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svnflowervol666 · 4 years

Text

Crisp Trepidation (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Author’s Note: Here she is! The promised “Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready” fic. I ended up liking this a lot more than I thought I would, so I hope you all do as well! Take care and TPWK.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I don’t, actually. I’m being honest when I tell you she is the cutest baby I have ever seen in my life. Those curls! Are you kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers.

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Lisa, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it correctly into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

She lovingly squeezed the extra chub around her thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, but it’s even better to breastfeed when you can. Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?”

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Harry’s giant head, though, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Lisa laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, knowing good and well what Y/N meant. She scribbled notes onto the file attached to her clipboard, checking off the baby’s progress and coinciding what the nurse that came in before her documented about her length and weight.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Harry’s really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Lisa re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Lisa’s head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Harry been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Lisa was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, she thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Lisa was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, ��I can’t be.”

Lisa’s face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

Harry came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the curry that she’d been oh-so so excited about earlier in the week and swaying along to the playlist they’d curated together as she stirred a pot filled with vegetables was. Their grocery store had been out of coconut milk for several weeks and she’d nearly tackled him to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with it the night before, so he found it awfully strange that she’d yet to start cooking it. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Her coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?”

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times.

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Harry could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff that was teetering on the line of becoming a full blown beard to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. Or maybe she was keeping to herself peacefully somewhere else in the house and she was being so quiet that he just couldn’t hear her.

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the wooden door tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife.

Good. She was sleeping.

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings about his tour schedule that forced him to dress nicely.

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects about his everyday life with his family like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Or maybe it was the understanding that by this time next year, he’d be halfway across the globe and physically unable to hold her in his arms. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his rings into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quite yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Honey? ‘S that you?” Harry peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door.

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“Ye’ sick? Can hear ye’ snifflin’.”

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Harry cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Harry tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for her again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk t’ me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Harry could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so.

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.”

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Harry asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib.

“‘S she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Harry worry.

“I was telling Lisa about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list.

“And?” he asked after a solid sixty seconds of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Harry whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, H,” Y/N quipped.

“‘S not what I meant,” Harry fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many curly-headed babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present was going to be the gift of being a big sister.

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. None of tha’,” Harry shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her shoulders tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of joy and celebration and relief after having tried for what felt like years. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled blouse, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“Wha’ do yeh mean, pretty? Of course yeh can. I’ll move some things around and we’ll make it work. We’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her back in attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Harry.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“You have to move everything around. You’ve already been gone for almost two years. This sets you back at least another. You can’t keep pushing shit back.”

“Erm,” Harry paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Yes I can? I couldn’t care less about tour...Did yeh think I was gonna leave yeh here on your own with a fuckin’ newborn?”

“No. I didn’t think you were just going to leave,” she almost sounded annoyed, which didn’t sit quite right with Harry.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there t’ do? Tour can wait.”

“People are counting on you, Harry. Millions of them. We’re not the only ones that matter in this situation.”

“Will you please tell me what yeh gettin’ at, because I’m starting t’ get upset.”

Harry’s lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this?

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And yeh think I’m not? ‘M tryin’ my best to keep it together for your sake if yeh haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending how the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one carrying our fucking child. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to push a football-sized human out of your vagina and just lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Harry was yelling now.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting tha’ it was. ‘M not sure what it is that yeh want me t’ say though. I’m sorry? ‘S that it? Sorry for gettin’ yeh pregnant? Sorry for havin’ a job that were well fuckin’ aware of when yeh met me? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fuckin’ planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Harry,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not makin’ any fuckin’ sense! Are yeh tellin’ me yeh don’t want t’ keep it? ‘Cos I never fuckin’ said that yeh have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands.

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Harry’s hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe f’ me. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Harry peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just encountered had stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Harry’s hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Harry’s hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Harry the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with chocolate brown curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Harry’s. Her nose? A perfect, narrow line down her face that led to a button-shaped tip akin to Harry’s. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of bubblegum pink as Harry’s. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother were the color of her eyes, which was funny considering that was the one thing she’d wanted Harry to pass down to their daughter; Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Harry before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. He had changed out of his dress clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of joggers that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistant on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it, nothing sexual or erotic whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Harry loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Harry’s continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“‘M sorry for yelling at yeh,” Harry started.

“It was uncalled for.”

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“’S not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one havin’ the baby. It’s you that’s got t’ do all the hard stuff. Should’ve listened to you more.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?”

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Harry could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his.

“I love you so much. Yeh know that? I know it’s difficult always having t’ think about everyone else, but you’re what’s important t’ me. I’d drop everything for you if I had to. End it all today.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you.”

“Well, just know that I would if yeh wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want t’ be here f’ you. For her. Don’t want t’ miss anything. I finally got my shot at bein’ normal when I met you and I hate myself for even thinkin’ about going back on the road and leavin’ yeh.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“You’re a good person, Harry. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Harry’s chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Lisa to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his jumper against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face.

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Harry jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Harry spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She clearly wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known she was pregnant up until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have t’ have one birthday party ‘cos they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go t’ the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Based on the fact that you’ve already picked out the outfit this one is wearing on her first birthday that’s still six months away, I highly doubt you’ll stay keen on them sharing a party.”

