#fuck you perfectionist brain

[anniilaugh]

2 years worth of wild moss/seaweed overgrowth in salty sea air. Sanji malfunctions.

@uniquetosmbody had such a galaxy brain prompt in twitter and my samurai aesthetics loving brain inhaled the bait, hook and sinker immediately. : D Thanks for being an inspiration! <3

Reference under the cut~

/casually foams/ How dare this man de gozaru

[sofoulandfairaday]

me: of course, people are allowed to have their own opinions and headcanons. all takes that are well-justified are valid.

someone: bellatrix was insan-

me: shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck UP

[moe-broey]

Alfonse Fire Emblem. Hauve uou guys heard of him...............

[bittersweetresilience]

it feels cosmically unfair that i think about writing all the time want to write all the time and sit down to write all the time and i come up with two sentences at best. there should be some reward system i think

[artemismatchalatte]

Wow. Sometimes I'm very lucky and my bipolar doesn't always affect me much. But no such luck lately. I'm worried that I might have to retake my modern lit course because I was so late with many of my assignments. I've been mentally messed up more or less with a mixed mood episode since last September. I'm currently on the line of passing and not passing the class (granted there are a few ungraded assignments, including my final so it's still possible that I'm overreacting). I'm usually a good student too so it's a point of pride for me. I went from the honor roll to this all due to me fighting with an illness... :/ (It is my fault for not managing things better so I'm not looking for pity here- just talking).

I cannot imagine how horrible this disorder is for people who didn't have the option of medication (I am medicated, believe it or not). I think about that about that a lot since I study history and look into many writer's and artist's biographies in my spare time. I feel very bad for them since they basically had to live with this disorder without the fixes I have simply because I was born late enough for treatments to exist.

Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath both haunt me. Other people too. Yes, Lord Byron was extremely shocking but consider- we don't actually know what he would have been like if he could have been treated. He wouldn't have died at 36, I'm almost certain of that. I am highly aware of what this disorder has done to people before me. It doesn't make it better. But I keep looking back any way, to see that many of them did incredible things, in spite of it all.

I just keep thinking that if they could do so much without any treatment- that I should be able to function with treatment??? I know: don't compare yourself to other people but I'm desperate to know that I can be successful even with this illness. That it's not going to force me to leave school (the one thing I have been historically good at) and waste my life toiling away for nothing.

So if it seems as if I have been hitting my head against something lately, you aren't wrong. The fall is not generally my friend, pretty as the leaves are. I have not been having a good time of it but we must go on any way because what other option is there? None, I tell you.

[ohmypawsandwhiskers]

Ngl, I'm excited to type up what I have already and start sharing it, especially after a quick read and review over what I have so far, but the perfectionist coupled with crippling anxiety in me is like, hold tf off until you actually can make sure the planned structure works, but then I'm also just like fuck structure, long live chaos!!!!

[inspector-montoya-fox]

hi how have you been?

[reasonsforhope]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but especially with the end of the school year coming up soon, and a bunch of people about to leave high school or about to leave college, I just wanted to say:

Being an adult can be really nice, actually!!!

Like, okay, yeah, life can be fucking stressful sometimes, and there's definitely an annoying amount of paperwork.

But me and just about every single adult I know will agree: I would never choose to go back to being a teenager, even if I somehow could.

Insert obvious disclaimer that nothing is universal. But for people worried about aging or graduating into the next chapter of life, here's some words of reassurance:

When you're a teenager, your brain is extra mean to you. Like, neurologically. All of the changes it's undergoing really, really increase rates of depression/anxiety/etc. A lot of the time, literally just not being a teenager anymore is really good for your mental health

Less than five months out of high school, everyone I knew my age was like "Thank fuck we're no longer in high school." Once you leave high school and adolescence there's really just such a dramatic drop in petty bullshit. Shit that would have been a huge social humiliation or gossip in high school is really often just like, "Hate that for you, man." Boom, done.

When you're a teenager or a brand new adult, you're encountering so many problems for the first time ever. When you're older, you just. Have learned how to handle a lot more things. You know what to do way more often and that builds confidence

When you're an adult, other people generally don't care if you don't do things perfectly, because jobs and life don't work like grades. This was such a trip to learn, honestly? But when you are an adult or have a job the bar for success is usually just "Did you do the thing?" or "Did you do the thing well enough that it works?" or "Did you show up to work for your whole shift and look like you were doing things?"

Similarly, if you're about to graduate college and you're really stressed about it, fyi just about everyone I knew in college ended up very quickly going "wow, 'real life' is way easier." Admittedly I went to a school full of very stressed out perfectionists and the like, so I can't promise this is universal, but there's a very real chance that life will in many ways get easier when you graduate

WAY MORE CONTROL OF YOUR OWN LIFE

Literally I cannot overstate that last point. As an adult, you are (barring certain disabilities or shitty circumstances like abusive family/the criminal justice system/etc.) able to make most of your own decisions. If you want to rearrange your furniture, you can. If you want to eat tater tots at midnight, you can. If you want to get yourself a little treat, you can. You can sign contracts and make your own legal and medical decisions and not need a parent or guardian signature for just about anything ever again

You generally learn how to give fewer fucks

The people around you have also generally learned how to give fewer fucks

Even when things are shitty, being able to choose what kind of shitty a lot of the time can really be worth an awful lot

[lilahisntsadanymore]

Blood status seems to become less important when you acknowledge the actual feeling of love. What will Theo do when Y/n comes to the terms with the differences between them being impossible to ignore?

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Author's note: My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but I finally got some time off at uni!! Wishing you all a good year!!

Kind of a 2nd part of this fic, but you can read it without the previous one

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Keep you safe

One evening, Theo was waiting in the library. Waiting for a person he never expected to talk to. Y/n Granger. He found himself feeling a bit nervous, even though there was no reason.

Thinking about Y/n made him feel something. A feeling he never felt before. Slughorn said it's love, the muggle kind of love, the purest form, not induced by anything supernatural.

Theo decided to read about it. Hoping to find some book about it, he asked the librarian. She gave him a book specifically about love potions and spells. One of the first chapters was just what Theo was looking for.

"How to tell the difference between love and infatuation caused by magic." He whispered the first sentence to himself.

He started reading, his mind realizing what he got himself into as his gaze brushed over the text. Well, technically it wasn't his own fault and apparently also not the girl's fault.

