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irrelevantwriter · 4 years

Text

Unspoken

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, public sex, car sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mild choking, mention of bodily fluids, shitty exes, petty Rio (yaaaass)

Word Count: 5.8K

Summary: Part 6. Feelings were shared. Where does that leave you and Rio? A dinner with your ex? A car in a dark parking lot?

A/N: The last part is here! Though as I said yesterday I am definitely not calling this the end. I have lots of ideas for Rio and I’ve thought about adding to this in the future as inspiration hits. I’ve also thought about developing a Rio x OFC fic and/or something for Beth x Rio. I’ve had a lot of fun writing and exploring his character so I’m nowhere near close to done. And I also need to shoutout the ladies from the discord for this part. They suggested it and I ran with it (as I do). So big thank you to @woahitslucyylu, @whatupitshuff, and @fvckthisbxtchup! You inspired this. Be proud of yourselves. Anyway, I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 5 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

*********************

He sighed, turning off the engine and checking his phone one last time for messages. The restaurant lot was full, patrons shuffling in and out of the newest establishment in downtown Detroit. It was in a historic building that had obviously recently been renovated, though efforts had been made to keep its old world charm. The restaurant was a place he’d yet to visit and this impromptu pop-up offered the perfect opportunity for him to do so.

Rio exited his vehicle into the cool air of the night. It wasn’t frigid, but it was enough for those outside to don a jacket. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he made his way to the entrance, noting the stylish fashions of most of the restaurant's occupants. He didn’t worry about the supposed dress code. Wearing black often gave him an air of sophistication, even with the tattoo splashed across his throat. It was a duality he’d mastered over the years. The tattoo kept him grounded to his roots. His nature. His business. The wardrobe kept him aligned with the civilian world. People would often eye his throat warily, suspicion clear in their gaze. But one look at the clean lines of his pressed shirt and somehow they’d come to the conclusion that he’d made a mistake as a young kid. Got involved in the wrong crowd. Hadn’t gotten around to getting the hideous atrocity on his neck removed. They believed what they wanted to believe.

Cowards.

He smiled at the passing elderly couple as he held the door open for them, their smiles making their eyes crinkle at the edges. They probably thought he worked there. He stepped through the threshold, taking in the dim lighting and soothing melody of jazz that filtered through the space. His eyes scanned the open area with practiced diligence until he found what he was looking for amongst the black booths that ran the length of the right wall. They were high and designed for privacy, but he could spot your face anywhere.

The hostess greeted him and he politely gestured to the booth you sat at, easing by the podium as she took a moment to trail her eyes along his body. He smirked at the blatant attempt at flirtation, not bothering to return the sentiment. Instead, he weaved through the aisles of tables as he made his way towards you.

Your brow was tensed, your lips pursed. The discomfort showed on your features, all the way down to your stiffened shoulders. He watched as you took a sip from your wine, nodding along to whatever the person across from you had said. When he came into view, your eyes widened, almost comically so. He grinned, finding your shock amusing. It was the exact reaction he was going for.

“Hey mama, sorry I’m late.” He announced as he made it to the table. He ignored the couple sitting with you and leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, feeling you sway into it despite your obvious surprise.

“Uh...h-hi.” You choked out, shifting over so that he could slip in next to you.

He shed his jacket as he sat down, pulling you close once he’d gotten comfortable. You let him maneuver you, still trying to understand why he was there. He could see the slight panic in your eyes, as if he were here for business purposes, crashing a dinner as a strategic move. But that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

His eyes finally met Paul’s, your ex, and then slid over to his fiancé’s at his left. They both looked just as stunned as you, except for the displeasure that radiated from Paul’s gaze and onto him. His fiancé, Erica, he thought her name was, looked intrigued; curious about his arrival.

“Sup, man…” Rio greeted, extending his hand for Paul to take. He let it hang in the air for a moment, eyes trying to remain unflinching against his. After only a second, the man broke eye contact. He reluctantly took Rio’s hand and shook it, his palm sweaty and warm.

“Who is this?” Erica questioned after she realized no one was going to introduce him.

“Oh, um...sorry. This is Rio.” You replied shakily, looking at him as if trying to convince yourself that he wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

He noticed your nervousness and rested his left hand on your bare knee, gently squeezing in silent reassurance. He felt you relax immediately, your body uncoiling beside his and once again seeking out his touch.

“Nice to meet you.” Rio smoothly directed to Erica, taking her offered hand. She smiled back in return, her lips painted a vivid pink. It was a harsh shade and one that made her look like she’d been playing dress-up. He knew from the comments you’d made to him that Erica was not the woman you’d caught Paul with during your marriage. It’d been someone different. Someone from his firm. But you’d quickly pieced together that there had been many throughout the years. All slightly younger and the exact opposite to you in appearance.

Rio let his eyes covertly take in the woman across from him. She wasn’t unattractive. But she also wasn’t someone he’d ever think about leaving you for.

“You’ve met Paul. And this is Erica.” You stated, hand gesturing to the uncomfortable-looking couple across the table.

Rio nodded in their direction, Paul’s stare still unmoving. He sat straight and rigidly, the arm that sat around Erica’s shoulders now taut and awkward looking. He found satisfaction in that. He let his own arm rest comfortably across your shoulders, his fingers dancing along your upper arm in soothing patterns. He felt you shiver in response.

“We didn’t know you were coming.” Erica said with a smile, giggling for whatever reason.

“Oh yeah, last minute change of plans.” He propped his chin into his hand and met your eyes, seeing the relief in them.

You’d told him about the dinner three nights ago when he’d been at your house. He was in your bed, lounging against the headboard after he’d fucked you on the stairs. And then once again on the dining table. You were checking your phone, mumbling curses to yourself when he’d asked you what was wrong. You’d complained about your ex and how he was now suggesting a dinner alone with you and his fiancé to “talk some things over”. The whole thing seemed innocuous enough to him, but you’d insisted Paul had an ulterior motive, which according to you, never meant anything good. You’d been worried ever since. Anxious about having dinner alone with them and dreading the reason he wanted to meet.

Rio had funneled the information out, not giving it much thought because your ex was none of his business. But something had struck him the night before when you’d called. He’d been going over some of his books, mind completely focused on numbers, when his phone rang. You were in the bathtub, voice tinged with ease and alcohol. Just wanted to hear your voice, you’d said. And for some unknown reason, that sliver of vulnerability made his chest feel tight. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

The newest development in your situation was slow-going. After that night in his car and the semi-proclamation of feelings, you’d both taken cues from the other, waiting for someone to speak up and declare...something. None of that had happened though. What had happened was amazing sex on the regular and sporadic outings to dine. He preferred not to call them dates because they really hadn’t been. They were usually moments right after a round of rigorous sex when neither of you had eaten. It was usually a decision agreed upon mutually and without fanfare. Just two people who were hungry and accompanying the other. The barest of human needs. Just like the sex. It was satiation.

But even he knew that there was an underlying current of unsaid words. Which is why your tipsy admission had startled him. For so long you’d both denied what was so obvious. It was practically a subconscious act now. And he realized, as long as he let you dictate the speed, you’d come to him. As long as he didn’t push or ask for more, you’d show up. And you had. So now, so was he.

“Something to drink?” The waiter asked, interrupting the tense moment.

“Vodka on the rocks, please.” Rio replied, the waiter nodding and disappearing into the fray.

“So, Rio…” Paul finally spoke up, clearing his throat as he straightened his tie. It seemed he’d found his voice. “I take it you don’t actually deal with home plumbing.” He said the sentence snidely and with a poignant glance in your direction. “So what is it that you do?” He finished, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

He could feel you tense up beside him.

“I own a couple of businesses.”

“What kind of businesses?” Paul retorted, an eyebrow raised in doubt.

“The kind that do business.”

A moment of silence stretched out as Paul took in the nonanswer. Rio could see the wheels working in his head, see him weighing the pros and cons of arguing with him on the matter. The man opened his mouth, more than likely to continue to probe, but Erica beat him to the punch.

“How’d you guys meet?” She implored with an excited gleam, clearly hoping for a magical meet-cute moment that had never happened.

“Bar bathroom.” Rio said with a smug smile, enjoying the sputtered cough you expelled.

“He means outside of a bar bathroom. We sorta ran into each other.” You hastily lied, biting into your lip when his arm shifted off your shoulders and under the table, landing on your knee once again. He let his palm glide over the swatch of skin afforded to him by your dress, feeling your thighs clench together the higher he got.

“That’s adorable.” Eric chimed in, a genuine smile plastered on her pink lips. The same couldn’t be said for Paul, who looked as if he’d tasted something bitter.

Rio snickered because nothing about what either of you had been doing in the time since you’d met was adorable. It was the exact opposite. And he thrived off of it.

He turned his attention on you, hovering close to your ear, his fingers trailing along your inner thigh as he ignored the other diners at the table. “You good, mama?” He rasped, knowing what the action did to you.

Your eyes weren’t on him. They were shifting anxiously between Paul and Erica, concerned with the proximity of his lips and hand. Of course, they couldn’t see his arm disappearing beneath your dress, but they did notice the intimacy of the moment. Erica’s eyes looked on in admiration while Paul’s darted to anywhere but the two of you.

“Yeah.” You breathlessly replied, your own hand coming to rest on his. You squeezed and then set your gaze on his, reassuring him.

“You sure?”

His eyes flicked to your mouth, the flesh wet from both your lipstick and your tongue. He licked his own as he got lost in thoughts of tasting you.

You nodded, your eyes following the movements of his tongue, seemingly just as entranced as he was.

The moment was shattered with the waiter bringing Rio’s drink and taking food orders. It was for the better. He couldn’t very well fuck you on the table, though he’d save that fantasy for nights when he couldn’t have you.

Everyone kept the conversion polite and vague, choosing to stay away from certain topics. It was rigid and uncomfortable for everyone involved, unsurprisingly so. The subject transitioned to the kids, upcoming events and appointments being the main points. The food arrived and Rio busied himself with eating an exquisite dinner. The food was delicious and he had a fleeting thought about investing into something like this. He owned the bar and had arrangements with other small businesses, but he’d been hesitant to enter the restaurant realm. It was tricky. There were always new places offering something no other eatery could. He’d have to get with the owner, Joel Pinet. Rio knew him from around the neighborhood. His own bar was only a couple of blocks away and he’d met Joel on more than one occasion, the man a regular in his establishment.

“What’d you mean you won’t be here this summer?”

Your question brought him back to the moment, the irritation in your voice making him alert. His dark eyes settled on Paul as he twirled his fork in his pasta. The action annoyed Rio.

“Erica and I are going to Europe over the summer.”

“He promised to take me.” She chimed in, giddy and blissfully unaware of the anger mounting between the exes.

Your narrowed gaze bounced between the two, your irritation palpable. You were stiff as your spine straightened against the booth. “What about the kids? The summer is when they have time with you. They look forward to it.”

Paul raised his hand in a placating gesture and Rio noticed how your lips pinched together in response, as if physically restraining yourself from saying something. You were a better person than he was. The man across from him was barely that, and barely one that deserved your attention, much less the wasted love of a ruined marriage.

“I’ll make it up to them. But we’ve had this trip planned for months.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“Because I knew how you’d react.”

“Yeah, because the summer is your time, Paul.”

Paul sighed, as if frustrated with your reasonable argument. “So we’ll switch. You’ve had to have my help with alternating weekends when stuff comes up.”

“For work. Not a trip to fucking Europe.” You seethed, voice low but spewing with venom.

Rio only looked on, silently admiring your ability to not beat the guy’s ass. He deserved it. He was a piece of shit husband and an even bigger piece of shit father.

“The kids will be fine. We’ll be gone for a few weeks and then they can come stay with us for the remainder of the summer.” He brushed off your concerns, seeing no real issue with forgoing time with his children to peruse foreign streets.

Rio scoffed at the boldness. The action didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something to say?” Paul directed at him, his chest posturing in a show of male dominance.

Rio laughed lowly, amused by the man’s antics. How you’d ever ended up with someone like that was a mystery to him. After seeing your determination, your fire, Rio had been enthralled. He’d recognized something raw inside of you. Something that matched him. Outwardly, you appeared to be opposites. Strangers from two different worlds. But inside you were more alike than either of you really understood. There was something waiting to be uncaged within you. Waiting for a reason to be unleashed. He was going to get you there. Because you deserved to see your potential, even if the bitch of a man across from you didn’t.

“Nah man...you clearly got the situation under control.” Rio taunted, the sarcasm dripping from his words. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, two sets of eyes watching the bird at his throat move. It was his own alpha display. His own performance of just who king dick was. And it wasn’t your ex.

When it was clear that Paul wasn’t going to rise to the occasion, Rio drained the last of his drink and turned to face you. He lowered his lips to your ear and spoke so only you could hear.

“You ready to go, darlin’?”

“Yeah.” You said with a sharp nod of your head, chin held high in reproach towards the man opposite you.

Rio stood, grabbing his jacket and helping you slide out of your seat. His eyes never wavered from Paul’s as he did. You smoothed out your dress, clutching your purse and not bothering to acknowledge the couple at all. He dug into his pocket for his wallet and made a show of grabbing a few crisp hundred dollar bills. He pulled out two and threw them on the table.

“Dinner’s on me. Keep the change, yeah?” He offered with a smirk, letting his hand come to rest on your lower back. He led you away, keeping his touch secured to you as you stepped into the night.

You released a sigh immediately and then inhaled, eyes closing as if centering yourself. He watched you closely, wondering if he’d see tears in your eyes when you opened them. Instead, he saw amusement. A laugh erupted from your throat, your chest shaking as the volume grew with each passing second. He only watched, entertained by the sound. For the first time that evening, he let his eyes trail along your body. Your dress was black and velvet, hitting just below the knee. There was a small slit up the side, exposing the smooth flesh of your thigh. A tie was cinched around your waist, accentuating your figure, while short sleeves helped stave off the chill in the air. The entirety of you was elegant...captivating, and far too striking to be meeting up with your ex-husband for dinner.

Your laughter died down when you noticed his gaze. You stepped towards him, holding your purse in front of you so that your cleavage pulled his focus. He licked his lips and waited as you crowded his space, your perfume swirling into a fog around him. He studied your face, noting the tiny details he often overlooked. You were beautiful, a fact that never went unnoticed by him, but sometimes he forgot just how much. And he wondered if you’d always been this attractive or if it was just the blinding haze of attraction that made him think so. Either way, he didn’t really care. It didn’t change how much he ached to fuck you.

“How’d you know where I’d be?”

“I got my ways.” He offered, taking in the way your lashes fluttered at him. It was a familiar tell. One he’d come to associate with you flat on your back and gazing up at him, usually with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Thank you.” You whispered, sobering for a second so that he could read the honesty across your features. There was that vulnerability again. And his chest tightened just as it had the previous night.

“No problem.”

You took a step back and waited as he began to follow you to your car. You’d parked along the side of the building and he noted how full the lot still was. You halted once you noticed his SUV next to your car, stopping at the bumper and turning to face him.

“Your car?” You asked, nodding in the direction of the black G Wagon.

He wordlessly nodded, once again using the moment to appreciate the way your dress hugged your frame. He appraised your black heels and the deep red polish that adorned your toes, remembering that last time he’d seen you they’d been a light pink. He waited and watched as you walked to the passenger side of his car, fitting yourself in the space between the two vehicles.

“How tinted are your windows?” You asked, the innocence in your words making him suspicious. “Like no one can see in kind of tinted?”

You stared at him as you waited for his reply, biting your bottom lip in a way that could only be described as seductive.

“Yeah, why?”

You grinned, pleased with his answer. His face remained expressionless as you looked around the lot, the area void of other people. You slowly reached under your dress, careful not to expose yourself. Your hands disappeared under the skirt and then reappeared a second later, a scrap of dark green lace trailing down your legs. Your gaze stayed on him as you stepped out of the underwear and dangled them on your fingers, a proud grin making its way onto your lips. You flung the panties in his direction and he caught them against his chest.

“Open the door.” You softly demanded, gesturing to the rear passenger seat.

Rio let your words hang in the air, taking satisfaction in seeing you begin to squirm. There was doubt in your eyes, like perhaps he’d turn you down. You hadn’t caught on to the fact that he could do no such thing.

He took mercy on you, figuring you’d had enough unease for the night and found the key in his jacket pocket, hitting the button. The lights of the car flashed as the vehicle unlocked itself. You sent him a playful smile as you got in without another word, the door closing behind you with a resounding echo. He chuckled and shook his head, biting his lip as he pocketed your panties and walked to the other side of the vehicle. He got in, sliding in next to you and discarding his jacket along the way. He seated himself in the middle and you immediately straddled his lap. His hands found their way under your dress, skimming the soft planes of your thighs.

“So that’s what it takes, huh?” He whispered against your lips, leaning into your touch that ran along the back of his neck.

“What?”

“Me being a dick to your ex. That’s what it takes.” He supplied, hands gliding further under your dress until they began massaging your ass. You moaned at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as you ground down onto his crotch.

“Takes a little more than that.” You insisted, your hips rocking against his in a sensual rhythm.

“Let me see.” He gruffly commanded, chin angling to the hem of your dress that was bunched around your thighs.

You stilled your hips and did as he requested, lifting the fabric and exposing your bare slit to his hungry eyes. He could see the evidence of your arousal, even in the dark. Your pussy glistened in the muted light of the night, swollen and needy for him like aloe to a scathing burn. He reached forward and ran his index finger along your opening, making you jump at the contact. He instantly became drenched in you, the clear stickiness coating his finger. Your hips searched for a firmer hand, wordlessly begging him to slip past your lips.

“You seem plenty wet for me already, ma.” He taunted, letting his finger press against your clit. You gasped and bit your lip, nails digging into the tops of his shoulders.

“Rio...please,” You pleaded, chasing his touch every time it disappeared from your body.

His dick twitched at the sound of his name falling from your parted lips. It was something you’d only recently started doing, using his name in bed. He was addicted to the sound of it. You always said it with desperation and longing, usually while clinging to him in trembling pleasure.

“What do you need?”

You gripped his wrist and directed his finger into your waiting walls in response. He was overcome with heat and slick immediately. You both released moans that signaled just what it did to you to be so intimately joined.

“That what you need, baby?” He added another finger while his thumb continued to massage your clit. He could feel you clench around him, nipping at your chin as your moans turned to whimpers.

“More.”

“Let me see all of you.” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the neckline of your dress.

