tight bodice

The Accidental Sext

Overview: Wrong Number AU. Piss drunk, you decided it would be a good idea to send a raunchy photo of yourself to your ex. But as fate had it, you sent it to the wrong number.

Word Count: About 4,500.

Warning(s): Swearing, drinking, drunk texts, some suggestive content, slight sexting, so much fluff. No smut, but should be 16+ to read.

Author’s Note: Modern, Muggle AU; Sirius Black x Reader. I was reading some “I accidentally sent nudes to my boss” horror stories and this idea came into my head. (Sirius is not her boss.) Enjoy! ;)

MASTERLIST

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Wings and Embers

Fellow acomaf fans,

Because I love Wings and Embers (for those who don’t know, Wings and Embers is the bonus nessian story found in the target edition of acomaf) I turned the pics I found — taken by @bookofademigod (@this post) HUGE THANKS btw. Without you, we would’ve been missing a lot!— into text so I can easily reread it. And I thought why not share it?? So here it is!

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Sledgehammer

Steve Rogers x Reader Fic

A/N: Once again I have been trolling Spotify instead of focusing on what I should be, and this is what comes of it. 

Summary: A dance party of Tony’s takes a turn when a joke is played which you don’t find funny, causing you to reveal a long kept secret.

Word Count: 3482  |  Warnings: Foul language, small angst, mostly fluff

Songs : Can’t Feel My Face by The Weekend, Sledgehammer by Fifth Harmony, There’s Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes


Your heart pounded in your chest, racing in time to the music. The bass thudding, beat heavy, sultry lyrics floating through the air. Sweat glistened on your skin as you danced with Wanda and Natasha.

Tony always threw the best parties. 

Food, drinks, and music abounded. You got to dress to the nines, fabulous clothes and shoes which made your legs look divine. There was nothing like it, in your estimation.  

The only thing which would make your night better would be if the tall blond soldier standing by the bar would come dance with you, but Steve was being the stoic, brooding Captain you knew and loved.  

Not that he knew you loved him. Everyone else did, but not Steve. The man was oblivious.  

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Their Featherbed

(Post S7 Arya/Gendry Acorn Hall/My Featherbed fanfic that I wrote to be in the show-version of events that have happened.)

The Starks are having a feast before the Long Night comes, and Arya has to wear a dress.


Sansa was holding the world’s most hideous dress in her hands. And she expected Arya to wear it. Arya didn’t even like wearing pretty dresses, let alone dresses covered in awful acorn patterns. “Where did you even get that ghastly thing?” Arya asked derisively, eyes narrowing and lips curling downwards as her gaze slid over the dark green fabric. If she wanted to wear any sort of dress, she wanted to wear Stark colors. Not an acorn dress.

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Queen Mary’s Fashion 

For many, the sixteenth-century French hood is deeply associated with Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII. Political allegiances are seen to have been displayed in the way in which individuals of status dressed. Thus the pro-French Anne, whom also spent considerable time in that country, adopted French fashion. Her predecessor and rival, Jane Seymour, is associated with English dress. To reinforce this perception further, in 1537 Lady Lisle attempted to gain a place for one of her daughters in Jane’s household. She succeeded in gaining a place for daughter Anne, but was told that the queen had commanded she lose ‘her French apparel’. Jane, it can be argued, was removing all traces of her predecessor and propagating herself as a modest woman who dressed in the more conservative English fashion than the supposedly bawdy French style.


Yet how distinctively separate were French and English styles viewed by contemporaries? Was English style really conservative? Did those women who espoused it purposely do so to portray themselves as modest women – even as conservatives in religion? And were figures like Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour really that rigid in their dress sense? Could not women adopt English, French, and indeed other continental fashions, because they simply liked the style; because such styles were becoming fashionable elsewhere?

What about Mary Tudor? By looking at her dress sense we can develop some idea of contemporary taste and whether individuals did endorse clothing for political effect or just because the items in question were fashionable at the time.

Mary adored clothes and jewels. During her years of disgrace (1533-1536), a number of her fine gowns and jewels were taken away in punishment over her refusal to recognise her new demoted status. She complained bitterly and was reduced, the imperial ambassador claims, to ‘send[ing] a gentleman to the King, her father, begging him to provide her with the necessary articles.’ Her subsequent vast expenditure on clothes, namely as queen, was in some respects a way of compensating for that experience. Yet there was also a sense of sheer joy in fashion. In 1554 the Venetian ambassador remarked that Mary ‘seems to delight above all in arraying herself elegantly and magnificently.’ She ‘changes every day’. In the later years of her father’s reign, when she was back in favour, she would pay great attention to her inventory of jewels. We find her hand in the inventory of 1542-46, carefully documenting all the items bestowed upon her. The pleasure was not only in receiving. Mary indulged in the customary practise of awarding articles of jewellery and clothing as gifts. One ‘grene Tablet garneshed wt golde hauyng the Picture of the trinite in it’ was given to ‘my laday Elizabeth grace’, her half-sister, whilst she granted one Mistress Ryder a ‘rounde tablet blacke enamelled wt the Kings Picture and quene Janes [Seymour]’ on the occasion of this woman’s marriage. Philip also received gifts of clothing from his wife. For their wedding, Philip wore a mantle of gold cloth that Mary had given him. The mantle was set with numerous precious stones.
Evidently Mary inherited her predecessor’s gowns and jewels. This is remarked upon by the Venetian ambassador:

‘She also makes great use of jewels, wearing them both on her chapron and round her neck, and as trimming for her gowns; in which jewels she delights greatly, and although she has a great plenty of them left by her predecessors, yet were she better supplied with money than she is, she would doubtlessly buy many more”.
Given that Mary was already spending a pretty sum on her wardrobe, her desire to spend more indicates the great desire she had to look good.

What type of styles, materials and colours did Mary prefer? Fortunately there exists an excellent study that provides insight into this. Alison Carter, who wrote her MA thesis on Mary’s wardrobe, observes that her accounts as queen reveal huge quantities of velvet and satin. Velvet was the most expensive and Mary frequently called for ‘Jean Duplic’ and ‘Lukes’. ‘Jean Duplic’ was possibly doubled-pilled velvet from Genoa, and ‘Lukes’ was rich velvet from Lucca, Italy. We know that Anne Boleyn had ordered shoes made of this black Genoa velvet. There also appears to be large quantities of crimson and purple velvets ordered for Mary. She also favoured black, again like Anne Boleyn. Alexander Samson remarks that we see ‘a discernable shift from the crimson and murrey dyes popular in 1554 to russet shades by 1557’ throughout her reign. Clearly Mary took notice of contemporary trends.

In the portrait of Mary by ‘Master John’ dated to c.1544 - a portrait which she commissioned – she is depicted in a gown of the French style. As Carter notes,
‘Its characteristics were square neckline, tight-fitting bodice, trained skirt, which from the 1530s had an inverted V opening at centre front, and wide oversleeves worn with ‘false’ foresleeves’.

