bring the sting

Whenever I see your picture or hear people talk about you, my breath always catches in my throat and I’m struck by this painful twinge that twists my sides and brings the stinging of tears to back of my eyes.
It’s the thought of you being happy and living your life… imagining you laughing and joking with other people that hurts… Don’t get me wrong – I still care for you and the thought of you being happy makes me happy… but at the same time it makes me sad. Because… life goes on, or at least it did for you and being confronted with your happiness makes me feel like I made no difference to your life… as if there was never any point in me being in it at all. You were happy before you met me and you’re still the same happy person now even though I’m gone.
I know it’s foolish to wish I had meant more to you… that my absence would change your world or have some sort of lasting impact so I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that the day we said goodbye wasn’t devastating enough to make the world stop turning for you…
Not like it did for me.

the-viking-god-of-awesome  asked:

I know bees don't sting unless you go messing with them, and I certainly try to avoid ticking them off and try to live with then peacefully. But I also know that accidents happen from time to time, so I was wondering if you know some good home remedies for bee stings

Great question! For sure, it happens.

For non-serious stings, there’s a bunch of great remedies.


Honey is great for wound healing, pain as well as itching. To do so, apply a bit of honey to the area, cover it with a loose bandage and leave it there for up to an hour.

Baking soda

Baking soda paste made with water is great to neutralize the bee venom, because yes, bee venom is acidic on the pH scale! This will help with the pain, itching and swelling. Apply a thick layer to the area, cover with a bandage and leave it there for 15 minutes. Re-apply when necessary. 


For some reason, toothpaste is a great helper for bee stings. Dab a bit on the affected area!

Meat tenderizer

Papain, an enzyme in meat tenderizer, apparently helps break down the protein that causes pain and itching. A solution of one part meat tenderizer, four parts water will simply do the trick. Apply for up to 30 minutes. 

Wet aspirin tablet

Very popular! Helps reduce the pain and swelling, also helps with wasp stings. Do it with ice though.

Herbs and oils

These herbs are great to heal wounds:

Hope this helped! And remember, if it gets serious, make sure you contact a doctor.

your color || joshua

Originally posted by mehness

pairing: joshua hong x reader insert

genre: mostly fluff, some soft angst, soulmate!au

word count: just over 11k

sypnosis: an au in which you’re born colorblind, but as you grow up and fall in love with your soulmates (can be friends, lovers and even family), you’ll begin to see new colors one by one. green is the last color you can’t see until you meet joshua. i found this au idea somewhere, so it’s not mine, but i can’t remember where i got it n i dont have it saved !!

notes: hnG IM FREE! wow this was a long, wild ride and i wanna d*e every time i think abt it. anyway, this was originally meant to be finished on @starshua‘s birthday, n here i am…. posting it over a month later :”) anyway i hope u enjoy it little foot i worked Hard even tho it’s a mess, n happy belated birthday !! also tagging @shuvee, another shua enthusiast !

“So, one more soulmate, huh? Are you sure?”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Lance who doesn't show up for training and when *paladin of your choice* shows up to find him he's throwing up in the bathroom

Borrowing a little bit of past experience with this one… Sorry I’ve been so MIA, it’s been a long summer.

Lance’s stomach is tied in knots. He’d spent the past four hours trying to will away nausea, sweat soaking through his sleep shirt from the stress. Everything feels so hot and stinging, even the fabric of his clothing feels like it’s made of needles, stabbing him at every nerve ending. His head pounds throughout the night, and he isn’t sure he slept so much as he probably lost consciousness at various intervals.

But the burn within his gut seems to be the worst. Everything is in a strange haze, which Lance has felt before. He’s sure it’s a fever, and it’s not even his first one in space. But to feel the stabbing, twisting feeling in his stomach, he almost wants to cry. It takes Lance nearly an hour to will himself out of bed, trying to repeat to himself that he won’t throw up, he can’t get sick–he just needs water, and to sleep. Maybe a painkiller or three. It doesn’t work, and he can only slowly kick at his sheets until the fabric stops restricting his legs. He doesn’t stand up so much as he rolls out of the bed, crawling his way towards his bathroom.

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Taming The Brat

Okay so I was supposed to be finishing that Kookie request this weekend, and I’ve actually gotten pretty far into (it’s getting long in length *lol*) but I kept getting distracted by this Jaebum smut idea, probably all the fun research and sexual virgin tension proving difficult. Anyway I couldn’t get this idea out of my head so in the end I decided just to write it and get it out of my system so I can focus on the Jungkook smut and his innocent lady friend (for some reason I struggle to write an innocent girl, who woulda thunk?)

