#I’m romanticizing our time together

[butteryunlikelylady]

it was never my life to live and he didn’t fall for the real me… he fell for an accessory and thought he could just change the label while things stayed the same

[yandere-writer-momo]

I decided to make this ghost incredibly desperate. He yearns and he’s so pathetic.

Yandere Short Stories:

The Love From the Dark

Yandere Victorian Ghost x Fem Reader x Author Fiancé

TW: toxic relationship, character death, descriptive MURDER, body horror and decay, suicide (mention), horror elements, Yandere themes, unhealthy relationship dynamics, PATHETIC MAN, delusional behavior, and themes that should not be romanticized in real life

The sun’s rays momentarily blinded (your name) as the moving van turned the curve up the hill towards their destination. The wind from the open window tousled her hair with its invisible fingers. A smile now painted on her face from its soothing ministrations.

This was a fresh start… one her fiancé, Clayton, insisted they take together. The Victorian home would give him the perfect inspiration to defeat his writer’s block and finish his horror book… all because the house was rumored to be haunted.

“It’s rumored to be crawling with paranormal activity. Not to mention it was a steal! It has the perfect environment for me to write a horror book. Are you not supportive of me?” Clayton’s words replayed in her mind like a tape on an endless loop.

The couple hardly spoke to one another anymore, Clayton was so consumed in his writing that he almost didn’t exist in reality anymore save for driving, sleeping, or eating.

(Your name) constantly walked on eggshells around him in order not to tip the delicate scale of their relationship towards separation. She’s been with him for so many years that she couldn’t imagine a life without him. Even though he was no longer a man she recognized.

Ten minutes later and their van finally made it to their new home… and it was the creepiest looking house she’s ever seen. Some of the grey paint was peeling on the sides and all the surrounding trees were still barren despite the season being spring. Not to mention the large murder of crows that snuggled their little black bodies on the roof.

“…this place looks like a haunted house out of a paranormal film. I’m not sure if this is a good idea-“ but she was instantly met with a scoff.

“I don’t want to hear it. This is for our future and for my book.” Clayton rolled his eyes at her concerns. “It’s only for a few months, then we can move somewhere else. It’s not like ghosts are actually real. It’s just the perfect ambience for a horror book, plus the study has a view of a cemetery on the plot.”

(Your name) glanced at the house once more, its eerie presence caused a shiver rolled down her spine.

Yet there was a familiar feeling that crept into her mind. Why did it feel like she’s been here before?

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The moment the couple entered, they were shocked to the core. The interior was in perfect shape. It was almost as if they entered a Time Machine back to the early 19th century.

Yet what caught (your name)’s eye was the giant portrait of a woman who looked identical to her in the grand living room right above the fireplace.

She walked forward and gently placed her hand on the fireplace, her fingers traced the smooth stone in wonder. Not a spec of dust lifted onto her finger tips.

That portrait wasn’t just similar to her appearance, it was eerily her exact appearance. It was an uncanny coincidence. One that made her stomach do summersaults to the point of queasiness.

“Clayton… I don’t think we should be here.” She expressed worry once more, but he loudly clicked his tongue in disagreement.

“Tsk. It’s probably just a coincidence. You’re looking too much into it.” He then brushed past her to head up the stairs. He was determined to claim that study. He had seen its grandiose design on the realtor site prior to purchase. It even overlooked the entire manor. Whoever built this home must have been loaded.

(Your name) frowned. She just couldn’t understand why her fiancé had changed so much. He was now married to work rather than about to marry her. She was so lonely within her own relationship and that made her even more depressed.

She studied the grand room one last time a frown on her face when she noticed a different portrait that had its face torn apart. Someone must have had a fit of anger when they did that from his damaged it was.

(Your name) shook her head clear and decided to explore. Maybe this house wouldn’t be so bad…

Yet if she glanced in the corner of the room, she’d notice the eyes of the destroyed portrait in the corner had moved.

“(Your name)?” A raspy, masculine voice heaved. His voice scratchy and low like he hadn’t spoken in ages.

Black liquid oozes from the eyes of the portrait like tears. His wife came home… she was finally home.

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(Your name) felt sick to her stomach when she saw every single room had a portrait of her likeness in it. There was no way it was a coincidence now. This was intentional.

She felt an overwhelming feeling bubble in her stomach. It was a kind of feeling that pray felt when it sensed a predator. She needed to leave. She needed to get out of here right this second.

Knock. Knock.

(Your name) knocked on the door of Clayton’s study. Her hands trembled a leaf in a strong wind. She was so scared… she needed comfort and reassurance more than anything right now.

“Clay? Clay I’m scared.” She stated outside the door.

Her fiancé didn’t answer. Her shaky hands quickly, went to hold her arms in order to soothe herself. The anxiety began to painfully, squeeze her chest.

“Clay? I’m serious. This house… something isn’t right here. There’s so many portraits. Can we please leave? Please-“

The door opened so fast, a gust of wind blew her hair back a bit. Clayton’s cognac eyes were filled with annoyance as he glanced down at her.

“Seriously? I’m writing right now, the writer’s block is finally gone. Can’t you do this attention seeking behavior some other time?” Clayton’s words were spat at her like the venom of a snake.

“Clay, I’m not lying. Please. I’m scared-“

“I don’t have time for this. I have a book to write. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll join you after a bit, hm? It’s just a few months here so you’re going to have to deal with it.” Clayton waved her away with a flick of his left hand. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. And I doubt someone would make so many portraits that look like you.”

Before she could get in another word, the door slammed shut on her face. A frown now etched on her soft features.

She just wanted a hug and to be told it’d be okay… she hadn’t meant to annoy him.

She turned on her heel to walk away so Clayton didn’t hear her sniffle. She hated when she cried in front of people… especially when she knew he wouldn’t comfort her.

The lights flickered on the walls as she walked past. The entity lurked in the hall by the study.

“Don’t cry… don’t cry…” his raspy voice was as soft as a breeze. “Don’t leave me.”

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(Your name) picked a room on the west wing of the house to have to herself. She was still upset about that argument with Clayton. He still had locked himself into his study like a petulant child despite the clock on the hand that hit ten o’clock at night.

She had found a portrait of a woman that looked like her in every room and expressed she was terrified yet Clayton brushed her concerns off like the typical horror movie protagonist. He insisted the paranormal didn’t exist and this was all merely a coincidence. That his priorities lied in the completion of his horror book.

Did she really mean so little to him? That writing meant more to him than his own fiancée? Haven’t she didn’t wanna think about it too long because it would only made her more upset.

She crawled into the soft queen sized bed, the curtains to her canopy kept her shaken form concealed to anyone who may past by… not that there was anyone else here but Clayton. And he was locked away in the study in the east wing.

(Your name) felt herself waver before the first few tears finally began to fall. She just couldn’t understand why Clayton had become so selfish. Was she not lovable anymore? Had she done something to make him uninterested? She just wanted to be loved again like she used to be.

An hour went by before she cried enough tears to nearly drown herself in a river of dreamless sleep.

Yet before everything went dark, she felt something icy cold cradle her face I a reverent manner. Had Clayton come to check on her? She knew he still cared deep down. That he wouldn’t let her go to bed lonely as he had in the last few months.

At least that was what her sleep addled mind allowed her to believe. It was a poor attempt of self comfort on her part, but she was too groggy to find falsity in that thought.

She let sleep take her as its prisoner once she assured herself of the who owned those cold hands. A foolish move on her part.

But those hands did not belong to her beloved Clayton… no. It was the shadowy hands of something far more sinister.

“It is you…you’ve finally come back to me.” That raspy voice echoed through the room. “I won’t mess up this time. I’ll be a good husband. I’ll take care of you…”

If only she had went with her gut feeling… Clayton’s hands were never cold.

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(Your name) woke up to her body being wrapped comfortably in blankets and a glass of water on the bedside table. Two tabs of acetaminophen were even placed next to the crystal glass cup. A soft smile lit up her features.

Had Clayton laid with her for a bit like he used to? Oh she had missed those times so dearly. Maybe there was hope for them. He hadn’t been thoughtful in ages…

She happily accepted the glass of water and pain pills before she began to get around. She should make breakfast for them to show her appreciation.

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Meanwhile, Clayton had fallen asleep in the study. His brown eyes slowly opened to wake up to the giant portrait of a woman that looked like (your name).

Hadn’t he covered that blasted picture up with a blanket?

He rose up to cover it once more but he noticed a paper placed on the desk written in furious red calligraphy. A writing style one would see in the 19th century rather than modern time.

Do not cover up my wife.

Wife? Who on earth wrote that?

Clayton glanced at the portrait once more, the smallest hint of unease hit him before it was gone.

This home was only for a few months. At least until his rough draft was finished. There couldn’t possibly be such a thing as ghosts, right?

He heard a knock at the door and saw his fiancée’s smiling face.

“Can we have breakfast together? It’s been a while since we’ve enjoyed a simple meal.” (Your name) smiled at Clayton who sighed.

“Maybe once I’m done with this page.” Clayton replied coolly. His amber eyes flicked back over to the writings that were scribbled on various sheets. “I’m very busy with the book.”

“…I understand.” (Your name) tried to mask her discontent with a reassuring smile, but if Clayton were to actually pay attention, he’d notice how strained the smile was. “I hope to see you soon.”

Their relationship had finally approached its finality and Clayton wasn’t even aware that the straw was about to break the camel’s back.

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(Your name) waited a few hours in the morning for Clayton to eat with her. The warm food eventually went cold as she was met with disappointment once more.

A hiccup fell from her lips before she could stop it. A sob soon followed. There truly was no hope for this love to bloom again. The flowers of love were dead at last.

Yet in her frustration, she was unaware of the entity observed her from the shadows. A giddy gleam in his beady black eyes.

His wife… she needed him. And he wouldn’t let her down this time.

“Don’t worry, my love… I’ll make sure you love home and never want to leave me. You’ll never cry again.”

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Clayton heard a clicking noise out in the hall. A sigh fell from his lips in annoyance. Did (your name) not understand he was busy? Wait… he promised to have breakfast with her.

Clayton turned his head toward the grandfather clock and cursed. It was nearly eight at night! Had he truly lost himself in his own little world for that long? He couldn’t imagine how upset his fiancée was…

He went to the door to open it but the handle wouldn’t budge.

Click. Click. Click. Was it locked from the outside?

“(Your name)? I’m sorry I didn’t come down for breakfast but you don’t have to lock the door.” Clayton rubbed the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t normal for her. She would never be this petty.

Click. Click. Click.

“(Your name) I’m serious. Open this door!” Clayton began to toggle the door hand even harder but it wouldn’t budge. It was almost as if the doorknob had been welded rather than locked. “(Your name)?! (Your name)-“

“She can’t hear you.” Clayton whipped his head around when he heard a raspy voice in the room with him. The hair stood up on the back of his neck when he realized he was the only person in the room.

“Who’s there?” Clayton hissed, his cognac eyes wildly searched the room. “Show yourself.”

Clayton jumped when the flames in the fireplace jumped to life. The flames nearly licked the carpet before it. What in the world?

“I don’t think someone like you could possibly comprehend what I am… so why don’t you take a seat for me, Clay.”

Before Clayton could spit out a retort, the floorboards suddenly came to life and slid him forward toward the armchair by the fireplace like a slide on a playground. What? This had to be a dream…

“You’re not a very good man.” The ghost told him. “You remind me of myself when I was alive. I was also so selfish and stubborn.”

Clayton wasn’t able to utter a word before an invisible force slammed him down to sit in the vintage recliner. The soft, mustard yellow fabric did little to calm him as the flames danced more violently in the fireplace. Ghosts weren’t real… he’s never believed in them before.

“I asked you to politely take a seat, but you seem to be the kind that has to learn the hard way.”

Clayton watched a shadowy, masculine form in the corner of the room as the figure made his way over to stand before the fireplace. His shadowy hand grasped the fire poker and stirred the wood.

“I was once a work oriented man. A wealthy merchant back then. I thought this beautiful house was all it would take to keep my lovely wife happy…” the entity continued to stir at the fire in thought. “She was so lovely, you know. So loving and kind. I took her for granted.”

Clayton could only listen in shock as the entity sighed. The ghost set down the fire poker to gently trace over the portrait of the woman who looked eerily similar to (your name).

Clayton felt a lump form in his throat. (Your name) had been so worried about those portraits and he had brushed her off. God he wished he had listened.

“My beautiful wife… it’s my fault she left me.” Bang! The entity suddenly slammed his fists into the wood above the fireplace. “She took her own life, all because I made her feel so lonely! But… but she returned to me.”

Clayton’s blood went cold as the temperature suddenly dropped in the study. What did the ghost mean by that? Was (your name) in danger?

“Listen, (your name) and I didn’t mean to disturb you. I think we will leave-“

Clayton didn’t have time to scream before the fabric of the recliner wrapped around his face and applied pressure. His fingers clawed at the wool fabric in vain.

“Leave? You’re not taking my (your name) away!” The entity hissed. Clayton soon felt more pressure held to his face and even around his throat. His hands clawed desperately at air. “This isn’t anything too personal, you’re just in the way of me reuniting with my beloved.”

Clayton felt his eyes roll back as he kept trying to fight the entity. He would never get the chance to apologize to (Your name). To tell her that he loved her. To hold her one more time and feel her kisses. He didn’t want to die. Not like this.

“Your body will do. Oh it’s been so long since I’ve had a body… I’ll take such good care of her this time. She’ll never be lonely again!”

Clayton felt his world go black, his heart finally stopped. The entity then released Clayton, the body flopped onto the floor with a thunk.

The entity stroked the purplish hue away from Clayton’s face. The entity soon hummed “here comes the bride” as he dug his shadowy hands into Clayton’s mouth to enter.

“My wife… my beautiful wife. We’re together again now.”

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(Your name) stirred awake when she felt a hand touch her face. Her eyes slowly opened to see Clayton’s familiar silhouette.

“Clay?”

“Shh… go back to sleep, darling.” Her face scrunched up a bit in confusion. Darling? Clayton never used pet names. He always said they were childish.

But she didn’t argue when she felt a body beside hers in the bed. Clayton’s lean arms pulled her close as a nose buried itself into her neck to deeply inhale her scent.

“I missed you… I missed you so much.” He murmured into her skin before he pressed a few kisses to her neck. Yet they felt strangely cold.

“I missed you too.” She held his hand. A few tears slipped down her cheeks like a leaky faucet. “So much…”

“Shh… I’m here now.” Clayton whispered into her skin. “And I’ll never leave you alone again. I swear.”

She smiled as she let his honeyed words comfort her. It was so nice to finally be held again.

A shame this wasn’t Clayton. That he was the lonely entity that possessed this house that finally had its wish come true… a second chance.

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(Your name) hummed as she made breakfast. The smell of bacon and fresh eggs filled the air.

For the first time in two months, Clayton came down to have breakfast with her. He sat eagerly at the table in the strangest of clothes. She didn’t know why he was wearing 18th-century clothes, but who is she to judge? She wasn’t a writer. Maybe he was in cosplay to get in the mood to write his story?

Clayton had even set the table with utmost manners he never displayed in his life. He must be really committed to this elegant character he presented himself as.

She served him his plate and paused at the weird, pungent smell he had. That was odd… Clayton never smelled like that before.

“Clay? You have a rather… peculiar scent.” (Your name) softly notified him. She knew how much Clayton hated when she was too blunt, so she always had to dance around her words in order not to hurt his feelings.

Clayton froze for a moment before he gave her a smile. “ I must be dirty from all that time I spent in the study. I’m so sorry, my darling.”

There was a pet name again. The darling…

“Clay? Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve never called me, darling before…”

Clayton’s fork and knife paused mid cut of the bacon. Another weird habit she never saw before.

“I haven’t? Do you not like it?” He asked, his brow furrowed with worry. “How about I call you my love instead?”

She shook her head and smiled. “You’ve just never used pet names before… I like them.”

Clayton then gave her a warm smile as he spoke once more. “Then I’ll call you all the pet names you’d like.”

Her heart fluttered. It had been so long since her fiancé paid attention to her and it felt so nice.

Clayton watched the way her cheeks flushed in pure joy. She looked so pretty when she was happy. He’d make sure to always keep her like that… but first he had to solve his problem with this body.

He would hate to rot so quickly on her. He would have to shove some posies in his pockets to mask the scent until he found a better solution.

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A few days went by and she noticed Clayton bloated a bit. She didn’t trigger his gluten allergy with the toast, did she?

“Clay, do you need your EpiPen?” (Your name) asked Clayton who gave her a reassuring look.

“No, I’m fine. I just hadn’t ate with you in so long.” She smiled at his response.

“Are you sure? I’m a bit worried about you. You’re bloating…”

“I’m fine, truly.” Clayton reassured her. He wouldn’t let her see how anxious he truly was.

This body was decaying too fast… he wouldn’t be able to hold onto it. And he didn’t want to scare her with an animated corpse… he had to think of a different solution now.

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Clayton hobbled to the basement before his body fell to the floor with a thunk. The entity cursed as he noticed the rot began in the stomach area. The temporary body was no longer viable anymore.

“You’re so useless even in death.” The entity rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He floated around the basement that held portraits of his human form from back in the day. A stern looking man with dark hair and a hooked nose was painted on each art piece… but the ghost’s favorite was the one where he was beside his wife.

“I have to find a way to keep you here.” He cried in anguish. “I can’t let you slip away again. I don’t want to be all alone…”

He lovingly traces the portrait’s face. He had waited here for over a hundred years for this second chance.

The ghost went over to the coffin in the basement before he opened it to reveal the skeleton inside. A Victorian death mask covered the skeleton’s face. This wasn’t ideal… but his old body wouldn’t smell like decay.

He could stuff the body and wear gloves… he knew his (your name) deserved more, but it’s all he could offer.

“This is for us… it’s all for us.” The ghost reassured himself as he lifted the mask for the first time in over a century.

The charade was up… and he’d have to burn Clayton’s body in the incinerator. He didn’t want Clayton to stink up the place.

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There was not a doubt in (your name)’s mind when Clayton came to her that he wasn’t Clayton. She could no longer lie to herself.

Whoever this was, they were far too nice to her. Too chivalrous. Too gentle.

Where her fiancé once treated her with disdain, this man treated her as if she was more precious than gold.

She felt arms wrapped around her around her as the cold mask leaned on her shoulder.

“…what’s your real name?” She felt the man pause.

“W-what do you mean, my love?” He stuttered. His voice was raspy. It no longer even sounded like Clayton.

“You know what I mean.” She pulled away to turn around. Her hands gently cradled the masked face. “You’re far too sweet to me and your voice… it’s not Clayton’s.”

