A dating service where matching is based on people’s search history exists. You’re a serial killer. You go on a date with a writer.

Serial Killer: metaphorically, if you were to kill someone, how would you do it?

Writer: Air shot between the toes, it’ll look like a heart attack.

Serial Killer who is obviously in love already: *sucks in a breath* ok

Writer: how long would it take to die if you were to potentially stab someone in the guts

Serial killer: anywhere from 2 to 30 minutes

Writer, already bringing a ring out: *shaking* thanks

A++ addition

Writer: *shows the serial killer the murder scene they’re writing* babe, i’m not sure if this would actually work?

Serial killer: *kisses writer on the forehead and leaves, comes back later, a suspicious scent of blood coming off them* it works baby, you’re doing great

I LOVE THIS

Oh no, murder comedy is my jam

I love this, I love all of this, but quick question, does the author know? Like are they aware that their significant other is a serial killer or do they just think that they have a morbid sense of humor? It’d be even funnier if the author had no fucking clue, like how Aurthur Conan Doyle was apparently stupidly gullible, and on top of it they’re a horror or crime novelist. Like the serial killer works at a butcher shop or something so it’s completely normal for them to come home smelling like blood, no murders going on here, no sirey. Just my darling coming back home from a long day at work.

Now fast forward a bit and the author has managed to get their first book published, with loving support from the serial killer who helped them fine tune all the murder scenes, and it’s a big hit. Enough so that a detective with the local police department has noticed some disturbing similarities to several active cases, including details that were never released to the press. Obviously he brings this up to his superior and convinces him that there’s something to the theory, but it’s all circumstantial right now. He stakes out the author’s home and is super convinced that the author is the murderer, but they don’t seem to do anything??? Like they literally are at the house all day, that’s it. Most they do is leave for groceries.

So you get this dynamic of the serial killer mining the author for creative murder schemes, the author being lovingly encouraged by the serial killer, and finally the detective who is just so sure that the author is the killer and that if he sticks it out long enough he’ll FINALLY have proof.

Plot twist, The serial killer and detective use to go out so it gets sub what personal. 

“You need to stop seeing them. I think they are a serial killer.”

Serial killer breaths in. “Look-”

…perfect

I don’t like actual murder mysteries, but this is perfect

THE ORIGINAL POST HOW DID I GET SO LUCKY

Oh my god I would watch/read the hell out of this shit

atsumu is so funny because he likes to be cocky and all that but he’s genuinely just such a fucking dweeb like he makes little faces when he finds things cool and desperately needs to be praised. he’d probably pass away if you just gave him a compliment like he’s just so immature but it’s so cute cause he’s being so genuine. like he is Just Like That. i love him

he is so stupid like he would flirt with you and say something abhorrent and you would get to watch the life drain out of his eyes. like he would look you in the face and go “i’ll knock the coins out of your pussy like mario” and you would literally see him die inside.

@mintmatcha why would you hide this in the tags fkdnfb

you're improving. you're recovering. i know it takes a whole lot of mental effort to fight your thoughts everyday but eventually it will get easier. it will become a habit, i promise.

Whenever you feel like you need time for youeself to breathe, to heal, to simply be, you should allow yourself to take that time, my love. Your mind and body need the rest, the recharge, the stillness. And if you find yourself feeling guilty towards your loved ones for taking time away from them, remember: It doesn't mean that you love them less, it simply means that you are giving yourself permission to love yourself a little more.

i think sometimes it's really important to recognize your limits. while it's great to try and always push yourself to be better and push your limits, it's also super easy to get burnt out by doing so. recognize your limits. some days you will have the energy to push past them, and some days you won't—that's okay! it's important to find a balance between pushing yourself while also allowing yourself rest.

symphony ⇀ l.m.h.

➤ when you ask your enemy out on a date, the last thing you’d expect is for him to say yes. turns out, minho needs your help as much as you need his

➤ lee minho x gender neutral reader; fluff and angst, enemies-to-lovers, fake dating, a bit of a college au, implied nsfw content but nothing explicit. some mentions of vomiting but again nothing explicit

➤ 15.7k words

➤ a/n: i’m actually quite happy with how this turned out. feel free to leave feedback as always!

Minho has never been a morning person.

His mind is laced with post-sleep fog, and he has to rub his eyes to get them to open fully. There’s sunlight streaming in from the window, way too bright for his eyes to process this soon after waking up. His face scrunches up. His eyes close.

Minho extends his arms, stretching under the covers in an effort to wake himself up more. He rolls to his side so he’s not facing direct sunlight and opens his eyes a second time.

There’s a girl in bed with him.

