how-i-eat

Oats and cloudy days mix real well together 😍 I cooked 1/3 cup @traderjoeslist ancient grain & superseed oatmeal in 2/3 cup almond milk, then topped it with bananas, raspberries, blueberries, TJ’s cookie butter, @purely_elizabeth granola, and TJ’s ancient seed blend 😋 its crazy how I used to eat oatmeal all the time and not be extremely full but after not having it for awhile this bowl was hard to finish!

Instagram - goodhealthgoodvibes

okay um its 4:15- what the fuck was that?! uM its 4:15 am and im vlogging. so we’ve had a busy week! haha i just wanna say that i just *sniffles* i do so much, like i give so much and now im just getting in return ya know? like louis is just out there, HES JUST OUT THERE! doing shit! like hes talking bout his nipples! hes talking bout that boys nipples like how i talk about how much i wanna freaking eat fionns face off! like thats not okay man! shit! its all fukcing- thIS IS HAPPENING
—  sarah @oopstatt

anonymous asked:

How do I deal with having to eat meals with my family? They make things like chicken and rice and stir fry to eat a lot of the time and they'll make me eat with them and if I refuse they'll know something's up. How do I eat with them and still loose weight?

Eat with them, you can always workout later - lose weight AND gain muscle

me and my hobbit gf

Me: *eating oatmeal* well i better go do some work in the shire
Gf: what about second breakfast?
Me: whoops how could I forget! *starts eating pussy*

some villainous concepts/headcanons:

  • Black Hat is a master of all things classical and occult but modern technology is mostly lost on him and he doesn’t care, if you handed him a smartphone he might eat it
  • Dr Flug has an infinite amount of paper bags so that if you remove one you find another and another onwards indefinitely, he can sometimes be found cutting the eye holes out of spares
  • Demencia knew and fell for Black Hat before he knew she even existed
  • Black Hat sometimes shouts random accusatory statements when surprised to play it off like he’s offended and not caught off guard, I.E. “HOW DARE YOU ENTER HERE UNINVITED”
  • Demencia’s job is bodyguard/guard dog, her obsession with BH assures she will fight to protect him or at the very least unwittingly notify him of a potential threat
  • Dr. Flug is a normal human evil-intern-turned-one-man-product-development-department with a family who still wants to see him for the holidays and pester him about his job and his love life
  • Black Hat hoards random nonsense spooky/twisted Victorian things, like taxidermied animals stood up like people and fencing each other or broken chandeliers
  • Dr. Flug can get motion sick, potentially due to his partially obscured vision (paper bag + goggles)
  • Black Hat talks in his sleep but only in horrifying otherworldly tongues of the dark whisperer
  • “DEMENCIA’S EATING THE NEIGHBOR’S PETUNIAS AGAIN”
  • Black Hat is never seen without a hat, preferably black.
  • Dr Flug finds every possible opportunity to retaliate against BH’s torment in quiet and humble ways that won’t get his butt kicked, such as “he asked for 4 ice cubes but I gave him FIVE!! MWAHAHHAHA! HIS DRINK WILL BE ALL WATERY!” 
  • Black Hat does not require mortal sustenance but sometimes eats/drinks just because he can
  • Demencia is closer to chaotic neutral than true evil but let’s just let her have this
  • Black Hat takes offense to implications that he doesn’t understand something and will not ask for help; “OF COURSE I KNOW HOW TO EAT AN EGG” *swallows the raw egg whole*
  • “DR. FLUG THE WI-FI IS OUT”
Stand naked in front of a mirror and say this:

This is my body.
This is a good body.
I will take care of my body.
I will love my body.
My body will not determine how much/what I eat today.
My body will not determine how much I work out today.
I will nourish my body with food.
This is an incredible and complex vessel that is me.
I am confident.
I am good enough.
My body is beautiful.
I am grateful for this body.
I love my body.
I love myself.
I am beautiful.

I don’t usually make Pissed/Rant posts, but this infuriates me.

