#he tucks his pants into his socks and wears socks inside out because fuck seams

[slocumjoe]

I do love isadora but my last sole survivor....he just had a zest to him. that lil guy came to me in a period of my life where I was Somewhat Deranged and my boy jesse diederik pieter willem gustav stefan boswel just has so much nostalgia for me and so much weird shit. he was my lil bug. and ive killed him

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixty // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 5.2k warnings for this chapter: smuttyy, good ole p in v

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty:

“Melisa, you have to control it!”

The great swirling mass knocks me on my ass again. Breathless, lightheaded, and frustrated as fuck, I glare at Professor Higgins and bite back the profanity on the tip of my tongue.

Thunder cracks, the booming sound my only warning before the mass charges toward me like a Graphorn. I throw my hand up, the spell sputtering out of my mouth. “P-piert-to –“

I gasp awake. My breathing and rapid heartbeat mimicking the thunder from my dream. It takes me a second to register that something cool is tapping the back of my hand. I start to shove the duvet down, away from my shoulders until I remember I only have my undies on.

Underneath the covers, my arm spreads out over the expanse of the bed I’d left for him. I come up empty and start feeling around the other side. My fingers notice a difference of fabric from something by the edge of the bed. The material feels like a thin towel.

Then that same cool thing taps my hand feeling the fabric. Tiny fingers.

My eyes are open and I still can’t see anything. Or hear.

The elf’s fingers grip my hand and guide it down the bed. I have to sit up, clutching the blanket to my chest as they lead my hand to a different pile of fabric. I feel around the different textures for a moment, trying to place them. The first item my brain registers is a sock. They brought me clothes.

I smile and sign, Thank you.

I run my hand through my hair and get the ick when I feel how greasy it is. I need a shower.

Sinking back under the covers, I grab the unfitted sheet and pull it free from the tucked side of the bed. I wrap it around my shoulders like a bunched up cloak and climb out. If I remember correctly, I’m sure to be on the side of the bathroom. My elbow brushes the elf’s shoulder as I scoop up the clothes, then I point to the direction of the bathroom before heading in that direction.

Showering in complete darkness isn’t new to me. I’m a freak who finds being in the dark with the lovely warm water a nice sensory experience. It’s just a bit more intense without my hearing.

I have to use Thomus’ soap and shampoo. Thankfully, he uses a bar of soap and the only guessing game I play is with the shampoo and conditioner. I still wind up with conditioner in my hair first, but I make sure to put them on separate sides of the tub when I’m done.

It takes me a good while to get dressed because I spend a lot of time feeling around. I touch seams and look for tags to make sure I put things on the correct way and not backwards or inside out. When I have the shirt on, it feels like some flowy peplum top with a stretchy elastic band under the bust, and the pants feel like normal leggings.

I start to question who picked out my clothes when I feel the bra and undies. The material on the items feel the same, some kind of super soft lace, and that’s… I mean I’m sure it’s common to have a matching set, but I don’t normally wear them. My main focus has always been finding things that are comfortable. These undies are super cheeky and ride up my butt more than I’d like when I put on my pants.

I briefly wonder if Thomus picked them out, but decide against it. I’m not really worth seeing, whether I’m in lingerie or not. And I don’t think Thomus cares enough, at least about that.

I scowl when I remember how needy I was last night. I’m supposed to be mad at him. He knowingly put me in danger, sent me off with Rodolphus like he didn’t care what happened to me. He knows I don’t have my magic, he knows I can’t defend myself. This goes so far beyond just playing along.

And… what did Rodolphus do to me? Taking someone’s senses like that with blood magic is scarily powerful. Does he just do things like this all the time or did he pull out all the stops for me? I don’t know the first thing about reversing one.

I decide to forgo socks when I emerge from the bathroom. I want to see if I’ll be able to tell where I am through the floor alone.

The elf grabs my hand and Apparates us somewhere with cold tile floors. The texture beneath my feet isn’t smooth like hardwood. The floral scent of the room tells me we’re in Narcissa’s conservatory, or sun room, as I’d call it back home. My hand gets tugged and placed on a chair and I feel around it before taking a seat.

There’s a table in front of me, and my fingers feel a plate. I come into contact with some toast before fingers graze the back of my hand. Using the pad of my thumb, I run it along their nails. It’s Hermione.

We exchange pleasantries through finger spelling. She asks how I’m doing and I just tell her I feel normal, despite everything else. I ask her if she has any theories on what Rodolphus actually did, and that’s when she hesitates. After a moment, she explains that Thomus wants to find a curse breaker.

Reading the word curse makes my chest tighten and my heart pound faster. Thomus thinks I’m cursed? Like literally cursed? From what I know, the survival rate of cursed individuals is not high. Curses tend to bog people down, become painful, slowly killing them from the inside out.

So why would Thomus look for a curse breaker? Career curse breakers usually only deal with objects or property, not people.

I take a moment to breathe before asking her what she thinks. She hesitates again, but I press her for information. Letter by letter, she starts to spell out her sentence.

I don’t want to scare you, she pauses, but yes.

My head bobs slowly. It feels adrift and weightless, but the rest of my body anchors me in my panic.

As if she could see it on my face, Hermione places a glass of something in my hand, and I quickly bring it to my lips. Orange juice. It helps me breathe at least. I put it down and take a bite of toast.

Maybe I’m getting worked up over nothing. Maybe Thomus will find a way to undo what Rodolphus did. Maybe I just needed something to eat.

I fingerspell his name, shake my head and sign here with a questioning look on my face. Hermione puts her hand in mine and spells N – O – T pause H – E – R – E.

~*~

Every day, I ask where Thomus is, and every day, the answer is the same. Not here.

And every day things get a little harder. Tasks I used to take for granted have suddenly become the most tedious thing in the world.

Eating with utensils is laughable when every time I try, food either ends up on my face or my shirt. One night I kept spilling Mippy’s pumpkin soup, so I just said fuck it and drank from the bowl. I know Hermione and Narcissa aren’t judging me for eating with my fingers, but I wouldn’t doubt Lucius has made more than one snarky comment. I want to think that Draco wouldn’t, but I don’t know him that well.

Getting around the Manor is difficult, too. Yeah, I can walk just fine, but I keep a hand on the wall as I go, so I can keep a general sense of direction. I can feel when I’m at a doorway or when I’ve turned into the wrong hallway based on the wallpaper and trimming. I’ve gotten lucky in terms of what I bump into, like hallway dressers or chairs. Fancy, expensive vases on pedestals though? Not so lucky. I simply nudged the pedestal, my out-stretched hand felt something wobble, and I desperately tried to catch it as it gives in to gravity and physics.

I totally cried big fat tears for a solid ten minutes out of pure guilt while I waited for someone to come along and find me. I couldn’t move because I’d been barefoot with glass everywhere, but I also was keen to fess up immediately, instead of fleeing the scene of the crime.

I could feel the wooden floor shift as someone approached moments later. Based on the strong slender hands that touched mine, I’d gotten my hopes up that it was Thomus, but whoever it was didn’t try to communicate with me. They yank me by the wrist and guide me back down the hall by the elbow in the direction I’d come from. My fist was circling against my chest, the sign for sorry.

Since the dinner, Hermione told me that Narcissa was visiting Bellatrix for a few days, but didn’t go into detail about why. Something to do with Draco not going to Switzerland I believe. Hermione has been working on the Scourer trail still, trying to translate some kind of journal. She even told me that she’d convinced Draco to help her.  

I’m curious as to why Draco’s helping her. He’s a Death Eater, too, isn’t he? Maybe because they went to school together, she was able to turn him into some kind of double agent. He’s still a kid, though, and while he might be a leader amongst those of his age, I can hardly imagine him being higher up in the ranks. What do I know of militant ranking? Nothing, so it’s just an assumption.

They’ve been holed up in the library, preoccupied with their research. At first I’d sit in there with them, at a table or on one of the leather couches, just to be around people. I want to ask Hermione if she’d do any digging on my curse, but I don’t want to be any more of a burden than I already am. I’m bummed that I can’t join in on the hunt, too, but I can’t fucking read without my sight, can I?

She’d pulled some books on braille for me, so I sit there with my fingers blindly feeling along the pages. I keep hoping that I’ll pick up on the patterns, but I haven’t had the best of luck and I’ve nodded off on more than one occasion.

Another problem I hadn’t anticipated – not that anyone can anticipate going blind and deaf all in one go – but I’ve never been so goddamn bored in. My. life. I thought I’d been bored before at the cottage, but no no no. Clearly I just lacked imagination.

Eventually I leave the library at some point in what I would assume is the afternoon, and go to Thomus’ room. The first time I make the trek by myself since the vase incident, (and I was indeed lead by someone for a few days) I notice anything I bump into doesn’t move a goddamn inch. Even things that should, like the Malfoy busts that line one of the hallways. I guess someone went around and baby-proofed the place with magic.

In Thomus’ room, I take unnecessarily long baths just to play in the water. Once I’m good and pruney, I transition to bed for my second nap of the day. Or I just lie there and think about all things that I wish I could be doing. Like reading, listening to music, singing, cooking, practicing my photography, or shit, even cleaning. Something, anything besides just lying here with naught to do, but twiddle my thumbs and day dream.  

