#i am feeling delirious and a bit ridiculous I think the cold has reached my brain. alas. the worms have company 😔

[flowercrowngods]

Oooooh how about 27 for the Spotify drabble thingo?? 💖💖

Acting Normal | steddie, slight canon divergence

Steve is leaning against his Beemer in the parking lot, smoking one last cigarette before he can no longer avoid the inevitability of first period on a Monday morning. That shit never gets easier.

He looks up at the sky, watching as the sun breaks through the clouds, painting everything in golden and orange light. Last night's rain long beaten, though the humidity's still in the air, refreshing and smelling like childhood, somehow.

It's a beautiful day. Shame to waste it in school.

He takes another drag from his cig before dropping it and stubbing it out on the concrete. There are steps approaching and the smile is on Steve's face before he can fight it. He doesn't want to fight it, actually. Doesn't even try.

"Hey Stevie," Eddie Munson says, his forearms pressed to the hood of his car, almost leaning into Steve's space. Steve leans back as he blows out the last of the smoke, eyes still on the sky.

"Morning Eds."

They've become friends, somehow. It's odd, but it works. It works wonderfully. The same way a golden sky can make a Monday morning bearable, the same way memories of rain hanging in the air can smell like childhood. Some things just work. This thing between him and Eddie is one of those.

"I have a proposal," Eddie declares, and Steve huffs.

"Can I say no?"

"Well, you could, Steve-o, but then you'd be missing out and I'd be telling you all about it for the rest of my life, and this day would go into the history books as The Day Steve Missed Out On All The Fun. And do you seriously want to give all those historians another reason to question life in the late 20th century, Stevie? Do you?"

Steve leans further back onto the hood of his car, his forearms resting beside Eddie's now and they're close, so close, he feels dizzy with it for a moment. He bumps their shoulders together and huffs.

"You're ridiculous, Eddie."

"Astute observation, my liege," Eddie says and Steve can hear the grin on his face. It's one of the reason this thing works. Steve can hear Eddie's smiles and Eddie can hear Steve's frowns, and they listen.

Maybe that is why he decides to indulge. "So what are you proposing, good sir?"

"Skip school with me. It's a beautiful day, right? Shame to waste it in school."

Steve smiles, because yes, yes it is. He smiles and he doesn't say no, only leans there, beside Eddie, still watching the sun and her clouds, feeling a certain connection to them in this moment. Because Eddie is the sun sometimes, even though he'll disagree. And Steve is the air that smells like rain sometimes.

"What do you wanna do? Or, what would we do?" he asks, his voice quiet, more a musing than anything else, but Eddie is smiling again. Steve can hear it in the way he breathes and leans his head against Steve's shoulder for a second, leaving sparks in his wake.

"See what life is like outside of school on Monday morning," Eddie says, painting a picture in Steve's mind. "Get ice cream, go to the record store and listen to music, make music, watch people doing their jobs and feel both jealous and glad that we can't be in their shoes yet. Smoke." His voice shifts then, the smile changing. "Dream, Stevie. Dream about life and stop acting normal. That's what we'd be doing."

His heart is doing the skippy thing again. The thing it always does when Eddie tells him to dream in that voice, like he knows, like he can hear that, too.

He hopes that this time, dreaming can mean that Eddie will lean in and kiss him again. Hopes that Eddie will talk about his band again, about how he's gonna be a rockstar, about how he'll annoy Steve with extra shitty lyrics for the rest of their lives.

"Okay," he breathes, and turns his face to look at Eddie for the first time this morning. "Let's go then."

actually, this is a really fucking Eddie song, lyric-wise. he would make an exception from all the metal for this song, i'm sure. I am seriously surprised this song is only number 27. gah. I love it. thank you for the prompt!! also go give the blackstarkids some love, they deserve more recognition! 🫶

[bluefirewrites]

not sure if u are still taking this but, celebrity/fan au for JUKEE 🤭

Okay this one's a little involved but I got you!

Rated T for mentions of sex and maybe some language

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

******

Julie tugs against the rather short dress Flynn had squeezed her in, not caring for how much she looks like a glorified candy wrapper in the shimmering gold.

She feels like she's some Ferrer Roche, waiting to be devoured.

Which seems to be her intention for tonight because she's insane, and so is her bestie Flynn, because she's supposed to grab the attention of a certain someone in this club.

Her motives for tonight sound like they come straight out of a Wattpad story, but her boyfriend- or well maybe an ex boyfriend now'- forced her hand.

So a year ago, right around the time they started dating, they both disclosed their 'hall passes'. Just a list of celebrities they were both 'allowed' to cheat on their partners with. It was fun. Just to see who the other person would pick. 

It was harmless because the whole point is that these people are so famous, so far out of reach, that the odds of hooking up with them would be essentially impossible.

Nick's was the lead singer of the world famous pop group Dirty Candi. And Julie remembers drunkenly applauding the choice ("She's pretty! Wowww you like them Bubblegum Pop girls?")

They had a laugh that night and Julie doesn't really consider that hall pass conversation all that much since then-

-Until fast forward to last week when Nick disclosed to her that he ran into Carrie Wilson at an event. And then promptly disclosed to her that he invoked his 'Hall Pass' rights.

His rights?! She had exploded at him, and he claims that its no big deal. That he thought she would understand that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, a crazy set of circumstances, and that- 'Holy shit Jules, she was actually into me. Like what?'

Understandably, Julie stormed out and has been staying with Flynn for the time being. And it must have been the haze of crying and watching a lot of true crime series to cheer herself up that she and Flynn concocted this... plan.

One fueled by spite and pettiness.

Get back at Nick, make him jealous, make him feel how she did- by invoking her own 'Hall Pass' rights- 

-which so happens to be Sunset Curve frontman, Luke Patterson... 

"There he is" Flynn whispers from their corner of the club and Julie gulps.

"I don't think I can do this," Julie hisses at Flynn, when they spot him at the bar, nursing a drink with his bandmates like he usually would (they did their research). 

See, Julie’s been a fan of Luke’s for a long time. Ever since she heard ‘Now or Never’ in freshman year of high school, she’s been hooked onto their music- especially Luke and his voice and playing. 

She had their posters on her bedroom wall and had been that girl who would (when no one’s looking) press her fingers to her lips then press them against Luke’s image before going to bed. 

It was that bad. 

And Julie had probably fantasized on more than one occasion of meeting him and all the other scenarios you would picture in a typical Celeb x Reader scenario. 

And she’d like to think she grew out of it, now she’s in her mid-twenties and just casually listens to Sunset Curve, following up on their careers every now and then. 

But you can never really shake your first major celebrity crush. Hence he had been on her so called ‘Hall Pass’ list. 

(”You into rockstars, Jules?” Nick had teased her that night.)

Seeing him there, in the same place as her, is so surreal, but Flynn’s continued pinches to her arm remind her just how real this is. 

“This is ridiculous,” Julie crosses her arms, ready to bow out because what is she thinking? Why would Luke Patterson pick her up, of all people, at the bar? It’s like a supermodel runway in here, filled with girls more accomplished and famous. Her confidence is shaken a bit and she rethinks everything. 

"Nick didn't seem to have a problem when he did it," Flynn points out, “And girl, you look great. He would be blind to not want you.” 

The mention of Nick still boils her blood, which only reaffirms her plans for revenge. She’s still nervous but they both stand up from their booth and walk over to the bar. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend,” 

“No. You’re musician extraordinaire, Julie Molina! The world may not have heard about you, but they will one day. I bet that’s something you can talk to him about. Music? Lyrics?” 

Julie could use her songwriting credentials to her advantage, “I mean I guess-” 

“Quick, he’s getting up!” 

“Flynn, wait I’m not-” 

With a forceful push, Flynn sends Julie into the path of Luke Patterson, colliding into him and effectively spilling his drink all over her dress. 

“Oh my god,” Luke gapes at her, “I am so sorry-” 

Julie fans herself, shaking slightly from the fact she’s drenched and also that her freakin’ high school celebrity crush is looking at her, actually talking to her. 

But she recovers quickly, and she speaks, “It’s fine. Really. I guess I’m just... clumsy.” She shoots a glare at Flynn, who merely winks and retreats to their booth. 

Luke grimaces and takes her by the hand, leading her somewhere, napkins in his other hand, “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. Again, I’m sorry. Hate to ruin a pretty... dress.”

It’s the way he eyes her that catches Julie off guard. He’s... not talking about the dress, is he? 

Julie reels it back in tries her hand at a joke, “I wouldn’t call this a dress. I feel like fancy leftovers in this thing.” 

Luke stifles a laugh, “Okay, I mean I wasn’t gonna say anything but yeah. I guess it’s a bit tin foil-y.”

“Not your style?”

His gaze drifts over to her one last time, “Well, any way to take a meal back home is fine by me. I mean-” Luke scrunches his nose, wincing, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. Shit. That was too... much. Are we-” he laughs nervously, “Are we still... talking about food?”

“Unless you just called me a meal. Then no.” 

The look in his eyes say that he’s absolutely mortified, “...yeah. I think I did. I was hoping that was a nightmare.” 

“Nope, it definitely happened,” 

“Feel free to slap me,” 

Julie giggles, somewhat delirious because she hasn’t tried to flirt with him but here Luke is, flirting with her. Or trying. And failing. Like a far cry from the suave rockstar she had pictured him to be. 

“No need. Just, can you-?” she points to the napkins he’s holding hostage. 

“Oh yeah. Here,” They stop in front of the coat check, and he hands her the napkins so she could try herself off with the best she can.

Suddenly, a weight falls onto her shoulders, she looks up and sees Luke draping a jacket over her- his presumably. 

“You looked cold,”

Julie wraps the jacket tight against her, relishing in the warmth, “Wow, thanks.”

Luke smiled and stepped back, “Just so you know, if I made you feel weird in any way, I’d like to throw out my third ‘sorry’ of the night. Nothing has to happen though. So, just say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”

Whew. Um, okay. Julie stands there, faced with this decision. 

The compliments aside (she will revisit those later), Luke’s giving her an out. Any reservations she has about moving forward with this plan, this is her chance to leave. 

She could just treasure these amazing few minutes for the rest of her life. This could be a story to tell friends at a dinner party, about the time a rockstar lent her his jacket. Would be up there with the time Jack Black passed her on the street and said “Nice hat!”. 

But-

Maybe she wants to see where this goes. 

“All this talk about food is making me hungry though...” she says and Luke lights up, “I could go for a bite to eat.” 

Luke snaps his fingers, “I know just the place.” 

*******

Half an hour later, Julie and Flynn are in a smelly alleyway with the guys from Sunset Curve, in line for a street dog cart just a couple blocks away. 

“An Oldsmobile?” Julie gawked after hearing Luke and the guys describe the delicacy, “Are you trying to poison me?”

“I swear by it,” Luke insists, taking her hand and moving them up in the line. Flynn sees this and doesn’t comment, but Julie’s starting to get used to Luke doing that, “You have to try!”  

Julie doesn't know when she got over her initial starstruck, but by now its so easy to treat Luke like a regular person.

Well, celebrities are all regular people in the end, but more so now that he and his friends, have their sleeves rolled up, smiles wide, ready to dig into what may be the most disgusting hot dog she has ever seen.

Julie takes a bite out of hers and her eyes widen. Wow. It's not terrible.

"Ayy! We got another one, boys" Reggie laughs, noting her reaction.

"Told ya" Luke needles her sides and she giggles, ticklish. Her knee jerk reaction is to playfully shove him, but in the process accidentally smeared some mustard onto his face.

Luke goes to lick it off with his tongue, making funny faces as he did which amused Julie even more.

"Here," she takes a napkin and wipes at his cheek, "Now we're even."

The whole group gets to talking over by the couches, while Flynn chats up the other boys, Julie and Luke are sequestered in their own corner, and yes, eventually the topic switches to music.

"Wait, so you know Rose and the Petal Pushers?" Luke chokes out, "Like everyone I talk to hasn't heard of them!"

"Yup. Have their record actually" Julie beams proudly, censoring out the part that its her mom's band and hence she has one of the few records ever released.

Luke is floored by that and continues to poke her brain for music and Julie finds that their spiels go on naturally, that she could probably talk with Luke for hours and hours.

Which ends up happening. Flynn had already made her escape, having texted her to come home safely, the boys had gone too, leaving them in the nearly empty lot.

When the food truck closes down for the night, they end up taking a stroll down the streets of L.A, talking and getting to know each other.

Julie learns so much about Luke, things she's never heard about from the press- like his songwriting practice, that he cries at Finding Nemo, and that he can do a cartwheel only when drunk.