As many of you people know, I do conventions on top of youtube for a living. A really really good friend of mine does conventions and commission work for her living and has been doing this as a full paid living for years. (I am not going to say her name, she asked me to keep her anonymous so I will respect her request.) She does more conventions in a year, let alone several years, than I couldn’t ever fathom so her experience with conventions including El Paso Comic Con, is very broad. 

I don’t usually make posts like this or anything concerning drama, but I want this to be known out there and have there be an awareness of this issue, cuz what happened today at El Paso Comicon is wrong, and I just wish I was there to do something about it. 

The reason why I bring this up, is because today she faced a huge ordeal at El Paso Comic Con, and this is what I came to hear about today on her facebook, and over the phone.

——-

My friend’s words: 

“I don’t even know how to put into words what just happened to me. I am still physically shaking. Today at El Paso Comic con I tried to bring in a pasta because I was hungry and hadn’t eaten since yesterday. I was told by staff I couldn’t bring it in so I asked to bring it in anyway because I am vegetarian and can’t eat hotdogs and chicken salads.
They brought over their main supervisors and the head lady began to harshly try to put power over me saying “cons don’t allow food you can’t” she tried to discredit me by asking how many cons I do and how many let food in.
I began to explain again to the other person about how I cannot eat certain foods and as the conversation continued I began to feel an anxiety attack coming on and tears were already happening.
THEN THIS LADY TAKES OUT HER CAMERA TO FILM ME HAVING AN ANXIETY ATTACK.
I ask her to please stop filming me. She put her phone away but surely she still recorded the rest of my conversation without my consent.
The head of the con allows me my food in but at this point I am so anxious I can’t eat.
THEN I bring my food to my friend to give hers to her and explain what happened.
THIS WOMAN FOLLOWS ME TO THE TABLE to “call me out” on lying about being the only one at my table. (I am in full panic attack mode and very upset and not ok)
I explain (while still crying) that this is not my booth and I am giving her her food and telling her what happened. (she is the only one at her booth just like she told her, but this woman falsely accused her simply to destroy her.) 
She then tells me that I have to pack up my stuff and leave the convention. I tell her that I paid for my spot and am staying. (Not just as attendant but an exhibitor with paper work, paying for her spot) She begins to scream at me to “take a chill pill” and go back to my table.
Once I’m at my table I am in such a bad shape a friend of mine HAD TO GET A MEDIC. This panic attack lasted OVER AN HOUR and I am STILL shaking.

I am utterly humiliated and heartbroken. I loved this convention but I will not be coming back now. I have not had such a terrible attack in almost a YEAR.

This is something I am scared to post on Facebook but I know it’s important to let people know what’s going on. When my service animal can’t even help me because I have nearly stopped breathing, you know there’s a problem.”

——-

It’s not like me to make posts about this, the only other time I have is when the issue with UltimaAlmighty happened and even then I still don’t even think he deserved the ending he got despite me telling my share of the story. but this?.., is not ok. 

I want to contact the head manager or either the convention center, or of el Paso Comic Con and report this issue about the supervisor handling a situation that should have been dealt with care, and communication, not a power trip and following her with ill intent only to make hasty accusations that she is innocent of,- so far as to induce her with the worst anxiety attack where she literally couldn’t breath. (and her service animal for emotional support rendered useless). However, my problem here is that I don’t know how to contact the head of El Paso Comic Con. Does anyone know how? My friend was wronged, and I want the head to know about what their supervisor did. 


“Sorry I’m late” INFP Edition
In chronological order.

  1. I was watching the sunrise over breakfast and got lost in a daydream. 
  2. I plotted out an entire book in the shower. 
  3. I started listening to music.
  4. I heard this new song and had to listen to it on repeat for an hour. 
  5. I stared at my closet for 15 minutes trying to decide which outfit best expressed my current mood. 
  6. I started reading/writing.
  7. I was dealing with the existential crisis I have on a daily basis. 
  8. I spent half an hour thinking about how I currently felt about eating what I had earlier decided to eat for lunch. 
  9. Someone asked me for my opinion. 
  10. I got lost in a daydream again.
  11. I was lying on my bed for an hour just crying into oblivion. 
  12. I started reading/writing again.
  13. I decided to start studying a new language right this minute.
  14. I was looking around Esty for something that perfectly expresses my personality. I didn’t find anything. 
  15. I lost track of time because I don’t keep track of time.

