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queenofbaws · 1 year

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Hi Queenie!!! Happy Holidays!!♡

“I know I shouldn’t be calling you but it’s New Years Eve and I need to tell you something before the year is out” remind me Conrad and Fliss so much!!

“You could at least pretend to be having fun, you know,” Julia said, forcing a highball glass into his open hand without asking. “Say something like ‘Gee whiz, JJ, I can tell how much work went into this crazy swanky shindig – here, know what, let me do a little dance and entertain the people.’”

Conrad lifted the glass to his mouth without looking away from his phone, barely sniffing it before taking a drink. “That’s what I sound like, huh?” Then, “God, this is awful, what did you do, scoop this out of the koi pond out back?”

Using her thumb and forefinger, Julia pinched his cheek hard, squeezing until he had no choice but to set his phone down to smack her away. “One, yes, that’s exactly what you sound like…”

“I have never once offered to ‘do a little dance’ to ‘entertain the people.’ Now, the jury’s out as to whether that means I wouldn’t, but…”

“And two,” she continued, brandishing her pinching fingers again until he took a step back, “Alex is doing his best, okay? So keep your opinions about the drink mixing to yourself.”

He looked down into the glass, his disgust morphing into a deep, deep pity. “If this is how the guy makes a rum and Coke, Jules, you gotta call that wedding off. There’s only two ingredients and he still managed to – ” He paused when he saw her smile tighten. “ – what?”

At first she was quiet, her smile just tightening and tightening further until it almost looked like she was wearing a plastic Halloween mask of her own face. Then she groaned, doing her usual busybody shtick and picking his phone up from the side table where he’d set it down. “It’s a mojito,” she mumbled, and when he started cough-spluttering in protest, her real smile cracked through and she laughed. “I told you! He’s trying. Which is more than I can say for you…” She held his phone up, her eyebrows high, and made a grand show of scrolling through the open text chain.

“Give me that…man, you make me understand why so many animals eat their siblings in the wild, you know that?” He snatched his phone back, surprised when Julia didn’t put up much of a fight. Or any fight, actually. She just sort of…handed it over, which wasn’t how things usually went. Either she was really in the holiday spirit, really full of the holiday spirits, or she was up to something.

Julia heaved a dramatic sigh – so dramatic, in fact, as to answer his question. She was up to something, all right. “I know you didn’t ask…”

“Oh boy, here it comes.” He went to take another drink from his glass, then remembered what was in it and set it right back down. “Hit me, Almighty Bridezilla, she of the unsolicited romantic advice. Tell me, what am I messing up this time?”

She rolled her eyes hard enough that her entire posture changed. A JJ specialty, that. “Have you thought about, I dunno, actually calling her instead of being a Mopey McMoperson? At my New Year’s Eve party? My very fancy, very highbrow, very expensive New Year’s Eve party?” If such a thing were possible, her eyebrows went even higher, almost flying clean off her forehead. The glittery fabric of her dress sparkled as she folded her arms across her chest and jutted one of her hips out, assuming the ultimate pose of sisterly disapproval. “Don’t get me wrong, you being all emo in the corner is definitely helping the overall vibe of the party – I super appreciate that you haven’t hit on any of my coworkers yet – ”

“Yet,” he repeated, but there wasn’t any threat in the joke. Not really. He looked back down at his phone, at the chain of texts, and lazily scrolled up and down with his thumb.

“ – but,” Julia continued, snapping her fingers a couple times to bring his eyes back to her. “I’d also appreciate you having a good time tonight.” Just like that, her feigned frustration melted away, revealing a softer, more sympathetic expression. When she reached over to his face that time, it wasn’t to pinch his cheek, but to pat it a couple times instead, which, honestly still sort of stung in the wake of said pinching. “It’s New Year’s, Connie. This is sort of the holiday for Great Gatsby types like you. You’re supposed to get belligerently drunk, cover yourself in glitter confetti, give yourself a black eye with a champagne cork, then strip down to your undershirt and jump in the pool, know what I mean?”

“Tempting! Doesn’t Gatsby, like, end up dead in the end, though?” He rolled his eyes and laughed as Julia waved him off, acting like that detail wasn’t especially important in the grand scheme of things. To be fair, it wasn’t – the series of events she’d outlined did, in fact, sound unbelievably up his alley – but he nudged her away all the same. “And for your information, I can’t just call, okay? Believe me, I’ve…considered.”

“Uh huh.”

“I have.” Conrad gave his phone one last hopeless look, then set it back down on the side table. Absently, he dipped his middle finger in the godawful concoction Alex had mixed, then ran it along the rim of the highball glass until it began faintly ringing. “But the time difference – ”

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

“ – you’re so obnoxious, do you know that? So obnoxious.” He shook his head; it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Jules’s concern, it was just that she didn’t get it. At all. Her whole thing with Alex had more or less fallen into her lap, and to be frank, he wasn’t sure they’d ever been more than fifteen minutes away from one another, much less several hours and many, many time zones. “It’s still light out where she is, all right? Still daytime. She’s probably, you know, dealing with a boatful of idiot tourists looking to have a big New Year’s hootenanny in the middle of the ocean. What am I gonna do, JJ? Interrupt that? I’m not a total jerk.”

Julia sighed through her nose. “Yes you are.��

Despite every ounce of his self-preservation screaming at him not to do so, Conrad lifted his glass and took a swig. “Yes I am,” he admitted, grimacing through the nauseating taste. “But that’s beside the point.”

She didn’t give him time to argue – Julia moved quick as a flash, snatching his phone and tapping the screen a couple times. “How about this…” she said, forcing it up to his ear as she’d forced the glass into his hand to begin with. “Do me this one last itsy-bitsy favor and talk to your girlfriend so you can come have fun with the rest of us, okay? Call it a New Year’s wish of mine.”

He scrambled to grab his phone before she could drop it, shooting her the sort of exasperated glare only siblings could pull off. “You’re such a – ” he began, but then the line picked up, and Fliss’s voice blotted out the rest of the world.

“Hello?” she asked, a slant of laughter in her tone suggesting maybe she’d heard at least part of his threat before he’d realized she’d picked up.

“Hey! I – hi.” Shooting Julia another look, he tried to shoo her away, but she wasn’t having it. She just stood there like some awful, judgmental gargoyle, her hands on her hips and a know-it-all smirk on her lips. Conrad did the next best thing and turned around, using his free hand to cover his other ear so the music and laughter from the party wouldn’t distract him. “Not interrupting some high-stakes ocean adventure, am I?”

Fliss breathed a laugh, and even with all those miles between them, he fancied he could see the smile that went along with the sound: curled up higher on one side than the other, making her dark eyes glinting with wry amusement. “I don’t take the high-stakes bookings anymore,” she joked, “I’m still trying to get the scorch marks out of the Duke from the last one.”

“Hey, I offered to help…”

“Oh, I think you’ve helped more than enough,” she teased, and all at once, he was so glad Julia had made the decision to dial the phone for him. “What’s going on? I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you tonight, what with all the complaining you’ve been doing about having to go to your sister’s party.”

His volume must’ve been louder than he’d anticipated, because even turned away and with his other ear mostly plugged, he could absolutely hear Julia’s insulted swearing at that. “Oh, yeah. That. It’s…well, it’s definitely living up to expectations. I – ow!” He turned to glare over his shoulder when she slapped his back none-too-gently. “I,” Conrad started again, frowning when Julia’s smacking continued, none coming as hard as the first, but still annoying the living daylights out of him, “just wanted to call and tell you that, uh…this whole scene is sort of a drag without you here. And I know it’s nowhere near nighttime where you are right now, but we’re getting dangerously close to game-time here, and – ”

If Julia didn’t stop smacking at him like that, he was going to lose his mind. He reached behind himself and tried to smack her away, but she wouldn’t be daunted. With that good old-fashioned sibling tenacity, she just kept going, switching tack to poke him square between the shoulder blades instead.

“ – and…I just wish you were – ” No, okay, enough was enough. “Hey, one sec, sorry, JJ’s being a – ” He whirled around, holding his phone a bit farther from his mouth so Fliss wouldn’t hear him hiss “What?!” at his sister.

In the time he hadn’t been looking at her, Julia’s smirk had only grown, and now she looked a little something like the Cheshire Cat. Daintily as a princess, she pointed towards the dining room’s doorway, and when he didn’t immediately look that way, she physically took his face in her hands and turned his head.

“You…wish I was what?” Fliss asked with a smirk of her own, ending the call and dropping her own phone into an over-the-shoulder bag that matched her cream-colored party dress.

It took a second for it to click, the reality of the situation, and when it did, it was Julia he turned to first, wide-eyed and shocked. She just grinned, pinching both of his cheeks that time around. “I told you I wanted you to have fun at this one,” she beamed. “I take my big, fancy parties very seriously, thank you.”

When she let go of him, there was only one thing left to do – Conrad rushed over to the doorway, wrapping Fliss tight in his arms and holding her close, grinning into the kiss she pulled him into. If he had his way, that kiss never would’ve ended, but the flash of Julia’s camera made the decision for them. “I was going to say I wish you were here, y’know, with me,” he said, moving his mouth to whisper in Fliss’s ear as he raised one of his hands out towards his sister to block her from taking more pictures, “but considering the circumstances, I really wish you were bringing better booze to this snooze-fest.”

That time when Fliss laughed, he could see her smile, and it sent his heart flying. Just not as much as what she said next. “Oh, believe me, I had a sinking suspicion,” she joked, then shifted just enough to drop one of her arms down to her bag, opening it to show the promising glint of a flask hidden away.

“I love you,” Conrad beamed, and then they were kissing again, Fliss’s hands in his hair and his on her hips, and never in his life had he enjoyed a party more.

#man of medan #conrad man of medan #fliss dubois #conrad x fliss #fliss x conrad #queenie writes supermassive #new year prompts #torahime #happy new year!!!! :DDDDD hehehehe it's the big day!!!!

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vforhair18 · 1 year

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The Complete Eyebrow Shaping Guide for Your Face Shape

Every single face shape has different Eyebrow Shaping Christchurch that look good on it, but which ones are the best? The answer lies in determining your face shape and combining it with the right eyebrow shape that compliments it. However, this can be confusing as there are many different categories of face shapes out there, as well as many different eyebrow shapes to match them all. So, if you want to get your eyebrows on point and know exactly how to shape them, check out this complete eyebrow shaping guide which will help you determine your face shape first and then show you the Best Eyebrow Shaping Christchurch style to go with it!

How to shape your eyebrow

Step 1: Identify your eyebrow shape. Here are three basic eyebrow shapes: Square – The brows come to a sharp point at an angle from your nose, like an upside-down triangle. Round – The ends of your brows are more curved and meet at an arch above your iris (the colored part of eye). Oval – The ends aren’t as curved as in round eyebrows and don’t meet in an arch; rather, they create a softer curve that gently rounds out of sight toward your temple.

Step 2: Determine if you want to define or soften/blend. If you have well-shaped brows, then you can easily play up their natural shape with a few grooming tools and a little color.

For Round Faces

The rounded shape of your face makes it hard to style your eyebrows without looking like you’ve over-plucked. To solve that problem, fill in your brows with a pencil and then soften them using an eyebrow brush. Remember that thick, full brows look best on round faces because they help balance out your proportions. So don’t hold back! Unless you want to go super bold, though, avoid high contrast (like blonde hair against dark brows). By blending colors and keeping one brow darker than another, you can create soft yet dramatic effects. Plus, think outside of traditional colors: Just because black works well doesn't mean brown or red won't work just as well if not better on someone with a round face!

For Square Faces

You have a square face when your forehead, cheekbones and jawline are nearly of equal length. You can elongate your eyebrows to soften their square shape by thinning them out. They should start off high at an angle and then straighten out halfway before tapering down towards your eyes with a slight outward curve at the end. In general, you should always try to avoid any harsh lines or create unnecessary shapes because they will just make your square face appear bigger than it is. If you have one eyebrow that is higher than the other or have bushy brows, using an eyebrow pencil to fill in those areas can help open up your entire face and balance out your look.

