i love and fear his gaze because he stares into your soul and eats it up

Send My Love (To Your New Lover) - Part 2

Summary of Part 1:  You come home to find Baekhyun has been unfaithful, which you expected, but what no one expected is your reaction.

Part 2: Requested (by many lovely people):  Hi! I know that this is probably a longshot, but I wanted to request a sequel for Send My Love? That scenario left me aching, and I need closure. Lol. More angst of course, but can the reader find a new love interest? I just want Baek to squirm a lot for what he has done, and of course there should be a big dallop about his jealousy

So this was supposed to be a one shot, and as I said in Part 1, you can end it there. BUT if you need closure, here’s more to help satisfy your needs. 

Also I’m tagging these babes because they inspired this: @tousdae, @byunshim, and @imbaekhyunstrash <3 thanks loves 

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Coda

SPECIAL FEATURE ALERT: This is a reader-interactive fic, so in the box below, if you enter a name (yours or a character’s, for example), and click “submit”, it will swap out “Y/N” for that name. This feature does not work on dashboard/feed/mobile app unfortunately.

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Originally posted by porkdo-bi

Julie’s POV (Mistress) – One Month Later

The bed is empty when Julie wakes. It wasn’t a sound that woke her or a movement – it was the absence of it. The room is too still, too empty. She blinks groggily as she turns over to check the time on her phone. 5:12 AM. Always 5 AM, she thinks to herself tiredly. Like clockwork. Like Cinderella, except instead of a princess running away from the ball at midnight, it’s Baekhyun shuffling out of the house at the crack of dawn.

Sighing, she gives up on the idea of sleep and rolls out of bed, grabbing her bathrobe and the apartment keys on her way out.  

It’s a cool August morning when Julie steps out of the apartment complex, not quite cold but not warm either. She draws her robe tighter around her and pads down the sidewalk in her slippers, trying to push down the nagging sense of foreboding that’s been building in her chest for a while now. At the corner of the complex, she takes a left and follows the path into the courtyard. The leaves on the trees are just starting to curl at the ends as if drawing in on themselves from the coming cold, but she keeps her eyes on the path as she makes her way to the gazebo where a familiar silhouette stands, half-hidden.


A pang goes through Julie at the sight of him, and she steps onto the gazebo. He’s standing utterly still, a statue, leaning against the railing with his hand slightly extended as if reaching for something. His eyes are glazed.

“Baekhyun,” she says as she catches his hand. “Baek.” He’s still frozen, so she gently shakes him. Sometimes it takes a little bit of extra coaxing from her to pull him from his daze. He finally blinks, coming back to his senses, and he looks down at her with confusion that quickly gives way to understanding. Shame – and wretchedness.

“I was sleepwalking again,” he says. It’s not a question.

Julie tries for a reassuring smile. “But you didn’t yesterday, so that’s progress.”

“It’s not progress. None of this is progress. I don’t…I can’t…” His face is pale and his eyes are wide and glassy like an animal’s caught in headlights. Not terrified. Just…helpless. Resigned.

“Please,” Julie clutches at Baekhyun’s hand. “Please go see a doctor, jagiya. They can help you with whatever is going on. I know you won’t talk to me about it, but you have to talk to someone. You can’t live your life like this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Julie.”

“Baekhyun, don’t be stubborn. This has been going on for almost a month! This is a problem, but we can fix it—”

“I don’t want to fix it!” He yanks his hand away as he barks this out, but almost immediately after, the anger drains out of him and he slumps against the railing. His eyes have that vacant look again and he says once more, softly this time, “I don’t want to fix it.”

“Okay, baby,” Julie murmurs soothingly. Behind her calm voice though is a growing fear. If Baekhyun doesn’t try to get better, he’s only going to get worse – and she has no idea how to help him. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed, okay?” Hesitantly, she reaches for his hand, and this time he lets her lead him back to their apartment. When they make it back to the bedroom, Baekhyun just stares at the bed for a while before climbing in beside her. She turns to him, ready to curl up against his chest, but he faces the other way before she can do this.

Julie waits for him to fall asleep before she whispers, “I love you.” Because she can’t bear it if he doesn’t whisper it back. And she’s not sure anymore if he will.

The morning – well, the afternoon, really – brings the scent of coffee. It’s part of Julie’s ritual: wake up, brush teeth, toss some bread in the toaster, and brew coffee for herself and Baek. She twists her hair into a messy bun as she potters around the kitchen. Unbeknownst to Baekhyun, she has a plan. A plan to break him out of this drowning stupor and transform him back into the guy she fell in love with. The guy she broke all the rules for.

Apparently the smells from the kitchen are enough to rouse him because Baekhyun appears in the doorway, yawning. Julie pauses for a moment, distracted by the sight of him. His loose shirt and baggy pajama pants still can’t hide the hard lines of his sculpted frame, and she watches the way his body moves as he makes his way over to her. Even with his bedhead and dark circles, he’s breathtaking.

“Good morning, honey,” she pecks him on the cheek as he passes her to get to the coffee.

“Morning,” he says absently.

“Do you want me to make you an omelet? With chives and tomatoes and cheese? I know you like that.”

“That’s okay.” The clouds on his face clear for a moment as he offers her a smile, and Julie feels her breath catch. “Thank you though, Jules.” His appetite is still next to nonexistent.

“Anytime.” Plucking the toast from the toaster and placing them on two plates, Julie snags the butter from the fridge on her way to the table. Baekhyun joins her with the coffee, and they settle into comfortable silence as they eat.

That is, until she breaks it.

“So I was thinking…” Julie begins, trying not to feel discouraged by Baekhyun’s mental distance, “we should look at houses together.”

This catches his attention and he freezes with his toast halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he puts its down and meets her gaze. “What made you come to that decision?” he asks carefully.

Well, that wasn’t the response she was hoping for.

“I don’t know. This apartment seems so abandoned. Ever since Y/N left and took all her stuff with her, this place feels so impersonal, like a rest stop. Just somewhere to crash in between work and errands and all that.”

His shoulders have become rigid under his shirt. “Don’t talk about her, okay?” he says in a strained voice. The break up was hard on him, Julie knows this. There’s nothing Baekhyun hates more than hurting people, and he’s still probably feeling guilty.