After several days of the same goddamn boring routine, I decide to spend some time outside. It’s late October, maybe even early November, I’ve no fucking idea, so it’s getting colder. I wear shoes outside, but can still feel the difference between the rocky gravel paths and drying grass with crunchy leaves. It smells like it’s going to rain, so I probably shouldn’t be out here very long.

I find my way to the little clearing near the front fence. At least I think I do. I know I passed through some brush until I found some grass to sit in, and I may or may not have tripped over a log. Hopefully the same one Thomus had perched his foot on all those weeks ago when he returned from Italy.

I thought it’d be better to practice my magic out here than inside, where I could unknowingly blow something up if I wasn’t careful. Through all this alone time with my thoughts for contemplation and meditating, I haven’t even felt a spark of my magic.

I know the new batch Thomus made lasts longer, but this long? I can’t even Occlude. I try to visit the mausoleum where all my memories with Thomus are, but it’s not… there. The memories are normal, vague, and unspecific. All of them are, at least the ones I’d deemed important enough to be categorized and stored.

Breathing deeply, I feel a slight breeze on my face, and maybe a rain droplet or two.

Gotta focus… gotta focus…

First I try out Accio, trying to summon a branch, but to no avail. It’s one of the few spells I can think of that I’d be able to feel worked.

My hand turns up empty, though, no matter how hard I concentrate.

Eventually I give up. I’m so fucking tired of trying. What’s the point if he’s just going to give me another potion, and then I have to try again. When I have my magic, it’s so easy to forget how hard it is to get it back.

I return to the Manor just as the rain hits, the thunder so strong it makes the ground shake. When I make it back to Thomus’ room, I open one of his balcony doors to let the crisp rainy air whoosh in. The curtains billow so hard, they reach where I sit on the side of the bed, droplets of rain following in their wake.

I kick my shoes off and lie down the length of the bed, as close to the storm as I can get. When I settle down, I realize I’m lying on something. I pull out a potion vial and… my hook-shaped rock. I uncap the vial and take a sniff. The pungent winter green scent makes me wrinkle my nose and barely stifle a gag. Dejectedly, I sigh and take the suppression potion. This is starting to get eerily predictable.

Lying back again, I run my fingers along the rock. Had Thomus been here? Or had he sent someone to get it? If he’d been here, why hadn’t he tried to talk to me? If he’d stuck around I’d have asked how the hunt for the curse breaker is going. Is he just avoiding me?

I’ve avoided him in the past, so I guess that’s nothing new for us.

But now, of all times, is not the moment I’d wish for him to disappear. I want him to tell me again that he didn’t sleep with Bellatrix. I want him to tell me why he let me go with Rodolphus, and I want him to tell me if he really thinks he can break this curse.

If the curse breaker’s just a ruse, just something to placate me, then… what does that mean for me? Stuck like this forever? Would I start to lose more senses? Taste, smell… touch?

Maybe that’s just it. I’m only going to get worse and Thomus wants nothing to do with me anymore. I’m only a sex slave after all, aren’t I? What good is a sex slave if they can’t even feel you? What if he wants to get rid of me? Cause I’m… broken.

I grip the rock a little tighter in my fist, holding it closer to my chest. If any of that was true, why would he leave this? He left it where I could find it, a reminder that... maybe everything would be okay. Maybe wherever he is, I’m still on his mind.

I pull the comforter from the opposite side of the bed, cocooning myself. Bringing the rock to my lips, I kiss it before settling in to sleep.

~*~

From then on, everywhere I go, I take this little rock with me. In my pocket, shoved in my bra, or out sliding between my fingers. I even sleep with it tucked beneath my pillow.

I don’t know if this is a side-effect of whatever Rodolphus did, or if it’s just that time of the month, but I’ve gotten so incredibly horny. Maybe it’s because I’ve realized there’s nothing better to do than to have my hand between my legs, but ugh. I feel both guilty and disgusted with myself every time my thoughts stray to the tall… strong… good-smelling man – no, Death Eater, whose bed I lie in all the time. Especially when those thoughts are particularly filthy.

For a few days, I had stopped going to hang out in the library while Draco and Hermione worked, preferring to stay in bed dealing with this particular issue. When I contemplate trying to find something suitable to act as a dildo from within his room, I realize it’s time for a breather and return to my regular routine.

These feelings are so intense. Not being able to see or hear allows me only to focus on what I’m feeling. Never before has masturbating felt so profound, and I can only imagine what actual sex would be like.

I want him, but I’m afraid to ask for it. What if he says no? I don’t feel any different, but what if the curse has altered my appearance? Doomed the few redeeming qualities this body has?

Suffice to say these anxious thoughts strike down any courage to act on these feelings.

~*~

“Melisa, you have to control it!”

The great swirling mass knocks me on my ass again. Breathless, lightheaded, and frustrated as fuck, I glare at Professor Higgins and bite back the profanity on the tip of my tongue. Wind whips his short white hair about his head, my pink strands start to swirl within my vision.

Thunder cracks, the booming sound my only warning before the mass charges toward me like a Graphorn. I throw my hand up, the spell sputtering out of my mouth. “P-piert-to –“

The cloudy mass gets too close and I roll out of its way just in time. It’s behind me, out of sight, and just as I get to my feet, I’m knocked down again.

“Come on, don’t give up just yet!” Higgins calls.

I try to move, to get up, but I’m stuck on my side, hands tucked under my cheek.

“I can’t move! I’m –“

Knuckles brush down my cheek. Hot breath fans over my ear, slightly tickling my hair, and sending goosebumps down the back of my neck. I gasp awake and realize I’m still in bed. Someone’s curled around my back, knees tucked behind mine, an arm draped over me. Their touch is gentle, comforting.

I pull out a hand and reach back, their hand guiding mine to their head and I feel the familiar curls.

Thomus, I murmur, even though I know he can’t hear me.

My hand explores, fingers feeling his face, the curve of his jaw, the outline of his nose. His eyebrows are soft, and his eyelashes softer. My fingers find his mouth and I turn myself enough to press quick desperate kisses to his lips.

He doesn’t let the kiss go on for more than a moment. Instead taking my hand and placing it back down in front of me. His own hand he tucks down where my belly meets my fupa. His grip is snug as he pulls us together, his head nestling just behind mine.

The cuddling feels divine, and based on how he’s still and his breaths even, he must want to sleep more.

My pussy has other plans, though. My pussy is so much braver than I am. She doesn’t care that he might reject me, she’s willing to try.

At first I make it seem like I’m simply readjusting. I position my hips just so, my hand tracing patterns along his arm. Then my pillow needs repositioned and I wiggle my hips in the process, pressing back against his lap. I can’t be sure, but it feels like something is nestled right against my ass. I move my hips to investigate, to… instigate.

My half-awake brain reminds me that I’m still mad at Thomus. I should be demanding answers from him on where he’s been, why he’s stayed away for so long.

I roll my hips in a circle, pressing into his lap with a little more force, and my heart jumps to my throat when I feel him hardening, lengthening against me.

My pussy tells my brain to go the fuck back to sleep.

I lift my foot and curl my calf over his, tucking my foot under his ankle. This slight adjustment puts him almost where I want him, and so I move a little bit more, desperate for contact with –

His hand snaps to my hip, fingers digging into the bone more exposed while I’m lying on my side. His grip stops my movements, my heart pounding in my chest. I try to move, but he keeps me still, his own hips unable to resist flexing against my backside.

Fuck I want more. Besides outright stripping or pushing him down onto his back, I’m not sure how best to communicate. I can’t use my words… but I can still use my mouth.

I grab the hand on my hip and tug, bringing his longest finger, the middle one, to my lips. They open and my tongue greets it with enthusiasm. As I suck it deeper, treating it the exact way I’d treat something else of his, I feel him shift onto his elbow. His breath is quicker, panting across my face.

My eyes have been closed and as I feel his face closer to mine, I open my eyes, hoping by some miracle my senses have returned, and that his face would be the first thing I see.

But it’s not and I feel his chest shudder. I turn towards him again, the hand holding his going to his jaw to caress him.

He takes the hand at my mouth and puts it back down at my hip. He fists my nightgown – a garment I wear to sleep now because I’m terrified an elf is gonna see my tit hanging out one day – gathering the material and pulling it up. He reaches down to grab more from my thigh and frees my legs of the restricting fabric. Breathing heavily, I hook my leg up over his thigh, grinding against him without restraint.  

When his fingers trace a slow line up the inside of my thigh, I feel every goosebump that rises in its wake. My nipples are hard peaks and I use my free hand to pinch them overtop the cotton nightgown. My other hand is busy diving into Thomus’ curls.

My fingers fist his hair at the base of his head when his touch reaches my core. His fingers trace the damp material covering me, torturously dragging it away from where I want it, all the way up to my belly button. He starts going back down even slower and I can hardly catch my breath. My leg hitches around his tighter, thighs spread wide, my hips rolling with anticipation.

Finally, finally his fingers push aside my undies and delve into the slickness between my lips. I feel his chest vibrate against my back, his mouth hot on my shoulder. He sinks two fingers inside my aching cunt, all the way to his knuckles and I just can’t keep still. He pulls them back out and plunges them again, curling right against my g-spot. My clit is swollen and neglected, but I’m so close without it.

