#that last for a minimum of three months
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keeperofthehyperfixations · 4 months ago
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i feel sort of bad for my retired phannie friend (she hasn't really been paying attention to dnp for the past couple of years) and i've forcefully dragged her back into it and i've almost convinced her to go to the tour with me
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dawnthefluffyduck · 5 months ago
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I drew this explanation post for why I was completely inactive for a week, but then felt too anxious and drained to post it, and subsequently disappeared for a second week
Two main blog drawings and one side blog wip later, I remembered I made this and still think it's funny, so even though I stopped being dead (TM) I still wanted to share lol
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Brief series of events at work
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^^^old, but I'm still taking it easy so posts on both this blog and my alt will continue to be scattered for now
#so for those of you that don't know; i have moderate combined scoliosis#my entire back is always at least a little strained so i have to really watch my physical activity#but i live in Tennessee where we have the lowest federally allowed minimum wage#so in order to pay for college i have to work in a package distribution company because it's the only place that pays well/has a scholarshi#I'm in the small package dept thankfully (bc spine)#but for the last three months one specific manager kept sending me out to a different area with the heaviest packages in the building#when i first disappeared it was because i was having trouble walking and using stairs lmao#I complained to that manager and it seems I'll be in smalls again for the foreseeable future; so I've had time to recover and am better :D#every day i didn't post after that was due to anxiety and a low social battery BUT I'm getting slightly better on that front too#i have been *very* aware of my spine lately though#the last time I got an xray was ten years ago and i wonder if it's changed since then... not that i can afford a new xray lol#also can i just take a space to complain about the US not using the metric system#so many packages have kilograms ONLY and i have NO frame of reference for that since we don't use kilograms anywhere else#''ooh wow 70 is a big number but surely it can't be that baD- HOLY SHIT THAT'S 154 POUNDS'' <- me all the time#at this point I myself will just switch to metric and make life harder for both myself and life around me out of principle
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b0amagination · 3 months ago
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Tastes of Whumptober: Day 7
Everybody thank @brutal-nemesis for her cave knowledge and help today!
If you've been sitting here saying "wow boa, this stuff is great, but I really need a character based off the warlock class of DND struggling to serve their patron!" then you're really gonna like today's writing and you should buy a lottery ticket.
Content warning: Claustrophobia in the form of a very narrow cave. Take care of yourselves!
Magic with a Cost
The walls of the cave were definitely getting narrower now. Where there had once been enough room to stretch out his arms, his fingertips now brushed against the rough, stone walls on either side. 
The adventurer sent the shadows of these depths away, leaving an otherworldly light. Controlling the darkness was strange in that way. If he banished it, there could only be light in its absence.
He unfurled the parchment on which a very drunk bar customer had scribbled the map of this cave system. It occurred to him that he should’ve tried harder to persuade them, rather than simply buying drinks until he got what he wanted. But it wasn’t his fault his patron had been so stingy with their powers recently. 
Well. Not entirely his fault.
If he’d read the disjointed scribbles of ink correctly, this crevice would lead to a wider cavern housing the element his patron was after. 
Pushing forward the walls narrowed further, just as promised, until they were pushing against his sides. They were moist, wetting his cloak just enough to feel the clammy chill this far underground, but the grainy texture still chafed against bare arms. He wrapped his cloak around himself, sliding further into the crevice, finally able to spot an opening just ahead.
His shoulders were too wide after a while and he sidled ahead instead, but then even the cloak was too thick to pass through. Reluctantly, he unclasped it and regretted his sleeveless style. Though usually functional in conflict to avoid overheating, his teeth were now chattering and his arms and shoulders were being scraped raw. 
With one final lunge, he emerged in a round cavern. It still felt remarkably like a hallway, longer than it was wide, but he could finally breathe again. He summoned a fire for light this time, remembering his instructions.
Call me when you arrive. I don’t need you messing about with what’s rightfully mine.
He hadn’t quite understood the explanation of why his patron couldn’t travel here themself. The pitch dark of a cave was, naturally, suited to them. But they’d chastised him with explanations about natural light sources, potency of shadows, and how his humanity allowed him to ignore such discrepancies. 
But fire, as a sister to the sun, was a suitable replacement for her. 
Flames danced along the walls revealing what he hadn’t paid attention to before: sloped floors dipping down to a pool in the middle of the room. It couldn’t have been more than a meter deep, and the water was clear all the way to the bottom.
And then he was pulled away from it by a familiar dizziness as his own shadow lurched and twisted. Of course, rather than possessing one of the many eligible shadows around him, his patron had to make their entrance unsettling. His consciousness blurred at the edges until they’d adjusted their physical form to their liking, towering over him with a grin.
“Ahhhhh… and here I was thinking you’d never call me, baby!” They stretched dramatically, hissing sounds and tendrils of smoke imitating the cracking of joints.
“I would never call you that. And you’d be much grumpier if you just made the journey I did.” He was having trouble hiding the goosebumps and smeared blood on his arms.
“You are my spiritual sugar baby if we’re being technical. You’d call me that if it meant I restored your full access to my power.” Their patron laughed, knowing he had no good response to that.
“Well, get going with your thing then. I’d like to stop begging for every miniscule bit of help.”
“Yes, about that. Where the hells have you brought me?” 
“Where ol’ drunkie told me the Treasure of Elmstern Cave is,” he enunciated sarcastically.
“I told you what to do if you wanted my powers of persuasion.”
“And I wasn’t going to give a sermon on a demonic entity to the whole bar, including the guy I needed details from.” 
When his patron touched him in this plane of reality, it was delayed. Their touches were firm and cold, but disconnected from their body. The movement simply happened faster than this realm could process. 
All that to say: when they slapped him, he couldn’t see it coming. A chilly wind preceded harsh contact, only after which did he see the followthrough of their hand before tumbling to the ground. 
“I am not demonic.”
“Yeah? You’re definitely acting like it!” He pushed himself back up, only to find his patron’s manifestation standing directly against him. “I know you’re not a demon, but those without pacts aren’t very understanding.”
“That doesn’t excuse you speaking in such a way.”
“Then just take your fucking treasure and leave me be!” He pushed them back, tired of the cheap intimidation tactics.
“Oh, I would have.” Their tone dropped.
That made their beneficiary freeze.
“And why not?”
“It’s not here.” A flinch.
“But they said-”
“I don’t care what story the town gossip spun for you,” they interrupted, their voice booming and echoing off the walls. “I’ve warned you. Continuous failures prove to me that the essence of your soul may be much more useful than your precious little mortal existence.”
“I-I-” They stalked forward, forcing him to wade into the pool. “I didn’t anticipate the difficulty of your tasks. I’m not useless just because I’m not some… some hotshot who’s been doing nothing since the birth of the universe.” Frustration bit into his words. If they wanted to play rough, he’d do the same.
“Be careful what you say, human.” 
He was choking, and then a hand wrapped around his throat to add the pressure that cut off his words. They were standing in the middle of the pool now, and adrenaline couldn’t stop him tensing up from the freezing cold. 
“Prove to me that your pathetic life is worthy of preservation.”
Their hand plunged him into darkness. 
The water was all encompassing, seeping into each crevice of his being. The grip of his patron loosened and his body breathed before he could stop it, forcing liquid down his throat and up his nose. His feet had left the shallow floor at some point during the struggle, and he couldn’t orient himself. Desperate hands clawed at rocks and his movements kicked up silt, making his eyes absolutely useless. 
Somehow, his grip found purchase and his head met air, desperately coughing up water so he could breathe it in again. How much had he swallowed? He didn’t even remember doing so. 
