hopefully a new job

Can I tell you guys a secret?

I have a job interview tomorrow! I can’t tell anyone in real life, because no one knows I’m looking, lol.

I have been in my current field for 9 years, and my heart just isn’t in it anymore. This new job is something completely different, completely exciting, and I really want it.

So I am spending tonight and tomorrow preparing for it, and then tomorrow afternoon, I’m jumping off the cliff and hopefully landing on a new job! Eeeeeek!

Small Favor Please!

Think of your valiant Scriptificus this morning. She’s going to a job interview this afternoon and honestly, she’s both confident and possibly over-confident and also nervous as all fucking hell.

So I could use some positive energy, nice thoughts, maybe a kind word or two.

The blogging will continue until morale improves… but hopefully I’ll have a new day job.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

Matty Healy Fic- ‘You’re Cold And I Burn’

Prompt: Can you do a Matty fic where you two grew up together?  Like best friends since birth, and then as you get older the age gap separates you and eventually you drift apart?  But then reconnect in following years?  Thanks so much tay :)) 

Authors note: This took me sooo long to write and I did no proofreading whatsoever, so please pardon the inevitable errors below.  

Trigger Warnings: drug use 

MATTY HEALY FIC

You’d been obligatory friends for years, because when your parents were best mates, surely you had to be too.  Your friendship with Matty was comfortable, genuine, safe, always there, achingly present and solid. You never felt uneasy confiding in Matty, somehow your three year age gap made him seem more worldly, more experienced. You spent the quickly passing school years making one another’s homes your own, your mom called Matty her honorary son, while Matty’s mom doted on you, saying you were the daughter she wished she had. Everyone knew that if they wanted to find Matty, they had to find you first.

The summer that Matty’s ten and you’re seven, is the best in both of your eyes.  All of Matty’s friends think he’s way too old to be hanging out with such a little kid, but you’re convinced that you’re a big kid now too. You don’t need to hold your mum’s hand everywhere you go. Matty had taught you how to swim without floaties and you can ride your bike without training wheels. Besides, you and Matty’s friendship surpassed any of the teasing he might get from the other year five kids.  You two share everything, popsicles, beds, secrets.

When Matty turns thirteen and you’re ten, it’s like a switch has been flipped. Matty’s discovered music and cigarettes and girls. You’re finally old enough to go places on your own, but Matty’s outgrown the movie theater across town and the ice cream place down the street. Your mum tells you it’s called hormones but you don’t care, you just want to watch VCR’s and eat sweets and fall asleep talking to your best friend every night.

It’s a turning point, ten years of friendship nearly right down the drain.

At sixteen and thirteen, your age gap has never seemed wider. Matty stops coming over and eventually trades in his football cleats for a new guitar, candy for cigarettes, and you for older girls.  You feel a bit like you’ve lost part of yourself; a big, important part of yourself that you aren’t sure how to function without. It was bound to happen, your mom tells you, but it still hurts nonetheless. You aren’t really sure that Matty even feels it, not over whatever high he’s chasing next.

By eighteen and fifteen, Matty starts coming around again, but only in the middle of the night, when he’s high out of his mind. You try not to care though. You sneak him in through your bedroom window and let him curl beside you underneath your comforter. Sometimes he’s crying, sometimes he’s shaking so badly he can’t say anything, and sometimes he smells like vodka and cheap perfume. You always hold him and pretend that he isn’t falling apart in front of your very eyes.

On your sixteenth birthday, Matty’s already turned nineteen. He gets you drunk for the first time, even though you swore you’d never touch the stuff, down at the park where Matty taught you how to kick a football around.  As you sit on the scratchy blanket from the trunk of your car, taking another swig from the bottle, you realize that in the past sixteen years, Matty’s taught you a lot of things.  Not all of them good; you gather from the burning feeling in your throat, but that’s besides the point. What you don’t know is that Matty’s come to the same realization, and it terrifies him.  You terrify him. Especially when the moon hangs high above you and Matty’s rambling on about the last song he wrote and you lean over and press your lips smack against his.

In your opinion, the kiss was a long time coming.  You’d imagined it before, countless times actually, but knew you’d never be brave enough to actually act on your feelings.  At least you thought you wouldn’t be brave enough, that was before the alcohol made everything seem so much simpler.  

When you pull back, butterflies rampant in the closed confinements of your stomach, you’re finally able to gage Matty’s reaction.  His eyes have lowered to the ground, like he’s staring intently at his hand picking apart a blade of grass next to the blanket.  You wait a little longer, staring at the thin line Matty’s mouth is forming into.  His lack of response sobers you up.  The buzz that once gave you infinite amounts of courage melts away like a coat of ice, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.  

Finally Matty speaks, his words hanging heavy in the night, “I think maybe it’s time I take you home.”

It’s a subtle rejection.  There’s no boisterous protesting or him telling you you’re disgusting like you’d imagined in all of the worst-case-scenerio reruns in your head.  But somehow, this is infinitely worse.  This can’t be played off as embarrassment or denial.  It was just apathy, disinterest.  

You and Matty don’t speak about it for the next year, when Matty’s twenty and you’re seventeen. And Matty says he’s finally leaving for good. Your first impulse is to cry, to scream and yell and shove.  But ever since Matty turned you down, you’ve been afraid of being honest with him,  afraid of looking weak.  So instead, you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest and leaning against the doorframe of his kitchen.  “I don’t blame you,” you say.  Even though you did.  You blamed him for his unhappiness, and you thought maybe if he didn’t drown himself in alcohol every night, he wouldn’t be so agitated.  Maybe if he didn’t settle for these people who continuously treated him like shit, he wouldn’t be so lonely.  Maybe if he stopped seeing you like a little kid, he wouldn’t feel so unloved.  Everything inside of you blamed him for his own unhappiness, but a part of you was beginning to blame him for yours too.  

He’d made you a promise years ago, that you’d never be alone, best friends forever, through thick and thin. But Matty stands in front of you, talking about how he just can’t take it anymore, his parents or their hometown or the looks he gets when he buys weed in a back alley and picks you up from the high school across the street after his shift at work.

What he doesn’t tell you, is that most of all, he can’t take you. He can’t take the way you’re growing into your own skin and out of your curls. He can’t take the way that you’re still finding yourself, desperately exploring all these outlets and destinations and finding your heart.  Or the way that he holds you back.  He can’t take the way you think you want him, because Matty knows what happens when he lets people in and he knows he really won’t be able to take it when you finally realize you deserve better.  You just were never meant to be, at least not in this lifetime.

He’ll never admit any of it out loud though, instead he’ll pack up in the middle of the night without really saying goodbye and he’ll drive until he hits London. He’ll find a shitty flat and a new best mate and start a band. He’ll get a new job and a new guitar and maybe, hopefully, a new heart.

You hadn’t really realized how much time you’d actually spent with Matty, until he’s gone.  You try to find a semblance, you try to get into your own routine, but it’s harder than you want to admit and you spend the coming months wandering down the same old paths Matty and you used to walk, through the same worn fields, taking photos of the sky, the ground, your shoes, all things that didn’t matter, things that didn’t make you smile.

The following year, you start looking into colleges, applying to just one local, safe school, but the rest of them are far.  Places you only ever dreamed of visiting.  You played it off as wanderlust.  But secretly, although you’d never admit it, you had this dream of Matty coming home to find you, ready to finally settle down, and just expecting you to still be around, but you wouldn’t be.  You’d be gone.  Long gone.  

London is appealing. Bristol is, too.  You get excited at the idea of leaving, at the idea of experiencing life outside of what you’ve always known, and you’re working up the nerve to tell your mom where you want to go when you get a phone call late Thursday night.

“Hello,” you answer on the second ring.

“Y/N—” a voice that you instantly recognize as Matty’s, says after a slight pause. “I didn’t think you’d have the same number,” he murmurs, voice slurred.

You freeze, completely blind sided. “Um. Why did you call it then?”

“I guess I hoped.”

You bite your lip, falling back into the pattern of overthinking everything you say in Matty’s presence.  

He sighs loudly.  

“How’ve you been?”

The question comes out so nonchalantly. Like it’s only been a few days since they reconciled last.  And just like that, a switch flips and the anger you’d been feeling so heavily inside boils to the surface. “How’ve I been?  Since when? Today?  Or the past year?” you snap.

At first you think he’s hung up the phone, because there’s complete silence other than your own heavy breathing.  But then the faint whimper comes across the line.  Matty is crying and suddenly, your heart hurts, your entire chest aches. “‘M sorry,” Matty mumbles incoherently, “I’m sor-sorry..”

