Summary: You want to learn how to drive a manual vehicle, and Bucky
offers to teach. Things don’t go smoothly.
Characters: Bucky x Reader
Word count: 1,620
Warnings: Language (reader is a potty-mouth)
Much of this is done conversation style, hopefully it’s easy to follow along.
Number 3: Learn how to drive a manual vehicle.
It was on your resolutions list, one of those goals that stubbornly
remained in the top three, year after year after year. Every January, you
dutifully copied it onto the fresh handwritten note you posted on the mirror in
your bedroom, underlining it three times because dammit, this was it, this was
the year you would finally succeed.
Six years later, you were once again within sight of the year’s
end, having made no progress, except for drawing angry little stick-figures on
the offending post-it note (you swore it was mocking you). After overhearing
you complain about your inability to tackle this particular task, Bucky had surprisingly
volunteered to teach you the basics. Admittedly, you questioned whether this
was a good idea. The two of you were well known among…well, everyone…for a
disturbing lack of patience with each other. However, if he was willing to lend
a hand, who were you to say no.
So here you were, on a bright, cold November morning,
sitting in a faded blue ‘68 Ford pick-up Bucky had nostalgically purchased from
an estate sale. A massive (and blessedly empty) parking lot stretched in front
of you, leaving plenty of open room for mistakes.
Bucky had driven you out, and after swapping places, he now
he sat in the passenger seat, you in the drivers. Bouncing a little on the dusty
cloth seats, the rusted springs squeaking indignantly, you got yourself comfortable
and turned expectantly toward him.
“Alright, what do you do first?” he asked, sounding irritatingly
similar to the older brother you never actually had, but always felt certain
you would throat punch if he existed.
“First, I push in the clutch to start – ” your confident
recitation was immediately cut off.
“Wrong. First you put your seatbelt on.” Bucky said flatly, eyebrows
You rolled your eyes at him. “Alright yes, first I put my
seat belt on.” You pulled the shoulder belt down, the lap belt across, and
snapped both into place with a sharp click. “Okay, now I push in the clutch –“
“Wrong. Next you check all your mirrors.”
You stared at him. Well this was going to be interesting.
“Seriously? Is this how this lesson is going to work?”
“Yes, because the basics are still important. If you don’t
follow the rules, you could die.”
“And we don’t think that’s just the teeniest bit dramatic?”
“No. We don’t.”
You sighed. Bucky Barnes was stubborn as hell, so if this
was his approach to teaching, clearly it would be simpler to humour him. But
really, when did you ever make things simple?
“Alright fine, safety first. I brought my safety glasses
along, so hang on and let me grab those, and should I get out my kneepads and helmet
“Your sass is not appreciated. Fix the mirrors.”
With a dramatic flourish, you checked each side mirror four
times, and wiggled the rear-view mirror back and forth for a full 30 seconds,
until you were happy. Bucky watched patiently from the passenger seat, hands
folded in his lap, a smirk twisting his lips.
Finally you were settled. “Okay. My seatbelt is on, and I
can see for miles in every direction. No possibility for sneak attacks from a
rogue Prius. Now – I push the clutch in all the way, and start the truck.” You
turned the key, the truck spluttering to life, as you turned to him with a grin.
“By the way, you never told me I’d be learning on a truck born before the invention
Bucky narrowed his eyes at you. “If you’re gonna mock her,
we can stop this lesson right now.”
“Kidding, kidding, she’s remarkable. A beauty. A testament
to the ingenuity of the historic American manufacturing machine.”
“I’m sorry, remind me what I said about sass?”
“That you love it and I’m adorable? No? Sorry. Anyway, so now
I put it into first.” You grasped the stick and maneuverer from neutral into
first gear, Bucky visibly flinching at the grinding squeal the gears make as
“When you’re done stripping the gears, slowly let out the
clutch and gently press the gas at the same time.”
Tossing an annoyed glance in his direction, you gripped the
wheel tightly and slowly swapped the pressure, left leg to right, lightly
toeing the gas pedal. With an almighty lurch, the truck leapt forward and died.
Christ. You could feel your earlier confidence rapidly
leaving the building. Bucky just grinned, shaking his head. “It’s okay, common
mistake. Try again.”
Dropping back into neutral, it took another three attempts
to get the truck into first gear and actually moving forward.
Whooping excitedly, you gave a little wiggle in the seat as
you rolled forward, picking up speed. “Fuck yeah, I’ve totally got this.”
“Alright speed racer, simmer down.” Bucky noted dryly. “You’ve
gone 15 feet. Give it a little more gas, so you can switch into second.”