For Oval Faces

Point your nose up or down. It may seem crazy, but some of us have noses that are not exactly centered over our mouths. Pointing your nose to one side can accentuate your best features and minimize what you don’t like. Try it to see if you look better! If your face is shorter on one side, grow out your brows on that side—just think of fuller brows as a little eyebrow makeup magic trick! Fill in sparse spots with an eyebrow pencil that matches your hair color, then blend with a spoolie brush. For Round Faces: Grow out your eyebrows so they extend beyond where they would naturally stop (if you were born with thick eyebrows). This will elongate your round face and make it appear more angular. Fill in sparse spots with an eyebrow pencil that matches your hair color, then blend with a spoolie brush. You can also try using an angled brush to create subtle arches in each brow—the effect will be subtle but noticeable! Another option is to use an eye-shadow primer before filling them in (and use less product than usual). This will help them last all day long without smudging.

For Heart-Shaped Faces

As a heart-shaped face, you want to create a look that’s soft, subtle and extremely feminine. To do so, take your brow shape from highbrow to low brow and soften out any harsh lines. The thickness of your eyebrows should be equal on both ends—no thick line up top and thin line at the bottom! Because you have softer features, it’s important not to overdo it with makeup or go for dramatic looks that will make your eyebrows appear bigger than they already are. Instead, opt for light application of mascara or eyebrow pencil. Keep in mind: While supermodels with heart-shaped faces are typically known for their thicker eyebrows, you don't need to follow their lead!

#Haircut Christchurch

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mementomoriifics · 3 years

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Thinking too much - Leone Abbacchio x Reader

Tags: References to alcoholism, alcohol consumption, talk of near death experiences, hurt/comfort, established relationship, Nobody dies/everybody lives au

Wordcount: 1108

Author’s note: I remember writing this when I was going through it so it.

AO3 link

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late, the moon hanging high in the dark velvet of the night sky. Napels had settled down for the night, the only sounds filling the night air was the distant rustling of the sea and the odd car driving by.

Abbacchio was standing on the balcony of your shared apartment, holding a glass of scotch as he took a drag from his cigarette. He should be sleeping, lay comfortably at your side and actually rest but that didn't appear to be in the cards for him.

It was one of those nights were memories of what transpired a few years ago plagued him. The memories of almost dying, the absolute fear that had gripped him when Narancia and Bruno were in mortal danger.

When he almost lost you.

He still remembered vividly how absolutely terrified he'd been as Giorno was facing off against Diavolo on his own. Of the blood - your blood - that had stained his hands red as he tried desperately to keep you with him. Until Giorno could heal you, make it all better because he couldn't.

He blew out smoke through his nose before bringing the glass to his mouth, tearing himself from his train of thought. It wasn't healthy and he knew it but the only thing that seemed to soothe him in times like this was drink. Dull the sharp ache of self loathing and regret, make him feel something else only for him to regret it come morning.

You were still fast asleep but Abbacchio knew that if you were awake, you'd ease the glass out of his too tight grip and take him back to bed. Lay him down and try and coax the thoughts out of him. Or simply hold him, to remind him that you both made it. You both were alive and breathing and so was everyone else.

He looked down at the glass of scotch he'd nearly polished off, quietly admonishing himself for falling back on his destructive habits. Bruno had tried so hard to get him to quit or even just... Drink less. And here he was, in the dead of night, trying to get drunk again. He was really something to be proud of, huh?

A few more moments passed, Abbacchio finishing his cigarette and brooding. His glass was almost empty and he was mid debating getting a refill when he heard the door behind him open. He almost didn't dare to turn around, a small part of him ashamed you'd caught him like this again. That he fell back on things he promised over and over to himself that he'd stop.

"Leone?"

A shiver ran down his spine as he heard you say his first name. It was something only you and Bruno ever did and it never failed to make him feel some type of way.

"Hm?"

He finally looked over his shoulder at you. A dressing gown was draped over your shoulders, the only other thing you were wearing being one of Abbacchio's more modest shirts and your panties. Your hair was disheveled from sleep and you yawned as you walked over to him.

The mobsters face softened slightly as he watched you. Wordlessly, you took your place next to him, leaning your head against his shoulder and like he predicted, took the glass away from him.

"Can't sleep?" You asked, filling his now empty hand with your own. Your fingers fit perfectly in the space between his and for some reason, it made Abbacchio's throat tighten a little.

"Yeah." He spoke softly. You nodded, giving his hand a soft squeeze.

"How much did you drink?"

Shame washed over him as you asked him that. He pressed his lips together in a tight line, his free hand gripping the railing of the balcony hard.

"Two glasses." He eventually replied, not finding the courage to look at you.

He heard you hum thoughtfully, his head turning to look at you. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he watched you finish the glass, making a face once it was empty.

"Ugh, I don't understand how you enjoy this." You commented, ignoring Abbacchio's surprise.

There was a moment of silence before the man spoke again.

"I don't. But it helps."

Another hum from you, Abbacchio suddenly feeling anxious and about two feet tall. He felt your thumb rub over the back of his hand, his gaze falling on your interlocked hands.

"Wanna go inside?"

Abbacchio found himself nodding, feeling your gaze on him. You turned to guide him, your hand never leaving his. He followed, his anxiety lessening slightly but not fully leaving.

He watched you as you put the empty scotch glass on the nearest flat surface before walking to your shared bedroom. His gaze settled on where you held his hand and the tightness in his chest returned.

He followed you further, quietly settling into bed next to you. A quick glance at the alarm clock told him it was well past midnight and he felt guilty for robbing you of sleep.

"Stop thinking so much."

His uniquely coloured eyes fell on you. You were laying on your side, holding an arm out to him as an open invitation. He gave you a guilty smile but relented, cuddling into your embrace and digging his face into your neck. Your fingers started running through his prematurely grey hair, a shiver running through the man's body. You chuckled, holding him close.

"Next time, wake me up." You mumbled. "That way I can keep an eye on you."

Abbacchio made a non committal noise, words of self loathing dying on his tongue as you embraced him. Sleep started to tug at his consciousness, restlessness finally leaving his body.

You started humming, Abbacchio immediately recognizing the sound, that being a piece from his favorite opera.

A distant memory of your first date came to mind, when he'd tried so hard to impress you. He'd still been a cop and was young, stupid and had a lot to prove.

He'd taken you to the Opera, which in retrospect probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. So highbrow and you seemed almost out of your depth, Abbachio kicking himself about it mentally. But you'd enjoyed it and incidentally, it became the soundtrack of many a nights spent together.

He found himself smiling as your fingers ran through his hair at a glacial pace.

"Ti amo." He mumbled, sleep digging it's claws into him. He was vaguely aware of your humming stopping.

"Ti amo anch'io."

And with your reply on his mind, he drifted off. You were alive. You both were.

And maybe everything could be alright.

#jojos bizzare adventure vento aureo #leone abbacchio x reader #abbacchio x reader #jjba x reader #morii's fics

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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Dearest Wolfie:

Could we please get a fic set in Skellige with Jaskier learning some shanties while Geralt runs around fighting monsters? Bonus if he gets nice and cuddly and soft on good home cooking, and the locals make sure he is bundled up properly from the cold.

~🥔

Thanks to the ever darling @thecomfortofoldstorries for proof reading!

________

Jaskier wasn’t sure why he’d decided to settle in Skellige, for someone that easily got seasick it wasn’t a natural choice, but, after Cintra, Geralt had needed to get some distance between them and the city. Across the ocean had apparently been the only option for the witcher, so Jaskier had spent a rocky journey feeling queasy, his head over the side of the boat. Honestly, the things one did for love.

Not that Geralt knew that.

Geralt just assumed that Jaskier was after a new adventure and a new set of ballads. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Jaskier was curious. He’d heard of the stories of the Skelligen shanties at Oxenfurt, but his professors had been far too highbrow for that. Jaskier scoffed, they were arseholes. He delighted in learning a new skill that would piss off his lecturers, but mostly he was enjoying the change of scenery. It was almost like a holiday.

The contracts were different here too. Jaskier learned about the sirens that plagued the coast of Skellige, beautiful creatures that lured sailors to the jagged rocks, causing a graveyard of ships around the islands. Jaskier had only seen the sirens a few times in persons. Geralt’s insistence on leaving him behind hadn’t changed, but Jaskier had snuck out a couple of times.

The winged creatures were beautiful and gorgeous, but, strangely enough, their songs hadn’t affected him. Even Geralt had plugged his ears with wax, but Jaskier had just heard a series of screeches in a language he couldn’t quite place, but almost understood.

He kept that to himself.

The coast suited Jaskier. He could stay in his room at the inn whilst Geralt travelled between islands, taking contracts and searching for hidden treasures in the stormy waters. Jaskier, however, spent the evenings drinking grog and learning the local shanties, regaling them to Geralt on his visits back to their base. He wasn’t walking on a daily basis and his vocal skills had gained him a large audience at the inn, meaning he ate for free most nights, so he’d be the first to admit that he’d put on a bit of weight. He decided to embrace his new look, he rather liked looking more cuddly. He grew a thick beard to match and his hair almost reached his chin. He was hoping to grow it long enough to braid.

He sighed happily as he strummed at his lute. It wasn’t the ideal instrument to sing the shanties on, but he was still loathed to give it up. He enjoyed the feel of the strings under his fingers, it always calmed his nerves.

“On the house,” Cecie winked as she pushed a tankard of grog towards him.

He grinned and raised the tankard in thanks, but before he could take a drink the door flew open. The inn fell silent as Geralt stood in the doorway, his hair whipping around his face as the wind blew into the room. Jaskier jumped to his feet, it had been weeks since he’d seen the witcher now and he missed him. He laughed, his grog sloshing over the side on the tankard and he ran across the room, lute long forgotten.

“Geralt!” he called, waving to the witcher.

Geralt froze, a stern frown creasing his brow, and Jaskier snorted as he saw the witcher’s hand twitch towards the swords strapped to his back. Dearest Melitele, he knew it had been a while but surely Geralt hadn’t forgotten him so soon.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked incredulously.

Jaskier winked, and gave a little bow, his grog spilling onto the floor and all over his trouser. “Oh cock!”

“You look… different.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and then ran his fingers through his beard. “I’ve been embracing the local culture, Geralt. I think I look rather handsome, don’t you think? I’ve never grown a beard before.”

Geralt’s eyes widened and Jaskier’s were drawn to the witcher’s throat as he swallowed. “Hmm… I… handsome.”

Jaskier smirked, putting one hand on his hip and tilting his head, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Why, witcher, do you find me attractive?” he purred, leaning into Geralt’s space, the grog making him braver than he had any right to be.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, but Jaskier was fluent in his grunts and hums.

That was a yes.

He chuckled and brushed his lips against Geralt’s cheeks. “Oh, darling, you should have said. Come, let’s call for a bath and get you cleaned up, you stink of seaweed. Then maybe I’ll let you buy me a drink?”

Geralt grunted, but let Jaskier take his hand and guide him through the room towards the stairs.

Oh, he found Skellige suited him very well indeed.

#the witcher #geraskier #skellige #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #veritasrose

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youforgivehowgodforgives · 3 years

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So I only recently finished watching Hannibal (everybody I followed for other content turned out to be a hidden Hannibal stan all of a sudden idk), and I really love your art! Thank you so much for sharing it!

Okay, that was the only good sane thing I had to say. Now I'm just gonna. Rant. Because I think you might understand. Also I'm treating you a little bit as a representative of the Hannibal community on this site.

This show. Those visuals. These characters. Those absolute shitheads. I've always thought 'it makes me go feral' was a silly hyperbole. It is not. I want to cry over every still and throw things at the screen for being so highbrow and fancy and yet completely bonkers at the same time (the Botticelli stuff is SO stupid and SO beautiful, and if I see one more Christian metaphor I'm going to bite someone and I mean that as a positive). And the characters. OOOOOOOHHH those characters. I never got why everybody on this site was like *affectionally* 'we'd give them a little kith and murder them in their sleep :-)', but now I'm like. Hannibal. Should get punched to death. Also, has never done anything wrong in his life. I want to strangle and kiss him every time he goes all ~ the trout is a Nietzschian floppy flop uwu ~ HOW DID SOMEBODY WRITE THIS AND GET IT PRODUCED. Will is my baby boy, the light of my life, I am kinning, the sarcastic vibes alone, those eyebrows, transmasc goals, also he's a twitchy rat man and deserves to be punched by me.