But there must've been a reason. If love was a part of biology, brain chemistry, there had to be some logical factor.

"What are you reading?"

When Theo heard Y/n's voice right next to him, he immediately closed the book, causing it to make a loud sound.

"You took such a long time I got bored." He replied.

"Don't be so shy," the girl shifted her eyes to the title of the book, "oh, love potions and spells? But we're doing something completely different."

"Really? I couldn't care less, forgot what we were supposed to do." Surely one thing he'd love to do was making out with her on that table.

Y/n put her homework on the table.

"Read it and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, I just-"

"What's wrong with my text, Nott. I didn't ask how you were doing."

"Right."

Theo took the papers and started reading. The text was written with the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. So elegant, so precise.

"How long did it take you to write?" He asked.

"One evening. It was easier than you'd think."

"I think it's extremely easy." He bragged. "Anyway, is that all? Or do you wanna add something?"

"Well, Slughorn thought it's necessary for you to help me. Is there anything you think should be added?"

"Uh, no, it looks fine," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Fine? Theodore Nott, the perfectionist Slytherin, settles for 'fine'? I expected more from you."

"Look, it's not my homework, it's yours. I don't know why I agreed to help you, but it was pointless."

"You got yourself into this, could've said no."

"What the fuck am I even doing?" Theo asked rather himself than the girl. "I don't need to be helping a mudblood, who cares what grade you'll get." With these words, he stood up.

"Because-" Y/n stuttered. "Because... I've heard your conversation with Slughorn. And you said... that you liked me."

"Me? Liking you?" He snorted with laughter. "What the hell, Granger?"

Tears formed in Y/n's eyes as she watched Theo walk away. Sure, he was mean to her before, this wasn't the first time. But this time was somehow different.

Y/n could swear she heard Theo confessing to Slughorn that he's actually in love with her. It's not possible her brain played tricks on her. Plus Hermione said Theo told her about his feelings for Y/n.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Harry walked onto the astronomy tower. Y/n was supposed to be back a long time ago. Ron and Hermione also wanted to go there, but Harry asked to let him go alone.

Harry knew where Y/n was thanks to the Map. He felt such relief not seeing Nott's name next to hers. She was standing alone, leaning on the banister. There was something in her hand, Harry couldn't see well in the dark, but from the smell he realized it was a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoke." He spoke.

Y/n expected this to happen, she was aware of Harry's feelings towards her. She took one last drag from her cigarette then dropped it on the ground, put it out with her shoe and kicked off the tower.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Y/n asked, smoke leaving through her mouth. "I knew you're gonna look at your silly little map to see where I am."

"We were starting to get worried. Theo is... you know, dangerous. We got scared he would hurt you."

And he did. Theo did hurt Y/n, just not physically.

"Hermione should be here instead. But, let me guess, you told her you'll check up on me."

"Maybe," Harry admitted finally, "do you know why? Because I actually care about you. I've had feelings for you for years. I deserve you, not Nott. I deserve you, because-"

"Because you're the chosen one?" She mocked and paused. "Look, Harry, I like you as a friend. I've never felt anything more than this. I can't change how I see you and I won't pretend otherwise."

He nodded, acceptance settling in. "I get it. I just... I thought if I cared enough, it would make a difference."

"Caring is important, Harry, but it doesn't always lead to the feelings we hope for."

"Whoever you date, just don't date Nott, please."

"I promise I won't. Not after today, I'm over him."

"Care to share what happened?"

"I'll tell you, Hermione and Ron in the common room. Let's go, I've been here too long."

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Y/n didn't even know how wrong she was that night on the astronomy tower, but she forgot about it. Weeks went by, Christmas had passed, everyone were back from the break. Classes started again and Y/n found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo.

They kept exchanging glances on the corridors, accidentally bumping into each other in the crowds. Y/n wanted to believe Theo liked her, but even if he did, they could never work.

"Y/n, listen to me," he said, catching her when she was alone in the library one time. "I know how things have been between us, but during the break I... I realized I don't wanna keep being enemies."

"Theo, you know it could never work. You said what you said and maybe it's better to leave it this way."

"I contemplated a lot," it was true, he spent the break mostly in his room, drowning in thoughts. About her, about them, coming to terms with what he was feeling. "I decided to accept my feelings."

"That's great for you, but we could never work. I've always 'fancied' you, I guess, despite what you were doing, ironically, but the time we worked on my project together, I accepted we could never work."

"And why's that?"

Y/n took a deep breath, wondering if he was stupid or just pretending. Maybe it was a bet he had with someone. Maybe Draco dared him to do this.

"You don't see how different we are? What do you expect is gonna happen? Would you introduce me to your father? Wouldn't you care that I'd get you disowned?"

Theo looked at her, Y/n could see sadness in his eyes. She realized her words made him realize the differences between them, because he walked away. Theo walked away without a word.

Y/n pierced her own heart with an invisible knife. She was really hoping they could work, but it just wasn't possible in this universe. Maybe there was a universe where none of this purity bullshit didn't exist. Y/n wished she would've been born there.

Y/n couldn't predict what Theo was going to do. She thought her words made him give up on her. It was for the best, of course, she should've focused on her studies firstly, and then on a realistic relationship.

It was a Friday. Y/n was sitting next to Ginny by the Gryffindor table. It was dinner time, all the students gathered in the Great Hall. All the students besides one Slytherin, the one that Y/n hoped to see. Maybe it was weird, but she enjoyed the sad looks they'd pass to each other.

"Hey, Y/n, are you listening?" Hermione asked from across the table.

"Sure," Y/n quickly shifted her eyes to her sister. "You were talking about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"You've got divided attention. Stop looking at the Slytherin table."

"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "were you doing this again? Merlin, you stare at this Slytherin git 90% of the time."

"Well, he isn't here today. I wonder where he could be. Everyone else is here."

"There he is," Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes.

The golden trio and two younger Gryffindors looked at the doors' direction. Theo had just walked into the Great Hall, but surprisingly he didn't walk towards his table. He walked towards Y/n.

"Y/n," he spoke, catching everyone's attention. People were reading to witness another argument. "I can't help this, I love you."

Shocked noises came from all the tables, but Slytherins kept whispering between each other also when Theo continued talking.

"I don't care what anyone says, anyone thinks. Love is not meant to be controlled, it kills me to fight it."

Y/n stood up from the table, ready to leave the room.