She shrugs. “Okay. My point is, I want a home with you, Baek. I think maybe your soul is feeling restless, and building something new with me could help you find peace. You might even sleep through the night for once.”

He’s tearing his bread into smaller and smaller pieces as he considers this with a frown. “I just don’t know if I want to go house-hunting right now,” he finally admits. “I’m exhausted, and that sounds like an ordeal.”

“Or we can just do up this place.” Baekhyun still seems reluctant. “Come on, please?”

“Fine,” he groans, and Julie squeals, throwing her arms around him.

“Hurry up and finish your breakfast then.”

He glances at her apprehensively. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to the mall right after. And I’m driving.”

Baekhyun’s POV

The mall is packed. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and everyone and his mother are hanging out here. But then, it’s a small town and this is the only place to go.

Julie drags Baekhyun from store to store, and he struggles to keep up with her as she weaves easily through the clusters of shoppers, towing him in hand. His body feels heavy and clumsy from so many hours – so many nights of disturbed sleep, and his head is beginning to pound. But when Julie points out an intricate lamp or a patterned rug or a potted plant, looking for his opinion, Baekhyun does his best to show interest. Because this girl genuinely cares about him – and he cares about her too. Just not the way he cares about –

Stop. He shakes his head and grinds his teeth together. Don’t go there. Don’t think about her. But how can he not when every damn thing reminds him of her, of Y/N? The way the sun slants through the window of the bedroom they once shared – it used to slip through the blinds and fall directly on her face, and she would complain every morning to Baekhyun about this. But he never bought new curtains because he loved the way the light touched her soft features and made her into something celestial. The sound of rain against the roof of the car brings her to mind. The first time he kissed her – a real kiss, with his hands in her hair and her arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer – was in the car, and it had been pouring out. He can’t even bring himself to eat omelets anymore because that was her favorite breakfast food.

Julie is marveling at different ceramic figurines to liven up their living room when Baekhyun suddenly excuses himself to go to the bathroom. As he makes his way out of the Pottery Barn, he pulls his phone from his pocket. He needs to make a call.

The mall is thinning out now. Baekhyun and Julie have been here for a few hours, and people are starting to trickle out. He’s on his way back from the bathroom, trying to remember how to get back to the Pottery Barn, when something catches his attention. A familiar sound, like the tinkling of wind chimes. Laughter. He whips his head around in search of the source of the noise, and his eyes land on a couple standing by a food court kiosk, trying out samples of cheese.

The guy is tall, taller than him, with a white smile, gelled hair, and an expensive fall coat. And the girl beside him is…Y/N.

Baekhyun feels the color leave his face as he reflexively steps back, allowing the people walking to partially hide him as he watches them. He hasn’t seen her since…that day.

The kiosk vendor looks bored as he offers them more cheese samples, but Y/N and the guy seem to be having a great time. She looks radiant, Baekhyun realizes with a twist of longing in his stomach, happier than he’s seen her in a long time. He can only stare as the guy places a sample in his mouth, makes a face, and then leans down to say something in her ear, and she throws her head back and laughs. The sound reaches him again like a caress, like a slap in the face, and Baekhyun’s legs can’t seem to decide if they want to run over to Y/N and the guy and yank them apart – or if they should carry him far, far away. It’s only when he watches the guy reach over to tuck a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear that Baekhyun finally can’t take anymore, and he slips into the throng of walking people, letting the tide of their bodies tug him away from her. It almost feels natural to do this.

After all, this isn’t the first time he’s let life pull them apart.  

Julie’s POV

Baekhyun is silent during the ride home, but it’s the kind of silence that feels loaded, ready to burst messily. Something happened while he was in the bathroom, that much she’s figured, and she flexes her fingers around the steering wheel uneasily. Every move she makes only seems to drive him further from her – but she also can’t just stand by and watch him spiral.

“I love you, Baekhyun,” she says softly, tentatively.

“I love you too, Julie.” She bites her lip at how automated his words sound.

“Do you?”

At this, he finally looks away from the window to her. “Of course I do. How could I not?”

That should have been comforting, his answer, but something unsettles her about the way he says the last bit – how could I not? – as if there’s more to the question, something he’s leaving unsaid.

How could I not – because I have to at this point.

Even though it’s 6 PM when they get back to the apartment, Baekhyun tells Julie that he’s going to go take a nap and disappears into the bedroom, leaving her alone in the living room with her newly purchased home furnishings. She wilts onto the couch and pulls her knees up to her chin. Without Baekhyun’s company, there’s too many hours to fill, and she doesn’t want to start clattering around with the décor while he’s sleeping. It’s a small apartment.

So she fills the time with busy work – organizing the book shelf, going through her emails, taking out the garbage. On her way back in from the dumpster, she stops by the mailbox to collect their mail and flips through the envelopes as she heads back into the living room. Might as well attend to the bills and cut out the coupons now.

Going through the mail is as dull as she’d expected – until she gets to the phone bill. Julie straightens up in her chair as she scans the page, her interest peaked – and not in a good way. It seems in the last month, Baekhyun has made over fifty calls to the same number, and it’s not one that she recognizes. Shoving the other papers aside on the dining table, she unearths her cell phone and dials the number, not sure what to expect. Hopefully it isn’t some phone sex service—

We’re sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.

Julie stares at her phone as the intercept message ends. What the hell? She quickly compares the number she dialed to the one on the bill, and it’s the same. Baekhyun has been calling a disconnected number – multiple times.

Well. It wasn’t always a disconnected number. Pulling her laptop in front of her, she drums her fingers on the table as she waits for it to power on. She’s got some research to do.

It’s late when Julie finally climbs into bed, and not because she had too much trouble with her research. It’s because she had to go take a walk after she was finished to clear her head.

She settles against the pillow and traces the line of Baekhyun’s sleeping form with her eyes, considering waking him. But this might be one of those rare nights when he manages to stay asleep, when he’s not moved to wander, and so she holds herself back, albeit with some difficulty. She can talk with him in the morning, and it’s probably better to sleep on her thoughts anyway. Sighing, Julie closes her eyes and lets the storm in her mind lull her into oblivion.

She wakes a few hours later to an empty bed and rolls over to check the time. 5:15 AM.

