#vintage workout clothes

[blondebrainpowered]

Calisthenics ensemble, ca. 1865 

[thegikitiki]

Heels Over Head...

IL-MAKIAGE Cosmetics, 1978

[shop-rekino]

Street retro sporty casual black white cropped slim slip jumpsuit set.

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Rekino

Unicore

IG

[womens-clothing]

Fashion 2 Figure Style Secrets for Women of All Ages

Read and adapt timeless fashion 2-figure tips that flatter every woman's figure, regardless of age. From elegant silhouettes that enhance curves to smart layering techniques, this guide offers versatile and chic styling secrets. Check it out Now!

[wedding-guest-dresses]

Women’s Fashion Heavy Workers Fish Beaded Dress

Product information:

Material:polyester fiber

Style:Fashion minimalist

Features:Solid color

Colour:Blue

[justthatspiffy]

do you think there's an objective measurement for 'moisture wicking'? because polyester fabrics be making some claims

[willowsnook]

When Love is Left Unspoken pt. 2 (MV)

max verstappen x reader

pt. 1 here

I could be talked into a pt. 3 if people want it

It had been a week since the Austin GP and forgetting about what happened had been impossible mostly because Max would not leave you alone.

He didn't reach out directly, but every morning this week, you had woken up to a new gift outside your door. Flowers, chocolate, coffee, pastries, clothing, etc. You had no idea how he even knew your address.

You struggled with what to do. On one hand, you had missed your best friend for a long time. You missed the inside jokes, the comfort you found in him, and supporting one another. But on the other hand, you couldn't stop thinking about how he threw it all away because he was scared of loving you. You had never been scared of loving him, even if you never said. Well maybe that was hypocritical.

Saturday morning an envelope accompanied the box outside of your door. You opened the box first, revealing a vintage RedBull racing bomber jacket that cost who knows how much. It was cute, you'd give it that. Opening the envelope you froze as you read the letter that sat next to a paddock pass for the Brazil GP.

I know you hate me and you have a good reason to but I will do anything to have you back by my side even if you refuse to look at me. Please come to Brazil, I know it's your favorite track. You can stay on Checo's side of the garage if it makes you feel better.

Love, Your Max

Brazil was your favorite track and in the past you had always travelled down early to experience the culture for a bit before the racing started.

You facetimed Carmen, hoping to talk this through with someone else.

"Hey girl, what's up?" She asked, clearly in the middle of a workout.

"Oh, I can call later if you're busy," you said and she shook her head.

"No, it's okay!"

"Max invited me to the Brazilian GP," you told her slowly and her eyes widened.

"Wow."

"I know, I don't know what to do."

Carmen was silent for a little bit, clearly thinking. "Is there any part of you that wants to make up with him?"

"Yes," you admitted quietly. "But I hate myself for even thinking that. I don't want to just forget about everything that happened and take him back with open arms."

"I don't think you necessarily have to forget what happened but maybe focus on the people you both have grown to be in these last few years. Maybe treat it like you are starting over."

"So you think I should go?"

"Selfishly yes of course," she said grinning and you couldn't help but smile back. "You don't even have to spend time with him. Just see how it feels to be around him."

After hanging up with Carmen, you texted the number Max had given you for his assistant in order to get flights and a hotel figured out.

-----------------------------------

You landed in Brazil on media day and didn't plan on going to the track until Saturday. Max was pulling out all the stops even when he couldn't see you as evidenced by the ridiculously nice hotel he put you in. The view was amazing and laying on the bed was a variety of your favorite snacks and drinks with a card that read "I'm so glad you're here -your Max."

The 'Your Max' thing was working even though you hated to admit it. You spent the next two days traveling around the city by yourself and then with Carmen.

Saturday rolled around and you found yourself nervous to be at the paddock despite Carmen's constant reassurances. You hadn't seen Max yet and you weren't really sure what to say when you did.

Funny enough, the first person you ran into when you made it to the RedBull garage was Christian Horner.

"Y/n!" He said surprised to see you. "It's been a while, how are you? You know my wife is obsessed with your tik tok channel."

"Ahh tell her I said thank you," you replied kindly. "I've been doing well."

"We're glad to have you back," he said and your heart swelled. "It's been a rough year for him."

"I'm not sure I can change that," you said politely and he gave you a look.

"You just being here might," he commented before leaving you to go talk with the mechanics. You wandered around the garage, catching up with a lot of people you hadn't seen in a long time.

Max spotted you as he was coming out of his drivers' room and his heart stopped. Of course he knew you were in Brazil, but he still wasn't 100% sure you'd show up. He didn't think he should approach you so he just lingered by watching you. You felt him watching you and looked over at him, trying to control your breathing and gave him a small smile.

He smiled back before being called off to get ready for the sprint. Leaning against the back wall you pulled your headphones and settled in to watch. Max was doing pretty good, battling with Charles for most of the race. Your face appeared on the broadcast and you smiled to the camera, giving it a small wave.

After the race you checked your phone to see that you'd been tagged in countless tweets.

@.username12312: Was that y/n y/l/n in the RedBull garage? I thought her and Max had a falling out???

reply to @.usernam12312 @.user345: Yeah they haven't been friends for a long time. It had something to do with Kelly

reply to @.user345 @.username12312: oh yeah, you're right! I always liked y/n better anyways

You were amused reading the speculation and decided to stir the pot further. While Max was doing interviews you found Checo in the garage and asked him to take a picture with you. The confused man agreed and you quickly posted it to your Instagram story with the caption: My favorite RedBull driver, good luck tomorrow!

Carmen and Lily both slid up with laughing emojis and you walked back to Max's side, trying to avoid the rain. It was really coming down now and you weren't sure if they would even be able to go out on the track. You found Max a little while later sitting against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. You sunk down next to him, holding your knees into your chest.

"Think you'll be able to go out there today?" You asked casually and he looked over at you, clearly excited to hear you speaking to him.

"I would say probably not," he replied. "Maybe tomorrow morning."

"How much longer until we know?"

"Another half hour would be my guess," he said. "I can call for someone to take you back if you want to leave now?"

"No, I'll wait," you said looking down at your phone. You sat in silence for a while and the rain was starting to make you very sleepy. Losing the battle with yourself, you rested your head on Max's shoulder and he stiffened.

Max smiled to himself as you dozed off and the two of you caught the attention of the cameras, the photo soon to be splashed everywhere online. Quali was called off and Max nudged you awake, reaching out to help you up.

"Ride with me back?" He asked hopeful and you nodded. You ran into George and Carmen on the way out and she gave you a knowing look to which you rolled your eyes at.

"You guys should come out to dinner with us," George said. "We're meeting up with Alex and Lily too."

You hesitated, not wanting to miss out but at the same time your social battery was dead. You could only handle so much social interaction before you were craving your warm bed to snuggle into. You started to give in and agree but Max cut you off.

"I think y/n is done being around people for the day so I'm going to take her back."

You looked at him surprised and the realization that he still knew you so well just added more fire to the internal turmoil you were facing. Bidding them goodbye, you followed Max out of the paddock and into the car he had rented for the weekend. The car ride was silent as well as the elevator ride up to your floor.

Max followed close behind you as you made your way to your room and it was starting to irritate you.

"You don't need to walk me to my room Max," you said and he looked at your sheepishly.

"I'm in the one right next to you."

"Are you fucking serious?" You asked frustrated. "I need space Max!"

"I just want you to be safe," he defended and you rolled your eyes.

"From what?" You exclaimed. "Oh yeah, your girlfriend I mean ex-girlfriend is from here. Think she's sending people after me?"

"I don't think that's funny," he said, eyes darkening. "Sue me for wanting you close to me. I'm not going to apologize for that."

"You are the worst," you bit out before shoving into your room, slamming the door.

---------------------------------------

Stepping out of the steaming shower and back into the bedroom you glanced worriedly out the window. You wouldn't necessarily say that you had a fear of thunderstorms but they tended to make you uneasy.