In short, many thanks/fuck yous to the Hannibal community on Tumblr.

wait i'm so happy for you 😭😭😭 thank you for choosing me as a representative for the hannibal community LMAO

#obsessed with the phrase ''nietzschean floppy flop uwu''

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inspiteallthedanger · 2 years

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Re Robert Fraser I don't think John knew him first but I could be wrong. In MYFN Paul & Barry Miles introduce him as part of Paul's London art scene, around '65/'66. Re the jealousy thing, it could be from a quote that Paul has repeated few times, that his travel to Paris with Robert (in 66) raised "some highbrows" within the Beatles. It doesn't single out John but I can see why in fics this would translate in John being jealous.

Thanks for this! I agree that he 100% was part of that crowd and more Paul's friend, but I'm pretty sure I read that John introduced them. Not that that source was for sure accurate as these things are often lost to the murky past.

Good point and that would make sense for where it came from. It's funny, isn't it? Because I always took that quote as being, "They raised their eyebrows because Robert was gay" rather than they were annoyed/jealous? I would assume that would come out like, "Put out" or the way Paul talks about John being jealous of his cool art lifestyle later. But, you're probably right about why it pops up.

#thanks again #i love when people chip

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mistersamshearon · 3 years

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THE CHICAGO MOTHMAN. Though similar to it's cousin in West Virginia, this 'Mothman' is considered to be quite a different animal... Described by many as more bat-like, perhaps even more humanoid, gargoyle-like and even demonic. Reports of this creature first began in 2011. Seen by a growing number of witnesses to this day, this winged phantom seems to haunt the city of Chicago by night, swooping between buildings or hanging from lamp-posts... But are there more than one...? The one thing that catapulted this cryptid's 'Mothman-nickname' into circulation, was it's large glowing red eyes! This signed print edition measures 12" x 17" including white boarder for framing ease. Be sure to check out the other 'Cryptozoology' prints in the store! All prints are shipped in batches on a monthly basis. *Be sure to sign up to my Patreon.com/MisterSamShearon at 'The offering' level to receive a % off everything in this store! #mothman #chicago #chicagomothman #cryptozoology #cryptid #cryptidart #cryptidartwork #cryptids #cryptozoologyart #cryptidartwork #mothmanart #mothmanartwork #highbrow #lowbrow #eyebrow #art #artwork #monster #monsters #cute #creepy #batman #manbat #DC #DCcomics #thebatman #mystery #cryptozoologyartwork #mistersamshearon (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CP3mjxlldII/?utm_medium=tumblr

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pendragonfics · 3 years

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Just Another Triple Word Score

Paring: Mycroft Holmes/Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns for reader, Sherlock being Sherlock, meet-cute, Scrabble, board games, secret relationship, Mycroft Holmes has feelings, purple prose, whump, angst and hurt/Comfort

Summary: Mycroft meets you, remarking that he's a dab hand at Scrabble. Game on?

Word Count: 1883

Current Date: 2021-02-25

It was three years ago, roughly. One of those days that came so rarely often, when the people of London had unsuspicious deaths and didn’t require as many autopsies, you and your co-worker Molly would find the time to play a game of Scrabble. It wasn’t a pretentious game, nor was it simply for the sake of fun. Nope. Neither you nor Molly was quite so good with your words when it came to the application of it in daily life. However, while translated into the tiles, those plastic faux-marble pieces that spelt out various dictionary approved words, both of you were practically highbrow.

It was good while it lasted, however. It was a particularly un-busy day – for the pair of you – and somewhat of a thrilling one for the outsiders. As always, pushing through the doors alike something stumbling in from the elements came Sherlock Holmes. The man was tall, with a pointed nose and narrow eyes, curled hair tossed about, and his coat-tails flying with every stride. With less of an entrance followed his friend, the shorter and humbler John Watson. While he was shorter than Holmes, the man, like any other, was prone to outbursts of pride. But none would compare to those of Holmes.

Oh. Today’s guests had brought a plus one along.

You had only heard of the man, but all signs pointed toward the newcomer being the eldest Holmes sibling. Dark auburn hair, thinning. Round face, narrow eyes and pointed nose, however, those features pointed not up but down. And from where he stood, that directed his gaze toward you.

“Molly!” Sherlock thundered, turning to your co-worker. “I’m looking for a man. Caucasian, blonde, medium build. A tattoo on his buttocks. Oh, and he’s dead.”

While she came to life following the instructions at hand, you stood to attention, to face the remaining men loitering before you. While Mr Watson had spared a polite smile before attending to his well-worn reporter’s notebook, the other man remained as he had. Quickly, you pushed the tiles to the centre of the board and awkwardly began to funnel them into the plastic sleeve they lived in.

“It’s excellent to see that the coroners of London continue the noble work that the city requires them for,” Mycroft Holmes spoke up.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. It would have appeared like you were an actor in a Bond movie. If you were, it would have seemed like something lithe or somewhat sexy, but there wasn’t anything much sexy to shoving the Scrabble paraphernalia beneath the bench.

“I can hear the sarcasm in your voice, you know.” You retort, dusting off your white coat. “And even if you’re who Molly says you are, you can’t just come in here and insult us.”

“I apologise for this misunderstanding,” he stepped opposite you, on the other side of the bench. “My words were not intended as insults…I happen to think highly of those who can do such work as yourself and Ms Hooper.”

From the other side of the room, you heard a loud squelch, followed by a yelp.

“A-ha!” Sherlock exhaled. “The missing USB!”

“I suppose we’re off, then?” John called to Sherlock.

The other man grunted in affirmation. The other Holmes – the one with the rounded edges and sharp eyes, not the public figure which current held a USB device that had been encased in decaying flesh not five minutes ago – curiously held your gaze. You sized him up, once more. However, this time when you gazed upon him, you tried to look further in, like he and his brother often did. He looked tired and a little damp from the weather.

“Perhaps I can make it up to you?” he inquired, leaning upon the curvature of his umbrella’s woodwork. “I’ve been told I’m rather good at Scrabble.”

“Are you boasting, Mr Holmes?” you pressed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps coffee first, then?”

You felt a smile take over your face despite the prior feelings against the man. “You know how to contact me.” You glanced at the striding Sherlock and John and gave the trio a small wave for their goodbyes. “Good day, Mr Holmes.”

He nodded your way in return and tucked his umbrella beneath his shoulder. “Yes,” he agreed. “A good day indeed.”

---

In another time, much after the incident at the morgue, things had changed. Well, not all the way that one would imagine. England was still England, however, now separated from the entirety of Europe. The train that you took to work was the same, with the same graffiti on the side and gum stuck under the chair seats.

John Watson had gotten married to a lovely lady named Mary, and they were expecting a baby. Sherlock had had an affair with a threat to national security, as well as the usual substance abuse. Molly had moved on with her affections and taken to her latest hobby, knitting sweaters for premature babies in the hospital.

And you? Well. Despite the fanciful nature of it all, life was the same as ever. Yes, they had changed, but…it was the same, wasn’t it? You took the same train, used the same hair product, and though the fashioned had evolved, wore the same sort of clothes. The only difference was, really, was the boyfriend.

It was three years after the meeting. Four, if you count the fact you had met before he had properly noticed you when you had been at the same gala – something posh, a charity ball celebrating NHS workers and their dedication to society or something. But three. And despite all that time, there wasn’t much of a change between yourself and the handsome Mycroft Holmes. He visited your apartment whenever he had the time, with Anthea waiting with the car during any dalliances between yourselves. You had been to his penthouse twice, but that was after perhaps too much insistence on your behalf. There had been stolen kisses in hallways and many months between meetings and sometimes FaceTime dates that felt more morose than memorable.

But today, you sat on the shut lid of the toilet, your phone pressed close to your chest. The fading light from the window above the lavatory shed its dismal shade upon you, and you felt just as small as it. With every second passing, you felt more and more of your chest heave with the heaviness. Biting your lip, you held back a sob and leant against the wall.

“Darling,” Mycroft spoke through the door. “Please come out.”

You sniffled in retort, deigning him with no response. You remembered what he had said that day; it was something of a meet-cute. But now it was something horrible. What a bad first encounter. What a sham.

“_________...”

You heard a small thud. If you weren’t so devastated, you would imagine that Mycroft, as defeated as you are, had pressed his forehead to the wood in anguish. His tie would be pulled loose, the crisp white business shirt growing more and more dishevelled as he conformed less to proper posture.

“I don’t care if you have to pee,” you shake your head, clutching yourself just that little bit tighter, “I’m staying in here all night.”

“_________ – I don’t need the loo.” Mycroft remarked, and then, softer, he said, “it wasn’t like it was a complete fib.”

You felt your pulse quicken, a rush of heat rising to your face. You can’t help but remember the words he had said to you, the day you met; I’ve been told I’m rather good at Scrabble. “Oh-ho, but it was a fib!” you retort hotly. You jump from your perch upon the toilet lid and jab at the door between the pair of you with your index finger. “Before tonight, you’d never played Scrabble!”

There was a silence between the both of you. It was a thin door, the door that shielded the rest of your dingy apartment from the lavatory, but now, it felt like it was the thickest thing you had ever come across. Well, apart from the lie that Mycroft had kept for years.

“What else is there that’s a lie, Mycroft? Or is that even your real name?”

“_________,” he pleads.

There is a pause, a long, drawn-out, very much pregnant pause, which makes your heart shatter. A tear falls, but you wipe it aside, invested in the silence that speaks so sonorously. Then,

“My name is Mycroft. I’m the eldest in my family, and I work in the government. I like watching the rain roll over the countryside with a cup of tea, and I’ve always wanted a dog of my own but can’t care for one. And” his voice trembles at that word; a shaky exhale follows, as does the remainder of his confessionary words. “I’ve never had anyone to play Scrabble with – the truth is, growing up it was just for Mother and Father. And not a game for myself and Sherlock. I’m sorry I lied, it snowballed – and I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Shakily, you place your phone into your pants pocket and exhale. There is another silence, this time, it is reigned by you. With every passing second, you can almost feel its grip tighter at your boyfriend’s heart. Slowly, you work at the lock beneath the doorknob, but find it sticky, not budging with your ministration.

“I see,” Mycroft says, tone flat. “I was perfectly reasonable –,”

You grasp for the knob, and with a wrenching motion that’s sure to involve the landlord in the next inspection, you fling the door open. He stands before you and looks the same as ever. But to your eyes, you can decipher it; he has changed too; Mycroft’s hair is messed, and there are bags below his eyes, and his lips are downturned brow set.

You reach for your boyfriend’s frame, the words tumbling from your lips. “No-no-no-no-no-no-no,” you protest. You throw yourself onto him and bury your head into his scent. He’s in his pyjamas, the second-string pair for when the pinstripes are in the laundry basket. The pair of you stand there, in each other’s arms, and breathless, you continue, “The lock – stuck – don’t –,”

You withdraw, looking to his dark eyes. “Don’t leave me over a silly Scrabble game.”

A small, wan smile tugs at the corner of his thin lips. “My dear _________...” he shakes his head and places a kiss upon your forehead. He lingers there, his breath warm against your skin. “I could never leave you. Especially not over a board game.”

A chuckle erupts from your chest at the remark. It’s incredibly mundane, the argument you just waged war over, but it was yours. A rare, vulnerable moment shared between two individuals who mightn’t ever have met if not for their mutual annoyance and his blogging best friend. At the thought of Sherlock, you withdraw from the proximity between yourself and Mycroft and look to him aghast.

“Let’s not tell Sherlock?” You ask Mycroft. If he got onto the idea of the pair of your domestic bliss…oh, the pain that would ensue!

He nods in agreement, looking quite austere despite being donned in a tee-shirt slapped with the likeness of the father of a children’s cartoon pig. “Agreed.”

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft/reader #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfic #sherlock x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gender neutral reader

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musings-from-mars · 3 years

Note

Welp, part 5 is a must now

Freelance Love Triangle AU - Part 5

Blake wasn’t sure why she’d been so curious about hard seltzer when she already knew she hated sparkling water. But here she was drinking what vaguely suggested that it might be cherry flavored, yet Ruby seemed to like hers, and Blake had already said she liked it. Gotta finish it now…

Cinder was right about it being quaint. Blake usually shied away from late night trips to the bar because the ones she’d been to were the “loud music, pick up chicks” types. This, however, was more easy going, softer music and people here to chat with friends more than anything else. And since it was a weekday evening, it wasn’t very busy (also a rare treat for a city like Vale).