You dutifully obeyed, pulling your arms out of the garment and slipping it down to rest around your waist. The same shade of green that had adorned your lower half also encased your breasts, the lace affording him glimpses of your hardened nipples. He curled his fingers inside of you in reciprocation, reaching up to mouth at your neck. Your hands held him to you, running along his scalp and sending bolts of electricity straight to his dick. He shifted his hips in search of friction, feeling the warmth from between your thighs calling to him.

“Feel good?”

“Yes…” You breathed, unclasping your bra and hurriedly pulling the lace away. He followed your lead and trailed wet kisses across your flesh, his tongue reaching out to taste you. You pushed your chest into him in return.

“You can take more, right mama?” He urged, not bothering to wait for your answer. He added another finger, his movements speeding up as he reached that sweet spot deep within.

“Fuck, fuck…” You cursed, riding his fingers while he sucked at your nipple.

He worked your body like a fine-tuned car, hitting each switch with expert precision. He could read your face, gauge the tension in your limbs the further he brought you to the edge. His guilty pleasure was watching you cum, watching you uninhibited and practically blessing his very existence. He knew if he flicked his wrist more to the left and pressed down on your clit at the same time that you’d call out his name. He knew if he bit down on your breast he’d be rewarded with your pussy fluttering around him. He knew if he told you how good you looked, how good you felt, you’d cum...and hard.

“You look so good like this. Like you belong to me.” He praised. You gasped, throwing your head back, and he knew you were close. “Who gets you like this? Who makes you feel this good?”

“You do.”

“That’s right. No one else.” He affirmed, thrusting his fingers as rapidly as he could at that angle. The muscles in your thighs twitched as you came, tightening around his fingers in a way that made him long for it to be his dick instead. He let you ride out the ecstasy, your body rocking into the stiffness pressed along his zipper. Your head was thrown back, your mouth agape as a litany of cries and moans filtered through the air. He could make out the rasp of his name amongst the sounds. He could feel the surge of moisture as it slid down his hand. You were enraptured; a victim to his touch.

He waited until your body had stilled, the aftershocks having long passed, before he slipped from your clutches. He caught your hooded gaze and slowly took his slickened fingers into his mouth, your essence exploding onto his tongue. He savored you, taking in the way your chest expanded with each breath. Your fingers curled into his shirt and dragged along his chest, your hips dropping down to grind into him. He barely had enough time to remove his fingers before you were pulling his lips to yours. Your tongue coaxed his into your mouth and he could taste the remnants of the wine you’d drank. The alcohol mixed with you, creating an erotic elixir, one that had him intoxicated. He hissed against your lips, bucking his hips when you unzipped his pants and licked your palm in a show of lustful desire.

“I need you. Inside.” You panted between kisses, situating your pussy over him as you stroked his throbbing flesh.

Rio slid his hand up between your breasts and grasped your neck, feeling your pulse jump. He tilted your chin towards him and ensured your eyes were nowhere else but on him.

“Put me in. Go slow.” He squeezed his fingers around your throat as you moved, angling the head of his cock along your folds. You released a shaky breath as you eased him into you, gaze not wavering. He rested against the seat as he took in the view, licking his lips. He tsked and maneuvered your chin back in position when your eyes began to close, the fullness of him stretching you tight.

“Keep going, mama. All of it.”

You held his forearm, the one still attached to your neck, as you bottomed out, your ass finally meeting his thighs. Your pussy sucked him, walls gripping him with an unforgiving strength. You both remained still, relishing the myriad of sensations that assaulted your restless bodies.

“Touch yourself.”

You worked your hands over his arm, cupping your breasts at his request. Your movements mirrored his, matching the force and pressure of how he usually touched you. He was transfixed by you. Utterly lost in the way your body begged for him and still wanted more. He respected your greediness. Could understand the need for more once a craving had been satisfied. It was the business he was in. He was an expert on the matter. And he’d deliver for you.

His left hand dug into the flesh of your ass in a show of impatience. You caught on and started to move, leaning down to nibble at his throat. Your pace was languid, almost lazy as you swiveled your hips. Each down thrust had you rubbing your clit along his pelvic bone, triggering your pussy to spasm.

“Rio...”

There was a warning in your tone. He could hear it clearly as you bounced on his cock, the plea almost drowned out by the slapping of bodies.

“Shit, already?” He asked, somewhat surprised at the rate at which your body was responding to him. He let both of his hands fall to your ass, directing you forward so that he could thrust. You whimpered into his ear as his hips pushed up and into you, hitting deep. You clamped down around him, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“Right there. Don’t stop.” You gasped, face buried into his neck as he slapped your ass. The hit made you convulse. So he did it again.

The closing in of your walls made him double his efforts. He secured his arm around your waist and held you steady. He kept your pussy at his desired angle as he fucked you, hearing that hitch in your breath that let him know you were on the cusp of orgasm.

“M’gonna cum.” You slurred, primal lust making the words run together. His dick swelled inside of you, his balls tightening with every desperate breath you expelled. He could feel that familiar tingle at the base of his spine start to expand, signaling to him what was coming next. He worked his hand between your bodies, gathering moisture and ravaging your clit. You jerked in surprise, yelping when his touch didn’t retreat or ease up.

“Too much.”

“Nah, you take it, ma. You take it and you cum for me.” Rio provoked, forcing you to abide by his commands.

Seconds later you were doing as he said once again, cumming on his cock with a force that made him grit his teeth. Your body shuddered as barely intelligible words floated from your lips. You nuzzled further into him while he continued to chase his own release. He dug his fingers into your hips and thrust, the rapid speed making the car sway. He could already tell the windows were fogged up, the stench of sex permeating the air. You were boneless as you sat astride him, your soft moans of residual pleasure going straight to his dick, luring him off the edge.

“Fuck,” He growled, feeling the eletric shocks of climax start to claim him. He closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of your neck, teeth biting down into the otherwise unblemished skin. He held you firm as he emptied his cum and filled you, rivulets already beginning to spill from your connected bodies. His chest moved with the rapid beats of his heart as the entire moment culminated into a drug-level euphoria.

Minutes ticked by as you both struggled to catch your breath and calm your racing hearts. Rio felt you ghost a kiss along his jaw; a low, satisfied laugh making him smirk.

“You think anyone heard us?” You asked, beginning to shift in his arms.

Beyond the fogged windows, the lot was still without people. But who knew who’d walked by in the meantime. The SUV wasn’t necessarily equipped to withhold sound, though it could cause a bullet to ricochet.

“Probably.” He let you sit up, eyes falling to your still naked chest. You both seemed to have an affinity for fucking in public spaces.

You eased forward to kiss him, the action much more intimate than it’d been moments ago. Your fingers trailed along his jaw and combed through his facial hair, a gesture he secretly loved. His own hands skimmed your back, eliciting shivers that radiated down your body.

“I didn’t ask you to do this.” You whispered once you’d pulled away, eyes imploring him to understand what you meant.

He did. He knew what this kind of gesture meant. He’d been truthful in confessing his want for you. It was a selfish need. Something that grew because you’d continuously denied him. And then it’d shattered before it’d even had a chance to become anything. And during that time he’d admitted to himself that he was willing to compromise. To follow your rules. And as a boss who ran his own shit by his own decree, it was difficult to come to terms with. But he’d done it. Why? Because something told him it’d be worth it. Whether for the great sex or the companionship.

Time would tell.

He ran his finger along your cheek, observing the way you fell into the touch. “You didn’t have to.” He assured you, meaning every word.

“Thank you.”

“You already thanked me, darlin’.”

“Well, thank you again.” You smiled, pressing your chest to his.

“Call it even.” He joked, gesturing to the state of your bodies still twisted around each other.

“Let’s get some pizza.” You suggested suddenly, pulling the sleeves of your dress back up, sans bra.

He laughed at both your words and the fact that you were getting dressed with his dick still sheathed inside you. “You hungry?”

“I didn’t get to finish my dinner.” You reminded him, retying the tassel around your waist. His hands sluggishly skimmed your thighs, stopping to squeeze whenever you suddenly straightened. “Oh, what about that food truck you took me to last week? The one with the fried mac and cheese?”

Rio took in your enthusiasm, finding it endearing. He didn’t have to use words to figure out where your head was at in all this. It was written on your face. In your voice. Beaming from your eyes and seeping from your pores. And like so many other things between you, it would go unsaid. For now. Because that’s just how it was. And maybe it was fucked up. But it didn’t invalidate any of the chemistry between you. Words just...weren’t needed. And that was sort of how it had always been.

“I got you.” He assured, patting your ass as he did. You beamed at him, not knowing that his words ran much deeper than a meal.

Rio Tags:

@tomhardydallasstarsgirl

@thebookisbtr

@beardburnsupersoldiers

@nina-nkl

@gemini0410

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bukojuiice · 3 years

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the wedding booth — eren jaeger

ೃ pairing: (eren jaeger x fem! reader)

ೃ after being unwillingly dragged to plan and create a wedding booth for your first university festival, eren accompanies you to a bridal boutique. there, he contemplates about the future and all of the cheesy romantic stuff he wants to do with you.

ೃ genre and warnings: college au, lots and lots of fluff!

ೃ my nav → my aot masterlist

ೃ 1k words

My Big Fat Greek Wedding, My Best Friend's Wedding, The Wedding Planner, Wedding Crashers... hell, even Mamma Mia.

If having to be forced to watch these romantic comedies about weddings doesn't give you the sudden urge to get hitched and run away to some tropical island, then you don't know what will.

For your very first uni fair at Shigashina University, your friends had proposed a Marriage booth. To be more specific, three of your friends did. Jean, Sasha, and Connie are the masterminds behind this stupid idea and it's all because of three things:

1. Jean is pining over Mikasa so so bad. So many years have passed and yet he still hasn't found a way to confess. And so, due to his pompous ass binge-watching stupid rom-coms recently, he thinks that if "fake dating" can bring two people together, then having a fake wedding with his unrequited crush of 12 years could finally make her fall for him too. He wants the booth to be as iconic as a wedding straight out of Las Vegas. Problem is, he's never been to Las Vegas, and his terribly unrealistic basis for wanting it to be as iconic as a "Las Vegas Wedding" is that one scene from The Hangover and that episode from Friends.

He was delusional and yet, he wanted to push through with this proposal no matter what. Nothing was going to stop him... not unless it was one of the three seniors whom you would be proposing this project to in the first place.

2. Sasha's goals are much normal. A bit odd, but still normal and not as desperate as Jean's. All she wants is to get Ymir, the captain of the school's soccer team to confess to Historia, the freshman Bio-Chemistry student who works part-time as a library assistant (and whom everyone secretly fawns over for. she's just that damn cute.) However, the real reason as to why she helped [rp[pse this stupid marriage booth to get them to finally confess to each other is anyone's guess.

3. Connie thinks he's gonna get clout from this. Rise up the university hierarchy perhaps? He's treating the entire festival like it's high school all over again. He prays that the marriage booth will become the hottest thing in the festival, then he'll instantly become that cool and bad-ass freshie whom everyone wants to be friends with. Either way, if the booth is going to be a success or not, you know for a fact he's never going to be a part of the "cool kids" (good lord, can you believe people still use that term in college?) and he's gonna be stuck with you and your other friends for the rest of the years to come.

It didn't take long before they finally finished their elaborate PowerPoint Presentation (despite Connie insisting that Powerpoint is boring) that they were going to pitch to three of the principal members of the student council. Namely, Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, and Hange Zoe.

It was gonna be an automatic no for Levi, obviously. Nothing could ever get past that man. But if they can somehow convince Erwin and most especially Hange to get on board with their stupid scheme, then the booth was good to go.

Now, here you are, in a bridal boutique. Purchasing some simple wedding dresses that will serve as your rent-a-dress service for the Marriage booth.

It wasn't originally a part of the plan. Not at all.

However, Hange would only approve of the project IF the wedding booth was going to be made into something more elaborate and memorable. They didn't want something as simple as printing out fake marriage contracts, cheap tulle fabric wedding veils, fake plastic bouquets, and wedding pictures that came out of a polaroid camera.

Oh no no no. They wanted it to be extravagant. The cream of the crop. The absolute bomb. The best booth at the festival.

Hange saw potential in the idea and with an approved budget by the student council, you could make anyone's wedding dreams come true.

Fast forward to a week before the event, you are currently on a shopping spree with Armin, Mikasa, and your boyfriend, Eren (because Sasha insisted he had the right proportions for the rental groom outfits. She totally did not ask him to come along so that he can see you try on wedding gowns.) to buy supplies, props, decorations, and everything else needed.

"(Y/N), we'll meet you and Eren at the bridal boutique, okay?" Armin proclaims, looking at the time on his wristwatch and struggling to balance the shopping bags on his other hand. Mikasa notices how much he's been struggling and offers to hold the bags for him.

"Sure! Don't forget about the list that Jean sent!" You shout back, turning to Eren as his fingers interlace with yours, making your merry way to the boutique whilst Armin and Mikasa go off the other direction.

"Don't get too excited." You joke, nudging Eren on the arm. "I'll just be trying on these dresses for the booth."

There's a particular glimmer in Eren's emerald eyes, chuckling at your quip. "Sheesh. Did you really have to remind me? Of course I know that. Besides, we're too young to even think about marriage right now. What's important is that I'm spending the best years of my life with you."

"Eren Grisha Jaeger, it is too damn early for you to make me a blushing pile of mess with your flirty comebacks." You deadpan, the heat rising up your cheeks as you try to hide your embarrassment from him.

The both of you laugh it off, shuffling into the store. The chiming bells of the shop door echo around the area as you look in awe at the luxurious dresses occupying every available space. The wafting smell of a vanilla pinecone scent and the soft sound of a sewing machine doing its work. There was a homey and rustic feel to this boutique that made you feel like you were sent back in time.

From great flouncy pieces adorned in layers of lace that rolled like ocean waves to more humble designs, albeit of the finest cloth.

This plethora of finery- reminds you strongly of the many genteel ladies depicted in those books and historic romances you used to read and watch. Like that of Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility.

Having the opportunity to enter a boutique such as this was a dream.

"Welcome! May I help you find anything?" A seamstress appears from the register. She looks at you from head to toe, as if trying to guess your measurements.

"W-we're looking for wedding dresses. Anything within the 200 to 300 dollar range? We don't need anything extra fancy, though! We'll just be needing them-"

Her eyes shift from you to Eren like she's suddenly a love coach, sizing the two of you up. "Yes, yes, young love! How sweet!" She chirps, breathing out a dreamy sigh. "Of course! For couples on a tight budget, we have-"

"We're looking for wedding dresses that can be used as costumes! Not too short and not too long either. W-we're not getting married or anything." You dismiss the seamstress with a wave of your hand. "I'm sorry if you thought of it that way..."

Although her shoulders visibly drop, the saleswoman still manages to smile. "Oh! I would like to apologize for assuming anything too!"

"Actually, mam, we do have plans sometime in the future." Eren grins cheekily, pulling you close to him. "Not today, of course, but we'll make sure to drop by in a few years!"

The saleslady's eyes lit up at Eren's vow. "Over here are some of our best-selling pieces! Ones that will certainly attract the eye of any groom!" She beckons you over to some mannequins lined up in the middle of the store, your gaze is drawn to the myriad of dresses on display as you walk throughout the space.

You turn back to Eren, studying him closely as he walks a few paces behind you, you thoughtfully wonder if the dresses you would pick out would match his taste.

She leads you to the back of the store to show the other garments and dresses embroidered with simplicity and yet elegance. You then pick two gowns up from their respective racks, satisfied with your purchase and making a beeline to the register to pay. However, the seamstress stops you from your tracks.

"How about this one, dear?"

You turn your attention to her, doe-eyed and curious as to what she was going to show you next.

"It is indeed a wedding dress, although not what you had asked for, the handsome young man did say something about your marriage plans. Perhaps this might help you visualize it? Give you an idea for the future, hm?" She hums wistfully, drawing your attention to the mannequin she placed in front of you. "It would be a shame if you left the boutique without trying anything on."

"(Y/N)?" You hear Eren's husky voice call out for you from the front of the store, "Armin just texted me. They can't find a specific prop in the crafts store so we might have to wait a bit longer for them."

"Okay! We can spare more time in the boutique, anyways." You answer back, before turning your attention to the seamstress once more.

"Alright. I think I'll try it on then."

"Trying it on" turned out to be more than you had imagined. You thought you could just slip inside the dress and show it off. But nope. You needed a few adjustments to dress, adornments in your hair, and had to wear a wedding veil.

It was almost as if you were actually preparing to be wed.

"Good sir, your lovely missus is ready!" Yup, even the words of the seamstress made you feel like you were living in the 17th century right now. Did she really have to use such fancy words?

"Please, watch your step." The seamstress takes your hand and leads you out of the dressing room and right towards—

Eren who had been waiting in the shop proper.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" She giggles, glancing at Eren for a response. "Well, I'll leave the two of you here first and bring the dresses you've chosen to the cash register first." In a wink, she's gone and had disappeared into the back almost before the words left her mouth.

The unfamiliar yet elegant garb makes you feel shy and the fact that Eren was gaping at you did not help at all. He was absolutely entranced by your beauty.

You unconsciously lower your head, tucking a strand of hair beneath your ear, unable to bear the thought.

"God, you're not just beautiful. Y-you look breathtaking."

He says in a barely audible whisper, pulling you to him once more.

Placing his hands on your waist, Eren plants a soft, tender kiss on your chest, the low-cut dress affording it easily. In a heartbeat, you feel your cheeks grow hot.

"Heh. Guess I got you again." He grins wolfishly, still admiring your beauty and tracing circles on the back of your hand. "I-I don't deserve you... I really don't."

"If you didn't deserve me, would you be here right now?" You say jokingly, raising your eyebrow.

"I mean it." He buries his face on the hem of your dress, his voice is muffled and soothing. "I can't believe you chose to love me." He looks up at you, eyes practically welling up with tears. "God, I honestly can't believe I'm crying right now, but, yeah... I am. That's how much I love you and how much I want to marry you right now."

You giggle at the expression your boyfriend has shown before you, stroking his hair and burying your fingers into his long brunette locks. "I love you too. But... why so sudden? You already told the saleswoman that we'll be back in a few years. She'd be surprised to hear you change your mind so easily."

"Well, if that's the case, then I better tell Jean to have us first on the list of the wedding booth then. We worked our asses off for this, might as well be the first to be blessed with the luck of that stupid booth."

You giggle once more as he continues to hold you so close. You feel his breath and his heartbeat. Each exhale and pulse brings you to the realization that Eren is the one. The man you want to be with for the rest of your life. The man who will help you through all your faults and mistakes, your burdens and troubles, through all the ups and downs... he will be there.

Just as you will be for him.