Hands shot up to hold her hands as a sob racked through the body of the man. She frowned in worry. This wasn’t a reaction she thought he’d have.

“I’m sorry… please don’t leave me!” Now this was a man who was desperate… it was refreshing to her.

“Shh… it’s okay. I’m not scared.” She lifted off the mask to show the face of a skeleton. A black liquid oozed from its eye sockets like a grotesque imitation of tears. The sight was something out of a horror movie, but she knew this entity didn’t want to harm her.

“I’m… I’m Frederick Anderson.” Frederick grasped her hands and pressed kisses to the back of them. Yet it felt odd since he only had his teeth exposed…

“Frederick?” She softly asked and Frederick nodded.

“I’m your husband! Well… the one last time.” He told her as he nuzzled her hands. He continued to try to kiss them. “You’re my wife… my beautiful (your name).”

She could not bring herself to be scared of him. Not when he seemed so desperate and lonely.

“Is that why you have so many portraits of me?”

“I painted them myself!” He exclaimed. “When you… died. I was so lost without you. Nothing mattered anymore. The townspeople all said I went mad, and I did. Life had no meaning if you weren’t in it!”

She listened as he began to ramble about their past life.

“I lost purpose. I had worked so hard to have this home made for us. To have the perfect place for us to start a family. I spent too long away from you.” He told her. “It’s all my fault. I should have never left you all alone… can you ever forgive me? I’ve already waited over a hundred years for you… I do not know if I can wait another century.”

“…I forgive you, Frank.” If it were possible, the skeleton became more animated.

“Frank… you haven’t called me Frank since 1853!! Oh happy day! It is so wonderful to hear it on your pretty lips again…”

She was suddenly pulled into a waltz, the skeleton hummed a cheery song from his time. Frederick was indeed romantic…

“You always wanted to dance together… I’ll dance with you all the time now!” Frederick told her while he pulled her body along in an elegant waltz. “I won’t let you down this time, I swear. We’re together again! Just my wife and I!”

They danced for several minutes until she felt the question from the back of her mind.

“…you killed Clay, didn’t you?”

“He made you cry, my love! And anyone who makes you cry doesn’t deserve to live!” Frederick exclaimed, his arms pulled her close. “I’ll scorch this world for you! Whatever you want, I’ll do it! I’ll commit atrocities in your name! Please never leave me again.”

(Your name) was frozen in his arms before she gently hugged him back. She couldn’t imagine being alone for so long… and she had without a doubt he wouldn’t let her leave anyways.

“I won’t leave you Frank. I’ll stay.” She rubbed his back as he sighed in contentment.

“Then I will be giving you my utmost attention. You are my beloved. My everything…”

[starjaeyun]

gatekeeper — tsukishima kei !

— tsukishima assures that he is not embarrassed of dating you, you think otherwise

warning/s : fem! reader, misunderstanding 😁 & a small fight at the beginning, profane language, tinsy bit of angst, fluff & crack from the second half ‘til it ends

note : had this little idea while writing a kageyama drabble so they might be quite similar

“just give up already”

y/n’s tip-toeing came to a stop. seriously? this was the 4th time this week! with an annoyed groan, she turns around, fists clenched, brows furrowed, and it looks as though a tick mark was formed on her forehead. behind her stood her oh so loving boyfriend, tsukishima kei, who somehow always catches her trying to sneak in the volleyball gym.

“oh c’mon kei! why won’t you let me watch your practice?!” tsukishima sighed, “we’ve talked about this” he grumbled, why does she have to be so stubborn?

“don’t talk like those romanticized, toxic boyfriends on wattpad!” y/n hits his arm, which barely does any damage to him, “and don’t act like them as well!”

tsukishima raises a hand to fix his glasses, “are you saying i’m toxic?”

“i never said that! i just said don’t talk and act like—”

“so you’re implying it?”

“well, you’re going to be if you carry on with that bullshit!” tsukishima grows silent and stares at y/n, who had seemed to be reaching the highest point of her annoyed meter, which would then slowly escalate into anger.

after a few seconds of silence, he spoke, “take these, don’t wait for me and go home. cool your head” in each of his hands were his hoodie and an umbrella, which he brought with him on the way to the gym incase it might rain before they’re able to go back to the locker rooms. with y/n giving no sign of taking it, he placed it on her foot and carried on walking past her.

“i don’t understand you” tsukishima comes to a halt, looking back almost immediately upon noticing y/n’s change of tone. crap, was i too harsh?

“why are you acting like that if you’re embarrassed of me?” he couldn’t tell whether she’s sad or angry.

“acting? acting like what? and what do you mean embarrassed?!” his tone immediately gave away his nervousness.

“in school or when you’re with someone else, you avoid and act like you don’t know me but when we’re alone, suddenly you’re taking care of me! make it clear whether you love me or not to save both our time because i am not about to start losing myself for a boy who can’t love me the way i deserve!” it’s clear that she wanted to say more so tsukishima stayed silent. “if you’re going to love me, at least be honest with me! am i embarrassing or not?!”

“of course not!”

“then why?!” it was a miracle that y/n was not crying nor shouting at the moment.

tsukishima fully turns his body this time, “what’s embarrassing is my explanation…” and the mood suddenly lightens.

“TSUKISHIMA, YOU BASTARD!” tanaka and nishinoya’s yelling made tsukishima sigh.

“you call me selfish but keep shimizu-senpai’s sister all to yourself” kageyama grumbles

tsukishima stands still. hands clasped together behind his back and head bowed down. he looks like a child getting a scolding, or how the the freak duo looks whenever daichi catches their slip ups.

nishinoya and tanaka kneels in front of the first year. head bowed down as if they were praising him, and that they are.

“on this day, we honor you. congratulations on getting a shimizu!” they say in unison.

“you’re overreacting” tsukishima simply says.

“nope, i, too, would congratulate you tsukki. no offense, but you’re not exactly the ideal boyfriend” yamaguchi says with a finger under his chin.

“mhm! so you better treat her right tsukishima! she’s like our little sister” sugawara’s smile does not look comforting at all.

“call me if you need help in buying gifts!” daichi volunteers happily.

“and me if you need advice!” asahi adds.

“why are you guys taking my job?” shimizu comments while giggling. “but, i do think that tsukishima is just right for my little sister” she turns to look at her sister who was now playing around with kageyama and hinata, “she’s as chaotic as those two, he’ll be able to handle her. so i trust that i won’t have to worry much?”

“of course” tsukishima didn’t seem like himself at the moment. his eyes seemed to have soften at the sight of his girlfriend. he smiled, though not too obvious.

“why are you smiling like a male lead in a drama?” tanaka teased. and though tsukishima hates expressing his emotions to his teammates, he certainly loves poking their annoyance scale, “because this is what it’s like to love and be loved”

“Why are you making it seem like kiyoko does not love me back! she does love me! right? right?” tanaka gave kiyoko hopeful eyes and received no response aside from her turning around.

“I’m not talking about platonic love”

“WHY YOU—“

“KEI!” apparently, while he successfully annoyed the second year, his girlfriend heard what he said and would definitely never let it go.

“when have you been so sweet?! love and be loved? seriously?!” she bounced up and down, hands on tsukishima’s shoulder for support.

“she’s no different from the freak duo, i’m afraid” sugawara comments and laughs along with the third years.

“but am i really that beautiful that you had to gatekeep me from your entire team?” she laughed, still bouncing, and tsukishima only stood there with his smile never seeming to fade.

“if that were me i’d be receiving his train of insults by now” hinata says, joining the rest of the team as they watched how tsukishima seemed to be a lot softer around y/n.

“you’re such a gatekeeper kei!” she teased, this time, she stopped bouncing and have started poking her boyfriend’s sides.

“that he is! how dare he gatekeep kiyoko-san’s sister?!” tanaka kneeled back down on one knee with a hand on his chest.

nishinoya followed suit, “and what’s annoying is that she reciprocated his love!”

© starjaeyun on tumblr | do not steal, copy, translate or repost

[starlightz4mj]

It’s Our Anniversary

Summary: Michael, once again, fails to show up for an important event you had plans for–this time, your anniversary. Tangled in a web of uncertainty, disappointment, and intoxication, how will his untimely arrival unravel the suppressed feelings and unspoken words you’ve both kept hidden?

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Era: Bad

Setting: Encino, California. Spring of 1987.

Category: angst, fluff, smut, oral (f! receiving), sexual intercourse (p in v) 

Word Count: 10,472

Note: For plot's sake, you'll have to pretend that the Havenhurst house wasn’t inhabited by the whole Jackson clan. Sorry if there’s any grammatical errors, btw. Also, I was listening to Anniversary by Tony! Toni! Toné! when the idea for this popped up, hence the title. I think using songs for my imagines might be a recurring feature. Anyway, enjoy! R.I.P. to D’Wayne Wiggins <3

Do you know what today is?

It's our anniversary

Made for you and me

Appareled in a Prussian Blue Valentino gown, you sit in the lavish dining room of the Havenhurst home designed with warm, Victorian elements. The intricately paneled walls display expensive oil canvases from the Romanticism and Renaissance periods. It was your boyfriend’s taste, not yours in particular, but still a stunning sight to take in. A pair of French antique chandeliers, adorned with crystals and bronze candlesticks, dimly light the space—accompanied by the silky notes of Jazz Noir drifting from a record player—blending together to set a mood of intimacy and relaxation.

Yet, as your dolled-up reflection looks back at you in discontent through the polished wood of the mahogany table, you are anything but relaxed. The loud dong of the grandfather clock adjacent to your right tolls aggravatingly for a third time, marking the three hours ago that Michael was supposed to be here. Unsurprisingly to you by now, he is not. That doesn't make the ache of disappointment any less painful.

For nearly the last year of the two you have been a couple, Michael’s packed schedule has been a constant interference to the increasingly rare occasions you spend with each other. Around when you had met him, he had concluded his activities for the Victory Tour, taking on less strenuous pursuits in his career after the success of Thriller. There were the infrequent appearances or interviews here and there, but overall, it was the least busy he had been for most of his life. And in that time, he and you had plenty of it to build a connection.

Being an attorney and starting out on a semi-business basis, you assisted in some of the proceedings he and your colleague took in purchasing the ATV Music Catalogue. There were a few times they came to you for advice on matters of intellectual property, that aspect of law being your area of expertise. Yet, unusually, despite Michael hiring nothing but the best for his legal selection, he hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to have a fiduciary relationship with you, even though you were the top IP lawyer at your firm. Your initial reaction was to be offended. After all the guidance he seeked, what could he possibly have against hiring you? 

“Well, Mr. Jackson, I don’t quite understand why you’d request my help, but decide to not appoint me to a position on your team. Is there some reason you think I’m unqualified for the job?” Voicing your potentially out-of-line assumption, you still maintain a courteous tone, even though your pride was slightly wounded. However, he simply lets out a giggle at the question.

���It’s the opposite, actually. I’d love for you to be a part of my team, but… it would conflict with another interest I have.” His aviator-shielded eyes cast downward toward the ground as he smiled coyly.

“And what might that be?” Your arms folded across your chest as your intrigue was piqued by the ambiguous statement, waiting for him to provide clarity.

“Taking you out to dinner on Saturday night. If you're up for it, of course.”

Your face donned with pleasant surprise as his words registered—a bold approach to make with such a shy demeanour. Though you wouldn’t say it aloud due to professional conduct, you had been an admirer of him since you were a girl in pigtails, starstruck by his strong voice and cherubic charm during that monumental premiere of The Jackson 5 on American Bandstand. 

Having a celebrity crush as a youth was nothing uncommon, but actually being presented with the opportunity to pursue a romantic gesture from them as an adult was inconceivable. The part of you that subdued the adolescent fancy you held for him felt as if it had been sparked again.

And with indignation replaced by delight, previous aggrievance long forgotten, you happily accepted his offer. From that point on, you and Michael went on numerous dates. You remember the more intimate ones—taking walks at night on the beach in Malibu or going to high-end establishments, such as opera houses and fine dining restaurants. The fun ones like going to the movie theater or to arcades in whatever crazy disguise he threw together. Most of them made you erupt into fits of laughter. 

You always voiced the theory that the zany costumes were more of an attention grabber than if people actually saw him in his normal attire, to which he proved otherwise. Long story short, on one of your many visits to Disneyland, you both, along with the Mickey Mouse mascot you were being photographed with, were swarmed by a herd of hysterical fans in the blink of an eye. You’re still not even sure how the limousine managed to get through the crowd as his security guards threw all three of you into the backseat. 

“Holy fucking shit! What the hell is going on?!” The heavily muffled shout of the man beneath the cartoonish mouse head would have been comical, if not for the overly excited group enveloping the vehicle, packed in close and trying to get a glimpse at the King of Pop. You yourself were staggered at the mob and attempting to calm your jittery disposition. All the while, you looked over to find Michael simply smiling and greeting the rowdy bunch, as if this were an average day for him.

Realizing that it was just that, you acknowledged the grace and composer he held himself with as an extremely admirable trait. You couldn’t fathom handling this lack of privacy and fanaticism since childhood. It was moments like this that made it click for you that being Michael Jackson, the popstar, came at a great price. To the world, he was this magical entity to marvel at—a wizard of entertainment. Before, due to the lack of familiar proximity, you used to hold that same image of him to some extent. But now, he was just Michael to you.

Michael, who had an affinity for Peter Pan and old Hollywood and Tchiakovsky. He always approached learning opportunities with eager curiosity, whether it was the sudden interest he’d taken in anatomy in recent months, or his humility in seeking mentorship from those he collaborated with in the industry, despite being a master himself. Michael, who was susceptible to internal struggles like anyone else and oftentimes wore himself down with his own expectations, but only because he believed in himself so fiercely. Michael, who was a beautiful fusion of contrasting energies—childlike spirit and wise, old soul, both wrapped in one. And the more of him you got to experience personally, the more profound and loving your relationship blossomed.

It carried on like this for a while, leisure time filled with frequent rendezvous, until his life started to pick up pace again. With the many filming projects he starred in, paired with countless hours of recording for his upcoming album, the days where you hardly saw him were steadily growing. You were able to distract yourself from his absence by getting lost in your own taxing work of large files riddled with dense jargon. Still, that only served as a temporary solution. 

“I miss you, Michael. We never see eachother anymore.” You utter into the phone while absentmindedly twirling the coil cord around your finger. You were bundled up in Michael’s bed, relaxing on your day off. But for him, he was busy in the studio, perfecting his sound for this new era of artistry. 

An exhaustion-filled sigh is let out into the receiver. “I know. I miss you too. I keep running into all these problems with the tracks. And Quincy-–he wants to go in a completely different direction with the sound than I do. It’s like, I can’t get anything worked out right today… Maybe I should just drop all of this and come home to you.” 

“Well, as much as I’d love that, I wouldn’t let you do it. I know how much this album means to you, to your fans… I want you to give it your all. You’ll get where you need to be. I know it. Just keep trying.”

He’s deeply appreciative of your encouraging words, grateful to have someone so supportive in his corner, even though he’s aware his hectic schedule no doubt takes a toll on you as well. “Yeah… I guess you're right. But still, I wish we had as much time together like we used to.” 

You think for a moment. “Well, how about we try our best to set some time aside out of the holidays for ourselves?” The suggestion was favorable enough, given the circumstances. And although there was some lingering resistance to practices outside of his past religion, such as festivities, he had opened himself generously to trying new things with you—some, more willingly than others…

So, that was the arrangement you both agreed upon. For a brief period, while still new, it was upheld fairly well-–until it wasn’t. The more activities Michael started to be bombarded with, the less he was able to keep his end of the agreement, and many of the days you had reserved for yourselves were cut into or entirely canceled by his heightened workload. But each time, you were understanding.

Like when he missed Valentine’s Day due to a conference he had for a potential brand deal with a fragrance line, which, by the way, ended up falling through, leaving the meeting pointless. Or when he got held back to reshoot some scenes for the Captain EO short film on your birthday, even though he was supposed to wrap up earlier to celebrate with you.

He would always return home with a peace offering, profusely apologizing for not being able to make it. And taking into account the extent of relentless demands in his career, it felt juvenile to be upset. So, you never truly expressed how much it bothered you, keeping it inside in favor of savouring the few moments you did have with each other. 

However, tonight is a different case. It’s your anniversary. And with each of the many reminders you gave over the last few weeks, he promised that no matter what, he would make it here by eight this evening. Instead, you found yourself alone, staring into the porcelain plate of chicken piccata you prepared, which has gone cold by now, with the hands of the clock moving farther and farther away from that designated time. As the minutes dragged on into hours, there wasn’t a single call sent as a courtesy to explain his nonappearance.

For him to not only be a complete no-show but also fail to at least leave you with prior warning—you were nothing less than seething at this point. The fretful bounce of your stilettoed foot carries on as you take a large swig of Chardonnay to ease the perturbance, waiting for the telltale sound of loafers padding down the marbled floors of the corridor. 

Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights of Los Angeles pass by in a blur as Michael heavily steps down on the accelerator of his Mercedes-Benz. Rush hour has long since been over, leaving the roads relatively uncrowded, thankfully making his race home quicker than usual. As the traffic light turns red, wheels halting in place, his right hand rummages around in his pocket to pull out a velvet box. How could I have forgotten? He inspects the small item, twirling it around with his fingers. 

What happened today was nothing short of chaos. Yet again, he and Quincy spent what felt like forever clashing over creative differences. Quincy, favoring the music production, wanted Al Capone to be on the album. Michael, on the other hand, preferred Smooth Criminal. Although both had the same thematic origins, with this song, he had a clearer, conceptualized idea of how it would look and feel in a movie short—the 1920s speakeasy scene, gangster suits and some influences of jazz in the dance style. After much discussion and weighing the pros and cons, Michael's decision ultimately prevailed.

The real trouble began when they actually started recording. From too much echo and reverberation polluting the sound of the tracks to Michael’s vocals not landing where they needed to, he found himself stuck in a continuous loop of scrapping various sections of his work just to start all over again. The constant mishaps couldn’t easily be pinpointed to one thing.

The stress of the ever-nearing approach of deadlines for this album, from music videos to preparations for the upcoming tour. Fatigue from rehearsal-filled days and sudden bursts of inspiration at night—lyrics, harmonies, choreography—that left him sleep-deprived. Or the nervousness from the much more immediate cause that, somehow, amidst all the madness, had completely slipped his mind.

