antiqued bras

Step Away From The Pie

A/N: This is utterly and completely Kari aka @thing-you-do-with-that-thing fault. She will try to convince you this was all me, but don’t listen to her… Its her fault, blame her. Glad we got that out of the way. She was also super awesome and betaed this. 

Characters: Sam and Dean (also the giant slinky that Sam gave to Dean)

Warnings: None I think.. Small injury involving a slinky. 

Wordcount: 701

This all happened becouse of this GIF (Source)

Dean had one of those days where everything was just right. They had a few days off from hunting, he got to spend some time working on his Baby, the bunker was clean, him and Sam was in a good place… everything was just right.

Dean had spent most of the morning giving Baby a tune up, and now he had moved to clear out some of the clutter he kept in his room. Sam had gone to get them some food. Dean had requested a greasy burger and some pie, so he knew he would at least get a burger, while the pie was more like a fifty - fifty shot since Sam had a tendency to forget.

Led Zeppelin was blaring through the speakers in Dean’s room and he was singing along at the top of his lungs, drumming his hands on anything and everything whenever he got a little carried away Playing a little air guitar. The song would end, he would remember that he was supposed to be cleaning, a new song would start and he would be right back to where he started, belting out the lyrics and drumming his hands.

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March 4, 2013 Attending the Fall 2013 Giambattista Valli show during Paris Fashion Week

Ulyana Sergeenko is wearing

  • Ulyana Sergeenko Fall 2012 Capsule Collection dress
  • Ulyana Sergeenko 2012 apron not seen in any show but worn by her daughter to the fall 2012 show
  • Antique Petit Point Purse 1900-1920 possibly French/Austrian/German
  • Dolce & Gabbana bustier bra ($551)
  • Illesteva Leonard 2 sunglasses black ($260)
  • Christian Louboutin Luly shoes ($995)

Hidden- One Shot #202


“Hey, babe?” Harry called in to where you had disappeared into the bathroom to do your makeup while he finished pulling on his clothes in the bedroom. He folded the cuffs of his navy-blue button down up and pulled his dark blazer in place, over his shoulders, tugging on the slight lapels to smooth them, before frowning as he remembered that he needed to do something with his hair. It was especially fluffy and uncooperative from the nap the two of you had together earlier. Noticing the bottle of cologne on his nightstand, he picked up the blue-tinted glass bottle, and spritzed the crook of his neck, the place where you would always nuzzle his skin when you pulled in for a hug right at his pulse point. He stepped into his boots that sat waiting in the corner, before brushing his hands over his pants and jacket to smooth them. “Babe?” He snatched your clutch from where you’d tossed it down on your own beside table.

Curving his hand around it, he used his free hand to card through his tangled hair, shuffling towards the bathroom. Resting his knuckles on the wood, he tapped it slowly, leaning in to hear you shuffling around along the tile floor. Listening closer, he could have sworn he heard a whimpered sniffle. This made his lips tug down at the corners. Were you crying? Why were you crying?

Cautiously, he pushed open the door with the width of his palm, to be greeted with the curves of your back. The unzipped back of your little black dress hanging loosely to the sides, revealing how your spine curved and trailed under your skin. The two small freckles at the midpoint between your shoulder blades and the small. The band of your black and cream antique lace bra peeking out from between the unclasped fabric, making his stomach muscles clench and he had to clear his throat as it quickly grew dry.

You jumped, when his presence was suddenly made known by the rumble in his chest when he cleared his throat, as he rocked back on his heels. The makeup brush caked with goopy foundation, in your hand, nearly slipping from your fingers and falling onto the granite of the counter.

“Harry, don’t do that!” you breathed, but it came out as more of a croak when it caught in your throat. Your eyes bugging out for a moment, as your now rapidly thudding heart rate settled in your chest.

Harry smirked, leaning one shoulder heavily on the doorframe, his eyes going soft and all a glow, as they turned especially green against the muted lights above the vanity.

“Sorry, my love, didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, and you watched his eyes trail over your back, before he pushed off of the wall to step towards you, dropping your clutch beside you on the counter. “You look beautiful tonight, did you know that?” His hands moved fluidly up from your hips along your sides, until his fingers hooked the zipper and pulled it up to meet the dip where your shoulders met the small of your back, and as he did, you felt him lean in to press a series of warm, painfully spaced kisses with full lips and his mint-scented breath, before he kissed the back of your neck. The dress was a little snugger than you’d remembered when you’d pulled it out of the back of your side of the closet. You shivered at his welcomed warmth. 

“Harry, don’t…” you whimpered, trying to mop up your tears with the pads of your fingers, in the hope to conceal the wetness splashed on your cheeks. You felt so unattractive and self-conscious that you didn’t feel you deserved to be loved on, that you were worthy of his unyielding affection.

Instead of backing away, his fingers tightened on your upper arms in concern, massaging the skin, in the hope of soothing you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your chin to look at him. Your eyes stayed fixed on the few water spots that freckled the faucet. But he was intuitive. Too intuitive sometimes, for you to keep anything you might be feeling, a secret. You could feel him pause as he caught sight of your wet cheeks and swollen and puffy, red eyes. You’d thought that maybe you could rid yourself of them, before he came looking for you.

“Sweetheart, are you crying?” His fingers dug further into the skin that wrapped around your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to tuck your chin down further into your chest to conceal your face, fumbling for the discarded makeup brush, going to back to furiously buffing the product into your skin.

“’M not crying,” you mumbled, flicking your eyes over to him quickly, to see him staring at you, lips parted and brow furrowed as he tried to decipher what was wrong. “I’m fine.” You continued to mash the makeup onto your cheeks and down towards your chin in harsh motions, frowning when in barely covered the angry clusters of raised and reddened bumps that pocked your skin. You acne had lessened considerably from what it had been since when you were a teenager, but pregnancy and the generous hormones that came along with it, and brought on a fresh volley of irritated, flaky and rather painful, red spots, on your cheeks and along your jaw, with a gathering at your chin, that no amount of makeup product seemed to want to cover.

And along with the fresh dusting of acne, wrecking havoc on your skin came another excuse for the tabloids to be shamelessly vicious. You’d always, for the most part, during your relationship with Harry, managed to stay out of the prying eye and harsh glare of any of the tabloids, even if you couldn’t always escape the strategically placed paparazzi. Harry had kept you hidden enough to not give them reason enough to catch you. But now that you were married, you couldn’t stay as hidden as you used to be. You accompanied him to most all events he was slated to attend, and living in London, didn’t give you too many quite places to hide. They knew where to find you now. He’d lived in the same neighborhood since he was eighteen. His old house was just a few streets away.  

“Baby, look at me,” he whispered, hands resting on your hips, trying to pull you back against him, desperate for your touch. Harry thrived on touch, if someone needed comforting; he held them, wrapped them up and gave them a squeeze. Because he was strong, he had a lot to give, his body was a shield, a warm shield, of orange and musk scented skin, and lean muscle and soft hair and towards the left of his chest, rested a heart that was entirely too big, you were sure, to fit there. But it was the most beautiful hearts you had ever been pressed against. 

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