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strepsils123 · 4 months ago

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“Protect My Heart”

Steve Rogers x Reader

Angst with no happy ending? I don’t know.

steve rogers was weird. in all the right ways of course, i'd assume that if i had gotten injected with a super serum, met the love of my life just to lose her to time and age, be trapped in the ice while the world ages around me and keep my youth, i'd probably be a little weird and off-putting too.

the entire world knows who captain america is, and i've had the chance to work with him. he's tall, broad, all blond hair and bright shiny blue eyes. he's cute, he knows he's cute too. probably hates being called cute, but i can't imagine him as anything other than cute.

he has a certain way that he looks at you, like he's looking right through you. but don't ever upset him, he's great at holding grudges. he's been gone for far to long and with the threat of ultron upon us, we now hide away in clint barton's house.

we're not the only people in the house, tony stark who's the iron man, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, extraordinaire (as i'm sure he'd enjoy being called). and then there's his 'twin', bruce banner. just as smart, just as attractive, but not arrogant. he's shy and that's just as cute as he is. and then there's people like natasha romanoff and maria hill, my two favorite people in the world.

of course, we cannot forget about the two gods who literally fell to earth. thor, the god of thunder. there were hundreds of other people, working the systems to keep us all safe from threats. and as busy as we are, steve won't leave me alone.

i'm standing in the kitchen area, busy making some sandwiches to pass the time while every conversates about the next move. clint's children run around the house. "i can help you." steve suggested, leaning against the counter. i had multiple plates, already stacked high with different kinds of sandwiches. laura already said she'd help, since this was her home, but i shrugged her off and told her to spend some time with her family instead.

the weirdest thing about steve is that he's persistent. when he wants something, he won't give up until he succeeds. i can't say i'm not the same way, but he thinks of me as some sort of mission i'm sure of it. "they're just sandwiches steve." i sighed, closing the lid to the peanut butter. "i can be helpful."

"be helpful somewhere else!"

he doesn't ever take the hints. he's like a bug i can't kill. i'm sure half the world would be on their knees, begging for a chance to go on a date with steve rogers, but i think i'd rather die. no one should be stupid enough to do that. steve is a great guy, but his heart and his mind lie with another woman who he can never with. peggy carter, the love of his life, whom he lost so early. his poor heart holds onto her too much for his body to handle, so he finds someone else to satiate his need for love and it was me.

you know how when baby ducks or chickens are born, they imprint on the first thing they see as their mother, that's exactly what it felt like for steve and i, but instead of me being his mother he wants me as a lover. i cannot put myself through that ever. it hurts a lot to know the truth, to know he doesn't actually like me. what am i even supposed to do? i don't like pushing him away and ignoring him, i don't like being rude to the captain america.

what if one date turns into two, two turn into spending nights with each other, kisses in between talking, and we have sex or something. what happens if i do fall in love with captain america? what happens when i want something more from him but he tells me he's not looking for anything serious. he's too caught up on his ex. i know steve is old fashioned, he'd never actually do that to a woman, but this isn't the 40s anymore and he's much older than i am, he's tired of fighting but he won't stop and that will be his downfall, and mine too if i don't put a stop to all of this.

"you don't like me much huh?" he scoffs jokingly, standing up from the counter and moving to stand behind me instead. "i do like you steve, i just don't need help making sandwiches." i put the cheese slices and the meat back into the refrigerator. "you know, if you want to help, you can take these to the living room while i bring these to the kids." i suggested, pointing to the plates. i grab a different plate, beginning to walk away but steve catches my wrist. "please talk to me." he begs quietly. i poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue, running it over my bottom teeth. i've said no to going on a date with steve rogers three times now.

the first time, it was very proper. asking me out after loki was put away and handled with by thor. he stopped me from leaving the building. "you did good out there." i shrugged. "beats working in an office staring at a screen any day." he laughed. body dirty, breathless, and sweating. "i'm sure it does." our conversation flows for a second, reveling in our win, talking about everything and nothing. "so i was thinking that we could... maybe do something tomorrow night..." steve asks, running his fingers through his hair. "i don't know rogers, we're kinda busy."

"no yeah i get it. i'm pretty busy too." he crossed his arms behind his back, rocking back and forth. "well, i'm supposed to see loki off and we're all splitting apart for a bit so... i'll see you later?" i nodded, watching as he walked away.

did steve rogers just ask me out?

the second time he tried was when we were on the run from the government after siding with his long time best friend, and super solider experiment, james bucky barnes, and found ourselves living on the outskirts of some small country's town i couldn't pronounce the name of. we were just lying in the grass together. he hadn't had the time to shave in a while, a light stubble beginning to show. we just stared at the stars wondering if our lives were going to be lived out like this. a small cabin in the woods that we found. spending all our time in the woods with natasha and hunting for animals and plants. what i wouldn't have done for a burger. "so i was thinking, a few years back, we never got a chance to hang out just us, and we're here, right now. know we can't do much, but i was thinking if you'd want to do this again sometime..." he trailed off. i didn't glance at him, i knew he was looking at me but i wasn't sure what to say. "steve now's not really a good time to get... entangled." steve just nods silently. "yeah, that makes sense i guess."

i couldn't believe he was trying again. i thought he had forgotten. i know i hadn't, i couldn't stop thinking about him asking me out. and here he was, wanting to try again. i got up and headed back to the cabin without even saying anything. i felt sick to my stomach again. the night air felt colder, a pain filling up my chest.

how dare he? who does he think he is?

strutting around the cabin shirtless, chopping wood for fire, learning how to hunt and which berries and plants could kill us and wouldn't kill us. humming 40s music while starting fires to heat up the water to make it drinkable.

when i taught him how to sew our clothes back together after running in the woods, sleeve being caught and torn by branches. teaching him how to braid hair, gently but quick so it wouldn't waste too much time. pointing at the stars together, sneaking into town to watch as it quiets down as the sun sets. dogs bark in the background. making ice cream with just milk and ice. hiding in alleyways from cops and laughing when they'd pass.

it makes me feel guilty for falling in love with a man who's mentally taken.

sure peggy carter isn't here anymore, but she haunts him in his sleep. for a few split seconds, i'd see a future with us together, a kid or two, living in a house just big enough for the two of us. maybe a dog or a cat for our kids to play with. and then reality strikes when he'd fall asleep and whisper her name that keeps me awake and thinking for days.

the third time he asked me out was as soon as we got into the house. he hadn't even gotten the chance to ask, i already knew what he wanted from me. i was on my way to check on natasha, she had been so excited about laura having another baby, and she thought it was gonna be a gril named natasha. it turned out to be a boy instead.

"no steve." i said, not even letting him speak. he pulls me into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. "don't say no, i just think it would be fun, doesn't have to mean anything-"

"no steve! it means everything to me!" he tries to talk again but i push back against his chest. he could easily over power me, he's stronger than i am. my heart is beating so fast. i can't look him in the eye. i make sure to keep steve far enough from me while i pull the door open and disappear to the kitchen instead. there's far too much going on.

"there's nothing to talk about." i drop my head, placing the plates down on the table so i don't drop them and waste them. "there's a lot we need to talk about actually. like how you keep running from me." he flips me around, holding onto my shoulders to keep me in place. "i can't give you what you want."

"and how do you know what i want?"

"i know you want peggy back. and i'm not her, not even close. i know you'd do anything to see her again, to hear her voice. to have her see you. i know you missed out on the greatest love of your life and i can't-i won't compete with that."

steve just leans down, pressing his lips against mine. he doesn't listen either. our lips don't stay attached for long, cause i untangle my body from his grip. "you have to stop steve! you tell me to stop running and hiding from you, but when are you gonna stop running and hiding from yourself too?"

"you think you know what i want? well it's not true. ever since i got out of the ice, i wasn't sure what it meant. i knew i should have died but i didn't. and for a long time i was lost, everyone i had ever loved was gone, everything i thought i knew was a lie, and the world was different. but i didn't regret the decision i made, and that same decision lead me to you somehow!"

"you do not mean that!" i shouted back. "don't i? you don't know what i want!" he crosses his arms over his chest, standing tall and proud. i hate when he does that. he just looks so strong like this. "what do you want?" i asked slowly, keeping my voice low and calm but i was anything but it. "what do you want steve!"

"i want you to stop running from this! why do you do it? tell me the truth. i know you're not afraid of me. and i know it's not because you're seeing someone else, and it can't be about peggy either." he tilts his head, searching my eyes.