“Like clockwork,” she exhales and scrubs her face with her hand. When did this become a normal part of her life? Running after her somnambulistic boyfriend who she’s not even sure loves her, at ungodly hours of the day? A flash of anger goes through Julie as she throws her legs off the bed and gets to her feet. This isn’t the guy she fell for, the guy that could make her laugh even when she felt like crying, who kissed her so deeply that she felt it in her toes. The guy she had been willing to hurt another girl to have.

The guilt comes back in waves as Julie walks out of the apartment complex, repressed emotion set free. She’d never been the type of girl to do what she did, set her sights on a taken man, become a…mistress. Ugh, what a dirty word. But Baekhyun was like no other man – no other person she’d ever met before, and at the time, she probably would have done anything for him. Maybe even still. It hadn’t felt wrong to be with him then because he felt so right by her side, the missing piece in her life. But today, for the first time, she’s feeling something new.


The gazebo comes into sight, and Julie shakes her head, snapping back to attention. Then she blinks. Looks around. Looks around again, feeling panic rising in her chest now, and she hurries over to the gazebo before stopping in her tracks when she finds it unoccupied.

Baekhyun isn’t here.

Julie braces herself against the railing and tries to stay calm. The car is still in the lot, so he can’t have gotten that far, right? But then, he could have started walking hours ago, and she can’t call him because his phone is still on the nightstand. He could be anywhere by now. Oh god, there’s a lake a few blocks away. What if he walked into it and just kept on walking? Forget the lake, what if someone found him in his defenseless state and tried to mug him? What if—

Julie’s bathrobe pocket vibrates – her cell phone. Thank god she took it with her. Snatching it up, she answers it without even checking the caller ID. “Hello? Baekhyun?”

“Is this Julia Lee?” an unfamiliar, commanding voice says from the other end.

“Um, yes.”

“Hello Julia, this is Officer Richards. You are Mr. Byun Baekhyun’s emergency contact, correct?”

Julie’s stomach drops. “Yes. Is he alright? Did something happen?” For the first time, she notices the sound of sirens and voices talking in the background of the call.

“It’s unclear right now as to what the situation is. You see, we found him lying on the side of the highway.”  

[Part 3] [Coda] [Masterlist]

the-bookish-soul  asked:

Feysand with Feyre cooking for Rhys for their anniversary Modern AU

Okay, so this ended up taking a bit of a twist, and there was fire… but I hope you like it?

              She had taken lessons with Nesta

              (“It’s supposed to be  relaxing” – words spoken by her sister, through clenched teeth as she failed, once again, to follow  the most basic of instructions – “well, whoever decides to make me cook can damn well starve.”)

              Feyre hadn’t blown anyone away with her culinary skills by any means, but she had managed to  be… adequate.  Since she didn’t have ambitions to be a five star chef, adequate had served Feyre perfectly well.

              But today she had gotten a little ambitious. Now, Rhys would be home at any second, and Feyre was frantically rushing around the kitchen finishing last minute details.  She mentally cursed herself, because she had timed everything perfectly, except she’d gotten distracted with a painting, and it had screwed everything up.  Which wouldn’t have been such an issue… except she had gotten a bit ambitious with the damn food.

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Robb Stark- I am His, He is Mine

Requested by the wonderful @thatrobbstark Sorry it took so long!

The soft chirping of birds slowly made its way through the windows, melting into the rays of sunshine slowly spreading across the bed, its heat stirring you from your sleep. Although you really weren’t complaining, there have been many worse ways in which you have been awoken at the castle of Winterfell, the cruellest of which was easily the giant slobbery ‘kiss’ given to you by the direwolf belonging to the man you love. A direwolf, which in many ways reminds you of him, fiercely loyal and strong but still young and playful when you were alone or surrounded by his younger siblings, it was moments like that, soft and kind… meaningful even if neither of you were truly aware of the effect it was having on either of your hearts.

Well you knew soon after what it had done to yours.

You couldn’t look at him without your heart swelling and butterflies erupting in your stomach at the sight of his smile and his laugh that most of the time came out in barks and small moments, but occasionally Jon or Arya would say or do something that would make laughter erupt out of him, proper laughter, the kind that is fuelled by your gut and makes your jaw hurt after a few moments. Those kinds of laughs were rare for him, but you loved it nonetheless, it makes it so much more special when they do happen.

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If That Were Me (M)

vampire!mark/jackson, 2.7k, dom!jackson and mark threesome?

warning: smut (threesome, pain kink, slight breath play, cunnilingus, blow job, jackson has a biting kink) 

“You say you love me yet here I am, having to ask you to stop moving so I can have a taste of you. Won’t you be a good girl, my lovely?" 

Originally posted by markjestic

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Don’t Fear the Reaper Chapter 19: Reunited

Sam Winchester x Reader

1650 Words

Chapter Summary: After following Death for a week, you run into an old friend, changing your course once again.

Story Summary:  You are a reaper, actually one of Death’s favorites.  You’ve been following the story of the Winchesters for a while, staying out of sight, never letting them see you. You slowly fall in love with Sam, even though he doesn’t know you exist. But that all changes one day. Set in Season 5

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

“Dean?” You asked breathlessly, looking into the face of a man you still considered a close friend. Even if he couldn’t stand the sight of you, he would always have a special place in your heart. Currently sprawled in his lap, your energy completely zapped from transferring so many souls in such a short time. Truthfully, you weren’t sure you could move from you spot, even if he tried to kill you.

“Hey Y/N, didn’t expect to see you here. But then again, you are a Reaper, so…” He muttered, his hands on your waist, steadying you. Making no move to shove you off of his lap.

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On the wind, cross the sea

The beginning of this is entirely due to the fact that ‘A rumour in St. Petersburg’ came on shuffle. I REGRET NOTHING. Also on Ao3 (x). Seriously this longer than the last one. Over 8,000 words. For @purestheartslove and @thetourguidebarbie I hope you like it! xx

Sequel to ‘Things I Almost Remember’ 

There’s a rumour in St. Petersburg. It’s a legend really, a mystery surrounding the deposed Imperial family. Part of the country’s history. Not that of Anastasia but something much older. Something to do with magic. They say the Princess Carolina did not die in that coup, that even though it was 300 years ago, encompassing the entire rule of the Romanov family, she lives.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Russia was a wild card.

