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genericvid · 1 year ago

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Urban Fashion Unveiled: Exploring the Trendsetting Wardrobes of New Yorkers

Fashion is a never-ending conversation between fashion designers, trends and people. New Yorkers are at the forefront of this conversation.

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From oversized silhouettes to sustainable streetwear, these styles can enhance your style and make an impact in the vibrant cityscape of NYC. These essentials, whether pick a t-shirt that has a graphic design with an important message or you prefer classic leather pieces, will be certain that your attire looks fantastic. Layering While New York is the birthplace of many fashion trends, the city's inhabitants are adept at creating their own. Layering is among the most effective ways to appear fashionable and elegant in NYC. Spring and fall are the ideal seasons to wear the sleeveless jacket as well as a dress that isn't sleeveless. Dresses with strappy details and straps with crisscrossed ties will make your outfit look more polished. You can pair them with heels or open-toed sandals as well as a clutch to complete the look. The trend of athleisure is growing in popularity in urban men's fashion. Include cargo pants and joggers in your wardrobe to create a sporty, comfortable look for walking around NYC. A multi-purpose day bag is a must for any outfit. You can wear a classic leather bag or Everlane chelsea Rainboot with any outfit. For colder days, complement your look by wearing the addition of a scarf, hat or gloves. Statement Accessories A good statement accessory will instantly transform an ordinary outfit. It can be difficult to pick a statement piece that will make a big impact. To keep from being too over-the-top make sure you choose accessories that are in sync with the rest of your look and bring a bit of individuality to your look. For example, a large blue bag is the ideal statement piece paired with neutral pieces like basic white t-shirts and jeans. A pair of attention-grabbing earrings or necklace can bring a splash of colour to a simple outfit. Explore the diverse trends in fashion and build the perfect wardrobe that shows your individual style. You can create your own unique style by observing the distinct styles of New Yorkers by collecting diverse clothes, and also supporting local designers. The key is to experiment and be creative, while staying clear of trends that may quickly fade from popularity. Americana Americana is among the most popular trends that New Yorkers are embracing. Designer Angelo Urrutia translates this style into his collection, featuring large silhouettes that are infused with glamour and shine. The inspiration comes from classic films like "New Jack City," "When Harry Met Sally," and "The Great Gatsby." The collection includes hunting jackets adorned with trompe l'oeil patchwork that reimagines classic Americana designs with contemporary design. Oversized silhouettes are a common trend that adds a dimension to your outfits. To elevate your look, layer tees over open flannel or bomber jackets. Add accessories like dad chains, oversized hats and crossbody bags will elevate your streetwear ensemble. Sneakers are a great accessory as they provide comfort and functionality for your daily commute. New Yorkers prefer neutral sneakers such as black, brown or khaki. They can be worn casually or dressed up to suit an outfit an evening out on the town. The Big Button If you're an Urban Style personality, your closet is stocked with neutral pieces that can be worn casually or dressed up. To enjoy a day at the museums, you could wear a black leather coat like this Reformation version, paired with jeans and sneakers. In the evening, you can put it on with elegant black pants and boots for an effortless evening look. You're drawn by loose fits and oversized shapes. You mix casual clothes with structured clothing, adding a the perfect touch of formality to your outfits as you roll up your sleeves in your hoodie, and then untuck your shirt. You're also a fan of cozy fabrics, embracing large sweatshirts and joggers that are soft on your body. Don't be afraid to test new designs. It's possible to wear floral-inspired tops with a pair of denim dungarees or wear a leopard print dress. Belts and berets will be your most coveted accessories for a statement. You like bomber and moto styles however, you're also drawn to more feminine designs. Steal Nadya's style by wearing the same hoodie and belt bag. You can also pair it with pumps. Video embeds anchors:

#Dress #Fashion #Street Wear #Style

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smalltott-blog · 2 years ago

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Jachs Quilted Lined Flannel Jacket Shirt Men's Size M.

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regard-luxury · 2 years ago

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Designer Men's Fashion Free Shipping

Obviously, you’re not going to tuck within the white shirt with black jeans. Instead, simply tuck out the white skinny fit shirt, and wear it with low-fit denims. Also, don't forget street style mens fashion to pair white sneakers with it. Summer or winter, spring or fall, this development has been on our radar for a while, and it’s easy to see why it’s sticking round.

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Do you want somewhat change to look distinctive and stylish? Then it's high time to get inspiration from this text about men street style fashion. That is why we convey this collection of 17 well-liked street style fashion ideas street style mens fashion for men. You will get plenty of ideas on the way to rock your menswear. Bright coloured checks are a few of the latest developments to pop up within the fashion scene.

A assertion brown jacket with a simple white and blue jeans combo however added are the flannel plaid shirt and construction boots. Fashion Month is slowly creeping up on us with the first round of Fall 2018 men's reveals wrapping up in London. For the winter temps, showgoers opted for his or her coziest ensembles, comprised of puffers, hoodies, hats and extra.

Original designed to cease fighter pilots freezing to demise when 20,000ft up, they will maintain you equally warm again on strong floor. Discover men's garments that you could feel comfortable and confident in from New York & Company. With a give consideration to high quality materials and fashionable styling, our men's fashion line carries a simple, cool vibe, designed to make assembling outfits easy.

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poniatowskaja · 2 years ago

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From Household Rags to Grey-Flannel Stitches

“Dress for the job you want to have,” Mademoiselle told readers in its September 1977 issue. “There’s a clothing hierarchy paralleling the job hierarchy.” Its September 1979 cover story offered a “Dress for Success Guide,” promoting gray flannel suits and fitted tweed jackets for “the woman who is doing something with her life.” The well-tailored suit, the late-’70s fashion press had uniformly decreed, was the ideal expression of women’s rising economic and political aspirations. The fashion press inherited these ideas not from the women’s movement but from the writings of a male fashion consultant. John T. Molloy’s The Woman’s Dress for Success Book became an instant hit in 1977, remaining on the New York Times best-seller list for more than five months. The book offered simple tips on professional dressing for aspiring businesswomen, just as his first work, Dress for Success, dispensed clothing advice to men. That earlier book, published in 1975, was hugely popular, too. But when the fashion media turned against “dress for success” a decade later, they directed their verbal assault solely on the women’s edition. A former prep school English teacher, Molloy turned to the study of women’s business dressing in the mid-’70s for the money. Corporations like AT&T and U.S. Steel, under federal pressure to hire women, were funding research and seminars that made them look like good equal opportunity employers. Unlike the High Femininity merchants, who determined fashion trends based on “feelings,” Molloy actually surveyed hundreds of people in the work force. He even dispatched research assistants to spy on the dressing habits of corporate men and women and, in a four-year study, enlisted several hundred businesswomen to track changes in their dress and their career. Based on his survey results, Molloy calculated that women who wore business suits were one and a half times more likely to feel they were being treated as executives—and a third less likely to have their authority challenged by men. Clothing that called attention to sexuality, on the other hand—women’s or men’s—lowered one’s status at the office. “Dressing to succeed in business and dressing to be sexually attractive are almost mutually exclusive.” Molloy’s motives were primarily commercial, but his book had a political subtext, as a primer for people disadvantaged by class and sex. A child of the lower middle class himself, Molloy addressed similarly situated readers, the “American bootstrap types,” as he called them, “whose parents never went to college” and who were struggling to “overcome socioeconomic barriers when they choose their clothes.” The author was also an advocate for women’s rising expectations—and urged them to rely on their brains rather than their bodies to improve their station. “Many women,” he wrote, “still cling to the conscious or unconscious belief that the only feminine way of competing is to compete as a sex object and that following fashion trends is one of the best ways to win. It’s not.” When Molloy’s book for women became a best-seller in the ’70s, publishers immediately rushed three knockoffs into print. Retailers began invoking Molloy’s name and even claiming, most times falsely, that the clothing guru had personally selected their line of women’s business wear. Newsweek declared dress-for-success a trend. And for the next three years, women’s magazines recycled scores of fashion stories that endorsed not only the suits but the ambitions they represented— with headlines like YOUR GET-AHEAD WARDROBE, POWER! and WHAT TO WEAR WHEN YOU’RE DOING THE TALKING. At first fashion makers welcomed dress-for-success, too. They issued new ads offering paeans to working women’s aspirations— with, of course, the caveat that women could realize these objectives only in a suit. Apparel manufacturers had visions of exploiting a new and untapped market. “The success of suits has made the fashion industry ecstatic,” Newsweek observed in 1979. They had good reason to feel that way: women’s suit sales had more than doubled that year. But in their enthusiasm, fashion merchants overlooked the bottom line of Molloy’s book: dress-for-success could save women money and liberate them from fashion-victim status. Business suits weren’t subject to wild swings in fashion and women could get away (as men always have) with wearing the same suit for several days and just varying the blouse and accessories—more economical than buying a dress for every day of the week. Once women made the initial investment in a set of suits, they could even take a breather from shopping. Between 1980 and 1987, annual sales of suits rose by almost 6 million units, while dresses declined by 29 million units. The $600 million gain in suit sales in these years was nice—but it couldn’t make up for the billions of dollars the fashion industry could have been getting in dress sales. Matters worsened when manufacturers raised their suit prices to make up for the shortfall—and women just started buying cheaper suits from foreign manufacturers. Between 1981 and 1986, imports of women’s suits nearly tripled. “When this uniform is accepted by large numbers of businesswomen,” Molloy’s book predicted, “. . . it will be attacked ferociously.” The fashion industry, the clothing consultant warned, may even yank the suits off the racks: “They will see it as a threat to their domination over women. And they will be right.”

