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slxrpindust · 5 years ago

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Labor on That Midnight Wire

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: M

Archive Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Relationships: Molly/Alastor, Angel Dust/Husk, Charlie/Vaggie— mentioned, Arackniss/Salem, Lucifer/Lilith — mentioned

Characters: Angel Dust, Molly, Arackniss, Alastor, Husk, Salem, Henroin, Lucifer, Minor Character(s)

Additional Tags: Non-Consensual Drug Use, Alternate Universe — Royalty, Alternate Universe — Nobility, Mentioned Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Violence, Fade-to-Black Sex, Conflict No Resolution, Incomplete, Viva la Revolución

It’s a classic European royalty AU, with King Lucian, Queen Lilith and Princess Charlotte. Varona (Vaggie) is Charlie’s Lady in Waiting but they have been secretly courting each other for quite some time now. (Unfortunately this is just the B plot and I don’t have much planned for it.)

Our focus will primarily be the House of Cadaverini: Marquis Henry Cadaverini and his late wife Marchioness Clementine, and their three lovely children, the Lord Nicholas, the Lady Maria, and the Young Lord Angelo.

Nick is the perfect heir. Upstanding young man, handsome, does what he’s told, handles quite a few of the House’s duties, helps maintain good relations with neighboring lords... the usual. In fact, many suspect that he will be betrothed to the Princess come year’s end.

Lady Maria is the talk of the land for her beauty and grace, but mostly her sharp wit. Normally ladies are expected to be prim and proper, and while she is, she has also never hesitated to cut a man down with her words... Many a rumor about what lucky lord will be able to “tame” that lady into a proper wife... Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon, since Henry is soft on her, his only daughter who reminds him of his wife so much; he’s given her the liberty of rejecting any suitor that comes before her and she does so gleefully.

And lastly.. of course, the Young Lord, Angelo. He is much more reckless than both of his siblings, and tales of his escapades travel far. He’s a heartbreaker, said to be able to woo anyone woman in the land. Although it would seem his tastes lie with the gents.. and is also exceptional at challenges of the equestrian variety. While beloved by many, much of the older Nobility find him disgraceful, due to his blatant disrespect and unwillingness to perform the duties expected of him. As you can tell the House is quite the popular topic for gossip.

Now one day, Lord Angelo and Lady Maria are out for one of their rides, (another thing she shouldn't be doing but WELL..) and they come across a hovel of a building.. Never noticed it because they never come out this far..... and it's so creepy it's like an above ground graveyard or a mausoleum or something..... there are coffins EVERYWHERE.... some open... some, more disturbingly, closed. This is where they meet the estranged Alistair who has.. no last name? Despite Angelo’s distrust, Maria seems to be immediately intrigued by this strange man... the first able to keep up with her Wit, following along with every twist and turn and giving as good as he got.

[ Interaction Interlude:

“So... Alistair...... What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a Carpenter! :)”

“..... who only makes coffins?” :doubt:

“................... Correct! :)” ]

Eventually, Angelo has had enough and is like “Alright let’s go!” And Maria seems frustrated by this but she agrees anyway.. they leave but even as they do both Alistair and Maria know... She’ll be back.

And she is! She starts to visit Alistair more and more often, all alone as well, which is extremely unacceptable for a woman of her status. And before they know it they’ve begun their own private little courting dance that neither will admit to. And thats. Main Plot Part A.

MEANWHILE IN MAIN PLOT PART B.... While Maria is off on her secret dates, which Angelo knows about and is begrudgingly been covering her for... Angelo actually has to go out since he’s supposed to be out with Maria. And he finds his time occupied at this kind of shitty smithy which is clearly for low income peasantry and thus. Absolutely NOWHERE he should be spending his time... Which is why he likes it so much. :))) And it’s there that he meets the gruff and burdensome blacksmith who offers no name. It’s fine though. Angelo doesn’t need a name to flirt. And this blacksmithy is cute under all that dirt and grime He Knows It. Unfortunately the Smith doesn’t seem to like the Young Lord at all, which is also fine. Angelo’s certain he can crack him eventually. No one can resist Lord Cadaverini. They go back and forth for months.. Angelo learns that people call the smith Husk... he likes the name. Eventually the man seems less genuinely irritated and more begrudgingly annoyed. Angelo can tell. The smith enjoys his company he just won’t admit it. Especially to himself. Finally one day, Angelo is actually getting on Husks nerves but he can’t even tell. The Lord is a bit oblivious to when people are legitimately mad at him, since he’s so used to mindlessing pushing people’s buttons. What pushes it over the line though, is Angelo asking why Husk is always smithing weapons especially since there's no way there could be that much demand for such a simple low class smithy... yet he’s always working. Husk snaps, although Angelo doesn’t know why, and he sends the lord away.

So! While his siblings have been gallivanting about, making poor examples of the Cadaverini House, Nicholas has been the one thing trying to hold their damn reputation together. Honestly the only reason that the Cadaverini haven't fallen in standing with the other Noble Houses is because the elders have faith in Nicholas to uphold the legacy and their beliefs in what nobility should be. He’s their last bastion of hope. They’d already given up on Angelo, and with each year unwed, they lose faith in Maria as well. In fact, prospects for House Cadaverini Look brighter than ever, since rumors say that Nicholas and the Princess will be wed.

