#relic keel lumosinlove | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonder-womans-ex · 3 years

Text

When In Vegas

It was loud in the locker room the next morning, but Saint was quiet.

Three days had passed since someone else’s world had been turned upside down, and Saint wasn’t sure whether he was more angry or scared—or relieved that it hadn’t been him.

Those fucking pictures, god. He had stared for hours, maybe more, hands frozen around his phone. The knowledge was unbearable—someone had done this. Someone was out to get people like them.

People like him.

But, in a way, it was also liberating. If he had to guess, he would say that no one had known about Black and Lupin. Judging from the way Tremblay had acted at All-Stars, they probably hadn’t even told their team, and god knew Saint hadn’t told his.

So, really, who was to say he was the only one? Any of the guys here, unlacing their skates beside him, could have grown up amidst thoughts of don’t look and stay silent and focus on the hockey. Any of the guys here could have had boyfriends in high school or college. Any of them could still.

He reveled in the thought. Maybe he wasn’t alone.

Black. Lupin. Tweedle.

Three names on a list wasn’t many, but it was better than one.

Saint glanced up when he felt someone watching him. His eyes met a pair of gleaming yellow ones—before meeting Greyback, he hadn’t even known that eyes could be that colour—and he steeled himself, resolutely not looking away.

Greyback smiled, and Saint recoiled internally. If there were others on the team—others in the league—Greyback was certainly not one of them.

As if Saint would ever, in a million years, want him to be.

He pulled off his second skate with one good, sharp tug. His helmet sat on the bench beside him, and he rested one elbow on it briefly. It was common knowledge that playing professional hockey was difficult, but the thing most people didn’t know was how near-impossible it was just putting on and taking off the necessary gear.

Next, after his skates, were his shin pads—big, bulky things that got hot altogether much too quickly, but at least they protected his legs. Then his jersey, his shoulder pads, his pants, until he Saint could finally lift his undershirt over his head and make his way to the showers.

The warm water felt like bliss against his aching muscles, but a part of him still pleaded to skip this bit and head straight home. All he really wanted was to curl up in bed with a bowl of ramen—decidedly not on his diet plan, but, hey, a guy could dream—and an episode of Drag Race.

And, of course, Luke. But he wasn’t allowed to think about that. Not here.

Or maybe, he realized, mind darting back to pictures taken through the windshield of a car, he could.

He had just begun to put on a pair of jeans and a tank top—grey, with the Golden Knights logo on the front and his name and number on the back—when there came a shout from the other side of the locker room.

“Hey, Tweedle!”

It was Pettigrew, one of his teammates, brandishing a ring of keys in the air. “Need a ride?”

Saint forced a smile. “Nah; I’m good. My roommate’s picking me up. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Pettigrew smiled back. “All right. See you tomorrow, Tweedle.”

“Yeah,” said Saint as he turned back to his stall. “See you.”

He packed up his gear in a sort of half-trance, thinking less about where he was and more about where he was soon to be. Saint loved hockey, true, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t love other things, too.

Other people.

The army green jeep was already waiting for him outside. He glanced around briefly, scanning the parking lot for any of his teammates, then pulled open the passenger side door. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d checked to see if anyone was watching—it was, after all, nothing out of the ordinary: just a completely heterosexual hockey player getting into his completely heterosexual roommate’s car.

“Hey,” Saint said, meeting Luke’s gaze in the rearview mirror and grinning.

“Hey yourself,” Luke responded, a teasing tone to his voice. “How was practice?”

Saint just shrugged. “Same as always, I suppose. What are we having for dinner?”

Many things could be said for Luke Deveaux, and one of them was that he was a master of recognizing a subject change when he heard one. “Thought I’d finally cook up that chicken that’s been sitting in the freezer. Sound good to you?”

“Sounds fucking incredible. You really do know the way to a man’s heart.”

They smiled at each other again as Luke pulled out onto the main road—the soft kind of smile that said everything for them. Carefully, Saint reached out, resting a hand on Luke’s leg. The simple contact was really all they needed as they both looked back out to the road ahead, letting silence envelop them.

Finally, when they came to a stop at the second or third red light, Luke looked over. “What is it?” he asked quietly—genuinely, in a way only he could.

Saint made a noise of confusion. “What’s what?”

“You’re thinking.”

This time, Saint didn’t say anything for quite a while. He kept his eyes forward as the light turned green and Luke began to drive again. Eventually, just as Luke had begun to think that he wouldn’t get a response at all, Saint spoke up: “What if I introduced you to my teammates?”

Luke had a feeling he knew what Saint was getting at, but he wanted to be sure. “I’ve met a couple of them,” he said, slowly. “Pettigrew. Reaves. Dearborn. Greyback—though I didn’t like him much.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Saint said, and took a breath before continuing. “I meant like… what if I introduced you to them as my boyfriend?”

“Husband,” corrected Luke idly, jerking the wheel to the right.

“Right, yeah. But I’d still probably introduce you as my boyfriend, because, y’know—”

“Nineteen.”

“—Elvis.”

Another beat of silence. Another deep breath. “And I just thought—I was thinking that—that…”

Luke waited.

“Obviously I wouldn’t want to come out to the whole world. Not yet,” said Saint, starting again, “but… you know. People know about Black and Lupin—though they didn’t get to tell people; people were told for them. And if I said something, maybe… maybe, if there are others, they’d know… they’d know they aren’t alone.”

It was Saint’s turn to wait, now, as Luke took a left onto a side street and narrowly missed the curb. He swallowed back the slight lump in his throat—he’d said his bit; now it was time for Luke to say his.

“I love you.” Luke’s words were hushed, and, yeah, it was always nice to get reassurance, but that didn’t really clear anything up.

“I love you, too.”

“And I—” Luke sighed. “Can I have a little while? To think about it? Or, rather, not to think about it, but to think about how I’m going to say it.”

Tilting his head, Saint looked thoughtfully over at the man in the driver’s seat. “Yeah. Yeah; of course. Take all the time you need. It was just something I was thinking about.”

“But you’ve been thinking about it for a while.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, if the better part of three days counts as ‘a while,’ then, yeah; I guess. Consciously, at least. Subconsciously… maybe longer.” He shrugged. “Who knows. All I do know is that I’m absolutely crazy for you, and I’d like someone who isn’t us or the guy who officiated our wedding to know that.”

“Especially because he almost definitely doesn’t remember either of us anymore.”

“Exactly.”

This next pause was different from the previous ones—more pause-like, though that didn’t make sense, even in Saint’s head.

“It’s like,” said Luke, thoughtfully, as he turned onto their street, “remember when we got married? And neither of us said anything about it for almost a month?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember why?”

“Um, because typically you don’t get married to someone you’ve only been dating for a week and a half?”

The car slowed to a stop in front of their house. Luke pulled the key out of the ignition and sat back in his seat. “Bingo.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Saint asked, tentatively, “And, uh, what does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s like that, because I could only see that going one of two ways: either we stayed in a marriage neither of us was ready for, or we ended both the marriage and the relationship. And so, of course, the solution my nineteen-year-old and slightly stupid self came up with was to ignore the situation entirely. You can’t annul a marriage that you don’t acknowledge exists, right?”

Saint furrowed his brow. “But… we didn’t annul the marriage.”

“Exactly.”

“...I think you’ve lost me.”

“Yeah; probably.” Luke sighed “I’m going about this all wrong. I suppose the thing I keep getting stuck on is that it would make everything more difficult if—you know.”

“No,” Saint said, “I don’t know.”

“If we broke up.” It all came out in one breath, and Luke looked anywhere but at Saint while he said.

Suddenly, Saint found it difficult to breath. “You—you think we’re going to break up?”

“No. No; god, of course not. It’s just one of those irrational fears; yeah? Like, you know the elevator isn’t going to break and send you falling to your death like Tower of Terror, but you still worry about it.”

“Not quite sure I follow.” Saint waited a moment, then added, “So… I take it you aren’t planning on breaking up with me?”

“Nope.” Luke smiled as he said it, popping the p. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for a little while longer.”

“A lot longer, hopefully.”

“Amen to that,” said Saint, then reached to unlock the car door.

“Wait,” Luke said quietly. “I’m… there’s something else.”

Saint turned back, letting go of the door handle. “Yeah?”

“I—” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What was it?”

“I just—it’s been five years—or it will have been in a week, technically, but still—and… and I guess I was wondering if you… might like to do it again. That. Without Elvis, this time.”

“What, get married?”

Luke took a breath. “Yeah.”

“Again?”

“Jesus Christ, Saint; weren’t you listening to anything I just said? It doesn’t matter, anyway. Just—forget I said anything.” Now it was Luke’s turn to begin to open the car door, a rush of cold air seeping in through the gap.

“Wait—Tweedle—”

Luke paused. Saint didn’t often call him that, and, even when he did, usually when he was trying to be serious. It was something Saint would say when they were fighting—it was his way of saying I love you; I don’t regret being with you. It was not something Saint would say to someone he didn’t want to be married to.

“Yeah?” Luke didn’t look over—he kept his gaze on the sliver of pavement he could see in the space between the door and the rest of the car—but he could imagine the look on Saint’s face.