Susan Faludi, Backlash: The Undeclared War against Women

#Susan Faludi #John T. Molloy #clothing #fashion industry #1970s

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chiefhalliday · 7 months ago

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"Your style is admirable," Rowan admitted. "But following you in the trend of wearing pasta jewellery is something you couldn't even pay me to do. I don't fancy standing up at a press conference with a ziti necklace. Leave the trailblazing to the kids.."

Whilst he wouldn't even think once, let alone twice, about wearing the same clothes as Avi did, Rowan liked that his friend was able to be comfortable and confident in what he was dressed in. At their age, the majority of society believed that older men should just stick to clothes as aged as they were: dull and boring shirts, jumpers, tailored trousers, fleeces, and loafers; but Avi broke the rules and proved society wrong, especially wearing something like a leather jacket and silver rings on most of his fingers. Rowan remembered wearing a leather jacket in his early forties and never touching one since.

Rowan himself, though lived up to the old man stereotype; he was most comfortable in a shirt and jumper and occasionally wore flannel. It was a habit of thirty years and he wasn't about to break it now. Besides he spent his waking hours worrying about the citizens of New York City and its tourists; he didn't have time to worry about what clothes matched with what. A suit and tie was just fine for Rowan.

He was also a stickler for having pristine clothes, which was something his father had drilled into him from a very young age and was something he continued to practice after decades of wearing his own uniform, so even a small gesture a gesture as Avi reaching to fix his collar was appreciated and his friend knew that.

"Thank you," Rowan said. "I'll stick to this old mundane shirt. Everything else is too gaudy for me... Speaking of, my sister bought me a jumper for my birthday and she seemed so pleased with, but... I can't bring myself to wear it. Maybe you could have it and repurpose it or let the kids make something with it. I'd hate to just throw it away."

"Maybe they'd make an exception for me, doll."

A wink, and a lean into an elbow. In reality, no, they absolutely wouldn't. Aviel doesn't make art - he talks about it. Excavates it. Or, used to. Now the kind of art he sees is a bit more... rudimentary. Abstract. He likes to call it deconstructed - though others might call it "construction paper and popsicle sticks".

His friend, his neighbor - always slipping into work mode. With the finesse of someone experienced in such things, Avi slides right back.

"You know me and fashion, after all." Somewhat busy in the pattern department, especially as he's crossed into taking care of 5 and 6 year olds. But he somehow makes it work. "Everyone? I don't see you in pasta jewelry. Fettuccine earrings. Ziti necklace. Should I bring you some next time the class is feeling adventurous?"

He reaches out with ringed fingers and fixes Rowan's collar for him sweetly. "Maybe a bit too gaudy for you, Ro."

#rowan ✧･ﾟ— thread (ft. avi) 001 #(sorry it’s so long!)

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neonovember · 2 years ago

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Lemon meringues

steve rogers mafia!au

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

a/n: this is the first instalment of a series, I honestly don't know how long it will be, but ill try to update every week!

Your hand reaches to grab the disregarded ceramic mugs perched at the middle of the wooden table, deep mahogany coffee stains the edges of the porcelain mugs and the crumbs of David’s famous croissant litter the table.

“All done here?” You smile, your arm balancing a plate of waffles and toast, you hope to god that they’ll just leave you be, your shift has just begun and the way your back ached had you wishing you’d crawled back under the covers, angry landlord and manager be damned.

The faces of the men that sat nodded, eyes not leaving each other as if you weren't even there. Each of them had the same scruffy 7-day stubble as if they had all collectively chosen to throw out their razors. Trucker caps fitted tightly and flannel shirts peeked through large navy jackets buttoned tight against the harsh July cold. The weather here could get brutal, you’d learned that your first winter with frozen pipes and a heater that spoke only puffs of grey smoke.

They show no action of gratitude, but they don't unnecessarily incapacitate you either, exactly how you like it. Nodding you make your rounds to the other tables, wiping down any remnants of spilt drinks and crumbs from the diner tables and booths. It labourers work, but it's still work. And you don't know what would happen if you lost that measly laughable income you earned from waitressing.

As long as you were far and between from him, you kept reminding yourself, every chime of the diner door opening had your hairs bristling and your stomach in twists, he’d never find you here, he couldn’t, you’d made sure of it. Hell, you’d erased your entire life, left it all behind, he couldn't hurt you now. At least that's what you told yourself.

The white-hot fear still slips down your spine whenever you see a familiar shirt he’d wear though, or a voice that sounded like him when he was mad, or the sound of boots behind you, or- god you’d be in therapy if it didn’t cost you a limb.

The soft downpour outside provided a melodic track to your routine, the sea of blue and navy umbrellas moving in unison to escape the rain. The sound of it put you at ease, you've always loved the rain, the way it slid down your face and washed away all the fears you carried. The smell of the earth after it rained, steam rising from the dirt and roads was something you've come to appreciate.

It was the only things you could, the small things, things that had been taken from you, berated and crushed within his iron grip.

“Why are you wasting time smelling the flowers?”

His voice soon followed your every thought, every move, every desire. As if your mind was asking permission- “Please?”.

You forgot what it felt like to live within a body that was fully yours, and not pinned up with strings that were in his grasp. Now you could stop and raise your face to the sky and let the droplets pepper your skin without fearing the downpour of his anger.

“You silly girl, you silly stupid girl”

Well, at least the one that isn't in your head.

The snap of diner door opens abruptly, slamming against the wall, as an umbrella pops through, your neck bristles with fear, shoulders tense and eyebrows furrowed.

Please no

It's a man, donning a deep maroon velvet coat, the buttons fitted and the material stretched against his chest. His golden locs were smoothed back, a scruff that seemed purposeful lining his jaw, the water from his umbrella runs down its rooves and ridges, gathering at his feet and seeping into the laminate floor. It doesn't matter, it isn’t him.

You quickly dust off your apron, gathering your rags before popping them under the compartment behind the till, the man is perusing through the collection of pastries and breakfast sandwiches displayed in the clear case.

“The lemon meringue is to die for,” You say, smiling at his indecision, You had many like him come in, overwhelmed with the many selections and flavours, not knowing where to begin.

He looks up quickly, eyes racking over your face, his cerulean blues darken for a moment, before a smile cracks over his features.

“That obvious?” He jokes, hands tucked into the pocket of his coat.

“Don’t worry about it, everybody has a first time at something” You reply, fingers wringing as you smile. His gorgeous up close, the kind of features that were clean-cut and old-fashioned. Like he didn't need to try so hard to capture anyone's attention, soft lips curl up as he notices your intense stare, and you quickly shake off your borderline stalker-ish ways.

“Well, in that case, I’ll get the meringue and a club special,” He says, hands coming up to brush through his golden locks dirtied by the rain.

You ring his order through the till, fingers almost missing the keys as you hurry to have him seated, he always hated being waited on, there were countless times when his lack of patience and your tardiness left you bruised and bloody.

The man reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a deep leather wallet, it reminds you of your father and it has you smiling softly. He hands you a hundred-dollar bill, and when you try to hand back his change he stops you with his hands quickly.

The feeling of the rough pads of his fingers shoots an intensity up your arm like you've been shocked and you pull your hand away quickly. The man stares intently at your hands, eyes surveying your frame as he rests them on your face.

“Keep the change..I’m sure” He finally says, hands back in his pocket only this time in tight fists.

You thank him generously, tucking the rolls into your side, tips never seemed to cover enough of your pay, and you think this man may have saved you from sleeping outside.

He doesn't say much, just nods, the same darkened look covering his features as he slides into a corner booth, the downpour above sheathed the morning sky in a deep dark navy. Causing the diner to be cloaked in a shadowed darkness as if it were evening instead of noon. The only thing providing light was the soft yellow overhanging ceiling lamp. It gave it a romantic feel that covered his features in a soft glow, and for some strange reason, you had the urge to know what his beard would feel like between your fingers.

Walking urgently back to the counter, you hand up the man's order for David, indiscretidely asking him to give him extra helpings. You carefully slice a cut of the meringue onto one of the ceramic plates, cleaning the edges and keeping it chilled.

David calls your name, motioning towards the finished sandwich that looked like if you didn't walk carefully it would topple over and onto the floor.

David winks at you, his jet-black hair pulled into a tight bun, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he takes notice of your ulterior motive.

“When were ya gonna tell me about lover boy?” David teases, chin resting on his arms.

“Cmon David, he just gave me a good tip” You scoff humourselly, him? He wouldn't even look at you that way. You knew his type the moment you caught a glimpse of his goddamn cufflinks, besides, the rings adorning his fingers etched with the unmistakable A, told you he was in a business you wanted no part of. You weren't bout to jump into a relationship after just escaping your last, no, you definitely were not ready for that.