My hips rock, pressing his fingers harder against that perfect spot, and my thighs start to tremble. Back arching, my chest pushes out as the orgasm crashes through me. My cunt pulses and twitches around his fingers and I feel myself get even wetter.

Desperate for the feeling to continue, I free my hand from his hair and quickly find my clit. I swirl circles around it with the hood, barely touching it at all, and my brain ceases to function as I cum again, even harder than the first time. My juices spread down my inner thighs as he continues to finger fuck me through this bliss.

Once my peak slows enough for my body to function again, I twist my torso so I can grab his face with both hands to bring his mouth down to mine. Our tongues meet and dance over fevered breaths and frantic touches. My hands start to tear at his clothes, needing to feel his skin on mine.

I struggle with the buttons before his mouth lifts off mine and the opening of his shirt gives way. I help push the material off his shoulders before my hands run all over him. They feel every dip and curve of bunched muscle beneath his skin, every imperfection I’ve never noticed before, every scar.

When they finally search below the belt, I find he’s already beat me there. Pant buttons undone, zipper down. I push the band of his briefs down and his hard cock springs into my hands. One hand at the base, fingers dipping to feel his balls, my other hand twisting around his head, smearing pre-cum all over my palm.

His hands are on my chest, fondling my breasts and rubbing the material against my nipples. I feel his fingers curl into the conservative neckline, the two buttons there I’d left undone. He grips the gown and I feel the material give as he just… tears it down the chest. Then he’s pushing it down my shoulders, freeing my arms. He leans down over my body, his mouth latching onto my breasts, all teeth and tongue and saliva.

The gown is now bunched around my waist where I’m twisted. My ass is out, torso turned toward him where he kneels behind my ass. He presses a palm to the back of my upper thigh, pushing it out of his way, I feel his fingers tug the crotch of my undies and then there he is right at my entrance.

I could not be begging for him more than I am at this very moment when he pushes in. I’m tight because all I’ve had for a while is my fingers, but oh my fucking god. Every single inch feels massive as he sinks to the hilt, balls deep in my soaked cunt. The walls of my pussy flutter, squeezing him repeatedly like it missed him just as much as I did.

His hand on the back of my thigh and other one now at my hip, grip my flesh so tightly it hurts. If I had my voice, I’d be turning my head to muffle my noises into the pillow as he slowly pulls out to slam his cock right back in. My nails dig into his forearm as his thrusts intensify.

My front turns towards the bed where I grip the sheets, hanging on for dear life as Thomus continues to pound into my pussy. The feeling is so fucking good, my brain has completely turned to mush. The only sense I have is to tighten my walls, to flex and squeeze his cock as he fucks me because it only intensifies the pleasure I’m feeling. My body rocks from the strength of his thrusts and there’s a damp spot under my cheek from where I’m drooling onto the mattress.

For once I’m not worried about what I look like to him. I don’t care that my stomach and fupa have got to be bunched up in the most unflattering way possible. All I care about is his big fat cock absolutely wrecking my cunt.

He stops only to lift my leg up, hooking it over his arm to spread my thighs wide and put me on my back. His other hand grabs mine and shoves it toward my pussy. Without needing to be told twice, my fingers start to swirl around my clit as he picks up his pace again. His hand not holding up my leg, presses my other leg down, pinning it beneath his weight. As I feel I’m on the brink of cumming again, the muscles in my legs and stomach tense up and I grab at the hand holding my leg down, our fingers twining.

I mutter soundless curses as I cum, practically singing in my head how much I love his cock. The curses on my lips turn to his name, feeling safe to do so only because he can’t hear me. He can’t hear the love and praise and adoration his name has on my lips.

The moment my body relaxes, he pulls out, his cum splattering all over my chest and stomach. Whatever last drops he has, he pushes back inside my well-used cunt with his tip.

My brain is still mush, slowly unscrambling itself from the overwhelming lust that consumed it moments ago. Absently, my hands start rubbing and massaging his cum into my skin. Everywhere I felt it fall, from my mound to the rolls in my stomach to my breasts, I make sure it seeps in. I even rub some on and around my still-hard nipple, playing with it while my breaths slow. It feels right, satisfying even.

When he pulls out again, he’s softer, but not completely. His fingers find my dripping hole, pushing in and then pulling out. He does it once more before I realize what he’s doing. It’s not a coincidence. I did this on purpose, just like he did the first time. He was marking his territory, and wanted me to mark mine.

My mind was so clouded with other worries at the time, I didn’t even realize, but maybe I understand now. I don’t know what any of this means. Mostly, because I’m not thinking right now. My body is thoroughly fucked and I’m still recovering.

He helps drag the ruined night gown over my hips and down my legs, tossing it to the floor. I right my undies and turn onto my other side, so when he lies next to me, I can curl up into him. His heart and breath are still run away with him, but he’s calming by the minute. I push up until my cheek is pressed against his collar and I can wrap my arm and leg over him, cuddling as close as I can possibly get. Maybe if I hold him tight enough, he won’t disappear again.

His arm goes around my shoulder and he kisses the top of my head. His chest vibrates against the side of my face, but I’ll never know what he just said.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH13

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW

WC: 4382

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean’s standing right in front of her apartment, didn’t really know how he got here. It’s like he was on autopilot as soon as he started driving and his subconscious led him here. He also didn’t really know why he thought it was a good idea to show up so late (or early). All he knew was that he wanted to see her. Which is really stupid — probably.

Yeah, no.

It is really stupid because she’s most definitely asleep. It’s stupid, because he can’t even bring himself to stay a night away from her, what the fuck happened with his willpower, his self control? It’s fucking stupid, because he’s fucking weak and feels things that will most likely — most definitely — ruin him.

And there he was telling his cat that he won’t do anything stupid. He chuckles to himself at his stupidity, wonders if she would think he’s weird for talking to his cat at all, while he gathers all his strengths and wills his heart to stop beating so fucking fast.

Dean knocks.

Soft. Not nearly loud enough like he usually does.

He squints his eyes close and waits. He wants for her to wake up but also he doesn’t want for her to be scared? It doesn’t make any sense, he knows.

Silence.

He wants to try again, doesn’t know if he really should.

Dean sighs and rests his forehead against the door.

That was a really fucking stupid idea.

Another sigh.

He’s trying to make a decision if he should try to knock again or leave, when the door flies open. Light spilling out into the darkened staircase.

“Dean?” Y/N whispers, her voice low, full of sleep. She’s dressed in a shirt that’s loose around her shoulder and she wears some boy short panties.

Goddammit.

It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

Her hair’s up, tucked into a bun and some strands fall loose around her ears. She yawns and it makes him feel guilty for showing up. Only a little, because Jesus, he can’t stop looking at the stupidly cute thing in front of him.

“‘M sorry,” He says, keeps his voice low, and he wants to say so much more but he can’t, doesn’t know where to start, where to end. His thoughts are bumping together in his head all at once. Wants to spill out his thoughts and swallow them down at the same time.

Wordlessly, she opens the door wider for him to step in, and he’s thankful for that. Thankful that she doesn’t question his motives at all. She locks the door behind him when he’s inside.

He toes off his shoes at the door next to her pair of shoes that she probably wore today, and she waits for him, still not saying a word.

Turning around, he faces her, sees her rub at her eyes, and then she takes his hand and guides him towards her bedroom.

His heart picks up speed when it should be calming down.

It’s all because of her. He can’t catch a breath around her he once told her, and really, it’s not a word of a lie.

Y/N turns off the light in the hallway, ushers him into her bedroom and lets go of his hand. She climbs back into her bed in the darkened room and he stands there, his feet rooted to the floor as he watches her.

Moonlight shines through the crack of the blinds, granting him enough light to see her face, to see the way she’s tangled under her sheets.

What a fucking beautiful sight.

“You coming?” She asks with a tired smile, yawning once more and it’s weird how adorable he thinks she looks when she yawns.

Dean swallows, pieces his brain together enough to form something coherent. “Oh… oh, yeah.”

Zipping down his hoodie, he lets it fall to the floor before he gets rid of his sweat pants and socks, debates sleeping with a shirt on but he usually never sleeps with a shirt (just that one time when he let her sleep in his bed but that was because he didn’t want her to freak out when he was lying there only in his underwear), so he tosses it aside too, adding the shirt to the pile of clothes next to his feet.

He’s in his underwear and nothing else and he just watches her as she watches him. He’s hard too, can’t really help it, it’s the effect she has on him, it’s hard not to be hard around her. He sees her biting down on her lip, sees her shiny slick spit on them. Dean reminds himself that thinking with his downstairs brain is not really what he came here for.

“Scoot up,” He says playfully, takes a step closer and places a knee on the bed.

“Whatchu wanna? Big spoon or little spoon?”

Dean laughs, “Just turn around,”

“Big spoon it is then. And there I thought I could be your jet pack.” She grins, turning around underneath the covers and faces the other way.

“Maybe some other time, sweetheart.” He climbs in, feels the warmth surrounding his body and he moves closer, his arms hug her from behind, pulls her towards him, while he presses a kiss on the skin where her shirt slipped down her shoulder.

“Lift your head,” He whispers against her throat and when she does, he places his other arm underneath her head, lets her use it as a pillow.

Dean inhales her scent, tilts his head back to kiss the back of her neck, and then forward again, down to her shoulder. Her back melts against his chest, and he’s sure that she can feel how fast his heart is beating. Should maybe be a little ashamed of it. Ashamed, of how obvious his feelings are for her, but he can’t bring himself to care.