“I want to.”

“What?” He knew what Saint had said. He wasn’t asking for clarification. He was giving Saint one last chance to change his mind, and hoping desperately that Saint wouldn’t take it.

“I want to marry you. Fucking hell, of course I want to marry you. Again. Preferably sober this time. Definitely without Elvis.”

A noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob escaped Luke’s lips. “Is that your way of proposing?”

“Actually, I think it was my way of accepting your proposal. And, either way, it was better than last time, when I think I just stuck my hand up your shirt and called it a day.”

This time, Luke really did laugh. “And they say romance is dead.”

“No kidding.” A pause, then, “Do you still have your ring?”

“Do I still have my—what kind of a question is that? Of course I do! I—” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “Why? Do you still have yours?”

Saint looked down, avoiding Luke's eyes. His hand went to his neck, where he pulled out a thin gold chain. On it hung the ring Luke had given him so long ago: slightly battered and riddled with notches, but in a way better than it was when they had exchanged them all those years ago, giggling on the alcohol. "Of course I do." His voice was soft—almost timid. "I'm not sure I could have gotten rid of it if I wanted to."

Luke let himself smile. “I wear mine, sometimes, you know,” he said, in a voice nearly as gentle. “When you’re not around.”

“Yeah. I—I do, too.”

“I love you.”

Saint didn’t even think before he did it. He knew, somewhere, that it was a terrible idea—that this was exactly where Black and Lupin had gone wrong—but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Luke was his husband, goddammit, and if he wanted to lean across the console and kiss him until he forgot his own name, then nothing in the world was stopping him.

Well. Nothing except his seatbelt, and even that only took him a few brief moments to discard. Then he was turning in his seat and reaching out and cupping Luke’s cheek in the palm of his hand and whispering “I love you, too,” against his lips.

"God," Saint said, pulling away. "How could I ever have stopped."

Luke quietly laughed, pulling himself away from Saint's lips. "I don't know, love; it could have been you withdrawing yourself from me. It… it almost made me think you—well, not hated me, but at least that you regretted ever getting married."

Saint made a small sound, as if Luke's words were paining him. "I would never." His eyes were starting to water. "I could never. Sure, we were too young; sure, we were drunk. Sure, it was stupid. But it was the best mistake of my life."

Another laugh, this one slightly louder. “Best mistake of mine, too.”

Luke leaned in for another kiss. “Wait,” said Saint, ignoring the noise of protest he got in return. “I have to…”

Saint reached around the back of his neck, sighing in frustration as he fiddled clumsily with the clasp of his necklace. It took him a good ten seconds, but finally he was able to lift it off and slide the ring into the palm of his hand.

The thin gold band fit perfectly around his finger—the weight was familiar; the cheap metal had already been warmed by his body heat, almost as if he had never taken it off.

“People—” Luke cleared his throat. “People will ask questions.”

“I know.”

“And what—what will—”

“What will my answer be?”

“...Yeah.”

“Sweetheart,” murmured Saint, leaning in to brush their noses together, “there’s only ever been one answer.”

“And what’s that?” At this point, Luke was just playing along—and they both knew it.

“You.”

amazing characters by @lumosinlove

thank you so much to @im-oknutzy-trash for being my #1 supporter while I tried to get the words to work (and letting me use some of their words when mine inevitably didn't)

note: this is based off that one ask hazel received literal months ago about how if saint were in SW he'd be on the golden knights bc he looks good in gold. no one else seems to remember it, however, so maybe I imagined it. who knows.

and, yes, Saint's last name in this is Tweedle.

#st. tweedle #saint #luke deveaux #vegas golden knights #vegas wedding #cw food mention #secret relationship #they're married #the rings are gold because saint looks good in gold #peter pettigrew #but only briefly #light angst #mostly fluff #relic keel lumosinlove #sweater weather lumosinlove #mentions of forced outing

114 notes · View notes

hecksee · 3 years

Text

Saint Moodboard

Moodboard for the OC Saint made by the wonderful @lumosinlove

#saint #lumosinlove #relic keel lumosinlove #saint lumosinlove

82 notes · View notes

onlydreamofmysoul · 3 years

Text

Midnight (Relic Keel - Dorcus and Marlene)

Hey guys!!! So I am 100% obsessed with Relic Keel by @lumosinlove so here’s a little fic about Dorcus and Marlene set in that world!!

Marlene was just turning off her lamp to go to sleep when something hit her window with a faint ‘twack’. She frowned and sat up, hand pausing over the light switch, leaving it on for now. She stayed still, ears straining, her heartbeat sounding through her head when she heard it again. A little ‘clink’ this time.

She threw back the covers and slipped out of bed, toes sinking into the plush carpet as she padded across her room, throwing open the curtains to see Dorcas grinning back at her.

“D,” She breathed as she unlatched the window, fingers shaking in her haste. The window pane swung open and Dorcas climbed inside, cupping Marlene’s face in her hand.

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” She murmured. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

Marlene blinked. “Are you quoting Romeo and Juliet?”

Dorcas smirked and pulled her in for a kiss. “That’s right, angel. You got it in one.”

Marlene’s heart fluttered and she pulled Dorcas further into the room, closing the widow, but not turning the latch - it only hindered them if ever Dorcas had to make a quick get away.

“What are you doing here?” Marlene whispered, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. She hadn’t seen her girlfriend in three days and even then, the last time they had seen each other it had only been for about twenty minutes.

“I wanted to see you.” Dorcas said softly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I missed you.”

Marlene’s heart soared and she sat down on the bed, Dorcus curling up next to her.

“I missed you too.” Marlene said, as Dorcas reached and took the end of her plait in her hand.

“Can I ?” She whispered and Marlene nodded. Dorcas pulled the hair tie off and carefully unwound the strands of Marlene’s hair until it was falling far past her shoulders in little waves, her usual curls absent after being tied up.

Marlene leaned in, capturing Docas’ slightly parted lips in her own, tasting the salt and sea air on the other girl. Dorcas continued to slide one hand further into Marlene’s hair while the other came to rest on her hip.

“Hi baby.” Marlene whispered and watched in awe as Dorcas melted into her. Marlene straddled her waist and stayed there, capturing Dorcas’ face in her hands, resting their foreheads together and just… looking.

“No hat tonight?” She teased, just now realised what had been missing. Dorcas laughed and grabbed her wait, staring up at her.

“Nah, Saint stole it. I was gonna chase him down, but then I wouldn’t have as much time with you.” She pressed their lips together briefly before pulling back, a wicked spark in her eyes. “I’ll get it back tomorrow, don’t you worry.”

Marlene grinned happily stroking her thumbs along Dorcas’ cheekbones. “So, when did you go learning Shakespeare?”

Dorcus blushed. “I uh, I learned it on the way over here.”

Marlene covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing. “Oh my god that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey!” Dorcas protested, managing to make a whisper sound indignant. “It’s sweet.”

Marlene nodded seriously, biting her lip to quell her smile. “It is, baby, very sweet. Especially the part where they die in the end.”

Dorcas groaned, dropping her head back against the headboard. “I was trying to be romantic!”

Marlene giggled and kissed her again. “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I never saw true beauty till this night.”

Dorcas pulled her impossibly closer, even as she sighed. “Of course you know Shakespeare.”

Marlene just connected their lips once more, taking her time. Tugging Dorcas’ lip with her teeth and teasing with her tongue, feeling the other girl unravel in her hands, when she heard a door somewhere in the house open.

“Fuck.” Dorcas said as Marlene scrambled off her, both of them rushing off the bed. Dorcas rushed to the window, climbing out but pausing for one last kiss.

“See you soon sweetheart.” She murmured, and then she was gone in a flash, with no trace of her left behind other than Marlene’s lips still tingling.

“Wisely and slow;” She whispered, as she watched Dorcas duck to avoid the windows before climbing expertly over the fence. “They stumble that run fast.”

#relic keel #lumosinlove #relic keel lumosinlove #dorcus and marlene #marlene mckinnon #dorcus idk her last name oops #dorlene

104 notes · View notes

moonofthenight · 3 years

Text

I'm hopeless and I know it's true

My first St. Tweedle fic! I'm sill not sure if I get their dynamic right just yet but practice makes perfect!

Credit goes to @lumosinlove

CW spoilers for chapter 10, swearing

“I’m going down to the docks, you wanna come with me?”

“Are you sure you want to go? I think you should rest a bit longer, your shoulder still looks swollen. I’ll get something co-”

“Sirius, stop. Now,” Saint said, rolling his eyes, “I am fine. I can decide for myself when my body can’t take it anymore. Now, can you answer the question and don’t go mother on me? I never needed one anyway.”

“I- sometimes I can’t decide if I want to kiss you or shake you senseless. But no. I’m going to go to James’ soon.”

“Oh,” Saint said, a teasing grin making its way onto his face now, “Is the Lupin boy gonna be there?”

“Shut up,” Sirius mumbled, a slight blush present on his face.

“Shit, I have never seen you blush Black, you got it bad don’t you?”

Sirius ignored him and looked at Saint instead, rolling his shoulders back, sighing.

“Do you want to come with me?”