As he returned to the sound booth from a restroom break, fully intending to keep recording until he felt the song he’d been working on was perfected, his eyes caught the red numbers on the digital clock hanging above the entrance—10:39 PM. Panic set in as the realization dawned on him: he was supposed to be home three hours ago for his anniversary. And though being so late to this very important event that you both had greatly anticipated did nothing to ease his anxiety, it was not the primary reason for it.

Michael had planned to turn this celebration of two years together into something even grander—a marriage proposal, but the potentially disastrous outcomes he had conjured up loomed over him like a dark cloud for weeks. As result, this entire studio session ended up in no meaningful progress, and astonishingly, he’d forgotten the one thing he promised he wouldn’t. Quickly pivoting on his foot, he scrambled towards the rack where his leather jacket hung, clumsily throwing it on.

“Smelly, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” The quizzical tone of Quincy’s voice doesn’t falter his rushed escape out of the room.

“I’m sorry, but I really gotta go! I’ll explain it tomorrow!” He hastily offers to wrap up their session before rushing towards the elevator. After impatiently waiting for the platform to ascend and dashing in upon its arrival, he soon reaches the first floor of the main lobby, booking it towards the exit of revolving doors. 

His attention is snapped from the burgundy colored cube in his hand as out of his peripheral, the stoplight turns green, putting the vehicle back in motion. As he carries on with his journey of about ten minutes left until he reaches home, his mind wanders back to the day you first met.

“There’s some parts of this document that are vague. You think you could come over and take a look?” John, Michael’s entertainment lawyer, had just had a brief exchange over the phone with someone moments ago before three loud knocks were heard at the closed door of his workspace. When it opened, in pranced a stunning woman, clad in a form-fitting red skirt suit, instantly drawing in Michael’s intrigue.

“Good afternoon. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” you chime in a genial tone, approaching with a beaming smile and extended hand, which he enveloped gently to shake—a fluttering giddiness erupts at the touch. As the two attorneys began to delve into the content of the forms, their words hardly registered to Michael. He was too focused on the concentrated gaze with which you scanned the documents, the shape of your rouged lips curving over vowels.

His eyes wandered to your accentuated curves as you leaned over the desk to examine the papers—voluptuous and alluring. And as you closed your revision of the material with an ‘I’m here if you need anything else,’ he couldn’t stop himself from watching the sway of your hips as you made a swift exit from the room.

You frequented over the next week, offering advice and providing context when needed. Sometimes, he would feign confusion with some parts of the text just so you could stay a little longer. Realizing that this was not the most practical way to prolong your being, nor considerate of your actual work duties, Michael finally decided to voice an inquiry.

“Hey, John, what’s your policy on dating clients?” The brunette man sipping on a latte pauses mid-drink with a puzzled look before lowering the mug.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t go that way.” 

“Not you, silly. I’m talking about her.” Michael waves in the direction of your office, lightly chuckling at John’s humorous remark. “Lawyers and clients aren’t allowed to be romantically involved, right?” He had done some research of his own about the situation, but wanted further confirmation just to be sure.

“Correct. But technically, you aren't an official client of hers, so you could still go for it.” And with that answer, he was asking you out later that very same day. 

Michael had been relatively green to the world of dating by the time you two had met. The seldom flings he had with women, kept under the radar, never developed into anything serious. With the way most of them soured, he wasn’t exactly sure that he would ever find what he was looking for. He often encountered people who were more enamored with his status and what luxuries it could offer than with him.

And though he was more than happy to shower his lady companions with anything they desired, he mostly did so out of the fear of being alone rather than the rapture of being in love, yearning to experience the joys of having a significant other. But little did he know, a certain lively attorney would be the end to his string of unfulfilling situationships.

Of course, he hadn’t initially come in with much expectation that the dynamic between you would deviate from the usual—gifts and opulence in exchange for company. Yet, surprisingly, when he did make such gestures, there was often protest and reluctance from you to accept them. You let it be known that while you were appreciative, he should never feel as if your affection needed to be bought, emphasising that just being together was enough.

And in the time he’s got to share with you, you’d become both his best friend and the light of his life. Mirroring his childlike tendencies, you enjoyed the likes of practical jokes, whimsical films, amusement parks. You both gave each other an equal dose of mischief and excitement—a temporary escape from the pressures of adult life.

On the other hand, the womanly side of you was self-assured and sophisticated. Despite the stipulations that came with his public persona, you weren’t one to crease under the weight. With poise and level-headedness, you managed to navigate both the harsh anatomization and glitzy display of his idol life. And though the expectations and prying scrutiny were unrelenting, your devotion to him never faltered.

As the demands of the day faded and it was just the two of you, your tenderness was given space to flourish in the sacred confines of one another. In the sentimental conversations you found yourselves getting lost in late into the night—confidences, dreams, worries—you had become a part of him he didn’t know he needed.

You possessed the ability to truly see and understand him, even when he tried to mask the parts of himself he feared would make you grow tired and flee. The solitude of his stardom, the sadness from past traumas, which he had believed for so long was impossible to escape, were eased away by the comfort of your unwavering presence and acceptance.

While these gloomy moods burdened Michael at times, he still held a great love and optimism about life. When it came to his craft, he was fiercely passionate and hopeful about all the possibilities he envisioned for himself, even when others thought he may have been overachieving or setting his expectations too high.

But you never doubted or dissuaded him from his aspirations. You were his biggest supporter. Always uplifting, always giving your undivided attention to his enthusiastic ideas about the next big thing he was going to do, eager to get a glimpse into the innovative makings of his mind. And when the work was tiring, your love and support motivated him to keep going.

As your endearments were reified through these saccharine partakings, he was certain that he wanted forever with you. He found refuge in your affections, your embrace—your peace sheltered him from the harsher aspects of his success and internal pains that, at times, would well up so much he thought he could drown. When he felt as if he would lose himself to those turbulent waters, you were the gentle wave beckoning him back to shore.

And in all these things, his resolution to ask for your hand in marriage was absolute. However, there was an additional reason why he decided an engagement was fitting—to convey that his adoration had not been swayed or dulled for you. He was aware that the requirements of his work agendas held great potential to cause a rift in your relationship. 

Consequently, he flipped between confidence that your feelings for him were so strong that you couldn't possibly reject him, to doubts clawing from the darkest corners of his mind, trying to convince him that his fame, his tireless routine, and himself, were still too much for you. As the in-house security guard granted him access through the ornamental gates of his estate, he began to feel that unease bubbling to the surface again.

Easing down the herringbone pavement leading to the main entrance of the house, he sees your car in its usual parking spot and places his directly behind it. With a sturdy twist of the metal key in the ignition, the rumble of the engine dies down, leaving him to collect himself in the still silence.

He gets out of the car, taking calculated steps as he approaches the double doors of the entry, apprehension swirling around him as he suspects that his untimely arrival will not go over well with you. His ears catch the faint rise and fall of music as he steps inside, quietly sealing the door shut. Slowly carrying on down the hallway, timidly walking past the threshold of the dining room, he is greeted by the upward flick of your gaze over the rim of a glass of wine—cold and distant. Without breaking eye contact, you chug the last remnants of the intoxicating potion before firmly setting the glass down.

“Happy anniversary. Glad you could join me.” Between your sarcastic remark and the displeased expression, he’s wary that he might not be able to recover easily from this one tonight.

“Baby, please don’t be like that. I’m really sorry. I ran into some trouble at the studio and lost track of time.” He offers his regret as he takes in the elegant layout you put effort into, left abandoned by his lack of show for the event. A twinge of guilt twists inside him.

“Save it. I’m really not in the mood to hear any excuses. You swore you’d make it, and you didn’t. Again. Simple as that,” you mutter with contempt as you move to grab the plates of untouched food, your heels clicking briskly as you make your way towards the kitchen.

From the wine you had been downing these past hours, to finally hitting a breaking point from the repeated absences from Michael, you let your frustrations flow freely for the first time. He’s taken aback by the bluntness of it, and although his contrition is strong, he feels a growing urge to defend himself as he trails behind you.

"Yes, I know I promised, and I wanted to be here with you today more than anything. But with everything I’ve had to do to get this album ready, I have a lot on my plate. I don’t think you’re being fair to me. It's not like I did this on purpose.”

His response only irks you more as you scrape the wasted meal into the trash bin. From his attempt to justify his actions to the fruits of your labor being overlooked, your tip-toe around full on confrontation has come to an end. With a heavy toss of the plates into the sink, not caring if they broke from the force, you sharply turned around, vitriol, tinted with liquid courage, pouring from your lips.

“No, what’s not fair is for you to leave me sitting here like a damn fool for three hours, and on top of that, not even call me to let me know where the hell you are!” 

Michael has never heard you yell like this before. In fact, during this whole two-year relationship, you’ve never once had a serious argument. Small disagreements that were resolved so fast you both hardly remembered what you were upset over? Yes. But full-blown, furious disputes had never found their way between you. However, there’s a first time for everything. 

"Look, honestly, it just slipped my mind, okay?! You have no idea how bad my day has been. Can’t you just hear me out? I don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time all of a sudden.”

He finds himself gradually raising his volume as well. Despite his plea, his fortified reflex drives his actions, clouding the more rational approach of trying to wind down this heated energy between you instead of fanning its flames. And you’re ready to throw back just as much fire.

“Because I’m fed up with you not being here! I have been for a while now. And I’m busy too, Michael. My job is high maintenance, but I still show up for us. It feels like you're not even trying to do that!” 

Deep down, you knew that wasn't a fair or honest stance to take. Yes, you put in many more hours than most, plus the mental muscle necessary for your job was hefty. But Michael’s career required even more of him to succeed. Truthfully, you just wanted him to feel the same hurt you were feeling. And as the anger in his gaze momentarily wavers into something dejected, you were certain it worked.

“I am trying! If I wasn’t, I’d still be working instead of standing here right now.” There’s a slight quiver in his exasperation as he feels his worst suspicions coming true—he had let you in, and finally, it had become too much for you to bear.

“Well, what do you expect me to make of it, huh?! I’ve been very lenient all the times you’ve failed to show up—a full year, Michael. And now, this one time I desperately ask you to be here, you can't even do it!” You exclaim as you feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. Somehow, you are able to uphold an unshaken demeanor of hostility.

You don’t know exactly where this shouting match is taking you, but you weren’t betting on the cruel grin that takes over Michael’s face as he lets out a bitter cackle. Though, it’s quickly replaced by a scowl that shoots daggers through you. 

“Right. So, I’m just a terrible boyfriend who always forgets about you? When we got together, you knew how demanding my life was. I can’t change that. And you said you understood, but it doesn’t seem like that anymore. If it’s not something you can handle, what are you still here for?!”

There's an uncomfortable silence that settles in the air before the unmistakable sound of a sniffle breaks it. He immediately wishes he could take his words back as he watches the tears brimming your eyes begin to trickle down your face.

“You know what?! Fine! Maybe I’ll leave then!” Your voice cracks as you exit the kitchen with a hurried stride, heading toward your shared bedroom—more accurately, your shared suite—to retrieve what you’ll need for your departure.

Hot on your tail, he’s following you up the path winding stairs, shame and dread brewing in his conscience as he takes your declaration as an act of permanence. Contrarily, you were just heading back to your apartment in the city for a while to cool off. He feels foolish for ruining the evening and the proposal he had planned, sullied by his own vexations and rash need to have the last word. And the thought of this possibly being the end of your relationship has sent him spiraling.

“Wait, that’s—that’s not what I meant.” A desperate attempt at an explanation to backtrack your decision comes tumbling from his mouth, but you are done listening as you barge through the door, determined to get away from him.

“Well you certainly said it, so you must have meant it.” Your vacant tone pulls at his heart, knowing that you’re shutting him out now. Still, with an earnest plea as he watches you shuffle around inside the dresser trying to locate something, he attempts to get through to you.

“No, I just—can you stop and listen to me for a second?!” He soon finds out what you were looking for—the silver glare of your car keys dangles from your manicured fingers. No, no, no. This is not how the night was supposed to go. 

“I’ve already heard enough from you.” Your assertion leaves no space for bargaining as you turn to exit the bedroom, but Michael is towering over you with brooding eyes before you can take another step. Swiftly, he yanks the keys right out of your hand.

“You’re not leaving me.” He can’t lose you. Not like this. With firm conviction, he is hell-bent on not letting you set foot outside of this room. Aggravated by his antics, you try to grab the keys, but he just moves them farther from your reach. Like a childish game, he extends his arm higher and higher away from you as you stand on your tiptoes, pressed flush against him and struggling to retrieve the metal object.

“Michael, give me my keys back! Now!” You exclaim with heightened annoyance, slightly stumbling over your feet as he roughly pulls away from you, walking towards the glass doors of the balcony. He wouldn’t dare…

“I said you’re not leaving, dammit!” You watch, mortified, as he twists the golden handle to open the door before tossing the keys two stories down to get lost in the flower bed beneath, not even bothering to close it before he turns back around. Both breathing heavily from the exertion of your previous scuffle, you exchange a hard stare down from a distance.

“What…THE FUCK is your problem?!” You shriek incredulously as he just stands there, glowering and not saying a word. Shaking your head in disbelief, you once again move to exit the suite—this time, to search for your keys—but startlingly, Michael makes fast strides in your direction. Before you can register what’s happening, he seizes your wrists tightly, pushing you until your back is pressed to the mural-painted surface of the wall.

Both puzzled and shaken by the impact of it, you’re ready to protest this strange action, but are quickly interrupted as the sudden crash of his lips to yours cuts you off. Wide-eyed with surprise and unable to break free from his vice-like grip, the vigorous motions of his mouth forces yours to do the same.

As your eyelids reluctantly start to flutter shut, getting lost in the sensation, Michael abruptly tears from the kiss before you fully cave in. Curiously, you watch as he walks over to the bedroom door and shuts it—the snap of the lock setting in place rings through the hushed space.

His eyes are darkened with a new aura as he prowls back toward you—something fervent and burning. Suspense looms over you once he fully approaches, simply standing with his intense gaze sauntering over your flustered form. Clearly consumed by his thoughts, his close inspection leaves you wondering what’s about to happen. That uncertainty is shattered by a low command that has heat stirring inside of you.

“Take your panties off.”

“Are you seriously trying to-” stunned at the vulgar statement, you start to question him, but are silenced by the sharp slap of his hand on your behind.

“Do it right now. Don’t make me repeat myself.” The gruff command leaves no room for debate as he moves back, giving you just enough space to maneuver out of them. Though it takes you a moment to adjust from the initial shock of his harsh touch, you timidly do as he says.

The lacey undergarment slides down your legs with ease, briefly snagging on the rhinestone accents of your blue heels before laying crumpled on the floor. Slightly kicking them out of the way, you watch with anticipation as Michael hastily unzips his leather jacket, casting it aside without concern for where it landed.

He pounces back on you, meshing your lips together with fluid, eager movements that make your heart race. With just as much longing, your fingers tangle into the loose locks of his hair as your tongues become entwined through desperate pants into each other’s mouths. His usual note of cinnamon, warm and sweet, dances on your taste buds, drawing you in more. With excitement heightened by this carnal entanglement, you can feel the slickness of it starting to build in your nether regions.

His kisses trace downward to the unblemished expanse of your neck where he begins to etch dark bruises, causing soft whimpers to fall from your lips. At the same time, his hands deftly shift the sparkly fabric of your dress up higher until the skirt crumples around your waist.

“Hold this up for me.” He whispers softly, pulling away from the marks he’s painted into your skin—a canvas stained with burning desire. Obediently, your hands clumsily bunch up the coarse, lurex material as your core aches with need and expectation.

Once he’s sure your grip is secure, he impatiently falls to his knees, draping your right leg over his shoulder and grabbing hold of your hip to keep you steady. You gasp as his mouth now sears welts into your thigh, sucking and biting at the flesh with urgency as he inches closer and closer to where you crave him most.

His breath fans hotly over you wet folds before you feel him take a broad, firm lick over the surface. He prods farther, parting your lips to swipe directly at your slit, languidly moving his tongue up and down to collect your honeyed nectar. Carrying on like this for a while, muscle deliberately stroking along the strip of your womanhood, the erotic mixture of his saliva and your arousal making the movements smoother, he soon hones his attention onto your throbbing pearl.

Your breath deepens as he flicks and circles it at a steady pace, only using the tip of his tongue for the assault. And while the feeling is wonderful, it doesn’t do enough to soothe the pain deep within you. With hips canting upward, you try to get more of him, but he pulls back to deliver another hard smack to your backside. With a yelp, you jolt at the sting, looking down at him with longing and frustration.

“You’re only getting what I decide to give you. Understand?” He questions with blown out eyes. You’re both intimidated and thrilled by the wild intensity in them. You nod your head stiffly, swallowing to alleviate the dryness in your throat, but you take that’s not the response he was looking for as he slaps your behind again, much more powerful than the last. With eyes clenched, you grit your teeth from the lingering bite of it.

“I wanna hear you say it.” His stern declaration sizzles in the space between you, thick with tension, waiting for you to give a proper answer. Slightly quivering at the weighted feel of the atmosphere, you utter with avid compliance;

“Yes, I understand.” Although quiet, it is satisfactory enough for Michael as he delves back into your warmth, resuming his manipulations. The pressure continues to leave you just teetering on the precipice of what you seek. You have to concentrate to restrain yourself from moving your hips again. Sensing your struggle to hold back, the rigidity in your limbs is obvious as you now release more constrained breaths, he fully envelops your bud into his mouth in an act of mercy.

As he builds the intensity of his motions with harder laps of his tongue and the harsher suction of his lips, he is practically making out with the drenched bundle of nerves. Finally getting what you yearned for, wanton moans climb from your throat freely as your body begins to slacken against the wall, swept away in this pleasant feeling.

Your soft, pleasured utterances fall upon Michael’s ears like a sweet symphony—high and melodious. His length is straining in the tight confinement of his pants, begging to be freed as the sugared and earthy scent and taste of your sex fills his senses.

With eyes peering up, he hungrily takes in the state of your form: the rapid rise and fall of your chest with each inhale you take, eyes shut, furrowed brows and mouth agape in blissed-out desire. The elegant bun your hair was neatly pulled back into has somehow come undone in the midst of this interaction, now flowing over your shoulders. God, you’re so beautiful like this. The salacious sight sets him ablaze, making him more zealous in having you fall apart for him.

The plush skin of your thighs curve over his fingers, grip squeezing firmer and opening you more as the fluctuations of his mouth become more vigorous, devouring you until he’s drooling on your sopped and weeping petals. In embarrassment and sweltering lust, heat rises to your cheeks at the slick and tacky sounds of his mouth passionately unwinding you.