Nick pays no mind to the rumors. Which is a real shame because he is woefully unprepared when Henry comes to inform him that yes, he has talked to King Lucien and he and Charlotte will be wed in December.

You see... Nicholas has not been the perfect son that everyone believes he has. He has a lot of duties for the kingdom; one of which is “maintaining foreign relations” a position that requires him to report directly to the king, making him Quite the Reputable and Important figure…

On paper, Hel is supposed to be fostering positive relations with its neighboring country, Locasta. However, under the surface King Lucien is planning a Coup, and intends to have his brother, Apollyna assassinated. In order to achieve this, Nicholas has been appointed as his Locastan Envoy, and is expected to spend long trips in the other country integrating himself into their Nobility, establishing a close relationship, and eventually learning trade military secrets. So Nick has spent his time trying to get into Count Caius Costello’s good graces. Although of lower rank, he is in charge of one of Locasta’s fiercest regiments. The plan was to use his status as a Lord and future Marques of Cadaverini House to garner a seat at Costello’s table. Then he would endear himself to the Count’s Sister, Salem, and use her as a pathway to receive information... Unfortunately... Things didn’t work out quite as planned.

Salem is smart as a whip, and just as quick and vicious. She pulls Nick off to the side of the stables one day, and before he can defend himself, she has him pinned to the wall with a knife to his throat. It’s almost shameful how easily she reads him, he’s like an open book before her. It’s impressive, but Nicholas still has a mission. So he lies through his teeth and waves his position around as though it were a white flag, and even though she doesn’t seem to believe him at ALL, she lets him go. He has a point after all... Killing someone of his status WOULD be a declaration of war, which is exactly what King Lucian would want. Her hands were tied.... for now. But the moment Nick slipped up, and he would slip up, she’d be there, sword at the ready. And he knew it. And he liked it.

He wouldn’t call it courting.. .that’s too formal. Too normal. Too acceptable. He spends the time in Locasta... pursuing Salem. And he spends his time in Hel missing her company. It’s a miracle his siblings haven’t noticed his lovesick longing, but he supposed that for once they were too busy doing whatever to be prying into his life. And for that he was thankful.

Back in Hel, Angelo has been... Sulking. To put it plainly. Maria’s been off with her new beau.... Nicholas has been off being Stupid Perfect Son Nicholas. And he’s been fucking alone because Husk hates him now and never wants to see him again and he doesn’t even know why. And this house is big and empty and it just makes him lonely upset and mad and lonely. And it’s on one of those lonely days in an empty house that the monotony was broken. Broken by a concerned servant, who requires the assistance of the Lord of the House and since Angelo is the only one there well... that task falls to him. Apparently there is a weaponsmith at the front gate and he is quite adamant that the Lord come see his wares. So Angelo makes his way to the front of the grounds and who does he see but. Husk. The young lord is immediately on guard; the last time they met they didn’t part on good terms after all. He debates just sending the man away but Husk asks that he please hear him out and well.... he quite likes the frump so... he invites him in.

[They make up. They fuck.] Funnily enough, it isn't until they're in bed that Angelo learns the man’s name... Hadrian Cabot... it was a good name. (And thank god his mother was already dead because had she heard of this she might have died again.) But Angelo demands one more thing from him. If he’s going to stay in his life then Hadrian will have to be honest about what set him off that day in the smithy. He doesn’t seem like he wants to share but after looking at Angelo’s face again it seems to break him down a little. He explains his... checkered past.... and the fact that until Angelo he’d always hated Nobles... and in fact he still hates 99% of them. Which makes Angelo laugh, knowing he's the 1%. And he doesn’t fault the smith for that; as a lord he could attest, Nobility, including himself tbh, were all AWFUL people. But then Hadrian tells him something that he can’t just brush off.. He tells him of a plot, an uprising in Hel. People are banding together, they know that King Lucian is power hungry and tyrannical and fear that a war they don’t want is on the horizon. It’s made the people restless and some have decided to lash out before he gets the chance to strike. That’s why he was always crafting weapons. He owed the guy who has become the unofficial leader of the revolution.. they’d worked together in the past and the reason Hadrian lashed out was because he hadn’t wanted to get Angelo involved. Angelo could understand why. He knew what revolution entailed. Heads would roll. Heads like his. He could understand why Hadrian didn’t want to get close to him. Not if he would be partially responsible for his death in the future. But even still something about the story unsettled him. This guy that Hadrian was indebted to... What was his name? Who is leading this revolution?.... Angelo wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. But he had to ask.

LET’S CHECK ON MOLLY HUH??? —

Alright! It seems that for Maria, her lovelife has been sailing far easier than either of her brothers. Alistair is fantastic. He actually engages her, he’s interested in the things she has to say, appreciates her mind instead of her breasts. It’s such a relief after wasting so much time with those bastards in the court. They get along quite well. It’s refreshing. She’d been making trips out to visit him once or twice a week at this point, just glad to have someone outside of her brothers that she could consider an actual friend. ((It’s not like she could just make informal housecalls to see the princess when ever she wanted, even if they were friends)) Someone who she could just be herself around, even if he was just odd. She could tell him her passions about the medical field, and he would in turn talk about his hunting escapades. She learned that although he made a number of coffins for work he also found an unexpected pleasure in the art. It soothed something in him, brought him to peace with death both future present and past. Maria didn’t quite understand it, but she respected it well enough. It was a day like any other, they’d been having tea and Alistair was in the process of explaining ‘taxidermy’ when Angelo burst in. He looked ragged and distressed and he wasn’t breathing right... It set Maria on edge.