"why can't it? how am i supposed to give you my heart when yours belongs to someone else? what will i get in return?" i don't know when but i started crying. i can feel the little tears cascade down my cheeks the longer this conversation goes on. i wonder if someone will come find us, or will this conversation die out on it's own before then? "you have my heart already y/n, that's what you're not understanding. i'm already yours, i just need you to be mine too." steve inches closer, placing his hands on my hips. one hand cups my cheek, wiping away the tears. "please don't cry." he whispers soothingly. i reach up, cupping my hand with his own. i take a moment to revel in this feeling, the light enters his eyes again but i crush it by pulling back. he cannot win this war. i drop his hand to his side, using my other hand to brush him off my hip. i can still feel his touch on me, hands heavy.

"i'm sorry steve, but i need to put myself first for once, and i need to protect my heart. please, please don't ask me out again. it will always be no."

he doesn't say anything more when i grab the plates and carry them out of the kitchen and into the hallway where i walk slowly to the living room, trying to catch my own breath. "i've made sandwiches." i said, expertly setting them down on the table while everyone crowds around the tray. i fall back a few steps, moving outside to get some fresh air. i sit down on the steps of clint's house. aside from natasha and fury, i was the third person to learn about clint's secret life. was it weird to imagine my life would be like this at some point?

when i was at my lowest, nick fury spotted me in a crowd of hundreds. he always was drawn to the most messed up people. the front door creaks open and i hold in a groan. if he's followed me out here again, i might just lose my shit.

but it's natasha. he's freshly showered, sad smile on her lips. "what's up with you?" we both ask in unison. a broken laugh passes between the two of us. "you first." i nudged her shoulder. "i wish bruce would just let himself go for once. he's too fearful."

their romance had been budding since she first picked him up. it was so slow and quiet, compared to steve who won't take no for an answer. "you?" she asks while we stare ahead at the meadow fields and trees in the distance. "steve won't take no for an answer. he's not fearful enough."

nat holds back a smile but i can see her lips twinge upward. "maybe you should stop holding back then. you and bruce are too similar. you push everyone away thinking it's for the greater good, and you won't be selfish just one time?"

"you can't be selfish with a guy like steve rogers. he could die any minute, i've read his files. i've seen everything he's done to get where he is today. he saved the world by landing a plane in the middle of the ocean where he froze over for 60 years. i can't put myself in peggy's position. history has a funny way of repeating itself." natasha sits silently. "i never thought of that for you." i glance at her confused. "what?"

"steve and i... we talk. we talk about you." i raise my eyebrows. "you do?" she nods and hums. "we talk about why you keep saying no, what's keeping you from saying yes. i did some digging, you don't have a secret family like clint, you're not stuck on an ex partner, you have family out there somewhere. they're too protected by shield that even i can't find them." i let out a quick sigh. i tell my family i work as a travel agent. everything was fine, and they had no idea, until my face popped up on a screen with hawkeye and natasha at my side, and of course running from the government is kind of hard to keep a secret.

"i just figured you didn't like him. i told him to stop trying after the first time, but i don't think he'll stop asking until you say yes."

"this isn't the notebook. i don't care how dangerous his proposals get, i won't give in. i can't see a logical reason to. he'll make me happy? i make myself happy. i won't be alone? i have you and maria. sexual pleasures? there's one night stands for a reason." natasha snorts and shakes her head. "you are so far gone into your own little world you can't even see the truth."

"okay, and what's the truth?"

"the truth is that you're right. maybe you love him, and maybe he makes the ultimate decision to sacrifice his life for everyone else's safety, but maybe he doesn't have to go through that and you two will live happily ever after. the truth is that he loves you and he wants to show you. god knows where i'd be right now if bruce showed me he loved me." natasha stands up, offering me a hand but i shake my head. "that's fine, you have a lot to think about now." she pats my shoulder and heads back into the house.

can you be selfish with a guy like steve rogers? everything about him is so attractive. like a magnetic pull i'm to weak to steer clear from. sharp features, strong build. he's smart, loyal, kind, brave. it's these thing's that worry me deeply.

although peggy never had a public speech about her feeling's toward steve, him being in the ice, his 'death' that shocked the world. everyone knew that she became a ghost of herself. she still went to work every morning, got dressed, ate breakfast, laughed and made her own jokes, went and fought in wars, and was brave too. but even though i too fight in wars and i wake up every morning and i get too see him, feel him, know him, i'm not brave at all. the thought of losing steve eats away at me every time i look at him. i'll never know his last day, my last day. even if i did know, even if it was tomorrow, i do not have the strength in me to admit that i'm in love with steve rogers and he loves me too because i'm so afraid of it. afraid of what it means to be in a relationship with a man such as him. the people who'll come after us, what will happen when that time comes? i know he'd do anything for the people he loves.

it's one thing to be his friend, a partner in crime, hiding away in a cabin in the woods, staring at stars and making ice cream, but it's a whole other thing to actually be his. sacrificing yourself for a friend is the greatest sacrifice you could ever make, but steve sacrificing himself for my life, as a lover is the ultimate portrayal of love i do not deserve. i've held him off for this long, i can handle holding him off even longer.

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i also hope the ending makes enough sense cause i suck at writing marvel stuff. basically, she won't date steve bc she is afraid of how much she'll get hurt if he dies, and is worried that if something happens to her.

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strepsils123 · 5 months ago

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real people

chapter one

18+

you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.

read the intro first

warning: actor!bucky x actress!reader, mature themes, fake dating, enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn.

Bucky Barnes supports from the sidelines while girlfriend Y/N meets with fans.

user1 > stop wait i wasn't sure about them together but... the way he watches over her dhidkkxmxx

user2 > MOST UNEXPECTED COUPLE EVER WHAT

user3 > I thought she was only into married men? Lmao

user4 > why didn't anyone want a picture with Bucky :( my poor baby

user5 > THE WAY HE SUBTLY GRABS HER WAIST AT THE END OH HES IN LOVE LOVE

"I hate her," Bucky utters as he leans back in his chair. "I'm not kidding. Not being dramatic. I fucking hate her, Carol."

With a cigarette between her lips, Carol digs her toes into the warm sand and lets out a content sigh. "I'm proud of you, Buck. You've gotten through the first month smoothly. The public are buying into it - you trended on Twitter for the first time in a year last week," She tells him as she basks in the sun. "This relationship is already doing wonders for your image."

He lets out a huff. Part of him wishes it wasn't going well so that they could call the whole thing off and he'd never have to speak to you again.

"She's a gorgeous girl. Much prettier in person," Carol comments. "Any straight guy would kill to be in your shoes."

"Not once they spend more than five minutes talking to her," He grumbles, looking out to the sea. Granted, he could be in much worse places than the Bahamas, but the fact that he's only here to be seen with you has soured his mood.

"You know, most PR relationships I've ever worked on usually end up being real," Carol tells him. "In fact, they're more like introduced relationships. Like an arranged marriage. Who knows? If you spend enough time with her, maybe-"

"Are you being serious?" Bucky cuts her off coldly. "That girl is about as two-dimensional as a piece of paper. Her only hobbies are partying and Googling her own name. Trust me, Carol, as soon as these six months are up, I'm out."

Just then, you walk onto the small, private beach, straightening your sunhat as you approach the pair sitting on sunbeds. "Afternoon!" You greet them, smiling as you pass Bucky with a brief squeeze of his shoulder. "Hi, baby. Carol, you mind giving my beloved boyfriend and I a minute to talk?"

Carol snorts at the look on Bucky's face and happily complies, giving you a nod as she gets up to her feet. "The reservation's for 8pm; there'll be a car sent to the villa to pick you up at 7:30," She informs you both. "Have fun!"

Bucky lets out an irritated sigh as he slumps down on the deck chair. "What do you want?" He asks while you take Carol's seat.

"Pepper sent me. I need to put you on my Instagram story," You tell him as you pull out your phone. "It's been three days since I've posted about you."

With a roll of his eyes, he stays where he is, hoping you aren't about to tell him to hug or kiss you for the photo.

"Here; wear this," You say before tossing him your yellow sunhat. It lands on his bare chest and he gives it a bitter look before huffing and doing as you say. "Now," You continue, sitting up and aiming your camera at him. "Smile like you love me."

Though he despises you, he's damn good at acting like he adores you. You post the photo to your story with the caption, 'he's always stealing my things', and tag him in it.

"There we go," You say with a content sigh. "Now I can leave you to moping around again."

"I do not mope around," He argues sternly. "I'm laying in the sun."

