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eternalsimp · 3 years

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Cursed Fears (pt 3)

Genre: Hurt/comfort, smut

Word Count: 5117

Warnings: NSFW 18+, aged up Megumi, swearing, use of female pronouns and anatomy, very jealous Megumi, rough sex, praise kink, overstimulation, slight orgasm denial, some degradation, spanking if you squint, oral sex (m. receiving), marking. Minors DNI.

Author Note: This is the final (?) part of a JJK mini-series I did but it can be read as a stand-alone. Parts 1 & 2 are up on my blog (IDK how to make links)

You were pulled from sleep with the sound of your phone vibrating on the bedside table next to you. You crack your eyes open to take in your surroundings for a minute and try to ignore the insistent buzzing of your phone. Mid Morning sunlight is streaming through the open window, casting a blanket of warmth in the otherwise cold room. Megumi's divine dog has moved off the bed and is laying under the window where it can’t be disturbed by the light. Megumi has his face buried in your neck, arms still wrapped tightly around your torso, and you can feel his warm breath fan out against your skin.

Your phone starts to ring again and you carefully move to grab it, trying not to disturb your sleeping boyfriend. You turn it to see Nobara’s name and picture displayed across your screen and debate sending her to voicemail. You decide against it, knowing she would just call you again.

“Hello?” You stifle a yawn and hear Megumi grumble incoherently behind you.

“Y/n! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning! Are you avoiding us?” You pull the phone away from your ear to try and escape her scolding. You turn your attention to the clock on the bedside table showing that it was a little after 10 am.

“I was sleeping, I’m not avoiding you, psycho. And who is us?”

“Oh yeah, Itadori and I are hanging out. We are actually pretty close to where you and Fushiguro live which is why I was calling. Wait, didn’t you have class this morning?”

“I’m kinda playing hooky, Megumi, and I didn’t go to bed until pretty late and I wanted to sleep in.” Out of annoyance, Megumi grabs your phone out of your hand and rolls onto his back before pressing it to his own ear.

“What do you want Kugisaki?” His voice is still heavy with sleep, and you would normally swoon from how deep it was, but you were too distracted by him interrupting your conversation. You roll over to lay your head on his chest and nudge the phone away from his face to click the ‘speaker’ button so you can hear what Nobara is saying.

“... and you’ve been hogging all of my best friends' time lately so what I’m thinking is you and Itadori can hang out so her and I can have a girls day.” You can hear Yuji in the background correcting that you were both of their friends and he wants to hang out too.

“Well seeing as how we are both still in bed, it’s probably gonna be a while,” Megumi says flatly, probably hoping she’ll drop it and be content with just Yuji’s company.

“Ooohh, am I interrupting something fun?” You can hear her words dripping in sarcasm, wanting to fluster you and Megumi. Your boyfriend however decides he has other plans.

He cocks an eyebrow down at you, “yeah actually you are,” and pinches your thigh to elicit a sharp gasp from you. You bolt into a sitting position and feel your face heat up with embarrassment. Nobara is sputtering on the other side of the line and you swat his hand away from you as he sits up too and tries to pull you back against him.

“Megumi Fushiguro! Give me that!” You snatch your phone back and shove him off the bed, his body landing with a hard thud on the floor. “Sorry, he woke up in a bratty mood apparently.”

“Fushiguro? Being playful? I never thought I’d see the day!” Nobara snickered over the phone. You leaned over the side of the bed to see Megumi pouting at you and you stick your tongue out at him childishly.

“It’s a blessing and a curse. Anyways, give me like an hour and we can all meet up for lunch or something.”

“Yay! Let me know when you leave and we can find somewhere to meet in the middle!”

You hang up the phone and Megumi lunges off the floor and tackles you onto the bed. He rolls the two of you so he is laying on top of you and you are effectively pinned under his body weight. He lays his head on your chest and wraps his arms around your waist as you struggle to push him off of you. “I just wanna spend like ten more minutes in bed with my beautiful girlfriend.” He turns his face up to give you a pleading look and you sigh in defeat.

He grins triumphantly and rests his head back on your chest. You run your fingers through his dark hair to smooth it out as much as you can where it had been ruffled from sleep. After you feel satisfied with the strands you can reach you start tracing over the contours of his face, appreciating how angelic the light from the window makes him look.

Feeling your movements still, he cracks an eye open to see you staring at him. He narrows his eyes accusingly at you, “why are you staring? Weirdo.”

“Cause you’re pretty,” you hum contently and kiss his forehead. He buries his face into your shoulder and groans.

“You make me sound like such a girl.”

“Boys can be pretty,” you pull his face between your hands and kiss his face. “You’ve got pretty eyes, and pretty lashes, and a pretty mouth, even if there's a lot of sass coming out of it.” He rolls his eyes, moves to lay higher up on your body, and stuffs his face into the pillow next to your head. You laugh at the way the tips of his ears turn pink with embarrassment and decide to let up on your teasing.

After a lot of pouting and complaining from your boyfriend, you finally pull him out of bed and convince him to get dressed to go to lunch. You tuck a loose burgundy sweater into a pair of black high-waisted leggings, smirking at the way you catch Megumi staring at how the pants hug your curves. He layers a dark blue windbreaker over a grey hoodie and a pair of jeans. Both of you opted for sneakers since you figured you’d probably be walking around a lot.

He pulls you into a hug and makes his last attempt at talking you into staying home and watching a movie instead. You notice he gags slightly at the smell of your perfume before quickly trying to cover it with a cough. You make a mental note to buy a new one while out with Nobara before denying his request to ditch your friends. He rolls his eyes, gives you a firm peck on the lips, and leads you out the door of your home.

The ramen house Nobara and Yuji decided they wanted to try is in a large shopping district walking distance from your apartment, so you and Megumi decided to enjoy the nice weather after the storm. You barely register the sound of Yuji's voice before you are being spun around by your overexcited friend. “Be careful before you break her!” You can't help but laugh at how Nobara scolds him before he plants you firmly back on the ground but still holds you in a bruising hug.

“Yuji, I just talked to you last night!”

“Okay, but I still haven’t seen you in what feels like forever cause you’re always at school.” Yuji pushes his lip out in a pout before finally releasing you so you can hug Nobara too.

“Well, I’m sorry I have to go to stupid, normal person university cause I’m not cool enough to be a cursed energy user.” You reach out and pinch Yuji's arm causing him to flinch back away from you and pout harder.

“Trust me, I’d kill to be at a normal school.” Nobara pipes in and lightly pushes your arm jokingly. You laugh her off and turn to notice Megumi is tense and lost in thought. You tug at his sleeve to regain his attention and motion to continue your walk. He laces your fingers together and pulls you closer to him.

On your way to the ramen house, you and Nobara stop in a few shops to look around and you pick up a few things here and there. The boys mostly stayed outside in the sun and talked amongst themselves. After ducking inside one of the stores you quietly warn Nobara not to tease the boys too much today. “Nightmares again?”

“Yeah, it’s the first one in a few months but it was a bad one, just keep that between us though.”

“Of course, it’s good that he’s getting better.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to help as much as I can, but I don’t know if it's actually effective. I know they’ll never fully go away but it just hurts to see him in pain like that, you know?” Nobara nods and links your arms together as you move through the little shop.

“It’ll keep getting better, don’t let the bad nights get you down.” You smile at your friend before paying for your items and heading back outside.

When you and Nobara rejoin the boys outside, you find them complaining about being hungry and decide to actually go get your lunch. You’re all seated at a booth, you and Nobara are sitting next to each other and since Yuji insisted that he wanted to sit next to the window, he is across from you, leaving Megumi to sit across from Nobara. You smile at him apologetically but he shrugs it off and texts you from under the table to say that it doesn’t bother him.

It felt good to laugh and catch up with your friends until an old classmate of theirs showed up halfway through your meal. Megumi's eyes widen at the figure that slides into the booth next to Nobara. “Zenin? What are you doing here?” You eye her suspiciously but say nothing and continue eating your food.

“I told you, call me Mai. You make me sound the same as Maki,” she pouted at your boyfriend. You roll your eyes and Nobara huffs next to you. Mai turns to glare and notices Yuji trying to engage you in a conversation again. “Well, this is cute. Did the half-cursed monster and the normie finally get together?” You whip your head to her to ask what she's talking about, but she's speaking again before you can open your mouth.

“I mean it would make sense, you did like her first. Why did you never say anything?”

The table goes deadly quiet. Megumi is staring at Mai in horror, Yuji is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Mai smirks at the tension she created and you can’t help but look back and forth between the two boys.

“Did you feel bad and let poor little Fushiguro have her?” She shifts her attention back to the man in front of her and continues. “Must be scary knowing he could probably take her back with a snap of his fingers, not that she’d last very long. I’d give it a week until Sukuna kills her.” Megumi lowers his eyes to the table but stays silent.

“Food for thought kids, I gotta go.” She winks at you and Nobara before making her exit. You try to reach for Megumi's hand across the table but he pulls away from you quickly.

“Megumi, she’s wrong,” you tell him gently.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He’s shaking his head and trying to brush you off. “I’m okay, it’s nothing.”

The air around the table is awkward for the rest of lunch, but you try to continue your small talk. Things take a turn for the worse when the waitress brings two separate checks. One for Nobara and Megumi, one for you and Yuji. Nobara flags her down to tell her that a mistake has been made with the check and can you split it differently. She apologizes and says she mistook your group for two couples. You all pay for your food, Megumi quickly snatching your individual check and paying for your lunch, before you start sliding out of the table.

When you get to the edge of the booth, Megumi is yanking you to your feet by your elbow. “I don’t feel good, I wanna go home.” He says shortly before turning to walk out of the restaurant. Yuji is avoiding eye contact and hanging his head in either shame or embarrassment. You can’t quite tell. You mumble a quick apology to Yuji and Nobara before following your boyfriend outside. He grabs your wrist tightly to lead you back to your apartment.

You’d seen him get mildly jealous, but never quite this bad. The walk was fast-paced, you were having a hard time keeping up with his tall frame. You were certain that the grip he had on your wrist was going to leave bruises. You tried to catch his attention a few times and pull your hand out of his. “‘Gumi please, you're hurting me.”

That sentence finally catches his attention, but only a little. He lets go of your arm and mutters a quiet “sorry” before shoving his hands into his pockets. The rest of your walk is doused in an uncomfortable silence before you finally get back to your apartment. Megumi pulls the keys to your front door out of his pocket before stepping aside to let you in first, you can almost feel his anger rolling off of him in waves. You slip off your shoes and place your purse and shopping bag on a countertop before you are roughly grabbed and pinned against the door.

Megumi squeezes your jaw firmly, his mouth crashing against yours brutally. You tug at his wrist with one hand, he loosens his grip, but never removes his hand from your face. His other hand is fixed on your waist as he continues using his body weight to keep you pressed against the door. Your brain feels fuzzy from his sudden attack and you struggle to get your head to catch up with your body. Out of pure instinct you tilt your face up towards his to deepen the kiss and just as you think you’ve gained some ground he’s pulling away.

A weak sound of protest comes from your throat and you open your eyes to see his own morphed into a dark midnight blue. You feel him tighten his grip on your face as he leans in just enough that you can feel his breath on your lips. Your focus is pulled away by his other hand slowly snaking its way from your waist into the waistband of your leggings. You feel your breath catch at the feeling of his fingertips making their way further down to your core. You hear him chuckle darkly.

“Look at you, I hadn’t even touched you and you’re already soaking. Could Yuji make you this wet from just kissing you?” You could barely hold yourself up, let alone form a word, all you could do was shake your head. Normally he would find that endearing, but he obviously wasn’t in the mood for silence tonight. He nipped your bottom lip almost painfully. “I need words pretty girl.”

“No, just you.” You were tugging at the front of his shirt, desperately trying to ground yourself.

He smirks dangerously and bit down on your bottom lip again, earning a sharp gasp from you. “I didn’t think so.”

You try to close the gap between your lips but he pulls back and shoves your face to the side so he has access to your throat. He latches on to the weak spot behind your ear and sucks like his life depends on it. He proceeds to cover your neck with dark bruising marks before pushing your sweater down your shoulder so he can continue to mark his territory.

“‘Gumi,” you try to reach him but he’s in his own headspace. You barely have time to brace yourself as he suddenly breaks himself away from you body and yanks you up over his shoulder. You land roughly, clinging to the back of his shirt to keep from falling, and it feels like the air has been knocked from your lungs.

He doesn't give you time to catch your breath before he’s striding into your bedroom and throwing you down onto the bed. Your body bounces at the impact and he’s climbing over you before your body can settle. He grabs your hands and pins them above your head and stares you straight in the eyes.

All that can be heard in the apartment was the whipping wind outside the window and the deep breaths emitting from both of your parted lips. You take advantage of the moment to fully take in his face. Your normally gentle and loving boyfriend was nowhere to be found. In his place was a man riddled with jealousy and intent on taking his frustration out on you.

The moment is broken when he drops one of his hands from your wrists to pull up at your sweater. You do your best in this position to arch your back up so he can pull it off. He momentarily lets go of your hands so he can fling your sweater onto the floor before his hands resume their post.

You close your eyes at the feeling of his lips kissing their way down your chest. He takes one of your nipples between his teeth and bites down lightly. Your body rises from the bed in an attempt to bring him closer to you. One of his hands comes down to shove your waist back down into the mattress and once he’s done assaulting one of your nipples he moves to the other. He leaves bruising marks everywhere his lips go and you feel as they make their way further down your waist. Everything feels heightened with your eyes squeezed closed.

“Megumi please,” you breathe out. He leans back up so his face is level with yours.

“Please what? Tell me what you want.” You feel the hand on your waist move down to your thigh. You can barely make an audible sound as he rubs his thumb roughly into the skin of your inner thigh. All you can manage is a weak whine and he scoffs at your feeble attempt at speaking. “Are you suddenly mute, use your fucking words.”

He smacks your thigh sharply trying to get you to focus on him and get out of your head. You let out a small whimper and he rubs his hand soothingly over your warm skin. “You can do it love, tell me what you want.”

How quickly he can switch between how sweet and how mean his words are has your head spinning. You blink a few times before your head clears. “I want to taste you.”

“That's my girl.” He practically purrs.

He releases the hand that was holding yours in place and moves backward to let you climb off the bed. The second you stand up he is tangling his fingers into your hair and shoving you to your knees in front of him. You don’t hesitate to reach up and quickly pull his jeans and boxers down to his knees. You run your hands up his thighs to grab his half-hard dick, giving it a few lazy strokes before taking the tip in your mouth. His hand tightens in your hair and he groans out in pleasure.

You slowly move your head and start taking him deeper into your mouth. Earning a string of small moans from him. “Fuck baby, you’re being such a good girl for me.”

The tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat causing you to gag and push at his thighs. He pulls you off of him to let you take a breath, admiring all the pretty bruises he left across your skin. It takes all his self-control to not cum right then as he works himself back into your mouth. “Just relax baby, I know you can take it.”

The sweet praise that was so familiar to your bedroom activities sends a rush of arousal through you and has you squeezing your thighs together to create the tiniest bit of friction. He continues pushing into your mouth until your nose is flush with his pelvis. Your whine of protest is muffled by him as he holds you against him, not letting you move your head back. Your eyes water at the sensation as you struggle to swallow around him.

“Awe, does my baby keep forgetting to breathe through her nose?” He pouts mockingly at you. You look up at him with tears rimming your eyes and he smirks again. “You just look so pretty like this princess.”

He moves the hand that was gripping your hair to run his thumb against your temple gently before drawing his hips back. You force yourself to relax as much as you can as he starts thrusting into your mouth. You ball your fists tightly, digging your nails into your palms to distract from the achy feeling in your jaw. You flush in embarrassment and the obscene amount of spit collecting at the corner of your lips as he keeps fucking into you like his own personal toy.

Tears are streaming down your face and he cums with a loud groan. You swallow and stick your tongue out to show him. He hummed contently and you leaned back against the bed. You lay your head back and try to catch your breath. Megumi strips the rest of his clothes off and tugs you to stand up.

“Did you think we were done, princess?” He crashes his mouth against yours again and nudges you back onto the bed. “I’m not done until my name is the only thing you can say for weeks.”

Megumi reaches down to thrust two fingers into you, causing you to cry out. His mouth latches onto your skin and starts leaving dark marks everywhere he can reach again. His hand is pumping into you at a brutal pace and you’re trying your best to bite back your moans. He looks up at your face and scoffs.

“No holding back those beautiful sounds baby.” He reaches his free hand up to squeeze the sides of your throat. “I want you to use that pretty mouth to tell me just how good I’m fucking you,” he growls. You nod frantically and he nips at your jaw. Your moans and whines grow increasingly louder and Megumi starts rutting his cock against your thigh for friction.

“Gumi, I’m close,”

“Hold it,” he growls. You look up at him in panic and he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit. “I want to see if you can be good and follow a simple order. If you don’t behave, I will leave you here with nothing.”

You press your face into his shoulder and let out a small whimper. Just when you thought his challenge was hard enough, he slips a third finger into you and purposely crooks them to hit your sweet spot over and over.

“Please baby, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please just let me cum.” Tears threaten to spill again and he laughs darkly, but says nothing else as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you. He turned his face so his breath could tickle your ear.

“I think my princess just needed a reminder of who she fucking belongs to, isn’t that right?” You nodded frantically against his shoulder. “If you really wanted to get fucked like a whore this bad then you could have just asked me nicely princess.”

Both of your hands were gripping his biceps so hard you thought that you might leave bruises on him. Your climax was so close you could almost taste it, but Megumi's threat loomed in the back of your mind. Not wanting to anger him more you keep behaving and pushing back your orgasm to the point where it’s almost painful. Seeing you struggle to follow his orders underneath him ignited something feral inside your boyfriend, as if he wasn’t dancing on the edge of it already.

“Okay princess, you can cum now.” Your climax ripped through you violently, and you couldn’t help the broken cries it pulled from your mouth.