His eyes looked so wild, darting back and forth every few seconds to look at Alistair, as if taking his eyes off him for a second would be catastrophic but also desperate to ensure that his sister was unharmed and in one piece. It took a few seconds to realize that between his reedy breathing and panicked gasps he was trying to speak, but it was all rushing together so quickly that it was incomprehensible. Maria immediately went to his side, assuming the worst. Thankfully it seemed that having her in arms reach helped to calm him, if only a little. During all the stress and concern, she hadn’t even noticed the man who followed Angel in, slightly out of breath. But thankfully Alistair did. He immediately took control of the situation, as if he were born to lead. It was a bit unexpected, but not unwanted, although again Maria and Angelo seemed to be out of sync with that thought. He instructed everyone to have a seat, and began to prepare tea for everyone as he tried to explain to Angelo that no one would be able to understand him until he calmed down and that the tea would help. The young lord didn’t seem to agree with him but eventually was cajoled into drinking by his sister and his... beau. He wished he hadn’t.

Within minutes he felt calm. Too calm. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, every blink came slow and heavy, and suddenly the teacup had the weight of an anchor sitting in his hands. He wasn’t tired, it just felt that he was underwater. Every movement came, but it came sluggish like the drip of molasses off a wooden spoon. He wanted to glare, to yell and accuse Alistair for his misdeeds, but the very thought of lifting his head seemed like a monumental task, so very far beyond him. Thankfully, his sister was no fool, and immediately noticed something was wrong. Everyone was just too relaxed for the situation at hand. She turned to confront Alistair but he just responded with the same smile he always did, asking that she refrained from being swept away in her own emotions and that she hear his explanation. She didn’t know if she wanted to, but the sight of her brother, nearly comatose and in the arms of a stranger, left her with little choice now didn’t it? And she didn’t hesitate to point that out.

Thankfully, Alistair didn’t waste time on contrivances, and was quick to explain himself. He explained that while yes, it was coincidence that they happened upon his humble abode that fateful day, it was always part of the plan to “make contact” with the Cadaverini heirs. And yes, he meant Kidnapping. But thankfully he realized that day, there was no need to resort to such methods because Maria was an intelligent woman and surely would see his logic. He had no intention of hurting either her or her brother, he simply needed them as a means to an end, and it just so happened that if she would willingly agree to his cause that would only make things much easier. At that point, he details his entire plan to her; a move some might consider foolish, but when questioned he assured that he held no doubt in his mind that Maria would not betray him. It burned her inside to know that he was right. He explains the role that she and her siblings are to partake in this game of his and that is when she has had enough. She needs to know. Is that all this was to him? A game? Alistair is excited, he can tell by her calm demeanor that he’s already won her over, had he not he may have been in actual danger, and the thought has made him giddy. He’s prancing about the house, making changes to their plans to accommodate their new accomplices when he registers the question. “A game? Why of course not, Dear Maria! I’ve always considered you a good friend.”

She didn’t know if that answer made her feel better.. or worse.

#my writing #royalty au #hazbin hotel #molly hazbin hotel #mollastor #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x husk #informal writing #arackniss x salem #charlie x vaggie #mentioned: charlie x arackniss #ahahah i dont remember how to tag fic on tumblr

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smolfangirl · 6 years ago

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Cómo te pido

Based on the song and mv for “Cristina” by Sebastián Yatra, and some of my own experiences. I hope you enjoy this ♥

Word count: 5.8k

///

Entre tanta gente yo te vi llegar

Algo en el destino me hizo saludar

///

One day off. One single day of getting lost in the city, not found by anyone except himself. That’s all he wants, craves, after weeks and weeks of being praised as someone who exists solely in the minds of the media and his fans.

One day, and he couldn’t even get that.

It starts with some teenagers chilling on the staircase to the metro, asking for pics, and soon they’ll be all over Instagram and a group of paparazzi and reporters will follow him – Matteo knows the deal. The business.

And frankly, he’s tired of it.

///

The moment he steps into the bar, he wonders if this was the right decision. The air feels hot in his lungs, the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer burns in his nose, while his eyes struggle to find the barkeeper in the crowd blocking the counter. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt deeper into his face before he slowly makes his way to the bar.

No one looks at him for more than just a second.

///

She’s looking at him.

The stage light creates the illusion of a halo around her, and she’s looking at him with a smile so bright and honest, he can’t tear his gaze away from her. At first, he feared she recognized him, saw through his terrible disguise, but the longer he watches her, the more he relaxes. During his career, he’s seen hundred versions of people spotting him and freaking out. That girl is not one of them.

So, he winks back at her.