They lay tangled together in silence for a while. Dean’s eyes are half closed, ready to be lulled into maybe another nightmare.

“So, what is it that you do?” Y/N whispers quietly but Dean hears her bright and clear. Is a little taken aback by the question, too, because he doesn’t think she’s awake enough to ask such a heavy question. She must be thinking about it, can’t get back to sleep without knowing an answer.

He has his lips on her shoulder, “I’m not really a good man,” He starts and pecks her skin, exhaling and inhaling as he thinks about what he should tell her, and how much he should tell her, “Illegal things mostly. My people deal with it, I kinda keep it all together. It’s straight business. I run a business that happens to be illegal and I meet with others who aren’t exactly legal to get good deals and occasionally, I get my hands dirty, too.”

“Like some kind of a mobster?”

Dean noses at the side of her neck, kisses her skin once more, just because he can, “I’d say that I’m a CEO in my organization, a great businessman, too, but yeah, you could call it that.”

“Gangster boss,” She hums.

“Are you scared of me?”

He can feel her backing her body up closer to him after the question and he holds her just a little tighter, breathes against her ear.

“Nuh-uh,” She says, and maybe he’s imagining it but she pushes her ass up against his bulge.

“Nuh-uh?” He whispers, kisses her behind her ear, sucks in her earlobe, and she whimpers.

“No, you have a good heart.”

Her hand flies behind his head, and Dean’s really not imagining it. She starts to grind against his cock.

There’s a groan he tries to hide. It’s a weird sound he makes, like something’s dying in his throat. He swallows, tries to calm down.

“Sweetheart, I’m not here to fuck you. Stop trying,” He mumbles, and saying it is harder than he thought it would be. He doesn’t stop kissing down her neck and he’s a blink away from losing it himself if she keeps on going what she does.

“Why?” Y/N turns around in his grip and there it is, the fucking pout.

Goddammit.

Dean chuckles as he kisses cheek, her nose, and her pout, sucking in her bottom lip before letting it out with a small pop, “Because that’s not the only thing I want from you. I don’t want you to think it is. That’s not what this is all about. We will, and god knows how much I want to, but not tonight, okay?”

She buries her face in his chest, and Dean thinks it’s because she’s embarrassed, which is really the last thing he wants her to be.

“Hey,” He says, his hand tucks her hair behind her ear, “Look at me,”

She hesitates before she does. Her eyes are a little glassy, and he can’t really see it in the light but he can imagine that her face is flushed and she does the little cute thing where she bites down on her bottom lip. If that’s not a sight that sends his heart racing, he’d be lying.

He kisses her then. It’s sweet, tender, only tickling her a little with his tongue, his teeth scrape along her bottom lip and she’s a fucking tease because she can’t stop wriggling her hips.

“Baby, you should stop.” He says, and he trails his hand down her spine, lets it rest on her ass cheek, squeezing a little for her to stop rubbing against him, and she giggles.

Dean rolls his eyes and kisses her again, shutting her up and she grinds against him some more. Her lips are still tugged into a smile while she’s still biting that fucking bottom lip of hers but she doesn’t stop fucking grinding.

This fucking girl, seriously.

Two can play at that game.

“Are you wet again, baby?” He kisses her nose, and she nods her head. He releases the grip on her ass cheek, sneaks his hand to the front of her underwear, “Can I check?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods again with her lip between her teeth and it’s fucking killing him.

Dean’s hand finds the seam of her underwear and dibs his fingers in, trailing the pads of them down her front, letting out a shaky breath when he feels that she’s shaved bare, can’t help but wonder if she did that for him. He didn’t think she was the type to shave and honestly, he wouldn’t have cared one bit if she wasn’t because he’s sure that her pussy’s beautiful either way. He damn near groans when he reaches her pussy, parts her lips with his fingers, and damn, she’s not lying. She’s slippery wet.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re soaked,” His hands are shaking as he lets his fingers glide through her slick, “Did I do this to you?”

She’s back at burying her face in the crook of his neck, probably hiding her embarrassment. “Uh-huh,”

“Did you get yourself off today? Thinking of me?” He knows he probably shouldn’t ask. Knows that she’s a fucking good girl and probably doesn’t feel comfortable answering such a nasty question, but he can’t help it. He wants to know if she thinks about him the same way he thinks about her.

She has her face buried flat against his chest and he feels the hot air of her breath on his skin. He’s still rubbing her and she’s breathing hard. Her voice is muffled, speaking into his skin, “In the shower. You think it’s creepy that I did?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

He curses himself now because even though he wanted to know he was not really prepared for the image she plants in his head.

He chuckles lightly, “Not creepy. You’re doing things to me, too.”      

Dean rubs her lazily and she wriggles some more. He feels the slick coat his fingers, and fuck, he’s hungry for a taste.

Y/N looks up to him now, her lip still between her teeth. The room’s dark but her eyes are a shade darker and then she asks a question that catches him a little off guard, “Did you ever rub one off thinking of me?”

He should have seen it coming.

“I did,” He kisses her forehead. “Exclusively.”

“How many times?”

He groans at that.

If he tells her the truth, she might think that he’s a creep. But also he decided yesterday that he’s not going to lie to her. He’s too old to keep up two different facades and since Jo already tried to kidnap her, the facade would soon crash down around him. So the only way is forward and he hopes that she’s not entirely freaked out.

He can’t help but blush a little himself. “Too many times. Since the day I met you.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kinda creepy.” She says but she hugs him tight and kisses his throat, catches a little skin, and sucks at his pulse point and fuck, his dick twitches in interest.

“I think we’ve established that we’re both kinda creepy, sweetheart.” He flickers his finger on her clit, making her whole body jerk up and he can’t hold back a laugh.

“Shit,” She pants and moves her hips in a figure eight, tries to get more friction and he likes that. Likes how desperate she is.

Desperate for him.

He wants more of it. Wants her moaning and begging. Not to toot his own horn, but they’ll get there, he’s sure of it.

“Did Bobby bring you enough food?” He asks, averting the subject a little, but with a clear intention.

“Yeah,” He feels her warm breath on his skin when she speaks, the little hitch in her voice when he rubs her just right, “Too much food, I was in a food coma after,”

Dean flicks at her clit with his middle finger, making her yelp up and he grins, kisses the top of her head. “Good,”

“Did you eat?” She asks, her hips gyrating on his finger now, her voice trembles, “There’s still some leftovers.”

Dean moves a little, taking his hand out from her panties to look at his fingers. He can see them glistening in the dim light of the room. He also can’t help himself, licks at the pad of his middle finger, there’s a weird sound coming from his throat the moment her taste hits him. A sound he doesn’t usually hear himself make, and fuck, she’s really as sweet as he always imagined her to be.

He holds his fingers out for her, and she takes the hint — what a fucking good girl. Her fingers wrap around his wrist and she sucks two of them in while looking him dead in the eye.

His cock strains painfully in his underwear.

“‘M not hungry for food,” He grins, all bravado, and she must have sensed it because she let out a stutter of a moan that — he can’t lie — goes right where his cock is pulsing in his underpants.

“Yeah?” She answers him with that challenging tone of voice that makes him actually want to kiss her more just to shut her up, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he wrestles above her, pins her beneath him, kicks the covers to the end of the bed as he moves down her body. His hands find the hem of her shirt and push it up, revealing her chest.

“Fuck,” He mutters as he hunches above her and looks down at her tits.

His hand cups one of it, pinches her nipple between his thumb and index finger, making her arch her back and she gasps out in shock. Dean cups her tit in his palm, a handful, cutest tits he’s ever seen.

Lowering his face, he seals his lips around a nipple, sucking at it before he let his teeth nibble at the peak. Her body trembles.

“You’re sensitive,” He chuckles as he abandons the tit to attend to the other.

She didn’t say anything to that, at least it’s nothing coherent. Not that Dean expected her to say anything at all.

He kisses his way downward, shoulders himself in between her thighs and he looks up, sees her watching him, her lips between her teeth. Dean holds the gaze while he uses his big hands to spread her luscious thighs.

The big palm of his hand strokes along her upper thigh and he hooks his fingers through the seam of her panties. He watches her and when he doesn’t see resistance in her eyes, he pulls them down slowly, taking in her lower body as he strips her off the needless fabric and tosses it onto the pile of clothes on the floor. He breathes in her sweet tang which makes his head spin and he swallows hard at the sight of the feast that lays before him.

“Look at you,” He whispers, his voice dropping deeper and is trembling a little but he keeps himself in check, still. “What a pretty sight.” Dean rubs his thumb around her clit, spreads more of her wetness around. “Prettiest little pussy.”

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps biting those sweet lips and presses her thighs together, her hands fly down in a futile attempt to try to cover herself. She wants to shield him from the place where he wants to get a taste the most and he’s come this far, he can’t let that happen. She wants it, he can see that, she’s just utterly shy and he gets that, too.

“Shhh,” Dean’s voice is soft and low, “It’s okay, baby. Let me,” He lays his hand on hers, waits until she moves her hands away on her own.

“Good girl,” He praises her, and she shows him a shy smile.

