#angst not really comfort I'm sorry

[throneofsapphics]

Can we please have a part two to some questions are better left alone? I’m obsessed!!!

some questions are better left alone, part 2

Rowaelin x f!Reader

(part one) (part three)

Summary: They want you here, I repeated to myself. If I said it enough, I might start believing it. Or the words would lose their meaning. 

Word Count: ~2.8k 

Warnings: drinking, angst, y/n is a bit impulsive  

A/N: I’m glad you liked it, here it is! This is a bit shorter than the first one! I’m thinking about doing a part three 

I thought about it for days. Whether I should stay - or go back home for some time to sort my thoughts out. I promised we would speak about it, but I never gave an exact time or date. 

Here, their presence was intoxicating and everywhere. I was drawn to them, and everything in me wanted to please them, to do what I had to to stay close to my mates. Maybe that was part of the problem, I couldn’t have a clear head here. And speaking to my family and friends back home about it … 

The journey wasn’t incredibly long - maybe one week, but with how busy everything had been I’ve only seen them a few times in the last couple of years. Every time the conversation about visiting home popped up, there seemed to be another event going on. I have been brushing it off as a coincidence. 

-

She looked right at us, her body stiff and her throat swallowing. “I need to visit home for a bit.” 

It felt like all of the air left her lungs. She said they would talk about it, would have a conversation, why would she need to leave? 

“Why?” Rowan asked bluntly. 

“I can’t …” She covered her face with her hands, dragging them down before exhaling slowly. “I can’t think here. I need space.” 

“We can give you space here,” Aelin said hesitantly. “You have your own space.” 

“That’s not the same.” She could see the pain in her eyes - the indecision, the doubt. 

Do you think she’ll come back? If we let her go. Rowan asked her, glancing her way. 

-

“As long as you swear you’ll come back.” Aelin’s eyes bore into me, like a brand. It sounded vaguely like a threat. Promises are some of the only things immortals deal in anymore - promises and bargains. 

There was a momentary, too-obvious, pause. “I swear it.” I promised. Not a date, or a time. 

-

She’s keeping everything vague. Rowan’s voice sounded in her mind, before he asked her, “When will you come back?” 

A fair, reasonable question but the hesitation in y/n’s eyes worried Aelin.

“I don’t know yet,” her fingers tapped against the wooden table. “I won’t be long, but I haven’t seen my family in a while.” A tang of guilt ripped through Aelin. Y/n had barely been away from them since she first moved here. Her family didn’t live that far away, y/n could reach them rather quickly. She got the keen sense that if they offered to go with her, it would be shot down - shot down quick enough it might sting, so she didn’t bother asking. 

“A month.” Y/n finally said, before her or Rowan could speak. “I’ll be back in a month.” 

About one week of travel each way, two weeks with her family. It was all reasonable. So reasonable Aelin couldn’t find a way to shoot it down, not without seeming unhinged herself. 

-

“You know why mates are put together, right?” My cousin glanced at me. I’d told her about my doubts and fears - about everything. She’s the only one I trusted to keep her mouth shut. As far as the rest of my family was concerned, it was a surprise visit home. I played it off well, but my cousin knew me better than the rest. As two only children, we were raised like siblings. 

“Because they’re equals.” I answered automatically, “or to make the most powerful babies.” 

She snorted. “I hope you don’t get pregnant anytime soon.” 

“I’m not planning on it,” I laughed. The thought of a pregnancy made me shiver. Something I was certainly not ready for. 

“But,” My cousin turned to look at me, grabbing my hand gently, “we were also taught that doesn’t mean mates are always a perfect fit.” 

I dropped her hand. I can’t imagine life without them. Not now, not now that I’d been with them so long. But … they had lived a life without me, and could probably picture it perfectly well. “Do you think they would be better off on their own?” 

“I don’t know them,” she raised a brow, “and that’s not a question you should be asking me.” 

The rest of the visit went well, and I did feel a freshness - but also an emptiness at the same time, like a key part of me was missing. I found myself both dreading and anticipating leaving. Dreading the conversation we’d be having on my return, but eager to be back with them, to have that part of my soul fulfilled. 

-

Aelin and Rowan were on edge the entire time she was gone. 

Rowan managed to sit in one place, even feign concentrating on a report, but Aelin wore a path back and forth across the room. 

“She’ll be back tomorrow.” He finally said, putting down the papers he’d been staring at, not really reading or comprehending any of the contents. 

“What if she doesn’t come back?” 

“Has she ever broken a promise?” 

“No.” His fireheart sighed, walking towards him instead, before perching on his lap, her head against his shoulder. 

“She should already be on her way,” he murmured, running his hand up and down her spine. “And before you ask, I won’t go check.” 

Aelin let out something between a grumble and a growl - enough to tell him he was right. They needed to show her they trusted her, trusted that she would keep her word. 

-

I was surprised I didn’t see any white-tailed hawks following me back to the castle, or scouting out my path. I was keeping my eye out for any birds that might be in the area. None followed me home, or checked I was on my way back. The show of trust surprised me. At least they know I’ll keep my promises. 

-

We were all toying around the conversation, the one we all knew needed to happen. It was unlike us, really, to be so hesitant about things like this. It was me, of all people, who brought it. 

“One of the thoughts I had.” I swallowed, “I’ve been taught mates aren’t always a perfect fit. That they’re paired together for either whoever can make the most powerful children, or who are equals, and I know something doesn’t have to be perfect to make it work, but sometimes I wonder why you’d want me when you’re already a perfect fit and if you were happier without me.” I thought of Fenrys’s warning - of pretending those words never came out of my mouth. Gods, what if I’d made a big mistake … what if this would make them think, make them realize they really would be better off without me, if they were happier. 

I found the courage to look at both of them. They looked crestfallen. Aelin reached out and covered my hand with hers. “We want you. We’re happy with you. Now that you’re here, we never want to let you go.” An unusual softness was present in Rowan’s eyes as well and he reached out, covering my other hand. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. 

-

They talked, and talked, and talked. Thank the gods they didn’t have any meetings or plans today, otherwise they would have been very very late, and not in the best mood to deal with anyone else. 

“Do you,” Aelin swallowed harshly. “Do you want to go home, permanently?”

“I don’t want to leave you.” Not a direct answer, but good enough that her shoulders visibly relaxed. 

Rowan and Aelin were more before we realized we were mates. Enemies. Friends. Carranam. My Blood-Sworn. Lovers. Husband and wife. Mates. A progression, a timeline. Comparatively, y/n jumped right in at that last step, without the other experiences to form a solid rock or foundation. But, they could build those experiences over time. 

-

Rowan thought he’d be prepared for things like this, having been mated for a decade already, but it was so damn different. Aelin and y/n aren’t the same, and he can't treat them exactly the same. Where Aelin will tell him off, y/n doesn’t - she holds all of that in. He needs to work on being … nicer, and she needs to work on saying what she’s feeling, or thinking. 

“We won’t be mad at you for the things you’re thinking, or feeling. We can’t fix a problem if we don’t know it exists.” 

“Right.” She hesitated for a few moments, but kept speaking, “part of this is my fault, for putting words in your mouth.” 

“We haven’t been very considerate of you, and your feelings.” 

Awkward, but good. 

-

I dragged Fenrys back to my rooms again, the day after we talked. 

“I assume I’m summoned here because of a certain talk you had.” His eyes glinted with amusement. I groaned, but motioned to the chair in front of me. He sat, looking half amused and half worried. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.” 

“It was fine,” I hesitated. 

His face grew taut. “Fine?” 

“They asked if I wanted to go home permanently.” 

“And what did you say?” 

“That I don’t want to leave.” 

A heavy silence filled the room. I gave them a half-answer. I don’t want to leave here.

“You’re thinking about it.” Fenrys didn’t pose it as a question. 

“I’m always thinking about …” I didn’t want to finish the sentence, didn’t want to put the words out into the open - into the air. 

“Don’t tell me.” He said quickly, before I could gather my thoughts enough to continue speaking. He might get the urge to tell Aelin, if I said anything that could cause her any kind of hurt - emotional included. He stood, rolling his shoulders back. “You need a night out,” his eyes danced in amusement. “Invite your friends. Especially the pretty one.” 

“That sounds perfect,” I managed to say in between laughs. 

“Write a better note this time,” he winked. “I’ll meet you at the gates in half an hour.” 

I scrambled for a pen and paper. 

Going out with Fenrys, I’ll try not to walk into any pillars this time. Don’t be too nosy. 

They’d likely find that funny. Gods I hope they will. 

-

Rowan picked up the note, ‘I'll try not to walk into any pillars,’ he sighed. Fenrys definitely pulled her into this, well aware he and Aelin would be in an important trade meeting the next morning. He handed it to Aelin, who snorted in amusement. 

“They’ll have a good time.” She turned to him with narrowed eyes. “And you won’t make a big fuss this time.” 

“I didn’t make a fuss.” He countered, arms crossed. His mate only raised an elegant eyebrow. Really? I think you started a fight. Rowan ignored the barb, stalking from the room to find something to do. There were always reports to read. Aelin snickered, right on his heels. 

-

The night out was exactly what I needed. Laughter, friends, alcohol. Fenrys and I made our way back, drunk off our asses. Failing to hide our laughter as we made our way down the halls. I didn’t walk into any pillars this time, didn’t beat anyone in a drinking contest, and avoided Effie’s homemade liquor. 

Fenrys was too drunk - or too lazy to make his way back to his rooms, and shifted right in the sitting room, curling up on a rug. I sniffed the air. Drunk dog. That’s a new scent. 

I bit back another laugh, changing before stumbling into my bed. 

-

Rowan woke a bit earlier than necessary, intending to check on y/n before the meeting. Aelin grumbled at him, but didn’t follow him out of bed this time. 

It took a lot of self control not to laugh at the wolf curled up in her sitting room, sleeping like the dead. Alcohol and dog - he rolled his eyes, headed for the door. 

He opened it quietly, just enough to peer into the room. Y/n was sound asleep, one arm hanging over the end of the bed, mouth open and drooling slightly onto her pillow. At least she doesn’t reek of alcohol this time. The dawn rays were beginning to stream in through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on her face. Without thinking too much of it, he fetched a tonic for headache, and a glass of water, setting it on the side table. He let himself brush a few strands of hair away from her face. She didn’t move, didn’t stir, the entire time. 

Rowan frowned. Anyone could sneak into her room and … he cut off that line of thinking, but made sure to double check the locks on the windows before leaving. 

-

Aelin rubbed her eyes, yawning as Rowan trailed back into the room. 

“All okay?” She drawled. It was cute that he woke up early to check on her. Fussy buzzard. 

“Yes,” he grunted. “There’s a drunk wolf sleeping on the floor of her sitting room.” 

She snorted at the idea. A wolf-sized pony in her sitting room. Fenrys was either too intoxicated or too lazy to make his way back to his own rooms. Maybe next time she’d get y/n to glamor her, just so she could go out with them. 

“Two of them is enough.” Rowan must’ve seen the look on her face. “I don’t need to worry about three of you stumbling through the streets. You’d empty all of the alcohol out of that tavern.” 

Aelin gave an innocent shrug, ignoring his sigh before rising to get ready for the day. She wasn’t excited for this meeting. 

-

I woke up to the faint scent of pine and snow, and some blessings on my bedside table. Rowan can be sweet from time to time, in his own way. I downed the tonic in one gulp. The night out may have been a temporary relief, but the seed of doubt started to drift back into me. 

They want you here, I repeated to myself. If I said it enough, I might start believing it. Or the words would lose their meaning. 

Pushing the door open, a great white lump of fur dozed on the floor, a few feet in front of me. 

I poked him in the ribs, before jumping back out of the way. His lips curled in a snarl, the canine body poised to strike, before he realized who I am, and huffed. Fenrys shifted back into Fae form. 

“Good morning,” I chirped, unnecessarily loud. He winced, sending me a vulgar gesture. I rummaged my cabinets, tossing a tonic over my shoulder. 

I heard a curse, then a swallow. “Thank you,” he muttered. I turned and grinned at him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing courtly things?” 

“Nope,” he snorted. “Their Majesties get to handle this one.”

I hummed. He hung around for tea, before leaving to do … whatever else Fenrys does. 

-

“Are you still having doubts?” Aelin brought up randomly, over dinner a few weeks later. It was just the two of us, Rowan out late training some new guards. Poor souls. 

I blinked in surprise. “Are you?”

“No.” She said a bit too quickly. My heart dropped into my stomach. 

“I’m not.” I said slowly, the words feeling like a half-lie on my tongue. Nothing had been unusual the last few weeks. If anything, things had been better. I forced a smile onto my face, and changed the topic - asking about their upcoming meeting with some delegates from Melisande. I listened to her complaints about the various ‘assholes,’ she’d have to deal with, but my mind swirled on how quickly she answered. 

I had Effie post a discreet letter for me the next day.

-

Aelin wondered if she sent the wrong message with her answer. She didn't have doubts, not about their relationship. No, doubts if y/n was feeling more secure here. The female did seem a bit distant the rest of the night. She decided not to think about it too much, to push it to the back of her mind and bring it up with Rowan later. 

-

The next week, an urgent letter came for me. I opened it with Rowan and Aelin, taking careful notice of the seal - my family’s seal. My eyes widened as I read it. A summons. The letter I posted arrived quickly. 

I handed it to Rowan and Aelin silently, settling my face into a lost and confused mask. I'm completely aware they're watching my every move, my every reaction.

“Do you want company?” Aelin asked gently. 

I swallowed harshly, “I should probably handle this alone.” 

[sysig]

An eye for a life, unquestionably worth it (Patreon)

[starwarjotta]

so angst it is

[lunar-years]

oh, ”Stay awake.” for the prompt list if you want?

uhhhh. Undoubtedly this was not the fic fill you were expecting for this prompt. i used it very loosely and I am truly sorry for this result...something consumed me.