"Theo, stop," she begged, "you're embarrassing us both. Your friends will-"

"I don't care what they do. If they don't accept it, they're not my friends. If anyone wants to fight me for having feelings for a muggleborn, I can fight, I've never lost a duel."

The whole Great Hall fell silent, even the teachers didn't try to intervene, when they saw Theo pulling out a small, black velvet box.

"I want you to wear this ring," he opened the box, "as my promise to always protect you from whoever tries to harm you or our relationship."

"It's beautiful, but..." Y/n was speechless by the sight of the ring. It was silver with two gemstones forming a subtle heart - half emerald and half ruby.

"It was custom made and if you accept it, I'll once get you a matching engagement ring. Also, there are thorns which will hurt you when you try taking it off. I want you forever, Y/n Granger."

The ring in the black velvet box sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall remained in silence as Theo poured his heart out, confessing his love. The unexpected turn of events had everyone on edge.

Slytherins exchanged intrigued glances, Gryffindors shared confused looks and even the teachers seemed to not know how to react. Y/n could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and for a moment, she considered the potential consequences of accepting Theo's proposal.

"Theo," she began, her voice breaking, "it's not that simple."

"I know it is. But I can't keep hiding my feelings, Y/n. I've tried, and it's tearing me apart. I'll protect you from whatever comes our way."

Y/n looked at the ring, then back at him. "I believe in second chances. And I appreciate your sincerity. I accept the ring, Theo."

Theo carefully took the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Y/n's finger. The Great Hall burst with cheering and applause, only the Slytherin table didn't seem so enthusiastic about this.

Theo placed his hands on Y/n's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn't hesitate to kiss him back, her hands sinking in his dense her yet the ring on her finger still visible, reflecting the light from the ceiling.

[artdnldsn]

gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.

[lacroixqueen]

i look in people's windows (18+, noncon) stalker deadpool x office worker reader

Summary: deadpool starts stalking reader after seeing her in a coffee shop. breaks into her apartment and does typical depraved wade shit

Pairing: stalker!deadpool x office worker reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: stalking, trespassing, noncon, dubcon

He didn’t realize he was so fascinated with you initially. At first glance, you looked like any other plain Jane office worker in the city: rushing to the front of the cafe to grab a tray of half-cold coffees before bolting out the door. 

Why is she in such a hurry, he mused to himself, watching you scurry down the block, the corner of your white blouse poking out of your gray pencil skirt. Acting like she’s saving the world or about to perform brain surgery or something. Another Marvel Jesus wannabe. What makes her think she’s so important anyway?

He went back to sipping his bitter espresso, returning to his original state of solitude, until he couldn’t shake you out of his head. Fuck it. Something urged him to get out of his seat, leave the coffee store, and follow you out.

He trailed behind you by about a block or so. He took note of your black tights, and how your skirt ended at the mid-level of your thighs. And that stupid click-clack sound of your heels against the cobblestone. So self-righteous.

He eventually followed you into a skyscraper building. He watched you weave through the crowd, past the front desk, and into a back elevator. Wade quickened his pace to be able to catch you just in the nick of time. 

He darted into the elevator right before the doors were about to close. 

“Floor?” you asked politely, looking up at him with those god awful innocent eyes that made him want to bend you over the nearest desk and fuck you senseless. 

“I’m so glad you asked!” he piped, ever so chipper. “I’ll be.. Uh. Floor. 85.”

“Oh, this building only has 60 floors!” you said. “Which department are you going to? Oooh, love the costume by the way. Maybe you’re headed to the photo studio? That’s going to be on 54. You take a left, then a right, and.. it should be straight there!”

And so polite too. God, could she be anymore insufferable, Deadpool thought to himself, tilting his head to the side as if to psychoanalyze your disposition. 

“Does.. that sound right?” you asked, a bit nervous now that the stranger dressed in all black and red sharing the enclosed space with you was no longer speaking. 

“Yes,” he replied, a little bit too quickly for comfort.

You pushed the corresponding button without another word, and then retreated back to your corner of the elevator. A few seconds of silence passed when your phone suddenly started beeping out of control. 

“Hello?” you asked nervously. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’m coming right away. Yes? Uh huh. Mhm. Okay. Got it. Thank you. Bye.” You ended the call with a subtle click and slipped the phone back into your pocket. 

So she’s eager to please. A perfectionist. Interesting, he thought, jotting down a mental note. 

The elevator reached an upcoming floor with a crisp ‘ding’, followed by the doors gliding open.

“Have a great day!” you called over your shoulder as you stepped out, about to walk expeditiously to your cubicle, balancing the tray of coffees in your shaky grip. “Oh, and you should take one of these, they are still hot!”

You handed him one of the skinny vanilla lattes in the tray before the elevator doors closed between you. 

Wade took it without a thought. And he didn’t hesitate to follow you, of course. Ducking behind office plants and hallway walls just to see where you were going without drawing too much attention. He was quick enough to catch a glimpse of your full name on your cubicle placard. 

Bullseye, he thought mischievously to himself, before slinking away into the nearest stairwell. 

He somehow directed himself to the records department in the basement, carefully rifling through the employee directory to match your name with any corresponding information. 

“Y/N..” he muttered to himself, leafing through the enormous book in the back of the storage room. “Goddamnit. Where the hell are you.. Aha! Full government name, phone number, and mailing address. Who even needs those shady paywalled identity finder websites anyways.”

Later that evening, he made it a point to break into your apartment before you came home. He was methodical, ensuring to cover all his steps, so that no trace was left behind. The lock to your doorknob was easy enough to pick. It look several bent-out-of-shape paper clips of course, and a lot of perseverance, but he somehow cracked the code. 

He liked the way you decorated your space. Those cute little succulents in clay pots with smiley faces on them. Colorful candles and warm-toned tarps. Trinkets and crystals adorning cherry wooden shelves. Overgrown plants strewn across the floor. And books. Heaps of them. 

“Well I’ll be,” he huffed to himself, standing in the center of the living room, hands on his hips. “I never took you to be an interior designer. Chip and Joanna would have a run for their money if they ever got a load of this..”

He played with the string of beads you hung from the ceiling, until the wooden dresser you had pushed into the corner caught his attention. 

“Ohohohoho, now what do we have here..” he chuckled, prancing around your furniture to open up the first drawer. He was immediately greeted by your collection of underwear, folded neatly and sorted in a way he pictured an office worker would. He flickered his fingertips over the tops of them, as if he was a kid in a candy store picking out his favorite treat. 

