Jesus Girl I Love Your Writing Style

Jesus girl I love your writing style 😍

my heart just did this thing where it did a couple somersaults, stumbled, then melted. seriously, thank you so much, darling. it makes me so happy to hear you enjoy something that brings me such joy ❤️

Just wanted to tell you that I loved Saccharine Sunshine and you are amazing at writing

you are the absolute sweetest for dropping this message into my inbox. it makes me so happy to hear you enjoyed that particular story. thank you so, so much for reading, darling! 

Hey!! How have you been? Umm ❤💋👀💌 please? Have a productive day ahead!!

i’m feeling all of those positive, productive vibes, love. god knows i need them, haha!

x

❤ - How would you describe the purest form of love?

Soft susurrations that tickle your ear. Fingers brushing against the gossamer tulle of her skirt. Tender kisses that stain your shoulder blade. Open-mouth kisses that leave you dizzy for days. Nails scratching your scalp as you breathe in the oceanic crash of the other’s heartbeat. Tailored tweed hanging heavy on your shoulders as a chill latches onto your cheeks. Running then jumping then grasping onto the other, nose buried into their neck - they smell of fresh linen, warm vanilla, your favorite cologne you bought them for their birthday three years ago. Jokes that melt into laughter then giggles then gazes then longing then lust then love until you’re kissing and touching and drowning in desire.

And dare I say Eskimo kisses.

💋 - Which do you like better: Forehead kisses or holding hands?Why don’t I tell you what I love about each?

Forehead kisses are tender to the touch and leave you feeling light on your feet. They suffuse your head with sweet nothings and spilled ink from the letters Mr. Darcy writes at his desk while peering out at the hills that tumble along the ribs of Pemberley Estate.

Holding hands is a way of showing the world you are committed, not possessive. Knuckles knotted like a promise and silky thumbprints stroking the back of your hand. The mere touch is a  reminder that they are here and you are not alone and you’re grounded to the Earth - to them.

👀 - Name three things that you look for in a romantic partner.1. Passion

2. Empathy  

3. Intellect

💌 - How would you begin and end a love letter?Who would have thought life would let fate slip away from us like that.

I love you. I love you so much. I just wish I had told you so at least once.

ask me romantic questions 🌹

✿ send this to 10 other bloggers that you think are wonderful. keep the game going, make someone smile! ✿

aw, you won! you made me smile :) thank you so much, darling. you're the sweetest ♡

Hi hello can I know about your dream date to the art museum?

We’re swimming in a Van Gogh daydream, in colors and acrylics and tear-stained canvases. All is still as we stroll through each room, hand in hand, in awe of the art as the art admires us.

The cuff of his navy blazer tickles the roadmap of my veins. A threadbare camera strap hangs languidly from his neck. I’m wearing my favorite burgundy combat boots, the ones with scuffed soles and frayed laces. He’s wearing a pair of battered Brogues, cognac and patent leather and a little worn around the toes. His footsteps reverberate off the walls, across my ribcage, through my veins.

After we’ve seen all there is to see indoors, we sit in the gardens and sketch the sculptures lining the walls. He uses the charcoal stub he always carries around in his pocket to capture the perpetual smile of an elegant stone statue. The day is sunny, sweet, and slow. Gritty saccharine and sticky honey melting down the slope of my shoulder blades. It’s not quite summer, but the season is near. The air is warm, but not quite parched. His lips are chapped, but taste like sugar.

We leave the museum, and he takes me to the park across the street. I packed a small picnic in my bag - cherries, strawberries, saltine crackers, cheese, a baguette from the baker’s, a bottle of San Pellegrino and a tin can full of the chocolate chip cookies I baked the other day for two minutes too long.

We’re living in a Monet reverie, in pastels and brushstrokes and blushing waterlilies.

And everything - his hands, his lips, his lazy grin - is bliss.

Draco Malfoy x Reader

❝He fits his fingers to her hips, and it feels like fourth year all over again. With frost clinging to her hair and petals falling from her lips and a kiss - sweet, sweet, sweet - pressing against the corner of his mouth because she’d missed his cheek, but he doesn’t believe that was an accident, no.

❝Not entirely. ❞