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

Roy sits on the balcony of his posh fucking rental, staring out at Marbella’s shore. He’s got private beach access here, a boardwalk that leads to the sand and then down to the swirling deep blue, where a person can float and maybe, if they're lucky, forget themselves for a while in its depths. But the waves are too high to swim today, and anyway, it’s getting dark now. 

Beneath him, there’s a massive pool he could swim in instead, if he wanted. Dive in and spend a moment breathless beneath the water. It might do him good, that chance to briefly cut off the oxygen, to move around for a bit underwater, then feel the relief of the first lungful of air when he breaks back up through the surface. He’d do it, if he wasn’t feeling so fucking…stuck. Stuck to this chair, stuck to his stupid life. In need of permanent fissure, that's him. If he could only force himself to walk down to the pool, he thinks, and not look back. Maybe he could drown himself in it, and make it look like an accident. 

He's twirling an engagement ring around in his right hand that's meant to be on Keeley’s ring finger. 

The diamond is light pink and oval and massive, set into two narrow, curved bands of smaller yet still brilliant diamonds. It’s fucking perfect for Keeley. Showy, but not grotesquely so. Colourful and chic. Fun. Roy had it custom made for her. Let the jewelry consultant talk his ear off about settings and carats, then signed his name on the dotted line for the most expensive options on the list. 

Fuck, he’d even showed it off to Rebecca, weeks and weeks ago, before he booked this trip. How fucking embarrassing was that? He’d only just gotten it in from the jeweler, the rock freshly nestled in its deep red velvet box. His boss cooed over it convincingly and agreed that yes, it looked just the ring for Keeley, and yes, the subtle pink hue was awfully inspired, and yes, Keeley would undoubtedly love it. Roy had left her office feeling rather proud of himself, totally oblivious to what she’d probably been trying to tell him between the lines, given the way her eyes went all narrow and her forehead pinched tight right after he’d told her where he was planning to propose, and when. The extravagant trip he envisioned that would end with him down on one knee. 

Rebecca had blinked at him and clucked, with a smile like plastic, Wow. Well, I imagine that will come as quite the surprise! Which at the time felt like praise for his careful planning skills and in hindsight seems more like her small way of warning him. Like she’d known all along Keeley was going to say no. 

Had everyone? Roy had only told Rebecca and his sister about the ring, but maybe everyone else had guessed it, or assumed it was coming. Assumed, possibly, how it would end, because who in their right mind would want to marry him? He was just the sort to do something this pathetic, to propose in a last ditch attempt to save what was already broken. Maybe they all saw it. He swallows down the rising, unpleasant rush of bile in his throat and thinks back to Keeley spreading stories about him around work, how clingy he was and how needy and how he never left her alone. So this wouldn’t be the first time everyone else knew more about his relationship than he did. 

For one fleeting, wild moment, he envisions himself flinging the ring right off this balcony and watching it make its way, impossibly, all the way out to the sea. Gets brief satisfaction at the thought of the ocean swallowing it whole, entrapping it below the waves where he never has to think about it, or look at it, ever again. In his hand, the ring stills its incessant twirling and Roy crushes it under his fingers instead, pressing it so hard against his skin he’s sure it’s going to leave a mark on his palm, and hopes, ludicrously, that it will somehow be permanent. A reminder.

Behind him, inside the villa, Keeley’s asleep on the bed he had covered in rose petals while they were at dinner. Roy thinks he might stay up all night, sitting out here as it gets too dark to see the water below, just to avoid the awkwardness of joining her. Or is he meant to sleep in one of the guest rooms? What, exactly, is the protocol for when your girlfriend turns down your proposal but tells you she does in fact still want to be with you, marriage conversation aside? He’s the only person he knows that that’s happened to; he hasn’t even read about it books.

Roy’s spent the past three weeks alone here, missing her terribly. Has he now ruined their one glorious weekend together on the first night, before it’s even properly begun?

She’d flown in just that morning. Roy took a car to the airport to meet her, feeling jittery and excited in equal measure, happier than he’s felt for days. It had been a long fucking three weeks on his own, hardly able to find time to even FaceTime with her, what with how busy she was with her new firm. The whole time, her parting words before he left her for sunny Spain—You never know, maybe the time apart will do both of us good, babe—looped through his mind on constant repeat, curdling in his gut like sour milk. 

Realistically, he knows they’ve been on two separate trajectories for a whole now, like rockets shooting off to two different edges of space, nothing but gulf and galaxies between. This weekend was meant to be their way back to one another, the anticipated culmination of their big compromise: Roy would still go to Marbella, alone, and Keeley would make the time to come join him halfway through, just for the few days she could manage with her new job. 

His original proposal plan, the one he told to Rebecca involving a gorgeously romantic six-week couples retreat, had gone out the window the moment she’d turned this trip down, but even so, he’d adjusted it accordingly. Fitted his plans around hers, because that’s what suitable, well-adjusted couples did, wasn’t it? Convinced himself he could be flexible. Convinced himself he could wait. It just needed to happen, he just needed to present her with this ring, and she just needed to slip it onto her finger and say yes—and everything that felt wrong would be fixed. 

He’s a fucking idiot. 

He should have seen this coming. Even their reunion had felt off. She’d stepped through the baggage claim pulling her cheetah-print suitcase behind her, and subsequentially dropping it at the sight of him in order to run over and leap grandly into his arms. When they kissed, it felt just as good as it always did, like puzzle pieces sliding into place, soothing over the open wound inside of him he hadn’t quite realized he’d been nursing, all this time. But the wound didn’t close just because she was there. As soon as she stepped away again, retracing her steps back to retrieve her suitcase, the gulf only seemed to widen. 

So then he'd taken her back to the villa, carrying on about the itinerary he’d spent the first half of his time here perfecting. He’d show her around the place first, give her time to get settled, and after that they’d still have plenty of time to get ready for dinner. He’d booked a private dinner on the water. A romantic, candlelit feast of seafood and drinks and dessert, after which he’d just go for it. He had what he wanted to say all lined up in his head: I love you Keeley. I want to spend forever with you. Then back to their room, which by then would be decked floor to ceiling with rose petals and heart balloons and champagne, ready for their exuberant return.

The first part went even better than planned. As soon as they made it through the front door, Keeley pounced on him, locking her fingers against his back, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer with all the hunger and passion and desperation they’d had in the beginning; that thing he’d been chasing for months. Passion got pushed aside when there were emails to check and businesses to run. Sex became a bit of a chore, maybe. But not now. Not anymore.

She let him carry her bridal-style to the master suite, setting her reverently down in the king-sized bed, stripping her adoringly, in between frantic kisses. They fucked hurriedly, Keeley’s suitcase abandoned in the entranceway and all thoughts of unpacking and giving a tour through the house abandoned with it. Then they fucked again, with much less haste. Like they’d finally managed to convince themselves the moment wasn’t about to be ripped away from them and were now letting themselves enjoy the thing proper. She was here now. It was all going to be fine. 

After, though. Lying tangled up in the sheets, sweaty and naked and satisfied, Roy said something innocuous about getting up in time for a long shower together before they had to ready themselves for dinner, and the mood in the air shifted. Keeley frowned, “Oh I don’t know babe. Can you still cancel it? It’s just…” she exhaled and flopped her head back onto the pillows, hair splaying everywhere, “I am so fucking tired. That plane was an absolute misery, there was loads of turbulence and this one crying baby who I seriously think might have been possessed by some sort of crying demon, and…God, it really was awful. Also, before I left I had a meeting with my new employees. They hate me, Roy, I really think they hate me. How am I supposed to run a firm if all of my employees hate me?”

She stopped just long enough to breathe, or maybe she’d caught the look on his face. “Sorry, I know I swore not to talk about work on this trip.” A quick peck of her lips to his cheek, a little plea for forgiveness. It felt cold. “Just us for the rest of the weekend, I promise. So…dinner. What if we order in, just for tonight? We’ll spend the whole evening in bed, it’ll be fantastic. We can take a lazy nap, and then eat whenever we wake up, fuck again, midnight skinny dip in that fucking amazing pool out back—"

Of course she didn’t know about the candles and rose petals and the ring burning a hole in the safe deposit box in the closet, but Roy still stiffened. “No, we can't nap. We have to stay awake,” he bit out quickly. “We have to go to dinner. It’s already set up.” 

Keeley kept talking mindlessly, even as Roy’s brain seemed to be burrowing itself in the sand, taking his sanity with it. “Well can’t you just call and postpone it? We can do the fancy dinner tomorrow, babe, once I’m more rested.” She was smiling. Her face seemed to say, this isn’t a big deal, babe. 

But it was. Because Roy didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He loved her today. He wanted this to happen today. The room felt unstable, like the bed was spinning in the opposite direction of the walls. It felt like something was slipping from him that he couldn’t name, even now. He was desperately trying to grasp at it with too-slick fingers even as it evaded his hold. “It has to be tonight, Keeley. There’s a different dinner planned tomorrow,” he snapped. 

She stared at him in alarm. 

“I have different dinners planned all weekend. I’ve put a lot of time into making this fucking—nice for you. For us. I’ve had a lot of time to put it together, since I’ve been here all the fuck alone.” It was much harsher than he'd intended, but he couldn’t take it back once he'd said it, and he didn't try to. The thing he was trying to save dipped further from his grasp. Keeley’s mouth snapped shut. The words hung in the air between them, heavy in the silence. 

“Fine,” Keeley snapped back, eventually. Even her voice sounded more tired than angry, and the guilt gnawed at his chest. “Heaven forbid I want to relax on my bloody holiday. We’ll do it your way, then.” Then she rolled off the bed, shoving aside the sheets as she untangled them from her form, then angrily stomping towards the ensuite. 

He made to get up and go after her, but she looked back at him with steely eyes, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m showering, Roy. Alone.” 

//

Of course it went terribly, after that. How could it not? He should have called the whole thing off, should have agreed to lounge around and eat takeaway in bed and do nothing but fuck in the pool. He should have forgotten about the ring for the evening. 

(He doesn’t think it would have made any difference. That’s almost the worst part.)

At dinner, the tension between them dissipated on the crests of bottomless cocktails and conversation. On laughter. Keeley looked fucking incredible in a flowery sundress. The food was divine. And the first thing they did was apologize for biting one another’s heads off, agreed that it had just been a long day. A mutual peace offering. Roy fingered the ring in his pocket until the time came to sink to his knee. 

When he did, her face shattered. Not in the way he’d wanted it too, the way he’d pictured. Not the kind of shattered that happens when the joy gets so full it could burst. No, this was the same kind of shattered way she’d looked at him when she told him she couldn’t spare the time to spend six weeks with him in Marbella. Like she pitied him, almost. Like she was hoping he’d stop or say it was all a joke. That he’d take it all back. 

“Roy,” she started softly, already shaking her head. 

Already shaking her head. 

“I love you, Roy,” she promised, eyes glistening. The words were a buzz in the background.

(The worst part, by far, is how much he loves her in return. He loves her so much he doesn’t know quite what to do with it. If a proposal isn’t the right place to put it, where is? He doesn’t understand why the love can’t fix them. Why it isn’t enough.) 

“We’re not ready for this,” she continued, openly shedding tears by then. Somewhere off to the side, their waiter was probably alarmed, holding the cake with congratulations! swirled onto its plate in dark chocolate that Roy had paid extra for, unsure what to do with it, waiting for instruction. Roy was too humiliated to check for certain. He was still down on one knee. It was starting to throb. Carefully, he raised himself back up. 

She was watching him with a look of great remorse as she repeated, “We can’t get married right now, baby. It isn’t…I don’t think it’s the answer, yeah? Maybe eventually, but not now.” It sounded exactly the way we’ll be fine had sounded the day she’d packed up her office in Richmond. Like they definitely wouldn’t be fine. Like her answer to marriage wasn’t not now but quite possibly never.

He’d nodded. He’d lowered himself back into his chair, feeling clammy and numb. He’d waved the waiter over to close the bill. 

//

Staring out at the sea that’s gone dark, he tucks the ring back into his pocket with the startling, crippling, clear realization that he's got to break up with her. He feels like his heart has been wrenched out of his chest and stomped on, then shoved back in for him to live with. He feels like she’s right, and it wouldn’t have worked even if she’d said yes. 

He’s such a fucking mess, he thinks, and she deserves better. She’s on top of the world, and here he is dragging her down into the water. Maybe they both know they’re broken beyond repair, just waiting for the other one to call it off. He’s not sure he can do it. These days, he misses her even when she’s in the next room. 

Fuck.

He slides open the door to the balcony and steps back inside after one last glance at the ocean, which he can hear even if he can’t see. Fuck the guest bed. He makes his way into the bedroom and crawls in next to her. A couple more rose petals flutter to the ground. 

“Roy,” she breathes, as soon as he’s settled himself under the thin sheet, the air too hot and humid, even with the AC cranked, to sleep under anything heavier. Her voice is quiet and sad and cracked and small. It sounds like she’s been crying the whole time he’s been outside. 

He shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry,” to the air. He doesn’t know quite what he’s apologizing for. Asking her to marry him? Assuming she’d say yes? Even just thinking about breaking up with her just now? Her, the best person to ever happen to him? The best anything, end of. He draws himself closer and wraps his arm around her torso, just to feel her—her skin, the smell of her hair and the dip and fall of her stomach as she breathes in and out. 

It’s its own familiar kind of self-torture, holding something in his hands as he loses it slowly. Like the last year of football, magnified by ten. Waiting for the final hammer to fall as he cradles the thing he loves in the palm of his hand and feels it drip through. 

“Are we still okay?” she whispers, cupping her fingers over his own clasped ones. Maybe he’s not the only one desperately clinging on. 

He tells her yes, but the truth is that he doesn’t know. 