Tears came next: relief, horror, exhaustion, all of it wracking his body as if he had energy to be wasting on this.
Then the water rippled behind him and a hand found his shoulder.
“Oh, you think you’re done already. How cute.”
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insomniacs-keyboard · 9 months ago
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Word of advice: never become a manager
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dawnquafam · 2 years ago
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#you know. back in early or mid-january i was thinking i was finally getting my blood sugar under control#after a year of literal blood sweat and tears i was almost there!!!#and then my insurance and my endo’s incompetence happened#and they wouldn’t give me my insulin or my one non-insulin medication#and my blood sugar was worse than it was when i was in the fucking HOSPITAL over it#but i thought we got past that#in february they finally refilled both of those meds (after i’d run out)#and i thought ok. this still sucks but i can start getting back on track now.#except. now my insurance has once again decided NOT to give me my non-insulin medication#(which i am out of again and nearly a week overdo for a dose)#overdue*#and they are not only saying that they have zero records of ever giving me this medicine that i’ve been on since last year#(which. how tf have i been getting it then?????????)#but that they wouldn’t let me have it anyway bc i’ve only tried one cheaper med instead of three#which is a rule no one ever fucking told me about!!!!!!!#and with the way these meds work it would likely take two months MINIMUM to prove that two of them don’t work#and then another three months to get back to the dose i need of the medication i’ve already been on#which is a minimum of FIVE WASTED MONTHS#during which my blood sugar will likely stay bad and the other meds will give me who knows what unbearable side effects#and none of the meds they want me to try even do the one thing i chose my current medication for!!!!!!#and even after i get back to my dose of my medication it will still take a month or two at best to get my sugar numbers#back to where they were in january#which means this whole mess could reach into september or october#and increase the whole diagnosis-to-control timeline to nearly 2 years instead of just 1#if not even later#i want this whole system burned to the ground i am so unbelievably done#personal
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sapphia · 6 months ago
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USA please listen to me: the price of “teaching them a lesson” is too high. take it from New Zealand, who voted our Labour government out in the last election because they weren’t doing exactly what we wanted and got facism instead.
Trans rights are being attacked, public transport has been defunded, tax cuts issued for the wealthy, they've mass-defunded public services, cut and attacked the disability funding model, cut benefits, diverted transport funding to roads, cut all recent public transport subsidies, cancelled massive important infrastructure projects like damns and ferries (we are three ISLANDS), fast tracked mining, oil, and other massive environmentally detrimental projects and gave the power the to approve these projects singularly to three ministers who have been wined and dined by lobbyists of the companies that have put the bids in to approve them while one of the main minister infers he will not prioritise the protection of endangered species like the archeys frog over mining projects that do massive environmental harm. They have attacked indigenous rights in an attempt to negate the Treaty of Waitangi by “redefining it”; as a backup, they are also trying to remove all mentions of the treaty from legislation starting with our Child Protection laws no longer requiring social workers to consider the importance of Maori children’s culture when placing those children; when the Waitangi Tribunal who oversees indigenous matters sought to enquire about this, the Minister for Children blocked their enquiry in a breach of comity that was condemned in a ruling — too late to do anything — by our Supreme Court. They have repealed labour protections around pay and 90 day trials, reversed our smoking ban, cancelled our EV subsidy, cancelled our water infrastructure scheme that would have given Maori iwi a say in water asset management, cancelled our biggest city’s fuel tax, made our treasury and inland revenue departments less accountable, dispensed of our Productivity Commission, begun work on charter schools and military boot camps in an obvious push towards privatisation, cancelled grants for first home buyers, reduced access to emergency housing, allowed no cause evictions, cancelled our Maori health system that would have given Maori control over their own public medical care and funding, cut funding of services like budgeting advice and food banks, cancelled the consumer advocacy council, cancelled our medicine regulations, repealed free prescriptions, deferred multiple hospital builds, failed to deliver on pre-election medical promises, reversed a gun ban created in response to the mosque shootings, brought back three strikes = life sentence policy, increased minimum wage by half the recommended amount, cancelled fair pay for disabled workers, reduced wheelchair services, reversed our oil and gas exploration ban, cancelled our climate emergency fund, cut science research funding including climate research, removed limits on killing sea lions, cut funding for the climate change commission, weakened our methane targets, cancelled Significant National Areas protections, have begun reversing our ban on live exports. Much of this was passed under urgency.
It’s been six months.
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alltooswell22 · 9 months ago
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Dammit I want a Bookmark
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ms-demeanor · 29 days ago
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I would like to address something that has come up several times since I relaunched my computer recommendation blog two weeks ago. Part of the reason that I started @okay-computer and that I continue to host my computer-buying-guide is that it is part of my job to buy computers every day.
I am extremely conversant with pricing trends and specification norms for computers, because literally I quoted seven different laptops with different specs at different price-points *today* and I will do more of the same on Monday.
Now, I am holding your face in my hands. I am breathing in sync with you. We are communicating. We are on the same page. Listen.
Computer manufacturers don't expect users to store things locally so it is no longer standard to get a terabyte of storage in a regular desktop or laptop. You're lucky if you can find one with a 512gb ssd that doesn't have an obnoxious markup because of it.
If you think that the norm is for computers to come with 1tb of storage as a matter of course, you are seeing things from a narrow perspective that is out of step with most of the hardware out there.
I went from a standard expectation of a 1tb hdd five years ago to expecting to get a computer with a 1tb hdd that we would pull and replace with a 1tb ssd to expecting to get a computer that came with a 256gb ssd that we would pull and replace with a 1tb ssd, to just having the 256gb ssd come standard and and only seeking out more storage if the customer specifically requested it because otherwise they don't want to pay for more storage.
Computer manufacturers consider any storage above 256gb to be a premium feature these days.
Look, here's a search for Lenovo Laptops with 16GB RAM (what I would consider the minimum in today's market) and a Win11 home license (not because I prefer that, but to exclude chromebooks and business machines). Here are the storage options that come up for those specs:
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You will see that the majority of the options come with less than a terabyte of storage. You CAN get plenty of options with 1tb, but the point of Okay-Computer is to get computers with reasonable specs in an affordable price range. These days, that mostly means half a terabyte of storage (because I can't bring myself to *recommend* less than that but since most people carry stuff in their personal cloud these days, it's overkill for a lot of people)
All things being equal, 500gb more increases the price of this laptop by $150:
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It brings this one up by $130:
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This one costs $80 more to go from 256 to 512 and there isn't an option for 1TB.
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For the last three decades storage has been getting cheaper and cheaper and cheaper, to the point that storage was basically a negligible cost when HDDs were still the standard. With the change to SSDs that cost increased significantly and, while it has come down, we have not reached the cheap, large storage as-a-standard on laptops stage; this is partially because storage is now SO cheap that people want to entice you into paying a few dollars a month to use huge amounts of THEIR storage instead of carrying everything you own in your laptop.
You will note that 1tb ssds cost you a lot less than the markup to pay for a 1tb ssd instead of a 500gb ssd
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In fact it can be LESS EXPENSIVE to get a 1tb ssd than a 500gb ssd.
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This is because computer manufacturers are, generally speaking, kind of shitty and do not care about you.
I stridently recommend getting as much storage as you can on your computer. If you can't get the storage you want up front, I recommend upgrading your storage.
But also: in the current market (December 2024), you should not expect to find desktops or laptops in the low-mid range pricing tier with more than 512gb of storage. Sometimes you'll get lucky, but you shouldn't be expecting it - if you need more storage and you need an inexpensive computer, you need to expect to upgrade that component yourself.