"Mhm," You reply, before deciding to stay and annoy him a little longer. "I finally watched The Greenhouse for the first time last night. Really surprised you didn't end up winning the Oscar."

He doesn't say a word, his sunglasses shielding his eyes as he lays back down.

"Oh, well. Maybe next year, eh?" You continue. "Who knows? Maybe I'll even be up for an Oscar next year."

That earns a snort from him.

"I'm being serious - I could be up for Supporting Actress for The Sixth Night," You tell him as you refresh your notifications, watching as the likes and chat replies from your story come streaming in. "Speaking of, I think you're down to be my plus-one at the premier next month."

"I highly doubt a scream flick is gonna be nominated for any Oscar," He replies with a mutter.

"It's a serious film - it deals with all the same emotional themes your pretentious works do," You claim while reading through a few of your dms. "Someone said I've been glowing since getting with you. How sweet."

Bucky lets out what can only be described as a grunt in return.

Curious about why he's so bitter about this deal when he's definitely benefiting more than you, you lay down on the sunbed and turn to face him. "So, how come you're single?" You ask him. "Pretty young thing like yourself, I'd have thought you would be locked down."

"Long term relationships aren't compatible with my lifestyle," He answers you. "I'm barely ever home."

With an eye roll, you scoff. "Oh, please. Date a fellow actress, then. Or a director. Or even a pop star. Someone who has a similar lifestyle."

"Maybe I'm fine being single," He says with a slightly defensive tone.

"So, you like sleeping around?" You wonder.

He finally turns to face you, looking up at you over his sunglasses. "We're not all sex-addicted whores in this industry, you know."

"Ouch!" You exclaim, reaching out to lightly swat his arm. "Kitty's got claws. No need to be so mean to me. I'm not the one who forced you into this."

"No, but you're a self-obsessed narcissist with no real reason to be so arrogant - I mean, let's face it, it isn't that hard to scream and run around and spew the badly-written scripts you for some reason keep signing on to, so I don't understand why the fuck anyone thought I could ever need you to further my career," He rants, his cheeks flushing pink.

With your nerve successfully struck, you get up onto your feet with a huff. "I'm the narcissist? You are so fucking pretentious and up your own ass - your films aren't curing any diseases, guy. At least I'm actually relevant and I don't only go viral when I'm rude to interviewers- without me, your career is a sinking ship, so you should be fucking grateful that I agreed to do this bullshit for you, 'cause God knows I could get more publicity in a night than you'll give me in six months," You hit back.

"Yeah, for fucking a married football player," Bucky mutters under his breath.

"Fuck you!" You spit harshly as you begin to walk off. "And give me back my fucking hat!"

He rips it off and throws it at you, shouting, "Fucking take your stupid hat back!"

It's harder than you expected to storm away in sand, but you do your best, flicking up sand with every stomp.

Dinner is awkward, to say the least. The starters are brought out before you and Bucky exchange a single word. You're not sure if you expect him to apologize for what he said on the beach, but you sure would appreciate it.

"The cameras are here," He says while pretending to take a sip of wine, his eyes on the window to your right. "Action."

You hold back an eye roll as you catch a few flashes in your peripheral vision, and instead focus on spreading butter onto a piece of bread.

"Still not talking to me?" Bucky utters with a quirked brow. "Your sour attitude is noticeable, you know. Especially to your devoted fans who like to closely watch your every move."

Putting down your fork, you let out a musical laugh, as though he just made a great joke- something you strongly doubt he's capable of. "You suck and I hate you," You say quietly so the other diners around you don't hear.

"There are some great lip readers out there these days," He says while subtly rubbing his beard so as to hide his mouth.

With a sigh, you keep your eyes on him. "I can't wait for you to take me home and fuck me," You say instead, shooting him a wink as his face falls for a split second.

"You are unbelievable," He mutters, keeping a pleasant look on his face.

"What? So I can't say I hate you, or that I wanna fuck you? What do you want from me?" You ask, keeping your tone light and your face happy. If anyone was listening in, you'd sound insane.

"Is that all the range you're capable of?" He asks you, holding your hand. "There's nuance to emotion. And a heck of a lot more than just hate and horny."

You grit your teeth together. This man does not respect you one bit. Does he genuinely think you're talentless? That you're a bad actress? Though you understand that he might dislike the genre of film you're typecast for, surely he can't deny that you're at somewhat of a good actress.

Then you realize - there's an ignorance to his hatred. He hasn't ever referred to a specific one of your roles or movies in particular that he thinks lowly of. That fucker.

"You bastard," You begin, your smile only slightly faltering. "You haven't watched a single one of my films, have you?"

He says nothing in response.

With a dry laugh, you shake your head. "You sit there on your high horse, preaching about how my work is below what you do, about my work being a collection of shitty little scream flicks - and you have the audacity to say all that having never seen a single fucking one?"

He lets out a sigh. "I don't need to see-"

"Fuck you," You utter, pulling your hand out of his, picking up the napkin on your lap and tossing it on the table as you stand up. Still aware of the flashes outside the window, you give Bucky a kiss on the forehead before walking away, as much as it pains you to do so. Prick.

"Did you find that the two of you had any similar rituals or processes, or do you work very differently?" Porter, your twenty-third and final interviewer of the day, asks you.

You let Tony answer, giving your voice a break. Press junkets are one of your least favourite parts of the job, with back-to-back interviews taking place in one long, long day. At first, you did enjoy getting to hear all the British accents, but you're ready to get on your private jet and fly home. As much as you love The Sixth Night and think it's probably the best film you've been a part of, you are sick to death of talking about it.

"And that worked perfectly for me, because our characters are only meeting for the first time at the beginning of the film, so each of our interactions on-screen involve us learning and getting to know one another, which is exactly what was going on off camera, too," Tony finishes, giving you a gentle nudge. "So I guess our processes are different, but compatible."

There's a twinkle in Porter's eye when he speaks again. "Speaking of compatibility, it seems love is in the air for yourself, Y/N- and with none other than Tony's Fugitives co-star, Bucky Barnes. Was it Tony that introduced you to each other?"

"Actually, Bucky and I met at a Golden Globes afterparty earlier this year," You lie, using the story Pepper and Carol fleshed out. "No wing-manning needed from Tony."

"Right," Porter says with a laugh. "Well, fans around the world are loving the two of you together- did you have any hesitation in going public?"

"It's always a little nerve-racking when you're in the public eye, knowing that there are so many opinions out there being formed about you, but Bucky is a true gentleman and couldn't do more to make me feel secure," You say, hoping you're coming across as sincere rather than over-rehearsed.

"That's lovely," Porter remarks with a smile, before his attention is stolen away by someone off camera. "And I think that's all I've got time for today- thank you both so much for your answers, you've been wonderful."

"You've been great, too," You reply with a smile, knowing your fans love when you're nice to interviewers.

"I'm so excited for this movie!" He says with a grin.

"And we're excited for you to see it," Tony replies before you get the signal that the cameras are off.

Someone comes over to help you take your mic off while Tony quickly raises his brows at you. Once your mics are off and the press have trickled out, he chuckles.

"So, you and Barnes," Tony begins, folding his arms across his chest. "A match made in heaven."

"Shut up," You reply with a dry laugh. "You know how it goes."

"Mhm," He replies just as his agent calls him over. "Well, this was fun. See you at the premier - bringing your boyfriend?"

"Maybe," You say with a shrug. "If the overlords want me too."

"Y'know, it's a shame," He says, taking a step closer to you. "I was kinda hoping we'd have a sexy scandal of our own."

With a smirk, you tilt your head. "And all it takes is a little boyfriend to stop you from trying?" You ask him teasingly.

Tony places a hand on your waist which he squeezes briefly. "I'll see you at the premier, honey," He says before shooting you a wink and walking away.

And, perhaps if you weren't so exhausted, you'd have noticed the look on one of the lingering journalist's face on the other side of the room as they watched your interaction with Tony.

definitely gonna be a slow burn, this one. although it's taking all my will power not to make them immediately fall in love !!! hope you liked <3

buy me a kofi <3

to make sure you know when i update, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications x

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strepsils123 · 8 months ago

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In case anyone is having a bad night:

Here is the fudgiest brownie in a mug recipe I’ve found

Here are some fun sites

Here is a master post of Adventure Time episodes and comics

Here is a master post of movies including Disney and Studio Ghibli

Here is a master post of other master posts to TV shows and movies

*tucks you in with fuzzy blanket* *pats your head*

You’ll be okay, friend <3

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strepsils123 · 8 months ago

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heart like yours

☾ pairing: mark sloan x female! reader

☾ genre: angst

☾ warnings: season 9 spoilers; death

☾ read the prequel here

☾ check out the grey’s anatomy masterlist here

☾ a/n: i moved accounts so im posting it again here

you and your colleagues were sitting and waiting on the conference room for a week now. waiting for a call that the team of doctors who were going to fly to boise are finally found.

countless thoughts were running in your head. are they all fine?

you were trying to hold off surgeries that you can, thinking that in every second you can get stuck inside an OR the rescue team would call.