The deeper truth, the one he can’t face, is that he doesn’t think so. 

He thinks it’s already over. 

[dirtytransmasc]

me 🤝 creating insanely unrealistic "what if?" situations, that put both Jon and Cat into precarious positions, in which Jon *needs* a mother and Cat has no choice but to fill that gap.

[sandinthepipes]

Ok but what if aziraphale turns Crowley back into an angel without asking or anything while Crowley is still sulking on earth?

One moment he's hugging his pothos, the next he's in heaven burning his sins away.

And some drama and big angst moment happens between the eyes of the two, because OF COURSE. And despites falling was the worst pain Crowley ever felt, unimaginable suffering, traumatizing to his core. This time he chooses to fall again. All in front of aziraphale's eyes.

[asterdisaster06]

dial drunk

simon "ghost" riley x john "soap" mactavish

Pt 1.

summary > “I’m tired of you disappearing for weeks and then waltzing back into my life like it’s nothing.”

“Better than me disappearing for good.”

“Is it?”

. . .

word count > 3.5k

warnings > angst, simon riley is a dick, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, soap POV, minimal simon riley involvement

a/n > you know the angst is good whenever you meant to wrap it up in two chapters and it’s turned into an entire fic

ao3

Ghost had always been a flighty person, and Soap couldn’t blame him. It’s a simple symptom of the ailment of a bad childhood. It had slowly gotten worse, progressively causing more and more heartbreak every time Soap had received a call through the grapevine from Price. Or maybe it was less, but Soap had honestly lost track of both the times and his emotions. On an occasional note it Gaz or Alejandro were the one to send a bolt of anxiety through Soap’s system. The one time it was Laswell had his heart drop to his stomach and caused him to curl up into a ball, bedridden until his lover - if he could even call him that at this point - returned home. Until he did, the dial tone was all Soap had, letting the pain metastasis to his very soul. 

It made Soap feel like a young soul in the 1940s waiting for their poor husband to return from saving the world. Except, Soap had been through the exact same battlefields on the exact same missions. And sure, one could argue that his childhood had raised him in this way to turn into someone that Soap no longer could say he knew, but it only took so many ‘I’ll do better’ claims to tear that small hope down. The small hope that maybe, just maybe, this time Simon would find that help in his life. He no longer wished for Simon to confide in him, knowing that was a lost cause, but he only wished that therapy was something he even considered. 

Simon had been gone for two and half weeks this time, the longest of all his run away trips to wherever he decided to let his heart guide him. Not like it mattered to Soap, it was all the same anyways. Once upon a time Simon’s sporadic nature had seemed charming, a challenge to Soap to weasel his way into the heart of the rugged soldier who had a broken look in his eyes. The window to his soul betraying cracks and rough edges despite the ever present silence that permeated most interactions between him and Ghost. 

Eventually Soap had lodged himself halfway through the walls that Ghost had put up around himself in an effort to keep everyone out and away. Planting C4 until he had blown his way into Ghost’s heart. In more ways than one. Those days of heartfelt dates that left Soap giggling and kicking his feet were long behind the couple. Some days he reminisces on the bar runs that left his cheeks flushed and soul kept warm in the embrace of his kind lover. The kind where they poked fun at each other and teased about their choices of drinks; although, Simon had always known his order by heart and had it ordered before he even sat down. Ever the gentleman. 

Now though? He wasn’t even sure if Simon could recall his favorite color let alone his birthday. He had untethered from the parts Soap could even begin to recognize, changing from charming to alarming in seconds. There were instances where Soap had been frozen with Ghost storming out of their shared apartment with venom still hanging in the air on a string of tension. One that snapped as soon as Soap found himself able to move, only to sit and draw his knees to his chest with a thousand mile stare imbued in his now dull eyes. The hundreds of bullet wounds didn’t compare to the anguish Simon leaving his side over and over again left him with. But that’s mourning, he’d forget it in the morning anyways. 

He took to drinking to quell his sorrows if only temporarily. Price was adamantly against it, but all of his attempts to help blew up in his face with Soap only rebutting that Price couldn’t say shit with his smoking habit. Soap had apologised the day after, but it was enough to get Price to stop trying. It hurt Soap more than Price could ever know that it felt like he had given up on him. Logically, Soap knew that it was well deserved, but his own self-hatred transferred over to his internal turmoil of Simon and his long lasting effects on the man’s own well-being. In the end, he said nothing for three whole days once his Ghost had returned, letting the doubts and resentment fester until he could no longer take it. It ended just how Soap had predicted, with Simon isolating himself until he eventually slipped out of the building they once called home to who knows where. 

The current day was overcast, it was raining and Soap was calling drunk to the number he had memorised. The number that was carved into his ribs and sounded out everytime his heart beat. The phone rang and rang and then beeped with Simon’s gravelly voicemail breaking the anticipation lined with hope that ran through Soap’s veins. He listened to it, despite knowing it wasn’t truly his love. It comforted him in a sick way, knowing that Simon’s continuity was something that he could always expect out of his boyfriend. Shit though, all he wanted was a simple response. A text beyond the ‘be back soon’ that he always sent when he ran away would suffice. He didn’t even need to hear Simon’s voice. He would settle for anything at this point more than the second hand calls that always instilled terror in him that this would be it. That they would be calling him to inform his poor soul that Simon had finally succumbed to his reckless nature. That he was lying dead in a ditch or found shot in an alleyway. It’s not like Soap had much to reassure him that Simon could be better than those circumstances. 

He sighed, stumbling his way over to the countertop where he opened the medicine cabinet. Besides the classic Ibuprofen or Advil everything in there belonged to Soap. Simon had continuously refused to get on meds, let alone take them. The one time that Soap had believed his love had actually started to try and get better, he soon found the still full pill bottle in the trashcan a week later. He thinks on this, deciding that that was when the cracks started to show and the burning train wreck that was their once fruitful relationship came into the light. It was long ago enough and paled in comparison to more recent events that it didn’t even affect Soap beyond a slight tinge of soreness surrounding his heart. 

He grabs an orange container, popping the white lid off and pouring out a small pill into his hand. Doing the same with another, Soap stuck them in his mouth and threw his head back with a swallow. His meds had been upped in the last month, anxiety and depression plaguing his very soul, infection spreading through his veins into his nervous system. He knew exactly who was to blame for this. Although he could never bring himself to mention it to him, aware that it would only bring about another fight that ended in Simon speeding past traffic lights into the ever present gap in space and time. Time and time again it had ended in exactly the same way, and yet Soap could never bring himself to end it completely. He wasn’t entirely sure which one of them would be more broken by that executive decision. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know

Staring out the window on the third floor of the apartment building with a cup of tea clutched in his hand; watching the raindrops race down the window and placing bets on which one would reach the end first. Simon, or himself? The bigger raindrop, or the faster one? There sat a lukewarm cup on the counter just how Simon liked it. He figured that if his beloved returned he would like a warm cup of tea to come home to. Or at least, that’s what he claimed to refute the allegations that he simply was too ingrained in the habit of making two. 

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts, and Soap simply sighed as he trudged over to the countertop where it was laid to rest. He no longer felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of the ringtone, knowing damn well that it wasn’t going to be anything of value being said to him. He truly had given up on what little hope he held for Simon Riley. 

He clicked the accept button, composing himself for whatever words were going to be spoken. He recognized the caller ID as Price and had a vague recollection of conversation long ago about everything revolving around their Ghost. Soap had chosen not to respond at that point, but maybe he would come around at some point. Unlikely, but considering he was still with Ghost, anything was possible. 

Price’s voice sounded out, reminding him that he did in fact agree to an obligatory run to the pub on this day to simply catch. Of course, that was when Ghost was currently living in the house for once in a blue moon and had agreed to social interaction. They both knew it was bullshit and he would likely be away whenever the monthly tradition had occurred, but they agreed for a sense of shaky normalcy. Soap was right though, and he was doomed to engage with his teammates in an awkward exchange without bringing up the one who was not to be named. He didn’t know what was worse. Sitting there with a stranger in all senses of the word or being alone and facing the pity looks sent his way. Despite knowing the latter is what today had in mind, he responded that he would be there soon over the phone to Price. The man over the phone gave his good wishes and hung up. 

Soap breathed out a shaky sigh, rubbing his face with his hands in an effort to wake up. It was already well into the afternoon, and he had barely eaten anything except the spirits that brought upon numbing from the thoughts of his Ghost. He could barely be called his though. Not with everything that’s going on. The alcohol was warming his chest in a way that Ghost hadn’t been able to do in a long time. He dragged himself to the bathroom, almost slipping on a puddle made from one of the leaky windows on the way there. Simon had promised to fix it sometime soon, but obviously he hadn’t gotten around to it. 

After brushing his teeth, rinsing his mouth of the sickening smell of booze, and fixing his grown out hair into something almost intentional looking, Soap stared at himself in the mirror. He splashed water on his face with the thought that maybe, just maybe, it would rinse off the dark circles around his eyes and the reddish tint his eyes held. He attempted to shave if only a little bit, faltering as he had to focus on what patches he had already gone over. It seemed to pass by quickly, his consciousness transporting him into his room to pick out some clothes. In the end, Soap threw on some jeans that only had minimal dirt and stain on them and pulled over the black hoodie that Simon had gifted him a while ago. Well, gifted was a subjective matter, but Soap had always protested his innocence of stealing it. That memory seemed so long ago. Years if not decades in the slow passing time with Soap stuck in the prison of his own mind. 

Nonetheless, Soap pushed forward, finding himself walking in the rain down to the pub on the corner of the street with his hood up and only his wallet and phone to his name. He staggered along the street, taking a moment to almost feel sorry for what he had become. All for the shame of being young, drunk, and alone. Soap came upon the small run-down establishment and entered, scanning the bar room for familiar faces. He had a feeling he was hallucinating it, but it almost seemed as if he found Simon in all of the faces he saw. At least, until his eyes hazily locked onto the friendly appearance of Price and Gaz sitting in a booth. 

“Hey,” Was all Gaz said.

Price simply looked on with what Soap interpreted as both sympathy and disgust at what he had become. It would’ve hurt less if it wasn’t exactly what Soap was expecting given the fact that he sees the same look in everyone’s eyes. Even his own mirrored back at him. Price offered Soap a seat next to him, scooting over. Soap all but collapsed into the cushioned booth, observing the already ordered drinks. He nodded a simple acknowledgement to Gaz, taking a sip of the water in front of him. It soothed his throat that was sore from crying late into the night, every night. 

“How’s it been?” 

Soap didn’t exactly know who asked that, too distracted to discern the differing voices through the hustle and bustle of the bar on top of it. Nevertheless, he stared down at the water droplets left from his glass on the table and took a moment before speaking, clearing his throat before he did so in anticipation of his larynx protesting. 

“I think you guys know already, we’re past this. Long past it,” Soap croaked out, coughing before taking another sip of his water. 

Gaz and Price shared a silent look full of worry; Soap caught it but chose to say nothing. He had been through this song and dance too many times before to care at this point. He was tired, tired of it all. 

“Son, why do you do this to yourself?” Price pauses before asking this, treating Soap like a wild animal. 

“The fuck do you mean, Price?” Soap spat out, a hiss lining his heavily-accented words. 

“Jesus, dude, look at yourself. You’re losing any semblance of who you really are without. . .” Gaz trailed off, unsure if the name was allowed to be uttered. 

“Without who, Gaz? Without who? Without Ghost? Without Simon? Without my boyfriend? Say the fucking name without it seeming like a taboo word that’ll just send me flying off my hinges. We’re long past that pal,” Soap snapped, eyes bloodshot and bleary. 

His raspy voice had caught the attention of a few patrons around the establishment. He didn’t care, not in the slightest. All meaning to his pitiful life had gone along with Simon the first time he had left, and it had never returned. He fiddled with the loose string on the sleeve that he had been slowly unravelling every time he was nervous ever since he was given the article of clothing. 

“Shit dude, you need help. You need to get away from him. You can’t keep living like this!” Gaz exclaimed, shaking off the harsh words Soap threw in his face.

“He’s right, we don’t like seeing you like this,” Price said in a low voice.

“Oh, so this was just an elaborate intervention, huh?” His Scottish tone was sneaking out as his voice rose with irritation. Whether it was at them, himself, or the whole situation overall was up for debate. 

“Don’t say it like that. You know damn well that Simon doesn’t deserve your forgiveness over and over again just to run off on you. This isn’t a healthy relationship. This is barely a relationship at all. God love that boy, but he has issues that need to be addressed by a proper therapist instead of taking it out on you. We want to help you,” Price said, coaxing Soap into a sense of false security. 

Soap frowned, his jaw tensing up at the very utterance of the truth. The truth that he knew damn well was something he needed to hear. He refused to believe it though; didn’t want to face the facts that his once charming boyfriend had turned his back on him. His narrow eyes focused on an interesting spot on the table as he crossed his arms in pure silence. He chewed at the side of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as his whole body tensed up. Soap had a vague idea of where this was going, and he didn’t like how it would end.

“Looking at you like this, it’s not right,” Gaz began. “I need to know you aren’t a danger to yourself.”

“I’m not going to off myself as soon as I go home,” Soap said, spite coating his every word. 

“That’s not what we mean. You’re drinking yourself to death, Soap. You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. That’s as much as killing yourself as you can get without tying a noose around your throat,” Price said, his voice echoing inside of Soap’s head, causing pain to evolve around his temple. He really should’ve taken an Advil today. Or maybe two. 

“I’m fine,” Soap says, tiredly. He truly was exhausted, borderline delirious; but if he could just make it through this interaction, he’d be home free to go home and pass out with a bottle in his hand. 

“Like hell you are, we’re getting you in therapy and you’re staying with one of us until you’re deemed okay,” Gaz shoots back.

“You are not seriously considering that? Babysitting me? Right Price?” Soap asks, turning his attention to Price. 