My life is a lovely combination of four, six, seven, ten, twelve, thirteen & fifteen. But mostly seven & fifteen.
I love being an INFP - wouldn’t change a thing

anonymous asked:

how do i love myself

Eat what you want to eat. Drink what you want to drink. Listen to some good songs and dance to them. Do what makes you feel good. Remember, you are not the bad thoughts you have about yourself. You are not the flaws that you see on the mirror, that you see in yourself. You are what keeps you going each day and you need to embrace that. Embrace everything about you. You are amazing. You are beautiful. You are you, and that is love.

The Morning (M)

Originally posted by daenso

Author’s Note: Another song-based one shot. This one’s inspired by The Weeknd’s House of Balloons jam, “The Morning”. (Y’all should listen to it.)

OTP(s): Park Chanyeol x Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word Count: 3652

Warnings: Smut, sex on chairs, hot cinammon rolls

Sypnosis: Love doesn’t just lie in a person’s actions for Chanyeol.


Unsurprisingly, it’s Chanyeol’s idea to invade the streets at nine a.m in the fucking morning.

The cactus in your living room becomes too boring to stare at and the impatient tick-tick-ticking of the clock long ago passed the border between momentarily surly and irritable. Chanyeol emerges from the kitchen, topping a disheveled bedhead (“sex hair”), lips parted around the edge of on milk carton. His eyes smoothe the curves of your shoulders, map the loose, swelling mouth of the collar of his T-shirt—a silent, discarded ripple of enkindled desire.
“Let’s go out.”
The murmur is faintly above a whisper, but still prevails in being heard.
You cock your head, slogging back a smirk at the way the corners of Chanyeol’s lips have suddenly been set aquiver. He rests a hand against the wall, splintered and pale. As he leans to the side, the collar of his shirt sags, revealing a poorly hidden wreath of scarlet blazes. You remember how you’d felt the blood in his veins thrumming beneath the swell of your tongue—pulsing, burning, rushing.
“Where to?”
Chanyeol’s eyes follow your descent to the pillow on the couch, whorls of dust springing free as your head sinks into clawed, moth-eaten flesh.
“Benny’s. Gavin’s cafe.” Chanyeol’s elbow lurches as he lugs the milk carton forward, mouth closing over the plastic. Adam’s apple bobs as cold white escapes into a pulsing trachea.
You nod, fingers edging the tattered wood of the coffee table. You remember how the cold splinters had dug into your back a few mornings before, when Chanyeol had come up with the bright fucking idea of taking you right there—right next to his morning coffee.
“How about we leave in ten?” the fucking lewd maniac drawls, figure sweeping back into the kitchen. “Don’t worry about a shower or anything, you’ll be fine.”
You don’t even bother acquiting a murmur of protest as your back elevates from the sofa. The black plastic coat of your phone warms your palm, thin fingers closing around the device, pale knobbly legs leaving the warm confines of the sofa cushions.
Norleom Street is dusty and vacant, the usually kept lawns ridden with the soiled vestiges of long-deceased plants. Chanyeol’s fingers are warm and soft against the flesh of your palm. The sunlight manages to properly reflect the quiescent innocence within him—russet gaze marred by the fresh, pure zeal of swallowing the jovial chirrups of scarlet thrushes, vermillon mouth quirked with crisp mirth. A brief comber of vertigo strikes your brain, momentarily robbing your legs of stability. Chanyeol’s fingers come to swathe your wrist and you regain your balance, looking up at eyes full of amusement.
“Be more careful, babe. Am I that good looking or is this because of last night?”
A laugh parts his lips at the ruby wreaths that come to your cheeks.
“Oh, shut up.”
“You’re right,” Chanyeol’s fingers lick across your wrist to your palm. “I should be the one walking funny with all the bouncing you were doing on me last night. That shit actually kind of hurt.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you rasp savagely out the corner of your mouth. “You liked it.”
“Actually,” Chanyeol’s other hand cups the curve of your hip. “I loved it.”
He inclines his head, the way the veins in his neck thrum against the air composing goosebumps on your arms, and slowly covers your mouth with his. It’s a sweet kiss, primarily tongue-free, and Chanyeol gently tugs you to meet his body. His fingers wound the cotton of your shirt, twirling, twisting and you slide further towards the wamth of his body, his other hand still tightly holding yours.
He moves to draw back, but you snatch his lower lip between your teeth and cup the side of his neck, the harsh groan that leaves his throat burning against your fingertips. Then comes his tongue—sodden and humid—and then he’s tracing every crevice of your mouth and warming every dark, cold corner and it’s too much—it’s just fucking too much.
He parts, staring down at you with sweet, trumulous eyes, thumb mapping the region dangerously close to the underside of your breast.
“I love you.”
His stare’s intensity shifts into a level of discomort and your eyes shyly lower to meet the ground.