The ravenous motions of his tongue against your clit causes your walls to deeply throb, sending a new wave of your essence to mix with the messy concoction between your legs. As Michael can feel the dribble of it streaming down his chin, he moves his thumb to continue the work on your button while shifting his head to take greedy laps at the dripping source, reveling in the taste of you.

As his tongue swirls and plunges deeper inside of you, he comes to the delightful realization that he would die happily here—face basking in the warm paradise of your love, drinking down the sweet waters of your orchid. Getting lost in these elysian pleasures through tender ministrations and fervid caresses.

“Michael, I’m so close!” You wail through needy cries as you feel the muscles in your pelvis beginning to be pulled taut. There’s hot pressure growing in your lower belly with the wish for release. The fibrous cloth of your dress itches your skin as your clammy hands struggle to hold it up, trembling as you can feel the force in you, building unbearably.

Michael groans enthusiastically into your core at the gratifying revelation, gripping your hips even tighter, intent on making you come undone on his tongue. The rumble of it vibrates deliciously against your lady bits, bringing you even closer to your peak when instantly, his mouth is surrounding your whole mound with loud, eager slurps, loosening his jaw to take more of you in.

And as he hotly consumes your sensitive parts, you’re finally granted that explosive release you’ve been waiting for. Uncontrollably, ardent moans tumble over your lips as the tension in your walls spasms without reserve, sending bright tingles of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

Michael drinks your pleasured sounds and the sap of your orgasm with elation as he can feel his own organ twitching with excitement behind the barrier of his briefs. Slowly, as you come down from the rush of it, gasping for air, he pulls away to examine the results of his work—you’re enticingly engorged and soaking. With a more delicate touch, he brushes featherlight kisses to the inflamed hues on your thigh before gingerly removing it from its place on his shoulder.

Rising eagerly, he brings you into another searing kiss. Although, the movements are slow and relaxed as he takes his time letting you taste yourself on his mouth. As his lips flow languidly against yours, sinking into the warmth of your embrace as you let go of your gown to wrap your arms around him, you both have a quiet understanding that you’re attempting to make amends for the hurtful things said and expressed during your earlier clash.

When you both slowly part from the kiss, the amorous, yet reverent stare he fixates on you with those deep, soulful eyes sets your heart aglow with a tender longing. Delicately, you lift your hand to cradle the side of his face, stroking the smooth skin with affection. His eyelids close in comfort, nuzzling into it as his lips gently peck at your palm.

Softly grabbing your wrist to break the contact, he sets your arm down, quietly stepping back while maintaining his gaze. His hands move downward to unbutton his shirt, fingers tactfully untangling the brass knobs from the red article of clothing. His expectant stare calls for you to follow his lead.

The plunge back making of your dress causes the sleeves to glide down your shoulders with little to no resistance, unveiling your bare chest to the cool, night air the open window lets in, causing your nipples to stiffen up. The textile plummets to your feet where you shuffle it aside, kicking your heels along after. With added effort, Michael eventually disrobes himself entirely of his leather and buckled garments, leaving him nude and just as exposed as you are.

Your pupils dilate as you take in the gorgeous sight of your boyfriend. The olive contours of his lean physique are illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. Your vision moves along the faintly defined muscles of his chest and torso, down to the neat trimming of his pubes, until they land on his impressive member, hanging proudly between his toned thighs and scattered with a constellation of vitiligo markings.

With hands trembling in inclination, you reach out to pull him back to you. This time, you’re the one to initiate the passionate dance of your lips. You feel him shudder, whimpering into your mouth as you firmly grasp his thick appendage, stroking it with purposeful motions. Pushing the skin back to circle your finger around his slit, a dribble of precum glides down, smoothly aiding the up and down caress of your hand to the velvety surface of his length.

Once stiffened to full capacity, he moves your hand to take hold of himself, placing the tip between your drenched lower lips, dragging it through the slick blendings of your previous foreplay. Leisurely, he rubs through your folds at a steady pace to liberally lubricate his girth before you feel the head gently breaching your entrance.

With breath fluttering into your neck as his head rests on your shoulder, he’s slowly inching into your awaiting canal. You feel slight discomfort at the burn of his width stretching you tremendously, but you do your best to relax the muscles, inviting him deeper into you. Finally, you’re stuffed full of him with his pelvis pressed flush to yours.

He peppers light kisses onto your throat, lifting your left leg up with a secure hold to cozily lay on his hip. And then, he begins to move with a slow, steady rhythm, pulling out all the way to the tip before delving back into you. By the slight grimace on your face, he can tell that you need more time to adjust to his size. But the slick, warm grip of your tight walls has him biting his lip in resistance, struggling to hold back the need to thoroughly ravage you.

Finally, he hears it. You let out small, pleasured sounds as he’s succeeded in fully loosening you up for him. The pain has been ebbed away into dazzling sparks of pleasure as you angle yourself upward to take him in deeper. With that queue, Michael gradually breaks from the slow tempo until he is rapidly driving into you, no longer able to contain himself.

Losing yourself in the feeling, desperate moans begin to fall from your lips in staccato with each powerful thrust he delivers to your watering core. Panting and groaning just as loudly, his nails dig crescent-shaped imprints where he grips your thigh, stroking into you relentlessly. Your own carve long, red scratches into his back, being overwhelmed by the sensations taking over your body as he hits your walls in just the right way.

“Damn, you feel amazing.” He speaks lowly through shallow breaths against your collarbone, hips continuing at a dizzying rate as he gets sucked farther into your wet and fleshy opening.

“S-So do you.” You barely are able to get the words out. The dizzying way he pummels your walls has heat stirring beneath your bladder. Blood rushes to all of your erogenous zones, heightening their sensitivity, begging to be touched. One hand rises to the aching buds of your breast while the other heads down to rub at the one between your legs, but Michael pulls back to quickly swat them away.

“Baby, please! It’s not enough.” You let out in agony, desperate to have those extra flares of stimulation. Discontented at being prohibited from it, you feel tears of frustration stinging your eyes. She’s so needy. Michael thinks to himself with amusement as he takes in your expression.

“Yeah? You want more?” The teasing tone of his question, paired with the lazy smile his lips are curved into screams of devious intentions. You’re unsure of what he has up his sleeve, but you hope it’s something that puts an end to your suffering.

“Yes!” You gasp out as he has now decreased his speed to deliver slow, long thrusts, stimulating you in a new and electrifying way as you can more distinctly feel him brushing against every ridge inside of you.

“Okay, I’ll give you more.” He stops his movements entirely to hoist your other leg around his hip, suspending you in the air. Quickly, you scramble to wrap your arms around his neck and lock your ankles to keep from falling. Just as soon as you are situated, once he’s certain his hold on you won’t slip, his hips begin to snap upward rapidly, hitting deeper and pressing right to that spot that has you keening with ecstasy. 

“Oh, fuck!” The hammering force of his strokes are so powerful that it has you roughly sliding up and down the wall. Your brace your legs tighter around his waist, unintentionally pulling him deeper into you. The lewd slaps of skin on skin, paired with the untamed moans and groans of rapture that rise from within your chests, echo pornographically off the walls of this ample suite.

His lips travel from your neck, down the swell of your breast where he takes your nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling it with fervor. While not fully sure if he means to or not, his pelvis rubs delightfully against your clit from the way he grinds you, giving you the relief you were after. He drifts his oral manipulations to the other breast, making sure it receives the same treatment.

With a wet pop, your tit falls from his mouth as he lifts up to press his forehead to yours. And then, he does something that has you nearly floundering out of his hold, not knowing how to handle this heightened pleasure that has jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.

Lightly undoing the lock you have around his waist, his arms allow the back of your kneecaps to rest on either side of him, causing you feet to dangle freely. In tandem, his arms mount you up to the tip of his erection, before dropping you back down all the way to the hilt with smooth thrusts meeting the falling motion. He does this over and over again until the stimulation of it buzzes in your nerves like static.

As wanton cries spill from your lips, back arching to take in more of his wild loving, he offers a smug question; “You like that?” 

“Oh God, yes!” It breathily rushes out as his hips are angled just perfectly to abuse the sensitive, spongy bump that lies on the upper part of your walls. 

“I know you do. No one else can do your body like this, baby. Only I can.” He seduces huskily, breath fanning warmly against your mouth as he pulls you into a brief, yet searing kiss before moving to lick and bite at your neck.

Everything is steamy, slick and wet between you. A thin sheen of sweat coats your bodies, causing a light glisten to waver off of your gyrating forms. The mixture of your heady arousals strings off of him like gooey webs when he pulls out, acting as a glue that sticks you together as he slides all the way back in. It pools around where you two are joined, dripping onto the ground as more from each of you overflows.

And as he melts back into you, over and over again, you let out sounds that gradually expand in octave as the friction of him rubs you in a blissfully disorienting way. That hot and familiar coil in your gut is starting to wind tight, waiting to be snapped free. He lets out his own pleasured noises against the shell of your ear as he feels his own release building, eager to spill out. And from the way you clench around him, he can tell that you’re nearing your climax as well.

But somewhere beneath these carnal sensations, lies an inkling of distress in Michael that once this is over, it may also be the end of you two. The worry has vulnerability pouring through his words as he says;

“Tell me you won’t go anywhere.” The tone pulls at your heartstrings as you feel him press a delicate kiss just below your jaw—a silent request for compromise. You lean into the mild touch as your arms squeeze tighter around his neck. You feel his heart beating sporadically as his chest lies atop of yours.

“I won’t go anywhere, Michael. Ever.” Full of devotion, the words pass your lips, holding him closer to you as he litters more affectionate kisses to your skin. 

“Tell me you love me.” He whispers against your cheek, hopefully awaiting your response. Much like the storm of passionate emotions raging within him, he rolls into you with frenzy as he can feel an orgasm steadily approaching, setting his loins aflame.

“I do… I love you so much.” The declaration comes out in a desperate sigh, spoken against his lips resting on the corner of yours. He delivers a delicate kiss to it—a stark contrast to the wild way he works your body.

“You gonna cum?” Michael’s question rings in the air with eager expectation, wanting to feel you come apart on him. And from the way you’re constricting around him, he knows you're getting ready to.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chant in a daze as you feel the simmer of your release starting to bloom with heat deep within your walls. 

“Go on, girl. Give it to me.” The raspy command has you gripping him tighter, crying out as your canal overflows, showering Michael’s groin with the rains of your earth-shattering crest. The waves ride out within you, currents of electricity shooting up from your pelvis, to your chest and spreading outward to every extremity of your body. You lean back limply against the wall, basking in the feeling.

As you descend from euphoria, Michael’s thrusts continue, rubbing you into overstimulation. However, you make no complaints as his hips start to stutter their movements, signifying that he is on the cusp of his own climax.

And as he struggles to maintain his composure, the warm and gummy grip of your cunt tempting him to let go inside of you, he musters a moment of strength to pull all the way out, carefully letting you down to your feet as his hand takes over to replace your walls. 

Your ears are doused in the shlick sounds he creates with fast and smooth tugs along his length. With eyes closed and face furled up in concentrated bliss, his mouth hangs ajar, emitting high, breathy moans as sweat beads down his brow. You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed something so beautiful, yet so erotic in all of your life. 

Finally, with back bowed and fist clenched beside your head, his load shoots out of him in heavy spurts, coating his fingers and landing on your lower abdomen. He continues to stroke himself until every last drop has been squeezed out and his erection has died down before collapsing into your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

As you both use this moment to catch your breaths, your hands lift to gently stroke his head, curling the locks around your fingers, as he places a faint, yet lingering kiss over your heart, shifting the atmosphere into something soft and affectionate. You remain this way for a while, silently marinating in the calm of each other’s presence, before Michael rises from your chest to lay a light peck on your cheek.

“Wait right here.” He whispers it into your skin, pulling away to disappear into the bathroom, switching the lights on. It sends rays of yellow beaming across the floor, bringing some brightness to your dim surroundings. Your ears pick up the distant downpour of water from the shower running as Michael emerges back into view, walking over to carefully scoop you into his arms, taking you both to get cleaned up.

The calming scent of lavender permeates through the humid space, refreshing waters cascading down your bodies as your hands tactfully assist each other in washing away the remnants of your love making. Though you don’t speak as you go through the motions of bathing, the quiet between you is peaceful. The care with which you attend to each other conveys the love you are feeling.

Soon, you both find yourselves half dressed, Michael in his standard pair of briefs and you clad in a pale night slip, laying in the plush and spacious comfort of his king size bed. Your fingers idly twiddle with each other as you lie face to face, not having said a word yet, though there is a growing urge for someone to do so. Coincidentally, you both break the silence with an uttered ‘I’m sorry,’ at the same time. Staring at each other, you wait for one of you to carry on with what you want to say.

“Let me start.” You take the initiative to speak first, the satin sheets sliding off of you as you sit up to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. I’ve always admired how dedicated you are to your career. It’s just that, I’ve been so lonely without you this past year… I guess I just lost my cool from not saying anything about it for so long.” You say in a small voice, now feeling embarrassed for your earlier outburst. Michael holds a solemn expression as you reveal to him what you’ve been holding back on, his thumb ghosting over the back of your hand in a soothing manner.

“No, I should have been here to celebrate with you. I know it’s been a lot to deal with, me being gone all the time, but I never knew you were struggling with it this much. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He questions with a tone full of concern. Weighing on him like a great failure, he feels upset with himself for not truly knowing the extent of the suffering you’d been dealing with.

“Your work means so much to you, Michael… I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” You mumble the last part so small that he almost didn’t hear it, but when it registers, his fingers delicately grip your chin, turning you head upwards to be eye to eye with him.

“You could never do that, angel. You’re important to me too, and I want you to let me know when things are difficult for you. Don’t ever feel like your worries are a burden to me.” He proclaims in a soft, yet vehement manner, lighting your heart aglow with adoration.

Internally, Michael feels a deep settling nervousness as he decides whether or not to state his next words. But in keeping his troubles from you, that would be hypocritical to his previous declaration. With that reasoning, albeit a murmur, he’s saying them before he loses the strength to.

“When you told me you were leaving, I couldn’t handle it. I never wanted you to know, but I think it’s best you do… I get scared sometime. Scared that you won’t stay with me. That what I do, who I am—it’ll be too much for you and one of these days, I’ll come home and you won’t be here.” 

As a lone tear rolls down his cheek from the forlorn statement, you swiftly pull him into a tight embrace. Rubbing gentle circles on his back while he quietly weeps into your neck, regret fills you as you realize that you failed to even consider that he was being tormented by such doubtful beliefs.

“Oh, Michael… After all this time, don’t you understand that I’m not going anywhere?” You say as you move him to face you once again, wiping away the wet streaks that stain his face.

“You should know by now that you can’t get rid of me that easily.” It’s spoken with a light lilt of mirth to lift the mood, to which Michael offers a weak smile that fades just as quickly.

“Well, what about what you said tonight?” Raking through your brain, you scan to recall what he is talking about. It finally hits you that he mistook your ‘I’m leaving’ as an ‘I’m leaving for good.’

“Wait, did you think I was talking about forever?” It shouldn’t be funny, but the fact that he had such a big reaction over a minor misinterpretation of words has you stifling a laugh.

 “...Weren’t you?” He asks with genuine confusion, looking at you with a pouty expression that you find so adorable, you can’t help but crack, giggling at the hilarity of it.

“Hahaha! No, baby. I just needed to clear my head for a bit… I’ll always come back to you.” Your laughter gradually fades into a tender utterance as you lovingly gaze into his gentle eyes while caressing his face. A bashful grin stretches across his lips, also finding humor in what transpired due to the misunderstanding. Still, there is a crucial, unresolved aspect of the night that keeps him on edge.

“I can’t believe the night turned out so bad.” He mutters, thinking about how the sole thing he wanted to accomplish this evening was squandered by the fight.

“Well, I’d say we definitely made up for it with something else...” You lightly muse, but it’s hardly noticed as Michael seems to be intensely absorbed in his thoughts.

“No, it wasn’t just the anniversary…” Contemplation pulls at his mind like a match of tug-of-war. Should he seize the moment and go forth with his plan right now, before he loses the courage to, or wait for another day to prepare more and make the event better thought out and more special?

“I’m…not catching on. What are you talking about?” There’s something unreadable in his stare that has you growing puzzled. It only increases as Michael gets up from the bed, going to where his clothes are strewn on the floor, fishing out his leather jacket before removing something from one of the unzipped pockets. What’s he up to? 

Michael takes one last look at the velvet box, mind set on going through with the proposal, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he treks back to you, each step seeming to span for an eternity with all the overwhelming emotions swirling inside of him. He comes around to your side of the bed, gently shifting your legs over the edge so you can see him better.

Much to your confusion, you’re about to ask him what’s going on, but the words quickly get trapped in your throat with astonishment as he drops down to one knee. Is he getting ready to do what I think he is? Your wonder is confirmed by what he nervously verbalizes next;

“In the two years you’ve been in my life, you’ve become my everything. I never knew it was possible to be so in tune, so connected with another person, until I met you. Now, I can’t imagine spending a single day without you by my side. My love for you is infinite, and I want to share that infinity with you. So… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He pops open the box, revealing a beautiful, gold Art Deco-style ring adorned with white and emerald diamonds. Heart pounding in your chest with joy, you’re so excited and in disbelief that you almost can’t speak. Somehow, you manage to rush out a small whispered ‘yes,’ as your answer.

“You will?” Michael’s eyes lighten up as you start to nod exuberantly with a radiant smile on your face, dropping down to join him on the floor.

“Yes, Michael! Of course I will!” You warble out, being overcome by exhilaration as his own hand shakily slides the shimmering jewelry onto your finger, wrapping his arms securely around you for a hug full of relief. And now, you're crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time.

“I just got you that Mickey Mouse watch you’ve been raving about. I guess it kind of pales in comparison to your gift,” you let out a watery laugh as joyful tears flow freely. Giggling at your remark and just as elated, he eases his firm hold on you to pull you into a swooning kiss.

Giddily, Michael starts to plant smooches all over your face, which you giggle at and try to bat away the ticklish feeling. Though, he abruptly pauses his affections to give voice to something you had almost forgotten.

“Oh! And, uh… sorry about your keys, by the way.” He offers sheepishly, feeling that the earlier action was a bit theatrical.

“That’s okay, sweetie. You’re definitely looking for them by yourself tomorrow, though,” you lightly jest, not even really concerned about it. And as you nuzzle back into Michael, squeezing him tightly, those terms are more than fine with him.