Yet a strange filling crept through your stomach, and it had you taking glances at his crouched figure in the booth, he was tall enough to the point where you could see the tussles of his golden locks, now dried and mused.

Snapping out of your stupor, you go to reach for his meal before another hand reaches for it, what is it today and people's hands? Chipped red nail polish and rubbery lips meet your gaze as Caroline smiles up at you.

“Mare’s asking if you could clean up the puddle in front of the diner door, says it’s quote on quote a cleaning hazard” Caroline rolls her eyes, tongue clicking as she shakes her head

“If she cared that much about following protocol she’d pay us a goddamn living wage” Caroline mutters loud enough for yout o hear, cautious of your domineering manager's watchful gaze.

You snicker, reaching for the mop at the corner of the diner,

“Who that?” Caroline says, motioning towards the golden-haired man with her chin, curiosity filling her eyes.

“That, is your customer, who just ordered a meringue and sandwich because of yours truly” You reply, eyes finding their way back to him.

Caroline nods, reaching for the meringue in the fridge,

“He even tipped me like over eighty bucks” You whisper, the reality of it still shocking you

Caroline swiftly turns to you at that, her dark auburn plaits whipping across her chest at her movements

“No shit? Cute and a gentleman, if there is one person in this god-forsaken place who deserves it it’s you” Caroline retorts, a smile lifting her lips.

You shake your head, reaching for the notes tucked in your pocket, Caroline had been your one and only friend besides David, you could count a handful of time’s when she had let you crash at her place or borrow money to tide your landlord over the next month.

It was your duty to give something back.

Caroline stops you gently, pushing the notes into your pocket before she grins gingerly

“Don’t you dare” Caroline begins, eyes darting across to the man in the booth,

“But, you can't possibly expect me not to pay you back” You begin, eyes burrowing as you try again, to hand her over a chunk of the money.

“You need it more than I do, besides you know the saying “reject the present to receive more in the future” Caroline sing songs, you shake your head laughing

“I don't think that’s quite how it goes, in fact, I'm pretty sure you made that up on the spot” You giggle, before pushing her out of the kitchen.

“You're too good for this rotten place sugar, you outta start taking things for yourself, before the world comes and swallows you whole” She replies, not sparing you a glance before navigating through the many red booths.

Her voice echoes in your mind as you clean up the murky water near the front door, watching as the brown liquid on against the laminated floor turns into a clean yellow that came with age and poor maintenance.

You serve half a dozen more customers before Caroline strolls towards you, a hidden smirk on her face with the man’s finished plates.

“What?” You reply, rolling your eyes, wiping down the counter, you always seemed to find yourself cleaning.

“Golden boy asked for you” She’s gone into a full toothy smile now, head lulling to the side as she teases you.

He asked for you? Why would he do that? Maybe he were asking for that tip back, reconciling that you weren't worth it. It wouldn’t be the first time

“Huh? What do you mean?” You cautiously answer Adi, aware of her ability to dramatise quite literally everything that happened between these walls.

“I mean, he asked why you didn’t come and give him his food. Said he was hoping that he could ask you something” She replies eyebrows wiggling playfully, knocking her hips to yours as she purred.

“I see how you play girl, just make him a regular customer why don’t you, I'm sure after the first taste he'll be coming back for more.” She laughed at you widened expression, you winced at her insinuations, you started to believe she wanted you to get laid more than you did yourself.

“Here, he left this” She replied, reaching into her pocket, and pulling out a ruffled tissue, you're expecting a message or a scribble of numbers, yet instead what meets your eye has your heart in your stomach and your fingers gripping your apron.

There written in black ink, is your husband's name, along with a number and one single word.

“I know what you did”.

Fuck.

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years ago

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The Hint

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Synopsis submitted by @jasmine11685: Peter gets jealous when you have to flirt with someone on a mission

Masterlist

“Wow.”

That was the only word Peter could say as you descended the staircase in a form fitting black dress. The slit up the side added an elegant touch, something needed for the ball you were going to.

“You look pretty “wow” yourself.” You smiled shyly as you lifted the hem of your dress to walk towards him. “The suit is a nice change from the flannels, though I do love those.”

Peter opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words formed in his brain. As soon as you put your hands on his collar to tuck it under his suit jacket, his name was lost on his and all he knew was yours.

“So this is what it’s like to be speechless.” He chuckled nervously as you straightened his jacket.

“Shut up.” You giggled as your face flushed. “Your ties a little crooked.”

“Thanks.” Peter whispered as you adjusted his tie. “You look beautiful. Like, the kind of beautiful that makes you want to cry when you look at it.”

“Thank you.” You laughed again, out of habit. You looked at Peter through your eyelashes as your shaking hands slid down his jacket.

“Nervous?” He asked softly when he noticed your unsteady demeanor.

“A little.” You smiled weakly. “It’s uh, it’s a shame I’m gonna have to waste all this beautiful on some douche who won’t appreciate it.”

“Well I appreciate it.” Peter assured you. “All of it. What is your mission exactly?”

“I just have to get some information out of Harry Osborn. Apparently he’s the only one who knows what’s his father has been doing up at Oscorp. We have to find out his plans before he does something dangerous. Could you help me with this?” You asked as you handed him a diamond necklace. You turned around and Peter carefully moved your hair off of your back.

“Oh.” He said in surprise as he clasped the necklace around your neck. “And how are you planing on getting that information?”

“I’m gonna flirt with him like my life depends on it.” You said confidently as you turned back around. “Because who knows? It might.”

Peters face twitched in confusion as his eyebrows knit together. He felt a white hot jealousy run all the way to his scalp when he learned about the plan.

“You have to flirt with that asshole?” Peter laughed nervously and cleared his throat. “He’s a total playboy. He’s probably never done his own laundry a day in his life.”

“I think I can handle him.” You winked at him as you touched your your lipstick. “And his laundry.”

“I have no doubt in your abilities. I just wish you didn’t have to use them on him.” Peter said, mostly to himself.

“It’s fine, Pete.” You assured him. “I’m actually excited to do it.”

“Excited?” Peter began to sweat.

“Yeah.” You grinned in excitement. “This is the biggest role I’ve ever had in a mission. I really want to do a good job so I can impress my dad. That means I’m gonna have to pull out my best flirting.”

“Your best flirting?” Peter was really beginning to panic now.

“Yup. I need this boy to fall in love with me.” You told him. “Watch, by the end of the night, he’ll be putty in my hands.”

“I don’t think you should do this, Y/n.” Peter blurted. “I think we should get Natasha or someone else to do it. You shouldn’t have to be the shiny object we use to distract the enemy.”

“I’m fine with it, Pete. My dad didn’t give me this role because I’m pretty. He gave me this role because I have good communication and manipulation skills. Plus, I’m closest to Harry’s age. It all works out.”

“He could be really dangerous.” Peter protested. “You could get hurt.”

“I’m really dangerous.” You stated. “And he’s definitely gonna get hurt.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Peter sighed, making you look at him. You walked over to him and cupped his face in your hands, making his breath hitch in his throat.

“I got this, Petey.” You said gently. “I know you’re worried about me, but you have no reason to be. I can do this. And you, Sam, and my dad are gonna be listening the whole time. We’re gonna catch this guy. I know it.”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt. If things go wrong-“

“They won’t.” You cut him off. “Go ask my dad. He drew up every possible outcome of this plan and they all end with Harry getting his ass kicked.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded and gave you a smile. “I’ll go talk to Mr. Stark.”

“You just had to believe in her.” Peter grouched as he barged into Tony’s office. “You just had to recognize her talent and trust her enough to carry the mission.”

“I’m sorry. Is that anger directed towards moi?” Tony touched a hand to his chest. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yeah, I am.” Peter said. “You know I like Y/n and sent her off to flirt with the richest playboy in New York City?”

“Hey.” Tony said sternly. “Playboy is my thing.”

“Why did you have to make her do this job?” Peter whined. “She’s gonna fall in love with him and forget all about me.”

“He’s a criminal, Peter.” Tony reminded him.

“So? Girls love that!” He protested. “You remember how she acted around Loki.”

“Don’t remind me.” Tony rolled his eyes. Peters face shifted back to his forlorn expression and Tony saw how much this was hurting him.

“Look, kid, don’t sweat this mission.” He said as he put a hand on Peters shoulder. “She’s just gonna get the information she needs from Harry and you’ll never have to worry about him again. You can go right back to your little will-they-won’t-they bullshit or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I have a plan.” Peter insisted. “And Harry is going to put a serious wrench in my plan, thanks to you.”

“You have a plan?” Tony doubted. “Ive been watching you pine after my daughter for years. When is this plan going into action exactly?”

“I’m just going to think really hard about how I’m in love with her and wait until she realizes.” Peter mumbled as he adverted his eyes.

“Yeah?” Tony cocked his head. “And how’s that going for you?”

“I think she’s just about to get the hint.” Peter said and Tony let out a groan.

“Kid, just ask her out.” He reasoned. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could hear me.” Peter stated. “And then say no.”

“She’s never gonna take the hint unless you actually give her the hint.” Tony reasoned. “Why don’t you try tonight? She’ll be all giddy from successfully completing the mission. Perfect time to confess those bottled up feelings.”

