#in tears) shawty got them apple bottom jeans... boots with the fur...

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

heights, wuthering

butler au heathcliff bc i want perno dead

gender neutral reader

The way Heathcliff pines for you is painful and selfish, or so he believes. He knows that decorum is everything for a man in his position: a loyal butler to the future head of the mansion. Professionalism and distance is key, and he’s supposed to be nothing more than the supporting pedestal for the picturesque beacon waiting to bloom. Yet despite this, he can’t stop himself from falling in love with you, both slowly and all at once, until his ribs feel like they’re squeezing against his heart and his eyes search for nothing else in the area except for your innocent, smiling face. He keeps telling himself that he can’t be this weak—he can’t fall in love with his master—but all he wants is to be by your side.

His yearning for you is subtle to the unsuspecting eye but obvious to those privy to his secret. Whenever he clasps a necklace around your throat, his fingertips ghost over the nape of your neck for a second too long. Whenever you’re busy reading in your room, you can sometimes catch him frozen in place, dumbfounded as he stares at you with his eyes blown wide open. And if you smile and wave at him, he’ll panic as he hurriedly attempts to look busy. Other times, he insists on doing the gardening himself, so he can show you “samples” of the finest flowers—totally not an excuse for him to fashion a bouquet with his own hands and bring it to you in a silent confession of his love.

A little secret he loves indulging in is knowing that he’s the first person you see every morning. He carefully readies you for your day whenever he cautiously pulls your lace curtains aside, and he unsuccessfully chides himself whenever he notices how angelic and peaceful your sleeping face looks, illuminated gently by the first streams of sunlight. Heathcliff always makes sure to wake you with nothing but the softest, most serene voices, and you’re always enchanted to open your eyes to see your handsome butler grinning down at you with nothing but honeyed eyes and sugary words. He’ll tuck your hair behind your ear and remind you that breakfast is to be served soon… but you can spend a few sleepy moments dozing off while leaning on his shoulder. 

One of his favorite moments is when you ask him to be your dance partner for your practices. He loves looking at you while you scrunch your face up and glare at your feet, doing your best to memorize the complex steps, and Heathcliff will smile peacefully to himself as he holds you close. His hands rest like comforting anchors on your waist, and the two of you sway to the quiet music, lost in your own world where no one can interrupt the sweet stolen paradise. He knows that one day, the person dancing with you won’t be him but someone else, but whenever there’s a ball, you make it a point (and a habit) to pull him to the side as the night ebbs away and show off your perfected steps on the balcony alone together. It feels like a dream: you in all your splendor and him as he is, slow dancing in the cool night air to the dying lights and music of a ball, away from social expectations and norms, just two people enraptured in their own love for each other. 

You always insist that he calls you by your name whenever the two of you are alone together, but it still flusters Heathcliff whenever he tries. He doesn’t mind that you’re selfish with him; if anything, you should monopolize him for every one of your waking hours, but he has to tell himself that he can’t do the same. He’s your servant, one who has no place but to ensure that your life is happy at the cost of his own future, but when you snake your arms around his neck and pull yourself so close that the tips of your noses brush together, his resolve falters. Baby blue eyes meet yours, and his lips part in a quiet gasp—when you close the electric gap between the two of you, he learns the taste of your name from the captivating way your soft lips seem to whisper it against the cracks of his mouth. Over and over, until he remembers every syllable, every saccharine detail, every forbidden letter that he can’t say, deep into his heart.

“Please… hold me as I am. Not as a servant, not as a housekeeper, but a pure-hearted man who loves you with everything this universe has to offer. Promise me this, love… When the day comes that I have to part with you and my feelings, will you remember me? Your poor butler—who loved, loves, and will love you so?”

[isitbussinjanelle]

Namaari with headphones in: shawty had them apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur😩🤟🏽

Raya: *tearing up* w-wait w-hat? Are you seeing someone...🥺

Namaari not able to here anything: she hit the floor, next to big I know start got low low low low low low low low

*raya full on crying*

Namaari: *takes headphones off* hey hey, what’s the matter dep la?

Raya: WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE DATING SOMEONE ITS NOT FAIR

Namaari: ?