Guess those stupid movies centered around weddings weren’t so bad after all

.taglist: @crapimahuman

#snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jaeger fluff #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #aot #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #eren fluff #eren x y/n

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

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Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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jillianisms · 2 years

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( ARIANA GRANDE. SHE/HER. CISFEMALE ) Did I just see (JILLIAN MENDOZA-WILSON)? This ( TWENTY-THREE ) year old ( ESCORT ) has been living in Chicago for ( 23 YEARS ). Some say that they are ( INTELLIGENT & CREATIVE ) as well as ( PROMISCUOUS & STUBBORN ). If they had a theme song, some might say that it would be ( PINK CHAMPAGNE BY NICK LOPEZ ). All I know is that I can’t wait to see what they bring to the Windy City.

hiii everyone, this is jillian and she’s already sick of people’s shit because she hasn’t had her coffee yet. you can find out a little bit about her under the cut!

jillian irene mendoza-wilson was born on june 26, 1998 ( yes, a 90s baby who missed the 90s. she’s p i s s e d ) so she’ll be 24 this year

she was born and raised in chicago ( she calls it she-cago )

a lot of people are confused about how her parents are her parents because she is clearly caucasian while her parents are not. her father is hispanic and her mother is african american. she was adopted straight out of the womb. her biological mother was 17 and couldn’t take care of her and her twin, so she gave her up for adoption - but she’s always been in her life because it was an open adoption and she’s very close with her, but doesn’t call her mom, she calls her ‘aunt’, which was her bio mom’s suggestion and her parents loved the idea

she has... too many siblings to count. just kidding, she has eight. three of them are her parents’ biological children and four are technically cousins, but were adopted by the mendozas when mr. mendoza’s sister gave birth to each other them because she isn’t allowed to have children in her custody for reasons she doesn’t know because her parents won’t tell her ( but she keeps. getting. pregnant. ) her siblings are her entire world. sibling #8 is her twin and jill is the older one, making her the oldest of all the mendoza kids

jillian works as an escort. she works in an actual facility and it’s completely legal. she basically just takes appointments to meet people in rooms that the facilities rents to people ( kind of like a hotel, but only for a few hours at a time ) and “has fun” ( she says ‘fun’ because her dad hates hearing about it )

despite her father not liking what she does, jillian’s parents are supportive of her.

she’s one of the top five requested escorts at the facility she works at, so she’s one of the higher paid escorts. she owns her house. it’s a three bedroom, two bathroom house and she’s super proud of it. she knows she’s young and most her age don’t own a house, so it makes her feel good about herself. she saved up all of her bonuses and evaluation incentives from work for a couple years ( since she was 19 ) and was finally able to purchase something that would work and didn’t need any fixes to it. she moved into it right before christmas, so instead of their usual christmas day tradition at the family home, she and her siblings had a slumber party and they opened presents and had breakfast at her house once their parents got there

you can bet your ass jillian has some type of candy on her person. she’s a candy person ( but she hates candy corn, it’s the only candy she absolutely refuses to eat ). she loves sweets in general, but her favorites are red swedish fish, tootsie pops, and jolly ranchers. don’t touch her jolly ranchers. she’s a hand smacker

she was the class clown in school, but she got good grades. she was always on honor roll, she was a cheerleader, and shamelessly the yearbook editor. her senior quote was “the exit exams rode me so hard i had to remind them to pull my hair”

she’s a child at heart, she still loves childhood activities, like coloring, finger painting ( yes... don’t judge her ) and watching cartoons

her siblings spend the night with her pretty often and you bet your ass they make the best blanket forts chicago’s ever seen and have the best karaoke parties known to man

starbucks is her life. her favorites are the pink drink and the dragon drink and the only size acceptable to her is the trenta cup

would literally slap a stranger for a million bucks ( and apologize immediately )

would also fight a bitch if they thought she’d let them get away with any bullshit ( and not apologize ). she’s been in her fair share of slap fights and full on right hook sessions and she can definitely hold her own, but she isn’t cocky about it, as she’s been shown her ass a few times

she can be a “little” promiscuous outside of her job and that’s gotten her into trouble before, so ladies, gents, and those who identity as one or the other, or none at all, jill doesn’t mind you saying “hey, that’s my partner” and she’ll back the fuck off, but don’t just come up and smack her in the face like the bitch at cheers did who ended up with a broken nose, cause she’s not gonna flirt with someone she knows is in a partnership with someone

if she’s wrong, call her out on it. she’d rather be corrected and educated than look like an idiot

she L O V E S babies and little kids. she will snuggle the hell out of a deliciously chunky baby. since she gets to make her own schedule at work, she is ready, willing and able to babysit whenever someone needs a sitter ( and she’s certified in child & infant cpr ). she wants kids of her own someday and babysitting is how she curbs the urge to just go out and have one haphazardly

listen, she also loves musical theater and will hand you your own ass if you ask if ‘wicked’ is the play adaption of the evil queen from snow white ( bc someone asked that and jill was O F F E N D E D ). she loves all musicals for the most part, but wicked, little shop of horrors, mamma mia and hairspray are her all time favorites, so if you hear her belting out “but now i’ve tasted chocolate and i’m never going back” just mind your business

oh also she loves old sitcoms like the golden girls, cheers, laverne and shirley - she’s a lover of all things golden oldies, whether it be music or tv ( but if she’s hanging out with you and you try to get her to watch a western movie she’s gonna kick you out of your own house )

has her dad’s sense of humor and definitely her mom’s attitude. when jill really gets to sounding like her mom, her younger siblings are like “okay, momma number two”

she she and her twin were 12, they were both sitting in a tree. twin accidentally sneezed in jill’s face... so jill pushed them out of the tree

alrighty, i think that’s all i can think of right now, but i’ll update this as i think of more! @hocstarters

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jett-dawson · 4 years

Text

— ANDERSHAW RANT

so i’m currently in a big andershaw mood. i really really love them. watching episodes five and six makes me so happy. i know this show is still finding its way, i know the drama isn’t super solid and i know the eps are only five minutes long. but i’m just trying to find happiness in what we’ve got. and while jella is obviously just such an iconic and strong ship, i feel like andershaw deserves some love & light as well. hell, they’re still lowkey underrated? even after the episodes? idk but anyways

after reading skyler and ruby’s i was like wait wait. these two bios feel like two different puzzle pieces. pieces that attach? they literally fit so well. ruby is this bold girl. mega aries energy. rainbow dash type beat. she is the girl who makes sure to put loving, supportive energy into her friends no matter what. shes there to hype them up when and if they need it. shes there to put extra flair onto their outfits and just be that very very cool gal. skyler is the shy one. cancer energy. fluttershy type beat. shes timid yet smart, shy and lowkey insecure. she’s not fully sure of herself. shes still finding her feet. shes still looking for the moment where she’s fully ready to shine. she just needs a boost. she needs confidence. she needs support. and yes of course she could get that from any of her friends but like. ruby is literally branded around being the hype friend!! how fitting is that! plus they’re literally just the definition of red and blue gays i’m sorry but it had to be said

then episodes five and six dropped. these episodes really strengthened their bond. seriously. whether you ship it or not, they are now closer than ever. think about it! skyler just lost the love of her life, who she had been dating for like three years, in the most crappiest way possible. who ran after her to comfort her? ruby. but ruby lowkey kinda just got let down as well. she got to go on a date with this “cute” boy from her class. she was excited for the party. she was hyped up, she ran over to her roomies to get excited with them. she was willing to vlog with him. all for him to turn out to be a fraud, not only to her but to her friend. but what did she do? put all of her energy into skyler. WHICH ISNT A SURPRISE. their bios do foreshadow the show, believe it or not. we knew poppy was going to have some sort of dynamic going on with the A’s. we knew sunny was going to have her own cartoon that she works on of her friends. we knew all of this! and you could say the same about the wave two bios, foreshadowing violet/karma drama, amaya coming into a school with an unexpected setting, etc.

but like. think about it. they could’ve had any of the girls go to comfort skyler. they could’ve had jade go, bella go, heck, even sunny! but they chose jade. bc thats her character. she cares. she cares enough. she knew just what to say. she knew the moment skyler started spewing junk abt colin being the reason she got into rainbow high, it was all false. she knew just what to say to help skyler. and immediately was like hey look. ur makeup is running. you’re upset. you don’t deserve this. let’s have a makeover together. and made a cute ass montage of them being in love and doing makeup and hair. bro they put each other’s initials on each others outfits!! that’s what ruby’s bio meant! she knows how to add flair to anyone’s looks! she gave skyler a bit of a makeover!! foreshadowing!!!!

and yet she supported skyler’s speech on the stage. she convinced skyler that colin isn’t worth her time or energy and that they should just turn their colour up and vibe. they didn’t have to do that. they seriously didn’t. opposites ships like these are always the death of me. you see that with jella! opposites in a way!! you see it with other ships from other shows.. ex. rarijack and flutterdash (since i was referencing mlp earlier lol). they just work. it’s the balance. the time. the effort and energy they put in together. and i love it.

and i feel like andershaw is one of the only canon dynamics that have gotten a lot of attention.. other than jella and sky/violet. like the roommates have cute bonds as well but we haven’t seen a lot of them have major like... heartfelt turn of events. i mean i do love the cute moment of skyler supporting sunny during episode one. i do like the dynamic of ruby and violet having the spa nights on thursdays and being the ones invested in vlogging and stuff. that’s cute! but andershaw had like a heartfelt turn of events that strengthened their bond. and it’s not a surprise to me because their bios!! make sense!!!

sky/river seems like an interesting take. i mean all we’ve known is them sharing the 22 and then seeing each other and knowing each other which is cute!! but i guess i just can’t get into it?? idk. like. i usually almost always find straight couples being weak in kids cartoons bc companies usually only throw in males for the purpose of being a love interest and almost nothing else. so i’m used to finding no interest in straight couples for the reason that their bonds are as strong as the main characters friendships! and this is usually in like girl power shows like mlp, precure, winx, eah, mh, etc. like i do love the het couples of eah and mh ngl. rosabella and daring? clawd and draculaura? ashlynn and hunter? deuce and cleo? love to see them. but i guess another factor in it is that we rarely ever get LGBT rep in kid shows like these and. i love to see myself represented in the things i love and cmon man the school is literally called rainbow high. we have to at least have one gay, cmon. please mga

anyways. i wonder what will happen to river tho. i feel like i can get into it if they develop out their relationship while also actually giving river a personality lol. i do love how hes into performing arts though. you don’t see a guy being into performing represented in cartoons every day. but i also wonder if the amaya/river theory will come true. half upset bc id expect someones theme that is literally based off of the rainbow would be gay but. i also love andershaw so NDMDNDJ it’s ok. i ship andershaw no matter what! i wonder what will happen, and if couples will even be a prominent thing in the shows future. i mean... i wouldn’t doubt it? if not, kia would serve like no other purpose as of rn lol. anyways. i love my gays and i’ll probably rant about them another time

#rainbow high #rainbowhigh #rainbow high dolls #andershaw #skyler x ruby #ruby x skyler #ruby anderson #skyler bradshaw

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leggomylino · 4 years

Text

A Floral Memoir | Yang Jeongin

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

Genre: Nostalgic, drama, bittersweet, angst, fluff ending

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x fem!reader

Au: Flower shop au, friends to lovers au

Word Count: ~3.9k

Warning(s): None! c:

A/N: This was supposed to just be a blurb/timestamp but I’ve been heavily influenced by fictional prose from my Fiction 101 class so...this happened. :D | Masterlist linked down below and in bio!!! <3 | For Nana, who loves Yang Jeongin; and, for all the wonderful writers of @skzwriternet. Thank you all for being so supportive and kind. God bless. 🎔

Tag List: @hanniiesuckle17 @distrikt9 @hanstagrams @hyunsunq @smolboiseavey @jisungsjheekies @iluvlix @moonlit-han @stay-nctzen @yangomangos @stayndays @cotccotc @skzctnightnight @multi-stan-present @dreamy-dreamies @yunhoesss (If you’d like to be added, please let me know! Comment, ask, or DM me!!! ^^)

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

There’s this flower shop down the road from your house that you’re used to going to. It’s one of those hole-in-the-wall places, the kind that never stand out unless you’re actively looking for them. The brick’s chipped, covered in vines, and the sign out front is hanging by a stem, the slanted posture threatening to drop dead over the next teenager that pursues vandalism; still, to you it’s never unrecognizable, no matter how many years of wear-and-tear or lost du jour go by. To you, it’s the most beautiful place in the world: not for what is shown on the outside, but for what lies there within. What it stands for, represents.

This is the local flower shop of 129 Poppy Close Lane. And it is the place you grew up in, blooming alongside Yang Jeongin.

Jeongin had been your best friend growing up. The two of you did almost everything together: ride bikes, watch movies, play in the park. Feed the ducks, hop around like frogs, climb trees. Hide in your mother’s laundry basket in order to jump out and scare the daylights out of her-- which only backfired once when she nearly had a heart attack-- to which you vowed never to do ever again. Instead, the two of you set your sights on the neighbor’s son, a boy of roughly similar age named Kim Seungmin. But that always seemed to backfire as well. Kim Seungmin was simply too smart.

The day Innie’s parents-- that was your nickname for him, sometimes I.N.-- the day his parents announced they’d be buying out a crumbling furniture store, the two of you had been so excited. Think of all the beds you could jump on! All the sofas to tackle! The pillow fights! The two of you could make the largest blanket fort in the history of blanket fortresses!!!

...Instead, those dreams were crushed like petals pressed between pages. You weren’t getting a mattress playground; they were opening a flower store.

A flower store? But aren’t flowers free? Don’t they grow outside? The two of you prodded and pestered Jeongin’s parents until they ran out of answers to give, and instead only replied with “you’ll see” and “just wait.” But if there was one thing the two of you hated doing, it was waiting. Why did you have to? Wait for what?

...Time flies when you eventually forget about the thing it is you have to wait around for, too occupied curling toes beneath blankets by a roaring fire or towering blocks into Lego houses. After a few days of lazing around with Jeongin at your house and a short afternoon bike ride through the park, at last the shop of flowers was revealed to you. And it...was…

...Okay. Colorful, vibrant, definitely eye-catching, at least back in those just-starting-out days. But you still didn’t get it at the tender age of ten. Of course you’d heard of flower stores before, but the point escaped you. Couldn’t you just grow your own for free? Couldn’t you just ride to the park and take some from the woods? Why would you sell something you could obtain for free? Who would waste their allowance on that?

Jeongin was different. You remember looking over at him, standing to your right, and seeing his face alive and bursting with more color than the shopfront. The way his eyes sparkled as he took it all in, the pride that seemed to blossom in his smile and the way he carried himself. Straight, tall, and happy, just like the sunflowers waving outside the window. It was off-putting to say the least, but you felt gratified just watching him elate and gush his excitement. So you upheld that same excitement, too.

Years went by of the two of you hanging out in that place; Little Fox Flowers, it was called. Appropriately named for the son of the two owners who spent their days happily snipping away sadness and making the lives of all its customers just a bit brighter. A place where all the local college-bound kids would apply for part-time jobs in order to live out their novel fantasies, hoping for a quiet place to smell the roses after a long day of notetaking and hide behind the hollyhock to study.

They were always kindly denied. After all, the shop was a family business: just Mr. and Mrs. Yang, Jeongin, and you, who had been considered the daughter they never had since you were six. And, eventually, Kim Seungmin, who won everyone over with cake and the “look-at-how-responsible-I-am” presentation. He was responsible, no one could deny: the way he’d always turn you and Jeongin in before you could commence danger-inducing experiments.

And then, at fourteen, it was the three of you. You got paid, of course-- just scarcely minimum wage, but that was alright, because Mr. and Mrs. Yang always bought you lunch or dinner every other Friday. And the mean apple pie and best empanadas baked by the kind elderly couple who worked just across the street was to die for. (A side note: you’d find out two years later this was the place Kim Seungmin got his cake recipe from in exchange for helping fix a leaky faucet. The devious scoundrel.) The three of you worked and worked and studied and worked, spending perhaps too much time learning the wildest things about each other, things you were surprised you never knew of Jeongin, things you’d never guess about Kim Seungmin (you didn’t refer to him as just Seungmin until you were sixteen).

Jeongin was a fan of rock music. Kim Seungmin enjoyed more than a good book and ratting out his neighbors. Jeongin actually studied flowers in his free time, more than just what he learned passively working in a floral shop. Kim Seungmin was actually a prankster himself.

They learned things about you as well: how you preferred sunrises to sunsets, how you collected music boxes, how you kept a diary the two of them would never get to read, and now that they knew about it, were no longer or henceforth ever allowed in your room. This brought joy and laughter the color of fresh-sprung poppies to their faces...and a curious tint of rosehip to the cheeks of Yang Jeongin.

You distinctly remember the way he stared at you, two seconds too long before he looked away, to the flower arrangement before him, a smile never leaving his face. Spooked, you buried yourself back behind the front desk, occasionally peeking at his reflection through the storefront window.

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

At seventeen you’re all sweating bullets over SATs and TCIs and ACTs and every other stress-fueled test that exists in the better education realm. The three of you are taking turns quizzing each other and flicking foreheads or slapping wrists after getting an answer wrong. When the owners announce they’re heading home to finish up errands and get dinner started, you take turns in the final few store hours managing the front desk: two cramming backstage, one holding the reins out front. It’s in solitude that Seungmin tells you he’s decided to go to Harvard University, and possibly Yale if he finishes with a 4.1 GPA. At this you want to smack him, but at the same time, tell him not to go. It wouldn’t break your heart to see him go, but what’s wrong with your local university? Or a university just an hour out of town?

He tells you it’s something he’s always wanted, and heartily decided, so you take his hand in yours and wish him the best. It’s not a problem; Harvard and Yale aren’t too far away.

The real problem arises when they switch, and with Seungmin running the front desk and helping late-blooming customers, it’s Jeongin who tells you he won’t be going to college at all. “I’ve decided to travel,” he says. “I want to explore new cultures. I want to hear other kinds of music. I want to see other types of flowers.”

At this, you deadpan. Blink a few times, just to make sure that registered. “You...want to leave the country?”

“It’ll sort of be like studying abroad-- hey, maybe that’s what I’ll do. Study abroad. I’ll be able to see lots of things that way. There’s a program that can accept me right away if I apply before midnight.”

“Jeongin…”

You frown. You can’t help it. Jeongin? Leaving you behind? You aren’t about to lose both of your best friends; especially not Jeongin, who to you was Innie, I.N., the boy with the messy black hair and slightly bad attitude, and many other things.