The harshness of your words bites back at you with guilt, “It’s okay. Matty, it’s okay. Did something happen? Why’re you calling?”

He’s crying harder now, the obvious influence of alcohol is not helping. “There’s a girl here and she likes me and she keeps asking me to ask her out on dates and it just— it felt wrong, because I haven’t been with anyone since I left— and I don’t know why… but I got drunk.  I got drunk and realized she reminded me of you and suddenly it didn’t feel wrong anymore so I slept with her—.” He coughs, taking shaky breaths.

You hear his words.  You do.  You listen with every intent that you’ve always shown your friend.  But you don’t let yourself feel them.  “It’s okay, Matty,” you say, with utmost sincerity.  

“But she’s not you—“ he chokes out, “She’s in my bed and she’s got dark hair like you, but it’s not the same shade and it doesn’t smell like your shampoo.  She’s not you.”

“Shh.” you coo, burying the tears threatening to surface deep inside of you, “It’s okay.  Matty, it’s okay.  Take a deep breath.  How much did you have to drink?” you ask softly.

You hear a grunted protest on the other end, but no response.

“Take your deep breathes, Matty.  You know that always helps.  I’ll count with you if you want.  Or try running cold water over your hands.”

He breathes through the receiver for a beat too long. “I miss you.”

You let your head fall, chin to your chest, trying not to think about the girl in Matty’s bed, who she is or what she looks like. “I miss you, too.”

When the line fills with Matty’s deep breathing, you realize he’s drunkenly fallen asleep and you can finally hang up.  You wonder if he’ll even remember he called in the morning.

It’s a Wednesday and the vending machine in the hall are broken.  It’s a sign, an omen, you’re sure, because you know how to kick it in just the right way, so that as many bags of crisps as your pack can hold dump out.  But today, there’s nothing.

You have two choices, you think to yourself.  You could wander back to your own floor with a grumbling stomach, or you could venture down to the ground floor and check out those vending machines.  Your hunger outweighs your laziness and you decide to head downstairs.  

Once you’ve come to the first floor, and all stairs are evaded for now, you hold the change out in the palm of your hand and begin counting it again.  In the midst of your distracted state, you find yourself colliding with someone, head on.  

You gasp loudly, stumbling back and tightening your fist around your money so it didn’t all go flying.  But after you ground yourself, and get a chance to look up at who you ran into, is when the breath really leaves your lungs. Dressed in a ratty white t-shirt, a worn leather jacket, and jeans ripped in the knee is absolute heartbreak.  And then Matty’s eyes land on yours.

You think the world has just about stopped spinning, it feels like slow motion. Both of your eyes meet and both of your expressions fall. You’re secretly glad the vending machine was out of food, because you think if you’d had anything to eat in the last five hours, you would’ve been sick.

“Y/N—”

It isn’t a question, it’s a realization. One that makes your stomach churn. Somewhere in the back of your head, you remind yourself to keep it together.

London is a big city, you knew that before Matty left for it. You convinced yourself when you left for school that their paths would never cross again simply because they weren’t destined to. Matty had fucked off to do God only knows what with a guitar and only one suitcase. And you had waited it out, graduated, gotten into uni and done everything right. You and Matty were two different people now, moving in two different directions. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You can’t even identify what emotion you’re really feeling or what’s bubbling underneath your skin.  There was anger, sure.  Frustration and aggression.  You wanted to punch Matty right in the nose, although you weren’t sure that counted as an emotion.  But there was also this wave of nostalgia that hit you unexpectedly.  Because no matter how much you wished this was ten year old Matty standing in front of you, waiting to go grab an ice cream cone or ride bikes, you knew it would never be that simple ever again.  And that made your chest ache.  

“What’re you doing here?” is all you can think to say.

But before he can answer, a girl you recognize from your floor comes stumbling behind you, giggling loudly.

“There you are, Matthew!  You texted me like five minutes ago saying you were here— I thought you got locked out or something!”

You knew the jealousy you felt inside was unjust.  It wasn’t fair of you to stare daggers at this poor girl that Matty was inevitably using for one reason or another.  It really was your fault for expecting anything more out of the boy who’d only ever broken your heart.  

He turns his head to look back at you as the girl pulls him down the hall towards the stairs.  

“Bye Matthew,” you spit sarcastically to yourself once he’s out of earshot and you can finally let your shoulders slump and eyes fall.  

You walk all the way around the building just to take the opposite staircase and forget all about the bag of crisps.  

No deadline or piling amount of stress could give you the incentive to focus on homework.  Not with the knowledge that Matty was in the same floor as you this very moment.  Living, breathing, kissing another girl.  You feel that familiar pressure in the bridge of your nose, evidence that tears were starting to surface.  You punched the pillow on your bed, sniffling loudly.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fucking fair. You hadn’t seen him for three years.  Hadn’t spoken in two.  And yet, just like that, at the drop of a hat, one fucking glance and he had you once again.  You needed a distraction.  Something to pretend he wasn’t fucking Clara or Carissa or whatever her fucking name was, just down the hall.

You grab your keys and a jacket hanging from the back of your door before deciding you just needed to be somewhere, anywhere, away from him.

You let your door slam shut before turning around to lock it.  You fumble with it at first, your hands shake as you try to fit the key in.  In retrospect, you wished you’d just left it unlocked, risking a robbery.  You would have preferred it to Matty approaching you in the hallway.  

“Please go,” you manage to say while still keeping your eyes trained on locking your door.

“Y/N, I-I had no idea-”

“I don’t really care,” you will Matty to give up. To just fucking leave again. But Matty could never just leave, he could never let you have a clean break. He had to feel blameless first. A fucking martyr, is what he is.

“Do you really think if I had any idea, I would’ve come?!”

And there it is, just what you’d been expecting, Matty proving to you that he hasn’t changed at all. All he cares about is proving his innocence, his victimization, and if anything comes in the way of that, he caves.

“Dunno,” you sneer, “Depends on how cruel you’re feeling on any given day, I suppose.”

“Don’t be like this,” he sounds older, frustrated. Like he’s talking down to a child. Your blood run hot.

“I think you should leave.”

“I think you should let me take you out for some drinks.”

You’re sure there’s steam coming out of your ears as you spins in your spot, staring him down, “I think you’re out of your mind.”

Matty grins, that same crooked smile with the same crooked teeth that still does something to your stomach that you aren’t proud of.

“My treat?” Matty asks with a smile.

As you sit in the back booth of a pub that smells like piss, you tell yourself that you couldn’t have said no, because you were being offered free alcohol, not because you knees felt weak when Matty flashed his teeth your way.  And hell, you knew the minute you decided to leave your room you’d end up at a bar anyway.

You order a beer, and resist from an order of chips, praying to god Matty couldn’t hear the grumbling noises your stomach was angrily producing from where he sat across from you.

It’s awkward, Matty asks short questions and you offer nothing but short answers.  You’re waiting for Matty to take charge of the conversation to steer you wherever he wants you to go so he can ramble about himself and his music and his wonderful new life without you in it. But he doesn’t.

It occurs to you on your fourth beer (still on an empty stomach), that this run in isn’t to Matty what it is to you. To Matty, it’s just coincidence, a chance to catch up with an old friend whose friendship ended on the wrong foot. To you, it’s a living, breathing nightmare, something you’ve fretted over for years.

“Are you going to order chips?” Matty questions after you list off a few of your courses, more focused on the condensation from your drink than Matty in front of you.

Your head whips up, already feeling a bit dizzy, “No.”

“Why not?” he wonders, chin resting in his hands and eyes still looking completely sober, “You always used to. With extra vinegar and salt.”

You shrug, ears burning with shame and annoyance. You won’t give him a real reason, that you’re embarrassed and don’t want to eat in front of him.  Instead you’ll let Matty wonder and think that things have changed, that he doesn’t know you at all anymore.

“Well I’m going to,” he downs the rest of his gin and tonic drink and stands up, patting his jeans, “I’ll be right back, yeah?”

You give him a slight, tense nod and watch him walk away, all confidence and curls and leather.

It’s been just as awful as you imagined it would be. Matty’s not as mean as you had thought up in your head, but the awkward pauses and uncomfortable topics certainly make up for it.  You keep telling yourself that you just needs to get drunk. Once you’re drunk, you’ll be able to pretend that you don’t care so much and then you can just go home and get a long night’s sleep. Then you can wake up, go to economics, and forget it even happened.