Small warning, this is probably the roughest and longest (I think) thing I’ve written so far (I still think it’s pretty tame in comparison to some but yeah, definitely the roughest I’ve written) and is basically a D/s AU that relates quite heavily to themes of masochism, so if that’s not your thing I really wouldn’t read this.

Genre: angst/smut - D/s!AU/BarOwner!AU
Requested: NO
Warnings: NSFW, alotta swearing, very minor slut shaming (like, twice?) BDSM/Masochism themes. Breath play. Not sure how rough but it’s the roughest thing I’ve written as of yet. Can’t think of anything else.

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.5.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7 | Pt.8 | Pt.9.1 | Pt.9.2 | Pt.10

Originally posted by msmichellec

~ gif is a little too playful for the content but I like it, so…  The photo tho, I’m adding because add some rips in them Jeans and its pretty much how I was imagining him… Obviously feel free to picture whichever era you prefer ~

Envy is an affliction I suffer from often, it always has been, ever since I was young. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child, growing up spoilt with an endless supply of love and affection. Or maybe I’m just a natural born attention seeker, and I would have always been this way, whether or not I’d had a sibling to steal some of my spotlight. I’m just a wickedly envious person at heart, and I know that my Master is all too aware of that fact, so why my reaction to his news comes as a surprise is beyond my imagination.

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m agreeing to this, Im Jaebum!” I’m practically snarling as I stop my frantic pacing a few feet from where he leans against his desk. I stand with my arms folded, my nails digging into my palms, my hip jutting to the side in defiance. Everything about my body language screams bad attitude, and though this isn’t an uncommon occurrence for us, my bratty behaviour is normally performed with a playful air and a desired punishment in mind. Not tonight though, tonight I’m just plain livid.

Keep reading

Show Me Who’s Boss

Request: “Can you write a credence smut with like thigh riding ??” + “Can you write another fic where credence is really sensitive to touch and its kinda smutty? Thx”

Pairing: Credence Barebone x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k


Ice and fire, a mingling of contradictory feelings arising from your attentive touch. Cold where your hands pressed against his arm, and hot when the subsequent heat flowed around the area, his blood itself pooling to the area your fingers caressed. You were just talking, smiling and chatting away with Queenie while you thoughtlessly stroked his arm, your voice drowned out by the loud alarm sounding off in Credence’s head.

It was as if time slowed whenever you connected physically with him, your eyes fluttering in slurred motions, your lips parting with gentle breath. It was like watching a calm beach shore while in the eye of a storm, his entire body shifting towards you while you stood there innocently, continuing your affectionate subterfuge. Because he knew you knew what you were doing to him, he felt in the calculated way your fingers drifted purposefully across his veins, tickling them in such a featherlight way that it made him shiver. Each darting glance at the boy was only to confirm that you were driving him mad, each subtle airy sigh and lip bite dutifully noted by Credence while his tunnel vision focused on you.

Keep reading

Beast (Pt. 3/3)

Request: Hey love! Can i get a Derek Hale smut where the reader and him are married and they have like kitchen smut which leads to table smut and bed smut and shower smut? THANKS

Character: Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: Very smutty, Language, and SMUT!!!!

Part one:

Part two

AU Note: I cannot thank all of you for how much support I am receiving on my writings/edits. All of my followers mean the absolute world to me and i would never trade this for anything. I love you all. Thank you for the support!!

His fingers knotted into my stringy hair as I took him in fully my hands scratching as his chest. He groaned at the marks, my nails sliding with the water. I stared up at him while my tongue worked wonders under his shaft. If we weren’t in the shower I could have sworn he was drooling. His happy trail hit my nose as he moved, my reflexes relaxing with each hit. He shuddered letting himself go as I sucked him clean, some of the ejaculation going down the drain. I licked my way up, making sure to take extra long when it came to his abs.

He hissed yanking me up, his lips capturing my tongue and sucking on it all the while he gripped onto my ass, kneading the softness. I broke away from him, turning my body around and pressing it into him signaling I was ready. He muttered dirty nothings into my ear while he entered me. I couldn’t stop myself from clenching the entire time, his movements halting to adjust. He loved it when I clenched, something about it always turning him on more so than ever.

Now the real Derek came out. He wrapped his left hand into my hair, while his right pushed my back down, hands automatically going out to touch the tiles. He then let the power consume him going faster than I ever felt him do before. I instantly screamed my throat going rasped as he senselessly fucked into me.