“I don’t know.” Peter sighed. “Maybe.”

An hour later, you were making eyes at Harry from the bar. After locking eyes a few times, you signaled for him to come over.

“Hey.” Harry knocked on the bar twice and looked down at you. He sized you up before smiling in approval and sending you a nod.

“Hey.” You gave him a sultry smile as he sat down.

“You all by yourself?” He asked as he drummed his fingers on the bar.

“I was.” You took a sip and looked at him through your lashes. “Until you came along.”

“Mind if I stay?” He raised an eyebrow as he flagged down the bartender. You made a face as he ordered a drink before smiling at him.

“I prefer it.” You flirted.

“Good.” He accepted his drink and took a long sip. “I don’t like being told no.”

“Then you better give me something to say yes to.” You leaned on your hand and leaned towards him. Inside, you were gagging at his arrogance. On the outside, you were eating it up.

And that made two of you.

“Oh God.” Peter gagged as he listened to the banter through his ear piece. “This is torture.”

Sam, who was standing next to him as they both kept an eye on you, gave Peter a look.

“Relax, kid.” He sighed. “She’s just doing her job.”

“You’re a pretty bold girl. I like that.” Harry cupped your chin before releasing it. “Just not as bold as me.”

“Oh yeah?” You raised an eyebrow, grabbed his drink, and downed the rest before slamming the glass down. “How about now?”

“Oh, you are going to get me into trouble.” Harry chuckled and he scooted closer to you. Peter watched in disdain as the jealousy coursed through his veins again.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” You crawled. “Don’t you like trouble?”

“I love it.” He insisted as he held out his hand. “My names Harry Osborn. You’ve probably heard of me.”

“I have.” You smirked as you shook his hand. “I’m Y/n.”

“Why is she talking like that?” Peter whined upon hearing your flirty tone. “She never talks like that.”

“Because she’s not trying to sleep with you, dummy. Thats why.” Sam snorted as he continued to watch.

“What?” Peter snapped his head towards Sam. “She’s not trying to sleep with that guy. She’s just getting information out of him.”

“Yeah well, guys tend to talk a lot more once you’ve tired them out.” Sam shrugged as he sipped his own drink. Pete’s face fell as he stared Harry down with daggers in his eyes.

“She wouldn’t do that.” Peter mumbled.

“Shhh.” Sam waved his hand. “I’m trying to listen.”

“So,” you took another sip from your drink, “Whats it like being the son of one of the most powerful men in the city? Wasn’t your dad like, 25 when he founded Oscorp.”

“23, but who’s keeping score.” Harry shrugged as he looked around the room. “I’ll probably do something like that soon. Maybe something even bigger. I already have a lot of ideas. Pretty impressive, huh?”

“Totally.” You egged him on but rolled your eyes when he looked away. “Do you ever get to watch his experiments?”

“Baby, I’ve seen just about all of them.” Harry bragged as he played with your dangling earrings. “He’s done things you wouldn’t believe. Things that aren’t even legal.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes widened in excitement and you leaned in closer. “Like what?”

“I can’t tell you here.” Harry pulled away suddenly and sighed. “I don’t want anyone hearing.”

“Alright.” You purposefully took the bait. “Then let’s talk somewhere else.”

“Do you know a place?” He played nonchalant as he put a hand on your knee. Peter watched the scene in front of him and looked away.

“Yeah. My bedroom.” You smirked and stood up. “Let’s go there.”

“Bold.” Harry rubbed his hands together and stood up as well. “You’re dangerous.”

You took his hand and lead him towards the elevator, feeling the gun that was strapped to your thigh brush against your leg as you walked.

“You have no idea.” You mumbled. You passed Sam and Peter and gave them a nod as you lead Harry towards his interrogation. Peter looked like he was ready to fight someone and Sam looked entirely amused. You gave them a thumbs up before leading Harry upstairs.

“What’s the craziest thing your dad has done?” You asked as you sat down on the bed. You flicked your leg out and pretended to examine your heels to draw his attention. Harry took the bait and held your ankle in his hands, admiring the fancy shoes Mr. Stark had given you for the mission.

“Why do you want to know?” He asked coyly as he looked up at you.

“Because I like to get a little crazy myself and I want to know how much you can handle.” You shrugged as you shook your hair out. Peter gulped as he listened, feeling his jaw tighten in anger. Tony joined him and Sam at their post and looked around for you and Harry.

“How’s the mission going?” He asked when he didn’t see you anywhere.

“Horrible.” Peter grumbled.

“She didn’t get him to the secondary location?” Tony worried.

“She did.” Sam cut in. “Peters just mad that his girlfriend just found herself a boyfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter snapped. “Maybe she would have been if Mr. Stark wasn’t a destroyer of young love.”

“Parker, quiet.” Sam commanded. “I’m trying to listen.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Harry folded his arms as he looked down on you.

“You can trust me.” You told him as you reached up to grab his tie. You used it to pull yourself up and off the bed before planting a kiss right on his mouth.

“What was that?” Peter touched his fingertips to his ear piece when he heard silence from your end.” Why did she pause?”

“She didn’t pause.” Sam shook his head as he checked his watch.

“Then what-“

“She kissed him.” Tony cut in while giving Peter an apologetic look.

“She kissed him?” All the color drained from Peters face and Tony felt he was to blame.

“You know the Green Goblin?” Harry asked once you pulled away.

“Yeah.”

“That’s my dad.” Harry admitted, and Tony and Sam quickly wrote it down.

“No way.” You pretended to be impressed. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. He was dying so he invented this serum to keep himself alive. It ended up giving him all these crazy abilities.” Harry boasted, incriminating himself further. “And he’s got this glider that he can fly around on. You’d love it. It’s very shiny.”

“Wow. I love shiny.” You gushed, fighting the urge to punch him in the throat then and there. “How much serum did he make?”

“He has one more vile that he said he’d give to me when I’m older.” Harry tweaked his eyebrow as he smirked.

“So you’re gonna be the next Green Goblin? Isnt he a bit of a bad guy?” You continued to draw information out of him as your fingers danced around his collar.

“Maybe I am bad guy.” Harry shrugged. “Like father, like son.”

Harry leaned in to kiss you again but you dodged it and laughed as you moved away.

“Bad, huh?” You composed yourself so you wouldn’t be suspicious. “What else has he done?”

“He gave one of our scientists these metal arms. They can rip a person in half. Ive seen it happen.” Harry continued to brag and you recorded every word of it.

“Dr. Occtavius.” Tony realized. “That’s how he got his weapons.”

“Thats crazy.” You gasped and played with his hair. “What’s your dad gonna do?”

“He’s basically forming a league of bad guys.” Harry shrugged like it was no big deal. “Guys way worse than the Avengers.”

“Does he have a problem with the Avengers?” You wondered.

“My dad hates them. I hate them too.” Harry scoffed and you held back a laugh. “That’s why we’re gonna wipe them out. New York can’t rely on a bunch of guys in dress up, and we’re gonna show them that.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“With an attack on New York City on the 8th.” Harry told you, and Tony immediately wrote it down. “The Avengers won’t know what hit them.”

“That sounds pretty scary. Will you keep me safe?” You batted your eyelashes at him and he ate it up.

“I can’t listen to this.” Peter took out his earpiece and slammed it on the counter. “I’m going in there.”

“Parker! Stay where you are and - you know what? I don’t care.” Sam shrugged it off and continued to listen to your conversation.

“Of course baby.” He cupped your face in his hands. “It’s gonna be a direct hit on the Avengers tower. A pretty thing like you won’t be anywhere near there.”

“Actually”, you took his hands off your face and dropped your smile, “I will.”

“What?” Harry’s face faltered at your sudden mood change.

“Did you get that guys?” You touched your fingers to your ear piece and waited for the confirmation. “Copy that, dad.”

“What?” Harry’s face twisted in anger. “You’re an Avenger?”

“Look at you! So smart. You figured it out.” You said sarcastically.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “I don’t believe you. There’s no way you’re an Avenger. You’re my age and a chick.”

“Not just an Avenger. I’m a Stark too. Want me to prove it to you?” You asked casually.

“How?” Harry raised an eyebrow. You gave him a swift punch to the throat that knocked him on his back.

“Like that.” You blew your hair off your forehead as you checked your nails.

“You bitch.” Harry wheezed from the floor.

“You see, I can’t have you and your father attacking my friends.” You crouched down beside him and shrugged. “I’m gonna have to take you in.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Harry swiped at you but you dodged it.

“I know. But this cute little microphone recorded everything you said and sent it to the police.” You pouted and pointed to your mic. “They should be here soon. You might want to wipe the lipstick off your face before the get here.”

“I’m not going to prison.” Harry grumbled as he sat up.

“Aw, but you are.” You said as you pulled him off the floor and put his hands behind his back. “Daddy can’t bail you out of this one, like how he bailed you out of your 17 parking tickets.”

“How do you know about that?” Harry asked as he looked over his shoulder at you.

“I know everything, bitch.” You leaned into his ear to growl.

“No. I’m not going down for this.” Harry broke out of your hold and swung at you. You dodged the first one, but he got you right in the jaw with the second one. You stood up and got ready to fight him as he put his fists up.