But it was also their best chance. America was no longer safe. Nor was Italy, Spain, any of the places they’ve cultivated over the past thousand years. Russia, locked in snow on the other side of the world is their terra incognita. Normally, Klaus would lead his family to ground, but ground that they knew – or certainly where they could stack the deck. Russia meant laying foundations; personalities, income, somewhere with security and plenty of bodies to throw Mikael’s way. And the faster they can built a safe haven the better.

But they dearly like living and so to Russia they go.

Granada was too close. Marcel had nearly died. And Klaus will not risk his son, especially not when Caroline has not been around for over 200 years. He will not send any of them away now, not even Enzo, who is not kin, nor friend. He is one of Caroline’s most beloved, her best friend, her brother. For her sake, for the love they both bear her in their different ways Klaus keeps Enzo close. It is good to have someone around to whom he is not brother or father or lover. In an odd reversal of his traditional position; to always be strong, to show no weakness to outsiders, Klaus often finds he enjoys sitting with Enzo and a quiet drink, simply missing the other part of their family; light and lovely. The missing third of their unspoken Triumvirate.

Kol is in the wind, Finn somewhere with Sage – safe without cost, who ran off the second it went to shit all those years ago. They are standing in front of the royal palace in St. Petersburg, well wrapped against the cold; Klaus, Enzo, Marcel, Bekah, Freya and Elijah. Freya could leave and live unhindered but her loyalty to her siblings cannot be faulted. It’s needless but they need to blend in. Much as they don’t feel the cold, it is equally useful they don’t break a sweat otherwise these furs would suffocate. The royal family are to make an address. Normally, Klaus couldn’t give a shit but he likes luxury, likes giving Caroline beautiful things and so it is useful to know the humans who think they control the world so that compulsion can be employed. Even when she is nowhere to be found, the habit has stuck.

The royal family files along a balcony, waving dutifully. The Tsar and Tsarina are arm in arm, shepherding the youngest of their children along, three little boys and two girls. There’s a second wave, the older children, two twins arm in arm, one strapping elder boy – practically a man – face turned to talk to his sister who is behind him. Its only when they’re stood beside their parents, faces fully turned to the crowd that the Mikaelsons see it. See her.


The eldest girl, bedecked in white fur and palest silks, laughing at something the Tsarevich – her brother – is saying, is indeed his Caroline. That blonde hair is escaping its elegant plait, those rosy cheeks are nipped by the winter air. Klaus grips Enzo’s arm and a part of him notes that Enzo is gripping back just as hard and he wonders exactly when it was that he started reaching for Enzo rather than Rebekah where Caroline was concerned.

“Bloody hell.”

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Childhood Sweethearts

This story has been kicking it in my docs for a couple of months now, but when I saw Eis’s art of Soul and Maka as kids, I just had to return to this drabble, edit it and post it. Go check Eis’s drawing out because this would’ve still been in my docs if it weren’t for her art.

Childhood Sweethearts

At first the adults thought it was cute; two toddlers getting along well, playing together and sharing toys with one another. The parents had made cute moans and taken pictures of Soul and Maka together in their diapers. Then Mrs. Evans had the splendid idea of encouraging the toddlers to kiss for a photograph.

Eleven years later, somehow, Soul and Maka had stayed together. Not as friends, but together-together. Eleven years of hand-holding and cheek kisses and introducing the other as their boyfriend and girlfriend. Eleven years of what once stared as a cute gesture from a parent lead to a long-lasting relationship.

Maka bit down on her flushed lower lip, hands fisting the purple frills hanging from her hem. Students out on the dance floor dancing to upbeat music Soul would label as junk. She gazed over her shoulder at the snack table where Soul and Black*Star stood leaning up against the wall with plates full with food.

Their relationship had always been comfortable. Nice. She was enjoying all the hand-holding and cheek kisses. It was all… good. Since she could remember… Soul was always there. He was always there waiting on the street outside of her home, ready to walk to school with her, always taking a seat beside her and entwining his fingers with her. It was cute and all at the beginning, but now almost being adults? Their relationship started by a parent’s encouragement for a kiss, now? She wasn’t quite so sure. For all these years, why were they still together?

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Jimin Scenario: Yours.

Request: Could I request a Drabble where Y/N was best friends and girlfriend to jimin before he became an idol and they had to break up cause of company rules and every time he visits his home he’s told your out and then one day he sees you in a coffee shop in Seoul and chases after you cause he doesn’t wanna let you go again and a fluffy reunion 

Genre: Romance    

The warm Busan air always made Jimin feel at peace, it was like a tender caress on his skin, undoubtedly welcoming him back home. Jimin smiled to himself and felt sorry because he couldn’t stay for long, maybe if he had just some extra days to spare he could be able to see you. Only see you, he didn’t even intent to do anything else besides observing you, to see that way in which you smiled that he missed so much.

Jimin shoved his hands inside his stylish ripped jeans pockets and sighed. His eyes were fixed on the house in front of him, the one to which his feet still knew the path from memory, the house where he had visited you so many times, where he found his first best friend, his first kiss, his first love. More often than not he wondered what could have been of you if he becoming an idol didn’t get on the way, if you didn’t have to break up only because his company didn’t allow a relationship back when he started.

He wished things didn’t take the turn they did, and maybe that’s why he always stopped at your house hoping to see you, yet he seemed to have such a bad timing, you were never there and Jimin couldn’t really do something about that, so he turned around and walked away once again, it was already time for him to go back to Seoul and the life he had chosen to live.

It had been hard since day one to move away, to leave so many things behind, you undoubtedly being the hardest one because he lost two significant others at once, his best friend and his girlfriend, it was still hard but Jimin had somehow learned to handle it better. His mind still wandered back to you from time to time, when he was up on the stage and wondered if you were seeing him, if you wanted to see him at all.  

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Oxymoron(ic) (1/4)

Summary: “Hey I have to photograph someone for class will you be my model?”
 ((In which Dan hates contrast and Phil is a walking oxymoron))

Genre:  fluff and traces of angst (probably who knows these days)

Warning: swearing and some mentions of self hatred/self criticizing 

Words: 8k

A/N: i worked rlly hard on this jesus christ almighty heaven aboVE. SHOUT OUT TO hcwell for beta'ing 4 me and howlterdil for forcing me 2 write a plan i love u guyz. Still dyslexic btw so if something isn’t making sense just hmu and i’ll fix is ASAP!!