“Yes princess fuck yes let it out. Tell Alpha just how much you want this cock.” He yelled, his claws raking down my spine, the sting bringing tears to my eyes. I couldn’t speak I was so raw. It felt so vulnerable as I let him take his way with me. We’ve been married for five years yet I have never seen this side of him. How….?

Unaware of what was going on, I felt him pull out my body being yanked by my hair. I let out a mewl my legs numb from his force. He picked me up and slammed me against the wall, a dent forming. Gasping I took his face in my hands kissing all over as he rammed back into me, my teeth scraping over his ear. My body kept lurching forward as he smashed into me, never giving way.

“Alpha holy fuck, I’m not gonna make it.” I cried his body going faster at the  mention of his title. He looked into my eyes, the blue almost blinding. I don’t think I ever came so hard as I did right then and there my eyes blurring. His true call came out, the seed warming my insides as he scraped the wall, claws ripping tiles. I don’t remember passing out but I do remember waking up in the bed, Derek’s equally naked form wrapped around me. I guess he could sense I was awake because his arms got a little tighter, and his face grew a little darker.

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, his voice thick with panic. Now that he had mentioned it I was feeling a tad sore.

“Just a little sore. Why? Afraid you broke me?” I giggled my form sitting up to stretch. That’s when I saw it. My entire body was either purple, red or normal. I was covered in cuts and bite marks. I traced them with my index finger the feel making me clench with good feelings. I turned back to him and he was glaring out the window, hands behind his head and jaw set in a pissed off way. Confused I reached over to touch his face and he flinched, expecting me to hit him.

“Der what’s the matter?” I worriedly asked my body turning to sit on top of his. He looked up at me then his eyes menacing and dull. Gripping onto his chest, I leaned down further my breasts freeing from the sheet. His nostrils flared as he tried not to act on his instincts.

“Please stop acting like this. Stop making me look like a savior when all I am is a monster. I got too carried away and you are all marked up. Fuck why did you let me do this? Why didn’t you stop me?” He babbled pushing himself closer to the headboard, so he was sitting up. I couldn’t let the words he wanted to hear fall from my lips, because they just weren’t true.

“Derek you did absolutely nothing wrong to me. If anything I was surprised you held that back from me and we’ve been married how long? It was everything that I craved from you and if you ask me that was the best sex we have ever had.” I blushed, eyes watching my fingers the delicate pads tracing over his chest. He snatched my hands making me involuntarily look up at him. His eyes were searching. Fighting with himself on if he truly believed you.

“Do you mean it..mean that I didn’t hurt you? I loved that you had an a blast, I mean I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy myself more. But i cannot fathom how much pain i caused you.” He looked truly wounded and it ached your heart. Scooting closer to him you kissed his lips, the tenderness he carried making your chest heave more.

“Derek Hale if you do not stop right now. You could never hurt me and I asked for it anyways don’t you remember? I am the one who said the words, you merely acted upon them. So yes I would love if it happened again and no I am not hurt.” I stated my eyes closed and my lips ghosting over his. He closed the gap, my hands snaking up to his hair.

“I cannot get enough of you, fuck.” He mumbled, fingers twisting at my sides. I just sank into his arms, as he took me once more.

You used to call me your bumble bee because I always called you honey. It was the only word I couldn’t imagine her calling you. You were her baby and my honey; I wonder if you were someone elses sweetheart.

I was never something permanent to you, just something you liked but never really wanted to live with. Nobody wants a beehive in their back yard, nobody wants a girl who can’t stay in one place, nobody wants to bring home a girl who stings everything she touches. I wasn’t the girl you brought home but my venom poisoning your relationship, but you had an Epi-Pen. You didn’t know it would kill me every time you got stung.

I always called you honey but i think you were not only the honey, but the bee too. I guess that’s kind of messed up to say because honey is really just bee vomit, but maybe that makes it even more fitting. I told you everything. But I don’t think i ever told you was that my mom cheated on my dad, and i used to write the other man hate mail; always hoping that maybe next time I would have the courage to send them. Albert Bandura has a theory that states what you see as a kid, you become. I guess what I’m trying to say is I wonder if she writes me letters too.

You are, sorry, were my honey and my bumble bee. I’m not really sure if I should write this in past or present tense. Anyways, I guess that’s kind of messed up to say because someone in this equation always ends up getting stung. My dads allergic to bee’s and even though kids usually grow out of it, they say it’s genetic. What I’m trying to say is that every time I was with you it was so hard to breathe, and every time you left I was exhausted- maybe this is because I was holding my breath trying not to say the wrong thing, trying not to tell you to leave her. Maybe it was because keeping up with the lies you told her tired me out. I guess what I’m trying to say it that I’m not sure if it hurts more getting stung, or the aftermath.

