that word is so overrated


“We talked about it [about marriage]. I think, both me and Marzia, kinda feel like when we want to, we will, but we’re still young…we’re still beautiful. What’s the rush? You keep seeing these young couples getting married way too soon, you know, and it all goes to the shitter. You want that to happen? Is that what you want? Don’t think so….so until then…shut the fuck up” [x]


Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warnings: All the Fluff. It’s straight up fluff!

Word count: 1600-ish

Summary: Not all stories are written with words. Some are written in silences.

A/N: this is for @supernatural-jackles ’s birthday challenge. 

Happy Birthday Darling!! If you are not following Jen, let me tell you, you are making the biggest ever! She is awesome. I hope you have you have a birthday as amazing as you babe <3 I love you!

beta’d by the talented @thing-you-do-with-that-thing. Thank you for doing this on such a short notice, Kari. *attack hugs* Thank you for putting up with me!

Originally posted by thejabberwock

Words were overrated, Dean thought as he watched her arranging and rearranging the books on the shelf. She had been going at it for hours, organizing all the books according to her catalogue, then giving a derogatory grunt and pulling them all out. She would then sit cross legged on the floor and re-design the catalogue before starting all over again. Dean couldn’t help but let his eyes wander, taking in her beautiful form, the graceful arch of her neck, and the inherent beauty of her smile. The library had remained a mess all day long, but Dean always found a way to be a company to her, silently.

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Alone In This Hotel Room

I recommend listening to From The Dining Table- Harry Styles while reading this.


It’s been weeks, but he can’t seem to come back to that apartment you used to share. It had too many memories and he was sensitive right now. Woke up alone in this hotel room. He was tired. His eyes were burning but the sun was up and he couldn’t sit around hoping you would come to him anymore. So he didn’t sit around, he drank.

Fell back asleep, I got drunk by noon. Another shot when down with ease. He was too far gone to feel the burn in his throat anymore. After his second bottle ran out, he figured he’d do the hotel a favor and stop drinking all of their liquor.

He sighs as his back sinks into the quilt covered bed. It was too quiet in his room. His mind was racing, mostly from the booze, but it was too quiet and he needed noise to drown out the sounds of silence. I’ve never felt less cool.

We haven’t spoke since you went away. His fingers couldn’t control themselves as he scrolled through the pictures on his phone. They were of you. Ones you took while he was in the shower, ones where your head peaked in from the corner and he was off guard. There were some he knew he could never delete. The ones where you were on a date and he’d hold your hand and you’d blush. Or his favorite one, he brought you to dinner at a restaurant where he had to wear a tux and you had to wear a dress, quite fancy, even for him. In the beginning he couldn’t stop staring at you and you’d stare back at him, a smile immediately creeping up to your face. You both couldn’t take it anymore so you shyly laughed and looked away, with now blushing cheeks. You’d been too caught up in looking at the menu, you hadn’t noticed a phone being pulled from his pocket.

He nudged your hand and you looked up, glancing down at the phone. Your eyebrows knit together but it quickly vanished when he said the three little words for the first time.

“I love you”. You smiled. You blushed. You squealed, and he had the thread of pictures to prove it. He laughed as he took the pictures too, seeing how your face went red and how you tried to hide it by covering your cheeks.

You didn’t have the chance to say it back because the waiter had just come to take your order and he continued like nothing had happened. He ended up ordering for you because you forgot what you wanted and when you finally figured it out you were a stumbling mess.

Before he can try to get himself out of it, his fingers are typing away. He’s sending her a text, not sure what it will say yet but he’s trying to tell her how he feels. Telling her how much he misses her laugh and the way her dimples seemed to get deeper every time she smiled. How she manages to look good every morning, even when her hair is a mess. He’s telling her how even though he’s hurt right now a smile can’t help but creep up to his face at the thought of her. He looks back at what he wrote and all it says is, “I love you”.

We haven’t spoke since you went away, comfortable silence is so overrated

He ends up deleting it.