His stare says everything for him, his smile drooping like perennial flowers. “You don’t like the idea.”

It’s not a question; it’s a statement. “That’s not true. I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.”

He gets up, leaving the room. There’s an odd sense of finality as he exits.

“...I’m gonna see if Seungmin needs any help.”

“......”

You wince a little, even today, recalling the way he soft-slammed the back door. It was the last time you saw him, for the span of three long years.

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

It goes by too fast. Before you know it, you’ve reached the big two-O. Twenty is that odd age where you’re not sure about anything. Are you an adult? Are you still a kid? What age group do you fit into? What are you even doing with your life?

You’d chosen to major in botanical science. The flowers of the shop had ended up placing their roots into you. And being the sentimental gal that you were, you could never find yourself tearing away from your roots-- it was how flowers wilted and died.

So when Yang Jeongin reappeared on the shop porch one morning, looking fresh as a daisy, you could hardly believe your eyes. He must have been put in one heck of a vase of Miracle Grow and holy water to have survived away from the garden for so long. At first, you’re ecstatic to see him-- at first. But then you remember what he did to you: the way he just walked out of the breakroom, clocking out without you noticing, not answering your texts, ignoring your calls, only to find out the next day he’s insanely hopped onto the morning train and booked a flight for Beijing. Part of a study program, his parents said. Very last minute, they explained. We’re so sorry, they lamented.

The only means of contact you’d received were a cloying box of exotic chocolates and a note from Jeongin that first year, along with a music box you couldn’t bring yourself to ever listen to. It ended up thrown into your closet, shadowed in a great tub with all the other ones. The note said something along the lines of an apology and explained he’d lost his phone during a boat ride that first week, and the strict program he was enrolled in didn’t allow him to contact friends; only immediate family. He’d had to lie to his advisors and tell them you were his adopted sister, which you suppose wouldn’t have been a lie once upon a time. After that, you’d only get an awkward “Jeongin says hello,” from his parents, who felt just as uncomfortable about the estranged situation. They’d assure you he was doing well and just going through a phase. He was angry. He acted irrationally, just the one time. They knew how important this was to him. He’d come back around, he really cared for you, after all.

Seeing him now made your head spin. You had to grip the cash register nailed into the hardwood so you wouldn’t fall over. “You’re...You’re back. You’re here. In the shop.”

He dropped his bags near the front door as if the place was his second home. Just like it always had been. “I’m back. Here. In the shop,” he repeated, an urgent longing in his actions.

The smile he wore never left his face as he rushed over to you...then paused, fearfully, his hands frozen in an awkward state of half-reaching and half-retreating.

“Y/n…” He sighed, his breath a multitude of years lost. “...I’m sorry. I have no right to walk in here like nothing happened. You have every right to be angry. Are you angry?”

That was a good question. Were you angry? You should have been. You had every right to be, just like he said. This may have been his family’s store, but it was your second home, too, and you may as well have been a part of the family; you had every right ignore him or tell him to get out, to scream and demand answers, or even to cry and weep like the weeping willow tree out back.

Instead, you felt nothing. And everything. It was too much, so much strange emotion and Twilight Zone madness packed into a single punch that you smiled and simply replied, “I’m fine. How can I help you today?”

It came out sounding like you were the one asking for help. Jeongin seemed to catch wind of this too, distressed eyes staring into yours as if seeking a hidden entrance through the new roadblock to your mind. For the longest time, the two of you didn’t say anything.

Things got really awkward when Seungmin showed up on one of his monthly visits-- he ended up going to Harvard, but he still visited you every month and bothered to keep in touch-- and sensing the tension after a surprised gasp of excitement, uncomfortably shuffled to the back of the room with the excuse he’d get to work on the shop’s monthly revenue, assisting with the finances as part of his accountant training (a side gig to his major in criminal law). What resulted with the silent clicking of the door was the clicking of your own.

You clocked out, texting Seungmin the location of the shop’s spare key and asking him to do you this one favor. Then to meet you downtown for a slice. As you swung onto the Vespa your parents had given you on your nineteen birthday, you observed Jeongin, in the shop’s reflection, through the rearview mirror, as he stood there, absorbing and deploring his loss.

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

It’s now midday, a few months later, and you haven’t seen or spoken to Yang Jeongin since. Even if he did live down the street, in your mind he’d been cast from the garden, turned into fertilizing soil. He hadn’t tried to contact you since, and neither had you found yourself hovering over the call option, only to toss the phone away with an agitated moan. You didn’t know how to overcome the foreign distance between you two, or at least you hadn’t...until today.

Today, well, you still didn’t really know how to go about it. But despite your temporary closure to any and all things Yang Jeongin, you did a lot of thinking about that day, when he’d just shown up out of nowhere, sprouting like the happiest weed on the planet, fearfully trying to patch things up. It wasn’t forced or out of pity or selfish guilt. It was as true as the blue roses you’ve had to convince more than a few customers were not spray-painted or artificially made. Jeongin had made a big, unlike-Jeongin mistake, one lasting far too long, but it was still the first (and last; you’d be sure of that). There had to be more to the story than what appeared above the ground.

You should never judge a rose for its petals, Mrs. Yang once told you. It may still be blooming.

You’re parking your bike in its usual place in front of the store, locking it to the bike rack Mr. Yang had installed-- your Vespa got destroyed while letting Seungmin take it for a joyride-- and you push open the familiar glass door, the sweet chime of the old silver bell singing overhead. Jeongin looks up at you from around a middle-aged man at the register, his voice falling an octave late.

“Welcome i-- ...n.”

It’s that same awkward tension all over again, but you try to smile through it, for friendship’s sake. After holding open the door for the parting customer, you make sure the door is locked before nervously wringing your hands halfway to the counter.

Jeongin takes your actions in alarm, bracing himself against the register as you had just a few months prior. Funny how times change. “...What’s going on? What are you gonna do?”

...As if you were going to rob or beat him. You’d thought about doing so with one of the giant sunflowers, three month before, but would never risk harm to the flower. “I…” A sigh. “...Can we talk?”

There’s an arrangement waiting for pickup or delivery sitting at the edge of the counter. Jeongin stares intently at the wooden space before casting his gaze to the flowers. He lifts them, crossing the bouquet over his face to the other side. You’re not entirely sure what he’s doing until he hands the bundle to you. “I can’t leave the shop right now...could you make this delivery for me? The address is on the tag.”

“......” You accept the bouquet awkwardly. “...Uh, yeah, sure.”

“I’ll clock you in, so you get paid.”

“No...don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

He nods, slowly, just barely managing an unstable means of eye contact. “...Thanks.”

And so you walk out of the store, unlocking the door and hopping onto the shop’s delivery vehicle. It’s more a less like a Vespa, just older and a bit outdated. Securing the flowers in the protective shell container (a basket with a clear, wind-resistant lid), you snapped on the helmet and started the engine, making a hard right into the street.

It occurs to you as you're driving that you didn’t bother to look at the address in your haste to escape an uncomfortable situation gone wrong. So much for talking things out and tackling your problems head-on. That really worked out well. You squint beneath the afternoon glare reflecting off the lid, but the address is written so tiny and messily you have to pull over and open the basket in order to get a better look.

279 Blueberry Street.

You just about dropped those flowers, gripping them a bit too tight so that a few stray thorns poked your fingers. 279 Blueberry Street was...well.

It was Jeongin’s address.

...You had no idea what was going on, but intuition told you it was something fishy, something planned and arranged just as carefully as this cliché arrangement of red roses and baby’s breath. Typical and predictable, just like the old Yang Jeongin.

You’d bite. You drove the scooter across town and into your neighborhood, parking in the drive behind Mr. Yang’s Nissan. You remember taking many car trips around town and into neighboring cities in the backseat, Jeongin at your side, dropping fries and Cheerios and frozen yogurt all over the protective mats and onto each other. With a frustrated huff, you scurry to the front porch.

Maybe this is a crazy coincidence. Maybe Mr. Yang ordered flowers for his wife. Maybe Mrs. Yang got flowers for her husband. Maybe they both ordered them for Jeongin, as part of a gift to commemorate something you were once, for the first time in your life, unaware of. Or maybe you’d read the address wrong. Maybe it was Bluebell Street or Bellberry Street or something entirely different, and you were delusionally tripping because, hah, what else had been new over the course of the past few months...few years. Maybe...maybe--

A warm light envelops you as the door swings open, and you’re instantly hit with the nostalgic scent of fresh lavender and spring-time strawberries. The candles that Mrs. Yang loves to buy.

Jeongin’s eyes are strained, but there’s a new warmth about them that feels familiar. Like a withered blossom sprouting back to life. He’s no longer dressed in his work apron and usual uniform; instead he’s freshly showered, wearing Church clothes, his dark hair still wet and tangled to a messy frame around his face. There’s a comb stuck to the back of his head, and following your stare he removes it with a sheepish chuckle, tossing it somewhere towards the living room and attempting to tame wild curls in a more presentable manner. He smiles, tenderly.

“You made it...I was worried you’d think it was a mean joke.”

“Well…” You consider. “I almost did. But there are infinite possibilities out there, right?”

His smile blooms. Taking the smallest rose, he checks it for thorns before tucking it behind your ear. “Yeah,” he says, “There definitely are. Come in, please...there’s a lot of things I need to apologize for. Starting with the whole disappearing for three years and...yeah.”

You supplement his cringe with a frown, then thinking about the ridiculous letter, imagine him beneath flickering candlelight, frantically scrawling down a horrifically worded letter in secrecy. You think about him in Barcelona nervously pacing between bustling touristy streets and getting lost or ripped off and wanting to scream at the stupidity of his actions and lack of Spanish. You imagine him in a woodshop in Berlin, flipping through a dictionary and pointing to words he can’t begin to pronounce and the amount of frustration cooked up from having to go through five woodsmiths until he found one that spoke just a bit of a broken language he understood, and the funny game of Pictionary that probably followed.

You laugh, shoving his shoulder on the way in and hurrying into the kitchen for a vase. After placing the display on the counter, you grab his collar, kissing his cheek.

His face burns the shade of chrysanthemums, wide eyes wondering what it was he did to deserve such a reaction. To you, he had more or less abandoned you, after all.

But you know better. You’ve known Yang Jeongin since you were five years old; when he knocked over a bottle of glue onto your summer dress after trying to hand you the paper flower he’d made. When things seem bad, they’re never personally intended. They’re never what they really seem. And you should have remembered that, too.

He spins you around now, and the two of you laugh, laughter echoing down the cream-colored halls all the way to the back garden. Back to a simpler time; a time when the two of you were just kids, pushing each other on the big oak swing and tackling each other in mud, smiling amongst the flowers.

It’s the place where you and Yang Jeongin reside, never again apart, for the rest of your days. ✿

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

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dusksmote · 4 years

Note

Is there any background info you can give on characters in WTSAU?

Like any cool hc you give the characters?

okay i have SO MANY 😩 but i can’t say all the best ones until later cuz they involve SPOILERS

so i’ll try to say all the ones i can with the information given:

Style:

- Kyle’s had feelings for Stan since he realized he was gay, which was in middle school. When Stan came out as bi he told Kyle first, before Wendy, even though they were dating at the time. Kyle’s insecurities prevented from acting on his feelings even after they broke up.

- Wendy has pegged Stan in the past, but Kyle is the first guy Stan’s ever been with. Wendy has come around to support their relationship since the events of ETL chapter 4.

- Stan is always the first one to say ‘I love you’.

- Kyle was the last one in their big friend group to lose his virginity, but he has one of the highest sex drives of the guys. He and Stan switch off being top almost equally, but Kyle prefers to top and Stan prefers to bottom. they fuck daily.

- When they want to have a hard, passionate fuck Kyle tops. when they want to have slow, emotional sex Stan tops. Kyle has slight sadist tendencies (inflicts pain) and Stan has masochist tendencies (receives pain). Stan is especially into breathplay (choking, face sitting, crushing, etc.) and assplay. he’s the best ass eater (so call him a bottom feeder 😂) and Kyle’s superior in the blowjob department.

- Stan has hyperhidrosis, meaning he sweats more than the average person. this is why their rooms/the truck/anywhere they fuck smells so strong. there’s a few hints for this in ETL/WTSAU, he keeps antiperspirant in his locker and in the truck, he gets really sweaty whenever they have sex. Stan also has asthma and acne, which Kyle’s been helping him treat. Kyle loves popping his zits for him.

- Conversely, Kyle is super hygienic and always tries to keep himself clean and dry. when Sharon comes into Stan’s room in chapter 1 and describes the smell, the gym locker scent is Stan, the Old Spice is Kyle, and the ‘inside of a rubber balloon’ is their latex lubricant.

- Everyone at school considers them the obnoxious, overly romantic couple. they hold hands, cuddle, kiss, and dirty talk in front of everyone. they think they can get away with it without people noticing but they’re chronically conspicuous and not stealthy. the working title for the fanfic was actually ‘Ain’t Slick’ for a while before it changed to What They Say About Us!

- they’re fucking devoted to each other and are exclusively monogamous. Stan is especially protective of Kyle and Kyle is fiercely possessive of Stan.

- Kyle applied as a math major in his college applications, and will eventually get a PhD for logic and set theory. Stan’s a bio major and wants to go into physical therapy.

- Stan doesn’t smoke weed out of principle (because of his dad) so Kyle also doesn’t smoke in solidarity.

- Kyle is a type 2 diabetic, and doesn’t need to always take insulin. his weight gain began with the World of Warcraft episode and was maintained instead of lost like in the show. his weight is a cyclical feedback loop of: genetics (mom’s side of the family), too much insulin (when using insulin therapy), and diet. this led to him developing lordosis (excessive weight warps his spine) so he didn’t grow as tall as he would have, and makes his weight appear more exaggerated. short stature, weight, and body image issues led to quitting basketball which in turn contributes more to his weight. this impacts his self-worth which leads to stress eating. his biggest fear is that he’ll never stop gaining weight and will end up as big or bigger than Cartman.

- Stan has gained a few pounds since he started dating Kyle, while Kyle has lost a few.

Cutters/Bunnyman/Kenrietta:

- Kenny is straight, but has voluntarily sucked dick before. he and henrietta have hooked up a few times in the past after running into each other at poetry slam events which Kenny takes Karen to.

- Butters and Cartman are exclusively gay, and think girls are fucking gross. they’ve only every slept with each other.

- Kenny, Cartman, and Butters are all best friends and do pretty much everything together. even though Butters and Cartman are dating, Kenny never feels like a third wheel because they rarely act romantic in front of anyone (including him). however, when Style start dating and Cutters come out about their relationship, Kenny begins feeling like a fifth wheel.

- Butters lives almost entirely at Cartman’s house. His parents actually don’t mind because they enjoy not having him around. Liane is 100% the cool mom from mean girls who asks them if they want snacks or a condom. Sometimes all three of them crash at Kenny’s house for variety (or when he has to watch Karen because his mom is drinking/out of the house).

- Kenny wants to study psychology in college and become a family therapist or social worker. he’s taking a gap year to save money then going to community college. Cartman and Butters applied to the same schools and plan to stick together long-term.

- Butters and Cartman’s relationship started as experimenting with each other as their sexualities developed, and began after Cartman confided that he had sexual feelings for Kyle. Cartman and Butters have also developed genuine feelings for each other, and overtime their relationship transformed into what it is now. because of how their relationship started, they’re very open about any sexual feelings they have for other people and have a ‘hall pass’ for friends they’re allowed to fuck if given the chance, without it considered cheating.

- Butters is a huge gossip. he will promise to keep secrets and then immediately turn around and tell Cartman--which totally happened after Kyle said he thinks Stan has a crush on him in ETL chapter 2. Butters and Cartman keep nothing from each other, and the only secrets they won’t tell are the ones about each other.

- Kenny is the easiest of the larger friend group to confide in, and keeps every secret he’s given. he’s known Cartman and Butters have been together since the beginning, about Cartman’s crush on Kyle, and Kyle’s crush on Stan. People naturally come to him for advice and to vent. The least likely person to confide in him is Kyle, who’s more likely to curl in on himself instead of expressing his feelings.

-SO much shit about Cartman and Butters’ relationship I can’t say yet because it comes up in the fic 😩 please ask me about these two again later when i can say more!!!

Creek:

- Tweek is a dom top and Craig’s his catamite. they try to get away with sex anywhere they can and have gotten very stealthy because of it. Tweek also has one of the highest sex drives of their friend group, and Craig will let him do whatever he wants anywhere, anytime.

- Tweek is constantly high on stimulants (cocaine, meth, adderall, etc.) and Craig experiments with him in certain settings. this is what gives Tweek his boosted self-confidence and flippant attitude.

- Pete Thelman (hair flip goth) is their coke dealer. Tweek trades him his ADHD meds for it, which Pete resells to posers. If Tweek doesn’t have enough to cover the cost he and Craig make up the rest by giving Pete sexual favors. sometimes they have threesomes for fun too.

- Tweek and Craig both think Kyle is hot and would fuck him given the chance. being open about this with each other makes them feel closer and strengthens their relationship. they have roleplayed as Stan and Kyle in bed before while high out of their minds.

- they're deeply in love and would do anything for each other. Craig could get Tweek to stop taking drugs if he wanted to but right now they enjoy experimenting with them together. in the words of everyone who know them, ‘Tweek and Craig are perfectly fucked up for each other’.

Kyle’s family:

- Sheila’s biggest regret as a parent is letting Kyle get fat, because she was also overweight as a kid and dealt with the same issues he does now. It’s the same reason she feels obligated to help Kyle’s cousin overcome his weight dilemma (by trying to get him and Stan to hang out).

- Ike is an eboy who loves lil peep. He, Karen, Tricia, and Firkle all make tiktoks together and complain about their gay older brothers/friends.

- random fun fact: If Ike and Karen get married that would mean Kyle and Kenny are brothers-in-law, which would mean the main five all end up as extended family to one another.

Stan’s family:

- Sharon has plans to divorce Randy but is waiting until Stan leaves for college to not uproot him from school and his friends.

- Grandpa Marsh is still kickin’ in the old folks home and Shelly’s off in college.

- Randy’s a narcissist who lives vicariously through Stan’s accomplishments in sports. the easiest way to explain it is: Randy’s not as proud of Stan for being a successful athlete and attractive jock as he is proud of himself for producing one. Stan’s ability to get laid with (he presumes) hot girls makes Randy feel like he has game too. one of the reasons he’s disgusted by Stan’s relationship with Kyle is if Stan’s fucking some big fat guy it doesn’t align with his narrative.

this is just the stuff i could think of off the top of my head, i’ll probably come back and add more to this as i remember it. ask me again in a few chapters!!! i have so much i want to say about bunnyman, cutters, the future for style, and their families that i can’t say yet!