“So organized and efficient!” he commented, rifling through the perfectly placed rows and columns with curiosity. “It’s like the love child of OCD and a very high grade personality disorder.. color me impressed.”

“Eenie, meenie, minie, you!” he exclaimed with glee, eyeing a pair of stretchy, black tights and lifting it out as if he was plucking a rose from a vine.  

Just like the ones she wore this morning, he mused.

His fingers glided across the fabric, gently rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. He stretched it out as much as he could, pulling it, teasing it, pretending as if it was on you. 

He decided to get comfortable on your couch, playing with your tights in between his gloved fingertips. 

“Well, out of all the things I’ve done to be put on a government watchlist, this one definitely takes the cake,” he murmured to himself as he lazily lifted up his mask, licking the stretched out nylon with his greedy tongue. He sucked on it desperately, as if he could somehow taste you on the fabric, his saliva dripping down the side of his chin. 

His fingers twirled around the black bows on the sides, pulling so hard one of them came undone. Without wasting another moment, he unbuckled his belt and slightly zipped down his fly, releasing his already hardened cock. Slipping the dainty cloth over it, he began to indulge himself in a way that he never predicted he would this morning. 

He tilted his head back into the soft cushion of the sofa, stroking himself with your elastic tights between his fingertips, imagining you were bouncing on top of him with them on. 

“Fuck, Y/N..” he breathed, gritting his teeth as he continued to pleasure himself. “Why did you have to wear something so slutty at 7 in the morning? I mean what kind of a sociopath does such a thing? You’d think people would have common courtesy these days, but I guess not.”

He groaned softly as he came into your tights, his cum infiltrating through the thin fabric, leaving them absolutely soaked. Breathing heavily, he got up to toss the tainted pantyhose into the trash. 

Finding a scrap piece of paper and pen, he decided to leave you a little note of gratitude on your kitchen table before he left your apartment, scribbling a messy sketch of his mask making a blushing face and a lop-sided heart: 

“Thanks for the coffee!”

[chrisbesitos]

Okay heres another Ballerina!reader x Dealer!chris idea:

Reader is WORN OUT from recital practice, but cant rest until she gets that ONE specific part just right (totally not projecting) so shes working on it for HOURS at home (even with the bloody feet, belive me, its a regualr thing) and REFUSES to stop

idk if that makes any sense but yea

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀you're in love

( warnings: angst (a little bit), mentions of blood, cursing, fluff.

( synopsis: chris helps you when things get harder and you can't stop practicing your choreography for the recital.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰͡⠀🩰 𝅄 💸⠀͡꒱

Perfectionism. You always were a perfectionist, at school, at university and at ballet. You have the urge to be perfect and thus fuck with your head, because you don't think you can stop until your good enough. Sometimes it seems like you never will be enough and this hurts, causes not only mentally bruises, but physically too.

Well, you're accustomed to this, because it's how your brain works. Even though the pain is killing you, consuming your feet and legs like a plague. Take a deep breath and keep going, that's what you always says.

It's been hours since you're trying to do a step of your choreography perfectly, but for some reason, you can't do it right. Well, not the way you want to do. Your phone buzzing on the floor takes your attention, almost making you fall in the middle of a pirouette, you groan as you lower down to grab. It was Chris, calling you for the fifth time.

"Damn, doll. I've been calling ya', where have you been?" Chris asks through the phone, you huffs opening the cap of the bottle, taking a few sips breathing hard. "What ya' doin'? I'm fishin' some deals, wanna eat something?"

"Thank you, baby, but now I can't." You reply, holding the phone with the shoulder against your ear. You shift your feet, feeling your fingers sore, you groan in pain. "Shit." You murmured.

"Ya' good, doll?" He asks, concerned about his girl. You nod, forgetting for a moment he's not seeing you.

"Yeah, I'm just practicing now." You bite your lower lip, you need to go back to your training. "Uh, baby, what about you brought us some food? I'll have finished when you arrive here."

"Fine, doll, mind if I choose?" You deny, so Chris okay it and turned off.

You finally could go back to your practice, now putting your phone on the mute. You can't stop more, not even for calls. Chris takes more than a half hour to arrive at your place, you didn't even notice when he gets in. The smell of fresh burgers makes your stomach groans, it's been hours since your last meal, but you didn't realize you were starving until now.

"You still doin' that shit? You said you'll be ready when I get home." He says, putting the bags on the kitchen table, he looks at the living room. The couch was out of his usual place, the tv paused on the song of your choreography and you.

You were kinda a mess. Your hair is tied in a messy bun, strands of hair sticking in your sweat forehead and your cheeks red.

"Did you get attacked by a rabid raccoon?" He chuckles, you roll your eyes ignoring him. Chris raised his eyebrows at her sassy behavior, sipping his soda. "Stop that shit, let's eat."

"In a few minutes, I need to finish this." You say, turning the music on again. Chris sits in the corner of the couch, watching you do your choreography. He smiles, he loves to watch you dance, your delicate movements and the way your body moves, drives he crazy. "Fuck!" You scream, visibly frustrated with your dance, Chris frowned his eyebrows, you were perfect for him. He rested his cup on the ground, lifting from the couch to move towards you.

"What's wrong, huh? You were perfect." Chris says, cupping your cheeks with his hands. Tears were pricking in your waterline from the frustration of failure, Chris sighs pulling you closer to his chest, caressing your back with his fingers. "You're doin' great, babydoll."

"I'm not perfect." You sob on his chest, Chris shakes his head moving you to the couch, he sits and puts you on his lap. He holds your chin, making you look at him with your tearing eyes. "If I stop now, I'll not be good enough." You say, trying to get out of his lap, to get back to your practice, but Chris holds your waist, holding you hard.

"You're good enough, doll. You're perfect f'me." Chris said, cleaning your tears with his thumbs. You sniff with a little pouty in the lips, Chris chuckles cupping your cheeks. "You're the best, babydoll." He kisses your nose.

"I don't feel like I am." You whisper, leaning your head to Chris shoulder, he sighs and massages your scalp. "I'm so tired, my feet hurt." You murmured.

"How about you stop for tonight? Tomorrow I can help you with this." He caresses your thighs through the pantyhose.

"You're gonna dance with me?" You ask, lifting your head with a smile on your lips and your eyes sparkling. You always ask Chris to dance with you, but he always denies.