So, if you're looking at a computer I linked and saying "32GB of RAM and an i7 processor but only 500GB of storage? What kind of nonsense is that?" Then I would like to present you with one of the computers I had to quote today:
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A three thousand dollar macbook with the most recent apple silicon (the m4 released like three weeks ago) and 48 FUCKING GIGABYTES OF RAM with a 512gb ssd.
You can't even upgrade that SSD! That's an apple that drive isn't going fucking anywhere! (don't buy apple, apple is shit)
The norms have shifted! It sucks, but you have to be aware of these kinds of things if you want to pay a decent price for a computer and know what you're getting into.
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thedailydescent · 24 days ago
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🚨EMERGENCY: MIRA'S SITUATION IS NOW CRITICAL🚨
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Yahya Bkheet (@yahyabkheet-blog) did not receive the funds he needed for Mira's tumor removal surgery and treatment that he requested almost a month ago. She had to be hospitalized two days ago because of high fevers, so there is nothing Yahya can do now but wait. He is waiting for the Rafah crossing to open so he can take his daughter out of Gaza, and with any luck, get her medical procedure done. The minimum amount required for travel, procedure and treatment is $10,000, yet he is not hopeful that his fundraiser will help at this point, as he has only been getting one or two donations a day.
We are now at €7,394 / €30,000 and the last donation was over a day ago.
Please help Mira.
This fundraiser has been vetted by @/nabulsi and is listed at #110 on the GazaVetters List.
(message me for removal)
@wutheringheightsfilm @vampiricvenus @chilewithcarnage @captainsaltymuyfancy @mangocheesecakes
@a-shade-of-blue @commissions4aid-international @funds4gaza @junglejim4322 @anti-ao3
@ignitingthesky @palhelp @post-brahminism @aqdromedas @neptunerings
@khanger @specialmouse @psychotic-gerard @sar-soor @opencommunion
@t4tvampireisms @poetrylesbian @omegaversereloaded @postanagramgenerator @ankle-beez
@solarpunkwitchcraft @2spirit-0spoons @duncebento @weirdmarioenemies @turtletoria
@pomodoko @sylvianritual @friendshapedplant @pretendingtobeaperson @legallybrunettedotcom
@mysharona1987 @fairycosmos @ranger-truth @three-croissants @daxdraggon
@flower-tea-fairies @redbuddi @turian @strawberrysnipes @deansmultitudes
@ddeck @bedufairy @taffybuns @arty-cakes @valtsv @cantsayidont
@ear-motif @ghelgheli @tadpoledyke @tooquirkytolose @the-bastard-king
@memewhore @tortiefrancis @vakarian-shepard @fiishboowl @workersolidarity
@the-stray-liger
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halfgirl-halfdolll · 21 days ago
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Extremely self-indulgent. For the neurodivergent girlies. English isn't my first language, so my apologies for any mistake. I also have no idea how to write a Scottish accent 🧘🏻‍♀️ bear with me
You knocked on the dark hardwood door as you've had done plenty of times before.
It has been almost six months since you've signed that contract. That one, the one where you forfeited 4 years of your life in exchange for stable wages and proper housing.
For someone with no life, no family and no friends (besides the online weirdos you'd talk to from time to time), that was kinda good, if you could say so yourself.
You had stability, even though it came with the cost of being tied down to a military base chock-full of people who didn't really understand you.
That was fine though. THAT, you were used to. It comes with the neurodivergence: the side eyes, the whispers and the isolation.
What you weren't used to, however, was how your heart would race like a rabbit on a run for its life whenever you knocked on that one door. And you had to knock on it quite a lot of times.
You rapped your knuckles against the hardwood once more when you got no reply, cracking the door open just a little bit to peek inside.
"Cap?" You said, voice almost a whisper. After a few seconds, you heard an answer.
"Come in, love. Didn't know it was you." A strong, booming voice came from inside and you swallowed the lump on your throat that always formed whenever you had to go to Price's office.
Not because you were afraid of him, no. On the contrary. Maybe Price and the rest of the task force were the only ones who didn't treat you like an aberration – probably because they were aberrations of their own merit.
Maybe it was stupid of you to get giddy over being treated well by some of your coworkers, but when the bare minimum was so rare, you latched onto it like a dog with a bone.
And in spite of yourself, you couldn't control your own heart. It would be racing like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever you went to visit any of the men from the task force. You gave up on trying to tame it.
"Hi Cap" you said, with a small smile, approaching his desk. On the corner of your eyes, you saw the other three burly men that made up 141 and waved.
"Hey, lass, good ta see ya!" Soap hollered, voice loud as ever. You could probably feel it vibrating inside your bones if he spoke for a little longer and you loved it; as much as you envied it. What wouldn't you do to be just a little bit outgoing like that? Maybe things would be just a tad easier.
"How can I help my favorite secretary?" Price asked, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, crow's feet getting a lot more pronounced in a way you probably thought of more than you should.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes.
"I'm your only secretary."
"Doesn't make my statement any less true."
You shook your head and placed a manila folder in front of him.
"I need your autograph, Cap."
"What for?"
"Because I'm your biggest fan and I wanna put it on my refrigerator...?" You answered humorously, and Price raised an eyebrow. You sighed. "We need to authorize the training of a few new recruits and they need your approval. So I need you to sign it."
Price huffed out a low chuckle and began leafing through the needlessly thick document. You poked your finger into the folder, fishing out the last pages, and walked towards the other men sitting on the other side of the office.
"I like today's dress, love." Gaz was manspreading on one of Price's armchairs, head resting on his palm as he gave you an once over. If it were anyone else, you'd probably hate the way you were being perceived – it usually made you feel like a bug being watched through a magnifying glass. But under his gaze, you just felt like a doll being admired.
"Do you, now? It's one of my favorites." You bowed dramatically while holding the hem of the dress. It was just another one of the black frilly dresses that you wore like a signature. It flew around you as you spun on your feet to show the black ribbon on the back.
"Adorable as always. If I wasn't selfish, I would say it's wasted inside this base, but I like to have you around way too much." His eyes gleamed with mirth and, in any other situation, you'd think he was secretly mocking you – but not Kyle. Not any one of them. You knew the compliments were genuine, even if they didn't understand why you insisted on sticking out like a sore thumb when it brought you so many problems.
You knew they would never really understand how masking could hurt you, but you were grateful they still defended your decision on just being yourself.
"Look at tha' key on yer neck." Soap pointed at your necklace. "I ken what's tha' for. It's the key to my heart, aye?" He said with an exaggerated wink and a smile that could blind you.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." You rolled your eyes, smiling, and pushed a paper into his hand and did the same with Gaz and Ghost.
"I need your autographs as well. You heard my explanation already."
" 'm not built for a life of fame, love." Simon grunted, shifting on his seat right beside Soap.
"Too late, the spotlight already found you. Now you gotta give me your autograph or I'm gonna cancel you on social media."
He huffed.
"Don't ya think I should have been canceled a long time ago?"
"Probably." You shrugged, and handed him a pen. "I like my favorites problematic, what can I say."
Soap barked out a laugh, mindlessly scanning the document and Ghost merely shook his head.
"Do I gotta sign this? Don't really feel like training new runts." The masked man muttered and you shrugged.
"Don't shoot the messenger. I don't really want new young men around me either." You walked back towards Price's desk after collecting the documents and placed them neatly inside the folder after he was done surveying every single fine print.
"What do you guys want for lunch?" You asked as you tucked the documents under your arm. Price clicked his tongue.
"You don't have to keep bothering with making food for us, love. We can all eat at the canteen like everyone else." The older man leaned back on his chair, folding his arms.
You looked to the side, with a small pout on your lips.
