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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: ferns & violets

Pairing: Melian & Mairon

Rating: T

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Melian & Mairon meet under unexpected circumstances in Beleriand and develop an unlikely sort-of friendship over the years. Very light background Silvergifting & Melian/Thingol.

[Read on Ao3]

Melian watched carefully as the small pitch-black raven settled down on the corner of her desk, eyes trained ever-so-expectantly upon her. She wondered if he was watching her through it’s glossy little eyes.

A letter sat plainly on her desk, waiting for her as she returned from yet another meeting with Lord Namo. It was devoid of any writing or embellishment apart from the simple and precise lettering of her name, but she had come to know Mairon’s handwriting very distinctly over these many years.

It had been a long while since their last correspondence - Melian had thought, after her flight back to Valinor following her husband’s death, that she would not hear from Mairon again. And she had been correct in that assumption for a while, hadn’t she? An age had ended, and a new had arisen, and no raven sat tapping upon her windowsill as it had during her long-drawn years in Beleriand - until now.

Melian stepped carefully toward the desk, watching the raven out of the corner of her eye as it curled up and closed it’s eyes to rest. Slowly, she took the envelope into her hands. She turned it over a few times, tested the edges and the seams, and glared at the raven once more - just in case - before she tore open the seal with the edge of her nail.

If Melian were to think for a long while (something she tried very hard not to do where Mairon was concerned) then she may have been able to pinpoint the moment that had started all of this. Mairon, finding her on that chilled eve, after she had wandered curiously through a forest that was just a bit too near where he and his master had first begun to lay the groundwork for Angband. For Melian had always found beauty in the chilled shadows of the deep woods in Beleriand, where the light of Telperion and Laurelin did not reach. From the rich viridian of valley ferns to the soft vibrancy of the moss and mushrooms cloaking the forest floor, they had been new and they had been different and they had been fascinating. (She often missed them, even as she walked now through the glory of Vána’s golden fields) .

She would not call it a friendship. They were at odds too often to call him an ally. Their individual goals were, from the outset, contradictory at best. And yet? It was difficult, she supposed, not to find an odd sort of fellowship with him. For they both understood the meaning of devotion.

Manwë had sent no less than five different messengers attempting to summon her back to Valinor. She knew they had not been fond of this - this soft rebellion of hers. Whatever their thoughts may have been about her union with Thingol, it had mattered not, for he was at her side, his hand was in her own, and his smile brought such warmth to her heart that it burned through her core and into her fëa.

Mairon had sent her a small bouquet of those deep green ferns she adored, nestled together to frame a single dark violet, and a letter, of course. It told nothing of his whereabouts and only asked for her knowledge of thrush husbandry, which she was immediately a bit wary of providing, but ended up penning a letter in response regardless. The fact that he had signed his letter with a single, simple “Good luck,”, (which Melian could read as begrudging support) may or may not have influenced this.

Thus began their somewhat odd and very infrequent exchange of letters and tokens and bits of information - nothing serious, no, never anything of the sort. Though she had always expected something of him, had always been waiting for a pin-drop of water that would break the surface tension of this unspoken agreement they had. It had never come.

The parchment was crisply folded, neat and straight at the edges, just as she expected it to be. She unfolded it carefully, taking in the stark contrast of the dark-lined ink on the page.

It began quite ordinarily, all things considered: her name printed neatly at the top, followed by the same short, polite greeting he penned every single time he wrote her a letter. And then.

“I find myself unprepared, and as you know, that is not something I take lightly.”

There was a heaviness to this line - the words nearly pressed through the paper - Melian could feel the frustration with which they were written as she ran her finger along the back of the parchment, feeling distinctly each line and curve of ink.

“I would not ask this of you if it were not my only option. I am in need of certain guidance.”

Melian sighed, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest as she read on. The penmanship was rushed here - slanted slightly to the right. How very unlike him , she thought, as her gaze drifted down to the next line and--

“I am with child. The sire of the child is of the Eldar.”

Melian’s breath caught in her throat for a brief moment. She read the text once more. Then again.

“I will not disclose any more than this.”

Of course not, she thought, as she closed her eyes for a moment to parse through the information that had just been laid bare before her. When she opened her eyes again, the letter was still firm in her hands. She did nothing for a long while except stare at the tiny splotches of ink surrounding the word “sire” on the parchment, wondering what exactly that could mean and knowing she would likely gain no answer if she asked.

When she finally looked up from the letter, the raven was watching her once more, its dark glass eyes following her as she sank into her desk chair and pulled out her own fresh set of parchment.

#silm fic #mairon #melian #tolkien fanfic #my writing #tolkien #under 1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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this is my @dcmksecretsanta gift for @hanneswrites! i hope you enjoy some akako/aoko snuggles for the holidays!

#aokako #!!!!!!#dcmksecretsanta #this is so cute omg!!! thank u so much!!!!

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: empty halls

Pairing: Fingon/Maedhros

Rating: T

Word Count: 340

Summary: Maedhros wakes to the warmth of Fingon wrapped around him. Russingon Hurt/Comfort, set post-re-embodiment in Valinor.

[Read on Ao3]

Maedhros wakes to the warmth of Fingon wrapped around him - his lover’s chest is pressed comfortingly into his back, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He can still feel the dread sitting heavy in his stomach, and can still hear the far-off sounds of war and blood and iron echoing out from his dreams. For a moment, he closes his eyes and then immediately regrets that decision, snapping them back open not a half second later.

It’s been a while since he’s woken like this. In the muddled peace that had followed his rebirth in Valinor, he’d slowly settled back into life. He had breakfast with his mother at least once a month, made sure his brothers stayed out of trouble, and even treated with Fingolfin on occasion. Just like before . And it seemed almost foolish now, to cling to remnants of what had been when everyone around him had worked so hard to bring him back here.

And yet - it chills him, seeps into him and makes itself at home in his chest. A lifelong friend, that weight sitting pretty in his ribcage. Pressing down and down and down until he sinks heavy into his mattress, right through the floor, right into the dirt --

Fingon’s hands tighten around him in his sleep, his face pressing closer into Maedhros’ back until he can feel the warmth of Fingon’s soft breath through the thin linen of his nightshirt. He focuses on it, makes a concerted effort to count out the rhythm of Fingon’s breaths and match them to his own.

The tightness in his chest fades, slowly.

He shifts in Fingon’s arms until he’s facing him. Fingon doesn’t stir and Maedhros cracks a small smile at that, allowing a fond and familiar warmth to fill his chest as he buries his face in Fingon’s neck. Maedhros revels in the quiet of the morning, in the small pinpricks of sunlight dancing through the curtains, in the steady, sure rhythm of Fingon’s heartbeat thrumming beneath his fingertips, and he calms himself.

