#i relish this pain bc it’s better than the nothing numbness i’ve been in for months

[exbeaut]

alright i’m kms now soooo thanks

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Second Chances ⊰

Pairing: Jack Traven x Reader

Request: Could u do an imagine where the reader and either Utah or jack traven dated but he did something stupid and they broke up and they realize they made a mistake and want the reader back- Anon

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: Brief mentions of sex and alcohol, angst and fluff 

A/N: Sorry if this is eh. I’ve been having a tough time with writing lately. Also, as much as I wanted the put smut here, I wasn’t able to do it and just went with a fluffy end. But I’ll definitely write something smutty for Jack in the future bc he’s just too fking delicious ;) Hope you enjoy!!

24 days.

It’s been 24 long and excruciating days since you broke up with Jack, and he had already lost his goddamn mind.

Standing in the middle of his kitchen, he reminisced back to simpler times; you and him waking up in bed on a slow Saturday, limbs tangled under the sheets. Jack especially loved the weekends when he didn’t have to work because it meant spending the entire day with you.

After a round of morning sex (sometimes, even two), you would head over to the kitchen and cook breakfast together. Jack could recall the last time you stood there in front of the stove, flipping eggs in a pan while he wound his arms around your waist, pressing his firm chest to your back.

Jack was always a tease, knowing that he could get you riled up by merely skimming his hands down your body and nipping at the delicate skin on your neck. Breakfast was usually an endeavor for the both of you. It ended with either the food burnt to a crisp or not even cooked at all once you shifted your attention from it to something much better.

Heaving out a sigh, he proceeded to get a bottle of beer from the fridge before heading back to the living room, his third trip for the night but surely not the last. Since the break-up, Jack had been working longer hours, even more so than usual. He needed to be busy, he needed to be distracted. He wanted to save the pathetic wallowing towards the end of the day, which he was doing now.

Everywhere he went, Jack was reminded of you, adding more weight to his burdened heart. He could still hear the sound of your sweet laughter, and if he concentrated hard enough, feel the warmth of your lips on his. No matter how much time had passed, it seemed as though it was only getting worse. Losing you was a pain like no other. In fact, he would rather get beaten up or shot at rather than spend the rest of his life without you.

Mindlessly staring at the television screen, he wondered to himself how you were handling this. Jack hadn’t seen or spoken to you after you stormed out of his apartment nearly a month ago, and you had ignored all his phone calls. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure of what to say if you decided to pick up. No amount of words would ever be enough to fix what you and he had.

Or at least, that’s what he believed.

The tv hummed quietly in the background as Jack downed the last of his beer, the alcohol barely helping him forget the dull ache in his chest. The more he tried to push the thought of you out of his mind, the more the memories haunted him. He was miserable, empty. The numbness was slowly eating him up, and it was overwhelming.

As Jack continued to pity himself, he knew that something had to be done. 24 days of desolation, and he’s had it. He was tired of waking up in bed alone after having dreams about you. Dreams which reminded him of happier moments, now reduced to a thing of the past. But amid all the sadness and regret, Jack needed you, desperate to win you back.

So, he made his decision.

Hastily, Jack got up from the couch, nearly tripping over his feet before trying to search his car keys. He muttered a curse under his breath when he couldn’t find them and didn’t have the patience to check the other rooms. Groaning, he did the next best thing his hazy mind could think of.

Jack slipped on his coat and ran out of the door, the cool nighttime air of LA greeting him once he stepped outside. Luckily for him, your house wasn’t too far from his, but quite a distance now that he’s on foot. It took him almost fifteen minutes to get to your door, his lungs screaming for oxygen after sprinting as fast as he could.

Honestly, Jack didn’t know how you would react to him showing up at your front porch at nearly 2AM. Certainly, you would be pissed that he had woken you up in the dead of the night. You might even end up slapping him across the face for daring to appear before you after the shit he pulled.

Either way, it was too late for him to turn back around. Jack had already rung your doorbell and was pounding his fist on the wooden frame, calling out to you until the lights inside finally switched on.

“What the fuck, Jack?” You grumbled once you swung open the door. “You better have a good excuse for coming here.”

“I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait till morning,” he replied, slurring his words. Jack felt his heart hammering in his chest as you stared at him, the moonlight dancing in your eyes as he remembered how much he’d missed seeing them. “Y/N, I want to apologize again for what I’ve done. This past couple of weeks have been hell, and I just can’t move on, babe. Please, forgive me and come back.”

Scoffing, you shook your head at him in utter disbelief. “Jack, you screwed up big time, and I can’t see myself trusting you after what you’ve done.”

“I told you, it didn’t mean anything—”

“But you still kissed her, Jack. You still kissed Annie.”