And in return Julie shares with him her crazy college stories, how she misses her mom sometimes, and that she is encyclopedia of commercial jingles (a fact Luke exploits by rapidly quizzing her at random moments)

Somehow they end up near the beach, with Julie pointing out the different stars she could see, but finds that Luke isn't looking at the sky.

"Hey, Julie..." He gets her attention, "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too"

"So... would it be alright, if I kiss you?"

Julie's mouth parts, speechless. It happened. Holy shit it happened or... is happening. She has Luke exactly where she wants him.

She could only nod and Luke takes it as the sign to lean in, but just as his lips is about to brush against hers, she freaks-

"Wait" she steps back. Luke opens his mouth, "No. No more 'sorry's from you. This one's one me. I'm sorry but... this- this" She sighs, "I have to be honest with you."

Then she tells Luke everything- Nick, The Hall Pass, her plans for tonight- basically admitting to using him.

When she's done, she expects for Luke to get angry, to leave in a huff and never want to see her again.

That's not what happens.

"This Nick guy sounds like a piece of work" he says.

Julie nods slowly, "Yeah... I guess he was. So maybe that's why I did it. But I don't think I could have gone through with it. Like I don't think we're together, me and Nick but-"

"You wouldn't want to do what he did. Because you don't want to hurt people," Luke surmises, understanding, "And by doing that, that means you're a better person than he is."

"I guess"

"No Julie, you're a good person" Luke insists, "Man, I think that makes me like you even more."

Julie laughs, "God, if my high school self could see me now..."

"You were a big fan?"

"I'm not having this conversation right now with you,"

"Okay cuz now you got me curious-"

Julie swats his shoulder but it doesn't deter the guy from snickering.

On a more serious note though-

"I think..." Julie hums, "I think this means that I got some stuff to work through. Before I could start considering... this."

"I understand"

"But thank you... Luke. For tonight"

"It's been real, Julie,"Luke smiles and pulls her in for a half hug, "And you should keep the jacket. Looks better on you anyway."

****

Julie goes back to Flynn's that night and her bestie's still awake, wanting all the deets. But there's not much to tell. Nothing happened.

She shrugs off the jacket and resigns to the couch, not caring that her makeup is still on. She's about ready to pass out.

Her phone dings.

She pulls it out and sees two notifications.

luke_patterson is now following you

luke_patterson is requesting to message you.

Curious, she accepts the request.

'here if you want to talk, Tin Foil :P'

Julie rolls her eyes and collapses onto the couch, sleeping with a smile on her face.

She doesn't know it now, but the oncoming years would be filled with more messages back and forth, meetups with their friends for more shady street food, building a solid foundation of friendship and eventually, when Luke asks again if he could kiss her, Julie would eagerly prop herself on her toes to close the gap.

Yeah, Julie's high school self would definitely be screaming...

[oftenderweapons]

Stress Reliever - Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 5.3k words

Genre: mild angst, smut, romance

Rating: 18+

Hi everyone! It’s the final scenario of Stress Reliever and this time it’s the Golden Maknae!!!

I bet you’re all excited to see what is he going to do to release some frustration with his s/o. Don’t expect him to go easy.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: angst-smut-fluff (the profane trinity) jealousy and mild angst at the beginning, s/o has a mild age kink and JK is not exactly okay with this. Big fat degradation kink and well... yeah. Unprotected sex within an established relationship (please, be careful!!!), edging, wall sex (yk....,.,..,,,,), kinda hard dom JK but not really? So much dirty talking my keyboard is burning and I had do erase my browsing history, oral (female receiving), ass, tiddies and pussy spanking (ups), anddddd likeeeee,.,.,.,,,,,,..... voyeurism. BUt most importantly PraISe KinNnNNNKKKKkkkkK I’m sorry this one is so bad I have no excuses, I’m a slut for praise kink, please it’s so bad I melt every time someone calls me baby and good girl even in a non sexual context and it’s so embarrassing I’m gonna explode byeeeeee-----

Here is my masterlist ❤

Wordcount: 5.3k, unedited. Enjoy!

—————————————————

“God, he’s so hot.”

Jeongguk ignored whatever it was that you were talking about on the phone with your best friend. It wasn’t his business anyway. 

Both you and the voice on the phone giggled. You were probably talking about some film or something. “Bet he could go for hours.”

Jeongguk tutted at that, his snack almost ready in the microwave, hoping he’d be able to leave the kitchen as soon as possible. 

“Yeah, I have Googie, and I would never make a move on anyone else, but what’s wrong with innocently commenting on some older dude? He’s absolutely daddy material, let me fantasise a little about that.” Again you giggled. 

Jeongguk frowned at that. He wished he didn’t have to listen. He felt guilty since you thought he wasn’t in the room. 

“Koo is wonderful. A dream, truly. Still I love me a tough, mature man, at least in my imagination, every now and then.” You sounded coy. 

Really? Jeongguk’s frown intensified. He felt like he didn’t want a snack anymore at this point. Like he wanted another kind of snack.

“And I love Koo. Don’t forget that.” You continued.

He cocked his head to the side and nodded at that. That was a good sign. 

“Still… Damn, look at him. He’s in his forties and looks like a sex god.” You commented about the male lead actor. 

Jeongguk snorted and huffed at that. One more minute, he considered, watching the timer of the microwave.

“No. Listen. Consider this. He’s the kind of man who can lead. You can tell. How could he be eager and impatient? He knows good things take time. That’s the thing about older men. Maturity. Experience. They know they need to take their sweet time. That was the only good thing about my ex. You know it.” Your voice was plain, almost neutral as you said this. Matter-of-factly. 

Jeongguk was sick of this by now. Did you think he was too eager? Too impatient? Too young and naive? That he couldn’t lead you? That he couldn’t take his sweet time?

Well, now he was in a mood and he had each and every intention to take it out on you. He propped himself against the entrance of the living room, waiting for you to notice him. 

Unfortunately for you, you continued your conversation. 

“Yeah, sometimes Koo has his teenage shenanigans. Tantrums and shit. But he’s my boy.” You confessed, voice slightly lower. “Still… Yeah, sometimes I think ‘what if…’”

What if what? He cleared his throat. 

You lifted your head and finally spotted him. Your mouth opened, and so did your eyes, wide like saucers. 

“Get off the phone.” He growled. 

You closed your mouth. “Gotta go.”

“He’s there, isn’t he?” Your friend asked. 

You nodded, then, realising you needed to verbalise, you whispered a little ‘yes’. 

Your friend wished you good luck before disconnecting the call. You put your phone down.

“Need to tell me anything?” Jeongguk asked, arms crossed and tattoos showing. You spotted the almost invisible initial of your name hidden in one of the black swirls of ink. 

“It was nothing serious. Just gossip.” You defended yourself. 

“Teenage shenanigans. Tantrums.” He recalled. “Guess this is one of those.” He accused. 

“It’s… not like that?” You tried finding an apology, realising how cliché it sounded only the moment it left your mouth. 

He moved closer, expression dark and upset. “How do you want to solve this?”

You bit your lip. “However you want to.” You were testing the waters, seeing what his mood was. 

“Then stand up.” He ordered. 

You blinked a couple times before following his direction. “Koo?”

“No talking.” he replied. “You already said enough.” He threw you over his shoulder, exasperated at your scene. 

You squealed and huffed in surprise. “Jeongguk!”

“Quiet.” He secured with his arm, landing a loud spank on your ass. 

Again you squealed. “What are you–”

“Can’t you understand ‘no talking’? I thought an experienced girl like you had to be smarter than this.” His anger was beginning to show and you were actually somewhere between turned on and scared. You had seen him sweet and enamoured and insecure and upset, but rarely truly angry. 

“Sorry.” You murmured softly as his steps made you wobble against his back. He was carrying you to bed. For sure. 

A few seconds later you recognised your bedroom, and you felt your body being thrown down, landing on the mattress. In a blink you found Jeongguk’s heavy body on top of yours, his mouth at your ear. “Am I not good enough for you?” He teased. 

“You know I love it.” You replied shyly. 

“You love the sex. But am I good enough for you?” He asked again. 

“Yes. Yes, you are, Koo.” You answered firmly. 

“Let’s see if you hate it so much. Sex with this eager, impatient, younger boy.” He provoked. He was moving so fast. He was moving lightning-fast, one moment he was fully dressed and the following he was shirtless and attacking your own clothes, unbuttoning your jeans, tugging at them and taking them off of you. “Bet you’re already drenched. You were so thirsting after that old man.” He threw your jeans behind him, somewhere off the bed. 

“I only want you, and you know it.” You bit back. 

“Stop lying.” He warned. He took off your shirt with angry pulls, almost ripping it, your body collaborating in fear he would hurt you in the process. “You fantasise.” He reminded you. 

No, you don’t. Not willingly, at least. Of course, you’re an adult woman and you’re free of thinking whatever you want. Of course if you see a charming man, you might think of him sexually. But that doesn’t mean you’re not satisfied with what you have. That you would give up your boyfriend for a fantasy. 

“Koo, you’re the only man I want to fuck.” You reassured him, putting your hands around his face, trying to calm him down. 

“So I’m a man now? Not a boy anymore?” he asked, unlatching your bra. 

“You’re always my man to me, you know it.” You hoped the sight of your breasts would make him sway a little. 

It didn’t.

“You called me your boy. Just back then, on the phone.” He bared you with frustrated tugs and pulls. 

“Am I not your girl?” You asked, touching him on his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Anything to express your need for him. 

“Not like I’m patronizing you.” He turned you around, smacking your ass again as he removed your panties, baring your behind. “So fucking condescending.”

You bit your lip, now profoundly sorry for the way you had treated him. “I said some very dumb things, Jeongguk, and I apologise.”

“Good. Now let me prove my point.” He agreed. 

“Want to fuck me good?” You asked, incapable of hiding your arousal. 

“You were talking so much shit that I think you’ve forgotten what this is about.” Another smack. 

Once more you found yourself lying on your back, your naked body now bare to his stare. His pants were tented at the front, the outline of his cock so delicious, thick and half hard. 

“Love, please.” Your hands moved to his waistline, reaching for his sex. 

“Oh, no. I’m taking my sweet time, ____. Starting from here.” He bent down and pressed a hard kiss to your lips, making you moan and whimper before his own mouth opened, his tongue disturbingly sensual and heavy in his assault to your mouth. You were now eager and impatient, while he took everything deliriously, deliberately slowly. “What next? Do you want your nipples licked?” He murmured.

You only nodded, your chest already feeling heavier and oversensitive. 

“Oh, no. That’s for boys. Boys latch onto their mommy’s tits. Men don’t do that, do they?” He replied, grabbing your breast aggressively, parting from your mouth before delivering a quick slap on the skin there. 

You barked out in pain, the sensation not unpleasant but rather surprising. 

“You like it?” He waited for your nod before repeating the gesture. “Is it how a real man would do this?” He asked. 

“Want your mouth, Googie.” You begged. 

“Googie… Ridiculous. Even in bed you treat me like a child.” He hit you again, this time harder. “Can’t take me seriously, can you?”

You were already on the verge of begging. 

“Such a lame show.” He let his hand venture down to your navel, down to your mound, and dive between your thighs. “Tell me, what is it that made you wet?”

You whined at the sensation of his fingertips there, incoherent babbling leaving your mouth. 

“Answer me, babe.” He urged.

Your eyes went wide at the word. He was using every single one of your earlier mistakes against you. Reminding you exactly what you’ve done wrong, but also showing you everything that had hurt him.

“You made me wet.” You informed him. 

“Me slapping your tits?” He snickered darkly.

“You wanting me. You looking always so fucking hot. You giving me everything I need. You being everything I’ll ever need.”

His eyes turned into cold slits. “You sure know how to sweet talk your ass out of problems, don’t you?” He cupped your heat, at which you parted your legs to invite him to make himself comfortable there, to give you his attention. In response he lifted his hand, only to let it land harshly on you. You screamed. Pleasure. Echoing through your veins. Running like wildfire inside your limbs and finally concentrating in your lower belly. “That might work with your boys. Remember? I’m your man tonight. And you’re in trouble, you silly, silly girl.”

Your first reaction was to fill your lungs with some fresh air, before writhing against his grip, the sheets burning your skin. "Jeongguk." 

"Yes?" He replied, looking you in the eye as his palm brushed against you. 

"I wanna be yours." 

"You want this impatient boy?" He asked, the muscles of his jaw tense. 

You tried kissing him, only brushing your lips against his. “I need you, Jeongguk. All of you. Now.”

“Don’t you want me to take my time?” He asked, slowly, oh-so-slowly, caressing your sex. “Don’t you want me to make you wet? Get you all ready and messy?”