Fifteen minutes later, and you’re sure that Matty’s ducked out and left you with the tab.  It’s a very struggling rockstar thing to do and in turn, a very Matty thing to do.  You slap your thigh angrily at the realization that you didn’t even bring your wallet with you, meaning you couldn’t pay the tab either.  You stagger, annoyed and bitter and slightly tipsy up to the bar.  

“Have you seen a curly headed guy?” you ask the bartender, leaning on the counter.  “Leather jacket, this tall-“ you hold your hand up, impersonating Matty’s height.

“Yeah,” the guy answers, rubbing a glass clean.  “Ordered chips, then ran off to the bathroom.”

The men’s room is across the pub and you hesitate slightly before entering.  You’re not sure why you’re worried about Matty.  But that worry is quickly replaced with panic, as you push open the door to the bathroom and spot Matty at the sink.

He’s bent over, curls falling in his face and eyes shut, like he hasn’t even heard you enter. He’s off in his own little drug-induced world. There’s a half empty plastic baggy on the counter and just enough remnants of a line for the pieces to click in your drunk mind.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you say out loud, in complete shock. Your head is spinning a little too fast all of a sudden.

“Y/N—” Matty breathes, eyes still squeezed shut as he straightens up and lets his head tilt back, lets it hit him. It scares you a bit because Matty inhales like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” your voice raises a bit. You feel a little bit outside of your own body. Now that you’ve found a reason to be angry, everything you’ve felt and bottled up all night is hitting you all at once.

“‘S alright,” his eyes open, but only half lidded.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you say in disbelief, shaking your head as you feel the influx of tears falling down your cheeks.  You wipe them away angrily with your hand.

Matty’s eyes widen and he looks so different than the version of him you’d been formulating in your head the past three years. The messy hair, tired eyes, and chapped lips all looked the same.  But there was a sadness about him now.  An aura of tragedy and dismay surrounded him, making you wonder if the three years he spent away were really as outrageous and spectacular as you’d always thought.  Your face softens.

Matty’s absolutely fucked.  And there’s so much you want to say to him, so much you need to say.  But now’s not the time.  Not when there’s snot running down his nose and his pupils were practically bulging out of his skull.

“Let’s just head back, yeah?”

Matty doesn’t protest in the slightest.  In a quick motion, he slings his jacket over his shoulder and sniffs the remainder of cocaine up his nose before following you out of the bathroom.  You’re glad he remembers to slap down some money on the table before letting you drag him back to the dorm rooms.

“Which room’s hers?” you ask once you’ve reached your floor.  You pretend like it didn’t eat away at you to have to drag Matty back to some other girl’s dorm room.

“Hm?” Matty grunted.

“Clara? Which room’s Clara’s?”

“No—“ Matty protested, stopping dead in his tracks near your door.  “Common, she knows I ditched her, she’s not gonna let me sleep in there.  Can’t I just crash with you? Like the old days?” he says with a smirk.  

You nod grudgingly and push by him to unlock your door.  You find yourself trying to remember what state you left your bedroom in, hoping nothing embarrassing was left out for Matty to see.  

Luckily, you’d left it in tact and only swipe up a few articles of clothing once you make your way inside.  You hear Matty already collapsing on your bed before you have time to even take your coat off.  You sigh as you turn around, but notice he’s got one eye propped open, watching you from the mattress.  

“You know that shit’s terrible for you, right?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, in the most sincere way possible.

Matty shrugged nonchalantly, and sits up on your bed, his eyes bloodshot. “And? We’re all gonna die anyway.”

“How beautifully cryptic of you,” you say sarcastically.

“It’s just coke,” he plays it off.

“Just coke?  Matty, common, I know you’re smarter than this.”

“Why do you care so much?” Matt asked apathetically, though you both know it was a loaded question. Matty was right, why should you care?  You didn’t know Matty, not anymore.  You didn’t owe him anything.  If Matty didn’t care about himself, why should you care?  But maybe it’s for the same reason that you comforted Matty over the phone. Maybe it’s for the same reason you let him take you out for drinks tonight.  Maybe it was because you knew you’d always love Matty, even though you knew fate just wouldn’t allow it.  But of course you couldn’t tell Matty that, so you just shook your head as you stripped off your jacket.  

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” you state quietly, more as a reminder to yourself than an insult to Matty.  But you hear him sigh softly from the bed.  

You huddle near your dresser, grabbing an old pair of shorts and ratty t-shirt from your drawer before changing behind the door of your closet.  You don’t even both to run a brush through your hair before you trot back over to your bed, where Matty was sprawled directly in the middle.

“Scoot over,” you order.

He looks up at you questioningly from the pillow.

“If you thought I was giving up my bed, you don’t know me at all, Healy.”

He smirks before hiding his face in the pillow and scooting against the wall.  

You awkwardly lift as much of the blankets as you can before sliding in, noticing Matty hadn’t covered himself with them at all.  

“Thanks for lettin’ me stay,” he grumbles.  You can tell how trashed he still is so you just nod, staring straight up at the ceiling.  

“Goodnight, Matty.”

At around three in the morning, you wake up to Matty shivering violently beside you. He’s got his arm coiled around his thin body and you swear you can hear his teeth chattering. You look for a moment at how vulnerable Matty was, shivering and asleep, and it makes your chest ache inside.  

Your first impulse is to cover him with a blanket, but with him laying directly over both the comforter and sheets, that option was shot.  Instead, you opt to just wake him up.

“Matty—“ you say, nudging his shoulder.  “Matty, wake up.”

His eyes pop open with a start and he looks at you, surprised, like he’s forgotten where he was momentarily.  

“You’re shivering,” you whisper.  

He stares for a moment, like it’s taking that much extra time for your words to sink in before he speaks, “m sorry,” he grumbles in that deep, sleepy voice you used to love so much.  

“Get under the blankets,” you suggest and he nods, lifting himself higher on the bed before scooting underneath the sheets.  You immediately feel his toes touch your bare leg, and you can’t help but notice they’re not freezing like you’d expected.  He lays on his side, facing you, and before you can convince yourself otherwise, you flip so that you’re facing him, too.  You stare into his tired eyes, waiting for them to shut any second, but they don’t.  They remain focused on yours, his pupils returned to a normal size.  

“I really missed you,” you say, because you’re exhausted and you have no filter when you’re tired.  

Matty nods, “I really missed you, too.”

You nod in return.  Like these were just facts, not needed to be said out loud, but still glad that they were.  

And again, because you were impulsive when you were exhausted, you don’t even hesitate before sliding yourself across the distance that separated you and Matty, curling your arm around his waist and pressing your head into his chest.  Only when you feel his arm wrap around you, his fingers spreading wide across your back, do you inhale smoothly.  He smells like cigarettes and whatever drink he had earlier, but it’s still Matty, and it’s the freshest breath of air you’ve had in a long time.  

You wake up early.  Hours earlier than Matty.  Once you’re awake, and no longer on the brink of exhaustion.  You let the fact that you’re curled into Matty’s side, with your head resting on his beating heart sink in.  You bite your lip, wanting to stay in the moment a while longer, and play with the hem of your baggy t-shirt.  You let the tears fall silently down your cheek, mostly because you were so mad at yourself.  

It’s not like you and Matty hadn’t cuddled before.  You spent the latter of your sleepovers curled up in blanket forts together, after all.  But this was different.  Because in one, weak, desperate moment, you let yourself feel for him again.  After spending three entire fucking years accumulating reasons to hate Matty Healy, in one moment, you let them all melt away.  You let yourself be vulnerable to him; open, exposed.  And you remember all too clearly what happened the last time that happened.

You pull yourself out of bed and pretend not to notice Matty’s arm searching for you in his sleep.  Instead of curling back beside him, like you wanted, you grabbed your shower caddy and hurried off to the bathroom.  

Matty slept until nine thirty, and when he opened his groggy eyes, he found you sitting in your desk chair, knees tucked against your chest writing vigorously away.  

“Morning,” he said, the same, sleepy voice softened your heart slightly.

“Good morning,” you said back, turning around timidly in your chair.

Matty’s got this wild hair-thing going on.  His curls stick straight up in the air and it’s so endearing it makes you want to slap and kiss him at the same time.  But then he scoots off to the toilets, and you have a moment to compose yourself before he’s coming back looking a bit more refreshed.  