Keep reading

#malu's angst fic rec

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strepsils123 · 8 months ago

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strepsils123 · 9 months ago

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strepsils123 · 1 year ago

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An Evanstan hug in 2024?? Yeah 🥹❤️

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strepsils123 · 1 year ago

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wanting was enough

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — wanting was enough. for steve, it was enough.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — steve rogers (marvel)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — angst ; steve’s pov to this

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — timeline? we don’t know her 🤪 for the sake of the plot, bucky was found after eg and no one died ,,, also i hope this makes sense because i am like half asleep as i am writing this

Steve Rogers had always loved and will always love Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. For him, no one will ever compare to who she was as a soldier, as a woman, and as the one who held his heart. Or so he thought until he was pulled out of the ice and was thrusted into the world he knew nothing about, until he met you.

You were a rookie agent when Steve was pulled out of the ice and when he woke, Nick Fury assigned you your first mission—to help Captain America get back on his feet and adjust to his new world.

You and Steve didn’t hit it off immediately. In fact, you got off on the wrong foot. With your wits contradicting each other’s, and your smart mouth, you were bound to disagree. You would bicker at every waking hour you spent together, but he would be an absolute angel to everyone else, fueling your irritation further and so you gave the same energy back, maybe even more.

You directed all your anger onto him. At every moment, you were ready to reply with something snarky. You were always short with him, but you were the opposite to everybody else. In your head, you were giving him a dose of his own medicine.

And he let you because in his head, that was better. Your distance was so much better, not because he despised you, but because he saw her in you.

He saw her in the way you moved, the way you handled yourself with confidence and strength, the way you put deserving people in their places. But then as if a bucket of cold water was dumped on him and he realized.

He realized that everything was different, that she was gone. And for the first time, he saw you, and it just became so much worse because you were here, you were real, you were alive. You were someone he could hurt.

Then, not even a year after he was assigned to you, Fury reassigned you another mission, and the both of you were internally grateful. You were grateful to have been given a break from his insufferable ass, and he was grateful to have been distanced from you before his heart positively combusted.

Months passed right before his eyes and before he knew it, it was 2012. Fury sought him out for the Avengers Initiative and once again, he was Captain America.

With the shit that had gone down since he became an Avenger, he was always almost too busy to let his mind wander to you. Then, he found out that Peggy was alive. She was in this world and all of a sudden, he felt he had something to hold on to when the world moved too fast. And with his mind occupied with Peggy, you were almost completely wiped from his mind.

Then Peggy died and his world crumbled around him. He had seen it coming for a while. With Peggy’s age, he knew it was bound to happen sooner than later, but it was still a pain he never imagined.

Almost immediately after her death, the accords happened and faster than he could even blink, he was a fugitive, an enemy of the state. Everything went to shit after Peggy’s death and he felt as if he lost control over his own life.

Then you sought him out and took him in. You weren’t an Avenger, so you weren’t included in the whole mess in Germany, but you were still an agent of SHIELD.

You gave him shelter when he was on the run despite your connection to SHIELD. You were ready to throw everything away for him despite your history.

And during his time on the down low, your feelings started to bloom, seeing him in a new light, seeing him, not as Captain America, but as Steve, the scrawny boy from Brooklyn who wanted to kick bullies’ asses, but always ended up getting his ass kicked. But neither of you acted on your feelings.

Then all of a sudden, he was being whisked away because apparently, a titan from another planet was planning a universal genocide. They fought, but were unsuccessful.

Half of the world was wiped away and the first thing he thought to do after the battle was to seek you out, so he did. But you weren’t there. You weren’t in your own home and the only thing left of you was the pile of sand on your kitchen floor and a mixing bowl next to it.

Despite half of the world’s population being gone, it felt as if the world was moving too fast. Or maybe it was the grief slowing him down. Maybe it was both, but before he even realized, five years had passed and they were all presented a chance at getting half the world back, courtesy of Scott Lang.

With a lot of hiccups and injuries, but thankfully no deaths, they were able to get the world back and the titan was gone. Truly gone.

After the battle, Steve didn’t even wait until he was fully recovered to seek you out, and there you were in your house, coping with the fact that you have just lost five years of your life, despite feeling like you have only been gone for no longer than a minute.

He had barged into your home, looking you over before kissing the life out of you and there, something had bloomed.

At first, he was almost ecstatic at the thought that you were finally in his arms safe, sound, and alive. Then, he was scared. You were alive. You were someone the world could take away from him. You were someone he could hurt, and so he kept you a secret. He didn’t want to risk the world finding out about Captain America’s weakness and ultimately using you against him.

To his relief, you agreed to be his dirty little secret. It was fair, he thought. You got to keep your relationship with him and he got to keep you safe.

But it didn’t ease his fear. Despite the world not knowing about you and him, he was still scared. You were still with him and he could still hurt you, unlike Peggy, darling, dearest, dead Peggy.

And so unknowingly, he was pulling away from you and slowly holding on to the memories of Peggy, the memories of the world he knew before everything went to shit.

He knew damn well it was gone, that it didn’t exist anymore, but if it wasn’t real, if it wasn’t here, if it wasn’t alive, then he couldn’t fuck it up. The world wouldn’t be able to take it away from him because it was gone.

But you noticed, of course you did, and he didn’t expect anything less. You were a smart woman, his smart woman, and he knew you would catch on, but he didn’t expect you to confront him right after that mission. The mission where he found out that Bucky was alive, but he wasn’t his Bucky anymore. He was turned into one of HYDRA’s greatest weapon and he was taken because he was someone to Steve Rogers, he was someone to Captain America.

But he was there, he was real, he was alive, just like you are. And like Bucky, you could be taken away and used against him, and he wouldn’t know what he’d do if that ever happens, so he pushed you away. He told you lies. He held onto the memories of Peggy like a lifeline in hopes of keeping himself sane as he watched the best thing that ever happened to him crumble right before his eyes.

He watched as you left, unknowingly taking his heart with you.

In your head, his heart was buried with Peggy, completely unaware of the fact that you had taken his heart as you left.

#malu's angst fic rec

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strepsils123 · 1 year ago

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if you can’t eat a whole meal, eat half. you ate, that’s what is important.

if you can’t get out of bed, try and sit up instead of lying down. it’ll be better for your back and your blood pressure.

if you can’t shower or have a bath today, try and brush your teeth and clean your ears. it’ll keep you a little cleaner, and we often forget those areas.

if you can’t get dressed today, change underwear and use some deoderant. it’ll leave you a little fresher until you have the strength to change fully.

and remember, i’m very proud of you. your best will look different every day, and that’s okay.

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strepsils123 · 1 year ago

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i love it

Are You Bored Yet?

Pairing: College!Bucky x Tutor!Reader

Summary: God, you hated Bucky. Bucky probably hated you, too. Maybe. It was hard to tell when he was drunk and calling you pretty at a party you shouldn't have gone to.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Alcohol, annoyance to lovers, a bit of angst, a scary man in a parking lot, frat!bucky c:

a/n: I am so excited to finally post something!! It only took me four months 😅 If you enjoy it please please let me know ❤️❤️

Masterlist

12:59 pm.

The birchwood table nestled in the back of the library was long but otherwise empty, the only thing occupying it being your laptop and quite a few books. He wasn’t late. Yet. You weren’t going to hold onto that hope, however.

Tutoring Bucky Barnes was not what you had in mind when you volunteered for the peer assistance program at your university. It was true you were only using the club to boost your resume, but you had assumed the only people reaching out for help would be those that actually wanted it. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Sure, Bucky wanted help. Just not with anything that actually warranted the word. He wanted help sweet talking the cops so they wouldn't shut down his parties. He wanted help recruiting girls to show up to his parties. And—the one thing you could actually do—he wanted help passing his classes with the minimum GPA required to not get kicked out of his frat. So he could continue to throw parties.

Everything in his life revolved around his fraternity, which made you very important to him. When he wanted you to be.