“I love my impatient boy. And my meticulous man.” Your lips left a butterfly kiss just shy of his mouth, eyes closing. 

“Tell me how you want me.” He groaned. 

“However you want, Koo. You’re always so good.” Your hips pushed harder against his digits. “Do your best.”

“Then let me show you I’m always the best.” He murmured, his breath fanning over your face. He was laying on his side, hand still dipped between your thighs. He got rid of his sweatpants quickly, his underwear coming off in the same movement. You couldn’t help but watch, eyes entranced to the beauty of his nakedness. You could stare at him for hours. Unfortunately, he had other plans. 

Standing up from the bed he circled around it, looking at you like you were his prey, his prize. 

“Sit.” He ordered, pointing at the edge of the bed, right in front of where he was standing. Of course you were going to obey. His chiselled body was right there, for you to watch, touch and worship, your mouth just in front of his navel. His sex looked awfully flush, tip red with excitement, beaded in precum. You wanted a taste; however the palm reaching for him was stopped by his wrist. “My rules, brat.”

You inhaled sharply while he bent down, securing your legs around his waist. “Hold on tight, ____. Not gonna say it twice.” and with that he picked you up, like you weighted nothing.

Your arms snaked around his neck, legs tightening at his waist, crossing behind his back. 

“First here. Then we’ll see.” And with that he placed you against the wall, his mouth joining your neck, placing sloppy kisses and licks. “Do you want me to mark you or is it too childish?” He growled hard behind your ear. 

“Bite me, mark me, do whatever you want, I just need you inside, Koo.” You moaned, trying to lure him in. 

“Such a needy slut, uh?” He whispered at your ear. “This what you want?” And with that he pinned you hard against the wall, one hand guiding himself at your entrance and sliding into you in one smooth stroke, perfectly hitting your sweet spot at the first go. 

The small humming sound that rumbled in your throat found its twin on his lips. 

“I said, is this what you want, slut?” He teased you again. 

“Yes, Koo.” You muttered, only half coherent. 

He snickered. “Great.” Placing his hands on your ass, helping you up, he pulled out of you, his tip almost slipping out before entering again in full force. “That feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You murmured in confirmation, pressing harder against him. It was different from usual. He was thrusting in slower and deeper, enjoying your tightness, his eyes closed, his hair falling forward as he pushed into you. 

“So tight, baby, how come you’re still so fucking tight?”

“God, you’re so big.” One of your hands moved to his behind, grabbing his ass, groping it, enjoying the flashing of his muscles. His forehead fell on your shoulder, mouth wild on every single inch of your skin he met. 

“Like it?” He picked up the rhythm, just slightly, spurred by your moans and your dishevelled expression. Your bum kept hitting the wall, the thumping now obvious and obscene. 

“Harder.” You begged. 

“Dirty mess.” He giggled at your ear, looking at you and kissing you until you were breathless and your head was spinning. He parted from your lips and stared into your eyes, intensity pouring out of his obsidian stare. “Want more?”

“I need you to touch me there, love, please.” You asked, eyes closing as you implored. 

“Not yet, baby.” His pace was delirious by now, his legs growing tired but headstrong on reaching his orgasm. 

“Please, Jeongguk.” You whined, digging your heels in his back. 

“No can do, sweet thing. Now shut up.” And with that he rammed inside, using your upper back to keep you on the wall as his arms pushed and pulled your hips, fucking you onto him. “Grown men take what they want, don’t they?” He bit into your collarbone and let his mouth open wide, howling in pleasure, his cum filling you up. 

You were hanging on the verge of sanity. “Koo, no, please.”

He was leaning heavily in your arms, your body hanging like a picture from the wall. “That was so fucking good, ____.”

“Koo, please.” You cried out.

“You wanna cum, baby?” He teased. “Want me to make you cum, slut?” He bit your cheek playfully. “Take it to bed? D’you want that?”

Your body tensed again for his not-so-kind nickname. “Yeah, Koo.” You whined. 

“Good.” Little did you know that half a minute later he would still be inside you, sitting you on the soft headboard of the bed. He moved out of you, spinning you around and placing you bottom-up bent over the soft material of the board. “Be a good girl for me. Man, look at that ass. So hot, baby.” He slapped it playfully. “You ready baby?”

“What are you doing?” You asked, your ass up, your legs slightly dangling from the headboard as the tips of your toes brushed the floor, your stomach pressed against the dark leather. You tried shifting your weight to your arms, but Jeongguk trapped one of them behind your back. 

“You can use one to hold yourself up. No more than that, bitch.”

His filthy mouth made your blood feel inebriated, almost like being tipsy. 

Your hips were conveniently exposed, his mouth immediately identifying its target as he crouched down and started rubbing his lips against your sex. “Good?”

“Yes, yes. Yes...” You whispered, still chasing the high he had taken from you earlier. 

“Want me to make you cum?” He asked.

“Please.” You whined. 

“Such a cock hungry little thing.” He let his tongue loll out, the tip going to your front, rubbing against your clit. He kissed the skin there before speaking into your skin: “Be good.”

His tongue slipped inside you, licking away his seed, then spitting it out all over your slit, lubricating you again. “Can you cum without my fingers on your clit, baby? Can you come for an impatient boy licking you?” He bit into the curve your ass. 

“Jeongguk, I’m sorry. Please.” You implored.

“You consider yourself a woman when all you truly want is for me to turn you into my little girl.” He kissed the side of your thigh, his right hand heavily palming and groping your ass. By now you felt like bursting at the seems, arousal coming off your limbs in waves. Jeongguk, buried between your legs, took your salty scent in, delivering small bites to your labia and sucking your clit viciously. 

You only needed more pressure. 

“Come on, slut, cum for me so I can get inside you again.” He teased, repositioning you with his spare hand and now adding more strength to the movements of his tongue. 

The change was immediate. You could feel it in your belly. “Koo, I’m—” next thing that left your mouth was a long scream, rattling your bones, resetting you entirely. 

“That’s a good girl.” He said in the most patronising, condescending and sarcastic tone he could muster. You felt your lungs ignite. “Are you gonna stay still now after you got what you wanted? Let me fuck that need for older men out of you?”

He was angry again. He was angry still. 

“I said dumb stuff.”

“‘Cause you’re a little dumb doll, aren’t you?” His voice came from somewhere behind you, above you. You turned to search for his face but he used his big hand to press your face against the pillow below you. “Dumb, disobedient doll. Stay put.”

You closed your eyes and tried to press your behind to his pelvis. “I’m begging. Jeongguk. I love you.”

“Oh, so you love me now.” His length lingering on your entrance suddenly slammed into you. “You love me?”

“Yes!” You screamed, hoping that the walls would keep your sounds inside the room.

His hand pinned both of your wrists behind your back. “More than your ex?”

“Yes! I’ve never loved anyone like you, Koo.” You mewled, desperate.

"Has he ever fucked you this good?" He grunted, bending down to your ear. 

"No Jeongguk, I swear. You're the best."

"That’s right. I'm the fucking best." He rammed into you recklessly, his head falling forward as he stood and helped your hips back, the tip of your feet now pressed more steadily against the floor, removing some pressure from your abdomen.

He probably didn't even realise that the position was getting uncomfortable, and you were grateful for the shift, even if it made his thrusts deeper and more difficult to resist. 

“How can you want it calm and patient when you love being my fuckdoll, uh?” He pulled out and smacked your ass hard, then plunging in again. “When you need a young—” thrust— “inexperienced—” thrust—“impatient little boy—” thrust— “to fuck your brains out?”

You moaned and pushed yourself toward him, the sound of your flesh squelching and smacking echoing in the room. 

His hand climbed around your waist, dipping down your navel and meeting the apex of your labia. “Did your ex ever fuck you like this?”

“No Jeongguk.” You replied meekly. 

“Did he ever make you cum like this?” He asked, torturing you with his devious fingers. 

“No, Jeongguk.”

“Did he ever make you speechless with his cock?” He growled, sinking into you and shifting his hips to push small little circles deep against your cervix. 

“No…” you hummed, barely responsive.

“You’re gonna cum so good on my cock, doll. You’re gonna be a slut for it, drool on it for the rest of your life.” He swore, filthy and almost unconscious. 

Were you more coherent, you would have realised how fucked out he was, but unfortunately you were twice as gone as him and in no time your mouth formed his name in a strangled breath before your body twitched around him, your hands gripping on your forearms, still in the position he’d put you in even though his grip was no longer controlling you. 

“Cumming on my dick. Such a dumb little girl for it, uh?” He provoked you, even though your mind was miles high, seeing stars dance in your peripheral. “Take it all. Enjoy it. It’s the only one you’re gonna get, slut.”

And with that he grabbed hold of your hips and started bouncing your bum against his crotch, hammering into you, lasting only a minute before grunting your name and growling against your spine, falling forward and then snapping back, head bent away from you as he used you as his personal toy. 

When you felt him stop you dared turn around. He was magnificent. 

Hair plastered to his forehead, face and torso glimmering with sweat, the veins of his arms popping out like highways under his skin. 

“Koo.” You murmured, looking for your boy, your comfort, your safe place. 

“Only a second, sweetheart.” He exhaled, his skin blushing with exertion. “I know I can get another one, just give me time, baby.”

“Koo, I—“ You objected, but he stopped you.

“It’s not you. It’s me. I want it.” He warned with a stern tone. “Don’t you dare think this is about you, doll. Can you choose where you want it or are you too fucked out for that?”

Jeongguk helped you up and pulled you to his chest, the pose half affectionate and half controlling. “You know me best. I know you’ll choose what is best for me.” You whined in an attempt of flattery — even though it was absolutely true. He does know you best. You know he will always choose what’s best for you because he loves you. He adores you. 

He carefully drew out of you, kissing your spine delicately. You still had to understand what was his current mood. “Turn around.”

You obeyed, your eyes naturally focusing on his chest, right in front of your face. He pinched your neck and turned your head upwards, toward his awaiting gaze. You knew there were many things he was trying to say right in that moment with nothing but a glance. You knew how the words got stuck in his throat and how they would stumble and shake before falling from his lips, how they would sound tiny and hurt and heartbroken, but also fond and fiery and faithful. 

You knew all his favourite words, the ones he spoke so little, the ones he kept closer to his heart in fear that their power would diminish once they finally made it out.

He kissed you one, two, five, ten, twenty times, small pecks and butterfly kisses, Eskimo kisses with the tip of his lovely nose, and wet, sloppy kisses on your neck. He combed your dishevelled hair and kissed it too, then your hands, then your wrists and then your eyelids. Your forehead and your brow, the tender skin behind your ear, the softness of your cheeks. 

Picking you up, he kissed you again, his mouth possessing yours, lost in the tenderness and passion of you. You felt like a small boat in a wide, calm sea, nothing but the horizon all around you, his waves lulling you, his voice and his lips leading you towards a safe haven, surrounded in peace. 

“I love you, Googie.” You breathed softly against his open mouth. 

“Let me show you.” He replied, again carrying you exactly where he wanted. 

Your walk in closet was enormous, with wide wardrobes along the walls, a couple mirrors multiplying the images of you and him. 

“Here.” He said, placing you on the comfy seat in the middle of the small room.

In here he would see your every angle and reaction. There would be no escape from the blatant ruination he would unleash over your body. 

His hand was already cupping his sex, palming and pumping it as he used his other arm to pry your legs open, his head sinking there. He bit into the skin of your thighs, sucking and kissing with a hunger you had never thought existed. His favour stopped just shy of your entrance, watching as his release spilled and stained your skin. 

“Amazing.” He murmured reverently, leaning into your knee as if he was on the verge of sanity and you were the only thing pinning him to reality. “Tell me I’m the only one you want.”

“You’re the only one I want. The only one I love.” You wasted no time as you comforted him, giving him that safety net he so desperately craved.

“Tell me you won’t leave me,” he begged, closing his eyes as if the thought caused him physical pain. 

“I’ll be by your side, always.” You promised, caressing his hair. 

“Look,” he pointed to the mirror on your side, to your seated figure and his kneeling one. 

“Koo. Are you ready? I need you so bad.” You whined, your eyes leaving the reflection only as you ended your request.

“Want you on your knees, belly on the seat.”

He gave you the space to manoeuvre down from the seat, on your knees, right as he wanted you.

“Look straight ahead, doll. Look at that.” He teased, his hand pointing towards the mirror in front of you. “Look at your tits pressed up against the seat. They’re so soft… They must be so fucking sensitive by now.” His hand stroking himself dragged his tip against your skin, moistening you evenly as he got ready once more. 