///

Her voice sounds as sweet and golden as on the stage, like honey that’s sticking to his soul instead of his fingers. She appears next to him out of nowhere, asking if the seat is taken as she already casually jumps on it. With a chuckle, he replies that he won’t ask her to leave, and the moment she directs another smile at him, the burden of being a superstar whirls off his shoulders.

“Do you usually arrive only to see the last performance of the night?” she asks, head tilted. Her hair falls freely over her shoulder, a tangled mess that somehow frames her face perfectly.

Grimacing, he reaches for his drink. The wine still tastes like a grape took a piss in his glass, although that detail is forgotten the instant he figures out what to answer. “No, but usually, the last performance isn’t worth paying attention to.”

“You’ve never been here before.”

“And you’ve never had a drink with someone as cool as me.”

That makes her laugh. He feels pride rushing through his veins, like when his music makes someone happy or when his mom looks at him with tears in her eyes after watching a performance from him.

She leans closer. “Technically, I’m not having a drink right now.”

The smile on his face never leaves, only deepens. “Then it’s about time we change that.”

///

At some point after midnight, long after his phone ran out of battery, the barkeeper releases a heavy sigh and asks them to leave. They’re the only ones left in the entire room.

At the exit, he stops. Glances over his shoulder, at this place he’d never expect to find (or look for). For a few hours, he had a safe haven, away from fans, flashing cameras and obnoxious voices chanting his name. It was worth the stifling air, the hint of vomit out of the toilets, the headache the cheap wine will give him in the morning. Whatever happened tonight will end too soon, even when he’s not ready to give it up just yet.

“You okay?” Luna’s hand lingers on his arm, gently guides him back to reality, where her last laugh still echoes through the bar.

Upon facing her, he discovers a frown on her face. “Yeah, sure. Just wanted to make sure I left nothing behind.”

“Okay.”

The air leaking inside from the entrance hits him with all its coldness, reminding him of what kind of world he’s returning to.

Silencing the sigh rooted in his chest, Matteo hides in his hoodie again. “Okay, let’s go.”

She holds him back. Lets her hand hush over his cheeks, carefully tugging the fabric until the hood falls on his back. “You shouldn’t hide such a beautiful face.”

His breath hitches. Eventually, he whispers back, “You can never be too careful in a city like this.”

“I keep wondering if you’re new around here, you know?”

That’s the curse of being a star, he thinks. He’s not new to this city – or any other – yet knows nothing that exists outside of his hotel and the venue. And with Luna, everything feels new altogether.

“I am.”

She smiles, again, and if every camera in the world had only one picture left, that’s what he’d photograph. “I can show you around then, if you’d like.”

///

Y empecé mis planes para vernos otra vez

///

“You want me to put skates on my feet?” Half protesting, half questioning her, his mind already paints vivid pictures of him in an emergency room, sitting in a wheelchair with one leg and two arms broken, as his manager yells at him.

��What did you think the helmets were for?”

“I don’t know, something less dangerous? Cycling, maybe?”

“Are you trying to tell me you never skated before?”

Matteo sighs, rubbing his arm. “I used to. As a kid.” In the street where his grandparents used to live, back in Italy. Some part of his body always carried a scratch or a bruise during those summer days, he remembers ending up on the ground a lot, and the band-aids his mom used to ease the pain. (With funny little fruits on them.)

Luna dangles her boots in front of him with a smile that sends his heart into overdrive. “Then this will be even more fun.”

“Luna…” His heartbeat picks up at the mere idea of falling. When he was younger, he felt invincible enough to risk it, but looking at her, at the skates, he feels like his whole body is made of glass.

“I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”

Maybe he won’t fall.

///

He can’t remember the last time it’s been so dark around him. On the street, cameras blind him even through his sunglasses. At home, his phone never gives him a rest, blinking for every message, every notification that comes in. Even in the bar they met in light leaked behind closed doors, from the stage or as a broken reflection from a cocktail glass. His whole world is bright and open and cruel – there’s no shadow to make one wrong move in.

Here, everything is dark and soft and honest. When he glimpses behind the curtain, he can see the stars sprinkled over the sky. Next to him, Luna is dozing off, the silver moon light dancing on her cheekbone. He can hear the beat of his own heart, calm and steady in a rhythm it hasn’t found in years.

Just as he closes his eyes, Luna shifts on the mattress until he feels her gaze settle on him. “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, she whispers.

“What, camping?”

“Going on a road trip with someone I barely know. You could be an axe murderer.”

Or worse, a popstar who could get you on the front cover of every gossip magazine you ever heard of. Out loud, he chuckles. “Damn, you caught me. How will you fall asleep now that you discovered my darkest secret?”

She tries to slap him on his arm only to hit his blanket, and he keeps her fingers locked and secure in his own hands. “You know what, Luna, you put up too much of a fight. I’m gonna have mercy on you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re freezing.”

Her voice grows softer, shy almost. “The blanket’s not very warm.”

For a moment, they fall quiet. The wind creates a melody in the tree tops, plays with the leaves like a five-year old chasing a ball, and Matteo thinks about the bottom drawer in his mom’s kitchen, the one that doesn’t close completely, because of this one pot that’s a millimeter too big. He thinks about the empty jars his mom keeps in there for her strawberry marmalade, and how he wants to store this feeling in them, forever. This moment, this peace, won’t last, but perhaps he could lock it away, remember it, completely: the wind outside, the muffled rustling from his blanket as he robs closer to her. How her body curves against his like she’s a matching puzzle piece.