You were my honey. I guess that’s the problem. Someone always ends up getting stuck. I’m sorry that it had to be me. Part of me is stuck in your sweet and stickiness, I’m not ready to leave. The rest of me knows that there is not enough room for the three of us in this hive.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to be your honey anymore but I’m not sure quite how I should let my heart know.

The hardest part of this wasn’t trying to sort through our memories for the best one which would make this fucked up situation pretty. It wasn’t revisiting the text messages your girlfriend sent me. It wasn’t remembering the way you used to touch me. The hardest part of writing you this was trying to figure out of it should be a love letter, hate mail, or an apology.

You are the honey to my bee and I guess thats kind of messed up to say because I never even liked honey before you. The strangest part of this is that I like honey now, so much so my lips often crave it. I bet hers do too. I wonder who you crave, or are we both just hives caging you from someone else.

—  The Beekeeper by Heather Vance

Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter
Warnings: alcohol

“Thanks.” Draco Malfoy nods at the bartender, whom had just slid a glass of firewhiskey his way. His fingers wrap around the beverage before he brings it to his lips, feeling the slightly soothing burn as it glides down his throat.


Draco feels frozen in place. His eyes stay glued to the alcohol quivering in his cup as he struggles to swallow the massive lump in his throat. He knows that voice. And he doesn’t want to face the person behind it.

He decides to ignore it, hoping with every nerve in his body that he’ll give up and leave.

“Draco Malfoy.”

The use of his full name sends a shiver down Draco’s spine, and he’s left with no choice but to turn around. When he spins around on the bar seat, his eyes immediately fall on Harry Potter, who is standing wearing a leather jacket draped over a red flannel.

Draco’s blue eyes scan Harry’s body, taking in the sight of the boy he hadn’t seen in years. “Potter,” he breathes, more of a statement than a greeting.

He continues to stare, waiting for Harry to fidget - but he never does. That irritates Draco to his very core, as he has always liked having the upper hand.

“Well, if you’re not going to invite me to sit with you,” Harry says, finishing his thought by shrugging off his jacket and taking a seat directly to Draco’s right. The blonde boy sighs, swiveling back to face the bar. 

“For the record,” Draco says, before taking a large sip of his firewhiskey. “I didn’t invite you to sit down.”

Harry shoots him a sarcastic smile, his left eyebrow raised, before ordering a drink for himself.

“So, what are you doing here, by yourself?” Harry asks, sipping his cup.

Draco clenches his jaw, despising the way Potter asked that so naturally, and had managed not to sound intrusive. Prying his eyes from the remaining liquid in his glass, he glances at Harry, his eyes drifting to his brown curls. “I could ask you the same thing,” Draco responds, before downing the rest of his drink.

“Fair enough,” Harry says. His emerald eyes seem to drift over Draco’s face before he adds, “Let me buy you a refill.”

For the first time that night, the corners of Draco’s mouth curve into a small smile. “Are you hitting on me, Potter?”

Harry simply shrugs, and Draco can’t help but envy his complete confidence.

“What happened to the Weasel girl?” Draco asks, purely to push the Golden Boy’s buttons.

“You know, I don’t think you’re actually as bitter as you act,” Harry retorts, taking another sip of alcohol without tearing his eyes from Draco’s face.

“What?” Draco says, thrown off by the sudden comment and shift of topic. He furrows his eyebrows, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“I think this cold exterior you have is just a front you put up. You probably always have.”

Draco’s at a loss for words, and he can’t seem to get any sound past his throat. After stuttering for a bit and trying to hide the fact that Harry Potter might have seen directly through him, Draco turns back toward the bar and lets out a small sigh. 

“Ginny and I broke up, by the way. It was mutual.”

When Draco turns back to face him, he can see Harry’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows hard, looking down at the fingers on his right hand, which are fidgeting with his flannel sleeve.

Draco considers all the possible responses he could hurl back, but in the end he decides to go with: “I’ll take you up on your offer. For a refill.”

Harry grins.

A few drinks in, and the former enemies are laughing with each other as if they’d been close friends for years. 

The blonde boy peers at Harry’s right arm, which now sits bare on the table after Harry had rolled back both his sleeves.

The tattoo intrigues Draco, and he’s not sure why. It appears to be a large star, surrounded by smaller ones in a beautiful pattern that Draco could only dream of being able to draw.

“What does it mean?” he asks, nodding in the direction of the star, his pale fingers wrapped tightly around his third glass of firewhiskey.