“Come on,” Chanyeol’s palm is tightly melted into yours again and feet begin dragging along coarse concrete. Guilt pangs your bones. Ever since you’d started dating Chanyeol seven months ago, the words still hadn’t left your lips.
You loved Chanyeol.
He knew you did.
But you’d been too shy to omit the phrase officially yet. Chanyeol understood. He read your actions more than your words; and your actions screamed the proclamation he yearned to hear louder than your future words ever could to him.
Benny’s is fairly empty when you enter mintues later. A slender male with chestnut-colored skin gestures Chanyeol forth and a sweet smile plays on his lips as he plucks out a chair for you to plop in and goes to talk to him. He and the worker converse for several minutes until finally Chanyeol returns with a small blue blasket blanketed with flimsy white paper. He sinks beside you, passing you the basket which acquits a warm, delicious scent. You snatch the paper, freeing the smell completely.
Cinammon rolls.
You twist to look at Chanyeol. “It took you ten minutes to get four of these?”
Chanyeol’s lips curl into a scowl that’s supposed to feign indignation. “Hey, they had to cook them first!”
“I’m just joking,” you mutter, grabbing a roll and splitting it apart. A tear of warm cinammon oozes along the bread and your stomach grunts with anticipation. The roll faces a rapid ascent into your awaiting mouth and a moan unconsciously flits from your throat. Chanyeol leans and rubs your back as you munch heartily.
“There’s nothing more beautiful than watching the one you love enjoy life’s little pleasures.”
Ignoring his affectionate gaze, another inch of roll warms your mouth and sets ease to your tongue. “Eating is not a little pleasure. Eating is a significant facet of life.” You thrust your index and middle finger towards the two rolls harbouring the left corner of the basket. “You can have those two.”
Chanyeol’s eyes momentarily beam with gratitude. “Thanks.” And then his russet gaze is marred with pride as he snatches a roll and tosses it into his other hand. “I’m guessing sex is another?”
You nearly choke. “What?”
“You heard me.” He inches closer and his fingers kiss the curve of your jawline. “Sex is another significant facet of life.”
“Maybe for you.” The words come out in a shrill whisper and you mentally chastise yourself for sounding so sweak, so vacillating.
“Oh, really,” Chanyeol’s fingers flicks your lower lip and it takes every blade of restraint within not to swipe it with your tongue. He tilts and his scarlet mouth gently pays homage to yours. When he draws back, his eyes are stained with desire. “On a scale of 1-10, how good are those cinammon rolls?”
You ravish another bite, pretending to mull things over. “An 11.”
A smirk tugs Chanyeol’s lips and your left thigh tightly comes to hug the other. “I’ve got something that’s a 12.”
You don’t even have to glance down to see if he’s hard. You can sense it in his voice.
“There’s a storage room down the hall. Meet me there when you’re done eating.” He rises and with ferdent strides, he veers into a seperate corridor and out of sight.
The heat cradled between your legs intensifies so much that you ask the worker behind the counter for a take-out bag for your food. He supplies it willingly, and with a brisk murmur of gratitude, you’re taking Chanyeol’s previous steps down the corridor, not bothering to see if any of the workers are peering with suspicion. Six seconds barely transpire on the course to the storage room and by the time your hand enfolds the doorknob, you swear your arousal is already clouding the air.
The moment the door twists open, pale fingers seize the cloth of your shirt and haul you inside. Chanyeol’s mouth buries your own with a searing, wet kiss and his hands find your thighs, drawing you towards him.
“You definitely ate too fast,” he pants around your lips. “I’m slightly worried.”
“You’re an idiot,” you crush his lips with yours and he staggers, groaning slightly. When you pull away, his eyes are burning. “How could I finish eating knowing what I’m about to get?”
“Who said you were getting anything?”
Indignation blooms your cheeks and a rich, hearty laugh explodes from Chanyeol at the sight of your scowl. “I’m just joking, babe.” He carefully drops to his knees, fingers hooking around your sweatpants. “I could never leave you hanging like this.” He jerks the cloth down and you watch their descent to your knees. “Speaking of hanging.” You follow his gaze to her sodden panties. “These definitely aren’t.” His palm grazes the center, rocking against you. “I don’t think they’ll be hanging like they used to after a while—being this fucking wet.”
A gasp shudders from your throat as Chanyeol’s teeth seize the edge of your panties, eyes boring into yours. He draws the cloth downwards, but not hard enough to move them, just enough to peer inside at your bare, glistening wetness.
You bite back a whine as the cloth is released and his mouth begins raking up your arm, peppering kisses along your elbows and clad shoulders. His fingers enfold your waist as he dampens your neck with his mouth, drawing hieroglyphics along the flesh with his tongue. His other hand cups you gently, middle finger mapping the damp swell of your clit. You wrap your arms around him, the moan that had gathered in your throat seconds ago bursting free.