Harry pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the garment he’d spotted during one his fittings with Gucci that he vowed to have for his daughter.

“Guess you’re right about tha’.”

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Harry could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Harry’s heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together, but it’s possible that the topic might not have even come up if he had been in the room with her and the pediatrician.

“Found coconut milk at the store the other day, remember? Want me t’ make that curry for yeh?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately purked up at the thought of warm spices and rice.

“Starting to wonder if curry was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?”

Harry giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought tha’ was a bit weird that yeh wanted it so badly, but I didn’t dwell on it too much.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“‘Ve got it, mama” Harry quickly refuted.

“Take a bath or somethin’ and I’ll bring it up t’ yeh when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Harry used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now.

Of course, she wanted more children with Harry. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did.

With two babies.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x pregnant!reader #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #dad!harry x pregnant!reader #harry styles writing

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lovelybunny08 · 4 years

Text

Let Me Down Slowly

♡ Pairing- Jungkook X Reader

♡ Genre- Smut and Heartbreak

♡Description- Based of Alec Benjamin song "Let me down slowly". You have notice Jungkook has changed.

♡ Thank you @artofediting for editing this story for me. Seriously love you I dont know what I will do without you.😭😭 There will be a prequel to this story 😊😊 ♡

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It’s been four years now. In the beginning, everything was fresh and exciting. You can still recall every detail of the day your life changed entirely. You were relaxing by the Han river one day; reading a book and soaking in the last few rays of the sun. As you stretched your arms over the back of the bench you sat on, your eye caught onto his movements. There he was, digitally capturing small glimpses of the vibrant life surrounding the river. As your eyes adjusted to take him in, you nearly fell off the bench out of shock. He looked otherworldly with the glow of sun around him. Your eyes latched onto the camera, grasped by his deft fingers with skin leading up to a blue and white striped sort-sleeve. Your eyes drifted farther north only to be struck by the softest bunny smile gracing his features. You still aren’t entirely positive what motivated you to leap outside your comfort zone and approach him, but not a day has gone by where you regretted that burst of irregularity.

A montage of the following four years included regular texting, late night phone calls, and awkward first dates which eventually melded into a feeling so natural it seemed as being with him was second nature. You became an official couple after a sure year of talking and dating. Both of you had been in toxic relationships in the past and were weary to commit until enough time passed. The next landmark occurred after two years of dating. It was a late night at Jungkook’s apartment, and you mentioned how difficult it was to stay awake on the drive back to your place. Without missing a beat, he suggested that you two move in together to remedy your achy eyes, and the rest was history.

Everything was easier with him, and you slowly fell into the idea that this bliss was truly how the right relationships ought to be. You guys barely fought, you confided with each other like best friends, and to top it off, the sex was the amazing. You never had anyone in your life before that could take you to new heights like Jungkook could. Everything was perfect. . .

Too perfect.

It’s been a few months since you started noticing slight changes in him. He comes home late from work, barely talks to you, and even the idea of him touching you is far from imagination. At first, you chalked it up to exhaustion. You were well aware about the daily pressure he was under at work, and so you continued to silently be there for him in hopes of this phase passing by quickly. Even though you spent several nights curled up on your side of the bed and him on his side, you always tried to keep in mind that at least he was there.

That thought you held onto came crashing down recently when he was given a day off. Usually, these rare days were a cause for celebration between you two. You would spend the morning wrapped up in the sheets together only to later go out for a peaceful drive and wonder the cityscape. Yet, this time you simply woke up alone. You clutched your phone as you read a text from him saying to not wait up for him later because he would be spending the day with his friends. Tears threatened to pour down your cheeks, but you held them at bay.

It’s okay. You thought.

He’s just really stressed and needs to relieve some of the tension with his friends. He doesn’t always have to spend his day off with me.

You buried your sinking heart beneath these words, hoping to dull the aches and the signs. It went on like this for a couple of months, and you knew your heart couldn’t take it much longer.

One night, well past the time you would normally be asleep, you heard Jungkook come in from work. He scuffled through the kitchen at first, most likely getting something to eat as he was never home anymore when you would make dinner.

A weight on your chest pressed down further at this thought, making it harder to breathe. These past few months you barely slept or ate. You forced yourself out of your solidary bed each morning as Jungkook always left before the sun came up. While you were still meeting all your deadlines at work, your coworkers had begun to worry about you. Your sadness had brought a lackluster to your appearance, and the bags under your eyes only increased the deprivation look you were sporting most days. You were gradually withering away along with your relationship.

You lay there listening to the refrigerator doors close when you decide to finally confront the distance between you two. You were too physically and mentally weak to keep pretending. You hear him placing the dishes in the sink and padding to the bathroom in the hallway across from the bedroom you shared. As the shower begins to run, you feebly climb out of bed in your night gown and into the kitchen to finish cleaning and putting away his dishes. You turn off all the lights except for the one hanging above the kitchen table.

Soon, you hear the running water come to a stop, and Jungkook emerges from the bathroom. He runs a hand through his wet strands as he looks up to see your cowering form by the table.

“What are you doing still awake? You’re normally asleep by now.” He questions. At least you were able to fool someone that you were sleeping well. Your eyes climb from the floor to meet his. You draw in a deep breath; it was too late to back out of this now.

“I think we need to talk about whatever is going on. We—well at least I—can’t pretend any longer that things between us are okay.”

