#something about the familiar melodies cutting down on the noise and distractions

[trungles]

[feyreslover]

Melodies of You: Chapter 2

Synopsis:

Rhys is distracted by thoughts of a recent, unforgettable one-night stand. As he navigates the busy streets of Velaris, memories of the mysterious woman linger, consuming his thoughts and emotions.

To put it simply, Rhysand Almedra was having a shit day at work. His hair, once meticulously gelled back, now hung in damp, unruly strands across his forehead, a testament to the relentless hours he’d endured. His shoulders ached from the hunched position he’d held for far too long, and he could almost hear his mother’s voice in his head, chiding him with that familiar tone of concern.

Rhysand!, she would say, You’ll get a hunchback sitting like that.

Grateful for the solitude offered by his office's four walls, Rhys leaned back in his chair, groaning as he stretched out his stiff limbs. The movement sent a dull, yet satisfying, pain through his muscles, and as his arms extended above his head, his gaze drifted to the clock on the opposite wall.

6:45. Shit.

He had promised his brothers that he’d meet them at a bar downtown—forty-five minutes ago.

He reached down for his bag, which lay slouched against the side of his desk, pulling out his phone. The screen's light cut through the shadowed office, save for the cool, persistent glow of his computer.

The three missed calls from Cassian and two texts from Azriel were glaring reminders of how much time had slipped through his tired fingers. Rhysand sighed, closing his laptop with a soft click before slipping it into a sleek, black case. The muffled noise of rush hour traffic filtering through the windows below confirmed what he already suspected: hailing a cab would be futile, and walking might take just as long.

After packing up the rest of his belongings, he exited the otherwise deserted office, save for the few cleaners quietly sweeping the floors. As he pressed the lift button, calling the elevator, Rhys dialled Cassian.

After two rings, a low, monotone voice answered. “Well, well, well, we thought you’d forgotten about us.”

The sound of the elevator doors opening reminded Rhys to step inside. Wincing, he replied, “I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops. I just had a lot on my plate tonight and didn’t—”

“Didn’t keep track of time. We know,” Cassian interjected, cutting him off.

Snorting softly, Rhys ended the call with a quick, “I’ll see you guys soon.”

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Rhys exited the elevator and walked through the glass doors of the office, passing the slouched security guard, his head propped on his hand as he half-asleep grumbled a good night. 

Stepping out onto the bustling street, Rhys began his brisk walk to the bar, Skillfully manoeuvring around dawdling tourists and slow walkers. His mind began to wander back to his newest obsession.

the one-night stand that had left him reeling, with the woman disappearing before he could even get her name.

***

Cold, blue eyes framed by mascara-laden lashes met his as she lay on her back, her pale skin contrasting starkly with the darker tones of his silk sheets.

The small smile that played on her lips, coupled with the faint flush on her cheeks, told Rhys everything he needed to know. Inhaling deeply, his gaze had dropped to her swollen lips, her pupils dilating as he reached for her.

Her eyes had travelled slowly down his shirtless torso, pausing at the waistband of his pants that hung low on his hips. She bit her lip, and—

***

Someone bumped into his shoulder, jolting Rhys back into the present.

A gruff voice broke through his thoughts. “Watch where you’re going, corporate hotshot!”. The stranger, an older man with furrowed brows, glared at him in frustration.

“Sorry,” Rhys mumbled as he averted his eyes, eager to put the interaction behind him as quickly as possible. This woman, he realised, was driving him mad. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to that one-night stand, something that kept pulling him back to that night.

Yet, even now, as he neared his destination, a familiar warmth spread low in his stomach at the memory of her. The soft glow from the bar's windows spilled onto the sidewalk, casting Rhys's deep blue suit in a golden light.

The familiar buzz of laughter and clinking glasses greeted him as he stepped inside, the cozy, inviting atmosphere a stark contrast to the cold night outside. A slightly raised stage was set up in the corner of the establishment, where a young woman sat on a stool, softly strumming a guitar for the half-attentive patrons The walls, decked with dated Jazz posters and blown up photos of what Rhys assumed to be an Italian coast added accents of character to the bar. His eyes scanned the room, searching for his two friends, quickly catching sight of two familiar figures in the corner.

Walking over, Cassian was the first to notice him, raising his beer in a lazy salute, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Azriel followed suit, turning around with a rare smile as Rhys approached.

"Brother", Azriel mused as Rhys reached the pair. "Long time no see"

"Come off it" Rhys replied with a smile, slapping him on the shoulder as he sat on the leather stool next to them. 

"Oh poor Rhys" Cassian chided, signalling the bartender over. "Finally gets a promotion at his new job and everyone is getting on his ass for overworking. He can’t even take time out to see his family. God knows what his mother thinks."

The bartender, a familiar face behind the counter, set down a whiskey on a coaster with a manicured hand, her voice warm and teasing as she chimed in. “Give him a break, Cas. He’s finally making waves in the corporate world. Let the man enjoy his moment.” 

"Thank you for the recognition Mor" Said Rhys, turning towards his cousin with a smirk.

"God Knows you need it" Morrigan replied, before turning her attention towards the drink she was starting to prepare. 

"His head certainly doesn't" Murmured Azriel, earning an amused look from Mor and a poorly hidden snicker from Cassian.

Slightly shaking his head in mock annoyance, Rhys lifted the cool glass to his lips. The whiskey shimmered in the glass, its amber hue catching the dim light of the bar. 

He would never admit it, but his promotion was long overdue.

Rhys had sacrificed the best years of his early twenties to the company, diving straight into the corporate grind right after college, while his friends were still out chasing the fleeting joys of youth. The toll it took on his well-being was inevitable, though he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge it.

Instead of losing himself in the neon haze of nightclubs, high on adrenaline and cheap thrills, Rhys spent his nights hunched over in a cramped cubicle, the dim glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows on the stacks of paperwork and outdated files that cluttered his desk. The silence of the empty office was broken only by the scratch of his pen or the rustle of turning pages, each late night bleeding into the next in an endless cycle of exhaustion.

 Sure, his borderline obsessive work ethic wasn’t entirely necessary. The Almedra family had been set up comfortably, thanks to his father’s success in the business world. The man had built an empire, leaving Rhys and his sister with an inheritance so vast it was almost obscene. However, Rhys wanted to make a name for himself. 

He didn’t want to mooch off his inheritance. He wanted to build something of his own, to carve out a place in the world that was entirely his. The grind was quite plainly, brutal, the hours long and the work mind-numbing, but it was his. Every promotion, every achievement, was a step closer to proving that he could make a name for himself, independent of the fortune that had been handed to him.

The slight burn of the whisky, as it went down his throat, reminded him of the last time he’d drank it.

With her.

***

Sipping her Manhattan, the woman eyed Rhys, her gaze lingering on his formal attire, particularly his suit jacket. Her expression was a mix of curiosity and caution as she studied him.

Rhys cleared his throat, trying to break the silence. “So, could I get your name?” he asked, trying to maintain a sense of politeness in an otherwise curious tone. 

The change in her demeanour was almost instantaneous, as if a switch had flipped. Her earlier confidence wavered, replaced by a trace of unease. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was measured, almost hesitant. “I’d rather you not.”

She shifted in her seat, her fingers absently toying with the stem of her glass. Rhys raised an eyebrow, a small, confused smile playing on his lips. “You’d rather not?” he echoed, clearly puzzled by her response.

“I don’t feel like being myself tonight,” she admitted, turning away from him to face the bar, her shoulders slightly hunched as if retreating into herself.

Rhys followed her movements, adjusting his position in his seat. “Right,” he murmured, the air between them growing thick with awkwardness. This wasn’t at all how he’d envisioned the conversation going.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and Rhys could feel the tension mounting. He tried to assess her body language, evidently closed off, distant. The thought crossed his mind that she was trying to push him away. Maybe it was time to leave, before she grew too uncomfortable.

With a soft tap on the bar, Rhys stood up, deciding to give her the space she seemed to want. “I’ll leave you alone then,” he said, his voice gentle as he met her eyes one last time. There was something unreadable in her gaze, a flicker of emotion he couldn’t quite place.

He turned to leave, but before he could take more than a step, he felt her hand grasp his bicep, her warm touch firm, yet tentative.

“Wait,” she said, her voice a whisper that held him in place.

Rhys turned back to her, their eyes locking in a moment of shared understanding. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes softening with an apology. He couldn’t help but notice how truly beautiful she was, the vulnerability in her expression only adding to her allure. “I haven’t really done this before.”

Rhys glanced down at her hand still resting on his arm. “This?” he asked gently.

A blush rose to her freckled cheeks, her embarrassment clear as she quickly pulled her hand back, clutching it to her chest as if she’d been scorched. Her head lowered, and her voice softened further. “The flirty conversation... the setup for a one-night stand,” she admitted, her words tinged with a mix of uncertainty and self-consciousness.

Rhys tilted his head slightly, intrigued by her admission. “There’s no rulebook for this kind of thing,” he said, his tone gentle, almost reassuring. “We’re just two people having a drink, right?”

She glanced up at him, a small, tentative smile forming on her lips. “I suppose so,” she murmured, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

Taking a seat again, Rhys kept his gaze on her, noting the way her fingers played nervously with the  lipstick stained rim of her glass. He decided to shift the conversation away from the awkwardness, hoping to put her more at ease. “So, if you’re not feeling like yourself tonight, who do you want to be?”

She chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of relief, igniting an unrecognisable feeling within him. “Anyone but me,” she replied, her eyes meeting his, a playful expression gracing her face. “Maybe a woman who’s bold. Someone who converses with mysterious strangers in run down dive bars ”

Rhys smiled, leaning back slightly in his chair. “You know, you’re the mysterious one of this interaction. Ms “Anyone but me”. I’m just trying to work you out ”

She looked at him curiously, as if trying to figure out his angle. “What are you trying to find”

“About what you want,” he suggested  simply. “About what you’re looking for—tonight, or in general.”  

She took a sip of her drink, contemplating his words. “And what about you?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost as if she were afraid of the answer. “What are you looking for?”

Rhys paused, considering the question, noting her subtle attempt to shift the focus onto him. He could feel the weight of the moment, the unspoken hanging in the air between them. 

“Honestly?” he began, his voice maintaining a steady tone, “I came here tonight to unwind, escape the busyness of out there. But now-” he paused, taking in her face, framed by strands of dark blond hair. “I’m not so sure.”

She raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “Not so sure?”

“Not so sure that’s all I’m looking for,” Rhys said, his gaze steady on hers. “I’m not in a rush to leave, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She smiled again, this time with more confidence, the corners of her mouth lifting in a way that made her eyes sparkle. “Maybe I’m not either,” she admitted, a subtle shift in her posture indicating she was beginning to relax, facing more towards Rhys.

The conversation between them began to flow more easily after that, the earlier awkwardness fading into the background. They steered clear from talking about personal topics, opting to share vague stories and similar interests. The bartender refilled their drinks, the amber liquid glinting in the low light of the bar as the night stretched on.

As they spoke, Rhys found himself genuinely enjoying her company. She was witty, sharp, and surprisingly open, once she got past her initial hesitation. He noticed the way she seemed to come alive when she laughed, a melody which had her whole face lighting up in a way that made it hard to look away. 

Eventually, they couldn't help as the conversation turned more personal, dipping into the things that were usually reserved for more familiar company. “I didn’t expect to be here tonight,” she confessed, her voice softening. “I almost didn’t come out at all.”

“Why did you?” Rhys asked, genuinely curious.

“Because sometimes…”, she stopped, giving him a look.

Rhys nodded in understanding “Yeah, I get that.”

Their eyes met again, and for a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade away. There was something between them now, an unspoken connection that neither of them could deny. 

Rhys began, “So, would you—” but his words were abruptly silenced as the woman firmly slid cash across the bar, her eyes locking onto him with such intensity that he couldn’t look away.

***

“Hello? Rhys?”

Looking up from his glass, Rhys was met with three pairs of expectant eyes, different expressions of confusion. 

Clearing his throat, Rhys replied, “Sorry?”

“Where did you go just then?” questioned Mor, Subconsciously polishing a glass with a white rag.

“Uh” mumbled Rhys, not wanting to reveal his daydreaming, not even to his closest people. “Just thinking about a project.”, winching at his first response being about his work. Unforntuatly, his friends knew him better than that.

“I know what this is about,” said Cassian, giving Rhys a knowing look. “He's hung up”

Rhys raised an eyebrow, trying to play it off. "Hung up? On what?"

Cassian smirked, leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence. "Oh, come on, don’t play dumb. We all know you’ve been distracted lately, and it’s not because of work."

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, chimed in with his usual calm demeanour. "He’s right, Rhys. You’ve been somewhere else for weeks now. Something’s got you all...", waving his hand in a broad gesture towards Rhys

Rhys felt a heat rise to his cheeks, but he forced a chuckle, taking a sip of his drink to buy time. "You guys are imagining things. I’ve just been busy, that’s all. You all said that yourselves"

His two brothers seemed to understand Rhys' dismissal, knowing not to push him too far. 

It seemed that Mor, however, wasn’t convinced. She set the polished glass down with a gentle clink and tilted her head, eyes narrowing in that perceptive way she had. "It’s more than that, Rhys. You’re distracted. And if it’s not work, then…" She let her words hang in the air, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

Rhys sighed, realising there was no escaping their curiosity. "Alright, fine," he conceded, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "There’s… someone. But it’s nothing serious, just—"

"Here we go, a mystery woman!" Cassian interrupted, his grin widening. "Now it all makes sense. C’mon Rhys, Tell us more. Who is she?"

Rhys hesitated, his thoughts drifting back to those cold blue eyes, the way she had looked at him with both defiance and something else—something he couldn’t quite place. To be completely honest, he didn’t want to share her with the group, wanting to keep the night solely for himself.

"Actually don’t know much about her. She’s… We’ve only met once, but she left before I could even get her name."

Azriel leaned forward, his interest piqued. "And now you can’t stop thinking about her."

Rhys nodded slowly. "Yeah. It’s like she’s in my head, and I can’t shake her."

Mor smiled softly, her voice a gentle comfort as she placed one of her hands on top of his. "Sounds like she made quite an impression."

"Or," Cassian added, "you’ve finally met your match."

At that, Rhys could feel the unspoken pity that lingered among his friends. Each of them, in one way or another, had found someone significant to share their lives with. Family dinners had become increasingly awkward, with his mother not-so-subtly bringing up one of her friends' single daughters whenever she could.

Invitations from his friends always came with a plus-one option, a constant reminder that he was the odd one out, still navigating that part of his life. The weight of it all was beginning to press down on him, a silent burden he carried while trying to maintain the facade that he was perfectly fine on his own. 

Rhys laughed, but it was a hollow sound, lacking the usual humour. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just chasing a ghost. Not everyone is destined to have a love story like yours, Cas"

Azriel’s gaze softened. "Sometimes the ones who leave us with questions are the ones who stay with us the longest."

Rhys looked around the table at his friends— rather his family—and felt a great sense of gratitude. Even if he couldn’t figure out the mystery woman, at least he had them.

With a deep breath, he set his glass down and tried to push the thoughts of her aside, at least for now. "Enough about me. Let’s just enjoy the night, yeah? Mor, you’ll be off soon, right?"

Mor nodded, raising a glass of water. "To enjoying the night."

The others followed suit, clinking their glasses and bottles of beer together in a silent agreement, a harmonious clink. But even as Rhys joined in, he knew the woman would linger in his thoughts, just out of reach, like a shadow in the back of his mind.

[lilacsandamethysts]

Call out my Name

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Some low ranking knight decides to flirt with the Captain's lover, a reminder is needed.

Warnings: NSFW!!!, Minors don't interact, 18+, oral (fem receiving), chest play

A/N: My first smut and oh my god I got flstered by just imagening the scene in my head. Like wow Kaeya and jealousy?? top tier, also I was too tired so I didn't proof read it lol I'm so sorry ><

Kaeya’s eyebrow twitched at the sound of her honeyed giggle. Under any other circumstances he would absolutely adore the familiar ring of her laughter; he treasures the moments of hysterical laughter and uncontrollable snorts. Today however, he hated every giggle leaving her lips. The knight leaning on the pillar had a smug smirk plastered on his face, eyes scanning her body resting on her curves, on the peak of her breasts, on the supple skin of her thighs. He was eating her up. Kaeya was certain veins protrude on his forehead, fists clenched as he holds the report the same knight delivered to him before getting distracted. Ice coursed through his veins when he dared put his dirty fingers on her shoulder. The sudden movement caused her to tense up, smile not quite reaching her eyes this time as she tried backing up, left hand batting him away.

“Good evening soldier. Darling.” His feet had taken him to them, arm circling her waist and bringing her flush to his chest, feeling her shoulders relax and melt into him. The knight’s eyes glared at Kaeya’s arm, almost growling when her hand squeezed the captain’s. Kaeya, as extra as ever, kissed her cheek, bowing slightly to the knight before dragging her to his office, leading her inside and locking the door, resting his head on the hard mahogany. Her breathing was the only thing feeling the silence between them. Kaeya slowly takes off his fur coat, dropping it to the floor before untightening his shirt collar with a hook of his finger. He sighed, loudly, walking to her like a predator eyeing his prey, caging her in between his strong arms watching her closely as she flushed, bottom lip tucked in her mouth as she looked back. Her eyes darted to his exposed chest, more flush rushing up her neck.

“I think it’s time we remind everyone who you belong to…” His breath hit her face as he leaned closer, lips ghosting over hers and one hand wrapped gently around her neck, giving the soft flesh a gentle squeeze. HIs left knee nudged her legs apart, creeping slowly higher and higher until it pressed snuggly on her privates and that’s when he begins to move. Slow, circular motion, with enough pressure to make her head spin and before she could catch her breath, he pressed into her further eliciting a moan from her, hands flying to the sapphire strands and pulling.

“That’s a good slut, be loud for me darling.” His eye was clouded with lust, dipping down to her breasts and smirking at her obvious arousal. With feather light touch, he pulled on the string keeping her shirt together slowly exposing her chest to him. She must be close judging by her moans, back arched pushing her breasts closer to his mouth, a silent invitation to increase her pleasure. But he couldn’t give her what she wants just yet. Removing his knee, a whine left her mouth, but it was cut short by a hearty moan once he took a nipple into his mouth. His other hand shuffled down her pants, running a slender finger up her slit before plunging into her making her convulse around him more moans dripping from her lips. He began to pump, a slow pace at first before upping up the speed, feeling her walls suck him and squeeze him tight; oh if only that was around something else. Releasing her nipple with a pop, he kissed down her stomach, leaving bite marks on his path before he replaces his fingers with his mouth, tongue circling her clit and licking away her arousal. She threw her head back a loud whine of his name escaping her before she bit on her hand to keep quiet, the other lost in his hair too busy tugging at the strands to care about noise.

A habit he hated, making herself keep quiet. She made such beautiful sounds, melodies only he was aloud to hear and memorize. Shyness, however, was an enemy he had yet to defeat. His fingers brushed over her chest, pinching on of her nipples on the way up before lean hands wrapped around her neck and squeezing the flush tight enough to have her gasping.

“It appears..mmm… I should give you something to scream about.” He flipped her over in one swift move, bending her over the edge of the couch and landing a slap on her cunt when she whined. He unbuttoned his pants, cock springing free and slapping his stomach, thich beads of precum already leaking through the tip. “I’m going to fuck his name out of you.”

Kaeya was a man of his word.

[inkformyblood]

we should have a land of joy

Day 02: AU (Modern Setting & Farm/Ranch)

Obi-Wan arrives at his grandfather's old farm, half-lost in grief and with his two new wards, unsure of what he is going to do. Luckily, his strangely familiar neighbour has a plan and offers to help, which Obi-Wan accepts.

Pairing: Codywan, Obi-Wan & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Cody Fett & Boba Fett

@codywanweek

Obi-Wan hefted the cardboard box up further in his slipping grip, wincing at the ominous rattle from inside. The edge pressed into his stomach for a moment before he shifted it to rest against the jut of his hip. His arms ached, muscles he had forgotten about since his university days protesting at the sudden exertion, but he ignored them, staggering forward the last few steps to set it down amongst the others.

Pressing his hand against the small of his back, Obi-Wan leant backwards with a groan, hearing the bones shift and pop. His gaze landed on a spiderweb strung high in the corner of the room, illuminated by the weak sunlight that managed to break through the thin film of grime on the windows.

This wasn’t the house he remembered from his childhood, the memories worn and fragmented, but it was his now. His heart shuddered as the now-familiar wave of grief crashed over him, tears biting at the corners of his eyes and a scream bubbling up his throat. It was all he could do to let the feeling wash over him, turning to look around the room through the film of tears rather than let himself drown.

The farmhouse was in better condition than he had expected, given how long it had been since any had lived there. Echoes of his grandfather’s presence were clear from the dusty row of wine bottles tucked into one of the kitchen cupboards to the well-preserved furniture, all made from the same stained wood and protected from the dust by large sheets. All of the sheets contained the same motif — a long thin arrow with a barbed tail picked out in a vibrant orange — and something about it scratched at the edge of Obi-Wan’s memory.

Whenever he tried to remember more, the only thing that rose to the surface was the sensation of walking through a cornfield, a hand clasped in his as a boy walked in time with him and he knew that he never wanted to let go.

Footsteps echoed from the floor above, snatches of laughter and Obi-Wan tipped his head back to track their progress. Anakin and Ahsoka had disappeared up the folded down stairs nearly twenty minutes ago, just enough time for their curiosity about the house to be satiated and their attention to turn to the overgrown field in front and the buildings that lay beyond.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s steps were deliberate, a pause between each one as he waited for Ahsoka to step down. They made a strange picture with Anakin towering over the vibrantly dressed Ahsoka as they climbed backwards down the ladder. “Can we go outside?”

“Outside!” Ahsoka echoed, pausing in her climb to clap. She wavered on the final step and Obi-Wan managed to take half a step towards her, panic sparking through his chest, but she steadied herself, hands pressed against the pale wood of the ladder as she took the final step down. “We’re gonna find sheep!”

Obi-Wan bit his tongue from the reflexive denial that bubbled up, trying to keep the toddler’s hopes from being crushed. While Anakin had had the luxury of headphones, he had participated in countless renditions of Old McDonald on the drive down until the melody felt like it was boring a hole in his skull.

“Make sure you stay together.”

Ahsoka clapped her hands together once more and wrapped her arms around Anakin’s waist before she untangled herself to throw herself at Obi-Wan. She was warm and slightly sticky, the clean floral scent of her favourite perfume clinging to her braids as if she had dipped them in it. “Love you, Obi! Gonna find the sheep for you.”

Obi-Wan forced a smile, lightly bumping her nose with his before he set back on her feet. Anakin waved to him, rocking on his feet and Obi-Wan’s smile shifted into something genuine at the boy’s attempt to seem so grownup.

“Be good,” he warned before forcing his voice to be softer, lighter as he caught the flicker of hurt on Anakin’s face, his bottom lip beginning to jut out. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Anakin muttered, scuffing his shoe along the pale wood and Obi-Wan’s grin widened, recollection burning through him of standing in the same spot, the world too large around him and yet confident of his place in it.

He turned away, bowing his head to pick at the peeling tape at the edge of the cardboard box. It came away slowly, the rasp setting his teeth on edge as it clung to his hands. As he pried it open, he stepped back, surprise passing through him like a lightning bolt.

Qui-Gon’s face, his mouth curled into the same serene smile Obi-Wan could remember so clearly, stared back at him. He had forgotten the way his shoulders had stooped, every edge rounded, yet it didn’t distract from the spark of mischief in his eye. The remembered scent of honeysuckle filled his lungs, warm and spiced like the tea they had been drinking. It had been taken shortly before Obi-Wan had signed the paperwork to be named as Anakin and Ahsoka’s emergency guardian by a student photographer, and he ran his finger along the frame, removing the scraps of paper that had clung to it during the move.

Turning, he glanced around the room, finally settling on the engraved mantlepiece above the blackened fireplace and placed the photo there, adjusting it slightly so the sun wouldn’t reflect across the glass and age it.

“We’re back here again,” Obi-Wan murmured. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly and forcing his heart rate to settle. The future lay before him, uncertain and fragile, and he had never been so terrified in his life. “I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me that everything would be okay in that infuriatingly cryptic way.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until muted shapes burst like lightning and the rising tide of grief subsided. “I’d just like a sign I haven’t thrown everything away.”

A crash and screams from outside answered his call, and Obi-Wan was running, fear spiking through him. A distant part of him knew if they both screaming, they were both still alive, still breathing, but the noise only reminded him of the shriek of the hospital monitor—

“What is going on here?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him, and three children exploded into incoherent yells, their hands waving in the air. Anakin and Ahsoka stood along one side of the small storage shed, and a young boy who looked to be a similar age to Anakin stood along the other, a small toolbox clutched in one white-knuckled hand.

“Anakin, Ahsoka, enough.”

Anakin’s jaw snapped closed, but his face transformed into a murderous scowl, his brow furrowed and his arms folded across his chest.

Obi-Wan turned to the boy, taking in the defiant jut of his chin and the way his gaze wandered back to Ahsoka, the girl half-hidden behind Anakin’s leg. He couldn’t say why, but he had a feeling that the boy was the youngest in his family.

“What’s your name?”

“Boba,” the boy started before a clear whistle cut through the air, his head snapping up and peering into the field just visible behind Obi-Wan. “And that’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and Boba took the opening, darting past Obi-Wan with ease, his toolbox skimming past the taller man’s knees.

“Obi-Wan! Why did you let him go?” Anakin’s voice rose and cracked, and Obi-Wan blindly reached out for the boy as he watched Boba disappear into the weeds. He could feel the heat radiating from Anakin’s flushed cheeks, carding his hand through his dark hair and tugging apart a knot he found there.

“I believe—“ Obi-Wan tipped his head back, frowning against the glare of the sun as he watched someone push their way through the weeds. “I believe we’re about to meet our neighbours.”

The man who stepped into view was nothing short of beautiful. His face was mostly cast in shadow due to the leather cowboy he wore, but Obi-Wan could make out the edge of a smile, aiming for reproachful but fighting against amusement. He moved with ease, a relaxed confidence in his step, and Obi-Wan found himself moving closer like a moth drawn to a flame. His clothes were worn-in — a dark blue checkered shirt and grey jeans — and clung to the broad curve of his shoulders and bared the hollow of his throat.