“I’ve neglected them today.” He caressed your back and kissed your neck. “I’ll take good care of them tomorrow morning. Would you like that?” He asked, mischievous. 

“Yes, Koo.” God, you weren’t even sure you knew other words by now, so possessed by your need for him. 

He put just the head of his cock inside you, enjoying the immediate fluttering of your insides. “Want more, doll.”

With a humming, senseless groan you backed your ass into his groin. 

He snickered sarcastically. “Fuckdoll.”

You felt every inch of him enter you, violating your flesh. 

“That’s it. I’m gonna ruin you.” Jeongguk growled visciously as he bottomed out. 

“Please.” You moaned as you looked at his face from the reflection in the mirror. He was using his hand to press against your lower back.

“Taking me so well, slut. So hungry for it.” He was lost in the reflection too, moving slow and deep. 

“Only for you.” You whined, praising him. 

“No one can do it like us. No one.” He twisted your head to the side, the other mirror welcoming you. “There’s no one else for us.”

God, he was wordy today. You were basking in it. You loved how he wanted you to see, to hear everything. He was often wild but shy and today was truly exceptional for many reasons. “Googie, touch me, I’m getting close, please.”

“You keep saying please, baby. So polite today, uh? Might have to fuck you like this more often.” He provoked you. 

“Look how fucked out you are, doll.” He snorted. “You’re so hot.” He keened.

You watched the way his muscles moved, his pecs flexing and relaxing as he dragged your hips along his shaft. “No one can get you this hot.”

“No.” You whined out, desperate for more, for anything, for everything he was willing to give you. 

“You’re a slut for me alone, uh?” He smacked your ass once more, pulling out of you entirely and slapping his length over your soft backside. “Dirty fuckdoll.”

“I’m your toy, Koo. Use me.” You pleaded, searching for him with your hands, needing him close, closer, melted into you. “Please.”

“How can I say no to my needy slut.” He giggled before changing his angle, his arm infiltrating beneath your torso, between your breasts, towards your neck.

His other hand slithered to your front, his thrusts more subdued now that his leverage was weaker between your thighs and against your collarbone. The slow-down however helped you focus on your clit, on his fingers there on the way he was touching you in that “I’m not playing, you’d better cum in the next two minutes” mood. 

“You’re getting tighter, doll. D’you like my hand so much?” He teased with an accusing tone. “You must be close, mh?”

“So close, Koo.” You chirped.

“Come on, then.” His thrusts slowed even more, making you feel full to the brim and once they paired with his fingers you found yourself coming apart. 

“Yeah, babe. So fucking tight. Cum for me.” He spoke on your skin, body completely twisted and twined with yours. His tongue ran against your spine, his throat producing small, deep grunts as his pleasure exploded and spilled inside you. “Yes, doll. Fuck babe. Amazing.” He howled, arching into you, sticking to you like a second skin. 

“You look so damn lovely, doll. I love you so fucking much.” He whispered, heavy at your back, his hips stilling. “I bet nobody’s ever fucked you like this.”

“No.” You confirmed. “Nobody has. Nobody ever will.” You pressed a kiss to his hand, close to your face and cupping your cheek. 

As if coming back from a trance, he batted his lashes intensely, kissing your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, Googie. It was… incredibly hot. Definitely on your top three best performances. I will definitely write this day down on the calendar. We can celebrate it like an anniversary.”

“Hot fuck in the closet day.” He murmured, half asleep on top of you. “I like that.”

You smiled. “Can we get to bed? My knees are a bit sore. Actually I’m a bit sore all over.”

He nodded, waiting a couple seconds before parting from you and helping you up, carrying you to the bathroom and cleaning you up silently, taking care of you before dropping both of your heavy bodies on the bed. 

“I said ugly stuff.” He confessed. 

“I did too.” You admitted. “You know, I might think that older men are charming, but that’s as far as it goes. And I might have said stuff about my ex, but hey, there are multiple reasons why he’s my ex.” You caressed his face and kissed his hair as he laid his head on your chest. “And I’m here with you. No charming old man, no patient ex will ever change the fact that I love you.” You reassured him. “That you’re a dream come true.” You held his hand and intertwined your fingers. 

“I just… I’m always afraid of the things I can’t give you.” He whispered, insecure. As if he hadn’t given you his everything… 

“I will love you for all the things you can give me, Googie. And we will learn to compromise about the things we can’t give each other. That’s how it works.” You brought his hand to your lips, pressing them against every inch of it. 

“I’m sorry about the bad words.” He said with big doe eyes, lined with silvery tears. “I hope I didn’t insult you or upset you.”

“Would you worry if I said I liked that a bit?” You looked into his eyes tenderly, trying to dissolve his shyness. “But I hurt you with my words, so I want to know now.”

Your conversation went on for almost half an hour, his body warm and comfortable next to yours, the feeling of safety encouraging him to bare himself, showing you his darkest, most vulnerable sides.

By the end of the afternoon you both felt loved and appreciated, cared for and adored. With his head heavy on your chest, your heartbeat playing in his ear, Jeongguk realised you would always be his one.

[watarigarasu]

The Dawn

Pairing: Fíli x Reader

Word count: 2,207

Warnings: Contains Feelings™

Author’s note: I was so astonished by @legolaslovely​‘s writing that I decided to write something myself to show my support and appreciation. Hopefully it’s enjoyable! Also, forgive me any eventual mistakes because English is not my native langauge so I might get lost in the grammar from time to time.

Never in your whole life there have been a time when the utter dread froze your trembling heart in its sharp claws, closing them around it and almosy suffocating, stealing the breath away from your lungs. Ironically, it was also the only impulse which seemed to keep you alive, to stay aware of your surroundings, quietly observing the majestic landscape in front of you which was now nowhere near as wonderful as you first thought, for the great mountains were now covered not only in the snow but the corpses of those who has fallen during the battle. It was a gruesome image, something you never thought you would ever experience in your short, human lifespan, the fate, however, seemed to have different plans for you.

The silence fell down upon the hills like a morning fog as the nature around the Lonely Mountain seemed to remain indifferent toward the war which has just taken place. There were no ringing horns, no screams nor shouted orders, no arrows slicing the thin air, no sound of steel armour hit with an axes—as if it was all but a fading memory, the one you were never going to forget.

Turning around from the high balcony on the main gate, you have decided that you could no longer wait and simply watch, especially now, since the elves were retrieving back to Dale and no orcs seemed to stay alive on the battlefield. The promise you swore to Fíli right before he headed out of the kingdom with the fire burning in the eyes, fading sun playing in the golden hair and heavy axe in the hand was the hardest goodbye at the same time. He begged you to listen to the voice of reason and—for once—to leave out the stubborn nature, so you would stay there, in the safe place where no weapon could reach you. Cradling you in his tight embrace, Fíli patiently explained how your presence would be the easiest way to get him distracted, since he would not simply focus on slaying an enemy, instead paying too much attention to whether you were alright.

„No,” he whispered, the gloved thumb wiping the burning tear from your cheek. „Please, do not ever assume that I think of you as less than perfect. Perfect woman, perfect friend, perfect company, perfect warrior. I do believe that your skills would be an indescribable advantage for our side but I beg you, my love, do not try to prove it. Not this time.”

He kissed your lips, swollen from the weeping of the misery of this whole situation, and the taste of the salty tears rested at the tip of his tongue until the first blow of the freezing air hit his face on an open field.

„I will come back to you as soon as this is over.” Fíli forced a smile and rested his forehead on your shoulder, savouring the scent of your skin in an attempt to convince himself that it was not the last time he could hold you in the arms. „I promise.”

„If you break this promise, Fíli...” you muttered angrily against his hair, kissing the tip of his head and embracing him as strongly as you could, wishing that you could hide him under the fabric of your tunic and wait until the storm passes.

„I won't.”

„But if you do, if you lie to me then I swear, I will kill you.” Your voice cracked despite the joke you were trying to form. „I will find you and kill you.”

Fíli looked at you with an amusement visible in the eyes and placed another soft kiss upon your lips, cupping your face in his hands, now covered in the rough leather.

„Deal,” he agreed. „I will take you at your word.”

But the battle was over now, the crows painting circles in the sky above the dead and you were still waiting. Rushing down the stairs, you heard the voices echoing from afar, the living ones coming back to the recaimed home which was now supposed to belong to them until the end of time. Anxiety building in your heart did not help you to calm your rapid heartbeat but it surely allowed you to run through the corridors faster than you thought you were able to. You had to see him, make sure that he was safe as sound—that he kept his promise.

The first familiar face you saw belonged to Dwalin, the Dwarf not even limping when he walked past you without a single word spoken. Concerned about his reaction, you stood in the place when your feet denied your orders and made you simply stare at the corner of the corridor where the next members of the company appeared, one by one, some hurt more or less, but all with the same, unreadable expression on their faces, hidden under the messy beards. The only one who stopped by your side was Balin, his hand landing heavily on your shoulder as he also joined the rest deep in the halls, leaving you after few delicate pats.

What was that supposed to mean? And where were the others? Where was Thorin and Kíli?

Where, for Mahal's sake, was Fíli?

You barely noticed Bifur passing you by when the tears filled your eyes, causing the whole surroundings to blur. The trembling of your heart was now strong enough to melt the freezing fear and to drown your whole body and soul in the burning grief. You muttered a quiet: „sorry” after pushing past poor Ori to get out of the kingdom. You had to get out of there, to get some fresh air, since the dark corridors seemed to strangle you more and more with every passing minute.

At first, the white snow laying on the cold stones almost blinded you when the rays of sun reflected through the crystal petals and you had to blink few times to adjust your sight to the image in front of you. If you thought that the battlefield was gruesome from the above, now you were convinced that it was just as tragic from the ground. The pure elves, the one considered eternal and immortal were laying on the snow, lifeless and unnamed among their dead brothers and cousins. Somewhere in the distance, you noticed the army of King Dáin marauding slowly to the gates of the Lonely Mountain, the banners held high above their heads. And despite all of it—the joy you were supposed to be feeling because of a winned war, the Erebor finally having the rightful king, the defeated dragon, the rising city of Dale—you have never felt as lost and lonely. After all, how were the gold and jewels supposed to fill the empty space in your heart?

Dizziness caused you to sat on the nearby stone as the time seemed to completely slow down. The day was so far away, just as the whole present, and you were caught somewhere in between, not being a part of Thorin's Company anymore, not belonging to the Erebor, not having Fíli by your side. Blinking few times, you were convinced that the wind will simply blow you off the Middle Earth now, like a dust from the piece of paper, and turn into nothing, but no matter how long you were waiting, it did not happen.

You were still there, sitting on the cool stone, sight glued to the mountains in front of you, unbearably alive.

That was, when you heard a rush somewhere near, the familiar click of an armour against a shield and something you faintly recognized as a giggle. Were you dreaming or delirious? Was your mind too overwhelmed by the sorrow so it decided to flow you with all the various kind of impulses to keep you sane? Slowly turning around, you saw the frames coming closer in your direction from the other side of the hill. Considering the distance, you were sure that there was at least two of them, but when you stood up and focused on the sight, you realized that it was, in fact, three of them—the one held in between the other two.

Once again, an inquiry popped in your head. Were you dreaming?

Despite not knowing the answer to that question, you could not linger anymore and so, your feet led you forward, starting with a firm march and soon transforming into the run. The closer you were to them, the more features you recognized; first, the slightly bent shoulders of Thorin, his long hair sticked with blood and falling down his shoulders as his arms were hanged around the other two Dwarves. Then, Kíli's hand held firmly against his side where the stain of blood soaked through his tunic and painted his chain mail in deep crimson. And surprisingly, Fíli was the last one you laid your eyes upon, as if you were afraid that it might not be him but someone else and the love of your life was still left somewhere in the mountains—cold and lifeless as the other warriors.

Fíli, however, was now in front of you, helping to carry his wounded uncle and the smile which played on his lips when he saw you was enough to prove that he, indeed, intended to keep his promise.

Many hours passed since the darkness of the night devoured the endless sky and the memory of the battle was nothing but an echo in the back of your mind. Ridiculous in itself, the whole day seemed to never happened, when you were sitting at the edge of your bed, Fíli standing still in front of you and observing your careful fingers as you treated his wounds. The one which was aimed at his ribcage was the worst but still not enough to take him away from you—however, if it only hit a little bit higher...

„Where are you?” Fíli's voice was low and calm, bringing you back to reality like a kiss of the rising sun on the skin.

„I am right here,” you told him, when the last bandage was placed firmly against his wound and he could put the tunic back on.

„No, my love, I can see it. You are still on the battlefield, even though you did not participate in the war.”