Before you could ride out your high he is flipping you onto your stomach and yanking your hips up. You scramble to push yourself up onto your hands before he is shoving your face into the blankets.

“No baby, I want you bent over nice and pretty for me. This way I can fuck you exactly how I like.” He pushes himself all the way into you with one fluid motion and sets a hard and fast pace. You are gasping out for him and reaching back to squeeze his wrist. Overstimulation is wracking through your body and you can see black dotting your vision.

You whimper as you feel your next orgasm approaching quickly, and Megumi can sense it too. “Are you gonna be a good girl and cum again?” You nodded your head, and he slapped your thigh, eliciting a cry from you. “I asked you a question, and I want you to use your words like a big girl.”

“I’m close, please let me come again baby.” He smiles and angles his hips to start hitting your sweet spot till you’re seeing stars. Your second climax is less intense than the first, but it still has you feeling completely exhausted. Your head is hazy and you can feel your legs beginning to tremble underneath you. If not for Megumi's firm grip on your hips, you’re sure they would have given out by now.

He reaches around and pulls you up so one hand is wrapped around your throat and the other is wrapped around your waist. His hips never falter their rough pace and your back is pressed to his chest. You can hear and feel him panting in your ear with every one of his movements. Your head is too hazy to focus on anything except him and you let your head loll back onto his shoulder. He turns his head to look at you and smirks. “Look at that, my poor baby got fucked out too hard. I know you have one more in you princess.”

You whine at the promise of another orgasm while he once again latches his mouth on to your neck and shoulders. He lets the fingers on your waist trail down to where you are connected and circles your clit several times. You jolt at the stimulation and weakly try to push his hand away. He smirks and decides to take his taunting a step further. “I wonder what sweet Yuji would think if he saw you like this? Fucked dumb on my cock.”

You barely process his words, but you don’t have the energy to respond. He nips at your jaw as he pushes you closer to the edge. You can tell he’s close with how his pace begins to stutter. With a particularly hard thrust and a pinch of your clit you are coming undone for the final time that night. He cums right after you and gently lays you back down on the bed.

You’re sniffling from overstimulation and pushing his hips away from yours until he pulls out of you completely. You’re finally able to find your words as you curl further into the blankets. “Please baby no more, it hurts.”

You can’t see the guilt that washes over his face as he leans forward to kiss your temple lovingly. “It’s okay pretty girl, you did so well for me.”

He leaves you in bed to move to the bathroom and you think you can vaguely hear water running. After a few minutes he comes back and scoops you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. He slowly eases you into the warm water of the bathtub before he's running back out.

You lean your head against the wall and let tears continue to stream down your face. A small portion of it is from the dull throb coming from your lower body, but mostly it’s from sadness clawing at your heart. You hate pushing him on his emotions and prying at things he doesn’t want to talk about, however something seemed to really push him over the edge tonight.

He quietly comes back into the bathroom and sets the book you're currently reading on the bench next to the tub, along with a hot tea in one of your favorite mugs. He had pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and was turning to leave again. You reach out and gently wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I know that I’ve asked you to share so much in the last 24 hours, but can we please talk about what happened tonight?”

A look of confusion crosses his face and you sink further into the water. “I just want us to be okay, and I can’t shake the feeling that you’re mad at me.” Your voice begins to falter and he curses at himself. He pulls his sweatpants off and slides into the water behind you and rubs your shoulders.

“I’m not mad at you baby, Mai just hit a deep seated insecurity, and the thing with the waitress just kinda pushed me past my limit. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that, I’m sorry.”

You turn to lean your head on his shoulder and let your fingertips trace the water droplets that gathered on his chest. “Why would you listen to anything Mai says? She loves to piss you and Maki off.”

He tucks his chin on top of your head and hugs your shoulders. “Because she wasn’t wrong about Yuji. He liked you first, I always felt like a charity case. And every time you guys hang out, it nags at me at how much better of a boyfriend he would be for you.”

You roll your eyes and flick his nose. “I knew that he liked me, he isn’t exactly the king of subtlety. But you need to remember, Yuji is your best friend, he’d never hurt you like that.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You shift to cup his face in your hands. “If I liked Yuji, I wouldn’t have dated you. You’re the one I wanted to be with, not him. I love you.”

He leans his face into your hand and lets you pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too princess.”

#fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x reader #jjk smut #megumi fic #megumi smut #megumi x y/n #anime #jujutsu kaisen smut #fanfic

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nessaxc · 3 years

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Date Night || Gojo Satoru

Gojo takes you out to dinner, but the flirty waitress at the restaurant really gets on your nerves, so Gojo is determined to assure you that he only has eyes for you.

~ Words: 2.5k

~ NSFW 18+

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"I'm glad I got to see you tonight, I've missed my princess," he leaned across the table to nuzzle his nose against yours gently, and you returned the same motion with a soft giggle.

"I've missed you too," you replied, "it's about time you made some time for me," you added.

"Well, you know, Tokyo keeps me busy," he told you with a chuckle, "but I had to take my best girl out, I know how lonely she gets without me around," he teased.

You giggled and propped your elbow up on the dinner table, balancing your chin in your hand as you held his gaze. He was smiling and shaking his head at you, mimicking your pose, only he rested both elbows on the table and cupped his face with his hands as he looked at you from across the table.

"You look beautiful in that dress by the way, but what else is new, huh?" he winked and broke eye contact for a moment to admire the dress that perfectly hugged your figure, "I'm glad you wore it."

You giggled again at that and twirled a small section of hair around your index finger, smiling down at your lap for a moment before you looked back up at him.

"I'm glad you wore that suit and tie. You should wear it more often, because you clean up pretty well," you grinned and leaned forward slightly to whisper, "by the way, you're really pretty too."

"Am I really pretty?" he joked and batted his lashes, letting his jaw hang slack with a smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth over the way you instantly cracked up laughing. He chuckled airily as he continued to look you up and down, and you had to turn away in attempt to hide the deep blossoming of your cheeks.

"Yes, you're very pretty," you said with a soft chuckle when you turned back to him.

"Good evening, can I get you anything?"

A young waitress made her way onto the scene before Gojo could respond to you, and she appeared to be addressing just him rather than both of you. She beamed brightly at him and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting out a hint of a giggle that you couldn't help but roll your eyes at.

"Some menus would be nice," he grinned up at her and she flaunted her smile right back at him, making it a mission to maintain eye contact for as long as possible and throw in a bat of the lashes here and there.

"I'll go get those for you right now," she bowed her head and smiled softly, but she didn't leave until she'd make a point of leaning towards him slightly to tell him, "by the way, that tie looks great on you, really compliments your complexion."

She was already flirting with him right in front of you whilst being so brazen about it, and it was really taking everything in you not to totally snap. You didn't want dinner to be spoiled by your temper, though, you could already feel yourself starting to lose your appetite because you were red hot with anger right now. You sat there silently and waited for her to leave, gritting your teeth and casting your gaze downward the entire time.

"Thank you very much," he thanked her before she walked away and when he turned back around to face you, he was greeted by raised brows, pursed lips and your eyes glimmering for the wrong reasons. You half-smirked at him and cleared your throat whilst picking at your nails to avoid looking up at him.

"I think she's expecting a tip from you tonight," you managed to make a joke out of it and mustered a small laugh.

He chuckled lightly and acted completely dismissive about it, waving it off as her following some sort of transcript, "It's just service with a smile, Y/N."

He insisted, but you just forced a smile on your face. You fiddled with the cutlery that rested to your side and toyed with the napkin as well, offering yourself a distraction rather than look up at him for the moment.

"Yeah, too many smiles in your direction, though, if you ask me," you sassed, and he laughed loudly at that.

"Babe, something the matter?" he raised an eyebrow curiously, an amused grin on his face. Before you had the time to open your mouth and retort, she soon returned with the menus.

She carelessly laid yours down in front of you while she actually handed Gojo his, making sure to brush her hand over his as she did so. You glared at her but your look went missed, and you were doing a pretty good job of keeping your mouth shut so far, no matter how badly you wanted to tell this girl to back off.

She started babbling on about something that he should try on the menu, ensuring to flash him her smile and bat her lashes some more. She was giggling like he had told the funniest joke, and you were clutching onto a fork tightly with a hand, thinking about digging it deep into her neck. Gojo was a bad influence on you. She brought her hand closer to his so she could flip through the pages and show him exactly what she was describing. You cleared your throat and decided to speak up, because this girl was getting on your last nerve.

"Could you give us a few moments to decide what we're having? Thank you," you gave her possibly the most painfully forced smile you could muster, somehow managing to keep a level head when she withdrew her hand and acknowledged you for the first time since she'd stop at your table. She simply nodded and smiled meekly before walking away, and Gojo’s bright blue eyes shot towards you to give you a look that was nothing short of sheer surprise at how sharp you'd been in your manner of speech.

"Did I miss something?" he cracked up laughing, "My little kitten's got a sharp set of claws, eh?" he remarked before his laughter starting to die down. "I thought she was a rather nice lady," he said with another chuckle.

He scanned over the menu to find a dish that stood out to him. You squinted at him and leaned into him, lightly bringing the menu down to have him look you in the eyes instead.

"Really, Satoru? I wouldn't class the light touches on the hand, the needless giggling and overall acting like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush as just 'being nice'," you snapped slightly, "she's flirting with you, a lot, and I'm sick of it."

"Oh, I see where this is going," he said with a knowing smirk that stretched its way across his lips a few seconds later. You noticed this and your hand targeted your menu in an instant as some form of shield to hide behind to avoid the stares he was giving you, and he lowered your menu down just like you had done to him.

"I think somebody's jealous when she really doesn't need to be," he sang and kept his eyes trained on your face. "So what if she's flirting a little bit? I'm not interested in the slightest," he told you, and you heaved a sigh before he continued, "you have nothing to worry about, my sweet," he said with a smirk, amused with your envy.

"Seriously? You mean that?" you asked, nibbling on your lower lip.

"Course I do," he said, "she could be on her knees begging for my cock and I would say no if that'd make you feel better about it," he finished, and you laughed at that.

"I'm not even feeling that hungry anymore," you said, "she's just so irritating," you huffed, and he looked at you like he was thinking of something until his brain hatched an idea.

"Forget about dinner, I know what will cheer you up, c'mon," he stretched his arm out for you to grab his hand, and you quickly took it in yours. He walked with you until you both reached the closest bathroom - the women's room.

"Um, Satoru, I don't think you're supposed to be in here," you quipped with a short giggle.

"Oh trust me, I am," he cooed. Once the door was closed, he lifted you up by your thighs and pinned you to the wall, his lips attacking your neck in little bites and harsh kisses, not caring about the purple marks he left in his wake.

"Satoru," you gasped his name out, much to his delight.

You let out a soft moan of approval through your own lips as you lifted your hips up in absolute desperation, wanting more of him, and wanting it now.

"I only have eyes for you, Y/N, you and only you," he told you as he continued to cover your neck in wet kisses, and you couldn't help lean your head back to give him easier access. Realizing that you both were still out in the open, he carried you into the bathroom stall, pressing you up against the nearest and sturdiest wall.

He tugged his pants down from his hips and quickly pushed his boxers down to his knees, just far enough to allow his thick and fully hard member to spring up. He nearly ripped your panties down your thighs and threw them to the floor, holding you up with one hand and using the other to glide up your thigh, one finger slipping up your wet folds. He grinned knowingly before he leaned in to growl in your ear, "Look at how wet for me you already are," he hummed, "mm, how bad do you want me?"

Just the slightest touch drove you absolutely wild, and you seemed to forget everything that took place before he brought you in this stall. You keened in the back of your throat and rocked your hips down against his finger, moaning out, "Fuck me, Satoru. I need you so bad. Please!" you cried.

"Well when you say it like that, I don't see how I could say no," he cooed. He grasped his member firmly until he was lined up to your entrance, exhaling loudly as he crouched down to push in. He took his time entering your body at first, watching the pleasure overcome your features. Once you had adjusted to his girth, he set a rough pace, taking you quickly in broad deep strokes that jarred your body and caused your head to slam back into the wall as you surrendered yourself to his movements, hips grinding forward in an attempt to keep tempo. He doesn't waste time going slow, knowing you both needed relief fast.

Grasping his shoulders tightly, you moaned, the volume increasing with each thrust until you were sure you would both get caught.

"That's it, let the whole goddamn restaurant know who's fucking you," he managed to say between his own moans and grunts. "You're doing so good, baby, so good," he praised.

You answered with an even louder moan, shoving your hips forward in a demand for him to go faster, grinding your clit against his pelvis whenever you could.

"Your cunt feels so fucking perfect, squeezing me like this, fuck," he ground out.

He obliged your command, snapping his hips into yours relentlessly, the sounds spilling from your lips urging him on.

"You look so good baby, you always do," he uttered through a pant, "you fucking drive me crazy." He quickly added, "Do you know how beautiful you look when you're all stretched out on my cock?"

One hand gripped onto your hair and he tugged backwards just enough to show you dominance as he pounded into you with no mercy, the sounds of your high pitched moans bouncing off the walls, mixed with his deep grunts and the sound of hot skin slapping against skin.

"Look at you, you're always so fucking pretty, so fucking perfect like this," he told you. His hips moved in the most sinful way, filling you up just perfectly, and he seemed to find that special spot inside you so skillfully, making you cry out in ecstasy.

"You like that, baby? You like how good I make you feel? Good girl, moaning for me and showing the entire diner who's gonna make you come," he hissed into your ear as his thrusts became more erratic, slamming into you again and again as he kept his wild pace up.

"Mmmm!" you hummed. You threw your head back and arched your torso sharply, screaming out in pleasure when your body started to quake with the sensation of your orgasm barreling towards you. His fingers left little purple prints on your hips at how tight he was squeezing your hips, knowing you were both close to your climax.

"Show me how much you like it, come for me," he rasped.

He maintained the angle of his thrusts, continually hitting a sensitive spot within your body until you were convulsing in his arms, orgasm rocking you to the very core. He wasn't far behind, taken over the edge by the tight clenching or your walls around his member.

Exhaling loudly, he relaxed his body against yours as you both came down from your peaks. The wall was the only thing keeping you both up as you wilt, exhausted from your spontaneous lovemaking. Finding the energy to pull back, he kissed you gently, running his fingers through your hair to fix the disrupted locks. You smiled into the kiss, body buzzing from your orgasm and heart glowing at his gestures.

You both cleaned up as best as you could in the stall, he helped adjust the skirt of your dress before moving to fix his own disarrayed hair.

"You had no reason to be jealous, Y/N, like I said I only have eyes for your pretty little face," he nuzzled his nose against yours, and you did the same in return, laughing with each other.

"Thank you, Satoru," you said with a soft giggle when you stepped out of the bathroom stall with him.

"Anything for you, babe," he told you as he intertwined his fingers with yours, walking out with you, "now let's go eat," he started, "we can even put on a little show for her under the table so she knows not to mess with you," he suggested with a loud laugh.

"I like the sound of that," you replied with a broad smirk on your face. That wasn't a bad idea.

___________________________________

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Sorry if this one is a bit shorter. I didn't want to make part 7 insanely long so I just split the story in a way that made sense to me. Y/n lets Hannibal take care of the mess and narrowly avoids a mental breakdown in a CVS.

Trigger warning: blood, violence, gaslighting, ⚠️emetophobia⚠️

You stood up from your seat, your brain refusing to process what just happened.

"Oh look." You said, pointing down. "Her face landed in the glass and there's blood everywhere."

Hannibal casually glanced over the table. The ends of his mouth turned up slightly. "So there is."

The reality of the situation was just starting to set in. You took a deep breath in, expecting to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, you finished your glass of wine.

Noticing your distress, Hannibal crossed the floor and took a knee beside her. He pressed his fingers against her neck.

“She’s alive.” He assured you. “For now.”

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed, and the indecision made you panic even more. “So what do we do now? What do I do now?”

“Well,” Hannibal stood up. “She’s pretty severely concussed and losing a lot of blood. We could call an ambulance. With proper medical care and immediate action, she’ll probably live.”

You froze in your spot and stared blankly off into the distance. You didn’t feel overly compelled to call for help. You were too overwhelmed with emotion to move much, anyway. You felt your soul leaving your body.

“...But I take it by your inaction,” Hannibal piped up. “That you’re open to an alternate plan?”

“Huh?” You snapped out of your trance.

Hannibal closed the space between you. He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb running comfortingly along your cheek. “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t fully know what you were agreeing to, but you didn’t care. “Of course I do.”

“Then listen to me very carefully, [Y/N].” Hannibal’s voice hardened with severity. “Go upstairs and change back into your day clothes. Then, I want you to drive to the pharmacy and withdraw some cash from the ATM. Then stay in the store until I call you, understood?”

You nodded.

“Go now.” He ordered, pulling away from you.

You sprinted up the stairs, tore off your gown and pulled the nearest pair of pants over your legs in one fluid motion. You grabbed a shirt and a hoodie hanging over a chair and snatched up your car keys. In a moment, you were out the door and behind the wheel, speeding away from the crime scene.

The pharmacy was the only place open so late at night. You pulled into the parking lot and selected one of the many vacant spots. You took your key out of the ignition and prepared yourself for an onslaught of emotion. But it didn’t come.

You sat in the driver’s seat, replaying the scene in your head over and over again. One second, the bottle was in your hand, the next, it was breaking every bone in Theresa’s face. You could have very well taken a life that day. But it wasn’t an innocent person on the road, it was Theresa. The same Theresa that put Nair in her sister’s shampoo and lobbied against child labor laws. And she died the way she lived; running her stupid mouth, waiting for someone to shut her up.

You were more terrified of Hannibal's response than anything else. He seemed too enthusiastic to cover your tracks for you. Like he was returning to some favorite game he hadn't picked up in a while.