Keep reading

symphony ⇀ l.m.h.

➤ when you ask your enemy out on a date, the last thing you’d expect is for him to say yes. turns out, minho needs your help as much as you need his

➤ lee minho x gender neutral reader; fluff and angst, enemies-to-lovers, fake dating, a bit of a college au, implied nsfw content but nothing explicit. some mentions of vomiting but again nothing explicit

➤ 15.7k words

➤ a/n: i’m actually quite happy with how this turned out. feel free to leave feedback as always!

Minho has never been a morning person.

His mind is laced with post-sleep fog, and he has to rub his eyes to get them to open fully. There’s sunlight streaming in from the window, way too bright for his eyes to process this soon after waking up. His face scrunches up. His eyes close.

Minho extends his arms, stretching under the covers in an effort to wake himself up more. He rolls to his side so he’s not facing direct sunlight and opens his eyes a second time.

There’s a girl in bed with him.

Keep reading

sign me up (as yours) ; j.s

6 + 5 + 8 + Johnny

So I got a bit carried away for this drabble, but it was such a pleasure to write and I feel oddly proud of it. Thank you to @wooqzi and @neo-cultures for proof reading and @suhweetdreams for the request! I hope this is okay x

Request here

-

You vowed to yourself that this would be the last time you would do business with Johnny Suh.

Your custom dress was too tight, pinching around the waist so that even the tiniest drop of alcohol sat heavy in your stomach. Not that you were allowed to drink, the contract explicitly stated getting drunk at social events was a no-go.

So you scowl into your glass of water. Where was your boyfriend, anyway? A quick scan of the room found him in the midst of a conversation with a few middle-aged men and women who, by the looks of it, were wrapped around his finger.

That was one of the things that Johnny Suh was so good at and what had made him so successful. He was a lethal concoction of charisma, brains and looks, and everyone who fell into his path- including you -had succumbed to his charms.

It was initially meant to be a one-time thing: he needed a date to a charity gala to get the press off his back and you, recently unemployed, had stumbled right at his feet one night in a bar. Yet here you were, six months later, trying to smother the adoring smile that grew on your face as you watched him skillfully extract the trade deal he needed from the crowd. 

You were in too deep, which is why this needed to end.

As if he’d heard you, his eyes found yours from across the room and the smile that blooms on his face makes butterflies erupt from your stomach and a rosy blush dusts your cheeks.

“Babe,” within moments he was by your side, head dipping down to press a kiss to the crown of your head and hand slipping to your waist to splay across your lower back. Then, in a lower voice, he leans closer to your ear.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Hardly,” you snort into your water, finishing the glass and pressing it into his chest, which he took from you and placed on the tray of a nearby waiter. “How long till we can leave?”

“Just let me finish up then we can go home,” he smiles fondly down at you, fingers intertwining with yours before he gently leads you across the room while hunting for his next target.

We. 

At the start, it had been you and him. Boss and client. Money and transfer. Now the payment was a hushed whisper barely touched upon by you both, ignored in favour of late mornings spent in his apartment curled up in each other and watching some corny movie, or trips out to fancy restaurants when you were able to catch him on a break.

“Is this the girl I hear so much about?” A beautiful lady drew your attention back to the present as she held out her hand for you to shake. You plastered on your award-winning smile and shook it gently.

“Lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she beams, glancing between you and Johnny. “I always thought Mr Suh was too busy for a sweetheart, but I’m glad to see him happy. You compliment each other very nicely, I must say.”

“Thank you,” Johnny squeezes your hand but you can’t bear to reciprocate. These people feed into your delusions because they only see the tip of the iceberg, this front you put up. You so want to agree with them, but you know it’s all fake.

Your thoughts consume you for the whole evening and you don’t realise Johnny’s noticed until he’s bidding the ladies goodbye and curling his hand around your waist, leading you to the car.

“Where to, Sir?” Taeil, the driver, glances in the mirror as Johnny settles in the back with you, leaning over to help you put on your seatbelt. His cologne hits your senses and you have to turn to the window to stop yourself from leaning into him, scared you’ll reveal too much.

“Home, please,” Johnny answers, voice soft and quiet. The ride is spent in silence with you looking out the window and trying to count how many buildings you pass by. Occasionally, you feel Johnny glancing at you, probably looking to start a conversation. But you never turn to him, because you know if you do you’ll break and he’ll see everything.

“Do you have a spare change of clothes?” You ask him gently, once you get to the apartment. “This dress is a bit tight.”

