#solrag

[marionette8601]

Matter of my 99% OTP dynamic

[mobiusketch]

One Star Can Be Enough

Pairing: mild Sol Badguy/Ragna the Bloodedge, Ragna-centric.

Rating: T for some curse words

Inspired by @marionette3827 SolRag fanart. Thanks for the fluffy muse!

 ——

“Put that out, it stinks.”

It was basically a routine for them nowadays. Ragna would complain about Sol’s fixation on his cigarettes only to be responded by a faceful of secondhand smokes and a smug grin. Sometimes the tobacco scent would be replaced by the heavy smells of whiskey or some unmentionables alcohol concoctions, or even crazier, BOTH at once. At those times Ragna could not help but curse, ‘It’s a miracle this little piece of shit didn’t just spontaneously combust- oh wait, there’s Dragon Install.’

There was always a silver lining, though. Ragna could be sure he would not run out of entertainment when Sol was being a nutty drunk.

The object of his frustration (and little bit of…affection) just purposefully took a long drag and blew a fuckin’ perfect smoke ring at him. In response, Ragna flung a handful of dirt to Sol’s sniggering face.

“Very mature, Bloodedge.”

Any indignant retort Ragna would make was silenced by a gentle tap of Sol’s knuckles on his cheek. So fleeting a moment; but playful, tender times like these were the ones Ragna treasured because they were when both of them could just simply being there, alive, away from scheming immortals or sociopathic zealots. Two abominations, enjoying what little shreds of humanity left in them.

Coarse fingers trailed gently from his increasingly reddened cheek to his jawbone, gently, gently, to his lips, cupped his jaw and bring his gaze upward. “Look up,” Sol growled, “Don’t fall asleep on me, edgeboy.” The last of Sol’s smokes parted like an opened curtain into the evening air, the embers of his cigarette dying on the damp soil.

How someone could freakin’ growl in a tender way Ragna could never understand, but he did bring his eyes to the sky.

And he let out a soft gasp, his breath caressed Sol’s unmoving digits on his lips. A stray thought brought back a memory from one of their bounty hunting exploits.

——

“It’s only a fuckin’ cosmic rubbles, why the hell did they close the office to celebrate it?”, Sol grumbled, dozens of cigarette’s filters already laid waste near his feet. They planned to collect some bounty prizes that evening, but the whole town was immersed in a local holiday to celebrate a meteor shower bypassing their area.  One good thing about celebration though, and reason why Sol did not pull some crazy stunts involving his Fireseal, was the free meal for all participants. That was how Ragna found himself munching on a (free) meat bun with Sol beside him on his umpteenth glass of (free) beer just on the outskirt of the town.

Somehow Sol was unusually chatty that night. He first sulked about the holiday, only to grudgingly praised the holiday-special beer he currently guzzled down. Then he moved on to some scientific mumbo-jumbo about ‘radiation pressure’ and ‘Yarkovsky effect’ (‘…who?’) that send Ragna’s head spinning.

“A common Perseids and they flipped their shits. Wait till a Leonid storm comes and they’re gonna what? Announce a new calendar?”

Ragna’s expression must be like a glaring question mark since Sol huffed, “The names of meteor showers, dumbass. This one is the yearly Perseids, while a meteor outburst -storm, to say- only occurred every few decades or so. Now be a good boy and bring me beer.”

Ragna responded with one middle finger and an attempt at head shove before Sol chuckled and swaggered by himself to fetch his next glass of alcohol. Yet Ragna could not help the slight smile rising on his face as he secretly committed the memory of informative, amicable Sol to a special corner in his mind.

——  

“Leonid storm.” so said a guttural, heavy voice, so close to his ear. A phrase from recent memory, a silent promise fulfilled. Somehow Sol had maneuvered behind him, his chin on Ragna’s shoulder, while his hand still steady on Ragna’s jaw, thumb idly played on Ragna’s lip. Above them, sparks from the meteor storm brightened the night sky.

Make a wish, Sister once said in a time long gone when Ragna could still cuddle together with his siblings on a worn blanket sprawled in their churchyard, watching a meteor shower together. A time when he could still wish for silly things like more sweets, more toys, more time together before later, he would simply wish for the falling stars to just end him from all his miseries. Yet now, here he was with Sol on a grass plain smackdab in the middle of nowhere, no scruffy blanket or mugs of hot drinks in sight, but the falling stars were still there blazing on the sky. A question on the tip of his tongue, ‘What do you wish for, Sol?’, but it only came out as a gentle peck on Sol’s fingers still stationed on his lips. Sol’s chest felt warm on his back and Ragna shifted to align their bodies better, to feel the pounding of heartbeats in tune with each falling star.

He did not have a wish. He already had this moment.

Author’s Note:

Sol = Sun = A star. *wink wink*

[marionette8601]

[marionette8601]

i wish next year would be better tho.

[marionette8601]

[marionette8601]

[marionette8601]

[marionette8601]

Surprise, I didn’t stop praying.