Dan sighed as he skimmed over the assessment sheet he’d received several moments beforehand, attempting to read while not bumping intoanyone in the halls of the sixth form college. Dan hated photography, he really did. He didn’t mind the whole camera part and the actual class, but his teacher was absolutely awful. She was old and kind, truly, and Dan felt bad speaking badly of her, but she couldn’t teach, and when she did, she taught the syllabus that was drafted in stone by Neanderthals and wasn’t nearly close to the standard of the modern syllabus.

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Cyrus/Silas Married Life Headcanon

I’m a bad person who lies about deadlines ugh, I think I might need to rework my schedule if I’m going to keep being late -_- Anyways, I added kids to this one because everyone loves a papa Cyrus <3 Also,I FUCKED UP ON CYRUS’ BACKGROUND. I thought he was a peasant turned knight but nope he’s from a noble family. FML my face at 4000 words in when i read the Charlotte support was literal death take me now. So think of this as a slight AU married life? oh god the cyrus fans are going to kill me Err, so enjoy non friend zone buddy, Cyrus!

For more headcanons, click here! For a status on upcoming works, click here!

❤️ Cyrus was not a noble in any shape or form. He was born in the back of the barn during a stormy night, his mother was a plain serving wench while his father was supposedly a hand in one of the nearby farms. Growing up, his parents were too busy trying to stave off starvation to teach him anything like proper decorum or propriety. There was no need of such things in the peasantry and thus, it was quite apparent when he married Kamui that he was not like the other noblemen.

Though he trained as a knight all his life, he only expected to serve nobles with his sword, not with his words. He certainly wasn’t as eloquent or charismatic as the other Nohrian nobles who spent their entire lives dedicating themselves to talking politics and charming the court. His speech riddled with mispronounced words, crude wit and tasteless slang that gave away his commoner birth. Upon his input on any discussion, the noblemen would turn up their noses and the noblewomen giggled in mockery behind their fans. Yet Kamui adored his accent, his supposedly simple words were soothing and rich to her ear, the sound of it always bringing a sense of delight and happiness into her heart. “When I hear your voice,” she whispered to him as they huddled together on the palace balcony, “I can feel safe again.”

He knew nothing about noble dances, his feet that stood strong and sturdy on the battlefield suddenly become inept and clumsy as he stepped on Kamui’s foot again. His lack of rhythm and tone deafness become infamous in the noble court as each time he brought Kamui to the ballroom dance floor, couples would quickly move out of the way to avoid being bruised by his stumbling movements. After each royal ball, he would spend hours massaging Kamui’s aching feet, apologizing to her with rapid words and countless kisses, cursing at how hopeless he was with his two left feet. Yet she would just laugh it off, cupping his face in her hands while pelting him with countless kisses. “When I dance with you,” she laughed as he once again, spun her into another stone pillar, “I can feel alive again!”

He knew nothing about noble etiquette, his own actions stemming from what seemed like common sense for a peasant. At royal dinners, the countless spoons, knives and forks placed around his plate daunted him, even after he asked Joker to train him in table manners (”Don’t use your soup spoon to eat your cake! Use the dessert fork !” “Huh? But it’s so much harder to scoop up the-” “Ingrate! Husband or not, if you embarrass Lady Kamui anymore with your idiocy I will have to take matters into my own hands and make her a widow!” “H-hey Joker! Put down that dinner knife-” “IT’S A BREAD KNIFE, YOU FOOL!”). After causing multiple scandals, (apparently, seeing elbows on the table is enough to cause the Grand Dutchess to faint) Cyrus decided to take his meals in the more familiar informal setting of the kitchens. To his surprise as well as the court’s horror, Kamui decided to follow along, sitting beside him among all the other maids and servants in the castle. “When I eat with you,”  she giggled as she overheard some lewd, scandalous joke being tossed around, “I feel happiness again.”

Deep in the night in their room, as he held her in his arms, his mind struggled with the guilt of being such of an embarrassment to his wife. Thanks to his shortcomings, the whispers of the nobles became even crueler towards Kamui, many of the upper class outright shamelessly snubbing the princess for her poor choices in men. He could stand their jeers and jokes at him, but towards his wife, his helplessness dug deep into his heart. ‘Perhaps,’ he thought as his fingers fiddled with his simple wedding band, ‘Perhaps… it would have been better… to remain merely a knight.’

“Hey, Kamui,” he murmured to the cuddling princess, his hands stroking her hair in thought,”Do you ever wish that… maybe you should have married a noble?”

Kamui drowsily glanced at him, her eyes showing a hint at amusement at his question, “No.”

Cyrus was startled at such a simple answer. He furrowed his eyebrows, “No…? No? But… I’ve been nothing b-but an embarrassment to you! I can’t dance properly. I can’t talk properly! Hell, I can’t even eat properly!”

Kamui nuzzled deeper into her husband’s chest, chuckling at his foolish words, “A nobleman maybe able to dance the waltz without missing a beat or step, a nobleman maybe able to quote every line from all the poems of the Nohrian great writers, a nobleman maybe able to eat wyvern’s tail soup without spilling a single drop-”She reached upward with her small hand to grab his chin, turning his head forcefully to have him look into her adoring eyes, “But can you say that a nobleman could love me as much as you do?”


Grasping her face with his own hand, he clashed his lips onto hers in pure adoration, the guilt that he pent up in his heart finally flooding out of him only to be replaced with rest of the love in his heart. Claiming her mouth, he sucked, licked and branded his taste onto her, hoping that somehow it would show how precious, how important, how wonderful those words meant to him.

No, he may not dance with beauty compared to the swirling loveliness of other noble couples. No, he may not speak with grace compared to the boastful and charismatic elite. No, he may not eat with elegance.compared to the well mannered and eloquent noble court.

But he knew something that no man, noble or otherwise could do for Kamui. He could love her with all his heart, soul and being and that was enough for her.