He sighs and shakes his hair before responding, “I wanted to wait until this weekend. . . but you’re right. We need to talk.” The expression on his face would be similar to those at a funeral home.

“You want to break up?” You mutter, barely holding eye contact. When a look of relief instead of surprise crosses his face, you know you had guessed correctly. You watch him shift uncomfortably, mulling over the best way to respond. You take this moment to scan his form. In your eyes stands the love of your life, still as beautiful as the day you first met. He quickly interrupts your train of thought,

“Look, I just—I think it’s for the best.”

“Do you still love me?” you wonder.

“Of course, I still love you. . .but no longer in the way you need me to.” His graze drops to the floor almost as fast as your heart does into your stomach. You felt the tears in your eyes but fought against them because in the end you knew this had to be the conclusion. Nonetheless, his words pierce your heart.

“When—” your voice came out hoarse. “When did you realize this?” You ask. Immediately a thousand thoughts flood your mind. Did he grow bored of you? Of your relationship? Did he meet someone else? Who was she? Did you know her? Is she prettier than you?

“N-No!” he’s quick to respond. As if reading your mind, he replies, “I haven’t meet anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering. I had been denying this for a while, but it finally settled in a month ago. I’m sorry I’ve waited for so long... I ah, I didn’t have the heart to say anything. I really did try to see if I could get over the feeling!”

His hands are flying around wildly at this point trying to collect an explanation for his bottled emotions.

“—but I’m sorry I can’t.”

I can’t.

The same words when you fall off your bike as a child. The same expression when you give up on understanding math in high school. The same feeling when you weren’t hired for your first job… and the last words of your four-year relationship.

The two of you sit in complete silence as you both accept the chasm in between. You don’t know what to say. You still love him, you’re still in love with him. He’s still the man you see in your future. How is one supposed to respond when the legs holding you up walk away? Your thoughts continue to stumble into chaos as you stare at old scuff marks on the wall. Unbeknownst to you, you’ve been shaking since the beginning of the conversation. You do know; however, that if you meet his once-loving doe eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together. With this in mind, you proceed to study the marks more intently, focusing on anything other than the cracking in your chest. He breaks the silence first,

“… I really was going to tell you this weekend. I’m planning on moving out, so you don’t have to worry about finding somewhere else to stay.”

Your eyes immediately flip upwards, “Where are you going to stay then?” You inquire.

“Oh, uh, I’ll be crashing with some friends for now. They have a spare room they said I could use until I find my own place.”

After examining his face, you can see your pain reflected in his expression as well. His shoulders sag, and you can guess that this hurts him almost as much as it hurts you. Almost. Your heart wishes that he had let you down slower, maybe giving you some time to slowly let go. You consider that if you had a few more weeks then you could adjust to his absence… but hadn’t he already done that for you? The past few months it was like living with the ghost of him. But this—this was different. This was final. Although you would always wish for one more day, you know that it’s not reality. You’ll both need to move on. Your thoughts tune back to the present in time to hear him confess,

“—I think it’s best if I leave sooner rather than later. I don’t want to—I can’t hurt you anymore. I think I’ll just grab a bag and head to my friends. I’ll come get the rest of my stuff this weekend.”

Jungkook begins to turn towards the bedroom when you rush across the living room. You grab him by the shoulder and turn him to meet him eye to eye.

“Please,” your voice broke, filling with desperation. “Please, j-just one more night. Hold me l-like you used to.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulder as a single tear slips down your cheek. His face softens as his eyes trace the journey of your tear. He raises his hand and cups your face gently, as if the slightest movement will tear you apart.

“We shouldn’t…” he mumbles. “It won’t make things any easier.”

“Please,” you cup his hand on your face. “Please, Jungkook.” More tears begin to make their arduous journey down your face. The desperation in your voice is humiliating, but at this point you only care about being in his arms one more time.

“I-If you're going to let me go, then give me this last night. Give me yourself for the last time. Love me until it’s over.” Your breath catches when his hold on your face tightens. You blink to clear away the tears as he gives a relenting sigh. Whether he was weary from fighting you or himself is a mystery that will forever remain trapped in the night. His gaze deepens as leans down to press his forehead against yours. You can feel his breath across your lips when he mutters,

“One last night. One last time because I still love you. I want you to remember this forever, but after tonight, you have to forget.”

He pulls away and slides his hand down your arm to intertwine your fingers. His hand dwarfs yours as he leads you to the bedroom. While you have been in this situation with him countless times, you cannot help but feel as if it is all new territory. It carries the air of the night the two of you first made love. The gravity weighing on you, however, floods your senses as you come to terms that this will be the last time. As soon as you cross the doorway of the bedroom, he turns you around and cups your jaw with both hands. He leans in close and walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. He slowly lays you down onto your back, never breaking eye contact. He hovers over you, his face only centimeters from yours, gazing deeply into your eyes. You see the indecision in his eyes, so you gather the courage and close the gap. At first, he doesn’t reciprocate the kiss. You slowly separate to gauge his reaction, but before you can, he grabs your waist to pull himself into you. His lips are soft and warm, filled with unspoken emotion. Not soon after, you trace your tongue across his bottom lip, asking a silent question. He answers immediately with a soft groan, granting access into his mouth. The feeling is disguised with the emotion of your first kiss, layered with the passionate love of four years, and revealed to be the burning out of the greatest star in your life.