With your apparently astounding knowledge of biology (you took notes during lectures), you became the star in Bucky’s life every Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm (give or take ten minutes) to 2:00 pm. He was also very attentive during the thirty minute phone calls he initiated prior to tests, and always looked happy to see you when he passed you devouring a bagel at the crack of dawn in the dining hall.

Every situation in which you had come in contact with Bucky was isolated and purposeful (minus the bagel). You didn’t hang out or invite each other places, and you were almost positive that if you were to see him in his natural habitat, you would want to tutor him even less than you did now, and that was saying something. So you were important to Bucky during the times you were supposed to be important, and he was important to you in the sense that he was a job.

But as your laptop blinked the numbers 1:22 pm back at your unimpressed expression, Bucky became much less important today. You took in a long, tortured breath before sending your gaze up to the ceiling, giving it another three minutes before you truly gave up on him for the day.

One minute.

Two minutes.

The library really needed new ceiling tiles.

1:25 pm and you snapped your laptop shut. Your fingers itched to send yet another complaint about this whole ordeal Natasha’s way, but you stopped yourself. She had already heard plenty about Barnes at this point, plus she always gave you a weird look every time you came stomping into the apartment, grumbling about something else he had done.

You hated her weird looks, all raised eyebrows and stiff lips.

With your backpack heaved onto the table and your things slowly funneling in, you figured a nap was the best reward for sitting in the library for an unnecessary twenty-five minutes. Your last prickle of irritation was stifled at the prospect of a warm bed as you stood, only to find that irritation had returned to you tenfold. In the form of Bucky Barnes.

“You going somewhere?” he seemed to taunt, his bag slung casually over one shoulder.

Your jaw ticked. “Home.”

His mouth turned up at one side, an expression you had learned meant he found you amusing. He never seemed to outright laugh at your annoyance, but apparently, it was hard to tamp down all of the joy he got out of it. Bucky took two long strides to meet the table you were attempting to abandon.

“But I still got about—” he checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes? And an arsenal of questions about amino acids. Help a guy out.”

“And I still got—” you checked the nonexistent watch on your wrist “—no patience for this today. You’re over twenty minutes late, Barnes. Use that watch to set an alarm on Wednesday and I’ll tell you everything you’ll inevitably forget about amino acids then.”

He groaned, rounding the table to set firm hands on your shoulders as he hovered behind you. “Sit. I’ll buy you a coffee and I promise I won’t be late on Wednesday, okay? I was dealing with something before this and lost track of time.”

“Were you dealing with another sorority girl in your bed? Who was it last week? Amber? No, Michelle?”

“It’s a Monday, y/n. Cut me some slack.”

“You came to me on a Wednesday with a hangover,” you deadpanned.

Bucky grimaced, the expression visible to you as he managed to guide you back into your chair. “Oat milk, right? A double?”

You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he tossed his bag by your feet and jogged over to the coffee cart just outside the library. He fumbled with his wallet when he went to pay, and you watched him point to the carton of oat milk the barista had yet to reach for. His greek letters were printed on the gray hoodie he had haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and you held the reprimand on your tongue when you saw the matching sweatpants he donned.

The last time he had shown up in his pajamas—late—you’d had some choice words for him. Bucky turned around with your coffee then, poking the straw through the lid and sending you a sheepish smile through the window.

He was lucky you accepted bribes.

“Please,” the boy across from you continued to beg, a pen held loosely between pliant fingers. “Just ask her, that’s all I want. You can even come too.”

“Oh, wow, the great frat president letting me come to his stupid toga party? How could I ever thank you enough?”

It was Wednesday now, and Bucky was surprisingly on time to the tutoring session. You’d gotten through about half of the last bio lecture before he started asking you ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with the content. Today, he was dead set on getting your lab partner from chemistry to go to his party this weekend.

“Okay, yeah, you could come to whatever party you want, you know? I put you on the list—but this one will be even better if you’d just do this one thing for me.”

You finally tore your eyes from your laptop, glancing lazily at him. “And what would make this one so—wait, what list?”

He waved you off. “The one at the door. Did it like… the second week we started this? Anyways, Wanda?”

You let this new information settle and tried to ignore whatever implications came with being on some frat list thanks to Bucky. He had never explicitly invited you to any of his parties over the past few months and you had never asked to come. Apparently, you could have shown up whenever you wanted to and had a grand old time.

Not that that sounded the least bit grand.

Bucky was looking at you still, all pleading features and a soft, infuriating smile on his lips. When he wasn’t talking to random girls in the library or taking annoying phone calls in the middle of your sessions, he was sort of endearing. In a terrible, awful sense.

You groaned, throwing yourself back against your chair in begrudging defeat. “I don’t even talk to her outside of chem. Don’t you think it’d be a little weird to invite her to a party that I’m not even going to?”

“So come,” he answered simply, as if that was in the realm of possibilities.

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Sure, I’ll come to your party, Barnes.”

“Great,” he grinned. “Vision’s gonna be so hyped.”

You watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket and kept your lie to yourself. He wouldn’t notice that you didn’t show up on Friday, and likely wouldn’t even bring it up the following Monday. He always had such vibrant, headache-inducing stories that you were sure your absence would be nothing more than a fleeting footnote.

“You have a toga, right?” he mumbled, face still screwed up in concentration as he continued his text.

“Isn’t it just a sheet all twisted up?” you asked, shutting your computer. Tutoring was obviously over.

Bucky pocketed his phone again, brows raised in amusement. “Depends on your motives for the night.”

“And my motives wouldn’t be to… wear a toga?”

He chuckled and huffed out your name, resting an arm along the back of the chair to his right—your chair. “Other motives. Like if you’re trying to get someone’s attention.”

You blinked at the warmth along your back. “Oh, of course. Then I would twist up a pillowcase instead, right?”

“Something like that.”

He smelled like coconut. Like a day at the beach but afterwards, when the sunscreen still lingered in the air but fresh clothes covered skin that had been warmed by the sun. You could usually ignore whatever expensive combination he had on his skin, but when he got close like this it was almost impossible.

Part of you always wanted to chuck his arm away when he leaned over you, but another part of you liked that he kept it there. It was a strange part of you, the same one that relished the looks you got from sorority girls in the library and harbored a sense of pride each time he made a blatant attempt to touch you.

You had spent fleeting moments analyzing these emotions and chalked them up to some internalized desire for validation. Nothing else. Bucky was a hot guy and everyone knew that, so having his attention—in any capacity—felt nice. Sometimes. Meaning right now it was nice that he was looking at you with his arm practically glued to your back, but next week when he showed up late with a hangover and tried to steal the jacket off your body it would be not so nice.

The duality of man.

It helped your partial insanity that Bucky would never actually be interested in you. You weren’t in a sorority or interested to his parent’s money, and, worst of all, you didn’t know how to maneuver a sheet into a toga. When he put his arm around you or moved your hair from your eyes as you leaned over a book, it was probably out of habit. It felt nice, but you knew reality. This was a passing phase, and by the summer you wouldn’t even speak to him anymore.

“I’ll text you more info about everything,” Bucky called, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can come early and I’ll help you with that pillowcase.”

You froze, the book you were shoving into your bag pausing in your hands. “Uh, maybe.”

“No, seriously, it’d be better if you came early. I was kidding about the pillowcase but if you come on time it’ll be too crazy for me to show you around.”

“You don’t have to show me around, Bucky. I’ve been to a house party before.”

“Y/n, are you not coming to this thing?” Bucky accused, swiping the book from your hands and softly tossing it on the table. It still made a loud thud that had a few bitter looks thrown your way.

“Dude!” you whispered, meeting each mean gaze with your apologetic one. “Why does it matter if I come? You just wanted Wanda anyway.”

He knocked your hand away when you went to reach for the book again, encircling your wrist with his fingers. “You just lied to me. Straight to my face. You said you’d come and now you gotta.”

You gave his fingers an experimental tug, but he was unrelenting in his soft grip. You glared at him through your lashes, meeting his uncharacteristically stern gaze that contrasted the humor on his lips.

“You ever hear of sarcasm?” you whispered with a half-hearted bite.

“Unfortunately, that’s about all I hear outta you,” he smirked back.

You rolled your eyes, finally yanking hard enough to free yourself from him. “Then you should have known I wasn’t going to come. No matter what ‘list’ you put me on.”

“What else could you possibly have going on on a Friday night?”

Ouch. You felt your brows furrow even though you didn’t will them to, and even worse, you felt a rash defensiveness lodge itself in your throat. You hated the heat that now prickled along the skin of your neck, and you hated even more how it extinguished all of the good warmth you had felt from him earlier.

This was humiliation, surely—the kind that only came from feeling small.