The three of them sat at the bar, the bow tie and vest wearing barman leisurely drying a glass with a fiber cloth as he handed Cinder her cheap glass of red wine. Blake wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, maybe that Cinder would order something from higher in the big wooden cabinet behind the bar, perhaps to show off her sophisticated tastes. But no, it was just a glass from an already opened bottle of something dark and astringent. At least she was being seemingly authentic.

Blake needed the occasional reminders that Cinder wasn’t the highbrow, high class villainess she made her out to be in her head. She was Blake’s coworker and made no more than she did. Maybe Blake just had a complex, imagining her as an opponent. And Ruby was the prize she felt like they were warring over.

I’m a fucking piece of shit. And dumb. She took another sip of alcohol soda water, accepting it as her punishment.

“Want a taste?” Cinder asked Ruby, sliding her glass to her.

The photographer eyed the dark red liquid skeptically, but she grabbed the stem of the glass anyway. “I’ll try.” She took the smallest of sips, then came away with an expression like she had just bitten into a lemon. “Heghhh…”

Cinder giggled, seeming to be genuinely amused. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Blake reached over, but looked to Cinder for permission to try. Cinder noticed, and for half a second seemed surprised, but then she smiled and nodded. Blake took a sip, and yep, it felt like all the moisture had been zapped from her mouth the moment the wine passed her tongue. She slid the glass back to Cinder. “I don’t think I’ll acquire it.”

Cinder rolled her eye, but continued to smile. Blake took a drink of her seltzer. At least now she knew it could be worse.

“So, uhm…” Ruby began, pausing to sip her drink. “When did you two, like…how’d you become writers.”

Blake looked across to Cinder, and Cinder went first. “It wasn’t my plan initially, but I eventually figured out that I wanted to write for a living. But I didn’t figure that out until I was a third year physics student at my university. Had an identity crisis, had a financial crisis, had a crisis crisis, I’m a journalist now.” She punctuated that with a sip of wine, and both Ruby and Blake laughed. “Blake had a slightly less stressful go at it, if I remember correctly.”

Blake blushed at that, but nodded in agreement. “College was the easy part. It was the after college part that was hard. Urban Valean is, like, the fifth publication I’ve written for in the past two years and it’s the first one I’ve actually enjoyed.”

“I can agree with that,” Cinder added.

“Huh.” Ruby bowed her head a bit. “So I kinda got lucky, huh?”

“Got lucky because of the magazine you’re working for? Or lucky because you’re working with us?” Cinder asked. Blake felt her face warm, both because of Cinder’s obvious flirting, but also because of her use of the word “us.”

Ruby chuckled bashfully and shrugged. Cute. “Both, I guess. You two are really cool, and…nowhere near as mean as I was worried you would be.”

“You thought we’d be mean?” Blake asked, concerned.

Ruby’s back straightened and she shook her head. “I mean, uhh…not you two specifically! I just mean, like, I always imagined I’d get teased, or like, not taken seriously at my first gig. But I liked you both pretty much right away. I’m really enjoying working on this project.” She smiled genuinely, and it made Blake’s heart soar.

“Yeah, you are pretty lucky to be working with us,” Cinder assured her with a chuckle. “And that’s not me being an ass, I mean that. There are a lot of high-strung jerks out there.”

“Yeah,” Blake agreed, then felt her breath catch in her throat. Was she talking about her?

“Blake and I are the types who…you know, we enjoy what we do, but we don’t take ourselves too seriously. At least, most of the time.” And then she winked at Blake. It was a little hard to tell at first because, well, one eye, but that was definitely a wink. She tipped her head in her direction and everything.

At least Blake wasn’t one of those high-strung jerks, then.

“Thank you both, seriously,” Ruby told them, then took the last sip of her drink. “I was so scared when I graduated, because I didn’t know what to do, but…now I feel like I’m on a good track, of some sort. I…” She paused and flinched a bit, then she pulled out her phone, and she went a bit paler. “Oh, shit! I totally forgot!”

“What?” Blake asked.

“Did you leave your other laptop in the oven?” Cinder joked.

“No no, it’s my sister. She invited me over tonight and I completely forgot. I…” She suddenly got to her feet and started fumbling around in her pockets. She finally pulled out her wallet and left a few Lien on the bar. “I am so sorry that I’m leaving so quick, I really would love to stay, but…”

“Don’t worry about it, Ruby. This won’t be our last time hanging out,” Cinder assured her. “We’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Ruby sighed and nodded. “Thanks.” She turned towards Blake and grinned as she began to leave. “Bye! Thanks again!”

Blake and Cinder both watched her leave, and then a relative silence fell over them, with an awkward empty seat now separating the two.

Blake heard Cinder take in a deep breath, then hopped into the seat Ruby had just vacated. “Blake, can I ask you something?”

Blake’s heart was suddenly hammering in her chest, both due to the open-ended question, and the sudden reduction in distance between them. “Uhh…you just did.”

Cinder huffed the faintest laugh. “Blake, I feel like we should probably talk about this like a couple of adults.”

“Talk about what?” Blake asked, apparently deciding to play dumb.

“About Ruby,” Cinder deadpanned. “About how obviously we both seem to like her. Unless I’m misreading things horribly.”

Blake sighed and shook her head. “No, you’re just about spot on,” she admitted.

“I figured. I can’t help but feel like you view this as us both competing for her affections, but as much as I’d normally appreciate drama like that, when I’m involved, I’d prefer we handle it like real people rather than like rom-com characters.”

Cinder’s eloquence got on Blake’s nerves as usual, only now she was beginning to examine why. Cinder was so irritatingly attractive, and yet she was exactly right about the whole competing thing. Why did Blake have to view her as an opponent all the time, when they had just told Ruby how they were both just a couple of stressed out freelance writers? She took another sip of hard seltzer, realized her glass was empty, and despite her disdain for the taste, signaled the bartender for a refill.

“I am most concerned about Ruby herself,” Cinder continued. “Whether she’s even interested in either of us in that way, or if she is interested in such a relationship at all. So I believe that’s our most important concern right now. Let’s be upfront with her as well, right?”

“You want us to tell her that we both fancy her,” Blake asked, as a statement rather than as a question. The bartender slid another pint glass of fresh-from-the-can hard seltzer. “I can’t imagine that going well.” Nor could she imagine her blood pressure handling such a situation well.

“But at least then we’d know early on whether our feelings are misplaced or not,” Cinder pointed out, and finished off her glass. She signaled for another, probably mirroring Blake’s failure to adhere to her “only one drink” declaration from earlier. “It would save us the anxiety.”

“For you, maybe,” Blake said with a dry laugh. “I can’t imagine telling her something like that, especially since we’re supposed to be keeping things professional. Imagine if she freaks out and tells Robyn? She’d be in the right if she did.”

“I doubt she would, I have a good feeling, if I’m being honest,” Cinder admitted as the bartender finished refilling her glass.

“I don’t!” Blake said, an incredulous smile on her face.

“It’s up to you, Blake,” Cinder assured her and took a sip of her wine. Blake noticed a faint red tint to her cheeks. “I won’t make a move without your…input?”

“What, like, some sort of bro code?” Blake asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She took a few hasty sips from her drink, as if that would calm her down at all. “We’re not frat boys.”

“As I said, I want us to handle this like adults,” Cinder reiterated, eying Blake’s glass with faint concern. “And I think going behind your back, undercutting you…” She let that linger.

Blake sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. “Would be shitty, yeah, I got that.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Blake.”

Blake held her breath and looked at her, studying her face as she drank more wine. That came out of nowhere. “What do you mean?”

“You compare yourself to others, or most notably, to me all too often,” Cinder told her, setting her glass back down. “You are a woman of merit, and you shouldn’t hamper yourself with the expectations that other people already deal with. You are just one person. You need to do what you can, and less of what you feel like I can. You’ll stress yourself out far less once you do.”

Blake tried to take in all of that, but at this point, her head was a little too foggy to accept new information for archiving. This hard seltzer wash was more potent than she expected. Or maybe she was more of a lightweight than she thought. “Easy for you to say. You get cover so often…”

“I’ve also been doing this longer than you have,” Cinder pointed out. “You’re putting the expectations I deal with on top of your own by comparing yourself to me. I used to do that all the time, hence the crisis crisis I mentioned earlier? Once I stopped giving two fucks about everyone else, life got easier.”

Blake shook her head. She knew Cinder had a point, but she just couldn’t fathom the full breadth of her testimony. “Well, I guess I’ll start working on giving fewer fucks moving forward.” She finished her second glass all too soon. She shook her head when the bartender asked if she wanted another as he took her glass.

Cinder laughed, which weirdly made Blake feel a little better. “Everyone starts somewhere.”

“Yeah.” It certainly sounded nice, no longer caring what other people thought, or even ignoring her own head and just doing what felt right. But how did that relate to the Ruby situation? The thing that would feel right would be to go find wherever she was right now and proclaim her affections, but even that felt like too much right now. The alcohol wasn’t helping.

Cinder seemed to recognize that and took a few more sips of wine before sliding the almost-empty glass away and pushed herself off of the barstool. “Just put it on my tab, thanks.”

“Are we leaving?” Blake asked, not noticing Cinder had gotten up until she’d gently taken her by the wrist.

“You are, anyway. You need to get home.” Cinder told her as she helped her off her stool. “Lightweight.”

Blake would have argued if standing didn’t make her even woozier. She was in that odd in-betweenness of buzzed and drunk. She felt completely aware of her surroundings but felt like she was controlling all of her body’s movements manually, as if letting something go unnoticed would result in her falling over. Thankfully, Cinder kept ahold of her, though the feeling of her faintly cold hand on Blake’s wrist proved to be a distraction all on its own.

They started down the street. Blake walked as normally as she could, save for the occasional sway that Cinder would correct for her. She felt so stupid for having more than one drink despite what she said before. At least Cinder was being nice. “Wait…”

“Hm?” Cinder asked.

“My laptop,” Blake said. “I left my laptop at the office.”

“It’ll be there where you get there in the morning.”

“No, I need it tonight. I gotta take down my notes and do some preliminary searching for contact information for the artists.”

“It can wait, hun,” Cinder assured her.

“It’s on the way,” Blake half-lied. It wasn’t tremendously out of the way, but going straight home would be quicker and easier, not that Cinder knew that.

Cinder sighed and shook her head. “Fine, dumbass, let’s go to the office.”

Blake might have taken offense, but felt too victorious at successfully convincing her.

Cinder buzzed them both in with her ID card, and sure enough, Blake’s laptop bag was still on her chair. They were the only ones at the office at this late an hour. It felt eerily quiet, considering how noisy it could be during the day. In Blake’s slightly intoxicated state, it was especially surreal.

“Do you…do you need to sit down for a moment?” Cinder asked, her voice lulling.

Blake hadn’t put her bag over her shoulder yet, instead holding the shoulder strap as it rested on the floor. She considered Cinder’s suggestion, then shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just tired.” Then she swayed a little too far in one direction, overcorrected in the other, and began to stumble. “Huh-!”

Cinder stepped forward quickly and caught her, wrapping her arms securely around Blake’s shoulders in an awkward embrace. “Careful!”

Blake groaned in annoyance, then held her breath when she fully recognized her position, held tightly in Cinder’s arms, face-to-face with her. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I just lost my balance for a bit, I’m fine.”

Cinder shook her head at her. She licked her lips before speaking, as if it was difficult to find the words. “No, you need to sit down.”

“Why?” Blake asked, finding herself unable to look away from Cinder’s lips.

“You’re not fit to walk home yet,” Cinder told her, her voice quieter than before, almost a whisper. She began to slowly lead Blake to her desk chair without letting go of her. “Just sit until you feel better.”

“But…no,” Blake said, almost a mumble.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to let go of me yet.”

Blake didn’t realize what she said until noticing the look on Cinder’s face, her eye wide and her mouth hanging open slightly. Blake’s face got so hot she thought she might break out into a sweat.

“You want me to keep holding you?” Cinder asked quietly.

Blake couldn’t meet her face, instead staring at the collar of Cinder’s jacket. At first she wanted to double back and correct herself, but then again…

She let her head drift forward until her forehead rested on Cinder’s shoulder, and she did her best to wrap her arms around her despite Cinder pinning them to her sides. Cinder felt tense, but Blake let herself relax within her embrace, letting out a slow sigh.