“Sure thing.”

Saint did not want to go with him, Luke would probably be there and that was the last person he wanted to see right now but he didn’t want to come across as a fucking baby, the storm was four days ago, he was fine.

The two walked along the beach in silence, the only noise were the waves that softly crashed against their feet. Saint was thankful for the silence, he wasn’t in the mood to talk or to do anything really but deep down he knew the reason why he was walking with Sirius right now. He did want to see Luke again, wanted to taste his lips against his again, wanted to feel the salt in his hair but nothing could have prepared him for the things he was feeling when he arrived and looked straight into Luke’s eyes.

Anger, inside of him.

Hurt, visible in both of their eyes.

Longing, in both of their hearts.

Want, flowing through both of their bodies.

Everything flashed by behind his eyes, he felt every drop of water against his face again, every shaky breath, every movement of the boat.

He slowly walked backwards, turning around.

Fuck, this was worse than he expected it to be. He took a deep breath in, touching his necklace. This wasn’t who Saint knew himself to be, he never let feelings get to him. He was so deep in his thoughts he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

“I know what happened.”

Saint's back straightened, “I don’t know what you are talking about, Lupin.”

“He hasn’t talked to me, or anyone really, since that night. He shuts everyone out. I think it isn’t all about the kiss, Saint, he thinks he is letting down his dad.”

“Why are you telling me this,” Saint said, his voice low and monotone.

“I thought that maybe you could-”

“No.”

“Okay.”

He heard Remus walking back inside, leaving Saint to his own thoughts.

This is exactly what he didn't want to happen, this is exactly why he never trusted anyone but Sirius, why he always kept himself a secret . Because it hurt and still, he yearned for Luke and yet, he did not want to admit it because then it would be too real and Saint simply couldn't deal with "too real" just yet. A God and a Hollow aren’t meant to be. The Rich and the Broken don’t work together.

The kiss.. the kiss didn't mean anything. It was a "I have to kiss you because I'm scared that we are not going to make it" kind of thing and he couldn't have risked not tasting Luke's lips at least once in his life.

He closed his eyes, breathing in, breathing out, opening them again. He could pretend that everything is normal, that’s what he does every day.

Saint turns around, walking back inside towards the kitchen.

"Well, hello there, Tweedle. Long time no see."

Luke’s head whips around, almost dropping the glass of water he was holding, hope flickering inside his eyes.

"I heard you took it badly?"

“Please don’t do this,” Luke breathed, sounding almost pleading.

“Do what?”

Luke’s face turned unreadable within a second. Two can play this game.

“I see, I see. So we are just gonna ignore what happened now?"

Saint smirked, walking closer towards Luke.

“I don't know what you are talking about, Tweedle."

But Luke just stays still, looking Saint in the eyes, not batting an eyelash.

Saint furrows his brows for a millisecond but it was gone so fast it could have been Luke’s imagination. Or desperation for him to be wrong, for Saint to care about him.

Luke was still staring at him so Saint did the only thing he could think of, moving so close their noses were almost touching.

“It's rude to ignore me Tweedle. I expected better behavior from a God."

Luke closed his eyes, giving Saint the reaction he wanted. He could feel a warm and brushing his fingers but it was gone in the next second. Luke felt like he was going crazy.

“I am literally standing in front of you and you still don’t notice when I steal something from you. You need to be more careful or I will have all your things soon,” Saint said with a teasing tone in his voice, the bracelet hanging from his index finger.

Luke’s eyes opened abruptly.

"Kiss me," he said, his voice desperate, the deep tones rumbling through Saint. His smile faltered slowly and he gasped quietly at the sight of Luke's pained expression.

"Please," he pleads, striding forward until their foreheads touched.

"Kiss me and make me forget."

Luke walked forward until Saint bumped against the wall, his hands beside Saint’s head.

"You are the only one who can take away my pain. Please.”

#st tweedle #relic keel #relic keel lumosinlove #lumosinlove #rating: t

37 notes · View notes

waltzedintherain · 3 years

Text

Morning Cuddles

oh my lord 🥺 🥺 ok, wouldnt normally think of saying this, but i freaking woke up and saw i hit 100 followers. you guys. i cannot believe it?? thank you guys so much for wanting to be here 🥺 🥺 its CRAZY because i posted my first fic about a month and a half ago. i remember being so shocked at the response to it because it was literally my first one ever!! thank you thank you gracias<3 nOW, here are some Dorlene Relic Keel morning cuddles for u guys because yes.

Relic Keel universe credit goes to @lumosinlove !!<3

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

Dorcas’ eyes blinked open at the sounds of birds chirping and cars driving. It was dark outside. The only light she could see was coming from the streetlights outside of Marlene’s window.

Marlene. Dorcas loved every single thing about Marlene. She loved the way she looked, her hair, her eyes and her smile. She loved the way she felt, warm and comforting. She loved the way she spoke, loud when she was excited and softer when things calmed down. Loving Marlene was the best thing Dorcas did in her life. She loved loving her and she loved showing how much she loved her.

Dorcas wiggled around and scooted closer to her girlfriend, her arm that was around Marlene’s waist tightening it’s grip and pulling her closer.

Dorcas lifted her head and nosed at Marlene’s neck, trying to move the hair away from it.

Marlene stirred awake, “Mmh, tickles, sweetheart,” she mumbled.

Dorcas laughed softly and raised her hands to brush away Marlene’s hair. She pulled it over her shoulder and behind her neck, her lips instantly finding her warm and soft skin.

Marlene hummed in response, “Morning,” she said, a yawn following up.

Dorcas nipped gently at Marlene’s neck and smiled, “Morning, beautiful,” she said.

Marlene scrunched up her shoulders and turned around, her hand falling gently on Dorcas’ cheek. “Hi, you.”

Dorcas smiled fondly and poked their noses together, “Hi.”

Marlene combed her hands through Dorcas’ hair and hummed, “Sleep well?” she asked.

Dorcas leaned into the touch, “With you? Always.”

Marlene chuckled fondly. Then, pushed gently at Dorcas’ chest. Dorcas got the hint and lay down on her back, letting Marlene wiggle around and place her head on her chest, her arm wrapping around her waist.

Dorcas rubbed up and down Marlene’s back and inhaled a deep breath. She looked outside, it was starting to get light.

Dorcas looked down at Marlene, she looked so calm and peaceful.

“Have to go soon before your dad gets up,” Dorcas said.

Marlene groaned, “Not yet.”

That made Dorcas smile. Marlene always seemed to convince her to stay just a little longer.

After a few minutes, Dorcas untangled herself from a sleepy and whiny Marlene and got dressed. She picked up her backpack and threw it over her shoulder.

Marlene leaned up on her elbow as Dorcas bent down to kiss her goodbye. “Love you.”

“Love you too, beautiful.”

Dorcas walked towards the window and opened it. She glanced back at Marlene who’s eyes were still on her and smiled.

“See you later, princess,” she said, and with that, she climbed out.

Marlene smiled fondly and rested her head back on the pillows. She loved her girlfriend to the ends of the earth.

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

i really dont fuckin know how to make my titles interesting?? like im so sorry “morning cuddles” is lame as fuck.

#thank you guys!!!#Relic Keel #relic keel lumosinlove #lumosinlove #Dorlene #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #fluff #cuddles #wlw

58 notes · View notes

moonyswriting · 3 years

Text

Heart and Soul

@peggyrose19 and @wonder-womans-ex had their birthdays over a month back and I didnt manage to make them a gift. but I still wanted to make you something because I wont just drop it after I missed the day. so this is for you two. you are incredible and talented people and I'm honoured I get to call myself your friend. I hope you'll like it.

characters by @lumosinlove

thank you for beta reading @moonofthenight

Chapter 1

“Final seconds of the second period on the clock, Frank. The Saint’s going for the goal again, passing Tremblay and going straight in Nutty’s direction-”

“And that was a hit on Leo Knut, by the Hollow’s Saint’s winger Andrew Kline. And now, the expected punches follow. Marly, they could have really seen Logan and Finn coming, right?” “Definitely, Frank. No team likes it when someone fights with their goalie but these two seem to be particularly protective of our sunshine boy. Tremzy is already throwing punches at Ethan Bart and I can see O’Hara skating over to them.”

“Oh and here comes Luke. Throwing off his gloves and joining his teammates. Maybe with all those uncovered wrists we could actually get a chance to see some soulmate tattoos again. Last one spotted was Kasey Winter’s almost two years ago now, spelling out Natalie, the name of his girlfriend. They still seem to be going strong; I’m happy for them. That incident did however get most of the players to cover their wrists up,” Frank waited for a second before continuing, “How’s the fight? Looks like we got a big one tonight, eh?”

“It is! We’ve got three people from each team fighting at the moment, but the Refs are pulling them apart now. Coach Weasley doesn’t look too happy that his players are risking injuries for fights again. He’s calling a few over now and I do not want to be on the receiving end of Arthur’s wrath, believe me.”

“Same here, Marlene. Huh, that was weird. Did you see that?”

“It was. Loops just had to shake DV so he’d move. He had stared a hole into the ice and didn’t react to the Coach or his teammate. Haven’t seen him do that before. Hopefully, he’ll be fully focused again after the break.”