“We believe that it would be for the best; not letting you be alone going stir crazy,” Price explains softly.

“Fuck this, I’m going home. Leave me alone,” Soap brushes off Price’s hand, standing up and shuffling out to the exit. 

“Shit, Soap, wait up,” Gaz says, grabbing Soap’s arm in an attempt to make him stop. To make him actually think about it for a second in order to process it. Maybe if Soap had let him do so, he would’ve gotten help. He would’ve sat back down and listened to what his friends had to say and thrown up a bird to Simon and let that part of his life die away. These thoughts flashed through Soap’s mind for a split second, fading out to instincts as he swung back at Gaz - making sickening contact with Gaz’s nose. The second of silence seemed to never end, until it did. The sound of his own heart roaring in his ears faded as he saw the flash of pain and betrayal in Gaz’s eyes as he clutched his now bleeding face. Shit.

Soap didn’t know what to do except run, and so that’s what he did. It made his stomach turn as flashes of the night of Grave’s betrayal arose in his memories. A phantom pain plaguing his arm and side where bullet particles likely still laid. The environment around him flashed as rain pelted him and his- Simon’s hoodie. Shame bubbled up in his stomach, forcing him to double over in an alley and throw up the pure liquid in his gut despite his attempts to choke it down. That’s where he laid as he stared up at the grey sky. That’s where he laid as he was dragged into the police car by the cops that he presumed Price had sent to track down his pathetic ass. He was forced into handcuffs, something that wasn’t foreign to him. Soap wasn’t exactly surprised that he ended up here, he was only surprised that he didn’t end up in a cop car sooner. 

“Young man, how drunk are you?” A cop asked. Soap finally caught his question after three times of him asking.

Soap looked upon the man with his eyes tinged pink from crying and his throat destroyed from sobbing and mumbling to himself. 

“I beg you sir just let me call, I’ll give you my blood alcohol, I’ll rot with all the burnouts in the cell,” Soap babbled incoherently. He wasn’t even aware of what he was saying; his only thoughts being of hearing Simon’s voice to beg for forgiveness. Or maybe to yell at him for leaving him to end up here. Whatever Soap believed in, it brought good fortune to him and the officer let him pick up the phone to dial the number he knew by heart, even drunk out of his mind. It rang, and rang, and then the beep of the hangup tone rang out in the silence. 

“Just wait I swear he’ll call me back,” Soap cried out, tears of desperation beginning to stream down his face. 

“I’m sorry, I have to take you to the station now,” The officer was overly polite and gentle, able to see the fracturing of the broken man in front of him. His eyes expressed condolences for Soap being hung up on. Even the cops thought Ghost was wrong for hanging up.

“Fuck that, sir, just let me call,” Soap wailed, truly losing himself to the pure distress and anguish with his other half abandoning him in his time of need. 

He was met with silence as the car travelled through traffic lights, and the buzz of the transmitter radio was the only thing breaking through the heavy sobs Soap let out as he hung his head low.

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 17: hostage situation

Title: just the impossible

Words: 697

Summary: “Strange or the people of New York. Tough decision. Who lives, who dies…. You are playing a delicate game, Sorcerer Supreme. You decide who survives. Play God, just for a second, or we destroy your planet. Your choice, Sorcerer Supreme. You have 24 hours to decide.”