“You don’t have to be a dick,” you seethed, snapping up the remainder of your belongings. “Just because I don’t want to go to your stupid frat doesn't mean I have nothing to do. I don’t spend all of my time hoping to get invited to ridiculous parties.”

Bucky shifted up in his seat, eyes blown just a fraction wider. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—hey, stop a sec, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever, Bucky,” you droned, as a new temperature seeped into the skin of your palms and made them clammy. Any semblance of delusion you’d fallen into earlier was long gone now, but you knew to expect that. He wasn’t interested in you and you weren’t interested in him. But embarrassment wasn’t a good feeling, regardless of a multitude of reality checks.

Bucky got up when you did, his clothes looking creased and lived in. “We still have time in our session,” he defended, arm jutting out to the table. “C’mon, I didn’t mean you don’t have friends.”

Your glare sharpened. “Great, another insinuation.”

Bucky sputtered out incoherent words as you continued your trek outside, resorting to grabbing your wrist again, this time with more urgency. You felt the heat in you simmer down to a dull throb as he made contact, mostly out of respect for your future self. If you made this a huge deal it would only embarrass you more.

“Look, it doesn’t even matter, okay?” you huffed, but he just tugged you forward. It was then that you realized you were in the doorway of the library, effectively blocking it off from anyone trying to leave. Bucky pulled you close enough to his chest that you weren’t in the way anymore. His cologne was back with a vengeance, your nose just inches from his collar.

You took a steadying breath, blinking away the remnants of shame. “It doesn’t matter, I overreacted.”

He clicked his tongue. “I’m still apologizing. I didn’t mean any of that stuff you were talking about.”

Of course he did. You were sure he thought it all the time. He just didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“It’s fine,” you rushed. “I have to go, anyway. Office hours.”

“Okay,” he nodded, soft and low, like he just remembered he was in a library. “You’ll still come this weekend, right? Even if Wanda can’t?”

“You have some kind of girl quota you need to meet?” you pressed.

Bucky smiled, still so close to you that you could feel the small breath that accompanied the expression. “And she’s back.”

You left without promising anything, and Bucky left feeling like you had.

Sometime between Wednesday and Friday, your detestment for frat parties had snowballed into determination. You were going to go and you were going to look like you were having so much fun it was ridiculous. Then, on Monday, when Bucky would usually poke and prod about what you’d gotten up to over the past few days, you were going to pretend that it was nothing for you. That you did that every weekend.

Of course, you didn’t. Your weekends typically consisted of calm nights with friends or dinners near campus. You’d been to a party before, sure, but you didn’t exactly frequent those kinds of scenes.

Bucky had continued to make it clear that you were invited. He had texted you a few times, prompting you to come and thanking you for getting Wanda to agree. The messages looked strange under the plethora of biology related questions, but that just spurred you further into action. You weren’t just a tutor with no social life, and Bucky was going to see that tonight. You couldn’t remember doing something out of pure spite before, but you figured having fun to prove a point wasn’t the worst thing.

Wanda pulled you out of your thoughts as the Uber rounded the last dark corner and revealed an overcrowded house with too many lights on. She rambled on about some guy she couldn’t wait to see and confirmed that she would likely be spending the night. You expected as much; it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to come. If this night resulted in anything good it was apparently the blossoming relationship between your new friend and a man you’d never met.

Wanda continued to chat as she yanked you out of the car and past the yard littered with sparse grass. The music was loud already—the type of loud that you needed to be at least a little drunk to enjoy. And that was the plan.

“Okay, if I start dancing on a table you pull me down. And if you start dancing on a table I support you, right?” Wanda giggled, her voice now raised as you walked past the threshold of the house.

“Exactly,” you yelled back. A guy nodded to you as he leaned against the front door, his eyes glancing up from his phone and then returning. It seemed Bucky’s ‘list’ was a page on some guy’s notes app. How luxurious. “Let’s drink.”

The next hour was a blur. You tried your hardest to get as drunk as possible and Wanda tried her hardest to find the British man she was enamored with. You hadn’t seen Bucky, but you figured he wasn’t looking for you too hard since you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Not out of anger, but because you didn’t know what to say. Somehow, with alcohol warming your blood and music vibrating your skin, none of that mattered anymore.

You: Your house is soooo dirty

Your phone jostled in your grip, people bumping into you from every side. When he didn’t answer in the thirty seconds you spent staring at the screen, you locked it and continued on with your mission.

After a few too many shots of hard liquor, you switched to beer. Gross, but decidedly less likely to make you pass out on the staircase of this house. Because you weren’t lying in your text—it was slightly disgusting. You figured you should clarify that with Bucky. You reached for your phone once again, knocking your head against the wall in the process and giggling to yourself. You had no idea where Wanda went.

The device was snatched from your hands just as quickly as the screen had lit up your face.

“You ever answer this thing?” an accusing voice called out. “Or do you just insult people and put it on do not disturb?”

The look on Bucky’s face would have made you roll your eyes in any other circumstance. Right now, however, it had a startled laugh bursting past your lips. You clutched at your stomach as the laugh grew and you found yourself tipping forward until your forehead met his chest. You felt delirious, almost silly. A hand came around to rest on the back of your neck.

“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s words rumbled against your face. “I get it, this is hilarious.”

“Your… your face,” you breathed out, catching your breath enough to part from him. “It was all—” you mimicked the straight line of his eyebrows, voice raising in a mocking tone. “—You don’t ever answer your phone. You’re so boring, y/n, answer your phone.”

“I didn’t call you boring. Hey—hey,” Bucky stressed, reaching for you as you leaned too far to the side, a smile still lingering on your face. “Jesus, y/n, how much did you have to drink?”

You went to mock him again, but his fingers on your jaw stopped you. He tilted your head up and to the left, and although he was much more composed than you were, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. You scrunched up your nose as he continued his inspection.

“Why’re you being so uptight?” you slurred, trying and failing to push away from him. “I thought you were all like, ‘I’m Bucky and I party and get drunk and have sex with girls.’”

Bucky pulled you forward as you laughed at your impression of him, his shaking head making you blink away a bout of dizziness. You toppled over a set of stairs as he threaded his fingers through yours, and then you stumbled through a doorway and onto carpeted floors. Being pressed into an uncomfortable chair was the most jarring action, the world still spinning as you sat.

“You’re even more mean when you're drunk,” you heard Bucky mumble. You couldn’t quite catch him as he moved around whatever room you were in. “And I don’t talk like that.”

You let out a careless sigh and leaned back. “You soooo talk like that.”

Something cold pressed to your hand, followed by another touch to the back of your neck. You gazed down at the water bottle being guided up to your lips and couldn’t find it in you to fight against it, despite the small spark of defiance on the tip of your tongue. After about four large swallows, Bucky was satisfied.

He asked again how much you’d had to drink.

You answered that you didn’t know—that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t your dad and you were having fun like you always did. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything for the next few moments.

And then, “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.”

You hummed, rolling your head against the chair to look up at his standing form. “Of course I was going to come. I love parties. Love drinking alcohol.”

His expression twisted into something you couldn’t recognize. “God, you’re so drunk.”

“M’not even that drunk!”

“You’re willingly in my room right now. You’re plastered.”

“Maybe I want to be in your room.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

You chuckled breathily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pretty flush of Bucky’s face. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t know much about me though. Or biology.”

Bucky kneeled down to the height of the chair. “And what do I not know about you?”

“So much.”

“How much?”

You bit into your lip and cracked an eye open, catching the amusement that had slipped past the strange mask of his emotions. With blissful ignorance, you heaved yourself forward on the chair, your nose a few inches from Bucky’s. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as you swayed.

“You don’t know that I’m the most interesting person on Earth,” you boasted, fingers gripping the upholstery of your seat.

“That right?” Bucky probed, his voice a melodic hum.

“Yup, I’m always really busy and even though you think I’m some boring biology tutor I’m actually super cool and, like, go to raves and stuff.”

His brow twitched but his mouth stayed soft. “I’ve never said you were boring. And I don’t think you’ve ever been to a rave.”

You groaned loudly and flopped against the backrest of the chair. “See! I’m telling you I do all this cool stuff and I’m so drunk my fingers are buzzing and you still don’t believe me.”

You crossed your arms with a huff, a small pout forming on your lips. In any other context, this behavior would probably embarrass you to no end. In the dim light of Bucky’s room where you felt the feeling leave your fingers and the care leave your mind, you were just disgruntled, not embarrassed. If you remembered this tomorrow the latter would surely catch up to you.

