lmfao sorry this is so terrible

Three Seems To Be A Lucky Number

Okay, my sweets, in the grand old tradition of my writing history, I have nervously returned with a completely random sort of Drabble and I would just like to say in advance, I am so sorry that this is what I decided to return with, lmfao, fml. Idek, I just wanted to write something cliched and typical, and I’ve been taking my inspiration where I can get it, so I hope it isn’t as terrible as I worry it might be ^^

♡Lil’ Disclaimer♡
Genre: Smut/Fluff/AU/Might as well be a Drabble for me (less that 5k words)
Requested: My apologies, no.
Warnings: possibly crude smut, other than that, I can’t think of anything. This is a very, very tame one for me ^^)

Originally posted by grape-joon

Originally posted by jeonify

“Just five more push ups, and you’re free to do whatever you want for the rest of the night, I promise…“ It sounds like a nice compromise, I know it does.
But that doesn’t mean it actually is, or that it’s a manageable feat. Which it is not.
What my boyfriend, the guy whose currently playing the role of my drill sergeant, can’t seem to accept, is that my core strength happens to be nonexistent. There is no way I’m doing even one more push up. It’s a miracle I made it to the first five, let alone the even ten this torturer is insisting I achieve. What more does this guy even want from me?
I mean, to me, five seems like a nice solid number. Why try for more?
"Jeon, I really don’t think I can,” I whine, without a hint of grace. My arms feel limp, and I’m not sure my brain can convince my muscles to tense up enough to lift my upper body, even if I wanted to.
“What if I buy you ice cream, is that incentive enough for you?” He offers, quite literally sweetening the deal but I’m still not sure it’s enough, and to be quite frank I just don’t wanna.
Honestly why my lazy ass thought it would be a good idea to date a personal trainer is beyond me. Three months in, and I finally see it was a stupid idea.
“Stop sulking. You asked me to do this remember?” He reminds me, unnecessarily.
I do remember, unfortunately.

Keep reading


spark -- epilogue: forever hold your peace

// zippo // dust // love’s light wings // silver heart // forever hold your peace //

lmfao this is short and terrible im so sorry but here’s the ending

oh yeah @sage-the-empress came up with the ending so go bother her if you want

“How do I look?” Baz stood in front of the mirror, examining his slicked back hair and straightening out his bow tie.

“You look fine, Brother,” Mordelia said exasperatedly. “Hurry up. You’re going to be late.”

Baz brushed off some more nonexistent dust and took a deep breath. “I – okay. Yeah. I’m ready.”

He turned to leave, but Mordelia caught his arm. “Hey,” she said quietly.


“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He slipped out of her grip and walked away before she could reply.

Mordelia sighed. “Oh, Baz…”

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Simon grinned frenetically. (Always grinning.) He wore a well-fitting, black suit. (Very well fitting indeed.) (Baz had helped him pick it out.) He bounced up and down on his feet.

“Stop fidgeting,” Baz scolded gently. “You’re messing up your hair.” He reached up and pushed his curls away from his face. (So soft.)

“Right. Right,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Are you nervous?” Baz asked. Are you happy? He wanted to ask.

“Nervous? No! Of course not.” He laughed anxiously. “I’m nervous as hell, Baz. I slept for maybe half an hour last night. At best.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said softly. You’re perfect, he wanted to say.

“I… Thanks.” Simon smiled. “You’re a great friend, Baz. You’re the best best man I could ever hope for. I’m glad I met you.”

“Me too,” Baz replied. His chest ached.

I love you.

Her name was Nina. Or Nomi. Or Natalie. He couldn’t remember. (That was a lie.) (Of course he could remember.) (He would remember her name for the rest of his life.)

She had melted chocolate hair, knife cheekbones and apple red lips.

And she looked stunning draped in white. Of course she did.

She walked up the aisle, arm and arm with her father, her long wedding train slipping smoothly over the rose petals scattered on the ground by the flower girl. (She was a tiny thing, only six years old.) (A cousin on the bride’s side.)

Simon smiled nervously.

This is it, Baz thought.

This is really happening.

He barely remembered the ceremony.

Everything flowed together. It felt like a dream.

It had to be a dream.

The pastor took a deep breath.

“Now, should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

A sudden silence cut through the air.

The world around Baz blurred and spun.

Except for one thing.

Blue eyes.

Bronze hair.

“Simon,” he whispered.

A surprised murmur flew through the crowd.

And slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he turned around.