Sorry.

~~~

The video was short. Short, simple, and to the point. Yet it was the worst thing Wong had ever had to watch.

Stephen was in the center of the frame. He was tied to a chair, his hands bound with a combination of ropes and a spell that no doubt burnt him whenever he moved. Even from the grainy footage, Wong could see the red, blistering skin on Stephen’s wrist. Stephen was blindfolded and gagged, blood soaked through the fabric from a large gash on his forehead. It made Wong’s blood boil. Vishanti knows what he would do if he could get his hands on the kidnapper. Wherever he was.

The camera panned out to a group of terrified civilians, a few in suits, most in casual clothing. There was even a little girl, young enough to be five, sobbing quietly behind an older woman, possibly in her mid-60s.

The camera lingered just long enough for Wong to make out and commit each and every one of their faces to memory before it returned to Stephen’s face, bloody and stained with dirt.

“Strange or the people of New York. Tough decision.” A disembodied voice announced in an accent Wong couldn’t quite place. “Who lives, who dies…. You are playing a delicate game, Sorcerer Supreme. You decide who survives. Play God, just for a second, or we destroy your planet. Your choice, Sorcerer Supreme. You have 24 hours to decide.”

The video clicked off. Wong fought to keep the anger, fury, guilt, and tears away. He needed to look strong for Kamar-Taj; he was the Sorcerer Supreme, dammit , but whoever had sent the video had brutally tied up his husband . His husband, or a dozen or so innocent people. A child , for the Vishanti’s sake.

Wong took a deep breath. His husband’s life, or the lives of the innocent. Neither situation was good. But he knew Stephen.

Stephen would rather die than put anyone’s life before his own. It was a quality Wong both loved and hated, a selflessness that Wong fell in love with, and the selflessness that pushed them apart, and the selflessness that brought them together again. Stephen would have done anything and everything in his power to save the hostages. Even if it meant sacrificing himself in the process.

-------

Wong picked up the phone when it rang.

“12 hours left, Sorcerer Supreme.” The voice taunted.

“I have made my decision.” Wong said, voice flat and void of emotion.

The voice laughed. “Tell me, then. Your husband or the hostages?”

Wong closed his eyes. He ignored the tightness in his throat, the burning in his eyes. “Let me talk to him first. Please.”

The other line was silent. “Fine.”

There was shuffling, a grunt, and Stephen was coughing into the receiver.

“Wong–”

Wong let a tear slip. “ Stephen… Steph…”

Stephen paused. “Wong? Wong, please, what’s going on-”

“I love you. I love you so, so much. I need you to know that.”

“I… I love you too, but- you can tell me later, I’ll figure it out, I promise–”

“Stephen, listen to me. Please . I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are the light in my life. You taught me how to love, how to find peace, how to truly live. You drove me mad when we first met, but I learned to love your jokes and your selflessness and everything about you. Your soul, your spirit, your body. I love you, Stephen.”

Wong could hear the tears in Stephen’s eyes. “I… you’re reciting our wedding vows. Why are you reciting our vows? Wong–”

“I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“I love you too, what’s going on– Wong-”

The phone switched people. Wong could hear Stephen shouting in the background.

“Your choice?”

Wong took a deep breath. Memories of him and Stephen flashed through his mind.

“I…” Wong closed his eyes. “Make sure the hostages get home safe.” It’s what Stephen would have done.

It was silent on the other end. “Of course, Sorcerer Supreme. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Wong nodded silently. The line disconnected seconds after a single gunshot rang out.

Ao3

[leviathanswingman]

a life in your shape - chapter 3

ship: SoloDeus

word count: 6191

chapters: 3/3     chapter 1  chapter 2

warnings: none

ao3

“Asmodeus,” Solomon uttered, his voice quiet as a ghost’s breath.

Asmo’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re up?” he mumbled back in a hushed tone.

If it weren't for Solomon's cloudy eyes fixing him, he would have expected the man to be fast asleep, murmuring in his slumber. After all, he’d always been a rather restless sleeper. Today however, the fluttering of Solomon’s eyelashes betrayed that first assumption. 

He freed one arm from under the blanket. Although his eyes were blinking up at Asmo, still heavy with sleep, there now was a certain kind of awakeness to them they had lacked seconds prior. “Yes, I am,” he murmured as he let out a small yawn, covering his mouth with the back of one hand before lowering it again. “For the most part, anyway.” 

Asmo’s eyes followed Solomon’s hand. It looked nice and lonesome and oh so holdable in the room’s dim lighting. For a moment, he contemplated reaching out and letting his fingertips ghost along cool skin, having his well-kept nails glide along, pressing and caressing until finally finding the back of Solomon’s hand, slowly reaching out to encircle steady wrists, working their way upwards towards his elbow to finally end up sliding onto his shoulder. 

Asmo freed his hands from under the sheets, but buried them in the soft creases of his pillow before he could even so much as think about doing something he’d enjoy but most certainly come to regret. 

“Go back to sleep, Solomon,” he whispered back in a pillowy-soft voice, a voice so pretty and smooth it could make sailors drown and maybe even lull a certain sorcerer right back to sleep.

But Solomon blinked once, twice, blinked the sleep out of his eyes and fixed Asmodeus with a gaze much more awake than before. “No,” he said quickly before clearing his throat. “I mean,” he added abashedly, “since we're both up already, there's something I wanted to ask you anyway. Can we talk?” His voice was quiet and smooth like a marble.

Asmodeus tried not to visibly retreat into the sheets as he took a shallow breath and physically forced himself to relax. “Oh, is that so?” he asked, already feeling his heartbeat accelerate. “What could you possibly want from little old me? Ask away, hun.” 

“I think you know what this is about, Asmo. You've been skirting around me all day. Actually, I think you’ve been doing so for a while now.” 

“Have I now?” A shaky chuckle escaped Asmo’s lips. “Oh Solomon, what reason would I have to run from you? You’ve got it all-”

“Wrong? I don't think so. And I don’t think you’re as clueless either.” Solomon‘s eyebrows furrowed considerably. “Asmodeus.”

Even now, the way Solomon said his name sounded so special coming from in-between his lips. Just as Asmo thought he’d had enough time to wind down again, he caught Solomon’s gaze wandering down and noticed how his fingers twitched with nervous energy. After a moment of consideration, he inched closer and gently took hold of Asmo’s hands. Ever so carefully, his long fingers closed around Asmo’s hands. Asmodeus’ heart came to a stutter, then beat faster with a vengeance.

“Was it something I did?” Solomon’s fingertips felt worryingly cold against Asmo’s much warmer skin. “Have I made you uncomfortable in any way?” He mustered him with that all-knowing gaze of his that always seemed to see right through him. There was such an honesty to his expression that Asmo almost felt guilty looking back at him. 

Without thinking, Asmo pulled his hands free, took hold of Solomon’s instead to raise them up and press them against his cheek. And Solomon just let him.

For a moment, he remained quiet, simply holding Solomon’s frosty hands to his lonely cheek, hoping he wouldn’t notice how he was practically burning up. 

“You're freezing,” Asmo eventually mumbled, trying to refrain from nuzzling his cheek against Solomon’s skin. And oh, how badly he wanted to do just that. Instead, he pressed Solomon’s hands closer to his cheek, attempting to warm them up with his body heat alone. „How can a human even get this chilly?“

“You‘re evading my question,” came the answer with an additional sigh.

Asmo didn‘t find it in himself to correct Solomon. After all, he wasn‘t wrong. Guilty as charged, for he didn't know how to communicate his worries without spilling his guts. Asmo had never been good at keeping secrets and normally, there was no need to keep them from Solomon. Actually, he was one of the first people Asmo tended to run to whenever he got his hands on some saucy news, right next to Satan of course. Naturally, keeping things from Solomon wasn’t his forte.

All he wanted to do was pull him even closer, kiss his worries away and tell him not to worry that silly little brain of his. 

“I am not,“ he mumbled halfheartedly, knowing fully well there was no fooling the sorcerer. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed the back of Solomon’s hand with the tip of his pointer and found himself wondering what the two of them would look like from an outsider’s point of view right now. He liked the thought but feared the repercussions. 

“Are so.” 

“Am definitely not.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Solomon shifted and his foot grazed Asmo’s leg. Asmo startled and his eyes flew open again.

“Solomon you're literally freezing!”

The sorcerer pulled his legs closer to his body. “That's not the issue right now.”

“Oh it SO is! You're going to end up getting sick.” He didn't even think further before the words had already left his mouth. “Turn around.” 

A weary sigh escaped Solomon’s lips. “I rarely get sick down here, you know that. My body seems to actively thrive in the Devildom, actually.”

“Yeah duh! And then you return to the human realm without telling a soul and end up bed bound and moping for weeks. I‘m not having it this time, Solomon! If you end up sick I won‘t play nurse for you again and you can see who’ll look after you then.” Of course, this was nothing more than empty threats. Asmodeus would always be there to take care of Solomon. Even if solely for the purpose of getting to play nurse. And it wasn’t like Solomon would be truly left to his own devices either. Worst case scenario, Simeon would take care of him. Asmodeus was making an entirely personal and undeniably selfish threat here. 

He pushed his leg against Solomon’s calf. “So be a dear, turn around for me and don't make this any more difficult for yourself than it has to be.” 

“Why should I-”

“Solomon, I'm not playing around. If you don't turn around right this second you won't get anything out of me. At all.” Asmodeus pursed his lips and mustered Solomon with one eyebrow raised. “Not now, not ever. I mean it.”

As their eyes met, Solomon‘s exasperated expression softened and his pale lips pulled into a small smile. “So you’re going to tell me what‘s wrong if I do as you say? I think we’ve got ourselves a deal here.” Without any more questions, he pulled his hands free and turned his back towards Asmo. “Happy?” 

For a moment, Asmo mustered Solomon’s back, took note of how his defined muscles came to light under the pyjama’s soft fabric and wondered how the man was able to trust him so recklessly. Then he let out a little huff and reached out.

“I can't have you freeze to death. I'll keep you warm,” he said. It was more of a statement than a question. In the end, there was nothing he wouldn't do for Solomon. There was a part of him that just wanted to take care of him - Solomon had been more than terrible at taking care of himself ever since they’d met. Back in the day, at least he still had his wives to keep an eye on him when it got particularly bad.  

“And how do you plan on- Ah!” A startled sound escaped Solomon’s lips as Asmo snook one arm under Solomon’s body, pulling him closer by the waist, his other arm coming to rest across his collarbone. It was an easy enough thing to do. After all, Asmo wasn‘t as frail as he usually portrayed himself to be. Now Solomon’s back was pressed tightly against Asmo’s chest.

“Like that, I see,” he said, laughing awkwardly under his breath as he shifted his position, readjusting his legs to make room for Asmo’s knees to fit right in the crook of Solomon’s own ones. 

“Silly sorcerer,” Asmo mumbled as he felt the coolness of Solomon’s skin from under the pyjama’s thin fabric. 

“Cunning demon,” Solomon murmured back. There was no bite to his tone, only a strange sort of fondness. 

“Really, Solomon? Cunning? Maybe try captivating, charming, cute…” 

Solomon chortled and the conversation naturally died down. Silence was filling the room as Asmo found himself listening to the steady beating of Solomon’s heart. He pressed his forehead against the nape of his neck and discreetly took in the familiar scent, feeling both comforted and put on edge at the same time. Solomon didn’t seem to be put off by the skinship. After all they were draped over each other in one way or the other more often than not. 

Asmodeus forced himself to keep the promise he’d just made and took a deep breath. “You don't,” he started. “Make me uncomfortable. I mean how could you, you're Solomon.” Then, he pressed his forehead closer to Solomon’s skin. The soft hair on the nape of his neck tickled against his nose. “It's actually the opposite.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper.

A little part of him hoped Solomon would just skip over what he'd said, and perhaps if his hearing wasn‘t so awfully good, he would have done just so. “Always treating me so delicately…” 

For a moment, Solomon seemed hesitant. “Asmo. Please explain further so I can understand. I want to understand, but it feels like I’m missing something here.” Ever so carefully, Solomon put his hand flat over Asmo’s and his fingertip tapped against Asmo’s wrist before going still again. “We have known each other for so long, yet you still mystify me to this day. Won't you enlighten me?”

And Asmo folded like a wet paper towel. There was just no way for him to say no to Solomon. Perhaps this was the push he needed. 

His heart was heavy and his mind uncertain, yet Asmo knew he had to get this over with now. 

“Asmo?” The sorcerer tried to turn his head as Asmo pulled even closer. With his chest flush against Solomon's back, he was certain the sorcerer must feel the way his heart beat to his chest. Silently, he pressed his cheek back against the exposed skin of Solomon’s neck and swore he could feel Solomon tightening under his hold. 

“Promise you won't be mad?” Solomon tried to turn once more, but Asmo only shook his head. “Please,” he added.

To say he was nervous was an understatement. With his heart beating like crazy, Asmo felt the incoming dizziness that tended to come with an anxious state of mind. “One last time, let's stay like this for just a bit longer. We can do that, yeah?” he uttered.

“Of course,” Solomon replied softly, sounding fairly confused. 

It was a selfish request and Asmodeus hated how vulnerable his own voice sounded in the dead of night. No one liked an overly clingy man, he’d heard so time and time again. He just couldn’t help himself regardless.  

There was no way for this to have a favourable outcome for either of them. He was about to ruin one of the most important relationships in his life and there was no postponing it anymore.

Solomon had rejected him before, had cleared his throat and averted his attention before Asmo could take the big step and verbalise what would inevitably ruin their relationship.

Of course, it hadn’t been a rejection in the traditional sense, yet it was still telling enough for Asmo to know to pull back and be satisfied with what he was given.

Asmo knew it was way past time to tell him. Still, despite himself, he was afraid of the repercussions. If Solomon left, or even worse so, dissolved their pact, Asmo wouldn’t know what to do with himself. For once, he wouldn‘t know how to pick up and reassemble the pieces to make everything alright again. There was a reason why he had set up his boundaries regarding pacts and relationships in the first place. It was pure self-protection. Getting attached was a frightening thing. 

Asmo’s heart was beating to his chest and eventually, he untangled their limbs and put a respectable amount of distance between Solomon and himself again. He just didn’t know how or where to start. It was a matter of the heart; and his heart was a confusing little thing.

“So you remember how I was supposed to be on a date tonight?” he suddenly started.

Solomon cleared his throat and shifted a little, but kept his head dutifully turned away. “Yes, I do. Are you upset you didn’t get to go?” There was a careful tone to his voice.

“That’s not it.” A beat passed.  “What if I told you I’m glad I missed it?” 

“Asmo-”

“What if I told you I was never into them in the first place? Doesn’t it make you want to scold me? I have so much love to spare, and yet…” Asmodeus worried his lip as he brought his hand to his chest, placing it right over his heart. „I can‘t.“

Then, Solomon slowly turned around to him and mustered him with an undecipherable expression on his face. “And yet you don’t owe them anything,” he said carefully. Slowly, he propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at Asmo. For a moment, he stayed completely still as he watched him with a keen eye. “Although I don't necessarily get why you’d agree to a date if you weren't into it in the first place. Doesn’t that seem a bit counter-productive to you?”

Asmo turned onto his back and closed his eyes. “Because it's easier that way. It should be enough. It used to be, at least.”

Solomon furrowed his brows. “Easier than what? And what do you mean with enough?”

Asmo looked up at Solomon, the man that had always been so dangerously dear to him. Before he knew it, he was tearing up.

“I can't tell you,” he whispered, an unmistakable quiver to his voice. His lower lip started to tremble and Solomon’s expression quickly turned frantic. Asmo would‘ve found it a bit funny if he wasn‘t feeling so beyond himself at the moment.  “There's no way I can tell you. If I say it now I won't be able to take it back ever again.” 

Solomon lowered himself onto his side so he could be face to face with his pact partner again.

“Hey,” he said as he reached out to wipe away the first tear that was just starting its descent down Asmo's cheek. “Talk to me. I want to help. It's obvious that you're very upset. Let me help fix it.” Another deep breath. „Let me be there for you,“ he added, and it took Amo all he had to remain somewhat stable.

Slowly, he shook his head, pulling his chin closer to his chest and his legs closer to his stomach. 

Still propped up onto his elbow, Solomon seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then, one hand reached out, lingering helplessly in the air before he tightened his fist and made a split-second decision. He moved closer, put his arm around Asmo and pulled him close to his chest. 

A shuddery breath escaped Asmo’s lips, followed by a first hesitant sob. Despite knowing better, he buried his face in Solomon’s chest and his heart felt both healed and broken at the same time. 

Curse Solomon to always make him feel so safe, so at home.

By now, Asmo was fairly inconsolable. Still, after a few deep breaths and some conscious breathing tactics, he managed to reduce his sobbing to subdued crying.