“I’m hoping it wasn’t a bad hit. The Lions really don’t need another injury right now.”

“Especially after only just getting Finn back from his small wrist injury that didn’t allow him to play the last two games.”

“Yeah. We’ll keep everyone updated of course. I’m sure he’s being checked right now.”

“In the meantime, there were some fantastic plays in there. It would be quite nice for the players to have a good game before some of them get to have a break.”

“Yes, All Star week is next week and we’ll be seeing a few of the Lions there, such as the newly wedded Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, but also last year's MVP Logan Tremblay, of course.”

“I’m excited Frank! We’ll be right back after a quick break for the second period.”

Luke was still feeling off after the fight, going through the questions Layla asked him on autopilot. No, he wasn’t hurt, there was neither pain there nor there, yes, he could still remember his address and full name.

Their new PT seemed at a loss. She could see that he was acting very strange and, honestly, she was getting worried about forgetting some usually obvious injuries for his behaviour. There was only so much a human could guess, so she simply asked.

“What happened out there, Deveaux?”

It took a moment for Luke to register he was being addressed, mumbling a “nothing” before continuing to stare at the wall. How stupid did this boy think she was?

Letting out a sigh, she clarified, “I just need to know if you’re injured or not,” after a second of hesitation Kayla added, “but if there’s something bothering you or just occupying your thoughts, you can always go talk to Heather. She’s helped a few of your teammates too.”

She watched his expression while telling Luke. Some guys were embarrassed of going to therapy. There was no reason to be, of course. No one got shy about having the PT check on them but when it came to mental struggles, they somehow believed they have to handle it all alone. Society and the messed up way of thinking that they teach children, honestly. She was glad they at least had some people on the team who encouraged visiting Heather any time they saw someone struggling. She knew Sirius really did help them a lot by being so open about going to her office at least once a week.

There really was no way to tell how Luke thought about her proposal, he certainly seemed to be thinking, but there was no way to determine what about. Suddenly Luke broke the silence.

“Can I go?”

Since Layla hadn’t found any injuries and she couldn’t really do more than encourage him to visit Heather, she let him leave.

The brunette was out of the room the second after the words had left her mouth.

They had won. The locker room was already buzzing, the mandatory playlist echoing into the hallway. After their last game against the Saint’s, which they had lost, the whole team was even more excited about having won. There was even some kind of dance match between Logan and Sirius going on, not that Luke noticed. He had been a bit off for the rest of the game, much to the dismay of Coach Weasley. That got him to spend most of his time on the bench in the last period, but he didn’t mind. For once, hockey was not his main concern, not even during this game.

He had seen it. When number 7 had thrown off his gloves for the fight, there it had been in black cursive. A soulmate tattoo, spelling out “Luke”. Of course "Luke" didn’t necessarily mean Luke as in himself, but there was still a possibility.

A possibility that his soulmate was a Saint. A Saint. He would have been happy with almost anyone, but no, it had to be an ice hockey player. He didn't care about the gender. Luckily he wouldn't even have to hide a relationship between him and a potential boyfriend because of Remus and Sirius. But a Saint? Even in his thoughts, he knew he was whining. The real problem was that they would not only live miles apart and would have practically no time for each other half of the year, but they would be opponents. In ice hockey, the other team is the enemy. He couldn't befriend the enemy and he definitely couldn't date the enemy. Even if he wanted, he'd be blamed for not playing as hard as he could or making exceptions when it came to his hypothetical boyfriend.

So really, dating a Saint was not an option.

Still, his curiosity got the better of him. If this was really his soulmate, no matter how much he didn't want him to be, he had to know.

Standing up, he made his excuses and slipped into the hallway, running along until he got to the other team's locker room.

Great plan, idiot, what will you do now?! You can’t just go in and ask in front of everyone.

Then a group of people stepped out, each looking at Luke as if he had a kick-me sign on his forehead and as if they were considering it. Quite a few had walked past him and when one held open the door for his teammate, Luke could see that there were only three people left in the room. No time better than now, he told himself, gathering some of his Lion courage and walked straight inside.

“The fuck, Lion?!”, one of the players mumbled while he left the room too, shortly followed by the other player that wasn’t the one Luke had been looking for.

He took a deep breath. The tattoo wouldn't refer to him. Of course it wouldn't. Why would it be a Saint, really. Stepping closer to the boy lacing up his shoes, Luke's eyes met a pair of brown ones, looking up through gold curls.

“Why are you here?”, the other asked, narrowing his eyes and standing up to be on eye level with the Lion.

Oh, the charm of rivalry, always straight to the point, no need for formalities.

“Do you want to brag about catching up? Hate to break it to you, but you’re not in the lead and we’ll win the next one anyway.”

Even though his words sounded confident, he leaned back and knocked on the wood of the benches.

“No,” the brunette stated, looking him dead in the eyes. This boy had activated Luke's competitiveness so there was no turning back, “to both. We’ll just win as we did today. Last time was luck and you know it.”

The other raised an eyebrow at him. “The only thing that was luck last time was that you got a goal.”

The nerve this person had. Here he was, coming to actually try to talk to him and possibly get to know him to find out about the tattoo and just got insults in return. Luke was about to shoot something back when the door opened again.

“Babe, you coming?”

#thirty-first fic #1.5k words #audrey's birthday #aj's birthday #birthday #heart and soul #chaptered fic #luke deveaux #st tweedle #lumosinlove #relic keel #chapter 1 #soulmate au #enemies to lovers #saint #angst #birthday gift #<2k words

94 notes · View notes

lumosinlove · 2 years

Text

On the ninth day of Winterfic, Hazel gave to you…Art Thief Saint and FBI Agent Luke.

see more days here!

Saint’s phone sounded with a ping that meant the premises had been breached. He smiled, eyes turning from his phone screen to one of the ones mounted on his wall. The intruder had a hood pulled, but Saint would know that grouchy walk anywhere. He was also walking slowly, sneakily—as if he actually believed he’d broken through Saint’s defenses. As if Saint would be surprised. As if Saint wouldn’t be waiting for him.

Saint just pushed himself up from where he lounged on his couch—old, worn in to the shape of him. He threw a sheet over his latest acquirement’s gilded frame—new, would be in someone else’s hands soon, for them to look at and never touch. He started the kettle boiling. He heard the click of a gun getting its safety turned off. Saint smiled, and pretended he hadn’t heard.

He could picture Luke Deveaux. His badge glinting from his hips, usually above the belt loop that rested just beside what Saint knew to be a very lovely cock. Of course, that had been before Luke had known just who he was dealing with.

Luke Deveaux had been looking for Saint for the last seven years of his life. Right out of the Academy, really. It had started with a Rembrandt, one of the few paintings that Saint had kept. He hadn’t been able to part with it, for some reason. And Saint could part with most everything.

Luke Deveaux had wanted that Rembrandt, but Saint liked to pretend, in a dark place somewhere near his sternum, that Luke Deveaux actually wanted him. Maybe that was why, when Deveaux’s file had turned up online in the FBI database (Saint did try to keep tabs on the faces following him) he’d finally let Luke find him—only Luke hadn’t known at the time. Saint hadn’t been Saint, the thief that had been impossible to catch for the last ten years. His FBI file didn’t have a face. It didn’t have his sand-blond curls or brown skin or heavy-lidded eyes. It had goes by the pseudonym “Saint,” and superiority complex, and abandoned young, and most likely has been stealing from childhood, and unstable.

But Saint had just been Sebastian to the slightly tipsy detective at the Ritz’s hotel bar. He’d just been Sebastian when his name had crossed Luke’s lips in a (paid for) suite, when Saint had let Luke get as close as anyone could, warm and deliriously good and inside.

Saint never gave too much. He prided himself on taking more than he needed and keeping it. Money. Art. Hearts.

And yet there was a gun at his back, pointed and held by Luke with whom, just once, Saint had made a mistake. He’d given. He’d filled the cup to the brim. And now the gun. And now Luke.

“Would you like tea?” Saint asked.

“It was you,” Luke’s voice came from behind him.

“Hospitality is everything, Luke.”

Saint waited as he filled two bags with loose English Breakfast.

“Why did you send it to me?” Luke’s voice was shaking. Just a little, but it was there.

“Because it belonged to your father,” Saint said. “Why are you making me tell you things you already know?”

Another long pause. Saint knew Luke was looking around. How could he not? Saint’s studio had tall ceilings and bare walls. All the art he kept on the floor. Funny, to have things he couldn’t reveal.

“Why did you lead me here?” Luke whispered and Saint heard him take a step forward. “I could destroy you now, with all of this. Shit, I…”

Saint only turned because the gun made a tinkering nose as it fell back to Luke’s thigh. Saint’s eyes found it held loosely in Luke’s fingers. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Light brown hair a mess. He’d pushed his hood back. Brown eyes vivid against the purple that shadowed beneath. The sweatshirt stretched across his broad shoulders, held low and heavy just then.

“It’s sitting in my apartment,” Luke breathed. “I have a million dollar painting sitting in my apartment.” Anger, confused and long-simmering, flashed in his eyes. “I could destroy you.”