Note: Credits to @cafekitsune for the divider. Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, likes and reblogs would be appreciated :)

mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @h4rtz-f0r-lm @thatoneliberiangirl

@tsunderesheepme @st4rwild @local-she-wolf @kenzie2cool4u @kpopfan-03 @joyboxx88 @marionnas-world @dollika2w8 @margeoww @xgrisleyx @callingallbaddies @moonwalkerdiana

© All Rights Reserved

[soleauclub]

Eating Healthy When You’re Addicted to Takeout: A Beginner’s Guide

by Soleau Club / www.soleauclub.com

Cooking can feel like a personal attack when you’re tired, overstimulated, and your Uber Eats app already knows your order before you even open it. But if you’ve hit that "why do I feel like trash even though I’m technically fed?" wall, it might be time for a reset.

Here’s your beginner-friendly, no-shame, hot girl approach to breaking up with daily takeout (without breaking your spirit).

Step 1: We’re Not Quitting Takeout—We’re Upgrading It

We’re not going full raw vegan monk mode overnight. The first shift? Make your takeout work for you.

Swap fried for grilled.

Ask for dressing on the side.

Add greens, extra protein, or avocado.

Be that girl who customizes her order like a wellness scientist.

Your Postmates driver will judge you, but your skin, gut, and mood will not.

Step 2: Romanticize the Idea of Eating at Home

This is your soft launch into domestic goddess energy. Set the vibes: mood lighting, a cute water glass, maybe a candle. Eating at home is now a lifestyle, not a punishment.

You're not "eating leftovers." You’re dining in with yourself. Chic.

Step 3: Stock a Hot Girl Pantry

If the only thing in your fridge is a sad oat milk and expired hummus, no wonder you default to Pad Thai. Keep it simple, stocked, and sexy:

Pre-washed greens

Boiled eggs

Frozen smoothie packs

Rotisserie chicken

Canned chickpeas

Microwavable quinoa

Sauces you actually like (tahini, sriracha, coconut aminos)

The goal? Make throwing together a meal easier than placing an order.

Step 4: Master the 5-Minute Meal

If it takes longer than scrolling DoorDash, you won’t do it. So start with no-recipe recipes:

Salmon + greens + microwaved rice

Eggs + avocado + Ezekiel toast

Tuna salad in romaine boats (don’t knock it)

Greek yogurt bowl with seeds + berries

Soup + sourdough + something pickled for ✨flair✨

Keep it bougie. Keep it brainless.

Step 5: Create a “Desperation Dinner” List

This is your emergency list for those "I cannot even look at a pan" nights. Keep 3 go-to meals that are fast, satisfying, and take less effort than waiting for a pizza. Write them on a sticky note. Stick it inside your cabinet. Save yourself from yourself.

Step 6: Make Takeout a Ritual, Not a Reflex

Order out once or twice a week. Make it a moment. Dress up. Light a candle. Eat it off a real plate. We’re not demonizing convenience—we’re just reclaiming control.

You don’t need to live in the kitchen. You just need to stop outsourcing your energy to restaurants every single night.

Final thought: You’re not addicted to takeout. You’re just burnt out, decision-fatigued, and craving ease. And that’s okay. Let healthy eating feel easy, pretty, and pleasure-driven—not like punishment.

Ready to go hardcore with your clean girl routine? Follow Soleau Club on Tumblr for more daily challenges, catch our YouTube videos every Sunday for new routines, and stay connected with us on TikTok and Instagram (@soleauclub) for all the inspo and accountability you need. For it-girl wellness accessories and free US shipping, shop online at www.soleauclub.com

[yourgoldennotebook]

@taylortruther broke my brain a little with hoax analysis, and it got me thinking of how sweet nothing reminds me a lot of lavender haze in that both of those songs, in retrospect, reframe drastic switches in originally stated plans/intentions and romanticise it.

taylor’s always sung about a desire for marriage: from mary’s song (debut), “take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle / our whole town came and our mamas cried / you said, ‘i do,’ and i did too” to love story (fearless), “he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring, and said / ‘marry me, juliet, you’ll never have to be alone, i love you and that’s all i really know / i talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress / it’s a love story, baby, just say ‘yes’” to speak now the whole damn song to starlight (red), “we could get married, have ten kids and teach ’em how to dream” to how you get the girl (1989), “i want you for worse or for better” to lover’s (title song) bridge’s mimicry of wedding vows to paper rings’ thesis to it’s nice to have a friend (lover), “church bells ring, carry me home / rice on the ground, looks like snow”. only to drop midnights with lavender haze as the first single, the start to the album; an album that bargains a LOT with her discography (and herself). and that doesn’t make lavender haze a lie, necessarily... but it does make it an immensely thought-provoking narrative to switch to.

sweet nothing’s not that different! it was all over fearless (2008) from that initial, youthful romanticism of fearless (title song), “you know i wanna ask you to dance right there / in the middle of the parking lot”, to the spectacular dramatism of love story’s entire genesis/lyric-story, to the cheeky flamboyance of hey stephen and you belong with me. she’s known that she wants fireworks & grand gestures. actions & proof! she missed “screamin’ and fightin’ and kissin’ in the rain” and being “so in love that you act insane”. she herself loves in huge ways, and to cite examples for that would be to quote most of her discography. and she cares about the showing up – that’s why she wrote the moment i knew (red). and that narrative started to morph a little when she met joe; she said as much in miss americana, “i was falling in love with someone who had a wonderfully normal, balanced life. we decided together we wanted our relationship to be private. i was happy. but i wasn’t happy in the way i was trained to be happy. it was happiness without anyone else’s input.” their new beginnings weren’t secret to her, they were sacred. and then she sang, “we still worship this love / even if it’s a false god” and called their love “faithless” in hoax. she took over the role of being the fire to keep his brittle heart warm. she took ownership of being “the liquor in [their] cocktails”. she took the dreaminess & fated-soulmateism of invisible strong (folklore) and made it mastermind (midnights) — which everyone joked about at that time, but now hurts to think about.

there is a pipeline from “all that you ever wanted from me was... nothing” to “and i’m fadin’, thinkin’ 'do something, babe, risk something, babe, say something / 'lose something, babe, risk something / choose something, babe, i got nothing' / 'to believe, unless you’re choosing me” that makes my tummy hurt. how long could they be a sad song? (hoax. the sad song is hoax.)

[cameronspecial]

Loving the Zach stuff so far!!!

Could you maybe do something where yn hates his guts, but he is like in love with her and all her sass?? Then they're forced to go on some school trip together or something, and she realizes she likes him and a cute angry love confession, perhaps???

Danke 🫶🏼💐

Thank You, History Class

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Y/N and Zach have been running in the same friend group since Freshman year, but it doesn’t mean they necessarily get along. Well, it doesn’t mean that she likes him. His sarcasm and puppy dog vibe annoys her cool and distant personality. He’s always asking her how her day is going and trying to make her laugh with his stupid jokes. Zach, on the other hand, fell for her grumpy soul the moment he set eyes on her. Unlike most people, who don’t bother looking deeper into her personality, Zach could see the soft side that she held within and never let anyone see. He would always catch how she would stand up from her bus seat when she saw an elderly person. She wouldn’t let people around her know it was the reason, but she always did. He saw the little bowl of milk she left outside her house for a cat mother and her kittens. Finally, he saw how sweet she was to children whenever they were around her. 

Zach didn’t want to take a history class and he certainly didn’t feel like going on a field trip to a museum. It all felt very high school to him. The only upside about it: Y/N is also taking the same class. When he saw that he needed a history credit to graduate, he definitely didn’t go looking for what classes she was taking this semester to try and be in the same one. The cost was giving Jason access to his bathroom whenever he wanted, but it was worth it. He knows the field trip isn’t mandatory for any marks, yet he knows Y/N is going to be there. As he heads toward the Victorian house, he finds Y/N out front waiting for the professor to show up. Her clothing consists of black and brown colours as usual. Her hair was held back by a shiny black claw clip. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grins, coming to stand beside her. She gives him a side eye, “Could you be more cliche? Try something more original, would ya? I still can’t believe you are taking this class.” He doesn’t let her sour mood dampen his energy. “Come on, you know you like having me with you in this class. The only other people in this class are girls who have a romanticized view of the era, or guys, who have a history stick so far up their ass that they think a history degree will take them far in life,” he notes, turning to look at her. She looks him dead in the eyes, “I’m a history major. And I am neither of those things.” “I know, that’s because you are so much better than them. You are far too smart for them,” he flatters. She shakes her head, turning her attention to the professor who has just arrived, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” The professor leads them into the museum and begins his lecture. After ten minutes of listening to the man speak, both Y/N and Zach realized that coming was a big waste of time. He doesn’t know what he is talking about and Zach can hear Y/N constantly correcting the older man under her breath. 

He leans toward her, making sure his lips are close to her ear. “Wanna go on our own little tour? This man is getting half of this stuff wrong.” She thinks she has lost her mind because this must be the first thing Zach has said that she thought was a good idea. “That actually sounds kind of fun. They have a Victorian fashion exhibit I want to see, but I don’t think Professor Robo over there is going to take us to,” she whispers back. Her hand finds his and she hates to admit she likes the warmth of his in hers. They round the stairs to the exhibit. She looks delighted when she spots the first mannequin with clothes. Her feet find their way beside a girl about six years old, already looking at the dress. The child’s eyes find Y/N’s face and they smile at each other. “You know, this is an 1843 Evening dress. The bodice, the thing around the chest, is low off the shoulders. And they have lots of other skirts underneath to make it poofy,” Y/N softly explains to the little girl. 

They spent around thirty minutes in the small room. Y/N walks around with Willow and Zach, explaining each outfit to them. She is surprised that Zach seemed honestly engaged with what she was saying and would ask thoughtful questions. Eventually, Willow’s mother, an employee, came looking for her and took the girl to lunch. “Do you want to head to lunch?” she asks. He shakes his head, “Actually, I was hoping we could look at the Victorian sports exhibit. I brought some snacks, so if you are hungry, we can share.” He pulls out a bag of cucumbers shaped like hearts. She has to giggle at the sight because big jock Zach MacLaren likes to have his vegetable cut into shapes. 

“What?” he questions in fake offence, holding out the Ziploc to her. She shakes her head with a chuckle, “Nothing, just surprised your cucumbers look like an inaccurate depiction of a human organ.” “They make them taste better. Try,” he says with a shrug. He hands her a slice and listens to the sweet crunch of her biting into the vegetable. “Okay… I must admit it is more fun to eat it like a heart. I can pretend I’m a witch eating people’s hearts,” she agrees. He doesn’t look disturbed by her macabre comments, instead, he pretends to be ripping out his heart as he hands her another slice. She enjoys him playing with her deadly thoughts.

They spent about an hour looking at the different displays, eating his snacks and taking turns reading the display’s blurbs to each other. As they stand on the steps of the museum, Y/N towers over him from the step above. He looks up at her like she hangs the stars in the sky. “I hate to admit that you made this day pretty fun,” she confides. Her hands find their way behind her back, biting her lip as she looks into his eyes. His mouth turns into a crescent moon, “I’m really glad I did. I like spending time with you.” She takes a moment to think and moves her head away in frustration. Not at him, but at the turmoil inside her mind. Why is his charming smile suddenly getting to her? Why does she want to step into his warmth and let his arms bring her in? “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m falling for you, MacLaren. So… would you want to go to dinner? Like on a date,” she confesses with a hint of annoyance in her tone that is just normally there. She is disgusted by the excitement that crosses his face. He gets off the steps, running around the green grass in front of the building. He jumps every so often with a little whoop let out as he does so. 

He rushes back to her, grabbing her around her waist and spinning her around. She finds the sound of her giggles odd but enjoys it nonetheless. “Way to keep a poker face,” she sasses, looking down at him. He doesn’t care though all he wants is a chance to be with her.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[craziertogether]

stancy & mileven

GOOD LORD THIS IS A LONG ONE. but i hope you guys enjoy it)

so i often think about stancy and mileven in the grand scheme of the show & fandom. if someone ships mileven it’s almost a guarantee that they will ship stancy too. i’m gonna be honest this usually tells me 1-2 major things about the person, you’re too young and have a very immature outlook on love OR you’re used to face value & toxic love/infatuation.

stancy is THE most perfect portrayal of the first “popular” / “bad boy” boyfriend a teenage girl most often gets. i say this from experience, like nancy i was a “good girl” that became infatuated with my first boyfriend, a trouble maker/womanizer but a good time. that is what stancy represents, a good time but nothing permanent or even endgame just the guy who makes her feel special. it kills me how much i relate to nancy but it also kills me more to think about how people are romanticizing stancy because of season 4. we just watched the rest of the show with our eyes closed huh? yes he was very sweet coming back to help clean up the movie theatre and IG the season 4 confession about his dreams with her were “cute”. but i’m sorry to say this like its not the most obvious thing ever but, you do NOT have to love someone because they love you. love is not enough to keep a relationship together. and unfortunate all steve has for her is that same high school idealistic view of nancy that made him fall for her. steve did not understand nancy, nor her goals her passions. that specific scene in s4 when jonathan listed off how hardworking and determined she was and how he couldn’t come between her and her goals. he showed what she REALLY needed, someone who understood her and knew that he couldn’t get in the way of that. steve and nancy are what people who don’t understand how mature relationships are. they’re not codependent (like steve + nancy). they’re not fully based around lust (like steve + nancy). they’re not based all on the goals of one person (like steve describing his insane dream of marriage and kids asap). (PS showing steve with like 10 other girls away from nancy and then bringing back his “i actually always wanted nancy all along in s4 was LAME and just a way to show the audience imo that those ships are also SUPERFICIAL AS HELL. the audience saw right through it, that nancy and jonathan were better for each other, it might’ve revived some stancy shippers to hear the “i love her still” about nancy. but guys COME ON. you’re telling me the GA somewhat saw through that fake revival of feelings but not through mileven and mike’s confession? i cannot today.) anyways i wanna say that if jancy not endgame, that’s insane first off, but second nancy can be alone and independent but to put her back with steve would be like the worst possible outcome. just like mileven.

as for mileven, it’s the same thing. as i stated before i was a mileven lover, but i was also 10/11 and i wasn’t aware that queer relationships could happen. if we take out the byler aspect of why mileven is doomed. we completely overlook the fact that they are the young version of stancy. the love at first sight lie, something that i know many girls can probably relate to, my elementary boyfriend seemed like my husband. i was conditioned to think heteronormative thoughts, that i had to absolutely marry a man and i had to be someone’s perfect wife. that’s why mileven fans think it’s the perfect outcome for mileven wedding and naming kids after the members of the group that may die. it’s not just childish but it comes from a lack of understanding complex relationships and from the conditioning of staying in a toxic relationship. mileven shows how empty and unreliable both mike and el are for each other, outside of mike being unable to say “i love you” to el, mike can’t stop idolizing her for ONE sole part of her identity (ahem steve + nancy w/ her being the good girl that’s a virgin) & el can’t stop idolizing mike for her idea of love (ahem nancy to steve when she grew up seeing her parents, thinking she can stay with him even after she felt her connection to jonathan and choosing to be with him because it was comfortable and it was easy, it’s what was expected of her by steve’s friends). both mileven and stancy represent what it means to be confined to heteronormative and social norms, they prevent you from becoming who you’re meant to be/ be with.

it’s crazy to me too because we see how many people LOVE nancy with a gun and think she literally is so badass and showed off incredible skill throughout the seasons and yet fail to see that the MAJORITY of those scenes are with jonathan?? (like will and mike they bring out the absolute best in the other). they know the other better than anyone else, even when they fight, they fight and it’s real, it’s raw. they fight through honesty and they fight because they love the other and they KNOW that they can take it. with jonathan calling out nancy in season 3, we see how he's calling her out for being immature for not being able to see that he is poor and he struggles and he needed that job, she fought with him bc it felt like he was coming from a place of ignorance and not addressing her mistreatment. they’re both incredibly honest even if it hurts the other one. versus her fight with steve, she can’t even honestly say the words “i love you”, so instead she stays silent. (HMM I WONDER WHO THAT SOUNDS LIKE…. mike queeler). but also when jancy is together they’re TOGETHER. they have heart to hearts, strong ones. they have MATCHING SCARS GUYS. even thousands of miles apart, they describe the other like the light of their life, they call out the TRAITS that make the other so wonderful (unlike steve who literally js thinks of nancy as his first love and who’s pretty). jonathon believed nancy and goes on a literal psychotic bender to find murray and get justice for barb, versus steve who remind me again, says they should try to be “normal” and party? yeah sounds a lot like another person trying to be normal. direct parallels blow me away btw, the GA has to be choosing to act blind on purpose. but yeah, let’s switch to mileven then byler. every major fight between mileven has been because mike lied or felt lied to. he felt lied to by el when she said that will was alive, he lies to her in s3 about his grandma and acts like he can’t completely understand her species (queer coding to the MAX) and in season 4 hes once again lying to her and SHE is also lying to him. dare i say, they’re not fighting with the OTHER, they’re fighting to keep their facade up.

and now let’s look at byler (my beloved)!!! 1) the first relationship established in the show is byler, like it or not, that moment of intimacy “it was a 7”, soulmate behavior. 2) complete and TOTAL trust from both of them. it’s interesting that will only tries to tell two people in the show that hes still alive. joyce his MOTHER, and MIKE with his walkie talkie. not jonathan who has a radio system? not dustin? not lucas? not hopper? the police? no. he chooses his mom and mike, interesting. 3) he hides his struggles from his friends and his family, everyone treats him like hes weak like hes different but not mike? why not mike? i mean he spends the most time with mike and yet, you’re telling me mike never once maybe slipped over his words and said something insensitive, no instead he “makes him feel better for being different”. 4) now onto the actual fights, bc this is really long. when will and mike fight, it’s raw and real, it hurts the audience to see will hurting because he’s been through so much trauma, and yet, mike hurts him anyways, but will CANNOT stay away. one moment i think we forget to mention is in s2, when mike gets angry about max, mike takes a jab at will. “did you agree to this?” “you should’ve told ME first.” will literally looks SO defeated & hurt. why mike? why does will need to tell you? you’re the leader? you own will? no. it’s bc will wasn’t honest to him, will didn’t come to mike about a big decision. also yeah a little gay bc why are you mad about a girl. but okay. and the season 3, yes the rain fight is back. i won’t dissect it any more but i will say, mike’s cruelness towards will was so unwarranted. but will’s willingness to say what no one else was willing to was yet another example of how deep their relationship is. calling mike out for being a shit friend, that’s will being what mike asked of him (season 2 halloween & honesty), and yet mike’s become too afraid of revealing his own feelings, but he’s still somewhat honest to will. he’s projecting his feelings to will, he’s TELLING ON HIMSELF here. and yes we know he regrets it runs back. but the fight is what matters it’s them still being real and honest to the other even if they don’t realize it just yet. season 4 is just another extension of the season 3 fight, but this time, they’re both projecting/accusing and yet insanely they’re both still being honest. will’s accusing mike of yet again abandoning him while deflecting his fault for not calling and mike’s projecting his homosexual thoughts into will, and yet again hes still being fully transparent to will, he calls out will’s bad behavior & WILL’S lack of effort too. all of this to say, we can see as the audience, queer or not, it’s practically crystal clear that stancy & mileven are parallels and only exist to show the audience immature, unreal love. while byler & jancy actually show the hardships of true love. romantic or not, they show how love is meant to be. it’s mean to be hard it’s meant to be painful, it’s meant to make you doubt, take a step back and remember that nothing is perfect but that it can always be worked through. byler & jancy make ALL parties involved better/uplift the other while stancy & mileven do the opposite they lead to lying, they lead to trying to uphold the “perfect” couple image and forgetting to make the other better because they’re too busy trying to make themselves look good. these ships are selfish and don’t put the other person’s needs into perspective. CRAZY btw that stancy (platonic) & elmike are WONDERFUL. they showcase the care they have for the other and how deep their relationship can actually become when they’re faced with life or death. one example is how mike reacted in season 3 when billy was coming after el and he found his courage to hit billy (mileven was broken up) but in season 4 despite being together and all love dove, in a serious moment, mike just can’t do anything to help el, she needed him and yet he couldn’t deliver romantically but he could platonically! reminding her to fight vs the i love you’s (duffers were crazy for this.