Though Mary is depicted in the c.1544 portrait wearing this, they first actual reference to a ‘ffrenche gowne’ in her accounts dates to 1546. However five gowns mentioned in accounts of 1538 may have also been in the same style. By 1540 Mary also stops wearing the gable hood; she purchases her last one in January of that year.

For Carter, the ‘grandeur of the French gown lent itself to the rather conservative taste of the English court and more or less fossilized there long after it had passed out of fashionable French dress’. Of course what was considered conservative in England was not necessarily shared elsewhere. Clearly certain Spanish visitors during Mary’s reign did not perceive English women to dress or behave modestly. Furthermore one contemporary remarked that Mary was a saint who dressed very badly, the implication that she overdid it with the grandeur. 

As queen Mary took to wearing two sorts of garments – gowns in the French fashion, like before, and looser fitting gowns (she did wear a gown of this type during the period of mourning for her father but starts wearing these more frequently as queen). In 1554 the Venetian ambassador observed that she often wore, ‘a gown such as men wear, but fitting very close, with an under-petticoat which has a very long train; and this is her ordinary costume, being also that of the gentlewomen in England’. The gowns could be fastened at the front. As Alexander Samson summarises, the use of such gowns may have coincided with the period in which she believed herself to be pregnant:

‘This new style was increasingly favoured by Mary, possibly as a result of her phantom pregnancy, the absence of a stomacher making it a more comfortable garment for a woman with a distended abdomen. She was described on the 27th November 1554, appearing at Whitehall: “in the chamber of presence… the Quene sat highest, rychly aparelid, and her belly laid out, that all men might see that she was with child. At this parliament they did laboure was made to haue the kyng crowned and some thought that the Quene for that cause, dyd lay out her belly the more. On the right hand of the Quene sat the king"’.

What was Mary attempting to do with her style of dress? Was she intended to propagate her religious and political sympathies, or just adopting the fashion of the time?

Carter argues that Mary pioneered the ‘Gloriana image’ associated with her predecessor and half-sister, Elizabeth I. ‘Mary was, I believe, a supreme and yet generally unacknowledged exponent of that image, able to dress with the utmost sumptuosity and yet propriety, with a “taste for dress” as Beatrice White perceptively comments “that never degenerated into the baroque or ridiculous”. Mary dressed to impress, and found enjoyment in this. Recently Susan James has argued that Mary lacked any particularly interest in art itself, but was interested in using it for political means. If that was the case, and I think this needs to be questioned, fashion was regarded in a much different light. It was far more ‘personal’ and meaningful to her.

This enjoyment in fashion extended to Mary’s numerous stepmothers, Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour included. Jane may have worn the English gable hood, indicated in portraits of her, but there is the possibility that she adopted other headdresses. As her wardrobe accounts as queen are limited, and in fact don’t mention gable hoods at all though we know she must have worn them, we cannot determine with precision that she only wore certain styles of dress. Clearly Jane, like her stepdaughter and her predecessor Anne Boleyn, adored sumptuous materials; she owned numerous gowns and tended to favour tawny, crimson and yellow. As queen Jane readily accepted the jewels and garments of her predecessors. She may have attempted to control what her maids like Anne Basset were wearing, but she could not deter the popularity of French dress in England. She inherited Anne Boleyn’s gowns and jewels and did so gladly, just as Mary, throughout the rest of Henry’s reign and upon her own accession to the throne, inherited the goods of her predecessors. Ultimately Mary went with the fashion. And if the fashion was for French, then she would acquire that style.

What happened though when Mary went to war with France as queen? Would not the wearing of French influenced attire be inappropriate? Alison Carter identifies Philip’s arrival in England with the subsequent popularity of facets of Spanish dress. Spanish styles had, she argues, been incorporated into the few festive displays held at Mary and Philip’s court and this had an impact on its popularity amongst the nobility. Contemporaries remarked that before Philip’s arrival, male dress in England was influenced by the Italian style; after it became more Spanish. Mary too, and her women, were influenced by Spanish dress; her gowns become, Carter states, ‘remarkably similar in style and decoration under a unifying European, but predominately Spanish influence’. Carter portrays Mary as a woman frequently incorporating the most fashionable styles in her own dress, thus she did not move away entirely from French styles. The move to Spanish dress is evident yet predates England’s declaration of war on France in 1557. What dispels the notion that Mary was motivated particularly by political events in her style of dress is that fact that in 1558 she orders seven French kirtles for loose gowns.

A few months after her death, several of Jane Seymour’s ladies returned to wearing the French hood. It was after all the fashion; gable hoods were becoming terribly outdated. Like these women, Mary was aware of current trends and wished to display herself as befitting her status. Mary may have been the monarch’s illegitimate daughter, specifically verified as so in the 1536 Act of Succession, and was for eight following years not included in the succession, but she was nonetheless a leading lady at court and the daughter of the monarch. She dressed well and understood the importance of dressing to impressive. Mary was first lady at court during the rare occasions that her father was without a queen. Did she perhaps take this time to further her knowledge on public presentation? Possibly and this would have been no hardship. For Mary, looking good was a pleasure and a duty.

( article from the blog mary-tudor.blogspot.com)

Sleeping With the Enemy

A/N:  Ok, so what had happened was, @archangel-with-a-shotgun shared a story about being invited to a ball by Crowley, and then the most recent installment of @icecream-and-gadreel’s smutacular series involved a Crowley scene, and I really should not be held accountable for my actions, after that.

Summary: The reader and the Winchesters infiltrate Crowley’s Halloween masquerade ball, in order to steal a powerful talisman.  Crowley offers the reader a deal.

Word Count: 5,080ish.  Sorry, not sorry.  I, much like my beloved sinnamon roll, enjoy a little torture before the grand finale. 

Menu I mean Warnings:  THE MOST BLAZINGLY FILTHY SMUTTY SMUT I HAVE EVER WRITTEN!  YE WERE WARNED!  Power struggle, demon power!kink, oral sex (female receiving), semi-public sex, Crowley’s magical thundercock, ALL the dirty talk, Dom!Crowley, unprotected sex (do it right or pay the price, kids).

Soundtrack: http://8tracks.com/forestspirit/harbingers-of-the-dead

“I can’t believe you made me wear this thing.” You tugged lightly at the crimson velvet of your gown, trying to hike the neckline up.

“Shut up, you look awesome.” Dean teased.  “Besides, it’s a costume party.  Not like you could show up in your usual duds.”

The colonial-style gown was undeniably beautiful.  (Dean had looked so proud of himself when he brought it home from the costume shop.)  It was the kind of thing any princess wannabe would give her left arm to wear.  The problem was you.  You didn’t belong in a getup like this- you were a hunter for fuck’s sake.  The tight, low cut bodice restricted your movements, and while the wide skirts were perfect for concealing weaponry, they were heavy and swished around when you moved, getting caught on doorways and furniture.  It made you feel confined and clumsy.  Not like yourself at all. 

Then again, that was the point of a masquerade, wasn’t it?  You huffed and yanked on your neckline, again.

“Screw you, Winchester.  I look like a Hamilton reject.   How come you’re not in costume, huh?”