You shuffled across the parking lot to the ATM. Why did Hannibal need cash? Was he going to pay someone off? He didn't specify how much he needed. Was $100 enough to bribe the police? You settled on $100.

The bright fluorescent lights scalded your eyes. You needed to look like you were there for a reason. Grabbing a basket, you tried to distract yourself by going through the shopping list for your apartment.

Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and body wash. Pilar is allergic to coconut oil so we need to check the ingredients. You found yourself narrating the shopping list in your head, even though it was one you ran down hundreds of times. You knew which brand of body wash to get Pilar, but you were grabbing random soaps and thumbing through the ingredients anyway.

On your way to the cough syrups, you felt a terrible pain in your stomach. You caved around the pain, regretting devouring that pot-au-feu so quickly. When you opened your eyes again, you saw them: the pregnancy tests.

No. You said to yourself. I am not going to keep Theresa alive by letting her get into my head.

As if on cue, another pang of pain reverberated from your core. It was bad enough Theresa had you doubting your memories, now she had you doubting your own body. She couldn’t possibly know your own body better than you, and she was out of line to suggest so.

But, whether you wanted to accept it or not, Theresa had planted the seed in your brain. You wanted so badly to claw it out with your bare hands. The most painless route, though, was to purchase one of those tests and prove her wrong.

In the meantime, you assured yourself she was wrong. You hadn't missed a day of birth control since the tenth grade. Regardless, the pregnancy test in your basket weighed a ton.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, sending you flying out of your skin. The lone cashier took notice.

"You okay, miss?"

You nodded, though you were so clearly not okay. With a trembling hand, you brought the phone up to your ear. "Hello?"

"It's safe now, darling." Hannibal said. "You can come home."

He said it so candidly, it was obvious that he'd done it before.

"Okay, baby, I'll see you at home." You answered, a little too loudly. As the words left your mouth you felt stupid. You'd never once called Hannibal 'baby' and you sure as hell weren't gonna start today.

You brought your items to the cashier, the pain in your stomach worsening. You made a point to waddle back to the medicine aisle and grab some painkillers before the cashier could finish ringing everything up.

By the time you were back behind the wheel, you were fighting the urge to drive off a cliff. The pain in your stomach was unbearable and you had no idea where it was coming from. It had to be psychosomatic. Your body was compensating for the shortcomings of your brain. You knew you were supposed to feel guilty but you just didn't, and your body was punishing you for it.

At home you were clutching the toilet, vomiting your guts out. Hannibal was at your side, gently stroking your hair. Again, acting as candidly as if he were nursing a hangover.

"I'm so sorry." You croaked, lifting your head from the toilet. "I don't know what this is. I didn't even drink that much."

"Don't apologize." He said, calmly. He stood up, filled a glass with water and offered it to you. "You're overwhelmed. It's natural."

"You say this like you've done this before." You joked, though you knew you were right. You clutched the glass with both hands, the coolness feeling good against your hot skin.

Hannibal took a knee beside you. His finger found a blade of your hair and tucked it behind your ear. "Now, we're not going to tell anyone about this, are we?"

He was fully aware of how intimidating he really was.

"I would never." You traced an x over your heart. "Swear on my grandfather's grave."

"Good girl." He traced your jawline with his finger. "Your intuition is as sharp as ever, I see."

You took a long sip of water. "Huh?"

"Don't insult your own intelligence, you know what I mean."

"You've hidden bodies before." You inferred, sitting up.

"I've done more than hide bodies, love, and I think you know that." Hannibal corrected.

Your first instinct was to stand up and get more wine, but moving too fast made you dizzy. "...so did it hurt?"

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"When Theresa died." You said, quietly. "Did she hurt at all?"

This pleased and surprised him to hear. "No. She was so heavily concussed, I doubt she felt anything."

You frowned. "Damn."

"Did you have something else in mind?"

Theresa's last words rung over in your head. 'I didn't think you had it in you'. The thoughts flooding your mind, about how Theresa would go were it up to you, assured you that you did in fact have it in you.

"I would have liked to see her suffer a little." You muttered under your breath.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." He smiled and offered you his hand. "Come on, love. Let's get you cleaned up."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #mads mikkelsen #cult girl

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thr-333 · 4 years

Text

Just Another Class Trip :) Part 3

You know getting dragged through a multi billion dollar corporations building to try and avoid your illegitimate father, a normal monday for most I’m sure.

First< Previous >Next

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

It’s official, I hate Adrien

Marinette groans, having been practically dragged out of bed for breakfast. Adrien was wisely backed up as far as he could in the elevator. She yawns, making it loud as possible and looking Adrien right in the eye.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed out so late,” Tikki giggles, hidden in her scarf.

Yeah it turns out that ‘just need to help out one person’ turned into a it is now 3am and I am halfway across the city beating up a gang.

“At least the box was safe,” Marinette whispers back, she had crashed in Adrien's room, no matter how mad Lila would be, or because of it who knows.

And indeed Lila was mad. The second they step foot into the hotel restaurant the entire class turns to stare at them. Crowded around a smug looking Lila with tears rolling down her cheeks. Marinette just turns a sharp left to the coffee. It isn’t until she has downed half a cup and refilled it that she tries to look for her friends.

Chloe looks just as dead as her, so she sits next to her. Let the morning people talk, they were ready to pass out together.

“Kagami?”

“Yep, Adrien?”

“Yep,”

“Morning people,” They both sneer.

“Were you planning on sleeping all morning?” Kagami asks, eating breakfast like a normal person, what a jerk.

“Were you planning on watching me all morning?” Chloe half heartedly retorts.

“You are adorable when you’re sleeping,”

“Fuck you, I’m adorable all the time,”

“Chlo, language, please,” Marinette implores, nursing her giant cup.

“Shut up Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe snaps, face planting back into the table.

“She’s not that cute actually,” Kagami whispers to Adrien, “Wore a face mask she got green all over the bed,”

“I’ll get green all over you,” Chloe mumbles absentmindedly.

"Marinette,"

"Ah the storm is coming,took them long enough" She takes a gulp of burning coffee, "Yes Alya?"

"You cant just say that to a person," Alya tries to explain, as if talking down to a child, "Lila was up all night crying,"

"She probably just put on a recording and went soundly to sleep," Chloe scoffs, sleepily looking up from the table.

"I was with her all night!" Alya turns to Chloe, seething rage coming to the surface.

"Thats some impressive endurance," Marinette mutters, downing more coffee.

"You think she's been practicing?" Chloe smirks.

"This isn't-"

"Make sure she get's plenty of water," Marinette turns away, hoping the conversation would be over.

"Marinette!" Alya looks down at her the way Marinette often looks at her, the look at a dear friend who changed, "Can't you see you're hurting Lila?"

"Can't you see she's hurting me?" She covers that honestly by gulping down more coffee, she has not had enough for this conversation.

"You used to be so nice Marinette," Alya dodges the question, pointing to Chloe and Kagami instead, "Then you started spending time with these two, and, and you changed!"

"Believe what you want Alya," Marinette motions for her friends to stay calm, "But they stand by me when no one else will, especially you,"

"Thats because!- Marinette if you had just gotten to know Lila instead of being jealous this would have never happened," Alya looks down at her sadly, Marinette was sure Paris would have been up in flames somehow if she had ever trusted Lila, "If you just didn't spend time around these bullies everything could be the same, you wouldn't have become a bully too,"

"So what?" She spits bitterly, looking over at the table watching them, Lila looking disgruntled it wasn't an all out fight, "If I got up and joined that table right now, would everything go back to the way it was?"

"... No,"

Marinette’s pocket buzzes in a familiar sequence. Akuma alert.

"Ok then, not much point in arguing about it, I'm going to stay with my friends, the ones I can actually trust," Marinette quickly shuts down Alya's protest, "Now go get Lila some water,"

Alya walks off back to the table, everyone crowding around her. Marinette waits for the door to be clear, she has to leave before Alya finishes or the whole class will be breathing down her neck.

“Forgot something in my room,” Marinette slings on her back pack, “Be back soon,”

She was not back soon, she was not back soon at all. Luckily she should only be three minutes late for the bus-and nope they left, great. She’ll just have to catch up with the tour later.

Well, I had stuff to do anyways

She talks with the receptionist; her assistant should have sent her a prepared motorcycle to the hotel the day before. It’s a quick drive to the location she had selected specifically to be close to the hotel.

She puts on a simple domino mask before entering the building, she didn’t want anyone to leak her identity after all. Walking in she’s glad to see everything is not in disarray.

“MDC,” Her assistant, Liam walks up to her.

Liam was someone she met through Penny. He’s older than her and also acted as her guardian on most of her trips as MDC. He does know her civilian identity, which she trusted him completely to keep. She likes him because-

“Is that mine?” She snatches the cup of coffee as he passes it to her.

“Figured you needed it,” Liam smiles, wincing as she downs the burning liquid, it's fine she has a strong healing factor, “You said your bag was stolen? This should replace it, it’s most of what you had plus more,”

He rolls forward a pre packed suitcase.

“I would die without,” Marinette says in all seriousness, “So what's the damage?”

“No major problems so far, the security we hired is enough to scare away the smaller thugs,” Liam nods to some security personnel guarding each door, “They won't be enough if any super villains try to attack the actual show,”

“Mm, give them instructions on the night of the show they are only allowed to intercept small time, anything bigger they are not allowed to engage,” Marinette studies the room, there's great places to hide, friend or foe, “If they see anything they are simply to report it directly to me,”

“They can’t engage?” Liam looks around, trying to see what she is.

“They won't be able to stop them anyway, and there is no reason for them to die,”

“If you say so,” Liam leads her through the room where lights are being set up and walls are being painted, “So what's the plan if we do get attacked?”

“I’m sure Batman is going to have his eye on any big events,” Marinette approves of the color of the back wall, it looking even better in person, “Besides I’m planning on trying to intercept before any violence,”

“In other words you're going to make my job a lot more stressful,” Liam sighs, making a note or rather on his tablet.

“Not if I can help it,”

“You can’t,” Liam sighs again at her grin, “Didn’t you have a tour with your class today?”

“They left me,” Liam seems equally unsurprised, “But I should probably head for Wayne tower anyway,”

“Don’t get into trouble,”

“I never get into trouble,” Marinette smirks from the door, “Trouble drags me into it kicking and screaming,”

“More like keen and skipping,” Liam closes the door in her face.

Marinette strolls into the Wayne tower an hour late with Starbucks, she sees is her class, being a nuisance arguing with a tour guide.

“You cannot just leave a student alone in Gotham,” The tour guide all but yells at Madame Bustier.

“Marinette is very responsible, she can handle herself,” Madame Bustier more defends herself than Marinette.

“I don’t care how responsible your student is, that won't stop them from getting shot!” This time he does yell, “You need to go back and pray to god she’s alright and hasn't gotten lost for some murder to find!”

Alright time to break the tension

“Hey, what did I miss?” Marinette asks casually, Already sipping at her straw when all eyes turn to her.

“Marinette! How did you get here?” Madame bustier demands.

“I-”

“I think you mean ‘are you alright, I’m so sorry for leaving you behind,” The tour guide glowers, apparently threatening enough that Madame Bustier actually repeats him.

“I’m fine, I borrowed a bike from my friend in Gotham,”

“You don’t have a licence in Gotham,” Lila sneers triumphantly.

Oh look who actually did some research, how much digging did you do when I learnt how to ride a motorcycle

“I didn’t say it was a motorcycle,” That shut’s Lila up, “But yeah it is a motorcycle,

Worth it for that face

“Also I got my licence approved in America before I came,”

So worth that face

Lila opens her mouth, better than the flood gates, when the tour guide interrupts.

“Now that everyone is here,” He sends a smile to Marinette and a glare to Madame Bustier somehow at the same time, she gets the tinglily feeling of miraculous holder, or maybe its just the caffeine, “We can start, my name is Dick I will be your tour guide today.

They follow Dick through the tour Marinette's group right behind Dick. She scribbled designs and took notes as he talked, asking her own questions. This got her dubbed Dicks favourite, and easy title to gain as the rest of the class lagged behind. Most were listening to Lila, only Max and Alix were straining to hear Dick over the chatter. Marinette would occasionally pick up a mention of the Wayne's and knew it wasn't related to the tour. She'd have to guess Lila was lying about either dating someone or saving their life, or because it's Lila probably both. A gutsy move in the Wayne tower she had to admit. Marinette could tell Dick was listening and would probably have that rumour make it back to the Wayne's themselves. Would the wrath of some of the richest and most powerful people be enough to stop her? not likely.

They split up for lunch at the cafeteria in the building. She saw the coffee machine and was about to make a bee line to it when Kagami pulled her back to eat some 'real food' whatever that is. She makes a break for it after eating the so called 'real food', right before the tour was about to restart. She reaches it as a familiar figure is also waiting.

"Hi Tim," She greets, getting him to actually jump, "You work here?"

"Hi! um-yeah," He looks over to her, "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" She takes the biggest travel cup they have available.

"Sn-nothing," Tim still looks uneasy, then his eyes lock onto the cup, "tired?"

"Was up till three am last night, plus jet lag?" She yawns, "Yeah I'm tired,"

"Then you'll want to put that cup back,"

"Hm why?"

he gets her answer when Tim ducks down, opening a hidden cupboard full of travel cups at least twice the size of her current one,

"Tim I love you," She fills up the giant cup, "You're my favourite person in Gotham as of right now,"

"Not Dick?"

"Eh, his puns are lacklustre," She shrugs, Tim spits out his drink, "You know Dick?"

"Yep, give him a hard time for me!" Tim calls over his shoulder, walking away.

"You got it!" She hurries in the opposite direction, late for the tour once again.

“Did you get another coffee?” Dick asks as they enter the PR department.

“They were serving them at lunch,” Marinette could almost laugh at how quickly he had begun to fret over her during the tour.

“I know, that was my brothers idea, or rather demand,” Dick sighs, someone else approaching the group to direct the tour.

“Your brother works here?”

“Sure does,”

“But you don’t”

This makes Dick pause, looking down at her as she sips at the coffee.

“What?”

“I mean you don’t work this job at least,” She shrugs, it wasn't hard to figure out.

“Why's that?”

“You seem uncomfortable, your charismatic but still lack the smoothness of a rehearsed tour, plus you seem offended that they are in the back chatting,” Marinette nods towards Lila and her posse, “Regular tour guides would be used to that,”

“You found me out,” Dick chuckles, “I’m just taking over for today,”

“Well I think you picked a bad class to do that for,” She looks over at most her class ignoring the speaker trying to get their attention.

“I think I picked the right one,” Dick says cryptically, then walks off to help herd the class.

“Alright you have to give me the recipe,” Marinette overhears from a nearby desk.

Someone is sitting on it eating a cookie, while the other taps away at her computer.

“Sorry no can do,” She shrugs, “I don’t know it,”

“How can you not know it, you baked them right?” He asks, trying to steal another one and getting his hand slapped away.

“Nope, new vigilante came in, beat up someone robbing my house and baked me cookies,”

“This is Gotham so I believe the first two,” He looks between her and the container, “But cookies?”

“They also gave me free therapy,” She shrugs, before tapping on the container,“And do you really believe I could make these?”

“Touche,” He smirks leaning back on the desk, “So who’s the new guy? With the Batclan?”

“No they said they were just passing through,” She doesn't look up from her computer, focusing intently on the screen, “Names Starling,”

“Never heard of them,”

“Neither, and I tried looking them up,” She sighs, pushing back from the computer in defeat, “Found someone, but it’s not them, actually couldn't find anything on them,”

“Weird,” He gets up from the desk, “Can’t imagine Batman is going to take kindly to a new vigilante running around,”

“Unless he adopts them,”

“That… yeah he probably will,”

"Oh no-CLAIRE" The speaker trying to wrangle her class stops, "We have a problem!"

"Sorry to cut this short," Claire doesn't look sorry at all, "Seems we have important matters to tend to,"

She follows Dick out of the department, ushering her class as she goes. Claire looks over at her like she has two heads, a mixture of impressed and pity, and perhaps a bit of jealously.

They get to go further up the building, to the higher floors. They reach a space that is mostly meeting rooms. He class decide to take advantage of Dick declaring they are completely sound proof, or maybe they took it as a challenge. Marinette is walking past a hall when someone leaning against the wall catches her eye.

“Auntie Selina?!”

They look around, only spotting Marinette seconds before they collide into a hug, she feels the tingling buzz of a true holder.

“Mari!” Selina picks her up and spins her around, no different from when she was five, “Oh, my love it’s so good to see you, when did you arrive in Gotham?”

Marinette watches as her smile morphs into horror.

“Wait, what are you doing in Gotham!?”

“It’s a class trip and- hey where are we going?” Her Auntie grabs her arm pulling her down the hall.

“Marinette!” Dick calls, walking around the corner, Selina makes a sharp turn down another corridor, “Wait!”

Selina is two steps away from running as she pulls Marinette through the maze of hallways.

“Auntie where are we going?”

“Down here,” She opens the door leading to a staircase, too narrow to be a fire exit.

“That’s not really what I was asking,”

Selina inputs a key code, the door swinging open as she is pulled into the room.

“Wait!” She gets pulled through another door just as quick “Was that wall full of weapons?”

“Just a picture sweetie,” She says sweetly, “Down these stairs,”

“Aunt Selina what are we running from?” They are running now, floor after floor.

“We’re not running from anything sweetie,” Selina speeds up, “I just wanted to show you a cool spot in Gotham,”

“Right,” Marinette raises an eyebrow, “I was actually with the class so maybe we could go later?”

“It closes in five minutes,”

“Like you wouldn’t just break in if we were going somewhere,”

“I promise I will take you somewhere nice,” She smiles back at Marinette, they reach the end of the stairs, coming to a garage of sorts, “If you promise to hurry up,”

“Sure-” She does a double take, of the room, “Hold up are those costumes?”

“Collectors stuff, you know,” They are surrounded by bat themed... everything, “Rich people,”

“Right and how do you know this?”