“Oh,” Harry breathes, looking down at it himself. Draco can’t help but notice that Potter’s grin shrinks to almost half of what is was before. He’s about to apologize for asking, but Harry answers, “It’s Sirius. The largest star in the night sky,” he says, his smile growing again. “I got it for -”

“Your godfather.”

Harry looks at Draco as if he’s peering into something he’d never seen before. Draco squirms slightly in his seat, clearly overwhelmed by the intensity of Harry’s green gaze. “Yeah,” the brunette breathes, his eyes not faltering from Draco’s.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry leans back in his seat. “How about you, Malfoy?” he asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Any tattoos?”

Draco simply shakes his head, taking another sip from his drink. 

“So just that hole in your lip, then,” Harry says, twirling the ends of one of his curls with his fingertips.

Draco instinctively starts messing with his lip ring, sucking the cool metal into his mouth for a second. He notices Harry staring. 

“What was it, a spontaneous act of rebellion?”

It sounds odd to hear the word rebellion used like that by someone who was the center of an entire war. The right side of Draco’s mouth turns up into a smirk. “Sure.”

Really, he had been absolutely hammered the night he got the piercing, as a result of a disagreement with his father. But the next morning, he didn’t exactly hate the way it looked.

“It seems like we’ve both changed, don’t you think?” Harry says, tracing his right index finger along the rim of his empty glass. 

Draco looks at him; his lips part. He shakes his head and says, “I don’t think so.”

Draco Malfoy isn’t quite sure how he ended up kissing Harry Potter inside of a cluttered broom cupboard, but he didn’t exactly resist it.

He can taste the alcohol residing on the Golden Boy’s soft lips; enjoys the pungent taste as he threads his pale fingers through Harry’s brown curls. 

Draco can feel Harry’s steady hands on his neck, his chest, his waist. He smiles into their kiss, a smile that he never in a million years thought would arise.

His fingers move to trace the ink covering Harry’s veins, just as the other boy finds Draco’s lip ring. There happens to be a broom handle poking Draco’s lower back, but he couldn’t care in the slightest.

Harry breaks away for a spilt second. “Do you want to-”

“Yes,” Draco whispers, just desperate enough to make Harry crash his mouth back onto his.

It really doesn’t matter what the question was.

The following morning, sunlight leaks through the curtains as Draco wakes up in his bed, white cotton sheets wrapped around his torso and a fresh magenta mark curved underneath the skin of his jaw.

He wakes up in his empty bed. 

Draco’s hand flies to his forehead; his fingers trace small circles to keep himself calm. He wonders if it was all a dream. A random, incoherent dream where he’d slept with -

“You’re awake,” Harry says from the doorway. 

Draco’s blue eyes dart in his direction, and he tries to convince himself that Harry Potter is really leaning against his bedroom door frame, holding two steaming mugs in his hands.

Draco can’t help but recognize his own sweatpants, hung dangerously low on Harry’s hips. 

Draco’s speechless.

Harry carefully walks over, watching the liquid in the cups so he won’t spill. The mattress curves downward next to Draco as Harry sits, saying, “I didn’t know if you like coffee or tea in the morning, so I made both.”

The grin on Draco’s face stretches for miles. He wonders again if this is a dream, but the aroma of the coffee he takes from Harry’s warm hand is far too rich and vivid for Draco to be unconscious.

“Thanks,” Draco says, before taking a long sip of the coffee. Harry smiles in response and raises the mug of tea to his lips.

“So I was thinking,” Harry says, as Draco glances up at the brown mess of hair atop his head.

“That can’t be good,” Draco says quickly, before Harry can finish. Harry dramatically rolls his eyes as Draco takes a second sip of the hot beverage.

“I want to ask you out on a date.”

Draco nearly chokes on his coffee, and it brings a sharp sting to his nose.

“What?” Harry asks. “Why is that so hard to picture?”

Draco clears his throat. “It’s not,” he reassures, biting his lower lip. “You just caught me off guard.”

Harry flashes that golden grin, gripping the cup of tea near his lap. “Are you scared, Malfoy?”

Draco smiles, raising his eyebrows. “You wish.”

hi guys!! i’m so sorry i’ve been gone for a little while. i’ve been super busy. i really missed writing on here!!
p.s. i hit 2k followers today and I just want to say thank you all for taking the time to read the words that spew out of my brain :))

HOME || 02

Originally posted by jeonwuu

pairing: lee chan x reader insert (ft. seventeen members)

genre: angst, fluff, post apocalyptic!au

word count: 5,171

notes: here it is friends !! i hope ur prepared for……… for… well ig you’ll just see but YES i’m proud 2 present this long-awaited(ishy) chapter!! i hope u enjoy it, nd pleasepleaseplease don’t hesitate to send me ur thoughts on it <3<3

chapter 01 (to be continued)


“If everything suddenly just ended, what would you do?”