Jack froze at the sound of her name. It was as if he had sobered up instantly when you mentioned Annie, the woman he had risked his life to save hers. You saw the two of them in the news covering the ordeal, noticing how close she stood next to him and how tightly her arm was wrapped around his body as they emerged from the train wreckage.

You thought nothing of it until you saw the papers the following morning. A picture of your boyfriend passionately kissing someone he had only known for a day was plastered on the front covers. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Jack couldn’t give you a good enough explanation for his actions. He didn’t even realize how much he had hurt and embarrassed you until after your relationship ended.

“Well?” You stood there before him, the pain emitting from your stern gaze. “You know what? Just go home, Jack. Leave me alone.”

Before you could shut the door on Jack’s face, he had swiftly wedged his foot in to prevent you from doing so. “Just hear me out, baby. Give me a chance to explain myself.”

“I’m not interested,” you huffed, but still, Jack would not budge. He heard you sigh deeply in defeat as your eyes flickered away. “Fine, you have one minute.”

Swallowing thickly, Jack watched as you leaned against the door, your attention solely on him. “I fucked up, and I understand that now. I don’t know what came over me when Annie and I kissed, but what I should have done was push her away.”

He could see the tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. “I love you, Y/N. You’re the only one for me. I will do whatever it is that you want if it means being with you again. Please, baby. I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you because you’re all I ever want and need.”

The air was still, filled with tension and silence as Jack waited for a response. He couldn’t read the expression on your face, and slowly, he felt as though he was losing the battle. But then he saw a small yet saddened smile gracing your lips, and his hope began to blossom from the inside.

“You’re an idiot, Jack Traven,” you simply spoke, voice slightly quavering though there was a gentle gleam in your eyes. “But, I do still love you.”

“Does this mean you’ll take me back?” Jack asked, approaching you carefully.

You nodded once as you opened the door wider, leaving the warmth of your home in favor of Jack’s. Closing the distance between you and him, your arms immediately encircled his waist, your head coming to rest against his chest. For a brief second, he stood there, tenderly holding you while silently thanking his lucky stars that he had you again.

Tilting your gaze up to meet his, you slowly leaned in, capturing his lips with a soft kiss. Jack quickly responded to your kiss, relishing the pure sweetness of it as his hands came up to cradle the sides of your face. Time seemed to stand still as the kiss grew more passionate, leaving the two of you breathless after pulling away.

Gently stroking your cheeks, Jack then pressed his forehead to yours as he savored the tranquility of the moment and the feeling of having you in his arms.

He missed this, he missed you.

“Did you just run all the way here instead of taking your car?” You suddenly questioned him.

Jack nodded as he craned his head back to look at you. “Couldn’t find my keys. It’s a good thing anyway, I was drinking before I got here.”

“I know,” you whispered. “You turn into a romantic fool when you drink. I can’t believe you ran here to tell me that you love me.”

“I told you,” Jack chuckled, stealing a kiss from you. “This couldn’t wait until morning.”

“So, I guess you’ll be spending the night here?”

“Only if you want me to,” he added, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You laughed softly as Jack nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar scent. “Fine, but only because I miss making breakfast with you.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” He inquired, and you rolled your eyes.

“No,” you then smiled, reaching a hand up to cup the edge of his jaw. “I supposed there’s more that I miss.”

“Then it’s best we catch up, starting now.” Jack grinned widely before sweeping you up in his strong arms and carrying you back inside the house, eager to show you how grateful he was for being given a second chance.

Permanent Taglist: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary​ @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid

[marvelandimagine]

Framework (Part One)

Summary: Request - Bucky x reader songfic where he pushes her away and they break up but he’s miserable without her and it all ends in fluff and apologies

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 2,225

Author’s Note: This is a request from literally three years ago lol / was going to be a one-shot but surprise now it’s a two-shot bc not surprise Megan got carried away!! / based on Framework by The Story So Far

“What’s up with you lately?”

Bucky’s heartbeat quickens at your question, though he’s been expecting it for days now.

Last week, tangled up with you in bed on a lazy Sunday morning, watching you doze peacefully on his bare chest while he stroked your hair, he had been hit with the full realization that he was in love with you. And that brief rush of, dare he say it, happiness he felt when he just knew, had been quickly extinguished by fear and anxiety. His brain telling him that he had no business staying with you when you deserved someone better, someone stable. Someone whole. Telling him that he needed to run, that you having hold of his heart also meant you had the power to break it. And that lack of control, that vulnerability, it scared him. He’d just started trusting his brain, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to start trusting his heart.