The excitement of momentary success briefly overshadowed
perspective, and your foot stomped down on the gas pedal, throwing the truck forward
and forcing your seatbelt to bite into your shoulder. Mercifully, you managed
to keep it from stalling again, but suddenly you’re going faster. Your heart
jumped, hammering in your ears and you felt sweat prickle on your forehead.
“Alright, I can smell the clutch burning, stop riding it.”
“You stop riding it!”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You don’t make sense!
“Shit, I don’t fucking know, I’m
panicking! How do I not ride the clutch?” You took your hands off the wheel
briefly, putting air-quotes around the phrase “ride the clutch” and Bucky’s
voice rose several octaves as he shot a hand out to take the wheel.
“What the hell are you doing, always keep your hands on the
wheel! Ten and two at all times!”
Huffing loudly you slapped his hand away and took back
control, his panic causing your nerves to snap, and your voice sharpened in response.
“Bucky, it’s an empty parking lot, what the hell do you think will happen?”
Bucky looked nervously around – true, it was huge and empty,
although there was a row of parking curbs and a couple shopping carts strewn about,
all which suddenly became rather ominous targets. “I don’t know, a fiery
crash and a slow burning death maybe?”
You roll your eyes, the sarcasm flooding your voice as the conversation
between you both escalated. “Oh look, you’re hilarious. Could you maybe try to be a
bigger drama queen?”
“I’m not being dramatic, I’m being realistic. Statistically
the odds of dying in a car crash are higher – ”
“For fuck’s sake, please stop speaking, unless you can pull –
out of your ass please – the statistics for total number of people who died of boredom
waiting for the world’s oldest truck to go faster than a speeding snail.”
Neither of you are paying attention to the landscape at this
point, although the truck continued to move along at a decent pace, choosing
instead to sling colourful insults at each other, growing more and more
childish with each turn of phrase. With an exasperated groan (following your standard
‘that’s what she said’ response), Bucky glanced out the window and in the next
moment, threw out a metal hand to your left leg, gripping your knee and yanking
it toward him, effectively sweeping both feet away from the pedals. The truck
jerked to an immediate stop, shuddering before falling silent.
In the silence you freeze, panting slightly, before whipping
around angrily. “What the actual fuck Bucky Barnes?! I had it under control, it
was a god damn parkingcurb, what did you think would –” your
rant is just starting to build up steam, but doesn’t get any further.
With a thoroughly frustrated growl, Bucky lunged forward,
smashing his lips into yours. A smart way to shut you up, you had to admit.
Your response was immediate and enthusiastic, heart racing for a new reason
entirely, shivering slightly as Bucky’s beard scrapes along your cheek when he turns toward you. With a tangle of hands and tongues, you fought each other for
control, before he pulled back to take a breath, resting his forehead against
yours, and leaving you both slightly shocked at the turn of events.
“About fucking time,” you whisper. “I swear to god, you’ve
been pushing my buttons for far too long without delivering. If I had known I
needed to crash your truck to get a response, I would have tried that sooner,” your
fingers twisted in his hair, holding him a breath away. “Did you see your life
flash before your eyes?”
Bucky snorts, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “I swear
to god woman, your fucking mouth,” he mutters with a grin, his hand still
holding tight to your knee. “I can think of fifty better uses for it, beyond
the ridiculous amount of sass and swearing you seem to have on autopilot.
Maybe we head back and agree a few alternatives.”
You’re inclined to agree, it seems like the only logical
solution considering you nearly died today, but there’s one minor issue. “I still
can’t drive a manual. What the hell happens if I go somewhere and this is the
only thing available? What am I supposed to do then?”
Bucky reaches to release your seat-belt and wraps an arm
around you, easily dragging you across his lap (pausing a moment to give you a
suggestive look), before depositing you in the passenger seat and sliding
himself behind the wheel. Effortlessly, he starts the truck, flicks the stick into
first, and smoothly takes off, before throwing you a cheeky grin. “I’ll teach
you how to ride a bicycle.”
Hey y’all it’s @chongoblog‘s birthday today, and if I had the time I would have tried to put together something much more special but unfortunately it just didn’t work out, so I’m gonna say some stuff and hopefully this will suffice.
I’ve known Ryan for what is honestly a pretty relatively short time still and he has become one of the best friends I’ve ever had. In that time I’ve known him as someone who is kind, helpful, intensely patient, creative, hilarious, and much more.
The things that he has done for me and the things that he has helped me achieve are all so vastly important to me and without this guy I would not be nearly as happy as I am today. It’s still so surreal to me that him and I actually have done things like… releasing a full-length album? On iTunes? Together? That kind of stuff has been my dream for as long as I can remember and knowing Ryan has led to dreams like that becoming a reality.
Every song, every let’s play, every podcast, web show, idea, and conversation have all come together over these years into an experience and a friendship that I wouldn’t trade for the world.