He places his knee between your legs, pressing himself further into you. Your hands tease at the hem of his shirt to which he eagerly removes the clothing. Your small hands slowly trace his abs, retaining the memory of how he feels in your palms. At this action, his gaze suddenly darkens. He fists the end of your night gown and pulls it off your body. You lay bare except for your lace panties. He growls lowly at the sight and kisses you deeply like never before. With the passion between the two of you, it almost feels as if he is yours again. Almost. It is sweet, but it is absent of the love and longing he used to hold for you.

His lips descend across your jaw and down your neck, sucking small bruises in all the most sensitive parts. After four years, he knows your body as well as you do. His hands slide down across your curves to the delicate lace designs of your panties. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, and bites down on your delicate nub a little harshly, but you don’t have the time to think about it because he immediately follows this action by pushing your panties aside and rubbing circles onto your clit, drawing forth an involuntary moan. You close your eyes, once again trying to memorize every touch he gives you before it’s over. He releases your nipple with a pop and instantly diverts his attention to your other breast, all while his fingers continue to toy with your clit. You moan and grip his arms in response, but at this action, he withdraws his hand from where you need him most.

His mouth works his way off your breast, kissing down your stomach until he reaches your panties. His teeth grip onto the sheer fabric, and he pulls them down all the way until he throws them on the floor. He then returns and looks you in the eye as he caresses your thighs with his gentle lips.

“Please, Jungkook,” You moan out.

Without a second to lose, he begins to eat you out like a man starved. His tongue giving soft kitten licks, treating you like a bowl of milk. You can barely handle the sensation when he inserts two fingers into you, delivering a pleasant burn from the stretch. He doesn’t give you time to adjust as he begins pumping it in and out so aggressively you know you won’t last much longer.

“God, Jungkook” you gasp, lifting your hips to meet the thrust of his fingers. Not long after, the combination between his tongue and fingers brings you to finally snap. You moan his name like a prayer as he continues to eat you out through your orgasm. He finally ceases once he feels your body relax. Sweat rolls down your chest, heaving from the rapid breaths. He crawls upward, and kisses you hard, giving you a taste of yourself. You feel him hard against your thigh, so you grab his shoulders and flip him onto his back.

“My turn” you growl, meeting his hungry eyes and licking your lips.

You kiss his lips gently and deeply, savoring the feel of the man you love beneath you. You break away quickly as it only reminds you of what’s slipping from your grasp. You instead start trailing your lips down his neck, chest, and abs. On this you take your time, committing his body to memory. You stop kissing him when you reach the hem of his pants. He quickly resolves your pause by unzipping his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. His dick bobs against his abdomen as you lick your lips, seeing the red, angry tip from how hard he is. You wrap your hand around him and stroke him a few times before the need to taste him became too great. You lick the pre-cum collecting across the head before gradually sucking his dick into the warm cavern of your mouth. You set a fast rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, each time taking more of him into your throat. You glance up to see his head thrown back, sweat rolling down the expanse of his chest. From the curses and groans falling from his lips, you know you’re doing well. You resume your attention to pleasuring him when, growing impatient, he grabs your hair and forces you to take more. With the sudden force, you begin to gag around his dig. Jungkook looks down through heavy lids and almost finishes right then and there. With your hair through his fingers, saliva dripping down your chest, and throat closing around his cock, he can barely contain himself.

“Fuck" Jungkook moans. “I’m about to cum.”

At this, you immediately pull your mouth off his dick. You climb up his body until your hips are centered above his. You align himself with your entrance, gaze flicking up to his.

“I want you in me for the last time,” you confess as you slowly slide onto his cock. Your eyes squeezed tight, and you bit your lip to hold back a moan. You focus instead on the feel of him entering you. His hands grip your hips, creating small bruises into your sides. After adjusting to his large size, you begin to roll your hips across his, pressing your hands down on his chest for support. Your pace is too slow, and it is torturous to your dire need for him.

“Jungkook, please help" you moan. His grip on you tightens even more as he begins pounding up into you harder and faster. The pace he sets has you quivering above him shortly after. He continues ravaging you like a mad man, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Both of your grunts and moans fill the night as you truly love each other for the last time. You push your knees tighter around his hip, so you can feel him deeper inside of you.

Jungkook grabs your neck and pulls you down for a messy kiss. You clutch onto his shoulder as he impossibly increases the speed at which he pumps into you. Jungkook feels the change of pace bringing you tighter and tighter around him until you tumble over the ledge with him quickly following after. You scratch down his chest throwing your head back as you ride out your orgasms together. You close your eyes to hold back the tears as heavy breathing fills the silence of the apartment. As your high subsided, you had remembered that as soon as this is over, he will be gone.

You lay down beside him, feeling his lips as he gently lays a kiss to your forehead. Jungkook slides out of you and pads to the bathroom coming back with a towel to clean the both of you. After throwing the towel into the laundry, he picks his clothes off the floor and pulls them back onto his body. To your surprise, he turns to lay down beside you.