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Honeymustard Collection 12

Twelve installations later Pap finally drops the “L” bomb. How fast can we melt this burnt marshmallow?

Papyrus’s breath was hot on Red’s mouth. Red shivered when the other’s tongue licked across his teeth, a small whine escaping his throat as he tried to press into the taller skeleton’s warm magic. Papyrus backed off immediately, index phalange tapping Red’s sternum in a chiding manner.

“Ah, ah,” Papyrus said, “no touching, remember?”

Red flopped his skull back down onto the pillow in frustration, curling his hands into fists where they were bound above his head by two strips of cloth knotted to the posts of Pap’s bed. How the hell he got himself in this situation was beyond him. Stretch had been…needy lately – and when he’s proposed something a little different than their usual fooling around Red had initially been pretty excited. Papyrus actually going so far as to tie him up was even better. Red was practically begging by the time Papyrus finished securing the knots.

Red should’ve known better. This was Stretch, after all.

Papyrus ghosted his phalange-tips over Red’s ribcage, returning his mouth to Red’s with that fucking happy little sigh of his. Papyrus had absolutely no intention of fucking Red tonight – the past 30 minutes of gentle stroking and soft kissing had made that real fucking apparent. Red squirmed under Papyrus’s weight as he shifted his mouth to Red’s throat, working his tongue over the vertebrae of his cervical.

“At least touch me somewhere useful,” Red huffed for the umpteenth time.

“Nah,” Papyrus drawled, lifting his long hand to pet the side of the smaller skeleton’s skull, “That’s not what this is about. I just wanna feel you, Red.”

“Great!” Red growled, “I wanna feel you to! Inside me!”

Papyrus chuckled and lightly kissed Red’s chin.

Red groaned, sliding his eye sockets shut in exasperation. It was useless. He might as well resign himself to another two hours of touchy-feely bullshit at this rate. He twitched at the soft touch of Stretch’s mouth on his neck and shoulders, each kiss slow and calculated – like Papyrus was really thinking every one through. Red’s bones crawled at the overwhelming amount of undivided attention they were receiving.

Red felt sick. Like…really sick. His gut was cinched and his hands trembling. At least when Papyrus was fucking him there was some amount of distraction based around pleasure. He could justify the touching as a means to an end. This was just…

Papyrus gently traced the bottom of Red’s ribcage and Red swallowed a whimper.

Maybe he should just tell Papyrus how he felt…shit that sounded stupid. But he knew Pap wouldn’t be doing this if he knew how awful it was for Red. All he had to do was explain the…anxiety and the…fear and the self-hatred and the panic and how he felt like his body didn’t even belong to him so why should anyone touch him anyway and how every point of physical contact was just a ghost of Boss’s claws on Red’s bones and how the pain never really went away because the memory of every strike and kick and break was still vivid and clamoring in the back of his skull screaming for him to just curl in on himself and die because nobody really cared about him anyway so why not do everyone a favor and just…


Red jolted, opening his eye sockets. He realized he was breathing hard, but not in a pleasurable panting kind of way – more like hyperventilating. Papyrus’s face was a short breath from his own, brow knotted, mouth tugging into a concerned frown, his long palms pressed comfortingly to either side of Red’s skull.

“Breathe.” Papyrus instructed calmly.

Red took a shuddering gulp of air.

“There you go,” Papyrus crooned, his phalange-tips moving to massage Red’s sweat-slicked bones. “Red I know this is hard for you. But I need you to understand that I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to feel this way around me, okay? I want to be able to hold you without this kind of thing happening. And I want you to feel good and be happy. Do you understand?”

Red stared at him, ribcage shuddering with uneven breaths.

Papyrus smiled sadly and reached up to undo the loose knots holding the smaller skeleton in place. Red’s arms dropped like deadweights, but free as he was he made no motion to scramble out from under Papyrus or growl obscenities or attempt to lighten the mood with some dumb pun. He just stayed there, nearly motionless if not for the rise and fall of his ribs.

Papyrus was just about to resign to the whole experiment being a total bust when he caught a flicker of something small and sad in the other’s eye socket. Papyrus waited patiently, still stroking Red’s bones, still lightly resting his weight over Red’s body.

“Pap?” Red finally managed.

Papyrus swallowed, “Yeah?”

“Do you…like yourself?”

Papyrus froze, his soul dropping at those four words and the absolutely heartbreaking way Red’s gaze fell and his hands clenched and his chin dropped when he said them. Shit. No – this was good. This was progress. But still…shit. Papyrus took a steadying breath.

“Yes. Do you?”

Red’s brow furrowed. Papyrus watched his face closely for every flicker of telling emotion. Every minute gesture that offered another little glimpse into what the other was thinking.

“I…” Red’s tongue touched at his one gold tooth, “I…uh – I’m n-not sure I know…how to.”

There it was.

Papyrus let out a slow breath, allowing his hands to slide to Red’s shoulders. The smaller skeleton was absolutely refusing to meet his gaze, his eye sockets dark and downcast. After a moment Papyrus pressed a phalange under Red’s chin, tilting his face up ever so slightly.

“You wanna know what helps?” Papyrus said.

He leaned forward and kissed the crack on Red’s skull, allowing his mouth to linger a little longer than normal.

“Having someone who loves you.”

A wheezy yap of harsh laughter shook Red’s shoulders. Papyrus could easily imagine what he was thinking. Red’s timeline was so unforgiving. And Red’s Papyrus…

Papyrus picked up Red’s hand and squeezed it, partially to comfort Red and partially to steel himself. He’d been thinking…shit – for a while now. It’d been weighing on him like an anchor around his neck. Maybe now was the right time? Maybe Red could understand? Maybe this could really change things for the better…? Fuck it – here goes nothing…

“Red,” Papyrus said, “I love you.”

That one took a good solid minute to sink in. Red stared at Papyrus like some panicked animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming train. What did he mean by that? Like…he loved fucking him? He loved teasing him? He loved seeing him squirm? Red tensed when Papyrus leaned in and kissed his mouth again, eyes sockets half lidded, the weight of his ribcage pressing against Red’s own where he lay on top of him.

“I love you,” Papyrus repeated.