"But if I make you guys' lunch, then I can emotionally blackmail you into eating with me at the kitchen." You mumbled, avoiding any and all eye contact.
"So it was all a ploy to keep us nearby? I thought you were doing that because you liked us. I'm so hurt, dear." Kyle spoke up from his seat, a dramatic hand over his chest as he leaned his head back. You put a hand over your mouth, hiding your grin.
"Maybe I'm just learning a thing or two from hanging around tacticians?"
"Aw, Captain, come on. How can we leave the poor doll hangin'? And we get ta eat actually good food, not that canteen slop! Come on!"
Price sighed, shaking his head in defeat.
"Anything you make will be great, love."
"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Ghost added from his seat and you snickered. He had already seen you eating your comfort foods before and, needless to say, he didn't approve of them.
"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Price repeated, with a nod.
"Proteins and carbs, okay, got it." You said with a fierce nod, walking back towards the door to the older man's office. "Meet you guys at the kitchen?"
"1200, sharp." Price said, with eyes as soft as the smile under his moustache. You gave him a small salute on your way out.
"Yessir."
This will probably be a little anthology of scenes I think of, involving poly!141 x neurodivergent reader who works for them as a secretary. They might not have much continuity but I'm using this as a self-healing, self-indulgent blog, separated from my main. Expect mostly fluff and angst from me.
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literaryavenger · 2 months ago
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A concept that breaks my heart: imagine Bucky that eats like he doesn’t know where his next meal will be coming from because, for the longest time, he didn’t. 
But nobody on the team knows because he never eats with them.
All it took was some absentminded comment from Sam the first time Bucky ate with him and Steve about how Bucky ate his hamburger in like 5 seconds. Sam didn’t really mean anything by it, he was just joking around, but Bucky got incredibly self-conscious about the way he eats and stopped eating in front of everybody, Steve included.
Every time the team was eating together, he’d say he wasn’t hungry or make up some excuse to get out of it but even if he couldn’t, he’d eat the bare minimum only to then sneak into the kitchen later when it was empty, make more food and then eat it in his room. 
You yourself only joined the Avengers recently, so you’ve never seen Bucky during meals with the whole team. 
But you don’t think too much of it, he always says he doesn’t need to eat as much which is a little weird because Steve is also a supersoldier and eats three times as much food as everybody else because of his faster metabolism, but Bucky’s serum was made by Hydra so, like everybody else, you just assume it allows him to operate with less need for sustenance which would make him a more efficient soldier. 
But, being a person that likes to observe more than you like to talk, you start noticing small things about Bucky that no one else seems to.
It all started when he let a compliment slip about some cookies that you made for the team, which was weird because after the lunch where you all ate them as dessert, which Bucky was once again absent from, the rest of them disappeared from the kitchen less than an hour later. You assumed it was Sam, Steve, Clint and Thor since all of them always finish the things you bake, but clearly it was Bucky.
So, he does eat. You start noticing more and more Bucky sneaking around the Compound here and there and one day you can’t help but give into the curiosity and follow him to the kitchen where you see him making himself food and then sneak back to his room. 
You don’t tell anybody though, or even bring it up with the man himself, instead you start saving food from meals so Bucky won’t have to make it himself and leave it out for him with notes so he’ll know they’re for him and nobody else will eat them. 
It takes Bucky a little bit to figure out who’s doing it, but when he finds out it’s not Steve like he suspected but you, the pretty newbie that he’s barely even talked to since you joined, to say he’s surprised is an understatement. 
But he can’t bring himself to confront you about it because he knows it’ll open up a whole can of worms about his eating habits and he’s too self-conscious about that to bring it up, so instead he starts leaving notes back every time he takes the food, addressed to you.
Now imagine this goes on for weeks, maybe months even, until one day Bucky builds up the courage to show up at one of the team meals and acts as casually as he can manage as he sits down and starts to eat. Nobody says anything or even acknowledges his unusual presence because, unbeknownst to Bucky, you’ve scolded everybody that tried to bring up Bucky’s eating habits over the last few months. 
When you join the table after Bucky, as soon as you notice him all you do is grin and sit down before you start eating your own food. This is the first time Bucky’s ever actually seen you eat and his eyes widen when he sees you eat like a prisoner sentenced to death, but nobody else seems surprised or even that bothered. The entire team is used to it by now and they couldn’t care less, much to Bucky’s surprise.
“You… Always eat like that?” Bucky asks quietly before he can stop himself, worried about offending you the second the words leave his mouth.
But, once again, much to his surprise, you look up at him with a smile and nod unapologetically. “Yeah, my dad always used to say ‘Whatever you do, do it a hundred percent.’ That means when you work, work. When you laugh, laugh. And when you eat… Eat like it’s your last meal.”
Bucky looks at you with a blank expression for all of five seconds before his face breaks into a goofy grin. Not only did he already find you pretty and adorable, but after hearing you say that he thinks you’re the most attractive woman he’s ever known, even if you’re currently stuffing your face like there’s no tomorrow.
Imagine little by little Bucky starts feeling more and more comfortable eating around others, until eventually he joins every meal the team has together. And, when they’re all doing their own thing, he still asks you to have lunch or dinner with him and the two of you crackle at the other eating like a pig, not one hint of shame in either of you.
Anyway, just a thought.
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mangocheesecakes · 4 months ago
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I got my first salary in my new part-time job today and after paying my debts I had a small amount left so I donated £5 to @mohamedmoner1994 and Rewaa's gofundme. Please consider matching my donation.
I haven't been able to boost and push Mohamed's and @yousefmoner's fundraiser because I've been sick for a few days and took a break from tumblr. I'll try to send out messages again to look for people who can match even just my £5 donation.
Please don't be mad or annoyed if you receive my asks; my goal will be to look for people with the ability to donate a minimum of £5 because both Mohamed's and Yousef's fundraisers are still so far from their goal nearly 5 months since they started their gofundme.
Please be assured that this is a vetted fundraiser. Mohamed's is number #66, line 70 and Yousef's is #65, line 69 in the vetted Gaza fundraisers spreadsheet. I also have countless of posts with updates from their family on my blog, tagged with their tumblr urls. Mohamed, Yousef, and Rewaa are also on instagram - pls consider following them, interacting with their posts, and sharing and collabing with their reels because the family have been struggling to promote their content on the platform. They've been asking people to help them reach a wider audience and they can really use everyone's help:
Mohamed's insta: mohamed_moner1994
Yousef's: you2.ef_
Rewaa's: rewaaamohamed
Layla, their gfm organizer: only_one_lulu
Mohamed has also started an account on tiktok, please do follow him there as well: mohamedmoner79
Mohamed is still only at £11,275 / £45,000 with only 2 donations so far today:
Yousef is at £7,794 / £50,000 with only 1 donation 1 day ago:
They have another brother, Karam, with a different fundraiser for himself, his wife, and their newborn son. I haven't been posting about him a lot because I tried to focus on Mohamed and Yousef's fundraisers first, but they also badly need donations. Their fundraiser is very new and is still only at £1,461 / £25,000 with the last donation being 3 days ago:
The last update I read from Layla was that their sister Sahar and mother Nadia went and joined Mohamed and Rewaa in Deir al-Balah, along with Karam's wife, Maram and their son, leaving behind Yousef, Karam, and father Munir in Azdaa, where there were intensified clashes and shelling that reached their encampment. Yousef, Karam, and their dad had to flee from their tent several times and sleep on the streets. When they got back to their tent, most of their belongings had been stolen.
Please help match my donation to any one of these fundraisers. If you can donate to all three, please do so. I can only afford to give £5 because of the high exchange rate here in my country, but if you have the ability to give more, your donation would go a long way to help these people and their family.