There was a silence between you two, the sweet one, filled with the scent of melting wax, the healing herbs and freshly dried clothes. Fíli's hair were set loose now, free from any kind of braids, since he insisted to wash them clean of blood and dirt before joining you in bed, now reminding you of curly waterfalls of gold—the only real treasure under the mountain. His eyes, however, remained soft and adoring, looking at you as if it was the very first time you met.

„I thought I lost you,” you admitted after a while, when he sat next to you and placed his hand upon yours, fingers entangling together. „I cannot simply ignore that feeling, it was there, present and real and I did believe I will never see you again.”

He tilted his head to the side, staring at you as if you were the most precious being in the whole existence—and prehaps, for him you really were.

„But I am here now and this is an unquestionable truth. There is no need to dwell into that memory, my love, not since we have the whole lifes ahead of us.”

„And would you like to spend the rest of your life with me?”

„Of course. I promised you that.” Fíli rised your combined palms to his lips and placed a butterfly kiss upon your skin. The warm feeling spread through your veins all the way to the heart, now calm and resting and so, so cheerful.

„Besides,” he added. „I had to tell you that I honestly am quite impressed that you listened to me and I owe you a big thanks for that. You know, I almost lost a bet with Kíli—he said that you won't stay behind the gates for longer than an hour.”

„You had a bet?” You frowned but the involuntary smile betrayed your amusement.

„It was his idea, though.”

Playfully, you poked him in the arm with your elbow, careful to not cause him any pain. As strong and enduring he was, he surely did not need more harm.

„I can believe you.” You nodded. „Still, the whole three of you gave me quite a huge scare today...”

„And I am sorry for that.”

„...But I am glad to have you back.” You gently took a single strand of his hair and placed it behind his ear, peeking at his lips and longing to finally kiss it. „I do not know what I would do without you, Fíli.”

„Fortunately, you do not have to know. And you never will.”

The kiss you two shared this evening did not taste like tears anymore, on the contrary, it was as sweet as the promise of the upcoming day, bright and full of possibilities. A new chapter in the story you wanted to write with him by the side, until there were no blank pages left.

And, prehaps, maybe even some more.

[remys-lucky-franc]

Sick - Queen of Thieves Fic : Nikolai x MC (Daisy)

Pretty fluffy - no bad language or nsfw - no trigger warnings

Shout out to my friends @ispookyloaf and @stopforamoment as this was a product of a silly idea on one of our fun chats 💕

Word Count ~2200 (couldn’t resist the sneezing cat gif 😂)

[[MORE]]

Remy scuttled out of Nikolai’s room with a frown and a worry-line stretching the length of his forehead. He rounded the corner to the kitchen as he ran into Daisy. She stepped back looking surprised as he exclaimed,

“Ma Cherie, you’re back!”

Daisy nodded,

“Yeah, glad to be home, was a long couple of days. Leon’s just bringing the rest of the stuff up from the car. Worth it though, think we have the mark’s movements down to a tee... Remy are you ok?”

Remy raked a hand through his thick hair and sighed dramatically,

“Non. When was the last time you talked to Niko?”

Daisy looked puzzled, concern creeping into her voice,

“We haven’t talked on the phone, but we sent some text messages yesterday... Is he ok? What’s going on?”

Remy shook his head, looking towards the heavens,

“Did he tell you he is... Unwell?”

Daisy’s eyes widened, as she stared towards the closed bedroom door,

“He’s ill?! What?! Since when?!”

Remy sighed again,

“Since yesterday. Daisy, it’s not pretty...”

Daisy raised an eyebrow, starting towards their room,

“Not pretty? What the hell’s happened to him?!”

Remy reached out, catching her arm to stop her,

“He’s in bed, congested, running a temperature! He can’t taste his food, he has a disgusting cough, a sweaty sheen-“

Daisy held up her free hand to stop Remy in his tracks,

“Wait. Remy? Are you trying to tell me that ‘Master of the Impossible’, Nikolai Stirling, has taken to his bed with ‘man flu’??”

Remy covered his face with his hands,

“Go! See for yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you...”

Vivienne breezed past, pursing her lips and commenting,

“Are you heading in there, darling? Good luck! I wouldn’t dare! He’s foul when he’s poorly, the only person who would brave going in there is Remy!”

Remy shrugged, a sad look flitting across his face,

“I take him his favourite soup...”

Daisy noticed his expression, but only barely, as she shook her head at both of them,

“You two are exaggerating! He can’t be that bad - plus he’ll be happy to see me!”

Vivienne waved a dismissive, if perfectly manicured, hand at Daisy,

“If you want some advice? Let him be, darling! He’ll emerge like a beautiful butterfly from his chrysalis in a few days time!”

Daisy tutted as she headed towards the door, Remy and Vivienne exchanged an awkward grimace as she gently knocked, edging it open, with a half-whisper,

“Nikolai?”

He turned to face her and Daisy tried to stop automatic recoil as she caught sight of him: Remy was not exaggerating!

“Solnishko, you’re back.” A faint smile crossed Nikolai’s face as he watched her step inside, his usually sparkling blue eyes heavy and puffy-looking as he pushed his way up into a seated position against the plush cushions, “Things went well?”

Daisy nodded as she made her way across the room, Elizabeth twining around her feet and meowing as she went, eventually Daisy perched on the edge of the bed and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Nikolai’s head,

“I’m more concerned about what’s going on here? When did you start to feel like this?”

Nikolai waved away her concern, voice irritable but somewhat dulled and nasal,

“I’m fine, I had a particularly late night last night, that’s all.”

He tossed the covers back, readying himself to stand, only for Daisy to flip them back across his lap,

“Ohhhh no you don’t. You never sleep? You’re sick.”

Nikolai opened his mouth to protest, starting a second attempt to get out of bed but erupting into a kink of coughing as Daisy grabbed for a box of tissues from the bedside table. She smoothed his dampened hair back from his forehead easing him back into the soft pillows by his shoulders,

“Kotik, you’re sick. You don’t have to prove anything to me, please will you just relax?”

Slumping backwards into the soft bedding as Daisy kept a gentle pressure on his arms, Nikolai let out a frustrated groan,

“I can’t be ‘sick’. This is quite inconvenient, there’s still so much to do for the- ACHHOOOO!! Urgh. For the heist.”

Daisy tucked the duvet around his shivering form, smoothing his hair as she told him firmly but kindly,

“The heist is already ahead of schedule, I know you like to feel indispensable, but there’s literally nothing at this stage that the rest of us can’t do to keep ticking over for a few days until you’re feeling back to normal. Just please, stay there, let me look after you? Please?”

Nikolai didn’t vocalise his answer, he simply closed his eyes and relaxed his aching head against her hand, feeling too poorly to argue any longer.

Daisy murmured, “You’re burning up, just, stay put...” heading into the bathroom and swiftly returning with a cool face cloth, pressing it to his head as Nikolai hummed in appreciation.

“Did you take any medicine?”

“I don’t like to.”

Daisy frowned,

“You’re going to take two paracetamols. They’ll stop all this shivering. You’ll feel better.”

“But-“

“Nikolai.”

Nikolai attempted a sigh, that turned into another bout of coughing as Daisy headed back towards the kitchen, she was sure there was a collection of over-the-counter medicines in one of the drawers. Remy raised an eyebrow from his seat at the breakfast bar as she entered,

“Well, how is he?”

Daisy nodded firmly,

“He’ll survive. He just needs to rest for a couple of days.”

She rummaged around, locating the paracetamol, and pouring a tall glass of iced water, “And I’m going to look after him til he’s back on his feet.”

Remy shrugged his shoulders, smiling at her,

“Of course you will. That’s what you do. You’re his partner now, what’s that expression, ‘in sickness and in health’...”

Daisy swatted at Remy’s arm as she headed back towards Nikolai’s room,

“Firstly, that’s not an expression, it’s a ‘wedding vow’, and secondly, I don’t think when those were written they were intended to cover the common cold, Remy.”

Ducking out of her reach, Remy smirked, calling after her,

“Bonne chance!”

—-

Handing Nikolai the pills and the glass of water, she watched to make sure he actually swallowed them, before heading to the bathroom and returning with a vial of essential oils. Nikolai looked at her curiously as she dripped a few droplets onto his pillow. She took a deep breath in, wafting her hand, encouraging him to do the same,

“It’s menthol. It’ll help you breath.”

“I can’t smell it.”

“You will, eventually. In the meantime, here.” She pushed her iPad into his lap, “We are going to binge on Netflix until you feel better. None of your high-brow stuff, Nik. We’re going to watch something that you don’t even have to concentrate on. Easy watching, total trash. No arguments.”

Nikolai pulled a face as Daisy reiterated while she climbed onto the bed snuggling into his side, “No arguments. I’m in charge of getting you better, ok?” He stroked her cheek offering her a half smile as she pulled up the Menu.

___

Three episodes into Daisy’s TV trash of choice, Nikolai, despite himself had become quite captivated. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier, but was fighting the urge to close them, because he didn’t want to miss the drama unfolding onscreen...

Daisy could see him getting more and more tired,

“How about I switch this off and you doze for a little bit? I won’t let you dream.”

Nikolai forced his eyes wide, blinking,

“I’m fine, put another episode on, I want to see what happens to- Dear god what is happening to me?! Am I delirious?! Maybe I do need to sleep.”

Daisy smiled as she fluffed the pillows around him, dimming the lights, and in a hushed voice, she began,

“Soooft kitty, waaarm kitty, little ball offfff-“

Within seconds Nikolai’s eyes were wide again and staring in confusion,

“What is the meaning of this?”

Daisy shrugged,

“I thought you might like it?”

Nikolai closed his eyes, a perplexed wrinkle appearing in his forehead as he settled back down,

“You’re a very strange woman sometimes.”

Daisy squeezed his fingers,

“I mean, I don’t have to sing to you?”

Nikolai murmured, his eyes still closed, voice with a warmer edge to it than before,

“I don’t think anyone has ever sang me a lullaby before. I suppose it’s not completely terrible.”

Daisy beamed as she snuggled back into her snuffly partner, closing her own eyes and stroking his chest lightly as she hummed the rest of the tune.

—-

Daisy jolted awake, she wasn’t sure quite how much later, but quickly exhaled a sigh of relief when she realised that Nikolai was in a peaceful, even if he was softly snoring, sleep: there were no thrashing movements or strained facial expressions. He must really have needed the time to rest and heal his tired body. She touched his forehead - he felt decidedly less clammy than he had before. Grinning she decided that the paracetamol must have worked. Gently she ran her fingers over his cheek , murmuring his name softly until he started to stir. She’d promised not to let him dream, so she shouldn’t leave him asleep too much longer...

A faint smile crossed Nikolai’s face as he looked up at her,

“May I have my tea?”

Daisy’s jaw dropped, horrified,

“No, Nikolai! You can’t have your tea?! You’re not drinking poison while you’re taking paracetamol?! Absolutely not.”

Nikolai started at her indignantly,

“You’re being ridiculous. Anytime Remy’s looked after me, he’s brought me my tea.”

Daisy scoffed, one brow arched,

“I don’t believe that for a second! How about I call Remy in here and ask him?”

Nikolai opened his mouth to retort, but knowing her was beat he simply muttered about how ridiculous the situation was instead.

Daisy rolled her eyes, trying to change the subject,

“Hey, how about I get some more of the soup you love? I’m sure Remy would have made a whole vat of it. It’s funny, you know? I would have sworn you didn’t like mushrooms?”

Nikolai froze as Daisy looked at him curiously, confused.

He eventually broke the silence,

“Daisy, please don’t tell him, but I don’t. I’ve never had the heart to tell him when he’s been so kind as to make the soup for me. Remy is the only person who’s ever looked after me when I’ve been ill. Even as a child, my mother would ‘shoo’ me if I were poorly. My father would always say it was a sign of weakness and tell me to show some mettle.”

Daisy felt like her heart would break as she looked at him; the expression on his face looked like he was holding himself together, bracing himself against an unkind blow, but at the same time wanting to share something important to him. She reached out squeezing his hand, nodding in encouragement for him to keep talking.

Giving her a tight-lipped smile Nikolai continued,

“Remy has such a good heart. When I was first poorly, he asked me what my mother would make for me, back at home. When I said ‘nothing’ he was appalled. That’s when he started to make me chicken and mushroom soup, because that’s what his grandmother would make for him whenever he was unwell. I don’t like mushrooms, but I always finish the bowl.”

Daisy picked his hand up, kissing his knuckles,

“Even though you don’t like the taste it makes you feel better?”