You hesitate when he invites you to breakfast, worried he might sneak off and do a line of coke in the bathroom again or worse, but you don’t say so out loud.  Instead you agree, ignoring the class you’re blatantly skipping for him, just another reminder of the influence Matty had on you.

You find yourselves sitting across from each other at the back of a coffee shop. You had ordered a bagel and some tea and Matty was sipping at a coffee, straight black.

“You sure you don’t want anything to eat? Not even a bite of my bagel? It’s good,” you offered.

“Nah, ‘m good,” Matty says as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Matty be honest, when’s the last time you ate?” you asked, looking at Matty with serious eyes.

Matty held the stare for a bit until you quirked your eyebrows up and he realized that you were actually being serious and weren’t going to let him avoid answering the question.  “I’m not bloody starving myself, if that’s what you’re wondering. I told you I just don’t get hungry much but when I do, I eat. Don’t worry— you sound like a mum.”

“Okay,” you say, crunching up the paper from your bagel and letting it go.

Matty didn’t respond for a few minutes. Just sipped at his coffee silently until he spoke again. “You know you don’t have to worry so much about me.  I do fine.”

“I’m sure you do,” you say, shrugging.

“Come off it-“ Matty says, nudging your arm, “I know you, Y/N.  I can tell when something’s bugging you.  What is it?” he asks.

You bite your lip and trace the edge of your mug, contemplating for a moment before asking him “Why are you so afraid to let someone care about you?” you inquired cautiously.

Matty frowned, “I’m not ‘afraid’" he said defensively.  “I just.. I know how the world works and I know what’s worth worrying over and what’s not.”

You shake your head.  You were sick of Matty pretending like he was so much wiser.  So much more experienced.  You were sick of his pretentious outlook, his excessive need to bullshit his way through life.

“What is this?” you ask, finally gathering the courage to just look him in the eye.  

“Look I don’t know what you want—“

“I want to know what this is, Matty,” you state clearly. You debated on elaborating further, but Matty’s fallen gaze indicated that he knew exactly what you meant.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you almost think it’s sincere until he looks up and lets out an innocent, hearty laugh, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Fuck you,” you sigh, feeling so defeated and drained.  You dig into the pocket of your coat and throw money on the table, not wanting to give Matty the satisfaction of buying breakfast too, before sliding out of the booth and walking towards the door.

“Woah, woah!” he calls, you can hear him hurrying after you.  You only quicken your pace out into the brisk morning air.  “Please Y/N, just look at me.” His voice is wobbly. Like he knows he’s fucked up. “Wait a second, please.”

You spin around at the contact of Matty’s hand, and turn to face him, squeezing your eyes shut before deciding you’d just had enough and you didn’t care.  You didn’t care about looking weak or vulnerable.  You just wanted it to stop.  

“You left,” you bark at him, making his eyes go wide.  “Remember?  You did.  Not me.  I was in love with you and you just left, like it was nothing.  Like I was nothing.”

Matty’s mouth hangs open slightly, his eyes still hooked on yours as he listens to the words that should have been said years ago.

“You were my whole world, Matty.  And you just fucking left.  I had to learn how to live without you, and that sucked.  But I did it,” you pause to wipe the tears from your face, before continuing with a choked voice, “Why didn’t you call me?  Or ever check in?  Or god forbid fucking visit once and a while?  Why’d you have to disappear?”

“I did call,” Matty says quietly.

His words make you freeze.  You narrow your eyes in on him and say in disbelief, “You remember that?”

He let’s out a heavy sigh, and fidgets in front of you, clearly uncomfortable.  “Of course I remember that.”

“You called me about some chick you fucked,” you say, annoyed.

“Yeah,” he admits, “Some chick.  That’s all they were.  Some chicks to fuck.  They were a shag.  They were nothing.  They weren’t you,” he inhales sharply on the last word, like he’d embarrassed to say it out loud.

But you shake your head, confused.  “No, you left.  You left, Matty.”

He nods, “I know.  I know, I did.  I left cause I was a mess. I am a mess.  I mean look at me—“ he holds his arms out straight like he’s showcasing himself, “I’m a fuck up.  And you kissed me, that night on your birthday, and it was perfect.”  He closes his eyes, like he’s remembering that night. “You were perfect.  And I was gonna ruin that—you— I don’t know.  But I couldn’t.  I couldn’t drag you into my shit.  The drugs, the alcohol.  I was never going anywhere, that much I knew.  But you?  You graduated top, you’re at uni, you’re gonna make a difference.”  Matty pauses briefly, getting to the ultimate point of his rant, “I was afraid I wasn’t enough for you.”

You let his words sink into the layers of your skin, absorbing their impact and trying to make sense of it all.  But that’s the thing, you realize.  Is that none of it made any sense.  Because all this time, you’d been trying to listen to fate and realize what you really wanted, what was meant to be.  And it sounded like Matty had been doing the same, chasing happiness.  Chasing something written in the stars.  

Maybe if you’d actually talked to each other, and been honest, this mess wouldn’t have happened.  You can already feel the temptations that beating yourself up bring, but you sigh, acknowledging that you were here now; standing in the middle of a busy, London street with Matty standing in front of you.  

“Not enough for me?” you repeat, the words sounding bitter on the tip of your tongue.  “You are everything to me—“ you say it like it’s obvious.  Like there’s nothing more true in the entire world.  In your world, there might not be.

Fuck fate, you think when Matty closes the distance between you two in just three quick strides. This is what you’ve always wanted, before you even knew it was something you could or couldn’t have.  You know you aren’t meant to have it, your whole lives have been a story of how they were never meant to be, how one of you was always two steps ahead of the other. But for now, you were here; Matty’s hand cupping your cheek delicately, your hands finding their way to his back, your lips moving as one.  And you decide, in that moment that you were going to fight for what you wanted, fate could go to hell.

Find a comfy position, grab a tea and get ready to binge-read the heck out of these wonderful fics! At the beginning of the month I asked followers and stucky lovers on tumblr to send in their favourite Stucky fanfictions which had been written and completed in 2015. I cannot thank everyone who submitted their favs enough! This is the most EPIC list on this blog and it is all because of you guys! But enough rambling from me. Happy readings! And I wish everyone the very best in the New Year! 

All fanfictions listed below are for the pairing Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes. There is no order to this list. Please read all tags and author notes before reading. 

our golden age by augustbird

Wherein Bucky is the crown prince and Steve still becomes a hero.

rated explicit . 147k

Schrödinger’s Romance by InTheMiddleOfNowhere

“It could be a relationship, it could not be. You can assume either until you see for sure the results.”

We all know those moments. Those moments when your family all gathers around you and asks “So, do you have a boyfriend yet?”. Bucky knows these moments all too well and, quite frankly, he’s sick to death of them. Unfortunately, being a 21 year old college student makes it harder for him to come up with excuses, and with Christmas coming up he needs to think of a way out fast. A chance encounter with a stranger through an old library textbook could just be the kind of miracle he needs to make it through the holidays with his last shreds of sanity intact.

rated mature . 196k

Melt Into, Melt Until by notoska

Steve looks up and holds his blown black eyes. “Tell me how you want to fuck me.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open a little and his eyes roll. “Slow,” he slurs, his body is rocking back and forth with Steve’s touch, “So slow. So slow that you beg.” Bucky lifts his head again. He pushes his forehead to Steve’s and his voice dips, “So slow you start fucking yourself on it. And deep—” Bucky moans, biting his lip, “So fucking deep. Spread you open so I can get deeper. Make you come so hard you beg for more before your cock’s gone soft.”

rated explicit . 79k

Is It Pretending If I Already Want You? by OhCaptainMyCaptain

Based on prompt: Pretend Boyfriends AU where one of their families is always wondering why they’re never in a relationship, so the other offers to pretend to be their boyfriend for some family event"

Basic Steps to Getting Yourself In a Pickle With Both Your Family and The Guy You’ve Secretly Crushed On For Five Years (A Guide):

STEP 1: After being perpetually single and constantly making up excuses to your family, give in and lie about having a boyfriend.
STEP 2: Agree to bring said boyfriend to the family cottage for a week so he can be your date to your parents’ wedding anniversary party.
STEP 3: Panic.
STEP 4: Say ‘yes’ when your best friend and closet crush - who you’re convinced isn’t interested in you that way in the least - offers to be your pretend boyfriend.
STEP 5: Try your best not to fall in love with them during the trip.
STEP 6: Fail miserably.

rated explicit . 85k

It’s Just Temporary by perfect_plan

Bucky Barnes has no idea what he wants to do with his life and is stumbling from one temp job to the next. Hopefully he can keep his new job at Stark Industries for longer than a week…

rated mature . 52k

Thawed Out by auburnnothenna (auburn) and eretria

He’s not the Asset. He’s not the Winter Soldier. But neither is he Bucky Barnes. With the help of Steve, Sam and the Avengers, James takes the long, slow road to recovery. Nothing is as easy as either of them thought it would be.

rated explicit . 159k

Into That Good Night by Nonymos

Steve Rogers has lived for entirely too long—long enough to see the world’s end. The heroes are gone, and the Earth is pushing what’s left of mankind towards the exit.