“Is it? Shit,” he frowns before tugging you into the bedroom. “You should have said something, I would have had it altered.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” you reply, thanking him as he hands you a top and some sweatpants. Then you go to his bathroom to get changed, staring at yourself in the mirror, face dressed up to the nines with your expensive highlighter and golden bronzer, while your eyes hold a certain type of heartbreak to them, tears ready to fall down.

You had to end it now.

When you come out Johnny is already on the bed, jacket flung on the floor as he flips through the channels trying to find something to watch. He pats the side of the bed without looking at you, an invitation for you to join.

“Johnny,” you murmur, watching him turn to face you. He seems to know something is up because he turns off the television and stands up, regarding you cautiously.

“Is something wrong?” He asks gently, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “You’ve been off all night and you weren’t talking in the car.”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him. “But… we need to talk.”

“Oh God,” he blurts out instantly, face crumpling into worry, and you have to stop yourself from snorting because there is no way one of the richest men in Seoul is having a mental breakdown over those four little words.

He waits for you to carry on while you try to piece together your words. But talking has never been your strong suit, so you blurt it all out at once.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

You watch as he takes in what you say, confusion and then understanding painting his face.

“You don’t want to fake date anymore? Why?” His voice is oddly small for such a tall man.

“It’s just not working,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I need to get a job, a stable source of money. And this isn’t exactly… healthy.”

“What do you mean by ‘healthy’?” He queries, coming closer. “And if it’s the money that bothers you I don’t mind negotiating. If you want a job, I’m fine with that.” He reaches for you at the same moment you back up and the hurt on his face makes you look away.

“I don’t need to explain,” you say to yourself more than him.

“No, you do.” In one fluid movement, he surges forward and takes your hands in his, towering over you. “We’ve been doing this for six months, Y/N, six months. I think I deserve an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” You snap, trying to tug away.

“What’s up?” To your annoyance (or relief) he no longer looks sad and instead is sporting a small smile. “Why are you so upset?”

“Johnny, if you don’t let go I’m going to-”

“Is it because you like me?” You freeze, watching in horror as his smile grows. “Are you in love with me?”

“Are you dumb?” You stammer out, finally twisting out of his grip and pacing to the other side of the room. It doesn’t matter because he follows you with childlike glee on his face. Does he enjoy tormenting you? “Why the hell would I be in love with you? This is a contract. A contract.”

“Is it?” He lowers his voice like he did in the car and you still as he comes closer, hands drifting to settle on your hips. “I don’t think we’re pretending anymore, Y/N. You don’t need to try and fool me.”

Your purse your lips and grind your teeth against one another as you lean your forehead against his chest, trying to keep the tears at bay, because it’s all over. He knows.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, hand coming to lift up your chin while the other circles around your waist. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“Liar,” he giggles, hand resting on the side of your face while he wipes your tears away with his thumb. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You have to keep down an angry sob. “Are you seriously going to do me like this, Johnny?!”

You feel his chest vibrate as he throws his head back laughs at your hysterics, before he returns to you and connects your foreheads, brushing your noses together.

“You silly girl,” he murmurs, “we’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Y/N,” his eyes briefly meet yours, shining as bright as the 18th-century chandelier you’d been standing under less than an hour ago, before he leans forward and connects your lips while you try not to smile through your tears.

-

[you may want to turn up your volume for a better experience xoxo]

for anyone needing some comfort right now <3 hope this helps! x

yooo im kinda back kinda not *finger guns*

There may be people in your life who have let you down. You may have tried so hard, only to be cast aside. It will hurt. A lot. You may fall down once. Twice. Ten times. But, you will not stay down. You will pick yourself back up again and hold your head high. You are still yourself, an absolutely wonderful individual. Remember, no one can or will ever take that away from you. -N.A

Scent of spring | h.js

was this inspired by jisung’s recent solo after crying over it for an hour and not being able to do anything until i get this out of my head? No, not really.

a blurb, 400+ words, a teaspoon of angst but another teaspoon of fluff, if you may. 

All it took was 5 seconds.

Five.

I was mindlessly walking down the busy street, 6pm and the crowd was busy commuting between their office to their home. Home. That got me thinking. Sure, I have a house and I live with a group of people I’ve considered family by now. But a “home”? I wouldn’t really consider living with a bunch of dudes my age as “home”, honestly.

Four.

Sighing, I avoided another man’s shoulder as he rush down the street, a phone to his ear as he told the person on the other line that he’d be there in 5 minutes. Probably not with the current traffic. But then again, at least he has a destination to head to. All of these people do. Do you? I asked myself. No, not really.

Three.

Pulling onto my headphone, I look up ahead not wanting to bump into another person again, and that was when I spot you. Brown hair, just like any other person in the crowd. Yet somehow my eyes zeroed on you.