“I’d wanted to welcome you to the village properly.” The man paused to laugh, a rumbling chuckle that sounded as sweet as honey. He tipped his head back to look at Obi-Wan properly revealing dark brown eyes and the pale curved scar on his left temple. He was studying Obi-Wan just as intently as he was, his gaze passing over the frayed edges of his jumper, the mud splattered on his neatly pressed trousers and Obi-Wan shifted beneath the pressure of it.

It wasn’t the same as the sterile meetings he was used to — cold impersonal nods from across a room, a growing sense of recognition at a stranger’s face — this was something new and terrifying and exhilarating.

“I’m Cody Fett. I believe you’ve met Boba.”

He held out his hand, and Obi-Wan took it, feeling the roughness of his calluses and the calm strength behind it. This close, he could see flecks of gold in Cody’s eyes, like scattered straw.

“Obi-Wan.” Cody’s eyes widened a fraction, new understanding dawning on his face. “And that is—“ Obi-Wan turned, waving his hand towards Anakin and Ahsoka, still huddled in the doorway, their eyes wide, “Anakin and Ahsoka.”

He turned back to see that Cody’s gaze had never strayed from his face, an unreadable emotion flickering past before it was tucked behind warm friendliness.

“Dooku would have been your grandfather?” Cody waited for Obi-Wan to nod before he continued. “He had an agreement with my father about us looking after the place while he wasn’t here. Just so you there’s no wires getting crossed with us being here.” His grin widened, but there was steel in his words and Boba pressed into his legs, one hand stretched up to tug on the edge of his shirt.

Without looking, Cody smoothed his free hand over Boba’s head in a motion so familiar it sent a pang through Obi-Wan’s chest and he was still holding Cody’s hand.

He let go, missing the contact the moment their hands parted, a fresh furious blush burning through his cheeks. “An agreement? Oh.”

Cold certainty settled over him and he felt the spike of pain behind his eyes resurface. In the grey-tinged confusion following Qui-Gon’s death, he had worked on auto-pilot to get the man’s affairs in order, including cancelling outgoing payments, one of which was simply labelled as ‘Fett’.

“I’m sorry. I’ll work out how much you’re owed and sort it out. You have my word.”

“It’s no trouble—“ Cody began, but Obi-Wan cut him off with ease.

“You’ve done good work here, and you should be compensated for it. I am glad to see that my grandfather’s farm didn’t fall into ruin while it’s been unoccupied.”

“I’m sensing that finance might be your battleground of choice.” There was no cruelty in Cody’s words, presenting the insight as if it was obvious. “Why turn to farming?”

His gaze locked onto Obi-Wan’s and he couldn’t guess what the other man read on his face, only that he understood.

“Boba?” Cody pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, speaking around the leather as he worked a golden ring off of his thumb. “Fancy showing our new neighbours around the village proper? Get yourselves something nice at the bakery.”

Cody paused, hooking his hand into the back of Boba’s collar as the boy began to step forward. “Buirkanir par ad'ika.”

Boba nodded, holding out his hands for Cody to drop the ring into and looked up at Obi-Wan expectantly. Cody mirrored him, tipping his head to one side and tucking his glove into his pocket. “My treat. A better welcome to the village.”

Obi-Wan bit his lower lip as he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the pair. Ahsoka’s demeanor had changed in an instant, leaning forward and using Anakin’s arm to stop her from falling, and Anakin wrinkled his nose but nodded at Obi-Wan’s questioning glance. He would complain later but, hopefully, the prospect of new places to explore would mollify him.

“I’d appreciate that. I’ll just grab my wallet and—”

“My treat.” Cody tapped Boba on the shoulder and the boy was off, dropping the toolbox and making his way past Obi-Wan to the doorway expectantly. Obi-Wan watched him tuck the ring onto his thumb — the metal oversized and starting to slip before he curled his hand into a fist — and waved a cautious hand at them, before turning and starting to walk towards the small track that led back towards the village. Ahsoka followed him, tugging Anakin along in her wake.

“The ring?” Obi-Wan turned back towards Cody just in time to see him tug off his other glove, the action rough but captivating, his gaze dropping towards every inch of skin that was revealed.

“Boba can add whatever they get onto my tab and I’ll pay it when I’m next in town. You’ve not had the pleasure—” Cody’s grin widened and his gaze darted off to one side before returning to Obi-Wan. “—of meeting my family yet but we’re quite large. This makes things easier for everyone.”

“I appreciate it, more than I could ever say. It’s been— It’s been a confusing couple of months.”

“I can only imagine.” Cody stepped forward, placing a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm and he leant into the touch, his heart stuttering in his chest. He hadn’t realised it before, but now? Now with the touch of Cody’s hand still burning on his palm and his closeness, the scent of warm honey and sandalwood blanketing them both, Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to stay next to him for as long as he was able.

“Even this…” Obi-Wan waved as if that one gesture could encompass the overgrown fields and the vacant buildings. “I don’t know what I intended coming down here, or even if I’m going to stay in the end.”

“Obi-Wan. You’re allowed to give yourself time. Time to grieve, to plan, to work things out. Give it… a year. I’ll help. It’ll do me some good to have a proper project again, so you’d really be doing me a favour.”

Obi-Wan had had his suspicions upon meeting the man that they would be well-matched. He couldn’t say why, but whether it was destiny or some cruel whim of fate, Cody Fett had been placed in front of him, and Obi-Wan couldn’t find any urge to say no. Every argument he could think of paled in the face of his earnest, serious expression.

“A year?”

Cody nodded, stepping closer and tipping his head back to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. “One year. Want to shake on it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are a very dangerous man, Cody Fett, but agreed.”

Cody’s grin was blinding, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but join in, feeling the tension release from his shoulders in the flood that was no longer going to drown him but carry him onwards.

“First job of the day is to fix the fence.” Cody turned, using his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand to twine their fingers together, stooping the same movement to pick up the toolbox. “Given that my usual helper is occupied, can I convince you to step in for me?”

“I’d be delighted.”

One year to see what would happen, and one year to make a choice.

Obi-Wan squeezed Cody’s hand, the other man squeezing back, his thumb rubbing along the curve of Obi-Wan’s knuckles, and they walked together through the field, both feeling an odd sense of familiarity but neither speaking it aloud.

[mintaka14]

Here’s the final chapter of See the Light. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to @quickspinner for letting me play with your prompt.

See the Light

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Four – The World Has Somehow Shifted

 She was reading too much into that song. All Rose’s talk of romance and fairytales and Disney was getting to her, and sung in Luka’s gorgeous voice of course it was going to sound like…

Dammit, she was a grown woman, and she was not going to cry.              

But her vision blurred as she typed out the curt little response to Luka’s text. She didn’t dare trust herself to write more.

She should know by now that Ladybug didn’t get the happily ever after, and she didn’t get the prince. (But I don’t want a prince, the voice whispered at the back of her mind, just Luka)

The wedding dresses were done and delivered, so Marinette threw herself into making her own outfit as a distraction. If she couldn’t go to the Liberty, she could focus on gold embossed blue silk chiffon with grim determination. The results were at least pretty enough, she decided as she faced the mirror on the morning of the wedding.

The skirts drifted around her knees in a cloud of powder blue and gold filigree. She flattened her hand over the narrow gilt belt at her waist and regarded herself critically, reaching up to tuck an escaping strand of hair back into the chignon at the nape of her neck. Marinette found herself wondering if Luka would like it, and cut that train of thought off sharply. It didn’t matter what he thought, because they were simply friends, assuming they could even be that anymore. She was not doing this to the both of them all over again.

She heard Mylène’s voice at the door, and caught up the clutch purse with her disapproving kwami in it, sliding into the pale gold heels that she’d bought for the occasion. Time to go and be happy for her friends.

Marinette travelled out to the vineyard for the wedding with Ivan and Mylène, and sat with them under the trees as the harpist played and the guests gathered. The soft chatter died down, and as the music paused and swelled in the bright afternoon the brides made their way down the grassy aisle together. Rose was sunshine in blushing pink and cascades of flowers, bright as she beamed up at Juleka. And Juleka, in her darkly elegant moonlit gown, glowed.

Marinette’s eyes turned to Luka, taking his place beside Anarka. He’d managed to lose his suit coat and tie somewhere along the way, and the teal fall of his hair was a vivid splash of colour over the charcoal and cloud grey of his shirt and vest as he bent to say something quietly to his mother, his arm going around her. Luka’s head turned, and for a moment his eyes met hers.

“Are you okay, Marinette?” Mylène whispered, and Marinette jerked her gaze free, managing to summon up a smile that must have been convincing enough.

It was a small wedding, but half of the guests were Couffaines, and it turned out that the Lavillants were a lot like Rose, so it wasn’t by any means a subdued or formal occasion. Marinette had never met Rose’s parents, but it was obvious where Rose got her enthusiasm from once she’d been introduced to Rose’s mother. And then there was Jagged.

He’d swooped down on Marinette in an exuberant avalanche the moment that the two brides had been whisked away for their photos, and Marinette had been left laughing and breathless. She was passed from hand to hand, and congratulated at every turn on the stunning wedding gowns.

Once or twice, she caught Luka looking her way, and there was something in his eyes that made her heart stumble, but he kept his distance. She was, she told herself, grateful for that.

Marinette caught up her pale blue and gold skirts as the breeze fluttered them around her and picked her way carefully across the grass as the entire company trekked through the gardens towards the waiting château. Luka still hadn’t come anywhere near her by the time they’d all reached the wide paved courtyard where waiters were moving around with trays of champagne and platters of elegant hors d’oeuvre waited on tables against the backdrop of old-fashioned damask roses and ivy and stone walls. She smiled and waved away the offered champagne glass, and threaded her way through the chattering guests to slip inside the doors of the huge old hall ready for the reception. Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief in the temporary silence.

The hall was a warm cavern of stone and timber, glowing in the candlelight and soft with tables full of white linen and pink roses, and Marinette tilted her head to look up into the strings of pennants and fairy lights that twinkled from the ancient rafters. She knew, without looking, that the soft footfall behind her was Luka.

“Rose’s fairytale,” she said a little wistfully. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” He was looking at her. “Feeling a little bit overwhelmed?” he asked sympathetically.

“It’s just been a long day.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to reach out to her, but he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Everyone will be coming inside soon. I’m thinking it might be a good time to go find a quiet corner to get ready for our performance,” he suggested, and Marinette let out a faint sigh.

“A quiet corner sounds like a wonderful idea.”

As she followed him out of the hall, Luka chuckled and nodded at one of the delicate pink flower arrangements. Nestled in among the roses, Marinette saw a tiny glittery black bat, and she couldn’t help laughing.

“It’s Juleka’s fairytale too,” Luka said.

The space he led her to had obviously become the designated storage area for every musician on the guest list. They picked their way through the jumble of instruments that seemed to fill the antechamber, and Luka gave a wry smile.

“Jagged’s brought in enough to start a fairly sizeable orchestra. I think things are going to get loud later on.”

He found his acoustic guitar propped behind a drumkit, and she perched on a chair while he tuned it. She found herself staring stupidly at those arms of his, and the snake tattoo that coiled down his forearm from under his rolled up shirt sleeves, wishing they were wrapped around her. It really wasn’t fair of him.

“Marinette?”

She shook herself out of her stupor.

She kept waiting for him to say something about the way she’d run off the last time he’d seen her, or to ask if she was alright. Instead, he played a quick rising scale on his guitar, and then settled into an easy little melody that was familiar enough that she could sing along with it. She was grateful for his silence as she gave most of her attention to warming her voice up, but a part of her couldn’t help wondering why he said nothing.

Marinette startled and pulled her attention back when Luka stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

He said, “It sounds like it’s just about our turn. Are you feeling ready?”

The noise was rising in the hall behind them with the sound of laughter and talk, and shoes and chairs clattering on the flagstones. Anarka’s voice rang out over the babble, commanding someone to Sit down, ye auld pirate! Marinette heard Jagged’s holler in response, and felt a sickening spike of nerves. What had possessed her to agree to this? She was going to sing in front of Jagged Stone? Marinette looked back at the hall full of people, and gave a shudder.

“What on earth was I thinking? I can’t sing! I’m going to completely choke in front of everyone and embarrass Rose and Juleka on their wedding day.”

Luka caught her hand, tugging her around gently until she was looking at him.

“I’ve got you,” he insisted, just as sincere and steady as he’d been when they were teenagers, and she took a deep breath, letting it out again. “I won’t let you fall. You’ve got this.”

“Have I?”

His answering smile was full of certainty. “You’ve done worse than this before, you can handle a handful of friends who’ll love you even if you sound like a crow. Which you don’t,” he told her with a warm laugh in his voice. “You’ve spoken on stage in front of fashion critics, you can handle anything.”

“And I wanted to throw up every time.”

“But you didn’t.”

Marinette tilted a dark look at him, and he smothered a smile.

“Okay, so you threw up. I can take a bucket on stage for you if you like.”

“It’s alright for you, Mister Rockstar,” she sniffed.

“There’s a reason I never took Jagged up on his offer to take me on tour with him,” he told her. “Although, in retrospect, a classroom full of bored fifteen year olds is a tougher audience than a stadium crowd, so maybe I should have.”

She could help the laugh that escaped, and she looked down at his hands still holding hers. Dangerous, to even consider taking the support he’d always offered her, but she kept her eyes on him and her hand in his as he caught up his guitar, and she let him lead her towards the hall.

In the end, it wasn’t hard to block out the soft rustle of people at the tables, or Rose’s excited little squeak. She didn’t even notice Jagged’s wolf-whistle, or Penny shushing him. There was Luka and his guitar and his wonderful, reassuring smile as she followed his music and sang.

His smile grew brighter as she chimed in with, “All those days, watching from the windows,” and the guitar chords rippled before her like water. It was easy when it felt like there was just Luka, here with her. Perilously easy.

She sang, “All at once, everything is different,” and she wasn’t singing for Rose and Juleka anymore. Luka’s gorgeous blue eyes were on her, only on her, as he took up the melody. Music was his truest voice, and in that moment she heard his heart as clearly as he’d ever heard hers. Marinette felt something like an electric shock, and faltered her cue.

Luka’s eyes shifted swiftly into concern, and his voice picked it up again until she’d recovered. She couldn’t be having this moment now, not in the middle of Rose and Juleka’s wedding, not on their day. Luka’s warm, husky voice wrapped around her, held her up, and as he sang “At last I see the light” Marinette knew that this was something she was never going to recover from.

The sound of applause brought her back to herself, and she broke away from the look in Luka’s eyes with a faint gasp. Somehow she managed to find the words to wish Juleka and Rose and very happy marriage, then she slid past everyone, heading a little too fast towards the door. Friends, and people she’d never met in her life, spoke to her as she passed and she offered them brief, strained smiles. She barely knew what she was saying to them, and didn’t really hear what they were saying to her.

Finally, she found herself outside in the cool and blessedly quiet night air. She could hear the sounds of the first round of music starting, and Jagged’s boisterous voice over the static wail of an electric guitar being tuned. The laughter and chatter in the ballroom behind her was muffled and felt like a whole world away. Marinette put a hand up to her overheated cheek, and was a little startled to find that she was shaking. Even after all these years, after convincing herself for so long that they were just friends, that it was fairer to him if they were just friends, that he didn’t want to be more than friends after everything she’d put him through, those steady blue eyes of his could still hit her hard.

“Marinette?” Luka said behind her, and she jolted. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You’re going to miss the dancing,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice light. She didn’t think he was fooled. He’d always been far too good at reading her mind and heart, even when she’d been incomprehensible to herself, and that was another thing that had made him so dangerous to be around.

“They won’t even notice I’m not there for a while.” He shifted a little, close enough that she could bridge the space between them if she wanted to. “I’m here if you need me.”

He had always been there for her. That simple truth was what broke her down in the end. She felt a bubble catch in her chest, rising to force its way out with a strangled sound. She almost doubled over, gripping the ivy-covered wall beside her, and heard Luka’s quick inhalation, his hand rising towards her and falling again as she backed away.

“See, this? This is why I broke up with you when we were teenagers,” she almost sobbed at him. “You make me want to hold onto you and tell you everything, and I can’t!”

Luka was holding himself in intense stillness.

“The other relationships I’ve had, it was easy enough to walk away when things got too close, but you… It’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair?” Luka asked carefully.

“Doing that to you!” She was shaking now. “Having to give this up again. Why does everyone else get to have someone to love them and I don’t?!”

“You do.” He took one small, uncontrolled step towards her. “Whether we’re together or not, whoever you’re with, whatever is going on in your life, I love you. I will always care about you.”

“You need the truth, and it’s the one thing I can’t give you,” she said miserably.

Luka’s voice was so soft it was almost unspoken. “What if I already know?”

It took a moment for his words to catch up with her and sink in. The world faded into a distant buzz in her head, a cold tingle that crept over her.

Oh, that was bad. That was bad. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. She’d given up so much to keep anyone from knowing, and she could still feel the crushing backlash of what had happened when she’d made the mistake of telling her closest friend. He couldn’t know.

“Marinette?”

In the dizzying spiral of her fragmented reactions, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. She stood still, and felt his hands close over hers, gently, so very gently. The contact anchored her to the moment.

“Marinette, I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

She turned her hands, palm to palm, under his hands and wove her fingers through his.

“I told Alya,” she breathed, and the quality of stillness deepened as he listened. “After you and I broke up, I was so sick of the secrets and lies, and Alya found out some things, so I told her. For three months I had someone who knew, then of course it went wrong, and now Alya has three months of patchy memories from collège that I’m not a part of. I’m still not sure how much deeper the impact to her mind went. The last time I saw her, back around the time I started at the Institut, she still had that puzzled, blank look when she looked my way because I had to take her memory of my secret identity away.”

Marinette drew a deep, shuddering breath.

“I never, ever want to do that to you,” she whispered, and Luka drew her closer, his fingers still tangled in hers. “I couldn’t bear to look into you eyes and see that blankness there.”

He was close enough that she could feel his heartbeat and the soft huff of his laugh against her hair. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Marinette? You will never see that in me. Never. You could take away every memory I have of you, and I’d still have stars in my eyes when I look at you. I’d just fall for you all over again, like I do every time we meet.”

She hiccuped on a sob, and looked up into his warm, steady blue eyes.

“If that’s what you need to do to be safe, then take them,” he told her. “I’ll happily give up those memories of knowing that you’re her if that’s what you need. It doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you.”

“It’s not just that. Have you thought, if I take away your memory of me being… her… and we still try to make us work, we’re back to all those secrets and broken dates and lies.”

“Then give me what you can. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that some truths aren’t yours to share. Just don’t lie when you can’t tell me, and I promise you I’ll understand.”

That he was willing to compromise even that for her… Oh, Luka.

“Or,” she let out the word on a soft exhale, as if testing the idea, “you know.”

And who else, when all was said and done, would she trust more than Luka with her heart and all of her secrets? Who else would she trust to keep the world safe, and everything she’d been fighting to protect?

Luka’s thumb was gently tracing the line of her palm, and the touch was calming even as her mind cleared and raced. This didn’t feel like a scared fourteen year old, alone and overwhelmed and terrified she was going to lose her best friend as well as the boy she loved. This felt like the moment when she held a lucky charm and the pieces of a plan started to come together in her mind. This felt like what she needed.

Marinette stretched up on her toes and met his lips with a kiss.

She heard the sudden hitch of his breath, and there was a moment’s hesitation that would have let her draw back, freak out, rethink, but she wasn’t holding back anymore. This time, when she kissed him, he met her halfway.

Marinette stumbled backwards into the ivy-covered wall as she tugged Luka with her and his mouth came down on hers, desperate and insistent. And oh god if he’d kissed her like this all those years ago she never would have been able to give him up.

She felt the ivy catch at her hair as he backed her up against the wall. The touch of his hand on her jaw, his fingers buried deep in the unravelling curls at the base of her neck, was bringing everything undone and Marinette tilted her head back as his mouth trailed down to the hollow of her throat.

Marinette’s hands clutched at his shirt as the weight of his thigh pressed against her, and she hitched her leg up against his hip, trying to get closer. The gutteral noise he made did unspeakable things to her and god he was ruining her as she pulled him closer, wanting him closer, wanting him. His mouth was on hers again, swallowing the sounds she was making. She could feel him, hard against her, through the layers of silk chiffon.

In the haze that he was making of her mind she was still dimly aware of the sounds of the wedding and the presence of their friends and family in the hall just beyond their deeper well of shadows against the wall, but as she pushed harder against him, the soft froth of her skirts bunching between them, Marinette didn’t care. Her hands came up to dig into the muscles of his shoulders, holding him and oh god, Luka.

White heat swept over her, blanking out her thoughts, and then they were breaking apart, breathing hard.

“Please tell me I can kiss you again,” Luka rasped. His fingers were tangled with hers, and she could feel the uneven rise and fall of his breath.

“Oh, god, yes!”

The kiss was softer this time, reverent, with the feather light brush of his lips over the corner of her mouth, and she shivered at the touch.

“Luka? Are you out here?” someone called.

Marinette blinked in the sudden wash of golden light and raucous swell of noise, and she looked up to find Rose and Juleka standing in the open doorway. Juleka had a hand over her new wife’s mouth, and Rose’s eyes were impossibly wide. She was almost vibrating, and reached up to pull Juleka’s hand away.

“Best. Wedding present. Ever!” she breathed with barely suppressed intensity, and Luka gave a soft huff of a laugh, leaning his forehead against Marinette’s. He plucked a stray ivy leaf from her hair and let it drift to the ground.

“Rose, I love you like my own sister,” he said, “and I know it’s your wedding day, but please go away.”

After Juleka managed to tug Rose away, there were a few more soft kisses in the darkness before they reluctantly returned to the wedding reception. Marinette parted from Luka for just long enough to grab her purse and disappear into the bathroom to untangle her ruined chignon and pin her hair back into some semblance of order in front of the mirror. Her dress was hopelessly crumpled, though, and her lipstick was beyond repair. Marinette found herself smiling dopily at her reflection.

“Marinette, this is bad!” a tiny voice said portentously from her purse, and it felt like a sudden dunk in cold water. Marinette slowly ran her hands down her wrinkled skirts, delaying the moment, while she thought. Finally she straightened, and turned to face her kwami.

“You’re going to have to erase his memories,” Tikki insisted.

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said, ignoring Tikki’s horrified gasp, as her mind ran through the possibilities with lightning speed. “No.”

“Marinette.” Tikki’s tone was ominous. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re letting a few kisses cloud your judgement. You know –“

“Has it occurred to you,” she interrupted Tikki, “how long we’ve just been fighting everything to a standstill? You say I’m a fantastic Ladybug, but we’re no closer to getting back the butterfly miraculous than we were ten years ago. Ten years. I’ve been so caught up in just surviving from moment to moment, one battle to the next, one villain to the next, that I haven’t been able to think beyond that. I had no idea how much it was draining me until I reconnected with Juleka and Rose again, and with Luka.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time you revealed your identity? Alya –“

“Luka is not Alya,” Marinette cut off the doom-laden lecture, and there was a hint of growing steel in her voice. “And I’m not a fourteen year old, new to her responsibilities, anymore. You say you trust me, so trust me. I’m feeling clearer than I have in a long, long time. For the first time in years, I actually feel like I have hope, and I will find a way to make this work.”

Luka was waiting for her when she made it back to the hall, and she barely noticed the kind and knowing grins of their friends and his family as the rest of the night passed in a haze of glitter and fairylights and music with Luka’s arms around her. Tikki was silent in her purse where she’d left it at the table. There would be serious conversations later, and the fate of Paris to talk about, but right now she didn’t care.

The speeches were finally done, the fairytale cake was a scattering of crumbs, and one of the guests had taken over the stage to sing a slow, sweet cover of Nothing Else Matters while couples danced and smaller groups laughed and talked. Luka pulled Marinette close, his hands warm on the curve of her back, and she looked up into those deep blue eyes of his.

The invitation that he whispered against her ear sent heat straight through her. Feeling a little breathless, she tried to pull herself together. They were still in the middle of the dancefloor and surrounded by people, his mother was right there, but those eyes of his were doing things to her.

“You don’t want to take a turn on stage?” she asked a little dazedly, glancing at the musicians on the tiny stage, but he was only looking at her.

His mouth curved up in a tiny smile. “There are other songs I’d rather be playing right now.”

There was only so much she could take, Marinette decided. Her hands slid down from around his neck to the lean, solid muscle of his shoulders and chest, and she enjoyed the way he reacted under her touch. She flicked a glance up at him through her lashes.

“Then take me to bed,” she told him, her voice turning low and throaty. “I want a private performance, rockstar.”

Luka made a strangled noise, and she took his hand.

In the soft darkness of his guest room on the other side of the château, when her dress slid to the floor in a shimmer of blue and gold, she heard his swift inhalation. Then it was his turn to steal her breath away and make her cry out.

Some time later in the early dark hours of the morning, when the sounds of music and loud laughter from the hall were finally starting to die down, and the newly weds had long left the party for their bridal suite, Marinette propped her chin on Luka’s bare chest and enjoyed the view. His hands moved over her back, coming up to stroke the tangled fall of dark hair from her eyes.

“Beautiful,” he whispered in that husky voice that sent shivers through her.

Beyond the heavy damask curtains at the windows, she could see the first faint light of dawn.

“What happens now?” Marinette asked quietly. As the corners of Luka’s mouth lifted in a smile that turned a little wicked, she pouted at him. “Other than that!”

The quilt had ended up in a puddle on the floor somewhere in the night, but the sheets shifted around her as he gathered her closer and brushed a kiss against her hair.

“I think this is where we live happily ever after. Rose will disown us if we don’t.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” she said, rolling her eyes. She settled back against him again. “Although I’m not sure I remember how to do happy.”

“This looks like a pretty good place to start to me.”

Her finger traced a line around his wrist where a particular bracelet had been, once upon a time. Maybe it was time for the snake Miraculous to make a reappearance. Tikki would probably have a lot to say about that, but maybe it was time to rethink a few things. She circled his wrist again, looping back to where she’d started.

Marinette gave a sudden gasp and sat up, the sheets tumbling away from her as Luka protested. She stared down at him with wide eyes and complete disregard for her current nakedness.

“I… think I have a plan,” she told him a little breathlessly, and Luka burst out laughing.

“Of course you do.” His voice with thick with adoration and pride, and he pushed himself upright, reaching to cradle her cheek in his hand as he kissed her slowly and thoroughly until she was dazed with it. He rested his forehead against hers, and she could see that beautiful smile of his. “Some things never change.”