Despite not knowing the reason for Asmodeus’ lament, Solomon was rubbing one hand up and down his back while the other cradled the small of Asmo‘s back. “It’s going to be okay,” he mumbled. “You’re going to be alright.”

“I'm awful,” finally came bubbling out of Asmo. “You should have a better pact partner. One who can stick to his own rules and won't overstep. Because I think I’ve been doing that big time. There's no fixing it, unless there's fixing me.” 

He could hear Solomon’s heartbeat; a shockingly vivid tremble in the otherwise silent room.  Solomon’s hand came to a screeching halt.  

“There is nothing to be fixed about you.” A second of silence. “You're fine just the way you are. Tell me what's wrong, Asmodeus.”

Their pact mark was vibrating with tense energy. Reality came to a halt as Asmo decided to just come out with it. He had already said too much, had allowed Solomon to hear of grievances and regrets that were supposed to stay hidden from him forever. 

He took one last look at Solomon’s worried face and tried to burn it into his memories before dropping the bomb. 

“Solomon… “ he started. “I love you.” Quickly, he screwed his eyes shut. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much if he refused to look at Solomon’s face. 

Solomon remained quiet and Asmo tried his hardest not to panic. All of a sudden, the room’s silence was threatening to bury him. 

“And I know you probably don't want to hear it, but I had to say it. I just had to. If you want to break our pact, then I-” his voice cracked and more tears started to spill. “I understand. I don’t want to, but I understand.” 

Still, Solomon remained quiet. Only his hands seemed to wander, cupping Asmo’s cheeks to swipe beneath his eyes to catch any stray tears. There was an unmistakable quiver to his fingers and he looked unusually discomposed when Asmo opened his eyes again. 

“Why would I-? Wait, is this what that phone call was about? Me?” he asked, eyes on Asmo’s collarbone, searching. 

Asmo nodded reluctantly. “I told Mammon and asked for advice.” He searched Solomon’s face for a sign as to what the man could possibly be thinking, but came up empty handed.

He was getting more and more nervous by the second. Asmo tried to put more space between them. Their pact mark, brimming with guilt, was all the confirmation Asmo needed.

Hurriedly, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, keeping his back turned to Solomon, hugging his frame to keep from visibly shaking. 

“Just forget what I said,” he brought out, ever so aware of his damp cheeks and stuffy nose. All he wanted to do was run away, escape from this hellhole of a palace and drown his sorrows in some willing body, lost in lust and pain until his brain was filled with nothing but white noise. He was an absolute mess anyway. 

But they were locked in. There was quite literally nowhere to run. His feelings were a whirlwind of a thing and Asmo had no other choice but to face them.  

He remained in place and let his head sink into his hands. There was no reason to hold back his tears anymore. 

“It doesn't matter, don't worry. I'm fine. This is fine.” He paused. “I'm sorry, I-” Apologies were dripping off his lips like raindrops. “I'll get over it,” he forced out while in reality, he knew very well he would never be able to. 

Solomon sat up and moved over to Asmo. There was that pained expression on his face again as he settled down, his hands gripping his thighs tightly before he put one hand on Asmo’s shoulder. 

“You’re upset,” he finally stated. “Asmo, I don't-”

A startled laugh escaped Asmo’s lips as he yanked his shoulder away. “Now you’re being cruel,” he brought out. “Of course I’m upset, I think I have every right to be. Just say it out loud, for my sake. Just once, so I won’t get my hopes up ever again.” He braced himself, but was taken off guard by Solomon’s lost expression. Mentally, he reached for their pact mark to check in on Solomon’s state. It wasn’t something he normally did. It felt somewhat like an invasion of privacy. 

Asmo lifted his head and turned towards Solomon. There were a million questions on his face. 

“I don’t understand.”

And it hurt. Because for some reason, Solomon just didn't seem to get it. And Asmo just knew he’d have to spell it out for him, no matter the pain it would inevitably put him through. 

His hands dropped to his lap and his eyes stung. “Solomon. I'm so in love with you I don't know what to do with myself anymore,” he said quietly. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks before he forced himself to make eye contact again. Stubbornly, he held his gaze, not willing to go down without a fight. Then, something seemed to click inside of Solomon’s brain and he went completely rigid. 

Then, ever so slowly and carefully as if he was afraid of breaking him, he leant forward and simply encased Asmodeus in an intimate embrace. One hand reached up to rest in Asmo’s locks, caressing them softly, almost as if to soothe him, the other came to rest on the nape of his neck.

Asmo didn’t know how to take any of this, so he simply returned the embrace.  

“I didn’t know,” Solomon finally said, his head turned into Asmo’s shoulder. It came out a little muffled. “I never dared to think that this is what you meant when you said you loved me. I'm so sorry for not understanding.” His voice was a low rumble right beside Asmo’s ear. “I don't want to see you cry like that ever again.” 

“What else would I have meant?” Asmo mumbled back. Solomon’s sweet words made him tear up once again and he pulled back to watch his reaction. The sorcerer stood up, paced back and forth before sitting down facing Asmo again. He reached for his hands and held them tightly in his own. While maintaining eye contact, he lifted them to his lips and kept them there. 

Asmo could feel his cheeks heat up and sniffed quietly. He didn't want to disturb whatever they had going right now, didn’t want to destroy the magic of the moment, but knew he had to unless he wanted to go truly and utterly insane. 

“What now?” he asked. Never before had he felt so raw and exposed. 

Solomon lifted his head. Those grey, almost translucent eyes were watching Asmodeus intently. 

“Well, I can't keep making you cry, and also,“ he turned his head away in an almost abashed manner, “I haven't given you my answer yet. As long as you still want to hear me out of course.” 

Hope was a fragile little thing taking seed in Asmo’s heart. And how could he not feel that tiny little spark with the way Solomon’s eyebrows pulled together in such sweet and genuine worry? 

“I need to hear it,” he answered firmly, feeling braver by the second. No matter the outcome, he had to hear him out. He would always hear Solomon out. And now that he was finally in the know, a warm but stale sort of calamity had taken over Asmo. All that crying left him feeling strangely refreshed, even though his eyes were probably puffy and red and his voice felt wobbly at best.

“But first of all,” he started, “this is a conversation we can’t be having sitting down, Solomon.” Asmo tutted his teeth and tried a little smile before pulling Solomon up so they were standing face to face. “Way better.” Asmo wiped away his tears and breathed in deeply. If he was about to get rejected, then he would accept it with dignity, perfect posture and nothing more than a sad sparkle in his eyes.  

Solomon returned his smile, the corner of his mouth pulling into a boyish grin. His hands were shaking. Asmo suppressed the unshakeable need to hold them firmly in his own. 

Solomon rubbed the back of his neck before he started to speak. “I still remember the first time I summoned you, you know? You were quite mad at me for summoning you on the spot, and although you were ignoring me for a good hour and a half, I couldn’t help but feel a pull towards you. It seems like some part of me has always wanted to keep you close and pull you to my side. I was quite arrogant back then, don’t you think so too?” Solomon looked at the ground, a forlorn look on his face. “I thought my age had decimated that unruly streak of mine, yet decades later, I find myself face to face with that same kind of arrogance. Year after year I told myself we’d be fine the way we were, even when I wanted to pull you closer every time you sent a genuine smile my way.”

Asmodeus listened carefully, impatience pulling at his strings.

“And I still do to this day.”

His heart stopped for a second. “Then why don’t you?” The words had already left his lips before he could stop himself. Curse that reckless little brain of his. Hadn’t he planned on hearing Solomon out? Perhaps he was more frustrated than he’d like to admit.

For a moment, Solomon seemed almost startled before he raised one hand to Asmo’s face,  cupping his cheek, letting his thumb run across smooth skin. He leaned down slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly. The tips of their noses brushed as their breaths intermingled, mere inches apart. Solomon’s eyes wandered from Asmo’s cheeks to his lips, then up to his eyes again. He brushed his thumb over the corner of Asmo’s mouth down to his bottom lip and Asmo could feel his warm breath graze his skin. 

Finally, Solomon closed the distance between them. Asmo let out a little whimper, but pressed into the kiss without any hesitation. It was warm and good and left him feeling lightheaded. Of course Solomon just had to be a good kisser. Not that he’d expected otherwise. 

Asmo allowed himself to cup Solomon’s face in return, allowed himself to feel the softness of his cheeks against his palms, the suggestion of sturdy bone under taunt skin. He wanted to get lost in it all, pulling away for a moment just to pull Solomon even closer, desperate not to waste any second of this. Solomon chased his lips the second they parted, landing a kiss on the corner of Asmo’s mouth instead before he readjusted his position to press against Asmo’s plush lips again. 

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, took a step back to regain his breath. He framed Asmo’s face with both hands, opened his mouth as if to say something, but ended up just looking at him with the most smitten expression on his face. Slowly, he guided Asmo’s face towards his again, even more careful and slow this time, until their lips met again, slotting together perfectly.

Solomon hummed into the kiss. It felt like an eternity before they separated again, flushed and with reddened lips. 

Asmodeus slid one arm around the small of Solomon’s back and put the other on the back of his neck, pulling him into a warm embrace. He nuzzled his face against the side of Solomon’s neck and pressed a quick peck against sensitive skin.

“So,” he started, his heart beating to his throat. He was feeling an exhilarating combination of inner peace and prickling worry. “What does this mean for us?”

Solomon pulled closer against him as well, burying one hand in his soft curls. 

“It has to mean something,” he started. “Because I don't think I could go back to the way we were before after that.”

Oh.

Despite his nervousness, Asmo giggled. “I always told you I’m a good kisser, didn't I? Oh and that was me trying to flirt with you back then, you deft man. How could you not have noticed?!” He pouted against the soft skin of Solomon’s neck, then pressed a soft kiss right under his ear, just because he could. Solomon shuddered.  

“Well I certainly noticed your flirtatious intent, I just-” he took in a shaky breath as Asmo planted another kiss against his neck, “I just didn't think it was directed at me necessarily.” 

Asmo nipped at his skin. “Ow,” Solomon laughed and pulled away, his hands on Asmo’s shoulders. “What was that for?”

“Being dense.” 

“I was being honest.”

Asmo’s gaze was cast downwards, his eyelashes barely grazing his cheeks before he looked up again. With one hand, he pushed a stray strand behind his ear as he looked at Solomon from under his lashes. “And here I thought you were rejecting me all this time. I was so sure there was no way you hadn’t already caught on to me. Like, you know how bad I am at hiding my feelings. Like, astronomically bad!”

Before he knew it Solomon’s hand was in his hair again, pushing the strand of hair behind his ear for him. “I never noticed your behaviour towards me changing.”

“Gives you something to think about, doesn’t it?” Asmo replied cheekily.

“Oh? Even though I was being quite demanding when we first met?”

“Yes, it was absolutely infuriating. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to jump your bones or full-on throttle you to completion.”

Surprisingly, Solomon’s blushed and he cleared his throat. “It seems I have caused you much grief. Maybe I can’t apologize for my past self, but… I am more than willing to make up for my most recent mistakes.”

Softly, he took hold of Asmo’s hands. He seemed nervous, but still slipped his fingers in-between Asmo’s, letting his index finger run over the mountains and valleys of Asmo’s fine knuckles. “Will you give me another chance to treat you right?” he finally asked. His voice was sincere and unshakeable. 

Asmo’s heart was doing little summersaults. Sure, he’d been serenaded and asked out plenty of times before, had rejected more than double the amount of confessions to add. It had never felt like this before. 

And perhaps, this was the moment when it finally clicked for him. Solomon was completely sincere. Sure, he’d always been the type to tease Asmo, but he’d never joke about matters of the heart like that. There’s no way Solomon would do that. 

Asmodeus could feel his sin brimming with joy. He pulled Solomon closer by their hands so the man had no other choice than to stumble into his arms, coming to a stop right before his face. They were almost chest to chest now and he was beaming. “There’s nothing I’d want more!”

Solomon smiled, but there was still hesitation in his eyes. “Just one more thing,” he started. “To make my intentions crystal clear.” The expression on his face was still composed, almost as if he was still holding back.

“I know you don't like to be tied down to one person and I know it might be selfish of me to ask that of you. But I don't know if I could share you. My days of keeping multiple lovers are long over, but it’s different for you. I love you, Asmodeus. I am not looking for anything casual either. If it's even a possibility, I would like to ask you to be mine alone.” He seemed more than embarrassed, but genuine.

I love you, Asmodeus. The sentence ran through his mind like a well-remembered poem. Solomon loved him.  Asmodeus found himself looking up at him, letting the thought run through his mind, allowing himself to become familiar with the sound of it. It didn't take him long to come to a conclusion. After all, he’d pondered over his attraction to Solomon night after night over and over again, had considered every scenario and possible outcome. 

“You're asking me to be yours?” He tilted his head to the side as he pulled their entangled hands to his chest and smiled, looking up. “I'll agree under one condition only.”

Solomon’s eyes widened, almost as if he’d expected an entirely different answer. “And that would be?”

“That you’d be mine and mine only just the same.” 

The sorcerer was at a complete loss for words. Experimentally, he rubbed his thumbs over the back of Asmo’s hands. He cleared his throat and looked down. “Honestly, I didn’t think I would get this far.” A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “I don’t quite know what to say. My mind is completely blank right now.” He seemed to mull it over for a moment longer. “But I think I would like that very much.” 

Asmo watched him curiously. This was a side of Solomon he rarely got to see. Hell, he hoped he would get to see it so much more often now. Rosy cheeks suited him very well. 

“Why did you think you wouldn’t get this far?” he asked. “Did you think I would reject you?”

“I never thought you’d feel attracted to me. I’m not a particularly alluring man.”

Asmodeus almost lost his footing. “What?! Solomon, come on. You can’t tell me you don’t know how infuriatingly hot you are! There’s no way!” Solomon blinked at him owlishly. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

With that, Asmo took hold of Solomon’s collar and pulled him down into a deep kiss. He buried his hand in Solomon’s hair, caressing the soft tresses. 

They pulled apart, but barely separated. As they were catching their breath, forehead to forehead, Asmo mumbled against Solomon’s lips. “You’re so smart, yet so stupid. How didn’t you notice?”

“It sounded too good to be true.” Carefully, Solomon pressed his lips against Asmo’s just to pull back again. “It still does.” He pressed a soft kiss against the corner of Asmo’s mouth. Another kiss was pressed against Asmo’s cheek, who turned his head and giggled. “Now I wish I had said something sooner.” 

“Oh Solomon.” Asmodeus laughed softly, but there was a mischievous twinkle to his eyes. “Well,” he continued while slowly locking both arms around Solomon’s neck and standing on his tiptoes. “We’ve got plenty of time now, don’t we?” He leaned in, as if to go in for another kiss, but before their lips could touch, Asmodeus suddenly flung himself backwards, pulling Solomon down with his body weight and letting gravity do its thing. The latter let out a startled sound as they both dropped back onto the bed. Solomon had somehow managed to brace himself, one hand lying flat next to Asmo’s face while the other hand was supporting the back of Asmo’s head. 

Asmo grinned at him from underneath him. His curls were spread out across the mattress and his eyes were shining with mirth. He looked perfectly radiant even though he’d been in shambles not too long ago. “Oopsie. Looks like I fell for you, Solomon dearest,” he said, his voice finally back to its usual sultry tone. 

Solomon felt the world shift into place a bit. The entire evening, things had felt overwhelming and almost muddy to his brain, but now everything was perfectly clear. They were here, in this strange palace that had locked them in by pure coincidence. Asmodeus was lying beneath him, smiling up a storm and looking perfectly relaxed.

He watched the demon tilt his head, exposing his slender frame as he looked up at Solomon from under his lashes. The top buttons of his pyjama were unbuttoned, exposing his well-defined chest. It was the prettiest of sights.

Finally, Solomon returned the smile. He could feel genuine joy rumbling in his chest as he unceremoniously let his full body weight drop onto Asmo, who first squawked a bit, but then continued to laugh, his arms closing around Solomon’s frame, circling his back. 

It felt good after the night they’d had and was just what they needed. 

Their faces were mere inches apart. For the first time, Solomon tightened his arms properly around Asmo’s body without hesitation or guilt. He took in Asmo’s chiming laugh and comforting body warmth, marvelled at the sight that was the demon beneath him. Asmo’s laughter was nothing less than infectious. Soon, Solomon found himself laughing along with him. 

Their laughter died down eventually, replaced by comfortable silence. Asmodeus was simply looking at Solomon, reaching upwards. “Finally...” he whispered, almost too quiet a thing to hear.. 

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Solomon replied. I’m sorry I hurt you, he added in his thoughts. 

Asmodeus closed the distance between them and accepted his apology with a kiss.

[rainbownixie]