“Believe me, sweetheart.  This monkey suit is plenty.”  He adjusted the jacket of his tux, as if the black wool were strangling him.  “Plus, we’ve got the whole mask thing going on.”  He indicated the black velvet domino mask covering half his face.  “Now that’s above and beyond.”

“You look beautiful, Y/N.”  Sam chimed in from behind his golden sun mask.  “If anything, Dean and I are underdressed.”

Sighing, you turned to take in the sight before you.

When Crowley hosted a Halloween masquerade, he didn’t half-ass it.  The huge black marble ballroom was swirling with intricate costumes.  There was a man (demon, you corrected yourself) in a top hat and tails covered with feathers, giving him the look of a rather stately raven.  A giggling woman passed by wearing a tight gown covered in red and yellow sequins (or were they embers?), with what looked like real flames dancing through her hair.

Sam was right.  Even in your tight, swishing velvet, you were so plainly out of place.  So very human. You tightened the strap on your red fox mask, trying to disappear.

“Ok, let’s get what we came for and go.  I don’t want to be here a second longer than we have to.” You grumbled.

“10-4.” Replied Dean.

“We’ll split up, meet back here in an hour?” Said Sam.

You all nodded and went your separate ways.  The boys headed in opposite directions, toward twin hallways on either side of the ballroom.  That meant you got to weave through the crowd.  Joy.

You passed by a buffet table, piled high with fruit, bread, cheese, and what you chose to believe was beef.  You didn’t take anything.  You did, however, take a flute of champagne from a silver tray as it passed, carried by a hunched form in a goblin mask.  Wait, was that a mask?  By the time you looked again, the server was gone.  

You looked more closely at the figures around you.  They weren’t all demons.  There was a faerie queen in a dress of autumn leaves, a crown of willow branches on her head.  She was attended by a knight in orange mail armor, and -yes!- the knight did have a fluffy tail that swished in and out of view as she pivoted, guarding her queen.  In an alcove, sitting on leather couches and sipping blood from crystal stemware, were some vampires who apparently never got the memo about goth fashion being cliche for their kind.  

The more you looked, the more variation you saw in the guests.  Witches, werewolves, faeires, vampires, djin… This wasn’t just a Halloween party for Crowley’s court, it was a fucking state sumit.  

“Now, what is a beautiful creature like you doing hanging about in the shadows?” said a smooth cockney voice in your ear.  You whirled around to face the speaker, praying your disguise was good enough.  

Crowley was dressed in an impeccable black suit and blood red tie, as usual.  His “costume”, it seemed, was a long burgundy cape with a high collar and a matching leather mask shaped like a skull.  Four demonic horns protruded from the top of his mask, giving the appearance of a crown.  Subtle.  With a flourish of his cape, he bowed and offered his hand, looking through his lashes as he said with a grin, “What do you say, love?  Care to dance with the devil?”

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24. Halloween Night (Steve Rogers x Reader)

You’re going to a Halloween party with Steve’s friends, but your Halloween costume makes Steve decide to have a change of plans.  

Warning: Hot, dirty stuff. Sex with Steve. 18+.

Originally posted by sadbatfleck

“The guys are coming over any minute,” Steve calls out to you. You were going to a Halloween party with his friends.  He promised there would be no work tonight, and so you wanted to make the most out of this Halloween evening as possible.

“Are you in costume already?,” you shout from the bedroom, slipping on part of your costume — black fishnet thigh-high stockings.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers, and you detect a grin on his face. “I’m afraid of no ghosts!,” he adds. You laugh. Steve had been catching up on ’80s movies the previous week, and he was so amused by the Ghostbusters. You had helped him order the Ghostbusters tan jumpsuit online, complete with an inflatable proton pack and a ghost phaser. “I can’t wait to see your surprise!”

The doorbell rings. “They’re here, sweetheart,” Steve says. You hear him walk to the door. It’s been a couple of months since you and Steve had moved in together, and his friends had dropped by on several occasions. Still, you can’t help but get intimidated when they’re around. You hurriedly put on your costume, knowing Steve will be quite surprised by how naughty your look is. You suddenly feel shy having to make an entrance with his friends in the living room.

“Hi sweetie!,” Nat calls out from the living room, a few seconds after you unlock the door and hesitate going out. You peek your head out and see them all comfortable on the couch, laughing over something Clint had just said. They all look great - Clint’s in a wolf costume, Bruce is looking like Harry Potter, Wanda is Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, and Nat is dressed as Rey from Star Wars. You giggle at the sight of Clint.

“Hi guys,” you smile, walking out of your room. Everyone’s eyes widen as you fully appear before them, their laughter cut off when they see you dressed as a very sexy Red Riding Hood. Steve turns to follow their stares, and his jaw drops open at the sight of you. “Hi,” you say again, but this time locking eyes only with your boyfriend. You watch Steve’s eyes travel up and down your body, eyeing the top of your breasts pushing out of your tight red satin bodice,  down your red satin circle skirt that stops mid-thigh, down your stocking-clad legs and fiery red heels. Your red satin hooded cape is striking against your brunette curls.

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This is my first imagine I’m posting on here! I normally post these on my Wattpad (you can message me for the username for there if you want) but I wanted to give Tumblr a try! I hope you all enjoy and please feel free to send me some feedback! I would really appreciate it! Also please tell me if you want more! Enjoy! x

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BLOOD LUST

“A bit too tight, Mama,” I wince slightly as she yanks the strings to my corset so tight I couldn’t breathe.

“Pain is beauty, Adelaide, and if you need to look absolutely perfect for when the King comes to town tomorrow. The Master can’t see you looking anything less than perfect,” She says as she takes a pin from her mouth and places it near the new, makeshift hem so she can remember to sew there so I won’t trip over my own dress tomorrow.

“I’m scared. He has never come to town. Do you know what he’s coming for?” I whisper as I look out the window to see the tiny faeries glowing brightly as they fly and dance in the moonlight, darting to each and every scarce flower they could find in the chill of winter to find pollen to make their faerie dust. Mama tenses and pauses for a moment before shrugging and continuing her work.

I giggle and wave as one of the faeries flies to the glass and watches in awe as the candle light illuminates my dress that I was to wear for when Master arrived.

The mere thought of him sent chills down my spine. I had never met nor seen him, but I had definitely heard of the cruel, vampire king who ruled over this land. His skin was so pale that it was nearly translucent, every bluish-green vein noticeable, with eyes so red, it was like a fire blazed within them. He had chestnut brown curls that barely grazed his shoulders and his teeth were glistening white with points so sharp that with just a bit of pressure, he could pierce your neck and drain you dry in seconds.

They say he is a sad man, even though he ruled over many, many lands with all the riches of the world. In his thousand year reign, he never found love and, tales say, he searches relentlessly for his mate but to no avail. He knows only two features of his intended mate; fiery, red hair, the color of the very thing he craves the most, and eyes as green as emeralds just as his used to be before his blood lust settled in. They say his eyes have been red for hundreds of years, so long that they were beginning to say his past, gentle, kind nature and viridescent eyes were a myth.