“I-” She hesitates, eyes drifting, “Hey look, the exit!”

They all out sprint towards the exit. Selina reaches out to open the door a second after it swings open.

“Selina,” The man smiles at Selina as she runs into him.

“Hey Bruce,” Selina jumps back, trying to hide Marinette behind her.

“Where are you going?” Bruce looks behind her at Marinette, who gives a little wave.

“Out! Got to hurry!” She grabs Marinette's arm again, trying to pull her around Bruce.

“Is something wrong?” Bruce grabs Selina's shoulders to keep her still and looking at him.

“Nope nothings wrong,” She wriggles out of his grasp, trying again to pull Marinette away.

“Ok then,” Bruce still looks worried but turns to Marinette instead, “Hello I’m Bruce Wayne, Selina finance,”

“YOU’RE HER WHAT!?”

“Snitch,” He Auntie spits out venomously.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” Marinette asks her with the biggest grin.

“Surprise,” Selina gives half heated jazz hands.

“Wait! Whens the wedding? Do You have a dress? I’ll make one!” She deicides, brining out her sketchbook, drawing different designs, “What's the theme? Never mind tell me on the way to the fabric store, I’ll sketch up some designs,”

“Darling, please-” Selina is now getting pulled along.

“Oh! I’ll call Papa! I’m sure he’ll want to make your cake! We have to hurry, come on lets go!” They're already out the door, Marinette waves turning back to Bruce, “Nice meeting you!”

“What just happened?” Bruce asks Dick as he runs up next to him.

“She kidnapped one of the students on tour,”

“Who is now making her wedding dress,” Bruce nods, not understanding anything

“Did I miss something?”

I think we all did

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

Taglist:

@smolplantmum @flufflepuffle296 @dawnwave16 @caffeinetheory @g-arya @Maribat-2k20 @ladybug-182 @Actual-disaster-human @fusser90 @messrs-weasley @soap-lady @paintedhope7 @zeneralla @mochegato @random-nerd-3 @clumsy-owl-4178 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @too0bsessedformyowngood @certifiedbidisaster @Purplegeekypanda @awkward0ghostfan @theymakeupfairies @tikki-marinette @insane-fangirl-of-everything @elmokingkong @inarachi02 @slytherinhquinn @moongoddesskiana @dast218 @buginetye @redscarlet95

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writingsfromhome · 3 years

Text

Bad Timing II

A/N: I’m just about finished the whole series and I’m excited for you to read this! <3 Sorry for the late upload, I started a new semester and had zero time to write but I worked on this all weekend. I’m curious to know if your opinions on Harry change after this part, the next part’s going to be packed but this is an in-between. Thanks as always for reading <333

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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

I lay awake in bed, staring at the blank ceiling before my phone’s constant buzzing forces me up. A couple voicemails, and a single text from Harry: GM, call me if you need anything.

I stare at it longer than I should, the audacity to think we were fine enough to text me so casually. But there was some small solace in knowing he took the extra step to let me know. Ugh; my head injury was more serious than the medic diagnosed. I throw my phone on the bed and head downstairs where I’m surprised to see him gone. It was only 8am and I needed a coffee, otherwise I would not make it through the day. When I see the pot of coffee half full, I stop in my tracks. Harry made coffee before he left. I touch the pot and it’s still warm, he couldn’t have left that long ago.

I open the dishwasher that I’d loaded last night only to find it empty. I stand straight, hand on my hips--had he unloaded the dishes too? How did I not wake up to the noise? How did he even know where everything went?!

Maybe he wasn’t such a dense detective after all, the thought makes me smile. I look around the room and notice he’d tidied up from last night, and folded everything away on the couch he slept on. I take my coffee to the couch and without thinking, hug the pillow to my face and inhale. The strong scent of his aftershave sends a sharp and painful jolt to my memories. What the hell was I doing?

I drop the pillow and settle on my kitchen table, responding to some emails while I make a game plan for the day, shaking off the claustrophobic feeling I got thinking about going back to work. I finish the last of the coffee and start moving, shower, dress appropriately, pack my laptop...I just had to keep busy so I wouldn’t have time to think about it.

***

“We’re here for you, whatever you need,” the regional manager lets me know during the meeting. I’d learned post-trauma policies the bank had. I was sorry to know them, I really just wanted to put the whole thing behind me. I tell her that. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. We do require you to go to at least one counseling session, your employees have got to go to a group meet with a licensed therapist so you can all discuss this and get over the awful event.”

“I see,” I chew my lower lip. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about the way I jumped at every little thing and stared down each and every stranger on the tube on my way in today. I felt crazy. Maybe I did need a shrink. “I’ll include that in the memo I guess. Thanks again for all the support and the resources-”

“That’s my job, our job.” She motions to the man sitting beside her who hadn’t actually said much the whole time. We talk for a little while longer, and by the time they leave I’m exhausted. But I make the trek to the hospital to visit Cole like I told him I would.

***

The weekend flies by: I take the train to visit my dad up north and let him take care of me like I was a kid again. It was nice to unwind, I thought, I should visit my dad more often.

But come Monday, I’m back in my pantsuit ready to get on with my life. I try not to think about Thursday too hard but it’s difficult when first thing that morning, a therapist shows up for a group session. Most of my employees look anxious to be here, but I watch their shoulders relax as they discuss what happened. Watching everyone bond brings a lightness to the heaviness that sat in my chest: it was good.

“Ms. Y/L/N? When can we schedule a one-on-one?” The therapist stops me at the end of the session.

“I think this session helped a lot,” I put on a big smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

She smiles politely, as if she expected this, “It’s a requirement for back-to-work. I have time right now if you’d like, I’m not seeing another employee until lunch.”

“Um,” I look to where everyone mingles, comforting each other and breaking off into groups. If I had to talk about it in order to work, and work is the only thing to help me get my mind off of it...I guess I had no choice. “Let’s do it now.”

But an hour later and I’ve mostly just talked her ear off about Harry showing up, how awful my luck was that he would be the lead detective on the case, how much damage he’d done to me. How he appeared on one of the worst days of my life again.

“It’s almost a sign,” I ramble. “Like...what are the odds?!”

“Do you still have feelings for him?” She asks, looking like she knew the answer.

“No,” I scoff. “I hate him. He broke my trust!” And my heart.

“Those are feelings,” she says wisely.

“Well sure, yeah, I have negative feelings towards him. Why wouldn’t I?”

She pauses, a very pregnant pause. “It’s been almost 4 years right? Usually, those feelings start to...dissolve into a more neutral ground when you...receive closure. You take time to grieve, to sit in the wound in your heart, but then you pick yourself up and try to heal. It seems like you’ve just told yourself you were healed and got on.”

“I am healed,” I insist.

“Just like you started this sessions by letting me know you were over the trauma that happened to you a few days ago?” She asks. I avoid her gaze. “When I asked about Thursday, you said you were ‘over it’ and you just wanted to focus on work but you’re not giving yourself closure. Likewise, with Harry. You haven’t found closure even after all these years.”

I stare at her, she’d sliced right into a vulnerable part of me--I’d led her there, I realise. It was something I knew all along, I just didn’t want to point at it alone.

“You’re right...I feel like I never got closure.” I confess. “How? I just want to know h-how he could’ve left me for another woman after all those years together--as lovers and as friends? He was there when mum...he was there through hell. And then he put me through hell.”

“I’d like to believe Harry showing up on a...hellish day is a sign like you say. But maybe a sign you need closure. Talk to him, ask him what you need to know in order to close that chapter of your life.”

I exhale, the idea of it making me feel claustrophobic. She wanted me to open myself up to him again and invite him to hurt my feelings? I try to ask her more but she looks at her watch. We’d gone over.

I thank her and walk out with a weight on my back that feels bigger than the one I went in with. I thought therapy was supposed to make me feel lighter.

***

I’m hiding behind my desk as the footsteps get closer and closer to the door. I clutch the knife in my hand and-

“Y/N!”

I jump up out of sleep, and open my eyes to my office. I stare at the table in front of me where the papers I used as a pillow are rumpled.

“Y/N? You have a call on-”

“Adam,” I look at my assistant. He’d been really quiet today and I was worried about him but there was so much to catch up on I hadn’t had the chance to talk to him. “Sorry I...haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I’m sorry Y/N...the detective’s on the line he insisted he talk-”

I roll my eyes and answer the phone, motioning for Adam I’d be okay. He hesitates at the door before closing it tightly behind him.

“Y/N?” Harry’s breathless voice answers irritably on the other line.

“Harry? Why are you calling me at work?” I ask, still sleepy from the nap. Is this about the case?”

“No it’s about your things at the station, it was processed--we couldn’t find anything useful so we’re returning this batch. And I think some of it belongs to your staff? Did you want to pick it up or should I drop it off to yo-”

“I’ll pick it up,” I wanted to make it clear that Harry in my space wasn’t going to be a normal thing. “I’ll head out in a bit, can I just collect it at reception?”

“They’ll buzz you through to me, I’ve gotta go-”

“Just leave it with reception...” I say to dead air. He’d already hung up. Damn.

***

“I’m here for some things, it was taken for evidence?” I say to the woman at reception.

“You’ll have to be more specific love,” she raises an eyebrow. “A lot happens here.”

“The bank rob-”

“Ah, Harry’s case. I’ll buzz you through-”

“No I thought maybe I could collect it here uh-” I look for a nameplate. “Serena, listen, I’m in a rush so is there any way for you to get it-”

The phone ringing cuts me off. She holds up her finger and I stand tapping my foot. She rolls her eyes at whoever was on the other line, motions that they were chatty and points to the glass doors. I sigh, I guess I was seeing Harry. I think about my therapist and cringe, I couldn’t.

When I walk in, I scan the room for Harry but I don’t spot him anywhere. I walk awkwardly until someone asks if they could help but they point to his desk and tell me I could wait there.

“I’m actually here to pick up some evidence, couldn’t you just give it to me?”

“He’s the lead officer, he’s got to sign off--”

“Fine,” I hated the bloody bureaucracy around here. I go to where he points and sit in Harry’s chair, ignoring the looks from people around me. I toy with the pen and doodle on an empty paper. Y/N was here I write and smile, it was juvenile.

“Y/N! Sorry! Nobody told me you were here.” Harry shows up a few minutes later. He opens the bottom drawer and takes out a nondescript cardboard box. If I knew if was down there I would’ve left a long time ago. “Just need you to sign this.”

“Okay,” I sign where he points and reach for the box. “I’ll grab that, thank you.”

“Can I walk you out?” He fiddles with his phone.

“Will you take no for an answer?”

“Nope,” he’s all teeth when he smiles. I sigh and walk in front of him. It’s weirdly silent but I notice he was typing on his phone when I look over.

“Well...g’night then.” I say at the door but he pushes it open and walks out with me.

He finally puts his phone away and asks. “Are you alright? Have you gone back to work?”

“Yeah,” I chew at my bottom lip, nervous. “We’re really sticking together, trying to get through it.”

“That’s good. That’s how it should be.” He waits a beat. “We’ve been trying to catch the robbers, they hit up another bank so it’s hell inside. That’s why I was so busy.”

“Another?” My heart plummets, and my palms feel slick.

“Yeah but we’re working as fast as we can. So...uh, did you need anything from me before you go?”

“I...” I think about the therapist’s words and chew my lower lip. I try to work up the courage. Fuck it, I realise. I had nothing to lose. “I do...actually.”

“Oh,” he looks surprised. “Good, what’s that?”

“I want to talk, about us. I...I need like, closure Harry. I think I deserve an explanation about...” I trail off as I notice him staring at me blankly. “What?”

His blank expression settles into confusion. “What’s more to explain Y/N. I’ve told you everything, I-I dunno. I thought one day we could get together like old friends, but it’s obvious you’re still upset with everything and I don’t know what more I can say? I said everything in that letter but if-”

“The letter?” I ask sharply, cutting off his chatter.

“Yeah, the one I wrote you after we...after you moved out?” When I don’t react he continues: “I dropped it off at your sister’s the week after you cleaned out your things? You didn’t...read it?” He looks hurt, if that was possible all these years later.

“I...did. Obviously I just...had some questions.” My heart races; what letter? He wrote me a letter?

“So what do you want to ask?” He looks at me curiously, concern etched in his brows. “I would like to talk actually-”

“Now’s not a good time,” I cut him off again. I had to know about this letter first. I can’t believe I walked into this blind. “I’ve actually had a long day, this is--we can do this another time, okay? Thanks for...walking me out.”

***

The first thing I do when I get home is call my sister. I can sniff her guilt a whole country away.

“Y/N, you were heartbroken! Y-you didn’t need to have it broken all over again reading his stupid letter! I was looking out for you!”

“That wasn’t your call!” I raise my voice. “I’ve been...I haven’t had closure all this time! I thought he didn’t even care enough to try to explain it to me and you knew he sent a letter this whole time?”

“Well when he showed up to the flat I wasn’t about to-”

“When did he come to the flat?” I wanted to strangle my sisters and her protective instincts.

“After you moved your things out. He wanted to see you and I knew you were a mess, I told him you never wanted to speak to him. I was looking out for you babe I-I didn’t even realise I was keeping you from closure I just...I didn’t want you hurting. Don’t be mad.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, she was right. It was Harry who hurt me, and I shouldn’t take it out on her. “I know. I know. I’m sorry for yelling I just-I wish I could read that letter.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs. “I should’ve given it to you once you moved out...I still have it though. I think I tucked it into my old yearbook. D’you want me to...”

“Mail it? Yes, as soon as possible please. I need to know what he wrote.”

“What if you just get hurt all over again?” she asks.

“I’ve been hurting, I don’t think his outdated explanation will hurt any more. Just please mail it the first chance you get okay?”

I was so close to it, I think. I had to get that letter. I needed closure. I deserved it. And just knowing I could get it, it’s almost like I was waking up in a dark tunnel I hadn’t realised I was in this whole time. I knew where I was, and I could see light on the horizon.

H POV:

The last time I had a full night’s sleep was on Y/N’s couch, this case was a lot bigger than we thought. It wasn’t just a robbery at one branch, these same people have hit up two other places in the last few days and they were good. The worst part was they weren’t afraid to use a gun.

“Chief,” one of the constables comes up to my desk, where I’d been staring at footage for the last hour. “There’s been um, there’s a problem-”

“Spit it out,” I say, eyes still on the screen.

“The evidence you released on Monday...blokes down in evidence can’t find the SIM from the scene...we think they accidentally left it with that batch.”

I look up from my screen and I can practically see the sweat breaking out on his brow as I stare. If that was important evidence, we’d misplaced it at the height of an investigation. My arse would be on the line too--it was my name on the authorization letter.

“Don’t panic until we’re sure it’s not with the evidence we gave out,” I get up and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m looking into it right now, don’t let anybody know it’s happened.”

I grab my jacket from my chair and root in the pocket for my phone but Y/N’s number goes to voicemail. I curse. I look at the time, it was 6 already. I had a feeling she might kill me but I would have to drive to her place, I hoped she didn’t leave the evidence at work...after all I did tell her to return it to her employees...I have the brief thought of asking her in the morning but I remember my arse on the line and walk quicker.

“Woah, someone’s in a hurry,” Detective Cole comments as I rush past her. “Not even a hello.”

“Sorry,” I flash her a smile. “Urgent!”

“Need any help?”

I pause long enough to turn around and answer. “Normally I would say yes but I’ve got to do this.”

“Don’t let me keep ya,” she smiles, I notice Serena eyeing the both of us suspiciously as she packs up for the day. She was always trying to convince me to ask her on a date, but I was done with dating coworkers after I made the mistake of marrying one and breaking up quickly thereafter in the past. I’d changed careers quickly after that.

Y/N’s POV:

“Oh my god,” I stop in the middle of my bedroom as my sister reveals her big news over Facetime, an ultrasound held up to the camera. “Oh my god!”

“I know!” She squeals.

“I-I-you’re pregnant!” I was shocked, I didn’t even know my sister was trying for a third kid. “You better give me a bloody niece this time!”

My sister laughs, one hand on her belly. I should’ve known, I realise, she’d been cryptic the last few times we talked, dropping clue, but I’d been so wrapped up in other things I didn’t pick up on them. “It wasn’t even planned but Y/N, it feels right. The boys are stoked--they want a sister too.”

“I am so happy for you and Stu,” I let out a whoop. “I wish I could hug you! I’m going to book some time next month and come see you--this is big! Did you tell dad?”

“Not yet, don’t say anything--oh,” a cry bursts out from somewhere on her end. She rolls her eyes and tells me she would call me back. But I get a text to say there was an accident with a toy truck and a jug of OJ, she would call me back later in the evening when everything was settled.

I throw my phone down on my bed and sit on the edge in my robe, I’d just come out of the shower to my sister’s call. I was over the moon for her, but it was times like these I felt like an awful person. Because as I think about her happy news, I put my hand to my own belly and imagine what it would’ve been like to be the one calling family with good news. The familiar ache in my chest comes back, once upon a time I did have good news for a short period of time.

It was a few months before Harry and I split, I’d skipped a period and went immediately to the pharmacy. I’d decided to wait for a week before I would tell Harry because he was stressed from work. He was always stressed at that job, but I wanted it to be perfect. I’d spent the whole week stopping by nursery stores, browsing baby books, even buying a few onesies and the cutest booties I couldn’t put down. I picture the baby--mine and Harry’s, wearing them.

But the day I’d planned to tell him, I’d woken up and knew instantly something was wrong. I never told him, I fought with him that day instead...I couldn’t even remember over what. I held the awful burden on my own, packed the future I couldn’t have into a little box and shoved it under the bed. A few months later, Harry and I were over. That future was as fragile as the paper-thin wings of a butterfly, one that would never take flight.

I do what I did on my darkest days, I root underneath my bed and pull out the box.

I still had it; it was morbid, holding on to a future that was deader than dead. But I hold it in my lap, and run my hands over each piece of clothing. I imagine just for a moment what I could have had, they would’ve been 3 and I would’ve been a mum. My chest tightens, and I squeeze the items closer.