"Of course no, ma." He rolls his eyes, shifting on the couch with you on his legs. You huff, crossing your arms on the chest, Chris laughed undoing the ribbon from the pointe shoe you were wearing. "I said that I'm gonna help you, not dance with you."

"You're so annoying." You say, removing the claw clip of your hair and putting it aside on the couch. Chris tugged off both of your pointe shoes, gently putting on the ground, he rubbed your feet and your fingers.

"I can leave with this." He shakes his shoulders. "Uh, doll? Your feet are bleeding, is that supposed to happen?" Chris asks with a concerned look at you, he frowns his eyebrows when you slightly nod.

"It happens sometimes, it's okay." You say, caressing his shoulder, you offer him a gentle smile, saying that's everything ok. He rubbed your legs, still worrying about your bloody feet.

"Let me take care of this, 'kay?" He kisses your jaw, gently putting you on the couch.

Chris cleaned the blood from your hurt feet, putting curatives on your fingers, he also put ice and massaged until the pain was gone. He didn't let you walk to the kitchen table, he brought the food to the couch and put on tv your favorite show, he makes sure you're comfortable and good. After finishing eating, he ran you a bath with your favorite products — he's favorite also, because he loves how you'll smell after shower — and he didn't let you move a finger, because he does all the work and you don't complain.

In your bedroom, laying on the bed and under the blanket with all of your stuffed animals on the floor, Chris caresses your thighs with his finger, kissing your lips passionately. Your hands resting on his chest, scratching a bit with your nails, a smile grows in your face when he breaks the kiss.

"You're really not gonna dance with me?" You ask, with a little pouty in your lips.

"Not doin' that shit, go to sleep." Chris says, rolling his blue eyes and lifting to turn the nightstand lamp off. The last sound in the room before the silence was the sound of your laugh, before Chris held your waist and pulled you closer.

he's just a boy in love (but he doesn't know lol) ;)

tags ; @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @strnlxlqve @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2

taglist | masterlist

[acidicpenumbra]

Hello describers of things can we stop using medical terminology as descriptors please PLEASE

Sorry grievances time because I don’t like it there are alternatives and I will literally fucking list them for you. (Alternatives are given as alternative words to HOW PEOPLE WRONGLY USE the disorders in question, NOT AS ACCURATE DESCRIPTIONS of the disorders/symptoms. Thanx. A handful of the “alternatives” can still be used as derogatory but for fucks sake what the fuck ever stop using medical terms as insults)

(Edit: Here to clarify that my intention of the words below is not to say I see other mentally ill or disabled people like this, it’s specifically what I myself most commonly see people use the diagnostic words to mean. I believe it is also important to say that all terms below can be used in a derogatory/negative sense, and while I do see the issues potentially present with someone having terms just to be an asshole, I also want to say that it’s easier to phase out legitimate medical terminology from people’s vocabularies if you offer alternatives instead of just telling them not to say things. This was originally a rant post about my own frustrations regarding misuses of diagnostic terminology & misusing those terms as a means to insult/demean people, as it is offensive and conveys that their problems make them nothing more than an insult to you.)

Bipolar/Manic (alternative words/phrases that don’t refer to/demonize bipolar disorder: inconsistent, erratic, unpredictable, flighty, fickle, irregular, volatile, temperamental)

Delusional/Psychotic (alternative words/phrases that don’t refer specifically to/demonize psychosis: deranged, unstable, frantic, unhinged, frenzied)

Narcissist (alternative words/phrases that don’t refer to/demonize NPD: egotistical, entitled, full of oneself, vain, selfish, haughty, prideful, arrogant)

Psychopath/Sociopath (alternative words/phrases that don’t refer to/demonize ASPD: cold, uncaring, calculated, withdrawn)

Braindead (alternative words/phrases that don’t ridicule/make a spectacle out of actual brain death: absentminded, unwise, foolish, stupid, oblivious)

Antisocial (alternative words/phrases that don’t refer to ASPD: not social, asocial, introverted)

Obsessive Compulsive (alternative words/phrases that don’t devalue or otherwise stigmatize OCD: perfectionist, organized, tidy, neat, structured) 

Intrusive Thoughts (alternative words/phrases that don’t devalue or otherwise stigmatize legitimate intrusive thoughts: impulsive-, reckless-, spontaneous-, rash-, all ending in “thought/thoughts”)

This isn’t like a masterlist or anything it’s just a list I have on hand but like for real stop calling people sociopaths and psychos and shit this sucks balls Thanks

[esthercore]

hii! How are you? Sorry if your requests are not open, but what do you think that Sunday finally manages to break the reader, and the reader does everything that Sunday does without question, but in the end he almost becomes a robot?

Sorry for the bad English!

Okay, so this is a very very rare case, Mr.Sunday is a perfectionist with fuckton of anxiety, he's always extremely cautious all the time, knowing his limits and taking precautions in order to not break you, so you really have to fuck up bad to strip him from that care.

The only time I can this happening is if you ever cheated, or if he suspects you're cheating. It probably would be a rough day on Sunday, too much workload, too frustrating meeting, leaving him all too vulnerable emotionally. So when he sees you in a not so appropriate situation with someone else he snaps - he can either go to the either physical abuse route, but that might be ooc.

I believe he's most likely to try the Order zaza and mind control you, but since he's emotionally distraught himself at the time, he goes overboard, meeting too much with your brain, that you loose, 'yourself'.

As for the aftermath, he probably pass out after he's done, and when wake up, he will try to ignore what he did for a few days, not being able to accept his actions, trying to stay in your normal routine, still acting of lovely with you, despite the lack of response.

And then continues with all stages of grief.

Begging you to return to your normal self, just for the sake of it, worrying his subordinates with how much he phase out on work days, and the constant redness in his eyes from all the crying, his sudden high spendings for items to woo your consciousness back (though they don't know the reason)

But most importantly what worries people the most was 'your critical health' as Sunday claim being the reason you are now locked up inside his house.

Of course he won't let you out!! You need his protection! Let him make it up to you, then you will forgive him and get back to normal, right?

Yup, he goes mad.

But Sunday regain his hopes and strength when the raven on his shoulder reminds him, of his power to bring salvation to his people. That in the sweet dreams, when the order will return, he can fix this 'mistake', and bring his sweetheart back.