Rumors were now going around that his sadness was developing into fierce, desperate anger, setting fire to every village that lied to him, saying there was a girl there who matches the description of his beloved.

I was used to the stares, the whispers, and pointing over my eighteen years in this world. I was the only redhead on a town of snow blondes and chestnut brunettes; a peculiar sight. I knew I matched the description of the king’s mate and so did everyone else in this tiny town. Sometimes, I dreamed vividly of a man so beautiful that he took my breath away. Even though I never dreamt of him with eyes like fire, only deep green, I knew it was the Master, the king, but I tried not to think much of it. I could never be his beloved.

“Okay, darling. Take it off so I can finish the hemming. I want to be able to get some sleep tonight,” my mother says tiredly as I slip off the beautiful, flowing dress and hand it to her.

Leaning over, she places a small kiss onto my forehead. Pulling back, she gazes at my face with an odd look in her eyes before sighing quietly. “Get some sleep, Adelaide. It could be a big day for us tomorrow,” she says and I immediately know she’s talking about the mate rumors. I nod softly as I pull on a nightgown before climbing into bed.

She walks out of my room, the wooden door eerily creaking shut, and I tug my quilted blanket closer as I hear the winter wind whip against the trees, the snowfall making it difficult to see the faeries glow as they continue to desperately scavenge for a few more hours until barren winter truly begins.

Feeling myself start to drift off, I lean over and with a quick gust of breath, I blow out my candle and my room goes completely dark, moonlight slowly creeping in through the window. Closing my eyes, I wonder if I’m going to dream of Master tonight as sleep overtakes me.

________

The once boiling water that was now my bath was starting to chill as I soaked absentmindedly. I could hear the villagers clamoring and shouting outside as they ready for the King’s arrival. I couldn’t believe that they believe that I was his mate so much that they sent a messenger to his castle. They put our little village, our home, in danger because of their beliefs. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“Adelaide! Time to get out! The watchers spotted Master Styles about thirty minutes away, my child!” My mother shouts as I wash the rose oil off my body. Standing, I let the water roll and drip off my naked body as I grab my towel and quickly dry off.

Walking out into my bedroom, I gasp at the beauty of the dress my mother had finished making. The tight, corseted bodice was intricately designed with elegant pearls that shown with brilliant luster. My breasts were lightly pushed up and my pale skin looked even more translucent in the white dress. The flowing skirt billowed to my feet and felt soft on my legs. Extra fabric made a cape-like train appearance that just kissed the ground behind me as I walked. It was beautiful.

My hair was down with a few elaborate, delicate braids across the middle. On top of my head, my mother placed a wreath of baby’s breath that showed a stark contrast against my blazing red hair.

Turning to my mother, I open my mouth to speak when a loud horn is blown. The King was here.

My mother quickly grabs my hand and pulls me out of the house. My father and my younger brother stand there in the snow, looking down the beaten, dirt road in awe. For once, the tinkling of small bells was not heard as the faeries hid from the cold winter. Only gasps and whispers were trickling into my ears as I turn to see what all the fuss is about.

Walking further into the road, I stand there as dry leaves crack and crinkle under my feet, the ground cold and damp from the melting snow.


My eyes dart around to see the villagers in their best outfits gazing at me for a quick second before looking back down the road in trembling fear and excitement. Looking forward, I squint slightly only to gasp to myself as I see a small team of steel, black carriages pulled by dark stallions. Their heavy puffs of breath were evident in the cold air and their black manes were flowing behind them as they trotted, tiny, white snowflakes getting caught in the strands.

They slowly come to a halt as I feel my heart beating fast in my chest, my breathing becoming more and more frantic as I see a man hop down from his driving seat and open a carriage door. One dark boot stepping out is all it takes to send my body into overdrive before a masterpiece of a man as beautiful as the legends say fully steps out of the carriage. For someone who has lived over two thousand years, he still looked youthful and perfect.

His face is smug and dark as he looks around with a slight scowl, the commoners and people of the town swarming him instantly. His steps were calculated and determined as he walks to the stage where local news is normally projected. It was amazing to think he could actually run faster than a gust of wind.

I was in awe of him.

“My people,” he starts as something inside of me begins to tingle and a feeling I’ve never felt comes over me. His voice was raspy and smooth like thick, sweet molasses, sending every hair on my body on end.

He inhales deeply, looking like he was in pain and holding himself back but it seemed me and his guards were the only ones who notice. His guards take a step towards him as if they were ready for him to pounce on someone any second.

“As the years go by, your king stays healthy and young, ruling over this country fairly and keeping war at bay. But as I stay young, my servants and my slaves, especially my dear, sweet, generous blood slaves, grow old and frail. When they grow a certain age or get sickly,” he smiles kindly but I could see the maliciousness behind it. “I dispose of them, letting them leave the castle and go to a… a better place.” He says as the townspeople grow curious and anxious at his impending words.

This is not what they thought he was here for. He wasn’t looking for his mate at all when he decided to come to our village. He was looking for slaves, particularly blood slaves!

I take a step back as the realization comes over me, hoping no one will notice but the guard beside the king locks eyes with me and smiles demonically, his sharp teeth glistening as I imagine all the blood he has sucked from innocent people. His smile widens when he sees the color of my hair and his intrigue deepens.

“So, my lovely people, you are going to have to make a decision - a sacrifice, if you will - and hand over just a handful, only a handful, of your healthiest. After all, it’s the least you can do for your king,” he smiles once more, surveying the area as the people begin to panic. They didn’t want to be separated from their families!

Shouts of disagreement and outrage fill the small space before he holds his hands up to silence them. “If that’s how you are going to behave…Seize them,” he flicks his wrist, instructing his guards to rush into the crowd and start grabbing our healthiest and best-looking villagers.

I let out a small yelp of fear as I turn on my heel and start to run, gathering my dress up so I don’t trip and fall. Looking back, I see the guard I locked eyes with fighting through the crowd to get to me. Sending a quick prayer, I rush into the dark, nearby woods.

“Sir, there is a lady with red hair! Matching the description of your beloved!” I hear the man say as I run through the trees.

“Where?” The way Master Styles speaks sounded desperate and angry that the guard let me get away. His deadly, demonic tone sends shivers down my spine. By now, tears of fear are rolling down my cheeks as I feel briars and switches cutting into my legs as I run for my life.

“She ran through there!” is all I hear until an inhuman growl pierces the air and strikes terror into my heart. My breathing is harsh and scarce as my corset digs into my ribs and I feel myself becoming lightheaded.

Coming to the edge of the woods, I spot the clearing where our horses are kept. The grass is long and it was dark as it was still early in the morning and the winter clouds covered the sun. I pray the heavy odor of the horses will cover my scent as the wind blows, causing my dress to billow freely behind me.

I become so distracted by my loss of breath and the horses stampeding across the dark plain, I forget the one that is chasing me.

“Let me see your face.”

The voice that belongs to the vampire king sounds hopeless and sad, begging for me to turn and face him. I freeze for a moment, scared out of my wits before something inside of me yearns for me to turn to him.