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pellucid-constellations · 1 year ago
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Are You Bored Yet?
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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.
5K notes · View notes
notlongtolove · 30 days ago
Text
your hand in my hand
after derek’s less-than-intellectual speech about how he was not spending four uninterrupted hours on a train with reid, hotch’s solution was to pair you with spencer instead. and between your notorious driving and spencer’s—well, spencer’s worse driving, the only logical option was the train.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)
genre: fluff
content: mutual pining spencer and bau!reader embark on a 4 hour train ride and share some cute moments over a wordsearch book
word count: 3.1k
note: finished finals n hopped on a flight n came back n wrote this on 4 hours of sleep jst bc i couldn't get the idea of a train ride out of my head...
a line: The sight of your bag in his hand was one you could get used to. It was a sight that made you think of Sunday mornings and shared coffee mugs.
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It’s beautiful out there— fields, little lakes and winter trees in February sunlight, every car park a shining mosaic. Long radiant minutes, your hand in my hand, still warm, still warm. -wendy cope
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“I still think this is a terrible idea.”
“It’s only a four-hour train ride.”
“Yeah, but it could’ve been a two-hour drive.”
“Two? It’s three at the minimum. Danville is—”
“Not if I’m driving,” you smirk. 
“And that is exactly why I told Hotch I would not be getting in a car with you.”
Hotch had assigned you and Spencer to check out a secondary lead while the rest of the team travelled out to work a case. After Derek’s less-than-intellectual speech about how he was not spending four uninterrupted hours on a train with Reid, Hotch’s solution was to pair you with Spencer instead. And between your notorious driving and Spencer’s—well, Spencer’s worse driving, the only logical option was the train.
Not that it stopped Spencer from pointing out every possible flaw in your driving on the way to the station.
“I’m not that bad, I swear!” you had protested, rolling your eyes.
“You got two speeding tickets in the last month.”
“One month,” Garcia had chimed in over the phone. “And actually, technically, it’s three tickets.”
You groaned. “The third one didn’t count! The cop was just—”
“And don’t even get me started on your sense of direction,” Spencer mumbled. 
“Pretty girl, I love you, but I’d get in a car with Reid before you, and that’s saying a lot,” Morgan’s voice rang out from over the line.
“Thank you!—Wait, hey!” Spencer spluttered.
By the time you make it to the station, its clear that your BAU Jet Privileges had not prepared you for public transportation. “Wheels up in thirty” definitely did not translate to “trains only leave when you’re ready.”
“Can’t we just tell them we’re, like, important or something?” you grumbled, stretching to peek over the crowd in front of you.
“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Spencer muttered, clutching his satchel as he scanned the line. His brow furrowed in that nervous way you’ve come to recognize, the one he always got when cases ran too close to the wire or people hovered just a little too close in his personal space.
As they announced the final boarding call over the station’s intercom, Spencer’s anxiety ramped up, practically vibrating beside you. You, of course, were less concerned. “Relax,” you teased, nudging him. “What are they gonna do, leave without us?”
“Yes,” Spencer snapped. “That’s actually exactly what they’re going to do.”
When a harried-looking attendant opened a new line to speed things up, Spencer grabbed your bag—“God, what is in here?”—and marched you both toward the front of the queue.
“You two together?” she asked, as she gestured between the two of you.
“Oh, uh, no—just friends,” Spencer stammered, color rising in his cheeks.
She blinked at him. 
“Spence, she’s referring to our tickets.”
“Oh! Right, right.” He fumbled with his pocket as you handed yours over, suppressing a grin.
Flustered Spencer was your favorite Spencer. Of course, you’d never admit it out loud, but there was something endlessly endearing about seeing him off-balance, especially if you were the cause. Not the encyclopedia, not the profiler, just Spencer. It was a rare glimpse into the version of him you cherished most. The Spencer who remembered your coffee order, who stayed up with you in hotel lobbies when you’ve had one too many said cups of coffee, who once held your hand for 15 whole minutes after you found a kid’s drawing in a victim’s room and couldn’t keep it together.
It was also a little dangerous. Not in the same way your driving was dangerous (though Spencer might argue otherwise), but in the way where you sometimes wondered if you’d crossed some invisible line. If the lingering hugs and casual touches that weren’t exactly casual meant more than either of you were willing to say. But those were dangerous thoughts, ones best left in the quiet recesses of your mind. So you pushed them aside, as you always did, and focused on the here and now.
The here and now being Spencer, still blushing faintly as he grabbed your bag and adjusted it over his shoulder, his brow furrowed with some internal muttering about how much you packed. When the attendant waved you through with a tired smile and Spencer started making a beeline for your platform with your bag in tow, you couldn’t help but grin. 
“Thanks, partner,” you teased, earning a glare that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Just get on the train,” he grumbled, turning away before you could see the corners of his lips twitch upward.
The two of you made your way through the carriages after a brief but spirited debate about whether to walk outside along the platform to reach your assigned car or board the train immediately and navigate through it. Predictably, Spencer had won, and now you were squeezing past narrow aisles and weaving through clusters of passengers with a litany of “Excuse me,” “I’m so sorry,” and even a “I didn’t mean to step on your foot sir,” from you.
By the time you finally reached your carriage, the train had already started moving. Spencer shot you a pointed “I told you so” look that made you roll your eyes as you flopped into your seat. Spencer wrinkled his nose as he lowered himself hesitantly into the seat beside yours, clearly doing his best not to make contact with any of the surfaces he deemed less than pristine. His discomfort was almost palpable, the slight twitch of his fingers betraying his thoughts. Public transport wasn’t exactly his favorite—as he’d once explained in great detail, something about microbial colonies on handrails and seats. You leaned back, watching as he tried to situate himself, his satchel perched protectively on his lap like it might shield him from the horrors of public commuting.
“So,” you said, hoping to distract him, “what joys of reading did you bring along for this glorious journey?”
Spencer glanced at you, then sighed, reaching into his bag. “The Sign of Four,” he said, taking out a well-loved copy of the Sherlock Holmes novel.
“Ooh, a classic,” you replied with an approving nod.
“And you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he settled into the question, visibly relaxing, if only a little. His fingers smoothed the corner of his book, but his eyes stayed on you, curious.
You grinned, the kind of grin that promised trouble—or at least something Spencer would find mildly exasperating. Reaching into your bag, you dug through the chaos of receipts, snacks, and whatever else you’d deemed necessary for a four-hour train ride.
“You’re not going to watch something on your phone again are you?” Spencer said, his tone laced with a mix of exasperation and earnest concern. “You do realize that watching something on a phone during a train ride is fundamentally different from doing so on a jet, right?"
“Hold your horses,” you said, your tone light and teasing. “It’s in here somewhere.”
Spencer continued, "The vibrations and lateral motion of the train create a parallax effect that forces your eyes to constantly refocus, which can lead to ocular fatigue and even mild vertigo in some cases—”
“Calm down,” you interrupted, cutting off his impromptu lecture as you pulled out a shiny new word search book. You held it up triumphantly. “Snagged it in the station lobby.”
“I thought you said you needed the restroom.”
“I did,” you said, smirking as you flipped through the book’s pages. “And then I saw this. Couldn’t resist.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes, glancing at the bright, cartoonish cover. “It says meant for ages 10 and up.”
“And last I checked, I am most definitely over the ripe old age of 10, Genius.”
Spencer shook his head, a small, begrudging smile finally breaking through his earlier apprehension. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was a lightness in his voice now that made you grin even wider
“And yet,” you countered, “here you are, stuck with me for the next four hours. Lucky you.”
Spencer sighed dramatically, but you didn’t miss the warmth in his eyes.