H’s POV:

By the time I get to Y/N’s, I’d stress-sang so many 90s hits that most of my nervous energy had streamed out the car window. I gather myself, clear my hoarse throat, and knock; ready to be beheaded. When there’s no answer, my nerves return. I knock louder, and try to peer through the frosty window.

“Harry?” Y/N opens the door in a flourish, looking fresh from a shower. I try to block the visuals that spring to mind, my mind blanking as I try to remember what I had to say. “Hello? Harry? Why are you here?”

“Uhm,” I shake my head. “Urgent business--the evidence I gave you on Monday, please tell me you still have it?”

Her eyebrows furrow, “You’re knocking on my door at nearly 7 for evidence you returned to me?”

“It’s urgent,” I look around out of habit. “Y/N, we may have accidentally given you something with the evidence we were meant to keep--please I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I’m not messing with you, this is my head on the chopping block--I need to know if you have it.”

“For fuck’s sake Harry,” she opens the door wider. “Just...come in.”

“You have it?” I step in eagerly and close the door behind me, basking in the warmth inside. It was a chilly spring evening.

“I haven’t touched it since I brought it home, I threw it somewhere in my room.”

“Didn’t it...have your employees’ personal items in it?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s not like they’re eager to have reminders of that day!” she snaps and I back down. She turns in a flourish of her robes and walks upstairs. She doesn’t say anything so I follow her up, drinking in every detail I can about her new life as we pass through.

She’s headed into her bedroom when her phone buzzes. I recognize her sister from the contact photo that takes up the screen. She glances at me, and back at the phone, making a decision.

“It’s beside the dresser, don’t make a sound or my sister will come here in record time to rip your head off.”

“I take it she doesn’t like me,” I try to joke.

“She’s not the only Y/L/N sister that doesn’t like you,” she puts a finger to her mouth and takes the call into the other room.

Maybe I should stop cracking jokes with Y/N, I think. It was clear she still hadn’t forgiven me. I was surprised she still held on as vehemently all these years later.

I head into her bedroom, a tidy and plain room. Compared to what I’d seen of her main floor, her bedroom looked like it belonged in a hotel. I spot the box almost immediately resting between a laundry hamper and her dresser. I pick it up but on the way back, the box on her bed catches my attention. The lid is half on, and I know I shouldn’t but something almost possesses my hand to nudge the lid aside. I stare and what’s inside the box sends me reeling; like I was seasick, but with both feet firmly on the ground. The feeling punches me directly into a past I’d abandoned. A future I abandoned too.

When Y/N finds me a few minutes later, I’m holding the shoes from the box in my hands. She stops beside me. I look to her and her face is frozen in fear, before it shuts down into anger--no, fury.

“What the fuck are you doing going through that?” she snatches the shoes out of my hand and picks the box up.

“Y/N,” I say gently. “What...what is all this?”

“Did you find your stupid box? Just--” her eyes search the room frantically and settles on the evidence box on the bed. She picks it up and shoves it into my chest. “Take it and go Harry, I don’t want t-to talk. To you. Please just--” her voice breaks.

“Okay I’ll go I just...” my heart feels heavier than lead and I want to say the perfect thing to her but nothing comes out. When she shoves me I scuttle out. I hear the sob that escapes her as soon as I exit into the hallway, I almost turn to go back in and offer comfort. But I couldn’t comfort her, not since the day I gave up on her. I walk to my car, not even relieved to have the evidence. I don’t know how long I sit in the car and think about the contents of that box: folded in neat piles were baby onesies, bibs, and a pair of tiny shoes. Remnants from a broken past, a broken promise.

I wasn’t an idiot, and I wasn’t heartless despite what Y/N thought. I know what my selfish actions did to her, I know how I’d fucked her up without meaning to. But it’s only now that the weight of it settles entirely on my shoulders. How many years has it been, and that small box of new onesies stayed under her bed. Her room might’ve looked sterile and fresh but its corners held heavier burdens than I thought were possible. A new feeling of shame blooms from within me, and it stays like a bad aftertaste.

***Y/N POV:

I was going to read that letter, find my closure, and burn everything from my past ceremonially in a bonfire, I think as I watch the trees in my backyard rustle with the morning wind. It had been a few days but I couldn’t even focus on him finding that box, the humiliation of watching him look up at me with confusion and pity...it was enough he’d broken my heart, but now he felt sorry for me too. I focus back on the greenery while my fingers toy with the letter that’d come in the mail, a few years late.

The envelope looked worse for wear but it was still as sealed as the day Harry had written it. I hesitate, trace my fingers over my name on the front. A memory comes rushing to me, Harry in my dorm writing silly things on my post-its and sticking it in places I wouldn’t find until he’d left. Like under my covers, or inside my closet door. They would be silly like

Y/N smells like farts

or cheesy like

have a terrific day

. I usually tossed them, other I’d tucked between classroom textbooks. I wonder what happened to them.

Finally, I work up the courage to slide my finger under the seal and break it open. Two pages fall out, his distinct writing halfway between cursive and chicken scratch covers both pages. I read:

Y/N

You’re probably wondering why you’re reading this--I don’t think I deserve your consideration for even a moment let alone for enough time it will take for you to read this. Yet I want so badly for you to read this, to just know I didn’t mean for this to happen to us. And I know you think I’m the one who did it to us, but I need to explain.

You always told me I was good with my words, that maybe I was an artist in another life--a poet you liked to say. But every time I try to find the right words to say to you, English may as well not be my first language. I should have tried harder, should have found the right words for months but I kept putting it off until it was too late.

You are and will always be my best friend first, Y/N, I know I’ve broken your trust but I care about you deeply. I just wasn’t happy. And that had to do with the road we were going down together, not you. I’m deeply sorry for the words I said that day, for how I’ve made you feel these last few months. I guess, ultimately, I was being selfish. And I don’t have an excuse for that. I fucked this up but I wasn’t happy and I was taking it out on you, and on us. I used the things we couldn’t have as an excuse, but I’m not happy where I am in my life. And that’s something I need to find; I need to figure out what I really want.

I can only hope we’ll circle back to each other one day, in the future, when we’re in better places. But I don’t think we were right like this, maybe it’s bad timing, or maybe there’s a blanket over us much too heavy for us to find comfort under. I’m sorry for leaving us like this and for breaking your trust but I need to do this.

Know you’re perfect as you are, right now, there’s absolutely nothing about you I would ever change. I, on the other hand, have a lot of changing to do.

I wish you nothing but the best, you deserve the whole bloody world Y/N, but I don’t think I can give that to you. I hope one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me. For now, know I love you and I’m truly sorry.

Harry, xx

My finger brushes over the last line, I take myself back to the Y/N and Harry four years ago--and it’s not so hard to do. I lived there more often than I’d like to admit. But I picture us, I picture Harry sitting down to write this. How might I have taken this if I read it all those years ago? I picture myself dissolving into tears--maybe my sister was right in not showing me.

I also imagine I would have known why, and maybe I wouldn’t be where I was right now if I’d had that closure.

But even all these years later, the tears stream down my face as if it were just yesterday Harry handed the letter over to my protective sister. There was so much hurt and heaviness, looking at it from the perspective I had now...I see a glimmer of truth in Harry’s letter. We’d worked wonderfully as best friends, and our intimacy was comforting. But we were also two people being pulled in two directions while clinging onto what we thought would keep us happy. It didn’t mean I forgave him for what he did, how he did it. But I finally understood why.

All this time, I asked why--I wondered if there was something I could’ve done to have fixed it before he left. I see now, he’d wanted an out the whole time. Nothing would have fixed us except time apart. I still felt like shit, but this epiphany made me feel closer to the closure I needed. The light on the horizon grows a little brighter. We’d just had bad timing.

***

I feel bright and chipper Monday morning; a sunny morning and a weekend of closure could do that to a woman. I bring along with me a box of treats; it had been a week since the horrible robbery. We’d put some precautions in since, had the therapist stay a few more days, a few of the employees decided to transfer and as sad as I was to see them go I knew it was the right thing for them to do to feel better. As for myself, I forgot about it most of the time. But it would creep in every so often and freeze me up.

I spoke to the company’s therapist once more after Monday, she’d asked about Harry and I had told her about the letter. She was intrigued but quickly changed the topic to how I was feeling after the events of last Thursday.

“Y/N?” Adam walks into the staff room as I finish the note to accompany the treats. “What’s all this?”

“Treats to cheer everyone up! Not that sweet fried dough is going to erase everyone’s PTSD...” I try to make a joke but Adam’s face is tense like it’d been since that day. “Adam I’m teasing...have you um, have you talked to someone one-on-one?”

“Me? Why?” He jumps. “I’m fine, I’m alright it’s mostly out of my head anyway.”

“Hm,” I look him up and down. “I don’t believe you but I’ll let it drop...for now.”

He fidgets with his hands, “Anyway I came in here to let you know the detective on the case called first thing about returning some evidence-”

“I can’t pick that up.” I say finitely. “Do you have room today? Maybe take an extended lunch and pick that up?”

“From the station?” he stutters.

“Is that where he said it was?”

“Uh yeah, yes. He wanted you to pick it up.”

“Well DCI Styles won’t get what he wants for once, you’ll pick it up at lunch okay? Just keep me posted.”

I go back to my office with a coffee and get a crack on with my work. I check for any updates on the client from last Thursday but I continue to receive the automated email that their office was closed for the week. It was weird, but I just make a note to follow up later on.

After lunch, Adam appears shaken, with the evidence. I instruct him to leave it in the staff room and send out an email, making sure to remind them that they didn’t have to go through it if they didn’t want to. I would keep it there until it was cleared out, even if that took the month. I think about my scarf in there, the one used to tie my hands. I wanted to burn it, never see it again. I send Adam a quick email to remove it from the box and dispose of it.

H’s POV:

“This just doesn’t make any sense,” I comb my fingers through my hair, as if it might trick my brain into seeing the pattern here. “This same group’s hit four places total, and yet Y/N...the HSBC was the first. There’s got to be a connection there, it’s here but I just can’t see it.”

“Harry,” Detective Cole puts her hand on my shoulder briefly before moving it away. “Maybe you need a break, I don’t think I’ve seen you go home the last few days and your shirt’s a bit...ripe. Maybe take the rest of the day off?”

I sniff myself, she was right. She shrugs with a I had to say it look.

She was right too that I hadn’t gone home. I did almost nothing but focus on this case, not only because it was growing bigger by the day and I had pressure from upstairs. But it was a welcome distraction to the new guilt that seemed to jam every other area of my life.

It was almost like I was reliving a timeline, going back three or so years ago. It felt like Y/N and I were freshly broken up, and I was trying to pick myself back up from it. Except that’s not the way it went all those years ago--I’d moved on, quickly then. But now, time was catching up. Or maybe it was karma.

“Earth to Harry?” Cole waves her hand in front of my face. “You really should go home.”

“Yep,” I scratch my stubble. I should shave too. “I’ll just drop by evidence before I go.”

She looks like she was going to say something but she gets up from the chair beside my desk, and walks back to her own. I sigh, sifting through the files on my desk to take home with me. My notepad underneath shifts and I spot Y/N’s familiar writing: Y/N was here. I run my finger over it and smile, remembering how she had written that on the baseboard of every flat or dorm room we’d left. And just like that, the guilt and shame take the memory’s place. How the fuck was I supposed get past this and focus, I think.

I shove my files into a bag and head out. Evidence tells me there wasn’t a lot on the sim card but they were still trying. I ask for an email if anything comes to light, and go home where I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.

i meant to take a short nap, but I wake at 4am and my mind’s buzzing with so many thoughts that I have nothing else to do but get up, eat a mashup of breakfast and last night’s dinner. With nothing more to do, and 6am creeping up, I decide to get in my car and drive while the roads were somewhat clear.

Driving helped me think sometimes, on my worst case after my promotion, I’d gotten on the road one night and driven all the way to Leicaster. After a night’s rest in a hotel and the drive back home, I’d cracked the case. But this time, with my thoughts racing, I end up driving to Y/N neighbourhood on autopilot. Maybe because she was on my mind, the guilt a constant companion since that day.

I park on the other side of her street, and watch her front door from the rearview. I don’t know why I was there, it felt ridiculous and creepy. Yet, I couldn’t leave. Maybe I could offer her a ride to work, I think. But I know she would decline because she didn’t even come in herself to collect her evidence. She’d sent her awkward assistant instead.

Her door suddenly opens, and a strange man walks out. She leans on the doorframe and laughs at something he says. He leaves a kiss on her cheek and walks away. She shouts something after him and he turns, saying something back that gets her laughing. My heart races, seeing her face in the distance wrinkle with laughter. I remember all the times I could get her to do that, effortlessly. The guilt returns tenfold.

He adjusts his coat, turning back around and she watches him fondly for a few seconds longer before closing her door. I’m suddenly irritated, immediately suspicious of this bloke. I watch, unblinking, until he turns the corner out of sight. Who was he? Her boyfriend?

I look at the time on the dashboard, 7:08am. I sit, indecisive for another half an hour. My thoughts churn: the robberies, the motives, Y/N, the worn out box with baby clothes, her male guest who’d spent the night, the look on her face when she’d woken up after her concussion and saw me: disbelief, anger, and sadness.

I get out of the stuffy car and walk across the street where I hesitate outside her door. I knew I was crossing a line, pushing a boundary she put up by not picking up the evidence herself. She’d made it clear what she wanted, but I never denied that I was a selfish bastard. I raise my hand, and knock.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #detective!harry #dci!harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #writingsfromhome #fic #au #harry styles x reader #oop this took a while to get out #but i'm so excited for pt3 #:)

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dirtyrick · 3 years

Text

The Scientist

Wow. It's been almost 5 years since I last wrote fanfiction on here. With the new fantastic season 5 out, I decided it was time I made a comeback. This is an idea I've had since 2016, but I truthfully couldn't figure out how to weave this web. Now, I think I do. Please enjoy, this really is my baby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beth woke me up in my workroom at around 6am, just a little bit before heading off to school. She usually did this, as she had more motivation to cook us breakfast than I did. I was surprised to see a stack of pancakes sitting on the table when I came downstairs. She had set the table so perfectly, it never failed to make me smile. I rubbed my eyes and sat down, ready to dig in when she came back into the dining area from her room. She handed me some papers with a gleeful smile on her face.

“Dad, could you please sign these papers?” she asked me.

I raised an eyebrow as I looked at them, “volunteer work?”

She nodded, “yes, usually it’s a graduation requirement, but since I'm only a sophomore I need a parent’s permission to get it done early.”

Pulling a pen out of my pocket, I sighed, “Don’t you already have enough extracurriculars? Don’t spread yourself so thin, you’re only 14.”

She sat down on the chair across from me with a very stubborn look on her face. She wanted to be a surgeon so badly she was willing to waste so much of her youth on things that would look good on college applications.

“Dad, I'm about to be 15. I want to help people. Plus, if I volunteer for the hospital, they’ll know my face by the time I start medical school!” she seemed so excited for this opportunity. I put the pen to paper and signed. “just make sure your home enough to spend time with your old man.” I told her as I handed her the papers. She smiled at me, with a squeal of excitement escaping her lips. “thank you, dad!” she got up and hugged me.

I’d do anything to make my baby girl happy, even if it means I will see her just a little less.

Beth seemed to enjoy her time volunteering, coming home with a big smile every evening. She would tell me what she did in the day with a joyous look in her wide eyes. But as the weeks went by, those smiles turned to furrowed brows and worry in her eyes. She stopped telling me about her days. She would often shield me from her emotions, but I’ve never seen her this worked up about something.

“Beth, please. I-I know something is wrong.” I pleaded. We were seated at the kitchen table, after having a wordless dinner.

“Nothing is wrong, dad. I have a lot of homework,” she said, avoiding my gaze and my question. She began to gather the medical books she had placed on the table. I still pushed for an answer.

“Are you getting bullied? Are you concerned about your grades? Do you have too much on your plate?” I asked. My intention was to bombard her with questions to overwhelm her, to get her to spill. “is it a boy? It’s a boy, isn’t it? I could take care of him if you need me--”

“It’s not any of those,” Beth stated, her voice full of sorrow. She turned slowly and began heading up to her room.

I was at a loss for words. You could almost see how broken she was. It made me a bit insecure that she felt like she couldn’t talk to me about this issue that was clearly weighing heavy on her mind. Granted, since Diane passed away, I had thrown myself into my work, but I always thought I made enough time for Beth. Maybe not.

The next day I reached out to her teachers, and they shared the same concerns.

“Beth is an extremely good student. however, I have seen her slipping recently. I’m glad to see you’re reaching out, usually, I have to do all that.” her English teacher told me, then proceeded to complain about everything under the sun.

“She has seemed very depressed as of late. She’s been asking about sheet music for The Cure.” her band teacher informed me.

“She constantly carries a book about rare diseases and reads it during my lectures. We haven’t even reached that chapter yet!” her health teacher told me.

That last teacher made me raise an eyebrow. Rare diseases? Why would Beth need to know about rare diseases? I had a feeling and not a very good one.

The next day I took Beth to her volunteer hours, as she was about to get out of the car, I told her “I want to see what they got in store for you today. Mind if I tag along?”

She looked concerned, “I’m not sure if they’d let you…”

“I promise I won’t cause any suspicions," I said as I got out of the car, grunting a little. These bones sure aren’t what they used to be. As I followed her into the large beige building, the stale hospital smell hit my nostrils like a truck, as did the memories. This is the hospital Diane took her final breaths in. Beth may be too young to remember, but I sure as hell do. Some of the orderlies even look familiar, as they glance at us with what seem to be knowing eyes. They look at Beth’s dismal eyes, then look at mine—they just know something happened that shook our family.