“You’re not even that pretty.” He exclaimed as he swung at you again. Right as his fist collided with your face, Peter burst in the door.

“Yes she is!” Peter shouted as he jumped on Harry’s back. Harry threw Peter onto the bed and lunged for you again. You close-lined him with your arm and dug your heel into his back once he was on the ground.

“Peter? What are you doing here?” You asked as you stepped on Harry’s back harder with your heel. “I got this.”

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Peter panted as he got off the bed.

“You won’t get away with this. I will sue!” Harry writhed around beneath your heel.

“Can it wait?” You asked as you pulled Harry off the ground. “I’m a little busy.”

“It can’t wait.” Peter shook his head as you shoved Harry against the wall. “There’s something I’ve been holding in for a long time and I need to tell you.”

“I wouldn’t even bother dude.” Harry said with his face squished against the wall. “She’s a total bitch.”

“Was I talking to you?” Peter growled before shooting a web at Harry’s wrists to handcuff him.

“Ohhh I see.” Harry laughed humorlessly. “Spiderman is mad that I stole his girlfriend.”

“Can you shut up? I’m trying to have a conversation here.” You barked at Harry. “I’m sorry, Peter. Please continue.”

“I didn’t want you to flirt with Harry tonight because you can do a lot more than just sit still and look pretty.” Peter began.

“I know that, Peter.” You nodded.

“I also didn’t want you to flirt with him because I was jealous.” He confessed.

“Jealous?” You asked as you put Harry in the hotel chair and began to tie him up.

“He likes you, stupid.” Harry grumbled. You shot Harry and angry look, but when you looked back at Peter, he was nodded.

“He’s right.” Peter admitted , taking you by surprise.

“You like me?” You lips twitched into a smile as you tightened Harry’s rope. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared you wouldn’t like me back. You’re my best friend, Y/n.” Peter said softly. “If you didn’t like me back, everything would change. We’d still be friends but it wouldn’t be the same. I didn’t want to risk that.”

“I’m sorry.” You frowned. “I should’ve been more clear then.”

“Do you seriously have to do this here?” Harry whined and you smacked him on the back of the head.

“Clear about what?” Peter wondered.

“That I like you too.” You smiled sheepishly at him. Tony listened to the confession over the ear pierce and smiled to himself.

“There you go kid.” He mumbled to himself. “She got the hint.”

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thearmoury · 2 years ago

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In the fall and winter months, navigating through the various materials available for sport coats can feel like second-nature. Many men are familiar with the virtues of tweed, flannel, and corduroy. But once the weather turns warm, things aren’t so clear. What’s the springtime equivalent of Thornproof or Donegal? Is linen right for sport coats or only suits? For men who find themselves in more casual environments, having a few seasonal sport coats means being able to dress for different situations. This wool & linen sport coat is a great example of how to go beyond the basics. Stephon is wearing this season's Model 3 jacket paired with our cotton bengal stripe shirt and bespoke trousers from Pommella Napoli in VBC Six Ply Wool. Check out the link in our bio to see more. (at The Armoury New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/Chz8Bt4rGqb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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brooklyntailors · 7 years ago

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Come Visit Brooklyn Tailors at our Fort Greene location!

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siempre-bucky · 3 years ago

Text

I.I.G.Y.M.H.W.Y.T.I.A.M.M.T.H.M.I.T.W?

COWBOY!BUCKY X READER

♡if I gave you my hand would you take it and make me the happiest man in the world?

Summary: Nat and Wanda take the reader post break up to The Stark Ranch, a beautiful little place in the lush green countryside. God she hated it, she didn't want to be here only wanted him back. With one dip of a black cowboy hat and a deep-voiced greeting, the readers brooding would have to wait.

Part 1 of 3

Warnings: light mentions of past abuse,

WC: 3.8k

A/N: there was a tiktok and it was just cowboy Sebastian Stan and this fucking song!! Here's a thing I can't stop thinking about! I edited this the best I could.

In the long, rich history of bad ideas, this had to be the worst idea anyone has ever had. Here she was, squished in between her best friends in the back of an Uber. An old country song from the 60s played on the radio as the two redheads gushed about the small town they were driving through. The most popular restaurant back in Brooklyn probably had more people inside it than this little country town.

"Are you done brooding?" Wanda complains, her Sokovian accent purely intensified the distaste in her tone.

"All I want is John, back," Y/N mutters bitterly, her jaw clenched, sinking lower into the seat. Both women roll their eyes at her comment.

"You haven't stopped mentioning Walker since we got off the plane. It's been 2 months Y/N," Natasha reminds her, checking her watch that was peaking from her black leather jacket. "Don't forget this is why we're here! A getaway is just what you need."

Has it already been 2 months? It only felt like 2 weeks since he left. His last words still sent a chill down her spine "Did you really expect me not to cheat, Y/N? It's New York, get used to it, babe." Y/N shakes her head, trying to get that man's callous words out of her head. She felt like she was already at the acceptance of the grieving process. She clearly wasn't there.

Natasha suddenly gasps, the Stark Ranch coming into view with its black iron gates, its name the biggest thing on it. Y/N looks in Nat's direction, the 4 story red and yellow inn sat in the middle of a long dirt road and was nuzzled in with the saturated green grass and big trees. Y/N thought it was pretty but she would never admit that to her friends.

"Ladies you have a good time out here! I reckon you'll find our little town quite charmin'!" The older man tells them happily as his car comes to a stop in front of the inn. The girls give him their thanks and get out to take a look at the place.

Nat's hand shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up the place, a confident smile on her face since she picked out this place in the middle of nowhere. Wanda stood in the middle with her hands in her pockets and a relaxed smile. As for Y/N? she might as well have a dark cloud hanging over her. It smelled like grass and horses, her black ankle boots were covered in dust, and worst of all...Natasha blocked John's number. "Relaxation awaits girls!" Nat cheers as she leads her small pack into the front doors of the inn.

The inside was just a cute as the outside, country-style couches placed in the center with a mahogany coffee table littered in doilies. Guests laughed and chatted behind the french doors in the restaurant beside them. "Welcome to Stark Inn!" The front desk lady greets them, her strawberry blonde hair tied in a bun and a glossy smile on her features.

"You go check-in, I'm staying here," Y/N sighs, plopping down onto one of the floral couches, taking out her phone from her back pocket. Nat and Wanda rolled their eyes, pushing their luggage next to their friend before walking over to check-in.

She checked her phone 5 times, 5 different bell-sounding notifications from 5 different apps. Nothing from her former love, of course, not because he's blocked. The next bell sound didn't come from her phone but the front doors of the inn. The ding was followed by two men laughing loudly, one clapping the other on the back. The Y/H/C girl looks up at the source of the ruckus.

One was blonde, wearing a thin blue flannel shirt and dark jeans. He was cute, had a nice ass, and blue eyes a lady could swim in. The other man was a different story, however. A blush crept up her cheeks as she looked at him. His shoulder-length hair was tied up in a low bun, face nearly hidden by his black velvet cowboy hat. Fuck that man looked good in red flannel.

The said man looked down at her. Oh shit, she'd been caught staring at the two cowboys. Before she could look away the one in red smirked at her and dipped his hat "ma'am," he speaks in greeting, his voice was low and raspy, sending butterflies to her stomach and other regions.

"H-hi," Y/n says shyly, like a schoolgirl whose crush finally talked to her. The man turned away and walked away to walk towards the front desk, mud left behind from their boots which they were quickly scolded for.

"Well while you boys are makin' a mess 'round my inn you can take help these girls up to their room," Pepper, the co-owner huffs "307... the nice one." Pepper waves them off, turning to grab the keys to the room.

Natasha eyed the blonde man up and down, resting her back on the front desk, propping her elbows up behind her. "Hi there cowboy," she speaks to him flirtatiously, her pink lips form a smirk. The man ducks his head and laughs.

"Hi there. I'm Steve."

"Natasha."

Y/N rolled her eyes at the flirting, rising from the couch she went to grab the handle of her bag but was met with cold metal. Her eyes flew up to see the man in the back cowboy hat already grabbed a hold of it "I'm assumin' this is yours?" he chuckled with that honey-like voice. Y/N nods and crossed her arms over her chest, her hand still feeling the chill of his hand.

She followed behind them, taking the red-carpeted stairs. She was behind them enough to stare at the broadness of his shoulders, a small smile appeared on her lips thinking about what it would be like to run her hands down his back. No, she quickly erased the image out of her mind. That thought returned as they climbed the second set of stairs, her Y/E/C traveled down his back and landed on his backside as he climbed. A red rag hung out of his back pocket.

The man turned around as they reached the top, catching her stare at him "I'm Bucky," he tells her, breaking her out of her trance. Bucky was 2 for 2 catching her stare at him. The red in her cheeks matched the vibrant red of the rag her eyes were once fixated on.

"Y/N," she responds simply, her voice quiet.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, miss." His words made her skin tingle, small bumps rising to the surface of her clothed skin. Her green jacket covering all the evidence.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bucky," she ponders over his name for a minute "did your parents name you that?"