He licks his lips, wishes for more light because he’d like to see more of her. Wants to see the pink of her pussy, wants to know if it really matches her cheeks when she blushes at him.

Thumbing her lips apart, he steals another glance, stores the image in his memories — thinks that he might really be a little creepy but they’ve already established that — before he dives in with his tongue, licking a broad stripe up her slit and she moans, arches her back at the first contact. Dean has to pause to grin and then he blows air against her clit, making her tremble and moan some more.

He can’t help but look up at her as he sucks at her clit, wonders if his beard is too rough against her delicate skin but she grinds down on him, pushes herself against his mouth some more as she closes her eyes and plays with her tits, rolls and twists her nipple between her fingers.

What a fucking beautiful sight.

He licks his lips, tastes the sweet tang on them, groans a little to himself before he goes in for another taste. All the while, he’s watching her, couldn’t not watch. He watches as she fists her hand in the sheets when he teeths at her sweet clit. He watches as she throws her head back when he swipes his tongue along the rim of her hole. He definitely couldn’t not watch.

“Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever eaten,” Dean growls, spreads kisses along her lips and thighs. “So fucking delicous. Could eat you for days,”

There’s not a word of a lie. He really could — if she would let him.

Y/N frowns a little, he thinks it’s because he has a dirty mouth and can’t keep it shut. Not with her.

He keeps his left hand on her thigh as he toys along the outside of her hole with the pad of his middle finger of his right hand. Dean looks up to meet her eyes and she nods at him.

His finger pushes in carefully before he has to stop because he needs to recollect himself. It’s tight. So fucking tight. And Dean feels another twitch of his cock just by imagining his dick instead of his finger.

“Fuck, baby.” He swears and grits his teeth a little as he pushes in further, feels the wall of her pussy hugs his finger tight. “So wet and tight,”

She looks at him all flustered and he curses that there’s not more light for him to see the pink of her cheeks. She flinches a little as he digs in deeper, but she isn’t telling him to stop so he goes on, drives further in, cautiously, until he hits the end and there’s no going forward anymore. Carefully, he slips in another finger, feels her wall fluttering and expanding to accommodate him.

“Shit,” She exclaims, closes her eyes as he curls his fingers up to search for that special button.

He’s back at licking her, sucking her, drinking from her like a starving man as he moves his fingers a little, not too much, just enough to rub against that spot that clearly drives her wild.

“Dean,”

It’s a whimper. She’s a mess above him while she tries to grind against his finger and face. Dean grins into her sweet lips.

“You’re close, ain’t that so? I can feel it, sweetheart. What do you want?” He’s breathless himself.

“Want to com—ah!”

He laughs, as the voice dies in her throat with a twist of his fingers. He can feel her walls tightening around them, if that’s even possible for her to be any tighter at all. He thinks that’s she’s so fucking tight that when he really wants to sink his cock into her, he needs to work up to it. But he’d do it gladly.

“Shit,” She bites her lips.

“Feels good?” He seals his lips around her pussy again, it’s so tiny and cute, he kind of fits it right into his mouth with room to spare and then he hums, sending vibrations throughout her body.

He’s a little shit, he knows.

“Fuuuck, Dean! Uh-huh,”

“Uh-huh? Did you reach that spot yourself today, baby?” He rubs at that spot on the inside to emphasize his words.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Nuh-uh? Then let me help you.”

He rubs and fucks her faster, sucks harder, eyes steady on her because he wants to see that. Wants to see her coming undone.

“Fu… Dean,” She fists her hand in his hair, her nails clawing at his scalp, kind of pulling him in further and she’s strong, it hurts him a little, but a good kind of hurt. Because he likes that too, can not lie about it.

He manages to look up, his lips still attached to her clit when he speaks, “Look at me baby,”

She blinks, closes her eyes for a long stretch and revels herself in the feelings before she opens them up and looks down at him.

“That’s it, good girl.” He hums and mouths at her pussy, seals his lips around her clit and sucks before he lets go again. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want you to look at me when you come. I want to see you.”

His voice is deep, has probably dropped a little more, if that’s even possible. It’s shaking a little, too, because god knows that he’s so fucking close to creaming his own goddamn underwear.

“Oh god!” Y/N closes her eyes briefly, but then she remembers that he told her to look at him and her eyes fly open, staring into his fucking soul as she shakes around his mouth and finger. The one thigh that he didn’t pin down comes up, pushing against the side of his face so hard as she vibrates.

Dean’s smile is confident afterward while she lies above him, her chest heaving, her eyes closing and opening, still riding on that high.

“It’s Dean, not god.” He grins cockily and she looks down to roll her eyes at him.

He takes out his finger, licks it clean before he laps at her pussy, cleaning her up as best as he can and yeah, he can’t get enough, that much is clear and he would dive in some more, make her come a couple more times (would love to know how many times he could make her come in one night, and yeah, he wants to find that out), if she wouldn’t have whimpered when he sucks at her clit. She’s so fucking sensitive and that’s a major turn on, too.

Honestly, at this point, Dean doesn’t think there could be anything about her that could turn him off anymore.

Climbing up her body, he fishes at the covers at the foot of the bed and brings it back up, covering both of them with it. He kisses her then, letting her taste herself off his tongue.

“Perfect.” He whispers as he comes up for air.

“What?”

“You’re fucking perfect.”

He knows that she’s blushing but he doesn’t care, kisses her once more.

Dean breaks the kiss after, maneuvers her onto her side again so he could spoon her from behind. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” She says and adds, “Amazing.”

“That’s good.” He whispers, his mouth so close to her ear and it sends sparks through her spine.

Never once did someone ask her how she feels after.

“And now we sleep,” He places a kiss behind her ear.

Y/N looks back, probably thinks he’s out of his mind (which he might be, because it was never about him and that’s a first for him). “But you didn’t—”

Dean feels her bare ass against his rock hard and leaking cock. He’s sure that he dampened his underwear. He kisses her shoulder, her jaw, her temple. “It’s not always about me, it’s all about you. I usually have control over myself, although it’s pretty hard to have it around you sometimes.”

She doesn’t say anything but he can feel the huff of air as she cozies herself into a fetal position. He holds her, and he swears that he’s out so fast, even if his cock’s still fucking hard. It never happened before. Things happen around her, that he clearly has no control over and maybe he should be scared but weirdly, he’s quite okay with it.

CH14

[emgkheadcannons]

Clothes Headcanon Part 4

Here is part 4. It just got long so I put in a keep reading to make it easier to scroll.

Lingerie

Kelly likes clothes. He likes the way they can make him feel, and dressing nice makes him feel better about himself. He has been on the runway, and in photo shoots. The thing is sometimes Kelly doesn’t want to dress like a rap/rock star. Sometimes he wants to be really comfy, sometimes he likes to feel soft, pretty, and delicate, and sometimes he wants to be sexy, and beautiful,  and the clothes that make him feel this way are oversized sweaters, fuzzy socks, lingerie, and other pieces of clothing that society says are for women. He likes how he looks in clothes, though he doesn’t let anyone else see him in them. 

******

Kelly owned a lingerie chest before he started dating Em. It is a tall, narrow chest with five drawers and a jewelry box on top. He keeps it tucked to the side, out of the way. He has a few pairs of panties, some bralettes, a couple of babydoll tops, and a little bit of everything.  He has never shown or told anyone about the chest before. Most see it and think it’s a jewelry box and nothing more. 

Em stumbles upon it when looking around Kelly’s closet one day. They had ended their beef a while ago and were sort of dating. Kelly had been giving Em a tour of his house, when he got an important phone call. He told Em to make himself at home and feel free to explore. 

Em had been looking around Kelly’s closet when he saw the tall, narrow chest. He opened the lid to see a few pieces of jewelry, nothing really stood out to him. Then he opened the first drawer, and inside were only two pairs of stockings, and a single garter belt. The first pair were black, fishnets with a thick band of lace at the top. The other pair was a set of delicate, white lace, with an intricate flower design; the top was scalloped, and edged with a silk ribbon, with a little bow on the side. Em gently put the stockings back in the drawer, and closed it before opening the next. 

The second drawer wasn’t even half way full with maybe six pairs of panties. The first pair Em sees is a pair of black, silk, ruffled boy shorts. He grabs the pair of light blue panties next to them, and pulls them out for a better look. The front of them look pretty normal, just kind of sheer, then he turns them around to look at the back. The back was a mixture of lace and straps. Two straps came from each side and were connected to the lace in the center. The lower part of the ass was all blue lace that tapered up ending when it met the top strap that went around the waist. There was even a silk bow at the top where the lace met the top strap. 

Looking at the panties made Em mad. How dare Colson keep his ex’s underwear, and in a special chest of drawers. How dare he keep his sex trophy’s in such an ostentatious place. He looked down at the again and noticed that the panties were cut differently. Then it hit him. These things weren’t Kelly’s ex’s clothes, they were his. These panties were for men. 

Em folded and placed the blue panties back drawer and closed it. He walked away deciding not to open another drawer. It did make him wonder who Kelly had worn those panties for. Would he wear them for him? 