His chance to bring forth the sweet dreams where you are still your normal self, and will be able to give you all you deserved, despite how defiant or stubborn you will be, he will treat you better, and be a slave to your whims, treat you like his god/goddess you're meant to be.

And now with much more strength in his beliefs, he after all might not loose against the Astral Express, overwriting the canon.

Ps. I'm fine but a bit busy with studies so sorry for the late reply 👉🏻👈🏻

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Rivalry To Romance

velvette x f!reader

Summary: You worked in cosmetics at the Vee tower alongside Velvette, unfortunately you’ve never gotten along. You found her obnoxious and she found you to be a pest. However you struggle with yourself on whether you truly hate her or just can’t accept your true emotions.

Warnings: Fem reader, reader throws things again so does velvette, valentinos presence yuck, suggestive but nothing serious. No mention of readers hairtype, bodytype or skin colour, shorter than i originally wanted womp but I think that’s it but lmk

Word count: 2.5k

we need more velvette i love her so much and there’s like no info on her character or back story at least that i could find woomp womp im trying clear up what i have drafted but sheesh im so picky and a perfectionist about it i wish i was a writing machine that it could come directly out of my brain like i see it y’know?

“I fucking hate her!” You screeched tossing make up across the room at your assistant. “Please, calm down, my head hurts.” Angel whined from your couch as you paced around him, your assistant booking it after the second thing, that being a vase, was thrown.

“I can't, she's intolerable, seriously. A brat.” You grit plopping down onto the cushion beside him. The two of you were in the Vee tower, you being what Velvette would call ‘the shadow of the vees’, you got in on the triangle based on accessibility; for the Vees that is. You were a cosmetic creator and produced varying products for demons of all kinds, not only was it beneficial for Valentino's pornstars but Velvette’s models.

When you were a self employed business it was still very lucrative, and getting around quickly. Gaining the opportunities to work with overlords, sinners you never expected as well as selling and gaining quicker than you could’ve imagined. It wasn’t long until Velvette had caught onto the rage, and that’s how you ended up in the tower working alongside her.

It was terrible from the start; you weren’t some meek little demon, yet Velvette treated you like you were some Imp! You hated her bratty, disrespectful loud mouth and you never failed to let her know.

BIting your nails down too low without realizing, Angel grabbed your hand successfully stopping you, and leaned forward. “Hey listen I know how it is to have a sucky boss. Heh, literally.” Angel snickered to himself while you muttered that she wasn’t your boss. “But if i’m being honest, it sounds like sexual frustration,” He twiddled his fingers at you while a sly smile pulled at his lips.

You gaped at him, head falling forward in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me, hah, no fucking way dude!” You exclaimed, leaning back, you sighed frustrated at the conversation. “Oh shit, gotta go toots, boss is calling. Thanks for letting me up, see ya later.”

You waved by to Angel watching him go. Sitting with your elbows on your knees you stared off into space. Sure you suppose you admired her, sure, she was pretty, occasionally sure you’d check her out admiring how the clothes fit her, but that was purely platonic! Velv was a fashion designer, of course she knows how to accentuate her natural beauty.

And perhaps there were times when you couldn’t quite decide what you felt for her questioning your intentions second guessing your actions. Sometimes as you gazed at her while she worked, you wanted to ease her up a little, relax her from the stress whether that be from praise, a gentle rub or kiss, or something a little more promiscuous; you simply wanted to be her relief.

Other times you wanted to fight her and bitch her out, and then fuck her? You actually didn’t know and it drove you insane, but Angel was the first to spot the way you acted, overly aggressive.

You groaned, frustration emitted from you very clearly as you tugged at your hair. Standing you walk quickly toward Velvette’s and yours’ work sections on the tower's mid floor. Velvette stood at a table when you walked in, she only barely turned her head to you, too busy studying fabrics and colours.

“What’s the pretentious brat got cooking today?” You say walking up beside her looking down at the table. Rolling her eyes she turned to you hand on her hip. “Can you piss off? I’ve got shit to do, real work, not lazing around with a whore.”

Rolling your eyes right back at her, you looked down to the table. “Angels no more of a whore than that filthy moth.” You muttered fingering the fabrics, eyes dancing around the blueprints for an outfit.

“What’re these for?” You ask, meeting her gaze, a bored look plagued her face, but she loosened up slightly at the mention of her work. “These are the new blueprints for our outfits for the upcoming broadcast Vox has planned. He wants to market tech, pornos, clothing and your cosmetics so everything’s gotta be right.”

Velvette looked down harshly at the things laid out in front of her, you could see the gears working in her head as her eyes flicked around the different blueprints, fabrics and rough drafts. You hummed, flicking through a particular set of blueprints that caught your eye. “I’m sure you’ll do great hun, always do.” You muttered absentmindedly, barely focusing on the praise that came from your lips.

Velvette’s head jerked back a bit, eyes watching you. She wasn’t expecting such softly said words to come from you so suddenly, but she definitely didn’t mind it. “Do you want something specific?” Looking toward her you shrugged, trying to ignore the yearning you had to be nearer.

“Just a dress, suppose the only request I have is that I look the part.” You didn’t mean for it to come off sad however, it did, and Velvette felt the rare sting of guilt ping past her heart. She was in fact the one who fought with you the most on who was worthy in the tower, but she always felt you were trying to replace her as “the guru”.

The fight you had earlier was present in your mind as you stood there, it was dumb another thing that sent you spiralling. You stomped off and straight into Angel, thank goodness for that because his presence calmed you surprisingly. The fight was about time slots with models, mainly because one model had been held up by Velvette because she was being a snooty princess again about what the model wore, meanwhile time was ticking on how much time you had to do said model's makeup.

Which ended up spiralling into a screaming cat fight, where you tossed things at her and she tossed them back slinging a slew of colour insults at you as she did so. Normally you and Velvette never apologised but as you stood there beside her looking over stuff you felt as though the moment of peace was close enough to an apology.

“Do you really wanna go to this?” You asked breathing in deeply, catching hints of her perfume that left a warm familiar feeling in your chest. “Hm not really, but we have to.” Picking up navy blue colours, she stacked the square fabrics together.

Swallowing you ask; “What’s your favourite colour?” Stunned Velvettes hands stalled their actions, her eyes meeting yours. You were waiting looking neutrally at her, you simply wanted to know. It was easy to see Voxs was arrays of blues, Val’s pink and red, you fancied emerald and sea greens, and her.. you didn’t know, hot pink?