“Am I making you feel good, baby?”
He rubs a bit harder and you can feel your clit growing. “Y-yes. That feels so good.”
He draws the damp skin of your neck into his mouth, forcibly sucking. “Damn, I need you.”
You immediately shove your hand downward, brushing it along his cotton-clad skin. Your fingers immediately find his erection and you close your hand tightly around him, rocking your palm back and forth. He groans, hoarse and needy, and you stroke a bit faster, pressing light kisses against his pectorals. His veins drum furiously against your tongue as you guide it along the damp slope of his throat.
“You want me to suck you off?”
Chanyeol’s eyes nearly roll out of his skull with pleasure. “God…please…”
You slowly drop to your knees, gazing up at him all the while. A blush quickly blooms in your cheeks seeing how he towers over you. For a moment, it briefly sends your heart pounding with fear, but when you glance up at him and see his warm face and the beautiful veins pulsing in his vermillion neck, it erases completely.
You close your hand around him, pecking the tip. A shudder passes through his body.
“Babe,” Chanyeol murmurs, eyes closed.
You glance up at him. “Yeah?”
“We’ve never done this before.”
“I know, babe. I’ll try to make this extra good for you, then.” You flash a seductive wink.
Chanyeol shudders again. “No, I mean…uhm…I’ve never done this before.”
Excitement takes hold of you, overriding the surprise. “Are you saying this is your first blowjob?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Well, I guess I’ve got to make it good then.” And you wrap your lips around him. A loud, rich moan parts his lips and his head lulls back. The sight of the straining veins on his neck is nearly enough to make you come right there. He’s warm and stiff against your tongue and when you slash the underside of his base, his whole body shudders.
“God, that’s amazing,” he rasps as you slide your mouth back and forth. He tugs his pants all the way down as you pay homage to the tip, staring up at him. “Jesus.”
You draw back, a smirk playing on your lips. “I’ve been told the resemblance is damn near frightening, but my name’s (Y/N) if you forgot.”
A chuckle rumbles from his throat and he passes a hand through his hair. “You are so fucking sexy.”
You glide a hand beneath his shirt, palming the tight muscles of his abs. “So are you.”
His breaths grow rougher and his knuckles turn unhealthily pallid. You sit still as he gently begins thrusting into your awaiting mouth on his own, watching you for assurance all the while.
“Damn, your tongue feels so good.”
You groan around him, reaching down to pet yourself. The moment Chanyeol’s eyes find your fingers, he draws back immediately. At first you’re confused as you’re sure he hasn’t come yet (you would’ve tasted it), but the moment you see him draw out a chair from the corner of the room and plop it down in the center you know what’s up.
Jokingly, a frown curves your lips. “Channie, I thought we were gonna fuck, not play Musical Chairs?”
You’re surprised when he squats and flattens himself to the ground on his back, readying himself with slow, confident strokes. “Just shut up and sit on my face.”
It takes everything in you not to start giggling with pure mirth as you saunter over to him, poising yourself directly over his face. A moan leaves his lips as you sink to your knees and drop to his awaiting tongue.
The moment you felt his lips pass over your clit, a gasp shakes your whole body and your fists pulse against the ground. Tongue manuevring across your sodden labia, his arms draw around the backs of your thighs, locking you in place. The way his tongue dances over you and draws your clit into his mouth has you shuddering. Every slightly dry region grows wet with need and you’re literally surprised a puddle of your arousal hasn’t formed around Chanyeol’s head.
Fisting his shirt, you come with a strangled squeal as his lips fold around your clit one last time, tongue heatedly thrashing. With one last, slow lick that sends his tongue deep inside of you, he gently lifts you off of him. Panting, you don’t even have to wait for him to ask as you grab his erection, mounting it directly beneath you. A loud, throaty groan swells in your ears as warm, slender fingers catch tightly around your hips, guiding you as you smoothly descend him. He feels just as he always does.
So damn good.
You bob gently, feeling his hands caress the dip in your back and the curve of your asscheeks. You stretch your hands back, smoothing his abs and pelvis as you rise and fall, rise and fall, the pleasure increasing with each graceful descent.
“Baby,” the growl is rasp and strangled. “Turn around. Look at me.”