“Blake?” Cinder whispered to her, but didn’t continue.

“Just hold me,” Blake said back, voice muffled by Cinder’s jacket.

“Do you like it when I hold you?” Cinder asked.

“Yeah.”

Cinder let out a shaky breath, then chuckled softly. She shook her head as she allowed Blake to sink further into the embrace. “Yeah. I like it too.”

#freelance love triangle au #pawling petals #rwby #ruby rose #blake belladonna #cinder fall #drabble

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 4 years

Text

TITLE: Heat Wave

A/N: This is my first ever Ichabbie fanfic, and I’m nervous to share it with you! Please, I’d love to know if you enjoy this! It’s inspired by my sudden need to rewatch the beauty that was Ichabbie (which I’m doing) and this horrid heat wave that I can’t get relief from. At least this duo can...

“I’m still unable to comprehend how one’s...excrement holding can burst and affect our apartment.”

“We call it a sewer. And it wasn’t the sewer—thank God—it was the pipe,” Abbie explained patiently, her eyes never opening.

“Regardless, if this generation appreciated nature on a grander scale and chose to live more sparsely, then we wouldn’t be required to live adjacent to anyone where their…pipes,” he nearly spit out the word, “forced us out of our abode and into the cabin in the middle of a heat wave.”

“I’m too tired for this,” Abbie responded good-naturedly. “Never thought I’d see you become Oscar the Grouch.”

“Oscar the…?” He turned his head to look at her lying next to him and saw the small smile flirting at her lips. “It’s hotter than Hades. I yearn for the air conditioning.”

“And this from the man who fought a war in full military regalia in the New England heat and humidity,” she teased.

Ichabod watched her in the bright moonlight filtering in through the slats of the blinds, lying flat on her back, wearing only shorts and a fitted white tank top (to his ever-loving dismay and delight). The air from the fan blowing on them lifted the hairs framing her face, the rest of it tied beneath her neck to help keep her cooler.

He’d done the same with his mess of locks, but she seemed much more comfortable than he felt, despite the fact that he also wore shorts and a t-shirt.

“How do you hold your composure in this blasted heater of a room?”

“If I stay still and keep my eyes closed, I can imagine I’m sunbathing on a beach somewhere with a warm ocean breeze blowing around,” she murmured sleepily.

“A beach…” He suddenly sat up. “I’ve got an idea. Come on, Abbie.” Ichabod bounded out of bed, turning to make sure she followed.

She still lay frozen on the mattress, unfazed by his Eureka! moment.

He reached across the bed and grabbed her hand. “Come along, love. You won’t be disappointed.”

“’Cabod, I’m so tired,” Abbie mumbled, forcing her eyes open. “It’s too hot and too late for any bright ideas.”

She saw him raise his eyebrows in excitement. “Alright, alright,” she agreed, gathering her strength and slowly rising from the bed. “What’s this all about?”

But Ichabod was already in the living room and headed for the front door.

“Ichabod,” she called to him.

“Come on,” he encouraged, marching out the front door.

That in itself was strange. Ichabod outside without proper clothes, boots, and that blasted tailcoat—though he’d done without it the past few miserably hot days—deserved her attention.

Abbie got up and made her way outside to find him heading towards the lake. She trailed after him, wondering what he was about. “Ichabod, what’re you doing?”

He’d reached the end of the dock as she approached the shoreline. He turned to look at her, bathed in bluish-white moonlight from both the glowing globe above them and its reflection on the lake before them, and she couldn’t help appreciating his form. He wasn’t muscular by the day’s standards, but she knew the power in his lean arms, knew his lithe figure belied the strength he exhibited. She loved how tall he stood, how he seemed her opposite in nearly every way—height, inner strengths, skin tone, history, grievances—and yet her match. She never got tired of looking at him, of staring into his bright, clever eyes, seeing his large hands flittering around the Archive looking for the next important text or wielding a weapon to protect them, watching his expressive face.

Which, right now, held a glint of mischievousness.

“This,” he stated, then turned and jumped into the lake.

“Ichabod!”

Abbie ran down the dock to the end and peered into the water, its darkness having swallowed him completely. She waited a few moments, expecting him to surface, but as the seconds ticked by and he didn’t, she started to panic, falling to her knees at the edge of the dock. “Ichabod!”

“Right here, love, no need to wake all Christendom,” he teased, suddenly emerging from beneath the dock right in front of her.

She faux-glared at him. “What in hell are you doing?”

“Escaping the scorch with a swim. Care to accompany me?” He swam backwards, away from her, a coy smile on his face, his shirt highlighting his broad shoulders.

She arched an eyebrow at him, and he mimicked the move, a dare if she’d ever seen one from him.

“You’d rather fantasize about the beach than go for a swim?” he challenged, treading water several feet from her.

She stood up, hand on one hip, debating the merits of a post-midnight swim when she had to be up in a handful of hours and watching her highbrow husband entice her with his come-hither looks from the middle of a lake.

Ichabod knew she’d succumb but couldn’t help admiring the view while she debated herself. Her shorts were what she deemed ‘short-shorts’—an iterative phrase he’d found irritating until he’d seen a pair on Abbie—and though she was short in stature, her muscular legs seem to go on for miles. Her tank showed off her arms and shoulders and didn’t leave much else to the imagination; it sat on her like a second skin. Speaking of skin…hers looked smooth and supple in the moonlight. Kissable. Delectable.

“Rather…you can stay there and let me fantasize,” he offered heatedly.

Abbie stared at him a moment before raising her arms over her head in a slow stretch, eyes never leaving his, lips turned up in a sultry smile.

“Abbie,” he warned, drawing her name out a little bit in the way that she loved so much.

Without preamble, she jumped into the water before him. She let gravity pull her down, then release its grip on her as her body buoyed itself to the surface.

“Wooo, that feels good,” she exclaimed as she shook the water out of her face.

Ichabod’s hand grazed her shoulder blade and slid down the side of her body to rest at her hip. “It certainly does,” he agreed pointedly.

“Ohhhh,” she breathed, moving into his space and draping her arms on his shoulders. “No more Oscar the Grouch here, hm?”

She felt his body slightly stiffen. “Who is this Oscar you speak of, and what are your affections towards him?”

Abbie huffed a laugh, drawing closer to him. “My affections are all right here,” she promised as she simultaneously pulled him closer and pressed into him, watching his expression change from indignation to desire as she moved to kiss him.

Ichabod’s eyes dropped closed, his hands spreading wide across her back, holding her in place against him as his feet searched for purchase on the lake floor’s soft sand. When his feet planted firmly, he ran his hands down her back, along her hips, and down to her thighs, hiking them up and around his waist.

She abruptly pulled away from him. “’Cabod,” she startled, the murmured, shortened version of his name only coming out when she was tired or surprised.

“It’s alright, love. I can stand here. I’ve got you.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “It’s not the beach, but it’s more temperate than the blasted furnace we’re living in.”

“It’s definitely an improvement,” she agreed, languidly happy.

“Mmm,” he hummed against her lips as he kissed her again, this time his hands at her waist, his thumbs sliding back and forth along the edge of her tank top as he leisurely inched it up.

Abbie pulled away from him slowly, enjoying the contrasting cool of the water and the heat from Ichabod’s hands and mouth on her. “I think it’s about to heat up again,” she predicted, pushing an errant strand of his hair away from his forehead.

“Indeed,” he promised lowly, moving in swiftly this time to kiss her as he gradually ambled his way towards the shore and the cabin beyond.

#ichabbie #ichabbie fanfiction #ichabbie fanfic #ichabbie fan fiction #ichabbie fan fic #ichabod x abbie #abbie x ichabod #sleepy hollow #sleepy hollow fanfiction #sleepy hollow fanfic #married ichabbie #my writing #personal #my ichabbie writing

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louandhazaf · 4 years

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Happy Birthday to me! This year I want to celebrate all the incredible authors who have gifted me fics through the years. Please go give these fics some love! #piscesseason

Mercedes Boy by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 5374 words There's a surprise waiting at home for Louis after he finishes his day on the tracks at the Mercedes AMG Driving Experience. This was the first fic every written for me and it will always have a special place in my heart. For those who don't know, I am obsessed with "AMG Louis" because it's at the cross of loves of automotive sports and dirtbag Louis. And Lauren took that and made a super hot, super tender fic about fucking in a car. I love everything about it.

Cigarette in my left hand, whole world in my right hand by wearetheluckyones Tomlinshaw, Explicit, 5833 words Harry's had some really bad ideas before, starting with the time he got pissed and jumped into the Thames stark naked, but this might take the fucking cake. Offering up Louis as a viable option for a model for Nick's last photography project is ludicrous at best and a disaster waiting to happen at worst. I wanted to read some photographer!Nick and model!Louis and then I also got uni!Tomlinshaw and a nature walk and talks about flowers and a BUNNY and basically this is also very hot and very tender and I was THRILLED to recieve it.

You're my fault, my weakness by wearetheluckyones Tomlinshaw, Explicit, 2197 words It’s been six months since Nick’s project, and Christmas and Louis’s birthday are coming up fast. Louis’s invited Nick to his family’s place for the holidays, and Nick can’t help but be nervous. THEN THIS AUTHOR WROTE MORE IN THIS VERSE???? Like, HELLO, I am in love with everything.

Mixtape by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, General, 927 words From Find You Home, this is Louis' POV when they first leave home to drive to his family's house for Christmas. When I read Find You Home I was utter obsessed with the idea of Louis making Harry a mixtape full of songs with hidden meaning, that expressed everything he couldn't say to Harry, how much time and effort he'd put into the thing, and then when he gives it to Harry, Harry literally tosses it aside. My heart! It aches! How carelessly cruel of Harry! I wanted all of the angst of Louis Going Through It and I basically forced Lauren to write this for me. She's the best.

Can We Talk for a Moment? by lululawrence Larry, Not Rated, 15737 words It was widely known that alphas were never as common as betas or omegas. It is believed the reasoning for that was safety for their packs. Each pack could only have one Alpha, and in order to keep order and make sure there was no mistaking who was in power, once the successor had been named, other alphas would be forced out of the pack. The populations grew, as was to be expected with time and all manner of developments, and while the packs got larger and joined together, the number of alphas never increased. Harry didn’t care for the reasons behind the phenomenon. In the end, it didn’t really matter. All he knew was he was the only alpha within about a thousand mile radius, and he was a complete and total disappointment. Or the one where Harry is a shy, nerdy alpha, Louis is a loud omega punk, and there's more to both of them than their reputations. PUNK!LOUIS PUNK!LOUIS PUNK!LOUIS. BUT ALSO!!! OMEGA PUNK LOUIS AND NERDY ALPHA HARRY. WHAT MORE COULD A PERSON ASK FOR???

Fall Like Rain by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, General, 2473 words This is Harry's POV from the first day that he and Louis are at the beach house. You've read Don't Want Shelter, right? If not, what are you doing? Go read it! And then read all of the amazing other bits Lauren has written in the universe. I will always always always have a special little nook in my heart for these men.

Glitter Bomb by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Teen, 7808 words After a spectacularly awful date, Harry decides a little petty revenge will make him feel better. Things don't work out quite the way he plans. What's better than sending a glitter bomb as a bit of revenge?? READING THIS FIC ABOUT THAT VERY CONCEPT. Of course, nothing goes as planned... and then it all works out in the end. Hilarious and Wonderful!!!

Be Mine, Little Valentine by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 7435 words Louis wants to find someone who'll love all of him. There's just one tiny complication. Uhhhhh, I love tiny penis fics. This one is incredible.

One Touch Is Never Enough by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 3853 words It’s been a rough year for Louis. First, he was turned into a werewolf, which hasn't been so bad, except that he didn't anticipate how it would affect his love life. Maybe it’d be easier to ignore if he wasn’t constantly bombarded by the sound of his two werewolf best friends getting it on in the next room. At least they were nice enough to give him a gift certificate for a massage. I still laugh out loud everytime I think of this fic. I mean, read that summary. OFC this fic is going to be so stellar.