But when a makeshift team rises from the ashes, when a mysterious presence all but drags Steve there, he begins to think there may be hope yet. As they shoot for the stars one last time, Steve will get proof yet again that the future is nothing if not an echo of the past.

rated explicit . 73k

nothing goes over his head by fmo

In which Bucky gets knocked out briefly during a mission, wakes up fine, and then spends a day enduring strange hints, clandestine looks, and cryptic texts from his friends. Steve will never let him live this one down.

rated teen . 1k

4 Minute Window by Speranza

“Look, if they catch me,” Bucky muttered, “they’re either going to kill me or they’re going to put me in a box with a little window and—Steve, I can’t.”

rated explicit . 24k

if the bad times are coming let 'em come by suzukiblu

“I think I’m gonna have to hurt some people,” Steve Rogers says, voice tight with rage. The asset assumes that will be him, then laughs at himself for the thought.

He’s not people.

rated explicit . 9k

If Ye Be Worthy (the Stubborn as a Brick Wall Remix) by Taste_is_Sweet

Bucky didn’t even glance up from beating the trembling heavy bag to death. “You’re gonna tell me that being turned into the Red Room’s assassin and then Hydra’s fucking attack dog for seventy-whatever years wasn’t my fault and that Tony was talking crap and you can’t think of anyone more worthy to hold Mjölnir than me.”

“Well, you’re right,” Steve said, only barely surprised. “So why the hell are you still down here?”

The look Bucky threw him was too resigned for a glare. “Because we both know that’s bullshit.”

rated teen . 6k

What If I Told You by DeadWalker

Bucky tries to tell Steve something important. It takes a few tries before he gets it right.

rated teen . 8k

Sincerely, Your Pal by lettered

“[…] lesbians and gay men writing letters to their lovers and friends faced the special problem of wartime censorship. Military censors, of course, cut out all information that might aid the enemy, but this surveillance made it necessary for gay and lesbian correspondents to be careful not to expose their homosexuality. To get around this, gay men befriended sympathetic censors or tricked others by using campy phrases, signing a woman’s name (like Dixie or Daisy), or changing the gender of their friends. Sailors became WAVEs, boyfriends became WACs, Robert became Roberta. There must exist, hidden in closets and attics all over America, a huge literature of these World War II letters between lesbians and between gay men that would tell us even more about this important part of American history.” - Coming Out Under Fire: The History of Gay Men and Women In World War Two, by Allan Berube

rated mature . 65k

Your Lack Of An Answer Is Kind Of An Answer: Four Questions Natasha Asked Steve Rogers, And One Time Bucky Barnes Answered by Speranza

“All right, I have a question for you. Oh, but you don’t have to answer it. I feel like if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it, you know…”

rated mature . 4k

A Precarious, Fragile Thing by Taste_is_Sweet

“I didn’t know he did that,” Tony said. He knew Bucky liked tucking himself so far under Steve’s arm that it was like he was trying to climb into his armpit. But he’d always stayed upright, just kind of plastering himself against Steve’s side. This blanket thing was new.

“Seventy years of skin hunger,” Steve said. His voice was just as soft, but for a moment his eyes flickered hot with anger, bright as the candy-colored screen. “He was always tactile. Now, when things get…well, sometimes it helps. The contact.”

And it looked…nice, the two of them together like that: Comfortable. Familiar. Safe. Tony knew what a precarious, fragile thing it was, to feel safe in the middle of the night.

rated teen . 6k

Blood And Frost Bite by thegreennoodle

Steve took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t sure he could handle another minute with this monster. “And what about me? I’m an easy target, aren’t I? Why aren’t you killing me right now?”

The man frowned. He seemed confused as well. “I don’t want to.”

“Why did you bring me here if you won’t kill me?”

Another damn shrug. “Felt like it.”

“Oh, god,” Steve groaned. He had been taken to god-knew-where on the complete whim of a murderer. And he thought his life sucked before.

Steve’s life was normal enough. He had an average job and a crappy apartment. Boring, but he knew it could be worse. Unfortunately, it does become much worse for him when he encounters one of the most infamous serial killers in U.S. history and is swept up into his world. Steve must now do his best to survive and maintain his sanity, all the while trying to figure out what his captor really wants.

rated mature . 59k

I was wearing my blue coat by Maelipstick

Following exposure of his past as the Winter Soldier, anonymous postings of explicit video footage, 63 charges of murder and the wrath of the Internet, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes finally steps into the limelight and tells his story to Zenat Patel of the New York Times.

rated explicit . 11k

home is the nicest word there is by sheisraging

Sometimes they’re just obnoxious to each other for the sake of being obnoxious. It must be some left over behavior from years of being in each other’s pockets. Playmates, schoolboys, roommates, army boys, lovers – there’s a lot of relationship in there. The others don’t even try to pretend they get it.

rated general . 5k

Take Me to Church by neversaydie

Steve Rogers is a struggling artist. It’s not as romantic as it sounds.

What Steve really wants is a job as a session musician. He can play enough instruments that he could make a decent amount of money doing it, but in New York there are just too many talented musicians and not enough jobs to go around. So he takes jobs in hipster bars, hotel lobbies, at weddings and bar mitzvahs and office parties.

If he gets one more request for Let it Go, he swears he’ll find it within himself to punch a child.

He lives in a tiny, shitty apartment with Sam, who was his sort-of-boyfriend for a few weeks until he decided Steve’s very domestic relationship goals weren’t for him. They’re still pretty much best friends, luckily for Steve, because when the regular pianist at Sam’s dance company runs away to Canada he’s recommended his roommate and got him the job before Steve even knows about it.

Dancers. Steve’s going to have to spend his days with dancers. Great.

rated explicit . 124k 

Team-Building Exercises by owlet

Integration into adult human social dynamics requires attention and effort. Especially with this bunch of damaged bozos.

(A series of interconnected one-shots.)

rated teen . 22k

Half of the History (We Shall Never Know) by Speranza

This is a war story.

rated explicit . 36k

Shangri-La by nimmieamee

Steve gets money, still won’t move in with Bucky, and somehow totally misses that Queer Brooklyn is an option.

rated teen . 6k

Sharp Teeth and Bird Bones by Shaish and Stringlish

I’ll always find you.

rated explicit . 32k

hold me until we crumble by queenklu

“Sam told me you were watching Antiques Roadshow,” Natasha says, shaking out her hair. “I assumed it was a national emergency.”

rated NA . 22k

G.I. Joes and 2AM Diners by OhCaptainMyCaptain

They look nothing like what they used to. Time and life have completely changed them. But as they sit there in silence, eating two halves of one cupcake, letting Brooklyn remind there where they came from, and enjoying a sky full of stars… They are those same little boys, somewhere deep down. For just a second, you’d be able to see them again.

And Bucky thinks to himself that maybe it’s little moments like these – fleeting as they may be – that remind him why life is still worth living.

rated explicit . 100k

Apes Debemus Imitari (We Should Imitate the Bees) by buckysbees

Steve operates a fruit & veg stand at a farmer’s market. Bucky keeps bees and has started up a honey shop just opposite. They’re failing to get along. Steve gets along a lot better with the anonymous friend he’s been writing letters to. In fact, he’s rapidly falling for him.

rated general . 15k

Copy Of A… by Brenda

“This…” He hesitates, a breath between heartbeats, and waits in vain for the ache to subside. “I’ve done this before.”

rated mature . 1k

just say you do by biblionerd07

Steve just wanted a job. He wasn’t expecting a marriage proposal. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to accept.

rated teen . 173k

Sparked Up Like a Book of Matches by Sena

Steve lives in Stark Tower and doesn’t have much to do when he’s not going after Hydra strongholds. He attends charity events to make Pepper happy. He goes hiking with Sam. He hangs out with Clint in Bed-Stuy and watches Dog Cops. Sometimes Tony gives him super alcohol in a sippy cup. Sometimes he sees Bucky out of the corner of his eye and wonders if it’s real or if he’s starting to lose his mind.