He squeezed Red’s hand again, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the smaller skeleton’s phalanges. “I love your hands,” he murmured. Papyrus kissed Red’s wrist. “I love your wrists.” He kissed his shoulder and collarbone and neck. “I love your scars. And your smile. And your soul. I love your humor. And your selflessness. And, heh, how much you swear. I love how you smell like cigarettes even when you’re not smoking. I love the way you drum your fingers when you’re trying to sit still. I love that you can outdrink me any day of the week and still sober up fast enough to help me stumble to bed. I love that you eat my shitty cooking. I love your expression when you sleep. I love when you mumble…”

Red had stopped listening. A high keening in his skull all but drowning out Papyrus’s voice. The first time Red had told Boss he loved him Boss had grinned slowly and told Red to prove it. That had been one of the worst nights in a string of really bad nights. But Red had meant it. He did love Boss. He loved him with the blind, pathetic devotion of a dog. And Boss? Boss loved the sound of Red’s bones breaking more than he loved Red – but at least he loved some part of Red. That had always been enough. More than Red could’ve hoped for…or deserved.


Stretch said he loved Red. That wasn’t…possible. Right?

“Pap,” Red said, halting Papyrus mid-sentence. “C’mon man…you don’t love me. Stop kidding around.”

Papyrus’s soft gaze hardened. He laced his phalanges through Red’s and squeezed tightly.

“I’m not kidding,” Papyrus said firmly. “I’m not kidding and I’ll prove it to you.”

Red’s soul stuttered.

Papyrus rolled onto his side and gathered Red against his chest, rubbing the smaller skeleton’s spine slowly. Papyrus pressed his mouth to the top of Red’s head and closed his eyes.

“Give me a chance – okay Red?”

Red gripped the front of Papyrus’s tank top loosely where he was tucked under the taller skeleton’s chin. He thought of the machine in the workshop out back. The couch he’d been crashing on since he’d accidentally ‘ported into this timeline. All the days he and Stretch had spent together, and the nights too. Stretch’s stupid, fuckin’ adorable, lazy grin. And he thought of Boss too, but only for a fleeting moment.

Red took a deep breath 


Breathlessly His [ft. Jimin]

Originally posted by minpuffs

“Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.”
Sarah Kay

Genre: One heart-wrenching kiss and some angsty cups of fear with a tiny teaspoon of rainbows

Words: Possibly too short

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I Don’t Want the World to See Me (Cause I Don’t Think that They’d Understand) #4

Here’s #4 - AKA the Spider Incident - It takes place during Part 12 of WEMtbB (masterlist here)

Word count - 1198 - I got kinda carried away on this one

Warnings - idefk anymore…normal Bucky stuff?  Swearing…spiders were harmed in the making of this chapter…

Tagging: @learisa @musichowler @shifutheshihtzu @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @beccaanne814-blog @callmebucky-doll @hellomissmabel @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @laurenwhitehouse-blog @candyrogers @iamtal

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Lost in Fire. Chapter 16

Just enjoy :) Note at the end! Kisses!


On Friday night I did the strangest thing. Ally kept pushing me to go out, but I told her that I wanted to…
Ugh. What the hell Lydia.
Yeah, so? I wanted to look at stars that night.
I think that we are like stars. Something always happens to burst us open.
Like Stiles happened.

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Sparkles, 3/?

In which the Goddess of Chaos and The Woodsman formulate a rescue plan (kind of) and Dipper angsts. Previous chapter here. 


Henry opened his eyes.

Mabel’s face filled his vision. The tip of her nose brushed against his, breath hot on his face, and her eyes were the slow swirl and movement of galaxies in space.

“We need to save Dipper from a bad sci-fi hell dimension,” Mabel said in one breath.

Henry looked at her blearily for a second, then closed his eyes again.

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Stardust in Your Skin | A CS fic

Show: Once Upon A Time
Characters: Emma Swan, Killian Jones, Henry Mills, pretty much everyone in one way or another
Ship: Emma/Killian
Words: 18,807 *distant wailing*
Timeline: Mostly canon from 2A up through the end of 3B and then diverges completely
Notes: do i even have any followers that care about this ship/show at all? honestly what am i even doing with my life anymore?? listen idk how i wrote this but i started it back in june and just finally finished it. huge thank you to bluestoplights​ who is literally the only reason this fic exists or is being published. she probably deserves more props for making me finish this than i deserve for writing it tbqh.

Emma Swan may believe in magic and curses and fairy tales but she absolutely does not believe in soulmates.

(a soulmate!au that’s honestly barely an au.)

Read it on AO3 or FF.Net

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A bookshop AU in which Sam owns a second-hand bookshop and Dean is a car mechanic who likes to drop by his brother’s shop often, especially after Sam hired a new employee called Castiel.

A/N: I wanted to write some sweet, carefree, everyday life stuff for these three, and what could be more appropriate than a bookshop AU? This is chapter 1, there will be more. In this chapter Dean is not subtle at all, but he has some major problems with putting his feelings into words. And I don’t think Cas even understands what’s going on yet. Oh dear. I think they will really need Sam.

Warnings: Very silly and cheesy. Would not recommend if you’re not into sweet things.

The door opened, letting a breeze of crisp September air inside the small, dim bookshop. Sam looked up from a delivery order and smiled seeing his brother there for the fifth time this week. And it was only Wednesday.

“Oh, hi Dean”, he said cheerfully. “Just can’t get enough, huh?”

He thought he saw Dean blushing.

“Of what?” Dean asked.

Sam looked about the room, then gave Dean his “are you stupid?” look.

Dean’s face got redder. “Of what?” he repeated impatiently.

“Of books”, Sam replied, frowning at his brother for being weird. Even though Sam knew why Dean was being weird. He had been weird that way ever since Sam had hired a new employee a few weeks back. His name was Castiel, he was quiet, diligent and polite, and Sam had instantly liked him. Sam had been suspecting that Dean was into guys at least as much as girls, but now he was positive. Of course, Castiel didn’t know it, but in a way, he had another job besides selling books, and that was helping Dean out of the closet. He had proved to be successful in both of his jobs.

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anonymous asked:

Mamihlapinatapei :)

Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.

“The Consul presents a motion to vote on the measure.  All in favor, say Yea!”