“But I think it’s time that some things do,” Marinette said, and kissed him back fervently with all the love in her heart.

~~~~~

Many weeks later, Sass turned from contemplating the butterfly Miraculous, finally returned to the Miracle Box where it belonged, to give the kwami of creation a smug look.

“I told you yearsss ago you ssshould have brought back my massster. Your wielder iss a brilliant Ladybug, but sshe needsss more than cold duty to truly thrive and ssshine. And the ssnake makess many thingss possssible.”

Tikki huffed and made a sour face.

“Fine, you win. You were right.”

Sass’s fangs bared in a wide grin.

“Musssic to my earsss,” he hissed, and sailed away to find a patch of sunshine to enjoy his victory. If anyone had been around to listen they might have heard the little snake humming, “At lassst they sssaw the light,” as he tucked his tail under and settled into a coil, but the kwamis were too busy celebrating Nooroo’s return to hear anything else, and on the couch, Marinette and Luka were lost in their own little world of tangled hands and lingering kisses. Whatever Luka was saying in a husky undertone to Marinette had brought a rising blush to her cheeks and a bright smile to her face.

They were happy.

In that moment, everyone was happy.

And that, Sass reflected with immense satisfaction, was exactly as it should be.

[bloodypapercut]

anyone else but you (g.w. x reader)

instead of paying attention in french class i wrote this so i hope you beautiful people enjoy <3 :) plz take care of yourselves (also this is inspired by the song anyone else but you by the moldy peaches)

(requests are open)

word count: 1.4k

   It must have been 3 in the morning, the sky was still a mixture of deep indigo and blue hues with speckles of glimmering stars. The castle grounds stood still; nothing but the incessant pattering of raindrops against the windows, the howling winds, and the occasional sonorous crack of thunder and lightning could be heard. Sitting up Y/N rubbed her eyes and stretched her jaw, an attempt to rid the disoriented state one usually finds themselves in upon waking up. Though the exhaustion from writing long essays and reading from tedious textbooks possessed her, the likeliness of falling back into slumber was unlikely. Draping a blanket over her shoulders, she took light and apprehensive steps to avoid the cries of the walnut floorboards under the weight. The warmth of the dorm proved to be insufficient, so she steadily paced to the door and gently pushed it open, yearning to sit by the common room fire.

   The room was desolate, much to her relief. She approached the fireplace and with the flick of her wand a gleaming flame engulfed the wood logs. The clamor from the weather outside slowly faded and was overtaken by the crackling flames. The ambiance served as a great sense of comfort against the storm, but Y/N grew bored of just sitting there. Her eyes danced around the expanse of the highly decorated room in an attempt to find something that could serve as a source of entertainment. Leaning against one of the chess tables was a mahogany acoustic guitar. Muttering 'accio' the guitar was summoned to her grasp and the chords of ‘Anyone Else but You' by The Moldy Peaches resonated softly. The simple chord progression repeated until the words started to flow from her mouth, her eyes closing in the process.

“You’re a part time lover and a full time friend

The monkey on your back is the latest trend

I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else

But you”

   The lyrics were sweet and innocent, it perfectly described how she felt. They never failed to bring a bashful grin to her face because it reminded her of a goofy ginger boy, her best friend. His vehement laughter echoing through the halls whenever they ran from Filch. The feeling of his slightly clammy hand that she gripped so ardently, to make sure she didn't fall behind. The freckles sprinkled on his flushed cheeks. The tranquil air he brought to any room he stepped into. His sense of humor, that left anyone in his wake gasping for air and wiping away tears. Everything about his being distracted Y/N from what was right in front of her. It embarrassed her knowing that she had all these fantasies of being with him, that would probably never happen. Daydreams occupied her head almost every second. She was so busy indulging in her wishes that she failed to register the languorous footsteps growing louder from the other end of the room.

   As George descended the steps a melody so pure and delightful sounded from in front of the fireplace. It was familiar and warm, something he wishes he could bottle up and keep with him everywhere he went. The figure leaning over the spruce instrument, strumming leisurely on the ornate persian carpet came into view. It was Y/N, upon this realization, he felt himself falling harder for her.

“Didn’t know you could sing so well angel.” Y/N nearly let the guitar tumble out of her grasp.

“George, you git! You frightened me, I nearly caught a death.” Her hushed berating was the catalyst to him giggling as he got closer to her.

“Going to the kitchens, want something?”

“The usual.” He winked as he rushed out the portrait hole, swiftly surveying his surroundings before dashing to the left.

Within a mere 15 minutes, George had returned, balancing two plates in his hands. He placed a treacle tart in front of her, smiling wholesomely whilst sitting down.

“I liked the song you were playing earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“Teach me how to play it.” He wiggled his eyebrows and grabbed the guitar from her grip, placing it delicately in his lap.

“Well, there are only 2 chords, it’s quite simple just start with a G, so bar the 3rd fret, yeah there. Okay, then place your middle finger on the 3rd string from the bottom on the 4th, and then those two there.” She softly manipulated the position of his fingers, urging him to press harder on the 3rd fret. His hand was warm and she let her touch linger on him for longer than needed, just to savor it. Unknownst to her, the sensation of his skin against hers was the most pleasant thing on earth, he would let her bruise him if it meant he’d get to feel her touch.

“Then just put your fingers there to play a C major 7, that’s it. Now you can play.”

“I don’t know when to strum.” Y/N tried to explain but after several failed attempts, and George having trouble with playing the barred G, Y/N ended up behind him, guiding his arms and hands manually. The contact sending immediate chills throughout their bodies. The feeling of her chest pressed against his back was something he always wished to materialize, something he thought would only happen in his dreams, but here he was living it out. When the strums came naturally she slowly let go but continued to rest her cheek against his shoulder. As she started singing the first verse, the atmosphere turned intimate, almost fragile. He was plagued by her voice, it made him see color, it held him in a tight embrace, it clouded his vision, everything was Y/N and Y/N only.

“I kiss you on the brain in the shadow of a train

I kiss you all starry eyed, my body’s swinging from side to side

I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else

But you”

As George finished his verse he looked over his shoulder, admiring how she looked with shut eyes, her eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks. The way her lips moved to produce the beautiful noises ringing in his ears.

“Here is the church and here is the steeple

We sure are cute for two ugly people

I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else

But you”

   It was George’s turn to sing but he remained silent. His eyes remained on her serene face, soaking in every detail. He was convinced that she was the most precious and delicate thing to ever exist, that nothing could ever match the beauty Y/N possessed. At this point they weren’t singing together, they were reciting the lyrics to one another. It was an unashamed declaration of their love. Their shared desires for their friendship to become something more were now palpable. They made direct eye contact, both of them craning their necks in semi-uncomfortable positions, they didn’t mind.

“Did you forget the lyrics?” She muttered, trying to ease the tension.

“No, I just-” He cut himself off because in one swift motion he pushed the guitar on his lap aside, turned over, and kissed her ardently. She tensed up upon realizing what was happening but as he deepened the kiss she let herself relax and thread her fingers through his hair. Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, and the contrast of his slightly chapped lips against her pillowy ones was something he’d never get tired of. She pulled him closer and straddled his lap, wanting to be engulfed by his physical touch. They transferred all their pent-up emotions into the kiss. Minutes had passed and they pulled apart slowly after Y/N started to giggle making George bite her bottom lip playfully. Even after parting they still held each other tightly, keeping their foreheads against each other and their arms caging the other's body. They sat in a blissful silence, letting the sound of their breathing and George’s occasional sigh of disbelief pierce it.

“Did we just?” She nodded, pushing the tendrils of ginger hair off his forehead.

“Georgie?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep singing, I like your voice.”

“Only if you play.” Kissing him on the cheek she turned around on his lap to lean her back against his chest.

   George continued singing, the strumming started to slow down and Y/N’s head started to become heavy against his shoulder. When the music reverberating from the instrument came to a complete stop he looked over to see her peacefully sleeping. With a smile, he lifted her delicately, placed her on the couch, and hugged her body close. When her body shifted he panicked, only for her to turn around and face him.

“I love you, Georgie.” She muttered after kissing the side of his mouth. When he remained speechless, his face baffled, she laughed and buried her head in his chest.

“And yes I really mean it.”

“Merlin, I love you too, so so much.” He truly couldn’t imagine anyone else in his arms, he wasn’t certain about much but he knew it would always be her and only her.

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Moonlit Forever After  Finale

Luz adjusted her tie for the fourth time in as many minutes. She is so. Fucking. Nervous.

They’re due to start in a matter of ten minutes and she’d taken her place beneath the tree with Lilith, who is looking over a small paper with notes on it when she glanced up at Luz’s constant fidgeting.

“Are you alright, Luz?” she questioned her quietly.

“I don’t know... I’m just… really nervous,” she said, playing with her fingers.

“That’s understandable,” The eldest Clawthorne nodded. “It is a big change, even if you two have already been living together for three years now, but there’s no reason to be nervous, Amity would be pleased if you showed up in your pajamas,” Lilith chuckled to herself but Luz still looks like she wanted to throw up.

Lilith hummed thoughtfully, the girl needed a distraction before she blew her lunch onto the floor, and considering who she’s marrying, Lilith decides to share something with Luz that even Eda doesn’t know.

“Luz, did you know I was in love once,” she finally said and Luz whipped to look at her, eyes blown wide.

“What, you!?” She blinked and Lilith huffed a laugh under her breath, cocking a brow at her. “I mean, you’re great and all!… I just never expected that… but, oh wow… backstory; tell me!” she grinned and Lilith rolled her eyes.

“Yes, before I joined the emperor’s coven, there was a boy, but… after I was accepted, I was so consumed with guilt about what I did to Edalyn I threw everything I had into rising in the coven’s ranks so I could find her cure that I inevitably ended up letting that relationship wither on the vine and he moved onto someone else.” she frowned, eyes distant. “Just one of the many things I regret.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry, Lily.” Luz frowned.

“It was my own fault, everything that has plagued my life has been a mess of my own creation. I regret many things, but nothing will change them now, I simply must live with them.” Lilith gave a small shrug. “That’s one thing I can never make up for now.”

“Anyone I know?” she asked and then watched, fascinated as Lilith’s face flushed a little.

“Yes, actually… you’re rather familiar with this man.” she glanced away and now Luz was intrigued.

“Who?”

“Your soon to be father-in-law.”

Luz choked on her own spit at that.

“Alador Blight!?” she cried and the guests look at her curiously before going back to talking amongst themselves. Lilith is red-faced. “You used to date Alador?” Luz doesn’t know what else to say to that.

“Yes,” Lilith nodded and Luz suddenly remembered something.

“Is that who you went to the fall shower with way back when?” She knows she hit it square on the head when Lilith darkened further.

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” The older witch mumbled and Luz chuckled. She and Amity had gone to watch the fall shower again just two weeks ago and this triggered the memory.

“Wow… plot twist, I never saw that coming…”

Lilith just hummed. Luz pressed a hand to her chin, thinking.

“He really took a downgrade didn’t he…?” she asked thoughtfully, which made Lilith blink before laughing.

“I won’t speak ill of Odalia, despite my less than pleasant feelings about her, though, that has much more to do with Amity than Alador.”

“I will, she’s a bitch,” Luz scowled and Lilith snorted.

Luz suddenly has so many questions, was that why Lilith had taken Amity on as her pupil as a kid? Or was it just because Amity was powerful and had nothing to do with any previous romantic feelings for her dad?

She doesn’t have time to ask them though, it seems Lilith’s ploy to distract her worked because Willow is peeking out from behind the curtain and giving them a thumbs up. The moon is overhead now; it’s time.

“Ready?” Lilith smiled.

“No!” Luz hissed, and her palms are starting to sweat. She is so not ready by any stretch of the imagination!

A lilting piano starts to play, It’s nothing like the classic wedding march she is familiar with, but it’s pretty, though the soothing melody does absolutely nothing for her jangling nerves. She glanced at her moms in the front row behind her and Camila smiled while Eda gave her a fanged grin and a thumbs up and mouthed ‘You got this’. She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants, hopefully, that won’t stain...

She straightened and took a deep breath, ready or not, here she went.

The curtains pulled aside and Gus and Willow appeared, linked arm in arm, they smiled brightly as they made their way down the aisle, followed a few moments later by Viney and Emira, and in the back of her mind, Luz knows that it’s their wedding she’ll be attending next. Viney had already confided in her three months ago that she’d bought a ring, but she wanted to wait a little while after their wedding to propose, the last thing she wanted to do was upstage the two of them, which Luz appreciated.

She snorted, nerves abated a bit when Edric and King came walking down the aisle, King was adorable in his little blue vest.

“Are you ready?” Gus whispered in her ear as he came to stand at her side.

She made a distressed sound in the back of her throat and across from her, Willow smiled as he quickly patted her shoulder.

The music changed and the guests turned to look while Luz swallowed thickly. Then Amity appeared, arm wrapped through Alador’s.

Luz sucked in a sharp breath, stunned speechless.

She doesn’t think anyone in any realm has ever looked as beautiful as Amity does right now, and no one ever could. Her mouth is bone dry, but her mother was right, she’s not nervous anymore, her entire body is tingling as her gaze locked with Amity’s, whose smiling that little smile Luz knew so well.

Her mother was right about the dress too.

The whole situation smacked her like a raging slitherbeast and she’s trying to blink away the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. How did she get this lucky? She has no concrete answer but is happy she did all the same.

Amity doesn’t know how she keeps moving down the aisle, because once her eyes land on Luz they feel like jelly. Her brother hadn’t been kidding and she should have been more prepared, though she doesn’t think she could have ever been prepared for this.

Luz has always cut a sharp, immaculate profile when she actually gave an effort, but their’s something almost ethereal about her as she is now, the white of her suit almost glows beneath the soft light of the blue moon and the light spells that float in the air around them. Her heart is beating hard against her ribs, but it’s not nerves that make it skip a beat. It’s the staggering wave of amazement and affection she feels for Luz, who she can tell now that she’s close enough to see, is doing her damnedest to hold back her tears. She recognized that scrunched up, rapidly blinking expression anywhere. It makes her own eyes sting.

Finally, she’s standing close enough to touch and her father smiled at her as Luz held out her hand and Amity gently pulled her arm from his to slip her hand into Luz’s. Alador nodded to Luz before slipping himself into his seat in the front row across from Camila and Eda.

“Hey.” Luz’s voice is barely a whisper that only Amity can hear.

“Hey, yourself.” she smiled back, voice just as low.

They don’t even hear Lilith as she began to speak to the crowd about why they’re all here and all the ceremonial spiel that is the norm at a wedding on the Boiling Isles.

Amity’s hand is warm in hers and Luz squeezed it gently, running her thumb over her knuckles. She’s still in awe, unable to take her eyes off Amity and how beautiful she is in that dress, under the blue moon’s light

She’s absolutely bewitching and Luz would gladly live under her spell for the rest of her life.

Amity is just as spellbound as Luz, watching the pink glow that the light spells are refracting from the grom tree bounce off Luz’s dark eyes, making them look alive as a gentle breeze rustles the tree’s blush-colored leaves. The shadows cast by the lights cut sharp lines across her jaw and neck that make Amity want to reach out and run her fingertips along them.

“....and they will now speak these promises to each other,” Lilith read loudly, jerking the two of them out of their love induced haze. How long had they been zoned out, staring at each other? Judging from the subtle smirk on Lilith’s face, a while.

“Amity, you may now say your vows,” Lilith said and she nodded, letting go of Luz’s right hand and pulling a small slip of paper from her pocket taking a deep breath, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her, but the only important ones were staring straight at her, smiling, no pressure in those warm brown eyes she adored.

"I've been advised to keep this short," she smiled and she swears she hears Emira snort behind her. "So here it is. Luz, I never thought I could be as incredibly happy as I am when I’m with you, that such a thing was even possible, but here we are, and I can hardly believe it’s real sometimes. Till I met you, I was playing at being someone I didn’t even want to be but was too scared to stop and be myself, but having you at my side made me brave enough to face that fear, made it feel like I could and should be myself.” Her thumb rubbed across Luz’s knuckles and Luz squeezed back, smiling encouragingly at her. “Even now,” she whispered so only Luz could hear her, and that bright grin she adored flashed at her. “I know that who I am now is thanks to you in many ways, you always make me want to try harder, to be better. It hasn’t always been easy, life has thrown a lot at us over the years, but with you, I know that I can make it through. No matter how hard it gets, I’ll never stop trying, because I can’t think of anything that could ever be more worth the effort than being with you for the rest of my life,” she finished, slipping the paper back into her pocket and taking up Luz’s other hand again. She can hear her sister and Willow sniffling behind her, while Viney did her best to hold it in. Gus is already crying and making whimpering noises while Edric bit his lip, doing his best to keep it together. King is biting his tongue to hold back his cries.

In the front row, Camila is quietly sniffling into a tissue and Eda crosses her arms, definitely blinking her eyes against the tears trying to well up in her mismatched eyes while Alador is filled with a deep appreciation for his future daughter-in-law, even as a bitter sorrow wells up in his chest because he knows just why Amity was afraid of being herself.

Luz knows that there are tears sliding down her cheeks, but she can’t stop it. It should be illegal for Amity to look at her like that and say those things that make her face flush and feel like a hot pile of goo, even as they simultaneously cradle her heart in a blanket of warmth.

Lilith is doing about the same as the rest of the wedding party it seems, and clears her throat, pulling herself together before turning to Luz.

“Luz, you may now say your vows,” she said.

“Don’t mess this up, Kid,” Eda murmured quietly to herself and Camila can only nod in agreement. Gus and Edric hoping for the same thing, especially after Amity’s had been so perfect.

Luz squeezed both of Amity’s hands and cleared her throat, willing away the lump lodged there.

"I'll be honest with you, with everything that’s been going on, I totally, completely forgot to write my vows," she admits sheepishly, and there's a murmur from the guests, but Amity only rolled her eyes, smirking, which makes Luz relax at the response, and behind her, Viney hissed a quiet 'Ha' to Emira, but she can examine that later. "But I don't need to, I can think of reasons why I love you in my sleep." She grinned right back at Amity, whose hands squeezed hers as she smiled down at her softly and Luz’s stomach bubbled up with so much love and affection that it made her tingle all over. "I never could have imagined when I stumbled through a portal chasing an owl that stole my book that I would end up standing here, with you, but I’m beyond glad that Owlbert is a tiny trash thief, and I did.” she grinned. Eda chuckled to herself. “Amity, I've never known anyone as incredibly kind and amazing as you, and I consider myself to be the luckiest person on The Boiling Isles for getting to have met you, and now because I get to spend the rest of my life with you. Without you watching my back for the last six years I probably would have drowned or set myself on fire by now.” She admitted, and there's an agreeing chuckle from the guests and their friends standing next to them. Amity just grinned wetly and knowingly at her, there have been a few incidents over the years that even their closest friends aren't privy to, disaster averted only because Amity is always at her side.

“But I know I can always count on you to be there for me, and I promise that no matter what, I’ll always be there for you too, because there is no one, in any realm that I could ever love more than you, Amity, and I want to spend every minute from here till the end; proving it to you.” Her voice is low by the end and even if Amity hadn’t been teary before, she was now and she’s going to ruin her makeup if she can’t pull herself together! The wedding party isn’t doing much better, barely holding it together themselves. Gus is looking at them starry-eyed, lip trembling and Edric is right there with him. Willow is sniffled quietly into her flowers while Emira rapidly blinked away her tears, Viney much the same.

Eda held Camila as she wept into her shoulder, biting her lips to hold back her own flood of tears.

Alador clenched his hands into the fabric of his dress pants, jaw tight.

“The rings?” Lilith’s voice is thick, but level, with herculean effort, as she looked down at King, who is sniffling and whimpering, on the verge of sobs as he steps forward and holds up the pillow with their rings sitting on it. Luz and Amity picked up the other’s ring.

Lilith held up a glyph and a glowing blue ring appeared and they broke contact just long enough for Luz to slip Amity’s ring on her finger and for Amity to do the same before they reached through the ring and clasped hands again, fingers laced together,

“Do you, Amity Blight, swear on an eternal oath to love, protect and be ever devoted to Luz Noceda for as long as you both live?

“I swear,” Amity said, voice quivering as she squeezed Luz’s fingers laced between hers.

“Do you, Luz Noceda, swear on an eternal oath to love, protect and be ever devoted to Amity Blight for as long as you both live.

“I swear.” Luz smiled even as her eyes shined with still falling tears.

“The oath is sealed,” Their hands glowed before the ring faded away. “you may now…”

They didn’t need to wait for Lilith to tell them.

Amity flung her arms around Luz’s neck as Luz grabbed her around the waist sealing the oath with a kiss as the guests erupted into loud, raucous cheers and laughter. It’s a much longer kiss than it needs to be, but no one is going to stop them.

They finally pulled back, grinning stupidly at each other before Luz pulled back just enough to bend down and sweep an arm beneath Amity’s knees.

She squealed as Luz scooped her up into her arms and took off running down the aisle to whoops and cheers as they passed.

“Luz!” Amity laughed, clinging to her neck as she ran into the woods, both of their laughter echoing off the trees as the blue glow of the moon lit their way.

“To the party!” Eda declared with a grin over the crowd, standing and pointing in the direction of Hexside.

The wedding party cheered as they took off running after the newlyweds, followed by the guests.

The courtyard of the school was filled with tables of people walking about and chatting as the wedding party all walked toward the school to take photos.

Luz couldn’t stop grinning, nor Amity, as they stood inside, waiting for their friends to catch up after Luz had finally set her back on her feet, still clutching each other tightly, foreheads pressed together. They couldn’t wipe away their bright grins even if they wanted to.

Amity’s eyes roved over her face as she wiped at any remaining tears on Luz’s cheeks.

“Eres tan hermosa,” Amity mumbled making Luz’s face darken even as she grinned.

“I should be saying that to you!” Luz pulled back till they were linked only by their hands and openly stared at her wife in awe. “You look… I don’t know any words in any language to do you justice, mi amor.” Luz smiled, squeezing her hands.

Amity squeezed back before pulling her back in close and captured her lips in another kiss.

"Titan, I love you so much," she mumbled against her lips, a few tears had managed to slip past against her will.

"Just as much as I love you," Luz smiled at her reaching up to wipe them away before they can do much damage to Amity's makeup. Her chest feels fit to burst with the rampant affection she feels, especially as Amity leaned into the touch on her cheek

As she stared back at Luz, she's struck hard by the sudden urge to just take her by the hand and drag her away, somewhere they can just be alone, screw the after-party. Willow would kill her, not to mention the rest of their friends and both of Luz's mothers’. Her siblings and Viney would just be amused as all get out.

"Do you think people would notice if we left?" she asked anyway, looking down at her.

Luz blinked at her, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open before she couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Yes, Amity, I think it's safe to say they would definitely notice." The tone isn't even playing at scolding and Luz is smiling at her, eyes dancing with unspoken mirth and warm, overwhelming affection. That only makes the urge to take her and run that much stronger.

"We could still go…"

Luz is grinning so widely at her it almost looks like it hurts. She just cupped Amity's cheeks in her hands and pressed another long kiss to her mouth. Amity lets her eyes droop closed, and clings to Luz.

Her wife.

She hummed against Luz, threading her fingers gently through her hair. She smells wonderful, not her normal warm, woodsy smell, but some kind of perfume.

Luz finally released her but is still grinning, thumbs running gently over her cheeks.

"We can't leave, Amor," she said and Amity huffed quietly, making her chuckle. "Soon enough, it'll just be you and me," she promised, and Amity hummed in agreement, kissing her again.

"What, are you making out in here already?" Edric's laughing voice broke them out of their own world as their friends finally arrived.

“Not yet.” Luz grinned cheekily at him and Amity slapped her shoulder. Nothing was going to ruin her mood tonight, absolutely nothing!

The rest of the wedding party piled into the building along with the photographer. A tall, bug-eyed demon with long curving horns and a large camera stood in front of them.

“Say, ‘scream’!”

They crowded together and took photos. Eda, Camila, and Lilith joining them for several, including a few shots of Luz with each of her moms and both of them together, before dragging Lilith and King into the photo with her and Amity, the whole Owl House one last time. Minus Hooty, who was bitterly disappointed that he couldn’t come, but hey; house.

Luz glanced around as Amity took photos with the bridesmaids and her siblings and noticed someone missing from the photo party. She grabbed Gus and whispered in his ear. He grinned at her and nodded before quietly shooting out of the building as the photos carried on. He entered again a few minutes later with a bright grin and another witch.

“I think that’s all the photos…” Amity looked at them and let the rest of the wedding party finally move back out into the courtyard to wait for them.

“Not yet!” Luz piped up as she moved toward her, Alador, trailing behind her. “We gotta get a couple with you and your dad!” She grinned at her and Amity blinked, surprised. Alador himself didn’t look so sure but she smiled and nodded.

“Of course we do.”

Her father seemed to perk and Luz stepped out of the way to allow the older auburn-haired witch to stand at her wife’s side.

Luz cocked her head as she watched the two smile. It was the first time she’d ever seen the two together since they were teenagers when Amity still had mint green hair, now as they stood side by side, both with that shiny, red/brown, auburn hair and the same bright, golden eyes and tall stature, Luz couldn’t help but smile. It was obvious where Amity got all her genes from; thank goodness it wasn’t Odalia.

The photographer snapped a few photos before Amity turned to look at her.

“Get over here,” she called and Luz blinked, pointing to herself. “Yes, you,” Amity laughed to herself as Luz trotted over and Amity wrapped an arm around her waist and Alador laid a hand on both of their shoulders. She could feel the soft squeezing of his hand, it wasn’t threatening, or a warning, but thankful, and Luz grinned all the brighter as the photos were snapped. Alador smiled at them and moved away, walking out the doors with the photographer and leaving them alone.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you…,” Amity can’t help but mumble once they’re alone, looking at her from beneath her dark lashes.

“Probably worry a lot less.” Luz shrugged, making her chuckle.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “Things would certainly be duller though,” she smirked and Luz grinned right back. “I saw your free falling stunt today, Eda sent a video.”