Alternately, the one with terrible jokes, a foot chase through the Lower East Side, and a tiny little robot named Shitcan.

rated mature . 26k

what would i try to say by Feather (lalaietha)

And maybe, maybe someday Bucky will have to tell Natalia exactly how fucking glad he is none of her attempts to set Steve up worked, and how it has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with how sex, sex that works, makes Steve’s walls drop like fucking water.

And how it’s hard to tell what’s worse, because if you know what you’re looking at you know how easy it would be to fuck him up and that makes him such an easy fucking target - but if you don’t, you might just do it by accident anyway.

rated mature . 1k 

Sing Me the Alphabet by thesardine

There wasn’t anything left to salvage. That’s what Fury believed. It would have been a kindness to put him down.

When SHIELD finally releases Bucky from custody, he is not the man anyone expects him to be. The ruthlessness of the Winter Soldier is gone, replaced with a child-like wariness as he struggles to communicate his warped understanding of who he is and what was done to him. But with Hydra scrambling to regroup, SHIELD takes dangerous measures to secure Zola’s algorithm to use against them, and Steve is dragged back into battle, forced to weigh what’s best for Bucky against what’s best for the fate of the free world.

Then Bucky is abducted.

Steve races to recover his friend before the man who was Bucky is gone forever. When the rescue stalls, he starts to crumble under the weight of everything he has lost and everything the war has taken from him.

Meanwhile, Bucky confronts a terrible piece of ex-SHIELD tech that was in development long before Project Insight, but in order to survive, he must decide who he is going to be: the vulnerable Bucky Barnes or the indomitable Winter Soldier? It turns out there might not be as big a difference as everyone seems to think.

rated teen . 78k

Cognitive Recalibration by stele3

The subject will need extensive re-programming.

rated teen . 7k

In the Stardust of a Song by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)

The shudder courses through you again, there’s a vicious throb like that first touch of the ice on your skin. You don’t know this song. You don’t know any music at all.

rated mature . 9k

Make a Thing Go Right by hansbekhart

Sam meets Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes on a Thursday night, at a burlesque show, and how it happens is this:

It’s already late, later than he should be out on a weeknight, but the theme of the show was a super hero revue and there was no way he was gonna miss that. It’s loud in the venue, which is the back space of what probably used to be a warehouse right near the Gowanus Canal, and Sam’s already had a few. He’s up at the bar during the break, watching the act. He doesn’t hear someone say, “Behind!” so when he steps away from the bar, he smashes right into the guy who’d just done the Captain America routine up on stage, and knocks his drinks to the ground.

-
Or, I wanted to see more stories that captured the weirdness and complexity of being queer, in your late 20s, and trying to date in Brooklyn - which is my life - so I wrote one. Takes place in the MCU.

rated explicit . 100k

The Man On The Wall by CaseyStar

Bucky Barnes was a member of Ares 3.

Now he’s the lone man on Mars, with no communications, not enough food and no way to get home.

He’s a little fucked off about it.

rated teen . 182k

Hard to Say by betty days (sadrobots)

“What worked for me was a nice, solid punch in the face. I’m not sure that’ll do much for you, though. Looks like you’ve been through enough already,” Hawkeye said.

rated mature . 17k

Any Old Bed Of Nails by Clytaemnestra

“Bucky looks at him, through him; doesn’t meet his eyes. "I know you.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly, forcing words out through a throat that has just closed up. “You know me.”

Bucky nods jerkily, and produces a gun from somewhere. He offers it to Steve, handle first. “Asset reporting for debrief,” he says.

Steve doesn’t know what else to do. He takes it.“

A couple of weeks after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Bucky surrenders to Steve. Then he starts the long road to recovery. Prepare for angst. Lots of angst.

rated mature . 26k

The Tower by sarahlucielle

Peggy Carter recruits Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes to fight against Baron Zemo, a man who desires the powers of the entity that has taken a liking to Steve Rogers. The Howling Commandos search Europe for artifacts with the mission to retrieve them before Zemo’s Secret Empire can, but the Baron is ruthless and patient, willing to play the long game.

As the world explodes into a war seeped in occult forces and lead by madmen, Bucky has to admit for his own peace of mind that he’s always loved Steve Rogers and would follow him into any kind of war, no matter how strange.

Horror AU set in World War II.

rated explicit . 76k

I’m Not Sick (But I’m Not Well) by loonietuna

Steve Rogers doesn’t meet Bucky Barnes in the 1930’s. Instead, Steve meets him April 17th, 2012.

Well…sort of meets him.

In actuality, Bucky had almost hit him with his truck.

Or: The fic where millennial Bucky Barnes nearly runs over a freshly thawed national treasure, and what Steve Rogers did to adjust to modern NYC during those two weeks before the events of The Avengers.

rated mature . 29k

20th Century Limited by Speranza

"Where am I? Where is this?” and he was in Brooklyn, he was on a beach, the train was shaking around him. He was in the plane, ice splintering up onto the windshield. He was in a tank, tubes trailing from his face, from his groin. Christ, he was cold. There was still ice on his fingers. He was in the Grand Canyon. He was in Times Square. This couldn’t be Times Square. Where the hell was this? “Tell me! Where am I, who are you, where's—” —Bucky?

rated explicit . 52k

Poppies of the Field by kaasknot

“Thank you for purchasing a StarkTech Companion 'Bot! Please state your name for licensing.”

Wherein Bucky is a severely agoraphobic combat veteran, and Steve is the android he buys out of loneliness.

rated mature . 63k

This, You Protect by owlet

The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

rated teen . 64k (see note below)

Upgrade: Advanced Happiness Skills by owlet

WARNING: Reference to past sexual assault (not explicit)

Barnes’s body does a new thing. Thanks for all the trouble, body.

rated mature . 15k

NOTE: the entire series “Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail” was also submitted which can be found HERE on AO3!

Leave Me On The Mountain by perfect_plan

Bucky is certain that he’s about to die, cold and lost in this mountain forest. But just as he thinks that the wolves have him, someone finds him and takes him in.

rated mature . 18k

and never be forsaken by hitlikehammers

Truth is, Bucky’s always been giving up something, sacrificing pieces of himself on the promise that the trade would keep Steve with him, keep Steve breathing, keep Steve here.

Steve’s just never noticed, never put it all together, until now.

rated teen . 4k

Kotik by Taste_is_Sweet

No one knows Steve Rogers is a witch until he nearly dies and accidentally creates a familiar to save himself. The familiar is part cat, part ghost, and shares Steve’s soul. His name is James Buchanan Barnes.

But little boys don’t have cat ears, claws, or tails, and they’re terrible at keeping secrets. To protect them, Sarah Rogers asks a witch to make Bucky seem human, and then enchant the boys to forget he’s not.

Steve and Bucky grow up inseparable, but they don’t talk about how they know when the other’s hurting, and Bucky never tells Steve about the urge to hunt he can barely control.

He’s terrified he’s a monster, and then the War comes and then Azzano, and Bucky finds out he’s right.

And then he falls, and Hydra finds him.

(“What are you?” Steve says.

“I don’t k-know.” James looks at his hand, the sharp, curving claws, then at Steve again. “D-do you know? You made me.”)

rated mature . 59k

Catfish by L1av

Catfish /ˈkatˌfiSH/ - A catfish is someone who pretends to be someone they’re not using Facebook or other social media to create false identities, particularly to pursue deceptive online romances.

Steve Rogers is a famous movie star, known for his role as Captain America. Bucky Barnes is a bored law student who drinks too much wine. Bucky gets on match.com to boost his confidence. What he doesn’t expect is a guy using Steve Rogers’ pictures on a dating profile. Bucky decides to mess with the guy. After all, what idiot uses Steve Rogers’ pictures on a dating site?

Not like it’s really him, right? Bucky may need more wine.

rated explicit . 28k

Since I can’t remember when by euseevius

Steve Rogers is in love with James Barnes. Some people realize that sooner than others.

rated NA . 397

My Good Fellow by euseevius

”Would you marry me if I asked, Stevie?”

Or in which Steve and Bucky get married three times.

rated general . 1k

Scrap Metal by Scappodaqui an tinzelda

Steve and Bucky write each other during the war. With more than your usual inclusion of spam & jam sandwiches, chickens, radar-evasion devices, Dum Dum Dugan’s hat, and that dumb lunkhead who plays Captain America. Who’s that, Steve? Oh, just some guy I work with.