#ask #what they say about us #eat that lunch

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stephcrawford · 4 years

Photo

who’s that? oh it’s STEPHANIE "STEPH" CRAWFORD. i hear they’re 21 and are known as THE LAMB around NEW YORK. they're also a JUNIOR at NYADA, have a voice like JENNIFER DAMIANO and are part of VARSITY DANCE, SPOTLIGHT DINER. they’re known to be LOYAL AND MILD and WEAK-WILLED AND SERIOUS. some people say they remind them of NEVER SMILING IN PHOTOS, OPENING THE WINDOW DURING THUNDERSTORMS, BLIND LOYALTY, AND UNWAVERING DEDICATION. only one way to find out!

BASICS

Full Name: Stephanie Summer Crafword

Nickname: Steph, Stephie, etc.

Birthday: March 17, 2022

Place of Birth: Greenwich, CT

Age: Twenty-One

Zodiac Sign: Pisces☼, Virgo☽, Libra↑

Hometown: Greenwich, CT

Current Residence: 9th Ave Apartment, New York, NY, Unit 4-B w/ Phoenix Harper.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single

Education: High School Diploma, Some College

Major: Dance Arts (BA)

Minor: Education

Occupation: Spotlight Diner Waitress

HIGH SCHOOL NEED TO KNOWS

School: Greenwich High School

Former Activities: Drama Club, Allegra Dance Greenwich Competitive Team

MUSICAL THEATER RESUME

NEWSIES- Crutchie (High School, Sophomore Year)

HAIRSPRAY - Nicest Kid Dance Ensemble (High School, Junior Year)

CHICAGO- Go-to-Hell Kitty (High School, Senior Year)

A CHORUS LINE- Cut Dancer (NYADA Players, Freshman Year)

LIKES/DISLIKES

LIKES: polaroid photos, straight legs and pointed toes, comfortable clothes, eating healthy, family, carly rae jepsen.

DISLIKES: making decisions, losing friends, rude customers, missing laundry day, being called on first, bitter words.

TL;DR BIO

Steph Crawford has never been number one, and has often faded into the background and she doesn’t mind in the slightest. In her eyes, it’s okay to be more of a follower than a leader. Her passions and priorities lay within forging strong relationships with those close to her, and working her hardest when it comes to dance. She tends to be soft and mild, a gem as far as New Yorkers go. But Steph wound up in that environment didn’t want to go too far away from Connecticut for college and the idea of going to her Father’s Alma Mater always seemed so magical to her. Now three years into her schooling, she’s living her life in the same way, and cherishing all the time she can with her friends.

BIO

Adam Crawford always thought he was going to make it as a performer. After all, he’d left behind his family in England, and come to the States to stay for good. He had to make it matter. From founding Adam’s Apples to taking New York City by storm, he knew he was going to be somebody. He just wasn’t expecting that somebody to be a husband to Aydin Cevdet, a hotshot lawyer from Connecticut. Adam was sure he liked his independence and fast-paced city living too much to ever settle down with this hot Turkish lawyer he’d met out on the town one night, but the pair were quick to hit it off. Adam and Aydin really bonded over ideals of hardwork and some times feeling out of place in the country. So, after year after meeting and traveling back and forth between NYC and Greenwich, Adam was sold on leaving city life behind and settling down with the love of his life. Adam, always happy go lucky, was quick to adjust to his life in Greenwich. In fact, he was able to cultivate his take-charge nature and continue creative pursuits by opening his own sit and paint shop called Booze and Brushes. It was an idyllic life Adam and Aydin shared, and the only thing that made it more perfect was a wedding, then eventually, a couple of kids.

Stephanie Summer Crawford was welcomed into the world on a rainy spring day via surrogate. Aydin and Adam were both dedicated workers, but first and foremost they were Fathers. Despite being biologically Adam’s, Steph always had a wonderful relationship with both of her parents. There isn’t a time in Steph’s life that she remembers before her sibling was born. Adam and Aydin went through the exact same procedures for her younger sibling as they did with Steph, although the new addition was biologically Aydin’s. They wanted the kids decently close in age so they could really relate to one another, and eventually bond.

Despite being the older of the pair, Steph tended to let her sibling take charge. It was never Steph o be the one who had the ideas of playing pretend with paint brushes or rounding up as much neighborhood kids as they could to hold fake courtroom dramas in their backyard. It was her sibling. And Steph just looked on, a happy participant. Sure, all siblings fight about small things, but from day one, Stephanie and sibling were always best friends. Whether it be compatible personalities, or their souls knowing that perhaps their time as siblings would be limited, they wasted no time getting along. Even now Steph is never the one to take charge and is incredibly susceptible to some good old fashioned peer pressuring.

Adam and Aydin were good to their kids. Spoiled them, even, but never hesitated to let them know that they would have to work for their own lives at one point. Childhood was characterized by days spent at Booze and Brushes, plenty of springs running through their spacious backyard, family movie and game nights, and enough giggles to fill two lifetimes. Life in Connecticut was perfect.

High School came and went in a blur. Interesting enough, Steph’s High School friends she had made before her sibling reached Greenwich High, eventually became their friends. While her friend group consisted mostly of people from the Drama Department or her Dance Studio, she felt grateful to always have been included and surrounded by such vibrant people. But before Steph knew it, it was time to start the college application process. Like any wise person, she applied to safety schools, but she had her heart set on NYADA’s Dance Program. And much to her delight, come fall of 2040, Stephanie was NYC bound. The hardest part, undoubtedly, was being away from her family, but she adapted pretty well. Steph was quick to settle into classes and her job at the Spotlight Diner. Freshman Year, she even tried her hand at NYADA Players, but the cutthroat environment just wasn’t for her, so she’d save all her focus for Dance.

While Steph thrives when she can make those close to her feel warm and fuzzy one on one, she can also err on the side of coming across a bit serious, or even sullen at times. Remaining positive and practicing healthy habits is just about as important to her as Dance. She might dull in the crowd, or against the bright city lights, but Steph has a tender gift of making her loved ones feel special, seemingly always being able to make friends, and of course dance. After some time at NYADA though, Steph settled on the idea of becoming a Dance Instructor. Whether that mean she work at a studio, own one of her own, or teach it in schools, she’d prefer to teach it, so now she studies both dance and education. Knowing that her time being on stage rather than teaching behind it is limited, she also participates in NYADA’s varsity dance team. In a way, it’s like a little slice of home.

Now, Steph continues to work at the diner, study hard, and absorb every precious moment she has with her New York buddies. Currently, she lives in an apartment with a roommate and is feeling pretty grown up in the wake of her twenty-first birthday. But no matter how grown up she feels, Steph can’t wait for Summer and to spend some quality time with family and friends alike.

PLAYLIST X II PINTEREST X

#crhq:intro

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smkkbert · 4 years

Text

Time for a story - Past Sins

Leaning her forearms on the banister of the gallery, Felicity looked down into the spacious hall with all its different areas and all the kids and adults working there right now. Three classes from local schools as well as two smaller groups from day care institutions around Starling City were being led around. Apart from that, a couple of kids were working on the different stations by themselves. It wasn’t too bad for an average Tuesday afternoon.

“Mrs. Queen?”

Felicity turned her head to the woman who was approaching her with a shy and yet excited smile. Behind the large glasses, her eyes looked amplified. She was stepping from one foot onto the other quickly which Felicity knew wasn’t unusual for her. She had trouble standing still, something Felicity understood very well.”

“Ms. Whitlock,” she said with a polite smile, “thank you for your time.”

“Well, when the boss calls, it’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Alena Whitlock chuckled nervously as she pulled at a strand of her hair. For the past weeks, she had been managing the Smoak & Queen Science Center for kids in Felicity’s name. She had applied for the position with little hope as she was young and didn’t have that much experience. Felicity had seen how much she loved science though and how easily infected you could be by her excitement. That had been more important to her than anything else because she knew the Science Center offered a great team of coworkers and all finances were taking care of by Queen Consolidated anyway.

Felicity smiled. “Don’t worry. I am just here to ask how things are going.”

“Everything’s great.” Alena stepped next to Felicity and followed her gaze down. “The Discovery Zone is still the most favored area for kids under five years. It was good to invest a little more money there. The Experiment Bar is the most favored area for kids that are older than five years. We have increased the number of available experiments to over fifty for children and youths of different ages. There aren’t enough working stations though. At times, people have to wait longer than half an hour to start an experiment.”

“We should extend the Experiment Bar,” Felicity concluded, nodding her head, “by at least twenty places.”

“That’s going to be expensive.”

Felicity didn’t reply to that as money really wasn’t a problem in her life anymore. As a child, when she had been living in that small Las Vegas apartment that her mother had barely earned enough money to rent, every penny had been so incredibly precious. Now, she was a billionaire who could spend money hand over fist. She liked to do that, at least when it was for charity.

“What about the project for basic computer education?”

“It’s going great,” Alena replied, “and it’s so important, especially for kids that grow up in the Glades. Unfortunately, it collides with the pupils that come here to do their homework under supervision. Hence, the kids have to share a tablet with one or two others which makes things difficult sometimes.”

“We will double the number of tablets then.”

Alena raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Just like that?”

“Of course just like that,” Felicity replied, shrugging her shoulders, “because this place can’t fulfill what it was built for if the necessary equipment isn’t there.”

“You make that sound so easy.”

Felicity had gotten married to a billionaire and was leading a multi-billion-dollar cooperation, Felicity thought to herself, so it was quite easy.

“What about the staff?” Felicity asked. “Do you need more support? Especially with the new expansions?”

“It never hurts to have some helping hands on deck.”

Felicity nodded her head. “In that case, I will advertise a couple of vacancies. Thank you for your time, Ms. Whitlock.”

“Thank you for listening, Mrs. Queen.”

With that, Alena left. She was almost dancing a little as the conversation had definitely gotten her in a good mood. Felicity smiled at the sight, shaking her head a little. She knew she couldn’t have found someone better to make creative and scientific decisions here wen Felicity wasn’t around. In a lot of ways, Alena had stayed a child herself and that was exactly the kind of person Felicity needed to be in charge here.

At the familiar sound of high heels clattering on the floor tiles, Felicity turned around to look at Emily, who was approaching her now.

“Mr. Wayne called.”

Felicity had trouble to bite back her smile at having Bruce being called Mr. Wayne. It seemed so incredibly surreal. Bruce was just Bruce. He wasn’t Mr. Wayne.

“Did he cancel the appointment?”

“No, he has just landed in Starling,” Emily replied, “but the highways are full. It will take a while until he arrives here.”

Felicity nodded her head. “Thank you.”

It was a good thing that Felicity hadn’t really expected Bruce to be on time anyway. Bruce was a lot of things, but punctual was not one of them. In that, like so many other things, Bruce was exactly like Oliver. Of course neither of the two men wanted to hear that.

Felicity had just turned back to observe the kids working on the different station when an alarm on her phone went off. It wasn’t her usual alarm that woke her in the morning, and it wasn’t her ringtone either. It was the special tone she had set up for any kind of emergencies or threats.

Quickly, Felicity pulled her phone from her purse and checked what had made the alarm go off. Apparently, there were suspicious movements as well as tech glitches around the Science Center. Both could be, but didn’t have to be, signs that there was a threat coming closer. Her security program alarmed her when there were images or any kind of data from possible weapons or when there were glitches in the surveillance technology that might look like they were manipulated.

Thanks to her thoroughly set up security hacks that allowed her to access the recordings of ever surveillance camera in Starling City and around, Felicity just needed a couple of commands until she has called up the footage of the surveillance cameras around the Science Center. She turned on the quick pass-through until she noticed that the glitches started in the footage of a camera that was just half a block away from here. She called up the video and let it run in normal speed.

Several minutes passed as the alley stayed empty. Only after several minutes, a couple passed the alley. She was a tall woman with a slim figure. Her breasts were small, her waist barely noticeable. Her straight black hair reached up to her chin. She was wearing black and red leathers. The top of her gear only had spaghetti straps, but she was wearing red gloves that reached even over her elbows. The neckline of her top reached deep, but her cleavage was almost entirely covered by the scarf she was wearing around her bottom part of her face. Felicity didn’t recognize that woman.

She did recognize the man that was walking alongside her though. By now, she had crossed the path of Ruben Midas twice already. The first time, she had sent the team in the headquarter of his company where they had found his robots. They had been so similar to real human beings that they could have easily been mistaken for those. Unlike the helpful robots that were supposed to work in the household or do their part in working security, those robots had been trained to use weapons and to kill. Felicity had destroyed Midas’ work including his plans which had caused him to mess with her bio-stimulants in return. She, Oliver and Bruce had believed that he had died when they had attacked him in his hideout, but they must have been wrong. He was very alive it seemed.

Felicity hurried to call up some more current footage of the two of them. Her security program needed barely a second before it called up live footage of the two of them. It took Felicity half a second before she realized where exactly they were.

The moment Felicity saw the exact location, she ran over to the next alarm button and pressed it. A loud alarm sounded through the entire building. The many walls that were made of security glass turned into mirrors, a little security extra she had thought might be helpful. A lot of glass allowed a lot of transparency which wasn’t a good thing when there was an attack. That was why she had added this.

Hurrying back to the banister, Felicity watched the staff hushing the kids and youth to the security areas. The two members of staff that were still sitting behind the reception, trying to lock down all doors around, didn’t move though.

“Run!” she called down to them. “Hide somewhere safe!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They dropped whatever they had been working on and hurried after the rest of the people into the security areas. They knew that, once the doors were shut, there was no easy way to open them. The entire building was designed that way that, once a door was closed from the inside during an alarm, it could only be opened through an elaborate security protocol.

The security cameras showed that Midas and his partner had already entered the building through some back entrance. They certainly wouldn’t need that much time to get here. That was why Felicity hurried down the stairs and checked some of the doors. The Science Center had never been on a lockdown like this, so she needed to make sure that everyone was indeed safe before she could even consider getting so a safe place too.

Felicity was still checking some of the doors downstairs when Midas and his partner stepped out from the back of the building and right into the hall. They stood face to face. Midas’ cold, angry eyes met Felicity’s. She sucked in a deep breath, taking a step back instinctively. That the woman pulled out two guns and directed them right at Felicity’s face.

“Mrs. Queen,” Midas addressed Felicity, an evil grin spreading on his lips, “may I introduce you to my lover? I lovely call her Blood Rose.”

Blood Rose. The name echoed through Felicity’s thoughts, and she was sure that it referred to more than just her red leather gear. With the guns in her hands, Felicity was sure that it also referred to the people she already killed or at least wounded by using her weapons.

“What do you want?” Felicity asked, her voice tense. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, we are just going to have a little fun spending time together while we wait for your two friends,” Midas replied, his grin widening, “let’s see who will save you – Bruce Wayne or your husband, Oliver Queen. I still have some unfinished business to take care of with the three of you.”

→ → → → →

“Mr. Queen, we appreciate the effort you have put into charity,” Mr. Nielson said, his voice leaving no doubt that he didn’t appreciate Oliver’s efforts at all, “but the city needs more money for what is important.”

Oliver leaned back in the soft leather of his chair. He tapped the end of his pen on the top of his desk repeatedly while he was watching Mr. Nielson. A couple of hours back, Oliver had wondered how he would get through this meeting. Now he knew that Mr. Nielson was going to outplay himself.

“And what do you think is important?”

“We need to make this city more successful,” Mr. Nielson replied with firm voice, “by boosting the economy and strengthening the tourism. We need Starling City to play with the big ones like Los Angeles, Metropolis or Gotham City. We need to make this city something special.”

“And you think that making the hotel owners and the company owners, the richest of the richest in this city, is more important than helping the people that can barely afford the basic needs of life?” Oliver cocked his head. “Really?”

Whenever he was in meetings like this and someone said something stupid like this, Oliver felt reminded on why he had chosen to become the mayor. He had known that this city needed someone to watch over it, someone who didn’t care about profits. That someone was him.

Oliver had been born rich, and for a long time he had believed that money was everything you needed to have a good life. Through the years, he had leaned that money alone wasn’t what made a good life. It was necessary to live comfortably and it was necessary to have a life at all, but it didn’t make a good life.

For a good life, you needed people that you loved and that loved you back. You needed a passion for something. You needed something that you did almost completely for others and barely for yourself.

Admittedly, Oliver had trouble with the last. Everything he did, he did at least a little bit for himself too. He was a good man because he wanted his children to look up to him. For a long time, he had believed that he had become a vigilante for selfless reasons. He knew better than that now. He had become a vigilante because he had wanted to right his father’s wrongs, and because he had wanted to earn forgiveness and earn the life his father had given to him by shooting David Hackett and himself. He was the mayor because he wanted to save this city and make it a better place to live in for his family.

Everything he did in life, he did at least a little bit for himself and maybe that was exactly the way it was supposed to be. Donating money when you would rather turn around each and every penny wasn’t fun. You’d only get angry for sharing the money that you’d rather keep.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Oliver said with soft voice, “I know that my way of handling this city is not comparable to how the previous mayors dealt with things. The truth is that I am quite different on a lot of different levels, but it’s not a weakness. It’s a strength. Deep down, the city has been a dark and dangerous place before-“

There was a knock at the door which Oliver would usually ignore. Since his assistant Becky just came rushing into the conference room, Oliver lifted his gaze and looked at his assistant. Her cheeks were reddened and an uncalm expression was in her eyes.

“I am sorry to interrupt,” she hurried to say, looking right at Oliver while she was walking around the large table to approach Oliver, “but you have to watch this.”

She held out her tablet for him, and Oliver didn’t wait to take it and watch the live video feed that was there. He knew that, if Becky interrupted the meeting like this, she had her reasons. She knew exactly what was important and what wasn’t.

The moment Olive caught the headline of the video feed, he felt his muscles tensing. His fingers held onto the tablet so tightly that he wouldn’t be surprised if he broke it. His heart started racing, the blood rushing in his ears.

Starling City’s first Lady Felicity Queen (along roughly 50 others) held hostage at Queen & Smoak Science Center for Kids

He skimmed the article quickly, reading that two people had escaped the Science Center and contacted the police. They had taken position around the building, trying to get in touch with the hostage-taker. They hadn’t been successful so far. Thanks to some of the employees that were inside the building, hiding with the kids that had come there today to learn something more about science, the police had gained access to the footage of the surveillance cameras. Unfortunately, some hacker had managed to break through the police’s firewalls and put the live feed online.