Slowly, I turn to face him and our eyes lock. Instantly, a feeling I have never felt before takes over me and I suddenly want nothing more than to spend my life loving this man.  In a split second, his deep red eyes instantly turn emerald green as a dimpled, beautiful smile outbreaks on his face. His eyes fill with tears as he takes a step towards me, arms open to embrace me.

“My love, you don’t know how long I have waited for you.” He speaks softly and before I know it, he is within arms reach and gently taking my hand in his. He lightly gasps at the electrifying shock that goes through us and somehow his smile grows wider.

“You’re bleeding.” He states simply, making me look down to see my dress torn and my feet and my shin dripping blood from the briars. Surprisingly, I wasn’t scared as he leans down and places his face in the crook of my neck, even though I could feel his sharp fangs scraping across my vital veins. “Your blood smells so sweet, so delicious.” I tremble at his words, his tone causing tingles to run through me.

I actually wanted him to bite me.

Tiny, curious faeries emerge from the wood and their tiny bell-like rings fill my ears as a few watch us. I mentally say goodbye to them in my mind.

“What is your name, my darling?” He asks as he continues to lightly drag his teeth down my soft, vulnerable neck.

“A-Adelaide, Your Highness,” I whispered shakily, shocking myself as I turn my head to expose even more of my throat.

“Adelaide,” He purrs my name, the tingles now in my most private and secret place. I blush at my thoughts and feelings after just meeting this man, but what he does next shocks me to the core.

“You will never run from me or leave again. You’re mine now, ” He says, his voice turning dark before his sharp teeth sink into my neck and a bloodcurdling scream escapes me as he holds me still. He is ravenous and acts as if he hadn’t drank in years as I feel my body being drained dry. He slowly sinks us to the ground and I feel the soft grass against my skin as I stare up at the sky in shock, my mouth open in a silent scream as I feel myself becoming weaker and weaker. My pure white dress was now covered in my own blood as it drained out of the two puncture wounds in my neck.

Finally, he pulls away and I stare at his blood covered face as I feel my eyes failing me. Still, I did not fear him for an unknown reason. I trusted him as he whispers and lulls me to close my eyes. “Sleep, sweet Adelaide. We are going home now.”

The Naked Truth

Written by: @peetaspikelets

Dialogue Prompt: this has got to be the strangest day of my life…(submitted by @xerxia31)

Rating: M (for nudity and language)

A/N: I need to thank Mr Pikelet for helping me bring this story to life. He brought ‘an event’ to my attention and after my initial shock and a bit of a giggle I thought I have to everlark this some how. 

A BIG thank you to my beta @sponsormusings for her amazing guidance, support and advice. I would be lost without you!

Enjoy!

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once-upon-a-ghost-blog  asked:

I absolutely love the Regency Au, I spent three hours going through the tag and reading everything about it! If it's okay, what're Steve and Bucky's reactions to Tony's pregnancy? And how do they win back their forgiveness after hurting Tony's feelings?

Anonymous said:But now we’ve gotta know how and when Tony does tell them he’s pregnant!!! So many cliff hangers! Lol Glad the boys are all making up now :) Anonymous said:Angst Angst so much Angst!!!! How could you??! (No I am just kidding! Hit me with all the angst!) So when does Tony tell Bucky and Steve about the baby? And how do they react to it??! Your Regency AU is Life!!!!

Anonymous said:!!!!! Regency AU!!! The way Bucky started sobbing. Omg. I cannot. The feels. When does Tony tell them about the pregnancy?? How do they react? I’m imagining a whole load of them panicking/getting over excited over every little thing

Anonymous said:HOW DOES TONY TELL THEM ABOUT THE BABY? HOW DO THEY REAcT?

Anonymous said:YOU CANT LEAVE US ON THAT ANGST! HOW DO THEY MAKE UP IM CRYING POOR TONY

Anonymous said:freaking out cuz baby!!! omg what happens next?! im like crying and flailing here!! how do they get over such a big thing for bucky and then making it up to tony! and how does he tell them about the baby?!

shadowedsoulforever said:Ahh! I am absolutely loving the Regency AU! The angst about Bucky and the apology/fix it was amazing! However, now I am curious, how and when does Tony tell Steve and Bucky about his pregnancy? Please!? 😍😆

Anonymous said:How does tony tell them about the baby in the regency au!?!? I’m totally obsessed with this au!!!!

Anonymous said:Regency AU: How does Tony tell Bucky and Steve about the baby!?What are their individual responses? Is Tony nervous about being pregnant? Are they nervous about his health?

Anonymous said:Soooo…. How does Steve earn Tony’s forgiveness? :D Lovin this!!

Well, Tony’s actually willing to tell the boys about the baby immediately because he feels it’s something they should know, but then Bucky starts sobbing and he thinks now isn’t the time. So he spends the next few days just getting Bucky settled (back in their room!) and hovering when Helen or Bruce change his bandages. (“Would you like to do this?” Helen asks snidely, and Tony brightens at the idea. “No,” Bruce cuts in, making Tony deflate. “I don’t see why he couldn’t,” Steve reasons, and then Bruce glares at him and he continues, “You know what you’re right that’s an absolutely awful idea. Silly me.”)

Bucky doesn’t have to do much to get Tony to forgive him. Tony has decided he gets a pass because almost his entire arm had to be amputated. Also because Bucky cried and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore and Tony can’t imagine all the turmoil Bucky went through knowing that he had been changed irreparably and fearing that Tony wouldn’t want him anymore, as if Tony cared about that kind of thing. Steve, on the other hand, waits on Tony hand and foot, which Tony appreciates, because that means he can cuddle with Bucky more since Bucky is still confined to bed rest. (“Help me escape,” Bucky begs him. “Tony, please.” “But Bruce said you need to stay in bed,” Tony insists. “That’s why I said escape, honey.” “…But Bruce said…” Bucky flops back onto the pile of pillows Tony had been fussing over with a sigh, lifting his remaining arm. Tony squeaks happily and cuddles up against him, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky can’t really complain.) Steve even learns how to draw a bath for Tony. The servants hate it but they appreciate that Steve is trying to make it up to Tony (the servants have Opinions about what happened between the three of them but are smart enough not to voice them).

So Steve draws a bath, a little excited because Bucky has healed enough that he’s been approved for actual baths instead of the sponge-baths he’d previously had to suffer through. (Not that he’d suffered much when Tony had demanded to take over the sponge-baths. Steve might be a little jealous about how much attention Bucky had received during those sponge-baths. Maybe Steve should get injured. Just a little.) So they wrap the stump of Bucky’s arm in cheesecloth with beeswax on it to keep it from getting too wet and ease him into the tub. And then Steve helps Tony undressed to ease him into the tub as well. Tony slips but it’s okay because Steve has him–he always helps Tony into the bath now–and oh. Oh, at this angle it almost looks like–but that’s ridiculous. Steve squints at Tony’s stomach suspiciously, but eventually allows him into the tub the rest of the way.