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: it's warm and real and bright

Pairing: Kurogane/Fai

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Post-Canon AU where Kurogane & Fai settle down in Nihon Country after the final battle with Fei-Wong Reed. Fai & Kurogane have been working on resettling Suwa for nearly a year when Fai comes to some sudden realizations. Resettled Suwa AU. [Written for KuroFai Olympics 2022, Team Blessed, Prompt: I See the Light]

[Read on Ao3]

Kurogane presses a hand into the small of his back and Fai stops, hands stilling almost instantly in the air in front of him. The glowing runes encircling his fingers flicker with barely-kept magic as Fai turns his head to look at him, only to be met with a weary and disapproving glare.

“You’ve tweaked it enough for the night,” Kurogane says, in a tone that implies less of a suggestion, more of a command.

Fai sighs and flexes his fingers, the violet runes dissipating from the air in front of him as he seals off the last of the spell.

He would typically brush Kurogane off and send him on his way because Kurogane, in reality, knew close to nothing about constructing and maintaining active magical barriers, but this time, he thinks perhaps Kurogane might be right.

Fai closes his eyes for a moment and rubs a hand over his face. He’s exhausted - has been exhausted for days now. He’s been adjusting the runework on the barrier surrounding Suwa nearly every day since they’d first set foot back in the realm all those months ago. What had started out as a simple and easily-maintainable barrier surrounding their camp while Kurogane and a few of his men began the process of rebuilding had now blossomed into a complex set of runework that bartered protection for what had quickly become a small village.

It’s only when Fai notices that Kurogane is still standing behind him that he cracks his eyes open once more and turns to face him fully.

“I’ll be done in a little while,” Fai assures.

“You’ll be done now,” Kurogane says, and Fai quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Is that an order, my lord ?” He grins when Kurogane scowls at him, and does not protest as Kurogane pushes insistently at his back, leading him toward the hallway where both of their chambers were located.

He stops just before the threshold to Fai’s rooms, his hand still warm against Fai’s back and Fai can practically see him mulling over something in his head as they both stand there silent in the hall.

Kurogane’s jaw tightens, closing his eyes for a brief moment and huffs out a breath, slowly retracting his hand from Fai’s person.

He almost seems reluctant to leave me alone, Fai thinks, quickly running through the possibility that Kurogane might be privy to a threat to the realm that he isn’t letting on, but he halts that train of thought almost immediately as Kurogane moves closer once more. Fai nearly stops breathing as Kurogane sets a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulls him close, resting their foreheads against one another for a long moment.

“Go to sleep,” Kurogane says, and then he turns and vanishes into the shadowed darkness of the hallway.

----

Kurogane is already gone when Fai wakes in the morning, as he often is, so Fai sets about brewing himself a cup of morning tea before he gets to work on checking and updating the barrier. The seasons are beginning to change outside and Fai is distinctly excited to see what autumn will be like here. The morning air is cool and crisp - a stark contrast to the absolutely sweltering summer he’s had to endure in the last few months.

When his tea is finished brewing, he takes a few moments to stand outside on the porch and bask in the morning sun, reveling in the pleasant breeze and the lingering scent of fresh cut cedar. Perhaps it would be a good morning to take a walk around the grounds and make sure all of his rune stones were still intact.

He finishes his tea and checks on the runework he’d sealed off last night, tweaking it just a bit more before heading off to his chambers to change for the day. On his way out of the house, while he picks up his logbook, his eye catches on the small bowl of peaches on the kitchen table and he gets an idea. Not five minutes later and he’s out the door, logbook and a small linen-wrapped lunch for Kurogane tucked under his arm.

----

Leaves crunch under his feet as he approaches the worksite Kurogane said he’d be helping with today. The trees surrounding the small village have started to turn a beautiful shade of auburn and Fai can’t help but feel warm, even in the early chill of fall, as he catches sight of Kurogane standing in the shade of one of them - that well-known scowl present on his face as he surveys the parchment in his hands.

His brow is furrowed, his lips set in a tight line - he looks stressed, Fai thinks, something’s clearly not going according to plan .

“Lunchtime,” Fai calls as he gets close, in the hopes of cheering him up at least a little bit.

“Later,” Kurogane bristles, not even deigning to look up at him.

“Now,” Fai says, draping himself over Kurogane’s shoulders and dangling the lunch he’s prepared for him in front of his face to obstruct his view of the parchment, “You deserve a break, Kuro-sama.”

Kurogane turns in his arms to face him and Fai shoots him a mischievous grin. He moves to disentangle himself from Kurogane, only to be stopped by a firm hand settling itself on his hip, keeping him in place. And he’s suddenly very distinctly aware of how close Kurogane is to him.

Fai flushes, his cheeks growing hot as Kurogane looks at him, a small smile curving on Kurogane’s lips as he leans down, warm breath ghosting over Fai’s ear.

“Is that an order, my prince ?” Kurogane says, just barely loud enough for him to hear, and Fai nearly stops breathing. He pulls back abruptly, a nervous chuckle slipping out of him as he smiles back. Kurogane just gives him a long look, still smiling softly as he takes the bag from Fai’s hands.

He leaves not long after and tries not to notice how Kurogane’s men bow their heads to him as he leaves, almost as if he were also their lord. Fai tries desperately to focus on inspecting the barrier runes for the rest of the afternoon, but instead his thoughts keep circling back to Kurogane - the warmth of his hands, the light in his smile, the rough timbre of his voice. And he does not get much work done for the rest of the morning.

Fai hurries back to the house in the early afternoon, tossing his logbook aside as he enters the house, and rushes into the sitting room. Quickly, he settles himself down on the pillow in front of his large oval mirror, swiping his hand along the frame and focusing his magic into his fingertips. It takes a few moments for the mirror-glass to light, warbling indistinctly until his magic finds a familiar connection reaching out to him and latches on.

Sakura’s face lights up in the mirror and she gives him an enthusiastic wave. Fai lets out a long breath and waves back, grinning as he settles back into his pillows.

“Fai! It’s so nice to see you again! I’ve missed you!” Sakura says, her voice only slightly distorted by their tenuous connection across dimensions.

“I’ve missed you too,” Fai chuckles, and they spend a little while catching up.

“How’s Kurogane been?” Sakura asks, and Fai catches a mischievous glint in her eye - which he chooses to ignore for the time being.

“He’s been busy - it seems like more and more people just keep coming every day,” Fai says, absently glancing over at the runestones he’s left unfinished on the table and wondering if he’ll have enough time to finish them tonight and very much not thinking about Kurogane’s hand on his hip, “He’s been handling it well.”

Sakura gives him a look, like she knows he’s not telling her everything and he just smiles at her placatingly.

“Has Syaoran visited as of late?” He asks, trying to change the subject.

Sakura smiles wistfully and Fai notices her worrying the hem of her tunic between her fingers.