So he started shutting you out. Cold answers. Less physical affection. Trying to find fault in you however he could – anything to make the inevitable more bearable. Forcing himself to create distance so he didn’t shatter when it was over.

He feigns ignorance at your question, though.

“What do you mean?”

He wondering if he’s taken things far enough for you to say you’re done, or if he’s going to have to be the one to pull the trigger.

“I mean you’ve been acting distant and I don’t know why. I didn’t say anything because I thought it was just something you were working through, but it’s lasted long enough where it seems like it’s not just a bad day or a mood.”

You shift your weight on the couch so your whole body faces him but he doesn’t move from his rigid seat, gaze fixed in front.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Now. Just do it now.” His brain is prodding him to end it, but the concern, the care in your tone keeps him frozen in place.

“Babe, look at me.” 

He reluctantly turns his head, eyes flickering up only briefly to meet yours, knowing full well that the longer he looks at you, at those beautiful eyes he had grown so used to losing himself in, the harder this was going to be.

“If you’re struggling with something or if did something that upset you, I want to know about it so we can talk through -”

“We should break up.”

I still think on you, the place, the time

And all the solitude

There’s nothing I hate more

Than pushing you away with my fucked up attitude

Your earnest request for him to open up is too much, giving him the final push he needs to get out.

Still, the silence between you weighs on his chest and he does his best to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach. 

“Wait, what? You …” You pause, and Bucky can tell you’re rattled as he hears the confusion, the disbelief that hangs in every syllable. “Where is this coming from?” 

He doesn’t have time to formulate a response before you’re asking another question, assuming the worst.

“Did you meet someone else?”

“No.” It’s an immediate reaction this time, a truth he feels he owes you -- the last thing he wants is you thinking he cheated. 

You hesitate for the span of one of Bucky’s pounding heartbeats before you press on.

“Ok. Then can you tell me why you don’t want this anymore? Maybe I’m an idiot, but other than the past few days, I thought things were going really good. And you were just telling me the same thing like a week ago and how happy you were with me and us, so I don’t understand what’s changed.”

Bucky realizes you’re looking for an answer that he’s not willing to give. That no one like you could ever want to be with someone like him, not for the long run, anyway. That his love won’t be enough for you, and he doesn’t think he can handle that. That he’s leaving before he gets left, and that you’ll thank him for it someday. 

That he’s terrified of feeling hurt and used.

So, he lies.

“This relationship doesn’t seem to mean to me what it means to you.” He pauses, eyes fixed on the floor, keeping his tone as detached as possible. “And I don’t think it ever will.”

The silence stretches on for what seems like an eternity between you before your words tumble out

“I don’t believe this. So, the past three months meant nothing to you? What about when you said how glad you were that we had each other, how you wanted to meet my mom … what you’re saying doesn’t match what you’ve been doing.”

Nothing. He doesn’t respond, clenching his flesh and metal hands as he tries to ignore the hurt in your voice. Despite his efforts to push you away, to lessen the blow, this isn’t a clean cut like he thought it would be. This is shot to the abdomen, messy and brutal and aching.

He doesn’t say anything and it finally pushes you over the edge, your yell jolting him out of his head.

“Are you really not even going to look at me?!”

And he does, and it takes everything in him to not change his mind, to just run and hold you and tell you what’s really going on with him as he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

But he blinks twice, fast, and does his best to go numb.

“I thought I could convince myself that I felt more than I did.”

“Bullshit. This isn’t about you not feeling, it’s about the fact that you are. It’s something real and vulnerable and that scares the shit out of you.”

Goddammit. You knew him too well.

“You can think what you want, it doesn’t change my mind.”

You scoff, brushing away a tear with the back of your hand, your rush of words stinging through him.

“Wow. So I really am an idiot, and you’re a liar, then. Because either you’re not telling me the truth now, or you weren’t telling me the truth the entire time we’ve been together, which is what you’re saying, and that means you were perfectly fine leading me on to believe this was something more than you just wanting someone you could fuck who could make you feel better about your own shit.”

“I’m sorry.” Sorry he’s a mess, that he’s afraid, that he’s hurting you. Sorry that he ever thought he’d be able to have something normal with someone so good and real and bright.

You give a harsh laugh.

“No you’re not. But I am. Sorry that I wasted my time and energy and gave my heart to someone who just fucking shattered it and doesn’t care. Sorry that I fell —” Bucky snaps his head up but you don’t see it, getting up off the couch and pacing, running your hands over your face.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Because I guess I don’t matter to you.”

You stop and look at him, your wounded gaze penetrating through him, but he’s not focused on the flash of anger, he’s focused on the silent plea that is just as apparent -- begging him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn’t. 

“Nothing? Wow, alright.” You turn away from him and grab your purse off the kitchen island,not bothering to look at him when you reach the door.