I'm thankful for my sister (even though sometimes we fight)

Byler/Jancy fic!! [Mike & Nancy heart to heart, actually]

Really just a Mike/Byler-Centric fic post-s3!! Kind of a character study??? The other characters are just mentioned by Mike and Nancy, btw.

After Will and El move away, Mike finds himself comparing both relationships. The way he feels for Will is stronger than he thought, and maybe the reason why he can’t write a proper love letter to his girlfriend.

That’s why he asks Nancy for romantic advice, but her words might make him come to a realization he doesn’t know if he likes to hear. They fight a lot, but he knows she’s always by his side.

Tags: @madwheelerz @bylerlve @axquiva @dany-is-bored @quinnick @aamleh @mirrorballdazai @mike-wheeler-hater @onthisharvestmoon @chaotically-unpoetic @asingleturtleduck @omg-they-were-roommates @bongcupcakes @sorry-i-panicked

[kitkatwinchester]

DUDE THE INTRO CHANGED!!!!

OMG IT'S RED NOW!!!

BECAUSE OF HIS ALPHA EYES!!!

THAT'S THE COOLEST FREAKING THING HOLY SH*T!!!

I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!!!

Also...

*SCREAMS*

Seven minutes into 3b and I can already tell this half of the season is gonna be ROUGH.

I'm gonna inevitably love it because of the Stiles centricity, and it is inevitably going to end up being my favorite because of the whump and angst and hurt/comfort, but OOOOF is it gonna kill me in the process.

The dream within a dream within a dream sequence that this started with is already soooo terrifying and I already feel so bad for my poor baby. :( :( :(

That said, my first question is going to be...is this proof that the Nogitsune is already around, or does this vulnerability just open it up for the Nogitsune to come later?

See, in this situation, the fact that I kind of know what happens means I can look for clues and foreshadowing ahead of time instead of having to think back to see if I can figure out the moment things changed lol.

So yeah. I am so scared, but also so excited, and just overall already so emotionally invested in the inevitable torturing of my poor baby let's go.

...okay that sounded wrong, but you know what I mean. XD XD

This is gonna hurt.

I can't wait. XD ;)

Season 3, Episode 13.

P.S. As an aside, Scott is ALL kinds of hot now, holy sh*t. XD <3

P.P.S: As ANOTHER aside, the way that Noah grabs Stiles after the nightmare and just holds him until he calms down, and the way Stiles finally grabs him with everything he has...I CAN'T. Father of the year right there, OMG. I love them so much. <3 <3 <3 <3

(I'm so sorry Stiles. You know I love you, and I don't want you to suffer, but I have to emotionally prepare for it. And also, I do kinda wanna see Dylan freaking NAIL the acting in this season. <3)

[paopubell]

Chapters: 4/5 Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kairi/Riku (Kingdom Hearts), Riku & Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Kairi & Riku & Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Roxas & Xion (Kingdom Hearts) Characters: Kairi (Kingdom Hearts), Riku (Kingdom Hearts), Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Terra (Kingdom Hearts), Aqua (Kingdom Hearts), Roxas (Kingdom Hearts), Xion (Kingdom Hearts) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Slow Romance, you ever met someone super pretty but they really get on your nerves?, well here Riku sure has, there's a lot of swearing but not bad enough to rate it Mature, Background SoRoku Summary:

In a zombie apocalypse, you've got to look out for everyone who's still alive. Even if they really get on your nerves.

[sysig]

I hope you blink before I do (Patreon)

[kakusu-shipping]

I have such an overwhelming desire to write a Luca Blight X Reader but not only would that just be Luca Blight thinks you’re funny enough to not murder brutally along with the other pigs and that’s about the best you get, but it’d also only be for me as I am alone on this barren earth.

[chuluoyi]

LOVER'S QUARREL

- fushiguro megumi x reader

“i can't do this anymore.” you and megumi are just too different; he's stoic, you're bubbly, he prefers solitude, you love being social. it starts with fights, words you don't mean, and ends with an event that would haunt him for a long time to come.

genre: angst, breaking up, post-breakup feelings, mentions and description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end (you make up!)

note: dear god i’m finally getting this out of my drafts. loosely inspired by real life events i’ve seen around my friend’s relationship sooo it might hurt a bit 🤏🏻 but who can say no to angst to eventual fluff? tagging @lees-chaotic-brain and @kasumitenbaz (as per request in the ask!), you two are always here for my megumi works, thank you!! :3 and thank you for dropping by for the event!

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Everyone pointed it out as a joke, that you liked him way more than he did you.

And you used to never let it ruffle you. To you, Megumi’s sternness and silence meant that he was comfortable with you. You never wanted him to change his ways just because now you were seeing each other.

But when you thought it over now, as you stood before him with an aghast expression and knives stabbing your kind, soft heart, you couldn’t help but do a double-take.

You were the one who confessed first. Most of the time, you were the one who initiated dates. You always texted him first, asking about his day, and even when he brushed you off, you would keep being this ball of sunshine and wished him a good day.

You never realized it before… that through everything, it has always been you. Unfailingly.

So how dare he spout this now?

“I can't do this anymore.”

"You... can't?" you spat out, feeling the first tendrils of anger course through you. "What exactly it is that you can't do? What do you even mean?"

"Look," Megumi stared at you squarely, and you thought now, that it was the coldest of eyes, straight and true. "It's always been like this between us lately. It's only right that we end this."

This, he said. He didn't even want to define your relationship anymore.

You scoffed. "And why do you think we always end up this way? Have you ever considered, even once, that it's because you make no effort at all?"

"I'm trying," Megumi quickly replied, almost in a hiss, and you almost recoiled. "But I just see that we'll end up nowhere, that's why I'm bringing this up now."

Oh, that freaking hurts. You boyfriend had just told you that this relationship would go nowhere. Right in your face.

Your eyes stung with tears, yet you fought to hold them back, fixing your gaze on the lamp overhead and inhaling deeply.

"You're... selfish," you stated, filled with ire. "You're always walking around eggshells around me, never telling me what is it that you really want—"

Megumi's unclouded eyes fixed on your trembling form. "We just disagree on a lot of things. You know it and it bothers you. It bothers me too. Rather than forcing our relationship, I think it's better—"

"It's always me!" you yelled then, lips quivering and eyes watering, unable to hold your emotions back any longer. "All dates, lunches—everything!" you locked your eyes with him, in mocking disbelief. "How can you say you're trying when, in truth, I'm the one putting in so much for us?!"

In that very second, Megumi thought that he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be the cheerful one in this relationship, and when he agreed to go out with you, he made an unspoken commitment to himself that he would at least not make you miserable.

And yet...

"...I'm sorry."

Came his reply, and you were sure that this was it.

And to rub the salt in your wound, he added, "I can't lie to you and say I haven't thought this for a while too."

As tears welled within you, you wondered and questioned what you lacked that led to this. However, the overwhelming sense of betrayal consuming your thoughts ultimately prevailed over any other emotions.

Now he could've appeared before you as a stranger and you wouldn't bat an eye, as the cold steel in his tone said, "And if blaming me is what it takes to make you feel better, then so be it."

You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden boldness, but in the next hot minute, you marched past him, your shoulder harshly colliding with his in a deliberate, almost spiteful manner—which, indeed, was your intention—and then you ran.

Which led to the next scene: you found yourself bawling your eyes out in the girls' lavatory.

Yuji and Nobara saw everything unfolding right before their eyes. They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but you and Megumi were literally breaking up right the middle of their shared classroom, and it was hard not to follow the discourse until the end.

"Are you okay?" Nobara had come to your side, ensuring privacy by locking the restroom door out of your consideration. You were a sobbing mess, attempting to wipe the overflowing tears away while letting out all your emotions.

"He's..." Your voice faltered amid sobs as you gazed at your steadfast friend, your throat clogging up. "He said... he's been wanting t-to... break up with m-me..."

"That's okay, that's okay..." Nobara brought you to her arms, patting your back in reassurance. "Fushiguro is insensitive like that... don't cry over him now. He's just a wimp, okay?"

"Why is it me?" you asked her, voice brittle, still shaking with tears. "I t-tried everything! Being the supportive girlfriend..."

"If he can't appreciate what you did, then the problem lies with him," your friend stated, traces of irritation brewing in her resolute gaze. And as she firmly grasped your wrist, her next words resonated. "Not you."

. . .

"Do you really have to break her heart like that?" Yuji fidgeted with his hoodie, staring at his best friend with a blend of confusion and sympathy.

Megumi sighed, finally ruffling his hair into a mess, as if expressing his own state of mind. “This is for the best.”

Yuji’s eyebrows visibly creased. “How is this ‘for the best’? She’s miserable, and you…” he assessed him, scanning him from head to toe, “it doesn’t seem you’re faring any better too.”

“The longer she is with me, the unhappier she will be.” Megumi glanced at the bathroom’s direction. “She can deserve better.”

He was always too quiet, too boring, not able to match your energy too. He couldn’t fault you for expecting more, whereas he was just not exactly built for your expectations.

Megumi really thought he wanted it to end. At one point, it even felt like a chore, but…

How strange. Why did it feel like something was clawing at his chest?

Time heals. Megumi knew that by theory, but he really did see it firsthand when he saw you all giggling and happy again three weeks after he initiated the breakup.

With Hakari.

“Yo, what are you glaring at?” Panda asked, but Megumi didn’t pay him any mind.

An upperclassman, Hakari Kinji, was naturally cool and talented. He was laid back, knew how to have fun—all in all, a total opposite of Fushiguro Megumi altogether.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks since then.

“Megumi?”

Wait… Aren’t three weeks too fast to get over your ex?

“Megumi!”

“Huh?” he turned to the sentient panda with a jerk. “Oh, what is it?”

He looked at him with a concerned gaze. "Why do you look so scary? It's almost as if you're about to punch someone..."

But who was he to argue? He had no right to be upset now.

"Is it Kinji?" Panda gasped, finally putting two and two together when he followed his line of sight. "Oh Megumi... but you—"

"Just shut up, please," he blurted then, a hint of annoyance in his tone. With that, Panda didn't pursue it further, leaving him with his thoughts.

From where he was at the field, he could clearly see your radiant smile for Hakari. It was clear that the two of you shared a degree of friendship, but Megumi never knew that you two were that close.

...huh?

Why did the sight irritate him so suddenly? Why did his chest twinge again?

What a fool. You're the one driving her away, you idiot.

Suddenly these memories popped up one by one—

Of you suddenly hugging him from behind in an attempt to surprise him.

How he pressed his lips on the crown of your head when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

How you would give him that dopey smile when he pulled you close.

But on harder days after missions gone wrong, he’d ignore you altogether— the slight disappointment in your smile then. How your expression fell when he told you to go. How you slumped and looked back in hopes of him changing his mind.

“Haaaah.” Megumi turned away, unwilling to keep watching you any longer. Why? Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

Why did he long for you now? Why not before, when you were still his?

They were right. It seems people tend to desire what isn't meant for them.

What could have been more painfully awkward than being sent into a mission with your ex-boyfriend?

You would kill Gojo for this. Or at least give him the lowest possible score in his teaching evaluation for the year. How could he? Your breakup was an infamous public spectacle, so this setup was undoubtedly intentional!

You were losing your head over this, and yet your ex-boyfriend...

"Keep your guard up," Megumi reminded curtly, in a warning tone. He looked as vigilant and straight as always, as if he wasn't even bothered.

You threw him a dirty look, offended. "You don't have to tell me twice."

This just cranked up the discomfort to an excruciating level. The mix of unresolved tension and memories—okay, you might be an emo, but how were you supposed to be cool with all of these hanging in the air?

Your site of exorcism was an abandoned warehouse, and the cursed spirit in question was supposed to be a grade 3. You two were grade 2 sorcerers now, so you were a perfect fit to exorcise it. But there was indeed this unease in the air that you couldn't put your finger to.

"Isn't it awfully too quiet?" you unwittingly muttered, staring at the darkness of the wall. You couldn't feel any cursed energy belonging to any possible malevolent entity, and that was what unsettled you the most.

Megumi frowned at your line of sight. "It is. Stay close."

You blinked at what he said, and before you knew it, the familiar scent of him being near to you made your entire body burst with this equally familiar warmth. When you looked up to him, seeing the solid sharpness in that dark eyes of his and his jaw set, dead butterflies in your chest rose back to life again, against your heartbreak and better judgement.

Stay close, he said... So he is worried...

And in an attempt to hide how flustered you were, you looked down.

You walked a few good steps, when suddenly he asked, "So, are you with Hakari-senpai now?"

"Huh?" You spun around, your expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

"You two seem close."

Seem close? Seem close... wait, so Megumi had noticed...?

Suddenly, you felt incited and it made you angry. "That's none of your business," your voice carried a sharp edge, hissing. And you knew you were being a bit mean by adding, "You broke up with me, so why do you even care?"

In that moment, Megumi could've sworn his chest throbbed. Your cutting tone pierced directly into his heart, lodging itself there.

You had all rights to be annoyed, and he knew that. Why did that question even slip out of him?

"Nah, nevermind," he mumbled in response, looking away.

Awkwardness lingered afterwards. You hated this, but no, you weren't above being petty. He had broken your heart and it still stung even now. If your intentionally biting words did to him even a fraction of what he made you feel, then you would find a small sense of satisfaction in it.

But you weren't able to ponder about your mess of feelings further when Megumi abruptly yanked your arm, his voice soaking with urgency, "It's here!"

Sure enough, the grotesque cursed spirit with the shape of a giant bee broke through the walls with a bang. The two of you immediately readied your fighting stance. Megumi was ready with his divine dogs, while you with your cursed weapon.

For a while, you engaged the cursed spirit with all you had. You were trying to focus on the enemy, but you couldn't help but notice the way Megumi always looked at you every few seconds, checking for any signs of injury or harm.

Frankly speaking, he trusted your strength and knew that you were a capable sorcerer. You had been paired in a mission before and he knew both your potential and shortcomings. It was just there was something about this place that had his senses on high alert.

And his fears were proven true when you yelped and were flung onto the grimy floor. "Y/N!"

"I'm fine!" you shouted in a rush, scrambling to your feet. However, as you spun towards him, your scream tore through the hall as you caught sight of the bee lurking behind him. "Megumi!"

He got distracted. The bee quickly latched onto him and almost stung him, until he wrestled it off and summoned Nue and exorcised it.

You went to his side that instant. "Are you okay?!"

"I am." But then he winced and almost fell on his knees if you didn't have a secure grip on him. He savored your touch and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now you two were safe.

"Megumi! Oh god!" Panic surged through you as you pulled him close. His side was bleeding, and you widened your eyes at the sight.

"I'm okay, I promise," he rasped, looking you in the eyes. "What abo—"

Then you saw it, the flicker from deep from that corner of platform, and suddenly, you grasped the source of the unease that had been lingering within you all this time. It wasn't the bee Megumi had just exorcised—

At that moment, there was no room for thought, one thing was certain: you didn't want him to get hurt more.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when suddenly you pushed him away with so much force he never thought you had. Everything crashed so suddenly, he didn't have the time to brace himself or grab you with him, as another cursed bee appeared out of nowhere and—

Reality flashed before his eyes as he stared at you in sheer horror. At how the cursed spirit tore your body, sinking its hollow stinger in you.

You didn't really know what happened next. Everything was muffled—the frantic movements around you turned into a blur, along with Megumi's yells. Otherworldly pain coursed through your entire being and your ears rang, then everything in your line of sight became distorted and faded, along with your consciousness. Next and the last thing you knew was Megumi's battered face, a final imprint before you succumbed to the void.

Megumi had exorcised the remaining cursed spirit and staggered to his feet—falling a few times, but he made his way towards you through gritted teeth. You are hurt. He forced himself to get to you and pull you into his arms.

And suddenly, suddenly, nothing mattered anymore as overwhelming terror consumed him upon seeing you. Blood streamed from your abdomen so much that it made a continuous pool.

"You stupid—!" He choked out, voice hitching. You were no longer conscious and it devastated him even more. "Hey, hey? Wake up—hells—"

You, who did everything you could to save your relationship. You, who cried tears for him when he blatantly broke your heart. And you, who put himself first—and now facing the consequences.

It crashed upon him in that very second, the clarity. What was he thinking back then? He still loves you.