Trying to distract yourself you put on South Park, your favorite show to watch in a hotel, but it didn't work. After a couple of booms you were still on edge. Sighing you got up and left your room, hoping a small walk around the hotel would ease your mind. By the time you made it back, Max was leaning against the wall by your door, waiting for you.

"Can't sleep?" He asked and you nodded.

"The storms."

"You always were scared of them," he teased and you scoffed.

"I'm not scared of them!" Right as you said that, a streak of lighting flashed by the hallway's window followed by a loud crash of thunder. You jumped a little and Max smirked.

"Come on," he said gesturing back to his room. You hesitated and he sighed. "We both know you won't fall asleep alone to this."

Giving in, you followed him into his room. It was a carbon copy of yours and you were amused to see South Park playing on his tv. He climbed into his bed but you stopped short; the scene in front of you reminded you of so many times before. When you traveled with him back in the day you'd often find yourself in his room at night hanging out. You always fell asleep and woke up in his arms, neither of you ever saying anything about it.

Max sat up in the bed looking at you, he knew what you were thinking.

"Y/n," he said softly as he watched you wipe a tear from your eye.

"This is so hard Max," you said, voice breaking. "How am I supposed to just forget?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not even like you broke my heart that day," you said meeting his eyes. "You had chipped away at it for so long that there wasn't even anything left to break."

Max's heart dropped and he moved over closer to where you were standing, so that you were now eye level.

"I was so scared back then y/n," he said and you put your head into your hands. "So scared of failing that I did things I shouldn't have done, like pushing you away to protect myself."

"Protect yourself from what?" You said, looking back at him.

"Your unconditional love," he said sadly and you tried to compose yourself, taking a deep breath.

"You acted like nothing happened, I watched you move on with your life," you accused, whispering to him.

"I did not move on, I was a mess. I couldn't eat or sleep for months and I latched on to you in whatever way I could through your videos or podcast. Every picture or video you saw of me was strictly PR."

"But you never reached out, not once in these past few years," you said, starting to grow angry with him.

"Neither did you!" He exclaimed.

"That's not fair Max," you retorted, moving away from him.

"Isn't it though? You accused me of moving on but I watched you do the same. I watched your popularity grow, watched you start to travel around the world, watched you post with other guys. You didn't need me to be happy."

"I needed my best friend!" You yelled and he flinched. "I needed you to be there to call when I got a new deal! I needed you to be there to lean on when I had self doubt! You ruined everything Max. I could never be truly happy celebrating something because in the back of my mind I was thinking about how you should have been there with me!"

Max squeezed his eyes shut, sitting down on the bed.

"I don't know how to fix this schatje," he whispered and you flinched at the term of endearment. "Everything has been so dark for so long. I am okay with you hating me forever. Because even if you just look at me, it'll be a better day than what I've had."

Sniffling, you stared into his red rimmed eyes. "I want to forget about you so badly Max but I can't."

He smiled softly at you before patting the bed.

"Please sleep here tonight, it will make me feel so much better knowing you were well rested. I'll sleep on the pull out couch," he said standing up.

"Just sleep in the bed with me," you said sighing, wiping the tears from your face before climbing into the bed. Max slid in next to you, leaving a healthy distance between the two of you and you drifted off to sleep.

The sound of his alarm woke you up at 4:30 and you groaned sleepily. Max's arms were wrapped tightly around you, his head buried in your hair as he refused to open his eyes.

"Max, you have to wake up," you said and he mumbled incoherently into you. You pried his hands off your body and stood up, stretching. He watched you lazily from the bed, wondering if this was a dream.

"I'm going to go get ready and then I'll meet you back in the hallway in 30 minutes okay?" You asked him and he nodded. Leaving his room you headed back into yours to get ready for the day. Your eyes were still a little swollen from last night but that was nothing a little makeup couldn't fix.

Pairing the new RedBull jacket with a black jeans you gathered all your stuff before texting Carmen about what had happened last night. All she responded was that we would discuss it in person and sent a winky face.

Max looked more awake standing out in the hallway and you both left for the track.

Qualifying was a mess to put it simply. Crash after crash after crash. It was spiking your anxiety to watch and you were just praying that Max would make it out unscathed. He did make it without crashing, but not without controversy.

You grew furious as you watched everyone in Q2 get to finish their laps following Lance's crash except for Max and Esteban. This made him miss out on Q3 for the first time in forever. You knew he was pissed when he got out of the car and his eyes met yours for a brief second. He talked to his engineers before grabbing your hand to drag you with him to over where he had to do interviews.

Standing behind the reporter you watched him try to contain his anger.

“If a guy goes straight into the wall, it is a straight red,” he said. “I don't understand why you need to take 30, 40 seconds for a red flag to come out...”

His voice was rising as he said it and both you and the reporter braced for the impact of whatever he was going to say next. He started to say something but then looked over at you and stopped himself, taking a deep breath before waving off the question.

“I don’t care in all honesty, it is so stupid to talk about. It’s ridiculous.”

He answered a couple more questions about the race happening later and you waited patiently. Christian came to join you and gave you a knowing look.

"I told you that being here would make things better," he said with a glint in his eyes. "I'm giving you credit for him avoiding more community service."

Things got even better after that with Max winning the Grand Prix in what you could only describe as a complete masterclass.

As the celebrations wrapped up, you and Max found yourselves alone in the quiet of the garage, both still processing the day's whirlwind. He glanced at you, a hesitant warmth in his gaze.

Max reached for your hand, gently holding it, as if afraid you'd slip away again. "I'm glad you came, I've needed you here for a long time."

"I'm still not sure where we stand Max," you said unsure of how to deal with what you were feeling.

"As long as your standing next to me, I'll be okay," he said cheekily and you smiled. You knew that your relationship had a long way to go but maybe, just maybe, it was finally starting again.

pt. 3

[wholoveseggs]

Stains {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} One spilled coffee, one ruined suit, and one infuriating man you can’t seem to avoid...

♡♡ Uh oh I wrote another series! Inspired by the many requests I get for another enemies to lovers fic ~ This is essentially a highly caffeinated version of Misbehavior ~xoxo ♡♡

3.7k words - Warnings: slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, eventual smut (duh), Elijah being Elijah about his suits, reader with a sharp tongue and a penchant for swearing, so so so much antagonistic banter, class dynamics, Elijah being a control freak (it’s his kink) && the tragic loss of a cappuccino...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble

It was one of those mornings where everything felt hazy, like your body was running on autopilot while your brain lagged behind. You were going through the motions, getting ready for work, but it all felt distant.  

Finally, as you stood in line at the local café, you began to wake up fully. Glancing at your phone, you checked the time. You were cutting it close, but if you hurried, you could still make it.  

When it was your turn, you stepped up to the counter and ordered your usual. While waiting, you observed the morning rush: people in business suits, jeans, or workout gear shuffled in and out, the chaos oddly comforting. You tried to keep your irritation in check as a few impatient customers jostled their way ahead of you.  

At last, you grabbed your cappuccino and headed out the door, your eyes flicking to the clock on your phone again. Damn, you were going to be late.  

You picked up your pace, speed-walking down the sidewalk. Cursing under your breath, you glanced back down at your phone… just as you collided with someone.  

Hot liquid splashed everywhere, soaking through your shirt and bra. You hissed in pain, looking up to find the man you'd crashed into. His suit jacket and dress shirt were also drenched in coffee.  

He glared at you, his dark eyes murderous. He didn't say a word as he yanked off his jacket and attempted to blot at the stain, which only seemed to spread.  

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, fumbling to pull out your wallet. “Here, let me pay for your dry cleaning. I’m really sorry.”  

You went to pull out some cash, but he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Dry cleaning? No. You will pay for a replacement," he said with cold disdain.  

His attitude pissed you off. He was just as much at fault as you were, yet he had this entitled, pretentious air about him that made your blood boil.  