Bucky stared at you from his spot on the ground, his gaze a bit foggy and unfocused. He was clearly intoxicated, as you deduced earlier, and it made him look more wild. Mused hair and pink cheeks, he looked like he’d been having plenty of fun before he found you. It was distracting. He was distracting you from proving that you were having a blast.

“What?” you snapped, the tone a testament to the drunken fit you were throwing.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

He must be really, really drunk. Despite your clouded mind, you knew that, but the words affected you just the same. Your lips parted as a new lightness both lit up and compressed your chest, and Bucky watched the movement.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, but it was hardly a scoff. “Sure, Bucky. How much did you have to drink—”

“I’m not lying. I’ve thought about you in my room for weeks and now you’re here and you’re so pretty. Even when you’re yelling at me.”

“You’ve… thought about me in your room?”

Bucky shuffled forward and you subconsciously parted your legs to allow the space for him. “I think about you everywhere.”

This was crazy. It was certifiably insane. A voice in the back of your head—Natasha’s voice, it sounded like—was screaming at you to stop and think about the situation at hand. He was drunk, you were even more drunk, and he was far too close to you. He had ushered you in here with good intentions and had sobered you up a fraction, but things had taken a turn and this was a sensitive situation. The kind of sensitive that altered your reality and his and probably a bunch of other people’s you’d never met.

Or it could be nothing and you were over exaggerating.

But then Bucky’s hand was warming your thigh. You’d felt the press of it on your back and your shoulder and your head before, but it had never been on your thigh. It felt heavy there, hot. His other hand moved to touch your face and he propped himself up on one knee. His thumb brushed your cheek. Words tumbled from your mouth before you registered that you were speaking.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Why would you ask that? Who asks Bucky Barnes if he’s going to kiss them?

“Would you let me?” he responds.

“Yes.”

He didn’t waste any time, his mouth hot against yours. He tasted like mint and vodka and his lips moved so slowly it ached. You had expected a fervor behind his lips, but instead you got a build up, an orchestra reaching its crescendo. He was kissing you like you were important, like this wasn’t some random hookup in his bedroom at 1 o’clock in the morning, and you had to catch your breath when he parted from you.

But he moved back in so quickly after your brief respite, and you were eager to give him more. This was crazy, insane. This was the best kiss you’d ever have and also the worst. This was months of staring at his stupid lips when he tried explaining concepts back to you, but this was also weeks of feeling small in his presence. Bucky slid his hand back to press against your hair and you didn’t feel small anymore.

A loud thud from the hallway interrupted the silence you’d created, and Bucky pulled back, keeping his hands on you as he craned his neck around to stare at the door. He waited a beat, and then two, and then he turned back to you. The moment was gone, but he was still touching you. You weren’t sure what you wanted—if you wanted him to kiss you again or run out the door—but when he slid his hands from your body and rubbed them down his jeans, it became clear that was not what you wanted.

A knot formed in your stomach when he met your gaze again, and you tried blinking the feeling away. It didn’t work.

“Um,” Bucky began, his voice sounding more clear, his tone not holding the weight it had.

Your plan had backfired. Severely. This was a mess and you needed to save yourself before you ended this night even more humiliated.

You were still drunk. Pretend you were still plastered.

You giggled airily, the sound burning your throat. “That was loud.”

Bucky blinked at you in what you assumed was disbelief. “Probably just someone trying to find the bathroom,” he clarified.

You shrugged, nudging him back with your knee as you stood from the chair. “I’m bored now.” You took fast steps to the door, your words foreign to you. “Thanks for the water,” you all but gritted out.

You expected him to get up. Not to run after you or proclaim his love or even say anything. But you expected him to get up.

He didn’t, and you couldn’t understand how the knot in your stomach had moved to your throat. Or how it made tears spring to your eyes when your feet hit the sidewalk outside. Your Uber came and you couldn’t understand how you felt hot and cold at the same time. How it was freezing outside but you were sweating.

You couldn’t understand why you were crying over a boy that so often infuriated you, or why he kissed you in his bedroom. The reasonable side of you sent gentle reminders that he was in a frat and kissing people is just what he did. All the time. But the unreasonable side of you won out tonight, and it was telling you that this felt different.

That you should be different, somehow.

Bucky: You’re here???

Bucky: Where are you?

Bucky: Y/n answer your damn phone

Bucky: This place is fucking packed tonight I thought you weren’t coming

You stared at the text messages you hadn’t read last night, the bright light of your phone burning into your retinas. You had a brutal hangover, and the memory of the disaster in Bucky’s room felt like an even bigger one.

You’d gone through a myriad of emotions the night before, tossing around excuses and speeches in your head until you were so exhausted you let the alcohol in your system lull you to sleep. With all of that delirious thinking, you’d landed on blacking out. You were going to tell Bucky you blacked out last night and couldn’t remember a thing. He obviously wouldn’t care and would probably appreciate it.

Saturday was slow-moving. Reruns of television shows and bags of popcorn and overthinking. Natasha was at her parent’s house in the city, so you had no one to bounce your racing thoughts off of. You certainly weren’t going to text her about it.

When the evening finally rolled around and your attempts at distracting yourself with mind-numbing movies failed, you checked your email. You always tried not to on the weekends, but doing anything else sounded much less appealing.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get past the first one.

From: University Peer Assistance Program

Dear Y/n Y/l/n,

This is an automated message from the campus peer assistance program. We thank you for your continued devotion to the betterment of students at this school. At this time, your tutoring placement with James Barnes has ended. We will search for a new placement to fill your current hours.

Thank you,

University Peer Assistance

You blinked at the email, then blinked again. The breath left your chest and the muscles on your face twitched, but you were otherwise frozen.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be free from the haughty frat boy that didn’t even listen to you when you tried to help him raise his grades. You wanted someone nice, someone that had the same goals as you and appreciated the color-coded notes you took for them. Bucky only tried to get a rise out of you. He sat too close and made fun of you and put you on lists you didn’t ask to be on.

But he had kissed you. He had kissed you and then tutor-dumped you.

You knew you weren’t his type, but were you really that bad? Was the kiss so terrible?

Every inferiority complex you had developed exploded. You over-analyzed things that had already happened, things you had said. Not just at the party, but in the library, the coffee shops, the lecture halls.

Was he really willing to risk his position in the frat just to avoid you?

The strangle tickle of tears itched to be released from your eyes again, but you pressed it down. No, this wasn’t on you. He had kissed you. He had dragged you into his room and stumbled on pretty words. If he didn’t want you to tutor him anymore because of his stupid mistake, fine.

His mistake.

That word felt wrong.

You tossed your phone on the couch with vigor. The clock above the television read out 10 pm, but that meant little to you as you slid on your shoes at the front door. You were wearing sweatpants and a jacket that was far too big on you, sadness and frustration and raw confusion propelling you down your apartment stairs.

Ice cream would fix this.

The only place open at this time was the gas station at the edge of campus. It wasn’t university affiliated and was usually overrun with belligerent greek life trying to buy alcohol, but the decision-making part of your brain was currently shut off.

Ice cream, anger, probably watching tiktoks until your eyes were too heavy to keep open—those were the only things rattling in your head.

You yanked open the gas station door after your short walk, the glass smudged and fogged from the cold night. The fluorescent lights aggravated the headache you’d been sporting all day and the floor made sticking noises with each step you took. To add insult to injury, there were only three cartons of ice cream left, and they weren’t even the good flavors. Grabbing the least offensive one, you made your way to the small line of people by the register.

“Nice outfit.”

Too enthralled by the disappointing ingredient list on the side of your ice cream, you had missed the tall man now looming at your shoulder. You whipped your head around with a start, taking a step back, smelling menthol and asphalt and nothing good.

“Thanks,” you quietly replied.

He waited until you turned back around to continue. “You go to school over here?”

You kept your gaze forward. “Um, yeah.”

“Nice. I graduated a few years back. Marketing.”

“Cool,” you replied. What had compelled you to leave your phone on the couch? This night sucked.

You found reprieve in the line moving, the employee calling you over to check out. As soon as you paid—a few dollar bills funneled out of your pocket with shaky hands—you booked it. Your ice cream burned in your palm but you didn’t care, feet carrying you out the door and into the dimly lit parking lot. You fisted your keys in your fingers; pointless, you knew, but a small comfort.

The man’s voice returned with the chime of the bell over the gas station door. “Wait! Wait, I’m Beck. I own a business nearby.”

You should have kept walking, but one of your fatal flaws was, apparently, people pleasing. You turned to him. He smiled at you but it made your stomach twist.