How he falls asleep, wondering if all these coincidences that lead him here are just his destiny in disguise.

///

He’s been to many beaches. Beaches in Italy during his childhood, where he mostly cared about how good the sand would build up to castles. Beaches on vacations, where he was surrounded with people who didn’t wish to be bothered by anyone, just like him. Once or twice he performed at a beach festival. He got his skin burned, got tanned. Went swimming and snorkeling and hired jet skis to cruise on the ocean.

He never just stood and watched.

“What a view, huh?”

Next to him, Luna stands in the breeze, eyes half closed as she wears this smile again that could replace the sun. Her dress softly flaps around her legs, and the wind plays with her hair. Yeah, what a view.

“I wonder if there’s a way to get down there,” he says out loud.

Grimacing, she glances down the cliff separating them from the ocean. “Unless you wanna jump down there, I don’t think so.”

“That’s a shame.”

“There’ll be other beaches, you know. That we can actually go to.” Her fingers dance over his arms, the silent encouragement only contradicted by the soft laugh that follows. Goosebumps run over his skin, his stomach ties itself into a knot, but Matteo can’t quite fathom a smile. As long as they’re alone, his mind is too full of her and the rush of emotions she brings along like a fresh breath of air after sitting in the studio all day. But she’ll say something like this, reminding him that there’s more out there, people and social media and another life for him, and his chest tenses until he’s almost suffocating.

Luna has no clue, of course. She doesn’t know better, so she lets him discover her, lets him read through her past and thoughts and feelings like it’s nothing more than a sweet novel to get lost in during vacations. And he knows better, so he turns page after page, trying to memorize the lines, the ticking clock a constant noise in the back of his mind.

The more he gets to know her, the more he dreads going back to the spotlight. (The more he falls for her, too.)

“Let me take a picture of you. With this beach, okay?” he begs her. The dimple on her cheek deepens as she carefully places her camera in his hand. Her touch still lingers on his palm when he snaps the first picture, and he can’t hurry enough to capture the softness in her gaze, or the brightness in her smile. He hasn’t grown tired of admiring her, and with the camera in his hands, he finally allows himself to keep more than just a fond memory. If a few pictures are going to be the only thing left when reality catches him in its iron fist again, he’ll hold onto every tiny snippet of them.

///

Luna takes pictures of him, too. On that cliff, in front of the crystal-clear sky which is only outdone by the shimmering blue of the ocean. In a small town when they wander through the streets and follow graffities bursting with color. When they stumble upon the kid bringing the grey walls to life with his spray cans, and he poses with him as if they were best friends. When she invites him for ice cream and a hungry seagull steals his cone directly out of his hand.

Every night after dawn, she cuddles up to him in the campervan to show him her favorite pictures.

Once, she’s fast asleep next to him, he scrolls through his phone to the file with the pictures from photoshoots and magazine covers. The Matteo in there smiles too, but it isn’t real. Luna brings out the smile in his eyes, and in the picture he’s staring at, the curve on his lips is plastered on like the make-up on his forehead. For his work, he acts like a mannequin, nothing more than a prop to polish someone’s Instagram page and give his fans the illusion of knowing him.

In Luna’s pictures, he’s happy. Silly even, if he wants to. When she focuses her camera on him, there’s no expectation in the little click of the lens, so he lets go and smiles because one look from her pulls the corners of his mouth up. Sometimes she pulls a grimace at him that he copies, and sometimes, he leans down to kiss her cheek right before she takes a selfie.

He hopes that when this is over, she’ll look at these little moments, knowing she unlocked a side of him no one else saw before.

///

Recuerdo todo lo que te gustaba

Y tu camisa que llega a los pies

Esa carita cuando te cantaba por primera vez

///

Her phone died. In the middle of the song, two seconds away from her favorite part, and he expects the pout on her face before he tears his gaze away from the street. Before he met her, he never even heard of the band, too busy with his own music. Now, his fingers tap the melody on the steering wheel with ease, and he finishes the song so naturally like the words were tattooed into his veins. It’s not until he falls silent again that he glimpses over to her.

Tears glisten in her eyes.

“You have a beautiful voice,” she whispers.

“Thanks,” he replies, smiling to himself. (After signing his first contract, he never thought these words could mean so much again.)

“I mean it. I can totally see you becoming a singer or something. Hey, maybe I could ask Simón if he’d be up for a collaboration, or…” Her enthusiasm intensifies with every word she rambles, but it’s not contagious this time, not when his mind already paints a new picture of the worst case. She probably knows her best friend’s phone number by heart, and she’ll sneak his phone out of his pocket to call him, and he’ll know more about a certain Matteo Balsano than she imagines, so she’ll find out who he is (or who everyone else knows him as) and hate him and he’ll have to let her go, and he’s not ready for that.

“Matteo?” Her voice snaps him back to reality. “Are you okay?”