“It’s just coffee. It’ll come out with the right cleaner,” you said, trying to keep the bite out of your voice.  

“It’s a custom-tailored vintage Italian wool suit. Do you have any idea how much it costs?” he asked, his jaw ticking as he glared at you.  

“Well, maybe you should pay more attention to where you’re walking if you’re going to parade around in such expensive clothes,” you snapped, your temper slipping.  

“Are you seriously standing there, telling me this is my fault?” he asked, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.  

“Yup. Because it is,” you shot back, crossing your arms as you met his icy gaze. “I’m not about to buy you a thousand-dollar suit when dry cleaning can fix it.”  

“A thousand?” he repeated, laughing, and to your surprise, the sound was annoyingly pleasant. “This is a Brioni, not some off-the-rack garbage from Nordstrom. And I expect full payment. Interest included.”  

“Oh, fuck off,” you snapped, throwing up your hands in frustration. Turning on your heel, you stomped away, your blood still boiling.  

You had no idea what a Brioni was, and frankly, you didn’t care. He wasn’t going to bully you into paying for a ridiculously overpriced suit. You couldn’t even afford the cheap ones. And besides, what was he going to do? He didn’t even know who you were.  

You didn’t hear his footsteps behind you, but suddenly, he was in front of you, blocking your path.  

“I’m not done talking to you,” he said, his tone cutting through the air like ice.  

“Yeah, well, I’m done talking to you. Get the hell out of my way,” you snapped, trying to sidestep him.  

His hand shot out, grabbing your arm and holding you in place. You were about to slap him when his free hand darted into your pocket, pulling out your wallet.  

“Hey! What the fuck?” you yelled, trying to snatch it back.  

Ignoring you, he opened it and rifled through your cards and cash with infuriating calmness. He pulled out your driver’s license, glancing at it, and you could have sworn he smirked.  

“So, Miss L/N, I’ll be in touch. And perhaps you should pay attention to where you’re walking. You never know who you might bump into,” he said, his voice full of smug amusement as he slipped your wallet back into your pocket.  

Before you could respond, he turned and strode off down the street, leaving you standing there, fuming.  

You sat at your desk, staring blankly at the screen, willing yourself not to think about the events from earlier. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind kept circling back. You couldn’t believe his fucking audacity.

The way he’d just grabbed your wallet out of your pocket… like it was nothing, and then had the nerve to smirk at you. The memory made your blood boil all over again. You were livid.

It was obvious he was wealthy, the kind of man who was used to getting whatever he wanted. But you weren’t about to be bullied by some rich asshole. You couldn't stand people like him, entitled, out of touch assholes.

But… lord, was he hot.

Your thoughts betrayed you, conjuring up his sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and those dark brown eyes that seemed to smolder even when he was furious. He exuded danger. The kind that drew you in, whether you wanted it to or not.

For a moment, your mind wandered, imagining what it would feel like to run your hands through his hair, tugging at it as he…

No. No.

You shook your head, physically trying to jolt yourself back to reality. You weren’t about to let your thoughts go there. He didn’t deserve a second more of your time.

After work, you were exhausted, and all you wanted was to curl up on the couch and watch something mindless. As you walked down the hall to your apartment, the sight of an envelope sticking out of the door made you frown.

You approached it slowly, pulling it from the door and turning it over.

The handwriting on the front was neat and tidy. The letter itself was a single piece of paper, folded in half. Your name was scrawled on the front.

Hesitating, you unlocked the door and walked into your apartment. It was small, barely enough space for you, but it was the only place you could afford.

Closing the door behind you, you opened the letter.

Miss L/N, I trust you found this note where I left it. Please see the enclosed invoice for the cost of replacing my suit. If I do not receive a response within five business days, I will have no choice but to involve my lawyers. Sincerely, Elijah Mikaelson

There was a paper inside, folded in half. Pulling it out, you found the bill:

Invoice: Total cost of suit and emotional damages: $20,325.00

What the fuck?

The number at the bottom made you want to vomit. How the fuck could a suit cost that much?

There was no way in hell you could come up with that kind of money. If he tried to sue you there was no way you would be able to pay it.

Fuck. Fuck.

You stared down at the invoice, panic starting to build. His phone number was listed at the top, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you dialed the number, your heart hammering in your chest.

After two rings, a deep, infuriatingly familiar voice answered.

"Miss L/N, I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten my note," he said, sounding amused.

"You can't be serious. That suit cannot cost that much," you snapped, trying and failing to keep the fear out of your voice.

"As a matter of fact, it can. You should feel lucky I'm not asking for more, considering the insult to my character. Or do I need to remind you of how you behaved?" he asked, his tone dripping with arrogance.

"How much emotional damage could a spilled cup of coffee possibly cause?" you scoffed, unable to stop yourself. "I'm not paying that. No way."

"Well, unfortunately, the suit is ruined. My dry cleaner tried his best, but it was simply too late," he said, his words clipped and precise. "Now, we can settle this between us. Or I can call my lawyer, and the two of us can hash out a deal in court."

"What the hell do you want from me?" you asked, unable to keep the anger and hurt out of your voice. "You think I have a couple grand lying around? I can't even afford my rent, much less a suit that's worth more than I'll make in the next year!"

"Then I suggest you get a better job," he replied, his tone dismissive. "I have no interest in playing games with you. Either pay what you owe, or face the consequences."

"Go fuck yourself," you hissed, hanging up and slamming the phone down on the table.

He couldn't be serious. There was no way. He was a sadist, clearly. Just an entitled, privileged prick, and you had no doubt he would go through with his threat.

Your phone started to ring, and you glared at it, tempted to ignore it. But you knew that would only make things worse.

With a sigh, you picked up the phone, answering it and pressing it to your ear. "What?"

"Well, that was rude," he said, his voice cold.

"Yeah, well, so is threatening me," you shot back.

"You're being unreasonable," he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. "We can settle this like adults. If you can't afford the suit, perhaps there's another way we can work out our differences."

"If you're trying to blackmail me into having sex with you, fuck off. I'm not a hooker," you snapped.

He laughed, and the sound made you shiver, even as it enraged you. "Hardly darling, I don't pay for sex,"

"Then what the fuck do you want?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"An apology," he said, and there was something dangerous in his voice, a hint of a threat.

"Fine," you said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Now, leave me the hell alone."

"No, I want an apology in person, perhaps over dinner. After all, we never had a chance to get properly acquainted," he said, his voice smooth.

"That wasn't part of the deal," you hissed. "You said an apology, not a date."

"Are you trying to negotiate terms with me?" he asked, his tone amused. "Because I'm not sure that's wise. After all, if we go to court, I'll win. I have excellent lawyers."

"Are you seriously going to sue me over a stupid suit?" you asked, the anger in your voice fading, replaced by fear.

"That depends. Are you going to refuse my request?" he asked, his voice soft, yet firm.

You hesitated, weighing your options. On one hand, you could try to stand up to him. But there was no doubt in your mind that you would lose a court battle… you did damage his suit after all.

"Fine," you said, the word leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Excellent. I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven," he said, sounding satisfied.

Before you could respond, the line went dead.

You stared at your phone, furious. This wasn’t an apology; it was a trap. But what choice did you have? You’d give him his stupid apology…and then, hopefully, you’d never have to see him again.

At first you decided you were just going to wear a sweatshirt and leggings. Let him deal with it. You weren’t about to put the effort in. But a small voice inside told you that it would only make things worse. Besides, if there was any chance this would be the last time you had to see him, maybe you should look good. Show him that you weren't some charity case.

With a sigh, you put on the nicest dress you had, a simple black shift. You spent some time doing your hair and makeup, and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, you felt a flicker of pride.

You could do this.

As you finished getting ready, you wondered if he was going to show up in another ridiculously expensive suit. Probably. It seemed like his entire identity was tied up in his clothing. A small, diabolical part of you considered ruining another one of his suits, just to spite him. But you dismissed the idea. It wasn't worth the cost.