“He was able to stay for a day last week, but -” Sakura looks away, a small frown flitting across her face. Fai’s hands instinctively move to reach out to comfort her, as he would have back when they were all together, but he stills them and presses his nails into his palm.

Sakura does not continue and Fai waits a long moment before unfurling his hands and smoothing them along the hem of his tunic.

“It’s difficult to be apart from someone you love so dearly,” Fai says, and Sakura looks at him, a sad smile turning up the corners of her lips as her eyes start to water. She nods and closes her eyes, placing one hand over her heart as she takes a deep breath. Fai allows her her silence, patiently waiting for her to compose herself.

“I suppose that’s why you chose to stay in Nihon,” Sakura says, her voice still a bit rough.

Fai looks at her, jaw dropping open just the slightest bit. He recovers quickly, laughing.

“I stayed in Nihon because Kuro-rin didn’t know the first thing about barrier magic and he needed help,” Fai waves a dismissive hand and continues on, “How have your lessons been going, by the way? Has that high mage of yours been treating you well?”

Sakura arches a brow at him, but lets the topic drop.

----

Fai ends the call with Sakura with a promise that they’ll talk again soon. Sakura just gives him a knowing smile and waves as he moves his hand over the mirror, the image of her dissipating into the air like smoke. He sits with himself for a few moments, his hands balled up in his lap and his eyes closed, listening to the far-off sounds of the village he and Kurogane had built together. Part of their conversation still sticks with him though.

I chose to stay in Nihon because Kurogane needs my help.

I chose to stay in Nihon because Kurogane asked me to.

Fai’s eyes slowly open and he stares at his hands as his heart makes a concerted effort to beat itself out of his chest. Kurogane hadn’t asked him to stay, had he? Now that he thinks about it, Fai can’t quite remember a moment in which Kurogane had asked him to stay.

The three of them - Syaoran, Kurogane, and himself - had landed in Nihon, they’d spent time at the palace together, they’d talked about Syaoran’s plans for his future travels, they’d talked about Kurogane’s plans now that he’d been able to return home for good, and when it came time for Syaoran to move on, Fai had just…stayed. It hadn’t been until after Syaoran left that Tomoyo had even brought up the concept of resettling Suwa.

I chose to stay in Nihon because Celes no longer exists.

Fai gently places his palm over his heart and takes in a deep breath. His gaze flits to the room around him, all of the little markings of home that surround him, from his favorite mug sitting next to Kurogane’s on the kitchen table to the practice sword lying haphazardly half-sheathed in the corner, right next to his own set of neatly stacked notebooks.

I chose to stay in Nihon because…

In the distance, Fai catches the distinct sound of Kurogane’s footsteps on the path leading up to the house. He pauses, his mind going blank as he listens to the front door slide open and shut, listens to the soft shuffle of Kurogane taking off his shoes at the door, listens to him move about their home in the easy quiet of this late afternoon.

Kurogane steps into the kitchen, framed by the warm light of the setting sun behind him in a way that makes his skin shimmer like gold. His sleeveless tunic is covered with patches of mud and wayward leaves and Fai’s breath catches in his throat.

Oh.

Kurogane raises an eyebrow at him as he moves further into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and leaning against the kitchen counter.

I chose to stay in Nihon because of him .

“What’s up with you?” Kurogane grunts, rifling through their cupboards, “Did something happen while I was--”

Fai cuts him off by nearly slamming into him, his hands bracing themselves on the counter on either side of Kurogane’s body. Kurogane turns abruptly, a look of confused concern on his face. Fai takes that as his opportunity to quickly take Kurogane’s face in both of his hands and pull him down into a rough kiss. It takes only a brief second for Kurogane to match him, meeting him with a fervor all his own.

Fai smiles against Kurogane’s lips, and it almost feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders as he pulls back, resting his forehead softly against Kurogane’s. There are unshed tears in his eyes, threatening to fall as he gently takes Kurogane’s hand in his own and entwines their fingers for the first time. Fai knows he’s being dramatic, but he can’t quite bring himself to care.

“I lov-” Fai starts, but his voice catches in his throat. He huffs, pulling away just slightly so he can look Kurogane in the eye, only to be met with the warmest smile Fai thinks he’s ever seen on Kurogane’s face. Kurogane’s fingers tighten over his own and he pulls Fai back, closer, until he can press his lips against Fai’s hair.

“I know,” Kurogane says, low and quiet, as if it’s a secret that only the two of them share, and he kisses him again.

#kurofai #kurofai fanfiction #tsubasa reservoir chronicle #trc fanfic #my writing #trc #2k #kurofai olympics 2022

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: rubies

Pairing: Finrod/Thranduil

Rating: T

Word Count: 360

Summary: Thranduil/Finrod, set in the Third Age. Finrod Never Died AU lmao

[Read on Ao3]

Thranduil shuts the door to his chambers and lets out a long breath. He closes his eyes and leans back against the door, grounding himself in the cool wood-grain beneath his fingertips and the dying scent of a long-smothered fire. He lets the stress of the day bleed out of him slowly. It had been a long day.

He’s sure, at this point, that when he makes his way back into his bedchamber, Finrod will still be there. Each time Finrod appears in Thranduil’s halls without notice ends in relatively the same result, of course. Thranduil shugs off his outer robes and throws them across the chaise in front of the fireplace as he makes his way into his room.

And indeed, Finrod is there, nestled comfortably within the mess of ornate pillows he’d dragged into Thranduil’s bed the night before. Thranduil can make out the dull glitter of jewels strewn around him even in the low light of the settled evening. The golden bracelets layered upon his wrists complimented the cluttered array of gemstone rings on each and every one of his fingers.

And to complete the image - a recently crafted golden circlet laid askew on his brow.

Thranduil stares down at him for a long moment. He is caught in place, standing there in his own royal chambers of the kingdom he’d built, stricken with memories of youth - of being awed by the splendor of this very same ellon that now lays languorously in his bed.

He should not be so affected by it now, he reminds himself, Felagund has been no king for thousands of years now. And yet -

Thranduil takes the last few steps over to the bed and kneels beside him, his weight shifting the mattress enough to wake Finrod from his sleep. The circlet falls from Finrod’s head as he sits up, a sleep-bleary smile crossing his face as he leans slowly into Thranduil’s personal space.

Thranduil lets out a long breath, resolutely ignoring the soft warmth growing in his chest as Finrod leans against him, grinning up at him like a fool. Instead, he gently cradle’s Finrod’s face in his hands and leans in himself. He tastes heavily of this year’s harvest wine, of sweet berries with a bite of citrus. And Finrod smiles against him, pressing back firmly into the kiss.