Saint ignored the kettle when it flicked off, boiled. “You keep saying could.”

Luke clenched his jaw. “I should.”

“I’m looking for the word will,” Saint tilted his head.

“Don’t,” Luke snapped. “What the fuck, Bash? This is you?” He jerked his chin around. “What is this, some game? How did you find me?”

“For being a secret agent, you guys sure stand out in a crowd.”

Luke’s expression flickered. “So it was. I was something else to take.”

“I gave you what you’ve been looking for,” Saint fired back.

“The painting—”

Saint took a step forward. “The painting isn’t what you’ve been looking for.”

Luke just stared at him, eyes wide. Betrayed. So different than they had looked waking up in the early morning. Void now of the tired smile. His hands were clutching a gun rather than Saint’s bare, sleep-warm hip. Rather than a cup of tea Saint made for him while he bent over his laptop, answering morning emails.

Saint wanted to take a knife to that damned painting.

“You didn’t give me anything,” Luke said softly. “You lied.”

“You’re right, I should have told you that I’m a red-listed criminal. My bad. Shoot me, why don’t you. Can I make my tea first?”

To Saint’s surprise, Luke scoffed at him and put the gun on Saint’s small kitchen island before sitting down on one of the stools and putting his head in his hands.

“I don’t want that painting,” Luke breathed. “Jesus, Bash, who the hell are you?”

Saint swallowed hard, fingers clenching behind him around the edge of the counter.

“I wish you knew,” Sebastian said softly. “Because I really don’t.”

#Luke deveaux #saint #Sebastian montague #lumosinlovewinterfic2021 #st tweedle #lumosinlove ocs #relic keel lumosinlove #relic keel au

111 notes · View notes

peggyrose19 · 2 years

Text

Hold Me Closer

Here have some Vaincre St. Tweedle, because yes I did in fact take the two scenes and like 10 total lines of dialogue between the two in canon and turn it into 4.1k fic why do you ask. I also wrote the entire thing in a week. It’s fine. @hecksee all done darling please enjoy :)

characters belong to the lovely @lumosinlove

Disclaimer that this fic is 18+

Luke’s hat was a familiar weight on Saint’s head. He reached up a hand to touch the brim, running his fingers along the worn fabric there he knew to be a faded blue. Luke sat beside him, shoulders pressed together, not looking at him but not pulling away either. Saint raised his beer to his lips, taking another sip as he glanced at Luke from the corner of his eye.

He glowed amber in this light, Saint noted. Strands of his hair looked red. A trick of the light, maybe. Those brown eyes were fixed on Percy across the table, and he was frowning. Then again Luke was always frowning. Especially at Saint. But sometimes not. Recently… recently Luke had been frowning less. Saint wasn’t sure what to do with that.

There was a stirring in Saint’s stomach that seemed to surface these days anytime he looked too hard at his friend and teammate. He didn’t know why it had started now; objectively, he’d always found Luke beautiful. Objectively, he’d always liked him. Or maybe not always. But long enough. So why did he want Luke now? What had changed in the last few weeks that had stayed buried for the years before?

Maybe it was Black and Lupin, and all the support they’d received. All the hate they’d so artfully ignored. Or the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, this could be possible now. That he had a shot. Maybe he was done being scared.

“Hey Tweedle,” Saint leaned over to speak low in Luke’s ear. The man hummed in response, tilting his head closer to Saint, even as his gaze stayed on the others. “Come with me?”

“Where?” was Luke’s reply, somehow curious and grumpy at the same time.

“Just come on.”

Saint could feel his pulse in his throat as he stood, Luke following suit.

“Need some air,” he offered the other guys with a quick smile. They accepted the answer easily.

Saint could feel Luke’s gaze on his back as he threaded through the crowded bar to the door. He hadn’t exactly been lying about needing some air; he had always found bars ever so slightly suffocating, no matter how few people there may be. And tonight it was packed.

As the door shut behind them, Saint took a deep breath of the cool autumn air. It was refreshing, even as he shivered slightly in his thin t-shirt. Luke followed him around the building without a word, his silence a heavy presence at Saint’s side.

“So.” Luke leaned casually against the brick exterior of the building next door, shadows dancing across his face. They were partly hidden like this, secluded in a tiny back alleyway. “Why are we out here?”

Saint just shrugged, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Luke. They stood close, close enough for Saint to see the hint of green in Luke’s right eye, that little speck that always drove him crazy. Even in the dim light of a flickering street lamp, he could see the green, an anchor among a sea of brown. His expression was set, lips tugged down, but then again Luke was always frowning.

Faintly, somewhere in the back of his mind, Saint knew this was a bad idea. The two of them. Luke was Saint’s best friend. They played in the NHL, on the same team. But he liked Luke, more than he’d liked anyone else before. He wanted to be near him, wanted him as he was. He wanted more than just his friendship.

It was then Saint realized they stood close enough he could feel Luke’s breath on his skin, the warmth emanating from his skin. Luke’s gaze darted to his lips then back up, searching Saint’s face. His expression was open and unguarded, the opposite of what Saint was used to. And yet it felt familiar still to stand before Luke like this, see the curiosity on his face, the dark curl falling across his forehead. Unthinkingly Saint reached out and brushed it behind Luke’s ear.

Luke caught his hand before he could drop it, slim fingers wrapping around his wrist. Saint could feel Luke’s pulse through his warm skin, quick and light. He watched Luke’s breath hitch, caught in his chest. They stood there, watching, the tension electric around them. It felt as though even the air held its breath as they stared at each other, holding on, frozen to the spot. Luke’s hair fell into his face again.

Slowly, so slowly it felt like moving through molasses, Saint pushed his hair back again with the other hand, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. Still, neither said a word. Luke just looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes, just a hint of a smile playing at his lips, and Saint wanted to taste.

He ducked down and pressed their lips together and Luke didn’t pull away. Instead Luke just pulled him closer, pulled their bodies flush together, falling against the wall and letting it support them both. His arm wrapped around Saint’s back, their hands still clutched together, and Saint held on for dear life, afraid that if he let go Luke would only disappear on him again. He let Luke pull the air from his lungs, all the longing and wanting from his heart. He let himself fall.

It was hours or maybe only minutes later that they pulled apart, gasping for breath. Luke’s eyes shone even in the dim light, his cheeks flushed pink, his lips wet. Something about Luke seemed to take away all his self-preservation, for Saint didn’t stop himself from running a gentle finger across Luke’s lips, wiping away the moisture as careful eyes watched him. He couldn’t read Luke’s expression like this, wanted to know all the thoughts running through his mind. They seemed easier to manage than his own tangled thoughts.

“Saint,” Luke whispered as he lowered his hand.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

Saint fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut as the soft question squeezed at his heart. Luke sounded so sad, so confused. His expression stayed steady, but his voice was quiet, lonely.

“Because I wanted to,” he answered finally, looking anywhere but Luke’s face.

Gentle fingers touched his chin, lifting their gazes back together. Luke looked impossibly gentle then, all his sharp edges and cross frowns brushed over with a soft smile and warm eyes. Saint wanted both sides, wanted all of it. He loved seeing Luke fierce and aggressive on the ice, loved the set of his jaw and the darkness in his gaze. But, standing there at night, outside a crowded bar with the stars winking overhead, he fell in love with the gentleness too and the care in his touch.

“Hey, kiss me again,” Luke said.

“You sure?”

He scoffed. “Since when do you ask?”

“Since it’s you.”

“Sappy,” Luke murmured, before he was kissing Saint again, warm and solid and strong, kissing the thoughts right from his mind, grounding Saint in the present and making him all too aware of the want burning a hole in his chest.

“Tweedle,” Saint said against his lips. Luke hummed and merely kissed his cheek, teeth scraping along his jawbone, making Saint’s body shiver involuntarily. “Luke,” he tried again. “Please. I want you, I want-” But Saint lost his train of thought as Luke bit at the junction of his neck and shoulder, just hard enough to sting, before soothing the pain with his tongue. Then again, on the underside of his jaw. Saint knew it would leave a mark by morning and he reveled in the thought.

“Let me take you home,” Luke murmured. “Please.”

“Yes,” Saint gasped, it was all he could say. He had wanted Luke for so long, yet it had crept up on him, seemingly without notice. If he thought back now, it seemed so obvious. In hindsight, he’d been falling for his goalie for months, maybe even years. He’d just chosen to ignore it.

“Please, take me home,” Saint said.

Luke was quiet on the drive, but he kept a hand on Saint’s thigh, rubbing the exposed skin just above his knee. The radio played, though Saint couldn’t say what. He was far too focused on Luke’s hand on his body, his gaze still fixed determinedly on the road. Every once in a while, Luke’s fingers swept beneath the hem of his shorts, causing a thrill through Saint’s body.

Neither moved after Luke turned the car off in his driveway. His house was nice, though Saint had been there before. A thick silence filled the car, hovering somewhere between thrilling and awkward.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Luke asked quietly, breaking the silence. His hand still rested on the gear shift, a gold ring adorning his thumb, a Rangers’ blue stone embedded in it. Saint had never noticed it before.

Saint nodded. “Yes.”