Is he? His knuckles turned white as he’s driving, and he clenches his teeth so hard that his jaw hurts. “Um, sure, yeah. I’m fine. I just don’t think I’m the type for a boy band.”

The frown on her forehead tells him he seriously needs to work on his white lies. But before she gets to needle him with more questions, Matteo gives her his most charming smile and asks, “Are you in for a duet though? Like, right now?”

A few minutes later he thinks that no professionally recorded and produced duet could ever live up to the harmony that is her voice melting into his.

///

Y si pudiera mostrarte

Que estando juntos ya no hay nada que falte

///

She asked him to pull over, again. The coastal view tempted her too much, and she’s sorry and hiding behind her open hair, even when he’s coming to a stop without as much as raising an eyebrow. Leaning against the van, Matteo watches her standing in the breeze, arms wide open, a huge smile on her face. One glance over her shoulder, and he’s by her side. She raises an eyebrow at him, more a challenge than a question, so he smirks and twirls her around until a laugh pearls over her lips. Bumping into his chest, Luna is still giggling, still making his heart feel like a race car that’s cruising his ribcage. With her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a dance along to the rhythm of their heartbeats. (A scene just like a music video, he thinks, except that it’s real.)

She takes the lead. Whirls him around just like he did, fuels him with every look out of her dazzling green eyes. There’s the thought of kissing her, again. A part of him already suspects that he’ll never stop writing songs about her once his lips get to know hers, but this urge never burned him so fast from the inside.

This time, he won’t fight it.

Matteo allows himself to give in, every move is now aimed to get him closer to her, every breath he takes hopes to be shared with her, and he’s falling, falling, falling.

They’re slow dancing now. Her face is hidden in his chest, both arms wrapped around him as if he’s her favorite stuffed animal. The sun creates the illusion of diamonds on her hair, and he feels endlessly torn between soaking up this pure moment, and finally pressing his mouth on hers. Her fingers sneak over his shirt, caress him light as a feather. Matteo is done, defeated, desperate, as her name slips out in nothing more than a whisper.

Their eyes meet.

He leans in.

Thunder growls above them.

Her, ducking away. Pulling him along, towards the van. The moment he blinks up at the sky to the dark clouds sneaking in, she hastily explains, “I think we need to leave now.” He stumbles behind her, speechless. (Because all he feels is her hand intertwined with his fingers.)

///

They don’t talk while Matteo is driving. He’s focused on the road, and the rain clatters on the windscreen too loudly anyway, killing any hope for a conversation. Luna tried to ask him if driving in this weather was a good idea, but the noise swallowed her voice, so she gave up. Now she’s staring into the angry sky outside, pretending she’s not tempted to sneak another glimpse at him, and then another.

Her mind is overflowing with things left unsaid, with confessions and too many questions. He wanted to kiss her, she’s pretty sure about that. And he might still want to kiss her.

Everything else, though, remains a mystery.

How can she be sure she knows him at all, anyway? A book in a foreign language wouldn’t be as hard to decipher as he is. He never mentions his everyday life, or his job. The one time she asked, he said he worked in the entertainment industry, and then he changed the topic. He talks about his childhood, but never his presence. She still doesn’t know why he refused to leave the back of the van three days ago, when she refueled the van and got some snacks in a small city by the coast. Maybe he’s just weird, maybe he’s hiding something, an ex who he’s not keen on running into, or something worse. Maybe she doesn’t want to know.

But these doubts never linger in her mind long enough. Because their eyes meet or he gets her without a single look, or they laugh for ten minutes straight about the same dumb joke, or he smiles at her so gently it takes her breath away. Like right now, as he catches her glare and in an instant, her mouth runs dry.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” A bold lie. She’s thinking about a lot of things, like how soft his lips look, or how her stomach feels like it might burst and how she wants to be close to him for the rest of her life.

And how he better kiss her soon, because otherwise she definitely will.

///

They end up stranded in the middle of nowhere.

The storm rages on, too harsh for them to keep going, and now they’re in bed, listening to the wind howling. Lightning crushes down somewhere close to the van, for a moment, everything is silver and bright and scary. Then, darkness returns. With a shaky breath, Luna pulls her blanket closer.

“Are you okay?” Matteo whispers. The mattress gives in to his weight as he shifts around, before his hand finds her clenched fist underneath the thin fabric. “You’re cold.”

“You’re hot.”

“May I?”

Her reply, “Sure”, already dies on her tongue. He must have heard it anyway, because he robs closer until she’s in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and his scent and the daydream of his lips on hers. “Thank you,” she says, turning to what she hopes is the outline of his face in the dark.

Lightning, again.

He’s close, closer than she expected. His breath hovers over her face. The memory of this afternoon flickers through her mind, the anticipation that built up ever since they sat in that little bar, the tension in the air when they glimpse at each other at the same time and –

Finally, Matteo kisses her.

///

Solo tienes que saber

Que yo quisiera quedarme

///

Sunlight caresses her cheek. Matteo is feeding her grapes, piece after piece, as he snuggles up to her left side until her blanket becomes kind of redundant. The morning is nothing like last night, quiet and soft, the early sky a canvas of pastels.

“Do you think we can go to the beach today?”

“If we find one, sure.” He nips on his coffee cup, the grapes now out of her reach, then pats over the blanket, probably in search for his phone.