basically, stancy & mileven CANNOT be endgame and byler and jancy don’t have to be endgame bc the wheelers might enter an independent era. however, they cannot return to the people that have done nothing for their character development except show the audience how much better off they are without them. also if you think about it this is literally applicable to all endgame ships, jopper, duzie, lumax, & rovickie. nobody doubts jopper, why? because bob was adorable but they were low-key superficial, hopper understood joyce and was willing to believe “crazy joyce”. and even their fights in season 3, so interesting that we see this olive branch that exists between them from joyce even after they spend the ENTIRE season arguing. lumax, endgame from the jump, dustin was superficially fascinated with max bc she was a girl that had boy-ish interests he didn’t even know her, he didn’t try like lucas really did, you could say he didn’t have the chance, but it’s just too clear that lucas saw her as an equal, dustin saw her as an ideal figure (HMMM) & rovickie + stobin , teaches the audience that queer people deserve love and acceptance, exactly what they’ve been denied over and over. and dustin and suzie, insane that dustin had to teach steve that social norms don’t matter, that he should pursue the person who understand him best. suzie is gorgeous to dustin and she’s a brainiac that is now dustin’s equal. dustin has his disability but it doesn’t change at all how suzie sees him, she sees him for his perfections. jonathan is the outcast with mrs. perfect, two people who don’t “make sense” and yet fit together better than any popular jock for nancy. and byler, don’t get me started AGAIN, no one understands will like mike does, and no one makes mike feel better than will does. these ships don’t have to make sense to the outside world, just to the other.

[ironandglass]

The Descent - Chapter 3 - Thin Red Line

Silco x female reader - Dark Slow Burn - Modern Au - Stalker Silco

A strange man moves into the apartment across from yours, he likes to watch and you start to like him watching. What could go wrong?

<<<Go back to Chapter One

Warnings: stalking, obsession, veiled threats, and unsettling power plays, romanticized toxic behavior, alcohol use, toxic relationships, power dynamics, classism, unwanted physical touch, mental health probably, class based power dynamics, swearing, bad editing (notsorry), evil Silco, dark Silco, cold Silco. He’s not gentle and sweet ya feel? No jinx.

Chapter three

Thin Red Line

--

Wearing a ballgown on another man's arm, one would think she was brave if it wasn't so ignorant, so tempting. Did she think she would get away with it? Did she really think he wasn't watching?

—

The next morning your phone vibrates loudly on your bedside and you fumble for it, body still heavy with sleep. Squinting at the bright screen, trying to focus your sore and blurry eyes, one new message. 

MIA: "See you in thirty minutes, you better be ready for the ball tonight biiiiiiitch, time to go pick up our COURTURE!!!✨"   

"Shit" you rasp and stumble, half tripping, towards the shower, rushing to get ready. 

 — 

“Okay” Mia says practically vibrating with excitement. “I think I’m ready”.     You’d both been standing at the front door for about five minutes while Mia emotionally prepared herself to enter.   

Mia places her hand on the brushed steel handle and blows a breath out. You place your hand on hers, look into her eyes and nod, pushing the door open together.    

“Welcome, welcome.... finally” A stout fussy man with half moon spectacles and an accent approaches looking you both up and down. 

“You two are here for a dress fitting, yes?” You and Mia nod in unison, Mia produces a card and hands it over.  

“Very well” He nods handing it back. “Follow me.” 

Mia grins wide at you shrugging her shoulders up in delight as you both follow after him. You notice that he walks in an unusual way, lots of rapid smaller steps rather than normal strides. It gave him a cartoonish effect as he glides around the room. 

“Mia is who?” He says suddenly, turning to see the response.  

Mia raises her hand. 

“Mia talks yes?” He presses.  

Mia nods, then immediately realises her mistake and laughs “Sorry yes, I’m just, SO excited to be here, this is one of my favourite designers.”  

The man is seemingly disarmed by her honesty and genuine excitement. His shoulders soften and he smiles at her.    

“I am Reynard” he says warmly. “It is lovely to meet you, and you are going to look, STUNNING, I assure you.” Mia smiles wide and makes an excited gesture as Reynard pulls two dresses from a closed rack and hangs them up before you both for display.    "These are the dresses that were specifically commissioned for you from our atelier. You can thank him for the colour palette though" he adds with a hint of distaste. "He was very insistent."    Reynard fixes the hem so the black silk material sits correctly and stands back to let you both drink them in.    The dress in front of you is a sleek black silk gown with a twisting yellow flourish over the hip. It’s bold, refined and unexpectedly beautiful.     You cast a glance over to see Mia's dress is similar, also black and yellow silk, but hers has much more yellow, the design slithers further up her body. She is looking at her dress like a kid presented with infinite candy. 

“Please, follow Artemis" Reynard says to Mia, ushering her towards a nearby female staff member. "She will assist you to the change room darling.”     Mia thanks Reynard before following Artemis up the hall, giving you another signature big smile over her shoulder before she slips out of view.    You turn back to your dress, gentle smile on your lips. It's not a dress you would ever choose for yourself, but it's beautiful, custom, couture. You’ve never had anything like this. 

“As for you, follow me, thank god you both have such a beautiful skin tone to compliment the colour pallet, I won’t lie I was concerned.” He says waving a hand as he talked as if to wave away the stress of it all. 

 — 

“Hair and makeup included? We’re basically celebrities,” Mia squeals as you both climb into the dark and moodily lit limousine.     “I feel like a fucking PRINCESS” She says punching the air with energetic glee.   

“Me too” you admit smiling wide, climbing in after her as the driver shut the door behind you.    

It felt indulgent, pampered, dressed to kill, and gliding off in a limo to a literal Ball. You feel so lucky right now as you run your hands over the seats, a rich buttery soft leather. It even smelled expensive.   

The small privacy screen at the front end of the limo lowers slightly revealing the driver. “Sorry to interrupt ladies, but I forgot to mention, there’s champagne in the side bar, as well as a few other drinks if you open that fridge there, please make yourselves comfortable, we should arrive in about fifteen minutes”.    

“Thank you!” You both chirp gleefully in unison, making the driver chuckle as the screen goes back up.   

Mia swiftly cracks open the tiny fridge, assessing her options.     “If we get murdered after this, so be it. Worth it,”  She pulls out two drinks and hands you one she knows you will like.  

You smile and accept it, twisting off the lid. “Speak for yourself.” you clink your glasses together. "I'll kick your corpse under some bushes though." You add, receiving a playful thigh smack for it. 

The engine vibration pauses as the car stops again. You shuffle towards the door, assuming you had arrived at the venue but Mia pulls you back.  

“We’re picking up the guys.” She explains. “They’re funny, you’re gonna love them.”  

The door opens. A first man enters dressed in smart black, he introduces himself warmly as Wes, while the second climbs in, wearing a bright yellow and black custom ensemble that somehow looks tasteful and stylish as hell.    

Your eyes lock and recognition sinks in. That’s the guy—the one in the ridiculous tartan suit who helped you carry Mia’s pottery wheel.   

“Difficult girl?” Finn asks with a curious smirk.   

Mia looks between you both wide eyed. “No way!”   

“He helped me with your mystery box from the post office.” You explain.   

“And she was soooo grateful” Finn teases while reaching towards the small bar fridge and selecting a beer for Wes and himself. The two cans hiss as they're opened.    “To unexpected surprises” Finn toasts before turning towards you and Mia. 

“-and to you both, thanks for joining me tonight. You look perfect.” He smiles at you, with a look that lingers a little too long.    “Thank you, I try” the stony faced Wes says softly pretending to tuck hair behind his ear and turning towards Finn. His eyes gaze lovingly, hand over his heart. Finn freezes for a moment perplexed. 

You all burst into laughter at this and clink your glasses together. 

 —   

Wes and Mia climb out of the Limo before you. 

Then Finn exits to assist you. You hesitate for a moment, looking at his outstretched hand. He's kind of a dick but thinking of your heels, and the logistics of manoeuvring out of a vehicle elegantly in your dress you decide to take it, placing yours in his and letting him help you. His hand is warm and slightly rough against your own. His pale green eyes sink into yours for a moment appreciatively, before he offers you his arm. Also warm and for some reason that annoys you. 

Behind him is a huge, white stone staircase, draped in a red carpet, leading into a giant, beautiful old money mansion. Vines scramble up the huge stone blocks. You don't even really get a chance to drink it all in before you ascend the stairs together.   

Flashes go off all around as photographers take photos. Finn steers and guides you to turn and smile a few times his hand on the small of your back. Normally you would find this off-putting or uncomfortable but right now, you feel so beautiful and confident that it doesn’t bother you at all.   “You did great” Finn says giving you a wink as you reach the top of the stairs. You smile because you know you did, effortlessly for once, and it feels good. 

“Mister Finn” one of the door people greets him and yourself.   

You can hear music now, drifting out from within. Finn leads you inside, the building is some kind of historical grand estate, the kind of thing you’d only ever seen in period films. Tall ceilings, marble lined walls, fresh cut flowers everywhere, waiters with little trays of mysterious bright foodstuffs and grand guests regally dressed in beautiful clothing.  

“This is amazing” you say, slightly overwhelmed.  

Turning a corner toward a giant mirror lined wall. Looking at your reflection, you and Finn make a handsome pair. The yellow of your dress compliments his suit perfectly.  

The dress he had selected for you. Something about that feels incredibly uncomfortable but you can't quite place it.  

This obnoxious yellow should make someone look terrible but you both look good. Really good, expensive good, like runway models, magazine good.    

Finn looks down at you gazing into the mirror and smirks, “We can admire ourselves later” he says gently and leads you up into the main ballroom. 

You’d seen ballrooms in movies before, fantastical, grand, almost unbelievable. But nothing prepared you for this. Standing on the balcony, staring out over a sea of glittering dresses, tailored suits, and champagne laughter. it all hits you suddenly like vertigo. It wasn’t just beautiful. It was overwhelming. A cathedral of excess. The chandeliers alone looked heavy enough to crush a car, suspended like silent gods far above. 

“Ahhhh Finnnn!” A loud booming male voice approaches taking Finn's hand he nods and grabs him by the bicep with his other hand. “Good to see you my friend! Ahhhh and who is this beautiful creature on your arm? Hmm?” Finn shakes the man’s hand and introduces you. 

“Ahhhhh a beautiful name!” The man booms, taking your hand and kissing the back of it gently. “I will catch up with you later, I’m very interested to negotiate on that offer, but later. Please, go, enjoy the night!” he finishes by slapping Finn on the back twice. 

"Finn hello darling" a raspy voice belonging to an older woman sweeps in, Finn greets her politely, but being on his arm, you feel him tense up just a fraction.  

  “We’ll need to review the matter of our shared port arrangements soon. There’s been some... unexpected congestion.” She says it all with a soft smile that doesn’t reach her cold eyes before adding.  “I’d hate to think you're letting the embargo become a reason to disengage.” 

"Lady Celeste, I'll make some time-" Finn starts before she cuts him off.    "Tonight, wonderful. It's settled darling. So glad you agree." She's already turned her back on your both, waving a gloved hand as she leaves.  

For just a moment, Finn looks tired. 

You glance at him out the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t return it, eyes fixed on a new person approaching. A man with short cropped hair wearing a brown suit, looking wealthy but dull. He shakes Finn's hand, you miss his name as Finn introduces you. Too busy mentally planning an exit strategy. 

“You look remarkable tonight miss.” He says, looking at you with intense sincerity, and something else you cant place, but don’t like. He’s holding your hand just a little bit too long, enough to make you feel unsettled. You gently and carefully try to pull it away from him, so as not to be rude or make a scene, but his fingers lock firmly around your wrist, your arm wavers slightly with the strain of your pulling. Finn notices. 

“Hands off the merchandise” Finn warns playfully, but firmly, he steps forward slightly between you and his eyes sharpen. A carefully disguised threat.  

It's effective, the message is received and the spell breaks, creepy guy breaks eye contact with you finally, letting your wrist go and backs off into the crowd mumbling an apology. You move slightly closer to Fin, grateful for the buffer. 

“Some people truly have no manners at all.” Tuts another man who had evidently been watching nearby. This one is tall, thin, holding a drink, white suit, a little too clean, hair swept back and greying at the temples slightly, he looks sharp.  

“Are you alright miss?” He asks looking at you with apparent concern. “I assure you that behaviour is not in the majority.” He speaks in a strange way, like he’s always in on the joke. 

“Lucian Vale.” Finn says, his smile going cold.  

“Enjoying the ball?” He asks turning to you. “Or just surviving so far?”  

You hesitate, his words cut so unexpectedly. You wonder if you had really been keeping a polite smile on your face like you thought you were. 

He smiles softly, as if you reaction says enough before he continues. 

“You make a handsome couple. That colour isn’t for everyone, but you’re wearing it well.” 

“Lucian, be careful ,that almost sounded like a compliment” Finn's voice is low, he smiles, tilting his head slightly.  

“You know I heard that someone is being auctioned off tonight” he pauses to sip his drink. “For charity you know, dinner with a celebrity or something I think? I’m not entirely sure, I didn’t quite catch the why.” 

Finn grins at him, wider now. Impatient maybe. 

“Must have missed that in the program.” 

“Mmm shame.” Lucian finishes the last of his drink. “Would have been quite the prize.” He places his empty glass on a passing waiters tray. “Enjoy the night.” He bows slightly before he strolls away, unhurried. 

  It seemed like you could barely go five steps without Finn having to stop and talk to someone briefly and introduce you. Some were polite, others rude, they looked at you in an unsettling way as if measuring your worth. It was awful, you couldn't imagine living like this. 

Luckily there was a lot to look at to entertain yourself, but still. It was exhausting, they were all weird and wealthy. Speaking in riddles and business jargon and you were dying to look around more. You stayed with this for as long as you could tolerate (which to your credit was probably a solid ten or fifteen minutes). Once the current visitor was finished their greeting dance you squeezed Finn's arm.  

“Would it be alright if I take a walk and look around?, I’m a bit greeting'sd out.” You confess. 

Finn laughs and pats your arm and untangling his from yours. “I can imagine it’s a lot.” He raises his arm and lifts two fingers, immediately two men in suits seemingly fade into the foreground, “Don’t let her get into trouble.” He says to the two men who nod and step backwards.    

You feel concerned for a moment, thoughts rushing through your mind; Who is this guy? Is this a security team? Why would he need that? Why would he need that here? Have I been reading too much crime stuff researching Silco? Is this just a rich people thing? 

“Is that necessary?” You ask. He just winks at you and turns away, barely getting five steps before starting yet another conversation. You decide to let it go before you get drawn back into Finn's cursed greeting ritual orbit.  

Making your way down the stairs you’re relieved to spot Mia and Wes by the bar. Mia waves you over enthusiastically when she sees you approaching. 

“You have got to try this grapefruit thing” She says pushing a drink into your hand.  

”Gladly” you say taking a drink. Damn, that was dangerously good. 

“How many people did you have to say hello to just then.” Mia laughs “That was crazy! I watched the will to live slowly drain out of your eyes with each one”  

You nod taking another sip “It was A LOT.”  

“It is important for business to be seen at these events" Wes explains, not unkindly. "To network and pay respects. This is not a fun relaxing time for him, he’s working tonight.”  

You nod and the feel a bit bad for a moment, was it ungrateful of you to abandon him? 

Wes catches your eye, as if recognising you train of thought.  

“I can’t stand it either.” He confesses. “A lot of words, but nothing useful or meaningful is said.” 

“I mean, I like to talk a lot of shit myself but that looked like a whole other level” Mia muses, almost curious. 

You nod and take another swig, it’s so good. "Maybe you missed your calling Mia." You tease.     "Oh I could do this." She grins with confidence. "People love me." 

  --   

You stay and chat with Mia and Wes for a while, laughing and enjoying a few more salted grapefruit cocktails before nature calls and you excuse yourself to the bathroom. 

Of course the bathroom is grand and magnificent and there’s huge bouquets of fresh cut flowers either side of the handwashing basins. You decide they probably just look good but no, they also smell glorious.     You check yourself in the mirror, touching up your lipstick. Feeling slightly tipsy always makes the bathroom mirror experience fun. Tucking the lipstick back into your clutch you give yourself a wink and pretend to shoot the mirror a few times before holstering your finger guns and walking back out, into the party.  

You walk confidently, intending to go back to Mia and Wes. Somehow you get turned around though, (probably because you have the navigational awareness of a baking dish) and now you’re in some random hallway of rooms totally lost.   

You look around for the two suited guys Finn summoned earlier but you can’t see them. 

A door clicks then- 

“Beat it wasp girl, this hallway’s off limits” Comes a stern female voice from behind you. 

“Wasp girl!?” you laugh turning to see who this comedian is, coming face to face with a tall, impressively muscular woman, in a dark suit. Her cold grey eyes looking down at you. 

  There’s not a single trace of humour in her expression. 

“Tetrad aren't welcome here" she growls, her top lip curling into an aggressive sneer. 

“Huh?” is all you can manage, because this woman is insanely intimidating. Her eyes and nostrils flare as she slowly crosses her arms with the air of someone giving an idiot one final chance. 