A flash of a smile. “Come on then.”

Saint swallowed hard and followed Luke inside.

He watched quietly as Luke unlocked the door, dropping his bag by the door and his keys on a small plate on the counter. He shed his jacket, hanging it on a hook and glancing back at Saint. Luke stepped towards him, backing them up until Saint’s back hit the wall. But Luke didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything. They stood together much like they’d stood in that alley, breaths apart, the seconds stretching between them.

Saint didn’t know who moved first, but then they were kissing, Luke pushing him against the wall, pulling their bodies flush together. He arched into Luke’s touch, silently begging for more, Luke complying easily. They moved well together, Saint thought deliriously, working Luke’s lips apart and licking into his mouth, tugging a groan from his throat. He wanted more, wanted all of it, anything Luke was willing to give him. He wouldn’t take more than he was given, not this time.

Luke only pushed harder, his hands sliding down Saint’s chest. He pushed Saint’s t-shirt up easily, finally touching bare skin. Saint thought he may just combust right there at the feel of Luke touching him, so purposeful and careful.

“Luke, wait,” Saint panted, and he stopped immediately. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to take you right here, and as much fun as I’m sure that would be-” Luke just raised an eyebrow at that. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Luke laughed, bright and loud, and Saint could’ve lived his whole life with that sound in his ears. It was better than any song, any cheering crowd. He couldn’t help his smile as soft brown eyes met his, alight with mischief and joy, so unlike the intense focus Saint usually found there.

Luke smiled and kissed him softly. “C’mon then.”

Saint followed Luke towards his bedroom, their hands tangled together. Luke flicked the lamp on by his bed and tugged Saint down with him. Saint let himself collapse, boneless, on top of Luke, trusting him to take his weight. Luke was warm and solid beneath him; it would have almost felt sweet had he not been able to feel Luke’s erection pushing against his thigh.

He looked warm beneath the lamp's yellow light, inviting. That little smile played on his lips, one Saint had never seen before. Luke looked confident in a way Saint had never seen him, comfortable and secure in himself. It was intoxicating, seeing that confidence, knowing it was focused on him. It made everything feel sharper, brought to light just what was happening between them.

Saint desperately wanted to touch, and so he did, pushing aside the collar of Luke's shirt and mouthing at his collarbones. Luke had already left his mark on Saint and now he wanted the same, wanted Luke to wake in the morning with the colors from Saint's mouth on him. He wanted to see the purple and red and blue in the morning and know it was him that did that, it was him that made Luke look that way. He wanted to take Luke apart with his teeth and his hands, until he was capable of nothing more than moaning Saint's name. He wanted more than he ever had and he didn't know when that wanting started, but now that it had he didn't think he could ever let it go.

“Saint,” Luke groaned, and he grinned sharply.

“Something wrong Tweedle?”

“No playing,” he panted, looking up with hazy eyes. “Please.”

“Thought you liked it when I played.” And oh did Saint know the effect that would have on him. He couldn't help a smirk as Luke groaned and rolled his eyes.

“You fucker.”

“Well-”

“I swear to god if you finish that sentence I'm kicking you out right now.”

Saint smiled widely and kissed him, softening that surly glare immediately. “Will you let me take your clothes off now?” he whispered into Luke's jaw.

“God I thought you'd never ask.”

The words were barely out of Luke's mouth before Saint was tugging his shirt up, Luke awkwardly helping to pull it over his head. Saint tossed it to the ground without a second glance. No, his gaze was caught by the expanse of bare skin now before him, tan and muscular and finally he was allowed to look and touch. He'd seen Luke in the locker room hundreds of times, but he wasn't allowed to look in there, wasn't allowed to want. It hadn't stopped him of late, but here, in the privacy of Luke's own bedroom, he didn't have to hide his lust. And he could look for as long as he pleased.

“You…” he breathed, running his hands down Luke's chest. He arched into the touch. “You are so goddamn beautiful.”

Luke didn't answer, but he opened his eyes and watched, want clear in his gaze. Saint kissed down his chest, and he could feel Luke's breaths heaving in his lungs, could feel his quick heartbeat. His breath caught for a moment as Saint kissed his pectoral muscle, tongue flicking over his nipple. Luke arched into the touch as Saint traveled lower, licking and biting and kissing.

He found a small tattoo on his right hip, two neat lines of cursive script Saint but seen many times before but had never been able to read in full. Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. Saint ran a gentle finger across the words.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

“It's uh, it's not exactly a happy story,” Luke warned. Saint just shrugged. Luke smiled, a bit sad. “It’s from Frankenstein. My dad’s favorite book. I got it after he died.”

“Oh.” Saint wasn’t sure what to do with that. Although he supposed he had been warned.

“I did warn you.”

“Stop reading my mind,” Saint frowned.

“Yeah. Okay.” Luke's voice sounded strained. “As enjoyable as this conversation is, your hand is on my dick and if you don't do something about that soon I'm going to just do it myself.”

Saint could only laugh at that, after a moment of stunned silence. He always found himself in awe of Luke, at how he could switch the mood of a room in a heartbeat. He stayed quiet a lot of the time, making his words that much more invaluable. Luke craved his words the way he craved water.

“I'm going to take your pants off now,” Saint said when he stopped laughing.

“Thank you so much for informing me,” Luke said dryly, and Saint laughed again. The laughter caught in his throat as he undid the button of Luke's jeans and slid the zipper down. Luke pressed his hips up into Saint's touch, his ass lifting off the mattress.

“Faster, c'mon,” he groaned.

“So impatient.”

But Saint tugged the jeans over strong thighs obediently, uncovering the delicate ink he knew he'd find on Luke's right thigh.

“You gonna tell me about this one too?” he asked while throwing his pants to the side. Luke was left in just his boxers, straining against the thin fabric. Saint ran a hand over the bouquet of flowers so carefully drawn on Luke's skin, following it with his tongue. Luke jerked under him.

“For my mom,” Luke panted. “Now ask about the snake and anchor another time, would you?”

Saint looked up at him with a smirk. “Well the snake I've seen but where's the anchor?”

“Ankle. And that was so not the point.”

Saint just shrugged. Luke reached up for him then, tugging him down by the waist. Saint laughed as he fell, catching himself with his arms bracketing Luke's head. The movement pressed Saint's thigh between Luke's legs, and he could feel the rumble of a low moan in Luke's chest. Saint kissed him recklessly, unable to stop himself. Luke melted into the mattress and let him. He let Saint grab his wrists and hold them above his head, pressing their bodies flush together.

“Will you take your goddamn clothes off now?” Luke panted into Saint's mouth.

“Happily.”

Luke whined when Saint stood up, but it was momentary. Saint stripped his shirt and pants off quickly, standing bare before Luke in the golden lamp light.

“Fuck me,” Luke breathed, though whether it was an instruction or an exclamation Saint couldn’t be sure. “C’mere.”

Saint clambered over Luke's body, straddling his hips, bracketing his shoulders in with his arms. Luke's hands went to his hair and he let them, let Luke tug at his hair and bury his hands in it.

“You still have your socks on, weirdo,” Luke muttered.

“Really, that’s what you comment on? So do you.”

“Touché.”

Luke wrapped his arms around Saint’s back then, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. Saint tangled their feet together, letting his full weight fall on Luke and press them together until there wasn’t so much as an inch of space between them. Luke grabbed one of his hands, holding on tight, and Saint nearly wanted to cry at the desperate pressure there, the silent don’t go anywhere. Saint just squeezed back.

Luke surprised him then by flipping them over, pushing Saint back into the mattress. Those strong thighs bracketed Saint’s hips, pushing down into him, pulling the breath from his lungs. It was a delicious, searing pressure, and his body screamed for more.

“Fuck me,” Luke breathed, a request this time. “Please.”

Saint grinned and rolled them back over. He loved the way the two of them worked together, the way they pushed and pulled like the ocean tide, giving and taking and giving some more. Saint would give Luke anything he asked for.

“Do you have-”

“Bottom drawer.” Luke waved vaguely at his bedside table and Saint couldn’t help but smile.

The moment he sat up again, Luke kissed him again, deep and greedy. Saint pushed his boxers down without breaking their kiss, and then Luke was bare before him, warm and safe and real.

“God, you…” Saint trailed off.

Saint had never seen Luke like this before, laid bare and turned on, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, smile hazy and wanting. He liked it, liked having Luke under his hand like this. As he began working Luke open, he wondered why it had taken so long.

“Bash,” Luke whispered, and that jolted Saint from his thoughts. He hadn’t heard Luke use his real name in years, possibly not since they’d first met. It sounded sweeter in this light, far more intimate.

“Why’d you call me that?” he asked softly, not stopping his hand. Luke groaned.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” How he managed to joke in that moment, Saint would never know.

“Yeah, but… Well, no one’s called me Bash in ages.”

Luke blinked up at him. “Was it okay?”

Saint could only smile. “Do it again.”

Saint added a second finger and Luke groaned his name, hips pushing up into his hand. He hunched down and pressed a kiss to Luke’s hip, the pretty, painful words tattooed into his skin, a memory Luke would always carry with him.