“I fancy whites, purples, plums…” Trailing off finger to her mouth in thought, she nodded one sternly. “White and plum.” You smile ever so slightly it was a decent conversation for sure. But it definitely didn’t help you inner fight about your feelings for her.

~

Today was the day of the broadcast, the lot of you ventured to Valentinos floor of the tower, doing it up for a big show. There were tons of tables set up, lighting, cameras; the porn stars were done up thanks to you and Velv, they sat on a plush couch their section was going to be an ‘interview with the stars’ no doubt being entirely fake lies. Angel was a part of the cast, much to your dismay, you’d rather him be far from Valentino, but that wasn’t possible. Another area was new improved tech, with tech nerds ready to present and push the new models Voxtech had made.

Off to the back was Velvette’s section where various manikins stood cladded in Velvette’s best work, there were also models present around waiting to pose with the manikins. Your area felt blander than the rest, your cosmetics sat on varying different platforms that lifted them aesthetically, and you had a few head models with you, cameras focused in on only their eyes and lips for the occasional shot. In the middle of the room was where you, Velvette, Vox and Valentino would be.

The lot of you were going to be standing tall with wide smiles, the only one who was set to talk was Vox, the rest of you were just their to claim name to your things. Velvette was running around taking Sinstagram stories and pictures of everything around, building anticipation and hype for everything to come.

You watched her bounce around every now and again yelling at a worker or model about their place here, before getting back to puttering around. She wore a white dress with hearts at the bottom, and her hair was done up in a classic poof instead of her straightened pigtails. “Admiring the goods?” Angel asks, scaring the shit out of you, gasping you grabbed your chest in shock. “Fuck Angel don’t do that to me, and ye- wait what?”

Angel cackled an accusatory finger pointed to you. “Oh cmon! Even Val knows you’re into her, and that’s him.” You stared in disbelief before shaking your head no rapidly. “How would he even know? We barely spend time near each other, I hate him more than Velv.”

Angel scoffed, crossing two sets of his arms he leant against the wall next to him. “Please Velvette’s always ranting about how annoying you are over the phone, telling Val when Vox is probably too sicka her to hear it! Then she goes off saying how you can’t be nice and how you always make it a mission to come and pester er’ and Val said it’s because you wanted to fuck her!” Angel exclaimed slyly leaning forward into you and than backward away.

“That’s not true, we just can’t get along.” Like the devil heard your words, Velvette skipped up to you three, pulling the two of you into her. “Alright! The bitches! That’s more like it!” Velvette shouted, snapping a picture, Angel defaulted to his actor ways posing lustfully at the camera, meanwhile you just smiled unbelievably at Velvette. Once the picture was taken she wasted no time stepping back and sending off the post with a series of different hashtags.

“You look happy today?” You ask more than say watching Velvette smile around the room. “Of course people have stayed quiet, and not been a dickhead all day. Not to mention Vox and Val aren’t in moods.” You nodded in agreement, eyes casting briefly over to the TV who walked around checking the different cameras while Val smoked in the back.

Angel not so subtly snuck off giving your back a shove closer towards Velvette. Even if you could admit to yourself you felt more than platonic emotions for her, it would be extremely hard to accept it or attempt to make a move when you didn’t even know her sexuality.

She’d never seemed interested in Vox or Valentino, but you’ve not seen her eyeing women either. It made you more uncomfortable to ponder the future of accepting your feelings when you could just be cruel and ignore them. “What’s up with you spacey?” Velvette suddenly asked her phone off facing toward the floor.

You anxiously fiddled with your short dress wondering if now would be a good time to start something. “Nothing Velvette, just nerves i guess.” Velvette rolled her eyes, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You’ll be fine, always are anyways. We don’t do shit, it’s all Vox.”

Fair enough. Although that’s true it didn’t really matter considering it wasn’t what was really bothering you. “Are you straight?” You blurt suddenly, hand jerking upward to cover your mouth. Velvette’s eyebrow raised a ‘huh’ falling from her lips.

With a decision in mind, you couldn’t deny it, knowing that even Val saw something you know how you can’t hide it. The daydreams you have of her warm skin next to yours in the morning, the friendship you wish you had, the desire to have her lipstick smeared against your lips, wanting to post cheesy couple pictures together all over Sinstagram.

“Uhh, yeah, are you straight because I haven’t ever seen you around anybody, like, ahem, that.” You stutter out staring at her trying to gauge every little emotion on her face. “Suppose I could be considered, but i fuck who i want no matter the package.” She finally replied, returning to herself after spacing out, looking calmer than you.

“Would ya fuck me?” Scratching the back of your neck as her eyes scanned your face rapidly, trying to read you, trying to tell if you were serious. “Yeah, if you weren’t such a bitch.” You hum watching her once more, this time she looked a little meeker, shifting from foot to foot, her gaze casted downward.

“And what about love? Y’know not just wanting to have a hook up?” You asked a little apprehension evident in your voice, you craned your neck back trying to distance yourself subconsciously.

Softly you felt Velvettes gentle hand on your shoulder, focusing all your attention on her, you watched as her face turned out to the side, only looking at you through her peripheral. Her other hand crawled up to your other shoulder, before drifting softly to your neck, sending shivers down your spine and straight to your toes.

Velvette was still at fully extended arms length, so you stepped forward, cupping her cheeks gently like she was made of the fragilest material. Now eye to eye the two of you simply stared waiting, while invading eachothers space. Cautiously you leaned forward thankfully being her height, you hand your eyes closed already hoping she’d get the message, and either pull away running or indulge.

You were more than shocked to feel her lipstick covered lips meet with yours, soft yet eager. You kissed her back slowly, trying to convey the emotions and feelings you felt without speaking, the apology you wanted to say but didn’t know how.

Pulling you closer by the neck, you fell into her slightly, wrapping your arms around her like she was your world, fully absorbed in the passionate kiss you were sharing. Just as the kiss turned slightly heated, tongues introducing and slipping past the barrier of eachothers mouth Vox screamed. “You’ve got Velvettes makeup on your face, FUCK, why?! Why?! Five minutes before we’re live!” Jumping apart the two of you looked toward Vox who was already glitching out, meanwhile Val just stood smuggly sucking his pipe.

“Don’t worry he’s just mad that he now owes me one hundred dollars, losers weepers,” Val breathed his smoke wafting around the TV’s head. Velvette threw the bird at Vox before turning to you pulling out a handkerchief. “Weren’t you calling someone geriatric, now you’re pulling out handkerchiefs?” You teased, her hand coming up to wipe her black lipstick that stained your face.