#finrod/thranduil #thranduil/finrod #silm fic #my writing #tolkien #under 1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: sunlight

Pairing: Atem/Kisara/Kaiba Seto

Rating: G

Word Count: 320

Summary: When all is said and done, Seto finds them in the garden. | Afterlife Fluff, Reunions

[Read on Ao3]

When all is said and done, Seto finds them in the garden.

It is distinctly different from the few times he’s been able to visit in the past. His hands are solid when he glances down at them and when he moves there are no nanoparticles trailing in his wake to remind him he’s not supposed to be here.

Likely because , he supposes, he’s meant to be here this time. Not that that’s ever been of any significance to him before.

He sets this aside in his mind, locks it away in that tiny box where he puts all of those little annoyances and irrelevancies he decides aren’t worth his time to think about, and takes in the scene before him.

They’re playing senet. Atem is lounging amoungst the largest and most ornate mass of pillows Seto has ever seen, his face adorned with a crookedly warm smile as he moves his game piece. It is a sharp contrast to Kisara, Seto notes, who sits neatly perched upon a single flat pillow. She looks as though she’s considering her next move very carefully, and Seto cannot help the small smile that forms on his own lips.

The pond behind them ripples softly in the light wind, the lush green surrounding it framing them and shading them from the heat of the mid-evening sun.

Seto’s breath does not catch in his throat when Atem runs a hand through his hair and tucks his bangs behind his ear. And he most certainly does not acknowledge the warmth that spreads through him when Kisara finishes her move and finally looks up from the board. She catches his eye and smiles, placing her hand on the table setting to her right, directly across from Atem.

An empty place setting - a seat with no occupant.

“You’re late,” Atem calls to him, without looking up from the gameboard. Seto bristles for a brief moment before striding out into the sunlight.

#prideshipping #blueshipping #atem/kisara/seto #yugioh fanfiction #ygo #my writing #secretsantaseason2022

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: blood & coffee

Pairings: Buffy & Dawn & Spike, Buffy/Spike

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1k

Summary: A small moment of peace in the midst of the chaos of S7. [Spike, Buffy, and Dawn Family Fluff.]

[Read on Ao3]

Author's Note: This is technically set between s7e17 and s7e18 - I think it would technically be plausible for there to be at least several days between these two episodes considering the Buffy Wiki's timeline places several AtS episodes between them. This takes place on one of those theoretical in-between days.

----------------------

Buffy slowly makes her way out of bed, rolling her shoulders as she wraps her morning robe around her. She's still sore from the fight the night before, and as she makes her way down the still-dark hallway toward the kitchen, she hopes it's early enough that everyone else is still fast asleep. She's tired - the near-constant pit of worry and obligation sitting in her gut weighs on her, and all she wants is a nice cup of coffee and a hot shower before she has to talk to anyone today.

She hears the telltale clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen before she even has a chance to round the corner and she stops, contemplating whether she wants to head back upstairs to avoid whoever decided to be up this early, or just suck it up for long enough to brew a pot of coffee. Buffy closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath and steps forward.

And then there's the sound of voices.

"You want something more substantial?" It sounds like Spike, which, out of all of the people currently inhabiting the house, is one of the least likely people to cause her trouble at the moment. She’s actually a bit curious who he could be talking to - so she rounds the corner with a new enthusiasm, stopping just shy of crossing the threshold.

Buffy leans against the doorway, taking everything in for a moment, allowing herself to fully wake up as she silently watches the two of them. Spike is crouched in front of the fridge, the warm little automatic light playing interesting shadows across his features as he moves things around on the bottom shelf.

Dawn’s sitting with her back to the doorway, so neither of them have quite noticed she’s there yet. The easy silence of the early morning is settled around them, accompanied by the soft buzzing hum of the microwave.

"We've got some sausage," Spike squints, bringing the tube closer to his face to examine it, "that expired 4 months ago."

"Sounds great," Dawn replies, and from her tone, Buffy can tell she's definitely rolling her eyes. Spike huffs and continues to poke around in the fridge.

"Can't survive on microwave oatmeal alone, nibblet," He says, the endearment punctuated by the electronic chime of the microwave.

"I know," Dawn's voice is low and level - a settled warmth in it that Buffy hasn't heard in a long while. Buffy's heart aches at that for a moment. The current situation was weighing heavily on all of them.

Spike stands, twisting to open the microwave while also holding the fridge door open with his foot. He grabs the bowl of oatmeal from the microwave and hands it over to Dawn before crouching back down, "Might have some...berries of some sort in here somewhere. If you want-"

"Kennedy ate the last of them last night."

Spike audibly sighs. He turns quickly to the counter and picks up a small bottle, tossing it over to Dawn. She catches it limply and looks at it forlornly.

"Mix that in - it'll give it," He pauses, sighs again, "some sort of flavor least."

The two of them settle into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Buffy watches as Dawn slowly uncaps the bottle and shakes a bit of it into her oatmeal - a faint wiff of cinnamon hitting her a moment later.

"Buff'll be up soon," Spike pauses for a long moment, and Buffy can't help the small rush of nervousness that runs through her at the mention of her own name.

"I think I'll start a pot of coffee up."

Dawn lets out a soft hum, and Spike closes the fridge, settling a half-gallon container of milk it on the counter.

"Yeah," Dawn says, "I think she'd like that."

Buffy takes in the sight of Spike preparing coffee before she pushes herself off of the door frame and steps into the kitchen. Spike's eyes slide to her when she enters the room.

"Morning," He offers, and Buffy nods.

Dawn turns around in her seat, taking in her sister’s sleepy presence with a small smile.

"Hey," She says, "I was just about to come get you."

Buffy smiles at that.

"Spike's making coffee." Dawn explains, and Buffy eyes her half-eaten bowl of plain oatmeal. She leans down and presses a soft kiss to Dawn's hair as she passes by.

"Looks like you two are already well into your morning routine," Buffy gives a tired smile and moves towards the coffee pot, "how long have you been up?"

"What time is it?" Dawn asks in response - to which Buffy looks over at the clock and raises an eyebrow - just after 4:30am. Spike has already finished pouring out a cup for himself and is now leaning against the counter with one arm folded across his chest.

"Long enough," He quips, his gaze settling on Buffy as she takes the seat to the left of Dawn, a small smile on her lips as she settles down.

It only takes about thirty seconds for Spike to hand her a mug - her favorite mug at that - filled to the brim with rich-smelling coffee that looked to have just the right amount of milk mixed in. A small part of her wants to ignore the clear attentiveness in the gesture - wants to rail against the warm fondness that spreads through her as Spike takes the other seat next to her. But right now - in this moment, in this small reprieve of a morning early enough that the sun hasn’t yet risen, she just takes a long sip of her coffee.

"You feeling better?" Dawn asks.

“Much better,” Buffy replies. She takes another sip of her coffee.