Nikolai gave her a half-laugh,

“Exactly. Strange isn’t it?”

Daisy shrugged,

“Not so much. It’s not about the food, it’s about the feelings. That’s why they call it comfort food I guess? Do you want me to go get him to bring you some?”

Nikolai’s cheeks flushed as he nodded.

Daisy quickly smoothed his hair as she headed back to the kitchen,

“Remy?“

Remy lifted his head from a glossy magazine,

“How is the patient?”

Daisy, understanding that Remy had been looking after Nikolai for many years before either of them knew she existed, suspected that sharing the soup might warm Remy’s heart as much as being cared about warmed Nikolai’s,

“He’s ok. But I really think he needs another portion of chicken and mushroom?” She watched intently as Remy’s big green eyes lit up, grinning, “Maybe you could even teach me to make it some time?”

Remy enthused about his grandmother’s recipe as he busied around the kitchen of the penthouse heating a bowl for Nikolai, telling her the perfect type of mushrooms, which oil was best, how long to prepare the stock...

Daisy nodded as she repeated instructions and asked about ingredients, finally stopping and sighing,

“You’ve been making this so long, it could take years for mine to be as good as yours-“

Remy cut in, a look in his eye that said he knew exactly what she was doing, but choosing not to call her on it,

“Ma cherie, I’ll be here to help you! We can make it together! Or I can make the soup and you can snuggle with him until he feels better?”

Daisy beamed as she extended her right hand for Remy to shake on it,

“Deal! We’ll take care of him together. ”

Remy ushered Daisy back in the direction of Nikolai’s room as he placed the soup and a spoon on a tray, following closely behind her.

[lady-divine-writes]

Afterglow (Rated NC17)

A winter storm, a roaring fire, a bear skin rug - the most cliche set-up for the most memorable first time in the universe. And at the end of it all, angel and demon struggle briefly for the perfect word to describe it. (1361 words)

Notes: Written for @drawlight‘s ‘31 days of ineffables’ prompt ‘gold and silver’. Mildly NSFW.

“A---A---Aziraphale …” Crowley sighs, eyelids fluttering shut. A bright and bitter sampling of an unrealized cosmos dances behind them, swirling in a dizzying display of silver and gold – stars known to him but unknown to the world, since he took their signatures with him when he fell. “Dear God …” He swallows “… bless it all …” The universe behind his eyes continues to spin, but the one around him slows, and then stops. The heat that once encircled him like a blanket begins to slide lower down his body, pooling around his middle. Cold air hits his exposed shoulders and Crowley shudders.

"Mmm ... God ..." He moans – loud and long, with a thump on the d like a smack to the head. In the cheek of his post-orgasmic bliss, he giddily wonders if repeatedly taking Her name in vain the way he had over and over and over again might succeed in luring the Almighty down from on high to ask Her long forgotten Fallen what on Her Earth pleased him so.

And boy, would he have a mouthful to tell Her!

Amusing, but probably not.

She hasn’t answered any of his prayers thus far.

He refuses to consider Aziraphale part of that line up. Aziraphale is an angel, fully capable of answering prayers on his own. The wonder that is his presence in Crowley’s life, the gifts he bestows by simply existing, and the miracle of moments ago, Crowley attributes entirely to his angel and his angel alone.

Besides … why should She show up now?

To give them Her blessing?

Like he’d care.

No. Her showing up would be unwelcome, inconvenient, and grandstanding. That’s why She would.

In that vein, She’d probably send Gabriel in Her stead, but wouldn’t that be hilarious?

Crowley might consider paying money for that; to have that stuck up, pompous imbecile materialize and find them lying naked on the floor of this cottage in South Downs. And because Crowley is a bastard of a very specific variety, one that would tell either God or Gabriel off to their face while standing before them in the nude, he does it again.

“God …”

“You’re tempting fate, my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs against Crowley’s torso, his head too heavy to lift so he can look in his demon’s eyes and scold him properly.

“Am I?” Crowley smirks, running trembling fingers through his angel’s sweaty hair. “Good then. That’s my job done. Temptation.”

Aziraphale smiles. Crowley feels it against his skin. It makes him glow on the inside. “And you accomplished it brilliantly. Bravo.”

"You mean wahoo." Crowley reclines on his elbows, much in his leisure, content and more satisfied than he's felt in thousands of years. Though he has to admit, it didn’t quite happen the way he’d pictured it. The whole ordeal from start to finish was terribly cliché - bottle of wine; bear skin rug; a dozen long-stemmed red roses fragranting the room; roasting chestnuts lending their earthy scent to the chill, winter air; a bowl of berries and fresh whipped cream (some of which he’s wearing, smeared in places he can’t see without disturbing Aziraphale, and that he has no intention of doing. Not for the world).

A chestnut pops sharply by Crowley’s left ear, drawing his attention to the flames. He isn’t a big fan of fire, even though a fire lives within him. A fire lives within all demons. Hellfire - the fire an angel falls into when they’re cast out of Heaven. A fire that should keep him and Aziraphale at arm’s length. But like his sword, Aziraphale has found a way to tame Crowley’s fire, keep it from raging wildly out of control.

Keep it from devouring him when they kiss and hug and touch.

But the fire - like the wine, the rug, the roses, the chestnuts, and the berries - were essential elements of this moment.

Their first time.

Ambiance. Crowley wanted ambiance for Aziraphale.

He went so far as to summon a squall. He appreciates what a storm adds to the atmosphere of the small cottage room. He hears echoes of it in the soft tinkling of the sleigh bells hanging from the wreath outside their door. There’s even a book of poems lying around somewhere. It wasn’t part of the seduction – just what Aziraphale was occupying himself with initially, reading aloud a poignant verse about now or never.

And Crowley - moved more by Aziraphale’s reading than the words, his emotion, the catch in his voice, its softness and timber and cadence - chose now.

If asked, Aziraphale would have said all he needed was Crowley to have a perfect first time. And Crowley felt the same about Aziraphale. But in Crowley’s mind, Aziraphale deserved more. He deserved romance. He deserved the fairy tale, the bells and whistles. He deserved Oscar Wilde and D. H. Lawrence whispered in his ears.

He deserved magic.

Crowley can only hope he delivered.

He’s a bit too self-conscious to ask.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his fingertips traveling long strokes across the angel’s shoulders.

Aziraphale sighs, his breath a warm ghost curling over Crowley’s stomach, making his demon shiver. “Well, I …” The words stop, spoken before conscious thought sparks within his brain. But regardless of the pause, it doesn’t come, and Aziraphale starts to laugh.

Crowley frowns so deep Aziraphale hears it when he speaks. “I’m curious to know what you find so funny.”

“Don’t be a grump,” Aziraphale teases, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist and hugging him tight. “I’m not laughing at you.”

“Then what?”

“I … is it ridiculous that the only word I can think of is wonderful?”

Crowley grins, a hint of smug twisting one side of his mouth. “No. You might be a bit too distracted to think clearly.”

“Possibly.”

“Let me help you then.”

“Please do.”

Crowley clears his throat, mentally reaching as hard as Aziraphale for an adjective a few steps up from wonderful, probably more seeing as he doesn’t read half as much as Aziraphale. “Incandescent?”

“Hmm …” Aziraphale hums, the buzzing of his throat tickling Crowley’s skin. “Sounds like a light bulb, but a good start.”

“Sublime.”

Aziraphale nods. “I do like that one. Reminds me of meringue.”

Crowley laughs fondly at that. “It means to elevate to a high degree of spiritual excellence.”

“I’ll admit, it’s apropos, but let’s weigh our other choices.”

“Delirious?”

“That sounds like we were drunk at the time, and that sets a bad precedent. So no.”

“Rapturous?”

“Mmm, that rings of end times.”

Crowley makes a face. “Been there, done that. Blithe?”

“Not one of my favorites.”

“Blissful?”

“Overused.”

“Overjoyed?”

“Too simple.”

“Euphoric?”

“Sounds like a disease.”

“Chuffed?”

“Confusing. How about resplendent?”

“Oh no.” Crowley snorts, clenching his abs hard to keep from bouncing Aziraphale around. “Heavens no!”

“Why not?” Aziraphale asks, offended as resplendent has always been one of his favorite words.

“I knew a bloke back during the American Revolution went by the name Resplendent.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Not an inch. Resplendent White. Right tosser he was.”

“Okay … well, I guess that makes sense.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath in and then exhales, sinking into the warmth of Crowley’s soft stomach. “How about … complete?”

Crowley’s first instinct is to object simply because they’d been bantering back and forth. He’d gotten into a rhythm. But he catches himself quickly.

More accurately, his heart in his throat catches him.

Complete.

They’re complete.

Together, they’re complete.

And they don’t need Heaven or Hell’s approval or permission to feel this way. They simply are. The way humans do when they eschew religion and choose a way on their own.

But this feeling, the reality of it, belongs to no one but the two of them.

And that makes it perfect.

“Yes.” Crowley reaches down to gather up his angel in his arms and hold him tight. “Yes, I think that’s it.”

“Do you feel that way, too?” Aziraphale asks, eyelids growing heavy as the angel slowly drifts to sleep.

“Yes,” Crowley says, miracling them a blanket and a pillow, lowering the lights and drawing the curtains. “I do.”

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

In the Depths of Winter

Pairing: Zevran Arainai x Alistair Theirin

Rating: G

Length: 3,076 Words

Tags: winter, bedsharing, first kisses, threat of hypothermia/frostbite, friends to lovers

Read it on AO3!

===

Winter.

Zevran hates winter.

He hates the way it sinks into his bones. He hates the way it clings to his armor and soaks his clothes with melted snow and sweat. He hates the way it makes him shiver and tremble, weak and weary.

Zevran hates the way it makes him think of his Antiva, with its white-gold sand beaches and high sun that kisses everything it touches, and the smiling, quick-witted people, even if they are Crows.

“You okay?” Alistair asks. His hand is a brand where it reaches and touches Zevran’s forehead. Zevran shudders, and Alistair frowns.

“I’m freezing,” Zevran retorts shortly. “I do not know how you can stand all the--this.” He flings his arms out in irritation.

Alistair takes Zevran’s hands; his heart lurches at the contact, and he whimpers when Alistair slides his beaten leather gloves from his fingers. Alistair studies them, turning them over in his examination, crooking Zevran’s fingers at each joint.

“What are you doing?” Zevran asks, barely a whisper. He ignores the way blood rushes to his face, heating his cheek like a burn.

“Checking for hypothermia. It sets in easily for folks who aren’t used to it, and, well.” Alistair blushes and slips the gloves back onto Zevran’s hands. “You’re still wearing pteurges and leather leggings,” he says, like it explains anything. “We should check how much longer ‘til we make camp. You could use a fire.”

Zevran groans. “Ask if it could be now,” he grouses, “I am about to fall asleep on my feet.”

Alarm chases over Alistair’s face. “I, yeah. I’ll do that.”

Zevran watches Alistair’s hustling back as he runs to the front of their little convoy. “And what is so wrong with leggings?” Zevran asks himself, looking down at his legs. He flexes his toes in his boots and winces at the resulting pain. “They’re comfortable!”

He plods forward.

He really, really hates winter.

-----

Alistair must make a pretty begging face--the Warden calls a halt for the day.

Zevran’s fingers slip as he attempts to set up his tent, not once, not twice, not even thrice, but a full five times. He swears in Antivan, not bothering to quiet himself as pain flares in his hands, shooting up his arm like tiny blades.

“Need some help?”

“What I need is for winter to remove its teeth from my throat,” Zevran grumbles. He waves ineffectively at the mass of fabric and tent poles that is his gifted shelter before shoving his freezing hands in his armpits. “Be my guest.”

Alistair crouches low and takes on the task with a snort. “You really never have experienced winter?”

Zevran shakes his head, shuddering. “Antiva never gets this cold, not even at Satinalia. Snow is a bare little thing, afraid of lighting upon our proud lands. No,” he says dryly, “I’ve never experienced winter.”

Alistair hums, the tent slowly building beneath his skilled hands. His skilled warm hands, Zevran thinks wistfully.

“Winter’s always been my favorite season,” Alistair confides quietly. He ties the tent posts together and sets the frame. “Sure, summer’s easier, but it has its own issues.” He makes a face. “I can always put on more clothes if I’m cold; I can’t take off my skin if I’m too hot.”

Zevran helps pull the canvas over the frame, assisting with the drape as Alistair secures it. A gust of wind buffets the flapping material, stealing Zevran’s breath like a knife to his lungs.

“How can you possibly live like this?” he demands. Zevran pulls his cloak tighter, but it does nothing to ward off the chill. “You and all your…”

Alistair stands, slowly, towering over Zevran, improbably close. “All my…?” he prods.