Two.

Still seems kind of funny to me, but it felt like the crowd of people parted as I slowly take another step forward, another step towards you. You were smiling at a kid that you passed by, and I gasped as I felt the emptiness in my heart slowly dissipate and instead a feeling of warmth replaced it. What is this feeling? You looked straight ahead and that was when our eyes met. Oh.

One.

Spring. It was the feeling of spring, the feeling of a single flower slowly blooming into my heart. The feeling was so foreign, so new… yet I knew that I can’t let you out of my sight. It felt as if this small, budding flower inside my heart would wilt if you leave right that instant.

What’s your name? Taking in a breath as I take another step towards you. It seems like you’ve read my thoughts, and stopped in the middle of the street, a soft smile appeared on your face, your eyes showing nothing but warmth, tenderness, and also home. Where are you from?

Angry passerby was throwing you dirty glares as they walk past you, all for blocking their path to head home. Instead of acknowledging those passerby, you tilted your head slightly and a tiny raise of your eyebrows, as if you’re trying to say,

“Hello, stranger.”

showtime | b.c

blurb. idk how many words. lowkey inspired by Disney’s Starstruck. Superstar!Chris x Non-fan!Reader

a.n: it has been so long since i’ve written ANYTHING at all, but do enjoy. If i have any commitment, I might do a full shot of this. But for now, enjoy!

“We would never work. You’re you, and i’m... me.” he said, his voice turning softer as he finishes his sentence after realising the mistake in his words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice was defensive and as Chan reach out for her, she took a step back. The smile on her face drop, her gaze changes from the usual, loving gaze to... cold. protected. hurt. And Chan knew he was the cause of it.

But he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk on exposing her to the public. It could only hurt her, and that was the last thing Chan wanted to do. He’ll do everything he can to protect her from those, even if it means hurting her this way.

She’ll hate me, and she’ll forget me easier this way. It’s better for both of us, Chan convinces himself. It has only been a few days of knowing her, but Chan knew he’d risk it all for her.

“Come on, y/n... you know what I mean.” Chan sighed. As much as he wanted to pull her into his arms, he knew better. The paparazzi could find them anytime now, considering how they weren’t far behind. Even if the paparazzi aren’t here, it could take him only so long to fool the public with this disguise. “You need to forget that this day, and the past few days ever happened. You can’t tell anyone about it, not even your parents. Just-“ Chan let out a sigh, his eyes cautious behind those glasses as he notices the glances given from passerby. They’re gonna start realising who I am soon, and i need to get y/n out of here before anyone notices her too!

Already feeling wounded by his words, y/n couldn’t help but take his sigh wrongly. Taking another step back, she scoffed, raising both of her hands as an act of surrender. “Alright! I get it. Forget about this, forget about you. Considering how i’m just a ‘normal’ girl, no one would have believed me either way if I told them I hung out with The Chris Bang, right?” Her fingers mockingly quote the word ‘normal’ as she speaks, her voice full of venom as tears start to pool around her eyes.

And as much as Chan was hurt by her words, he knew he asked for this. This was exactly what he wanted. For the best of both of us, he chanted repeatedly in his head.

“Whatever Chris.” Y/N specifically emphasised on his name, especially after Chan insisted she should call him by his real name, Chan, after claiming that they’re ‘friends’. “Enjoy your superstar life, I hope I’ll never cross path with you again. Goodbye.”

With that as her final word, she turn around to leave him alone, tears slowly falling down her face as she furiously try to wipe it away. “Asshole.” she muttered softly. I was so foolish thinking he’d be any different.

Eyes never leaving your slowly disappearing figure, Chan realise how... empty his heart felt. and that his cheek was wet. Taking off his shades to wipe away his tears, he heard a gasp coming from somewhere near him, and he knew it’s back to being Chris Bang.

“Chris, is that you?” A voice called out, and as he take one last glance to where she walked to, her figure could no longer be spotted. Taking in a deep breathe, Chan puts on his award winning smile before turning towards the fan, flashing his dimpled smile. Showtime.

do you ever get in those moods where you don’t feel like reading and you don’t feel like being on the internet and you don’t feel like watching a show and you don’t feel like sleeping and you don’t feel like existing in general

Oh my god the power when you just do not care anymore

Sue Zhao // Nothing but Strawberries

... for getting through the days, you didn't think you would get through. for completing tasks, you didn't think you could do at all. for taking steps forward, when you thought you couldn't walk anymore.

you are stronger and braver than you realise. give yourself credit for that bravery. you deserve it ✨