Just as you finished slipping on your heels, the buzzer rang. Grabbing your purse, you headed down the stairs, taking a deep breath as you pulled open the front door.

There, waiting for you, was Elijah, looking infuriatingly handsome. He wasn't dressed in a suit this time, in fact what he was wearing was much less formal, and a lot sexier. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans, and a dark blue shirt, the top two buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Was he aware of how ridiculously hot he was? Of course he knew... A man with all that wealth and confidence wouldn't have a doubt in his mind that women would fall at his feet.

"Hello, darling," he said, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he gazed down at you. "You look lovely."

"Don't," you said, holding up a finger and glaring at him. "I'm not your 'darling' and you don't get to call me that."

He chuckled, the sound making your skin prickle with heat. "Very well, shall we?"

He offered you his arm, and against your better judgement, you took it, allowing him to lead you to his car. You were surprised when he opened the passenger side door for you, but didn't comment, sliding into the seat.

"I expected you to be wearing another suit," you commented, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. "After all, they're such a large part of your personality."

He looked over at you, his gaze moving down your body, taking in the curves of your breasts and hips, lingering on your legs.

"And I wasn't expecting a dress, but here we are," he said, his eyes meeting yours, the challenge in them clear.

"You're insufferable," you muttered, turning to look out the window, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"I could say the same about you," he replied, his tone amused. "Though, I will admit, I admire your spirit."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" you asked, your brows furrowing.

"Yes, it is," he said, keeping his gaze on the road.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"A little restaurant not far from here," he said, not elaborating further.

You were tempted to ask him more, but you didn't want to seem overly interested. You were still trying to figure out his motives, but you didn't want him to think he was winning.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence, and soon, he was pulling into a parking spot. He came around to open the door for you, and you ignored his hand, standing on your own.

You followed him into the restaurant, a quaint, homey place with dim lighting and candles on the tables. The waiter seated you, handing each of you a menu and taking your drink orders.

When he walked away, you turned your attention back to Elijah, studying his face in the low light. His features were strong, defined, and there was something oddly compelling about his eyes, the way they seemed to see right through you.

"So, what's your story?" you asked, breaking the silence. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a philanthropist," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I invest in various causes, and also provide grants to those in need."

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Of course you are,"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

"You just scream old money, the kind of guy who's never had to work a day in his life, never had to struggle," you said, not bothering to mask the disdain in your voice.

He arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching up into a half-smile. "You're quite judgmental, aren't you?"

"Says the man who's trying to extort money from me," you retorted, your temper flaring.

"Sweetheart, you don't know anything about me or my struggles," he said, his tone deceptively calm. "I think it's best if you keep your opinions to yourself."

You glared at him, your jaw clenching. You wanted to fire back, tell him he was wrong, but a small, logical part of you warned against it.

"Fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "I'm sorry...again."

"Apology accepted," he said, his expression smug.

Before you could respond, the waiter returned with your drinks.

"Are you two ready to order?" he asked, giving you both a polite smile.

"Yes, I'll have the steak," Elijah said, handing the menu back. "And she will have the pasta."

Your eyes narrowed at him. "No, actually, I'd like the salad,"

"Nonsense," he said, dismissing your objection with a wave of his hand. "Trust me, you'll like the pasta better."

The waiter nodded and collected your menus, leaving you alone once again.

"Did I say I wanted pasta?" you asked, irritated by his high-handedness.

"It's delicious, you'll see," he said, ignoring your question.

"So, is this how it's going to be all night? You making decisions for me, and me being pissed about it?" you asked, trying and failing to keep the frustration out of your voice.

He let out a soft chuckle, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Probably, yes."

You shook your head, biting back a scathing retort. Clearly, he enjoyed being an asshole. And you were determined not to give him the satisfaction of provoking you.

He was watching you closely, a smug smile on his lips. "So what do you do for work?"

"I'm a planning coordinator at a nonprofit," you said, your voice tight.

"That's interesting, what is the organization?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"It's an outreach program for the homeless, I manage all the paperwork and the grant applications, that kind of stuff," you said, shrugging.

"How noble," he murmured, his gaze assessing.

You weren't sure if he was being sincere or not, and the comment rubbed you the wrong way.

"It's just a job," you muttered, not wanting to admit that it was something that mattered deeply to you.

"That makes you very little money, apparently," he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, not everyone can be a rich philanthropist," you shot back, your temper flaring.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Fair point."

"Why are you really doing this?" you asked, unable to hold back the question.

"Doing what?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Blackmailing me into going on a date with you," you said, narrowing your eyes.

"You seem to have a lot of misconceptions about me," he said, his tone amused. "For starters, this isn't a date. It's an apology dinner."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Yeah, right. I've already apologized multiple times. Why did you really want to meet me?"

"You intrigue me," he said, his expression unreadable.

You were about to respond when the waiter returned, placing your meals in front of you.

"Here you go, enjoy," the waiter said, giving you a quick smile before heading off to another table.

You stared down at the pasta, it looked absolutely delicious, but you weren't about to admit that. You took a tentative bite, trying to hide your enjoyment, but it was no use. The pasta was amazing.

"Told you," he said, a knowing smile on his face.

"I'm not admitting anything," you muttered, taking another bite.

"Of course not," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

As you ate, you stole glances at him, trying to figure him out. He was a puzzle, that much was certain. But there was something dangerous lurking beneath the surface, a darkness that set your nerves on edge.

You were halfway through the meal when he spoke again.

"So, tell me more about yourself," he said, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

"What do you want to know?" you asked, keeping your voice casual.

"Anything," he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You considered his question for a moment before responding. "I work, I go home, that's pretty much it."

He gave you a look, one that said he wasn't satisfied with your answer. "That's all? There must be more to you than that."

"Nope," you said, popping the 'p' for emphasis.

"I see," he said, his expression giving nothing away.

"What about you? I know you're a rich asshole who is obsessed with their clothing and extorts money from innocent people, but other than that, not much," you said, a hint of a smile on your lips.

"You think you have me all figured out, don't you?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"Pretty much, yeah," you said, shrugging.

He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "What would you say if I told you that I'm an ancient vampire who runs this city with my equally powerful and ruthless family?"

You couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, so you are crazy. Good to know."

He didn't respond, simply staring at you, his expression deadly serious.

You shook your head, finishing the last few bites of your meal. "Come on, really? Vampires? Don't insult my intelligence."

He smirked and shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Fine, don't believe me."

The waiter returned with the check, and before you could object, Elijah paid, adding a generous tip.

"Ready to go?" he asked, standing and offering you his arm.

You wanted to refuse, to insist on paying for yourself, but the rational part of you knew that it would be futile. Besides, maybe he'd finally leave you alone after this.

"Sure," you muttered, taking his arm.

As he led you out of the restaurant, you couldn't help but notice how good he smelled, and how firm his muscles were under your hand. You hated yourself for it, but he was undeniably attractive.

"Are you done terrorizing me?" you asked, as you made your way towards the car. “Is my debt to you cleared?”

He chuckled, opening the passenger door and waiting for you to get in before responding. "The debt? Yes. Terrorizing you? Not even close.”

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

[moonastro]

peoples first impression of you

pick a picture

left to right(top)-> 1,2

left to right(bottom)-> 3,4

°DO NOT take this as literal, take everything with a grain of salt as this is purely and intendedly for entertainment purposes. °Don't be afraid to give feedback and opinions about this post (as I would entirely appreciate it). ° This is a GENERAL reading, take what resonates and leave and pass on what does not!