Bucky laughed, oh God his laugh was precious "No, uh- my name is actually James. Bucky is just a nickname, I like it better," he explains. Y/N moved from the back to his side as they walked up the final set of stairs.

"Both names are nice," Y/n chuckles, "they suit you." They both looked at each other and instantly smiled, she even unfolded her arms and let them linger at her side. She forgot what it was like to be comfortable after all this time. Walking on eggshells for a man who could set off at any moment was what she grew accustomed to. This was nice, even she had to admit that.

The two girls in front couldn't help but give each other a knowing look, Steve even joined in. "He hasn't dated in years," he whispers to Natasha as they approached the room.

"A shell of a man cheated and dumped her," Wanda tells them in a hushed voice.

They reached the white door with a golden plate '307' written in script numbers. "This is the best room at the inn!" Steve starts to gush, placing the bags on the ground.

"Clear view of the stables, horses walking around all the time," Bucky chimes in, his elbow nudging Y/N the arm. he looked up at him with raised eyebrows but he wasn't looking at her this time. Did he do that on purpose? No. Probably not.

"Well... we'll let you ladies get settled in. Don't hesitate to reach out of you need anything." Steve dipped his hat and started to walk away, clapping his friend on the shoulder, turning him to walk in the same direction.

"See you around, Y/N," Bucky told her before walking away. Her eyes lingered on the tall man as he walked away and even he turned around to catch another glance at her. 3 for 3.

"Did someone catch feelings already?" Natasha laughed as he unlocked the room. Y/N eyebrows furrowed in anger, walking in after her friends, roughly brushing past the sassy redhead.

"All I want is John back. I don't know what the hell that was out there," she defended herself, snarling as she sat in the chair by the large windows, her legs hanging off the ledge.

The women hung their heads and began to unpack "You can have the other bedroom," was all Wanda said before the conversation ended. Y/N felt the guilt rise in her heart. She didn't mean to be so blunt and rude to them, in the back of her mind she knew they knew they were trying. She was trying too.

Time had passed and clothes were hung and folded away in their drawers. Nat sat on her laptop looking for places to eat in town while Wanda checked in with her husband and kids back home. Y/N hadn't left the chair since they arrived. Checking her phone for someone who couldn't talk to her.

"Look at this cute little place in town! It's home cooking they call it. We should go," Nat tells the girl happily.

"I'll call the Uber after I talk to Tommy," Wanda joins in.

"I-I don't want to go," Y/N says, her voice softer than before. She turns his attention to the sables below her, a black horse being led by the man in the black hat. "Bucky," she whispers to herself. She watches him, his lips were moving, obviously talking to the beautiful animal. A smile dared to appear on her face while she watched him, she saw her reflection and she sucked in her lips. Her attention went back to her friends.

"We're not going to let you coop yourself up in this room all night, Y/N." Natasha squints her eyes in judgment, closing her computer with a loud thud.

"And I don't want to make this trip miserable for you guys. I just need to be by myself for a while."

"That's what we're afraid of. It took 2 weeks to get you out of your apartment."

"I'm doing better now!" she shouts, realizing what she did she gulped and sat straight up in the chair, placing her feet on the floor "I'm sorry, Nat. Please just go, have fun and I promise we'll do that spa ay like you wanted tomorrow."

"Fine, but give me your phone," Wanda interjected, holding out her hand while her other one placed her phone in her back pocket. Y/N scrunched her nose and shook her head. Wanda's eyebrows lowered, her hand still stretched out as she walked towards her. She cocked her head, striking fear into the Y/H/C. She hated when Wanda did that.

"How are you going to reach me if something bad happens?"

With the phone now in Wanda's hand, Nat said "We'll call the front desk."

The girls had left, telling Y/N to make her time alone useful. She wanted to sit and wallow in her never-ending sadness. She remembered a time like this at a New York lawyers convention when John left her in the room for hours while he partied downstairs. No, no, she didn't want it to be like this even if it was her choice now.

The stables. She walked over to the window and saw the red building empty from what it looked like. Maybe she could get a glimpse of the horse she saw. Bucky didn't even cross her mind then or was that the reason she wanted to go so badly. No, it had to have been the horse she saw. Keep telling yourself that.

Y/N stayed back a bit longer, giving Nat and Wanda enough time to leave the property. They would never let this go after the stable comment Bucky made. She stepped outside, the sun starting to set and a small chilled breeze brushes past her. Lurking around to make sure no one was there she slowly walked into the stable, the horses not paying her any attention.

There she was, the beautiful black mare standing her her stall, her face poking out of the window. Y/N walked over and let the horse sniff the palm of her hand "You're so pretty, my darling," Y/N beams, rubbing her nose. The horse nickered, making the woman laugh "You like compliments don't you."

"She craves attention!" A voice called out from the other side of the barn. Y/N whipped her head to the side, her heart thumping against her chest. Bucky started making his way over, two silver buckets in his strong arms. The sweat on his face didn't go unnoticed by her, she swallowed hard and took a step back from the horse.

"I-I didn't see a stay-out sign, I'm sorry if I'm not all-" her rambling was cut off by his soft chuckle and the clang of the buckets now on the ground.

" I don't mind, doll. Clementine loves the company." I was hoping you'd show up, he kept that to himself of course. "While you're here, do you want to help me brush her? She gets sad if I don't do it before I leave."

Y/N smiles softly and nods at him, her hands folded in her lap. Bucky eagerly opened the stall and allowed her to enter first. He ran around to empty the feed buckets and placing the buckets on the shelf. He pants as he hands her a brush, his awkward smile earning a thank you.

Bucky stood on one side while she stood on the other, brushing the shiny coat of Celmentines's body. The silence was a comfort and the soft brushing noises were music to their ears. She enjoyed the silence and stolen glances at each other. His steel-blue eyes fixated on his favorite horse, she'd never seen someone look that loving towards someone else.

He breaks the silence "So what brings you guys all the way out to our neck of the woods?"

Was she supposed to be honest? Because 'I'm desperately trying to get over a man who ripped my heart out' doesn't scream approachable. She bit her lip and looked at him from the other side of the horse, their searching eyes meeting.

"Fella did me wrong so my friends decided a getaway was the best medicine," she explained, a watered-down version of what the real devastating truth was.

Bucky nods as he listens to her, slowly making his way to her side, brushing Clementine's hip as a cover. He didn't push it any further, now wasn't the time and he remembered her somber appearance when he first met her in the lobby "Where ya from?" He asks instead

"Brooklyn." His ears perk up, he hadn't thought about that city in so long.

"Brooklyn?" he hums, "how's the city these days?"

"Busy," she responds, looking over at him trying not to act surprised that he moved closer. "You've been?"

"Once or twice." 7 years. He frowned and bit the inside of his cheek. Y/N hums and starts to brush the side of her neck. Clementine whinnies, making the woman jump back. "I-It's ok," Bucky tells her kindly, holding out his hand, "she likes that, let me show you." He takes off his hat and tosses it on top of the hay pile behind them.

His flesh arm placed at on her midback, bringing her closer to the horse. His metal arm covers her hand to guide the brush down Clementine's neck. The sound of her own heart was deafening, he was so close she could pick up everything. The smell of hay and horses mixed in wish musk and was the cedar? It was manly...just like him. The stands of loose hair stuck to his forehead, small grey hairs mixed into his stubble.

Her eyes shifted away from his face onto the sight in front of her, his hand over hers, the gold and black metal shining in the overhead light. She wondered if he could feel her. "Your arm?" she questions barely audibly.

"It was a military accident...I fell," he responded, she couldn't tell if there was sorrow in his voice or he was just accustomed to explaining it all the time.

"It's nice! I hope I didn't offend you," she tried to pull away from the situation she created but his flesh arm held her still. He looks down at her and smiles.

"You didn't. It was a long time ago."

His reassurance got her to relax. They eased into small talk about their lives, she learned that he was born here and always helped the Starks on the ranch when they opened it, leading into a job when he got out of school. He was kind and funny, made her heart constantly skip beats when he said something nice. It made her forget John Walker for a while.

The sun went down, the auto light of the stables turned on. Bucky knew he should've clocked out by now, but this was far better. She was sad, he knew that, but when she relaxed she was surprisingly funny with her quick wit, soft smiles, and her newfound love for his favorite girl Clementine.

"Have you ridden before?" he asks as they finish, taking her brush back.

"No," Y/N laughs as she recalls her childhood, "I saw a boy fall off one at summer camp and I swore I'd never do it. I admire from afar."

Bucky joins in on the laugh while he grabs his hat and dusts off the loose straws of hay on his hat. Y/N bits her lip and pats Clemintine one last time before the pair walked towards the door "Watch your step," he warns, holding his metal hand out for her to take. She looks at him for a moment, feeling like her feet were cement. Her eyes flash from his hand to the softness in his eyes.

"Fucking hell Y/N let's go!" John's hand outreached for her, it was shaking, matching his anger. "I'll fucking leave you here. You know, fuck it. Walk home." That hand turned into a fist... she didn't like that fist.

Hesitantly she takes it, her nervous fingers wrapping around his palm as he guided her over the edge of the stall and onto the main ground of the stable. "Thanks for letting me brush her, it was nice," she smiled, still holding his hand. She wasn't the only one who didn't let go.