“I’ll see if it can be let out,” Steve overhears one day, and peeks into Tony’s closet. The seamstress was carefully holding one of Tony’s dresses closed behind him. It looked a little tight. Not that Tony’s bodices left a lot to the imagination anyway but… normally he didn’t have to have people hold his dress shut. But then, Tony hadn’t been as active as he usually was. He’d taken to sitting with Bucky instead of going on rides or sparring with Steve. Perhaps being sedentary was making him gain a little weight. HMM.

Bucky grunts as Tony slips out of his arm late at night. He dozes as he waits for Tony, but realizes with a jolt that Tony has not come back for quite some time. And now that he’s awake, he can hear retching. Bucky tries to wake Steve but he’s on his left, lying half on top of him, and ever since the war ended Steve has slept like the dead, probably to make up for all the nights he was too frightened to sleep. Luckily Tony emerges from the bathroom just in time to keep Bucky from walloping Steve on the head. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, concerned, and holds his arm out to him. Tony curls up against his side and sighs. “’m fine.” “You were gone quite a while,” Bucky says, trying to wheedle a little more information out of him. “I guess something at dinner disagreed with me,” Tony offers, shrugging. “And then I had to pee.” Bucky accepts it. But now he notices Tony escaping to the bathroom a little more often than usual. HMM.

Bucky and Steve both notice Sarah giving Tony these meaningful glances when she comes to visit them, too. Well, she’s always given Tony meaningful glances, but Tony usually looked more confused by them than understanding. Now the looks he gives Sarah in response actually seem to carry an answer to her wordless questions. They wonder if this is what Tony feels like when Steve and Bucky talk to each other with their eyebrows. They will have to stop doing that. This doesn’t feel very good, actually. Then Sarah starts pulling Tony aside to talk to him and Tony always looks embarrassed. HMM.

So one day, when Steve is helping Bucky wrestle himself into a shirt so Tony can pin the empty arm up out of the way, Tony swallows thickly and says, “So, um, it’s been a while since we’ve… been intimate.” Bucky grunts. “Not quite sure I’m up to it yet, sweetheart.” Tony blushes. “That’s not what I meant!” “Oh, honey, if you want to read your erotic novels, you can,” Steve answers absently. Tony chokes. They knew about those?! “I mean–I–That’s not–” Steve and Bucky turn to face him in confusion because he sounds almost upset.

Tony looks mortified but he presses on anyway. “We–we haven’t been intimate for a while!” Steve and Bucky nod slowly. “So I’ve–been able to notice–things.” Steve and Bucky look nervous. Tony can feel his own nerves getting frazzled with anxiety. “Things about my… my body!” Steve and Bucky look concerned at this. “Oh you idiots,” Tony says. “I’m with child.” Steve and Bucky immediately look down at his stomach. “The dresses,” Steve gasps. “The retching,” Bucky gasps. They look at each other, then gasp together, “Ma.” Tony blinks at them owlishly.

Then Steve surges to his feet, grabs Tony around the waist, and spins him in a circle, shouting, “A baby!” Tony laughs helplessly, reaching down to grab his wrists. “Yes, a baby!” Bucky squirms out of the mountain of pillows propping him up and onto his feet. Steve helpfully sets Tony on his feet so Bucky can cup his cheek, leaning down to press their foreheads together as he whispers, “A baby.” Tony smiles shyly, dropping his gaze from Bucky’s eyes to his chin in embarrassment. “Yes.” “Do you think,” Bucky begins, then stops, choked up a little. “…Do you think I’ll still be able to hold the baby?” “Of course, Buck,” Steve cuts in when Tony is too stricken to answer. “You only need one arm, really. Babies are small. And there’s–there’s time! We’ll have time to get your arm strengthened up again.”

Tony blushes a little and takes Bucky’s hand between both of his own. “Maybe–maybe you can get back to the strength you had before the–um, accident. When you–when you could lift me with one arm.” Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, unable to help a disbelieving smile. “I–if you can lift me, you can definitely hold a baby!” Tony sputters, embarrassed, and squeaks when Bucky takes a step toward him. He squeaks again when he backs into Steve, who wastes no time crowding him back up against Bucky. “Been a while since we were intimate indeed,” Steve says in amusement, and Bucky laughs. Tony hides his flushed face against Bucky’s chest and tries not to giggle when they tickle him to try to get him to stop hiding.

Super Special Limited-Edition Snark Post: Wings and Embers short story

As you’re probably aware, Chapter 40 of AC0MAF shattered my brain into little pieces. To give myself a reprieve, and y’all a treat, I’ve finally given in and decided to do the Ness/ian short story, “Wings and Embers” from the Target-exclusive edition of AC0MAF. Get hype. 

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Behind A Mask

A/N: Only a day late, but oh well, it’s the thought that counts?? Oh well, hopefully you’ll feel the love in this @consulting-dragon-slayer! Happy belated birthday, and part two should be up soon, hopefully lol!!

Lucy had no desire of finding a suitor, and yet when a mysterious stranger steals her attention at a ball Lucy learns that some masks reveal a pleasant surprise. 

Masquerade AU

Pairing: Nalu, Fairy Tail

Word Count:  5926

Rating: M (no nsfw in this part)

Part: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Lucy twirled around the grand ballroom, face kept in a pleasant smile, not too large but not too small, not too fake as to offend the man whose arm she was hovering her fingers over but not too real so that it touched her honey eyes. The classical music ended, and she curtsied to the man as he bowed to her, his name in the back of her mind but not important enough to truly remember.

This wasn’t her ball after all.

Feigning faintness, Lucy scurried away from the man as quickly as polite society would allow, hollow promises of another dance tumbling from her lips before she brought up a delicate grey lace fan and covering half her face. She walked daintily but purposefully towards a group of two other girls by the refreshments, sparkling champagne glasses in each girl’s hand. Both girls had silver white hair, an ethereal reflection of pale gold shining from the hundreds of candles hung from grand crystal chandeliers and along the walls of the room. Despite it being well past sun down the large room was well lit, yet another symbol of the status held by the people in attendance.

Lucy brushed off several more requests for dances, coming to a rest beside the shorter of the two and releasing a heavy sigh. The two girls giggled as Lucy put away her fan, gracefully allowing the material to return to it’s flattened state and twirling the fan in between her fingers, satin gloves making it more difficult to control.

“My, my,” the taller girl tittered, peeking at Lucy over the top of her glass as she took a sip, “looks like our Lucy has stolen the attention of the party,”. Blue eyes fluttered heavily coated lashes at Lucy, small smile enhanced with a deep red lip gloss, the rest of her makeup simple but impecable. A black mask with purple and silver swirls covered a slim portion of her face, silver tie disappearing into her curls. Her silver hair, while longer than other girl’s, was pulled up in a large pile of ringlets, twirling strands falling around her face and at the nape of her neck, her bangs pulled back into the collection of hair on top of her head. Her dress was a deep purple, satin bodice decorated with silvery white embroidery, an ode to the tresses on her head. It fell out from her waist in a waterfall of gathered material, same plum colour constant all the way through, with only minor decorations of jewels and delicate stitching. The shoulderless dress enhanced her already noticeable curves, bust spilling a little from the tight confines of the corset. It was honestly one of her more modest outfits, but then again it wasn’t her ball either.