Thanks for being my friend, Rin, you’re the best and I hope that your day today is as wonderful as you are.
Here's a little tidbit I noticed when I watched Moana (50 times in a row). During the Backstory scene, when Moana tries to get him to open up, she asks "Is it why your hooks not working?" and that... poked my brain. She didn't say "Why can't you use your hook" or in any way suggest that Maui was the problem, that he was the one broken or useless (if we want to be dramatic about it). She may not realise it, but I thought it was nice. Stating it's the hook that's not working, not Maui. Toodles!
H O O O YOU’RE RIGHT THOUGH I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT THAT WAY
Because she never does really blame him for not being able to use it? Right away when she’s trying to figure out what the problem with the hook is, she doesn’t blame him or try to ask him why he couldn’t get the hook to work. What his problem with the hook was. It was always hey, why isn’t the hook working or hey, maybe you can try this to get it to work? Maui isn’t the problem. Maybe he’s not aware of this himself, but Moana does. She knows that the issue lies within the hook,and she knows it’s a problem that can be fixed.
Even right away when Maui’s moping around about how they’re never going to make it to Te Fiti and she wants him to try and use it again, that’s the word she uses. Try. She doesn’t command him to use it, tell him to get up and use it, to get over it. She asks him to try it, because she knows the hook is where the problem lies and that just telling him to use it anyway won’t work. Because it won’t work.
Trying, on the other hand? Taking a chance with it to get it to work again? That’s a different story entirely, and I think it’s the trying that got the hook working again more than anything else.
The little smile on John’s face was partly for her but mostly for Sherlock across the yard, who was doing some work with the beehives, moving with calm, deliberate slowness and grace to keep his little charges calm and sweet, only rarely needing to puff at them with the smoker. His whole tall body seemed to relax as he took in their soft ambient hum. Though his face was mostly hidden, John couldn’t help but notice Sherlock did glance over more often when the weather got warming and John wore less and less on his torso, bronzing in the sun as he worked unprotected.
John did so love to watch Sherlock in his strange self-contained happiness, beneath the mesh of that weird space-man gear that was just about the most unflattering item ever made for a human to wear. Not for the first time in three years, John mused that if Sherlock had been a woman, John would surely have tried to get him into a completely different kind of white outfit with a veil by now. And maybe the first few times John shocked himself a little with thoughts like that, but now they were just part of the regular background of his mind, familiar as the weather-beaten paint-peeling boards of the house and the porch railing he still put his feet up on even though it wobbled.
Set in the 40’s. Y/N was your stereotypical girl next door, growing up in the apartment right across the hall from James Buchanan Barnes. She had always been the shy, reserved girl; she was the complete opposite of the enigmatic ladies man. Despite their proximity, she was sure that he didn’t even know she existed. What happens when they run into one another during a night out on the town? Is just one night all it really takes?
Word Count: 3,408
Warnings: swearing, smut
You sighed, adjusting your dress as you gazed into the mirror. Even though it was still rather conservative, you couldn’t help but notice that it was more revealing than you were used to. The neckline plunged rather low, the collar fastened with a bow that drew attention to your cleavage. The waist was cinched, showing off your figure. Paired with the red heels that your friends had chosen for you, you were looking like a regular bombshell. Your friends had insisted that you go out with them tonight. You had turned them down too many times. They said that now, of all days, you had to accompany them. The newest army recruits would be shipping out tomorrow, and it was sure to be a lively night.
Can we just talk about how much Touka has grown as a person???
At the beginning of TG, she was so impulsive and seemed to not have too much value in her own life.
After the death of Hinami’s mother what did she do? Went and tried to kill the investigators on her own. No back up. No one knowing where she was. Coming back beat up. Only really considering things once Kaneki showed more interest in her being alive than she did.
But now look at her, standing her ground and thinking things through.
When shown the hand and told it was Yoriko’s hand, she didn’t lash out. Instead she stayed calm, acted as if she had no idea who Yoriko was, and focused on the fight at hand boo puns. She could have gotten angry and lost focus, which is probably what Mutsuki was hoping for, but she didn’t.
Also acting as if she didn’t know who Yoriko was is so smart of her. Whether or not that is in fact her hand, Touka acting as if there is no connection between them will keep Yoriko safe and unconnected to the ghoul world. This is something she would have had to think of on the spot, in the middle of a life or death battle.
Touka could have also stayed and continued to fight Mutsuki but she took the first opportunity to get her and Kaneki to safety. Touka from the start of tg would have tried to fight her way out and feel like she running away was the wrong thing to do.
She made a place for Kaneki to come home to, is ready to fight at his side, but also knows when to run away.
She has grown both smarter and stronger. I’m so proud of her.