Wanting to prolong your pleasure, you ground your hips slowly against him, a long moan leaving your throat, before gently easing yourself off of him and revolving your position so you’re facing him. He smiles, an innocent, jovial smile and he cups your hips, poising himself against you. Holding you tight, he dives inside and you gasp at the way you wetly part around him. He moves, guiding himself in and out of you, before carefully grabbing your hips, smoothly furling to his knees and standing up. You’re puzzled, but only for a brief moment as he drops into the chair, the hands tightly cupping your ass hauling you back and forth, grounding your hips together. You enfold the back of his neck, staring down into his eyes. He catches your mouth, guiding you faster against him as his teeth sink into the edge of the cup of your bra. He draws it down completely and closes his lips around the bare flesh. The warmth of his tongue against your nipple and the fervent slapping of his erection is enough to send you over the edge completely. With a loud call of his name, you quake against him, holding him close. He groans into your shoulder, shuddering at how tight you squeeze him as he releases. Eyes closed, he tugs you closer to his body until it feels like you’ve melted together.
The air is calm and silent as you catch your breath, occasionally mapping each other’s backs with wandering hands and gently squeezing asscheeks.
“That was amazing,” you muse in his ear, still feeling lost in your high.
“Yes, it was,” his arms slowly slither off of you and suddenly he’s leaning back in the chair, black tresses casting a messy shadow across his eyes, ropes of sweat tribbling in fucking torrents down his shirt.
Fuck.
He looks so beautiful.
He opens his eyes and the moment his gaze finds you, a blinding smile breaks out on his face, the corner of his lips slightly quirking with shyness as he reaches a hand to cup your cheek.
“God, you’re beautiful.” He inclines forward to kiss between your breasts. “So, so beautiful. Sometimes I think you deserve better.”
You jerk with surprise. “Why?”
His eyes tilt up to meet yours and you can see the pain marring his cheeks.
He’s serious.
He doesn’t think he’s good enough.
“You need someone who can take care of you all the time. With all their being, with all their love. Look at me, I barely have enough money to support the both of us. And the only time I really feel like I can make you happy is when I’m inside of you, which is why I make love with you so goddamn much.”
You narrow your eyebrows, unable to believe he’s being serious. “Chanyeol—”
“I love you. And one day, I hope you can find someone who’ll come home to you with everything and anything you want. Someone who can cherish you completely. Someone you can…say ‘I love you too’.”
Pain immediately strikes your heart.
It was about this.
It was about how you’d never told him you love him.
“Ch-Chanyeol…”
Realizing how he’s completely shifted the mood, his eyes wander everywhere but your face. “I-I’m sorry…I’m done now.”
“No,” you cup his chin, raising his head to meet your gaze. “Chanyeol, listen to me. I’ve been through a lot in terms of romance and insecurity, but that’s nowhere near a fucking excuse for me to make you feel this way.”
He blinks rapidly as his eyes become twinged with pain at your tone. “Baby…”
“No, just listen. I’m not blaming you and I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me. I’m disgusted with myself because the most perfect, beautiful boy I’ve ever met thinks he’s a piece of shit and he’s not. If anything, that’s me. Chanyeol, we’ve both been through a lot with relationships and we both need to be loved. And I’m here. I’m here to love you.” You grasp his hand in yours. “I do. So, so much, Chanyeol.”
His eyes become glazed like he’s living in a dream. An actual, fucking dream. “I-I—”
You press a finger to his lips, silencing him. “No. Let me say it this time.” Your finger gently glides down his mouth to cup his chin and his whole body seems to tremble. “I love you.”
It’s as if something’s burst inside of him—something even he doesn’t understand and for a moment he looks like he’s confused on whether to cry or laugh. Instead, you allow him to do neither, slowly kissing his lips. He holds you, soft and close, and by the time you break apart, tears are shining in both of your eyes.
“I-I always knew you loved me,” he whispered, “but hearing you say it…”
“I’ll say it all day if you want me to. I’m sorry it’s so late. I was such an idiot.”
“Hey,” he pecks your cheek, smiling sweetly. “You’re not an idiot. You’re a sweet, beautiful girl and I’m so, so happy to call you mine.”
You nuzzle your nose with his, giggling at his cheesiness.
“So,” he drawls, gently drawing out of you, “since there’s another chair over there"—you follow his gaze to the other end of the room where a black chair with silver legs is turned over by a wall of cardboard boxes—"how about we go with your previous idea and actually play Musical Chairs?”
You laugh and he stands, walks a few steps and lowers you to your feet.
“Naked Musical Chairs?” you muse.
Chanyeol chuckles, playfully squeezing your breast. “You bet. And we’re only going to use sex songs.”
“And the first one to lose has to give the other a lap dance?”
Chanyeol laughs, heartily. “That’s the most brilliant idea I’ve heard in a while. You’re on, but I call picking the first song.”
“Go ahead.”
He saunters over to his pants lying on the ground and gropes through the pockets, digging free his phone.