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Small Talk

Happy Birthday @damselindistressmya - you wanted Office Party fic and this is what I came up with. Thank you for your honesty and your friendship.

S7 || Fluff || MSR || Teen 


Watching from a distance, nobody but Mulder would know how uncomfortable she is in the crowded room. Scully prides herself on it. While he lurks in a corner, all but concealed behind a pillar with a warm beer and a bowl of peanuts he swiped from one of the tables, she works the room, talking and nodding in a way that makes her hair catch the light as it just barely kisses the exposed swoop of her neck. She’s wearing a dress, fitted but not tight, with skinny straps that keep threatening to roll off her shoulders when someone presses past. She’s not carrying a weapon and she smiles widely when the man next to her says something, but the brightness of her teeth never reaches her eyes.

Mulder watches her shift her weight from foot to foot, focussing on the agitated circling of her ankle instead of the slimness of her leg vanishing seductively into a glossy stiletto pump. He watches her fingers flex against her wineglass, notes her flinch almost imperceptibly when one of her circle nudges her arm too familiarly. He sees the platters of canapes whisk by just out of reach, that her glass is almost empty, and he knows her patience will be wearing thin. 

It’s taken them seven years to even start to verbalise what they mean to each other, but he has been able to read her signs from almost the very beginning. Abandoning his beer and his hiding space, Mulder makes a pitstop or two and arrives at Scully’s side just as she empties her glass.

The man next to her, from Homicide he thinks, draws breath to offer her a refill but Mulder has already staked his claim, his finger light on the snowdrop skin inside her elbow, and his head bent in closer than is normal for anyone but them.

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I Do

Dean Winchester x Reader

1550 Words

Story Summary:  It’s your wedding day. Everything was perfect, except for one thing. The groom wasn’t Dean Winchester.

“Honey. You look beautiful.” Your Mom told you, while you sat in front of the oval mirror, applying the finishing touches to your makeup. The hair stylist had already left, after fixing your hair up in gentle curls, some gathered on top of your head while others floated softly around, framing your face beautifully.

“Mom, I don’t even have my dress on yet.” You exclaimed, still sitting in your silk robe. You were in a small room off to the side of the church, a room that was filled with you, your Mom, and your maid of honor.

You were getting married, your white satin dress hanging up beside you, but you felt a lump in your stomach instead of the joy you should be feeling. The reception hall was perfectly decorated, you had checked that earlier this morning. Your flowers were perfect, you had something borrowed, something blue. Everything was going as it should. Everything that is, except for who you were marrying.

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Dress Pt. 2 (Laf x Reader)

Word Count:2,477 (wow I got carried away)

Warnings: Swear words, Angst, Slight NSFW

Authors Note: I’m so happy people have been responding to my writing! Thank you for motivating me to keep writing anons! Send in requests, and thank you for giving me feed back!

Part 1

It had been a few days since your date with Thomas, and his charming demeanor had gotten the best of you. You spent most of Saturday morning daydreaming what your next date would be like, your first kiss, and maybe even the future. The boys entered your dorm and saw you lying in bed still in your PJs at 3 pm. “What’s gotten into her?” Herc asked eyeing Lafayette cautiously. “Guys I’ve got it bad.” you replied. “Mon ami, are you sick?” Laf asked. “LOVE SICK” you replied back smiling at the ceiling. Although you couldn’t see, Laf’s face had contorted into frown as his eyebrows furrowed together. Alex gave Laf a sympathetic look and pat his back. “Want to hear about it?” you enthusiastically asked the group of boys. John’s curiosity got the best of him as he excitedly nodded his head like an eager puppy. As you began telling the story, you realized that Laf started to daze off, looking at your collection of postcards pasted on your wall, then your ceiling light. “Laf, are you listening?” He turned his face back to you and forced a smile onto his face. “Actually, I think I’d rather get going than listen to you talk about your date.” He said quite bitterly with the same fake smile plastered on his face. The boys turned to each other with wide eyes. You were quite surprised yourself. You had never seen Laf so bitter, he had always been so supportive. “Umm, ok Laf. I’ll see you around?” you questioned. “Yeah” he replied unable to meet your eyes. You turned back to the remaining three boys. “What’s gotten into him?”

Laf made his way into the commons slowly dragging his feet. He had never seen you so happy since college started. He didn’t want to take that away from you, but at the same time he couldn’t stand to see you fall for Thomas. Just as he got to the corner he heard Thomas and James talking. He stopped to listen. “Dude give me the money” Thomas’s voice, Laf recognized. Then James spoke “ugh, fine. I can’t believe you actually like Y/N. You could do so much better.” Lafayette clenched his fists. “Yeah, but I mean she’s so hot. I never noticed her in those huge sweatshirts and leggings.” Thomas stated. “Just think, if I had never bet on  you to ask out Y/N you never would’ve gotten her.” James replied with a smirk audible in the way he spoke. At that Laf had heard enough to put the puzzle pieces together. He stepped out from the corner and straight for Thomas’s collar. He fisted the purple material of Thomas’s button down and pushed him against the wall. “So you’re telling me you asked out Y/N because James bet you?” Laf spat inches away from Thomas’s face. A smirk appeared on Thomas’s face. “Well, well, well. Seems like someone has been eavesdropping.” Thomas said calmly with a taunting smirk. “You don’t deserve Y/N. Do you know how much she cares about you? You only want her for her looks. I bet you don’t even care about her personality.” Laf began. “You are right my friend” Thomas cut in. “She’s just my arm candy. But don’t worry Lafayette. I’ll be done with her soon so you can get some.” “Oh God, how is Y/N going to react when I tell her” Lafayette shot back at Thomas. “She’s not going to find out” Thomas said simply. “Quelle? You think that I’ll keep this from my best friend?” Laf asked surprised, raising his eyebrows. “What’s in it for you if you tell her Lafayette. She’s gonna go out get drunk and find someone new as a rebound. She’s not going to come running into your arms. Because guess what. You are not her prince charming Lafayette. Do you know why? It’s because most of the time princes have the balls to tell the princess that they like her. But here you are. Stuck in the friend zone. Don’t blame it on me that I got the girl Lafayette, you did it to yourself. Besides, I doubt Y/N sees anything more in you than the best friend that you are.” Thomas replied harshly. The look of shock Laf had on his face said it all as Thomas wiggled his way out of Laf’s grip. He pat Laf on the chest and walked out with James trailing behind him.

Lafayette let the jagged words sink in. Maybe Thomas was right, what would you do with that information. It would probably do more harm than good. He shook his head as he headed out for some fresh air.