“Okay, okay, I'm going.” you say raising your hands in surrender and stepping backwards for a few steps before cautiously turning, maintaining eye contact and making your way back up the hall. She watches like a hawk until you’re out of sight. 

What the hell is a Tetrad? What was this place hiding? These wealthy people must have some secrets to go to such lengths. 

Following the music leads you back to the main ballroom, where you run into Finn again, both of you easy to spot in the crowd wearing his signature vibrant yellow. It really did seem to paint you as his, the passing thought snags and makes you feel itchy, so you push it down.  

He smiles widely when he sees you again and offers his arm which you take.  

“Having fun difficult girl?” He asks walking with you down the stairs to the main ballroom floor.  

A shiver shoots down your back suddenly but you shake it off. 

“Clearly more than you.” You say smirking.  

He barks out a laugh at this, the most genuine one you’d heard from him so far. 

A waiter passes with a tray of champagne glasses and Finn grabs two, passing one to you. 

“Thank you” you smile appreciatively at him. 

You’re not sure if it’s all the drinks going to your head but the vibe of the party subtly shifts, maybe it was a new song played by the band? You can’t quite put your finger on it.  

The air feels still, thick, a knot deep in your chest tightens. 

You're almost at the bottom of the staircase laughing politely at some stupid joke made by Finn when you hear- 

“Ah Finn, so glad you could make it.” 

Time seems to slow down, the recognition hits you, like ice water down your spine.  

You know that voice.  

As you turn the room feels silent and empty around you. 

Standing at the base of the staircase, perfectly composed. 

Silco.  

He looks lethally handsome in full ballroom attire, all clean sharp lines. 

His eyes sharper still.  

He is calm, he is dressed like royalty and he’s looking directly at you with burning attention.  

“Silco, of course, I would never miss one of your events” Finn says with a smile like dry ice before proudly introducing you.    

Silco’s expression doesn’t change but it’s as if something behind his eyes flinches.   

“You look….” He says to you, “Like somebody is trying to make a statement.”  

Your heart stumbles. 

Finn chuffs. “Aren’t we all?.” Finn says gesturing around at the grand hall with a smirk.  

Silco’s eyes bore into yours.  

“The Ball is beautiful” you manage, reaching for polite nothings in the face of this emotional annihilation. 

“No need to flatter the host” Finn chides playfully as if he doesn't notice the tension. “This man already has it all” 

Silco glances to Finn for the first time briefly.  

“Almost”     The word cuts like a promise wrapped in threat. 

Silco turns back to you with a steady unreadable gaze that makes your skin feel tight. It was as if he exuded a hunger so strong that it took ghostly form to envelope you, possess you. Your heart was in your throat with the burning intensity of him.  

“Thanks, for the entertainment.” Finn says tugging your arm gently to lead you away into the crowd. 

Unable to resist, you look back over your shoulder at Silco, standing still, his eyes locked on yours like a vow.     It's in that moment you notice his lapel pin, an intricately folded, deep red, silk ribbon. Your ribbon. 

It sits there, delicate and deliberate.  Folded like a ritual, worn like a secret only you would understand.  Or a threat only you would recognise.  

The crowd swallows you. 

After a few moments you blink, taking a deep shuddering breath, you're trembling.   

 — 

Thanks so much for reading Chapter 3! 🔪📖🖤

This was a MASSIVE change of pace, but it’s going somewhere, so I hope you dig it!

We are really just starting to take the first steps of our descent; it's all going down from here.

<3 Iron

--

VIP AREA @mistershotz @manicmauve @deviantgamergirl @oceansssblue @eeveep1ays @wh1msyk1tten

If I missed anyone, or you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know! <3

>>>Chapter Four TBA

>>>BONUS Silco POV Chapter 3.5 - Staircase scene

[what-gs-watching]

"You can be beautiful or you can be ugly, but you can’t be plain."

Soooo I’m pretty sure I died over Christmas; my entire family got a stomach bug that was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, and now I have a head cold and I’ve lost my voice and I’m convinced this is some weird limbo and I’ll never be healthy again.

BUT! Before all of that, my dad and I got to indulge in our favorite holiday tradition: going to the movies. He and I have been sneaking off in the afternoon once everyone falls into a Christmas coma to see something for like, fifteen years. That man hates holidays because my mom goes insane trying to make them perfect and he just wants to escape and I appreciate that he allows me to go with him. 

This year, I was especially excited - the first time I saw the trailer for A Complete Unknown in September, I called him immediately screaming about it. Bob Dylan’s music was a huge part of my childhood, another thing that my stoic father shared with me, and could not wait to see it with him. Honestly, I’d been vibrating out of my skin about it, shrieking at the tv every time the commercial would come on.

Gang. It was so worth it. What a beautiful fucking movie.

Wherein, 19 year old Bob Dylan (Timothee Chalamet) heads to New York City in 1961, befriends Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger (Ed Norton), breaks into the folk scene, falls in love, has insane on and off stage chemistry with Joan Baez, writes songs that define a generation, puts the Newport Folk Festival on the damn map, learns he doesn’t really love fame, and then eventually goes electric. 

I do realize this movie isn’t going to be for everyone - it’s specific. Like, were you alive then and you’re wanting to relive that time and the way Dylan’s music made you feel? Perfect, you’ll dig it. Or, are you a super weirdo like me that WISHES you were alive during that time and just deeply loves the 60’s aesthetic and longs for what you think was a simpler era but it really was not, and you just want to romanticize the whole thing and feel wistful about it? Amazing, get your ass to the theater. 

One thing I appreciated about this movie was that it wasn’t really shoving anything down your throat, what was happening wasn’t overly explained, there were no ridiculous voice-overs or forced understanding, and honestly, Dylan was fairly mysterious. It didn’t feel like it was from his point of view, you’re not going to come out of this feeling like you finally GET him. He’s still this weird mythical genius, just doing what he’s driven to do. He never explains himself and he never wants to. So is this really a biopic? Or are we just seeing a snapshot in time, take it or leave it? I don’t think it matters; it’s wonderful, either way.

Also, like, DAMN, Chalamet. He was fucking incredible. Dylan is a hard guy to portray, he’s always been kind of aloof, withdrawn, he’s never seemed like this larger than life personality and to pull off that demeanor in a way that’s still endearing to the audience is NOT easy. He really encapsulated Dylan’s confusing charm, it was pitch perfect. And I had to laugh to myself a bit - last year’s Christmas movie was Wonka, also starring Chalamet. What a hilarious dichotomy from one year to the next. 

I’m going to be watching all of the award shows just for this. Give this dude all the flowers. 

As much of a fan of his music as I am, I never did a deep google dive on him and so I really enjoyed seeing his relationship with Joan Baez unfold. The scenes of them performing together were honestly beautiful, their voices blending and complimenting each other. Her song “Diamonds and Rust” unsurprisingly was also a large part of my musical upbringing and to learn she’d written it about their relationship - fuck. I listened to it again after we left the theater and it was devastating in an entirely new way.

Here’s the thing. I absolutely cried big fat tears a few times sitting there. It’s not a sad movie in any way, shape or form. But when he performs “The Times They Are A-Changin’” at the festival, just him and his guitar and his harmonica, and the crowd starts singing along with him, having never heard it before, I sobbed, smiling. 

When I was a senior in high school, my dad - who notoriously never put effort into gifts for us kids, relying on my mom to know what to buy - sat down and  made me a bunch of mix CDs of the songs he’d always been sharing with me. One of them was his 12 essential Bob Dylan tracks. The rest of that year, I lived in those tracks. The agenda pad I used for that school year was littered with Dylan lyrics, it’s my basement even now, “don’t criticize what you can’t understand” scrawled all over it.

So I was 17 again, sitting there, or 8 or 21 or any of the ages I’ve been where Dylan has kept me company. “It Ain’t Me Babe” is deeply ingrained in my mind as part of the dumpster fire that was the relationship I had with the first boy I ever fell truly in love with, and watching his long-time girlfriend Sylvie (Elle Fanning) witness him singing that with Joan Baez was like a punch to the gut. 

I’m not 100% sure what I’m driving at with all of this, but what I can tell you is: A Complete Unknown is beautiful. If you have any connection to Dylan’s music, it’ll light your soul on fire. If you don’t, it’ll still immerse you in a time or place you really should visit. It’s fascinating and visceral and glimmering, and it just might change you, a little bit.

HOW does it FEEL?

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

It's BuckTommy Fluffebruary Day Twenty-Three: Pillow Talk time! This one has porn, because blowjobs are a love language. You can read this over here on AO3. Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary

Buck had always heard people bemoan a routine in relationships, that it took out the romanticism and spontaneity, but he loved it. He loved that on their days off, they took care of their house and ran errands and did things with their friends. He loved bickering about what to eat and who actually knew how to load a dishwasher correctly. It was a sign that everything was good and comfortable, and he had craved comfortable for years.

He tells all of this to Tommy when they’re in bed one night, because Tommy had asked if he wanted to do something more exciting on their next ninety-six while their schedules matched for a couple of weeks. Buck had said he was fine if they didn’t, and Tommy’s face had pinched a bit like he didn’t believe him.

“I just don't want you to feel like things are getting stale.”

So Buck tells him how he feels about doing yard work together and vegging on the couch and meal prepping. As he talks, Tommy’s eyes soften, and he reaches across to cover Buck’s hand with his own.

“Does it bother you?” Buck asks, and Tommy shakes his head. “Really?”

“No,” Tommy replies, his thumb stroking the back of Buck’s hand. “I think I’m really lucky, though, that I found someone who was looking for the same thing. I only saw that in movies or with my grandparents when I was growing up, and I wanted it. Just someone to share my life with, even the boring parts.”

Buck smiles and nuzzles his nose up against the side of Tommy’s hand, curling toward him like a comma. “I mean, our lives aren’t that boring. I had to pull a guy’s arm out of an industrial folding machine yesterday.”

Tommy chuckles and curls toward him, their knees touching under the covers. “Yeah. I think that’s why I like the routine so much. It feels like a safe haven we made just for us.”

“‘You don’t find it, you make it,’” Buck murmurs, warmth spreading through him. He gets it. He finally, really gets it.

“What’s that?”

“I never told you about Thomas?” he says, and the coincidence strikes him for the first time. Tommy’s not a Thomas, but it’s close enough. When Tommy shakes his head, Buck smiles just a bit. “It’s sad. But also kind of not.”

He tells Tommy about the old men and what Thomas had said to him, and by the end, Tommy has his foot hooked over Buck’s calf and he’s crowded close so he can rub Buck’s back and side.

“I thought I knew what he meant—that I didn’t need to just fall into the perfect relationship,” Buck says, smiling. “It does feel kind of like I did that anyway. But there’s work that goes into it, and then there’s making that safe haven. It’s working toward whatever works for us. This works for me.”

“Me, too,” Tommy says, smiling back. His fingers flex against Buck’s ribs before he rubs a big circle along them. “I like doing big things for you. I kind of worried that you’d want that all the time, which is doable and I love it, it’s just…a lot.”

“Sometimes I really just want to come home and do nothing with you. And doing stuff like going to the store is kind of new to me,” Buck points out. “So it’s about as exciting as a weekend in Yosemite.”

“Man, I could’ve saved a lot of money on camping gear,” Tommy says dryly, and Buck nudges his shin with his toes in a half-hearted kick. “So you really do want to just stay home, take care of the yard, and help me regrout the guest bathroom?”

Buck sighs happily. “Yeah. And, hey, I’ve never had a guest bathroom to regrout before, so that’s kind of a new and exciting thing for me. We can mix it up by ordering from that new Thai place we keep passing and saying we should try.”

“Be still my heart,” Tommy teases, closing the small distance between them to kiss him. Buck sighs against his mouth and wraps himself around Tommy as much as he can. When the kiss breaks, Tommy doesn’t move back. “I think maybe the lack of bed death is helping, too.”

“Oh, definitely,” Buck agrees, squirming against him. “And I never get sick of blowjobs. Or handjobs. Or you being inside me. Or me being inside you.”

“What are we going to do when I’m too old to get it up?” Tommy asks, nuzzling his jaw.

“Get a Costco sized bottle of Cialis.” Buck slips his hands under Tommy’s shorts and grabs one of the globes of his ass, huffing out a laugh when Tommy chuckles against his skin and he can feel his nose bump his earlobe when it scrunches. “And then when I can’t get it up anymore, we’ll just—I don’t know. We’ll think of something. Can’t really think of anything right now.”

Tommy unbuttons his boxers and reaches in to squeeze his hand around Buck where he’s starting to harden, and Buck moans softly, using his other hand to push Tommy’s shorts down until his ass is exposed. He shifts back a bit so he can pull the shorts down in the front, and Tommy sucks a kiss into his neck when Buck strokes him.

“I don’t want to get up,” Tommy murmurs, nipping at his shoulder. “So I’m gonna test that ‘never getting sick of blowjobs’ thing, okay?”

Buck shakes his head and detaches his hand from Tommy’s ass to bury his fingers in his hair. “You really want to give me a blowjob just so you don’t have to do cleanup?”

Tommy comes up to kiss him and smiles against his mouth. “I mean, it’s not the only reason.”

“Well, then you get up here,” Buck insists, letting go of Tommy’s dick to pat his hip. “Because I don’t want to get up either.”

“Don’t people usually sixty-nine for sexy reasons?”

Buck scoffs as Tommy gets his shorts off and starts to pull his own boxers down. “I’m pretty sure sucking each other’s dicks is still a sexy reason. Unless you think it’s not, I don’t know.”

“I did not say that.” Tommy nuzzles his nose against the base of Buck’s cock and licks slowly across his balls, drawing a bitten off moan from Buck.

“Get up here,” Buck murmurs, reaching down to squeeze Tommy’s pec. His boyfriend’s gotten just a little soft in the seven months since they’d gotten back together, and Buck loves to grab and squeeze. As soon as Tommy carefully kneels over Buck’s face, Buck hooks his arms in front of Tommy’s thighs and brings his hands up to grip his ass.

“I knew you were going to—fuck,” Tommy gasps when Buck licks over his hole. He grinds back on Buck’s tongue, his hand gripping Buck’s dick while he moans against his hip.

“C’mon, stop slacking,” Buck teases, smacking his ass. “This was basically your idea.”

“If our positions were reversed—Evan.” He whines out Buck’s name when Buck presses his tongue into him and squeezes the head of Tommy’s cock. His mouth finally closes over Buck, and he groans, thrusting loosely into his mouth.

He loves feeling surrounded by Tommy, when Tommy is above him and all Buck can feel and hear and smell and taste is him. He loses himself in it, wishing he’d suggest that Tommy just sit on his face instead, but he loves having Tommy’s arm across his thighs and his chest pressing against Buck’s abs as he bobs up and down on his dick.

When Tommy pulls one of his legs to the side, Buck tilts his hips up and moans against him when two of Tommy’s spit-slick fingers press inside. He fucks back against his hand a few times, his head tipping back as he chokes out moans. He loves how thick Tommy's fingers are, but they're never clumsy or rough with him. He'll stroke and press against places inside Buck that make him feel like he's coming undone at the seams.

“Now who’s slacking?” Tommy murmurs before shifting forward to bite his inner thigh. Buck jackknifes slightly at the sharp sting—his inner thighs are sensitive—and Tommy does it again on the other side before he goes back to sucking Buck’s dick.

Buck squirms under the onslaught of Tommy’s mouth and his fingers, and his hands dig into the meat of Tommy’s ass as he pants out soft pleas and Tommy’s name. When he manages to just barely get a warning out, Tommy uses his fingers against Buck’s prostate and his hand around his dick to milk his orgasm out of him. It’s so much, and it draws his orgasm out into something long and unceasing until Buck is twisting under him from oversensitivity.

As soon as Tommy’s mouth is off of him and his fingers are out of Buck’s ass, he hauls Tommy up to swallow his dick as deep as he can get it, using his hand to cover the rest. With some strong encouragement from his other hand, Tommy starts fucking down into Buck’s mouth like he’s using it to chase his orgasm. Buck’s eyes flutter back in his head a bit at that, and he lets himself get lost in the feeling.

When Tommy grunts out a warning, Buck moans out an acknowledgement just before Tommy’s hips stutter and his cock pumps several bursts of cum onto his waiting tongue.

He flops back and waits for Tommy to shift himself around to do the same, and then Buck curls toward him and kisses him.

“We could keep bees,” Tommy suggests when the kiss breaks.

“Hm?” he hums, focusing on the feeling of Tommy’s hand skimming over his back.

“When we can’t get it up anymore.” Tommy kisses his slack mouth, and Buck half-assedly presses a kiss back, too tired to do much more. “We’ll keep bees. You like bees.”

Buck smiles and tugs the duvet back over them. “I do like bees. And you can grow flowers for them to pollinate. They see big areas of flowers better, so it’ll have to be a lot of flowers.”

“Didn’t Emily Dickinson say it takes one clover and one bee to make a prairie?” Tommy’s hand is resting on Buck’s back now, and he’s nuzzling into Buck’s hair. “I think the prairie is dreams or imagination or something, but maybe she just didn’t know that about the flowers.”

“Why’d Emily Dickinson talk about bees?”

“Think she kept ‘em,” Tommy mumbles, his voice going soft and slurred.

Buck itches to look, but he’ll try to remember in the morning. He doesn’t want to disturb his boyfriend. Tommy sleeps heavily, but getting to sleep can be a bit of a problem. Besides, Buck is too comfortable to reach back for his phone. He’s also working on letting his brain shut off normally instead of just passing out mid-sentence while he’s reading something.

“G’night, Evan. Love you.”

“‘Night, baby. Love you.”

Tommy makes a noise that might be one of amusement, might be one of contentment, and they drift off to sleep together, their heads pressed together on the same pillow.

[cheesecakeluvrs]

Beau De Mayo has ruined Rogue

Beau De Mayo is a creep, I’m not going to get into allegations and all this whatever but from what we know and have seen on screen, Beau De Mayo is a creep. I would like to particularly talk about Rogue in 97 and how my perspective on her has changed in my year of defending her. This is not to say that I have stopped, no, of course I will keep defending her. I have just learned some things that have changed my thoughts on her character. There are a few up in the air discussion things that I believe or don’t believe that I would like to make clear, because they will affect my thoughts greatly. First, I do believe that Rogue was groomed. I think this 18 legal law mindset has somehow shifted our brains into thinking that people in their 20s cannot be groomed but that’s not true and I will go much more into that. Secondly, I do not believe that Gambit and Rogue were not in a relationship. This one is canon yet still some people just don’t understand it, they weren’t together. They were pretty set and stone at the end of tas but there wasn’t anything official and therefor Rogue was not cheating. Lastly, Rogue does not and did not love Erik, again, I will go more into that.