Wine Not? by abrighteryellow, allwaswell16, catfishau (dinosaursmate), crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks), disgruntledkittenface, FallingLikeThis, jaerie, Justalittlelouislove, kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie), kiwikero, LadyLondonderry, Layne Faire (HisDarlin), lululawrence, momentofclarity, phdmama, QuickedWeen, Rearviewdreamer, red_special, SadaVeniren, someonethatsfunny, taggiecb Larry, Explicit, 20704 words Louis’ Wine Dive is a bar run by the people for the people. Wine Styles is a boutique tasting room that caters to a more highbrow clientele. When their worlds clash on a beautiful Charleston street, one of these owners may find that an ounce of pretension doesn’t stand a chance against a pound of perseverance. I am not great with emotions. Showing them or dealing with them. If I think too hard about this fic, I run the risk of tearing up. I don't know that I can every express how much it means to me that these amazing authors all came together to write me a fic. A really really wonderful fic. That is far more coheasive than it has any right to be. But my chest gets all funny and my eyes get all watery, so I'm just going to say that everyone should go read it. It means the world to me.

It's been a long, cold, lonely winter by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Teen, 443 words Louis wants to catch the eye of his hot neighbor who's always looking at his phone. His grey sweatpants are his secret weapon. I wrote a little fic, and then Lauren was like I WANT TO WRITE THE ALTERNATE POV AND ALSO HERE ARE SOME GREY SWEATPANTS and whoooboooooy what a great combo that turned out to be!

All This Noise by musiclily88 Larry, Teen, 1733 words Here's how it begins DRUMMER!LOUIS DRUMMER!LOUIS DRUMMER!LOUIS WHY ARE THERE NOT MORE DRUMMER LOUIS FICS IN THIS FANDOM??? I posed that question and then this fic was written for me and my mind melted. I LOVE the concept of drummer Louis and this fic so totally delivers.

One Man's Ceiling Is Another Man's Floor by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Maggie Rogers/Niall, Explicit, 3713 words Niall and Maggie come up with a way to get revenge on her annoying neighbors. HEH. GO READ THIS HET FIC ABOUT MAGGIE PEGGING NIALL. LIKE. GO. This does not have enough hits!

Heels Over Head by kingsofeverything (FullOnLarrie) Larry, Explicit, 3455 words Louis Tomlinson returns from tour to find that his new next door neighbor doesn't realize his backyard is not completely private. You know what else I love in addition to tiny penis fics?? Lauren's butthole series. This one CRACKS ME UP. I'm going to send her a million more butthole prompts and make her write them as well.

Make Your Body Move Like Mine by Jiksa Larry & Gryles, Explicit, 9400 words He looks beautiful, otherworldly, strobe lights catching in his curls like rays of sunshine. Louis can’t look away. Or, the first time they meet. Prequel to You're A Universe. I do not have enough words to possibly explain how much I love Jx's fic, You're A Universe. So when we were talking and she said she had a prequel I all but begged her to let me read it. Even if she never posted it. I needed it. And she was so so gracious enough to let me read it. And it fills the perfect little backstory spot about Harry and Nick and who Louis was when he met Harry for the first time and just... UGH. Everything about it is perfect in every way. It's possible I had a little meltdown when I saw it was gifted to me when it was posted.

sad sex is... no by disgruntledkittenface Gryles, Not Rated, 2430 words “Hey, are you…” As he hesitates, a line appearing between his furrowed eyebrows and a pout forming on his puffy pink lips, the words “don’t say it” run on a loop in Nick’s head, like a prayer. “... okay?” He said it. Fuck. A gryles AU based on Harry’s iconic quote from the Jools Holland interview. OH! Speaking of having meltdowns when seeing that ao3 email about a gift. I saw this, I saw the title, saw the author, and fully had to close my laptop and walk away because I knew it was going to be so overwhelmingly exactly what I wanted to read that I literally couldn't deal with it. (Um. Remember that not dealing well with emotions. This is an excellent example. I just... shut down when i saw it because I was so overwhelmed.) This literally hits every single one of my buttons and is just so so beautifully written and I'm so so very lucky to have friends like this.

#kingsofeverything #disgruntledkittenface #jiksax #musiclily #lululawrence #the whole freaking gc #i love you all #anyway hbd to me!

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theficpusher · 4 years

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ping pong blues | G | 942 Harry and Niall are playing ping pong and Niall loses so Harry gets all snuggly trying to make him feel better

Your Serve by larrymylove | M | 4484 “Didn’t know you were that good, Lou,” Liam chuckled, wiping his brow, “Looks like I actually have some competition.” Louis grinned, blowing on his nails, “Who’s up next?” He asked, as if he hadn’t just handed Liam his arse. Harry bit his lower lip, still watching from his place on the plush burgundy leather sofa. Niall was beside him, flicking through some game on his phone. Louis smacked the paddle loudly against his hand and Harry felt something inside of him clench. His throat went dry, and his eyes pulled to where Louis was still smacking the damn paddle against his hand. He chewed on his bottom lip, watching the paddle smack, watching Louis look so casual and so coy. Harry shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Louis picked up on his movement, pointing the paddle right at him, “What about you, Haz? You up for a good spanking?” Or, the one where the boys take up playing ping-pong back stage, and the image of Louis with a paddle is making Harry's life difficult; even more so when he comes home to find Louis' bought a ping-pong table of their own.

a force to be reckoned with | nr | 4662 "Oh, yeah, Niall and I are dating," Louis had told them a few minutes later, in afterthought. "Yeah," Zayn had said. "I would hope so," Liam had replied. "You just kissed him," Harry had added. Louis deflected the ping-pong ball back at Zayn, developed a kind of faraway, dreamy sort of smile. "Yeah," he said, the smile grew. "I did." Niall and Louis are a couple and literally everything revolves around them.

Accidentally On My Way To Loving You by larrymylove | M | 5147 “So,” H said, “Who are you.” Louis froze. The fork nearly slipped from his hand. So this was it then. The jig was up. Louis would have to admit that he’d stumbled into the wrong party and that, after seeing H, hadn’t wanted to leave. Louis would be kicked out, never to see H again. And who could blame him. He sounded like a total creeper. If the roles had been reversed....Louis wouldn’t blame H for never wanting anything to do with him ever again. Louis arrives at the wrong party, and finds he never wants to leave.

Could you love me anyway by SadaVeniren | E | 13444 Dear Mistress Lorin: I’ve been reading your blog for a couple weeks now and was hoping you’d give me some advice for something that happened with me and my boyfriend. I’m really worried that I hurt him. aka Harry and Louis begin playing ping pong during the X-Factor Tour. It quickly gets out of hand.

You Have to Retreat to Advance by 2tiedships2 | nr | 18056 “What am I going to do, Perrie? I can’t go on this retreat by myself. My boss literally said he wants to meet my omega.” Harry paused. “Okay, not literally but he definitely expects me to be bringing him.” “Don’t people go on these things by themselves?” Perrie asked. Harry shrugged. “Of course but that’s not the point.” “What’s the point?” “My boss is expecting to meet my omega! I don’t have an omega!” “Is this a paying gig?” Perrie asked. “You mean paying an omega to spend the weekend with me? I’m sure the resort has nice amenities. Does that count?” “I take that as a no,” Perrie said with an eye roll. “It’s okay, Louis might be willing to do it for free.” “Who’s Louis?” Or the one where Harry is expected to bring his longterm omega to the company's mountain retreat. Since he hadn't told anyone that they'd broken up months ago, he now has to find someone willing to play the part.

Wine Not? by abrighteryellow, allwaswell16, catfishau, crinkle-eyed-boo, disgruntledkittenface, FallingLikeThis, FullOnLarrie, jaerie, Justalittlelouislove, kiwikero, LadyLondonderry, Layne Faire, lululawrence, momentofclarity, phdmama, QuickedWeen, Rearviewdreamer, red_special, SadaVeniren, someonethatsfunny, taggiecb | E | 20704 Louis’ Wine Dive is a bar run by the people for the people. Wine Styles is a boutique tasting room that caters to a more highbrow clientele. When their worlds clash on a beautiful Charleston street, one of these owners may find that an ounce of pretension doesn’t stand a chance against a pound of perseverance.

LOVE ME, PLEASE? by thewellrestedone | E | 44079 Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw have an unexpected weekend alone in New York City. Harry seems to want to work things out between them, but Nick’s not convinced that’s such a good plan.

knocked me sideways by ferryboatpeak | nr | 59757 "You remember Harry, from the bar?” Tom’s eyebrows go up. “The kickball one.” he says. “Go on...” “He,” Jack scrubs at his beard with his knuckles. “He’s pregnant.” A gentrification au featuring the funkirk tech bros, the 1D kickball team, and incidental c.h.a.s.m.

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winchester-fantasies · 5 years

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Closer

Summary: After a less than pleasant goodbye, you run into Dean after four years and tensions are running high. Based on the song “Closer” by The Chainsmokers.

Word Count: 3033

Warnings: smut, fluff, swearing, light angst

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

Dean’s POV

I sauntered into the hotel bar, exuding more confidence than I actually felt. This hotel was a major step up from what me and Sammy usually settled for. It felt weird. I mean, sure, the beds were freakin’ amazing, and my back hadn’t felt this damn good in...huh, I don’t even fuckin’ know, but this whole place felt stuffy. A little too good for me. I mean, even the people in this bar were highbrow, dressed in their fancy dresses and suits that would have cost me my soul to get. But me? Fuck, I stood out like a sore thumb - with my button down cargo shirt, jeans, and combat boots. I ran my hands down my shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles as I looked around, feeling like a fuckin’ fish out of water. Shit, I looked like a damn hobo.

But Mick had insisted on staying here while we looked for Claire. This case was gonna fuckin’ kill me, and it wouldn’t be from that damn werewolf either. Sam didn’t seem to notice or even care that we didn’t fit in. Right now he was at the bar talking up some Ivy League looking dude. I didn’t understand how Sam could so easy fall into this. Maybe it was because he went to Stanford. I don’t know.

I went to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender cocked an eyebrow before turning to get my Corona. Maybe that’s not what fancy people ordered. Well, fuck them and fuck him, too.

I rolled my eyes when I heard Sam’s laughter echo around the bar. Several people glanced toward him, scowling at his loudness. Fuck, Sammy, could you make it anymore awkward? I just wanted to get this case done and over with. I wanted to get back to squeaky beds, questionable rooms, and shitty water pressure.

I glanced around, a little more self-conscious than I probably should have been. I was already tense, but my anxiety shot up even higher, and I swear my fuckin’ heart stopped for a few seconds. There she was.... That (Y/H/C) hair, those curves, that ass. God, she looked fuckin’ amazing, even better than when I last saw her. She hadn’t noticed me yet, and I used that to my advantage, watching her for a few minutes.

She must have sensed my attention, though, because she turned, her (Y/E/C) eyes locking onto mine. My stomach knotted up at her gaze, her eyes catching the light just right, making them glitter. Recognition hit her and a wide grin spread across her beautiful lips. Damn, that mouth. I smirked and subconsciously licked my lips as I remembered just what that mouth could do.

My own mouth went dry as I was shaken out of my thoughts. Fuck, she was making her way over! I swallowed hard, wincing. Shit, my throat felt like sandpaper. I took a swig - eh, scratch that - a big, fuckin’ gulp of my beer, trying to ease some of my discomfort, but all it did was make my mouth even more parched.

“Dean?” she asked, a little too peppy.

“Hey, (Y/N),” I greeted with a crooked grin as she pulled herself onto the stool beside me.

“Wow, long time, no see. What’s it been? Four years?” she asked innocently. As if she couldn’t remember that fuckin’ emotional roller coaster.

“Yep. Four years,” I said nonchalantly, desperately trying to cover up the feelings she was stirring up in me again.

“Wow,” she said again. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Hunting,” I said. “You?”

“Hunting,” she responded, and we both nervously laughed. Awkwardness fell between us, and we both stared at the beers in our hands, not really sure what to say.

“So what are you doing here?” she finally asked, and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

“Werewolf case,” I said before taking another swig of my Corona.

Her eyes lit up. “Me, too!”

My eyebrows shot up. “No shit. Wonder if they’re connected?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe...maybe we could...exchange notes. See if there’s any similarities. Ya know. If you want,” I said, my eyes catching hers for a moment before looking down again at my bottle. I rubbed my hand nervously over the back of my neck. Fuck, I was acting like a kid with a schoolboy crush. I was a thirty-eight-year-old man, for fuck’s sake!