Em walked back over to the chest of drawers and decided to try a different drawer. Inside were three sets of silk sleep clothes. The first was a dusty pink camisole with matching shorts with some beige lace around the edge. The second was another camisole with matching shorts, except these were cotton with a sunflower pattern. The last was a black, babydoll, nightgown. Em lifts the nightgown out of the drawer by the straps. The bodice was silk, in a simple heart cut, with a light blue ribbon that runs under the chest, ending in a bow, with the sheer, lacey skirt, with ruffles on the hem. The fabric is so soft as he rubs it between his fingers. He gently puts the dress back where it belongs, and softly closes the drawer, imagining Kelly wearing the nightgown for him.

The next drawer has what looks like a corset. He picks it up, and it is a corset. A silky black corset, with red trim. There is another one under it, but before he can put the garment back, Kelly walks in. They both freeze, neither one knowing what to do, or say. Em noticies how red and embarrassed Kelly looks, and decides to break the silence. “Hey it’s okay. A lot of people have kinks, and this isn’t a weird one.”

“It’s not a sex thing, well mostly not a sex thing. I just like the way I look in them. I feel pretty. I grew kinda poor, and being able to wear nice clothes makes me feel good about myself. They also feel good wearing them; most of them are really soft, and silky.” Kelly explains. 

Em understood. Growing up on a single parent income, seeing what others had, having to wear second hand clothing all the time, it not always fitting. He also knew Kelly was bullied a lot in school for being poor. Who is he to judge what the guy wants to wear now that he can afford nice stuff. 

Em looks over to Kelly, seeing him shifting his weight from side to side. Em looks down at the corset in his hands, then back at Kelly, before opening his mouth. “They are very pretty.”

Kelly relaxes a little, but still looks pretty nervous, waiting for Em to say more. “So which … um ... which ones are your favorites, or like to wear?”

Kelly shows him his collection of sweaters, to the side of the chest; soft normal and oversized sweaters, cropped sweaters, or the semi see through loose knit sweater are all stacked neatly, on shelves. He pulls down a soft, white, oversized sweater that has long sleeves, and a cowl neck. 

“This is one of my favorite sweaters.” Kelly says with a blush. It looked very soft, and comfy.

“Do you want to wear it? I wouldn’t mind seeing you in it. I’ll be back in your room.” 

Kelly puts the sweater on, along with some fuzzy socks and joins Em in his bedroom, who is watching some sports game. Kelly is stiff and is sitting too far from Em, in his opinion. Em grabs Kelly’s arm, pulling him over, so Kelly will hopefully curl up against him. It works, and they have a nice evening together. 

******

Em works hard to make Kelly comfortable wearing his pretty clothes around him. He even starts buying him pieces. He makes sure to complement Kelly when he wears something. Em loves soft comfy Kelly. It usually means that they are going to have a night in and do simple things like cuddle one the couch, watch movies, and lazily make-out. A cuddly Kelly is a happy Kelly. Em starts to join Kelly and wears his sweaters more. He even buys more because Kelly likes to wear his sometimes, and Em fucking loves seeing his boyfriend in hs sweaters. Kelly might be taller but Em was bigger, and bulkier. Over time Kelly gets really comfortable wearing pretty clothes around Em, and now he has a section in Em’s closet just for some of the special clothes that he and Em love; he has moved his lingerie chest into this section. 

******

Kelly knows Em is really driven by what he sees, and he uses it to his advantage. He knows some of his pretty clothes turn Em on, like his nightgown, and pantes, but that his boyfriend respects that he wears them mostly to feel good, but sometimes Kelly wants to be sexy in them too.

Kelly comes back into the movie room, with his favorite sweater on, and some matching socks that disappeared under the hem of his sweater. He sits next to Em, curling into his side like he did on the first night he wore this sweater for his boyfriend. Em’s arm automatically wraps around Kelly’s waist. Kelly puts his head on Em’s shoulder, and nuzzles his neck. Em looks over, thinking how cute his boyfriend looks, and goes in for a kiss. 

As their lazy makeout turns more heated, Kelly moves to straddle the older rappers lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Em has one hand on the back of his neck and the other hand rubbing up and down Kelly’s thigh. Once they break apart, breathing heavy, Em starts to make his way down Kelly’s neck. The cowl neck of the sweater gives Em access to his neck and collar bone, letting him bite and suck along the curve, making Kelly release breathy moans and gasps. The hand rubbing Kelly’s thigh moves up toward his ass. Em feels the lacey material and groans. Kelly was wearing panties for him.

“I think we should move this to the bedroom.” Kelly purrs into his ear.

Em shifts his hands to support Kelly’s weight better and stands up, with Kelly in his arms. 

Kelly lets out a yelp at the abrupt movement, squeezing his arms tighter and wrapping his legs around Em. Em carries Kelly to the master bedroom and sits on the bed, with the blond sitting  on his lap again.

“So what brought this on?” Em asks as he leans against the pillows groping Kelly’s ass through the sweater. 

“I wanted to be pretty, but i’m also horny.” Kelly replies bluntly. 

“So are you going to take off your pretty sweater, or do you need me to do it?”

Kelly is blushing; he knew Em would be into him wearing panties, but he didn’t realise the man  would like them this much. He rises to his knees, grabs the hem of his sweater, and slowly pulls it up and over his head, revealing the lingerie he is wearing. He twists his torso so EM can see more of his outfit.

The panties are a pair of sheer, lacey, baby pink hipsters, with a trail of silk pink bows down the seam in the back, and dotted with pink and white rhinestones. They fit Kelly’s ass perfectly, hugging all the right curves. He can see some of Kelly’s ass peeking at the edges. 

The coset starts under Kelly’s chest, and ends at the top of his panties. It was the same lacey baby pink fabric, with rhinestones at the bottom. The laces in the back were silky like the bows on his ass, and were pulled tight, with the ends tucked in. It wasn’t a shaping corset, more of a fashion statement. 

Em is breathless, not only is Kelly gorgeous in them, but sexy as fuck. Em can’t remember the last time he was this hard. 

Kelly sits there waiting for the older man to say something, shifting as more time passes, without Em saying anything. Doubt slowly creeping in.

The soft smile drops off Kelly’s face, thinking that maybe this was too much for Em. “Um … do you …. Is … is this okay?” 

The question brings Em back to the present. Looking up at Kelly’s face, seeing the worry, Em knows he needs to say something, but for once his words have failed him. Instead, the older man surges forward, capturing Kelly’s lips. One hand tangling in the blonds hair, the other grabbing a lace covered ass check. 

Shocked Kelly takes a moment to return the kiss, but when he does, the taller man wraps his arms around Em’s neck, pushing their bodies closer together.

******

 Now that they spend more of their time at Em’s house, the lingerie chest is now located in Em’s closet, along with many of Kelly’s other clothes, normal and pretty.

Em loves Kelly’s pretty clothes, and loves buying them too. He regularly buys him new socks, stockings, sweaters. He has also taken to filling the chest with lingerie he himself has picked out for Kells, and jewelry to fill the top.

Most of the time Kelly still wears his pretty clothes for him but sometimes he wears them to have fun with Em.

[heytherejones]

Okay how about they're in Betty's house, her parents are home, they're trying to be quiet but neither of them are good at being quiet?

Really out of my element today! But hopefully it’s not too bad.

Quiet—–

He was pressed against the bed, crown of protection long gone, beautiful girl perched on his lap. He couldn’t breathe, she was moving her hips in that sinful way she does and looking down at him, lashes curled and green eyes wide.

“My parents are home.” She murmurs against his skin, her finger dipping into his collarbone.

“I know that.”

“But I wanna-” She keens against him, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“I’ll be quiet, but you…I don’t know-” He grins.

“Juggie!” She moved to slap her hand to his chest, but his hand grabs her wrist all too soon.

His hands run along her hips, around her stomach, thumb pressing into the seam of her jeans. Her eyes shut tight as his fingertips run over the skin showing from her slightly lifted shirt. He sits up slowly, face nuzzled into her neck as he pops open the button of her jeans.

“You’ll be quiet?” He presses a thumb to her cheek, sliding down her jaw.

“Y-yeah.” His eyes meet with hers, looking questioningly.

“Yes Juggie.” She swallows hard, his hand pushing past the waist band of her jeans, not yet into her underwear. He groans, cause she’s practically soaked through the material of her white cotton underwear for him, because of him. The room to move his hand is pretty slim, his knuckle nudging right where it feels too sinfully good. Her lip tucks under her teeth as a moan vibrates through her throat.

His lips are at the shell of her ear, breathing shallow at just the sound of her voice calling out for him.

“You said you’d be quiet.”

“Believe it or not, I’m trying.”

He pushes her on her back, tugging her jeans down her legs in an instant. He’s yanking down her underwear so fast that it’s all a blur and all she’s left in is socks and his t-shirt. His lips drag across her neck before he slowly makes his way between her legs, nipping the skin on her already bruised up left thigh.

“You gonna be quiet for this?” His eyes never leave hers, lips pressing under her belly button.

“Absolutely not.” She whines cause he’s being unfair but she doesn’t want to stop him. It makes all the difference when her parents are at conferences for The Register and he can fuck her anywhere in the house then when they’re home and she doesn’t know how to shut up.

“Jug, I swear, don’t-” She warns, fingers threaded through his raven hair, her foot trying to kick at his shoulder. But then his mouth quickly makes his way to where she wants it, needs it and shes showing him signs of want more than protest. She melts right away, her head dropping to the pillow.

“Juggie-” She’s choking out silent whimpers now until his tongue moves a certain way and whimpers practically turn to a scream.