Keep reading


i’ll come back to you, i promise // peter parker

summary ; a series of imagines (can be read individually too) that correlate with my headcanon of ‘dating peter parker would include’.

 in which y/n worries incessantly about peter when he’s gone, but, he will always come back to her. [170817]

warnings ; a little bit angsty (if you squint)

word count ; 1.2k


stay safe + ily 🍃

Ever since the day Peter told you about his powers, you hadn’t slept soundly. There was always an incessant, unrelenting thought looming over every crevice of your mind that one day, your boyfriend will go out there to keep the city safe and from harm but instead, he’ll end up being the one unsafe and harmed and unable to come home.

It was always there, taunting you ruthlessly and bringing the sting of threatening tears to your eyes as you over-thought every little thing: every bump on the rooftops, every thumps and thuds from outside your window, every ping that emitted from your phone. 

You sit awake at night, eyeing your open window through blurry vision, just waiting for the day when Peter falls clumsily through the aperture - injuries too serious for your makeshift first aid kit and some Advil to fix. Or, waiting for the day when he doesn’t fall through your window at all, and you never see him again.

You’ve voiced your worries to him many times. Usually, it was when he was clambering out your window and onto your fire exit clad in his tight, red and blue suit. And as you called for him to be safe, he’d glance over his shoulder and immediately perceive the apprehension and anxiety painted like an uneasy picture across your features. 

“(Y/N),” He’d sigh, bringing the foot firmly placed on the metal floor of the outside exit back in through the window and making his way back to where you stood, fearful and jittery.

“I-I know, I know,” You’d nod your head; the two of you had already had this conversation numerous times that you knew you didn’t need to have it again. It was simple; no amount of comforting and assuring words spilling from his lips would calm or reassure the worry and concern whisking through your being like a tormenting tornado.

Despite your distressed repetition of words, Peter would advance and gently take your cheeks between his two hands, tenderly tilting your face so you’d look into his dark chocolate eyes, “I’ll be okay,” He’d mutter out, conviction flooding his tone as you brought your hands up, lightly clasping his wrists in your hands.

A barely audible sigh would slip from your lips, but you’d nodded your head again nevertheless. The attentive, endearing eye contact spoke a million words and you’d know that there was nothing you could say or do that would stop him from leaving. 

He didn’t necessarily love what he did, but it was his responsibility. It helped people. It kept people safe; especially you and Aunt May. It was his job to protect you and the woman who raised him, so putting himself in imminent danger was nothing compared to what he’d feel if he didn’t put himself in imminent danger and therefore, put you in imminent danger by not removing threats. 

“When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t… And then the bad things happen… They happen because of you.” He’d always say, and you’d argue against that. It wasn’t his job to protect the entire city. He was only fifteen. He shouldn’t have to have the weight of that burden dragging him down. But, just like how nothing could aid the worry inside of you, nothing could prevent him from doing what he did. You’d support him and his decisions completely, nonetheless. 

You’d tug his hands away from your face slightly, tipping your face to the side and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the delicate skin of his wrist. “Okay…” You’d whisper as he’d observe your pure action with soft eyes and a swelled heart adequate with adoration. 

How’d he get so lucky? He’d think, then intertwine his fingers with yours, both hands engulfing yours. Then, he’d close the space between the two of you by pressing his lips to yours, sighing against your lips in utter content and bliss and letting his emotions flood through at the gentle touch.

The faint sound of sirens in the distance would indicate that Peter had to leave, and you’d gradually pull away. But not before soaking in the last few moments of his attention and affection - eyes closed, foreheads resting on one another’s, the ghost of each other’s breath passing in journey and tingling the other’s lips.

“I’ll come back to you,” He’d murmur reassuringly, coaxing your (y/e/c) eyes open but the close, intimate proximity would remain, “I promise.”

Drawing back, he’d head for the window once more as you wordlessly watched him go. Nothing else needed to be pronounced or spoken, the euphoric and enamoured aura glowing within your warm, cosy room saying it all. Balancing easily on the balcony rail, he’d give you one last affectionate smile and you’d return it before he’d shoot the web toward the nearest building to his left - letting it launch his body surprisingly coordinately to the flat rooftop adjacent to your home.