"Any time, doll. How long are ya here for?"

"5 days," she responds. Not enough time, he frowned and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Well you can come down any time you'd like, Clem would like the company." I would too.

Y/N finally realized she was holding his hand, her eyes went wide and pulled away suddenly, her nervous chuckle ringing in his ears "I-I should go... thank you again Bucky."

She scurries off towards the inn, their hands still tingling. He'd never been this happy to still have nerves in his arm "God bless Wakanda tech," he praised under his breath, clenching and unclenching the hand.

"Y/N! Wait a minute," he shouts stopping her mid way. She turns and see's him standing there in the overhead light of the stable, like he was waiting for her to get there safely.

"Yeah?" she questions, matching the volume of his voice.

"While you're here you should try Happy's Diner! Best coffee in town!"

"I thought this place did?"

"Don't let Pepper convince you!"

Y/N giggles and nods "I will. Goodnight Buck."

"Goodnight, Y/N!" He watches her leave, making sure she was safely inside, she turned to catch one last glance at him making the brunette smile at her and waving her off.

It would be another hour before Natasha and Wanda returned to the room, finding their friend in the same position in the chair by the window. This time her shoes were dustier than before, black hairs visible on her cream-colored shirt. She stared at the cowboy painting on the wall in front of her like her life depended on it "What did you do all day, Y/N?" Wanda asks, tossing Y/N's phone on the bed.

She expected her to run and grab it, feverishly checking the messages John couldn't send. That reaction never came, she didn't flinch when the phone landed on the bed with a soft thud. Her mind was still a blur, Bucky was kind, he held his hand out for her and got her to the other side of the stall...he waited for her.

"This," Y/N remarks, coming out of her thoughts pointing to the chair she was occupying. The spy in the leather jacket didn't buy it, looking at the differences in her clothing and demeanor.

"Sounds like a bore," Nat sighs, deciding to let it go for a moment.

"How was the restaurant?" Y/N yawns, getting up and walking past them. The two redheads sniffed the air as she passed, it smelled like Y/N had been sleeping in a barn. Well, that was almost true.

"What the hell is that smell?" Wanda grimaced, her nose scrunching at the foul smell. Y/N stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, she wasn't about to tell them about her time in the stable with Bucky. She brought her shirt up to her nose, fuck, it was her.

"Must be the atmosphere," she laughed it off, "I'm going to bed!" She rushes off before the accusations came and she knew they would come.

The door to the adjoining room slams shut and the girls give each other a knowing look "Twenty bucks says she smuggled Walker in here," Wanda bets.

"Nah, it was the guy with Steve. She blushed way too much to have done nothing about it."

"Fair."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #cowboy!bucky #cowboy!bucky x reader #sebastian stan imagine #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky au

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aggravatetheaxe · 3 years ago

Text

COURTNEY DWAYNE DELMONT (Slasher OC)

playlist

tag

the first picrew is more symbolic than representative of what he looks like (no chest mouth), the second picture is a sketch by the amazing @preyslaydisplay

quick facts: (cw for a very brief mention of sexual abuse/incest)

courtney "court" dwayne delmont

haven't really decided on a time period for him so i'm not sure of his birth year but he's 26. not sure of his birthday/birth sign (i'm terrible at that). bones says he should be a taurus?

6'8" with shoes on (yes i know, cliche giant slasher); broad, built, and muscular with a fair amount of body fat - not quite fat, but absolutely chubby and thick; lots of body hair, thick brows that nearly connect in the middle, and tangled/knotted chin-length brown hair; dark brown eyes; a stubbly beard cut through with his scars

he has scars all over his body in various places but especially his hands. he has moderate malocclusion that has given him double canines on top and misaligned canines on bottom, as well as some other double teeth and jacked up tooth placement. he has had to pull problematic teeth in the past by himself to avoid infection/decay. he has a deep tissue/muscle scar on his mouth/cheek sustained from a mountain lion that gives him a perpetual snarl. he is not able to close that side of his mouth.

wears flannels, likes suspenders, has been known to wear overalls. jean garments, hunting jackets (never in orange), vests, etc.

appalacian american of german and scots-irish descent

raised basically godless but his family had a history as pentecostals

hasn't really been exposed to anything other than heterosexuality, so he wouldn't know, but i think he could be attracted to men. there's just a lot of internalized homophobia to get over there.

weapon(s) of choice: hunting rifle, shotgun, compound hunting bow ... but he'll use whatever he can get his hands on (or just his hands) in a pinch

he lives on a mountain in northern appalachia, i think somewhere in northern pennsylvania or maybe even southern new york, though it could be as far south as west virginia. he owns a hunting lodge with no running water and limited to no electricity, as well as the property around it, and in a more abstract way owns the mountain (as his hunting ground), which has several abandoned and dilapidated houses, shacks, deer stands, and ranger stations in various places

his grandfather, duane vernon delmont, was a prolific serial killer, and had only one daughter (courtney's mom, charlotte). after duane's wife's death, they lived up there alone. duane basically hunted hikers, people who wandered into their territory, and basically anyone he could get away with the same way you would animals: with guns, bows, traps, from the trees, etc... it was a game, the most dangerous game, and he'd skin and dress them like animals too, and make trophies, and sometimes even eat them, jerky style usually. why waste the meat?

he also abused charlotte, so his grandpa is actually also his dad, but courtney doesn't know that. duane was always vague about where his father was, as well as the rest of their extended family. even for appalacian people, they were super isolated, just him, his grandpa, and his mom.

his grandpa brought him up hunting, fishing, crafting, and mending. he taught him how to kill animals and people and told him it wasn't a big deal, it was just nature, it was what he was supposed to do etc.... courtney didn't really have any education or communication with the outside world so he simply believed him

when courtney was nine, his mom went missing. his grandpa killed her, but courtney doesn't know that either... or at least doesn't acknowledge it. his grandpa just came in one morning like "your mom's gone" and showed him where she was buried. if he actually wanted to acknowledge the truth of that he could probably put the clues together... but i think it's just too hard for him to think about. he'd have a hard time thinking about his mom like an animal

so from then on courtney took care of his grandpa and their land, taking on charlotte's chores, some of them quite arduous and involved. but his grandpa continued to teach him how to hunt as he grew up, which was not an upbringing conducive to ...well, anything good, as you can imagine.

courtney was 17 when his grandpa died, but through experience he was basically an adult. he's carried on the tradition of hunting people because he's all alone and literally doesn't know what else to do? it's all he knows. he doesn't eat people, but he does keep trophies, and his methods are more covert than his grandpa's. he works smarter, not harder.

in fact, despite not being educated, he is quite clever, and between that and his size ... you better hope you're hiking up a different mountain

he's not just some mindless killer. he understands population control and will nurse or cull the various animal populations on the mountain depending on what they need. this goes for the human population as well. he's waaaay more likely to let you go if you're a local. he'd heal and release more outsiders but for obvious reasons he doesn't want to be caught

because he's used to taking care of himself and his grandpa all alone up there, he's actually great around the house. he's quite capable of sustaining himself on the mountain, though he's extremely isolated ... which doesn't do great things for his mental health

he spends most of his days caring for the house and the garden, the land around, making and laying traps, hunting, hauling water, and taking inventory of his supplies. he does have a busted up old truck for if he has to go down the mountain but it's rarely used.

you'd think he'd be a total asshole like duane, and while he is a murderer and he can be malicious, he's never unnecessarily cruel. he is brutal but efficient. he's tempered by his mother, his own nature, and the years he spent learning discipline through work and caring for his grandpa. but you do what you know

I'll link any headcanons and stories I write with him below:

Slashers when their partner is angry

What Courtney looks for in a partner

Happy Morning

Love headcanons

#courtney dwayne delmont #slasher oc #slasher fic #slasher imagine #slasher community #slashers #courtney

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thirstyforcharacters · 4 years ago

Text

When the Universe Collides (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how smacking yourself in the face with a cabinet was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hi! Since the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier comes out today, I wanted to write something for Sam! He’s super underrated and deserves more love! Also, this soulmate AU is extremely self-indulgent and has absolutely nothing to do with the TV show, but tbh I don’t care. Hope you all enjoy it too! (no y/n, no pronouns) (PS: any italicized text is Sam texting and the italicized and bold text is the reader texting!)

Warnings: mentions of a stab wound (nothing explicit), cursing I guess

WC: 2.2 k

Your soulmate must have one hell of a job.

Almost every day, you woke up with dark bruises covering your body. It seemed that whenever one faded, another took its place. At completely random times, you would double over in aches that you certainly didn’t inflict upon yourself. One time, in the middle of the night, you woke up with pain in your stomach so intense, it felt like someone had stabbed you! It turned out that it was a stab wound, but given that no one had stabbed you lately (or ever), you figured it was from your soulmate. You definitely didn’t appreciate that hospital bill.