“That traitor!” Luz hissed, making Amity snort. “I was completely in control, I swear!”

“Hey, hey, relax, I know. I know that you can take care of yourself,” she assured gently and Luz relaxed. “I’m still going to worry about you though, that’s my job.”

“Worrying about each other is both our jobs,” she refuted, and then they heard Gus on the mic outside.

“Ladies, gentlemen, demons, and others, thank you for coming tonight!” Cheers and applause answered him.

“Oh, that’s our cue! Are you ready, mi amor?” Luz smiled, holding out her arm, which Amity looped her own through, smiling back.

“Always.”

“Please welcome, for the first time, Mrs. and Mrs. Luz and Amity Noceda!” Gus called and they walked out of the school’s double doors to the whoops and cheers of their friends and family. They smiled and waved as they walked down the stairs to take their seats next to their friends at the head table as dinner was served.

Dinner was just as dinner at the owl house, loud, cheery, and fun. Even at the more serious tables, like where the coven heads were seated, were still far from quiet. Though there were fewer fights over, or with food then there usually was at the owl house, mostly because Camila sat between the two Clawthorne sisters at the table near theirs.

Edric was eyeing the beautiful, three-tiered cake with the smooth white icing and purple and pink accents with drool dripping down the corner of his mouth while Emira reluctantly paid a smirking Viney.

“I can’t believe you didn’t write any vows and your wife wrote a book!” Emira scowled at Luz.

“It’s been really busy! I forgot!” Luz defended, gesturing with her fork. Amity giggled and laid a hand over Luz’s on the table.

“It’s alright, Luz, I thought they were perfect.” She smiled at her and Luz grinned before her face turned thoughtful.

“Knowing you, you must have actually written a book too…,” she hummed and Amity flushed.

Willow grinned and twirled a finger and a stack of bound papers fell from the spell circle, which she handed to Luz, despite Amity’s protests.

“No, give me that!” she grabbed for it but Luz held it just beyond her reach as she flipped through it.

“Ay dios mio! You weren’t kidding… now I feel bad!” she turned, frowning, to Amity, who took the opportunity to pluck the pages from Luz’s hand.

“Don’t, I didn’t use them anyway, querida.” She spelled the pages away.

“But you spent all that time writing them…” Luz’s brows furrowed.

“It’s fine, Luz,” Amity assured her but Luz wasn’t having it.

“I’m going to write something just as good for you later,” she promised and Amity can’t help but smile at her.

“Alright.” she nodded, she knows that once luz has made up her mind it takes a miracle to change it.

When dinner is all but done Gus has taken up the mic again.

“Will the happy couple please come to the dance floor for their first dance?”

Luz perks up at that and stands, offering her hand to Amity.

“Shall we, Mrs. Noceda?” She smiled at her and Amity slipped her hand in hers.

“Please, Mrs. Noceda.” She smiled back and let Luz lead her onto the dance floor. Their friends can only roll their eyes at the two, even as they smile.

The Moon is hovering directly overhead now and everything glows with its sapphire light as they stand hand in hand in the middle of the floor. The song that begins to play is one they have danced to many times, but the first time was under very similar circumstances in Blight manor under the same blue light.

Everyone’s eyes are on them, but they only have eyes for each other, as has always been the case.

The move in slow, graceful steps. Fighting or dancing the two have always been in perfect sync and they don’t even need to think about their movements, they don’t need to speak either, they simply enjoy this quiet moment, even if they are in the spotlight.

When the lilting slow song finally ends, much too soon for either, Luz grins at her. They still have something planned that only Gus and the DJ are aware of.

“Are you ready?” Luz is vibrating with energy.

“We haven’t been practicing this for three months for me not to be ready.” Amity grinned back as Luz stepped back and pulled off her jacket, tossing it to Gus who looks much too excited. Amity spun a finger and her dress glowed as the hem shrank up to her knees, freeing her legs. 

“What are they doing?” Lilith cocked her head.

“Dunno, but knowing them, it’s gonna be good, whatever it is,” Eda smirked.

Sitting in Luz’s breast pocket is a bright red flower, she pulled it out and clenched the stem between her teeth before she wrapped an arm around Amity’s waist and held one of her hands in hers, arms stretched straight out as Amity set her other on Luz’s shoulder even as she’s laughing quietly to herself at Luz.

“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbled, grinning. Luz just wagged her eyebrows in response, making Amity giggle all the harder. She’s too happy to care one bit about Luz’s added ‘personal touch’ to what they’re about to do.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on, what’s with the flower?” Emira looked at Willow who shook her head, just as confused as the rest of them.

“Amity didn’t say anything to me, looks like Gus is in on it though.”

The two are standing, pressed so closely together that no light can be seen between them.

Luz glanced at Gus and nodded. The nineteen-year-old signaled the DJ and then music again filled the night air.

The assembled witches looked around at the brand new sounds.

Camila blinked at the familiar music that is starting to grow louder and faster

“Tango?” she questioned too herself.

Then the two take off to the quick rhythm of the accordion and drums, spinning across the dance floor in sharp, controlled measure, hardly ever far from the other and taking such fast steps around the other that it’s amazing they don’t trip on each other.

Luz twirled them around, both grinning as they follow the whine of a violin across the dancefloor, the fast clicking of their shoes on the hardwood adding an extra beat to the music.

Gripping her hand, Luz flung amity away in a tight spin, making her dress billow up around her knees as their laced fingers pulled her to a stop, arms outstretched. Whistles and shouts erupted from the guests and Luz tugged her back into her arms. Their hands adjust and then Amity is the one leading them across the floor in tight spins and quicker steps.

“Wow…,” Viney mumbled as she watched the two. Especially when they flip around again and Luz takes back the lead, jerking them to a sudden stop, Amity’s knee wrapped around her hip, and Luz’s hand pressed to the small of her back, they can feel each other breathe they’re so close.

“This feels wrong to watch…” Edric covered his face with a hand but is peeking between his fingers. There is certainly a charged feeling in the air between the two as Luz spun them around, still attached at the hips.

“But they’re so good…,” Willow said in awe, hands pressed to her face.

“Holy shit…” Eda is watching the dance, slack-jawed, Lilith can only nod, eyes wide.

The song builds to a crescendo in a pounding of drums and the rapid squeal of the violin as they finally separated in another spin before Luz pulled her back in, twisting around the moment Amity is back in her arms and dropped her in a sharp dip to the songs final beats.

It’s quiet as they looked at each other, breathing heavy and smiling so hard it hurt. Luz’s smile turned to a grin and she wagged her eyebrows at her again, teeth clenched around the rose she had made a special trip to the human realm for, Amity giggled as they stood up straight and the guest all cheered and clapped at the display.

Luz pulled the flower from her mouth and they both gave dramatic bows.

Regular music starts to play again and other couples move onto the floor.

“What. Was. That?” Emira asked the moment they returned to the table.

“It’s called Tango,” Luz laughed. “It’s a type of dance from the human world, we’ve been practicing,” she said proudly.

“That was amazing, you two,” Willow praised.

“A little risque…,” Edric laughed.

“Well, it is colloquially known in the human world sometimes as ‘sex on hardwood’.” Camila and the Clawthorne sisters chose that moment to approach the head table. Amity flushed at that, Luz had not told her that, and the sheepish grin she’s wearing told her that she had absolutely known it too.

“Can see why,” Viney snorted.

“Either way, that was pretty fancy,” Eda smirked at them.

“It was remarkable,” Lilith added.

“Thank you.” Amity nods, smiling.

They let several more songs play while they rest before they decided to finally cut the cake at Edric’s pleading.

As they do, Amity suddenly remembered a conversation she had with Camila about human wedding traditions.

“Your mother told me about another human wedding tradition last week involving the cake,” she started, cake in hand, and watched Luz from the corner of her eye as she hummed happily to herself.

“Oh, yea, which one?” she turned to look at her and Amity smashed a handful of cake in her face as she did.

It’s quiet for a moment, one visible brown eye blinked at her, face smeared with cake before a grin broke out across her face, and she shoved her fist into her own cake.

“That’s how you want it, huh, mi amor?”

Amity squealed as icing is smeared across her face in return to the sound of Luz’s laughing and then she’s laughing too.

“Food fight!” Eda jumped up, plate in hand.

“Yeah!” King jumped up as well but Camila and Lilith grabbed them both.

“NO, just them!” Camila shouted.

“Well, that’s no fun,” Eda grumbled, pouting.

Amity laughed as she watched Luz’s tongue dart out of her mouth to lick the frosting off her lip.

“Tasty” she grinned.

They let the caterers pass out the cake while they go and clean their faces off inside. They’re gone a little longer than they should be and Viney and Edric take bets on if they even come back at all or are just making out

“Oh, you know what I found out tonight?” Luz asked Amity as she wiped the frosting off her face in Hexside’s bathroom.

“Hmm?” she hummed and leaned in close to the mirror and trying to save as much of her makeup as she can while wiping the cake away.

“Your dad and Lilith used to date,” she said it so casually.

‘What!?” Amity whipped to her.

“Yeah! Crazy right? Guess they were together in school but after she joined the coven she felt so guilty about mom she spent all her time looking for a cure and they drifted apart.”

Amity has no idea how to process this information. She vaguely wonders what life would have been like if Lilith had been her mother.

“You okay, amor?”

She blinks and Luz is looking at her, brows creased with worry. There will be none of that, not tonight.

“Fine, it’s just such a bizarre thought.” She shrugged.

“Right?” Luz laughed.

Something for her to think about another time.

When they come back out, icing free they finally get to eat some of the cake.

“Lilith did an awesome job on this cake,” Luz mumbled around a mouthful of it. Amity just nodded an agreement, glad that Luz had always liked thornberry desserts as much as she did. “Hopefully it’ll taste half this good next year…,” Luz hummed and Amity blinked at her.

“Next year?” she questioned and Luz nodded.

“It’s a human wedding tradition,” she explained. “You save a piece of your cake and freeze it so you can have it on your first anniversary.”

“Then we need to do it now, my brother hasn’t walked away from the cake since we cut it.” Amity rolled her eyes and pointed her fork at Edric, who had stationed himself cake side for the last fifteen minutes.

“Uhh, yeah, probably, he called dibs on leftovers yesterday, so if we wait he’s gonna cart the whole thing outta here at the end of the night,” she snorted and Amity sighed, shaking her head. Her brothers only real loves; trouble and baked goods.

“I’ll get him,” Emira said, rolling her eyes as she made a beeline for the cake and her gluttonous twin. Viney laughed at them.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that package deal?” Luz turned to the older witch who grinned at them and shrugged.

“He’s not bad.... and he’s definitely not going to be living with us…,” Viney deadpanned.

“You don’t think he’s going to end up at our house do you?” Luz looked at her and Amity stopped, fork halfway to her mouth.

“Absolutely not,” she said with finality. “I love my brother but no. He and dad will keep each other company in Blight manor.” Luz and Viney laughed at that.

“Hey, guys, it’s time for you to throw the bouquet,” Willow reminded.

“Oh, right,” Amity nodded and they stood from the table and quickly made their way to the empty dancefloor.

“Single Witches gather round!” Luz called. She and Amity grinned as a slew of their female guests tripped all over themselves as they hurried onto the dance floor. Luz caught sight of a certain witch standing in the back at the edge of the dancefloor and grinned wickedly before she leaned up to whisper in Amity’s ear. She snorted as gold eyes fell on the witch in question.

“Alright.” she nodded, still grinning.

Lilith watched the couple and their guests gather on the dancefloor, arms crossed over her chest. Perhaps it appeared as though she was being standoffish, standing alone in at the back of the festivities but if she had didn’t she and Eda would be brawling in the middle of the party, and as annoying as her sister could sometimes be, and deserving of a piece of cake to the face, she was not going to make a scene at Luz and Amity’s wedding. Camila seemed to have Edalyn in hand right now as the two sat at their table drinking hard appleblood and laughing.

She shook her head, smirking to herself at all the young women and a few men who had swarmed the floor as the two got ready to throw the bouquet.

“Good evening, Lilith.”

Lilith jerked, turning her head to find Alador Blight at her side.

“It’s been a while, Alador,” she greeted with a tilt of her head. He nodded, arms folded behind his back as his gaze turned to the couple.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” he said, watching them. She nodded, humming an affirmative.

“I’m sure they’ll continue to be quite happy together, despite your wife’s attempts at the contrary.” She can’t help the little dig, she said that she wouldn’t speak ill of Odalia, that didn’t mean she was going to pretend to like her either, but Alador just hummed.

“Precisely why she is my ex-wife now,” he admitted, which makes Lilith look at him.

“Oh…” she’s not sure what to say to that. Alador nods as they observed the gaggle of witches gathered around the middle of the dancefloor.

“It’s just as well,” he continued unexpectedly. “I would hardly have called our marriage a happy one, even from the start.”

“I’m sorry,” is all the elder Clawthorne can think to say.

“No need, It was my own fault for choosing to turn a blind eye to her machinations from the start.” He ran a hand through his beard thoughtfully.

“You never struck me as the type ignore inconvenient truths, Alador.” she cocked a brow at him.

“I wasn’t, once. But I suppose after our… acquaintance, it was easier to ignore some… ‘inconvenient truths’ as you called them.”

Lilith stiffened at that, she never expected him to bring that up, not after over twenty-five years, nor the subtle implication about her being the cause of his relationship with Odalia.

Before she can even think of something to say in response the couple drew both of their eyes again.

“Here we go!” Luz grinned as she and Amity both held the bouquet in one hand and tossed it over their shoulders. The witches on the dance floor scrambled all over each other as it flew through the air, shooting way over their heads and across the dancefloor.

Lilith can barely raise her arms in time to catch the flowers as they fell into her hands.

She blinked down at them as the crowd whistled and clapped. Across the room, she can hear Edalyn laughing maniacally.

She looked up to find Luz and Amity grinning at her from across the room. She scowled when Luz had the audacity to wink at her.

‘Little shits’

Low chuckling at her side made her turn to Alador, who is laughing quietly.

“Well, I suppose that means you will be the one swearing an eternal oath next.” He smirked at her.

“That worked out better than I thought.” Luz laughed, watching Lilith scowl at them. Amity just shook her head and smiled exasperatedly at her wife.

A few hours later the party is winding down and they decide it’s the perfect time to make their getaway.

“Amity and I are gonna sneak out of here,” Luz told her mom’s. “Can you take Mami home later?” she turned to Eda who nodded.

“No worries, kid. I’ll make sure Cami gets home safe and sound, scouts honor.”

“Yeah… there’s no way you were ever any kind of scout,” she drawled and Amity crossed her arms, smirking.

“Do you want me to get her home or not?” Eda huffed, reaching out and ruffling her hair. Luz grumbled but let it happen. “I’ll see you two in a week.” The older women hugged them both before they pull away. “Try not to break any beds.” She smirked as the two walked away, and Luz groaned to herself. Camila just gave the witch a tired look.

They say quick goodbyes to their friends who hug them tightly and they promise to get together when they get back from their honeymoon.

Amity made a quick goodbye to her father and then they’re sneaking away from the party into the woods and Amity spelled her staff into existence and they are soon flying over the woods, the bright cobalt light from the moon lighting the way.

“Well, we’re not leaving for the coast until tomorrow morning, so now what, Mrs. Noceda?” Luz grinned as she set her chin on Amity’s shoulder.

“I could think of a few things.” Amity glanced at her over her shoulder knowingly, gold eyes glowing in the moonlight

“Well, take me home then!” Luz said and laughed as they picked up speed, wind whipping through their hair, as they flew through the moonlit night.

[mxvladdy]

A Break- Chapter 5

Oh lord this took too long and ‘bout killed me. I hope my edits are good! 

It’s a biggen so it’s all under the cut! 

Hope y’all like it! I know it was long over do :/

He dreams of dragons. A swirling blur of purples, reds, and yellows. His mindscape was a rich profusion of colors. Two become sharper standing out in the sea of hues. His father’s dragon emerges from the mass. The great black dragon floats ethereally around him, judging him. But, unlike the years spent under his father's tutelage, all he got were stern looks and cold words of praise. Now, he can feel a warm sense of- pride. Was his father finally proud of him? How? Of what? Next to him, another dragon appears. His mother’s dragon wove around the long form of his father. Black and pearly pink twisting and revolve hypnotically around his body. They radiated peace, and rest. An urge to join them began to overwhelm him. A break sounded nice. He deserved one, didn’t he?

When was the last time he had felt this at peace? There were a few times perhaps in recent memories. A blurry face comes to mind. A sweet smile and a laugh that is so warm and bright. He remembers the feel of soft fingers scratching along his goatee. He felt at peace then, safe and loved. It gives him pause- the urge to slip away waning. His paternal dragon stops its coiling, eyes locking with his partner. He pulls backs, separating from his mate. His mother’s dragon chirps, drifting closer and closer, she tries to touch her son. Her whiskers mere inches from his floating hand. Obsidian claws stop her from touching her eldest. His father’s dragon huffs once in warning, shaking its great head. His mother snaps at the claw, stubborn in her convictions. She wanted her son back, safe within her clutches in the afterlife. Had he not gone through enough? From the clan to his own penances? She had been so close to getting her youngest back years ago. Yet she had been robbed then too.

She wouldn’t be denied twice.

Hanzo watches helplessly as the two beasts argue in a language he does not know. He is torn between a want to be here with them, and the warm thoughts trickling slowly back into his mind. The pearlescent dragon rears back with a cry of anguish, nostrils flaring at whatever the black dragon had said. She makes eye contact with him once more. The dragon’s eyes were the same color as his mother's before she turned from him leaving his line of sight. His father gave him one last look filled with, pride? Before disappearing too. He shouts for them, crying out for his mother. To not be left alone again. But they were silent in the void. Not even in death was he good enough.

He floats again, or lays? He truly cannot tell what axis or plane he was on. But he could still feel. He felt cold and so so tired. Where were his dragons? If his parents were here surely his dragons must be too. He calls for them, but he gets no answer. The seal on his arm was horribly quiet.

He can do nothing but drift now.

He hears things sometimes, a soft sweet voice reading to him. Other times it’s a smooth accented voice walking him through something they were about to do. Hallucinations or reality he couldn’t tell. They get stronger though. Soon he begins to feel a warmth on his face. Like he was basking in the heat of the summer sun. Other times it’s the brush of something cool and wet on his neck and arms. The fingers were too smooth to be human but dexterous like them. They were humming, the tinny and augmented drone familiar. Hanzo knew that melody, he knew that voice, but he just couldn’t place it. Hanzo listens for a while, floating on the melody before it too disappears. They leave him, only an incisive beeping echoing in his head for company.

His dragons come to him after what felt like an eternity. Akuma approaches first, his massive body colliding with Hanzo’s. The archer clings to the great beast burying his face into the fur. Hanzo cares little for the claws puncturing his skin and scratching him as Akuma clicks and coos in delight. Ibuki wraps herself around them both, quiet but vibrating with relief. Hanzo opens his mouth to speak. His throat clicks, dry and inflamed. Something is choking him.

No-rest. We will get you out soon. Out? He stiffens in their warm embrace. He didn't want out. It was nice here, quiet. He didn't feel pain or much of anything in here. He could stay like this... No. Akuma nips his cheek in aggravation. Family, they need you. She needs you-

It comes back to him hard and fast. His last kiss with you before leaving for the terminal. The video before bed. Him whispering goodnight to your sleeping face ending the call before turning in himself. To the security breach and his fight. He needs to get back. If his parents left him here then he should wake up. Why wasn't he waking up? We will protect. His dragons nuzzle him once more before they push away returning to the great beyond, promising to take care of you while he gets stronger. Their determination fuels him to fight, to survive.

He trains his mind to pick up on the noises and touches happening around him while he waits. He picks up the tick of a clock and the sound of waves by his side. Their constant background noise soothing and grounding. Genji comes daily to hum and chat in their native tongue. He spoke of idle, sweet little things. The weather, who was on kitchen duty that evening, the training schedule. He sounded so hopeful every time he visited. Like his big brother was going to wake up at any moment and respond. After Genji came Mei and Ana. The two mostly acted like he was with them and discussed whatever book they were reading while waiting on him. They would come in the evenings and read passages aloud for him. It was a welcomed break from the monotony of silence. Ana came more often than Mei. He could smell the tea she would bring in when she sat by his side reading aloud in Arabic. Ah- her favorite book of poetry. She never translated this book for him, but between her cadences and phrasing, she wove the beauty of the verses nonetheless.

Ana was interrupted today though. Midway through a verse, she stopped. Her tongue stumbling over itself uncharacteristically. Hanzo felt her shift and rise without another word. He recognized Baptiste and Angela's voices talking to her, their voices low and hurried. He hears Ana laugh gently and the door to his room snaps shut.  His doctors bustle around him for a moment though he senses another person in the room with them. Odd- unless his brother came back. No, much too quiet to be him. Angie and Baptiste leave quickly, their check-up done, leaving him alone with the new visitor.

"Hey, Hanz." A soft voice brushes his cheek. "How are you today?" Hanzo’s heart hurts. How did- when did you come here. He wanted to be angry, to yell at you for coming to such a dangerous place. He wanted to hunt down whoever found you and throttle them. This was putting you in harm’s way. Yet, at the same time, he wished he could see you. He wished he could tell you how much he missed you and that he was there. Instead, floats in his own subconscious. “I-Angie says that you might hear me. Something about your brain scans?” You squeeze his hand with a light chuckle. You trail off distracting yourself by rubbing soothing patterns in his palm. “If-if you can, know that I know. Not everything, your brother has been so kind to me.” You squeeze his hand, bordering on almost uncomfortable. “But I need to hear the things he said from you. So-so get better soon, please? I miss you.” Now more than ever he wishes he could comfort you. Why hadn't he just swallowed his pride early? This could have been avoided. He hoped at least.

The rest of your visit passes too quickly for his liking. The scant bit of privacy he had with you was filled with your tender voice and gentle touches. He felt your fingers brush along his smooth jaw, stroking it like you did whenever you would lounge in bed sweaty but happy after a lengthy reunion. The kisses you placed on his brow were just as sweet too. You only left after one of the doctors came in to force you out to get dinner and stretch.

You poke at the warm meal Ana had plated for you in the mess hall. The steaming rice and tomato covered lentils sitting comfortably in your stomach. “Eat, dear. Then I think it’s best if you take a nap. When was the last time you slept horizontally?” Ana winks at you over her shoulder stirring a pot filled with browning onions and spices. The elderly medic had lost count of the number of times she had walked in on you sleeping in the chairs in the medical wing.

“I’m fine-really.” You smile rubbing at your sore neck. The hospital chairs here were soft, sure, but not meant for daily sleeping. Ana snorts but doesn’t say anything more on the matter. Instead, she distracts your haggard mind with recipes and tea ideas, sprinkling in little stores of her childhood. You find yourself relaxing more and more; the time between when you wanted to get back to Hanzo’s side and since you sat down for dinner growing longer and longer in between. You yawn widely, failing to cover it with your mouth with your hand. “Shit- sorry.” You flush. The other woman waves it off.

“It’s fine sweetheart. Just means my food and company did its job.” She smiles collecting both of your dishes to place them in the sink. “Come-let me escort you to your room.”

“You really aren’t going to let me go back huh?”

“Not a chance child. He isn’t going anywhere trust me.” She grips the back of your shirt to lead you in the opposite direction of the ICU. You scowl but follow along, dragging your feet along a little in the process.

You had been offered Hanzo’s room when you landed last week. It had been untouched since he had been transferred to the Ilios base. But you couldn’t, it felt almost rude to. He hadn’t consented to any of this. It just felt wrong. His room was what you had always imagined. Clean and tidy, the few items he had well loved and maintained. Some looked pricy, but most were homey little things that must have reminded him of Japan. You ask to stay in a vacant room but still find yourself in his room from time to time, dusting his heavy bookshelf or to vacuum his rug and shake the linens out. You only broke down once in his room, but it was enough for you to never want to go back in there. Not until Hanzo was back living in it. While mopping one day you stumbled across a little box, it was your box, the old thing was filled with letters. The creases in the paper thin and tearing from constantly being opened and reread over and over again. The trinkets you had sent him over the years were worn, but clean. The metal pins and coins shiny and discolored from fingers rubbing them lovingly. You put the box back where you found it and leave. Athena could clean from now on.

Genji and Angie had discussed a lot with you since you took up residence. You were grateful for their updates and check-ins. Baptiste even gave you some reading about what to expect when Hanzo is up and going through physical therapy. He emphasized that the longer he was in the ICU the longer recovery could be. “But don’t stress,” He pats your hand warmly. “That man is as stubborn as an Ox. He’ll bounce back in no time!”

You hope so. From the bits Genji told you after they found him...it had been- disparaging. The road had been rocky, though they wouldn’t disclose all the details to you. The first few weeks were touch and go before Angie finally could sign off on putting him under medically. She spoke as simply as she could but it was still a lot for you. But she was certain he would pull through, and that as soon as he could breathe on his own again she would begin the process of waking him up.

How long that would take no one knew.

You met quite a few interesting characters while you sat vigil by his bedside. Mei is a riot. The plucky young scientist is a delightful conversationalist and had many stories about Hanzo. When she talked about him you could immediately understand why they were friends. Both mathematically minded and sentimental to a fault.

Satya was more pensive when she visited at first, but warmed up to you gradually over talks of your business. Her eyes lit up when you told her your struggles with tin designs. “Let me design some for you. Your tins are wonderfully shaped, but ultimately boring.” She looks down at Hanzo’s resting form. She strokes his head lightly. The stubble growing on his crown had been recently washed. Baptist came in earlier to remove the stitches around his temporal lobe.  “I’ll send you some designs tonight.” She nods curtly before leaving you alone again. Over the next few weeks, you gradually met the rest of the agents. Whether it be them coming to say hello and check up on their comrade or in the kitchen, welcoming you to a warm meal, and thousands of questions about how you met.

It wasn’t until the second month of your stay did you meet Hanzo’s dragons. It was late, later than any of the medical staff would advise you to stay up. But, you could only stay away from work for so long and it was finally quiet. You were working by Hanzo’s side, the beeping of his monitor lulling you into a trance while you read over your spreadsheets. At first, you didn’t notice, the rhythmic beeping of his machinery was white noise to you at this point. The first few hitches you missed, too preoccupied with moving numbers and shipments around. The skips steadily grew faster and more erratic, it pulls your focus from your screen. “Hanzo?” You toss your laptop to the side, ready to buzz for help. He doesn’t move, not even a flicker behind his eyelids. Nothing was out of place until you touched him. His arm is warm underneath your fingers. Too warm, near scorching. You yelp in pain falling back at a sudden blinding light that erupts from his tattoo. The room fills with a blaze of blue and gold, the energy of the blast knocks you to the floor. You scream as two massive dragons irrupt from him. They swirl around the tiny space, scleraless eyes scan the room for something.