One brief look at the hostage-taker was enough for Oliver to know who this guy was and what he would want. It was also enough for him to know that this was no bad joke and now light threat. This was serious, and there was nowhere Oliver had to be more than at the Smoak & Queen Science Center.

“I have to go.”

He knew that there were a lot of eyes without understanding directed at him. He couldn’t care less though. Once they found out what was happening right now, they would understand. Every decent husband, even the ones that could do much less about the situation than he was able to do, would cancel every meeting to be close to their wife.

A part of Oliver wanted to take the stairs down, but he knew he needed to save his breath for the run to the bunker. At this time of the day, he knew it would be completely stupid to take the car. It would take him forever to get to the Science Center. He would have to run all the way to the bunker and take his motorcycle to the Science Center after that.

Oliver’s gaze was fixed onto the digital display while the elevator was taking its path downstairs. The tip of his shoe tapped onto the floor of the elevator cage nervously. Oliver hated waiting, and moments like these made it incredibly hard to learn how to be more patient.

Ruben Midas was a dangerous man. His intelligence and his creativity mixing with his greed for money had already made him dangerous. His anger about the fact that so much of his work had been destroyed and he was a hunted man now made him even more dangerous. He wasn’t focusing his energy and intelligence only on creating more robots. He was focusing it on getting his revenge.

As soon as the doors opened, Oliver slipped outside. He ran through the spacious foyer, not caring that people were staring at him. He really didn’t care.

Outside, he turned to the east, already about to start running to the bunker. He had barely taken two steps when a black Lamborghini raced onto the sidewalk and stopped still right in front of him. The tires screeched, and the bumper almost touched his shinbones. Since the windshield were darkened, Oliver couldn’t see who was sitting behind the steering wheel. He didn’t need to see it to know it though.

The way the car had almost knocked him down and was honking at him now was enough for him to know. There was only one person in the world that was as impatient as he himself was.

Oliver opened the door and let himself sink into the expensive leather seats. He wasn’t surprised to find the same rage he was feeling sparkling in Bruce’s eyes. By now, he had certainly heard about what was happening to Felicity right now already.

“Ruben Midas has her,” Oliver said, “and there is a second person with him, a woman according to the video surveillance.”

“The police talk about a woman too. Any idea who that is?”

“Felicity did some background checks on Midas, but she never mentioned a woman and- what are you doing? The bunker is in the other direction?”

“I have a duplicate of your suit in the trunk of the car.”

Oliver didn’t even ask about it. He guessed that Bruce, just like himself, liked to be prepared. After all, the two of them were quite similar. Even if he would never say that out loud.

Bruce floored the gas pedal. He was directing the car through with city with a speed that would scare Oliver if it was anyone else behind the steering wheel. He knew Bruce’s good reflexes, and he knew that Bruce was very determined to reach their shared goal.

They needed to save their girl.

→ → → → →

With her hands cuffed to the banister of the gallery, her back hurt badly. It was uncomfortable. That the metal was cutting into her skin hard wasn’t helping either. Clenching her teeth, Felicity tried to pull her hands out from the metal, but she wasn’t successful.

Felicity knew that she needed to find another way as she wasn’t gong to get out of her current situation anytime soon. At least not as long as she was on her own and without any help.

Lifting her gaze, she looked at Midas. He was sitting astride a chair, his forearms resting on the backrest of the chair. His cold eyes were focused on her, watching her with a somewhat amused smile on his lips. His partner was leaning against a wall behind him, one foot resting against the wall while she was watching them. Well, she was mostly watching Midas. She was almost completely fixed on him.

Felicity knew that Midas wanted Bruce and Oliver to be here for the great showoff. She alone wasn’t enough for him. After she had destroyed his work and his company in the first place, they had destroyed his hideout where he had tried to continue with his work in the shadows.

“You destroyed my work.”

He was finally feeling the need to talk, Felicity thought to herself. She guessed that was good. Maybe that way she could find out what his plan was. She was good at talking to villains. It wasn’t the first time she was in the hands of some criminal after all.

She took the break of a second to figure out which approach would be the right one here. Midas was a narcist who believed that his work would change the world in a way that was for the better, at least for him. In addition to that, he was quite smart. Pretending that she was a secret fan of his work was going to play into his narcissism, but he wouldn’t believe her. Even if he did believe her, Felicity wasn’t sure how Blood Rose reacted.

“It wasn’t worth keeping.”

Provoking Midas seemed to be the best shot she had. She had to try at least.

The corners of Midas lips twitched slightly. His eyes showed how angry her words made him though. Deep down, her wanted her to envy him for his creation.

“You will suffer for destroying my work,” Midas said, “just like your husband and your boyfriend will suffer for it.”

Her husband and her boyfriend. Felicity couldn’t deny that there was maybe a little spark of truth in there. Well, actually, they both were her husband. Oliver was her husband at home and, at least sometimes, Bruce was her husband at work. He was her work-husband. Where had she heard that term again in the first place?

“I just haven’t decided yet if I want to kill you in front of them or them in front of you.”

“I am leaning towards the latter,” Blood Rose said, “as I have a thing for strong, muscular guys. I would like to rub myself against them while I slit their throats. I want to bathe in their blood and come to the sight of light leaving their eyes. I-“

Midas hadn’t really looked like he minded his girlfriend fantasizing about being sexually turned on by killing Oliver and Bruce. He tapped his finger onto his smart watch, not looking like he was even listening to what his girlfriend was saying. While he had been busy, Blood Rose had suddenly stopped and was now approaching him with almost seductive steps. She put her arms around his neck from behind and leaned her lips against his ear. Felicity didn’t have to hear her to know that she was probably saying something saucy to him.

Birds of a feather flock together, Felicity thought to herself quietly while she was watching the couple. She couldn’t say who of them was more insane. She guessed it could change anytime, depending on the situation.

Felicity was still watching them when she noticed a movement. The many glass walls in this area turned into mirrors when the security program was set off, so nobody could see what was happening inside and the people inside, especially the kids, couldn’t see what was happening outside. The reflection in the mirroring walls also allowed her to see the movements that were happening on the beams right under the ceiling.

Although Felicity felt relieved at the sight of Oliver and Bruce or rather Green Arrow and Batman, Felicity did her best not to let it show. Midas and his girlfriend would only get suspicious if they saw that she was relieved. Oliver and Bruce certainly had a plan of their own though.

Felicity shot a brief glance at her hostage-takers, and her gaze met Blood Rose. The crazy lady cocked her head and let go of her boyfriend to approach Felicity slowly. The corners of her lips twitched slightly, making her look even more evil.

“Maybe I will change my mind.”

Blood Rose brushed her fingertips against Felicity’s cheek before she cupped her jaw. Her thumb stroked over Felicity’s bottom lip. Felicity tried to lean out of her touch, but Blood Rose didn’t let her get away. She tightened her fingers around Felicity’s jaw, pressing her fingernails in Felicity’s soft skin to a point that it almost hurt.

“I am going to enjoy killing you,” Blood Rose whispered, “and to have both men cry out for you in agony when they cannot save you.”

With a sudden movement, Blood Rose grabbed hold of Felicity’s ponytail and ripped her head back so much that a jolt of pain shot through Felicity’s spine. She hissed in pain.

That was enough for Oliver and Bruce to leave their safe spots where they had been able to observe the situation. They jumped down from the beam, landing right and left to Felicity. Bruce went at Blood Rose, urging her away from Felicity and trying to take her down. At the same time, Oliver attacked Midas.

Felicity knew it was hopeless, but she tried to pull her hands out of the tight metal around her wrists once more. As much as she gritted her teeth and just tried to pull, it didn’t work. Why had Oliver never taught her how she could dislocate her thumb as it would definitely been helpful right now?

Unable to do anything but waiting to be saved, Felicity looked back and forth between the two fights that were going on. While Bruce seemed to have the upper hand in his fight, Oliver had trouble to hold his own against Midas. Felicity wondered if maybe Midas had implanted some kind of biochip into his system that allowed his body to adapt to his opponent’s abilities. If he had managed to create human-like robots with that ability, maybe he was able to install this ability in the human DNA.

Oliver and Midas were tangled in a close hand-to-hand combat when Felicity could suddenly see a gleam. Her breath got caught in her throat when she saw the knife Midas was holding in his hand. He directed it at Oliver’s neck, and Oliver barely managed to lean back enough to have it stay out of reach. He blocked Midas’ hand with one arm.

As Midas almost managed to sneak his arm out from under Oliver’s blocking movement, Oliver pushed Midas away from him strongly. The movement caused Midas to stumble, and he fell to the floor. Blood was pooling under and around his body. As he turned around onto his back, Felicity could see where exactly it came from. The stumble had caused him to slit his own throat. With one rattle, he stopped breathing. It had only taken seconds for him to bleed to death.

Felicity was staring at Midas’ dead body. She guessed this time Midas was really dead.

Blood Rose seemed to have come to the same conclusion. With a cry of agony as she had called it herself before, Blood Rose pushed Bruce away from her. The movement tossed him across the room and pushed him into the opposite wall. His head bumped against it ungently. His body slumped to the floor, staying there without moving.

Blood Rose was still crying out loudly, releasing an ear-piercing sound, when she turned away from where she had tossed Bruce against the wall. Felicity believed that she’d go right at Oliver. Felicity could understand it because she’d kill whoever took Olive from her too. Instead, Blood Rose walked right towards her, pulling her guns and aiming them at her.

Felicity turned her chair away as much as possible, trying to make herself small by resting her chest on her thighs. That way, she guessed she was giving Blood Rose the least attack surface. Indeed, it seemed like no bullet hit her. The glass of the banister shattered though. A thousand scattered pieces of glass fell down. Blood Rose’s shots came closer. One bullet seemed to almost brush her upper arm.

Quickly, Felicity moved more to the side, trying to avoid the bullets. It was just an uncareful second, but one leg of her chair slid off the edge. Felicity lost her balance, and it caused the entire chair to overturn the edge of the gallery. The chair fell off from under her butt, falling down into the ground floor and bursting there. It crumbled into all of it different pieces.

Felicity was dangling from the gallery. Her feet were dangling in the air. She was only held up by the handcuffs that kept her tied to the banister. Her arms were twisted painfully as her entire weight was hanging on her wrists. The metal of the handcuffs was cutting into her skin even more firmly now.

Just a couple of minutes before, Felicity had tried to pull her hands out of the handcuffs. Now, her hands were threatening to slip out of them. Her skin was abrading. It hurt badly. The fear of crashing down several floors onto the ground scared Felicity.

Oliver’s name was already rising on her throat when she realized that she had to be smarter. If the police hadn’t gained access to the footage of the surveillance cameras already, the would definitely demand that footage later. Any lip reader would probably be able to figure out who she was calling out for. While Felicity could pretend that she had just called out for her husband because he was the person she trusted to protect her most, Oliver had been suspected to be the Green Arrow a few times too much for her to risk anything here.

“Green Arrow!”

It didn’t feel right. She didn’t call out for the Green Arrow, the savior of the city, to save her. She knew that Green Arrow’s task was catching Blood Rose and stopping her from causing any more harm to the people in this city. The person she needed to save her was her husband because she knew that he needed her to be alright.

Felicity’s right hand had just slipped out of the handcuff when the leather of a familiar glove grabbed her hands. Lifting Felicity’s gaze, she saw Oliver holding onto her hand. The exhaustion in his face wasn’t coming from holding her weight with one hand, Felicity knew. It was just a sign of how worried he really was.

He pulled her up almost easily, using just one hand. He used one of the arrows she had designed, putting it to the small chain between the handcuffs. Within seconds, the chain was melted through. Oliver’s arms wrapped around her already. Felicity pushed her nose against the side of his neck, breathing him in. The feeling of being safe spread inside of her already.

Although the feeling hadn’t really caught up with her completely, Felicity pulled away from Oliver. She shot him a meaningful look, nodding his head. Obviously, he knew exactly what she needed right now.

She looked at where Bruce was still lying unconsciously, and she hurried towards him. Felicity kneeled down next to his body and cupped his face with her hands. Her fingers stroked over his cheekbones, stroking over his skin with gentle caress.

“Bruce,” she whispered quietly, hoping he would hear her, “Bruce, it’s me.”

For the break of a second, Bruce stayed unmoving. With a low groan, he put his fingers around her wrist and opened his eyes though. Although they were cloudy, Felicity could see the love shine through. He was glad that she was the one pulling him from his unconsciousness. Although he knew that Felicity’s heart would always be with Oliver, he liked to see her face upon waking up. It made him feel safe.

Felicity would have liked to reassure him that everything was okay. She wanted to tell him that he was safe, that Oliver was safe and that she was safe. From the corner of her eye, she could see the S.W.A.T. team of the SCPD entering the building though. There was no time.

“You have to go,” Felicity whispered, looking from Bruce to Oliver, “now.”

Oliver nodded his head as hard as it was to leave her like that when nothing was talked out yet. He wanted to kiss her, but he also knew that he couldn’t do that with the cameras recording every single one of their movements.With a couple of steps, he was at her side. He wrapped Bruce’s arm over his shoulder, helping him to get onto his feet.

Oliver’s every locked onto hers. Felicity knew that he needed to know that she was somewhat okay before he left her. He loved her too much to leave her in any situation of crisis. Felicity nodded her head though, telling him that she got this handled. After all, she had been forced to find an excuse to tell the police why Oliver was back alive when his dead body had been identified after a shooting in front of City Hall.

She was the wife of the freaking Green Arrow. She knew the perks and the downs of that role. She didn’t mind.

After all, she got Oliver in return. He was worth every trouble and every inconvenience.

* * *

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @queens-of-arrows @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer-blog @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @mrt2501 @arsipaci14 @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafrancis-blog @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @olicity-in-the-heart @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04 @24karatgem @wrldtravler @readerkas @olicity-beliver @greencoffeecups @snorlaxishere

(If you want to be tagged or untagged, just let me know. :))

#arrow #olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #time for a story

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secret-engima · 5 years

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Are you in the One Piece Fandom? Wait what fandoms are you in? Overlord?? Akatsuki No Yona?? (THAT ONE IS A GREAT READ AND WATCH TBH—its so underappreciated!!) Undertale?? (Throws hands up)

Uhhhhhhhhh depends on your definition of “in”. If by “in” you mean “have consumed the canon content enough to know what’s up” then I am in a lot less fandoms than you’d think. If you mean “have absorbed enough of the canon and fanon via osmosis to kinda get the gist and enjoy the fanfic while ignoring the actual source material” then I’m in … enough fandoms I literally can’t remember them all off the top of my head but here’s a list of what I can think of rn:

Transformers (Animated, Prime-verse, Bay-verse, SORTA G1 but only for like- two fanfics and a couple one-shots)

Final Fantasy XV (obviously)

Final Fantasy 7 (this is one of those osmosis ones, the only canon content I have actually owned is the Advent Children movie. Have watched Crisis Core walkthroughs tho)

How to Train Your Dragon (movies only)

My Hero Academia (manga, anime, and vigilantes but I’m not up to date so no spoilers pls)

Katekyo Hitman Reborn (osmosis that led to watching some of the show. The fanfics are better. Hands down. Still glad the show exists tho, otherwise the fanfic would not.)

Harry Potter (solely via crossovers, I don’t tend to enjoy straight HP fanfic, but yeeting Harry into fandoms I do know is funny)

Naruto (I have watched exactly three eps of the original and up to the Diedara mocking Naruto with Gaara’s body in Shippuuden. Everything else is pure fandom Osmosis.)

Boruto (counting this as a separate thing because Naruto fans tend to be mean over the show (????). Which is a shame cause I adore it. Ninja school/youth slice of life with end of the world drama thrown in for flavor? Heck yeah. Also Mitsuki is My Bby Boi™ and I will hear no dissent)

Akatsuki No Yona (anime, slowly collecting the manga, it is The Best™)

One Piece (pure fandom osmosis. Have watched maybe the earliest eps before I got a headache from the animation/voice acting, after that I quit and live in fanfic only)

Undertale (have never played the game, no desire to, have absorbed plot through wiki entries and fanfic osmosis. Mostly I just adore the concept of a character who knows about save points and uses them for good or evil, as well as the whole “different runs” thing and the potential Angst and Hurt/Comfort having a Frisk with multiple runs under their belt could bring. Also Papyrus and Sans are the cutest things and I love them even though I hate skeleton characters as a general rule).

Sword Art Online (this is the anime that got me into fantasy anime. Period. My Fairy Tail fanfic would not exist without this anime making me interested in non-Case Closed and Detective School Q anime. SAO Progressive Light Novels are *chef’s kiss*.)

Log Horizon (anime is fun. I like the more political/economic take that makes it so different from SAO. Also the potential Shenanigans between Adventurers and Landers and the Lander POV potential is cool).

Star Wars (I have watched all the movies at least once barring Rise of Skywalker so no spoilers, am working through older Clone Wars seasons and gleefully have enjoyed Rebels and several of the games. I do NOT write for this fandom as a general rule because I have no desire to get involved in the flame wars, especially since the original trilogy was not my entry point? So I actually really enjoy a lot of the characters and shows outside the original trilogy and apparently my ability to like content that isn’t *raises imaginary holy grail* “the OG trilogy” is a crime against Star Wars and nature and possibly humanity. Let me enjoy my blind jedi and his crew of misfit pseudo-kids you puritans. Also Rey.)

Fairy Tail (anime, have yet to watch the last season, love this show with all my heart).

Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood (have yet to watch more than a few eps on the show, for all its on my reading list, so most of what I know is fanfic osmosis).

Fruits Basket (I … actually have not read fanfic of this? But I adore the books with all my heart and am so stoked to see the remade anime).

Case Closed/Magic Kaito (anime and fanfic. Treating these as the same since they’re in the same universe and spot of timeline, just have different MCs and premises).

Detective School Q (My first anime! Thank you youtube for the collection of pirated anime eps I got to binge before they all got deleted. As far as I am aware, there is no fandom still living for this show, which is a shame because it was good).

Rurouni Kenshin (the original anime! Never got past the arc with the burned villain but I still enjoyed it up to that point. No idea what the arcs after it are like. Don’t really care.)

Hobbit/LOTR (read the Hobbit, have watched all the movies. AU fanfics ftw.)

Bleach (this … is pure fanfic osmosis. I blame @wolfsrainrules @north-peach and @akaluan they got me curious. Still a little iffy on the show itself but like- I enjoy the fanfic. I’m a sucker Akaluan’s Dragon Eclipse fanfic especially.)

Princess Tutu (haven’t been in the fandom in forever? But I have a few fav fics and the show is *chef’s kiss*).