We turned a maze of several corners which lead to a large orange elevator with the words ‘elevate your health!’ printed in big white letters. I rolled my eyes. Hospitals aren’t really places for much healing when it’s really needed. When we got in the spacious elevator, I got my first good look at Beth since we got out of the car. Worry as written all over her, she was desperately avoiding my gaze. Her small fingers twisting themselves in knots as she fidgeted. It was something here, it became blatantly clear. Her worry was contagious, as I suddenly felt a sharp stab of thoughts hit me.

The elevator dinged, I followed Beth toward a nurse’s station. The woman behind there smiled at us as we approached. Her red curls bounced as she got up from her rolling chair. Beth mustered a brave face, “Hello Nurse Bernice, this is my father, he wanted to see what I do here.”

The nurse looked at me, her deep amber eyes complimented her dark complexation, her smile lines very pronounced. She was probably late 30s, early 40s at the most. I almost forgot to introduce myself, “I’m Rick Sanchez. I just wanted to see what itinerary you have laid out for my daughter. She’s been coming home stressed recently.”

“Well, Mr. Sanchez, I don’t think we have too much on her sweet little shoulders,” she said as she grabbed a clipboard and handed it to Beth, who was smiling sheepishly. “Now Beth, you’re going to be checking in on your regulars this afternoon. Mr. Opiman got discharged this morning, so it’ll only be Mr. Marion and Ms. Doe.” Beth’s smile slowly faded, she nodded as she put on her badge. She looked up at me and motioned for me to follow her.

Her first ‘patient’, Mr. Marion, was fast asleep. “His chart mentions they upped his dosage of morphine as his surgical site had to be reopened today,” she said in a quiet voice, as not to wake him. She checked his vitals on the monitor next to his bed, and it suddenly became clear to me that she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew what all these terms and numbers meant. I stood there almost slack-jawed because I never realized how much of a genius my daughter was. I also realized Mr. Marion was probably not what has gotten her so worked up. She made notes on her clipboard and even gently checked on his surgery site, which was on his right foot. The blood had appeared to seep through his bandages earlier, leaving a stain on his sheets. The bandage on his foot was now clean. We left the room without waking her patient up.

We headed to the next patient room, and I could see that Beth was walking much slower. She opened the door, and the sunlight hit our faces hard. The woman was sitting up on the edge of her bed, staring out the window at the bright orange and purple sunset. Upon hearing us enter, she peered over her shoulder. Once she saw Beth, she turned toward us and beamed a big smile.

“Oh Beth, I’m so happy to see you!” Ms. Doe said cheerfully. Her voice was slightly deep and seemed very strained as though she had been screaming for hours. She had bruises all over her, including a black eye and what looked like handprints on her neck. She looked up at me and her mouth closed but kept a smile. Upon looking over at Beth, I was surprised. All those worries melted away, she seemed remarkably happy. “You must be Beth’s father. I’m Jane Doe, or at least that’s what they call me around here.”

I stood there entirely confused about what was going on.

#rick and morty #rick and morty fanfiction #rick sanchez fanfic #young rick sanchez #rick sanchez #dirtyrick #rick sanchez fanfiction #fanfic #rickfic #beth smith

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saiyanwhore · 3 years

Text

Maid To Satisfy // VEGETA X FEMALE READER

Part Two: Party Time, “Excellent”

It was Friday evening and your team was currently rushing around the Prince's room attempting to get him ready. You stood watch, enjoying not having to do much. It was a nice change every once in a while, especially since Vegeta was one hell of a person to deal with.

Each time there was a royal celebration, each head servant stayed by their select persons all evening. You were there as his assistant, making sure your maids did everything they were supposed to. You also had to take certain requests and orders from the Prince himself.

This assistant role also called for specialty uniforms. The uniforms coordinated with whomever you were assisting so you could be found in a large crowd.

Vegeta stood still whilst your team fumbled to get him ready. They all had deep blushes on their faces as they moved furiously trying to dress and prepare him. Vegeta looked irritated as usual. As they finished up the final touches, Vegeta looked at himself in the mirror and smirked. His nose was high as he called out. "Everyone leave until it's time." Instantly, everyone left and you were following along until Vegeta called for you.

"Woman." He grumbled. "Fix my cape. Your idiots didn't do it right."

You huffed loud enough for him to hear, strolling on over to where he stood near his mirror. You reached your hands out onto his chest and unclasped his cape from the armor he was wearing for the evening. You leaned forward a little more, chests almost touching as you shook out his cape behind him. His scent entered your nose, causing your heart to stutter ever so slightly as you backed up and clipped his cape back on.

He looked at you with his dark eyes. They scanned your face before he looked down at his boots, avoiding the stare you returned back to him. You then glanced to the mirror, admiring the same detailing you had stitched on your coordinating clothing. Yours was clearly not as nice or fancy, but the image of the two of you standing there stuck in your head long enough to make you dream.

Vegeta had watched you do this, also looking at the attire closely. He had guessed that you put these two pieces together yourself. You knew he loved blue and gold from the many times you had made him clothes before. He would never admit it, but the thought warmed his chest. He always loved that you took care of him before anyone else and he wanted to keep it that way, no matter how much the two of you bickered.

"Prince Vegeta, it's time." You pointed towards the clock and then the door, Vegeta practically pushing past you to get to the door. You followed behind him, noticing how his boots for the evening added a few inches to his normal height.

You walked side by side down the halls towards the waiting hall so the royal family could make a grand entrance onto the ball room floor. You were eager to see a friend of yours, Kakarot, a servant to the King. He mostly used the job as an excuse to battle and spar with the most powerful warriors on the planet. In fact, he barely earned the title servant. It was clear that Vegeta did not like Kakarot. He actually despised the younger Saiyan, so your time was usually limited when trying to talk to him.

You both entered the waiting hall, you scanning the area for Kakarot. You spotted him next to the King, a playful smirk upon his lips. He saw you enter and waved you over, to which you obliged.

"Y/N! It's been a few days! How are you?" He greeted, pulling you into a enormous hug.

"Oh, just taking care of my toddler." You snickered, motioning over toward Vegeta.

Kakarot laughed along. "Yeah, I don't know how you put up with him. He's so mean."

"He's not so b-"

"Woman! I require your presence immediately!" Vegeta shot daggers at Kakarot.

You turned on your heel and started walking toward Vegeta. He met you halfway and grabbed your wrist in a death grip. "Don't talk to that clown." He said lowly, baring his teeth at you.

"You can't tell me who I can and can't speak to." You defended.

"I can and I did." He yanked you away to the corner.

You scoffed and shoved him away. "Excuse me?" You spat. "Kakarot is my friend Vegeta-"

"It's Prince Vegeta." He again roughly grabbed your wrist to pull you into the corner and you pulled back.

He stopped and his eyebrows furrowed in your direction.

"Woman, you are insufferable."

"Then get rid of me."

"What?"

"If I'm such a burden on your life then get rid of me, asshole." You frowned, turning around and walking back over to Kakarot.

"Everyone! Please gather! We are making our entrance!" A voice interrupted.

You felt your stomach drop as you shifted back around to see an angry looking Vegeta.

You shuffled over to him slowly, him ignoring you. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Hey." You hummed.

No answer.

"You know I've got your back tonight. If you...were to need me."

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder and ignored you altogether as the doors opened. You walked behind him in a line with all the other "assistants".

Everyone's eyes were glued to the royal family, the Prince looking as sharp as ever. He could have any woman he so pleased.

You looked over to Kakarot and waved a small goodbye as you followed Vegeta, knowing tonight was going to be long and stressful.

You stuck by Vegeta's side as people approached him. He was a very irritated individual and you could tell he wanted to be left alone.

He greeted people, one after the other until he finally found a safe spot where others wouldn't bug him.

He sat there for a few moments, you by his side as everyone danced and chatted.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, looking over at him. "I know you hate this sort of thing."

He just ignored you and shrugged it off, looking down at his gloves hands.

"I know you're not fond of anything other than training really." You grinned as you took a seat next to him. "Typical of you, my Prince."

It was true that you understood Vegeta unlike any other. You two spent so much time together it was almost weird.

"I'll be back. I have an idea."

You walked over to Vegeta's father and bowed slightly before smiling softly.

"Hello King Vegeta. It seems the Prince is feeling very unwell. He has asked me to take him back to his room and give him medicine."

"Very well." He nodded you away.

You smiled to yourself and made your way back over to Vegeta who looked angry still.

"Come on." You grabbed his hand and pulled him from his seat.

His heart fluttered as you took him out of the ball room and into the halls where he was too surprised to even protest your next actions.

You hugged him.

His body froze in place as his eyes went wide.

You mumbled into his ear. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't even bring himself to push you away. It was if time stopped entirely, a feeling of horror and lovely little butterflies engulfing his being.

You finally pulled away after a hug was not returned and you looked at his face.

His face was very red and his brows furrowed.

You felt a wave of embarrassment fall over you as he just stood there, not saying anything.

You grabbed his wrist and pulled him away toward his room. You dare not glance back at him as you walked.

Why would you hug him like that? Why did he not hate it?

Your scent still lingered on the tip of his nose and he couldn't help but want more. His whole body pulling toward you like a magnet.

The Prince was used to attention from women, but never you. You were always so emotionless when it came to such things and it confused the Prince profusely.

He didn't understand why you all of the sudden were showing such affection toward him. Or why your affection left him speechless and frozen. You were lower class. He shouldn't be in a trance over you.

When the two of you finally arrived in his room, you began gathering clothes for him to change into.

He watched you from his bed, still confused as ever.

You walked over to him with his new clothes in hand and set them next to him.

You began unclasping his cape, a little upset that your hard work at the sewing machine was going to waste.

He did look very handsome tonight indeed. You couldn't help but to feel proud you designed this piece for him.

You went to remove his armor and his hand caught yours.

"I'm capable, woman."m

You nodded and backed away as he undid the clasps at the sides and tore it off.

He was left in a beautiful blue and gold body suit. You had stitched it so intricately, knowing that he enjoyed such things even though he wouldn't admit it.

He always wore this sweat suit you made for him with a similar style, so you knew he was bound to love this as well.

He took off his boots and suit, leaving him in nothing but his under garments. He looked down at the suit in his hands and his fingers ran across your work. He stared at it, noticing the details.

"I thought you'd like it." You smiled softly in his direction, perplexing him as to why you were being so nice to him.

You sat next to him and leaned into his side, sliding your hand over his as he continued to feel his suit.

You ran you fingers across his knuckles that were bit beaten up from training. Scrapes and cuts.

"You got to go easier on yourself." You mumbled, grabbing his hand and examining it.

"Vegeta, this looks infected." You scolded him. "You have to quit being so stubborn and go to the med bay after training to get yourself cleaned up."

"I'm fine." He tore his hands away from your grip and you gave him a disappointing look.

"Clearly not. You're going to get sick and then you won't be able to train for days. Then I'll be running back and forth trying to get you what you need to get better."

"You don't have to do anything for me." He snarled, turning himself away from you.

"Who else is going to do it? Huh?"

You watched his ears go red.

"Whether or not you believe it, I care about your well being and I need to make sure you're safe so I don't worry." You admitted, pulling your knees to your chest as the Prince stood and put on the clothes you gathered for him.

"No other servant or maid cares as much as you. Take a hint."

You looked away. "Well none of them have to pamper you either. You're not exactly an easy person to deal with, Vegeta."

"It's Prince Vegeta." He reminded. "I'm royalty. I expect certain things, yes."

You whipped your head around to him. "Even your father isn't this awful. Kakarot is horrible at his job and your father never complains."

"Fuck Kakarot." He growled, clenching his fists. "My father just uses him to spar."

You rolled your eyes and stood up. You walked over to the door.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"To change my clothes, thanks Prince Vegeta."

You were beyond frustrated with him at this point. You walked down the hall to your room, thankful you actually had your own space because of being a head maid.

You didn't even care, you changed into some comfier clothes and took extra long.

You took the long way back to Vegeta's room, admiring how empty the halls currently were. Everyone still gathered for the ball.

You opened Vegeta's door and he was sitting on his bed looking out the window.

He didn't look at you as you crawled next to him.

"Woman."

"Yes?"

"Why did you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Lie to my father?"

You chuckled before placing a small hand on his shoulder.

"Because I know you don't like that kind of thing. You're not exactly a social butterfly, ya know?"

He just hummed and continued to look out the window.

It scared him that you knew so much. You seemed to have him all figured out and that was terrifying to him. He looked over at you and noticed you looking up at him.

"What would you without me, right?" You giggled.

"I'd be at peace. Finally." He groaned, falling back onto his bed.

You leaned down and ran a hand through his thick hair.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

You moved your hand away. "Nothing."

"No, what are you doing?"

"Let it go."

"No." He grabbed your wrists. "What are you trying to do?"

You got an angry look on your face before you just screamed. "I'm just trying to be nice!"

He exhaled a deep breath before letting go of your wrists and crossing his arms.

You stood up and began tidying up his room, picking up his clothes and such from the floor.

He watched you from his bed, noticing how pretty you looked as your tail swished back and forth.

You were a strong woman for sure, and it only drew him in more and more. The way you weren't afraid to talk back to him or put him in his place.

The way you looked at him was enough to send him into a daze. He hated it. He wasn't supposed to like you. He wasn't supposed to imagine you with him.

But here you were, so smart and strong. So beautiful. He wanted you all to himself. Another reason to hate Kakarot.

It seemed that Kakarot was far closer to you than he was. It fueled a fire deep within Vegeta that made him want to explode.

"All done." Your words snapped him out of his thoughts and he sat up quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow Vegeta. Rest, please."

"Wouldn't it be suspicious if a maid didn't stay in my room with me? Considering you told my father I wasn't feeling well."

You mentally cursed.

"I'll send one of my girls in after the ball. I don't know how much more of you I can take tonight." You walked toward the door.

Vegeta was thinking of excuses to get you to stay, him wondering why the hell he even wanted you to stay.

"Just for that comment, I want you to stay in here with me." He grinned at you, but in an asshole sort of way.

You groaned loudly and turned on your heel.

"You're a prick." You growled.

"Bitch." He threw a pillow at you, but you caught it last second and stuck your tongue out at him.

You hugged his pillow close to your body, enjoying the smell of him as you sat on the floor.

You both stayed silent for the next few minutes before Vegeta stood and walked into the restroom. This gave you a moment without any tension and you were thankful for it.

Vegeta walked out moments later and noticed you shivering in the corner. He reached into his dresser and pulled out a sweater, throwing it at you.

"How thoughtful!" You gushed sarcastically. "The Prince does have a heart!"

He growled as you slipped the sweater over your head.

You stood and walked over to him.

"Grr. I'm Prince Vegeta." You mocked. "I hate you, woman. You're insufferable. Why do you run your fingers through my hair!? Grr. Grr. I have no soul."

You threw fake punches and kicks as Vegeta's face turned red. His arms crossed as he looked at you with an annoyed look.

"I do not sound like that!"

"Oh, but you do." You giggled, pinching his flushed cheeks.

"Stop that!" He swatted your hand away and you grabbed his hand in return.

"Spar with me." You suggested, punching his chest.

He laughed "Your form is awful." He pushed your body away and dashed around to kick your feet out from under you, but you jumped in time to miss it.

His eyes went wide as he went full force, you dodging every one of his hits. Until you fell over the coffee table in the middle of his floor.

You rolled on the floor with laughter, the Prince staring at you with a curious look.

"Since when do maids know how to fight?" He questioned, crossing his arms.

"My dad was a warrior. Died when I was fifteen."

"Well he obviously wasn't much of a warrior if he's dead."

"He died of a heart attack." You stood and crossed your arms. "He was the best I knew. Even stronger than Kakarot."

Vegeta gave you an annoyed look.

"I also train with Kakarot sometimes. He's taught me a lot."

"That fool shouldn't be teaching you anything."

"Last time I checked, he's stronger than you." You raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"He is not! I'm the Prince of all Saiyans. No low class scum can surpass me."

"Mhm." You softly laughed and waltzed on over to where he stood. "My Prince."

His face went red as he scoffed.

"Come on 'Geta." You chuckled. "Loosen up a little."

You pulled his arms out of their crossed state and held his hands in your own, swaying them back and forth with a smile on your face.

He looked at you with a soft look, one that was rare indeed.

"I know deep down the Prince is a big, soft teddy bear. Come on."

You placed his arms around your waist and then threw your arms around his neck. He looked off to the corner, not allowing himself to look at you.

His face was beet red as you hummed softly and swayed back and forth with him.

Vegeta couldn't help but feel so overwhelmed with warmth. The way you looked in his sweater, how lovely it felt to be so near you, knowing no one could see him but you.

But still, he did not allow you to know this as he didn't put in much effort during your little dance

You played with the hair on the back of his neck, causing a noise to escape from his throat.

He was totally a sucker for you.

You laughed at the noise, before noticing his hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you in a little closer than before.

You felt a blush over your cheeks as Vegeta finally decided to look you in the face.

"Softy." You placed your index finger on his chest and pushed gently.

"I am not soft." He rolled his eyes and his grip on your waist loosened.

"Prove it." You leaned in, noses touching.

The next thing you knew your back was against the wall and his knee was holding you up.

"Mm." His eyebrow raised up at you felt his hands tighten around your waist. He lifted you up effortlessly and threw you over his shoulder.

He then walked over to the bed and softly sat you down. His hand moved to grab your jaw, and he ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

He leaned in, noses almost touching once more. His hot breath on your skin.

You looked up at him, butterflies in your stomach as he hovered over you.

His lips barely touched yours. "I told you. The Prince is not soft."

And he immediately pulled away and turned to walk to the bathroom.

You ended up grabbing a cot from a supply closet so you could sleep in his room that night to keep watch on him. You fell asleep before he walked out from his very long shower.

#dbz #vegeta #prince vegeta #vegeta x female reader

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subterfugespecialist · 3 years

Text

I Will Break What Has Broken You

Janus is the heir of a millionaire CEO. He could have anything, anybody he wanted. And he picked Remus. Remus couldn't be happier with what they have. But when they're out one night and Remus runs into his ex, all the unpleasant memories start flooding back.