Jungkook examines your tear-stained features. You hold your breath, thinking maybe he changed his mind. Maybe this night reminded him of everything you are so desperately holding onto. He centers his gaze on yours, faces inches apart, as he softly whispers,

“You stole my heart four years ago, and I want you to know that it’ll always be in your possession. I will always love you…” He presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“…but I can’t love you the way you deserve. I hope you remember us, but soon forget me. I’m sorry.” Jungkook brushes your hair behind your ear while tears stream down your cheeks. You close your eyes as he rises and walks out of room; as he walks out of your life.

You wait until you hear the click of your front door to truly let go. You wrap yourself within your sheets, breathing in his lingering scent. Tears rubbed your skin raw as you finally confronted reality. Once your breathing leveled out, you were left with a single thought. He said you would always have his heart, always a piece of him. Why couldn’t he see that when he left, he took away yours as well?

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

Text

Fool for You [one-shot]

Summary: You want Bucky, but Bucky wants somebody else.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Lots of angst. Some self-deprecating thoughts, insecurity. Language because my potty mouth. Bucky’s a dick. Not a happy ending. You’ve been warned.

Notes: Inspired by Linger by the Cranberries, but keep in mind it’s not a song fic! I’ve been in such a writing funk lately. I hope this doesn’t totally suck. Enjoy! x

She’s funny. Her joke has Sam wheezing, Steve snorting, and Bucky chuckling. Even Nat has quirked a small grin. They’re so busy recovering their breath that no one sees the absolutely moon-eyed look Bucky directs at her.

Nobody but you.

It’s hard to ignore the rising bitterness in your throat as you sit on the couch, once ensconced in your novel until Sam began hooting like a broken trumpet, a result of her well-timed joke. Of course she’s funny. She has just about everything else going for her, including Widow’s respect, which is a national treasure all on its own.

She isn’t an Avenger, but she may as well be since she’s in the tower so much. It makes your stomach curdle. The super soldier at her side curls a loving arm around her shoulders, drops a kiss onto her hair, and the gesture has her beaming.

And Bucky looks about the same way you feel.

Because Bucky had to go and catch feelings for his best friend’s girl.

He thinks no one knows, but you’re his best friend. Of course you know. You know because he looks at her the same way you do him. You scoff quietly.

Cliches suck.

A weight drops onto the couch cushion beside you.

Careful, Y/N. Green isn’t really your color.

Wanda. Normally you take issue with the fact that Wanda sometimes implants herself in your head, but other times, like now, you’re thankful for it. Explaining it to anyone else makes shame bubble up in your gut.

You give Wanda a single, meaningful glance before your gaze is ultimately drawn back over your shoulder. She, Cassandra, is in the middle of telling a story that has everyone’s rapt attention, Steve looking down at her fondly while it goes unnoticed that Bucky is doing the same. You’re not sure if he realizes he’s doing it, but considering he’s doing it in front of Widow tells you he isn’t.

A quick glance at Nat shows her eyes bouncing between Bucky and Cassandra. Ah, so it wasn’t missed by the scarily-observant super spy. She catches your eye next, an entire conversation being wordlessly spoken. You avert your gaze with a sigh and miss the quizzical little head tilt Nat gives.

When Cassandra’s laughter bubbles up again, you can’t stand it anymore. Wanda frowns up at you as you stand, finger tucked into your book to save your place. You leave the room, wincing as the laughter picks up again.

Inside the confines of your room, you abandon your book to sit on the floor at the foot of your bed, your back against the mattress and box spring. You never meant to be part of probably the stupidest cliche to ever exist, yet here you are. And like that stupid cliche, you have no idea how it even happened.

Somewhere along the path of Bucky’s re-self-discovery, you fell for the man he’d become. Not the Soldier, not the smooth talking ladies’ man of the 40s, but someone somewhere in between. More self-assured than he’s ever been, though not without his faults or his setbacks. Really, though, how could you not have seen this coming?

You sigh into the dark, knees propped up and elbows resting upon them so you can drop your head into your hands. It’s stupid—pathetic, really—how your mind automatically begins to compare you to Cassandra, regardless of the fact that she’s taken. It’s more so because she has Bucky’s full attention, that moon-eyed look solely meant for her that you so wish was directed at you.

You’re a teammate, his close friend, and it seems that’s all you’ll ever be to him. It hurts, coming to that conclusion, knowing you’re one of those girls unfortunately and unfairly destined to experience unrequited love. You laugh mirthlessly to yourself and shake your head, tangle your fingers in your hair and tug, just a little, just enough to ground you before your mind sucks you into a maelstrom of self-pity.

You know sooner or later you’ll have to come clean to Nat, if the perceptive redhead hasn’t already put it together. Wanda is your closest friend aside from Bucky, but Natasha’s scary wisdom beyond her years comes in handy, especially in the tough situations.

You can’t imagine a situation any tougher than this.

So it comes as no surprise as, the next morning, the Black Widow corners you in the kitchen. You don’t bother to hide; stubbornness is one of Nat’s lesser, but more prominent, qualities, and she’s patient as all get out. Instead, you lead her back to your bedroom and spill. She doesn’t interrupt, only listens intently with her head tilted in that feline manner she has.

“Well, that’s quite a predicament,” she notes when you finish. Grumbling unintelligibly, you suck down your coffee. She leans back on her hands beside you. “So I take it there is zero chance of you talking to Bucky about it?”