“Muscles,” Zevran mumbles. “Keeps you warm. Alas, my own slight frame.”

Alistair’s laugh fills the small campsite. “Right, right,” he says, blushing, “because being a hulking mass is better than a slippery shadow. I’ve seen you sneak around. It’s…”

Zevran’s ears perk at the tentative way Alistair trails off. “Yes?”

A shaking breath escapes Alistair, curling like dragon’s smoke in the dying light. “It’s incredible,” he says at last. His warm eyes meet Zevran’s own for but a moment before he takes a step away.

Zevran already misses him, just a few feet between them. He tamps down the urge to follow and press his cold nose into the hinge of Alistair’s jaw. Sometimes Alistair says something, does something interesting, some earnest little action that catches Zevran off-guard, makes him want.

But no. Alistair is still some blushing Chantry boy… isn’t he?

-----

No amount of curling into his fur blanket helps Zevran stay warm once night falls. He shivers, still fully dressed beneath the bear fur, teeth chattering; he bites his tongue for the third time and growls before throwing up his hands.

“This is ridiculous,” Zevran hisses. He chafes his hands and feet together, begging his limbs to warm again. Zevran sits up and stuffs his feet in his boots, still wet from the trek. With a huff, he wraps his fur around his shoulders and stalks out of his tent.

“Alistair,” he calls. He knocks on the front tent pole with a shaking hand. “Ali, let me in.”

“Zev?”

“I’m cold... I need help.”

A shuffling sound comes from the tent, then a soft, sleepy, “Come in.”

Zevran steps into the tent. It’s no warmer than his own, objectively, but even he knows that winter can be abated with enough body heat. He toes off his boots and ties the tent flaps closed behind him as a lantern lights at his back.

Alistair watches him intently when Zevran turns around. “Body heat,” Zevran mutters by way of explanation. “You… are a very warm man. I am not.”

Alistair snorts. “Come here,” is all he says, patting the bedroll beside him. He rolls onto his side, making room, and Zevran greedily drinks up the lingering heat trapped in the bedclothes when he slips beside Alistair.

“Give me your hands.” Alistair nods encouragingly when Zevran follows the command. He rubs warmth into the frozen digits with careful movements, bringing them to his mouth to blow hot air over them. He shifts to chafe his hands over the skin of Zevran’s arms, squeezing gently.

“Where did you learn this?”

Alistair looks up. “What?”

Zevran purses his lips. “This.”

“Oh.” Alistair shrugs. “I was training to be a templar, remember?” He gives a pained smile. “They’re supposed to be useful in all sorts of climates. Deep winter training was something I excelled at. I’m naturally very warm.”

It’s a fact Zevran appreciates dearly. “I’ve noticed,” he says, watching with rapt attention as Alistair breathes over his fingers again.

He groans in protest when Alistair sits up, their shared blankets slipping down and revealing a deep-cut sleeping tunic. His protest is cut short when Alistair’s big hands feel out for one of Zevran’s legs.

One hand wraps almost entirely around Zevran’s legging-clad calf.

It’s… a problem.

“What—” Zevran squeaks, voice breaking. He clears his throat and tries again. “What are you doing now?”

“I… massage? I guess?”

“You guess?”

Alistair nods, huffing through his nose. “I remember we had to massage the limbs of a guy who developed frostbite, bring blood back into his extremities. I don’t think you have frostbite, but…”

Zevran lets out a shaking breath at the way Alistair’s fingers clutch his leg. “Well then,” he murmurs. “Go on, if you think it will help. I defer to your expertise, my friend.”

Alistair colors in the low light. His eyes almost glow--curious, Zevran thinks, just before his mind goes blank with pain.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Alistair removes his hands and Zevran groans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean--are you all right?”

“It is not--the most comfortable of massages I’ve ever had, no.” Zevran lets his breath out in a soft hiss and shakes his pins-and-needles leg toward Alistair’s hands once more. “Please…”

Alistair pulls a face. “Are you sure?”

“Ali. My friend. I am freezing. Please, if you can fix that…”

Alistair’s hands are so warm they scorch as he works his magic. Zevran can’t help the moan that escapes him as the blood rushes back to his foot. Alistair presses his thumbs deep into the muscle, working at a knot there before moving from his calf down toward his foot.

If only he would move those hands upward, Zevran thinks deliriously, a new warmth pooling in his gut.

Alistair switches to the other leg and begins the process anew. It’s not so bad this time, with Zevran having warmed up bit by bit through Alistair’s cautious ministrations. He works in silence, looking up occasionally to give a lopsided smile before returning to his task.

“How do you feel?”

“Sleepy,” Zevran slurs. Content, he thinks, were it not for the season. “Come back to Antiva with me, we’ll make millions.”

Alistair chuckles. “Tempting.” He busies himself with sliding into the blankets, corralling the furs tightly around Zevran’s body. “Zev?”

“Mm?”

“You’re not going to… this isn’t some pretense, right?”

The question comes like a slap. Zevran reels back among the blankets. “What?”

“I mean—” Alistair blanches. “You’ve told the Warden of your conquests, how you lure them into a sense of security before, well.”

“Spit it out, Alistair,” Zevran says dryly.

“Well, you are a Crow—”

“Was. I was a Crow. An important distinction, that.” Zevran sits up, the furs falling to his waist. “I cannot believe—it’s been almost a year!”

Alistair hisses back, “You’re a professional assassin who was literally sent to kill us!”

Whatever warmth had been growing in Zevran dashes against the rocks of his disappointment. He sighs. “I thought we were friends, you and I. I suppose I was wrong. Thank you, Ser Alistair, for reminding me of that.”

“Don’t be like that. Zev, come on,” Alistair wheedles. His hand lands at Zevran’s wrist as Zevran gathers his blanket about him, stopping him cold. “I’m sorry, I just--sometimes I think we’re friends and I get reminded about how bad an idea that can be. I mean, I’m about to sleep with you—n-not like that,” he stammers, blushing under Zevran’s hard gaze, “but in the normal sense. Oh, Maker’s fucking breath. I’ve ruined it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, do go on digging yourself this hole.”

Alistair groans and flops back into the bedroll. He stares up at the ceiling and Zevran stamps down a twinge of pity.

“I… I didn’t have friends growing up,” he says. Alistair doesn’t look away from the shadowy apex of the tent’s ceiling. “I wasn’t allowed to play with the village kids, and there were no children among the servants of the castle. Back at the Monastery, you had a cohort that would be dissolved at the end of your training, sent off to various Chantries, never to be seen again. I never got to be good at having them—friends, I mean—so now… it’s almost surreal.”

Zevran sniffs and pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders, letting it cocoon him from the cold. “You think there were friends among the Crows?” he sneers. “I am one the sole survivor of my clutch, Alistair. Out of a hundred of us, I survived. I—I had to thrive like that. Do not blame me for what I had to do to please my masters and live another day.”

“I… I didn’t know.” His hand reaches out and pats Zevran’s knee. “I’m sorry.”

Zevran wilts into his blanket. “... braska, it’s cold. Damn your precious Ferelden. Teach it to have better weather.”

“I’ll get right on that.” Alistair rolls to his side and pats the bedroll. “In the meantime, come here. Least I can do, after shoving my whole foot in my mouth.”

Zevran slants a weak glare his way. “You’re not still secretly afraid?”

“Maker, I’m always afraid. But you—you’re my friend, aren’t you?” Alistair asks, tentative, soft. ”I hope so, even though I’m dumb sometimes…”

“You are not dumb, Ali,” Zevran mutters under his breath. He holds out a moment longer before crawling back into Alistair’s bedroll, burrowing into the warm bulwark of Alistair’s chest. His bear fur drapes atop the two of them, cradling them in growing heat.

Zevran does nudge his freezing nose into the hollow of Alistair’s collar bone and smiles indulgently to himself at the resulting yelp.

Alistair snuffs the lantern. He wraps his arms around Zevran’s middle, holding him tight against his chest. “Is this okay?” he whispers.

Zevran flexes his hands against the planes of Alistair’s back and twines their legs together. He snorts. “Very much so,” Zevran replies. “Halfway bearable now.”

“Only halfway, huh?”

Zevran nods in the darkness. “One of these days, Ali, my friend, I’ll take you to Antiva. You’ll see what I mean. White sand beaches, golden sunlight, spice markets, and trader’s squares… It’s nothing like Ferelden.”

“Sounds like you miss it.”

He shrugs. “Yes and no. There is much to miss, much to love, but also much to fear. I would not go back to be a Crow. I am thankful to the Warden for sparing my life.” Zevran nudges Alistair’s shoulder. “And to you, even though you spoke against it.”

“Me?” Alistair asked, voice warbling. “What—why? I was a jerk! I wanted… I wanted to get rid of you and be done with it. Move on.” He pulls back, and Zevran can feel the weight of Ali’s gaze on his face. “What could you possibly be thankful for me for?”

“Getting to know your little group, I figured you and I would not become bosom friends. Oh, how you distrusted me then! Kept me at a distance, one hand on your dagger. But then… Something changed, and I don’t know what. You changed.” 

Zevran reaches up to pull Alistair back down and plasters himself against his wide chest. “You willingly invite me to your tent to keep me from dying in my sleep. You let me sleep in your bed to keep from freezing. Do not think that any of the others offered to be so magnanimous.”

Alistair stammers out, “You—you probably wouldn’t die, it just—just wouldn’t be very comfortable…” His arms tighten, fitting into the curve of Zevran’s waist. “I just…”

“Just…?”

“I… just want you to be okay,” Alistair finishes on a whisper. His breath ruffles Zevran’s hair where it escapes his nightly braid. “Safe.”

“‘Safe,’” Zevran echoes with a touch of awe. “In the middle of a civil war punctuated by the damned Blight.”

“I can try,” Alistair protests. “I can try to keep you all safe. I’m good at that, at fighting. It’s what I’ve trained for, almost half my life now. I can keep you safe.”

Something twinges in Zevran’s chest at the decisive proclamation. He nuzzles into Alistair’s clothed shoulder. “I know you can, Ali. I… I trust that.” Even though I shouldn’t, he thinks.

Alistair melts around him, hands rubbing errant circles into Zevran’s back. “Zev?”

“Mm?”

“I like it when you call me that. Ali. It’s nice.”

Zevran smiles. “I like it when you call me Zev.”

“Good! Good. I remembered that, you know, from the beginning.”

“Hmm?”

He can hear the smile in Alistair’s voice. “You said your name was Zevran, but Zev to your friends. I remember being a jerk about it, though, thinking something along the lines of ‘but how does he have friends?’” Alistair shakes his head. “Maker, I was an ass.”

“I hope we can forgive each other our past,” Zevran yawns. He smiles sleepily into Ali’s shoulder. “There is so much better to be had to be dwelling on the past overmuch.”

“Yeah… you’re right.” Alistair nods. He shifts, shuffling to better cocoon Zevran against the cold winds that rattle the tent. “Goodnight, Zev,” he murmurs into Zevran’s hair.

Zevran pats Alistair’s back fondly. “Mmm. Goodnight, Ali.”

-----

Zevran comes to consciousness languidly, like a cat, stretched out atop Alistair’s chest. Ali’s hand cards through the loose hair that spills out between them, long since revolted against the confines of his braid.

“Good morning,” Alistair whispers, as if this is some spell he loathes to break.

“Good morning,” Zevran murmurs back. He blinks the lingering dreams from his eyes and stretches his hands, unwilling to move from his perch. “I would say I’m sorry but you are a most comfortable pillow.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so comfortable.”

They lapse into a companionable silence, just watching one another. Something blooms in Zevran’s chest at the intensity of Alistair’s stare.

“Keep looking at me like that and I just may have to kiss you,” Zevran jokes weakly. Alistair’s eyes blow wide with surprise.

“You… wow,” he says, face blushing a deep pink. Zevran’s own cheeks flush in kind. “Would you? Kiss me, I mean. You… fancy men?”

Zevran snorts. “I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting...” He trails off, suddenly unsure, but smiles anyway. “Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?”

Alistair breathes heavily beneath him. He gulps audibly. “No,” he finally whispers. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Good. Then hopefully you won’t mind if I...?”

“Please.”

Zevran grins. “As you command,” he says glibly, licking his lips. Heat pools in his belly at the way Alistair tracks the small movement. Zevran crawls up his body, straddling his waist, and bends down to pillow his mouth to Alistair’s own.

It’s clumsy at first. Alistair doesn’t seem to have much experience in the game, but what he lacks he makes up for with enthusiasm. His hands tunnel into Zevran’s hair, pulling him closer. He groans in a way that sends a shiver down Zevran’s spine, the sound obscene for all the chastity of the kiss.

