"she always knew what she needed. she'd say, 'I need a vacation from this place', and then she'd run away"
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i dont like the way so many of my peers describe sex… “oh i cracked her” “i smashed” please stop this !!!!!! im going to cry !!!!! also what happened to calling your gf “my angel” “darling” “sweetheart” what is a fine shyt !!!!!! stop this madness, you are hurting my soul….
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When I say I hate the good girl bad boy cliché I mean I hate when it's a violent guy with daddy issues and a woman who is desperate to fix him even though he makes her cry five times a day. But give me a cheerful optimistic doe eyed girl and a guy who seems dangerous to everyone but is actually a big softie, especially with her and I'll ship it till the end of time.
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thinking about your blue-collar!husband who just can’t tell you no…
it's almost as if the word isn't in his vocabulary when it comes to you.
while he doesn't meant to over-do it, there's always something in him that just wants to make things happen, you know? wants to make you happy.
he blames his years of southern living. the culture and family that taught him that his woman should never have to work a day in her life. that all she should worry about is enjoying life— the life he provides for her as a labor of his love.
he watched his daddy do it; deliver his mother fresh flowers in the morning with a kiss on her head and his wallet on the table. before that, it was his grandfather and the ranch he built from scratch to appease his picky woman. even saw some of the chivalry his great grandfather showed in the little ways he still could, like with a new pearl necklace or fur coat on an occasion.
it was their duty as men to provide. especially as men smitten with their wives.
this is how you found yourself with boxes and boxes of gifts underneath the christmas tree, each one wrapped was with delicate touches and care. the gifts consisted of things you’d obsessed over once upon a time or maybe mentioned once in passing. it was all the same to him, though. you wanted it? he got it.
it was how you found yourself on your knees on a sunday, passing him tools as he installed new shelves and displays in your walk-in closet. you already had a vanity, a wardrobe, and as many dressers as one could imagine, but you’ve never been a light shopper. once your bags started collecting in neat piles along your room, he’d gotten a clue. all it took was a simple “honey, do you think you could do this for me?” and he’d clear his schedule.
it was how you tried nearly every restaurant in your fast-paced city. the high-brow, low-brow, and hole in the wall places, too. if he thought you’d like it then that’s exactly where he’d take you. he loved seeing you melt as you found a new dish you enjoyed. he loved how you always gathered some of your food and brought it to his lips in an effort to get him to try it. so what if the two of you ordered the same thing? your’s tastes a little different!
it was how he winded up with your name tattooed across his chest, the word carved into him in a way he simply relished in. you didn’t even have to ask for it, no, and he was in no rush to tell you either. but, he wears it as proudly as he does his wedding band— just another reminder of his devotion to you.
it was how, in the midst of a heated moment of passion, you saw that tattoo. how you halted your grinding on top of him with a racing mind and hooded eyes, locked in on the black, beautiful cursive your name rested in. how your left hand came to rest on it, and for a few short seconds, it met your wedding ring. how you really, truly came to believe that your man is so much more than head over heels for you.
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