When I first watched this show I saw it as a brilliant story about a woman who had been manipulated and victimized into being in a relationship with a man whom she does not love. However, after getting into more arguments then I can count I have realized that isn’t the perspective that the show puts us in. I think I automatically went to this because I am such a Romy lover and that’s just how I understood things. I don’t think my original thoughts were wrong in any way but it’s still not what we were meant to think. Say what you will but the relationship between Rogue and Erik in 97 is very romanticized. Even though this is a very creepy relationship there were still lots of people who quickly went to shipping them because of this perspective that we were put into. When I first watched this show this romanization for me was more a unreliable narrator, Lolita type vibe (though it’s not actually a narrator thing more just a cover up to lead us away but even I suppose emphasize the weirdness that is the relationship). But that is not what this is. This is a veil of justification laid on the story of 97 by Beau De Mayo. This was him saying “no it’s not creepy, look at them, they have these sweet moments”. A relationship that has been built on what Rogue and Erik’s was can never work, but is defended by De Mayo. I think this idea is directly defended by the real world allegations that are against De Mayo. In the end Rogue chose Remy, Rogue will always choose Remy (besides the times where she like didn’t) but this story element was still put in to add little hints of De Mayos ideologies.

It is impossible to write a character or story without having your own ideologies play a part in it, it’s inevitable. However, the problem with De Mayo’s writing with Rogue for me is how she is just that, a vessel for his ideologies. I already have a problem with misogyny in 97, it’s clear that they do not give a damn about any of the female characters besides Jean and I’ve seen people mention Rogue? Oh yes the perfect non-misogynistic story, one that revolves completely around men and her thoughts and feelings for two of them. I think reducing her anger for Erik in tas to her being angry about their past relationship is possibly one of the most yet subtly misogynistic things he could have done. Magneto is clearly a self-insert for De Mayo and I find it so weird that as a gay man he is using this character to justify these weird relationships with a younger woman. Rogue is not given the grace of depth outside her relationships. Even with them seemingly surrounding around her she is still just used for Remy and Erik’s characters. Giving them their great big moments and development.

So why do I say Rogue was “ruined”, I believe that she was ruined and that we will never truly come back from this. I saw a post about 616 Rogue and one of the comments was “I still will never forgive her”, talking about her in 97. This forced perspective from De Mayo has completely ruined the point of Rogue and everyone’s perception of her. Because of the lack of context that is given without tas people are missing out on so many elements that justify her actions in 97. This wasn’t supposed to be a nostalgia dependent show, and besides this one factor I think it stands on its own pretty well. I also don’t like to get mad at people just because they haven’t seen tas but it’s frustrating when they are missing out on key character elements that were left out by 97. We will never recover from this unless season 2 pulls some voodoo shit. De Mayo has ruined the internets perception of Rogue and not it is something that will never leave her. Is he completely the problem? No, the internet has always had a little special misogyny of their own that goes into their views on every female character that makes a man sad but I do point my finger at him. We saved Scott but now Rogue has to take her fall.

This post has been pretty scrambled but, I don’t think 97 will be ruined with De Mayo leaving. I don’t think it’s great to look at someone like this as some great savior of marvel media, even though he so believes this. It’s clear from his tweets that he really sucks. Do I like What If? No, but I think 97 can survive. He was not the sole creator and I think there are many things that could have gone better. And being completely honest… I prefer What If’s faux feminism over De Mayo’s blatant misogyny… but that’s just me.

[freshlove-sturn]

house on the cape IV

pt 1, pt2, pt3, pt4

a/n: FINALE!!

summary: when the triplets come back home from la, they reunite with their favorite summer tradition, staying in the house on the cape. amidst all of the familiar laughter, and reminiscing on old memories, y/n can’t ignore the feeling stirring in her heart. something that went deeper than friendship. as she grapples with the fact that her feelings for her lifelong best friend, matt, are more than what’s just at the surface, she must learn to navigate and balance the unspoken feelings, and the gut wrenching fear of risking it all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

nick, chris, and nate had all just left to go pick up food, leaving matt and i by ourselves.

i sit perched on the counter top, matt has his body leaned up against the counter across from me. music plays softly from the tv. it’s nearing midnight, the only light illuminating the room coming from the street lights shining through the windows.

“i’m kinda sad this is our last night.” matt says.

“me too.” i agree. “it’s been so fun.”

i cherish every moment with matt. especially ones like these, where it’s just the two of us. ever since he moved across the country, i realized just how much i took for granted. before he left, i had real interactions to pine over and over romanticize. but now, i just have texts to dissect. and when him and his brothers are back in boston, they want to spend as much time as possible with friends and family, rightfully so. so it’s rare to have matt all to myself like this, even if it were just for a little while.

“whatcha thinkin’ about?” matt’s soft voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

i hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “i’m just gonna miss you.”

“i’m gonna miss you too y/n. a lot. i always do.”

something about the way he added that he “always” misses me makes my heart skip a beat.

“but hey let’s not think about that right now, alright? we’re with each other now and that’s all that matters, right?” he smiles sweetly at me, making it damn near impossible to be upset.

just before i could say anything, the first few notes of “fade into you” by mazzy star play through the speakers of the tv. we immediately look at each other. we coined it as our song years ago, when it played at a family friends wedding, being the very first song we had ever slow danced to. ever since that day, whenever it played while we were together, it was practically a requirement that we dance.

matt smiles cheekily at me, walking toward my spot on counter. he extends his arm, holding his hand out for me to take.

“may i have this dance, m’lady?” he smiles.

“of course.” i take his hand, and he gently helps me off of the counter.

he leads me over to the middle of the kitchen, opening the refrigerator for more light.

“classy.” i giggle, bringing my arms up around his neck. he places his hands on either side of my hips.

the cool air from the fridge contrasts the warmth of his hands, as well as the heat of my cheeks. we begin to sway, our steps falling into pace perfectly. i can almost feel the world around us melt away, leaving us in our own little world, a world where us in this moment is the only thing that matters.

the light from the refrigerator casts a soft halo around our bodies as we moved in sync. matt’s familiar gentle touch feels so different. like there was more to it than just participating in a silly tradition we came up with. as my heart races, i wonder if he can hear it.

i rest my head against matt’s chest, and i soon feel the weight of his chin press against the top of my head. after a few moment, i look up at him. our eyes meet, and for a second i swear i can see a flicker of something more. something that goes deeper than friendship, but then that moment passes just as quickly as it came, and we’re back to being two best friends dancing in the glow of the refrigerator light.

matt gives me a playful smile before intertwining our fingers and spinning me around. the motion slow and tender, as the air brushes across my face in a gentle breeze. while my body twirls, everything around me becomes a soft blur, the one thing remaining the same however was matt’s gaze fixated on me.

when my body stills and we come back to facing each other, my arms find his neck again, and his hands come back to their place on my hips. our laughter fills the room.

“we’re getting prettty good at that if i do say so myself.” matt smiles cheekily.

“i think so too.” i giggle.

our eyes remain on each other, but our faces closer now than they were before. matt’s breath mingling with mine.

time seems like it has halted to a stop. it feels as though matt’s lips have a magnetic pull, every second threatening to close the gap between us. something that i craved, but i could never bring myself to act on.

that’s when the front door opens, forcing us to act casual. my hands drop back to my sides, and matt folds his across his chest as the boys file into the kitchen with pizza boxes.

“why do i feel like we’re interrupting something?” nate questions, looking between the both of us.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

i lie in bed, staring at the ceiling above me. my mind is racing. although the room around me is dark, the thoughts swirling around my head are anything but. keeping me awake. i toss and turn, searching for a comfortable position, wanting nothing more than to sleep. something to turn off my mind. my feeling for matt eating away at me.

i knew i needed to confess my feelings for him before it was too late, but the fear of what might happen if i do keeps me awake.

for years, i’ve teetered the edge of friendship and something more with matt. our every interaction acting as a breeze, threatening to knock me off. threatening my feelings for him to spill out of me in a confession that could potentially ruin everything.

matt is my best friend. he always has been. and risking that was nothing short of terrifying. but the thought of never knowing if we could ever become something is almost scarier. my heart aches with the unspoken words.

a wave of realization and courage crashes over me. i knew my only way to find peace was being honest with myself and matt. i can’t keep living in this abyss torn between hope and fear. the what ifs and buts.

it’s like i lose all control of my body when i stand up from bed and move towards my door. on a mission to be completely honest with matt.

the door handle is cold in my grasp, i pull it open and to my surprise, im met with matt’s blue eyes on the other side.

we stare at each other in shock for a second before matt speaks.

“fuck it.” he says under his breath before speaking again. “look y/n, this has been killing me forever and i- shit. we’ve been friends for so long. you’ve always been my person and ive jusy been too scared to say anything because i didn’t want to lose this with you but i seriously can’t keep it to myself anymore. i love you. and not just as a friend, like im IN love with you y/n. and i have been for so fucking long. i had to tell you because you deserve to know. i completely understand if this is a lot to take in but i-“

“i love you too matt.” i cut him off, looking up at him. a smile tugging at my lips.

i felt a rush of warmth encase my chest. a mix of happiness and disbelief showering over me. was this seriously happening? all those years of hoping, wondering, and longing for this moment— suddenly it all became real.

matt’s lips crash into mine with a sense of pent up desperation. i kiss him back. his lips feeling even better than i had imagined. it felt so natural, so right. this was meant to happen. our lips danced together in a perfect rhythm, smooth and sweet like honey.

matt pulls away for a second. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that” he smiles.

“me too.” i say, trying to catch my breath.

matt peppers my lips in sweet pecks, his hands cupping my cheeks.

“so… what now?” i ask.

“i guess we try this out.” matt’s forehead presses against mine.

“i guess so.” i smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

i wake up, one of my legs draped over matt’s, my arm rested on his chest and my head barked in the crook of his arm.

i look up at his sleeping face and smile. i brush his hair out of his face, causing him to wake up.

he smiles down at me. “good morning pretty girl.” his voice tired and gravelly.

i could definitely get used to that nickname.

“morning” i smile back at him.

after a few minutes, we decide to go join everyone else out in the living room.

as soon as we become visible to the 3 of them, their jaws immediately drop.

“no fucking way.” chris says, shocked. looking around at the others and then back to us.

“about fucking time. i didn’t know how much longer i could be the middle man. do you know how hard it is to listen to yall yap about being in love with each other and being scared about it not being reciprocated, knowing full well the other feels the exact same way?” nate asks. causing both of us to smile.

“you have so much explaining to do.” nick tells us, looking back and forth between us.

“i called it. did i not? nick you owe me 50 bucks.” chris makes a forking over motion with his hand.

“no shot you bet on us getting together.” matt shakes his head.

who knew that i would fall in love, and get together with the boy of my dreams all at the same place?

i couldn’t help but smile. i finally had what i’ve wanted and craved more than anything for years.

and it was all thanks to the house on the cape.

✧･: *✧･ﾟ:* the end ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a/n: I HOPE YALL LIKED THIS SERIES!!!

taglist: @ribread03 @billy9669 @lovesturni0l0s @p4lxouterbanks @blablablabla2525 @bbernard-03 @sturniololvrrr @hayhjelmstad15

[dearweirdme]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/774381954334326784/what-haunts-me-is-tae-waiting-for-someone-to-open

“Not a bad thing to be haunted by”

But if this was a Jikook edit you would have gone on and on about how you hate the way Jikookers sexualize everything Jikook does. Funny how you don’t see to share the same sentiment here💀

Hi anon!

Im getting extremely tired of all the ‘but if this was a jkk’ asks i’ve been getting (probably all you), so let me put some things straight here (and if you come back like this again you will get blocked).

This ask actually says way more about where your mind goes than about mine. Because I never said anything about them having sex, neither did my anon (though perhaps their mind did go there, I don’t know). For me, this would be a moment of intimacy.. a moment for them to be together without having a camera pointed at their faces. I don’t actually tend to think they are sexually intimate when there’s cameras around because that would be an actual huge risk (something Jkkrs don’t seem to understand). You seem to follow my blog very intensely, so you know I hardly ever mention their sexlives and I certainly do not sexualize them.

But also this, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to believe in both Jkk and Tkk? In neither? Do you want me to stop blogging? None of that’s going to happen, so you might as well just block me if it’s so annoying to you.

Moreover, Jikook is fake. It was clear before , but during AYS it is proven to be fake by Jm and Jk themselves. I am not going to be considarate towards Jkkrs, because they are delusional. The moment Jk and Jm said this…

… it was all over. This is strong evidence of Jkk being fake. I know Jkkrs either ignore this (searching for a clip of this is actually hilarious) of twist it into a romanticized temporary breakup thingy), but what they are telling us is that they didn’t meet or hang out or even call for months! Not even just two months… but at least spanning the time Jm was busy with Face until AYS. And they are talking about it in a joking lighthearted way. We could tell that during the time they didn’t meet it was also not an issue, because they mentioned each other just fine during their weverse lives. We actually did see them together (didn’t make an impact apparently) during Hobi’s enlistment and they were just fine. Jm told Jk to visit him more during that dance practice, so Jkkrs idea of Jm being too busy is an idiotic one (especially since he did make time for Hobi and Yoongi, and facetimed Tae several times a month. There was nothing wrong between Jm and Jk.. they just did not make time for each other and that goes against them being in a relationship. This is not even something you can point at as being my point of view or my opinion… this is just facts.

Above all that, please let Jkkrs do research on how queer artists who are out get treated and let them think about if they truly believe Jm and Jk would be able to be out. BH having/letting them do this show is also proof that they are not together. Them enlisting together is also proof that they are not together. Music companies do not take risks.

So.. please go away with your ‘but if it was a Jkkr saying this’ nonsense as if I’m somehow supposed to treat their ideas the same as ours.

[justaz]

I’m not trying to glorify or romanticize whats happening in this country right now and i hope it doesnt come across like that but I can’t help looking around at how fucking deplorable everything is quickly getting and then seeing how quickly humanity can babd together under the boot of our oppressor and help one another as best we can and its kind of…rewiring my brain a little bit? Like yeah humanity can be despicable - look at those in power - but it can also be so caring and empathetic - look everywhere else.

Anyways I’m rethinking how the purge happened in Camelot. Druids and magic were a natural part of every day life in Albion. Yeah, Uther probably spread propaganda against magic users but there had to be a portion of the population that saw through it and defended magic users against Uther’s raids and executions as best they could. Camelot citizens following the knights out as they head to a Druid camp, as they get close enough the citizens shout out to warn the Druids and give them a headstart while getting between the knights and the Druids to give them time to get away.

Uther probably had all those citizens killed or heavily suppressed and controlled by fear so he could properly eradicate magic users from Camelot. I don’t think Camelot citizens just let it happen. I think they put up a fight as well but Uther had them killed and then propagandized them as enchanted by the druids/sorcerers or something to further stoke fear of magic

[cultkinkcoven]

ok ok ok ok ok

I’ve been wanting to talk ab Arcane for a minute because I just binged it all last week

omg

niche post for both the demonolatry scene and fans of arcane lmao

ok first and foremost let me say that I do completely think that Jinx and Silco’s relationship is toxic, even if not abusive. Silco isolates a child, manipulates her into doing his bidding, puts a gun in her hand when she is clearly unwell etc. Not healthy, not good, even if it is loving. And borderline predatory (although I really like to give Silco the benefit of the doubt and assume that he wasn’t sexually interested in Jinx in any way). He definitely groomed her even if it wasn’t sexual. This is a fact.

Please please do not think that I am romanticizing this relationship or saying it was good. it wasn’t. Shipping Jinx and Silco is weird as fuck. The writing was fucking immaculate and I absolutely love their dynamic (beautiful, tragic as fuck) but that doesn’t make it morally right and we definitely should not encourage it.

ok, glad we got that out of the way.

While watching this, omfg. I saw so much of Lucifer and I’s relationship in Silco and Jinx, it was almost uncanny. The way he talks to her, the way they move around each other. The baptism scene.

Their playfulnesses with each other, their vulnerability with each other. The way he cherishes her gifts. His understanding of how damaged she is and his gentleness with her because of that. His guidance. The last words he says to her. DAMN IT.

I first “met”/ reached out to Lucifer as an adult. He approached me when I was a grown man with the maturity and insight to make smart decisions about him. Our relationship didn’t start super affectionate or familial, and he didn’t groom me into working with him since I was a child. I’m glad I didn’t know him until I was an adult. I simply did not have the cognitive ability to understand our relationship until then.

When we met I had recently been kicked out of my parents house, shunned by my family, and was generally suffering emotionally in a big way. Started hating myself, wondering what my problem is.

So when I saw that damn scene of this abandoned little child (powder) clinging to the arms of this psychopath obsessed with revolution, and him embracing her, saying “it’s okay, we’ll show them together.”

FUCK. THAT WAS ME. THAT WAS HIM. I know exactly how that feels.

When I first clung to Lucifer, the first time I was actually vulnerable with him like that, I felt like a child. And he, ancient and wise, lead me like a father.

and that fucking baptism scene where Silco is like “you need to be born anew as Jinx and let the old you die”

THAT’S HIM. THATS LUCIFER, HE DID THAT SHIT TO ME!!!!

Like almost bar for bar, when I was coming into my chosen name and entering initiation. WHAT THE FUCK. GET OUT MY HEAD

watching the show, it’s easy for me to see that their relationship is a toxic trauma bond codependent thing. Silco pushes Jinx deeper into her isolation and insanity, he encourages the worst sides of her, thinking it’s what’ll benefit her and himself. He’s not good for her.

And Lucifer, while he never encourages anything self destructive from me, from the perspective of outsiders like my family, he is pulling me deeper into the darkness. He gave me true liberation, but to everyone else it seems like he’s poisoning me. They just don’t get it. They can never understand what we are, why we need each other.

And I wanna reiterate, Lucifer is not a toxic influence in my life, our relationship is very healthy and doesn’t have the questionable themes that Silco and Jinx have. He doesn’t isolate me (he actually makes me reach out to others for support) or encourage harmful behaviour, he didn’t groom me since I was a child. He influences me, but I wouldn’t say he manipulates me. He’s not weird like that.

But I’d be lying if I said that we aren’t codependent on each other to some degree, I obviously more than him. A large part of our relationship was built on our joint pain and the understanding we have of each other because of that pain.

so that element of “I know everyone says you’re bad but you’re the only one who embraces me like this, who doesn’t cringe at the things I’ve done, who tells me I’m perfect just the way I am”

FUCK.

That shit hit me hard.