***IMAGES ARE NOT MINE***

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

pile one-

people perceive the resilience that you give out, they are aware that you are not easy to mess with and you aren't as careless as they would have though you are. People often see you as closed off, most likely because of other worries of occurrences in life. You have this courage that is very noticeable and often people see that you are fearless. They see no weakness in you, you will approach life with full confidence and power. Sometimes, you can break your cool but its not because you are needy or arrogant, its because you cant stand unfairness, people notice your ambition to fix a problem especially when it is so obvious. Yeah, you have a very fixed presence and most people can be quite scared to mess up, this can be because of your facial expressions or you could be someone that is hard to impress especially with new people as you don't show your inner self to them yet. Yet you might be seen as someone gullible too. you also can be perceived as someone with their head up high and ignoring their surroundings. This can make it harder for someone to approach you as they see that you are someone who may not be in the mood to talk to people. you may struggle to trust your intuition and you may just take the leap without thinking much of it with the mindset of whatever happens- happens.

first that people notice: your physical health (you may workout or are in great physique), your beauty, your style of clothing (may be very put together and neat), your smile, your limbs.

your vibe to other people:

chic, modest, unbothered, chill, independent, cool, grounded, intellectual, business oriented, career opinionated, vintage, fashion

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

pile two-

people may not necessarily notice you, this can be that you don't show yourself or you just prefer to observe from afar. Yeah, people notice how you isolate yourself so they rarely see you hence why others don't see you very much. This may also be that every time someone sees you, you may not have changed that much in terms of style, appearance or attitude which may leave them not have a new impression of you. people notice how you are stuck with old patterns. this may not be a bad thing its just what others observe about you. there is lots of loneliness and others may think you are struggling with something but they feel that they cant help you because you wont allow them. they feel useless. you may have lost someone close or these transformative occurrences keep happening so you may be in constant mourning and grief and may not have time to heal. this is not the end of the world though, they may think that you have something that others may want but you are too focused on he negative. you are very good with words. you have a poetic way of speaking and when you do people are fascinated. people notice your way of thinking and how you come up with solutions very easily and quickly. you may write a lot maybe journal and get your worries out on a piece of paper.

first thing that people notice: your walk, your head pieces (may be headband, ribbon, hair clips and whatever else you wear on your head, may even be glasses), your right hand (may wear significant jewellery on that hand, your clothing colours, odd style.

your vibe to other people:

eccentric, colourful, tired, unbothered, baggy clothing, indie, untidy style, unconventional, alternative, eyes blocked/ covered, unapproachable

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pile three-

people notice your positive view of the world, you may talk or have relations to other people who like your attitude and they may give you job related opportunities. you have good news with money so people give an impression that you are financially stable. you may not like to be in big groups and may not work as well in a team. this may make you quieter that you are or this may make you feel small and useless. you also may not address problems and keep them in. people usually only hear you speak about the positives in life and they wonder what you truly go through as you don't really address those topics. you are rather serious and don't take things lightly. you can take some things too seriously and people notice that about you. you take whatever you have and make it work for you. you are very vocal about your possessions and are not afraid to show off your ideas and abilities. yet, others notice how you work with whatever you are given and you do it well. you are proud of your creations and skills and are not afraid to use them and show them off. people see you as someone who is very proud of themselves. you are quite flirty in nature, you tend to show off your financial earnings in order to get others attention. you are every good with emotions and others see your empathy and interest through your expressions- this makes you very approachable and friendly. people feel like you are someone who they can trust in the long run. on the other end, you constantly regret your actions from the past which can change your mood completely. you have matured well and others notice that.

first thing that people notice: your creativity, your potential (you seem like someone who is on the path to success), your inspirational nature, your ideas, your fighting nature, your motivation, your hair.

your vibe to other people:

classy, successful, positive, fiery, showing your legs/arms, confident, powerful, smiley, expressive, formal, sexy.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

pile four-

you are very hardworking and are always keen to learn and master your skills. people notice how patient you are and very detailed. you take time to get to know something so you will be able to teach someone else. people notice your ability to teach and coach others. you are are very peaceful soul, very laid back and very reserved. you will give others the chance to shine instead of yourself and i feel like only some notice that about you. you sometimes are on the verge of giving up and you are vocal about it. yup, you always give give give. you are the most selfless person that anyone knows. you are so generous that most people can think you are putting up an act but truly you believe that what you give out comes back to you. people notice your curiosity, you may question a lot of things and ask lots of questions to other people. you may also observe and talk about the things others don't care about. you always seek the truth and it may be why you question everything as you wish it would give you answers.

first thing that people notice: your pet (may walk your dog a lot of you may spend time with an animal a lot), your leadership, your vision, your determination, your honesty, your stubbornness, your friendly nature, your structure.

your vibe to other people:

casual, simple, comfortable, easy going, in your own world, warm, natural, open, free, informal, effortless, sincere, not extra, relaxed, placid, flexible.

That is all!! thank you so much for reading, have a good day and i hope something amazing happens today.

[md7tf]

A Picture is Worth a 1000 Reps

Jackson couldn’t wait to show his friend Ronald the vintage Polaroid camera he found at a local thrift store. The shopkeeper had spun a wild story of how the camera had been used by some famous photographer to take photos a bodybuilder in the 60s. He knew Ronald would find the story hilarious. 

When they met up at the park after classes finished, Jackson told Ronald the ridiculous story the shopkeeper had told him. Noticing that there was still filming the camera, Ronald jokingly struck one of those stupid bodybuilding poses and said “Hey Jackson, go ahead and take a photo of the newest up-and-coming heavyweight champion.”

As they were waiting for the photo to develop, Jackson noted that something looked odd about the photo. It didn’t really look like his friend and instead looked more like one of those bodybuilders the shopkeeper had mentioned. 

A second later he heard his friend ask if it was getting warm and that he was feeling a bit lightheaded. When Jackson turned to see what was wrong, he was shocked to see Ronald looking exactly like the bodybuilder in the photo! Bulging muscles and all!

Ronald exclaimed  “What just happened?!?This is amazing! I mean, look at these muscles! Jax, you have to let me take your picture.” Jackson couldn’t believe his eyes, and did Ronald just call him Jax? Before he could ask what was going on, his friend had grabbed the camera and snapped a picture of him. 

Worried, Jackson immediately grabbed the photo and anxiously waited for it to develop. With a sinking filling in the pit of his stomach, he noticed the same oddities with his photo as he had with his friend’s. 

Suddenly he felt warm and was having trouble concentrating. His clothes started feeling tighter as waves of pleasure washed over his body and his muscles began to grow. It felt… it felt good … so good as he ran his fingers along his well defined muscles. What had he been worried about? “Ronnie, you’re right, this is fucking amazing!”

The mysterious camera was left forgotten on a park bench as Jax and Ronnie headed back to the dorm room for a quick “cardio” session in the bedroom before hitting the gym for their evening workout. 

[shop-rekino]

Street sporty casual chic green minimal designer deep V sleeveless slim crop top vest.

.

Rekino

Unicore

IG

[monster-disaster]

I had a brain rot idea I wanted to share with you!

Imagine a hyper feminine human woman who finds herself in a relationship with a hyper masculine monster man. Due to their opposite interests and tastes, their shared home is quite the spectacle. For example…

1. A pink leather couch

2. Black velvet curtains

3. Wall paper with barbed wire hearts as the pattern

4. Bedazzled skull flower vases

5. Etc.

Needless to say, decor shopping is always a fun activity for the couple. Also couple outfits can always be fun…

1. Pastel gym clothes gifted to the monster from the woman

2. Black latex dress with studs gifted to the woman from the monster

Thoughts? I just feel like this would be such a cute coupling to see

How do these two even meet? Maybe at the gym? The monster is either with his bros, lifting heavy weights, or alone, grunting through his intense workout. Reader, on the other hand, is there for a yoga or pilates session, focused on balance and stretching. Or perhaps they meet at a music festival? Or, maybe it’s at an animal shelter. Reader is there to adopt a cute, fluffy cat she saw online while the monster is volunteering. He is more of a dog person, but hey, if Reader wants a cat, so be it. Before she leaves, he hands her his number, telling her to text him if she has any questions.