The train rattled gently as it picked up speed, the two of you settling into your books. Spencer had opened his novel, but the words on the page blurred as his attention kept drifting. You weren’t exactly helping—constantly shifting in your seat, furrowing your brow in concentration as you hunched over your word search book. He tried to focus, he really did, but his gaze kept flicking away from the neat lines of his novel.
You were stuck on the word minimal when he finally caved.
“Top left, vertically,” he said without looking up.
Your brows furrowed for a moment before Spencer reached over and pointed it out for you. “Oh, thanks!” you replied cheerfully, circling the word with gusto.
At first, it had been helpful, funny even, maybe even a little cute. But by the third time he chimed in with a casual, “Parachute. Bottom right, backwards,” you were ready to stage a mutiny.
“You’re ruining word search!” you declared, tearing the book away from his gaze, clutching it dramatically to your chest.
Spencer laughed, an unrestrained, boyish sound that made your cheeks flush. “It’s not my fault you’re so bad at it!”
You gasped, leveling him with a mock glare. “Spencer Reid, you take that back right now!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, still grinning, “but it’s like you have horse blinders on or something.”
“Oh, if you’re so good, why don’t you do it?”
It wasn’t a challenge so much as an invitation, but Spencer, being Spencer, took it as both. He snatched the book from your hands, scanned the grid, and completed the puzzle in a little under two minutes.
“Show-off,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help smiling as he handed it back launching into an explanation about linguistic patterns and visual recognition.
You both settled into a rhythm, solving the rest of the puzzles side by side. You held the pencil—because, as you put it, you deserved the pencil holding honor—though Spencer still pointed out words before you even had a chance to finish reading the list.
“Butterfly. Horizontal, top left,” he said without missing a beat.
“I saw that! I was getting to it!” you protested, circling the word with exaggerated flair.
Spencer smiled to himself as he watched you, his book long forgotten. Just as you had your favorite version of him, he had his own of you, one he’d never admit aloud. There was something about these little moments—when your carefully curated wit gave way to playful exasperation—that he absolutely adored. No clever retorts, no sharp-edged humor, just you. 
The two of you had been working on the word search together for a while now, the small book balanced precariously on the shared armrest between your seats. Naturally, you’d both leaned in closer without realizing it, the space between you narrowing as the train rattled along. But after a few jerks on the track Spencer notices you shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your expression tightening just slightly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice gentle as he glanced at you.
“Armrest’s digging into my side,” you admitted, twisting a little as if to escape the offending object, the smile you tried to muster falling a little short. 
“Ah,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact, “Put it up, then.”
The version of you from an hour ago might have quipped something sarcastic, turning the moment into yet another teasing exchange. But travel fatigue had set in, and the closeness of Spencer—his voice, his warmth, the way he seemed to notice everything—had you more flustered than you cared to admit.
“Oh. Okay,” you murmured, your voice quieter than usual as you moved the armrest up and shifted in your seat. The tension in your posture eased as you repositioned, feeling the strain fade. 
“Better?” he asked, his head tilting slightly as he studied your face.
“Mm. Slightly.” you replied, though the truth was that it was a lot better. Without the armrest, you found yourself acutely aware of how close he was—his arm brushing against yours, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his knee bumped against yours when the train swayed.
Spencer nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but the faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips. He shifted slightly too and returned his attention to the forgotten book in his lap. But his fingers drummed idly on the cover, and you could tell his focus was no longer on Sherlock Holmes.
“Let me guess,” you said after a moment, trying to ground yourself in the familiarity of banter. “You’re going to tell me the science behind why train seats are designed to be this uncomfortable?”
Spencer glanced at you, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Actually, I was going to say that the armrests are poorly engineered for optimal comfort. But now that you mention it—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” you interrupted, groaning as you rolled your eyes, though your grin betrayed you. “Spare me the ergonomics lecture, Doctor Reid.”
Without the armrest dividing you, the space between your shoulders disappeared almost entirely, a quiet sort of intimacy neither of you acknowledged aloud. At first, it was just the puzzle again, you gently nudging the book towards him every now and then, his finger tracing a word before you could even spot it.
“Reindeer. Top right, diagonal,” he said for the third time, his tone just shy of smug.
You circled furiously with a huff. 
It didn’t take long for your enthusiasm to bubble over, the book tipping dangerously toward your face as you leaned forward in an effort to beat him to the next word. After the second near miss, Spencer plucked it from your grasp entirely, holding it at what he claimed was the optimal distance for focus while on a moving train—Though he still let you retain your pencil holding privileges. 
You leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, resting your chin in your hand as you scanned the page. Now, your shoulder didn’t just brush his in passing—it lingered, resting lightly against his as you stretched toward the book in his hands. The contact was unassuming, almost accidental, but you made no move to pull away, and neither did he. Spencer noticed—you were sure of it. How could he not? But if he minded, he didn’t say anything. You caught the faintest twitch of his lips, the smallest sign that he was aware. Maybe even liked it. 
You found yourself leaning more and more, your eyelids growing heavy as the minutes passed. Spencer’s presence was warm beside you, an unspoken comfort that made it easy to drift. It felt like the simplest, most natural thing to surrender to it. You’d handed Spencer the honor of holding the pencil 2 puzzles ago as your head slowly tilted, the weight of it pulling you so temptingly toward his shoulder. A soft sigh escaped you, and before you knew it, your eyes had fluttered shut. Spencer glanced down at you, the way your breathing softened, a perfect stillness that made his chest tighten. 
He didn’t know if he should move away. He knew he didn’t want to. So he stayed where he was, fingers curled loosely around the book, watching as the rhythmic back-and-forth of the train mirrored the gentle rise and fall of your chest. After another slight lurch, your head finally made contact with his shoulder. Spencer stilled, his breath catching in his throat. The way your hair brushed against his cheek while your knee pressed gently against his. How your hand lay across his on the book, a lingering trace of your last attempt to spot a word before he did.
It was all too much for Spencer—and yet, it was just right. 
He dared not move. He didn’t pull back, even though your hair tickled his face. His knee remained pressed against yours, despite the rhythmic sway of the train threatening to break the contact. His hand stayed where it was resting beneath yours on the book, his fingers loosely curled around the pencil, though the book was long forgotten. He stayed, in this unexpected, perfect stillness.
Before he could stop himself, his head had tilted and found its place upon yours. It was comforting, the contact grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. Spencer let his eyes close, the steady hum of the train and the warmth of your presence lulling him into a strange sense of calm.
When the train finally eased into the station, the gentle jolt stirred you awake. You felt your cheeks warm as the reality of the crowded station seeped back in, the intercom announcements and bustling crowds breaking the intimacy of the moment. Spencer’s eyes were still closed, his breathing even. With a small, almost reluctant sigh, you nudged him awake, the touch soft but insistent. He blinked, looking at you with a hint of confusion that melted into a small smile when he realized where he was.
“Hey,” you murmured, a touch of embarrassment in your voice.
“Hey,” he replied, a soft warmth in his expression. 
“You dropped my word search,” you mumbled, nodding toward the book now resting forgotten on the floor between your feet. 
 “Hm?” He sat up straighter, looking at you with a bit of sleep still clouding his gaze. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you shifted, a little embarrassed at the way you’d curled into him, “I’m sorry I slept on you.”
Spencer’s smile was soft and reassuring. “S’fine. I didn’t mind.”
You felt a flush creep up your neck, spreading heat to your face. You quickly bent down to grab your bag, fingers fumbling with the strap, hoping the movement would distract you. But before you could lift it, Spencer’s hand closed over the strap. You feel your heart thump at the gesture, the simplicity of it making you pause for a moment longer than necessary. The sight of your bag in his hand was one you could get used to. It was a sight that made you think of Sunday mornings and shared coffee mugs. Dangerous thoughts. 