Written for Day 4 of @dukeceitweek : Free day

AO3 link

Pairing: Dukeceit

Warnings: Past verbal/emotional abuse, deadnaming - though the deadname is not actually typed out, unwanted advances

Word count: 2861

People were usually surprised to hear that Janus was dating Remus.

Janus - the son of old money, an heir to a multi-million dollar business - could have anything and anyone he wanted. All sorts of people threw themselves at his feet, desperate for both his sharp looks and good fortunes.

But Janus didn't want anybody. He wanted Remus. And that sure made Remus feel special.

Janus had been wary about dating. So many people had been after his family's money, after all. But then he met Remus, who didn't care that Janus could afford to buy the movie theater and still insisted their first date be sneaking into as many movies as possible because it was "more fun that way." He didn't care what kind of car Janus drove as long as Remus could drag Janus into the backseat. Who didn't care how many houses Janus owned, as long as they were together. Remus, who looked past his money and liked Janus for his catty, smart personality.

And Janus was utterly taken.

But sure, Janus having money certainly had its perks. Janus would indulge on any random impulse Remus had. Wanted to drop everything and go on a trip without anyone? Janus would treat him to a private jet (Remus was pretty sure they were the top members of the mile-high club at that point). Had the urge to rent a room in the fanciest hotel in Paris just to smoke weed? Sure. Paying for Remus' top surgery? Remus didn't even have to ask for that one. Janus making his birthday present to Roman paying off his entire student loans for his musical theatre degree? Remus was just smitten.

But one of the best parts was getting to be Janus' plus one at parties, where he'd wear his torn up pants with a hole showing his entire thigh and a neon green mesh shirt under his leather jacket. Security guards would try to escort him out before Janus would take him by the hand and kiss his forehead. He would introduce guests to Remus as his boyfriend and they would always do a double-take. Because that must be some sort of joke, right? Janus dating this man? But Janus would take Remus firmly by the waist and glare at them, daring them to actually say anything. And they would put on their pained smiles and complete their pleasantries before rushing off.

They couldn't be happier.

Tonight they were in a sort of underground club in New York. The music was so loud you could hardly hear yourself speak, and most people there this late in the night were too intoxicated to be coherent.

It was one of Remus' favorite places.

Remus was dancing with Janus, which mostly meant Remus dancing as Janus held onto him, occasionally spinning him around or pulling him close. But Remus didn't mind. How could he when Janus would watch him with such eyes, that made Remus feel so wanted?

Janus pulled his phone out of his pocket and scowled at the glowing screen as he pulled Remus close to him.

"I'm afraid I have to take this, darling," he said right against Remus' ear. "I'll have to step outside for a moment."

"That's fine," Remus yelled back. "I'll meet you at the bar, babes."

Janus pulled Remus into a searing kiss that would usually be considered too heat to be appropriate for public spaces, but with all the couples dirty dancing against each other around them it hardly mattered.

"I'll be back soon" Janus promised before slipping away into the crowd. Remus stood, smiling like a fool for a moment before heading towards the bar. The music was slightly quieter here, and Remus could actually hear himself think.

He hopped onto a barstool, spinning once before glancing at the drinks menu. Then someone sat beside him.

"I'm really not surprised to see you here."

Remus froze as his blood turned to ice. He had to force himself to look to see that, yes, it was him sitting on the barstool.

"I would have thought Janus would be with you," Remus' ex said as he sipped his drink. "I'm surprised he trusted his little plaything to go out on his own."

"How the fuck do you know about me and Janus?" Remus asked, hands gripping the edge of his barstool and making his knuckles go white. "Have you been stalking me like a creep? Just couldn't let me go, Aiden?"

"Baby, the whole business world has been talking about it," Aiden said with a smirk, unaware, or perfectly aware, of how the old nickname made bile rise in Remus throat, "It's some of the best gossip right now. Though I personally thought Janus was above spending his time on such things."

"It's so funny that you think you know Janus," Remus said with a grin that was far too wide. "You don't know shit about him."

"I've worked with him before, babe," Aiden said. "He is much too dedicated to his work to bother with someone like you."

Remus' blood was boiling, and he couldn't figure out why. He never cared before what people thought of him. He usually liked surprising people with Janus. So why did it hurt when Aiden said it?

Was it because they used to be together? Was it because Remus used to try so desperately to get the approval of his partner, but never seemed to obtain it? And it seems like he still hadn't.

"That's a nice skirt you're wearing," Aiden said, breaking Remus from his thoughts and making him realize he hadn't said anything for a good minute, "I thought you'd avoid those, given your... situation."

Remus had finally reached a point where he felt comfortable in a skirt, even after all the things Aiden said to him. But now he just felt exposed. It felt so good, when Janus rested a hand on his knee when they sat or gripped the back of his bare thigh as they pulled each other close. But now, all he wanted was to close his legs and pull the edge of his skirt over his knees.

"I like wearing skirts," Remus defended, though he didn't know how effective he was with the tremor in his voice.

How could Aiden keep making him feel worse? Digging deep into old wounds, breaking newly healed scars. Remus took a deep breath. He wasn't going to let Aiden ruin all of his progress after they had been apart for nearly two years.

"Well then," Aiden said in a voice that instantly made Remus worried. He then placed his hand on Remus' knee and he was very much not Janus and Remus suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. "Since Janus isn't here, how about we relive some old times, huh ******?"

Hearing his dead name immediately made Remus feel like the floor was taken from under him. He stood without another word and forced his way through the dense crowd on the dance floor. The bright lights and loud music were suddenly too much and Remus couldn't breath his chest wouldn't move he was suffocating-

He finally reached the emergency fire exit, which he knew the alarm didn't work because he had seen couples use it to sneak out for quickies. Once outside he immediately fell to his knees, hands resting on the asphalt, struggling to breath as the door shut behind him. He managed to crawl over to sit against the wall through short gasps of hair. Remus held his head in his hands and gripped his hair tight. Memories were flooding back - none of them pleasant.

His chest was too heavy. He couldn't get his lungs to work right he couldn't get air he was going to pass out right here in the alleyway-

"Remus!"

Janus.

"Oh, darling, it's okay," Janus said, panicked as he sat across from his boyfriend. He opened his arms and Remus immediately flung himself against him, gripping tightly to the back of Janus' jacket like a life line.

"Follow my breathing, love," Janus said softly into Remus' ear, chest pressed against the other making it easier for Remus to follow.

Remus focused on the feeling of Janus against him, around him. Janus' chest moving against his own, his voice and breath against his ear. Janus, Janus, Janus-

"There you go," Janus said softly as he pulled back just enough to look at Remus' face. Remus closed his eyes, focusing on Janus' hands resting on his cheeks, thumbs moving in soothing motions. "You did wonderfully."

"How'd you find me so fast?" Remus asked, "Knew I'd be out with trash, where I belong?" he forced out a laugh though tears fell down his face.

"Remus," Janus scolded.

"Sorry, sorry. No self deprecating, I know."

Though it had been a tough habit for Remus to break.

"You aren't trash," Janus muttered as he pushed Remus' hair out of his face. "You know I only indulge myself in the nicest things."

"How can you say that?" Remus muttered, glancing down to avoid Janus' gaze. "I'm far from nice."

"You are by far the most valuable, precious thing in my life," Janus said firmly as his hand moved to Remus' chin to force him to look in his eyes. "And I won't stand for you saying such things about yourself."

"You could have anything," Remus said, mouth quivering as tears fell freely down his face. "And yet you waste your time on me?"

"My time is never wasted with you. I'd give away all my fortune and luxuries that come with it if it meant spending just one more day with you."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, and all your craziness and curiosities. You are the most incredible person I've ever met and you only ever make me happier than I've ever been."

Janus wiped the tears off Remus' face, and no more followed.

"I love you so much," he whispered. "And you are deserving of everything good thing in this world"

"You sap," Remus said as he lightly punched Janus' arm, tears threatening to spill again - but not from sadness, "I love you, too."

"Are you feeling okay, my love?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Sorry about that freakout."

"You don't have to apologize," Janus said as he ran his hand back over Remus cheek and pressed their foreheads together, "But who did that to you? push such unfounded doubts in your head? Because I do have to find them now, and ruin their life."

Remus groaned and leaned back, hitting the brick wall behind him. "Do you remember, a couple months after we started dating, I had that freakout and thought we needed to break up?"

"Yes," Janus said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. "You had the insane idea that you weren't good enough, and I made sure you knew that was not true. You're not feeling like that again, are you?"

"No. Well, I was, but- Okay so remember how I admitted that was because of my ex? Well, he's here. He talked to me."

Janus' expression quickly turned into one of fury, eyes turning dark as his mouth set into a scowl.

"He called me your plaything. Said he worked with you and that he knew you were too good for me. Then he touched me and said my dead name and came onto me and that made me feel so gross because he wasn't you and all these shitty feelings came back and just. Yeah. It was fucked up."

"Give me his name," Janus nearly growled. "I'll make sure he regrets every decision he ever made."

"Aiden Scott."

"Scott, Scott..." Janus muttered to himself, pondering for a moment before his eyes widened.

"Aiden Scott? He said- Working? With me? oh dear," Janus laughed as he stood, hand outstretched for Remus to take. "Come on, my darling," Janus said with a large smirk. "We have some things we need to straighten out."

Remus let Janus pull him up, but the thought of going to see Aiden again was making him feel sick. His nerves were dampened, however, by the strong grip Janus had around his waist as Remus led him over to the bar.

"Aiden Scott," Janus announced. When Aiden looked over his face paled as he glanced between them, "What a chance, seeing you here."

"Hello, Janus, sir," Aiden managed to say as he stood, outstretching a hand for Janus to shake. Janus glanced at it before looking back up and pulling Remus closer to his side.

"I heard what you said to Remus," Janus said, leaning against the bar and examining his manicure. "And I can't tolerate such things, Aiden."

"Oh, that?" Aiden let out a forced laugh to accompany the anxious smile on his face, "I was just messing with him. Like we used to, right?" Aiden cast Remus a desperate look, and Remus couldn't believe the absolute gall of this douchebag.

"Cut the bullshit," Janus snapped, saving Remus from having to say something, "You knew you shouldn't and yet you still had the nerve to speak to him that way, and you had the audacity to claim you knew me. Please. You had the privilege of standing in the same room as me. I would say you're nothing but an over-glorified secretary, but I actually like my secretary. It would be an insult to her hard work."

"Sir, I'm sorry. I just-"

"I don't care about your apology. Do you accept his apology, darling?" Janus asked, casting Remus a soft look.

"Nah."

Janus' soft look fell as he turned his attention back to Aiden, and Remus probably found the immediate shift in tone hotter than he should've - but he really didn't care.

"I could easily have you fired. I could make sure you never find another job with any of our companies ever again."

"No, sir, please, I-"

"But I don't think I will," Janus said, surprising both Remus and Aiden. "I want to keep my eye on you. I want to make sure you don't take a single step out of line again. You can keep your lowly job in the office, right where I can keep careful watch.

"I don't want you here at this club again. I don't want you anywhere in the near vicinity of Remus. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay the hell away."

"Yes, sir. Of course. Thank-"

"Get out."

"You won't regret not firing me, sir. I'll-"

"Get out."

Remus let out a loud cackle at the way Aiden turned and ran towards the front door, stumbling over his feet through the crowd. Remus was flooded with relief from the promise that that asshole would never bother him again.

He looked over to Janus, who was still wearing that stone-angry look on his face as he straightened his hat, gaze following Aiden to make sure he actually left. Janus then turned to look at Remus, and his face changed back into one of reverence and comfort. Remus was filled with such overwhelming emotions he had no control over his body as he grabbed Janus' hands and pulled him towards the back.

Janus let Remus pull in into the single stall bathroom. Remus slammed the door behind them before pulling Janus to him, burying his head into the crook of Janus' neck and holding him tight. Maybe if he squeezed Janus hard enough, he could show him just how much Janus meant to him.

"Hey now, love, it's alright," Janus said, voice much clearer now that the loud music was dulled behind the door.

"No, I'm fine," Remus laughed into his neck, "Fuck, babe, you were incredible."

"Anything for you, my darling," Janus said as he pressed a kiss to the top of Remus' head.

"But why didn't you fire him?" Remus asked as he pulled away to look at Janus' face.

"I figured letting him go would be too easy - over too quickly. Now he gets to deal with me hovering over his shoulder for as long as he can handle it.

"Which won't be long. I'll make him regret everything he ever did to you."

Remus was so overwhelmed with love for the man in front of him - a man who actually loved him for who he was - that he couldn't stop himself from throwing his arms around Janus' neck and dragging him down into a kiss.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Janus leaned away with a light chuckle, but Remus immediately reconnected their mouths.

Janus placed one hand securely on the back of Remus' neck, the other cupping his cheek. Remus leaned back into the hand, tilting his head up and letting Janus deepen the kiss. He let himself go pliant under Janus' lips, Janus' grasp. He was completely content to give all his trust to this man. After all Janus had done for him, hasn't he deserved it?

Janus pulled away again, and this time Remus let him go.

"Should we go back to the dance floor? You looked so happy there. If you're feeling okay enough, that is."

And with Janus' arm wrapped snugly around him, Remus found that yeah, he was.

If you are 18+ and have your age/age indicator in your bio, you can message me for the NSFS sequel that takes place directly after

Thanks for reading! Requests are open in my inbox. Hope you enjoyed <3

#sanders sides #dukeceit week #remus sanders #janus sanders #dukeceit #remus fic #janus fic #dukeceit fic

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Text

you've got that young blood (set it free)

“I saw them, Roman,” Virgil says simply.

It takes a long moment for Roman to understand what he means. All he can think about is the sensation of his hand, warm and soft, against his face.

But then, it clicks, and his heart begins to pound for an entirely different reason.

Of Roman, Virgil, scars, and self-worth.

(Virgil would prefer to have this conversation when Roman isn't bleeding all over the place, but beggars can't be choosers. Roman would prefer not to have this conversation at all.)

Content Warnings: blood, injury, scars, brief and non-graphic panic attack, briefly implied past self-harm

Word Count: 6,509

Pairing: Prinxiety

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

He doesn’t expect Virgil to be waiting for him.

Later, he tells himself that he would have done it differently if he knew, that he would have made an effort to stand upright, would have tried not to waver, would have downplayed his injuries as best he could. And he tells himself that he would have succeeded, too, that with his acting prowess, he would have easily been able to assure him that nothing was amiss, would have been able to allay suspicion and send him on his way if only he’d had time to prepare.

None of that matters, though, in the end. Because he doesn’t know that Virgil is there, doesn’t know that he is perched on the edge of his bed (and has been for hours, though he will only learn that later), and so when he finally stumbles through the wardrobe that connects his room to the Imagination, he allows his knees to give out, allows himself to collapse to the floor, arm pressed against the deep gash in his side. He lets a moan escape his lips, half pain and half relief, because he has made it back, has returned, if not safely, then at least in possession of all of his limbs and most of his faculties. And he is practiced in stitching his own wounds and emerging into the commons a few hours later, any pain hidden carefully behind a dazzling grin, a few more scars added to the collection he never lets anyone see.

There is no reason for this time to be any different. So at first, when he hears the choked gasp, he thinks that his mind is playing tricks on him, that the blood loss is more severe than he thought.

But then, his bedsprings creak, and there is a rush of movement, and there is someone kneeling in front of him, hands trembling, hovering over his body, afraid to touch. He blinks, forcing his vision into focus, and the black-purple blur resolves into a pale face, wide eyes, and a patched hoodie.

Virgil.

He is speaking, words flowing from his mouth like a heavy rainfall, and he tunes in with an effort.

“--ell me where it’s coming from,” he’s saying, voice rushed, frantic, scared. “Oh my fucking god that’s a lot of blood, you gotta tell me where you’re hurt so I can fix it. Can you even hear me right now? Roman? Roman, please, you gotta--”

“I hear you,” he whispers. Pushing the words past his lips at all is difficult; he doesn’t have the strength to be louder. Most of his brain has devoted itself to figuring this out, trying to solve the puzzle of why, exactly, Virgil is here, appearing in front of him like a vision from the gods. And why, exactly, his heart is beating so fast.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Virgil says, quite vehemently. “Can you-- god, can you move? Like, your arm? I need to see how bad it is. Holy shit, Roman, where did--” He cuts off, leaving Roman unsure of what he was about to ask. And he doesn’t know what to do with the rest of it, numbness creeping into his brain, so he just tries to do what Virgil has asked of him, tries to sit up straighter and remove his arm from his throbbing side. The motion sends pain bursting up through his torso, like tiny fireworks going off in his flesh, and he bites back a groan. His sleeve is slick with blood.

“Oh, god,” Virgil says. He sounds so distressed, so frightened, and Roman wants nothing more than to tell him that it’s alright, that it will be alright, that he’s taken far more damage than this and come out the other side. He just needs his first aid kit, and though he could get it himself if he concentrated, it would be easier to ask Virgil to fetch it for him before he leaves.

But the words won’t come. He stares as Virgil pulls lightly at the fabric sticking to his skin, inhaling sharply as the pain flares again. And then, Virgil looks up at him, staring into his eyes, and he wonders, were they that color before? He’s always thought that Virgil’s eyes were brown, like Thomas’ are, but this close he can tell that they’re not, that they’re a dark purple instead, and how he mistook that color for brown, he has no idea. But they’re beautiful, like fractals of thousands of the darkest amethysts, glimmering with reflected light.

Virgil reaches up, brushes some hair back from his face, his fingertips barely grazing his skin. It would be a strangely intimate gesture if not for the sharp sting it causes, and Roman remembers, ah, yes, he took a rather nasty knock on the head as well. And head wounds always seem worse than they are, he knows that, knows that the drying blood smeared across his face is not indicative of a truly serious problem. But from the way Virgil’s staring, he’s not sure that Virgil is aware of it.