“Why would I?” you retort, but Nat isn’t offended. “The only thing that’ll accomplish is ensuring our friendship is toast. Burnt as fuck, crispy toast. Plus, I’m not really in the mood to be humiliated when he says he doesn’t return my feelings.”

“How do you know he wouldn’t?”

“Uh, hello, I know you of all people didn’t miss the absolute head-over-heels look he gave her yesterday.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s going to act on that. Steve would pummel him, and it would probably end their friendship.”

“Regardless, I’m not having that conversation with him. I’m just gonna...keep a lid on it and act as if nothing’s off.”

Nat scoffs and you shoot her a look. “Honey, even if I wasn’t me I wouldn’t miss the looks you give him when someone’s not looking.”

You open your mouth and then promptly shut it. Releasing a sigh, you rub your temples. “Okay, so then what do I do? If I pull away he’s going to know something’s up. He’s far too much like you.”

Nat, for once, is rendered clueless on how to proceed. Then, with an actual physical shake of her body, she says, “Okay, so you pretty much have three options. Option one, continue as normal, hide your feelings, be his best friend, and ultimately, probably spontaneously combust because you’re keeping them down instead of letting them out. Option two, tell him, risk the chance that your friendship might change or Bucky will decide to pull his head out of his ass and not make moon-eyes at a taken woman, thus eventually falling in love with you and the two of you live happily ever after. Option three, you start dating. Outside the Tower. Run the risk that you’ll find someone who completes you instead of pining for a guy who might not.”

“That’s it, huh?” you deadpan. Truthfully, none of those options sounds appealing, but more than likely you’re going for option one.

Option one, it turns out, is a goddamn pain in the ass to stick to. In order to throw off Nat’s, and even Sam’s, suspicions that he’s into his best friend’s girl, Bucky has latched himself onto you. Normally, this would be, well, normal. Now? It’s downright impossible to bite your tongue from telling him what’s been cooking up in your head, damn near inconceivable to not lean into him when he sits a little closer to you at movie night.

The little niggling feeling in the back of your head tells you he has tricks up his sleeve, but you brush it off for now and bask in the slightly spice scent of his cologne.

Some weeks later, you’re faring no better. It’s growing even more difficult to bottle your feelings up and stow them in the back of your mind, especially when Bucky’s clinginess seems to multiply tenfold. You aren’t dumb, or naive for that matter, when you realize the only time he’s right on top of you is when Steve and Cassandra are present. When you first put it together, no words in the English dictionary are sufficient enough to describe the painful pang in your heart.

Yet you let it continue.

Nat criticizes you more than once, as does Wanda (who’s admittedly a bit gentler with her approach, but Nat was never one for beating around a bush). You promise both of them you’ll confront him soon, draw a line in the sand that he can’t use you to make his best friend’s girl jealous.

Plus, his plan isn’t working anyways. Cassandra remains both in the dark and unaffected by what he’s doing, and she merely smiles genuinely when she notices Bucky’s arm around your shoulder or waist. As soon as she and Steve leave the room, his arm drops and his shoulders droop. It makes you angry, and it’s why you suddenly begin to dodge his advances. You stop playing along to his chagrin and befuddlement, and the fact that he’s even confused by your refusal to go along with it reignites your ire.

How dare he abuse your friendship, wordlessly expect you to go along with a pointless attempt to make Cassandra jealous? It’s callous and a little cruel of him; you thought you were friends. Friends didn’t treat each other like toys or tools to just use at one’s convenience. Even more than that, with Bucky’s sudden attention on you all the time, as superficial as it is, it only intensifies your feelings for him—both the positive and the negative.

On the one hand, a large, secret part of you revels in being pressed up against him so often, absorbing his warmth and being able to pretend, for just a little while, that his feelings for you aren’t a scheme, that they’re genuine. The smaller, more logical part of you knows you can’t let this continue, and it finally all comes to a head when Bucky asks of you something so unbelievably selfish that you snap.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?” you ask, turning your ear to him as if you hadn’t heard him correctly.

“We should sleep together,” he repeats with a careless shrug. He seems surprised when your gaze hardens and ignites all at once.

“Why? So you can continue your pointless scheme of trying to make Cassandra jealous? Is that why?” you accuse icily. Bucky takes a small step back, mouth opening and closing similar to a fish as he searches for something to say. You beat him to it. “No, Bucky, I won’t sleep with you to go along with your stupid fucking plan of pursuing a taken woman, much less the woman who’s dating your best fucking friend. I’m not stupid; I know what you’ve been doing, and I can’t even believe you would abuse our friendship like that, use me the way you have, without a second thought. Do my feelings mean absolutely nothing to you? Do you know how hard it’s been coming to grips with the fact that, while I struggle with my feelings, for you, you only see me as something to use, something to exploit?”

Bucky’s face continues to fall as you rant, unleashing every pent up thought and emotion. Your voice covers a range of emotion—anger, sadness, hurt—all in a matter of seconds that he nearly has whiplash. Bucky’s always had a strong poker face, but even he can’t hide the feelings rolling through him. The one he settles on is shame. Good.

“You...you have feelings for me?” he questions, quiet and meek.

You scoff. “Right now, I really wish I fucking didn’t. You aren’t who I thought you were, Bucky. Not even close. I was willing to let it go that you wouldn’t feel the same way for me, I’ve accepted that. What I won’t accept is being used as if our friendship means absolute shit to you.”