For a long moment, the kitchen is filled with the small sounds of their morning, of the soft clinking of the mugs, and the small scuffling of feet against the tile. It’s a peaceful, comfortable warmth - one that Buffy can feel down to her toes.

She’s content in the moment. Content with the easy companionship of her sister and the man beside her. Content with the peacefulness of this stolen moment and the knowledge that, perhaps, despite everything, they’ll find a way to make it through this, one more time.

#spuffy #btvs fanfiction #btvs #secretsantaseason2022 #my writing #1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: red

Pairing: Fingon/Maedhros

Rating: G

Word Count: 320

Summary: “It reminded me of you,” Findekáno says, grinning up at Maitimo as though that was not the most absurd statement spoken in the last century. || Set in YT; Russingon Romantic Fluff; Quenya Names Used

[Read on Ao3]

“It reminded me of you,” Findekáno says, grinning up at Maitimo as though that was not the most absurd statement spoken in the last century.

“It reminded you,” Maitimo repeats, turning the tiny, delicately painted porcelain figure of a kitten over in his hands, “of me. ”

Maitimo raises an eyebrow as he carefully runs his thumb over the red-dotted paint swirling all around the smooth glossed face of the kitten. Finno’s grin only widens.

He leans over and plucks the kitten from Maitimo’s hands, balancing it between his fingers as he makes a big show of glancing back and forth between examining the fine details of the kitten and looking scrutinizingly over Maitimo’s face.

“Looks just like you, as far as I’m concerned.” Finno chuckles, and Maitimo finds himself smiling at the warmth in Finno’s eyes, in his smile, in his everything - Maitimo looks away quickly and clears his throat, trying to forcibly will away the blush he knows is likely spreading across his face.

After a brief internal panic, Finno boops him on the nose with the porcelain kitten, effectively bringing his focus back to his friend right before Finno leans in and closes the short distance between them. Maitimo freezes as Findekáno’s lips brush against his own. His heart jumping wildly in his chest, he presses back. Maitimo’s hand finds Finno’s and he moves to thread their fingers together -- only to have something small pressed into his palm. The porcelain kitten with red-mottled cheeks is closed tight in Maitimo’s hand.

When he pulls back, Findekáno’s grin is mischievous and self-assured, curling up into a smirk as Maitimo feels all of his blood rush swiftly into his face. If he hadn’t been entirely red before, he most definitely was now.

Finno hums, tracing his fingers over Maitimo’s cheek, “It’s almost like you’re twins,” He says, hooking his fingers beneath Maitimo’s jaw to tilt his head up for another kiss.

#russingon #my writing #tolkien #under 1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 7: Mulled Wine

For day 7 of @officialtolkiensecretsanta's 2022 Gen Advent Calendar!

Title: mulled wine

Pairing: Bilbo Baggins & Tauriel

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 519

Summary/Tags: Bilbo & Tauriel visit Hobbiton's winter market.

[Read on Ao3]

The first year Bilbo brought Tauriel to the winter market, it had been an all-day affair. Winter had come only a few months after he’d returned from his quest with the former guard captain in tow and the winter market was the last chance he’d get to stock up on things before the snow hit and made it too hard to make the trek into town. Tauriel had been taken in by a great many things that she had never seen before - a wide array of various decorations and baubles and tools that were apparently not common in Mirkwood. She’d lifted them up in front of him and he’d explained each one, quietly tucking away a few trinkets she seemed particularly keen on when she wasn’t looking so he could give them to her later. Gifts and warm drinks and fire in the stone-cut hearth of BagEnd, and he was still the coldest he’d ever been. It had been hard, that first year back from the quest.

Now it was a few years past and both of them have slowly settled into a fond and expected routine. Bilbo watches as Tauriel peruses through the winter market stands, only stopping every once in a while to pick out an odd thing she hadn’t yet come across during her time in the Shire. She helps him pick out which meats they would cure over the winter months, and carries almost all of their groceries back to BagEnd when Bilbo complains once about being a bit tired.

The cold trails in after them as they make their way into BagEnd, even after Bilbo has shut and locked the front door, and he finds himself grateful that Tauriel had cut fresh wood that morning, so they can start up a nice fire right away. The rich, wafting smell of slow-simmering mulled wine makes its way through the entry hall and Bilbo cannot wait to just sit down with a nice mug and read for the rest of the evening.

Tauriel sets about getting the fire started while Bilbo puts away everything they’d accumulated during their time at the market. By the time they’re both done with their respective tasks, it’s well into the evening, and Bilbo is rightly and properly exhausted. He pours himself and Tauriel both a full mug of wine and heads into the living room, where he finds his friend sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, idly stoking the fire.

He hands Tauriel her mug and flops down into his armchair, letting the warmth of the wine bleed into his hands as he lays his head back and closes his eyes.

“If you fall asleep now, you’ll spill your wine,” Tauriel says, and Bilbo sighs as he cracks an eye open to glare playfully down at her.

“I’m well aware, thank you,” He says, but he lets his eyes drift closed once more. Through the veil of weariness, he feels the mug being taken from his hands, and he sighs, tired but content, as he listens to Tauriel walk off toward the kitchen before he falls into his dreams.

#my writing #secretsantaseason2022 #tolkien #under 1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 7: Drunken Fun

For day 7 of @officialtolkiensecretsanta's 2022 NSFT Advent Calendar!

Title: kindling

Pairing: Caranthir/Haleth

Rating: E

Word Count: 772

Summary/Tags: Haleth visits Thargelion on a cold, snowy evening. Romantic Fluff & Sm/ut.

[Read on Ao3]

It had been a long trek out from her lands to Thargelion, particularly when the winds had decided to pick up and blanket them with snow during the latter half of their journey. She’d arrived cold and wet and miserable, and Caranthir had welcomed her just the same as she’d seen him greet other visiting dignitaries (- which is to say, not at all.)

Except, as soon as she settled in the quarters she’d been given for their stay, there had been a knock at her door and an invitation extended in the form of an outstretched hand, an open palm, and an ill-concealed smile. And that’s how she found herself here - quite frankly, exactly where she wanted to be at the moment.

It’s well into the night at this point - Caranthir has stepped out to obtain another bottle of the wine they’ve been drinking. Flames roar in the hearth of Caranthir’s rooms, dancing in the confines of ash-blackened stone. Haleth is warm, so warm, as she stretches herself out in front of it and wraps herself tighter in the fur-lined comforter she’d stolen from Caranthir’s daybed. She’s not entirely sure if it’s from the fire or the wine - but in either case, the easy, simmering heat beneath her skin is pleasant and welcomed after the long weeks of traveling through the cold.

When Caranthir finally makes his way back into the room, he only stumbles a little bit,just enough to make him uncharacteristically slam his leg into the side of bed frame and let out a near novel-length of what Haleth assumes are elvish curses. She laughs at him, perhaps a bit too hard and for a bit too long. When she finally looks back up at him, he’s right in front of her, that ever-present scowl of his bowing across his lips, even as she takes his hand and pulls him into the little nest she’d made herself in front of the hearth.