Soon enough, her occasional cat updates turn into casual chats. Reader sends him pictures of her new feline friend, sharing their quirky behaviors or adorable outfits. He is always short with his responses, but he never discourages her from messaging him. Over time, those updates about the cat shift into little glimpses of Reader's daily life: her morning coffee, the chaos of work, and her favorite places to eat.

And then, one day, out of nowhere, he asks her out. It catches Reader off guard. He isn’t sure why, either. She is so different, he’s seen the pictures. The cat already has more clothes than he does, and the accessories? Don’t get him started. When Reader agrees to the date, he is surprised.

And it just clicks, you know? Despite being complete opposites, they find themselves drawn to each other. They have different tastes, different opinions on almost everything. He prefers heavy metal, while she swears by indie pop; he enjoys spicy food, she sticks to mild. But somehow, it all just works. They are both open to seeing things from each other’s perspective, finding that debating taste is futile when there are bigger things that matter. Who cares if their comfort movies are not the same compared to wanting or not wanting kids? Over time, these little quirks become less about compromise and more about appreciating the contrast. So much so that, before long, they move in together.

Things get interesting pretty quickly after they move in together. Their new home becomes a delightful, chaotic mess of contrasts.

At first, Reader thinks she nailed it; the bookshelves are perfectly arranged with her favorite novels, colorful knickknacks, and little plants adding life to the space, but soon enough, her monster's things start creeping in: heavy metal figurines, dark leather-bound books, and a random skull-shaped bookend. Then, the curtains. Reader proudly hangs the most beautiful white, flowery ones, letting sunlight flood the room, but the very next day, she comes home to find his blackout curtains layered behind them. The pink couch she adores, piled high with fluffy pillows in soft pastels? Yeah, he balances it with his own things in black and dark green. And her adorable fruit-shaped plates? They somehow find themselves stacked beside his sleek, matte black dishes in the kitchen. And it doesn’t stop there. His ultramodern, shiny black coffee maker claims a prime spot on the counter next to her vintage floral tea set. The wardrobe? It’s almost comical. One side overflows with Reader's colorful clothes, blouses, skirts, and soft cardigans, while the other is a stark contrast of black leather jackets and plain tees.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, ridiculous mess. But somehow, it feels like home. Their home.

But of course, as time goes on, their styles begin to blend in the most unexpected ways. Reader finds herself experimenting a bit, picking out a pink leather dress one day. It’s bold, flashy, and a little out of her usual comfort zone, but when she steps out wearing it, her monster takes one look and practically falls to his knees. The stunned, hungry expression on his face makes the purchase more than worth it. And slowly but surely, the monster starts to change too; just a hint of dark gray here, maybe some muted green there. The progress is slow but steady. And Reader loves watching his monster lifting weight in the almost light blue sweatshirt she bought for him. She doesn’t even try to hide her grin, and he pretends not to notice, but the faint smirk on his lips gives him away.

And, of course, the fluffy cat that brought them together often struts around the house in her pink tutu and tiny leather jacket.

[jadeshifting]

— 25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS (DAY 22)

Tinsel — What is something fun or random you have scripted? (ex. Thundersnow is more common, you have a ring that allows you to read minds, you have good luck with thrifting, you’re good at gambling.)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

AN EXTREMELY CONDENSED LIST OF THE DUMB THINGS I’VE SCRIPTED

— people don’t laugh at me, only with me (because of some extremely funny thing i said. NOT because i fell over)

— i always show up to places at the right time, i coincidentally always show up at a time that’s fashionably late, without being late late enough to miss anything or inconvenience anyone. it’s a fine line

— my eyelashes STAY curled. i can live with not having mascara in apocalyptic-esque DR’s, but they at least have to be curled

— my clothes don’t get dirty or torn unless it’s for dramatic effect in some way, and even then it never exposes me (i will not have two metric tons of vintage Vivienne Westwood destroyed by some crispy wayward spell or a zombie or a demon that has no regard for being chic)

— i look cool when i get hit. i can take it, and there’s no ugly screaming or flailing. just a cinematic wince

— i can quite literally eat whatever i want, whenever i want, with zero limitations physically (if you see me overly detailing or including food in my DRs, know that i dream about it constantly)

— there’s fun drama that happens around me, so i can enjoy sitting pretty on my front row seats, but i don’t usually get pulled into it enough for it to actually mess up my day (ahem, Slytherins)

— my shoes don’t make squeaky noises. EVER

— my scent stays on me—my carefully selected shampoo and lotion that represent the very essence of my being—they stay on even after workouts, the end of the world, etc

— mosquitos, spiders and bugs just… don’t bother me. they know better

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[griefabyss69]

Instinct

Written for @steddiemicrofic! And specifically for @wynnyfryd who dropped this idea like a catnip toy in front of me and said "someone should write this"!

[ AO3 ]

'DRESS' wc: 350 | rated: M | cw: Clothes ripping

Steve wears tiny workout clothes and Eddie has bad impulse control! Oops!

There are many points of Eddie's life, plotted out like thumbtacks on a map, that he's not proud of. The biggest ones weren't his fault—he did the best he could!—but anything medium sized or smaller…

There's nobody else to blame when it's your own impulses that fail you, right?

Marching right up to Steve—hairy, pink-faced, sweaty Steve—fresh from his morning jog was one thing. So far so good!

Reaching out and grabbing his threadbare tank top and… and… ripping it down the middle, then whipping it off?

Another thumbtack for the map.

He doesn't know what to say for himself. He answers Steve's "What the fuck, Eddie?!" with "Dude, they come in 6-packs, it's fine" instead of perhaps… "sorry", or even an explanatory "ravish me in front of the OJ".

The shirt—in tatters!—now rests on the floor and Eddie's fingers rest in Steve's chest hair, where he scratches lightly. Steve's pink-face is turning a deeper red and he reaches up to grab Eddie's wrists. He seems shocked, but he finds his words right as Eddie's finger presses against his nipple.

"Stop like, scratching my—Oh!"

Eddie pauses, waiting, a hunter turned hunted as Steve grips him tighter just to push his hands in harder.

"Uh. Nevermind," he says, his voice going tight. "Keep going."

Now that Eddie has permission, he wrestles out of Steve's hold—he looks so sad about it that Eddie almost begs for forgiveness—so he can grab the waistband of his tiny little jogging shorts and yank those down. He doesn't rip them; they're vintage Hawkin's Gym shorts and he's worried Steve would replace them with something that actually fits.

Steve gasps and his chest expands with it and Eddie gives in—always giving in, these days!—smushing his face into it. He wants to finish undressing Steve, but the keep going was nebulous enough that Eddie gets to run on instinct here.

So he moans into his chest, playing with the waistband of Steve's jockstrap, as he tries not to rut against his thigh too desperately.

When he gets his mouth on his nipple and bites, it feels like success.

[millersgirl80]

Summer Break (DBF!Joel Miller) Chapter 2 Part 2

A/N: I’m so sorry this took forever for me to write! I’m glad to be back!

The wood creaked under my boots with each frustrated stomp. Each stair a miniature hurdle in my already overflowing obstacle course of a day. By the time I reached my room, a knot of anger was lodged squarely between my shoulder blades. It throbbed with every ragged breath.

Melissa. Just the name tasted like lemon juice on a paper cut. My stepmother. My nemesis, or at least, she certainly felt that way sometimes. It wasn't even anything major this time, just a series of small, passive-aggressive jabs disguised as helpful suggestions.

Honestly, I don't even know why I bother anymore. Every conversation feels like navigating a minefield of unspoken critiques. I’d tried, in the beginning, to build a relationship with her. I’d brought her flowers, attempted to participate in her art club (trust me, Leonardo da Vinci isn't exactly my jam), and even offered to help her with her… whatever it is she does all day. Something involving spreadsheets and luncheon dates, I think.