“No, honey, that’s not—” He stops when you shake your head, teeth clenched tightly and jaw wobbling as you fight to hold back your tears of hurt and heartbreak.

“It was what you were doing, Bucky, and I want no part of it. In fact, I think it’s better you and I don’t speak.”

Bucky looks crestfallen, regret and agony and the will to plead for your forgiveness swimming in his eyes. Bucky’s poker face was ace, but his eyes gave him away and you’d become an expert at reading them. Even if it’s not what he’d intended when he began this hairbrained plan, it’s what happened, and you had been caught in the crossfire.

“Ever?” he asks, a sob ripping from his throat while those pale eyes brim with tears. You glance away for a moment, but then you bravely meet his gaze, holding it.

“Ever,” you confirm. Your face remains stoic but inside your chest your heart splinters and cracks. It’s so painful to break off your most treasured friendship, but Bucky had taken advantage of you, whether or not he had been aware of your feelings. You voice this aloud. “I can accept you not returning my feelings, but I can’t forgive you for taking advantage of me. That’s not what friends do. Goodbye Bucky.”

The door closes softly in his face and Bucky leans his head against the wood, face crumbling as he lets himself go. How could he have been so stupid?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky angst

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ms-maj · 7 years

Text

Tell Me How

Eep, I wrote something. This is the very first fic I’ll have ever posted on Tumblr, so, here goes y’all. Thanks to @wordsonpages1 for the encouragement and kind words in getting me to post this. I would love any and all of your thoughts!

The sun, which had seemingly hung on as long as it could, had finally dipped below the horizon. Its last wisps of pink and orange were swallowed by the inky night that descended. There was no moon, only the lingering twilight and flickering street lamps to illuminate her way. She chose to live close to work, in the neighborhood where she’d be making a difference; she had wanted to see its impact. And see she did. She saw the impact of something that was not confined to the borders that separated the South side from the rest of Riverdale; she saw the impact in vacant, empty stares, heard it in cries, feeling the sobs in her arms as she tried to offer comfort.

Comfort, she snorted out loud as her eyes rolled. Betty Cooper wasn’t a hero, making a difference to these people; she was one decision away from being persona non-grata. Her house, at the end of a broken sidewalk, came into view and she felt a little of the weight she carried dissipate. It wasn’t much to look at; the blue-painted siding was faded and chipped, the sun had bleached the roof unevenly, the small unattached garage leaned at a precarious angle, but it was hers. She managed a slight smile as she turned the key in the lock, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

Today had been a long day. The kind of day you felt in your bones. With an exhausted sigh, she pulled the door closed and upon the subsequent click, she felt her legs give from beneath her. She slid down the door, knees pulled tight to her chest as the tears began to fall in steady streams from her eyes. The scent clung to her sweater, all Baby Magic and sunshine, as his weeping mother cried in her office. Another life was gone, one second a proud and beaming father, the next; a statistic. She’d been on too many cases like this lately; had to ask too many people questions about their state of life she should never have to ask. She should never have to be called in to assess whether a child can safely return to its remaining parent. No one should have to go through what this poor girl faces, no child should grow up without…

Betty only realized what she was doing as the hot tears hit the open abrasions on her palm. She gently splayed her hands over her knees, breathing slowly and deeply as her head fell back on the door. She hated her job. No, not entirely, she supposed. Betty loved to help, she was intrinsically made for getting answers; no truth could outrun Betty Cooper. Yet more and more, there were simply no answers for what she’d been seeing. Slowly, on bone-weary legs, she stood and tried to push down the images that were seared in her mind.

Every time her eyes closed she saw a baby, the spitting image of his father, who would never hear his laughter or remember his smile —No!— she thought, her head shaking neared violent as she made sure the deadbolt was latched. She pushed away from the door with purpose, propelling her down the short hallway into her bedroom. As tired as she was, the grey sheets and yellow walls never looked less inviting. She stripped off her blazer and slacks and traded them for her favorite worn yoga pants and old Smiths tee-shirt. Throwing herself onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling, willing her eyes to close and the sleep she was so desperate for to come. But after an hour it hadn’t, then another; images of bright blue eyes and wispy blonde hair haunting her. A huff of air escaped her as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. It was way too late to go for her customary run but she’d picked up some old Tae-Bo tapes at a garage sale a few years before and they never seemed to fail her when she needed to let off some steam. The old thirteen inch Panasonic fired up as she fixed her hair into a tight ponytail and through the auto-adjust tracking, Betty got lost in the routine. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Routine it became. The lack of sleep, two a.m. Tae-Bo, the inability to separate from this case. It had been two weeks of tenuous phone calls, ‘just checking in’ she’d say when the weary mother would answer her phone. Betty knew it didn’t help, that the platitudes of a strange woman who had the power to take your child away probably weren’t conducive to grieving. Betty resigned herself the obsession, even if she didn’t fully understand it. There were so many children she had dealt with and while many of their stories stayed in her heart, none of their eyes seemed to haunt as much as this ones. Tomorrow, she would call her doctor tomorrow, she decided. Stretching back against her pillows, Betty closed her eyes.