The slow-burning warmth of the wine settles in her chest as Caranthir wraps himself around her, pulling the blankets up over both of their shoulders.Haleth grins at him and places a hand on Caranthir’s face, her thumb brushing softly over the line of his jaw. His face is painted in such a rich scarlet, mottled so enticingly over his high cheekbones that it sends a thrill of heat through her that’s entirely unrelated to all of the wine. She can feel that same warmth in his skin, burning up beneath her fingertips as she traces down the curve of his neck, down further and further until she’s parted the top of his robes and fitted her hand over the smooth plane of his chest.

Haleth smiles and buries her face into his neck, lifting herself just enough to climb gently into his lap, her thighs tightening around his hips. She can feel the sharp intake of breath against her lips as she kisses her way down his throat, her rough, nimble fingers trail further and further down his core until they meet the dip of his hips and begin to move ever-so-slowly inward. She smiles. A soft, sweet turn of her lips that evolves into a wicked grin as her fingertips ghost over the underside of his cock. She can feel the tension in his muscles, can hear the quick shallowness of his breath as focuses and tries not to thrust up into her hand. She gives him a few slow, relaxed pumps, but in the end, she’s always been a bit impatient.

He groans at the loss of her hand on him, even as she tightens her legs around his hips, her thighs plush and warm against him as she sinks down, envelops him, wet heat wrapping around him so quick it she would swear she hears him let out a soft, keening whine. It’s endearing and it’s thrilling all the same, and she grins against him as she sets a lazy, indulgent pace. Her fingers thread and catch in the ink-black waves of Caranthir’s hair as he rocks slowly up into her, the heat between them kindling higher until it is burning her whole, spilling forth and spreading like a wind-blown spark on a dry summer’s eve. He follows her soon after, a kindled spark in the wake of her own blaze.

Haleth feels boneless and sated and exhausted and entirely unwilling to move from her perch on Caranthir’s lap. She simply presses a quick kiss to his cheek and burrows herself further into his arms. And Caranthir huffs, but does not complain, pulling her close in the slow-dying glow of the hearth.

#halenthir #my writing #secretsantaseason2022 #tolkien #under 1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: dear heart, it's me

Pairing: Gimli/Legolas

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary/Tags: Legolas & Gimli visit Minas Tirith's winter market & have an overall fluffy time.

My @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift for @raisingcain-onceagain!

[Read on Ao3]

The crowds are thick in the market square with people crowding around the varieties of colorful booths lining the streets. There’s barely enough room to walk through as Gimli and Legolas make their way down the main market corridor, sliding their way past merchants and shoppers alike as they navigate the meandering rows of booths. The air is filled with a jumble of smells - candied fruits, hot baked goods, and pungent spices - mingling in a dizzying mix that makes Gimli's stomach grumble, despite the fact he had already eaten breakfast that morning.

Legolas flicks his gaze across the various stalls, but nothing seems to draw his attention. Going to the markets in Minas Tirith was always an adventure, and the winter markets are certainly different from anything he has seen on his travels. The bright-colored fabrics and trinkets seem too enticing to pass up, and he finds himself wanting to stop and appraise the shops more often than his companion. This leads to them becoming separated more than once, which Legolas doesn't seem to appreciate. After the third time Gimli hangs around a booth too long, Legolas takes his hand in his own and holds on tight, making sure they stay together.

They stop for lunch at a small vendor's booth, sitting on stools that are much too tall for Gimli, which results in Legolas grinning playfully at him as he takes him in his arms and lifts him high enough so he can climb on. Legolas's hands seem to linger on him a bit longer than what Gimli would consider necessary - a hand settled on the small of his back to make sure he's steady once he's seated and a brush of his fingertips trailing along the outline of his shoulder as he moves to take his own seat. That Gimli is acutely aware of every small touch his friend bestows upon him is something he distinctly does not think about. The fact that his heart flutters in his chest like a nervous little bird every time he tries to think about even less.

Their next stop is a woodworker’s shop, where they are able to find a beautiful wooden box, carved with intricate detailing of autumn leaves and flowers. Legolas lingers on this far longer than anything else in the market, not that Gimli has been keeping track of that, of course. (However, when Legolas eventually tugs at his hand to move on, Gimli does come up with an excuse to send the elf away for a few moments so he can buy it and tuck it away in his rucksack, safely hidden away until Gimli can find an occasion to give it to him later).

They have only ventured down a few more streets when Legolas’s eyes light up, and he starts tugging at Gimli’s sleeve again.

“Come, Gimli! This way!” he says, pulling him along. Gimli smiles indulgently and follows with a chuckle.

They wind their way through the stream of shoppers, toward a small crowd of people gathered around a wooden stall. Various knives and small hand axes line the tables, impeccably embedded in well-oiled cedar and carved bone handles. The shopkeep is dwarven, hailing from a western sect of the Blue Mountains, and Gimli winds up speaking to him for a long while. Gimli's eyes sparkle as he points out a particularly intricate hunting knife and talks about it's craftsmanship with enthusiasm only another dwarf could match. Legolas stands back, smiling fondly at him as he chats away with the shopkeeper.

After browsing for a while, Gimli eventually purchases an exquisitely crafted throwing axe as a gift for himself, tucked away into his rucksack with care.

When they finally continue their journey through the market, Legolas takes Gimli's free hand in his own again, a simple "so you don't get lost in the crowd again" offered to him as an explanation. Gimli does not point out the thinning crowd, or the fact that he has not strayed from Legolas's side for many hours now, and he certainly does not shy away; instead he entwines their fingers together and holds on tight, a contented smile playing on his lips as Legolas casts an affectionate glance at him from the corner of his eye.

By the time the sun begins to set for the day, they've made it through a majority of the market and Gimli's bag is laden down with many things (- several of which may be things he'd bought for Legolas while the elf wasn't looking But he would neither confirm nor deny that.)

Legolas' energy is starting to fade, his quick and enthusiastic stride softening until he is merely ambling. Maybe it is time to retire for the evening. Wrapping a hand around his arm, Gimli leads Legolas out the gate and up the path toward the great hall.

They settle in the warmth of a dining hall close to their chambers and Gimli quickly finds himself downing his second tankard of mead, as Legolas nurses a glass of wine. It's been nearly two hours since they've returned from the market, and Gimli's not quite sure when Legolas had placed his hand over Gimli's. He's been rubbing soft circles into the skin of the back of his hand for a while now, and Gimli has let him, half because he's not sure what to do, or what this means, and half because he can't seem to think straight enough to come up with a reason why this shouldn't be happening. Legolas smiles at him lazily, his head tilting softly to the side and his eyes focused solely and intently on Gimli. The elf must be trying to kill him, Gimli decides, as his heart beats soundly against his chest.