As you stepped off the train, you instinctively reached for your phone, its screen lighting up with an influx of notifications. Hotch’s name stood out among the messages.
“Hm. Hotch asks if we need a driver for the ride back,” you said, raising your phone to show him, “Says he’ll send a van if we want.”
Spencer’s brow furrowed as he looked at the screen, the thoughtful expression on his face almost too easy to read. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice casual but with a note of curiosity.
You shrugged, the practiced ease of your movements not quite matching the fluttering in your chest. “I think we’re fine,” you replied, trying to keep your voice light, “unless you want to?”
“Yeah,” he smiled then, the corner of his lips tilting up, “Think the train was just fine.”
⋆✴︎˚。⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!
ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: north by clairo saw you in a dream by the japanese house
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delulujuls · 1 year ago
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thick thighs save lives (but ruin racing suits) | ln4, op81
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hi! i got this idea from one tiktok i saw today. this one goes for my plus size girlies (including myself lmao) so please enjoy as much as papaya boys would enjoy some pair of thick thighs!
summary: lando and oscar never seen their friend with something tight on, so when it comes to try on new racing suits she have a big surprise for them
warnings: slightly disturbed perception of body image
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver x lando norris
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Y/N sometimes forgot that she was a girl.
At the beginning of her career she tried to make an effort to look good, showing that a male-dominated sport wouldn't take away her feminine grace. Years ago she used to wake up early, style her hair, do makeup and spend a lot of money on fixing cosmetics but unfortunately everything was lost due to sweat, a balaclava and a tight helmet. So the girl decided that this fight made absolutely no sense - she decided to stuck only to lip balm and mascara.
Despite keeping her makeup to a minimum, even her mascara remained treacherous, smearing under her eyes after each race or training session, making her look like a panda. In terms of clothes, the girl didn't have much opportunity to show off either. Her clothes were largely either team tracksuits, a racing suit, or just a baggy orange T-shirt and jeans.
And just as Oscar and Lando looked great after the race despite sweat and messy hair, her post-race glow didn't really existed. On the contrary, she looked as if she had a hard, sleepless night.
It is known that when media days fell on the calendar, the girl tried to look her best. She had light make-up and nicely styled hair, but her body was still covered by loose layers of clothes. It would seem that apart from her physiotherapist and the team doctor, no one around her had any idea what kind of figure the girl really had.
However, everything changed when the break between seasons came. When places had numerous galas and events and you could throw away uncomfortable helmets and team clothes. However, as we know, everything comes to an end at some point and we have to return to the gray reality. This was the case, when the day came and it was time to try on new racing suits for the upcoming season.
Y/N hugged Lando and Oscar upon seeing them outside the entrance to McLaren's headquarters. The trio hadn't had the opportunity to see each other for several weeks, so there was a lot of joy. In a good mood, surrounded by conversation, they went inside and immediately went to the designated place. After a short presentation of costumes, everyone received theirs and went to change, only to come back after a while and report any reservations regarding comfort and range of movement. Y/N took her suit without thinking and went to change. She was surprised when the suit got stuck on her butt and refused to go up any higher.
"What the hell"
The girl muttered under her breath, gripping her fit tighter and jumping in it several times. When it finally slid over her ass, Y/N slipped her hands into the sleeves and zipped up the zipper, sealing the Velcro around her neck. Something was definitely wrong. The girl looked in the mirror at her reflection. The outfit was great and looked amazing, the only problem was that it was a bit tight. Which shouldn't be the case, because the outfits were based on last season's, so the dimensions shouldn't differ drastically. It was impossible to gain so much weight in three months, right?
The girl turned around, looking at the back of her body. The outfit was definitely tight. Just as it was still relatively tight on her chest, it was very tight on her thighs and butt.
Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, looking at her reflection. Have she really always had such big thighs? Did she actually gain weight during the past break?
She was brought out of her thoughts by a knock on the bathroom and the voices of Lando and Oscar outside the door.
"Are you ready?"
The girl felt her cheeks burning with shame.
"I think I have a problem"
Hearing this, the friends fell silent and looked at each other.
"Can we come in?"
Y/N agreed quietly, still staring at herself in the mirror. With each passing second, she became more and more confused about her reflection.
Oscar and Lando entered the bathroom, also wearing their suits. When they noticed their friend standing with her back to them, the first thing they noticed was her butt. Lando quickly looked up at the ceiling and Oscar walked over to the girl, trying his hardest to focus on the reflection of her face in the mirror.
"What happened?"
Y/N bit her lip in shame and silently turned towards them. Her friends involuntarily looked at her, pretending they didn't know what she meant. But as soon as they saw the material tight around her ass from the entrance to the bathroom, they knew exactly what the matter was about.
"My suit is too tight" The girl said quietly, looking at herself "It doesn't fit at all"
Lando wrapped his arms around himself and covered his mouth with his hand. He tried his hardest not to speak, because all he could think about were comments about her thighs and whether she could crush him with them. It didn't get much easier for Oscar. He put his hands on his hips and looked at his friend silently. He was afraid that he would be unable to comfort her in any way, because his mind was completely blank.
Piastri cleared his throat after a while, trying to return from the land of fantasy and behave as if the whole situation was really dramatic.
"Is it very tight?"
"Oh, just look!"
The girl spread her arms and spun around. Lando bit his lip and tilted his head back. Oscar held his breath, having no idea what to say. He was totally mesmerized by her curves.
"I- Uhm, I think it's just a mistake and they'll make you a different one without any problem."
"Different one?" Y/N asked, feeling tears in her eyes. “What if it's not a mistake and I've gained weight these past few months?”
"After all, the tests showed that everything was fine with your measurements."
Oscar said calmly.
Y/N turned to the mirror again and looked at her reflection.
"What a total shit"
"Hey, don't say that" Lando was immediately outraged "You look great"
"Great?" The girl snorted, "Come on, I look ridiculous."
"To be honest, I agree with Lando one hundred percent."
Oscar replied, looking once more at the back of the girl's body.
"My thighs are a disaster! What kind of racing driver has such big thighs?"
The girl burst out, turning again towards them.
"Max has nice thighs," Lando pointed out, thinking for a moment, "I'm sure his thighs are the national pride of the Netherlands."
Y/N wasn't in the mood to joke. Devastated, she looked down her body.
Oscar walked up to her and hugged her without saying a word.
"You look beautiful. And you have a really amazing figure"
Lando walked over to his friends and hugged them as well.
The girl felt a little better with the support of her friends. However, for a moment she forgot that men would be men and nothing would ever dissuade them from having dirty thoughts.
"I agree with Oscar, because you really look great," Lando started. Oscar looked at him, knowing full well what was coming and knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop it. "But with all the respect I have for you as a friend and as a woman in general, holy shit, I would pay extra for you to strangle me with your thighs. And man, that mad bunda, too."
Y/N didn't know what to say for a moment. She only felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Did she just receive the strangest compliment of her life?
She freed herself a little from her friends' embrace and looked at Lando's face.
"Seriously?"
He seeing that his comment was not received negatively, quickly nodded.
"You have such a body that-" "Lando meant that you shouldn't worry about what you look like because you look really great."
Oscar interjected, knowing full well that Lando's comments should be kept to himself.
The girl smiled weakly and sniffled. Her friends' words lifted her spirits a bit.
"My only concern now is how I will get this contraption off of me."
Lando and Oscar smirked, involuntarily exchanging glances.