“I’ll hit ‘Shuffle’ to make things more interesting.”

A few seconds of silence is swallowed by the melodic snapping of an R&B number.
You quirk an eyebrow. “Neighbors Know My Name by Trey Songz?”
“Damn it,” Chanyeol huffs, looking defeated. “This song always gets me going.”
You giggle, curling a finger to command him forward. “Guess you’re going to owe me a lap dance, pretty boy.”
Chanyeol playfully charges towards you, smashing his lips against yours. You chuckle into his mouth as he rocks his hips into you, moving to blow raspberries along your neck. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Practicing. I wanna give you a good lap dance, baby.”
You laugh, shaking your head as Chanyeol continues grinding his hips in the air, looking more like a loose spaghetti noodle caught in the wind than a sensual dancer.
But you still love him.
And isn’t that all that matters?


Originally posted by yeollovemebaek

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I can’t tell you how often the line “I eat a ham sandwich alone in my office nook” pops into my head

one of the saddest things is hanging out with my mom and her friends and watching grown ass, 45-50 year old woman order child-sized portions at restaurants and cut their food into tiny pieces and pick at a fucking SIDE SALAD and talk about gaining weight as they get older, making half-hearted, insecure-toned jokes about their figure. it makes me so sad.
why are we telling older women they aren’t allowed to age as people do? why are we pushing diet culture on women who have bore children and raised them to adulthood and taught them how to eat properly?
i just wanna tell them it’s okay to eat enough for a grown woman. it doesn’t make u a bad person if you gain a little pudge around your middle when you’re pushing 60. i’m sad now thinking about this