They stay as they are for a long while, the alcohol warming them in the chill of the late winter evening.

It's nearly midnight when Legolas sighs into the last of his wine. He looks reluctant, almost. It takes Gimli longer than he'd admit to realize that Legolas's gaze has refocused to stare intently at their hands, and Gimli wonders for the second time that night, just when their fingers had intertwined.

Gimli gives Legolas a questioning look, silently asking what he's thinking.

And Gimli swears he hears a quiet, muddled, "I don't want to let go," before Legolas stands and makes his way toward the entryway. It’s all a bit too much in that moment. The sudden realization that Legolas might return his feelings, mixed with the warm, heady feeling of mead settling in his gut.

Gimli takes another long sip from his tankard and watches as Legolas disappears around the corner. Perhaps the mead is getting to him tonight. Perhaps all of this is some elven tradition or custom Gimli has yet to encounter. And yet - in the very back of his mind, he knows that's not true. Gimli drains the last of his mug and stands, nervous energy making its way through him as he takes each step toward their rooms.

When he finally stands outside of Legolas’s room, he stops, suddenly unsure of what to do. Has the moment passed? What if Legolas has just been teasing him out of spite, out of competition? What if he truly is misreading the situation and he’s just a bit too tipsy and perhaps he should just walk the few extra steps to his own door and --

The door opens without Gimli having to knock on it, and Legolas smiles at him - that warm smile that always seems to greet him, be it returning from the battlefield or rising with the dawn of a new morning. Bright as polished gold, a soft curve that never failed to lighten his own heart.

“Gimli,” Legolas says, his voice was breathy and light, and, given the events of the day and the mead singing high in his veins, that’s about all Gimli could handle. The warmth in Legolas’ eyes, in his smile, in the way he spoke his name, it’s all too much. All caution thrown to the wind, Gimli grabs him by the collar and wrenches him down, connecting their lips in a sloppy, ale-flavored kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

And Mahal’s Beard, Legolas kisses him back, nearly lifting him off the ground as they both stumble back into the room, the door swinging shut behind them. When they break apart, Legolas looks at him so intensely that it nearly makes Gimli look away. His smile is still there, though it looks like he’s trying to parse something out.

After a moment, Legolas softly brushes a bit of hair out of Gimli’s face, his fingertips ghosting over Gimli’s lips, down the curve of his jaw, only to stop with a gentle tug at the first braid in his beard. Gimli’s heart speeds up, the feeling of Legolas’ fingers in his beard sending trills of warmth down his spine.

“You know that this would not be something done lightly.” Legolas breathes, and Gimli nearly laughs, as if he’d not considered that before.

“Aye, Givashel, not something to be done lightly.” Gimli takes his hand and pulls him closer, marveling once more at the stark difference between them as he takes a strand of Legolas’s hair and brings it to his lips. He stops just short of touching the golden strands, looking up at Legolas with a question in his eyes.

Legolas answers without words, leaning down until their lips connected again in a kiss full of promise and anticipation.

#gigolas #tss2022 #secretsantaseason2022 #my writing #tolkien #1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: rockrose & thistle

Pairing: Eärwen/Nerdanel

Rating: T

Word Count: 1k

Summary/Tags: Nerdanel & Eärwen have tea, talk, and find tentative peace in each other's company.

My @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift for @tol-himling

[Read on Ao3]

Eärwen had shown up on the doorstep of her little cottage not thirty minutes ago, looking worn and tired. She offered Nerdanel a small bundle of jam with a bright little smile that didn’t quite seem right. Nerdanel had taken it anyway - had led her into her home, to the low tea table in her small sitting room, and had offered her tea. And she did not ask why Eärwen made the long, steep trek to her home, nested deep in the pinewood forest on her father’s estate.

Nerdanel's hands curl around her mug of tea. She watches, intently, as Eärwen’s delicate fingers flex against the smooth porcelain of her teacup.

"He was there and he didn't try to stop them. " Eärwen breathes, and Nerdanel can hear the pain, the betrayal in her voice. It isn’t clear if she's referring to Arafinwë stopping her children from following Fëanáro East, or stopping the slaughter of Eärwen's kin at Alqualondë.

But it doesn't matter - Nerdanel knows. She understands - knows how even the smallest details can twist and turn and hook themselves deep into one's mind, until all you can do is play each interaction over and over and wonder what exactly you could have done to change it .

But that's not how it works is it? The fates are as the fates will.

Nerdanel sighs, her brow furrowing in concern as Eärwen twists her cup in her hands. She's biting hard at her bottom lip, eyes lowered and staring intently into the agitated surface of her tea.

She says nothing, but calmly sips her tea and listens as Eärwen pours everything out to her, unyielding as the warm winds of the coast. Eärwen has likely heard all manner of platitudes at this point. That's not why she's here. She has not made the trip out to Nerdanel’s home to have her breathe saccharine words into the air around her, to offer empty promises and unbidden words of pity.

No, no, that is not why she is here.

Nerdanel watches her fingers begin to shake, she can hear the barely-kept ire in her voice, cloaked within words that hedge her meanings and feelings so heavily it sounds as if she’s speaking in solely theoretical terms. And Nerdanel wonders in that moment, just how many have told her over the years that her anger is undesirable.

Nerdanel reaches out, fingers curling over Eärwen's own. Her gaze is intense as they lock eyes - staring into each other in silence for a long moment.

Nerdanel moves first - shuffling around the corner of the table and kneeling beside her. She takes Eärwen's hands fully in her own - noting only briefly just how soft the delicate lines of her fingers are - and she holds her. Eärwen's voice breaks in her throat - soft and unbidden - and she shifts closer to Nerdanel, leaning in to her until her head rests heavy on Nerdanel's shoulder. She's warm, pressed against her like this.

Nerdanel curls her other arm around Eärwen's shoulders, cradling her in her arms as Eärwen's breath beats quick and heavy through the thin linen of her robes. Nerdanel holds her how she would have liked to be held, all those years ago. In the wake of Fëanor’s sentencing, the first loss of her sons, of her family - to the exile in Formenos.

Her mother had been there for her then - had made her tea and spoken with her - but what Nerdanel had missed most was this closeness - this tangible, physical connection that she had come to know for so long - and it had just been gone. That trust, that bond built upon years and years of patience and understanding and love , forgone in a matter of moments.

Nerdanel weaves her fingers into Eärwen's hair and marvels at how it falls effortlessly through her fingers, like flowing water.