Trust is the firm belief in the reliability, truth, or ability of someone or something. And you believe that trusting someone is hard. Trusting someone so fully that even though you worry incessantly to the point where you make yourself sick and your mind constantly conjures up worst case scenarios, a few reassuring words and ensuring actions could make all those worries dwindle away temporarily (they would never fully go away, you cared too much about Peter, and this was a consequence), you believe that’s even more difficult - if not, near impossible. 

And as you lay in bed on another one of those nights, your bleary eyes focusing on the open window and your mind racing with negative thoughts - barely perceiving the curtains swaying unrhythmically in the gentle breeze or the lively noise of the city below your apartment building - you have to remind yourself of those words.

“I’ll come back to you, I promise.”

And despite your mind cruelly conjuring up all the ways that Peter would be putting himself in danger and all the things that could go horribly wrong, you find yourself reaching for that trust that you thought was near impossible to reach and putting it in him. Because if he promises that he’ll come back to you, then you believe that he will. He’s never let you down, has he? No, he hasn’t. 

With that, you take your tired eyes away from the window, turn around under the mass of warm covers and let yourself drift away into a well-needed state of unconsciousness - knowing that when you wake up, Peter will be there, and you have no doubt about it.


anonymous asked:

Prompt: 12, 32, and 47 all at once, if that's allowable.

12: Things you said when you thought I was asleep
32: Things you said I wouldn’t understand
47: Things you said in a hotel room

It’s the third night of our stay in New York when you truly open your heart to me. Unfortunately, you’re laboring under the misapprehension that I’m asleep.  I didn’t mean to trick you.  It’s important that I make that clear.  

The case is still buzzing around in my brain, and you must know by now that when I enter my Mind Palace it often looks as though I’m sleeping. By the time I realize what you’re trying to tell me I’m too afraid that you will be embarrassed by the realization that I heard every word.  So I lie still, and I let you speak.

I think, by the time I am aware of your voice, you have already been speaking for some time.  I’m afraid, you say, and it’s barely a whisper, but the words are what tug me back into reality, back into this bed until I am once again aware of the warmth of your body behind mine, cradling me to your chest.  For a moment, my breath catches, and I’m seconds away from asking for clarification when you go on.

“It’s always been difficult for me.  This sort of thing.”

The words echo a memory from long ago.  A train car, flashing lights and snake-like cords, me on my knees, begging for your forgiveness.  I know, I said then, and I had known.  You have never been comfortable with the complexities of emotion.  Especially where I am concerned.

A light touch of your lips to my bare shoulder brings with it a brief stinging sensation, and it takes me a moment to remember that your teeth sank into my skin just there only a few hours before.  Heat spikes low in my belly, but I suppress the shudder that longs to ripple through me.  Now is clearly not the time, not with you pouring your heart into my skin.

“It isn’t fair of me,” you say, and your voice is a murmur, your breath hot against my flesh.  “I know that.  But I don’t know how to make you understand why I need this from you.”

Need what, John?  I long to put voice to the words; they pull at me, strain my vocal chords, but I keep them in check because I fear I will startle you if I speak now.

You sigh, and there are so many things hiding in that sound that I wish I could understand.  “You see everything.  I’m sure you already know.  I’m sure it’s written all over my face every time I look at you, every time I kiss you or touch you or make love to you.  I’m just being selfish, waiting for you to say it first.”

It takes all of my self-control not to gasp.  It’s in this moment that I understand; you think I’m asleep.  You think I can’t hear your earnest words, that I am a slumbering confessional that will never reveal your secrets.  If I tell you that I’m not, will you be angry?  Will you run away from me?  

You don’t have to hide from me, John.

“I don’t know how to read you, Sherlock,” you say, and now you sound sad, broken, desperate.  It cleaves into my heart, and I ache to kiss you. “Sometimes you look at me, and I think I can see it hiding behind that gleam in your eyes or resting in the curve of your lips.  And I’ve almost said it so many times.  I almost said it earlier tonight when you fell apart under my hands.  But I–I’m scared because…”  You take a deep breath, and your hair tickles my back as you press your forehead to my spine.  “Once I say it I won’t be able to stop, Sherlock.  I won’t be able to keep from telling you that I–I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you; that I’ve been aching for you every day for seven years.  And that’s too much, isn’t it?  It’s too much to say so soon.  We’ve only been…this for a couple of months.”

John, we’ve been this for seven years.  Your pain works its way into my blood, into my bones; it dampens my eyes and trembles in my lip.

