It’s never worth it for little Miss Perfect.
It’s never worth it for little Miss Perfect.
Just started my fourth Dean Winchester playlist.
What? Don’t loook at me like that.
It’s not my fault he’s such a mood.
i’m driving us both to the seven-eleven in my car that i borrowed from my dad. we’re getting slushies and arguing about the best flavor. “blue raspberry’s the best,” you say. i shake my head. you’re wrong. it’s cherry.
we’re sitting in the parking lot and watching the cars pull in and the kids walk out and the kids walk in and the cars pull out. and the lights up there are flickering all around your head and if i squint my eyes it almost looks like a halo. we’re looking up at the stars and searching for a rogue shooting star but we keep blinking and missing it.
we’re sitting there and we’re talking about anything and everything we can come up with because if we stop talking one of us will have to leave. and we’re pretending for a little while that we could stay here forever. it’s just you and me and our little haven and that’s it.
we sit, and we talk, and then we laugh and laugh and laugh, the sugar coursing through our veins, and it’s perfect for a while. but there’s still that weird ache in my chest, the one that refuses to go away no matter what i try. it’s funny. it always gets worse because of you.
your teeth are stained blue from the slushie. i know this because you’re grinning at me.
your hands are stained blue from your cup. it must’ve dripped out at some point. (keep the ache in. don’t let it drip.) your hair will be sticky later. you’re swiping it out of your face with your sugar-sticky hands.
it hurts. all of it hurts, and yet, i never want to leave.
you are the most beautiful person i have ever laid eyes on
i just have a lot of feelings about perciver okay
Solangelo Hanahaki Disease AU
Word Count: 8,621
Rating: Teen and Up ( for language)
Read on AO3!
It started with a petal, just one.
Nico shot up in his bed, Tartarus itself lingering behind his eyes even when he was faced with just his empty cabin. It felt like he was still choking on the river phlegethon but wait, no, he was actually choking. He was heaving, his throat closing around something as he clutched at his chest. Sharp coughs were racking him, his chest tightening painfully and he thought that maybe he was dying. Panic was filling his chest, he was terrified that he was still in the pit. That the cabin around him was an illusion, a trick of the mind, another torture of Tartarus. Nico was taking gasping breaths and coughing and suddenly he was tumbling out of his bed. Even as he could barely breathe, he was clambering toward his door and ripping it open, moonlight pouring into the cabin. He was desperately trying to prove to himself that he hadn’t somehow been dragged back down, that he was still at Camp Half-Blood, still safe.
He raised his hands to his face as he crumpled to his knees, coughing and coughing and coughing. Nico could taste blood in his mouth, metallic and sharp on his tongue and his lungs were burning. He was gagging at this point, nearly vomiting as it felt like his windpipe was battling between climbing out or closing entirely. And then he coughed something into his hand, something that left a sweet flavor beneath all the blood. He sucked in a shuddering breath and looked at his palm, where a single, blood-coated petal lay, a yellow edge peeking out.
‘Is that a fucking sunflower?’ he thought, ‘What kind of sick joke is this?’
Jimin was never the type to obsess over omega’s scents, until he kept getting the whiff of one off his friend Hoseok.
He couldn’t stop thinking about who the omega could be but Hoseok was keeping his lips sealed - which only made Jimin more curious.
don’t forget to leave kudos & comments on the work!
Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Reader [First Person Narrator]
Word Count: 5.9K
Summary: It’s just supposed to be a regular Saturday night at the bar. When Steve comes to pick you up, like he normally does, things don’t exactly end up the way you expect.
Warnings: my own interpretation of A/B/O dynamics (no smut), cursing (like lots of bad language words), very mild angst, kissing, romantic fluff. Minors do not interact (18+).
A/N: Congratulations, Georgie (@bonkywobble), for getting 500 followers! You’re so amazing and such a great friend. This is the first challenge I’ve participated in, and it was so fun. I can’t wait to see what the other participants write. 💜 I’m not gonna lie, this one fought with me, but I like where it ended up.
I love feedback, so go ahead and like & reblog if you want. Do not copy, rewrite, translate or post my work anywhere. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on this or any other website (I cross-post to my AO3 account).
Title from “Build Me Up Buttercup” by The Foundations
This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.
all i want is to have a little farm with my partner n be happy little cottagecore bitches together >:(
laying in bed with a weighted blanket on me, surrounded by plushies n listening to our songs. god i’m feeling touch starved </3
Pairing: Harry Styles x OC (Jolie Kane)
Summary: One step forward, five steps back.
Warning: angst, language, definite smut stuff; don’t read this if you’re under 18+ I’d hate to block you
Read Part i here.
He knows he should be doing anything else. Literally anything else. Sleeping, drinking more (okay, maybe not that), trying to stuff his stomach with bread and water. Running. Puking. Crying in the shower.
But he’s not.
No, he’s sitting on the edge on his bed at four in the fuckin’ morning, dick in one hand and a Polaroid of his ex-girlfriend in the other. He found the photo in his medicine drawer, on the hunt for aspirin and instead of a pill bottle, his fingers grabbed a small photograph.
when someone asks why i read slow burn fanfic
The love men share for each other is so divine and beautiful… to hold a man in your arms and kiss every inch of him is so sacred…
Read the latest chapter of I’ll Be Your Shelter here.
Here’s a teaser:
Geralt made a disgusted noise. “I didn’t need your help.”
For the first time, he could smell the ash and bitter charcoal of the guide’s anger fill the air like the warmth of a fire against his skin. The guide’s eyes furrowed into a scowl that rivaled Geralt’s own. He sat up, skin pebbling with the chilly morning breeze and Geralt did not think about why he felt the need to offer his shirt.
“Yes, I’m sure big strong sentinels like yourself don’t need anyone’s help–especially not from washed out guides. My mistake.” Sarcasm dripped from every bitten off word.
The Witcher gritted his teeth in a barely smothered snarl, enunciating each syllable. “I never asked for your help.”
“No, I was just the asshole who decided to help anyway.”
For a moment, they just glared at each other. The air between them was choked with the sharp smells of Jaskier’s disappointment, anger, and a myriad of emotions that Geralt didn’t care to identify. He took a breath, trying to get control of his anger and the guilt that he wasn’t sure came from him or the guide.
Forcing his tone to remain even, he tried to school himself into something close to civility. “What do you want from me?”
“A ‘thank you’ would suffice.” Jaskier crossed his arms over his lean chest, a challenge in his blue eyes.
I wish to rub the pads of my thumbs across your cheeks the way my fingers slide across the pages of old books. Delicate and soft.
hope nobody did this yet but here’s an all-time favorite:
Nikolai and Zoya’s morning routines are like clockwork. She wakes him with a drop of stimulant. He makes a witty quip. Neither of them acknowledge what’s between them.
So when Zoya shows up late, it’s reasonable to assume that nothing else will go as planned.