It’s too soon. Or maybe it’s too late. He’s not quite sure, maybe it’s because of the alcohol. Maybe a text isn’t the right way to fix this. So he does what any good boyfriend (now ex-boyfriend) would do. He calls her.

His thumb hovers over the call button. He got distracted looking at the contact photo, both of your cheeks smushed in by each other’s small hands. He wants to call her. He wants to hear her voice. Even if it goes to voicemail, hearing your voice is better than nothing but he can’t. Instead, he throws his phone across the room and buries his head under the pillows. Even my phone misses your call, by the way.

Another few days pass and he needs to get out of this hotel. He felt trapped, and the longer he stayed, the more sorrow he felt. So he left in the morning before they could charge him for another night.

The keys in his hand felt foreign compared to the hotel-room card they gave him. The drive back to the apartment was a nightmare. Of course the radio had to play the saddest songs on every station the one time he actually listened to music in the past few weeks. He drove in silence which was worse, but he couldn’t handle any music at the moment.

The walk up the steps might have been one of the worst impulsive decisions he had ever made. He figured the elevators would be too crowded for him, he’d get claustrophobic within the walls and adding people into the enclosed space was enough to persuade him to walk up multiple flights of steps.

The keys jiggled in his hand as he opened the door, ready to hide himself in his bed again. The day just started but he was already exhausted and honestly, he wanted another drink. He really wanted something else, but that’s all he could have right now, because you weren’t there.

His eyes droop as he throws his keys on the table that, too his luck, slide on to the floor. Combing back his hair in annoyance, he doesn’t bother to pick it up, just walks over to the middle of the room.

We haven’t spoke since you went away. His feet stop before his mind can process anything. He’s looking at you. You’re standing in his living room and he’s looking at you, speechless, because the girl he’s been wanting to come back into his life is finally here. Your hands fidget with the many rings decorating your fingers. That was one of the many reasons he loved your hands. They were small and soft and he would often call them “cute”. But the rings were the best part about them.

Comfortable silence is so overrated. Neither of you said a word. He was enjoying your presence and trying to take in the moment just in case you ran out without telling him why you were here in the first place. You were noticing things about him. Like how his hair got longer since you last saw him and how he looked so strong and so fragile at the same time.

Why won’t you ever say what you want to say. He was waiting for you to say something, anything. He wanted to tell you that he missed you. That he was a wreck without you. But most importantly, he wanted to hear those words from you. He wanted to hear you say that you loved him and the break from each other killed you inside. But he didn’t. The silence was making him anxious but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so he waited.

Even my phone misses your call, by the way. She smiles at him and his hands shake because the sun just entered the room. He always thought her smile made the room seem brighter and it did, it was a fact. His heart doesn’t feel heavy in his chest anymore. It takes every fiber of him not to grab your face between his hands and kiss you and tell you how much you mean to him. No, he doesn’t say that but he does choose to be the first one to speak. He doesn’t know how the next minute will go so instead of pouring out his emotions all at once with the chance of him being embarrassed, he says the first non-overly-lovey thing he can think of.



A/N: Story about any person or character you want it to be about. I tried my best to keep it without names.

anonymous asked:

Beyonce is overrated.

But you came onto a beyonce blog, clicked anon then sent me this 3 worded bs, so clearly she’s on your mind. Overrated? Bwahahaha. That’s why yesterday we celebrated the 1 year anniversary of her 132 date SOLD OUT world tour

Demons and Sleepovers

Inspired by:

(Th3 post about drunk girls and their cute shenanigans.)

On AO3 // On

The party had been going on for hours now, and all the young women at the sorority sleepover party were at that pleasant stage of drunk where everything seemed brilliant.

Which was the major reason why they were daring each other to try out the summon Bridget had been given when she’d been accepted into the Cult of Dippingsauce. The other women didn’t believe that any demon could be friendly, and, well, Bridget was drunk enough that proving them wrong about this particular demon by calling him up seemed like a wonderful idea.

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