“Bash, please,” Luke whined when Saint crooked his fingers. He just smiled and pulled away. Luke whined again at the loss of contact. “Saint.”

Saint grinned as Luke looked up at him, panting. He was flushed from his cheeks to his chest, gorgeous and glowing. He didn’t look away, couldn’t, as he slowly pressed in, watching Luke’s face so carefully. Luke’s eyes slipped shut at the sensation, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Open your eyes,” Saint whispered. Luke did. His pupils were blown, gaze hazy, but he looked straight at Saint, smiling even as he gasped for breath, even as he arched his back and their hips met.

Saint could barely breathe as he moved, Luke a tight, warm heat around him, his body sweaty and familiar. He kissed Luke’s sternum, tasting the salt on his skin. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Luke’s hands were in his hair again, buried deep in his curls, not tugging but rather just holding him there, holding the two of them together, in place.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Luke groaned. Saint looked at him sharply.

“You have?”

He scoffed playfully. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am surprised.”

Luke looked up at him. “Saint if you don’t know how much I want you, you clearly haven’t been paying attention.”

Saint stopped moving entirely. Luke just watched him.

“You really didn’t know?” Saint shook his head silently. “Now you do, I guess.”

Still reeling, Saint started moving his hips again, pulling another moan from Luke’s pretty lips. He looked ethereal in this light, strands of hair spilling across the white pillowcase, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, tan skin glowing. Saint's chest warmed at the thought that only he got to see Luke like this, taken apart in the safety of his bedroom, giving himself wholly over to Saint to do as he pleased. It did funny things to his heart he didn't want to think about yet.

Luke groaned his name beneath him, crying out a warning as he came. Saint held him through it, kissing the gasps and whispers right from Luke's lungs. He stayed still as Luke clutched at his back, holding him in place, begging silently.

“Luke,” Saint groaned out and he too was coming, buried deep inside Luke. Luke, who whispered his name so softly, lips at his temple, hands smoothing down his sweaty back. Luke, who held him in place when he went to pull out, keeping them together, as close as two people could be, breaths mingling as they slowly came down.

Saint could feel the breaths slowing in Luke's chest, the rise and fall beneath him becoming more even. Luke brushed sweaty blond curls from Saint's face, gently, as if Saint were something precious, fragile, about to break. Oddly, it soothed him, the soft care. He relaxed into him, Luke taking his weight without a sound, head falling onto his chest. They were both sweaty and sticky, desperately in need of a shower, but neither moved or made a sound, reveling in the peaceful quiet. Saint let his eyes slip shut and gave himself up to Luke's gentle touch.

Luke pulled another orgasm from him that night with just his fingers and tongue, teasing and touching and kissing, bringing Saint right to the brink and keeping him there, a small mischievous smile playing at his lips in the soft light. When Saint swallowed him down in return, in the early hours of the morning, it took mere moments before Luke was crying out, hands clutching at Saint’s shoulders as he came.

They lay together in Luke’s bed as the sun came up, tangled and sticky and sated, hovering somewhere between awake and asleep. But, tired as he was, Saint couldn’t tear his gaze away from the picture on Luke’s dresser. It was of the two of them at a party, nearly a year ago. He remembered it being taken. Luke’s arms were around him and he was smiling, for once; his faded blue hat sat on Saint’s own head like it always did, hiding wild blond curls.

They looked happy in that photograph. Saint didn’t know where it was from, how Luke had gotten it. Nor did he know why it sat framed in his bedroom. It tugged at his heart in a way he couldn’t quite discern, but he couldn’t quite seem to stop. He couldn’t help but wonder how long it had sat there, displayed, for Luke to glance over at every day.

Saint thought back to Luke’s words, the low admission of wanting him, for weeks, months, maybe even years. He wondered how he’d missed the signs. He wondered if he really cared.

The picture on the dresser was a happy one, the two of them smiling as friends, teammates. But maybe after all of this, Luke would let Saint replace it. Maybe Luke would let him take a new picture, of the two of them smiling as something more than friends, lovers or maybe even partners. Maybe Luke would let him in. And maybe Saint would let him.

#st. tweedle #luke x saint #rangers #me with my sexuality #18+#confessions #they in love lol #first kiss #first time #relic keel #vaincre #lumosinlove

22 notes · View notes

spookypotato · 4 years

Text

So since @lumosinlove decided to bless us with official playlists (Thank you) I made the Sweater Weather and the Coast To Coast one. Relic Keel was already done by the the wonderful Mab @noctualilith

all the Playlists are on Spotify

Sweater Weather Playlist

Coast to Coast Playlist

Relic Keel Playlist

💚💙💛

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #finn o'hara #leo knut #logan tremblay #o'knutzy #remus x sirius #wolfstar #leo x logan x finn #playlist #relic keel

110 notes · View notes

clearsuitcasecookienerd · 3 years

Text

sneak peek??

the thunder may have been what woke Kasey up but it wasn’t what was causing his chest to tighten

#see you in the stars pt 3???#sweater weather #lumosinlove #relic keel #vaincre #kasey winter #Alex O’Hara #Natalie Darcy #o’darwin #sneak peek

9 notes · View notes

wonder-womans-ex · 3 years

Text

One Word Answer

Luke won’t even try to deny it—he’s fighting back tears as he pushes the screen door open. The house is so silent he thinks it might be empty, and, quite honestly, that’s probably for the best. If he tries to talk to anyone right now, he actually is going to start crying.

All he wants is to curl up on the Lupins’ sofa and think about whatever the fuck it was he did wrong; whatever he did to deserve this.

But he has no such luck.

The instant he enters the living room, he’s met by an onslaught of noise. There are streamers hanging from the ceiling, and the smiling faces of his friends—James, Remus, Sirius, Logan, Leo, Finn; he even thinks he might see Lily in the corner—are there to greet him. Remus approaches first, and presses a glass of champagne into his hands.

He passes it right back, and the noise stills, and Remus’s face falls slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Obviously something’s wrong.”

Luke sighs. “Just forget it.”

“What?”

“Forget it. Forget this.” He gestures around them, at the people, the decorations, the alcohol. “There’s no point.”

“What are you talking about?”

Isn’t Remus supposed to be the smart one? Is he really going to make Luke say it? “He said no, Remus.”

If the room was quiet before, now it’s unbelievably so; painfully so. “He said no,” he says again, this time more to himself.

He barely feels himself slump against the doorframe, sliding down to the floor with a slight thump. His head falls to the side, and he squeezes his eyes closed in one final attempt to stop the tears.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though it feels, in a way, like he’s dreaming; he hears Remus’s voice, determined and far, far too loud: “Okay, everyone out. He needs… he needs.”

There follows the all-encompassing silence of a party ended too soon. Footsteps pass by him, going out into the hall, but Luke doesn’t have the energy to try to put gaits to faces and faces to names. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything but sit there and feel the uncomfortable warmth of his tears spill from his eyes and trail down his cheeks.

“I’ll go,” he hears Sirius say, once there’s no one left but the three of them, “and talk to…” he trails off, perhaps not saying the name for fear of it killing Luke just a little more inside, but it does nothing to help. All he can think of is hazel eyes and blond curls and gold, gold, gold.

And then it’s just them there: Luke, who needs to be comforted, and Remus, who hasn’t had to comfort him in so long that he’s forgotten how to—or maybe he never knew at all.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says.

“Don’t be.”

For the first time since it happened, Luke opens his fist. He opens his eyes, too, and he stares at the glint of metal. He bought the ring so long ago; he spent hours deliberating, trying to find the perfect one, and now it seems it doesn’t matter after all.

“He said no,” he whispers again, and this time it feels, even to him, like he’s just trying to convince himself of that. He looks up, meeting Remus’s gaze, and he brings his knees up to his chest, curling himself into a ball, into a defense mechanism, and buries his face in his hands. “I love him.”

“I know.”

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“But you don’t know!” This—this anger isn’t like him. Or, well, it is like him—it’s how he was before the treasure, when they were just Gods and Hollows. It’s how he was before Saint.

He feels one of Remus’s hands grasp his, and he thinks of all the times they tried so hard to be in love. For years, they thought that it had to be each other; that they would never have anyone else. But it never worked out, because Remus needed Sirius—brave, easy Sirius—and Luke needed Saint.

Saint who was harsh like ice and warm like sunlight. Saint who loved like he fought.

Saint who said no.

Gently, Remus pries the ring out of his hand. He hears the click as it’s set down on the floor beside them, and he lets himself be enveloped in the arms of the boy who was his only friend in the world for so very long.

The apartment is empty when Luke gets back. The lights are off; the door is locked; Saint’s wallet is still on the counter here he left it. He wonders where Saint is. He wonders if Saint is going to come back.

He wonders whether he wants him to.

Well, that’s not quite right. Of course he wants Saint to come back. What he’s not so sure about is whether he wants Saint to acknowledge any of this.

He’s been hurt in a way he didn’t know he could be hurt. He has his defenses—he always has—and he took them down for the boy who was somehow both wild dreams and harsh reality all at once. For the first time in his life, he saw he was falling in love, and he let himself. He had no idea that that love would ever—could ever—destroy him in the way it is now.