“C'mon Betts.” He pulls back, looking at her with his eyebrows raised. She lifts her head from the pillow, resting her weight on her elbows as she stairs down at him through her lashes.

“Jones I swear to God. What do you want me to do?” Her head drops back down because she can barely stand the sight of him. Hair is messed up all thanks to her, his gray sweater dropping down just enough to show his collarbones, his lips dark pink and swollen.

“Betts I’m not gonna fuck you if you can’t shut up.” He looks at her sternly, blue eyes wide and full of humor. Either one of his hands are tangled around her thighs, nails pressing into skin.

“What! No, that’s not fair!”

“You’re no good at being quiet either!” She cries, pulling him upward by the collar of his sweater. He rests his forearms on either side of her head as she unbuckles his belt, pulling down the zipper and moving out of the way only what’s necessary until he’s where she wants him.

“I’m not as bad as you, sunshine.” His eyes glisten again humorously, laughing as she pouts her lips.

“Oh it’s on.” She perks up, rolling her hips upward until he’s fully sheathed inside of her, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Before he can even make the connection with his brain that he’s buried inside of his blonde seductress of a girlfriend, she’s rolling her hips upward again and again. One more push upward and he nearly drops on top of her.

“Betts this isn’t a game, your parents are home.” He growls against her flushed skin, fisting his shirt she’s wearing as he pushes himself in deeper.

“Jesus, Elizabeth.” Her hips roll roughly against his, her nails dragging down his stomach underneath the thick knit sweater.

“Do me harder Juggie, please.” Her lips curve into a deliciously devil-like smile and he stills his hips until she’s whimpering like a wounded animal, begging him to pick up the pace again.

“You want me to break you Betts?” He laughs into her shoulder and quickly, his hand pulls her thigh upward to rest on his hip, pushing forward over and over until his eyes are rolling to the back of his head again, panting in her ear.

“You’re too much of a softy Juggie.” She teases.

“Funny. Shut up.” He groans, rocking with her harder until the springs in the bed she’s had since she was 10 start to creak, the wood of the headboard slamming against the wall.

She cries, wanting him to pick up the pace even more. His hand slides over her mouth, held there to keep her quiet, her hips rocking up to meet his the moment his roll forward again.

“You’re parents aren’t deaf Elizabeth.” She nods quickly, pulling his hand away from her mouth. A floorboard creaks out in the hallway, but she holds him tight against her.

“Keep going.” His hand slips under her shirt, tightly gripping her waist, his fingers digging into her warm skin. The pressure builds up all over again and she swears to herself, it’s never felt this good before. Maybe she was biased because he was her best friend, but Christ, he knew how to hit all the right spots inside of her, where to touch her at every exact moment.

“Fuck, I wanna come in you so bad, Elizabeth.” He grunted in her ear, fingers digging deeper into her waist, harder and harder. She takes a moment to comprehend what he just said to her as if each time he thrusted into her she lost the right to understand, as if he had been actually fucking her brains out.

“But not yet-” The blood rushes to her head, desperate to let go, but he’s torturing her.

“Don’t come Betts.”

“But-”

“Not yet Betts.” He continues to rock with her harder, and a little bit faster. Her hand caresses his face, moving up to brush the hair from his eyes.

“C'mon.” He grunts, thumb pressed between them until her blood stills.

“Shit.” Her jaw fell slack, mouth opened in a sharp cry as he came inside of her, hard.

“We’re screwed.” She panted out, forehead resting against his.

“Oh yeah, I know.”

—–

“Hey, can I tell my mom I’m headed to your house after school.” Betty moves around the salad on her tray with her fork, looking between Veronica and her boyfriend nervously.

“But you won’t be? I’m confused.” She looks up from her latte, her finger wrapped around the pearls on her neck.

“Me and Jug got in trouble.”

“Yeah someone can’t shut up.” He mumbles, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“Jug. I still live across the way. You aren’t quiet either, not that I wanted to know.” Archie’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“Thank you!” Betty squealed, Jughead annoyed and her giddy as usual.

[lost-n-stereo]

my only wish this year (it’s you)

[AO3] 

A/N: It’s finally finished! These are the last two chapters but you can read the entire thing on tumblr HERE or on AO3 at the link up there. Thanks to everyone that has read/reviewed/liked/commented on this fluffy little fic. I really hope you all enjoyed it!

chapter 4

The week after Christmas is a blur of getting to know this man that already knows everything about her.

She finds out that he loves chocolate chip cookies but never with milk. He likes them with orange juice which is basically the grossest thing she’s ever heard. He’s fluent in three languages, knows more about history than anyone she’s ever met and can solve a Rubik’s Cube in under five minutes.

They spend their nights wrapped up in each other, his leg tucked in between hers and his head usually resting between her breasts. It’s as natural as breathing and every single night she goes to sleep terrified that when she wakes up the next morning she’ll be alone. There’s no way that this is permanent. She’s too happy, too content, and as great as it is, it still doesn’t feel real.

But every morning, there he is. Brown messy curls and his reading glasses askew as he reads from whatever book is sitting on their nightstand. She has grown to love the feel of his morning stubble brushing against her cheek when he kisses her good morning. His off key singing when he cooks her breakfast is endearing and when he makes love to her it’s like he’s setting her on fire from the inside out.

The last day of December starts with a snow flurry and Clarke holds a cup of hot chocolate in her hands as she watches kids playing in the park across the street from her apartment building.

“They’re cute,” Bellamy says when he comes up behind her, his nose cold on her neck when he presses a kiss to her shoulder.

Clarke nods and lets out a little sigh when he nibbles the skin behind her ear. “You’re insatiable.”

She can feel his chuckle against her entire body. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” she whispers as she turns around in his arms. “I love it.”

“And I love you,” he says before capturing her lips with his but she holds up a hand before he can take it any further.

“We’ve barely left the apartment all week,” she giggles when he bites her bottom lip and tugs. “It’s New Year’s Eve. What do you want to do?”

Bellamy turns her back around so he’s standing behind her again and holds her close against his front. “Nothing. I just want to sit on the balcony at midnight, my arms around my girl and a good bottle of wine to split between the two of us.”

Clarke sighs happily and leans back in his arms. “Sounds like heaven.”

***

A heavy weight sits on her shoulders all day and she can’t figure out why.

Nothing is different than the last few days. They eat lunch at the dining room table, their legs intertwined underneath, and she snorts into her coffee when he does a spot on impression of Raven. They watch reruns of Friends and The Office until her sides hurt from laughing so much.

“Do you think something can be too perfect?”

She’s laying on the sofa with her feet in his lap and he tickles her heel as he ponders her question.

“That’s a little random. Explain?”

She shrugs and twists so her toes are running up the outside seam of his jeans. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Like this, us. Do you ever feel that it’s too good to be true? Like if we close our eyes for too long we’ll wake up and it’ll just be…”

He pokes her foot with his finger when she doesn’t elaborate. “It’ll just be what?”

“Gone.”

The word hangs between them and she wishes like hell she could just take it back. This is her life, at least for now, and she should be enjoying it, not making it awkward with random philosophical questions.

Bellamy holds out his hand for her and she rolls her eyes a little before letting him pull her across the couch.

“Clarke, I don’t know or care if this is too good to be true.” He pushes her hair out of her face and drops a kiss to her temple. “All I know is that I am happier with you than I am when I’m without you. I don’t want to lose that feeling. Ever.”

“Me either.”

They make love on the couch with the TV playing softly in the background and the snow falling steadily outside.

*** Midnight feels like a deadline.

She can feel it in her bones, deep inside where her intuition lies. Something is off and she doesn’t want to believe it but she knows that it’s true.

Tonight is their last night.

Even though she can feel the clock ticking, like she’s some fucked up version of Cinderella, she doesn’t want it to change anything between them. She makes them a simple dinner with big glasses of wine that she spent way too much money on. They settle in to watch the ball drop, thankful that they are inside on this freezing winter night and not in the middle of thousands of strangers.

She’s in his arms (for now) and that’s enough for her.

Bellamy yawns at ten minutes to midnight and she panics. It’s too early to go to bed and she doesn’t want this night to end just in case she wakes up alone in the morning.

“Hey,” she pokes him in the side. “What happened to sitting on the balcony at midnight?”

He grins, albeit a little sleepily, and stands up. “What my lady wants, my lady gets.”

Clarke snickers and grabs the blanket from the back of the couch. “You’re a dork. Let’s go.”

The snow is still falling softly but they are protected by the overhang on her balcony. Clarke shivers a little despite her long sleeve shirt, pajama pants and wool socks.

“Come here,” Bellamy says quietly from behind her and she smiles as she settles between his outstretched legs on the wicker chaise. He runs his hands up and down her arms a few times. “You’re so cold.”

“I’m better now.” She snuggles into his warmth and he kisses her neck once before putting his chin on her head.

It’s then that a light in the sky catches her eye and she sucks in a breath. No, this can’t be happening.

“Was that a shooting star?” Bellamy asks her and she closes her eyes in a panic.

God, I hope not.

“Maybe it’s a satellite,” she says weakly. “Don’t think you can make a wish on those though.”

“Then we’ll pretend,” he tells her sweetly. “Make a wish, Clarke.”

Her heart is pounding. This can’t be over. It just can’t be. She’s not ready. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and makes her wish.

