♆

archerofdurinsfolk:

Send my muse kisses you want to give them!

♆ for a kiss where there is a pulse.

At that moment he didn’t know whether to kiss her or kill her, but the decision had already been made for him. His treacherous legs took the choice away from him, his traitorous arms snatching her up even as he berated her, angry at her recklessness, at her faux-cheerful assurances that she knew he didn’t buy, not for a second and yet she still bloody did it. He snatched her up and held her too tight and how dare she act as though everything was alright, as though she hadn’t scared the life out of him not five minutes before.

He didn’t know whether to kiss her or kill her, so he kissed her. Kissed her to quiet those reassurances and the promises they both make but neither of them can keep. Kissed her to stop his own angry growls and replace them with something less destructive. Kissed her to remember that yes, she was here, she was real, and if she ever bloody well scared him like that again he’d… he’d… probably go through the exact same routine all over again.

When it was over, and their antics had taken them across two rooms and made him very glad for the new shutters he’d purchased, his anger had all but dissipated. Flash fires rarely lasted, and neither did temper tantrums, and while Kili pressed lazy kisses along the line of her throat, he listened to the rise and fall of her breathing, quiescent for now. There would never be true peace here, not while the Capitol still ruled and held their chains to tug at their whims, but he would take each lull for what it was, and take it gladly enough. He might rage and storm and argue, but storms pass, and as he set his lips below her jaw to feel the pulse thrumming there, he could feel something loosen in his chest.

He would take this respite, and the next, and the next… it didn’t matter how many times this game was played, as long as he knew that her heart still beat.