"I think we can help you with that."
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hannieehaee · 7 months ago
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18+ / mdi
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content: loser!wonwoo, wonwoo's pov, some second hand embarrassment, afab reader, smut, phone sex, masturbation (m and f receiving), etc.
wc: 1638
part 1, part 2
a/n: loser!wonwoo is back 🫡
masterlist
wonwoo felt like he was in over his head.
it had been months that he had spent pining over you – watching you from afar and cringing at himself any time he'd finally meet your eyes and immediately look away in embarrassment at being caught. he was far too shy to ever even interact with you, often physically running away from you when he'd see you approaching.
despite being assigned as partners for the year book committee, he saw himself unable to even interact with you, maintaining a distance and keeping eye contact to a minimum.
even with all the precautions he took to reduce interactions with you as much as possible, he couldn't help but be insanely drawn to you. having to attend every school event with you proved to be a challenge, especially when it came to restraining his immense interest you. with a camera in hand and the prettiest subject in front of him, he couldn't help himself in sneaking a few pictures of you every now and then.
the pictures were entirely innocent in nature. just a few shots of you from afar, of your silhouette against the sunrise, of your natural state as you interacted with others. he was just enthralled by your beauty, needing to hold physical proof of it (especially since he knew he could never grow the balls to even attempt to actually make you his).
but now he was here, in this strange, yet enticing, situation.
in no universe had he ever expected you to show interest in him, much less in the way you did last night on his bed. you had been so sure of your want for him, starting with a few compliments (which inflated his ego immensely) and moving onto touches that he could still feel the traces of. your beauty had been even more breathtaking up close. he had seen every inch of you, quickly becoming addicted to your skin against his.
yet he had woken up alone this morning.
cuddling all night long, wonwoo received the best sleep of his life, having woken up at some point into the night with a reminder of last night's events when he felt your body pressed up against him. but now all that was left was an empty side of the bed with a surprise you had left behind.
his laptop laid where you had once been, closed but facing him. he knew he had not left it there last night, so it was clear to him you had left it there for him to see. opening it took his breath away, heart dropping all the way to his ass.
the first thing he saw was the open folder of his pictures of you – the candids he kept so close to his heart. next, he saw another tab open, displaying a few low quality pictures you had likely taken while he was asleep.
his lips instantly ran dry.
your hair was messy from your sleep, lips swollen from all the kisses he'd given you – kisses he could still taste ob his lips. the view displayed you from your chest up, bare breasts proudly making him lose his mind with their mere appearance. you had taken a few shots, cheeky smile on your face while you winked and stuck your tongue out in some of them, clearly teasing him. next to it all, you had left a brief message displayed on his notes app which made wonwoo's skin crawl in anticipation
some more pictures for your collection ;)
facetime me when you wake up? <3
(xxx) xxx-xxxx
wonwoo was surely in over his head, but he had no time to think about that as he scrambled for his phone, dialing your number as fast as he could.
you picked up within three rings.
"nonu?," your voice already had traces of lust in it, making wonwoo gulp in anticipation.
you were laying in bed, hair still quite messy and a sleepy look in your eyes. it appeared that you'd left early in the morning and caught some more sleep before wonwoo could even have the chance to realize you had left.
"h-hi."
unlike you, his phone was pointed upwards, showing his ceiling rather than himself. he felt far too vulnerable to show himself despite having been with you just last night.
"baby," you whined, "wanna see you. show me? i'll make it worth your while," you sing-sang at him, knowing he couldnt resist a single word from you.
grabbing his phone with shaky hands, he pointed it at himself, now able to show you the mess that he was with just the mere sight of your breasts that you had left behind for him to find.
you chuckled, "did you like my pictures, nonu?"
that's when he panicked. he had completely forgotten the embarrassment of having a secret folder of your photos as soon as he'd seen the new ones.
fuck. this was so mortifying.
his worry must've shown in his face, as you interrupted his thoughts almost immediately.
"it's okay, baby, i don't mind. just wanted to help you out a little," you giggled, "i'm touched, really."
"i'm so sorry, i-"
"what did i just say, nonu? it's fine. so adorable that you'd keep such pretty pictures of me," you smiled as you repositioned yourself, leaning on one elbow and lowering the camera enough to show the cleavage you were sporting, "now tell me – did you like my pictures?"
"y-yes", he breathed, "thank you for- for the pictures. you look so pretty, i- can i keep them? fuck, i'm sorry, just- you look so beautiful," he stammered pathetically.
your response was yet another giggle, "of course, cutie. they're for you to keep," you paused, "but on one condition ..."
"a-anything."
"show me how much you liked them?", you made eyes at him, batting your eyelashes in a way that made wonwoo want to melt into his bed.
"o-oh, i-"
"lemme see? please?", you pouted, repositioning yourself again to sit up a bit more.
"show you? i- i don't-"
"want me to start?", you went to play with the straps of your tank top, not truly removing them but simply rolling them a bit to tease him.
nodding dumbly, he stared right into the phone with wide eyes, lip finding its way between his teeth at the sight of you beginning to pull off your top.
moments later and you were shirtless, having set the phone down in front of you as you sat criss cross and began to softly play with your tits for him.
"y-you're so- fuck, you're so pretty, i- please, i want ... fuck," he had no idea what he was begging for, but he needed more of it. he needed some sort of friction to fix the boner he had been forming from the moment he saw those pictures.
"it's your turn, nonu," you sighed as you toyed with your nipples, "show me that pretty cock, baby."
he was too lustful to feel shy anymore, simply nodding as he set up his phone so you could see him take out his cock, hands immediately getting to work as groans filled his room.
"so pretty, nonu ... fuck, such a gorgeous cock," you sighed as one of your hands snuck under your shorts, disappearing into a land wonwoo wanted to explore oh-so badly.
"can't wait to have you again, baby. you were so good for me last night. so sweet and made me feel so so good," your eyes were closed in pleasure as you sighed praise about him.
"m-me? you made m-me lose my mind," his moans were getting breathier as his fist went crazy on his cock, eyes hooded yet still glued to you, "i'll never get over it. you're so p-perfect. need you again, fuck, please. tell me i can have you again, i need- need to have you," he practically whined.
"oh, nonu," you cried as your fingers fiddled on your cunt, "i'll give you anything you want. so fucking good for me. thought you didn't like me, shit. was so sad cause you kept avoiding me, and- and-"
"no!", he practically growled, knowing his end was coming by how desperately he kept humping into his hand, "like you so much. i was too shy, too- too much of a fucking loser to talk to you," he admitted, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he attempted to drive himself to his orgasm, "m g-gonna cum, fuck, i- i like you so much, i promise," he repeated once more, silently begging for you to goad him into cumming.
"like you too, nonu, i- i'll cum with you. okay, baby? just keep playing with your cock, 'm almost there," one of your hands went back up to your tits, pulling and pinching at your nipples in a way that had wonwoo envious those were not his lips wrapping around them.
a tiny, pitchy whine from you was what broke wonwoo's resolve, making him cum into his fist while the rest went flying onto his stomach and sheets, a deep groan accompanying his release. he was able to catch most of yours as you came at the sight of him, crying out 'nonu' and a few expletives in the midst of praising him.
you hummed once you recollected yourself, offering him a teasing smile once more before reaching your phone to wordlessly hang up, only offering him a wink before pressing the button.
wonwoo sat there in disbelief for a few seconds before receiving a new notification from his phone, immediately taking a hold of it to check it.
this is my address:
come over? ;)
bring your camera <3
wonwoo had never jumped up faster, doing a messy job of cleaning himself up and running to get some sweats before grabbing his instant camera and running out the door.
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