That something just happened to be you. Two sets of eyes lock with yours. Large fanged jaws open wide, hackles raised. You sit frozen in awe and terror. Were they going to kill you? No-surely not. Genji said they would recognize you-hypothetically. They were an extension of their master's souls. The two lunge for you, three-clawed feet open wide like birds of prey. Squeezing your eyes shut you wait for the impact of scales and teeth.

Two small projectiles collide with you. The force of which knocks the air from you. “Oph!” You wheeze arms wrapping instinctively around the squirming warm creatures clinging to your chest. Two thin dry tongues flick out and tickle your jaw and cheeks.

“I heard a scream! Are you-” Genji burst in looking about frantically, his wakizashi drawn and at the ready. Angie and Baptist barge in behind him, both armed as well. “Oh.” Genji gasps, his sword drops limply to his side. “Aniki.” You look up from your prone position, still dazed and confused by the now tiny blue dragons nestled on your stomach.

“Are you alright?” Genji asks, helping you up back to your feet and righting your upturned chair. His eyes never leave the two spirits in your hands. You nod meekly. “Come, let’s give them room to work.” He takes one last look at his brother and the doctors before leading you out with him. “What happened?” He asks in the hallway eyeing the two blue dragons now wrapped around your upper body. He punches in the code for his room and lets you in.

“I-I don’t know.” The larger of the two dragons chirps as it loses its grip on your sweater. You scoop it up to nuzzle your neck like you would an infant. It coos, wrapping its fluffy tail around your wrist. The slimmer smaller one squawks indignantly, jealous of its partner's attention. It too nuzzles at your neck, draping itself around you like a scarf. “One minute I was balancing my checkbooks, and the next I heard the heart monitor going crazy. Then these two jump me.” You glanze up at Genji. He looks so hopeful. A small sigh of relief escapes him. “Is this good?”

Genji sighs heavily and flops onto his bed. He rubs at the synthetic skin of his chin thoughtfully. He points at the two dragons. “Look at how translucent they are. It takes a lot of energy to summon them to our realm.” You clutch at the squirming reptiles taking a good look at them. The two look at you with large innocent eyes. What he said was true. You could see your hands through their bodies. Their scales were dull and lacked the luster of Genji’s dragon. The larger one’s left antler was chipped and flaking onto the floor. The smaller one was very thin and hollow looking. Genji sighs looking miffed. “My best bet is they told Hanzo you're here and he sent them out to look after you. Which is sweet, but foolish. Summoning when we are mentally or physically weak could kill us if we are not careful.” He drags his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What happens now?”

He shrugs. “I can’t say. It’s up to him now. But, I believe this is a good sign.” Genji reaches out and scratches behind one of the dragon's ears. “Thank you for coming out to us.” He speaks directly to the dragons, bowing his head low in respect. They preen, clicking and cooing in delight. Genji’s little dragon appears shortly after jumping into the fray of blue and gold.  You sit in the cyborg’s cozy room watching Hanzo’s dragons play. For the first time in ages your chest cliches with something other than fear.

It takes another 3 weeks for Hanzo to open his eyes. Of course, he had to do it the one night you decided to sleep in a bed. Your back had been pleading for days for a normal night's rest. It felt like your head had barely hit your pillow before his two dragons woke you. Tiny claws kneading your stomach and chest. They were solid and heavy. Their scales are bright and iridescent. The larger one, Akuma bumps your face hard with his antlers. Huge, arching healthy antlers. He trills at you expectantly.  

Genji beats you to the medical ward by seconds. His exhaust vents pumping steam out like a geyser. He speaks quickly, his words fast and agitated. He switches languages rapidly, getting more and more agitated at the blank look the assistant barring the door gives him. He is getting flustered and quickly. His green lights blazed brighter and brighter with agitated arm gestures.

“Genji-Genji!” You rest a gentle hand on his cold shoulder. He rounds on you blindly, eyes electric. The hairs on your arm begins to rise as his dragon begins to awaken just under the surface. His temper cools when he recognizes just who was trying to calm him. You glance over to the trembling medical assistant. “Come- we’ve waited this long. They will get us when it’s safe to.” You assure your friend. Genji nods jerkily, taking your offered hand. He follows you down the hall back to his room. You were both tense and vibrating with nervous energy.

You lead Genji to his room, much like he did weeks ago. Punching in his room code you collapse onto the mountain of pillows he had on the floor for a chair the moment the door closed. You hug his pillows close, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach “He’s up.” Genji spoke in awe. You crane your neck to look as Genji paces around you. His tone was tight but hopeful. “He’s up- He’s ok.” He smiles down at you, his face the brightest you had ever seen it. He wipes at his eyes and exhales a curse of joy. Dropping down next to you, he sits cross-legged by your side.

“Yes-” It was all you could manage to say. You squeeze his knee in reassurance, your own eyes prickling around the corners. Hot tears threatening to overflow. You didn’t want to admit it to him, to anyone, but you had started to lose hope. How many times had you sat there painstakingly etching each and every angle and blemish on Hanzo’s unconscious face into your memory, just in case it was to be your last time with him? How many nights had you held your breath, eyes locked with the complex monitors and pumps looking for something, hitch in his breath, or a twitch of a finger. Something to tell you he was still there. A wave of guilt washes over you just thinking of how he had woken up alone, how you weren’t there for him.

It’s not like he knew you were here, but it hurt your heart regardless. Doubt hits you. Would he even want you here? He clearly had no intentions of telling about this part of him. He had his crew to support him, and his brother here. “What are you going to say?” Genji asks gently. You feel his warm human hand land on top of yours giving you a comforting squeeze.

“What are you planning to say?” You parrot.

Genji thinks on it for a second, biting the synthetic skin of his lower lip. “Ugh- that’s why I asked you first! I don’t know if I want to punch him for making us all worry, or hug him.”

“I wish I had an answer too.” You confess. “I don’t even know if I should go see him.”

“What!” Genji gasps. “You have to! He’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Genji,” You roll on to your side. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” You nestle into the multicolored pillows rubbing at your eyes wearily. “Maybe it would be best if I went back home. Give him some space to recover. Give whatever this is time.” Your conversation partner goes quiet. His dark eyes, so expressive like his brothers bore into you. It wasn’t judgment. Nothing of the sort. It was understanding and flickers of sympathy.

“Do you want to leave?” He asks. No. Deep down you didn’t, but the high of hearing Hanzo's condition was slowly being replaced with the reality of the situation. The reality of what now? You shrug hiding your face in your arms too ashamed to admit. He lets you stew for a moment. “My brother-” He starts slowly. “My brother is many things, he is prideful and arrogant. Sometimes to the point of being unbearable to deal with. He can be as immovable as a mountain, as you might say bullheaded. ” Genji chuckles. “But, he is incredibly patient, I never noticed it as a child…but now, it’s a trait I envy.” He rubs at his eyes thinking back to the box he found in his brother’s room, the hidden pictures of you and him. He had never seen his brother so relaxed before. He would do anything to keep seeing that smile on his brother’s face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Genji continues. “ just please try to see him once? If you're able to talk to him, do. I can tell you’re special to him, he will do what it takes to make this work.”

You bob your head in understanding, working to swallow around the lump growing in your throat. “I’m scared.” You admit timidly. Genji gives you a gentle pat on the leg.

“It is a scary situation, but trust me when I say you have nothing to fear from Hanzo.”

Genji leaves you at that, you both decided that when they were given that all clear to see Hanzo he should go first. He tries to object, but it was merely a formality. You could see how desperate he was to go. You spend your time waiting in his room, with his dragon Mizuki and her siblings. They could tell you were in distress and tried their hardest to comfort you. Their warm bodies blanket yours, their purring helping drift you off to sleep.

A sharp knock wakes you and your three dragons. They all perk up, ears all twitching towards the door. Akuma growls low in his throat. You open the door to Angie. She beams at you, hand hovering mid-knock. “Ah good! Sorry if you were resting.Hanzo was asking for you.” She steps back to let you out. Mizuki yips shrilly and leaps at the doctor. She catches them gracefully and strokes their head. “You can visit briefly. I am still monitoring him.”

“Right- thank you Angie.” You turn to go.

Angie stops you with a firm hand on your shoulders. “His larynx and trachea are still healing. Talking on his end is strictly forbidden, understand?” You nod. “I’m keeping him for observation for the next week- you are welcome to visit whenever he is feeling up to it.” With that she gives your shoulders a firm clap and lets you go. You walk slowly to the medbay, Hanzo’s dragons quiet and contemplative on your shoulders. For all your anxiety your mind was completely blank. Where would you even start? Knocking softly on the door to Hanzo's private room you enter.

The sigh of relief that escapes is loud in the open space. He turns to watch you from his inclined position on his hospital bed. He looks better. The tubes and wires helping him breathe and heal had been condensed down to just a heart monitor, IV drip, and oxygen. You take in the muted colors of healing bruises on his face and chest. He hardly looked like himself though. His face was clean shaven from surgery and his hair buzz cut short. It wasn’t him, but it didn’t matter. The fire was still there behind his dark eyes. They still screamed strength and perseverance. It was the same look that had attracted you from the start.

Hanzo regards you heavily, his expression gives nothing away as you come to sit by him. His fiery eyes flicker for a moment when he notices the unshed tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak and winces. Each breath felt like fire in his lungs. Hanzo rubs at his bandaged neck in agony. “You know you’re not allowed to talk.” You chastise him rushing up to grab his water and straw. He waves it away with a frown and sinks back into the thin pillows of his bed. You sit back down, playing with the metal straw between your fingers. “We have a lot to talk about huh?” You ask to break the silence. Hanzo huffs at the understatement of the century. He rubs his sweaty palms across the sheets covering the stumps of his legs. You watch him, he always rubbed at his knees when he was nervous. You reached for his hand not filled with wires and tubes, but stopped. Hanzo grabs your hand before you could pull it back. His large hand covering yours, he was so warm and safe. “I’m sorry.” You can feel yourself falling apart at the seams. A mix of relief and anxiety creating an indescribable feeling in you.

Damn, what were you even apologizing for? Knowing his secret? Learning about the Shimada clan without his consent, especially since he made it clear he had no intentions of telling you himself. Genji hadn’t told you everything, but it was enough to add fuel to the fire of nightly rants with his dragons. You wipe at your face hating how hot your skin felt with tears. Hanzo tugs at your hand to get your attention. “Wha-” He grunts pointing to the side table by the door and mimes writing on his palm. His com and phone sat innocently alongside his gold ribbon and a few get-well cards and dried flowers, all gifted to him by the team. He takes the phone from you eagerly and opens up to his notes app. He writes out something quickly and trusts it at you without hesitation.

I love you, I’m sorry

What little resolve you had left breaks at his admission. You pepper his waxy skin with tear streaked kisses “I love you too- truly.” You whisper into the bandages on his skull. The strong smell of antiseptics not deterring you in the least bit. He catches a stray kiss and turns back to his screen with vigor.

I know I have much to explain, secrets that I’ve held for too long and for no reason. You were never at fault for any of this, I trust you implicitly I have for a while.  

Hanzo swallows thickly, thumbs hovering over the keyboard while you read in silence.

I know I have damaged what trust you must have had in me. If this is too much, if you deem this unsalvageable… I cannot blame- I would never blame you for wanting to step back. If you desire a clean break.

“Hanzo-” He wouldn’t-

But, if you are willing to give me a chance- I will give you everything. If you are willing to wait…

He looks to you waiting. You would either stay or leave, it was up to you. You read and reread his words, both of you trying to ignore the uptick on his heart monitor. You click the phone off and put it on the windowsill. Breathing deeply you stare blindly out the window. You don’t answer with words. Truthfully you think you had any that would express what you felt in that moment. Instead, you take his hand in both of yours. You kiss along his knuckles, brushing your lips along each scar you see, both old and new alike. You knew them all by heart. They had been a calendar of sorts, the mending of torn skin and removal of stitches, your anchor. They were what kept you going on the hardest nights, they kept you knowing that the wait was worth it. You couldn’t think of stopping now, fear be damned. “I’ll be here as long as you need.”

The smile that graces his face was well worth the wait.

[sopxhiea]

Reckless

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Sabini makes an appearance.

| Prompt

“You’re going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters, animal abusers and people who talk at the theatre.”

He was humming a low melody, one you recognised but couldn’t exactly pinpoint. It could’ve been something from the station for all you knew but you couldn’t put your finger on it, it was ought to bug you today.

The weather was quite lovely, spring was upon the city and the weather seemed to chirp up all the creatures that took shelter in the usual state of the city. You’d seen too many people around in the morning, just walking or playing around more than usual commotion, summer would come along soon.

You shifted your weight between your feet, leaning back on the wooden wall while the bulky man watched you. They’d told you that he was for protection, you didn’t need protection. He was the biggest guy you’d seen in a long time but something about him was familiar, strangely close to your heart. Your gaze traveled across his at first, finding a blank canvas of nothingness.

He was supposed to be here.

Alfie had called you in for a meeting with another gangster. He hadn’t told you who the other man was but you trusted him enough. You’d worked with him on numerous occasions and you knew he wouldn’t go so far as to pull something behind your back, he knew you’d kill him if he did.

You’d hesitate but you’d still cut his throat if he betrayed you.

You walked towards the heavy doors while the bulky man followed you, calling you ‘miss’ and telling you to stay where you were. He should’ve known better than to order you around. You turned towards him in one swift motion, eyes cold as ice while his gaze escaped yours. 

After successfully scaring him off, you kicked down the door to Alfie’s office. He had told you he’d be with you in a few moments after greeting you at the door but he had also been the one to disappear into that office of his. His eyes looked at your figure when the loud noise of the door hitting the wall filled the spacious room.

Ollie’s mouth was agape.

It wasn’t the first time you’d kicked down a door, certainly not the first time you’d kicked down his door. You scoffed, seeing him knees deep in paper work. You had things to take care of, people to chase but there he was making you wait. He didn’t say anything but got up instead, you gave him a mocking smile as he talked.

“What’s got ye bothered, woman?” he spoke, getting his jacket.

You were supposed to meet the other guy an hour ago but he was far from being present. You scoffed again, a sarcastic expression on your face as he stared at you. 

He knew how to get you fired, the sparks beneath your pupils were glistening. He mostly did it because it was amusing to him, entertaining to a point of slight arousal for the tall man.

“Where the hell is the men?” you said, following his built form through the corridors of the distillery. “You said the meeting would take place an hour ago!” you raised your voice while stepping in front of him, he stopped when his much bigger form towered above your small one. 

“’m takin’ ya’ to the fuckin’ spot.” he said, calm and clear. You rolled your eyes before stepping out of the way with a loud sigh. He was so frustrating sometimes.

You were an agent of sorts, gathered information and killed when the occasion occurred. You stole for millionaires and accompanied rich man to dinners, only to hog information from their daft minds. You’d done business with Alfie more than a few times til now, he had hired you and worked with you on robbing some very powerful people and he said he had a new proposition for you and that explained your being in his distilliery.

The man was rough on the edges, blunt and way too stubborn. He was mostly agitated and didn’t like to negotiate but you’d managed to bring him down a little and snatch a few terms of your own to every work you did together.

He also happened to be brilliant, he was sharp and undeniably handsome. You overlooked the last fact most of the time, mostly because it had nothing to do with business and you didn’t intend on getting distracted by the tall man walking in front of you.

He also happened to be the only man able to fight the fire you had inside.

You had a quick wit, playful banter and cutting words were your specialty. You did your job well because you could speak your way into anything. It was sometimes an old man’s secret box or a classy event, you always got your way.

Your appearance helped, too.

Alfie knew you were smart, way too devious and rather sly compared to a person your age. You were younger than him but he was sure you’d had more experience killing men than he did, including his war memories. He enjoyed battling with you when it came to it, you were quick on your feet and a word he said would never go unanswered.

But you were also extremely captivating. Your look was one out of a dream, it helped you in your line of business. He’d expected a skeleton looking woman in her older years when they’d told him about all the things you did, he thought they were simply too many to fit in a young life out of logic.

Instead, he’d met an alluring young woman who held her chin high. 

Ollie opened the door to the storage space rather loudly while you followed Alfie’s bigger form, right behind his side. Your eyes met the men inside, there were about fifteen young ones dressed in grey suits, one older man dressed in a creamy suit.

You hated his face.

You made a sour face when your eyes met his, he was the boss for sure but he had something unlikeable about him, you didn’t know what it was. Alfie walked in front of you, not shaking the man’s hand when he was about to sit but instead, showing him the seat with his hand while the other rested on his cane.

You watched them sit as many other males stood standing. The room was tense but it didn’t affect you. You sat down loudly, crossing your legs in a not-so-ladylike manner while everyone else looked at you, not Alfie.

He was used to it.

You offered the man a smile as Alfie cleared his throat, his attention brought to Alfie once again while you threw your arm around the chair you were sitting, it was a comfortable position but definitely not appropriate.

“‘ello, Alfie.” the boss of the other party spoke, his voice was more dreadful than you’d thought it would be.

You shook your head.

“‘ello, mate.” Alfie greeted back as Ollie stared at the man before him.

The boss turned to you, eyes scanning your rather awkward sitting position while you offered him a sheepish smile. Your first impressions were always a favourite of Alfie’s.

“Who’s the lady?” he spoke, sarcasm apparent in his voice while you stared right back at him. Alfie was about to speak but he knew better than to not let you have a go at Sabini.

“Why are you asking?” you spoke, eyes half closed while Sabini watched you sit up on the chair.

“I wouldn’t want word to get ou-” he spoke, you cut him off after understanding the point of the unfinished sentence. It was supposed to a be secret meeting and you were a stranger.

“I’m Alfie’s friend.” you spoke, Alfie’s amused eyes met yours and you winked at the familiar face.

Sabini seemed dumfounded until Alfie spoke, his eyes motioning at you while his voice filled the room. “My friend.” he almost smiled.

Your daring eyes met Sabini’s and instead of dwelling on the peculiar subject, he moved on to talk about the details. You listened intently but the tone of his voice started to get boring after the fist twenty minutes. You shifted on the chair again, throwing one leg on top of the other and moving your foot up and down.

Your foot remained on its own for a while until it hit Alfie’s much larger one. He didn’t react as he listened to the man before him so you nudged his foot again, making him move in his place. You touched his foot again once more, a little more persistently this time which made him turn to you with a low smile.

“...pet..” he said, warning you.

It was a wonder that you still hadn’t slept with him, you thought to yourself.

You’d come close, almost had him have you in dinner parties right then and there but you’d somehow gotten out of it. You knew how to tease him and he loved to tease you back, you were still wondering how his plump lips tasted after holding yourself back for the past two years of working with the man.

He recognised your gaze, lust swimming in your orbs as his lips parted. He mirrored the expression in your eyes, going from casual business Alfie to a hungry version of himself. 

You were fire and he liked to play with fire.

You both held each others’ gazes for more than a minute and some more before Sabini spoke up. He was unable to read the energy between you and Alfie, unlike Ollie who had flushed cheeks from the intense stares you were giving Alfie.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sabini raised his voice after his last two questions were ignored. You didn’t even know what he’d asked.

You both turned to the man but you were quicker than Alfie in terms of action. Standing up, you inched closer to Sabini’s face with hands on the table. He leaned back when you got all over his face, you were seething with anger. You spoke into his face as he watched you fire up.

“You’re going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters, animal abusers and people who talk at the theatre.”

He chuckled weakly at first, not realising that you had a small blade right under your finger that was inching closer to his throat. All his men got their guns out in the next second, everyone was standing up now that guns were out except Alfie who kept on watching you.

The contract was long forgotten.

You let Sabini’s collar go and leaned back, you were still standing when you fixed your hair a little and spoke. All the guns were pointed at you except the ones on Alfie’s men had on their hands.

“I’m not gonna kill you..” you said, a smile on your lips Alfie was too familiar with. “..not today, anyway. I’m wearing a new dress.” you chuckled at the end of your sentence and the last remark made all men look at you once more.

You looked like you were meant to be reading poetry under a tree, not dealing with dirty old men and their meaningless words.

Alfie chuckled at your words, his eyes sparkled with admiration and lust. You sat back down and put your elbows on the shared table as Sabini’s assistant kept his mouth open.

“The contract will be signed by Alfie and me.” you spoke, letting the man know of the participants of the deal.

“And I think it’s fucking underwhelming for someone with your reputation..” you shook your head as he stared at you with shock on his face. “I’m not signing it..” you smiled innocently before finishing your sentence. “...because it sucks.”

You leaned back on the chair, letting the man absorb the weight of your own words while Alfie chuckled at you, he loved seeing you like this.

He stuttered at first, found it hard to speak because he felt insulted, and he was. You watched as he screamed at you, anger and frustration evident in his eyes as he spoke the words a little too loudly. You let him unleash the feelings, watching him get up and throw a couple punches. He then started screaming at Alfie, calling you all sorts of things and blaming him for such a bad scene.

He wouldn’t let the words go but he knew you were just warming up so he let Sabini be.

He sat down with a heavy chest while you watched him calm down. “You’re done?” you asked, he didn’t say anything.

“A bitch?”  you asked, talking about his latest remark about you.

“How original!” you gave him a smile while Alfie watched you dig your finger on his knee, the small blade went all the way through while his men just stared at the scene, guns ready in their hands but they just froze.

You got up, Alfie watched you as you straightened down your dress and gave him a smile.  You would see Alfie soon about all this but you were too tired for this. He was glad you could even come, the blade on Sabini’s knee was the perk of it. Your hand rested on Alfie’s shoulder while you said your goodbye to him, turning Sabini not too long after for the final farewell.

“I’ll see you in hell.”

[luninosity]

It’s @whumptober2020 time again! For prompt 10 – “they look so pretty when they bleed,” specific prompts: blood loss/trail of blood; AND prompt 15 – “into the unknown,” specifically magical healing!

 Time for some more Evanstan with witch!Seb! This story takes place in the same universe as “every inch of north and south.” Warnings for...blood & magically inflicted injuries? I promise he’s going to be fine though! It’s magical healing, after all!

#

Chris steps in through the side door of Sebastian’s magician’s consultation rooms, where the wards know him as Seb’s boyfriend; he’s tired but cheerful, because it’s been a productive day of meetings about the directorial project he’s taking on for fun, the film about rescue dogs, and also he’s brought coffee for Seb from that new place down the street they’ve been meaning to try.

 He’s expecting the familiar tickle of Seb’s magic, and he smiles, the way Seb’s wards generally smile back, all warm and smoky and glittery as opals.

 The magic is familiar. It recognizes him. But it’s also wrong. Frantic. Scurrying. Spiking. Singing and shouting, sounds Chris doesn’t quite physically hear but feels—

 He’s not a witch the way Sebastian is. But he is magic-sensitive, kind of adjacent to it and aware of it if it’s happening, and he’s Seb’s boyfriend. Sebastian’s magic knows that.

 The hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. His skin prickles.

 He takes another step. “Seb? Sebastian?”

 No answer. But Sebastian’s protective magic’s shrieking now, a cacophony of clashing melodies and scents and textures—burning scarlet and blinding gold and copper on Chris’s tongue and whistles in his ears—and it wraps coils around his wrists and ankles and begs for his help—

 He runs. Shoving coffee onto Seb’s table next to the silver scrying bowl. Heart twisting in his chest at the sight of neatly labeled herb-bottles and jars on the shelf, at Seb’s black leather jacket tossed over a chair, as if Sebastian’d expected to be right back—

 “Sebastian? You in here?” Something nags at his brain; his eyes catch up after a second.

 A space on the wall rack. A missing knife. The silver one, the moon-knife.

 Sebastian’s protected against most ordinary blades, but magicians sometimes need to offer drops of blood. Seb’s got a few specific knives for that purpose, which means a few weaknesses. Chris tries to breathe. To think.

 Sebastian doesn’t have any specific enemies, not that he knows about; magicians can be envious and prickly and wary, but Sebastian’s generous and happy and clever and kind, and good at warding-spells, also.

 But Seb had said—something, that morning—something about being asked to consult on a local case, a missing child, and of course he’d said yes, and Chris had nodded because that was a good thing, of course…but Sebastian hadn’t said it’d be anything difficult…

 Or had he? By not saying so, by smiling, by kissing Chris as a distraction?

 Sebastian’s a good witch but—in his own words—not anywhere near the sorcerers of legend. Gifted at cures and summonings and counter-curses, not at leveling mountains or flattening enemy armies. And he and Chris have only been a them for three months—maybe Seb hadn’t wanted him to worry…

 Chris is worried now. Chris is fucking terrified now. “Seb! If you’re here, if you can hear me—say something, come on—”

 Magic pulls at his arm, insistent. Wind howls past his ears, though nothing in the main consultation room physically stirs.

 He spins in the direction of the tugging. Of the two doors plus small staircase, one leads to Seb’s distillery and store-room; the other’s the private workroom, for anything that can’t be handled out in the sunny front space. The staircase goes up to Sebastian’s bedroom-slash-library, with the books on astronomy and the low cozy bed with the decadent satin sheets, where they’ve spent a lot of enjoyable time.

 The door to the private workroom has a small trickle of red underneath it, seeping out.

 Chris stares at it for a second. Then throws himself that way.

 The knob, heavy and bronze, doesn’t turn. Chris slams a hand against thick wood. “Sebastian!”

 No sound.

 “Sebastian, please! Can you—you gotta open the door, Seb—just that, you can do that—let me in, please, Seb, just try—”

 No word from Sebastian; but a click echoes through horrified silence. This time the knob turns.

 The red’s blood and the blood’s so much, a vicious trail that stretches crimson from the door to a puddle over tidy chalk lines and up to—to—

 Chris’s lips say Sebastian, without noise, even as he’s flinging himself across the room. A sizzle scratches down his spine, a hint of burning singes his arm-hair, as he crosses chalk marks; but it’s weak. He doesn’t care.