But that’s all it is, trading lazy kisses on a cold morning like they have all the time in the world. Alistair levers up to press Zevran into the thin mattress of their shared bedroll, caging him in, surrounding him, and Zevran whines. Alistair kisses his way down Zevran’s jaw to nip at the sensitive skin where his jaw and throat meet.

“Ali…” Zevran gives a breathy sigh, smiling. His hands brush through Alistair’s hair.

Alistair peeks up. “Too much?” he asks, lips berry-red and kiss-swollen.

“Kiss me again,” Zevran demands, and, laughing, Alistair does, again, and again, and again.

=========

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[johnny-and-dora]

every storm that comes, also comes to an end

"Where can a guy get a fifty piece orchestra when he needs one?"

or, spring hill medical clinic, coral palms, florida. september 2016, 4:05am. peralta, j, admitted at 10:28pm for gunshot wound to the left leg.

(or, the one where jake and amy finally, finally, get a real moment alone) (post 4x03) read on ao3

---

Jake, inevitably, dreams of her.

It’s familiar now, achingly so. He dreams, often exclusively, of Amy Santiago, as he has nearly every night since this hellish swampy nightmare started – the way her shiny ponytail swings as she flicks through a case file, the way her pantsuits always remain pristine even when they tend to end up spending most of the night crumpled on his bedroom floor, the way she uses him as her own personal space heater, curled up against his body like a physical part of him he didn’t even know he was missing – and now he misses it more than ever.

It’s fragments, mostly, that cloud his subconscious - the little things that he’s made himself sick replaying over and over again in a desperate attempt to make sure he doesn’t forget even the tiniest detail.

He thinks he might miss the way she laughs, smiles, glares, looks at him more than he’s ever missed anything before.

And yeah, okay, he often dreams of them, too. Even more often in daylight hours when the blistering sunshine and the flip flops and the feeling of having your heart ripped out of your chest all gets a little hard to handle. He dreams of their perfect Hollywood reunion more than he’d ever casually admit - gleefully running at full speed towards each other, in the precinct or at the airport or in slow motion through an extremely romantic sunlit field of luscious golden wheat all while a fifty piece orchestra’s symphony swells to an undeniably epic climax in the background.

(Being Larry, also somewhat inevitably, comes with having a lot of time on your hands. After a few months, and a lot of daytime straight to TV movies, it just seemed like the precinct wasn’t going to be enough.)

He’s come to expect the equally as familiar heavy drop in his chest when he wakes – they don’t tell you this in your first WITSEC briefing, but Jake is lucky enough to have some exclusive insider information; standard witness protection procedure seems to be waking up every morning feeling ever-so slightly like there’s a black hole where your heart should be. So that’s great. Really, five-star. He can’t wait to leave a glowing review of his relocation programme when he finally gets out of here.

If he ever gets out of here.

Not that Jake remembers much of what they told him in his first briefing – he was too preoccupied with the ringing in his ears and the overwhelming feeling of the entire world ending. Now waking up with an almost unbearable weight in his limbs is normality, as is crying in the hot tub and eating in the hot tub and dreaming of his heroic, hella romantic emotional reunions with his girlfriend in the hot tub.

Except - this time when he wakes, the weight doesn’t drop. In fact, there’s very little weight in his body at all - it’s all seemingly replaced by a dull, painful throbbing in his leg and the feeling like he was recently punched in the throat.  He frowns, confused, trying to piece together any recollection of the previous day he can summon with little luck.

He cautiously opens his eyes, blinking in the unfamiliar darkness  - and he can just about make out the outline of a hospital room, twinge of panic in his chest, surge of fear, ice in his veins. That is, until he sees her, and it’s almost like the world stops spinning.

Amy Santiago, real and tangible and an actual, physical, corporeal, human being. Amy Santiago, in the flesh, out cold, curled up in an uncomfortable looking hospital chair about a foot away from him using his favourite hoodie as a makeshift blanket.

About fifty different fireworks in his brain explode at once.

He blinks once, then twice, then squeezes his eyes shut for as long as he can bare before seeing if she’s still there – and the way she softly snores, head tilted slightly back, mouth slightly open, might be his favourite sound in the entire world as he slowly opens his eyes again with a quiet ecstasy at the sight of her still very much occupying a physical form.

Amy.

“Amy?” It comes out all dry, gravelly and raw, barely audible – but her eyes immediately snap open anyway, glinting with a hundred different emotions at once as she practically jumps upright. He instantly feels himself relax, dedicating even fibre of his currently barely conscious state to falling in love with her all over again - the dark purple bags under her worried eyes, her usually impossibly neat ponytail now loose, dishevelled wiry strands of dark raven hair, still shining, framing her weary face.

She’s never looked more beautiful.

“You’re here.” He manages to croak out, woozy and lightheaded as the lack of sleep and the morphine and the pain meds finally really hits him, dizzily grinning from the effect of being within arms reach of Amy Santiago again. She practically beams at him, an ethereal softness glowing from her entire body that that one shitty, grainy photo he’s had to go off for the past six months couldn’t even begin to capture.

“I’m here.” She says gently, getting up from the chair she’s been crumpled into for...however long they’ve been here. Wherever they actually are. Jake’s detective skillz (with a z, also inevitably) are understandably a little rusty - the morphine induced haze he’s in at the moment which makes the corners of his vision a little fuzzy isn’t exactly helping him deduce anything of note, except that she’s here and that seems to be the only thing in the universe that matters.

The room is still dark, only a fracture of harsh clinical light seeping in from the hallway - but if he squints and cranes his neck in a certain way, he can just about make out the first signs of dawn framed by the window, black charcoal sky streaked carelessly with deep blues and purples. She cautiously reaches for his hand and squeezes it gently, bringing him back crashing down to her.

“Where...”

“Still in Florida, babe. We have to head back in the morning else CJ is going to be even more mad at us, but the nurses promised they’d discharge you and Holt as soon as possible so that you can finally come home.” She’s saying a lot of things that he’s too exhausted to even really process, preoccupied with drinking in every last detail of her face - but he hangs on to her last word like a lifeline, eyes shining with hope. He's getting out of here.

“Home. We got Figgis. We’re going home?”

“Mm-hmm.” She nods, bright with the warmth he’s been so desperately craving, and they gently share a slightly delirious smile. He tries to shift  himself up in bed so he can see her better but pain flares in his leg and he can’t stop himself from wincing, instantly somehow more pained from the flash of distress on her face.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” She asks, wide-eyed and nervous, and he shakes his head.

“Nope. Just you.”

She flushes pink, just the smallest, tiniest little bit, and her shoulders loosen. He internally high-fives himself over how smooth he is and quickly realises this is the first time they’ve really had the chance to be alone, at least without the risk of Charles somehow finding a way to get involved. Where can a guy get a fifty piece orchestra when he needs one?

He shifts over as to one side of the tiny hospital bed as far as he possibly can, wincing as little as possible, and motions for her to lie down next to him – half-conscious, a half-desperate bid to make up for the seemingly endless nights (he had to stopped counting after sixty, heart sunk dangerously low, that stabbing pain in the heart, that impossible weight in his chest) they’ve been forced to spend apart. She furrows her brow, empathetic but serious, and he sharply realises he’s missed the way she does that, too.

“Jake, I can’t. I’m not even supposed to be here, they only let me stay because Charles wouldn’t stop crying and Rosa threatened them with this knife she somehow has and I had to show them my badge and-“

“Please.” He pleads, voice cracked and heavy with the weight of all the other things he’s not strong or coherent enough to say, and she immediately softens.

He knows she’s always hated how he can do that to her so easily, change her mind, to break the rules, convince her to stay another night, to lie in bed for another five minutes - but tonight he relishes in it. He’s earned this - he needs to hold her – if only as proof that this isn’t all just another dream. He feels stupidly small, stupidly vulnerable, and defenceless – and the weird part is, he doesn’t even want anyone’s sympathy. He just wants her.

“Please, Ames. I just...I need this.”

“Okay.” She relents, far easier than usual, and climbs into the bed next to him, laying her head on his chest – and it’s awkward and cramped and a little uncomfortable, but the smell of her shampoo and the rise and fall of her chest and the buzz he gets at her hum of content is worth it a million times over.

They’re both exhausted, reasonably burnt out from the chaos of the last 24 hours - most of which blurred by so quickly he can barely remember it (though that might just be the lack of sleep and the strength of the pain meds.) Even as one or two things come flooding back, they’re only fragments - the fabric of Gina’s wizard cloak and the cold hard feeling of Figgis’s gun forcefully pressed to his temple and, so ridiculously, obviously, inevitably, Amy.

Amy punching him in the throat and Amy shooting him in the leg and Amy kissing him, finally, kissing him, holding him, telling him that she loves him, not being physically repulsed by his frosted tips like he was so afraid of.  Amy, bright and shiny and new but not really new at all.

God, he’s missed her so much. He already feels lighter and happier than he’s been ever since he arrived in this swampy, unbearably warm hellscape - and it’s all down to her, to the way her dark irises blossom with affectionate exasperation and uninhibited joy as she tilts her head upwards to look at him, to the way she fits so neatly in his arms like they were made to hold her, to the way that he thinks that this is it. This is all he needs, maybe just for now and maybe forever, if he’s brave enough to think about that for too long without the safety of the distance of it being an a completely hypothetical thing that happens years in the future.

(Yeah, okay, maybe he’d lingered at the sight of the tiny sparkling diamond in the front window of the town’s pawn shop for a second too long, but that was just a particular bout of delirious loneliness. Nobody, especially not Amy, god forbid Charles, needs to know that he almost bought it.)

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Her voice, barely a whisper, still rings out loud and clear to his ears, and he smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m so much better now.”

And, because she’s here, and she’s real, and he just can’t quite resist-

“Well, as fine as I can be for someone who just got shot.” He shoots her his best dramatic, pointed and accusing look at her, but it quickly dissolves into a grin before he can stop himself, mainly at the way she reacts, definitely half playing off him and half genuinely offended.

“You told me to shoot you! It was literally to save your life, dumb-ass.”

“Mmmph. Still gotta find a way to make it up to me.” He raises suggestive eyebrows and she rolls her eyes and he grins and it feels like home, it feels like coming home, in a way he could never have predicted when they started, light and breezy, and bright and shiny and new (but not really new at all), what seems like another lifetime ago now.

“Jake...” “M’just saying, I’m gonna be cleared f’some pretty epic light non-strenuous sex real soon.”

He expects a dark yet warm glare, or at least another eye roll or slight shake of the head – but she just smiles up at him, eyes wide and teary and so full, so overwhelmingly full, overflowing with love and an intimate slight-insomnia induced tenderness that he’s sure is mirrored in the way he looks at her.

There’s a calm, a quiet lull in their storm - something delicate, fragile in the air, like they’re afraid to hold each other too tightly in case the other one breaks. He'll ignore it for this bright, shining moment that feels like finally being able to breathe again.

(He will break, eventually - later, once she has to leave for New York and he’s all alone again in the hospital room despite knowing it’ll be a matter of hours until he sees her, see them all again. He’ll break once she finally gets to takes him by the hand and lead him into whoever’s apartment they’re calling home now, break that night that he gets to sleep in their own bed for the first time in six months, and he’ll break just a little once she can finally place his badge around his neck again and use it to pull him closer so she can press her lips to his.)

(He’ll break and he’ll break and he’ll break, and fragment and fracture and shatter, and she’ll be there every time to pick up the pieces and put him back together - just as he’ll do for her.)    

“I missed you, so much.” She whispers it so quietly, so infinitely soft that he barely hears it. He melts a little anyway.

“I missed you so much too.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. One night, soon, he’ll whisper in a low voice cracked and splintered with vulnerability just exactly how much so much is - but he can already see her gently drifting off, eyes closed, breathing heavy, and it’s all he needs to lull him back to a gentle, restful sleep, knowing it’s inevitable that any reunion between them was going to be perfect as long as she was in it, fifty piece orchestra be damned.

For the first time in a very long time, he doesn’t seem to dream.

(The nurse walks in on the two detectives a few hours later, initial shock and growing concern for hospital rules and regulation softened by the way peace, warmth and a weird kind of rightness practically radiates from the slow and synchronised rise and fall of their chests. Whispers among her colleagues of a tall tale of mafia bosses and witness protection and the tragic separation of two young lovers somehow suddenly seem more plausible than before – and she sighs deeply, shaking her head as she quietly closes the door, chiding herself at how easily she gives in to giving them just half an hour longer. )