kim47: (spn; dimpleeeeeeeeeeeees)
[personal profile] kim47
I hang out at [ profile] comment_fic quite a bit; it's great fun, you should give it a go.

So mini comment fic dump time.

Format: theme, prompter, fandom, pairing, prompt

27 word fills, [ profile] mandatorily, sherlock, sherlock/john, storm

Sherlock's a frenzy; he's thunder and lightning and heat and pressure, and he kisses like a fire storm, fierce, unrelenting, burning John up from the inside out.

27 word fills, [ profile] mandatorily, supernatural, sam/dean, storm

Dean remembers Sam, fourteen and gangly, creeping into Dean's bed at the first thunderclap.

Now, lightning flashes. His mattress dip; Sam's arms slide around him. Dean smiles.

older not dead, [ profile] mangacrack, supernatural, dean, feeling the years of hell

Most of the time he doesn't notice.

There are always too many other things to worry about: Sam, demons, Sam, angels, Sam, the end of the world, Sam, Lisa Ben Sam alphas Sam CastielCrowleySamDeathLeviathanCastielBobbyLuciferSamSamSam. He's spent his life being beaten, bloodied, bruised, running from things that want to kill him, running towards things that want to kill him. Dean doesn't have a lot of time for self-reflection; the one or two drops Sam squeezes out of him hurt like a bitch, and Dean has no desire to relive any more memories. He pushes them down, keeps going, and a tiny, shameful part of him is glad that it never fucking ends, that there's always one more monster to kill. He tried the regular life thing once, and it ended badly for everyone involved - it's not something he'll ever have, and he's accepted that.

So he hops back on the road, and he deals with the endless heartache and blood, he drinks and fights and fucks and tries to do it all with a smile on his face.

But sometimes, when he's alone for a minute with nothing to do, when Sam is out getting food and Cas has fucked off back to heaven and the motel's quiet, he feels it. He closes his eyes and sees Alistair, sees the tools on his workbench, feels the cold metal against his skin, and he can feel the extra forty years weighing him down like a physical presence. His joints tremble, and he collapses onto the shitty sofa before his knees give out from under him.

He's so fucking tired.

Dean's not sure he'll be able to stand again, not sure his aching bones will allow him off this sofa. Most of him just wants to put his head down and sleep and sleep and sleep and never wake up. In these moments he's aware of every second he's lived (and died), he remembers them all with overwhelming clarity; how long he's been fighting, how much he's lost, how much there still is left to do.

But then, Dean's felt older than he is his whole life.

one word prompts, [ profile] mangacrack, Supernatural, Sam/Gabriel, awe

If anyone should be awed, it should be Sam.

Gabriel is an archangel. He's fierce, absolute, older than all the stars that can be seen from earth, more powerful than these humans could possibly conceive. He's seen the rise and fall of empires, he's seen the majesty of heaven, he's laid waste to entire civilisations. He took it upon himself to humble the proud, to instruct the foolish, to teach lessons where they needed to be learnt.

He was Heaven's messenger.

But here, with Sam beneath him, his broad palms sweeping along Gabriel's back, his lips hot and wet on Gabriel's collar bone, Gabriel is brought low. He is humbled, by Sam's love, by his strength, by the sheer size of his heart. For one who has seen so much pain, for one who has lost, at one point or another, everything he loves, who has felt such guilt and shame and fear, Sam still loves so utterly and without reserve. He gives and gives and gives of himself, for his brother, for his friends, for what he believes is right.

And he loves Gabriel, he has chosen Gabriel, who mocked, taunted, hurt Sam. Who took so long, almost too long, to see that here, truly, was a man and a purpose worth dying for. One who made Gabriel understand, for perhaps the first time, why his Father loved his youngest children best.

Sam's mouth finds his and kisses him softly, reverently, and Gabriel is undone.

tv tropes, [ profile] classics_lover, bones, booth/brennan, Offscreen Moment of Awesome

The clock beside the bed says 4:17. She's disoriented for a moment, unused to waking in someone else's bed. It takes her a minute to realise where she is, and who's lying next to her. She's not sure when she fell asleep; she only remembers coming to him, being pulled into his arms, feeling warm and safe for the first time in too long.

She feels a flush of shame; even now, after he's seen her at her worst, when he's held her as she's falling apart, she hates showing her weaknesses in front of him. She learnt to hide them, after her parents disappeared, learnt that she couldn't count on anyone except herself.

Booth is asleep. He has one arm curled around her, protective as always, and the other is thrown out, as if reaching for the gun she knows is hiding in the drawer beside the bed. He looks worried and tense, even in sleep, and she brushes her hand gently across his forehead, as if to ease some of it.

His eyes flutter open. She should have noticed he was just barely asleep. Why didn't she notice?

"Hey," he says, whispering even though it's just the two of them in the apartment. "You okay?"

She nods.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she says. "It was foolish of me to be so overwrought, I know that nothing - "

"Hey, hey, it's fine, stop apologizing." He smiles at her and brushes the hair out of her eyes. It's strange to be talking like this, curled around each other in bed, as if it's something they do all the time. She thinks she should be thinking of reasons to get up, to leave. She's waiting for the uncertainty, the panic, the fear she feels every time they get close like this.

It doesn't come.

It doesn't come, and as the minutes tick by and they lie together, not speaking, and Temperance realises she's done. Finally, after so many years of it, she's done running from this. She doesn't want to demand evidence that this is true. She's not afraid any more.

She turns a little, propping herself up so she's looking down at him. He looks tired - the case is definitely taking a toll on him, like it is on all of them - but he smiles, and his eyes crinkle a bit at the sides, and he looks at her like she's everything. He's beautiful.

The kiss is slow, gentle. She presses her lips to his and he goes still with surprised. When she pulls back, he looks an equal measure of hopeful and wary.


She smiles at the nickname, and leans down to kiss him again. He kisses back this time, his lips soft and warm.

"Bones," he starts, pushing her away gently after a minute, "maybe this isn't the best time for this, I don't want you doing this just because you're scared right now, or because you're worried about the case, or - "

She cuts him off with another kiss. Deeper this time, wetter, licking at his lips until he opens them, tugging his shoulder until she ends up on her back, Booth braced over her.

"No," she says. "That's not why. Have you ever known me to do something I'm not certain about?"

He grins down at her.

"Well, no, now that you mention it."

"Then stop talking."

He does.

She thinks he's whispering perfect, and yes, and finally into her skin, but she's to lost in the sensation of him, in the strength of his broad shoulders, the cut of his jaw, the breadth of his fingers, to really hear.

"I love you," she says afterwards. In anyone else it might be taken for post-coital rambling, but that's not the kind of thing she does.

"I know," he says in return, kissing the corner of her mouth and smiling. "But it's nice to hear you say it."


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October 2012

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