——————

One month later…

You had managed to drag the boys out to go dress shopping with you. Thomas had asked you to another fancy restaurant for your one month anniversary, and you decided to treat yourself. You headed for the dressing room with a pile of dresses. You stepped out after each one until you got to a navy blue number. It was off the shoulder with the bodice tight and a flowy skirt attached. “Well, what do you think?” All the boys nodded, looking at you up and down. All the boys except Laf. “Non. I don’t like it. It isn’t the message you want to be sending.” Laf stated looking back at his phone. Ever since you had gotten deeper into the relationship with Thomas, Lafayette began to become distant. You frowned “What do you mean? I think I look hot!” you said slightly laughing. Lafayette just shook his head and said “Do whatever you want Y/N” his words pierced you like a knife. He rarely called you by your name. You were mostly ‘mon ami’ (my friend) but he hadn’t called you that for many weeks now. “Um ok, I’ll try another one” you said heading back into the dressing room. You stepped out a few moments later in a much less flattering pink fluffy dress. “Ahhh, oui oui” Lafayette said. “That is the one”  he said nudging Herc discreetly. “Yup, I think that’s the one Y/N” Herc chimed in. “You sure?” you asked the boys, it didn’t hug your figures like you wanted but it seemed to have the majority of votes. “Ok fine. I’ll take this one” you said while a smile spread across your face.

—————-

The days leading up to your month anniversary were rocky. You had managed to get Lafayette to talk more, walking with him in between classes. But one day it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You were walking with Laf when Thomas caught up to you two. “G’morning love” he said in a sing song voice kissing your forehead. Laf rolled his eyes turning around to go in the opposite direction. That was when you had had enough. “I’ll see you tonight Thomas, I gotta go talk to Laf.” you said turning around. You chased him until you were both outside. “Laf what the hell has gotten into you?” you finally asked. You had been meaning to ask him for the past month. “What do you mean?” he asked back with no emotion at all. “Laf I can tell when you’re not telling me something. What’s wrong?” “Um let’s see what happened. Oh yeah Thomas.” He said bitterly still walking towards the parking lot. You grabbed a hold of his hand and pulled on it so he would face you. “What do you mean Laf? He makes me happy.” you said confused. You looked into his eyes. Something you hadn’t done since the day of your first date with Thomas. You always seemed to forget how attractive Laf was, you stood staring at him blankly until he began to talk. “Sure he makes you happy, but have you ever thought that I could make you happier?” he chanced at that question. You flinched. You had managed to shove that thought so far back in your brain since your first date with Thomas but you panicked as it began to take over all of your thoughts. “Wha-” you were cut off by Laf swooping down and planting his lips on yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces and sparks flew around your body. But you didn’t kiss back, you abruptly pushed him off. “What the fuck Lafayette.” you stated coldly. Be began to try to explain himself but you couldn’t bear hearing what he had to say. You loved Thomas. And you were sure he loved you too.

——————–

“You what!” the boys exclaimed as they all looked at Lafayette with shocked yes. “Oui. and she turned me down. What do I do?” he said burying his face into his pillow. He still hadn’t told anybody about the bet, and he planned to keep it that way. He had destroyed your friendship, he didn’t know if he could bear destroying your heart too.

—————–

You got ready for your date with Thomas by yourself. You didn’t know what to think about the previous events in the parking lot, and decided to shove those feelings back like always. You looked in the mirror at your pink dress which the boys had decided on. A wide smile was on your face as you recognized the familiar black Audi pulling up to the front of your dorm building. Thomas had never been in a relationship longer than a week, so the fact that you held him down for a month was shocking to him and his friends. He began to believe that he was falling in love with you. He just hoped you would love him too. You skipped out to his car as he got out of the driver’s seat to open the car door for you. ‘What a gentleman’ you thought as you neared Thomas. As soon as you were close he leaned in for a kiss, and you happily obliged. When your lips met… nothing. There was nothing, and that was when you began to question yourself.

You had made it to the restaurant and sat down at a secluded table. Thomas chuckled before talking “I didn’t think you’d actually want to go out tonight after what Laf told you” confused, you asked “what did Laf tell me?”. Thomas became stiff and played with his collar. “He didn’t tell you about the bet?” he asked “No-” “Then we can move on from in Y/N, it’s really nothing”. Concerned you pushed the subject “No, I think I deserve the right to know Thomas. We’ve been together for a month, and I’m sure the bet can’t be that bad.” you said forcing a half smile on your face expecting that he had hooked up with someone or worse, gotten someone pregnant. Thomas sighed before starting: “You know when I asked you out, it was really sudden? Well I asked you out because James bet me that I couldn’t get you to go out with me…” He continued but you could no longer hear. You felt as if your throat was closing in on you. Sure he hadn’t cheated on you, but that would have been better in this situation as it would mean he had fallen out of love with you. But to know your relationship had been built off of fake feelings made your heart shatter. “Why would Laf tell me this?” You questioned Thomas tears brimming your eyes. “Because he found out about it a few days after our first date when James payed me…” “YOU ACCEPTED JAMES’S MONEY FOR GOING OUT ON A DATE WITH ME?” you lost it, you maybe could have forgiven him if he refused the money because he actually ended up liking you. But no, you were nothing but a game to him. “Wait Y/N I truly love you now. I… I’m sorr-” Thomas began but you didn’t want to hear it. “Save it Thomas.” you quickly got up and ran outside to hail a taxi. You had to have a talk with Lafayette

You stormed into Lafayette’s dorm room where he and the rest of the boys were. “Alex, John, Hercules. Get out, I need a talk with Gilbert.” you had never called him that before and by the looks of your makeup running down your face, and your crinkled dress, the three boys shuffled out quickly. “Mon am-” “No you don’t get to call me that. Why didn’t you tell me that Thomas and James bet on me?” you got straight to the point. “I couldn’t bear seeing you heartbroken Y/N, I-” Lafayette tried to justify his actions  “Couldn’t see me heartbroken? Lafayette you kissed me on my month anniversary with Thomas. Do you know how confusing that was for me?” “I’m sorry mon ami. I just coul-”. This time it was your turn to cut him off. Aggressively you pushed yourself onto him, latching your lips onto his. How you missed that feeling. Laf eagerly melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as your arms found his neck. The kiss heated quickly with all the sexual tension that had been surrounding you two for the past month. Your mouth hungrily found his neck sucking hard enough to know there would be a mark tomorrow. “Y/N, are- are you suure-” Lafayette said moaning as you found his sweet spot. “I’ve never been so sure in my life Laf…” you said as you began to lie down on the bed and his hands found the zipper to your dress.

——————

You woke up the next morning slightly confused as to where you were. When you realized what had happened the previous night you blushed looking around the room for any sign of Laf. All you could find was a black box with a silver bow on it. You got out of bed, putting on one of Laf’s shirts you had found on the floor as you made your way to the black box. You opened it to find a note and some fabric wrapped in delicate white tissue paper. You took the fabric out of the paper to find the navy dress you had tried on for your month anniversary. You opened the note:

Mon Amour, (my love)

I do not think you know how good it feels to finally be able to call you that. Remember when you tried this on for Thomas and I said it did not send the right message? I said that because he does not deserve to see you look that beautiful. You have made my life 100 times brighter with just your presence and smile Y/N. I would be beyond the moon if I would be able to see you wear this dress for me, and only me. We have dinner reservations tonight at 7. Please make me the happiest man.

Love,

Votre Lafayette (your Lafayette)