I chanced another look at her. She was grinning, and if I hadn’t thought she was the sexiest woman on the planet, I would have laughed at her goofy grin. “Yeah, I’d...I’d like that,” she said, her voice smooth like honey.

I smirked. “Okay, awesome.”

She cleared her throat. “Well. It was nice seeing you again, Dean. But I better get going,” she said, sliding off the stool and grabbing her purse from the bar.

My heart dropped at her hasty departure. “But why?” I frowned. I inwardly kicked myself at how fuckin’ needy I sounded.

She shrugged. “I planned to meet a suspect here tonight, but I guess he changed his mind.”

I nodded and she smiled slightly before she turned away without another word and started making her way to the entrance. I inwardly groaned as I realized I couldn’t just stay here and act like her not saying goodbye didn’t bother me. I had to make it a proper goodbye. “Can I walk you to your car?” I called after her. She stopped and turned. A slight smirk crossed her lips as she nodded.

I followed her out, my hand instinctively going to the small of her back as we walked out the sliding doors of the hotel. She stiffened under my touch, but she didn’t pull away.

We walked into the semi-lit parking lot, silence between us, our paces matched. Before I knew it we had reached her Land Rover, and I hadn’t even said a damn thing. We faced each other, awkwardness once again falling between us. I cleared my throat as I looked down at her. Fuck, I had to say something.

“So.... Where’re you staying?”

She chuckled as she jabbed a thumb toward her Land Rover. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You’re living out of this?”

She laughed, that beautiful sound I hadn’t even realized I missed. “Yep. Been living out of it since I left Boulder a year ago.” It really shouldn’t have surprised me. (Y/N) had always been a free spirit - a nomad. That’s what made her so perfect as a hunter.

My breath caught in my throat as her eyes met mine. Those gorgeous, alluring orbs. I shouldn’t. I knew what would happen if I did. But I couldn’t stop. No. I was longing for a drink, and (Y/N) was the only thing that could quench my thirst.

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

Reader’s POV

God, had Dean always been this fucking good-looking? you questioned. He hadn’t changed much in the four years since you’d parted ways. In fact, he looked even better if that was even possible. He had a few more wrinkles around his eyes, but you thought it made him look distinguished. Some people said men grew more handsome with age, and Dean was the epitome of that notion.

Your heart had nearly stopped when you recognized him in the bar. Sure, it had been four years, but your feelings for him hadn’t waned. Not really. You had tried to move on, heaven knows you had tried. But you just couldn’t.

But now Dean was here. Staring at you in the parking lot and all those old feelings you had so desperately tried to get rid of, to lock away and never take out again, came rushing back. Your stomach filled with butterflies, and you could have sworn your heart was beating so hard it would burst through your chest.

Before you knew what was happening, Dean’s lips were on yours, fervent and bruising and filled with lust. You felt yourself give in, melting into him as his strong arms wrapped around your waist. You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. God, how you had missed his touch.

You were both breathing heavily as you pulled away. “Shit, I’m...I’m sorry, (Y/N),” Dean said, swiping his hand over his face. “I’m...I’m gonna go.”

He started to walk away, back toward the hotel. But you caught up to him, grabbing his arm and stopping him abruptly. He turned to look at you, his green eyes filled with a mixture of hope and disappointment. “Please don’t go,” you whispered.

His expression changed to one of desire as he pulled you roughly toward him, your lips crashing into one another again. He backed you up until your back bumped into the cold metal of your Land Rover. Dean’s hands slid down your back and caressed your ass as the kiss deepened.

You fumbled for the keys in you purse and unlocked the doors, your Rover beeping. You drew away from the kiss and turned to open the rear door, Dean coming behind you and pulling you back against him. He kissed your neck and you could feel his growing bulge on your lower back. “Dean,” you moaned as your hand reached up behind you, weaving your fingers through his soft hair.

He groaned before spinning you around and hoisting you up into the rear of the vehicle. You both climbed in, Dean pulling the door closed behind him, before you settled down onto the mattress you had stuffed into the bed of your Land Rover. A spring poked you in the back and another must have done the same to Dean because he hissed in pain before sarcastically commenting on what a comfortable bed you had. You giggled before Dean’s mouth was on yours again.

His hand slid under your shirt, his fingers brushing over your stomach. Your body contracted at his touch and Dean chuckled deeply. He pulled your shirt up and over your head then gently unclasped your bra. It was dark inside the car, but you could see just enough to make out the hunger in Dean’s eyes as his gaze roamed over your body. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered before he was once again kissing you, settling himself between your thighs, his hands moving up your sides before coming to rest on your breasts, his palms kneading the soft flesh.

You moaned against his touch, wanting nothing more than to lose yourself in everything that was Dean, but after a few moments you gently pushed him away. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with confusion. “Hold that thought, love,” you breathed as you pecked his lips and slid out from under him. You leaned forward, your upper body now in the front seat. Dean’s hand slid over your bare back, his fingers caressing your spine, sending goose bumps rolling over your skin. You deftly turned the car on to where it was only the battery running. You switched on the radio, inserting a CD and adjusting the volume to low. Blink-182 came through the speakers, and you slid back until you were once again facing Dean. A smirk formed on his lips as the lyrics of “First Date” floated through the air.

“Our song,” he said, his voice low and appreciative.

“Our song,” you repeated as Dean gently laid you back down on the mattress.

Before you knew it, Dean had you in nothing but your panties, his own clothes long since discarded in the corner. You could feel his erection slide across your inner thigh, precum dotting your skin as he rutted against you. He groaned into your neck and your hands ran up and down his bare back. “Fuck, I missed you, baby,” he growled into your ear. He slightly shifted, biting down lightly on the anti-possession tattoo on your shoulder. You arched your back, moaning at the sensation. “Shit, (Y/N). Why’d you have to leave?”

The arousal that had been building in your body suddenly died, and you tensed up at his words. He continued to explore your body, seemingly unaware of your sudden change in behavior. You closed your eyes, focusing on him, desperately trying to rid yourself of the bitter taste growing on your tongue.

Dean’s fingers slid into the waistband of your panties and began to slide them down, his eyes meeting yours with a look of desire that should have had you groveling for him, but instead a sob rose from your throat, catching you off guard.

Dean immediately stilled, his hands moving from your body as your palms came to cover your eyes. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?” Dean asked in confusion and concern. When you didn’t answer, he crawled over to you, taking your hands from your eyes. “(Y/N)?”

You bolted upright, the intimacy that had been building suddenly forgotten as you pulled your panties back up. You shook your head. “I...I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I think you’d better leave,” you said between sobs as you threw your shirt over your head.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, reaching out and placing his large palm on your back. “What just happened?” You closed your eyes and bit your lower lip so hard you tasted blood. You didn’t want to cry anymore. You didn’t want to have to explain why you couldn’t go through with this. “(Y/N), talk to me,” Dean begged, his arm snaking around your shoulder and pulling you against his still bare chest.

Anger suddenly replaced sadness and you violently shoved him away, his eyes widening at your outburst. “I didn’t leave you!” you shouted.

Dean frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t leave! You kicked me out, you fucking asshole,” you growled.

Realization fell over Dean, and he sighed as his hand slid over his face. “Fuck. I knew this was gonna happen,” he muttered. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I....”

“No, you don’t get to be sorry, Dean!” you said, cutting him off. “Do you even know how hard it was for me? You forced me out without anything. All I had was my duffle bag, a couple dollars, and that sorry excuse for a fucking car! No calls, no texts, nothing. For all I knew you were dead. I didn’t leave you, Dean. You left me!”

Dean sat staring at you in shock, his voice catching in his throat. “I...I was in purgatory, (Y/N),” Dean finally stuttered. As if that would magically make everything better.

You huffed in anger. “Dean, I know.... I know you had it hard. But Dean, I had it hard, too. When Sam refused to look for you, when he shacked up with Amelia, I was there, constantly, desperately trying to find some way to get you back. I spent months, months, Dean, soaking up as much information as I possibly could. I even tried to make a deal.”

Dean’s eyes widened at your revelation, but then his face hardened. “Why would you do something so stupid?” he growled.

“Because I loved you, you dumbass!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Because even if I lost my soul, it was better than doing nothing.” You glanced away, your shoulders slumping as the exhaustion from finally spilling everything washed over you.

Dean was silent, his gaze still intently locked onto you as you played with the skirt you had never pulled back on. The notes of another song came on, breaking the deafening silence. You sniffed and swiped the back of you hand across your nose as snot threatened to drip.

“(Y/N),” Dean whispered. You glanced up. His eyes were tender and filled with remorse. “Baby,” he breathed as he came back to your side, his arm gingerly wrapping around your shoulder again. You didn’t fight back this time, not that you’d even have enough energy to. “I’m so, so sorry. I...I never meant to hurt you like that. I, shit, (Y/N), I had just gotten back from purgatory. I was so fucked up. Hell, I was hardly human. I was scared, still in survival mode. I had spent a year doing nothing but killing. I didn’t...I didn’t trust myself around you. Even though I was at my most primal instinct, I still knew that I loved you and that I didn’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t lose you. Not like that.”

Your shoulders shook as another onslaught of tears washed over you. Dean pulled you against him, your head coming to his chest, your tears dotting his skin as you wrapped your arms around his waist, clinging to him as if you were about to lose your life. Dean enveloped you wholly into him as if he were afraid you would disappear if he let up even a little. Dean whispered sweet nothings, his voice cracking as years of unrequited love came rushing forth like a dam holding back too much water.

Finally, your tears stopped. The music had long since ended and silence had fallen, the only sound being both of you breathing and Dean’s heartbeat in your ear as you and Dean held one another, not wanting to break the connection. “You can’t lose something that’s already yours,” you whispered and Dean’s grip tightened.

He was silent for a while before he spoke. “You said you loved me.”

“What?” you asked in confusion.

“When you were talking about the past, when you were looking for me.... You said you loved me. Past tense.”

You smiled before turning your head and placing a gentle kiss on his bare chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. (Y/N)...I don’t wanna let go,” he said, his voice quiet desperation.

“Then don’t,” you said back, rising up and straddling his legs. You peppered his face with soft kisses and he melted into you, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips as he closed his eyes against your touch.

“I won’t,” he promised, burying his face in your neck. You smiled as he rolled you over, coming to rest between your thighs once more. “I won’t,” he repeated, his eyes swimming with love like you had never witnessed before. He smiled gently, capturing your lips in a tender kiss before feeling yourselves begin to drown in one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading!

**Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #kaila writes

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radioromantic-moved · 4 years

Text

a study in semantics

(hey, does this look familiar? it should! because i fucked up and it got deleted for a little while. things are okay now)

i came up with the headcanon that frank calls me a ray of sunshine initially sarcastically before it evolves into an actual affectionate nickname. and yeah, that’s what this is.

word count: 1650

They say in the business world that first impressions are everything.

Nyx probably didn’t get the memo. Actually, they probably got the memo and promptly chose to purposefully ignore it.

They show up to interview for a position at Toy Zone wearing all black, with a close-cropped mess of blond hair as the main splash of color in a wardrobe that would probably camouflage them in a dark room. The way they cross their arms over their chest and stare across the desk they’re sitting in front of, Frаnk feels vaguely like he’s the one being interviewed.

“Aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he mutters to himself.

They level a bright green stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, I’m guessing ‘cheerful’ isn’t one of the reasons you’re going to list as to why I should hire you.”

“I’ll have you know, my close friends find me delightful.”

He can’t tell if they’re joking. They deliver everything in the same sort of dry, vaguely amused sounding tone, as if they’re watching a somewhat-interesting movie.

“We have a uniform here, you know,” he says. “It might clash with your aesthetic a little.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that from what you’ve got going on.”

They gesture at his bright red polo, name tag dangling conspicuously from it. “I can handle the shirt,” they shrug, “as long as I can still wear this coat. I feel like I’d have a case to sue if you guys didn’t let me wear this coat.”

It is a cool coat.

“There isn’t anything in our rulebook about letting you wear a coat over the shirt. Just don’t let it cover your nametag. But back on track, we still have to figure out if we’re hiring you at all. Do you work well in a team?”

---

It’s been a few weeks.

And yes, he hired them.