“Oh piss off, or we’re both fired,” She scolded but there was no malice in her words like before making your heart flutter. “So how long before this gets out, our little before the air make out sesh?” You inquire as she handed the cloth to you, you wiping her smeared lipstick just as she did for you. “Based on the vibrations from my phone, not long.”

[stormyjisung]

"So when did you know it was love?"

Members. Skz hyung line (+hyunjin)

Synopsis. Asking them about the time when they'd fallen for you entirely

A/n. I woke up missing ji and decided to write something for skiz, it's been a long time since I've written for them anyway. I was watching a movie yesterday (more like analysing the poster) and the tagline said, 'so when do you know it's love?' And my writer brain went wee woo 🚨.

Bang chan

"so when did you know it was love?"

The question caught chan off guard, eyes shifting from his phone to your face, eyebrows quirked up in amusement, "where's this coming from?"

Rolling onto your stomach you groaned, "I don't know, chan, it just randomly popped up"

A bubble of laughter left his lips, "well to answer your question, I think it was our last semester at uni? I don't really remember the setting love, but I do remember that I was having a bad day. That paired with a raging downpour pushed me over the edge and I called you, crying, definitely not one of my best moments" chan paused to shake his head, "you helped calm me down and said, 'I'll be right there' and before I could ask what you meant you hung up"

"And before I knew it, you turned up at the library soaked to the bone. You handed me my umbrella and gave me the biggest, warmest hug someone had ever given me, despite the fact that you were freezing,

We'd already been dating for a few months, and you'd stolen my heart countless amount of times but it was at that moment I knew you'd stolen my heart from me forever"

Your cheeks felt hot, chan had always been a man of many words but to hear him voice out the moment he fell in love with you word by word felt nothing short of ethereal.

"But I do wonder, why did you turn up looking like a wet dog when you had an umbrella with you?"

Shrieks of embarrassment and laughter filled the atmosphere, love seeping into your bones even deeper.

Minho

"when did you know it was love?"

You saw minho's hand pause midway while petting dori, "is this one of those tiktok thingies where go around asking your partner if they'd love you if you were a worm?"

"What- no! I was genuinely curious" you whined as minho let dori down, placing a finger on his chin he pondered.

"Honestly?"

"Yeah!" You leaned forward excitedly.

"It was that time when you messed up a party's dress code and showed up wearing a chicken onesie."

"Fuck off" you replied, kicking a pillow at his face as he cackled, "No but how does one mess up that bad?"

Faux disappointment seeped into your features causing minho to break, "okay fine. But you dare not make fun of me or I'll set birds loose on you"

"You wouldn't dare" you gasped, "try me" Came his reply.

"It was late September, when we'd just been dating for a few months and when my self confidence was at an all time low. I remember you'd been begging me to show you one of my choreos until I finally agreed."

"Oh! I do remember it, and when the day arrived you made every excuse under the sun to not show me the choreography!"

"Yeah, because I've always been a little bit of a workaholic and a perfectionist and all the girls I've dated before would ask me to stop working or 'take a break',

nothing wrong with their concern but it just got tiring since I geninunely loved dancing, but then that day when I showed you my choreography, you sat there starry eyed; watching my moves like a hawk and your mouth left partially open as if me dancing was the single most enchanting thing you'd ever seen."

"It was!" you replied in a heartbeat, not missing the way his ears turned red instantaneously, "-anyway, then I told you I wanted to work some more on the choreography before I could come home and you said 'well, let's work together!' And started giving me all these ideas even when you had two left feet yourself"

You would've retorted with a 'hey!' Had it not been the soft gaze in his eyes. You knew minho loved you, it showed in the way he'd tone down his teasing once in a while and remind you that he still loved you.

But after this, you doubt any insecurity would ever cross your mind.

Changbin

"when did you know it was love, bin?"

Changbin almost dropped the plate he was holding, caught utterly off guard by a question he most certainly had the answer to yet didn't trust his words enough, "what do you mean, babe?"

"When did you realize that you were in love with me?"

"I fall for you every day." He deadpanned

"Yeah- but, like, when was the first time?" you asked flustered by his prompt reply.

"You're cute" He giggled, ruffling your hair as his eyes shone with admiration, "I think it was when we had our first serious disagreement? The first time the rose colored glasses shattered and we could see ourselves for who we truly were"

"You said something along the lines of, 'I'd understand if you left right now' and it was the first time in my twenty one years of life that I'd experienced true heartbreak. And it was also the moment when I realized no matter how many fights we had or will inevitably have in the future, I'd never want to walk out on you or us"

He ended his little monologue by peppering sweet butterfly kisses on your forehead, "I'll always love you" He whispered between the kisses.

The orange hues of the setting sun illuminated the two soul mates in that room who failed to realize that their souls were always meant to love each other, maybe the setting sun knew their story for it smiled as it set across the horizon.

Hyunjin

"when did you know it was love?" You asked hyunjin as he raked his fingers through your hair gently, a low hum escaping him

"When did I know I'd fallen for you entirely?" He confirmed to which you gently nodded your head, the serene atmosphere felt unreal with you laying on his chest and him alternating between patting your head and softly brushing your hair

"That's a question that doesn't really have a definite answer, love"

You allowed a beat of silence to pass by before you spoke up, "what do you mean?"

"Falling in love with you wasn't a spur of the moment... it was rather an entire journey.

From the moment we met to right now, it's been one hell of a ride. We've seen seasons, weather and people change. We've seen each other change for the better, I've see you through your good, your bad and your ugly" He paused to let his eyes roam all over your face as if memorizing every miniscule detail

"But despite all of that, I wanted you. I wanted you every waking moment of my life, I wanted you on the days you were too sad to even get up, I wanted you on the days you were cranky and moody, I wanted you on the days you'd blow up on me, I wanted you, I want you.

And when you want someone like that, above their flaws, imperfections and blemishes I think it's fair enough to declare it as love"

Hyunjin was always a romantic, never failing to make you feel loved and cherished and even after years of dating him, he still managed to take your breath away. He talked about loving you as if it was the most natural thing for him to do, as if loving you was easy.

And that terrified you because hyunjin was just as easy to fall for, if not more.

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I love how I post once a week but am chronically online, tee hee.