"If you die on me, I won't forgive you."

Megumi scooped you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest, the blood seeping from his wound be damned as he looked at your serene face. His heart shattered in the worst way possible and he almost wheezed at the sticky sensation of your blood—and how lifeless you felt in his grasp—but he willed it away.

"Don't," his broken rasp echoed the walls as he took each step to get both of you out of this hellhole. He winced and hissed at his own injury, chewing his lip in frustration, at how helpless he was.

"Don't leave me."

It was like a distant, hazy memory.

Was it a memory though? No. It seemed far too real for that.

The throbbing headache pounding through your skull and shivers that wracked your body pulled you back to reality. There was a heavy pressure on your abdomen and any movement sent sharp pain shooting through you.

You gradually opened your eyes, squinting against the brightness. You were in a hospital gown, an IV was injected on your arm, and the sterile scent made your stomach twist, as nausea creeping through your guts. Your vision was still blurry as you tried to look around to find someone who waited for you. As you slowly turned your head to the side, you saw him, sitting in the chair right next your bed.

Megumi was sleeping in such uncomfortable position, his head resting on the edge of your bed. He appeared peaceful, almost childlike, devoid of his usual stoic demeanor.

Your heartstrings were tugged at this rare sight. He also sustained injuries and yet... he was waiting for you to wake up, here.

Your chest swelled with warmth, which was quickly followed by a sting of heartbreak. Still, you two broke up...

You jolted, and the inadvertent movement sent a wave of pain that seemed to paralyze your nerves, causing you to whimper. The noise woke Megumi from his slumber, as he shot his eyes open in alarm, catching your hand in his.

"Hey... Are you okay?" Megumi worriedly looked down at you with a visible frown, and the grimace of pain on your face, accompanied by trembling lips, was enough of an answer. He hastily scrambled out in slight panic, "I'll get Ieiri-san."

When Shoko came and got you the painkillers, your pain receded somewhat. Through it all, Megumi stood there, casting concerned glances in your way.

"Bedrest for the week," Shoko stated firmly, assessing your wound with a no-nonsense expression. "Your injury isn't minor—it's serious enough that you're strongly advised against excessive movement."

You could only nod in response. Megumi bowed. "Thank you, Ieiri-san." Once the doctor departed, silence settled over the room once more.

“Why did you do that?” he quietly asked then, referring to what you did for him. And when you turned to him, you saw it clearly.

He looked pale, and there was this haunted look in his eyes. It broke your heart a little.

"You were hurt." Your voice came out dry, and you realized firsthand just how parched you were. Seeing Megumi looking down never quite sat right with you. He was meant to be an unwavering presence, someone strong enough to sway your convictions.

However, a pang struck when he countered with stern eyes, "You didn't have to do that."

...he was right. You didn't have to. What he didn't know was that you were still holding on these stupid feelings, which drove you to shield him. It made you ponder: if your roles were reversed, would he not step in to protect you at all?

"Why are you here?" You weren't sure if the bitterness in your tone was evident, but you continued anyway. "You don't have to be here either."

"Don't have to?" His gaze bore disbelief, as if not believing your words. "I'm—"

"If it's because I saved you, Megumi—"

“Do not even think, even for a moment, that I won’t be concerned over you.” His voice, deep and hoarse, struck you to the core, silencing your words. “Never. I always, always want you to be safe.”

Your mind became a blank slate. Suddenly, all that mattered was his voice.

"Don't you realize how terrifying it was? Seeing you like that?" Megumi spat, his green eyes shining with intensity, teeth gritted and fists clenched. "How could you even think that I wouldn't be here—" his breath hitched, and then his lips trembled slightly, "—for you?"

You blinked quickly, a feeling stirred within you—stemming from that cursed, fragile heart of yours to be exact, evident from the rapid thumping in your chest.

You dumbly uttered, "But we are—"

"Oh, Goddamnit." Megumi cursed, and honestly you were taken aback. It wasn't really in him to swear, so this really bugged him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and despite the situation, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Even a mess in a hospital gown, your ex-boyfriend was still undeniably attractive.

He stared at you squarely in the eye, unflinching, steadfast and true, the very image of Fushiguro Megumi you admired from afar and fell in love with in the first place half a year ago. "You don't have to... say anything, if you don't want to. Right now... just hear me out."

And the things he said next... all of them, you could say, caught you entirely off guard.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not trying hard enough, and—damn it, for making you sad. I never, ever wanted to see you that upset."

Megumi drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze. "And for days, I've wondered if you and Hakari-senpai are now a thing... and you know what? I hate it so much. I know I have no grounds to feel this way, after what I did, but..."

And like a train wreck, his final words hit you hard. Tears welled up in your eyes in immediate response.

“I'm a loser, and a coward too, maybe,” he shrugged, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “And I suck at telling people my feelings, but I love you. I still do.”

A sob slipped out of your throat and you hastily pulled the blanket over your face, much to his surprise. He thought he had worsened things, with the way you were turning away from him.

But then, from beneath the blanket, in a croaky voice, you proclaimed, "Fushiguro Megumi, you're a complete and utter idiot."

And Megumi didn't know that he had been holding back his breath as he chuckled heartily, relieved that you would still take his ass back after this prolonged mess. He knew he still had a lot to make up for and was determined to show it through his actions.

"Maybe I am, yeah."

"That's possibly the longest shit you have ever spouted in one breath."

"Yeah..."

But he got his chance back, and he knew that you would be alright. Both of you are.

On one sunny day...

"Hey, are you alone?"

Megumi glanced up from his phone, only to be met with a random girl standing in front of him, batting her eyelashes with an ambiguous intent. He blinked at her curiously.

"No. Can I help you?"

The girl twirled her hair suggestively. "Ah, you see... I see you all in your lonesome and I think you're quite cute—"

The hell? Megumi frowned, and he was really about to give this bimbo a piece of his mind when—

Oh, oh. Forget that. Megumi's attention snapped to you on the opposite side of the crossroad. All pretty and dolled up with that crop tee and miniskirt he once mentioned would look great on you by a slip of tongue—that accidental comment earned him your teasing quips for weeks already.

"Sorry, I'm here for my girlfriend. Bye."

Abruptly dismissing the girl, he didn't catch how comically offended she was for being turned down in a span of 20 seconds. He took big strides towards you, as you crossed the street, and you immediately beamed when you caught the sight of his face.

"Megumi!"

Ah, this is going to be a good day, he thought. As he gazed at your pretty face, and caught your hand in his, clasping it tightly, reveling in your scent and the warmth of your presence beside him—

He was content, and once again it dawned on him, that he likes you so, so damn much.

"Let's get started on our date, shall we?"

[roosterr]

if ur requests are open, could we have like 141 falling asleep on the reader??? like different scenarios for each of them like price falls asleep accidentally and so does ghost while gaz and soap are like cuddling or laying on the reader :) i love ur writing so much <333

the 141 falls asleep on you

wc: 2.1k

hello!!! been struggling to love my writing for like the last month so i really hope you enjoy, and i'm sorry in advance lol its mostly fluffy but i just couldn't help myself with a lil bit of angst :)

price

✹ when you hear the front door open in the middle of the night – or, technically, early morning – the first thought your sleep-addled mind comes up with is that you're being robbed.

✹ with your heart in your throat, you sit up in bed and stare wide-eyed at the bedroom door, but your fear is short lived when a dull thud meets your ears, followed by a familiar curse that has you breathing a sigh of relief.

✹ your husband, coming home at last from a night of drinking with the other members of the taskforce, presumably stubbing his toe on the sofa that hasn't moved an inch since you put it there all those years ago.

✹ with a deep yawn, you get back under the covers and let your eyes fall shut again, the knowledge that it was john downstairs and not a burglar putting your racing heart to rest.

✹ you don't react when he clumsily slips through the door, fighting the laugh that threatens to give you away when you hear him swear under his breath after bumping into yet another piece of furniture.

✹ the cold air sends goosebumps rippling across your skin when he lifts the covers to clamber in beside you, but the chill is quickly chased away by his hands bringing you into his chest and his enveloping warmth.

✹ "and what time do you call this?" you tease in a whisper, opening your eyes to see his guilty ones looking back at you. the slight flush in his cheeks and his half-lidded gaze gives him a boyish charm that you can't even pretend to be mad at.

✹ "sorry darlin', didn't mean to wake you..." he murmurs in return, a sheepish smile pulling at one side of his lips.

✹ "well, i'm glad you had a good time," you punctuate your reply by placing a light kiss on the bridge of his nose, which prompts his smile to grow wider as he hugs your body to his own.

✹ "i'm havin' a better time now, love." he ghosts his lips over yours as he whispers, earning another tiny chuckle from you, his fingers tracing patterns into the skin of your back under your shirt.

✹ you can smell the whisky on his breath as he leans even further into you, and taste it when he closes the distance to devour your lips in a passionate, if slightly messy, kiss.

✹ he sighs into your mouth, his lips falling from yours when he rolls you onto your back to lay his head on your chest, and like a switch, he's dead asleep.

✹ "john?" you whisper, in a sort of disbelief that he was actually asleep just like that, but he doesn't even flinch when you gently poke his cheek. "oh my god…"

✹ once the morning rolls around, you both share a laugh about his drunken state from the night before, and he makes you promise not to tell the boys he passed out in the middle of kissing you.

✹ you just laugh and file it away for future blackmail.

gaz

✹ the two of you were watching a movie late one night, the first time you've had time to yourselves in months thanks to the never-ending workload you both seem to be under.

✹ the dim mood lighting of your flat combined with the comforting feeling of finally being alone with kyle is nearly enough to send you to sleep already, but your want to spent time with him keeps you awake.

✹ kyle watches you stifle a yawn as he presses play on the movie, and tugs you to lean against him with an arm around your shoulders and a teasing grin. "promise you won't fall asleep this time?"

✹ you look up to him from where your head rests against his collar and huff, a smile of your own playing on your lips as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. "maybe i should be the one asking that."

✹ the bags under his eyes leave no question about how tired he really is, but he was the one that insisted the two of you spend time together tonight, despite the exhaustion you knew he was hiding.

✹ "and leave you all by yourself?" he chuckles, "never, love."

✹ a comfortable quiet settles over you while you watch the movie together; kyle's choice, something action-y you've never seen before, but you know he's seen it a million times. he occasionally adds commentary to make you laugh which he, naturally, manages to do every time.

✹ as the movie plays, you gradually migrate to laying on the sofa on your back with kyle between your legs and his head on your sternum. you absentmindedly run your nails over his scalp, gently massaging his head while he hugs your waist.

✹ it's about two-thirds of the way through the movie that you realise kyle hasn't said anything in a while. you pause your ministrations, smoothing over his curls as you turn your gaze from the screen to where he lays on top of you.

✹ a soft smile lights up your face when your eyes land on his blissfully relaxed features, sound asleep and breathing in time with the steady rise and fall of your chest.

✹ you continue to watch the movie in silence, occasionally petting kyle's hair when he grumbles in his sleep. he deserves the rest, you muse, and something about how peaceful he looks means you can't even entertain the idea of disturbing him. and you would definitely tease him that he fell asleep like he said he wouldn't.

✹ even once the movie has finished, and your back has started to ache from the position against the armrest, you still don't dare wake him. tomorrow was an off day for both of you, so there was no need to go anywhere – as if you would ever want to, intertwined with your boyfriend and surrounded by his warmth.

✹ you close your eyes, give him one last squeeze, and whisper into the silence, "sweet dreams, kyle."

soap

✹ it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

✹ everything was supposed to go smoothly, you'd get what you came for, and you'd be home in time for dinner.

✹ but it hadn't happened like that  of course it didn't. you were on your way out, with johnny by your side, when a sudden noise from behind you caught your attention.

✹ you spin around to see a dishevelled soldier aiming their gun at you, but you noticed just a second too late. you can do little more than watch as they pull the trigger, a sick sense of horror travelling up your spine as time seems to slow down.

✹ there's a split second where you brace to feel the bullet lodge somewhere in your body, but that impact never comes.

✹ with a speed you didn't know he possessed, johnny tackles you to the ground and out of the path of the bullet, landing on top of you and pushing the air from your lungs.

✹ you lay winded underneath him, the sound of him returning fire vaguely reaching your ears but it takes a second for your mind to catch up.

✹ it’s quiet by the time you come back to your senses, johnny already pulling you to stand with a strained grunt.

✹ "johnny?" you frown, taking note of how he favours one side when he urges you to start walking again, "you okay?"

✹ "fine, darlin’, let’s just–" he winces, stumbling ever so slightly and trying to play it off by pushing you in front of him, "let’s just get home, aye?"

✹ your frown deepens. you turn around and stop him with your hands on his shoulders, and it's then that you notice how laboured his breathing has become.

✹ "you're not fine, soap!" your heart sinks as you watch the patches of blood on his leg grow steadily darker, "why didn't you tell me you were hit?"

✹ he doesn't flinch at the anger in your voice, or when you haul his arm over your shoulder and resume dragging him the rest of the way to the helo. he mumbles incoherent that sounds like an apology, but your only focus is getting him to safety and stopping the bleeding.

✹ the others are already waiting for you as the exfil site comes into view, and the moment they spot you shouldering johnny's weight they spring into action to help you.

✹ johnny is dragged up the ramp and made to lay on the floor as gaz and ghost make short work of packing the bullet wound in his thigh with gauze.

✹ you lift his shoulders and head to rest in your lap, grimacing at the pained groans he lets out when ghost puts his weight on the wound.

✹ "why didn't you tell me?" you utter, tilting his head back with your hands on his cheeks and meeting his distant gaze with your brows knitted together in concern.

✹ he musters a weak smile and lets his eyes flutter shut, the muscles in his face visibly relax. "i’m fine… ‘slong as yer okay, bonnie…"

ghost

✹ sometimes you wondered if ghost ever slept.

✹ he would always volunteer himself for the first watch, and he was up before you without fail every morning. on base he always seemed to be in the gym before everyone, and in his office after everyone else has left. he was frustratingly elusive.

✹ it worried you, that perhaps he had trouble sleeping. it made sense, however saddening, that someone like him wouldn't sleep well, but it was even worse that he brushed off your concern for him with practised ease.

✹ he made sure to take care of others, but wouldn't let you try and do the same for him. perhaps he thought you were joking, or that you were only being courteous, but your mind always goes back to one thing; the theory that, for some people, it's only possible for them to fall asleep when they feel safe.

✹ you wanted to be that for him, like he was for you.

✹ you do your best to forget about your rejected concerns for him, and the thought all but slips your mind until a mission two months later.

✹ it was long, drawn-out, and gruelling, and all you wanted to do was get home and have a shower hot enough to melt your skin. it had been almost a week since you've had a moment to catch your breath, and you were more than thankful to be on the way home.

✹ even if that meant being squashed into the back of an suv with soap passed out on your left and ghost on your right. gaz called shotgun and wouldn't give it up for anything, so here you were, shoulder to shoulder with the lieutenant you may or may not harbour feelings for.

✹ the five of you have been on the road for a couple of hours now. the conversation has died down by now and and the quiet hum of the radio was the only sound, besides soap's intermittent snores.

✹ you're on the verge of passing out yourself when a weight drops onto your shoulder, and you have to fight yourself not to jump with the start it gives you.

✹ your tired eyes look to the source and to your utter surprise, they find the dark fabric of ghost's balaclava resting against you, and when you tilt your head you can see the blond of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

✹ the sight brings a smile to your face. as subtle as possible, you shift as much as the limited space of the backseat will allow so his neck isn't bent at such an awkward angle.

✹ he fell asleep on you. perhaps it was just because of the exhaustion this mission left him with, but you like to think back on your theory from weeks ago as you admire the restful expression he wears.

✹ your stop fighting your own exhaustion and let your eyes fall shut, and with your last thread of consciousness you file this memory away for later, and hope that it really does mean that he feels safe with you.