Bill and his girlfriend get into an argument one day and they decide to spend some time apart, but one night she shows up at his door drunk and crying because she's concerned that they're going to break up over the stupid argument they had?
The roses were so red, Y/N was sure the florist dyed them that color.
Bill had the entire night planned to a T. Every detail was meaningful in it's own way - from the 348 roses to signify every day they had been dating, fresh strawberries cut in quarters just the way Y/N likes them, tea light candles lining the walkway to the dining room, and the red metallic heart balloons swaying ever so slightly.
"No peeking," Bill murmured against her neck, pressing a kiss to her skin. His hands were caressing her waist, over the red. YSL dress he hand picked.
"Trust me, can't see anything under this blindfold," Y/N laughed. "Is it really necessary that I wear heels in the house?"
"Mhm," Bill hummed, leading her into the dining room blindly. "Very very important to the surprise. Plus -- you know I love those legs." He kisses her cheek, right over her dimple.
The room smelled like warm vanilla and cake. Bill has somewhat of a secret hobby that he wouldn't dare tell his boys. He hesitated even telling Y/N when they moved in together. He's an amazing baker -- which works out perfectly, because Y/N loves to eat what Bill bakes.
Just this morning he woke up extra morning to kneed fresh focaccia dough for breakfast, drizzled in olive oil and topped with cherry tomatoes, rosemary, garlic and a bit of butter. Breakfast went just as Bill planned, because Y/N loved it enough that she ended up seated on the kitchen counter with her legs (God, those legs) dangling off Bill's waist, crying out his name over and over again.
Fucking her in that silk robe this morning, under the smell of his fresh bread, seemed to answer the question he had been anticipating asking for weeks now.
He has not choice but to marry her. It was something about the way she closed her eyes and moaned when she took the first bite. Y/N knows Bill likes to be validated, especially about his baked goods. "Babyyyy," She draws on, rolling her head back. "It's so good," Is all she had to say to get him to lift her onto the marble counter swiftly. It was just bread, but fuck, did he love the way she could make anything sexy. "Mm my mouth is all garlicky baby," she whines, pushing back.
Bill laughs, pressing kisses down the opening of her robe. His left hand's inching up her tummy, toward her nipple. "Shh. Just do as Daddy says,"
Y/N's black YSL heels come to a swift stop when Bill squeezes her waist a bit to motion her that she's made it to her surprise.
He gently unties her blindfold, licking his lips nervously and letting go a shaky breath.
The blindfold falls, but it's followed empty silence that makes Bill's face hot. Three years they've known each other and he still manages to get nervous around her.
She doesn't say anything. Just stands there, looking up the heart-shaped balloons, then back down at the dining table dressed in a white table cloth. "Hey," Bill whispers, moving her hair from her neck with his middle finger. He needs to see her face. Maybe then he can read what she isn't saying aloud. "Happy Anniversary."
Y/N parts her lips to speak, but it feels like she's choked for words. Like all the things she wishes she could say, are stacked in her throat. So, instead she just turns around and wraps her arms around his neck. "I love you," she mumbles.
"Aw, my baby," He coaxes. "You haven't even tried the cake."
Y/N laughs against his neck, inhaling his cologne for a moment before releasing him. "You did all this?"
Bill raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Who else?" He pulls out her chair and helps her scoot forward once she's sitting. In a swift moment, he wipes the sweat of his palms onto his suit pants, as he tries to shake the nervous jitters off.
Their last anniversary was not as nearly this elaborate. Dinner, dessert, then drinks -- all of Y/N's favorites. Each of which, she'd close her eyes and moan in contempt, telling Bill just how good everything tasted. In return, he simply smiled and watched her enjoy. He wasn't hungry. The entire dinner, he sat across from Y/N, palming at the jewelry box his pocket. There was no rehearsal for what he wanted to say -- it was something that would have to spill from his heart.
Except instead of just speaking, he fiddles the jewelry box out his pocket and places it softly on the table. Y/N glances up and can't finish chewing. "O-oh," she clears her throat. "Baby-"
"You don't have to say anything," Bill smiles. "I think I'm supposed to do the talking. . .just so hard to find the right words to say,"
Y/N nervously runs her palms down her thighs as Bill struggles to find the right synonyms. She realizes this is why the sex this morning was so passionate; it was all gearing up to this. She realizes this is why he asked if her ring size had changed, or if she had a favorite gem. It all made sense now.
Except she wasn't quite sure she wanted it to plan out this way.
"Fuck it," Bill wipes the vanilla icing from his lips with a napkin and keeps his eyes on Y/N while he stands up. "Fuck a speech. Fuck a cute story. Fuck pouring my heart out to you, when I tell you how much I'm enamored by you every morning,"
He's kneeling down beside her now, clutching that black box in his palm. Y/N can't remember how to breathe and all the words are stuck behind her throat. "Y/N," he breaths, looking up at her form the kitchen floor. "Marry me,"
Bills knows her (more than she knows herself), so the expression on her face told a story. One that he didn't expect. Her eyes are drawn to the beautiful cut diamonds, but her expression remains sad. "I-," She chokes. His eyebrow cocks, questioning her response, thinking this interaction would end in her jumping up and down screaming 'YES'. What he didnt anticipate was what she would mutter next.
Y/N's eyes are glossy, filled with guilt. "No," Y/N mutters, barely above a whisper. And just like that, the room doesn't smell too much of vanilla and cinnamon anymore - all of Bill's senses are focused on the tears spilling from her lash line and the tight grip her voice has on his chest. There's a glimpse of confusion in his initial reaction, but it soon turns to something more serious than sadness and frustration. Something so profound, his fist forces the ring box closed, so hard it sounds like a door slamming shut.
But he's already stood up, clenching his jaw so tightly, he might make himself bleed. "I need some air." And just like that, he's gone and the door slams shut. Louder and more dangerous than the ring box.
areudirty
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
2087
gummygunk
ellievsbear
snowghoul