I wish this was all real.

Bellamy is still holding her when she opens her eyes but she knows how this works. He’s going to be there when she falls asleep but come morning she’ll be back to her old life.

“I need to say something,” she says, sitting up so she’s facing him. “No matter what happens tomorrow I need you to know something.”

“Clarke…”

She shakes her head. “No, please don’t stop me. Just let me talk.” He nods his head and waits so she continues. “Before this week you were just this stranger to me. A guy I watched from afar and I know this doesn’t make sense to you but just bear with me, okay?”

He’s just staring at her and she knows there’s a question on the tip of his tongue but she’s not going to give him the chance to question her when they are running out of time.

“I didn’t know you but I do now and I am so in love with you, Bellamy Blake. I am hoping like hell that when I wake up tomorrow you’ll be here but if you’re not, then at least I got to spend the last week being loved by you.”

Tears are falling freely but she doesn’t try to stop them and Bellamy doesn’t say anything, just pulls her down until his lips are on hers. She’s sure that he can taste her tears but he doesn’t seem to mind, just kisses her deeper as sounds of celebration start up around them.

“Happy New Year,” he whispers against her lips. “No matter what, I am yours. Okay?”

She nods and smiles even though she feels like breaking down. “Take me to bed, Bellamy.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

***

She knows he’s not there before she even opens her eyes.

Her chest doesn’t feel heavy for one. Every morning she’s woken up to his arm lying under her breasts, the warmth of his skin acting like her own personal heater. The bed is too cold and she tries to pretend that she’s back in that other world. Back with him.

Her phone is going off next to her head and she sighs as she moves her hand around without opening her eyes.

Merry Christmas Eve! reads the text from Raven but…

What? It’s January 1st, not Christmas Eve. Isn’t it?

Only her phone confirms that it’s December 24th when she pulls up her calendar. Her heart is aching in her chest. She runs her hand absently over the empty side of the bed, her sight blurring when she sees the dish that held Bellamy’s glasses is nowhere to be found.

She needs a plan, a way to get him back into her life. There’s no way she can just run up to him and tell him that she’s seen what their life could be together but she can’t sit back and do nothing either.

For now though, because it’s Christmas Eve again and she’s completely alone, she curls herself onto what she now thinks of as his side of the bed and she cries.

~~~

chapter 5

Six weeks later

The sun is barely peeking through the clouds as she hurries along the street, a white cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck. She thought it would be festive to wear pink and white even though it’s not actually Valentine’s Day because it falls on a Sunday this year and she doesn’t work weekends.

“You’re here early,” Raven comments when Clarke passes her office. “Nice coat,” she snickers and Clarke flips her off.

“Shut it,” Clarke laughs. “I happen to love this coat, thank you very much.”

Once she’s in her office she unbuttons the baby pink peacoat and tries not to dwell too much on the memory of Bellamy telling her about their first kiss. It’s been a month and a half since the dream or whatever the hell it was and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about him every day.

There was a moment when they made eye contact on the subway not long after she woke up and she could swear that he knew, that he felt it too. But then he just smiled and boarded the train, asked her how her holidays were and went back to his book.

Her holidays, her real holidays, were spent alone for the most part. She got together with Raven, Monty, Harper and some friends the day after Christmas for brunch. Raven listened intently as Clarke described the insanely detailed dream she had.

“You have to talk to him,” Raven insisted when Clarke finished telling her everything. “Maybe it was more than just a dream. Maybe it was a…glimpse.”

“A glimpse?”

Raven had just nodded excitedly. “Yes, like the universe showing you what your life could be like if you just took a chance.”

So she set out to talk to him more. Ask him on Mondays how his weekend was and then if he had any big plans on Fridays. They sit and laugh as they exchange stories about their crazy friends or family. She is getting to know him, slowly but surely, and she knows that soon she’ll have the guts to make a real move.

She didn’t get to see him this morning because she wanted the weekend to herself and the book she’s currently editing requires extra attention and she’d much rather do it in the office than on her downtime.

“What are you doing here so early?” Clarke asks Raven after grabbing each of them a cup of coffee from the break room. Raven does her grabby hands when Clarke passes her the mug and she laughs. “You’re never here this early. What’s up?”

Raven shrugs. “I may or may not have a date tonight and wanted to get some work done so I could get out of here early.”

Clarke mock gasps and puts a hand to her chest. “Why has my little Raven found a gentleman caller?”

Raven rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee. “Shut up. His name is Wells and he’s a contractor for some big shot company in Brooklyn.”

Clarke sits up in her seat. “Wait a second…Wells? Wells Jaha?”

“Oh shit, why do you know his last name?”

Clarke grabs her phone and logs into Facebook, pulling up Wells’ profile. “Is this him?”

“Oh shit, why is he on your friends list?” Raven’s forehead hits the desk and Clarke laughs.

“I’ve known Wells Jaha since…god since we were infants. He was my first boyfriend, actually.”

This causes Raven to look up and scowl. “So you’re telling me that I’m about to go on a date with your childhood sweetheart?”

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s a very nice guy. And a pretty decent kisser but then again I was only eight so what do I know?”

Clarke ducks when Raven throws a stack of post its at her. “Get out of my office, will ya? I got work to do.”

The rest of the day passes without fanfare. Clarke throws Raven a wink when she heads out an hour early and she laughs when Raven scowls and flips her off. She still has another hour before she can head out of here so she buckles down to work, her headphones playing softly in her ear as she moves her red pen across the stack of papers in front of her.

The subway platform is surprisingly empty when she arrives so she pulls out her phone and scrolls through her Facebook and Twitter feeds.

She leans against a pillar with her phone in her hand and she can’t help but laugh out loud at a text that just came through from Raven.

Still can’t believe I’m about to go mack on your childhood boyfriend. Wish me luck.

Clarke’s just about to type in a response when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

“You have the most adorable laugh I’ve ever heard.”

Her breath hitches in her chest when she turns around and sees Bellamy standing there with his hands tucked into his front pockets, a bright smile on his gorgeous face.

She blushes when he winks. “Thank you. What are you doing here? This isn’t your stop.”

Bellamy shakes his head and steps closer to her. “It’s not but I had to see you.”

“You did?”

Her heart is beating so fast it’s likely to take flight and fly right out of her chest.

Bellamy takes another step closer and then another until he’s almost toe to toe with her. “I did,” he nods. “Clarke, I have wanted to tell you something for weeks but it never seems to be the right time and I’m tired of waiting. Octavia keeps telling me to just make a move and she’s right so that’s what I’m doing.”

Clarke sucks in a breath when Bellamy reaches down for her hand. This can’t be happening. Not when she’s wearing exactly what he said she was wearing. Not when he’s saying exactly what he told her that he said.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And if you don’t go out with me I might just die,” he chuckles. “Dramatic I know but I feel like we need to know each other. And I know that you feel it too, I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. Please tell me that you feel this too.”

She doesn’t nod or agree, just stands up on her toes and kisses him gently. A slight brush of her lips across his and it somehow feels exactly like she remembered but also an entirely new experience. His hands find her hips and he holds her close to him as he kisses her thoroughly.

“Wow,” he says when he pulls away. He rests his forehead on hers and smiles. “I definitely didn’t know that was going to happen.”

Clarke grins and tugs him down so she can speak against his lips.

“Don’t worry. I did.”

*** 10 months later

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

Clarke groans when Bellamy nips the skin right beneath her belly button with his teeth. “You too. Now don’t stop.”

Bellamy chuckles as he moves further down and she can feel his breath hot on her inner thigh. “Is it just me or does this feel a lot like déjà vu?”

Shortly after they started dating Clarke confided in him about her dream, her glimpse and even though it seemed farfetched there were a lot of things she couldn’t have known otherwise. Octavia’s boyfriend Lincoln, for one. There was no way for Clarke to know about him and when she met the real Lincoln she almost had a heart attack. Also, the cookie thing. She almost laughs just thinking about the time she brought him a glass of orange juice with his stack of cookies instead of milk.

“How in the world…” He had looked from the glass to her a few times in awe and she had just laughed and shrugged. And of course she’ll never in her life forget the moment that’s happening again right now.

“Maybe because it’s happened before,” she says breathlessly as she clutches his shoulders. “Will you please, please give me my present now?”

“With pleasure,” he mumbles against her but instead of putting his mouth on her he puts a small box on her stomach instead.

“Bellamy…” She looks down, her eyes wide, as she takes in the black velvet box resting on her bare skin.

He grins, that devastatingly handsome smile he pulls out only on special occasions, and repositions himself so he’s hovering over her.

“Clarke, I feel like I’ve known you forever. I believe that this isn’t our first lifetime together and I don’t think it’ll be our last. So…” He pauses to open the box and Clarke feels the first tear hit her cheek when he pulls out the ring. “Will you marry me?”

She doesn’t nod or agree, just leans up and brushes her lips gently against his. A kiss that encompasses both the past and their future, familiar but as exciting as their first kiss like it always is.

“Should I take that as a yes?” He chuckles against her lips and she finally nods and holds out her hand so he can slip the ring on.

“Wow,” she says, resting her forehead against his. “I definitely didn’t know that was going to happen.”

He pushes a strand of hair out of her eyes and kisses her again.

“Don’t worry. I did.”