 Sebastian, lying on his back, blinks and tries to focus as Chris bends over him. He’s clearly just collapsed in place, knocking over equipment along the way. The knife lies silver and deadly amid broken ceramic bits of what looks like a coffee-mug; Sebastian can do scrying-work with anything, Chris knows, and is actually best with an object he uses daily, a coffee-cup friend, a connection. The big silver bowl in the consultation room’s mostly for effect.

 Sebastian’s bleeding from—from everywhere, all over, red soaking his shirt and jeans, Chris’s jeans where he’s kneeling in the puddle, Sebastian’s hair—red streaks Seb’s face, his nose and mouth, his ears, his bared and laid-bare arms, which Chris almost can’t look at because of the raw—

 He clamps hands over the closest wrist. Sebastian’s blood’s hot. Sticky. “Seb—oh god—”

 Sebastian coughs. Starts to talk, coughs again, then manages, “Oh, hey…love you…”

 “Jesus fucking Christ. Seb—I love you, of course I—what, how, what can I—no, no, oh god, Seb—”

 “Not…as bad…as it looks…”

 “It looks like you’re fucking dying!”

 “Well…not quite…that was his plan…but it’s not all me…the water…”

 Chris looks more closely. It’s true: it’s not all Sebastian’s blood. The water from the coffee mug’s thinned it and spread it out and contributed to the pool.

 Contributed to. Not all of. He’s keeping hands over Sebastian’s left arm, holding edges together. The right arm’s just as bad; Seb’s still horribly injured, blood pulsing under Chris’s fingers, making them slippery. “What can I do?”

 “I’m…trying to…heal it.” Sebastian’s face is white. His eyes stand out against the lack of color: that silvery grey-blue Chris loves so much, now etched with pain. “We found her…the girl…it wasn’t that hard, I’m good at talking to the earth…and to water…I just…wasn’t expecting to fight an amateur warlock for her…I won, obviously…”

 “Obviously…”

 “He’s not dead, don’t worry…I don’t do that…just in custody…sort of very not conscious, I think. Him, not me.”

 “Let me help,” Chris pleads, hands wet, jeans wet, workroom wet with hideous ruby splashes. “Please. Anything.”

 “I can’t…” Seb coughs again. Then shuts his eyes. When he opens them his voice is noticeably weaker. “I can’t ask you to…”

 “You’re not. I’m offering. I love you, Seb. I said fucking anything. Do it. I’m here.”

 “It’ll hurt.” Sebastian’s trying hard to sound more all right, and failing. “Chris…”

 “Don’t you fucking dare ask me if I’m sure.”

 “No…I know you are.” A ghost of a smile hovers at the corner of Seb’s mouth: bittersweet, evanescent, affectionate. “Okay. I can stop it…I think…but I could use an anchor…more strength…getting kind of tired, here…but you’re good at awareness, at being present…”

 “I am.” He presses harder. Some of the cuts are healing—he can see them—but not enough. “I can do that. What do you need me to do?”

 “Look at me,” Sebastian whispers. “Look at me, think about me…about who I am, who you think of…when you think of me…and just relax, be open, let me in…”

 Chris draws a wobbly breath. Lets it out. Keeps his hands over the deepest slash. Focuses on Sebastian’s face, Sebastian’s eyes.

 Sebastian, he thinks. Bright and beautiful, ridiculous and generous. Made of stories and magic, a smile through a coffee-scented drift of steam, a love of pizza and outer space and other people. Pure joy in running around the woods on a hike, by turns jumping out at Chris from behind trees or just talking to said trees, running a hand over them, starting conversations.

 Sebastian’s eyes are cool and sweet, shimmering like mist and starlight. Chris finds himself distantly aware of the rest of the world—his hands trying to hold Seb together, the way his jeans stick to his legs, the hardness of the workroom floor—but it’s all going dimmer now, far away.

 More, if Seb needs that. More intimate, more personal. In bed, under him, laughing and fearless. Sebastian sprawled out half atop him, cat-napping, both of them naked and contented in sunshine. The smoothness of Seb’s skin, the dip where his back curves into his ass, the soft little sound he makes when Chris caresses him just right.

 Sebastian doesn’t say anything aloud, but Chris feels something like a yes, rose-pink and amber-laced and dancing like eighties rock music because Seb likes Bon Jovi: Sebastian’s magic, worn thin but glinting and prismatic, reaches out. It draws him in.

 He’s always thought Sebastian’s magic felt and tasted like light, so many kinds of light: wry cool moonbeams and lazy honeyed sun-thrumming and mischievous star-twinkles and quiet shafts of shyly happy radiance unexpectedly hiding in deep green pools. The burst of airiness from a cloud-like meringue. Whipped cream and edible gold dust. The kiss of sun through water in a lake. The hushed glowing of candles, lit with a thought, pooling liquid along entwined bodies.

 Right now the light’s present—Chris can feel it, can taste it—but very ragged, scarlet-tinged. It asks without words, wistful; Sebastian’s giving him one last chance to duck out, he understands. Sebastian isn’t sure that Chris should have to do this, maybe because it’s only been three quick months, maybe because Seb himself wants this so badly—Chris can feel that the same way he can feel how much Seb loves him; no lying here in this place—and Seb is consequently afraid it can’t be true.

 Fuck that, he thinks: you saved me once already, you save me every day I get to kiss you, you make my life more full of magic; let me save you; I love you.

 And Sebastian laughs: stunned, grateful, overwhelmed. And accepts.

 Pain hits first. White-hot and searing. Chris can’t even scream. Can’t think. Can’t process the sensations. If that’s what Seb’s been feeling—how is he even talking, how is he alive, how—

 Sebastian does something else, some tug at a thread in the embroidery of shades of light around them. The pain ebbs: not gone, but covered over by clean wintergreen and mint. The sense this time’s vaguely apologetic, though distracted: Seb’s having to juggle a lot of those threads, with no energy to spare.

 Chris shakes his head. Tries to project don’t worry about me, I can take it that direction. Sebastian does a sort of mental headshake right back at him, and then—

 It’s the strangest feeling. Not bad, not exactly—but dizzying. Stomach-flipping. Vertiginous. The light’s laced itself into his head, his gut, his chest—and it pulls gently and tugs and draws something out of him, taking it in, leaving him lightheaded as it drains.

 His heart thumps faster. He’s off-balance, shaken. And it’s something like a release as well, not orgasmic but close, something like Sebastian stroking him or sucking him until the climax rushes up and out involuntarily, nothing he can do to hold it back, as he shudders and cries out at the flood of release, emptying himself into Seb’s mouth or hand or body.

 The world still tastes like mint, and a little like pain, hot and copper and iron-sharp, but Seb’s shielding him from the worst of it, he’s aware.

 He can feel Sebastian’s magician’s fingertips skillfully taking each strand, each bit of Chris’s energy, and patiently painstakingly reweaving pieces of self: closing wounds, connecting tendons, knitting veins back together. Chris stays very quiet, holding more pieces of Sebastian in his mind as an anchor, and watches him work.

 He doesn’t know how long it takes. Time doesn’t matter, not here.

 He knows he’s growing more tired, more hollowed out; he can feel that. Giving himself, and gladly—but even as he thinks that, the draining eases, and recedes, and backs away.

 Sebastian’s breathing more easily. Sebastian’s arm’s whole, under his hands; Chris blinks, discovers that he has hands, that he can see and feel a world that isn’t diaphanous and timeless and made of light. He’s sticky with drying watery blood, his jeans are ruined, and he’s starving; Sebastian, still lying in the same spot on the floor, opens both eyes. His skin’s less white, and the blood on his face is dried, not new.

 Chris holds his hand, his arm; runs fingertips over bright pink tender flesh, new-made skin. Gazes at Seb, amazed, in awe, thankful.

 “So,” Sebastian says, visibly exhausted but with sparkling eyes, “candles? And…whipped cream?”

 “It’s how you feel.” He touches Seb’s arm again. “Light. You’re not…it’s not finished. All the way.” It’s not: he can see the lines, the tracks. Closed over, safe and not spilling life anymore, but not gone.

 “It’s enough for now.” Seb pushes himself up on an elbow, gingerly; he makes a face as his sleeve lands in a puddle. His shirt’s tattered and slashed open as well; so are his jeans. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 “I’m not—”

 “If I took much more I would. Trust me.” His eyes meet Chris’s again, less magically hypnotic this time; then flinch, glancing away from the admission of potential harm. “It’s kind of my job. Knowing how far to go. As a professional. And I can do the rest, just more slowly. Are you—”

 “I’m fine!” Drained and wobbly, like he’s just run two back-to-back marathons, and his stomach’s growling. But Seb’s alive. “Should you be sitting up? What else can I do?”

 Sebastian’s expression goes through several emotions, and then he just says, “Chris,” a sigh, a giving in; and he reaches out, and Chris puts both arms around him right there on the messy workroom floor, holding on.

 “I love you,” Seb murmurs after a moment, head resting on Chris’s chest. “I wanted—I might’ve been okay, I was trying hard, I wanted to be—but I wasn’t sure. I was scared. I kept thinking about you, and wanting to see you, and then you were here…”

 “I’m here.” He squeezes more tightly. “Brought you coffee. I had been kinda thinking we could order pizza and stay in, y’know, kind of a long day for both of us…”

 “And then you walked in and found me.” Sebastian tips his head to look up at Chris more. “Sorry.”

 “Hey, you were saving a kid.” He runs a hand over Seb’s hair. They both need a shower. Maybe like three showers. “My hero.”

 “And you saved me. It’ll rebuild—the energy I borrowed, I mean—over a day or so, I think. How’re you feeling?”

 “Hungry,” Chris says truthfully.

 Sebastian stares at him, and then dissolves into giggles: loopy, tired, relieved, and above all real. “Of course…of course, yes, always, after a major working…so am I…oh, Chris. My Chris. Yes.”

 “Yours,” Chris agrees, equally truthful and wholehearted. “What can I do, though? For you? You’ll need to rest, right?”

 Sebastian scrunches up his nose. “Shower? And…yes. We both should, really.”

 “Shower,” Chris concurs firmly, and carefully gets him up off the bloodstained floor.

 He holds onto Sebastian in the shower. He holds Sebastian while red slides away down the drain. He tenderly cleans Sebastian’s skin, trying hard to keep touches weightless over recent and sensitive repairs. He kneads shampoo through Sebastian’s hair.

 The scent of apples and soap rises around them, light and bracing. Sebastian tips his head back, eyes closed, water sliding down his face. He’s beautiful and tired and trusting, letting Chris keep him on his feet. Chris’s heart flutters.

 The world grows easier, steadier, cleansed.

 He tucks Sebastian into bed, gently, after. The workroom will handle its own clean-up—Sebastian’s got a spell in place for that, and it’s automatic—but their clothes’re probably a lost cause; Chris attempts a quick rinse and then just leaves the whole disaster in the shower for later. He can deal with it if Sebastian needs to recover.

 Seb’s half-asleep and drifting, a long-legged enervated kitten, but stretches out a clumsy hand to find Chris’s. “You should rest too.”

 “I will. I’m ordering pizza. Pepperoni okay?” He is, poking his phone, salvaged from a pocket; he plays with Seb’s fingers in his, sitting on the side of the bed. They’re more slender than his own, but long and graceful and talented in so many ways. Magical. “Shower, food, rest. What else?”

 Seb yawns. Pink and red streak his arms and his chest, a reminder; Chris can’t not glance at the marks, unable to help it. “Well…if you wouldn’t mind…there’s a jar on the third shelf, downstairs…yarrow and lemon balm…”

 “Got it.” He hops up. Throws on sweatpants. Returns with the requested jar and some trail mix and some orange juice, and eases himself into bed beside Sebastian, who smiles tiredly at him.

 Chris feeds Sebastian some trail mix, gives him some sips of juice; has some himself. He’s not a witch but he does know about exertion and depletion, and this’ll help. The pizza—from their favorite local place—will be here in twenty minutes, too.

 The food does seem to help. Sebastian sits up more, with pillows and Chris’s arm; Chris’s stomach feels better. Low lamplight paints the room in jeweled color, because Sebastian’s bedside lamp is set with tiny lapidary bits of glass. It’s soft and warm and rich, tracing light-patterns over the bed, the blankets, Sebastian’s hair.

 Chris dips fingers into spell-infused balm, and begins to stroke it across Seb’s arm. The night takes a breath, scented with healing herbs and protective lemon, and unwinds. Tension ebbs, dwindles, fades: not wholly gone but ameliorated. Sebastian’s ward-spells are quiet and pleased.

 He’d thought he’d gotten used to dating a magician. He mostly has: he’s purely delighted when he gets to watch Seb help people, find lost puppies, talk to raindrops. He adores Sebastian’s genius and Seb’s playful sense of humor and Seb’s cheerful way of getting the strings of the universe to play along.

 He’d forgotten, or maybe just not thought about, the fact that his boyfriend’s one of the most genuinely powerful white witches currently practicing. Someone the authorities ask when they need assistance. Someone who can fight a warlock at a distance and win.

 Seb says he’s not that powerful and laughs about it, but he’s comparing himself to centuries-old stories: no one’s that strong, not these days. Sebastian’s better than he admits to being, though. Good enough that other people come to him for advice. That includes other white witches; Chris knows Sebastian’s done some consultations with colleagues before.

 Chris Evans is a director, an actor, a producer of movie-magic stories. Good at empathy, moderately famous these days, and power-sensitive, a little. It’s not nothing, but it’s not the same.

 He keeps his touch cautious, not wanting to put any pressure on newly made skin. “How’s this?”

 “Good.” Seb yawns again, sleepy. “It’ll help…healing, renewing…’s an old classical recipe, this one…stored power, infused in it, kind of…it shouldn’t even scar, with this.”

 “So it won’t cost you anything, like, in terms of power, right now.” He touches Seb’s chest, spreads balm across a thin angry line. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

 “You’re not.” Sebastian gazes up at him: gorgeous as ever, brilliant as ever, powerful as ever, and right now vulnerable and somehow younger, framed by a navy satin pillowcase and the familiarity of them both mostly naked in this bed. “Thank you.”

 “Don’t,” Chris says, heart aching with the word, with too many complicated emotions, with love. “You don’t have to say it.”

 “But—”

 “You’d do it for me.”

 “If you ever for some reason had to fight a warlock, I would. You said you had a long day too…?”

 “Long, but good.” His hand over Sebastian’s tanned skin, his fingertips bringing healing. Sebastian’s chest lifting and falling, vital and present. “Getting things moving on the heroic rescue dogs movie. Lots of the boring stuff today—logistics, budget, all that—but it’s stuff that has to happen first, so it’s kinda fun, y’know?”

 Sebastian just looks at him for a second; the smile warms every atom of those opal oceans, and makes the small joyous lines around them crinkle.

 Chris has to laugh, half-embarrassed, paying some closer attention to healing balm and a darker less-knitted red line. “Okay, what?”

 “I love you.” Seb reaches up to touch his wrist. “I just…I’m really glad you’re here.”

 “Me too? Um. About you.”

 “Not just tonight, I mean.”

 “Hey,” Chris says, heart in his throat, in his words, in his eyes as he looks at Sebastian, “I’m glad I was here tonight. I want to be here, Seb, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

 Sebastian’s cheeks are pinker now, but he nods. “I’m here too.”

 “I know you are.”

 “Tell me about your meetings,” Seb requests drowsily, “and all about your movie, again, and the dogs,” and Chris laughs a little, scrubs a hand over his treacherously damp eyes, and does, while gently treating Sebastian’s battle scars in between nibbles of food and traded kisses.

[sourbat]

Kloktober Day 4 

Villains or Family 

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language 

Summary: A few headcanons I have for Nathan and his father. How his father helped Nathan develop. Anyways, check it out.  

When Nathan was three, and his mother was tired of trying to convince him to sit still or risk getting cut by the scissors, his father walked in and snatched them up, hoisting them just above her reach. Nathan saw the attractive glimmer of the smooth steel, but instinctually recoiled when his mind drew up memories of the sound it made when it cut through his hair, and that god-awful sensation of freshly cut trimmings against his skin. Short bristles. Sharp, irritating, and they stuck to him even after his mother attempted to wipe it all away. But as he withdrew, he heard his dad tell his mom “no more of this,” and to “let the boy be,” and even though he couldn’t look up, listened in on every word, absorbing it all to memory. 

“He clearly doesn’t like it, Rose,” his dad continued, ignoring the worries and pleas of his overly concerned wife. “I ain’t worried. You see this boy? Don’t look like a damn girl to me!”

“But Oscar.” 

“Let the damn boy be, Rose,” his father said, keeping his voice solid and firm. Strong. Controlled. Though Nathan couldn’t bring himself to meet his father in the eyes, he caught glimpses of his smile in his peripheral vision, always aimed at him, always there. “You want to rock long hair, son? Go ahead.”

And like that, his dad saved him from another dreaded haircut from his mother. 

When Nathan was six, and already so much taller than most boys his age, his father threw out his back, and couldn’t carry him across the dry, coarse overloading hell that led to the ocean. Days before the trip his mother warned him he’d need to walk across the sand, that it was only for a short while, and would lead to the comforting splashes of cool, deep sea water. Briny, foamy ocean water. Salty and cold. Water that spoke a language Nathan understood better than English, that told him secrets he could only hear, and promises that, although he couldn’t comprehend, knew one day he’d fulfill. Although his father didn’t know this, he knew the water was important, and bought Nathan his first pair of boots.

“You gotta promise me you’ll make this work,” he said after shoving the boot on Nathan’s foot. Nathan remembered the comforting feel, the constricting, but promising protection hat ran up his legs. “You walk slow, no sand. You run, you’ll get sand trapped in there, and I’ll never hear the end of it from your mom. Alrighty?” 

Nathan could only recall providing his father an inquisitive glance. But his dad slowly nodded in return, interpreting his silent message, the hidden appreciation that only a father could decipher. And on the day of their trip, despite the stares, Nathan donned his boots and trekked across the beach: clumsily, but determined. His hands covered his ears most the way, senses juggling between the heat of the sun, the array of colors and flashes of people and their families making so many distracting sounds. Then the sand turned dark, soft and clumpy, and Nathan dropped it all when the sounds of waves consumed everything else. Once the ocean called, he removed them, mouth agape as he set forth barefoot while his mother crossed her arms, rolling her eyes at an overly proud Oscar Explosion soaking in another personal victory.

Then summer ended, and the school forced another private meeting between teachers and parents, and the adults did that thing where they mentioned Nathan by name, but acted as though he wasn’t entirely there. The one with the clipboard talks about his underachievement during first grade, while the other with the glasses insisted “this was for the best” and “Nathan needs special care.” Special care for special boys. His mother called him special all the time, but the way the teacher said it didn’t make it sounds the same. Certainly not when she talked about him like he wasn’t all there. Like he was asleep, in another room. But he was awake, and so was his dad, and his mother, though terrified of the terms they used, the tests they handed her, the frightening prospects they laid out, was also waking up to the bullshit.

“Now you listen here,” his dad said in a growl Nathan had never heard before. It startled him. Reached deep in his heart. Grabbed, mesmerized and inspired him. “You told me last year he was good for general education. Now you’re telling me otherwise? I don’t think so!”

His father slammed the desk, and while his mother gasped, Nathan remained astutely calm. The noise didn’t bother him, didn’t mess with his senses like it normally would. He remembered looking up, first at his dad, then at the teachers who expected him to act out, to get frustrated over his father’s booming voice, him calling them “the retards in the room,” and that “they were the real failures, not Nathan.” Not Nathan. 

“You put him back in class with everyone else,” Oscar said, standing up and dominating the scene with his oppressive build. “You want him to talk more? Put him with everyone else, dammit! But I’ll tell you what you won’t do: treat my boy like he can’t fucking hear every passive remark slithering out of your forked tongues!” 

That year Nathan became class president, and later attended the first of what would eventually become a long series of funerals. All in all, it was a very busy year, so much so Nathan found that internally mulling over these events simply wasn’t enough, and started muttering, growling and grunting them out–trying to recapture that powerful boom–and in the process, seizing the delights of his ecstatic parents.

Just a few years later, Nathan discovered metal. Not the smooth, cool and attractive metal that he loved to hold, bend and melt under his father’s supervision; but that wondrous crash and boom, distracting bang and guitars shredding and tearing through notes, ripping and spreading them across the melody at a voracious speed, and meaningful lyrics that exploded with a brilliant energy. Nathan was all too familiar with it. What was often trapped in his head now took form in music, and once Nathan had the words in his possession, wanted to share and discuss it.

His parents were surprised by his new interest. They didn’t understand how something so rough, so loud and imposing could act as a blanket, covering him from the drowning sounds of everyday life. Try as they might, they lacked the mental prowess Nathan possessed, and only saw the genre as something loud and easily avoidable. They didn’t know what it was like to live it, to feel it in their bones, to have it shoot through their nerves twenty-four seven. To Nathan, metal came as natural as breathing.

Neither parent understood, but their love was there, and although Nathan was quickly approaching the age where he cared less and less for his parents’ opinions, often returned to the livingroom, to his father sitting in his worn, leathery throne, newspaper or beer in hand. Didn’t matter if the game was on, or if there was politics on the mind, and argument between parents, or some other boring adult thing. The man listened.

Nathan walked in, hands clasped tightly around his cassette player. Music blasted through his headphones, so loud it could be heard over the line of infomercials. His father raised his eyes above the paper, brows lifting in mild interest as Nathan pulled the cassette cover out from his khakis, practically shoving it into his face.

“Hey,” Nathan said. “Hey, dad?”

Mildly crossed-eyed, Oscar feigned ignorance at the cassette placed so close to his face. “What is it, son?” 

“Look at this,” Nathan said, wiggling the bright cassette depicting a pyramid and gruesome skeletal idol. “It’s the Iron Maiden cassette I got today.”

“I can hear it. A little loud, don’t you think?”

“Whatever,” Nathan said, yanking the cassette away from his father, fidgeting some as he stowed it back into his person. “It’s good. Supposed to be loud… Hey, dad.”

“Mhmm,” his father said, then folded his newspaper and let it rest on top of his lap. Nathan stood, tall and broad, brows permanently furrowed and eyes expressing a delightful combination of glee and rapid, wild energy. He watched his son, a large, massive form, eager to share all his world with him and everything else in between, whatever got caught along the way, and so much more. Oscar glanced at the empty couch beside him, and pointed at it. “Sit down, sit down. I’m listening. Tell me about your Iron Metal…”

Nathan was already headed to his seat when he paused to send his father a disapproving scowl. “Ugh, it’s Iron Maiden, dad,” he said, voice inflection on the rise over such a silly mistake.  

Chuckling, Oscar replied: “Right, Iron Maiden. Tell me about Iron Maiden, son.”

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 11

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Astrid’s energy level was on an invincible high. Even after riding her mom’s bike home at full speed, she felt like she could climb a mountain, run to the South Pole and back and swim through the Pacific Ocean, with a cherry on top. She even skipped a few steps on the way from the garage to the front door.

In the entryway, she tripped over a pair of shoes and bumped her knee on the coatrack. But even the sharp pain and brief frustration couldn’t dampen her mood. Whatever restlessness she might have felt in the past year and a half, it suddenly seemed insignificant, dumb even. Because everything was right with the world today, the spark of energy still pumping through her veins, even though all she’d done was bike to the park and meet a friend.

Him. Hiccup. Her biggest what-if. The only person who’d been able to distract her from everything that’d been weighing her down lately. She wanted to turn around and run back, just for the thrill of the feeling. She felt like she was an addict and he was her energy source, loading her cells with electricity.

Humming contentedly, she slipped out of her sneakers and walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Her mother was just packing her prepared late lunch into her bag, ready to leave for work. She looked up when her daughter entered the room.

“Hello, sunshine, what are you so happy about?”

“Oh, nothing specific,” Astrid told the cupboard when she reached for a clean glass. “It’s just a good day.”

“Where have you been? During all the hurrying and yelling for a tire pump I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“Met with a friend in the park.” A new wave of energy made her hop onto the counter and ignore the chiding look from her mother. It wasn’t like she was getting dirt on anything; all she did was spill some water on her pants.

“I’m glad to see your mood has improved so much lately.” She pulled her daughter off the counter, overlooking the eyeroll she received.

“One can’t always be a gloomy Gus, right?”

“Speaking of – are you finally telling me what’s been going on with you?”

Astrid crossed her arms. “Just some female stuff. Aren’t you late for work?”

A quick glance at the clock on the wall made her mom’s eyes bug out of her head. “Oh, dear!”

As her mother was grabbing her keys, Astrid pointedly sat back on the counter, waving goodbye as Wilma rushed to the door, put on her shoes in record speed and bumped her knee on the coatrack. Then she was gone, the sound of her car’s engine fading in the distance.

Astrid took her time drinking her glass of water, swinging her legs back and forth, feet bumping into the counter like the beat to her own song. Humming various melodies, basking in the sunlight shining through the kitchen window, she found herself drifting off into a daydream. A very self-indulgent one. One where she could just rearrange her life so she had nothing to worry about anymore.

The chime of her phone shook her out of her little perfect fantasy and she almost rolled her eyes at herself for how silly her thoughts were. Dreaming too much about unrealistic notions was only a waste of time, especially if one could somehow achieve their dreams by actions instead.

She hopped off the counter and, while texting her colleague back that she could take over his shift the next day, made her way into her bedroom to grab her swimming bag. A short drive and change of clothes later, she dove into the pool and cut through the water like she was part of it.

On her way back home, right as she was singing along to Guns N’ Roses, her phone interrupted the song with a call. Glancing at the radio display, her lips curled into a smile when she saw who was calling and she tapped a button on her steering wheel.

“Hey there,” she greeted.

“Hi,” it came out of her speakers a little unclearly, static in the background that sounded familiar.

“Are you driving?”

There was a small pause. “What? Sorry, I didn’t get that.”

“Are you driving?” she repeated a little louder.

“Yes, sorry. My car’s a piece of shit.” He was almost screaming.

“Are your windows down? It sounds like-“

“What?”

She groaned. They were getting nowhere like this. “Hiccup, can you hear me?” she shouted.

“Yes.” The background noise faded a little bit. “I’m in front of a red light, the engine’s quiet, now’s your chance.”

“Mine? You’re the one who called.”

“Right… Oops, yellow light.” The noise was back immediately.

Halting in front of a traffic light herself, Astrid grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message before an impatient honk behind her notified her that the line of cars in front of her was moving.

“Geez, calm down, jackass,” she mumbled and accelerated.

“WHAT?” It almost made her laugh this time. This was terrible.

“NOT TALKING TO YOU!”

That exact moment, the noise faded again. “You don’t have to scream, you know,” Hiccup joked.

“Just be glad I can’t hit you right now.” Before he had a chance to answer and be cut off by his car again, she kept talking. “You know what? I just texted you my address. If you want, you can come by and we can talk in a normal volume like normal people.”

“Define normal.” He chuckled and the noise picked up again. “But um… Yeah, yes, I can do that, I can… Yes. Um… See you in a few then, I guess?”

“Okay, great!” she shouted one last time before the call ended and Axl Rose continued singing about rain in November.

She made sure to be home first. She had just enough time to hang her swimsuit and towel in the garden to dry, kick her dad’s smelly old slippers far underneath the couch and check if there was toilet paper and soap in the guest bathroom, before the doorbell rang.

She made iced tea and they sat on the couch.

“So why did you call me earlier?” she asked, catching the straw between her teeth and taking a sip.

“Oh, ah…” Hiccup fidgeted around a bit, settling on sitting with one leg crossed under him, the other dangling off the couch. “I just… I was wondering… What your favorite color is?”

“That’s why you called me?”

