerate his faithless love as much as he tolerates you.

you sit and watch him. he reads with his head low, you're almost positive he doesn't even realize you're here.

you're a ghost to him.

he sees right through you.

you lift your hand to the flickering chandelier hanging above the table. you half expect to see right through your skin. all you see is his mother's ring, the ring that promised forever and always. it never once occurred to you that forever would look like this.

you look to the mirror behind bucky. you touch your cheek. you feel the warmth of your cheeks. you see the flush of your flesh in the dim light. you're still there. you're not a ghost. so why does it feel like you're haunting him?

you weren't sure when it happened. how it happened. from one day to the next. or a slow trickle as his cup ran over. perhaps a bursting dam.

your forever didn't always look like this. you were sure of it. this wasn't the man you made your mural, your temple, your sky. this wasn't the man you built your life around.

he's perfect for you. he was perfect for you. in a world of boys, he was the gentleman you yearned for.

he took you away from it all. he laid blankets over your barbed wire. he pulled you closer to him even at your worst. he was your fairytale ending. you were so sure of it.

he loved you. he loves you, you correct yourself.

you tried to be as perfect as he was. as he is, you correct yourself again, as perfect as he is.

you polish plates until they shine like his eyes once did. you lay the table with your fanciest plates each and every night. you wait by the door for him every night, you don't mind if he's an hour or three late, you greet him with a battle hero's welcome either way.

you look at his dinner plate, nearly finished with his meal. you look down at yours, you've barely touched any of your meal. he doesn't notice. your untouched meal. the fancy plates. the plate settings. the candles you light for him each and every night. the dinner you spent hours on.

he used to love it. he used to tell you how much he loved the home you built from an empty, withered house.

he used to love you, too.

"what would you do?" you ask in a breathless whisper.

he finally looks up at you, "huh?"

"if i wasn't here," you calmly muse, swiping your wine off the table. "if i didn't wait on you hand and foot. if i didn't lay the table with the fancy shit each and every night. if i set myself free."

"i could do it, you know? i could do it!" you angrily cry, the frustration of a lifetime of being tolerate bursts forth. you stand up, your chair smacking the wall behind you, smashing your wedding china on the ground as your chest heaves with desperation. you trail around the table, lowering yourself to his eye level, "i could leave you and find someone who does more than tolerate me! i bear the weight of you, the weight of us, i could lose it! i can!"

he sits there, gaping at you.

"tell me... tell me it's in my head," your voice softens, your anger melting into desperate pleas to him, "tell me that we can fix this. tell me you love me."

but you don't say any of that.

after all, it's all in your head.

you've got it all wrong. he loves you. he'll love you night after night. and you'll sit and watch him night after night. this is your forever. he is your forever. he is your mural, your temple, your sky.

you'll use your best colors for his portrait for the rest of your life. you'll never allow yourself to see him as anything other than your savior. he'll be nothing less than the man you worship. you'll never be left empty as long as you hold on to your blind faith. your own personal false god.

you clear your throat, smiling in a chagrined, loving manner, "i said, how did you like dinner?"

"it was fine."

and you do. you'll sit before him, wondering how he can't see you breaking before him.

you tolerate it as much as he tolerates you.

that's all you do. it's all you can do.

you sit and watch him.