“Oh, nice,” you responded, rocking back on your heels.

“We should connect. Maybe go for coffee or something?” He took a step forward. You fought the urge to take one back. His beard was unkempt and he held a six pack in his white-knuckled grip.

“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with finals coming up. Plus, I’m not really in the business field.”

“Not for business then,” he smiled again, teeth dull in the streetlight.

Just agree. If you agreed you could block him soon after and everything would be fine.

You took too long to answer. He took the final step forward to arrive in your space and wrapped his fingers around your bicep. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.”

Frozen by fear, you let out a weak laugh. The pint in your hand was sticking to your skin now in a way that would be painful when you tried to let go of it later. Your breath rattled in your chest when you laughed again.

“Sure, okay.” But he didn’t let go of your arm, instead sliding it down to the bone of your wrist.

“What about now?” he posed. “You don’t look too busy. I can make you something at my place.”

He was at least ten years older than you. You attempted to pull yourself from his grasp to no avail. Maybe reasoning would work.

“My roommate's waiting for me,” you lied. “Could you let go? I sprained my wrist at the gym last week,” you lied again.

He refused with a shake of his head. You took a panicked glance inside the gas station to your right. No one was looking.

“Please let go of me.”

The call of your name from the other side of the parking lot initially sent more unbearable fear down your spine. But then the owner of that voice registered in your brain, and although it had been the cause of your recent internal strife, you couldn't be more grateful to hear it.

He said your name again, closer now and questioning. Bucky jogged up to the pair of you, saw your wrist and the man holding it hostage, and looked back up at you with confused, wild eyes.

“You know this guy?” he asked, jutting his thumb out at Beck.

“No,” you whispered. The word was short but the syllable still trembled.

Bucky didn’t look confused anymore. He looked pissed. “Wanna take your fucking hands off her?”

Beck was tall, but Bucky was taller. And angry. Beck released your wrist and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, man, no need for the theatrics. I’m guessing you’re here to stock up for a party? I used to be in Sigma Nu.”

When Bucky’s silent glare failed to dampen, Beck continued with, “We were just planning a night at my place, right?”

His nod in your direction made your breath catch. Bucky took his piercing gaze off of Beck and softened it as it fell on you. You wanted to respond, but words were gone. They were impossible. Your ice cream was melting.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Bucky scoffed, placing his arm around your shoulder. He guided you past the wall of a man, making sure to drive his shoulder into his chest as he went. Beck went to say more, to protest or whine, but Bucky shot him such a scathing look it almost made you wither.

The smell of coconut and spices and a hint of whisky met your nose, and it was familiar. It was safe. You fumbled with the keys in your hands as your feet guided you wherever Bucky was going, and then you fumbled even more, soft jingling disrupting the softness of footfall. God, why wouldn’t you stop shaking?

A hand fell atop yours, crunching the keys to a halt. You stared down at them, unsteady breath hitting the tanned fingers that served as your current anchor.

“Look at me, y/n.”

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything.

“Sweetheart, eyes up. All you gotta do.” Bucky’s voice was as soft as it was last night. That was the only reason you were able to follow his request. “There she is,” he hummed.

He removed his arm from your shoulders and shifted in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek. You ignored that it felt the same as it had last night. You ignored that you wanted it to feel the same for him, too.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his neck down to better see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye. “He hurt you?”

You shook your head, whispering no, whispering that you were fine.

Bucky nodded to himself, eyes tracking down to your toes and then back up again. He must have mistaken your shaking for coldness because the next thing he did was guide you into the car behind him. You didn’t know it was his.

He blasted the heat the second he got in. He had shuffled you into your seat with his hands before that, smoothed your hair down and closed the door after you were settled and not shaking as hard. The heat dried out your eyes. It distracted you enough to let words form.

“Thank you,” you said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I should’ve.”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence. The relief you had felt earlier had been muddled down to an awkward pit in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if Bucky felt it too or if he was still riding a testosterone-fueled adrenaline high.

You wanted to go home now; this was uncomfortable and you had felt Bucky’s lips on yours less than twenty-four hours ago with no closure. He obviously didn’t want to be around you. This was probably a responsibility thing for him.

“I can… I can walk home now. The guy left. I’m just a quarter mile away and you probably have to stock up or whatever.”

He looked at you with a pinched expression. “I’m not letting you walk home after that. You kiddin’ me?”

“I’ll be fine, really. I walk over here all the time.”

“You get harassed all the time too?”

“No…”

“Exactly. So you’re not walking home.”

“Bucky—”

“Look I’m not gonna kiss you again, alright? So you don’t have to turn down a ride because of that.”

Your ice cream was soup at this point. You let it roll into your lap as you clamped your mouth shut just to open it again. Bucky ran a rough hand through his hair before dropping it on the steering wheel, clutching at it with no place to go.

“I’m not following,” you finally relented.

A loud sigh released from his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing you again. I just want to make sure you get home safe and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Worry about—you’re the one trying to avoid me,” you snapped, frozen fingers pointing to your chest. “You tutor-dumped me.”

“Tutor-dumped? How do you…” he trailed off.

“I get an email when you make a change request, Bucky.”

He stared at you for a moment, lips parted and unmoving. He clenched his jaw a moment later, a red tint adorning his cheeks.

“Well, you—you—look, I know you don’t like me, y/n. You’ve made that clear,” he stuttered, words getting louder as he moved his hands around with each one. “But I like you. I like when you get mad at me and when you yell at me for not listening and when you get all embarrassed when I play with your hair. And I’ve been trying to get you to come to one of my parties since we started this whole thing, but every time I talk about them you seem to like me even less.

“If I had known insulting you would get your attention, I woulda done that week one,” he exasperated. You sat up in your seat but he continued. “I didn’t mean any of that shit you thought I did. You’re not boring. And I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you looked—well, I already told you.”

“So you don’t want me to be your tutor anymore because you like me?” You spoke slowly, each word careful.

“No,” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t be around you because I kissed you and you didn’t care. Because I’ll want to kiss you all the time and you didn’t even wanna kiss me once. I know we were drunk, I get that, but I’ve wanted that for a long time and I need to move on. It’s nothing against your… tutoring skills. If that’s what you’re worried about”

“But you talk about hooking up with other girls all the time, Bucky. To me.”

“You ever hear of lying?”

“Why would you—”

“You really gonna make me live out all of my failures with you?”

You’d read so many things wrong. Taken so many things the wrong way. You figured the email earlier was the final nail in the coffin, but this was something else entirely. This was Bucky, sitting next to you in his car looking distressed and frazzled with his hair six different directions, telling you that he’s been trying to get your attention since he met you. That you weren’t small or insignificant or boring.

It was probably a terrible idea to follow through with your next thought. You’d probably get hurt in the long run. But you did it anyway.

“I wanted you to kiss me.” Bucky’s head whipped towards you. You bit the inside of your cheek and said, “I want you to kiss me all the time.”

He whispered your name. It sounded like the air had left every corner of his body. But he didn’t move, and you needed to rectify that.

“You’re infuriating,” you began. Bucky cringed, but you needed to explain as he had. “You’re like the antithesis of everything I want out of college. You don’t care about classes. You’re always late. You talk too loud in the library.”

You took a deep breath, fiddling with the loose thread of your pants. You couldn’t make eye contact with anything but the ground.

“But then you know my coffee order when I’ve never told it to you. You save me from losers in parking lots and make sure I’m not drunk out of my mind at your obscene party. You make me feel… you make me feel stupid sometimes. And I thought it was because you’re everything I’m not, but I really think it’s because you’re everything I told myself I should stay away from. But I don’t want to.

“I wanted you to kiss me at that party and I want you to kiss me now.”

“Then get over here. I’m not kissing you over some bullshit center console.”

You twisted to follow his directions, gasping as his hands clasped around your waist to tug you into his lap. It wasn’t seamless—there was laughing and your head briefly connected with the roof of the car—but Bucky’s touch was everywhere, soothing the uncertainty and fear and slight headache.

His forehead connected with yours when you felt secure in his arms. His fingers slid down from your waist over the material of your sweatpants and when he spoke next you felt the words on your own lips.

“You’re wearing sweatpants. You get so mad when I wear sweatpants.”

You laughed. “I get mad because it usually means you just rolled out of bed, and you’re usually. late.”

“I got a secret,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’m never late. And I only wear those sweatpants around you. You get cute when you’re pissed at me.”

“Well, I’m about to be really cute—”

He kissed you. You’d have plenty of time to argue later.

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