But nothing seemed to bridge the gap. She saw me, I suspected, as a project. Something to be molded, refined, and ultimately, made in her own image. And that? That was a red line I wasn't willing to cross.

Reaching the sanctuary of my room, I slammed the door (perhaps a little too forcefully – sorry, walls) and kicked off my boots. Time to de-stress. Time to wash away the lingering scent of Melissa's perfume and the sting of her thinly veiled disapproval.

The shower was bliss. The hot water pounded against my skin, loosening the tension that had coiled tight around my neck and shoulders. I let it run until my fingers were pruney and the bathroom mirror was completely fogged.

Emerging, steam swirling around me, I felt marginally better. Not completely healed, mind you, but definitely less inclined to throw a pillow across the room. Workout clothes seemed like the obvious choice. Black leggings, a slightly-too-old band t-shirt, and my trusty running shoes. Maybe I'd go for a jog, pound the pavement until my brain felt like a smooth, blank slate.

As I was braiding my hair, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Joel.

"Hey Darlin! Need some extra muscle to help set up. Your dad said you’ll be able to help?"

Joel. Just the thought of him made me smile. He was sunshine in human form. Always optimistic, always ready with a cheesy joke, and perpetually covered in paint splatters, he was exactly the kind of antidote I needed to the Melissa-induced gloom.

I hesitated for a moment. I had been planning to spend the weekend catching up on some un packing and settling in, maybe hitting up a vintage clothing store, and definitely avoiding all forms of family drama. But the thought of spending an afternoon surrounded by friends, and Joel's infectious energy was too tempting to resist.

“Depends is he paying you good?” I type hitting send. Watching Joel’s message bubble pop up and quickly disappear.

“Huh?”

"Nothing I’ll explain later. I’m in," I typed back, adding a winky face for good measure.

His response was immediate. "YES! You're a lifesaver. Tomorrow morning, I’ll pick you up, 10 AM sharp..Don’t over sleep this time!"

I laugh, a genuine, unburdened laugh that actually reached my eyes. Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.

Maybe, just maybe, a little bit of sunshine and a lot of barbecue could chase away the shadows that Melissa seemed so determined to cast.

But then, a new wave of anxiety washed over me. The BBQ. At Joel's house. With Joel.

Alone with Joel. Just like these past couple days. A flutter in my stomach when i think about the last day with Joel.

The problem? He probably saw me as just his friend’s daughter.

I groaned and slumped onto my bed.

I sighed. This was going to require some serious brainstorming. Maybe a detailed pros and cons list. Possibly even a consultation with my best friend, Tasha, who was, without a doubt, the reigning queen of romantic strategy.

But first? A jog. I needed to clear my head. I needed to feel the wind in my hair and the ground beneath my feet. I needed to remember who I was, independent of Melissa's critiques, career anxieties, and the confusing, wonderful, terrifying possibility of something more with Joel.

I grabbed my headphones, laced up my shoes, and headed out the door. The stairs, suddenly, didn't seem quite so daunting anymore. As I pass the kitchen Melissa yells something out. I ignore her turning my music up, heading out the door.

The rhythmic thud of my sneakers against the pavement was almost hypnotic. Usually, my jogs are a solitary affair, a chance to clear my head and prepare for the day. Living in a small town certainly had its benefits, one being the predictable quiet of its early hours. But today, in a bigger city, the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

I was about halfway through my new route, humming along to the upbeat track blasting through my earbuds, when I spotted him. He was leaning against the old oak tree at the corner of the two streets, his back to me. The familiar broad shoulders and unmistakable gait instantly gave him away. Tommy. Joel's younger brother.

A rush of memories, both sweet and slightly awkward, flooded me. I hadn't seen Tommy in… well, since last time I was here. Time has a funny way of slipping past you, especially in a place where life tends to move at a slower, more predictable pace.He use to always be with Joel, when my dad and Joel started hanging out. Tommy was always the goofy, easygoing younger brother, a constant source of amusement and, occasionally, good-natured teasing.

I paused, debated whether to just keep running. The truth was, seeing Tommy stirred up a lot of complex emotions. Reminders of a past, of a different me,and a different family. But curiosity, and a genuine fondness for Tommy, won out.

"Tommy!" I called out, already regretting the slight nervousness that crept into my voice.

He turned, his face breaking into a wide, familiar grin. "Darlin'! Well, look at you."

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he looked… good. More mature, definitely, but still retaining that mischievous glint in his eyes that I remembered so well. We exchanged a quick hug, the kind that felt simultaneously comfortable and a little strange after so long.

"What are you doing back in town?" He asked, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

I chuckled. "Just visiting. Home for the Summer. Helping Dad out with some stuff around the old house. You know how it is."

We fell into an easy conversation, catching up on the years that had passed. He asked about my school, I asked about his life out in the city. It was surprisingly pleasant, a comfortable re-connection that put me at ease.

The voice, booming and instantly recognizable, belonged to my dad. He was walking towards us, his brow furrowed in that familiar way he gets when he’s deep in thought. Seeing Tommy, his face softened into a smile. "Bug, I see you catch up with Tommy."

My dad and Tommy always had a good rapport. He always treated him like another son, and Tommy, in turn, seemed to genuinely respect him. They exchanged a hearty handshake, and for a moment, I felt like I was stepping back in time to a simpler, less complicated era.

"What brings you out this way, Dad?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the potential minefield of my personal life.

He looked at me, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Well, I was just thinking about grabbing a quick bite at Millie's. Thought you might want to join me."

Millie's, our town's diner, was a place steeped in nostalgia. The smell of greasy burgers and freshly brewed coffee was practically woven into the fabric of the building. A lunch with my dad at Millie's was usually a simple affair, filled with catch-up and hometown gossip.

"That sounds great, Dad," I said, glancing at Tommy. "Maybe Tommy would like to join us too?"

Before Tommy could answer, my dad's phone rang. He frowned, checking the caller ID. "Hold that thought," he said, answering the call. "Johnson speaking… right, I'm on my way."

He hung up, his expression apologetic. "Darlin', I'm so sorry. Something's come up at work. Gotta run. Rain check on lunch?"

I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. A little bit of disappointment about the lunch, sure, but more about the interruption. It felt like we were just getting started, weaving through the layers of the past, and now, we were abruptly cut short.

"Of course, Dad," I said, forcing a smile. "Duty calls."

He squeezed my shoulder, gave Tommy a nod, and hurried off in the direction of his truck, leaving me and Tommy standing there, once again alone.

An awkward silence descended between us. I fidgeted with the strap of my sports bra, unsure of what to say. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of history and the echoes of a past we both shared.

"So," Tommy said finally, breaking the silence. "Now what?"

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I guess I should finish my run."

He looked at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Or…" he paused, reaching for his truck keys. "I could give you a ride. Where are you headed?"

My heart skipped a beat. The question hung in the air, simple yet loaded with possibilities. I knew where his offer was leading, and the thought both excited and terrified me.

"I was planning on heading to Joel's," I blurted out, before I could change my mind.

Tommy's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Alright then," he said, unlocking the truck door. "Hop in."

The ride to Joel's was quiet. The radio was off, and the only sound was the rumble of the engine and the occasional squeak of the old truck. I glanced at Tommy, his profile silhouetted against the setting sun. He looked calm, composed, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

I didn't know what to expect when I arrived at Joel’s, or what the reasoning for my visit was. All I knew was that for now, I was along for the ride, holding my breath and hoping Tommy wouldn’t ask.

The rumble of Tommy’s truck vibrated through my bones as we pulled up to Joel’s. Dust swirled around the tires, a familiar cal de sac in this small town where everyone knew everyone else's business. My palms were slick against my shorts. the sun was a lazy orange, and I felt a mix of anticipation and dread churning within me.

“Alright, Darlin’,” Tommy said, cutting the engine.“You sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet as a mouse all the way here.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I mumbled, avoiding his probing gaze. “Just got a lot on my mind.” Which was the understatement of the century.