He shrugged, leaning one elbow next to him on the back of the couch. His smile was a tad awkward, as if he didn’t quite know how to explain himself. “Yeah, see, I was on my way home and there was nothing good on the radio and I didn’t have my CDs and I was thinking and you know how I draw for a living? And I can’t exactly recall my train of thought but it ended at favorite color station and then I realized I never asked you what it was, your favorite color, I mean–”

“It’s blue,” she interrupted his rambling with a fond smile.

The hand holding his iced tea stopped midway through gesticulating. “Just blue?”

“I also like gold, but more the soft gold tones, not the flashy ones. But mostly blue.”

He nodded, thoughtful, as if this information was some kind of clue for a puzzle.

“What do you think mine is?” he then asked, brows still furrowed in thought, waiting for the last puzzle piece to click, or something.

“You want me to guess your favorite color?”

“Yeah, I… I’m curious about something.”

She took a few long sips of her iced tea, studying him intently. How should she guess what his favorite color was? Was he wearing it right now? His shirt was black with print in several colors. His jeans were blue, his shoes dark brown with olive green accents. She didn’t have a clue.

When she met his eyes again, which were observing her as if they were trying to read her thoughts or maybe steer them in the right direction, a sudden feeling overcame her. It was strangely familiar, accentuated by a certain smell pulling at the edges of her mind for the fraction of a second. She was still trying to make sense of that when he opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it.

“The forest. All the colors you find in the forest. Dark green, rich natural green, dark and light brown, maroon, autumn colors.”

He was silent for a moment before a wide smile lit up his eyes.

“Wait, was that correct?”

He nodded. “All of it.”

“No way! You’re bullshitting me.”

“I swear that I’m not!” He held up his hands.

“Seriously?! How the hell did I guess that right?” She unconsciously leaned closer, as if an invisible rope was drawing her in. “You must have told me that once before!”

“I didn’t! Just as you never told me yours before now, but I immediately guessed it right when someone asked me about it recently.”

Astrid was still having a hard time coming to terms with her one in a million guess. What was this, some kind of uncanny connection? An elaborate prank of sorts? A lottery win? It took her a second to register that the gears she heard creaking in her head were, in fact, a key turning in the front door’s lock. A quick glance at the clock made her hopes that it was her dad returning from work early evaporate into thin air. Because her mother was the one who knew certain things. And certain faces.

Not blind to the sudden twist of panic on her face, Hiccup laid a not-helping hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”

Shuffling in her seat until she reached the spot on the couch furthest away from him, she nodded as casually as possible. “Sure.”

He’s just a friend, she told her rapidly beating heart, feeling almost twenty years younger, caught with her fingers in the chocolate pudding in the middle of the night. Just a friend, just a friend, just a friend, just a friend, just–

“Oh, hello!”

–a friend…

“Hey… Mom.”

Hiccup turned around, meeting her mother’s eyes. Astrid watched her reaction closely. At first, a curious intake of the face before her. Then, the slight narrowing of her eyes, a slowly raising eyebrow, culminating in the most harrowing anxiety-inducing kind of recognition Astrid could imagine.

“Mom, you remember Hiccup?” She sent her mother silent warning thoughts that didn’t seem able to penetrate the awkwardness she could practically see settling around her friend.

“I do,” Wilma said, gaze flitting between her daughter and the young man she remembered thoroughly confounding said daughter’s emotional state not quite so long ago.

“Nice to, er, nice to see you again, Mrs. Hofferson,” Hiccup greeted, shooting Astrid a wide-eyed panicked look.

“HICCUP, LET ME SHOW YOU THE HAMMOCK,” she all but shouted and grabbed his wrist, only to draw back immediately as the skin contact shot an electrical shock up her arm. Not letting that derail her escape attempt, she reached for his elbow and pulled him from the couch, making a bee-line for the garden door.

He gave a last awkward wave towards her mother before most willingly following her away from this encounter.

In a corner of the garden, a comfy hammock hung between an apple tree and a plum tree. She let herself fall into it backwards, sprawling her limbs for a second before making herself comfortable and patting the space next to her. Hiccup gingerly sat down, trying to leave some space between them, but the hammock wasn’t big enough. Slowly, gravity pulled him back towards the middle of the cloth, until their shoulders and hips were touching. Astrid didn’t complain.

“So… That was…” he started, but before he could say the word ‘awkward’, she interrupted him.

“How’s Toothless? How does he deal with having to wait for his dinner a little longer today?”

“Oh, he’ll live. Besides, I’m pretty sure he knows how to open the bag of dry food I’ve stored on the highest shelf.”

When he continued to talk about his cat, she mentally heaved a sigh of relief. She really wanted to avoid talking about why him meeting her mother again had been awkward, because then she’d have to acknowledge that there’d been something to talk about, and she’d rather not open that can of worms. Ever. So she just started idly rocking the hammock back and forth, pretending the motion was the reason for the pleasant fluttering in her stomach.

_______________

Wilma Hofferson liked to spend the end of a workday on the couch, newspaper or a magazine in hand and a pot of tea on the table. Sometimes, when her husband came home early, he’d join her, and they’d chat about their day or sit in comfortable silence, passing over parts of the newspaper every once in a while. It was her favorite way to relax and wind down after a stressful day.

Today, however, she was having trouble concentrating on the latest news from the sports industry and the discourse surrounding politics. The tea on the couch table was already cold and the muscles in her back wouldn’t quite react to the pillows.

One of the windows stood ajar and she could hear occasional bouts of laughter and exclamations waft over from the other side of the garden. For the past week or two, she’d been worried about her daughter. It was obvious that there was something bothering her, something serious she refused to talk about, or even acknowledge. And Wilma hated it, hated not knowing what was going on, what was causing her child such inner turmoil.

Now, however, it seemed the most important piece of the puzzle had appeared on the very couch she was sitting on right now. The urgent looks Astrid had thrown her and her escape into the garden only magnified Wilma’s suspicion that her daughter was, in fact, not exactly done with the topic of Hiccup Haddock. And even if the two ultimately were just friends, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the situation than Astrid was letting on.

Her thoughts were interrupted by sudden loud voices approaching the door to the garden, a discussion playing out between the two entering the living room. If she hadn’t had her daughter’s entire life worth of time to learn to distinguish between her girl’s angry and her daring, competitive facial expressions and body language, her initial assessment of the scene before her would have been a tantalizing fight between lovers. The grin tugging on the boy’s lips, however, only amplified the rays of playful banter shining off the pair.

Astrid caught Wilma’s look. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m just curious what this is about.”

“He thinks I’m being a coward.” Astrid jutted a finger in Hiccup’s direction.

“What?!” he immediately exclaimed. “I never said that, when- when have I said that? Didn’t you hear me? I said you’re crazy and you shouldn’t do it. I didn’t say that you wouldn’t.”

“That’s right, because I would. And I will.” She crossed her arms, nothing but daring determination written across her features. Then she walked away towards the kitchen with the same energy, Hiccup hurrying after her.

“No, Astrid, don’t actually do it!”

Now that the two were out of sight, Wilma strained her ears to further hear their conversation, trying to understand what was going on without going after them like a parent making sure their child didn’t do anything stupid. Although, in this particular case, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

She could hear the sounds of body parts colliding with furniture or the occasional other body part, as apparently a scuffle broke out, accompanied by the occasional giggle or huff. Something clattered to the ground.

“Ha!” Astrid seemed to have won the scuffle.

“Astrid, no, put that away!” There seemed to be more wrestling, followed by a groan of pain from Hiccup and a stifled, “Bad Astrid!” According to the lack of more jostling, he had given up taking away whatever she was crinkling in her hand.

“I’m gonna do it.”

“Astrid, no, I was joking earlier! Don’t actually do it! Don’t- No- Astrid- I will tell your mother-“

“Cheers!”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh my god, she actually did it.”

Cries of disgust rose over his muttered expression of awe and disbelief alike, then spluttering.

Muffled by something in her mouth, Astrid’s words were barely discernible. “Fuck, tha’sh dishgushting! An’ sho dwy!”

Someone turned on the sink and presumably filled a glass with water.

“Don’t swallow it, spit it out. I’m sure eating it wouldn’t be good for you.” The amusement in his voice was unmistakable.

Sounds of spitting and gurgling filled the pause before a triumphant Astrid spoke again. “Told you I’d do it.”

“Were you like that during High School?”

“Oh yeah. Sometimes even worse.”

He chuckled, somewhat softly. “High School me would have been crushing on you so hard.”

Silence. Wilma caught herself holding her breath, almost rooting for something to happen. But after a minute of quiet, there was only a loud sneeze and more exclamations of disgust.

“EW! That stuff is so sticky and dry at the same time!” More water ran through the sink.

“You don’t say! What did you expect?”

Wilma couldn’t hold still anymore. She made her way over to the kitchen, where she found one of them spluttering into the sink and the other leaning against the counter right beside her, arms crossed, shaking his head with a grin.

“What on earth are you doing in here?”

Slightly startled by her sudden appearance, the pair looked up. There were traces of a white powder on Astrid’s chin and shirt.

Hiccup’s voice sounded deadpan, but his eyes shone with amusement. “She bet me she’d eat a whole sachet of baking powder.”

Wilma’s eyebrows climbed up to her hairline. “Do I need to know why?”

“No, mom. You really don’t.” Astrid rolled her eyes the same way she used to when she was a kid and her parents interrupted her mid-playdate. Or when she was an ambitious teenager and someone brought up the topic of boys. Or when she was in college and tried to vehemently deny that she was not sleeping with that gorgeous new ‘study buddy’ of hers. “We’re just messing around, don’t worry, I’m old enough not to break the kitchen.”

Astrid threw her a look and Wilma could only decipher the message it carried through mother-child-telepathy.

Don’t even start, it said, we’re just friends doing stupid friends stuff.

Wilma wasn’t convinced, judging by the pair’s body language, even if unintended. They seemed to gravitate towards each other. If one moved a shoulder, the other changed the angle of a foot. If one ever so slightly leaned in another direction, the other followed. There was always a part of them angled toward the other. Two magnets. She wanted to think it had been the same with Eret, but she had to admit she’d never paid enough attention to notice.

After one more gulp of water and a last disgusted shudder, they left the room, leaving a trail of electricity in the air, akin to the remnants of a summer storm.

She was extraordinarily stubborn, that girl. If only she were less tenacious with herself.

_______________

Astrid watched his car disappear down the street before she turned and headed back into the house, feeling content and giddy at the same time. The cheerful smile on her face, however, disappeared as soon as she entered the kitchen and found her mother waiting for her.

Preparing herself for the imminent interrogation, she took a wet cloth and cleaned the rest of the baking powder off the counter and threw the empty paper sachet in the trash. She didn’t have to wait long.

“So we’re eating baking soda now to impress boys?”

“It wasn’t baking soda; it was baking powder.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t do it to impress anyone, it was just a stupid dare!”

Her mother sighed. “Astrid-“

“No, don’t start with that tone. I told you, everything’s fine, and I met Hiccup by chance a few days ago. We’re just friends!”

Wilma crossed her arms. “That’s not what I saw.”

With a huff and a little too much force, Astrid put the empty water glass into the dishwasher, and it dangerously clinked against a mug and a saucer. “Whatever you saw, it’s not what you think. We didn’t do anything.”

“I am not trying to chastise you.” Her mother came closer and stretched a hand out to her, but Astrid turned away, leaning against the kitchen table. “I just want you to talk to me about what’s going on with you, and don’t you say that there is nothing, because I can sense that there is!”

Astrid huffed again. “If there was something for me to talk to you about, then I would tell you.”

“Okay, then don’t.” Astrid winced. She could tell her mother was losing her patience. “Keep bottling everything up until it breaks you from the inside. Keep pushing away the people that want to help you be happy. And please, Astrid Hofferson, keep denying everything to yourself and stay miserable!”

“Like I said,” Astrid whispered, suddenly feeling queasy, “there is nothing.” Her phone chimed in her pocket with a familiar tune. “And now excuse me, I have an online date with Ruffnut.”

Ignoring her mother’s disappointed expression, she turned and ran up the stairs to her room, closing the door and leaning against it for a few minutes. Her stomach clenched itself together and she concentrated on breathing until it calmed down.

She banished the conversation with her mother from her mind, changed into her sweatpants and deliberately put on one of Eret’s old hoodies. Then she crawled into bed with her laptop, opened Ruff’s chat and checked her phone while she waited for her friend to come online.

There was one new message and it sent another jolt threw her stomach. It was Hiccup, asking her if she wanted to come to Raven Point forest on Saturday, just for a little nature quality time. With a fluttering in her chest and a still queasy stomach, she texted him yes.

Just when she sent the text, a chat window popped open on her laptop’s screen, followed by an incoming voice call.

Twenty minutes later, after Ruff told her every single detail about her family vacation in Spain so far, including an in-depth analysis off all the butts and abs she’d seen at the pool of her hotel until now, they switched from shooting enemies online to sharing a screen and playing The Sims.

“…so he offers her the rose and she takes it, sniffs it good, and winks at him. Poor Tuff is in waaaay too deep at this point.” Ruffnut cackled, finishing her story about her twin brother’s affair with a lady who stayed in their hotel as well and was almost ten years older than him. It was kind of hilarious how he hadn’t really planned on going through with anything, but then he’d found himself in the situation and hadn’t backed out. And now he was in way over his head. But knowing the twins, Astrid could only imagine this ending in absolute chaos, and couldn’t wait for the full story once they came home.

“I’m almost done with the Sim, how far along are you with the house?” Once they were both done with their creations, Astrid would upload her character for Ruff so she could share her screen and they’d reign over it together in her built house. It was how they’d been doing it since middle school.

“Almost. Still deciding between a garden of cow plants and a dungeon.”

“Choose the cow plants and we’ll have the Sim feed only every second one,” Astrid suggested while clicking through her Sim’s wardrobe options for formal wear. On a whim, she had made her character small and chubby, with very short and spiky platinum blonde hair, gray eyes and the most ugly nose and ears she could create.

Ruffnut burst out laughing once she saw it. “Hot. Almost like Eret.”

Astrid snorted at that. “Uncanny resemblance.” And yet it wasn’t even Eret she’d tried to steer away from while designing the Sim. But Ruff was right, in her effort to do just that, she’d also created a non-Eret. All the better.

Two hours later, the guy was still alive and kicking, despite the hungry carnivorous plants in his garden and the plenty fire hazards Ruff had installed in his house. He had even found love in one of his neighbors, after spending comparatively little time with her.

“Sims logic,” Ruff sneered. “As if you can fall in love after one ten-second conversation about light bulbs. And get married right after.”

Astrid chose not to comment on that. She shifted in her bed, sitting up straight again so that her laptop didn’t sit on her stomach so much, suddenly feeling queasy again. She’d probably accidentally swallowed some of the baking powder.

Her thoughts drifted to Saturday. She hoped the weather would be good, but after these weeks of sunshine and temperatures almost too high for May, she wasn’t worried. She could already smell the beginning of summer in the woods, see the sunlight catching in–

“Yo, jackpot!” Ruff’s voice tore her from her daydreams.

“What? What happened?”

“Weird neighbor girl got knocked up!”

The warm feeling in Astrid’s chest shrunk into a tight little ball, rising into her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it stayed where it was.

“Ruff?”

“Huh?”

“Can you imagine me with a child?”

“Sure, you already act like my mom sometimes.”

“No, I don’t!” Astrid protested. She did, though. She realized that herself.

“Yeah, you definitely do. Why are you asking?”

Astrid took a moment to answer. “Just thinking about it. Because of the game.” She grimaced.

“Cool. Tell me when you’re seriously thinking of trying, my friend Kelsey did that last year so I can give you all the deets. You know I’m good at advice.” She cackled.

“Hmm. Will do. Hey, go back to the first floor, I think the toilet just exploded!”

Long after midnight, when she and Ruff had ended the call, she slowly opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and took out the pregnancy test she’d bought and hadn’t had the nerve to use yet.

With the lump in her throat growing and the queasiness in her stomach uncomfortably increasing, she tiptoed into the bathroom and unwrapped the stick with shaking hands.

When she was done with it, she sunk onto the floor, leaning against the tub, the test lying next to her. With a pounding heart, she refused to look at it, staring at the underside of the sink until her tailbone started to hurt from sitting in this position for so long. There was really no use in waiting any longer; whatever the result was, it was real, no matter how long she put off finding out. Still, it took her several more minutes before she took a deep breath and reached for the stick.

She released the air from her lungs when she looked at it, the result staring her in the face, unmistakable and clear.

Hands still shaking, she took out her phone and dialed a number before she could change her mind. He picked up after the fourth ring.

“Hello? Astrid?”

“He-“ She cleared her throat. “Hey.” She didn’t know what to say. Their last exchange had been nearly two weeks ago and it had been less than friendly.

“How… How are you doing?” Eret didn’t know what to say, either. It went unspoken between them that they left things too messy to have a casual conversation right now, or an even remotely serious one over the phone. But she didn’t want to fight anymore, and neither did he. She knew that she needed to apologize for some of the things she’d said. All of them if she were honest. But the words died on her tongue when she made out voices in the background.

She heard a woman call for him, and the old fire flared back up in her chest, hungry and destructive. A male voice joined her.

“Um…” Eret paused, unsure how to continue.

With bated breath, she waited for him to say something. Anything. Feed the raging flame.

“We were just about to go out for drinks, me and a few colleagues, Timothy… Timothy’s waiting for me, I’m sorry. I gotta go. We’ll talk when I’m home, okay?”

Who the hell was Timothy? “I… Yeah. Okay.”

“See you on Sunday.”

He ended the call and left her in the eerie silence of the bathroom. She just sat there, slumped against the tub, tailbone complaining, swallowing the rocks in her lungs.

With a frustrated huff, she threw the stick at the wall, a lonely tear rolling down her cheek.

[luci-four]

I saw your doing requests. What about a story with the twins they find (Shy) MC at a Karaoke shop/bar (etc) But MC doesnt seem the twins(or get confronted) till after they're done Idk what else could happen but ill leave it to you! I LOVE your writing!!!

A/N: I wasn’t sure if you meant… separate scenarios for each twin or one with them together, but reading context, I went with one piece including the both of them!!! Hope that’s alright! Wasn’t too heavy on implying one sole romantic relationship but did hint at feelings for both of them!! (also, thank you!!) ★

sorry it took so long! under the cut for length!

Neon Lights. {Belphegor | Beelzebub | Reader/MC}

It wasn’t very often the twins found themselves out on the town or taking part in the nightlife—they go if dragged along by one of their brothers, or if Beelzebub gets a whiff of something cooking and can’t help himself.  

Tonight happened to be one of the ‘dragged along against their wills’ type of nights according to Belphegor.  

Dragging his feet, Belphie sighed and viewed the world with half-lidded eyes. He was exhausted, irritated, and quite frankly: bored. There was no desire to be here—too many people, too much noise, too much action—too many stimuli started to make him openly cranky.

“This is ridiculous,” he groaned, “why did you need to bring me along?”

Asmodeus ignored him, continuing to ramble on all about this new club; He was so excited about the new atmosphere, something about its “activities” and ambiance apparently—Belphie had no idea what he was talking about, and quite frankly, he didn’t care. His eyes rolled over to his phone as he aimlessly scrolled, looking for some sort of relief for his boredom.

Beelzebub’s eyes darted around to every building they passed. Clothes shop, shoe store, antiques shop—there was no food? He placed a hand on his stomach and smiled uncomfortably, grimacing when a particularly rough rumble came through.

“How much further? You said there was food, right?”

Asmo ignored him as well, continuing his pre-review of the place. Beel listened as close as he could, but he couldn’t help but get distracted. If he were honest, he had no real interest to go along either other than to make his brother happy. It wasn’t like he was bothered by the situation he found himself in—no harm no foul in his eyes; but he was sort of bored, and definitely hungry. Hopefully Asmo realized just who he asked to come with him; he looked over to find Belphie wordlessly scrolling his phone as Asmo beamed with excitement. Beel smiled to himself, ignoring the growling of his stomach for a moment to savor the joy he was feeling with his brothers.

The room was too crowded. The people were too loud. Belphie immediately started to feel his clothes stick to his skin and it was absolutely disgusting; how hot had this room been? The more he thought about it, the more his skin crawled—he knew why they kept the place warm, the aroma sweet, the lights soft and the people crushed together. He wanted to go home.

Beel had easily gotten used to the sounds in there, and the people bumping into him was no real problem. He was getting uncomfortably warm, so he pulled up his sleeves; his nose was actively searching for whatever was in the air, smelling sweet yet comforting. Beel wasn’t sure why, but Belphie seemed to keep a close watch on wherever he had roamed and eyed those who approached the two of them—did he know something he did not? The sound in the room at least drowned out the sound of his stomach so he didn’t have to worry about disturbing others.  

Luckily (for Asmo), the brothers had a reserved seat in front of… a stage? In this crowded room?  

‘Great,’ Belphie thought to himself, ‘I’ve been dragged to some perverted show’.

‘Show?’ Beel thought, ‘what kind of show?’ Looking around the room gave him no hints.

A screen, a microphone and stand, lights upon lights stood at the ready and speakers front and center. The sight itself caused both of the younger brothers to sigh.

“Lighten up you two!” Asmo cheered, “I’m sure by the end of the night, you’ll both leave with smiles on those adorable little faces.”  

With an excited squeal and the blink of an eye, Asmo had disappeared and left the two of them alone. Belphie laid his head on the table, sighing heavily.

“If there’s a table, do you think there’s food to order?” Beel looked around, bringing out another sigh from Belphie.

“If this place is actually as dirty as I think it is, I won’t let you order food.”

Beel tilted his head and tried to meet his twin’s eyes as Belphie turned his face towards him. With dull eyes and a frown on his face, Belphie could already see the innocence in Beel’s face.

“I don’t think this place is very dirty since it’s new–”

“Not what I meant, Beel.”

“What did you mean?”

His question fell on deaf ears as it was obvious the moodier twin shut down. The over-stimulating atmosphere quickly drained what little energy he had—he normally had much more energy at night—but this place sucked it straight from him. Belphie continued to mumble his complaints and hatred for every little detail around him; Beel didn’t seem too bothered by the place and tried to see just what his counterpart had disliked about it all—sure, he could do with less noise and more food, but it overall wasn’t… a horrible experience. He gave a few pats to his brother’s head in a futile attempt to comfort him before both of their heads turned towards the dimming lights in the room.

“Is something starting–”

“Here we go–”

Loud music cut off both of them, a steady beat with no lyrics. The screen above the stage lit up, announcing the name of a song—the typography seemed familiar… Karaoke?

“Seriously?” Belphie groaned, though the music blasting from the speakers in front of his face drowned him out.

The speaker gave off such intense soundwaves that air blew strongly in both brother’s faces. To add to their dry eyes, the room grew much darker before bright, neon lights suddenly blinded them. Unable to see the figure walk out onto the stage aside from a dark shadow to contrast the bright lights, the both of them attempted to shield their eyes just enough to try and catch a glimpse—though it didn’t help at all.  

The moment their voice filled the room however, their eyesight didn’t matter. It was… luxurious, silky and smooth, definitely a voice that honoured the ambiance of the joint. Beautiful, quality, and definitely one that was worthy of being shared with the world—so why would they choose to hide behind the lights?

Bright hues and coloured dews shined in the tears in Belphie’s eyes. He was blinded, but something about the mixture of both coloured and voiced tones… irritated him—no; he wasn’t irritated at that, he was irritated that he couldn’t see who the voice belonged to.

Beel kept his eyes squinted, readily accepting that his vision was unreliable, but he certainly was interested. His ears perked up, and he attempted to wake up his other senses as well; could he pick up on anything else? Can he place the voice? Smell their body spray? He was genuinely curious to find the owner to the voice that seemed to command the coloured lights behind them at their will.

This voice was… something unknown to the both of them. Rising and falling, perfectly in time and in tone, hitting the highs and sailing through the lows—dare they say angelic? Though the term was less than appealing, it was certainly the best fitting for such an enthralling voice.  

The energy Belphie previously lost surged back into his being; energetic was a light term to how he started to feel. Every inch of his body felt electrified with each successful high note, goosebumps spreading along his skin. For the first time in longer than Belphie could even keep track of anymore, he sat at the edge of his seat.

Beel on the other hand, leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply exist with the stands of melody wrapping around him; they were warm, comforting, as though the words were the arms of a loved one, and he wanted to relish in the moment as long as he possibly could. He was… cozy. Not a thing felt wrong with his body, for once in a long time, he felt at peace.

The music faded out, as did the voice. Applause erupted from every corner of the room; not that either of the boys could hear it as the world melted around them. Static sounds accompanied by heavy heartbeats, numb limbs twitching from excitement as they waited for the big reveal. The lights started to dim, the figure getting more and more visible by the second—their pulses racing to catch up to the adjustment of their eyes.

An equally heavenly sight matched the voice as their eyes landed upon the beautiful features that made up MC. Belphie clenched his jaw while Beel’s fell slack, both so shocked that they held in their breath. Such a voice could come from MC? Their MC? The colours of the neon shining behind them hugged warmly against their skin, illuminating them softly. Neither boy could look away.

It was obvious that MC hadn’t seen either of them, Belphie assumed that their squinted eyes and scrunched up nose meant the lights on the stage had blinded them far worse than they blinded the audience. The small stumble descending off of the stage is what solidified the idea to Beel. The two of them stood immediately to meet with MC, ignoring the new person who took their place on the stage; they quickly lost them in the crowd. Belphie held onto Beels shirt as he used him as a shield to push through the masses until the taller brother caught sight of them, sitting alone at the pristine bar hidden away under the dim lights, drink in hand. Their shoulders were hunched over, their muscles tight from obvious anxiety and embarrassment; the lights in their show must have been deliberate.

Each brother took a seat on either side of MC, simultaneously ordering drinks and startling them.

“Mind telling us what that was?”

“Belphie? You’re the last person I expected to see here.”

“Why is that?”

“Beel? You’re here too?”

“We’re just as surprised to see you: prancing around on stage and singing your heart out.” Belphie smirked, taking a sip of his drink as MC clearly cringed out of embarrassment.

“Also surprised by that voice of yours,” Beel mentioned, smiling innocently at them, “It was beautiful.”

“It was,” Belphie jumped in, “Wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t mind at all.”

“In fact, we should sign you up for another song–”