Senator Mellark sat resolute, lips pressed thin in disapproval. He would never sanction war on the basis of so little provocation, no matter what pretty speeches and base appeals Senator Snow employed to move the Senate. He was well known for a superior command of rhetoric but often, his devices far exceeded the content within them. Those of a lesser mind would be moved by such words but not Mellark, nor his allies, many of whom agreed, at least in private, about the vacuousness of the elderly Senator’s character.  But few would utter those words in public.

No matter. After another hour of calls to action, vacillations and denunciations, Senator Mellark knew his meeting with the other Senators in the weeks leading to this critical vote had been successful.  The look of pure hatred that Snow cast towards him when the vote came down against his initiative was not a figment of Mellark’s imagination but he could care less. He’d won. The country of Panem would not descend into war against its neighbor. Blood would not be shed this day.

After receiving congratulations from his coalition, Peeta took the long road home, hoping that a walk would clear his mind.  Snow was a dangerous enemy to have, and he had made him one in a public way. But there were some things that were worth taking a risk on. And sending thousands of men to war with little more than a wound against the pride of a Senator was hardly that motivation, no matter how they tried to misrepresent it.

By the time Peeta had returned to his home at the outskirts of the Capitol, his feet were dust covered and he was worn and tired.  He sank onto a settee in the atrium of his home, fig and olive trees hanging heavy with fruit around the ambulatory.  He was tired and could fall fast to sleep but he did not wish to retire right away. He longed for food, rest and, if he was quite sincere, the company of one of his own house.  He waited patiently, knowing his relief would soon come.

As if on cue, his preferred slave entered with a tray of delicacies - cheeses, breads, olives and meats, followed by a pair of eunuchs, one carrying the wine decanter and ceramic cup, another carrying a wash basin and towels. Already Peeta felt his body relax, though his heart sprang with newfound vigor at the arrival of his doe.  And though he had never told her, he was sure she knew that he favored her over all the other slaves of his household.

The eunuchs bowed and left quickly, leaving Peeta alone with her.

“Katniss,” he said, her name escaping his lips like a sigh of relief.

“Master,” she said, kneeling onto the marble, undoing the leather ties of his sandals. “You’ve walked far today and have brought all the dust of the Capitol home with you.”

“What else would you have to do if I did not conjure such tasks for you?”

She smirked as she set both feet in the basin.  “You know full well that I am kept quite occupied by the duties you leave for me each day. And I would not have it otherwise. I earn my keep. That is the way of the people of 12.”

She worked vigorously, her olive skin glowing with the easy hue of an unaffected sensuality. Just to look on her set fire to his heart as she soothed his soul.

Her people had been subjugated by General Cato. She was amongst the women brought as booty from the conquest and she had been awarded to his house, for his family had long been allied to that of the General. Such a nervous doe, full of a defiant fear, accustomed to the freedom of the woods. She had no artifice, no guile with which to manage her situation. He took immediate pity on her and made her a maidservant of the house, though there was no lady to order her about. She was his responsibility and though he could do as he pleased with her, from the start, something in him desired to gain her confidence and not force it from her.

It had take months of gentle persuasion but he had finally earned her trust and now, they spoke easily as old friends.  He could never hurt her. He knew this. It had never been his way. And finally, he had convinced his doe of this too.

“You are a credit to your people,” he said sincerely before taking a deep breath, dropping his head against the chair, enjoying the feel of her long, slender fingers, washing away the grime and dirt of his travels.

When she was done, she removed the dirty water, handing him a cloth for his hands while she discarded the contents of the basin and returned, filling his glass with wine.  Peeta had been picking at the olives, placing the pits in a flat plate for that purpose. “Won’t you sit and eat with me?”

“My lord…” Katniss began, smoothing out the folds of her tunic. It was a new one he had bought for her, made of a gentle wool that hung in softly over her curves. He could not bear to see her in the coarser fabrics typical of house slaves and had discarded the ones assigned to her, leaving these in her room instead.

“I’ve begged you to call me Peeta. Please, Katniss, what honest commune can we have if there are titles between us?”

Katniss’s face darkened, a shifting array of feeling from guilt and sadness, to anger and frustration.  “What communion, my lord? When you are my master and I am your slave?”

Peeta leaned towards her, repressing a terrible longing to take her hand and hold it until she bade him to stop.  “Is that all you see?  When I see you, I do not see a slave.”

“And when I look up at the sky, I do not see the sun. And yet it is there, whether I will it or not.”

He was taken aback by her analogy. It was another of the traits of hers that he…admired…so very much. Her intelligence. Her ferocity. His doe was a wild, but tethered creature. He wanted her friendship, desired her free communion, a small concession of affection. But she was not one to give her precious gifts away for free.

He stood but did not move towards her. “Come and sit with me. Be my friend. My equal.”

She raised her grey eyes to hold his, a look that spoke of a bottomless longing for home, of fear and vulnerability, and another sentiment, hidden deep in the flecks of color that burst like starlight. He was captivated by a terrible desire and he realized, it was not just friendship he wanted from her. He loved her, like a tree loves the wind, like the forest embraces fire, like the sea hugs at the shores.  And it frightened him. He would take her hand, her arms, her body, her heart, and cradle each thing against the likes of General Cato and Senator Snow, against the forces that he hated yet had brought her to his door.

For an eternal moment, they held each other’s gaze, unable to move, at a stalemate. His greatest fear was not defeat at the hands of his adversaries but that his doe would turn away, keep to her place in the forest and never cross over to his side again.  And he could do no better than wait like a stupid beast for her pleasure, because terror kept him rooted to his place.

And then the moment passed, as all things do. Katniss dropped her eyes, heaved a shaky breath and turned away. For a moment, Peeta’s heart felt like heavy granite shattering on the side of a mountain, its jagged pieces tumbling in a hail of dust and rock to the bottom of a quarry. He might have even died - he could not be sure.  But then her hesitation visibly fell away and she turned back to take the seat next to the one he had vacated, reaching toward a plump fig on the platter. Peeta picked up the fruit and knelt before her, handing it to her in his outstretched hand.

“This one?” he asked tremulously.

“Yes,” she said, taking it from him, staring at the swollen fig a moment longer than necessary before raising her eyes, enslaving him.  

“Thank you, Peeta.”

Send me a word and I will write you a drabble.