“How come you keep looking for the same things every morning?”

“I don’t know, I swear it was just right here… ah, got it!” A frown finds its way on his forehead while he begins to type. Then, a soft groan, followed by more typing.

She nudges him with her shoulder. “Let me guess, you’re still trying to find a beach where it’s just us?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with any beach either.”

“Why don’t you just…” He falls silent, gaze suddenly stuck on the screen. The wrinkle above his eyes deepens. His thumb lingers in the air, frozen.

“Why don’t I just what?” Luna asks, her hand finally getting a hold on the grapes, so she at least has something to do.

The sigh he replies with doesn’t exactly promise good news. “I got a text message from work and… seems like they need me back soon.”

Her eyes flutter shut. She thinks of last night, of the dawn, when the first thing she felt upon waking up was his arm loosely wrapped around her, and the second thing his lips greeting her. She thinks of sitting on the beach, a golden sunset in front of them as she steals a kiss from him, safe in his arms. She thinks of the deadlines and unwritten reports and papers waiting for her at home. “How soon?”

“A few days. A week, if I really push it.”

“We’d have to drop off the van early.”

“I don’t want to. I’d rather stay here. With you.” With one hand, Matteo pushes a strand that escaped her ponytail overnight behind her ear. His words hit her straight in her chest, from where a thousand butterflies escape into her bloodstream. “And why can’t you?” she whispers.

“I can’t just… quit. I’m too important there.”

Chuckling, Luna hides her face in his shoulder. When he asks her what’s wrong, she glances up at him, grinning only harder. “You are such a chico fresa, Matteo,” she explains, and the confusion sticks on his face even after she tucks a grape behind his sweet lips.

///

The ocean underneath her feet. The smell of sunscreen lingering in her nose. His smile around her, more constant than the sun in the sky. Her, trailing after him like she’s indeed a silver rocket in the universe and he’s her earth.

For an instant, Luna ponders about this moment, certain she’ll miss it at some point later. But then, he makes her laugh again and all that matters is now.

///

No sé cómo te pido que te enamores

Cuando al final no voy a estar cuando tu llores

(Cuando de ti me enamoré)

///

“Oh my god, guys, that’s Matteo Balsano!” Half a scream, half a whisper. It’s too soon for him to be pulled back into his superstar life, but too late to escape it – that life, his fans, and the realization dawning upon Luna.

“Matteo! Can we take a picture?” Louder. Flashlights. A forced smile on his lips.

“Can you sign this? For Kaylee?”

“Can I have a photo too?” Three phones all up in his face. Four. “I can’t believe we’re running into the Matteo Balsano, just like that!”

Hands, trying to touch whatever is closest to them, trying to nudge him away from where he wants to be. “Why did you disappear for two weeks?”

Luna, gone from his side.

///

Time moves too slowly. She needs answers, explanations. Now. He’s still standing at the other side of the street, those girls stuck to him like fruit flies trapped in honey. She wants them gone, and she wants to be home already, in the silent comfort of her room.

Time moves too quickly. She needs space, something familiar. Her brain is still catching up on what happened, and she’s only halfway through his Wikipedia page. She wants to wake up in bed so this can just be a dream, and she wants yesterday back, with the soft embrace of his arms.

Time moves on. He’s walking towards the van. His face disappears under the hood of his sweater, and she feels like a paparazzi watching him, his every move.

All at once, he’s a stranger to her.

///

“Why?”

“I’m so sorry, Luna.”

She huffs. The sun hits her directly through the windscreen, yet her cheeks heat up for a whole other reason.

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

Her gaze fixates on the view outside, the house fronts and parked cars. It’s motionless, not even a breeze softly ruffling through the palm trees. Inside her, everything seems to be moving and stirring. “And how was I supposed to find out? Never?”

If making him speechless is an accomplishment, it doesn’t feel like one. After seconds or minutes or whatever excruciating amount of silence it equals on the clock, he sighs. “Do you know how hard it is to find someone who doesn’t treat you like some kind of god? You made me feel… when I’m with you, I’m different. Someone…”

“Normal?” Bitterness leaks out of her tone, and it poisons her heart. “That sounds terrible, Matteo. And I’m not going to pity you.”

“Happy,” he replies. “I wanted to say that you made me feel like someone happy.”

You made me feel happy too. Those words don’t cross her lips, though. Instead, she turns on the engine and starts driving. (Away from the place where her heart broke, but not away from him.) Taking a shaky breath, he opens his mouth but before he says anything else, Luna drowns his voice with the first radio station she finds. After two minutes, the host announces one of his songs.

She almost smashes the radio with her fist.

///

All day, she waits for dawn to come, for the darkness to match her mood. An hour into driving, Matteo quietly asks her to stop by one of the beaches to their left. She follows him in a safe distance as he watches the ocean. There’s no smile on his face, just a wrinkle on his forehead. Her phone weighs heavy in her pocket, tempting her to snap a picture of him like all the days before. But she no longer feels like she has the right to take a photo of him, which shouldn’t add to her misery this much.

So, now she’s aching for the night to hide him from her eyes.