“No, I definitely don’t think you should do that!”  

MC hid their face within their hands, their skin heating up fairly quickly. A faint, muffled squeal come from them and it caused both of the brothers to laugh.  

Seeing MC’s normal nature was relieving, but definitely painted a picture for the twins; it gave their performance and the way they shined on that stage, commanding those neon lights, illuminated by their sheer determination, a whole new level of radiance and captivation to those purple and pink eyes of the demons who idolized MC the most.  

“Really, though. We should sign you up for another song.”

“Belphie I beg you not to do that!”

“We could just drag you back up there–”

“Beel, please don’t let him drag me back on stage! I don’t think my heart could take another song!”

Beel gave a smile and a nod as his brother and MC started to bicker once more, Belphie doing everything in his power to tease MC to the point they may as well pass out. The sight of his brother’s laughter and the sweetest person he’s ever known spinning side to side as they cried for mercy was a genuine moment he wished to remember for years to come—maybe the sound of their singing would replay as well, making sure he always felt warm and loved.

“I’m hungry.”

“Beel, that doesn’t help me at all!”

As MC waved their hands around, explaining to Beel just how Belphie had been torturing their poor, timid heart, Belphie watched as the lights really radiated off of every inch of MC against the dim room. The colours made them seem like a star, glimmer and shine being poor words to describe just how beautiful the sight in front of him was—just as the words used to describe how enchanting and electric their voice had fallen short against his lips as none were worthy.  

MC laid their head against the bar to cool down, covering themselves with their arms to escape the (playful) torture being placed on them by the demons at their sides. Both brothers smiled, their hands either patting MC on the back or lightly scratching their arm in an attempt to comfort them. They couldn’t help but see the flashes of MC’s secret personality now and again with the changes in the lights throughout the room; just how much have they not seen? Neither brother was willing to forget the feelings that accompanied such a voice, and neither was going to admit it.

Belphie had to admit his previous irritation had been premature and he certainly was glad to have been dragged out by Asmo for once; Beel thanked whatever force had calmed his hunger enough to truly enjoy and live in a moment that will shape some part of his future.

Beneath neon lights and pretty eyes, the brothers fall slightly more in love than they had the night before.

[inkformyblood]

i will wake in the morning

Cody doesn’t want the chance to hurt Obi-Wan after the man steals him away from the Empire, but the Jedi still hasn’t learnt to keep hold of his lightsaber. And old habits die hard…

Pairing: Codywan

Day 03 Prompt Lightsaber (Post-Order 66)

@codywanweek

“Cody!”

The man beneath Obi-Wan shudders and jerks but doesn’t wake, his hands stretching up to push at the Jedi’s hips in a futile attempt to move him away. His eyes are open and as black as the void of space, a harsh cry tearing from his throat as his back bowed, the bones of his spine cracking in a biting melody.

“Mhi kyr’amu… Mhi kyr’amu cuun Jetii. Ni kyr’amu—“

Obi-Wan’s heart shattered in his chest, already broken and barely healed from the previous night, but he pressed it down. He had known that this would likely happen when he stole Cody back from the Empire, unable to see the man he loved put through further pain when he could stop it, but it still hurt to see him like this, trembling in his arms and fighting a battle Obi-Wan couldn’t help him with.

He couldn’t afford his weakness to hurt Cody further, so forced himself to focus, stretching out a tentative hand to draw a thread of the Force to them, honed to a sharp point like a scalpel.

It was clouded around them, a swirling miasma that danced with the frequent sandstorms that Obi-Wan found himself shrinking away from when he previously would have curled into its embrace. Despite the darkness, however, Cody shone.

He was brilliant, the soft blush of a Coruscanti sunrise mixed with the vibrant oranges of his armour. Obi-Wan reached for the blight in Cody’s mind, felt the man pull against his hold, and Obi-Wan curled forward, drawing him into kov’nyn and pulling at the remains of the chip in the same motion.

Cody gasped, the noise catching in his throat like he had been shot, and he went limp against Obi-Wan, his head falling backwards and his hands falling away from Obi-Wan’s hips. For a moment, Obi-Wan couldn’t breathe, the sudden silence ringing in his ears before he became aware of the slow rise and fall of Cody’s chest.

Tears burned at his eyes, overwhelming relief flooding through him, and Obi-Wan bowed his head, resting for a moment as he listened to the reverberation of Cody’s heartbeat. His skin was tacky with sweat, and a dull ache radiated through his hips, bringing with it the promise of vibrant purple bruises, but none of it mattered.

Cody was radiant in the pale light of the three moons that spilled through the small window, and he moved to curl around Obi-Wan as the man slipped from his hips without a moment’s pause.

They were both burning, their skin sticking where they pressed together, but Cody only clung tighter. His curls brushed against the soft underside of Obi-Wan’s throat, his beard rasping against Cody’s skull when he moved closer. One leg was thrown over his hip, and Obi-Wan followed the curve of his thigh with his hand, settling on Cody’s waist.

Sleep came quickly, blanketing them both with the hope of a gentler tomorrow.

Morning brought with it the gentle patter of a rare rainstorm and, for a moment, Obi-Wan could believe he was in his room at the Jedi temple on Coruscant with a small flock of birds balanced on his windowsill as they ate from the feeders, seeds scattering onto the cool stone. Reality broke with the familiar scent of sweet fruit, and Obi-Wan’s mouth watered, his stomach growling in a reminder that he had skipped the evening meal last night in favour of meditation.

His clothes were carefully folded on the small chest in the corner, and Cody’s were noticeably absent. Instead, the linen trousers he wore at night were in their place, the heavy dark stitches at the ankles lined up with mechanical precision. Obi-Wan got dressed quickly, leaving the collar of his shirt open before stepping into the main room and pausing.

Cody had tied his loose shirt just below his ribs, his elbow brushing against the knot at his side as he swayed while he cooked. A small plate of fruit rested on the countertop, the flesh already carefully exposed and the skins placed on a separate plate for the bantha’s, and Obi-Wan thought he could not love Cody more. It was overwhelming and terrifying and eternal in a way he had never dared to imagine before.

“I know you say I don’t need to thank you for being there, but thank you,” Cody said, glancing over his shoulder as a warm smile unfurled across his face. He was beautiful, and Obi-Wan crossed the floor in an instant, wrapping his arms around Cody’s waist to kiss him, tasting the sweet stickiness on his lips, swallowing down his laugh when Cody leant back against him.

“You are worth the effort to take care of,” Obi-Wan promised, lightly bumping his nose against Cody’s. This close, he could see the new lines at the corners of Cody’s eyes and at the corners of his mouth, and he moved to kiss them, Cody’s eyelashes brushing against his cheek.

“You are forgetting something though, Obi-Wan.” Cody spoke his name like a prayer, hesitant and filled with awe that didn’t detract from the note of amusement coiled through it.

Obi-Wan hummed a questioning noise, distracted from answering properly by kissing down Cody’s shoulder. Scars littered the man’s skin, some only able to be felt as he ghosted his lips over them and some shining silver through his half-lidded observation.

Cody raised his shoulder, a silent obstacle in his path and lightly bumped his head to Obi-Wan’s. It wasn’t a new habit they had fallen into since coming here; the casual touch of a hand when the fall of Obi-Wan’s robes covered the gesture, tapping their shoulders together when it could be mistaken as the swaying of the ship, but it felt different now.

It was different now.

“Have a look and tell me.” Cody’s voice had fallen into the same cadence he used with the newer troopers, a gentle encouragement mixed with expectation, and Obi-Wan sighed, grief threading through his heart at what could have been. This wasn’t the life he had pictured for them in the rare moments he let himself look beyond tomorrow.

Turning, Obi-Wan’s gaze darted over the interior of their home. It was small but functional, barely larger than four strides between the walls. Above where Cody was cooking, cupboards had been cut into the walls, yellowing plants hanging between the packaged spices. A low table — the surface worn and twisted by an ocean that hadn’t existed in centuries — sat in front of a small couch, the fabric worn and stained. In one corner, two metal chests sat, one a faded orange and the other a bright silver, but remnants of the sterile black coating still lingered around the bolts. On the far wall, the door to the fresher was tightly closed while the door to their bedroom hung ajar. Nothing was out of place.

“My dear, I’m not seeing what you’re talking about.”

Cody laughed, a deep chuckle that rumbled through them both like a tremor. His hand was warm as he reached to twine his fingers through Obi-Wan’s. The skin on his palm was hardened, but there were patches of softness in between.

“This.” Cody raised their joined hands and pressed them into the side of his thigh where Obi-Wan’s lightsaber hung. “You forgot it out here. Again.”

Obi-Wan nodded, forcing himself to breathe slowly, willing the frantic fluttering of his heart to calm.

“I’m a soldier who can’t shoot.” Cody’s voice was flat, closed off, and his grip tightened on the knife as he cut through the end of the piece of fruit with a harsh snap. He had whispered to Obi-Wan weeks ago, surrounded by the twisted remains of his blaster, his hands trembling, that whenever he tried to shoot, he saw Obi-Wan through his scope, trusting and loving and unsuspecting of the danger. “I can’t protect you like I used to. But I can still do this, and I can still love you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You don’t need to do anything for me, Cody. Just having you here with me, knowing that you love me and I love you, that’s enough.”

Obi-Wan paused. Even without looking, he could sense the frown on Cody’s face, the words he wanted to say getting tangled in his throat.

“I know we spoke about it before… But I would like to train you to fight with a lightsaber.”

Cody froze for a moment before forcing himself back into motion, pulling one breath in through clenched teeth and then another. Obi-Wan could remember every moment Cody picked up his lightsaber, the Force singing in exaltation, but he had only wielded it truly once: a single swipe, his teeth bared and blood trickling from a fresh cut in his head. He had been glorious.

“I’d like that, cyare.”

[alright-red]

The rhythm of my heart

Summary: Street racing wasn’t something that Race was particularly proud of. He didn’t like the shitty attitude that people in the scene had and he sure as hell didn’t enjoy spending time after time breaking several laws in one go.

What he did enjoy was the rush of adrenaline, the way his body almost disconnected from his brain. The way his brain assumed that he was almost flying.

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Hey you guys, this is a prequel to a fic I’m currently writing and I thought why not share it. This is for my street racing AU featuring Race and this lil’ thing is mainly me figuring out plot holes so.

Disclaimer: I don’t know anything about street racing and I’m pretty sure it’s shows, but bear with me. Also English isn’t my first language but I think I did okay.

Rated: T for language, I guess. There’s a lot of cursing. ~1500 words

_________________________________________

The engine roared loudly, the entire car vibrating from it’s force, being pushed into third gear with the hand brake still on.

The wheels were turning and had started smoking against the dark asphalt, making sounds that any other person would’ve deemed hurtful to their ears.

To Race though, they sounded like a melody, an old familiar song, that accompanied him on the street. He took the pedal down to the metal and looked straight ahead, where some female thing was waving around flags like she was a shitty circus performer.

Race never knew where the guys got the girls they put on the spot, but he didn’t really care either. They enjoyed the feeling of being part of something like this, so who was he to judge?

Suddenly her waving pattern changed, a pattern Race would recognize anytime anywhere. He checked his rearview mirror one last time.

Three. Two. One.

He put down the break and almost flew into the night, the lights of the city traveling by faster than shooting stars. He barely registered them, focus unwavering and locked on the road in front of him. He knew the streets by heart, knew every bump and sign, knew the way the curves tightened and loosened.

He was confident he could win this thing and he got Albert to listen to the police radio and inform him in time if a car was headed up their way. He rarely got into races with that much confidence but today just seemed to be one of those days. He shifted up to the next gear within a mere blink of an eye.

Street racing wasn’t something that Race was particularly proud of. He didn’t like the shitty attitude that people in the scene had and he sure as hell didn’t enjoy spending time after time breaking several laws in one go.

What he did enjoy was the rush of adrenaline, the way his body almost disconnected from his brain and did all the driving while he focused on the traffic and made sure to let his opponents think they could beat him, just long enough to not end up in a giant brawl in the end, because they could count his win off as luck. It was tactics that helped him survive out here.

Aside from that. there was also the fact that his brain couldn’t quite tell they were driving anymore. It straight up lost all common sense and assumed that he was flying. There was nothing Race could do that would even come close to that sense of freedom (and he had tried to find a less dangerous pasttime).

Race also loved the car that Finch had assembled for him. Well, maybe less for him than for Charlie, but he was the one who took her out for drives at night and beat her up to over 140 mph in the city.

This year Charlie had chipped him a Toyota Supra despite Race’s protesting (“only the best for the best, Race”) and Finch had modified the sleek sportscar with gadgets and technology Race didn’t even pretend to understand. What he did understand though, was that Finch wouldn’t dare to disappoint Charlie and that’s why he trusted in the car. Well that, and because he assumed that Finch wasn’t one to go out and try to get people killed.

Halfway through the course that he had agreed on with his competitor, Race realized he should’ve taken the Toyota out a bit more before racing. Every now and then his driving got weird, whenever the car handled the speed and wind differently than he expected it too and he felt like his handling was going to get him to lose grip and send him flying into the next wall.

He started checking his rearview mirror more regularly, a slight insecurity starting to settle in his stomach, but realized that he couldn’t find a trace of the other’s car behind him. That was beyond weird. Morris Delancey most definitely had not managed to overtake him, yet he shouldn’t be far back either. At least not so far, that Race couldn’t even see his lights in the mirror. Morris’ car was a damn powerhouse and with any other driver surely would’ve come out top of each race.

Race was starting to feel sick. He definitely could not lose this race. Not with high stakes.

Race was well aware that the decision to race Morris was hella risky. Most of the city’s racers went under nicknames, trying to make sure that they couldn’t be ratted out and the plice couldn’t trace them. Or for that matter, other racers.

Morris Delancey though, he didn’t need a nickname to be safe. His daddy’s money made sure of that all by itself. If the police ever got him he’d be free again sooner than sunrise. The racers around the city were cautious of him; not only did he have supplies and money to boost his ride, he also was known for not following the few rules that street racing had.

So when word got to Race that Morris Delancey wanted to race him, the one person nicknamed after his talent in street racing, Race’s initial reaction had been to decline. He was good at what he did, but that didn’t make him stupid.

But now here he was, in Charlie’s car, getting more nervous by the minute, because Morris Delancey had made him an offer he couldn’t pass up. The same Morris Delancey who apparently had cheated and took a shortcut, because there was no way in hell he was that far behind Race.

“Crutch, you read me?”, he asked while speeding up even more, having to use the handbrake to make the turn and partway drifting through the turn that got him back on track to their starting point. His vision started blurring and he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. The alarm that had started blaring in his head as soon as he had realized that Morris wasn’t where he was supposed to be, didn’t really help as he tried to concentrate on getting back as fast as possible, throwing any caution to the wind and pushing the car to it’s limits.

A small crackling sound reached him through the radio, followed by Charlie’s voice. “Yeah, man. What the hell is going on out there? We lost signal on Morris’ car a few miles ago. His team ain’t any wiser.”

Shit. Race, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t stupid or slow. He knew damn well that could only mean one thing.

“Crutch, he’s taking a blackout. Haven’t seen his car for a bit and there’s no way he took the lead. He’s playin dirty. I can’t lose this one, you hear me, Crutch?”

When he got no answer, Race started to panic and for split second forgot he was supposed to be handling a monster of a machine at a speed that would kill him if he made one mistake. He heaved the car off the course into the street lamp back onto the road. His knuckles had turned white a couple minutes ago from the death grip he had on the wheel.

“Crutchie?” Nothing.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fucking Morris Delancey. Fucking asshole.

Another crackled sound made it to the radio. “Yo, Race, it’s Al. I had Charlie take over the radio station. Give me a sec and I will find where that ass is hiding.”

Race breathed out a sigh of relief, thanking the gods for giving him a best friend that had too much free time on his hands and tought himself how to hack pretty much any system. He knew the race couldn’t take that much longer; if he kept up his speed he’d probably be back in around 15 minutes.

“Al, how are we lookin? I need good news and preferably now.” Another turn, another neigh drift. Shifting gears, using the momentum for faster acceleration.

“I got something and… Shit.” The connection went down for a second before - “Race, he went right through that old lane that belongs to the outer parts of the red-light destrict. I don’t know how you can overtake him, man, he’s got a couple miles on you.”

A string or curses left Race’s mouth, some of them slipping right back to Italian. Merda.  Va’ a fare in culo!

“I feel ya. So what you wanna do now?”, Albert asked through the com.

What do you wanna do now? Race didn’t need to think twice. He had raced cheating assholes before, making sure they got a lesson for trying to best him under entirely unfair conditions.

“Funny you should ask, my dear Al. Because I have quite the idea.” He got off the road he was supposed to be taking and drove down a lane that would save him a good couple minutes on his way.

“I wanna take out that motherfucker and I sure as hell won’t let him beat me at my own damn game. Al, get your systems started, I want a route that will put me in front of him me, pronto! I want his sorry ass to eat dirt.”

He heard laughter on the other line, then frantic typing. A beat of static noises and then - “There you go, dude. Show him who’s the King of ‘Hattan!” A small clicking noise let him know that Albert had cut the connection for now, most likely because he knew that any kind of distraction might cost Race his win.

A mere second later the screen inside the car lit up, providing him navigation and - on top of that - let him keep track of Morris’ position.

“Alright, baby, let’s see what you got”, he murmured and took the car down the trail that would cost Morris his sweet, sweet victory.

Race only had one thought as he flew down the streets of Manhattan: I am going to win this thing!

[ladyreapermc]

I am so happy for you🥳❤ That is a lot of followers. Maybe “I saw the way you were looking at him…” with Keanu for the prompts? 😊

Thank you, dear! I really hope you like this!

Warnings: smut (fingering and dirty talk)

It wasn’t often that Keanu could visit you on set, but he caught a break in histraining marathon and jumped on a plane to London to meet you. His idea was to make it a surprise since your birthday was coming up.

Besides, in a couple weeks he would have to travel to New York to start shooting the new John Wick and you would be heading to New Orleans for another movie. The two of you would barely have any time to see each other in between.

Keanu sent his suitcase straight to the hotel, while he took a car to the set, letting one of the production assistants guide him through the location where you were shooting an indoor scene with your co-star Richard.

Staying out of sight, so not to be a distraction, Keanu took notice of the mood in the set. It seemed to be an intimate scene between the two characters, your costume for the day consisted of a white dress shirt that barely reached your thighs. You were sitting at a table, knee bent, exposing plenty of your skin as you frowned down a computer.

On cue, your co-start Richard  walked into the scene wearing only a towel, all broad shoulders and hard muscles, chest glistening with water. And Keanu suddenly got it why you had such a crush on him. The man was fucking hot.

“Got the files, yet?” he said, thick Scottish accent making his voice gruff, yetmelodious. You turned to look at him over her shoulder with an annoyed glare.

“The algorithm is doing its job, but it’ll take some time,” You stood in one fluidmotion and walked up to him. “Sorry, you can’t just punch your way into the system.”

“I could’ve punched the information out of him,” Richard all but growled, hand coming down to your nape. “Should’ve done it anyway.”

That slight intake of breath that escaped you, Keanu was very familiar with it and it wasn’t an act. He crossed his arms, fingers digging into his biceps, his jeans starting to get a little uncomfortable.

“Don’t be such a Neanderthal.” You rolled your eyes with fond amusement as your hands ran up his chest and locked behind Richard’s neck. “It was all part of the game.”

“Damnit! This isn’t a game!” he snapped, pushing you again the wall. “I can’t lose you,” Richard whispered in character, voice softening, and your character’s defiance shifted into affection.

“You won’t,” you replied, hand burying into his hair and standing on your tiptoes to meet his mouth.

Keanu looked away as the pair kissed for the cameras. He knew it was part of the job, but he couldn’t handle the unexpected arousal as he watched you two. Especially when Richard’s hands fell to your thighs, fingers digging into your skin.

The soft sigh you let out was very real, so was the way your hands tightened on his hair. Keanu had first-hand experience with those.

Richard grabbed one of your legs, bringing up to his hip, before his hands moved up to your ass, lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips never leaving his.

You leaned her head back and Richard trailed kisses down your jaw and neck. You giggled, breaking character and the director yelled cut.

“You’re such an asshole!” you complained, but it was affectionate, thumping on his shoulder. “Don’t do that!”

“What? This?” Richard rubbed his stubbled cheek against the sensitive skin of your neck and you jerked back with a squeak. He laughed, holding you steady in his arms so you wouldn’t fall over trying to squirm away from him.

“Guys can you two please focus?” the director asked, voice resigned.

“Sorry,” You winced and glared at Richard. “From the top?”

“No,” the director replied. “from the pick-up.”

Richard let you slid to the back floor and Keanu decided that he had seen enough and for his own sanity, it would be better to wait outside.

He leaned against your trailer, lighting a cigarette as he thought about what he saw. Keanu’s been in this business long enough to know that it happened sometimes, being attracted to your co-star. It could help the movie if the chemistry was good. He also knew he didn’t have to worry about you. You two had a solid relationship and you would never cross that line. You might be attracted to Richard and the he was certainly attracted to you, but you would never cheat on Keanu.

But watching you and Richard together had been… interesting. Yes, Keanu felt that possessiveness in his chest, the one that made him mark you as his whenever you had sex, but he also felt arousal that made him wonder how you would respond to other people’s touch. Would you make the same noises you made for him? Would you be as eager to please?

Keanu could picture now, you on your hands and knees, whimpering as he fucked you, your mouth restricted by Richard’s dick. The thought alone made his cock half-hard and he needed to adjust himself on his jeans. It had been a while since he’d been with a guy, but Richard made him itch for it. He was fucking gorgeous.

As Keanu stumped on his cigarette, he saw you and Richard walking back to your respective trailers, entrailed in conversation, wearing only production robes. He knew the second you noticed him because your eyes grew wide and a flush spread through your face, like a child being caught doing something naughty.

“Ke? What are you doing here?” you asked in confusion while he welcomed you in his arms for a hug and a kiss.

“I wanted to surprise you for your birthday.” He said with a smile, before his gaze shifted to Richard, giving the younger man a little smirk. “Hello.”

“Right, you two haven’t met,” you said, that familiar awkward tone taking hold of your voice as you made quick introductions.

“I’ve always been a big fan of ye work,” Richard said shaking Keanu’s hand.

There was an earnestness in his bright blue eyes as Richard stared at him as if he was fighting the urge to let his gaze wander and Keanu grinned, letting his thumb rub against the back of his hand, soft and testing just to see the younger man gulp and blush.

“I can say the same,” Keanu declared, finally letting go, hands in his pockets. “I loved your show.”

“Game of Thrones?” Richard asked with a little doubtful smile and Keanu smirked.

“Bodyguard,” he replied, ignoring your curious gaze for the time being. “Anyway, nice to meet you. I hope to see you again while I’m around.”

“Of course,” Richard grinned, wide and happy before he waved at you and Keanu and retreated to his trailer while Keanu followed you to yours.

“Ok, what was that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend as the two of you stepping into your trailer.

“What was what?” he asked with a too innocent smile as he pulled you into his arms, lips connecting to your neck. You knew what he was doing, trying to distract you with his wicked tongue, but you weren’t having none of that.

“With Richard,” you clarified, stepping away from his embrace. “I saw the way you were looking at him. Like he was a full course meal.”

“Well, he’s very attractive,” Keanu pointed out with a shrug, crowding you against the wall of the trailer, his hands undoing the ties of your robe, revealing that you were still only in your costume. “Haven’t you noticed?”

You bit your lip, not sure how to reply. You felt like you were stepping into anuncharted territory right now and you couldn’t even focus properly. Not whenKeanu’s lips returned to your neck, mouthing and nipping, making your entirebody arch in response.

“I saw you two,” he whispered, voice low and throaty. “How wet were you when he pressed you against the wall?”

“Keanu…” you warned, flushing in embarrassment and squirming under his hands. He tightened his grip just enough to let you know he would punish you if I fought.

“Did you want him to fuck you right there?” he asked fingers finding your center,teasing you through the fabric of your shorts. Part of you felt wrong to be this turned on, but you couldn’t help it. Your brain was supplying the image Keanu’s words were weaving. “I bet he’s big and you like them big, don’t you, love?”

“Yes, sir,” You whimpered as he snaked his hand inside your shorts.

“I think he’d like to fuck you from behind,” he said, slapping your ass and making you buck against his hand. “Did he feel you up when he was lifting you?”

“No,” You answered, feeling your knees wobbling.

Fortunately, Keanu knew you well enough to bring you to the small couch, making you sit on his lap, back to his chest. Taking only a moment to push your shorts down before he spread your legs over his thighs and dipped two fingers in your cunt.

“Did you want him to?” Keanu asked, biting your neck gently so he wouldn’t leave anmarks. Not while you were shooting a movie.

“Yes,” you confessed, squeezing his thighs. “I wanted him to touch me, slip his fingers into my pussy.”

“Like I’m doing now?” Keanu whispered, picking up his pace and you nodded. “What else?”

“I wanted him to take me,” you said, leaning your head back on his shoulder. His other hand came up your chest, cradling your neck and you sighed. “Hold me down, spread me open and just fuck me until I can’t breath or speak.”

“Keep going,” Keanu ordered, caressing your throat and kissing your temple. “I know you’ve thought about it. You don’t get to come until I hear it.”

“I want to ride him,” you declared, moaning as Keanu fingers moved faster, making you buck on his lap. “Just hold onto his shoulders and fuck myself on his dick.” Keanu squeezed your throat, making your gasp. “I want him to bend me over a table and pound me so hard I see stars, slap my ass and pull on my hair as he does it. Stretch me open and come all over my thighs, leave me a fucking mess.”

Keanu hummed in agreement, fingers moving harder and faster, his knuckles slapping against your skin wetly. It was almost pornographic the sounds you were making.

“I wanna watch him come over your face,” he whispered, kissing you cheek. “After he makes you gag with his cock. I want to taste him on your lips.” He said and that was it. You came with a startled cry, vision blacking out for a moment.

Keanu held you through it, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you came down, breathing ragged, chest thundering.

“You mean that?” you asked, twisting your body so you could look at him and Keanu smiled.

“And if I do? Would you want it?”

“It would definitely be one hell of a birthday,” you grinned at him and Keanu smirked, kissing you.

“Anything for you.”