“Wake up, please…please wake up,” she cried over the prone form. Her hands fisted whatever piece of clothing she could get her hands on, sobs wracking her body as she sank against the cool tiles. “You can’t leave me. You promised…” The body under hers shuddered. She shot up, pulling them with her as her hand went to sweep the hair from the forehead where it was stuck in what appeared to be sweat and no small amount of vomit.

“Betty,” the voice rasped. Her tears subsided, for just a second, before all she saw were the whites of eyes.

“No!” she whimpered. “NO!”

Betty woke with the word on her lips. She was practically panting she was breathing so hard. The memories she worked so hard to suppress, all she had fought and conquered, everything broadcast in live and in-living-color right in her bedroom. Reaching for the water bottle on her nightstand, the shrill ring of her phone cut through the night, the number flashing on the screen sent chills through her body.

“Betty Cooper,” she answered, willing her voice past her lips.

“Miss Cooper, this is Detective Neal. I had heard you were handling the case regarding Mr. Cousins.”

She swallowed thickly. “You heard correctly, Detective. I assume a call this late isn’t for a clerical error.”

“No, Miss Cooper. I wish I was calling you with something as banal at that, unfortunately, we’re going to need you to come and remove the child.”

Betty’s head smacked against the headboard audibly. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was closer to ten minutes when she pulled up to the cute, suburban home. She may have broken a few traffic laws, but she was certain that anyone foolish enough to pull her over that night would have gotten the raw end of Betty’s razor-like tongue. She was running on pure adrenaline, that’s the only way she’d get through this night. To have to walk through this house, again, not knowing what she’d have to see inside, made her insides flip uneasily. The lights of the ambulance and police cars danced through the darkened street, casting shadows in suburbia, where they’ve always existed and no one thought to look. Betty’s hands wrung and stretched as she made her way through the door, flashing her credentials at the officer. She wove her way through the throng of responders, focused on the cries of a three-month-old little boy who needed, well, everyone who’d left him. He’d have to settle for her and the family who was taking him in.

The kitchen was a disaster. The wife apparently had used every glass in the house to allay her anger. Futile. Ineffective. Useless. The words Betty remembered so well after her own dalliance in grief echoed through her head as the physical shards of anger crunched under her feet. She could feel the darkness welling inside her as she crossed the field of broken glass. Fingernails pressed into her palms, she felt it before the skin broke this time, snapping her focus back to the present.

“Ah, Miss Cooper!” A tall man waved her up the stairs. She took a deep breath before ascending, knowing what she might face at the top. Fortunately, the coroner had been quick and all evidence to what had happened was out of sight. Small miracles. The breath fell from her lips heavy as she walked into the nursery. Bright blue eyes clouded with tears as they met hers. A sad smile formed on her lips as she reached out to try and soothe him. But there’d be nothing soothing about that night. Not that Betty could produce.

“…I don’t know that he’s had other charges, but he’s the only open foster we’ve got right now. He’ll have to adapt quickly to an infant, but, that’s what he signed up for.” She realized the older detective was speaking to her and turned her head toward him to meet his eyes. The man’s eyes were weary, his back hunched by the weight of the job he carried. He ran a hand over his shorn hair and met Betty’s eyes with sympathy. “We get way too many of these calls, Miss Cooper.”

"Don’t I know it,” she agreed sadly. She looked back to the baby, and placed a hand on his belly, trying to pour all the love she could muster into the gentle touch. Before she could register what was happening, a diaper bag had been slung over her shoulder and the car seat placed at her feet. Through a haze of tears, she managed to secure the infant in his seat and get him settled into her car. She looked at the slip of paper in her hands, the address eluding her. She hated when that happened; she’d only been back in Riverdale a few months and still didn’t know it as well as she should have, not for as long as she’d lived there before, not when all she used to do was ride around…she stopped, shaking the vestiges of that train of thought away, securing it away for a night her emotions weren’t already overwhelming her. She plugged the address into her GPS as the sound of the Aquabats filled the air. The little boy cooed, a gurgle escaping his lips every now and again as they drove through the winding roads. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive to the foster house took longer than Betty expected. They ended up outside the city proper, a small dirt road leading to a cottage that overlooked the Sweetwater River. Betty took a deep breath when she got out of the car, honeysuckle enveloped her completely and knocked her senses for a loop. Her mouth opened as a ragged breath fell from her lips. She tried to bite back the tears that gathered on her waterline, she could taste the blood on her lip as she opened the car door. But try as she might to fight them, the tears cascaded down her cheeks as she went to remove the sleeping cherub from her back seat.

“So, this is where you’ll be staying, little guy. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention when Detective Neal was saying their name but they have to be a lovely family to get you.” Betty ran her hand down the baby’s cheek, he sighed a half smile as he nestled against her hand. She tucked the moment away, deep into her heart and rang the doorbell. “I promise I’ll be back to see you, not that you know who I am but, oh sweetling, know that you’re loved.” Betty did not notice the door open, therefore she did not see the young man standing there taking in the scene before him. When he swallowed audibly, Betty tore her eyes from the baby and startled herself into speaking.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean just to be standing here staring at him…I swear he was in good hands,” she laughed without humor before the sound of his voice froze her in place.

“I have no doubt that he was, Betty.”

Betty’s head slowly rose, green eyes brimming with tears connecting with stormy blue. She wasn’t sure her voice would work, but she managed to croak out a single word. “Juggie?”

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #riverdale

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