///

His eyes flutter open in the darkness. The blanket is tangled between his legs, and he feels some part of Luna bumping into him. His heart clenches at the memory of her silence today, or the looks she sent him. He doesn’t know what he expected, only that he hoped, with a little luck, that she’d stay in his life.

There’s no such faith anymore.

Her touch startles him. Slowly, her fingertips draw patterns on his arm, and Matteo isn’t sure if he’s dreaming. “Luna?” he whispers into the silence.

Her hand stops moving, but it stays frozen where it was, which is everything he needs to hope again. “What are we gonna do?” she finally says.

His heart skips a beat, only to riot harder than ever before in his chest. “I don’t know,” he admits, unsure. “I can’t escape this, you know? People will recognize me wherever I go, whether I like it or not. That’s just a part of my life.”

“So, after this, I’ll never see you again?”

He closes his eyes. Sighs. “Would that be a good thing for you?”

Luna hesitates, he can feel it in her fingertips leaving his skin, in the breath she’s holding. Every second in which she keeps him hanging on to the last thread of hope hurts. All he wants is to pull her back into his arms, back to a time where it was just him and her, and reality got no hold on them. And he feels stupid for believing any of this could have lasted.

“No. It wouldn’t.”

Luna buries her head in his shoulder. A sob pearls over her lips, and out of words, he presses a kiss on her hair. “But I can’t do this,” she adds before she rolls over to her side of the bed and shatters his heart into pieces, just like he must’ve earlier.

When he finds his words again, he whispers “I’m sorry I can’t stay”, but she seems to already be asleep.

///

Este amor ya no es mío

///

He’s watching the van being driven away by one of the employees. The sun is setting behind the rental office, sealing the end of his little run from real life. Turning around, his eyes land on Luna, wo’s holding on to her bags as if her life depended on it.

“So, this is it,” he concludes.

She returns his gaze, and the tears shimmering in them feel like a knife to his chest. “I guess.”

“Maybe we could…”

“Matteo, no.” It sounds as if he’s torturing her, as if nothing brought her more pain than the mere chance to see him again. (If only he knew how to make her smile again…) “We can’t. You know this wouldn’t work.”

With that, she leaves him.

///

Sé que la vida se pasa pero no pasa contigo

///

The next months bring her a lot of opportunities to cry. His new single that her roommate plays on repeat for hours, unaware that the Luna in his song is the same one yelling at her to use headphones. The music video for said single, where he replaces her with a girl who looks nothing like her. His new album, titled Chico Fresa out of all things, and every song that speaks to her. Every single time her thumb hovers over his contact in her phone, until she remembers why she refuses to see him again.

But she learns to stop asking herself “What if”, to stop torturing herself with daydream after daydream. She learns to ignore his voice on the radio and the gossip on the internet. She learns to sleep alone again and get mad enough at him for his lies and songs and calls to move on with her life.

And then she walks into the skating rink on her birthday to a package with her name scribbled on it, inside brand-new skates in the colors of a sunset, along with a card signed by him.

After that, she can’t pretend anymore that she hates him.

///

No tengo la certeza de volverte a ver

Recuérdame

///

The beach in Cancún hasn’t changed. The palm trees along the way, offering some shadow in the merciless midday sun, the scent of salt and sunscreen in the air. The pathway along the ocean she led him to, with her hand in his, which often enough was the only reason his ass didn’t kiss the ground.

Matteo, however, has changed. He has grown, as a person, as a songwriter. Even as a skater – he doesn’t need anyone’s hand anymore in order to keep his balance.

Still, he keeps thinking about her.

Especially here in Mexico, where a year ago, he kissed her, and she claimed his heart only to walk away with it. He wonders what she’s up to, which skating competition she’s training for right now, and if her studies are going well. If there’s someone else, someone new in her life. Someone who isn’t followed by ecstatic fans and paparazzi.

His mind always stumbles over this idea, sooner or later. Not that it’s any of his business. He just wants her to be happy, that’s all. (Is it wrong if he wants her to be happy with him?) And who can blame him when sometimes, missing her overwhelms him, and he can’t stop thinking about what ifs – what if he gave up his career? What if he insisted on seeing her again just a little bit more?

It’s a dangerous path to walk on, and never a gleeful one. So, every time it gets too much to bear, he goes skating.

It’s a routine by now. Matteo puts on his helmet and sunglasses, then his boots. He never goes fast, simply cruising up and down the beach while painting pictures in his head, of her by his side. He imagines her whirling around in pirouettes, jumping and showing off all the tricks he doesn’t dare to try. He imagines the sun adding a soft shimmer to her hair, and her laugh ringing in his ears as he recites the lyrics of the last song he wrote for her. About her. He imagines that he’ll never has to write another song about the moon, because he gets to tell her everything in person.

Her laugh, again.

First, he wonders how clear his memory makes it sound in his ears. Then, he realizes it’s not just an imagination anymore, because Luna is here, for real, a mere hundred meters away. Wearing his skates.

In that moment he knows he’ll have to write another song for her.

#soy luna #lutteo #my sl fanfiction #cómo te pido #if anyone feels just half as emotional after this than from the mv then my work here is done #it feels like an eternity since this song came out #this wasn't supposed to turn out this long but is anyone really surprised

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