Tommy grunted, unconvinced. “Well, holler if you need anything. Shouldn’t be longer than an hour at the lumber yard. Joel’s always good company anyway.” He winked, a mischievous glint in his eye, and my stomach plummeted.

I forced a smile and hopped out of the truck, He was gone before I could second-guess myself, leaving me standing there, heart thumping against my ribs like a trapped hummingbird.

I walked up the familiar porch steps, the wood creaking under my weight. Joel’s house always felt like a haven, a place of laughter and easy conversation. Except lately, the ease had been replaced by a tense undercurrent, a silent recognition that something was changing – or perhaps, had already changed – between us.

I raised my hand to knock, but the door swung open before my knuckles made contact. And there he was.

Joel.

Standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped precariously around his waist, water glistening on his tanned skin. A drop traced a slow, deliberate path down his chest, disappearing into the damp cotton. My breath hitched. He smelled of soap and something else, something inherently him.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, and the sight of his bare chest, the muscles sculpted from years of hard work, sent a jolt of electricity through me. I forced myself to look up, to meet his eyes.

His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes, usually crinkled with laughter, were shadowed with concern. “Darlin’?” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. “Everything okay? How’d you get here? Is something wrong with your Dad?”

My dad. Right. My dad. His best friend. The anchor that kept me tethered to reality.

“No, no, everything’s fine with my Dad,” I stammered, averting my gaze to the chipped paint on the porch railing. “Tommy just… he had to go to the lumber yard and offered me a ride.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that familiar intensity that always made me feel both seen and exposed. “You okay, though? You seem… different.”

Different. God, if he only knew. I was a volcano simmering beneath the surface, desperately trying to contain the molten lava of my feelings.

“I… I wanted to talk to you,” I managed to say, the words tumbling out in a rush.

He stepped aside, gesturing for me to come in. “Come on in. Let me just get dressed.”

I followed him inside, my eyes drawn to the way the muscles rippled in his back as he moved. I sat on the worn leather couch, trying to appear nonchalant, but my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

He reappeared a few minutes later, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, looking every bit the rugged, dependable man I’d always known. But now, instead of seeing him as a friend of the family, I saw him as… something more. Something forbidden.

He sat across from me, his gaze unwavering. “So, what’s on your mind, Darlin’?”

I took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside me. I wanted to tell him how I felt, how his presence made my heart soar, how I found myself thinking about him constantly. But the words caught in my throat, suffocated by the weight of reality.

“It’s… it’s about us,” I finally whispered, the admission hanging in the air between us.

His expression didn’t change, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes – a flicker of recognition, of understanding, and perhaps, a hint of… sadness?

“Us?” he echoed softly.

“Yes,” I said, finding newfound courage. “I… I think I’m starting to… well, I think I have feelings for you, Joel.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked loudly, each tick a stark reminder of the years that separated us.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Darlin’,” he said, his voice gentle, “I… I’m fond of you too. You know that. You’re like family to me.”

Like family. Those words landed like a punch to the gut.

“But it’s not the same for me,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s not a sisterly feeling, Joel. It’s… it’s more than that.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, Darlin’. I’m not blind. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at me. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed…” He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Hope flickered within me. Was it possible? Could he feel it too?

But then he continued, his voice firm. “But it can’t happen, Darlin’. These past couple of days I try to let it come out and push the reason aside but it just can’t.”

My heart sank. “Why not?” I asked, the question barely a whisper.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and regret. “Because I’m too old for you. Because I’m your dad’s best friend. Because it would destroy him. Because it would destroy us.”

He was right. Of course, he was right. The logic was undeniable, the obstacles insurmountable. The age difference. My dad. The years of friendship that would be shattered by a single misplaced desire.

“I know,” I said, the words laced with bitterness. “I know all the reasons why it shouldn’t work. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice filled with empathy. “And I’m sorry, Darlin’. I truly am. But sometimes, the right thing and the easy thing are two different things. And in this case, the right thing is to let it go.”

Let it go. The words echoed in my mind, a painful mantra. Could I really let it go? Could I bury these feelings deep inside, pretending they didn’t exist?

I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the weight of responsibility etched on his face. He was right. This was the only way.

I stood up, my legs shaky. “I should go,” I said, my voice barely audible.

He stood up too, his hand reaching out, hesitating. He wanted to touch me, I knew it. But he didn’t. “Let me drive you, it’s a 30 minute run for you. And it’s getting dark.”

“Thank you, Joel,” I said, forcing a weak smile. “For being honest with me.”

“Darlin” he whispered, his expression somber.

I turned and walked out of the house, the towel, the truth, and the tight knot in my chest remaining behind me. The sun was setting now, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. It was beautiful, but all I could see was the fading light.

After 10 minutes of walking I hear Joel’s truck roll beside me. He gets out walking next to me. “Get in the truck darlin”. Joel says softly.

I refused, pushing past him towards the road. "I need to walk," i mumbled, the need to escape, to feel the sting of the cool night air on my cheeks, overwhelming.

He wouldn’t relent. Joel was standing by his truck, his voice firm. "Darlin', get in the damn truck. I'm not letting you walk home alone."

He demanded.

I turned and walked to the truck climbing into the passenger seat, the vinyl cool against my skin.

The engine rumbled to life, filling the silence. Joel’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white under the dim dashboard light. After a long, heavy pause, he spoke, his voice low and contrite. "I'm sorry, Darlin'. I'm sorry if I made you think..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the hurt he knew he had caused.

I remained silent, staring out the window at the blur of passing trees. The rest of the ride was a tomb of unspoken words, a testament to a connection that could never be. The silence wasn’t angry, but heavy with a quiet understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the impossible.

As the truck pulled up to my house, I offered a weak smile. "Thanks, see you tomorrow morning I guess if I’m still allowed to help." I whispered getting out. Making my way inside I turn one last time looking at Joel.

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Taglist: @lostboys1987girl @tikosblogg

So happy to be back writing 🤍 honestly didn’t see this series going anywhere a few months ago and finally have the motivation to keep it going!

[nectar-cellar]

mortimer's closet

i want to ramble about the sense of style i have in mind for morty. this is more for my own reference than anything but feel free to read if interested. with the previous version of mortimer, i never felt inspired to develop any looks for him, his appearance just didn't speak to me. i did not have a strong inspiration/direction when i was making him either.

this new version is a much better muse.

colours: red and black is obviously morty's signature combo, but i wanted to work some more colour into his wardrobe. i thought some muted cool colours (blue and purple) would actually suit him really well because of his pale skin and black hair. i also thought cream (a sweater or some trousers) would complement the black and red colour scheme but i didn't make any outfits with it. for some brighter colours i could see him wearing teals, emeralds, and golds. i feel like earthy, warm colours (oranges, browns, greens, pinks, beiges) and neon colours would look very out of place on him.

everyday 01: sports coat, turtleneck sweater, wool or tweed trousers. his outfit for running errands where he'll be seen in public. comfortable, relaxed but still quite mature and luxe to reflect his personality and background.

everyday 02: a shirt with rolled up sleeves and slacks. he's not a fan of jeans. this is as casual as he gets.

formal 01: pinstripe double breasted suit. i always associate pinstripe with mortimer's old school vibe. this look is very vintage wall street yuppie. this is his power suit !

formal 02: a sleek, modern charcoal suit for any formal occasion. business meetings, weddings, funerals, divorce proceedings...

outerwear: this peacoat just suits him so well.

athletic: a long sleeve shirt for working out because he'd be too embarrassed to show any skin up top. all his workout gear is monochrome. sadly, no neon spandex for him.

sleepwear: a pair of silky red undies because red is his signature color! i added gold lettering because his TS4 default outfit has a bit of gold in it. and you know this man only wears designer underwear.

swimwear: a pair of silky lightweight swim trunks with designer print on them. these are the only colorful, printed clothes he has in his closet. he feels lighter and more relaxed just looking at them.