Voltron: Legendary Defender (started with the fanfics out of accident and curiosity, then hopped over to the show because the crossover potential it had with TF got me interested. Am currently in the second season so pls no spoilers).

Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes (show, fanfic, I enjoy crossovers. Someone did the world’s most epic TF:P crossover with this show and I have loved it ever since.)

MCU (osmosis that led to watching the movies. I think I liked all of the ones I watched barring Guardians of the Galaxy and Antman. Tellingly, I have made a point not to watch Endgame, Infinity War, GoG 2 or Antman 2. I can tell that the first two are just- no. I haven’t seen a fandom go up in fire that fast in years I have no desire to experience WHY.)

Edit: AVATAR. Why did I forget Avatar: The Last Airbender? hgdhgf. Anyway I like both A:TLA and Korra.

Uhhhh that’s all I can think of atm. I’m definitely missing some but yeah. Brief rundown of fandoms I am able to at least hold a basic conversation about and a brief bio of how/why I know them.

#SE asks #oliverslewty asks #Secret Engima Rambles #fandom things #fandom list #i know i'm in more fandoms #but for the life of me i'm blanking on them rn

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transylvaniatrails-blog · 4 years

Text

FIRST SEASON

Our first season, the Dracula Trails Route and the ADV Bike Rider Magazine article...

April 2018 was the start of our first season and by December 2017 we already had a few trips booked for the early spring and autumn...Nick has contacted us in early October 2017and requested do ride with us together with his group from Manchester UK. After a few emails the trip was booked and on April 17th we were travelling to Cluj Napoca to pick up seven riders.

The plan was to ride the Dracula Trails Route https://www.transylvaniatrails.com/products. We had everything planned and ready to ride...Nick mentioned in one of his emails that he was in contact with someone from the ADV Bike Rider Magazine https://www.adventurebikerider.com and he advised that we should take lots of pictures during the trip...

The trip was a big success!

A few weeks after the trip we received an email from Alan ( one of the gents from the group ) with a link to ADV Bike Rider Magazine website...And there it was, an article written by Alan published in the Magazine No.47... WOW!

We made a few new friends and we have been lucky to ride together several times since 2018.....

Full article from the Magazine bellow: What's the first thing you think of when it comes of Transylvania? Castles? Sure. The birthplace of Dracula? Certainly. Trail riding? Probably not, but maybe it's about time you should. Seven of us booked a two-day tour with Transylvania Trails in the middle of April this year. The all-inclusive price covered accommodation and food for three nights, bike hire, personal protective equipment/clothing and guide for two day's riding. All that was left for us to do was turn up eager to explore the best that Transylvania had to offer.

Our guide Gabriel ( Gabi ) collected us from the airport at Cluj and took us to what was our base at Nucet, near Sibiu. Bio Haus Cioran Guest House is a larged timber framed chalet baking onto an orchard with forestry beyond. Gabi introduced us to our hosts Mioara and Emil who showed us our rooms. Back downstairs, beer in hand, Gabi showed us the bikes and explained the differences between the Sherco 300 and the "Factory" edition. The nine bikes were lined up at the back of the house, all clean and shiny, lying in wait for our adventure. "Shall we help you lock them away"? we asked? "No need", was the reply. "They'll be fine here". Not like in the UK.

The food at Bio Haus is home made and homegrown traditional romanian fare. Romanians love their soup and each meal started with a bowl so big you could have skipped the main meal and not been hungry. Homemade wine and schnapps completed the delicious three-course meal.

The next morning, after a substantial breakfast, Gabi gave us our riding equipment, including helmet, boots, shirt, trousers, body armour, gloves and goggles. Most of the kit was brand new and we had to take it out of the bags and take the labels off before using it. We then had a pre-ride briefing, where Gabi told us about the bikes, about following his wheel tracks as far as possible and about the dangers in the forests: wild boar, deer, dogs and brown bears! We were led along a track running right next to the guest house, following it uphill and into the countryside beyond. Gabi then left us in a clear- ing on top of a hill to get used to the bikes. Ten minutes later he was back, and we were off.

I had only been riding off-road for about 10 weeks, although I have had road bikes for the past 40 years, and have just bought a Honda CRF2S0L. The braking and changing gears standing up still felt new to me and, coupled with new moto- cross boots and the snatchy throttle of a much more powerful bike, I wondered how I would cope.

We set off over the hillside quite gingerly at first, but then the pace picked up a bit as our confidence grew. The Romanian countryside is quite ditferent to that in the UK. There are no fences or walls and what livestock we did encounter was herd- ed together by dogs with a shepherd present. Gabi had warned us of the dogs prior to setting off. They are the size of Pyrenean mountain dogs and chased us away if we got too close to the sheep. Andy, our most experienced rider, was frightened of dogs so he employed the tactic of putting other bikes between him and them as they chased us. This meant he wasn't picking the best line or concentrating fully and, of course, he subse- quently fell off. At that point, the dogs had fortunately lost interest in him and returned to the flock.

Once Gabi judged we were more comfortable with the bikes we entered the forest. For most of us, this was our favourite section. It was quite open and well lit, with very few bushes. The ground was soft and loose, covered with leaf litter while a few hills, streams and a little mud kept things interesting. In short, it was perfect.

Gabi explained that most of the countryside is state owned and the farmers rent the land for 99 years. There are some private properties, but it seems by and large that you can ride where you want. Having said that, Gabi then showed us a valuable lesson. After a fast-open section, he stopped and gathered us around. We rode slowly a little further and stopped at what appeared to be a small drop. In fact, what lay before us was a sheer drop of at least 30m!

A short road section through a traditional Romanian village led us to a fortified church on a hill. This was to be our lunch stop. A lot of the roads in this area are dirt and the drainage is by a ditch on either side. Don’t even think of lampposts and footpaths, as they don't exist. Nobody in these villages has cars, but there are one or two horse-drawn carts.

Everyone in the villages seemed pleased to see us. The old men sitting under the shade of the trees waved while the barefoot kids at the side of the road put their hands up for us to high five as we rode past.

We took off our riding gear, hung it up to dry and lay on the grass for 10 minutes to get our breath back while Gabi re-fuelled the bikes from containers he had previously dropped at the church. We were led into a traditionally decorated stone room within the restored fortified walls where a table was laid for our midday meal. All meals here are sit down three course aftairs. Soup, of course, traditional chicken stew, and cake, which seemed to be made from cheese and currants.

We set off again, this time at a more leisurely pace, and after about an hour one of the bikes seemed to be starting with a clutch problem. The bike had only done 150 miles from new, but Gabi decided rather than have a problem in a remote area we would wait in a village for a replacement bike. A quick phone call and 45 minutes later, his father-in-law arrived with a replacement bike in the back of a pickup. Gabi has designed each tour to incorporate as much varied terrain as possible. By this time, I was feeling more comfortable on the bike, getting used to the immediate power delivery, even in ‘soft' mode, which I was learning could get me out of trouble where my CRF would bog down and stall. Standing up on the pegs all day was taking its toll, however, and the shoulders and back were beginning to ache.

A lot of the soil in the Transylvanian Highlands is red clay. Even where it was dry, the farm tracks we encountered were slippery. In fact, when we came across deep, wet ruts (my nemesis) on an uphill section, it was almost a relief to gently fall otf, coming to rest in the bushes, which stopped me from rolling down a steep slope. I looked at my back wheel, which had turned into a clay coloured slick. No wonder. More mead- owland, wilderness, and farm tracks followed and at 9pm we emerged from the forest to arrive at our lodgings for the night in Sighisoara. This small town is dominated by an imposing castle on a hill that was once owned by Vlad Dracul or, as we know him, Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Drocu to. In these parts, he is known as a hero as he was al-leged to have persecuted only those ‘nobles' who were taking advantage of their position to thedetriment of the ‘peasants'.

We pushed the bikes into the courtyard of the little bed and breakfast we were to stay at. Once showered, we walked across the road to a traditional Romanian restaurant where we were shown to our table in the basement. Gabi interpret- ed the menu for us and, of course, there was soup. Andy was intrigued by a starter that Gabi described only as lard. Once it arrived, it turned out that it was indeed a small bowl of lord sprinkled with paprika! It came with a side salad, which he left. All the food was locally sourced and homemade. We left the restaurant just before midnight and it seemed fitting that Gabi gave us a guided tour of the castle.

The next morning, one of our group wasn't feeling well and decided to give it a miss. The rest of us set off back to the first night’s base via a different route, all off-road of course.

The previous evening, Gabi had asked us what kind of riding we wanted to do that day and one of the group had mentioned hills. “Ride across that field as fast as you can. By the time you hit the jump you need to be flat out in third gear, then enter the forest and keep going straight uphill”. Easier said than done... The best I managed was two thirds of the way up before stalling, falling oft and tumbling about torn before I could even stand up. Exhausted after my third attempt, I took the chicken run around the side of the hill. I was learning all the time. Choose your line, head up, weight forward and use your clutch. If I'd had the energy to go a fourth time, I might have made it.

The afternoon of the second day was what life's memories are all about and it was an afternoon I will remember for many years. Riding standing up, flat out across miles of undulating open meadow land with the forest on one side and the stunning snow-capped Carpathian Mountains on the other was bliss. It's hard to keep your eye on where you should be going with views like that.

We all loved riding in the forests and so that's where Gabi took us to finish off the second day, weaving in and out of the trees, up and down the hills and through the streams.

Every now and again we'd catch a glimpse of a deer as we startled it and it ran away. Fortunately, no brown bears though. The second day ended at the place where it all began; where we had been practising on the bikes when we first got them. We were back to Bio Haus for 6pm, where Emil was preparing that evening’s barbecue. We parked the bikes and collapsed on the sprawling porch overlooking the orchard, tired and aching, beer in hand. We had ridden 180 miles, all off-road. Had we enjoyed it? Well, as soon as we got home we booked to go back again in September. This time for three days instead of two. I’d better hit the gym.

The Transylvanian Highlands is a stunningly beautiful area, completely unspoiled. The riding can't be compared to anything we have in the UK. My green-laning experience, for example, is limited to rocky tracks in the Peak District and is completely unlike the open rolling countryside or the technical hilly forests we traveled through.

The whole area is steeped in history as, time after time, the country has been invaded and the various occupants have add- ed their traditions and culture. Tourism in this area seems to be in its infancy and the general thrust seems to be for skilled craftsmen to restore buildings using traditional materials and methods. There also seems to be conscious effort for the tour- ism to benefit the local towns and villages, and we'd implore you to see what its about. You won't regret it.

#transylvania trails #romania enduro tours #enduro romania #enduro tours romania

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wonwoosthetic · 5 years

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Summer Road Trip || Sebastian Stan

MASTERLIST in linked in my bio! :)

Thank you for the request, I hope you all like it!

Writing this request has given me the biggest summer feelings EVER! I just searched for tons of summer pictures on Pinterest - I want it to be summer finally!!! I’m so excited and can’t wait for warm and long nights, probably writing, haha

Request: hey can u do a fic with Seb where he and the reader are on a road trip for the summer and then their car window breaks for some reason? The rest of up to you! xx

Characters: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: none, just pure fluff!!!

Summer Road Trip

The radio was blasting "No Woman, No Cry" through your rented mint-coloured VW Bus, the wind blowing, messing up your hair, as Sebastian was sitting in the driver's seat, you right next to him with the windows down.

After the Avengers: Endgame premieres in more countries than you had prepared for and all of the press tours, your boyfriend and you had finally taken some time off together. Your idea was to travel more as a couple since you hadn't been able to do that ever since you started dating three years ago, in 2017, on the set of Infinity War and Endgame. Sebastian had a different idea - he wanted to go somewhere quite far away, off the road, somewhere where no one was able to take pictures of you outside of your house, no disturbing city noises, nothing that could distract him from you.

With that in mind, you decided to combine those two ideas and tell your boyfriend about it. He immediately agreed to it: renting a beach house on the other side of the US in Charleston, far away from any source of civilization, but instead of flying there, you had agreed on renting a car and driving the perfect route through North America, travelling as much as you want along the way.

The two of you had been on the road for four days, that day slowly coming to an end as the sun had already set. You and the brown-haired next to you had been taking turns at driving, eight hours a day, making stops along the way to explore the place wherever you decided to rest for the night or just walk around. "My phone says we'll reach the next stop in about an hour. Should we stay there for the night?", Sebastian, next to you, spoke up, ripping you out of your daydream. "How far to the one after that?", you wanted to know. He looked at the GPS quickly with furrowed eyebrows, making sure to keep his eyes on the road, "Hm... another hour and a half." "Alright, then... yeah. We can stay overnight at the nearest one." With that, you closed your eyes and drifted off to a short nap.

The back of a hand caressing your cheek woke you up again, with silent whispers in your ears, "(Y/N), little one, wake up. We're here." You started to slowly open your eyes, not wanting to be blinded by any possible light source. With quick blinks, you came to sight with Sebastian, who kept his eyes close on you. "Where are we?", you asked, slightly off, not completely back into being able to think straight. The man hovering over you chuckled, "At the motel, come on. I already checked us in." You though were too tired to actually stand up and move your body from the car to your room, therefore you stretched out your arms, "Carry me. Please", and pleaded with a puppy face. You knew Seb was not able to say no to that and you were right. He freed you from the safety belt, put one arm under your knees and the other one on your lower back to carry you properly.

Carefully and gracefully, he got you to the room and put you on the bed, only to disappear again to get you something more comfortable to sleep in. Back by the bed, Sebastian took off your maxi skirt and shirt and put you in one of his old shirts he packed for the trip but since it was hotter than he expected, he decided to sleep topless. With the last sense of consciousness in your almost asleep state, you felt the mattress dip and your boyfriend lying down next to you, putting one arm around your body, and pulling you close.

--- The Following Day ---

You had been up for about thirty minutes and were waiting for the actor still laying in the cheap bed to wake up. After getting ready to go out again in the bathroom, you put the shirt from last night back in your small suitcase and wanted to take it back to the car. So, you closed it, opened the door, and walked outside into the morning light. In your shorts and t-shirt, you were able to feel the warm sun on your entire body. But, you weren't able to enjoy this moment for long as you took a look at the rented car and saw almost all of its windows crashed. Quickly, you threw the suitcase into the car, took a look at the broken windows, but sprinted back into your motel room - only to jump on the bed, waking Sebastian up. "Seb, seb, seb", you were shaking him, "wake up, please. Sebastian!" With your loud shout, he jolted awake, immediately going into defence mode with his hands in position, "What?! What is it?!", he looked over to you, "Everything alright?" "No! Come, you have to take a look at the car", you made it clear in a worrying voice.

Without hesitation, he jumped up, he was much more awake in the morning then you will ever be able to understand, and followed you outside after putting on his pair of shoes that were placed next to the bed.

"Oh no", were the first two words that escaped his mouth after stepping a foot outside and seeing the damage on the rented bus. As Sebastian got closer to the vehicle, he started examining it precisely. "How did that happen?", he wondered. You shrugged, "I don't know, I came out here to put the suitcase back into the car and I saw that", you pointed at the broken windows.

"Oh, you too", the two of you turned around at the sound of an elderly woman's voice. "Excuse me?", Sebastian asked politely. "Last night", the woman started explaining, "some rowdy kids ran around and threw stones." "Stones? Why?", you asked confused. "Don't ask me, sweetheart. But those kids have been infamous in this town for quite some time. They've destroyed multiple windows. Last night the window of my office as well." You contemplated what to do next since you were not able to carry on with your holiday trip with three broken windows. The elderly woman, who you got to know was the owner of the motel who's name was Ana, had an idea, "You know what, there's a service station about an hour from here, I'm gonna make a call and tell them you're coming and you go." "That would so nice, thank you Ana", you thanked the woman and went back to the room. Seb said his 'Thank you' and got back to you. Inside, he finally put on a shirt and some short sweatpants, put the rest of his stuff back in his suitcase and brought it outside into the car.

You sat down on a bench outside of your shared room, looking into the distance, slightly disappointed of the sudden turn of events. The actor saw your posture and walked up to you, "What's with that face?" You looked up, "Hm?" "Don't 'hm' me", he mocked you, "you know exactly what's up." Internally, you smiled at the concern of your boyfriend and how well he was able to read you, on the outside though, you kept your face straight. He situated himself next to you, with his left arm around you to pull you close. "Spill." With a huff, you started, "I'm just... not... I don't know. I planned this trip how I wanted it to go. I didn't plan for this to happen. It-it throws me completely out of my plan and it'll slow us down and we won't get to Charleston in the time that we wanted and I just feel like it's gonna go downhill from now on." Sebastian was confused, "What's with all of that melancholy?" His comment made you smile - he had learned what the word 'melancholy' meant last weak and had been trying to get it into every conversation if possible. There was his chance and he took it. "Yes, this was not planned... but how would you want to plan for some kids coming 'round and smashing windows. And who is saying that everything will go downhill from here?" "I don't know, I just feel like it's not gonna get better", you answered, not looking at him but still straight ahead. "Not with that attitude, it won't." You smiled again.

He placed a kiss on the side of your head, "Just because this little thing happened doesn't mean it's all for shit now. Come on. Yes, we're gonna be in Charleston a bit later but that means more time for exploring more collecting experience." Now, you turned your head to look at him, placing your left hand on top of this that he had placed on your shoulder, "But you didn't want to explore so much. You wanted to have peace, to be in peace." "Yeah... but you wanted to, and I'm happy nevertheless", he was running his fingers through your hair, putting one piece behind your ear. After his fingers let go of your hair, they moved down to your chin, his thumb on top of it, his pointing finger underneath it to make you look up. With his arm, which was still placed around you, he pulled you into a kiss - a soft, loving, and meaningful kiss, just like every other one. Not once in your three-year-long relationship has a kiss ever felt meaningless. Every single one was a new excitement, letting butterflies erupt in your stomach.

After a long share of that show of love, you separated and Seb continued speaking, "Now, let's get to that service station and then we continue our drive. We only need about five more hours." He stood up, extending his hand for you to take, which you did. The actor then pulled you up and together you walked over to the car to get in and continue your journey together.

--- Eight Hours Later ---

It was late in the afternoon, almost the evening and the two of you had a long day behind you. After getting to the service station, the guy there had to tell you that it would take about two to three hours to repair the damage on your little rented bus. The good news was, that they actually were also renting cars. You came to the agreement that for the time that your car was in their service, you would take a car from their station, a yellow 1965 VW Beetle, and on the way back to Los Angeles, you would drive by their place and "switch" cars back - good news: you would only have to pay for the reparation of the windows and not for "renting" the yellow Beetle.