Another sigh, deeper and resigned.  Another kiss, this time to the nape of my neck.  “I’m sorry that I can’t be brave.  I’m sorry that I’m wasting so much time when we’ve already lost so much of it.  I’m sorry that–that I’m too damaged to put myself in your hands without you doing it first.  Please forgive me, Sherlock.”

There isn’t anything to forgive.  I love you, John, I love you, it’s okay, I’ve loved you always.

I don’t say it.  I don’t want you to know that I’ve heard you.  You think you’re the selfish one, but you’re wrong.  You bared your soul, and I am too cowardly to tell you that you bared mine, too.

But I will.  I’ll tell you tomorrow, John.  I’ll wake you in the morning with the words pressed against your ear.  I love you, I’ll whisper.  And maybe you’ll know, then, that I heard.  Maybe you’ll know, but I think it will be okay because you’ll tell me you love me, too.  

And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?


When a honeybee dies inside of her hive, her sisters will remove her and place her outside. This naturally deceased little worker bee has been immortalized in a locket on a bed of moss. Her wings are covered in real gold leaf. The honeybee does so much for me, but all I could do for her was to give her a pretty resting place. She can be your companion if you’d like, and promises not to sting. Bring her home here.

anonymous asked:

What do you think would cause Maggie to have a red moment as a top? (just an answer is fine, unless you want to fic this; I would not complain!)

It’s her job to monitor Alex’s color; her job to put her fingers on Alex’s palm and make sure she squeezes before continuing; to make sure, that as Alex’s is cuffed and blindfolded and naked underneath her, her hand clamping Alex’s mouth closed, quiet, that Alex wants everything, wants more, wants it all, wants her.

It’s her job to make sure Alex is good, at every single moment.

And she takes her job very seriously.

But Alex is strong and Alex likes it rough, so when Maggie is buried inside her, ragged breath and hard thrusts, she feels Alex’s muffled screaming in her palm and she glances up, to where Alex’s hands are cuffed above her head, to make sure, to make sure, to make sure.

Because she takes her job very seriously.

But so does Alex, and Alex’s job – at the DEO, anyway – is pain, and Alex doesn’t notice that she’s writhing so hard in the cuffs that her skin is getting red, that her skin is starting to tear, that her skin is starting to bleed.

Maggie’s heart lurches and Maggie is dizzy and Maggie stops moving immediately and Alex whines and Alex begs and Alex pleads and Alex moans, because she thinks Maggie’s teasing her, she thinks Maggie just needs her to show her what a good girl she is, how she deserves to be fucked really good and just like that, but Alex freezes when she hears Maggie panting out, “Red, red, red.”

“It’s okay, babe, I’m okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Alex streams out in a single breath, because Maggie’s hand is gone from her mouth now and she’s shaking above her and she’s apologizing over and over and Alex can’t tell what for but she knows she wants to hold her, to hold her, to hold her, to let Maggie hold her, so she offers up her hands, her wrists, so they can be unlocked, so they can be free to sooth through Maggie’s hair and stroke her cheeks and hold her, soothe her, love her.

And that’s when she sees the red marks the cuffs have made with the force of her writhing, and that’s when she sees Maggie’s fingers tremble as they work at the lock, and that’s when she sees Maggie’s eyes water as she brings her lips to Alex’s stinging skin, and that’s when she realizes why Maggie’s color went red.

“Babe, you didn’t hurt me, I’m good, I’m okay, you didn’t hurt me, it doesn’t hurt,” Alex repeats, kissing Maggie’s forehead as Maggie worries over her wrists.

“You told me you were okay and it didn’t hurt last time you got shot in the field,” Maggie protests, and it would be funny if her voice weren’t so shredded with tears, with worry, with fear.

“Hey, hey, hey, this isn’t that. We’re not in the field, we’re at home. I’m in your bed. Your very, very comfortable, but not as comfortable as mine and I don’t know why you keep insisting we sleep here bed.”

“Your room doesn’t even have a door, Danvers – “ Maggie stops her spluttering when she sees Alex’s smile, and her eyes water again.

“You’re okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

Alex glances at her wrists and grins wickedly. “I’m pretty sure I did this to myself. You did warn me not to move, after all.”

Her voice drops and Maggie’s breath hitches and Alex strokes her hair, her cheeks, her jawline.

“I know you’d never hurt me, Maggie. I’m good. I promise. Okay?”

Maggie nods and kisses her softly before gathering her into her arms. Alex melts into her embrace and Maggie needs to make sure one more time.

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Mags. I love how you look out for me. So much.”

Maggie smiles and presses a kiss to Alex’s hair. “Good then, Danvers. Because I’m always gonna look out for you.”

“Sounds perfect to me.”