But you still desperately wanted to meet them. Meet that person that completed you: your other half. As a teenager, you made your parents tell you the story of the day they finally met so many times, you knew it by memory. They were both in the library at college, and your mom dropped a psychology textbook on her foot! Her howl of pain was only matched by the “SON OF A BITCH” that came from your dad on the opposite side of the library. When the two of them made eye contact, they instantly knew they were the ones for each other (they were also immediately kicked out for making such a ruckus). You wanted to have that moment so badly; meeting your soulmate was a huge milestone in every person’s life, and you needed it.

Your best friend and roommate, Brianna, had met hers just two months ago. They had met at the beach, when out of nowhere, Bri had shrieked in shock and pain.

“A crab just pinched me!��

When you had looked at her foot and told her nothing was there, she was totally confused, until you saw a handsome guy with a crab hanging from his foot! He had introduced himself as Julian, and the two had been inseparable since. He was living with you now, and you had honestly never felt more lonely in your life. Sure, you had your dream career; you ran a music shop in New York City, selling instruments, making repairs, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. You had a decent apartment, a chill best friend, and the cutest Yorkie, named Muffin, on the planet. By all accounts, you had it pretty good. You were just missing your other half.

It was a rainy day in NYC. The chill of winter was still clinging onto the March air, and you shivered as you trudged from your apartment to your shop. Even though you had an umbrella to protect you from the rain, the wind blew right through the too-thin jacket you yanked off of the coatrack in a rush. Still holding your half-eaten toaster strudel in your hand, you pushed open the doors to Major Instruments and Minor Repairs, your pride and joy.

It was two floors: the first was where you sold instruments, and the repair shop was above. Acoustic panels were attached to the burnt red walls to help quiet down the place, since the hardwood floors didn’t do much to help with that. The checkout desk was directly in the center in the room. Surrounding it were reeds, bottles of valve oil, and guitar strings. Picks were placed in two clear, plastic bowls on the desk itself. In the front left corner of the room was a grand piano, situated right in the window so passersby could see whenever someone plucked its keys. The entire back wall was covered in guitars and basses. To the right of the desk was a large drumset, accompanied by a pair of drumsticks and brushes. On the right wall were string instruments; string basses and cellos were leaned against the wall, while the violins, violas, and bows were displayed on it. Woodwind and brass instruments were scattered across the room in various display cases. Instrument stands, bow rosin, and miscellaneous instrument parts were on shelves throughout the room as well. The spiral staircase leading up to the repair shop was in the back left corner of the room. Behind the staircase was the door to the back store room, where you kept your extra supplies and also where you took your breaks.

“Good morning!” called Andrew, one of your closest friends from college, from behind the desk.

You waved in reply, wandering to the back store room. You were lucky you had Andrew; you could rely on him to run the front desk while you and Brianna assisted customers on the floor. Unfortunately, Bri had the flu today, so it would just be you on the floor, which would make things a little more hectic. You hurriedly finished your strudel, took off your jacket, which left you in a black and white flannel, a matching black tank top reading “Music is Life,” black leggings, and black combat boots (you had an aesthetic to uphold), and strode back out to the main area.

“You seem in a bit of a rush. Everything okay?” asked Andrew, who was currently restocking bell covers.

You sighed, “Just a whirlwind of a morning. Bri has the flu, Muffin nearly choked on a chicken bone, I almost burned my toaster strudel, and I smacked myself in the face with my cabinet door by accident.”

“Oh, that’s where the new bruise on your eye is from,” he mused.

You snorted, “Yeah, for once it’s not from my soulmate.”

“Maybe he’s a spy. Or a superhero!”

“Yeah, or a criminal,” you joined in on the restocking, grabbing some trumpet mutes since the place opened in just half an hour, “thanks for opening up, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, “you know I don’t mind.”

The doorbell jingled and two of your instrument repair people, Sarah (for strings), and Natalie (for brass), entered. Natalie was lugging what was unmistakably a tuba case, while Sarah carried both of their instrument repair kits.

“Morning, ladies!” called Andrew.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied pleasantly.

Natalie huffed out a “morning” and dragged the tuba up the stairs.

“Her tuba’s broken. The tubing that holds up her mouthpiece completely snapped off. She’s going to try and repair it before her appointments today,” explained Sarah.

You winced, “That’s rough.”

Sarah dropped off both of their jackets and followed Natalie up the stairs leaving you alone with Andrew again. Soon after, Erik, your percussion guy, and John, the woodwind repairman, arrived, and it was time for the shop to open. For a while, it was just another mundane Thursday. Customers came and went. People tested the piano and drumsets, someone bought $100 worth of jazz scores, and a teenaged boy came in who somehow got a ping pong ball stuck in their trombone (you learned to never ask). But at exactly 1:47 pm, a time you would never forget, two very unexpected customers walked through the threshold of your store. You were up on a ladder, carrying a large, rather heavy, box of violin bows to situate on the wall, when you heard their voices.

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m a wizard at the saxophone.”

“Sure, Sam. I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

“I’m serious, dude! I played all the time before I joined the military, and I picked it back up a little bit again after the whole Avengers thing. I just need to get a new one.”

“Hmm, okay. We’ll see.”

“Bastard.”

You whipped your head around and saw the Falcon and the Winter Soldier themselves in your shop. Having superheros in your place was a first. And who knew Sam Wilson played the saxophone?

Andrew offered them a cheerful greeting and directed them toward the saxophones, which happened to be near the ladder you were teetering on. Every time you leaned up to put a bow on display, it wobbled so badly you thought you were going to fall. You really needed to allocate some funds toward a new one.

As you continued to place bows on display, you heard the conversation of the two gentlemen browsing the saxophones. Apparently, Sam much preferred the tenor sax (which you happened to play, quite well you might add). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pick up a Selmer Paris model and inspect it. Those didn’t come cheap, but you were sure that saving the world gave a man a pretty decent paycheck.

“You think I can test it out?”

“I don’t know, dude. You should probably ask.”

You saw him nod, “Yeah, I guess so. And there’s not a reed in here, anyway. Excuse me!”

You realized he was calling you, so you craned your head to look at him. Both men were looking up at you, both with kind smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way I can get a cheap reed to test this out with,” Sam asked, “and are we even allowed to test them in store?”

You smiled back, “Yes, you can. We have test reeds at the front desk, just ask Andrew and he’ll give you one. That’s the only one you’ll get though.”

“Cool, thanks,” he replied while looking around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

Your smile grew a little wider, “Thank you! It took a little while to get it off of the ground, but I’m really proud of how it turned out.”

It was almost as if the universe wanted you to suffer. You stretched up to display yet another bow, and the ladder toppled to the ground, taking you with it! You shrieked in surprise and braced yourself for the impact with the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, you were caught in a pair of (ridiculously) muscular arms. When you looked into the arms of your hero, of course it was Sam himself. He was too handsome for his own good. The thing that stood out most to you were his deep brown eyes. And how, on the left one, was a bruise that exactly matched the one that you gave yourself this morning.

“Are you alright? That ladder must have it out for you,” joked Sam, though you could tell that he was concerned for you.

“I’m okay,” you squeaked, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem. All a part of the job.”

You nodded distractedly, still fixated on the bruise adorning his eye. He couldn’t be your soulmate, could he?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.

“I-yes. I just got a bit, well, distracted.”

“By what?”

Well, it was now or never. You might as well just go for it.

“When did you get that bruise?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, “The one on my eye?”

You nodded.

“This morning. It just popped up. Hurt a little bit, like something hit me in the face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve given my soulmate, though. I got stabbed in the stomach once and all I could think about was how confused and hurt they must’ve been,” came his reply.

It was him. It had to be! All of your random, serious injuries made so much more sense now.

“It did hurt,” you murmured back, “but not as much as the hospital bill.”

His face went from apologetic to elated faster than you had ever seen, “Wait, that means it’s you?”

“I think so,” you said, “I hit myself in the eye with a cabinet door this morning, and that-” you gestured to his face, “matches mine.”

“Oh, it does!” he exclaimed.

“Are you two done over there?” complained Bucky.

Thankfully, the Winter Solider had successfully rescued your box of bows.

Sam stood you up, and you could feel the embarrassment slowly creeping over you, “Yeah. Sorry about that, guys. Promise I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Seems like you need a new ladder,” Bucky told you.

“You don’t say,” you sassed back, prompting a laugh from Sam.

Bucky then strode off to return the fallen box to Andrew. He gave Sam a knowing look as he passed by. He wasn’t very slick, though, you totally saw him.

“Listen, since apparently we’re soulmates and all, I’d love it if I got your number. I’ll take you somewhere nice to make up for all of the times I’ve gotten you hurt,” explained Sam.

You smiled bashfully, “That sounds nice.”

He handed you his phone and you input your digits. As Sam and Bucky were in the checkout line, your phone buzzed.

Hey, gorgeous. It’s your new man.

You giggled softly and looked up at him. He gave you an exaggerated wink and launched finger guns at you, making you laugh a bit harder. You entered his number into your phone and decided to send a text back.

Looking forward to you making up for all of those broken bones.

Me too.

You knew you’d be happy with him. Whenever the universe collided in this way, it always turned out for the best. If your parents and your roommate weren’t enough proof, soon you would discover it for yourself. You couldn’t wait for all of the memories you’d make together.

#sam wilson #falcon #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fluff #soulmate au #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader fluff #x reader fic #marvel #MCU

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