Because that car had been one of your dream cars ever since you were a teenager, you drove the two of you for the following five hours or so to Charleston, to the little beach house that you were renting for as long as you desired. You reached your destination just as the sun was setting. On one hand, you were happy to have finally made it, especially when you were just about able to see the sunset on the beautiful beach from the porch of the house, on the other hand though, you were kind of sad about the fact that you had just spent almost an entire day in a car without exploring any places besides the few streets in the area of the service station and the gas station two hours into the drive.

But at that moment you had everything you needed: you were standing on the porch, leaning on the railing, looking at the differently coloured sky, waiting for Sebastian who was doing god knows what in the kitchen. You could not wait to properly start your vacation in that part of town with no internet, no phone service, only the few necessities like electricity for the oven, lightning, and the TV, as well as running water - nothing more, because you didn't need anything more.

Deep in your thoughts, you didn't notice Sebastian, who had come up behind your leaning frame to grab you into a loving hug. "Let's take a walk on the beach, shall we?", he asked. Your arms were on top of his which were placed around your hips, holding you close. You turned your head to look at him and nodded with a big smile on your face.

While walking along the beach, hand in hand with the only person you had wanted to be with at this very moment, you noticed something; "This beach is so much cleaner than in L.A." To which he agreed. "It's so quiet and peaceful... I love it", you continued.

All of a sudden you came to a stop and your head shot from looking at the horizon to looking at Seb. You looked at with big eyes, "Hm?", wanting to know, why he suddenly stopped walking, making him fall in love with you even more. Just the look on your face - he could admire it every single day, and he wanted you to know that, then and forever.

He took a deep breath, "So.. we've had quite an adventure coming here. Five long days of driving, three broken windows and even a new car", he cleared his throat, "but we're here now and as cheesy as it sounds, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else at this very moment. I want to thank you for the most amazing three years that I've gotten to spend with you ever since we met on set. I was actually once told to settle down before the whole career thing blows up... but, oh boy, thank god I didn't do that", his story made you both laugh, even you even though tears had started forming in your eyes from all the sweet words. Sebastian was holding one of your hands, the other one in the left-side pocket of his shorts, playing with a square box, "And I could tell you a thousand different ways of why and how I'm in love with you, I want you to know that, okay?", you saw his eyes becoming glassy and nodded with a smile, "Well then..." Now or never.

He grabbed the box out of his pocket and got down on one knee...

------------------------------------------------------------

I didn’t want to write the ending because I want you to be able to imagine what he would say yourself and obviously what and how you would answer, I would love to hear your versions of the ending!!

Critic (positive and negative) is always welcome on my blog :)

Thank you for the request once more, I hope this somewhat turned out the way you had hoped for it! A huge Thanks to everyone who read this!!

I hope you have a great night/day! :) <3

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jakelyons · 4 years

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Bio

Jacob Rhett Lyons was born March 31st to parents Joseph and Katherine Lyons. The couple already had one son, Gavin, whom they loved dearly, and the three of them could not wait for Jacob to arrive. When Jacob was born the Lyons family was complete, and many years of happiness and love were in their future.

Mr. Lyons is the pastor of the church in the next town over, which brought on a lot of expectations for the Lyons family. Mrs. Lyons is a cardiologist.

Jacob and Gavin were as close as two brothers could get. They did just about everything together. Where you saw Gavin, you also found Jacob. Having his brother in his corner meant everything to him, and would become even more important in Jacob’s teenage years.

When Jacob was 16 a new family moved in next door who had three kids, two girls, Bailey and Briana, and a boy, Jack. The girls were a few years older than Jacob so he didn’t really have any interest in them, but the boy..well he found himself incredibly attracted to him. Jacob had been taught by his father and their church his whole life that being gay was a sin. This caused a lot of internalized homophobia on Jacob’s part at first, but once he started hanging out with Jack that started to slowly melt away. He realized that being attracted to women and men was okay and it didn’t make him any less of a man, a Christian, or most importantly-a human. Jacob and Jack started “seeing” each other on the down-low, disguising their dates as them “hanging out with friends” or just “doing teenage guy things”.

Rumors started to whirl around town that the pastor’s son was of all things…gay. Jacob’s father confronted him about it and told him that people around town were calling his son a “fag” and a “fruit” and that it was not acceptable. Being a scared teenager, Jacob denied everything. He told his father that none of the rumors were true, and him and Jack were simply just best friends. It wasn’t until about a month later that Jacob’s father caught the two of them fooling around in his son’s bedroom. Mr. Lyons was furious not only that his son was gay (actually bisexual but he didn’t know the difference), but he had lied to him. He accused Jacob of making a fool out of him in front of the whole town, and that people would no longer respect him as a pastor because of his son’s homosexuality. Jacob promised his dad that he wouldn’t see Jack anymore in order to maintain some sort of peace not only in the church community, but also his family.

The revelation that Jacob was not straight created waves in the Lyons’ household. His father was beyond disappointed, disgusted (ew), embarrassed, and disapproving. Mrs. Lyons was indifferent about her son’s identity. She felt that they had raised him to be strong enough to be his own person and if this is who he was, then she was proud of him and would love him no matter what. Jacob’s number one fan through it all was his brother. He took the time to listen to Jacob and understand how he felt about everything, how his brother identified in terms of his sexuality, and vowed to defend him until his last breath. Remember, the two of them always have been inseparable and despite their small age difference, no one was going to hurt his baby brother.

Jacob did not hang out with or see Jack more than just in passing at school for a few weeks, but ultimately couldn’t stay away from him. The two hung out in secrecy, making it a point to keep their interactions private and as low-key as possible. This went on for quite some time before Jack’s family announced that they were moving to New York. The family was not embarrassed or ashamed of their son and the bond that he shared with Jacob, and thought it was foolish that Mr. Lyons reacted the way he did. The reason for their move was solely due to Jack’s father getting a new job in NYC. The two said goodbye and still keep in contact on occasion but not on a romantic level. Jacob has had mainly girlfriends since this whirlwind year, but is very interested in seeing where things could go with another boy again.

Despite the shit he received from his father, Jacob is proud of who he is. It took him a very long time to get here, and it took a lot of inner strength and love from the rest of his immediate family, but he is finally in a place where he is at peace with his sexuality. Jacob has grown a bit secretive over the years, not really wanting all of his business to get out all over town as it had many years ago. Jacob works with a therapist to combat some emotional issues that he has, including anxiety and slight depression, and is very open about the struggles that he has had/has.

He is a loyal friend, who will go to the ends of the Earth for someone he cares about. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and sometimes gets burned for it but that’s life, right?

#about #bio #malnatiooc #tw homophobia #tw depression #tw anxiety #please be nice to my baby boy

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krreader · 6 years

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BTS scenario → being forced to break up with you - the aftermath.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: / genre: angst ; fluff previous: x

a/n: aaaaah, I love to make you suffer, but then I love it even more to make you happy again, so I hope you like this babe (masterlist is in my bio)

kim seokjin

“Don't you think you should sell this? It's been more than five years, hyung,” Namjoon sighed deeply as Jin snatched the engagement ring that he had bought for you out of Namjoon’s hands and safely stored it away again.

“I will.. eventually..”

But that would never happen and both men knew that.

It was like you had said. His career had finally ended and now he was alone. If he had chosen you back then, he would be with you right now, happily married and probably already with a kid or two.

This ring was a reminder of his mistake. And it was as if he liked to torture himself with it.

Yet Namjoon was worried about Jin, especially now that they weren't living together anymore. Most of the guys were in a relationship or at least in a good mental state. Jin was in neither.

So even though he would probably kill him later on, Namjoon stole the engagement ring from his hyung, only to mail it to you with a little letter to explain what was going on with the man you used to call the love of your life.

And well..

..a few days later, you were standing in front of your ex-boyfriend's new apartment and he had not expected to see you again.. ever.

“(Y/N)?” his eyes widened immediately, his heart picking up the pace when his eyes met yours.

“Namjoon sent this to me,” you held out the ring, trying to keep a straight face, “I thought I should give it back to you.”

Should he be angry at Namjoon for trying to help him or should he be disappointed about your reaction? Probably not the latter, he had no right to be disappointed after what had happened.

“Oh..-”

“..so you can propose to me like you always wanted to at some point.”

“What?” his jaw dropped at that statement.

“You and I have a lot to talk about and it will take me a while to forgive you for everything, but.. I would like to give this another shot, Jin.”

Was this actually happening?

“What did Namjoon tell you?”

“About how you bought the ring a few months before the company made you break up with me. About how you told him about your plans of how you wanted to propose and then marry me..” you wrapped your hand around Jin's with a small smile, “About how you still love me.”

Funny how you were the one that cried the last time you saw each other and now it was him that broke down in tears.

He had been so lost without you.. and having you wrap your arms around his neck and holding him against you..

..he felt like he was home again.

min yoongi

Yoongi had been famous when you and him had been in a relationship, but after you had broken up, you watched him climb the ladder even further up until there was no one but him and his band members.

You were proud of him and yet equally sad because you knew how lonely he was, could see it in his face every time someone mentioned the word love.

He was in love, but he wasn't allowed to be.

He had tried calling you for at least two years, but you had never answered any messages until you had finally decided to get a new phone..

..and it seemed like after that he only became more lonely. Before, he at least had your voicemail to be comforted by.

But destiny was a funny thing, you know?

It was as if the universe sometimes just wanted, or needed, certain people to be together.

You were waiting for the bus, staring at your phone screen and the news that were displayed there.

'BTS announce disbandment.'

“Oh, Yoongi..-” you sighed deeply, your fingers brushing over the screen, more specifically his face, “I'm so sorry..”

“I think it's for the better,” a voice to your right said.

You didn't even look up, continued to stare at the picture, “They loved what they were doing..”

“You're right,” the person sat down beside you, but you still didn't look up, “But they loved other things more. Other people. Hoseok and Taehyung finally get to spend more time with their family, Jin hyung finally is allowed to marry the woman he loves, Namjoon can finally move to the US to work with artists he's always wanted to work with, Jimin can open up his dance studio and Jeongguk.. well.. he can finally be a kid.”

At that point you knew who was sitting beside you, but were afraid of what would happen if you looked up.. so you didn't. Not yet.

“And what about Yoongi?”

“Yoongi?” a moment of silence, before: “He finally gets to see the girl he loves again. And hopefully, if he's really lucky, she'll give him another chance.”

“Didn't know he’s in love.”

“Because he never showed it. He used to think love was a weakness, but the truth is..- it made him the strongest he's ever been,” and finally he had enough and gently cupped your chin to make you look at him, “God.. you look as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”

All you could really do was smile at him, a lonely tear rolling out of your eye.

“Min Yoongi..”

“Hey, baby girl..”

jung hoseok

Even though the company hated it, Hoseok continued to talk to you even after the break-up. He had done what they asked him to do, but he wouldn't cut you out of his life entirely.. he couldn't do that.

However, that seemed to be ten times worse, because he had to watch you fall in love with another man and had to watch that man treat you much better than he could have when he was still working under BigHit.

But now he wasn't a member of BTS anymore..

“Hoseok, you can't.. do this,” you sighed heavily, “I can't end my relationship just because you finally are out of the company.”

“I could finally treat you how I always wanted to treat you, (Y/N). I could literally give you the world!”

“He treats me right.. he loves me and I love him.”

“Yeah.. and you love me just as much as I love you and don't deny that.”

Staying friends with him in all this time never made your love for him shrink. So he was right.

“That.. doesn't matter, I'm with him now, I'm..-”

“Look at me,” he cupped your face and looked deeply into your eyes, “Tell me that when you look into the future you see yourself marrying him. Tell me that you see yourself having his children and that you see yourself growing old with him.”

“You were the one that told me to move on, Hoseok. I would have waited for you..-” you whispered, your voice already breaking, “But now..-”

“Answer my question,” you didn't. Because you both knew the answer to that question, “You will never be the number two again, (Y/N). You will be my priority for the rest of my life. I will show you every day that you are the only one that really matters to me. I will love you like I've never loved anyone before..”

You didn't doubt any of that. In fact, you were sure that he would.. but this wasn’t something that you could just shrug off and say okay to. Your boyfriend didn’t deserve that.

But he also didn’t deserve to have a girlfriend that wasn’t as committed to him as he was to you.

“I need to think.”

And he let you.

He let you think for exactly three weeks, four days and 16 hours before you finally rang his door bell with a suitcase and a happy smile.

Because you knew that your heart only really belonged to one man and it always would be like that.

kim namjoon

He did what was required of him.

He always did.

He was the leader that BigHit required him to be, was the man that ARMY wanted him to be and was the brother his brothers needed him to be.

But Namjoon wasn't able to be the boyfriend he longed to be.

And now that BTS' time was over and he woke up on his own once again, he couldn't help but regret his choices for yet another day.

He could have had you. Could have spent the rest of his life with you if only he had realized how important you really were to him.

It felt like all his life he had to be what other people wanted to see in him, while you always just wanted him to be him. You wanted him to be happy and himself..

And now he was neither.

Yet Namjoon wasn't someone who gave up easily and he wouldn't let depression get the better of him. He wanted to try his luck and see if you could give him another chance.

“Why now?” you asked, both of you having met in a coffee shop near your apartment a couple weeks later, after he had been trying to find you for a while and finally had, “It's been so long..”

“I can finally decide who I want in my life,” he carefully reached out and touched the back of your hand with his fingers, gently brushing over it, “And.. if I had been able to make my own decisions back then, I always would have picked you.”

“And if there's another offer? What if this really famous artist from the US offers you to move there and work with him? What if you get an offer to tour the world with someone like that?”

“I won't,” he wrapped his fingers around yours when you didn't pull your hand back, “Because I can finally decide what I want for myself now.”

“And what do you want?”

“What I always wanted.. you.”

You weren't too sure about this and that's what you told him. You told him that this wouldn't be forgotten in a day or two. You wanted and needed time and he would give you all the time in the world you'd need.

Because in the end, it would be worth it.

park jimin

“Are you sure this a good idea? You don't even know if she still lives there.. or what if she does, but is with someone new? What if that door gets opened by her child, hyung?” Taehyung didn't want to ruin his hopes, but he needed Jimin to be prepared for the worst case.

After all, it's been more than five years since he broke up with you.

Five years that he lived without you and the most loneliest five years of his life. Now, BTS had decided that it was time to step down from the throne and give the younger ones a go for it.

And, well.. there was only one thing Jimin wanted to do now that he was 'free'.

“I'll regret it for the rest of my life if I don't even try it,” Jimin tried to hide how nervous he was, but he often forgot how good Taehyung really knew him. There was no hiding anything from him.

They arrived at your apartment complex about ten minutes later, Jimin taking the familiar steps to your flat, yet so strange after all these years and rang the door bell in hopes of not a child, not a husband, but you opening the door.

And you did.

“Jimin?” you furrowed your eyebrows, “What.. are you doing here?”

“Trying to fix the biggest mistake of my life,” he said honestly and straight away, taking off both his hat and his glasses before taking a deep breath, “If you let me..”

You had heard about their disbandment and had wondered what he would do now.. you just didn't think you'd be important enough now since you weren't back then.

“A little late, don't you think?” you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“The company thought..-”

“I never cared about your company, Jimin. I cared about you. And ultimately it was you who made the decision to end our relationship.”

He remembered that day so vividly. How you had broken down..-

..yet here you were.

Stronger than he had ever seen you before. You must have really grown from that experience..

“I know,” he nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Then why did you come here?”

“Because I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't try to win back the woman I once wanted to marry. That I still want to marry.”

It had taken you so long to get over him, but you had always secretly hoped that he would come back to you one day, especially because he made it clear to you that he loved you with all his heart when he broke up with you and that he was regretting it the second he had made the decision.

Maybe that's why you opened your apartment door a little wider and took a step back, inviting him in without another word.

And when Jimin didn't come out after ten minutes like he and Taehyung had agreed one, Taehyung turned on the engine of his car and smiled to himself.

“Good job, hyung..”

kim taehyung

Be happy, Taehyung.

That's what you had said..

..and he should be happy, right?

He has had a few more wonderful years with his band members and now the time had finally come to an end.

And he was alone.

“Where are you going?” Yoongi asked with furrowed eyebrows as Taehyung left their 'farewell' party basically right after it had started.

“I need to see someone..”

“Taehyung,” the older man sighed heavily and approached Tae, his hand on his shoulder, “It's been so long, you need to let her go, man..”

“I don't care how long it’s been,” he shook his head in determination, “I gave her up once, I won't make the same mistake twice.”

“What makes you think she'll even want you back?”

“I don't think she will,” he shrugged, “But I am still going to try. Because she's worth it.”

There was only one way he'd be happy again and that's when your name would be Kim (Y/N). It would be when he could wake up every day of the rest of his life with you by his side.. only then could he be truly happy again.

And when he finally arrived at your apartment and saw you look at him the same way he looked at you, he knew that you felt the same way.

Sometimes happiness was connected to a person.

He was your happiness and you were his.

“Hi,” he said in a low voice.

“Hey,” you replied in that same tone, both of you smiling at each other like it was a new beginning for you two.

Like this was the start of something new.

jeon jeongguk

There weren't any hard feelings between you and Jeongguk, ultimately all you ever wanted for him was that he was happy and healthy.

Your friends hated him for what he did for you, but you couldn't hate him for choosing something he had worked so hard to achieve. You were still proud and to your surprise, still friends..

..to a degree that he even invited you to the last concert BTS ever held.

It was an emotional mess. The fans, managers, staff members, ARMY's and family members, everyone in this arena sobbed their eyes out.

But it was also a memorable night for sure.

And once the boys came backstage and started hugging their family, it felt like a life ended, where it simultaneously started.

Jeongguk hugged his family first, then his eyes landed on you and he approached you.

“You did great,” you said honestly, “I'm proud of you.”

“You always were.. even when you shouldn't have been.”

You stared at him in silence for a moment, then you cleared your throat and asked: “So.. what's next for Jeon Jeongguk? Any plans?”

“A few, yeah.. if she wants to..”

“She?” did he.. have a new girlfriend? Why didn’t he tell you about that?

“Yeah. The love of my life, actually. She's here!”

“Oh,” not exactly what you had expected to hear and most certainly not what you wanted to hear, “That's.. wonderful, Kookie.”

“I know, right?” he smirked, licking his lips before taking a step towards you, “I just hope she'll give me a second chance and lets me prove how much she means to me..”

“What do you..-”

But before you could finish that sentence, he had already cupped your face and kissed you like he had promised himself he would as soon as this last concert was over.

This life might have ended.

But hopefully, his life with you just started.

And from the way you were pulling him against you, he imagined that must be a yes.

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