Title is a reference, in part, to this scene from The First Avenger–

Bucky: Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.
Steve: What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal…
Bucky: Yes!
Steve Rogers: …in my little red wagon.
Bucky: Why not?

rated mature . 31k

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you by Scappodaqui

Bucky sometimes caught himself thinking, about the war: is all of this happening because old men saw the raw life in young men and wanted to squelch it? It was the same thing he had thought in school. Running track. When he had worked in the crew building the World’s Fair Railroad. And especially when he got his draft letter: they want to crush us like a piece of tin on train tracks.

Begins at Kreischberg prison camp, continues after the rescue.

rated explicit . 40k

steve rogers: pr disaster by @idiopath-fic-smile

“Wait,” says Sam, “you had a publicist?”

“For my first five months at S.H.I.E.L.D,” says Steve. “Then she quit. Uh, decisively.”

rated general . 4k

Some days last longer than others by crooked and notallbees

Bucky moves onto Pastor Rogers’ farm on a Sunday.

“Can’t offer you much right now,” Rogers had said with a sad twist to his mouth, “but there’s an old cabin needs fixing up, you’re welcome to camp out there and do whatever you want with it.” He laughed. “Maybe you can even teach my boy to use a hammer.”

The pastor’s seventeen year old son Steve is the last thing Bucky expects. He’s got a smart mouth, a nose for trouble, and a habit of seducing members of the football team. Bucky didn’t think he was looking for anything, but Steve ’s got his own ideas about what Bucky needs.

rated explicit . 85k

through smoke, solid ground by magdaliny

You take the arm off four days later.

rated teen . 25k

QuickPic by biblionerd07

Steve loses his phone and doesn’t think too much about it…until someone puts his pictures and texts on the internet.

rated general . 5k

All Those Things You’ve Always Pined For by LavenderProse

Steve Rogers. I haven’t thought about him in…God, at least ten years. Probably longer.“
“Who is he?” Sharon asks, and perches on the corner of his desk, hands folded in her lap. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Bucky clears his throat, tosses the sticky note onto the desk. “Steve was…my college boyfriend. We almost got married.”

It’s been fifteen years since Bucky Barnes left Steve Rogers standing in a New York airport and never saw him again. Those fifteen years have brought him wealth and stability; everything his lower middle class Brooklyn upbringing had not provided. He is happy. He doesn’t want for anything.
He doesn’t need anything.
That’s about to change.

rated explicit . 92k

It’s possible that he wants you too by belovedmuerto

“Bucky kissed me this morning,” Steve says, not quite believing the words even as they’re coming out of his mouth.

“Wait,” Sam replies. “Back up.”

rated teen . 4k

Benefit by ibroketuesday

Saving Bucky was the easy part. The hard part is the garden parties they have to attend afterward.

rated mature . 11k

Milestones by andloawhatsit

Brooklyn 1918 to Brooklyn 2015: In which Steve questions his humanity, has a mid-twenties crisis (though he doesn’t call it that), makes friends, falls in love again, and slowly learns that he doesn’t need to live in the past to honour his memories.

This is a soulmates AU, written for bisexualstevenrogers to explore what this kind of universe would look like in the day-to-day—that is, the idea of soulmates against our actual world and histories—as well as what it might mean for someone like Steve or Bucky, who have had their bodies altered and subjected to someone else’s control. For them, I think, the idea of soulmates and soulmate tattoos—which direct you without your permission—can really highlight how much they struggle for their individuality and personal freedom (and to sort themselves out in the 21st-century).

rated teen . 54k

Friday I’m in Love by betty days (sadrobots)

barefootbucky: heyyy! sorry it took me so long to reply. hope you got the last few postcards i sent. ok so i’m in istanbul now and there’s a dirt cheap direct flight to dc. thinkin about stopping by for a bit. mind if i crash with you? the road is great and all but i think i need some time to recoup.

rated explicit . 8k

Nietzsche is Dead by mambo

“God is dead.” —Nietzsche
“Nietzsche is dead.” —God
“Doesn’t matter if God is dead, or Nietzsche, or both.” —Sam Wilson

rated teen . 10k

Under Paper Skies by InterruptingDinosaur

All Bucky wants is to get back to New York in time for his meeting, but his luck runs out when a blizzard traps him in D.C. It gets even worse when the guy looking like Bucky’s every dirty fantasy come to life catches him giggling at the erotic thrillers in the romance section of the airport bookstore.

So much for making a good first impression.

rated mature . 18k

Project Phoenix by TheAvalonian

“They told me you were enemies,” the girl said blankly. “They told me I had been forged in hatred.”

Neither Bucky nor Steve said anything for a long time. The girl stayed with her hand pressed to the glass, waiting. This time, the question was there, even if she hadn’t asked it outright.

Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Steve’s and pushing down on the handle. “Well, they lied,” he said gruffly, and strode out the door without looking back.

Post-TWS, Steve and Bucky’s lives are just starting to resemble some kind of normal when a young Hydra agent shows up in the lobby of the Avengers’ Tower, claiming to be their daughter.

rated teen . 73k

Past Lives by earthseraph

Steven Grant Rogers: Male, 32 years old, former Army Captain, present day art professor at NYU.

James Grant: Male, 33 years old, mysterious writer of a book that sounds a lot like Steve and Bucky’s life, told from Bucky’s point of view.

But Bucky’s dead. He died in action during the Iraq war- didn’t he?

(Or: The one where Bucky’s supposed to be dead, Steve’s supposed to have moved on, but there’s a book and two very amused friends.)

rated mature . 46k

Too Long We Have Tarried by kototyph

Bucky picks up the ring and holds it between them. “Steven Grant Rogers,” he says solemnly. “Will you marry me?”

rated explicit . 19k

Click Here to Read Full Article by thecommodore_squid

“You’re losing public favor at a dramatic rate.”

“Oh.”

Fury glared. “Fortunately, I am smart enough for the both of us and have created a narrow pathway of recovery. This option has a little bit of opportunity-cost, but I’m eighty-three percent sure that it’ll be worth it and it’ll work in the long run.” Nick paused, then amended, “Eighty-two percent.”

AKA
A Fake Dating AU in which Steve and Bucky are famous.

rated mature . 33k

Hell On Wheels by LastAmericanMermaid

Bucky Barnes is an honorably discharged soldier who was captured by enemies while on a covert op and still struggles with PTSD–

His roommate is Natasha, lead jammer for the Brooklyn Bombshells, a WFTDA roller derby team with national ranking owned by obnoxious billionaire Tony Stark.

Natasha’s derby team’s new coach is Steve Rogers, ex-army and ex-NHL, total nerd and complete life-ruining babe.

Somewhere in all the team rivalry, and the wipeouts, and the uphill climb of recovery, two dudes on skates figure out that they want to kiss each other.

rated mature . 37k

The Fifties by Speranza

"Because everything’s all right, isn’t it?” Bucky said. “Everything’s great. I’m so happy; I never thought I could be this happy. You’re happy, too, aren’t you, Peg?”

rated explicit . 28k

The Needle and the Killing Done by spitandvinegar

The asset wears blue jeans, a t-shirt, a denim jacket. The asset wears one glove. The asset walks around the city. It feels as if it remembers something. It doesn’t know what it remembers. Perhaps it remembers everything.

After two days the insects crawling over the asset’s body become intolerable. The asset uses its metal arm to attempt to remove the insects from the meat arm. The results are not satisfactory.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” says a pile of refuse.

rated mature . 7k

Snickerdoodles Are the Way to Steve’s Heart by HMSLusitania

Steve can’t help but be a little annoyed when Natasha signs him up for a cooking class - a couple’s cooking class. At least, he’s annoyed until he meets the instructor, who might just be the most attractive man Steve has ever laid eyes on.

Featuring chef!Bucky, bitterly single Steve, and their meddling friends.

rated teen . 15k

My Arms Were Made To Hold You by portraitofemmy and rainbow_marbles

Tired of being kept awake at night by a screaming baby, Bucky decides to take matters into his own hands. Mostly he wants a good night’s sleep, but what he gets is beautiful baby boy with big blue eyes, a lonely father trying to move on from tragedy, and a chance at a family he never expected to have.

rated explicit . 55k

Acting Their Age by @ipoiledi

Prompt: Oh god I live for Steve and Bucky acting like the 20somthing they are together, loving junk food, and doing stupid things (like the time they made a sex tape and mistakenly shared it with all the avengers… and by mistakenly I mean totally on purpose because Bucky’s probably a bit of an exhibitionist too, like “LOOK, LOOK AT MY BABYDOLL, ISN’T HE GORGEOUS? AND HE’S ALL MINE, NO YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM HAHAHA”)

rated NA . ~1-2k

Steve Rogers’ Dad Face and Other Common Hazards by AggressiveWhenStartled

Today, Peter was honest-to-god going to see Captain America himself up close, in person, and not from a rooftop or tiny crevice like a creepy stalker fanboy.