“Just throw out whatever shit I’ve left here out, I don’t want it back.”

He feels the slam of the door reverberating inside his chest, his enhanced hearing unable to ignore the sound of the ragged sob that escapes you now that you’re out of his sight.

Bucky places his head in his hands, trying to even out his shallow breathing. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. But at least now, no one had a hold on him, right?. Now, he didn’t have to worry about the pain that would come when you inevitably left him for someone better.

But here, right now, the pain is more than enough, and he drags himself off the couch, striding across the living room to the kitchen. He opens the eye-level cabinet, rummaging through clinking bottles, turning them to look for the highest ABV. He settles on a three-quarter full bottle of vodka, debating for half a second on getting a glass, but knows he won’t need it. He slumps back down on the couch, bottle in one hand and the remote in the other.

He turns on the TV, searching until he finds Archer and presses play. He turns the volume up as he brings the bottle to his lips, savoring the way the escaping liquid burns -- anything to distract him from the image of you crying, from the unconvincing loop in his head:

“It’s for the best. It’s for the best. She’s better off. I’m better off.”

And louder, still:

“You fucking coward.”

He’s praying this decision will hurt less in the morning.

-

I’ve been counting paces

Since the last time we touched faces

It’s a lot like trading spaces

Where I’m the dormant one and you’re away

“Somebody had a fun evening.”

Bucky awakens to Sam’s comment and groans in his throat, eyes squinting as they struggle to adjust to the daylight streaming in the apartment. He drags the throw pillow out from underneath him and places it on the top half of his face, relishing its coolness on his pounding headache.

He hears Sam pick up at least two clinking bottles, which is troubling because he only remembers pulling down one.

“Y/N leave already?”

“Fuck.”

The brief memory lapse he was granted upon waking up is gone now, and everything comes back in an instant. He feels fucking awful, nauseous, even, and he knows it has nothing to do with the booze. 

“It’ll get easier with time,” he tells himself, hoping if he wills it hard enough, it’ll come true. 

“She left last night,” Bucky mutters, pressing the pillow down more firmly on his eyes.

“Really? Why?”

Bucky’s murmur is even lower than before, but Sam still catches each word.

“We broke up.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, man. She say why?”

Bucky feels an initial flash of irritation at Sam for assuming you’re the one who chose to end things, but it fades quickly. If he was in Sam’s place, knowing you and how amazing of a person you were, he knows he’d think the same thing. 

“No. I broke up with her,” he replies, his voice low. 

Judging by the silent response, Bucky thinks Sam must’ve left the room, until he feels his ice pack of a pillow ripped out of his hands and smacked against his head.

“What the fuck?!” He sputters, jolting himself upright to see Sam standing over him, arms crossed.

“Give me one good reason why you decided to break up with that angel of a woman.”

Bucky runs his hands through his disheveled hair, muttering darkly.

“None of your business.”

“It is when I’ve got to deal with your moping, hungover ass.” Sam cocks an eyebrow.

“She cheat on you?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Sam rubs his face, a look of frustration noticeable, like he’s trying to restrain himself from hitting Bucky again.

“Let me get this straight. You, Mr. “I don’t know what normalcy is, I just want stability,” finds a woman -- a good, smart, funny woman -- who, baffling as it may be, wants to be with you and brings some of that normalcy and stability you’ve been talking about into your life.  And just like that, you shut it down out of nowhere?”

Bucky glowers at Sam, gritting his teeth.

“It’s not like that, it’s complicated.”

Sam shakes his head.

“Whatever you say, man. You wanna self sabotage, that’s your deal.” He gives Bucky a wry smile before continuing. “All I’m gonna say is, as someone who’s done that whole deal, it doesn’t work. If you’re serious about building a new life, one you’re actually happy with, you’ve gotta be willing to give people a chance to stick around and be a part of it with you. Give yourself a chance to experience it.” 

Bucky’s irritation with Sam dissipates, turning instead to weariness. Deep down, he knows his best frenemy is probably (not probably, he is) right, but there’s no way he’s going to tell him that. So he settles for a half shrug that Sam answers with a sigh before walking away to the adjacent kitchen, pots and pans now clanging deliberately.

Normally, Bucky would rip the kitchen equipment out of his stupid hands, but right now, he’s just tired. Not just physically, but of himself. The kind of tired where he can’t even bring himself to get off the couch and move to his bed, where the sounds of the kitchen would be muffled.

He just rotates his body to bury his face in the crook of the couch’s arm, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape beneath him as he tries to ignore the growing lump in his throat. 

He tells himself he made his decision, and now, despite the stinging behind his eyes, he has to live with it.