"He's returned , and the way he looks at me is almost as if nothing has happened. As if our children are not--" She breaks off, fingers tightening around Nerdanel's, "I almost wish he hadn't come back at all." Her voice is a soft venom, then. Tired and frustrated, and after it crosses her lips, Nerdanel can feel the built-up tension bleed from her muscles. She leans more heavily into Nerdanel’s embrace.

She tenses a moment later, lifting her head to just barely meet Nerdanel’s eye. Her face is flushed, eyes wet with clinging tears, red-rimmed and angry .

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't, I know that's likely not true, it's just--"

Nerdanel cuts her off, "You do not need to mince words with me, Eärwen." She places a soft, lingering kiss to Eärwen's brow, "I do not begrudge you your feelings, nor do I think you need apologize for voicing them."

Eärwen's jaw sets, her teeth biting down hard on the plush of her bottom lip.

"Thank you," She says, and she buries herself back in Nerdanel's neck.

"My home is open to you, you know this" Nerdanel kisses Eärwen's forehead one more time, "Have you tried speaking with him?"

"No."

"Arafinwë has never struck me as being particularly cruel. He will listen to you."

Eärwen is silent for a long while, still against Nerdanel's breast. It's long enough that Nerdanel begins to worry she's overstepped - until she hears a soft, forlorn sigh.

"I am not quite sure that will be enough."

No, Nerdanel thinks, as she continues smoothing her fingers through Eärwen's silk-soft hair, I imagine it wouldn't be.

Nerdanel hums, a gentle murmur of acknowledgment. And she holds her, until the shaking stops and her tears have dried, until the wind blowing through the open window has gone cold and the sun sets in the west.

#tss2022 #my writing #tolkien #1k

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hanneswrites · 1 year

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Title: echoes

Pairing: Mouri Kogoro/Nakamori Ginzou

Rating: G

Word Count: 1k

Summary/Tags: Kogoro comforts Ginzou after another failed attempt at catching Kaitou Kid.

My @dcmksecretsanta gift for @cartoonsbyandie!

[Read on Ao3]

“Farewell, Nakamori-san!” Kaitou Kid's voice echoed as he bowed and a sparkle of smoke surrounded him. Nakamori Ginzou was unsure if he felt more resentment or relief. Kid had once again outsmarted him and his men, the 267th time. He attempted to hide his frustration as his subordinates attempted to comfort him with weak smiles and assurances that “they'll get him next time!” The inspector tried not to dwell on the day's events as he wearily returned to his office to analyze what had happened.

The room was silent save for the steady tick of the clock as Nakamori slumped in his chair. He pulled out the evidence reports and examined them methodically, trying to piece together what had gone wrong that day. He read and reread the accounts of his men, their descriptions of both the successful and failed tactics they had employed. Despite their best efforts, it seemed Kid had managed to be one step ahead of them at every turn.

With a heavy sigh, Nakamori clasped his hands together and leaned back into his chair. He contemplated the situation for a few moments, his intense gaze lingering on the file in front of him. He rubbed his temples; he had a feeling that the solution was just beyond his reach.

Lost in thought, he didn't hear the footsteps that were growing louder and closer as they echoed through the empty hallways. It wasn't until a paper coffee cup was gently set down on the edge of his desk that he finally looked up to see who had caught his attention. Kogoro smiled down at him, a warm curl of his lips that bordered on being just a little bit smug. A smile that never failed to inspire a confusing mix of fondness and indignation in Ginzou whenever Kogoro was concerned.

"What are you doing here?" Ginzou asked, eyes darting between the proffered coffee and Kogoro's smug little grin.

Kogoro chuckled lightly before replying. “I figured you could use a little pick me up after the show you all put on today.”

Ginzou let out a long exhale, settling his head in his hands.

"You watched the broadcast of the heist, then?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. Kogoro pulled up a chair and settled down, taking a long sip from his own travel cup before answering.

"I thought you had him there in the latter half," Kogoro said, as he fiddled absently with his cup. He sounded half-sincere, in a way that Ginzou had come to recognize as lighthearted teasing.

Ginzou glared at him for a moment, hesitating before finally accepting the cup of coffee with muttered thanks. He took a sip and sighed; it was just what he needed after such a long day of frustration, made exactly the way he liked it. He closed his eyes and allowed the smooth bitter warmth of it to flow through him, taking a deep breath to settle his nerves.

Kogoro watched him quietly, seeming to understand the emotions he was feeling without speaking a word. He waited until the silence was comfortable before finally speaking.

"No one's perfect," he said, reaching out to take Ginzou's hand in his own, "KID'll get what's coming to him someday."

Ginzou looked at him, surprised, but grateful for the gesture. He squeezed Kogoro's hand in response, and a small smile appeared on his face.

Ginzou hummed, his voice soft, and relaxing into the touch in the quiet of the night. At any other time, he would be wary of this - this easy affection he and Kogoro had settled into over the past few years in private. But he was sure all of his subordinates had already gone home for the night. They were alone, and in that stilled calm Ginzou just focused on the warmth of Kogoro's hand as it covered his own.

Kogoro smiled back at him, and the two of them stayed like that for a moment, simply enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. It wasn't the same as having the heist solved, but it was something, and it was enough in that moment.

"Thank you," Ginzou said softly, after a while. He took another sip of the coffee Kogoro had brought him and focused himself back on the two thick stacks of folders in front of him. Witness statements and testaments from his men, slips detailing the minuscule amount of physical evidence they'd managed to collect at the scene, and his own very, very blank statement of events stood between him and a good night's rest. He sighed and picked up the first folder, cracking it open, "I'll be done soon. I can manage the rest of it tonight."

Kogoro huffed out a laugh, dropping his hand back to his side before leaning back in his chair.

Kogoro's sarcasm was palpable in his drawling response. "Yeah, sure," he said mockingly. "They're going to make me the Chief of Police tomorrow." He held Ginzou's gaze for a long moment, and Ginzou studiously avoided eye contact.

Kogoro hummed after a long moment, setting his coffee down on Ginzou's desk and standing - and it was then that Ginzou noticed the distinct rustle of plastic.

"Where are you going?" Ginzou asked, not looking up from his paperwork.

Kogoro flashed a mischievous grin as he replied."Well it's gonna be a late night," Kogoro called, slinging a plastic bag sporting the logo of a nearby late-night market over his shoulder, "And I'm starving." He looked back over his shoulder for a second, that smug grin back on his face as he made his way over toward the department's staff kitchen.

Ginzou watched him go with fond exasperation, shaking his head and smiling softly to himself before turning back to the paperwork in front of him.

A little while later, Kogoro returned with two plastic bowls of instant ramen, setting them down on Ginzou's desk with a flourish and a wide grin.

It was enough motivation to get through the rest of the night; even as Ginzou pointedly ignored how Kogoro had become so attuned to knowing what Ginzou needed - even if it was as simple as a cheap bowl of noodles hastily microwaved in the precinct's dingy little kitchen.

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