Even better, he was going to watch Steve Rogers make history by soldiering his beleaguered way through the most intensely awkward and honestly ridiculous press conference in the history of ever– jaw thrust out and spine ramrod straight. Trying hard to be polite and respectful in the face of adversity.

While a bunch of assholes with cameras and microphones shouted at him about Iron Man’s adolescent dick.

rated teen . 4k

Note: The entire series called “Workplace Hazards” was also submitted and can be found HERE on AO3.

Between Their Names by Sproings

What would a background check have turned up about Steven Grant Rogers?

Hopefully not the fact that Bucky could still remember the guy’s middle name. But certainly the fact that Steve and Bucky (and Jesus how their names still flowed together in his head) had spent three years living on the same street, going to the same school.

And now they were strangers.

AKA The one where Steve teaches a knitting class, and Bucky hides in a tree, and there’s a cat named Peepers

rated mature . 20k

Off The Record by Brenda

“This is a serious coup, James. Steve Rogers has never sat down with a member of the press and given an interview. Ever. Do you know how rare that is for the fourth-string star on a cable reality show, much less the biggest movie star in the world?”

rated explicit . 9k

Series: Reciprocity by osprey_archer

A series of fics that started in 2014 but ended in 2015. Starts with the fic Self-Abuse: 

“You want me to give you a handjob,” said Steve, because he was having trouble processing this. “You can’t take care of it yourself?”

“No.” Bucky sounded annoyed. “Self-abuse makes you go blind and grow hair on your palms.”

Of course one of the few things Bucky remembered from the thirties were anti-masturbation pamphlets.

rated teen - explicit . 162k

Thaw by I_Dont_KnowWhatImDoing

Even below the layers of armor and muscle, Steve feels the bite of the cold. It’s not quite as intense or racking as it used to be back when his body was thin and offered little to protect him from the elements, but it’s present and pulling and unpleasant. It’s high on his list of immediate concerns, though not for himself. The numbness brings him back to the last time he was in Russia, 70 years earlier. But that was back when Bucky had been watching his back, alert and dependable, not glued to his front and immobile as he is now.

He’s finally found the ghost he’s been chasing. The question now is how does he bring him home?

rated explicit . 10k

Venus in Vibranium by betty days (sadrobots)

“To be a Lead’s Support is a substantial responsibility,“ Natasha says. "You must be Agent Rogers’ personal assistant, bodyguard, chef, maid, best friend, boyfriend, and whatever else he wishes you to be.”

rated explicit . 58k

The Sun & The Star by greenbergsays

There is a way these things are done; this is not it.

Or the one where Steve belongs to the Winter Soldier.

rated teen . 2k

Slide To Answer by relenafanel

"What do I do?” Steve appealed into the phone. “I’m freaking out.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. It lasted so long that Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear and frowned at it. Pay phones were old. Maybe this one wasn’t working despite the obvious dial tone when he picked up.

“Ok,” a stranger’s voice said over the phone. “First acknowledge the fact that you dialed the wrong number, but be quick about it because my cab is a few blocks away from my own plans and I’m about to drop some truth bombs on you.”

rated teen . 6k


Originally posted by drunkbroadway

That’s it! It’s been a great year of amazing fics and I can’t wait until we are all overwhelmed with the feels and inspired to make even more Stucky fic in the coming new year and the release of Civil War. Huge kudos to the dedicated writers, many listed, and the thousands that aren’t - your fics have helped make 2015 a really good year. 

Happy New Years!

MASTERPOST of all Stucky recs and rec lists!


ps - if you submitted a fic and couldn’t find it on the list, I only listed those that were written in 2015 and that were completely finished. So all WIPs will need to wait until next years list! 

anonymous asked:

I'm finally putting in my two weeks. I feel a little bad for leaving my coworkers short staffed bc others are quitting too, and my manager is a really nice guy, but I despise the work and prefer my new job anyways. So, hopefully resigning will go smoothly.

What?! Thank You All!

I cannot say it enough! Thank you! Thank you to all 1500+ of you. I am still so very blown away by this ever increasing number. You all amaze me that you want to follow me! I love each and every one of you adorable bunnies! Thank you for following me, for continuing to follow me, for liking my content, for reading my fics, for enjoying my art, for reblogging my stuff, for chatting with me, for sending me asks, thank you for everything! 

Keep reading

jewnieissherlocked  asked:

I need advice or at least something to ease my mind about my current job situation! My husband accepted a job that will require us moving. It's worth it because the pay is a ridiculous improvement over his previous job. My current job is closing, so for the first time in 9 years I have to prepare myself for looking for, interviewing, and hopefully getting a new job, in an unfamiliar city. Anyone have any advice??

fanfiction.net
Humidity Chapter 6: Flamingo's, Huh, a walking dead fanfic | FanFiction

Hey guys, 

Thanks for showing this story some love. I really enjoy all of the reviews y’all leave for every chapter, good or bad. I had a bit of writer’s block, coupled with my new hours at my job. 

Hopefully y’all enjoy the update. It’s another long chapter. 

~Unlovable Chapter 3~

Chapter one can be found here Chapter two can be found here

Chapter 3/5

Sorry this took so long to update! My life had been crazy with my new job and such but hopefully this chapter will make up for it!

——————————

By Sophomore year, Jack’s grades had begun to drop. He never was a straight A student, usually getting steady B’s, but now his grades were settling at low C’s and some D’s.

Davey was trying to help Jack with his math, trying to help him maybe pass the quiz he had coming up in a few days, but Jack seemed distracted, not taking any of it seriously.

Finally, Davey dropped the pencil and sat back. “Jack, what’s going on?” He asked, concerned for his friend.

Keep reading

I’m really sorry for being so inactive, guys. I promise I won’t give up on it, it’s just going slow. Hopefully I’ll get a new job soon with better hours, but even if I don’t, this blog won’t end any time soon. I promise it’ll keep going. Thank you for your patience and support- it means a lot to me.

Reunited (Mark)

Request: a scenario where mark is your childhood family friend that liked to tease you when you guys were like 5, he moves to america and then years later his family comes back to visit korea and they drop by your family’s place and you think he’s cute ;)
Length: 1,507 words
Genre: Fluff

Keep reading

Hi

I’ve never done this before and I’m really nervous and I really need some help.

I’m unemployed and I only have 40$ to my name. I have bills and a huge debt that’s killing me with interest. I’m desperately applying everywhere right now but so far no one’s reached back to me. I don’t have reliable transportation so job pool is limited. I would’ve stayed at my old job just to save money but it was literally killing me both physically and mentally. I’m trying to scrounge up 500$ to pay it all off but that doesn’t look realistic. I just need enough to pay off some of it until I get a new job (hopefully soon!)

I don’t need much, any bit really helps. Even if you can’t donate i’d appreciate if this spreads around

my paypal email is: anataliahall@gmail.com

Yoooo I have an interview for a 20 hour a week job that would let me write during the hours that I work! It’s at the same place Zei and Rea work, and I would be getting $11 an hour ^^

My salon job cut down my hours to 5 hours a day, so I am going to be working interesting hours (like 10-15 hours a week instead of my normal 35) and if this keeps up and I enjoy my job enough then I might just ask for full time at my hopefully new job ^^

Monday 14th November 2016
10.16am

I’m feeling a little better this week, mainly because its my last week in this hell hole, and i’m now kinda forced to deal with what i’ve got ahead of me instead of dreading and worrying. 

As well as that, the super moon is almost past, taking with it all this shit and negativity as it wanes. I’m going to Bronte Beach tonight to sit and gaze at it for a little while, reflecting on all the hell that has come to pass and when the new moon arises to bring with it light and happiness. 

The chips are in place for me to pursue a different direction: RSA/RCG is booked, job interview tomorrow, a weekend of doof happiness, the next pay check will cover two weeks rent (which hopefully will give me enough time to find a new job) and i will be away from these horrible people. 

I have a new found optimism for the future that certainly wasn’t around on Friday.