Saint loves him. Luke knows this. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have pretended to, because while Saint is a good liar, he is not a happy one. He’s lived far too much of his life surrounded by half-truths, and he would never willingly do something that would hurt himself.

Hurting other people, yes. But Saint is not self-destructive. He’s just reckless.

Luke sets his keys down on the coffee table. He stares at the sofa—the sofa he and Saint bought together—and he clenches his jaw. His fist flies, practically of its own accord, into one of the couch cushions, and he feels his anger hit boiling point.

Just as quickly, it cools.

He’s not so much mad at Saint as he is mad at himself for wanting to be mad at Saint. He’s always known himself to be a paradox, and now, here, in the semi-darkness of the place he calls home, he finally understands that now is no exception.

When he enters the bedroom, he reaches out blindly with one hand for the light switch. To an outsider, it would seem like nothing has changed at all, but in reality, Luke’s entire world has been flipped on its head. It feels like it, anyway.

He goes through the motions. He brushes his teeth; he changes into his pajamas; but all the while he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice.

Climbing into bed and smelling the briny tang of salt water that Saint always carries with him is what finally tips him off the edge. He becomes lost in the memory of this afternoon, and it’s like Crucio all over again; he’s drowning in the past and the present and the future—

“Do you recognize this place?” Luke asks, hands in his pockets.

“Of course.”

The sun shines off Saint’s hair, bright and beautiful, and Luke tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” It’s natural—they’ve said it a hundred thousand times by now, and, as Luke squeezes the ring he’s holding, he hopes beyond hope they’ll be able to say it a hundred thousand more.

“Saint?”

When Saint turns around, his eyes go wide. Luke tries to keep his balance—his jeans are already damp at the knee from the still-dewy grass, and the faint warmth of the noonday sun does nothing to calm his nerves. His breath shakes; he almost drops the ring as he holds it out.

“Hey,” he says, trying to smile. Inhale, exhale, he tells himself, and starts over again.

“I think you know why I’ve brought you here, but I’m going to say it anyway.

“This place, right here, is where we were when I finally fell in love with you. Sure, I’d been falling for a long time, but it was here that I hit rock bottom and realized I wanted to stay there.”

Saint must know where this is going. There’s no way he doesn’t. But his expression is unreadable, and Luke has to force himself to look away in order to keep going.

“I love you, Saint. I have for so long it scares me to think about and I will for the rest of time. You mean the world to me—I hope you know that. You are, without a doubt, my everything, and I want more than anything for you to remain my everything forever.

“You’ve spent years without a last name that truly feels like home. What I’m offering now, what I’m laying my heart bear in the hopes of, is that you can take mine. Will you—” he swallows, finally focusing his gaze; finally meeting Saint’s eyes, “—will you marry me?”

It’s like time has forgotten where it was going before—or perhaps even that it was ever going anywhere at all. Luke waits, biting his lip and trying not to smile, for an answer.

Saint turns his head away; he’s looking at something in the distance. His fingers are twitching ever so slightly at his side, and Luke’s heart falters.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Saint, still looking away, and Luke doesn’t need to hear any more. It’s as if someone has taken an axe to the very fibre of his being; his dreams of the future are being chipped away at in front of his very eyes.

Luke clears his throat. “Right.” He stands up, and his leg hurts like a bitch from kneeling, but he won’t say anything. The last thing he can do right now is show weakness. The last thing he can do is prove to Saint that he, Luke Deveaux, isn’t worth it.

“Wait,” Saint calls after him when he turns to go, but Luke isn’t listening. Of course Saint has his excuses, and, knowing Saint, they’re probably damn good ones, too, but he doesn’t want to hear them. Not now, when the chasm down the centre of his heart is still fresh and bleeding. Not now, when it hurts to take even a single step away from the man he loves, but he has to anyway.

Maybe not ever.

Luke isn’t asleep. He’s caught in the half-place—the place you go when you’re not there, not yet, but you aren’t quite here, either. So he feels the mattress dip beside him, and he feels the breath on the back of his neck, and he feels the hand curl protectively over his waist. He hears Saint say “I’m sorry,” in that quiet, desperately painful voice he has.

“You’re not,” he says into the silence, and he waits.

“I am,” Saint tells him. “I really am. I’m sorry I can’t want that. I’m sorry I can’t be that. I’m sorry I’m not enough.”

The last part is raw and full of emotion, and it would kill Luke completely if he was to say anything but “You are enough.”

“Not for you, I’m not.”

He still doesn’t turn over to face Saint—he’s not ready for that—but he lets himself relax slightly into his arms. “You are. You’re enough. You’re more than enough. Sometimes—sometimes I think you might be a little too much, actually.”

Saint’s other hand slots quietly over his. It makes his breath catch in his throat, but he can feel, in the thrum, the ever-constant ebb and flow of Saint’s very being, that it makes all of this so much easier.

“What I wanted to say,” Saint starts—tentatively, as if he’s scared that at any moment Luke is going to decide he doesn’t want to hear it—“earlier today, is that I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that. I’ve never wanted a wedding and a certificate and a house and a family and honey, I’m home. That’s… that’s not for me.

“The way I see it, marriage is an anchor. It’s there to make sure you never stray. It’s a choice you make once, and it’s a choice that stays with you forever.”

Exactly, Luke thinks, but he says nothing.

“What I want—what I’ve always wanted, I just never thought it was within any realm of possibility until I fell in love with you—is a hundred choices. I want freedom in the fact that there isn’t really freedom at all. I want two boats, floating freely, that always find their way back to each other. I want to wake up next to you every morning knowing that I could leave if I wanted to but make the choice not to.

“And I know that’s not what you want. But I can’t make myself play happy families because the truth of it is that that isn’t me. I’m a wanderer. I want a reason to stay in one place, not a rule to keep me there. I’m sorry.”

He can feel Saint’s mouth moving against the place where his spine meets the cords of his neck. He can feel Saint’s tears, but it’s okay, because he’s crying, too.

“No.” His voice is far too loud for the weighted silence of the room. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I tried to make you choose between yourself and me. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that I don’t want marriage; I want you. I want you in your entirety; I want you in your all-encompassing happiness. That’s all I want. I want what you can give me—nothing more, nothing less.”

Slowly, Luke turns over onto his back. Saint immediately tucks his face into the space between Luke’s shoulder and neck, and this, this feels right.

“I love you,” Saint whispers. “I’ll always love you.”

“And I you.”

Saint laughs, a quiet noise that sounds like it’s half sob, as well. “And I tried to want that. I really did. At the wedding, I looked at you in that suit and I tried so hard to imagine if that was, well, us.”

“But you couldn’t.” As he says it, Luke presses a kiss to the crown of Saint’s head—the curls tickle his nose, and he closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself just be.

“I couldn’t. And I thought that was okay, because I never even considered that you could love me enough to… to want that with me.”

Luke pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow and creating enough space between them for him to look Saint in the eyes. They haven’t properly looked at each other since this afternoon, but that particular shade of hazel is all Luke has been able to think about. “It has nothing to do with how much I want you,” he says, and then he realizes how that sounds. “Or, rather, it is no indicator of how much I want you. It’s like you said—marriage is like an anchor. Sure, I haven’t always wanted that anchor, but that doesn’t change the fact that, anchor or no, I’ve always known, somewhere, that I’ll never let us drift apart.”

There are a few moments where they simply stare at each other. Luke runs his tongue along the edges of his teeth, pressing it into the sharpness of his canines just to feel something. Then Saint smiles that half-smile of his—the one he only ever wears when he and Luke are alone—and reaches up to cup Luke’s cheek in his palm.

“Fucking hell, Tweedle,” he says, in a soft, gentle voice that doesn’t at all match the words coming out of his mouth, “that might be the sappiest shit I’ve ever heard you say.”

Luke rolls his eyes and grins. He leans down, brushing his mouth against Saint’s. Their lips are barely touching, but, even so, Luke feels himself smile into the kiss. He’s at home here.

“You know,” Saint says later, when they’re simply lying in the dark, Luke’s head resting on Saint’s chest and one of Saint’s fingers tracing circles in Luke’s back, “there is one downside to the whole ‘not getting married’ plan.”

Luke wonders if he’s walking into a trap. “What’s that?”

“The last name thing.”

“Mm hmm.” Luke yawns. “Saint Deveaux does have a nice ring to it.”

“That it does.”

There’s another minute or two of comfortable silence, before Luke speaks up again. “And the second thing?”

“The second—oh.” Saint waits half a second before, “No divorce jokes.”

Luke laughs despite himself, relishing in the way Saint’s chest moves as he laughs, too. Saint, he knows now, is his choice. Saint is everything. Saint is home.

Saint is forever.

characters are by the incredible @lumosinlove

thanks to @im-oknutzy-trash for betaing

#st. tweedle #luke deveaux #saint #relic keel lumosinlove #angst with a happy ending #the author projects their own insecurities about marriage onto fictional characters #luke x saint #idk what to tag this #wolfstar are married in this btw #yes I did extensive research on economy and real estate pricing before realizing that it doesn't matter because this is relic keel #so they've all got pirate treasure #and are hence loaded

129 notes · View notes