People aren’t exactly clamoring to work at Hatchetfield’s one toy store smack in the middle of a shopping mall, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

Supply and demand notwithstanding, Nyx is on the team now. They get along surprisingly well with Leх (actually, not that surprising. They seem to be someone who never grew out of their edgy teen phase anyway), and whenever they’re on break the two of them engage in spirited discussions about--

“No, I’m serious. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Dude, I’m a high school dropout. Aren’t they all, like, cheerleaders or prom queens or something?”

“What? No! Don’t you know your lore? In the real kitschy ones, cheerleaders and prom queens die first.”

Frаnk stops dead in his tracks. “What in the world are you two talking about?”

“Leх would be the final girl in a horror movie,” says Nyx. “She doesn’t believe me.”

“Have you met me?” protests the younger of the two cashiers. “I’d probably run right into the middle of some shitstorm of a situation and get myself decapitated or something because it was a panic response.”

Frank shrugs. “I’m with her on that one.”

Nyx scoffs. “You’re just petty because you’d be the first one to die, Frаnk. Actually, scratch that--” they stare at him for a few seconds with that weirdly intense gaze of theirs-- “second. Final response. You’d die second in a horror movie.”

“Man,” he says, shaking his head, “you really are a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

Leх pats Nyx on the back. “Damn straight.”

---

bossdude: Can I ask you for a favor?

me: okay shoot

bossdude: Something came up. I’m not gonna be able to open on Sunday. You’re the oldest staff member I have, so consider yourself officially temporarily promoted.

me: whoa whoa whoa

dude

you want ME to open

on SUNDAY

bossdude: It’s one day. You can handle it.

me: alright but don’t blame me if people are dissatisfied with my subpar customer service and lackluster welcoming skills

so dissatisfied that it translates into anger

and eventually a boycott

and eventually you won’t need to find sunday replacements

because our store will be only a fading memory in the greater hatchetfield consciousness

why did you let me open on sunday?!? why?!?

bossdude: For the love of--

Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you.

I’ll see if Leх or Alice can help out.

You type fast.

me: awwww, thanks

---

Nyx groans, resting their head on the counter. “I did not get enough sleep last night. I’m dead tired.”

“Well, you better snap out of it,” he says. “We’re already down one pair of hands today because you insisted you’d work overtime if Leх took the day off to watch her sister.”

Nyx lifts their head. “Of course I did. Her sister’s got a fever. I may be weird and creepy and kind of mean sometimes, but I’m not a monster. Workers have to assist one another when the corporate millstone attempts to grind away our humanity.”

“Still a ray of sunshine, I see.” He sets down two coffee cups next to them on the counter. “Maybe this’ll help wake you up. I went across the street before you came in and picked them up. The one on the left’s yours.”

They take a tentative sip. “Hey, a white chocolate mocha. How’d you know?”

“You were talking about getting one after work last week. I remember it since it seemed like a weird order for you--you know, with your everything.”

Nyx grins. It’s a small one, but somehow, it seems to light up the whole store. “What? I think it’s a perfectly reasonable drink for a ray of sunshine such as myself.”

With that smile, he thinks, they could almost live up to that nickname for real.

He doesn’t say that out loud.

“Oh, and, um, thanks. For the drink, I mean. It was surprisingly generous of you.”

“No problem.”

---

“Now that was what I call a successful day.” Frаnk places a hand over his heart in faux-affection. “I love rich kids’ birthdays.”

Nyx looks up from rearranging the cash register. “Little Jonathan is sure gonna be occupied for...uh, maybe two days, before he gets bored and starts asking for more stuff.”

“Nice to see you’re as much of a ray of sunshine as ever,” he says, and there’s something suspiciously like fondness tinging his voice.

“Well, it’s not that I’m not grateful for the bonus.” They slide the cash register shut. “I can finally treat myself to a ticket to that alien invasion movie I’ve been wanting to see.”

“Aliens. Why am I not surprised?”

“Oh, and I’m sure your taste in movies is so highbrow.”

“I never said that. I like alien movies. You know, I was also planning to go see that at some point. And, you know, I guess today is as good a day as any.”

He didn’t think that. He has no idea why he said that.

They raise their eyebrows. “Are you asking me on a date?”

WHAT.

“What?! No, I was just, you know, bringing up the fact that I like alien movies and I might see that one on my own time. Maybe today, maybe some other day--still vague. Still working out the details. You know how it is.”

“Ah. Now everything is much clearer,” deadpans Nyx.

“But you know, and I’m speaking from a business perspective here--seeing as we both want to see the same movie, and we both have free time and the means to see it today, it would be convenient for both of us if we...in a strictly platonic sense, here--if we saw it...together? Assuming we’d be paying for our own refreshments.”

“Well, how can I say no to such a captivating offer?” says Nyx with a shrug. “You’re paying for your own ticket, too, though.”

“Aww. Can I suggest--?”

“You cannot.”

---

Frаnk enters the supply closet and confirms a long standing hypothesis of his.

“If it weren’t for the hair, I wouldn’t have known you were in here.”

“The dark is my natural habitat. One day I will return there for good,” says Nyx without turning around.

“Sometimes I think you’re just screwing with me.”

“Yeah, that one was a joke,” they admit. They swivel around to face him. They’re sitting on a box.

“Any particular reason why you’re in here and not, you know, doing your job?”

“Mrs. Monroe’s in again--she wanted me to check the back for one of those dinosaur puzzles. The longer I’m in here, the more time she thinks I’m dedicating to her request. And I just needed to take a breather.”

“I could issue a write up for that, you know.”

“Well, I could be looking for a puzzle and be taking a breather at the same time.”

“We don’t have any of those puzzles.”

They place a hand on their cheek in mock-surprise. “Oh, really? I wonder what I was taking so long for! I was sure a sold-out item would magically appear in the back once she asked about it!”

“I see you’re a ray of sunshine as usual today.”

They scoff. “Oh, you could have used that earlier. A single sarcastic comment is a waste of ‘ray of sunshine’ compared to the ‘I will return to the dark’ thing.”

“Didn’t you say that was a joke?”

“Well, yeah, but a purposeful one. I gave you the setup and everything. C’mon.”

“I’ll--I’ll do better next time?”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Nyx remarks.

---

He calls Leх a ray of sunshine once and never again.

It feels wrong coming out and only more wrong when Leх looks at him sideways. “Don’t call me that. It feels creepy.”

“Yeah, I’m...not doing that again.”

“You’re lucky Nyx wasn’t here to hear that,” says Leх as she organizes stuffed animals. “Might have made the whole thing lose its meaning.”

“What--there’s no meaning to it, and it’s not a whole thing.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” says Leх with a rare smile.

It’s more of a smirk, really.

#sorry to subject all of you to this again but. uh. you know. it's here again #the most unrealistic part of this is that none of them try to kill each other #ship: your annual entrepreneur #nyx writes #lex tag

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theclosetpoet7 · 5 years

Photo

Day 17: Ink and Paper

Sakura tilts her head to the right, regarding her husband with a look of surprise. Then, it turns into suspicion because she has always had good instincts. Especially when it comes to her spouse.

He’s sipping on the tea she had prepared for him the second he arrived home. It was a routine of theirs. She would welcome him with a cup of tea, and then they’d sit on the patio while enjoying the quiet all to themselves.

Sasuke had taken a liking to the various herbal drinks she’s been sampling, and she would give him a new flavor each time; always trying something new ever since she started collecting tiny tea bags.

Currently, he’s drinking the blueberry green tea flavored one. He isn’t too fond of sweets so she added more green tea leaves into the mixture to suit his preference. Now, she wishes that she allowed the sweetness of the blueberries to overpower his taste buds, just so she can see a different expression on him.

Because Sasuke is in this moment, wearing his mask of apathy. One that clued her in to the fact that he is hiding something, or is nervous in her presence because of a thing he did.

They are seated on the hardwood floors of the house they just bought, both adults relaxing after a day’s work as they admire the landscape. The sounds of the water cascading over the koi pond gave her a sense of calm, a feature that she had insisted they have because she knows that even though Sasuke liked the modern designs of their previous home, he still had this desire for the traditional sense of architecture, because it reminded him of his old house. So of course she would give him that.

The night’s sky is painted in dark blue and gray tones, with specks of light from the stars that colored it. She could hear the cicadas in her garden as well as the occasional fish splashing about. It was a relaxing evening, until her husband dropped one of the most unlikely proposals she’s ever thought she would hear from him.

“Marry me again.”

It had taken her a moment for the words to sink into her highbrow mind, but yup, Sasuke definitely asked her to marry him again. There’s a tint of a blush on his cheeks, and he’s avoiding her eyes, which told her that he’s acting out of character and that something is definitely up.

Sweet as it was though.

Suddenly, she senses the fact that Sarada has carefully shut the door to her room, her lovely daughter most likely trying to avoid getting caught eavesdropping, except that Sakura knows her family all too well.

“It was Sarada’s idea wasn’t it?”

Uchiha Sasuke lets out a deep exhale, as if she had just taken a load off his shoulders. His eyes soften then, lips tilting up upon the calm that settled over his handsome features. It occurs to Sakura that it wasn’t really the suggestion that stressed him out, but the fact that he had been trying to do something in secret with their child.

“She told me to ask you directly.”

“And?”

“And to pass it off as my idea.”

She quirks an eyebrow.

“Her idea of romantic.”

“Pfft.”

She giggles lightly, a hand coming up to brush the tear of glee off her eye. It’s amazing how one of the most powerful shinobi in the world is rendered powerless when it comes to his offspring.

He’s been back permanently for nearly three years now, and though he still goes on several dangerous missions, her husband now managed to keep close contact with their daughter, a luxury they both enjoyed especially when he had personally taught Sarada how to summon his messenger hawk.

They were simply too adorable.

“Okay.”

“Hm?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you again anata.”

He releases a relieved breath.

Really now, as if she’d say no.

“Did she at least tell you why she wants us to get married again?”

“Pictures.”

“Oh.”

“We never had wedding pictures, so she wants us to have some.”

“That’s thoughtful of her.”

“She wants at least fifty guests.”

“Well, it’s not like we don’t have the budget for it, even if we just bought this house.”

“And our fifteenth anniversary is coming.”

“Otou-san and Kaa-san would be so happy. They’ve always wanted a bigger reception..”

“Naruto already wants to officiate.”

“…”

“I don’t know how he found out so quickly.”

“He is the hokage after all.”

It’s natural for them to list down the reasons as to why holding a ceremony once more is a good idea, and not just because they wanted to surrender to Sarada’s whims.

There’s a spark of excitement in his eyes. It made her heart race because she’s always liked it when he was excited.

And this, this is amazing.

They’re about to do something special.

A treasured memory for the future.

And though Sakura has always known of their deep connection and has no problem about supporting him in his secret missions, the Uchiha matriarch could not help but want another tangible thing that could show the world that they loved each other, aside from Sarada anyway.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Aa. But only if you want to.”

His constant consideration for her feelings touches her heart. He had always been more careful with her emotions, still carrying that guilt with him from time to time even if he shouldn’t be, especially since he left on that really long mission.

So, she takes his hand in hers, kissing his knuckles as she pours out her love for this man, eyes telling him that she loves him.

She always has.

And she always will.

Of course she would want to marry him again. Sasuke cups her cheek in his lone hand and leans in to meet her lips, sealing their promise.

. . . She stands in front of her beloved two weeks later, reciting those vows and holding his hand tight as she balances her feet on tall wooden slippers. She tries to stop herself from crying because Naruto is already sobbing as he pronounces them man and wife again.

Perfect.

It is perfect.

There’s a new memory that sits atop their table of photographs. It’s the day they renewed their love for each other.

fin

………………………………

BONUS:

Quick doodle of Naruto crying during the wedding. He’s wailing because they look so beautiful.

Note: Couldn’t help but write a mini chapter for today’s prompt.

“Ink and Paper “ immediately made me think of a wedding. Whew, it’s the first time I’ve attempted to participate in SasuSaku month but only for a little bit. :D I’m thoroughly enjoying it. Was looking for wedding attires and came across an artwork of a couple that looked so cute. Cherry blossom petals are a must for this art so yey.

This will be added to my fic “Of Apples and Cinnamon”

-Cherry Blossom Effects from wallpprke.blogspot.com free gif effects

#sasusaku #ssm19 #ssm19d17 #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku art

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