flutiebear:

tayloriusrex:

helloweddingdiary:

Alberta Ferretti FW 2012, Kati Nescher

love love love

When Merrill walks back into the room, Carver chokes. Loudly.

Merrill frowns down at herself. “Ugh. I knew it,” she says tightly, smoothing down the long, translucent fabric with twitching fingers. “I look like a crow in molting.”

“I c-can—see—” he gasps, flushing.

She cocks her head at him; for a brief moment, she does indeed look rather bird-like. Then she looks down at her chest and is almost surprised to notice her two dark nipples peeking back at her from behind the flirtatious embroidery.

“Oh bother,” she sighs. “Not again.”

Carver swallows. “A-again?”

“It’s only the slip! I forgot to buy the dress again. Why Isabela lets me leave the stall without the rest of the outfit, I don’t even know.”

“I think I do,” offers Carver weakly.

Merrill pouts and puts her hands on her hips. The fabric pulls taut, offering Carver an even better view. He swallows thickly and tries not to look (though not particularly hard). “She said it was Orlesian,” she whines. “And I believed her.”

“Do you,” Carver squeezes his eyes shut in the hopes that doing so might ease the torment of those perky nipples just out of hand’s reach. It doesn’t. “Do you have anything else to wear?”

“Not fancy enough for a Templar gala,” she sighs.

“Then I guess—” Flushing, Carver open one eye, gives her a sidelong look, careful to look at her face and no lower, “—we’ll just have to stay here.”

“I guess so,” she says, turning around. She heads back into her bedroom and closes the door. 

But as she does, Carver swears he sees a grin, wicked and clever, like a private joke he doesn’t quite get. But he wants to. Maker does he want to.

Smiling, he strides across the room and knocks on her door.