“I’m okay,” he tries to say, though the words come out sounding more like, “‘M ‘kay,” and the slurring likely doesn’t inspire any confidence. But he wants Virgil to realize that he’s fine, that he can take care of himself, that he doesn’t need to stick around and take care of him out of some misplaced worry or misguided obligation. He has treated injuries far worse than this and lived to tell the tale. Or rather, to keep the tale a secret.

Virgil laughs, short and humorless. Roman doesn’t like it; it’s too dry, too bitter. “Where’s your first aid kit?” he asks, and though the fear is not gone from his voice, it is contained in a trembling undertone. He sounds determined, resolute, and Roman’s not quite sure why. But he was going to ask Virgil to get the first aid kit anyway.

“Bathroom,” he manages. “Cabinet under the sink.”

Virgil nods, and for a few moments, disappears from his line of sight. He feels oddly bereft without him there, like he’s been left in the cold, which is truly ridiculous. Virgil’s about to leave anyway. Once he retrieves the first aid kit, there’s no reason for him to stay. Roman can handle this on his own, should handle this on his own, frankly, because he’s the one who got himself injured in the first place.

But then Virgil returns, crouching in front of him, and rather than dropping the kit off and making his exit, he opens it, laying out gauze and bandages and thread for stitches.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Virgil asks. “Or do you need me to do it?” He doesn’t look up as he says it, continuing to rummage around in the kit, which leaves Roman to gape at him, because what? His mind feels slow and muddled, but he thinks that even if it didn’t, something about that request doesn’t make any sense. He spends so long trying to work through it that Virgil pauses, glancing up at him, brow furrowed.

“Roman?” he asks, more urgently.

The thing that Roman doesn’t understand is that he hasn’t left yet. That he seems to be staying. That he looks for all the world like he’s about to take care of Roman’s wounds himself.

Why is he doing that? There’s no need. Perhaps he hasn’t made that clear enough.

“I can do it,” he says, and proceeds to struggle out of his shirt, and then his undershirt. Every movement sets his body alight, but he grits his teeth and pushes through it, dropping each piece of fabric on the ground in a heap. The bloodstains are never going to come out of those, and not for the first time, he regrets designing the Imagination so that its effects linger. It would feel like cheating to do it any other way, but it’s in times like these that he wouldn’t mind a bit of cheating.

What a noble sentiment. Some prince he is.

He wrests his mind away from that line of thinking, reaching for the antiseptic that Virgil has set out. His hand closes around the bottle, but then, Virgil’s fingers land on his, and he stops short. Virgil is glaring at him, and he forgets how to breathe.

“What are you doing?” Virgil asks.

He frowns. “I told you,” he says, putting extra effort into enunciating clearly. “I can do it myself.”

There is silence for a long moment. Virgil stares at him, not saying anything at all.

Then, he does.

“What,” he grits out, “the fuck. No you can’t.”

That irritates him a bit. Dimly, it occurs to him that this might not be the time or place to have an argument, but he ignores that thought. “Yes, I can,” he says. “I do it all the time.”

For some reason, Virgil goes very, very still. His eyes flicker from Roman’s face to his chest, tracing across his abdomen with startling intensity. Under any other circumstance, this might fluster him, but he has the sneaking suspicion that there is something he’s forgetting, that Virgil is examining something he doesn’t mean to reveal. And Virgil is angry about it, Roman can tell; his eyes flare and his breaths become slow and deliberate, the same pattern he uses to avoid a panic attack, or to stop himself from lashing out.

Roman doesn’t want him to be angry with him. But he doesn’t know how to make him not be. He and Virgil have come so far from the unwavering animosity that used to lie between them, but he is well aware that his own inclinations and desires tend to exacerbate Virgil’s worries, and he has never been able to work out how to avoid that.

And yet, when Virgil speaks again, his voice is low and gentle, like he’s addressing a startled animal, and Roman might be insulted by that if it weren’t so pleasant a voice to hear. Sometimes, when the world is calm and there is nothing pressing to accomplish, he thinks he could listen to Virgil speak for hours, listen to his low rasp and unique cadence, the teasing, sarcastic tone that does things to his heart.

“Well,” Virgil says, “you’re not going to this time, okay? Lie back for me.”

He pushes Roman’s shoulder, gently lowering him to lie flat against the floor, and Roman is so startled that he lets him. He doesn’t understand this sudden softness, doesn’t understand why Virgil is insistent on doing this when he could easily do it himself, doesn’t understand why Virgil was even here to begin with. And along with the pain, exhaustion is crashing over him in waves, the last dregs of his adrenaline finally fading away. So he watches with half-lidded eyes as Virgil moves to his side, carefully rubbing a dripping washcloth-- did he conjure that? When did that happen?-- across his chest, wiping away the crusted blood. His motions are deft and sure, even as he begins to clean the wound itself, exchanging water for alcohol. Roman arches his back against the pain, gasping as lightning bolts lance through his side, but otherwise keeps as still as he can.

“Sorry,” Virgil murmurs, but doesn’t hesitate. “I’m gonna stitch it up now.”

“‘Kay,” Roman says, and despite the haze that has overtaken him, a thought occurs to him, and he lacks just enough filter to ask. “How’re you so good at this?”

Because Virgil is good at this, is clearly practiced, has done this before. He wouldn’t have expected it from someone so anxious, would have expected shaking hands and crippling indecisiveness instead. But Virgil displays only a steady, uncharacteristic confidence, and Roman doesn’t know why.

For along minute, Virgil doesn’t answer. The bite of the needle as he begins to stitch the wound shut is almost unbearable, almost sends him squirming and panting for breath. He holds himself still, but something in his face must reveal the effort it takes him, because Virgil stops, staring at him.

“Shit,” he says suddenly, loudly, and Roman jolts as he dives for the first aid kit. “Shit, shit, shit! Painkillers, I didn’t even think to--! Fuck, I am so sorry, can you--?” He holds up the bottle of Tylenol, shaking a few out into his hands, and he looks so angry with himself, so worried, that Roman can’t help but try for a reassuring smile.

“I c’n take ‘em dry,” he confirms, and does so once Virgil hands them over. “‘S okay.”

But Virgil shakes his head. “It’s not,” he says, looking at him miserably. “God, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m just…” He trails off, taking a breath. “I used to do this for Remus, sometimes,” he confesses quietly. “When he’d come back from the Imagination beat to shit. Usually it was Janus, but sometimes it was me, when Jan couldn’t be there, and painkillers do fuck-all for him, so I completely fucking forgot.” He pauses, eyes trailing over his torso once again, something like sadness in the set of his mouth. “Remus does this a lot,” he says, so softly that Roman barely hears it. “I should’ve figured that you might, too. I should’ve--”

He cuts off, and Roman is glad of it, because he has no idea what to say.

He used to avoid thinking about Remus as much as he could. These days, he thinks about him too much. There is no middle ground, and this just feels like another nail in the coffin that marks their countless similarities, another entry in the ever-growing list of reminders that he is not nearly as different from his brother as he has always pretended to be, not nearly as heroic, as noble, as good as he wants everyone else to believe.

He’s spending so much time in the Imagination, lately, and in his heart of hearts, he knows he’s trying to escape himself. What are a few more scars, easily concealed, if it means he finds a little bit of balance, a little bit of peace?

Virgil waits a few minutes before starting his ministrations again, giving the painkillers time to kick in. The needle still stings, still makes him clench his fists and bite his lip as he longs for a distraction, but the pain is dulled, now, and Virgil moves quickly and efficiently.

“Okay,” he murmurs at length. “That’s as good as that’s gonna get. I’m gonna look at your head now.”

He shifts positions, and is suddenly very, very close, filling up Roman’s field of vision. He doesn’t seem to care much about where Roman’s gaze falls, which gives him free rein to stare at him, at the determination that sets his face and the way his eyeshadow brings out the color of his eyes.

They really are lovely eyes. How has he never noticed that before?

Virgil swipes the washcloth across his face, motions gentle and firm and soothing, and Roman feels his eyelids drooping. There is something in the way Virgil is looking at him, something that Roman would almost call tenderness if he wasn’t well aware of the fact that Virgil doesn’t do tenderness, tries not to do vulnerability at all. Roman can’t throw stones; he dislikes showing vulnerability too, dislikes presenting himself as anything less than strong and brave and put together. The fact that he is in this position, showing weakness, allowing himself to be cared for, is almost more than he can stand, and he’s sure that he would be far more upset about it if he were less tired, less in pain. If it were someone else here, if it weren’t Virgil.

He’s too exhausted to examine that right now.

He doesn’t realize his eyes have slipped closed until he hears Virgil chuckle, soft and far more genuine than before, and he pries them open again. Virgil’s face is blurry, hovering just above his.

“The head wound looks a lot worse than it is,” Virgil tells him, voice distant, and if he had the energy to do so, he would respond with something along the lines of, I could’ve told you that. Because he could have, if his words would cooperate with him. “You’re gonna be okay, Princey. You can go to sleep.”

Sleep. It sounds appealing. Isn’t there something else he should do, though, something else to say? Something to say to Virgil, specifically, Virgil, who is here, taking care of him, even when there was no need, when he would have been fine doing it himself just like always.

“‘Kay,” he whispers, his eyes sliding shut again. The world seems distant now, the pain barely a blip on his radar. “‘M sorry… you had to spend so much time…”

There is a conclusion to that sentence. But he can’t find it.

Dimly, he is aware of the washcloth’s motions pausing, resting warmly on his cheek. Virgil says something, then, something that travels down a long tunnel to reach him and that sounds something like, “You have nothing to apologize for,” but that can’t be right, because he knows that’s not true. And he thinks, too, that he feels a finger graze his face, tracing a line that Virgil cannot know, because Roman has always taken such great care to hide the markings that mar his skin.

But consciousness is slipping away, and he lets it go.

-----

Roman wakes, and immediately tries to move. This ends up being a mistake; pain shoots through him, originating from his side, and it rips a whimper from his lips. His head throbs, too, and reaching up with a shaky hand reveals that there is a bandage wrapped firmly around his forehead. Further investigation shows him that there are bandages around his abdomen, too, secure and restricting, and that his chest is otherwise bare.

“Oh my god, you dumbass,” someone says, and suddenly, Virgil is there, leaning over him, hair disheveled and eyeshadow deeper than usual, and Roman cannot help but stare. “What are you doing, you’re gonna tear something open. I’m not stitching you up again, genius.”

Oh. Right. He settles back against the pillows and does his best not to react externally as the memories come rushing back. Practically falling out of his own wardrobe, letting Virgil take care of him, making a fool of himself in general. Fantastic.

“Right,” he says, and winces at the hoarseness of his voice. “Sorry about that. How long have I been asleep?”

Virgil sighs, perching next to him on the edge of the bed. “Not too long,” he says. “A few hours. You could probably do with some more.”

Oh, absolutely not. A few hours is more than enough time to be well on the way to recovery, or at least, enough time to seem as if he is. Though, he supposes it doesn’t matter. Surely, the whole mindscape knows about this by now. Surely, Virgil’s told Patton and Logan, or at least answered their questions if they asked what he’s been doing. He’s surprised they’re not in here, Logan ready with a lecture and Patton full of guilt, guilt that is entirely undeserved, since all of this is Roman’s own fault.

Some of his thoughts must show on his face, because Virgil shifts his weight, glancing away.

“I told the others that I was helping you with a project,” he says, casually, as if he’s not upending Roman’s entire worldview, as if Roman doesn’t know full well that Virgil absolutely hates lying. “I think they bought it, so, uh. Janus might know something’s up, but he probably knows anyway, since you’ve been lying to us about it for so long.”

Roman’s stomach drops into his shoes. There is no bite to Virgil’s words, but it must be there, because Virgil must be angry at the deception. He didn’t plan to ever reveal the truth; he didn’t want to worry them, and more than that, he didn’t want them to know how weak he truly is, how imperfect. Though that’s another thing that they’re surely well-versed in by now, so he’s not sure why he bothers.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and Virgil frowns.

“I didn’t mean it like--” He stops, shaking his head, and takes a few steadying breaths. Four-seven-eight. “Okay. I’m kinda scared shitless of having this conversation, but it clearly needs to happen, so. How long has this been going on?”

He’d hoped that Virgil would let it go. That Virgil’s tendency toward conflict avoidance would guide him away from asking any of the difficult questions. He should have remembered that only half of Virgil is flight, that he is just as capable of fight, of raising his voice and demanding his answers, that Virgil’s brand of courage is odd but no less present for that.

“What do you mean?” he asks weakly, and even as he says the words, he knows that the avoidance tactic won’t work. Not here, not now, and wouldn’t have even if he didn’t sound like he’s on death’s door.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Virgil says. He gestures, and then crosses his arms. “You. This. Getting hurt, and not telling us about it. Not letting us help.”

He chews on that for a moment, on the idea that helping would be a thing that they would want to do. Surely, there are better uses for their time? This is another reason why he made sure to hide it; if they knew, they would feel obligated to come to his aid, just as Virgil has. Perhaps it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want that, doesn’t want them to help him because they’ve fooled themselves into thinking they have to.

He clears his throat. “Not terribly often,” he says, and hopes that the lie isn’t powerful enough, isn’t loud enough to draw Deceit’s attention. “And even when it does, it’s nothing I can’t handle, really. I’m quite capable of patching myself up, you know.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I roped you into doing it.”

Virgil exhales sharply. “Roped me-- okay. Alright, that’s bullshit. You didn’t rope me into taking care of you, I did it because I was fucking worried about you.”

“I didn’t want to upset--”

“If you’re about to tell me you didn’t want to upset me, I swear to god, I will scream.” Roman dutifully shuts his mouth. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but you didn’t force me into helping you. I did that because I... I fucking care about you, alright? And I don’t want you to be hurt.” Throughout the speech, Virgil’s face grows steadily redder under his foundation, his knees beginning to bounce up and down like pogo sticks. He looks very much like he would like to run from the room, and perhaps it is a sign of how important he considers this to be that he doesn’t.

Roman stares, trying to process that. He has no idea how to respond.

Virgil takes another breath, visibly calming himself. “Look, I… this isn’t even what I wanted to talk about.” He meets Roman’s eyes, regarding him steadily. “I know you’re lying. About it not happening often. It happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

“How do you--” He breaks off, his mind racing in an effort to figure out how Virgil could possibly know that. This is the first time he’s been caught, after all, not just by Virgil but by anyone, and one time does not a pattern make. He shouldn’t be able to guess, shouldn’t be able to say it with such stark certainty, not unless he already had a low opinion of his fighting prowess, and that burns in a way he would like to not scrutinize too closely--

“Roman.”

Virgil’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, and he glances over. Virgil is staring at him, an odd expression on his face, somewhere between resignation and sorrow, and for a split second, Roman is almost overwhelmed by the urge to try to smooth that expression away, to do anything to put a smile on his face. Virgil’s smiles are rare, but that makes them all the more precious.

“You don’t even know that you’re doing it, do you,” Virgil says. “It comes naturally. You don’t even think about it.”

He blinks, because what? What is he talking about?

And then, Virgil reaches out to caress his face, and his brain bluescreens.

It’s a caress. There’s no other way to describe it, no other way to label the way his fingers lightly stroke his skin and hold his cheek. His face feels as though it has been set aflame, sparks going off wherever contact is made. He wants Virgil to stop. He wants to bury his face in his pillow for the rest of time and scream. He wants Virgil to keep holding him forever.

“I saw them, Roman,” Virgil says simply.

It takes a long moment for Roman to understand what he means. All he can think about is the sensation of his hand, warm and soft, against his face.

But then, it clicks, and his heart begins to pound for an entirely different reason. He remembers it, then, remembers the way Virgil looked at his chest, at his face while he was treating him. He didn’t have the awareness to realize it then, but he does now, realizes exactly what Virgil saw, what he put together, and his breaths come short and quick as the implications catch up to him.

Virgil is right. He doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t think about the multitude of scars that cover his body, a patchwork of lines and grooves and valleys marring his skin, years and years of injuries piling up and tearing him apart, memories of blood and pain traced into him forever. He doesn’t think about it, because usually, they are out of sight, out of mind; from the moment he received his first, he began the habit of shapeshifting them away, showing off skin that is flawless, unblemished by his failures. He does it all the time, unceasing, because presentation is everything and he has never wanted the others to know, never wanted them to see him as he truly is. It is a constant expenditure of energy, but one well worth it, one that he barely notices after all these years.

Injured and weak as he was, the disguise must have slipped away. He must have fallen to his knees, scars on full display, in all their messy, ugly glory. And of course, Virgil saw.

And now, Virgil knows.

“Hey, hey,” Virgil says, and he can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. “C’mon, Roman, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. Try to match my breathing, alright?”

And Virgil breathes, in and out, loud and intentional, and counts. Four-seven-eight. It takes a while for Roman to copy him, for his breathing to steady and his heart to slow, and once it does, he feels exhausted, wrung out, like bubblegum stretched too thin.

“Sorry,” he mutters. He can’t find it in himself to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“I told you, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Virgil says seriously. He pauses. “Except for scaring the shit out of me, but um. We can do that later, so just. Look, when you first got back, you were covered in them, and I wanted to ask then, but it wasn’t the time. And then you shifted them away literally while you were sleeping, which I didn’t even know was possible, but I guess you’re used to doing it? So I guess what I actually wanted to ask is, why’ve you been hiding them?”

He stiffens, and can’t stop the incredulous laugh from bursting from his lips, even as his mind reels with this new information. “Are you serious?” he asks, and forces himself to meet Virgil’s gaze, even though he would like nothing more than to hide his face, hide away under his covers until all of this goes away and he can pretend that things are normal again. “You can’t figure that out?”

But Virgil doesn’t react. “Pretend I’m stupid,” he offers, voice flat. “Walk me through it.”

“I--” He wishes he could gesture, redirect attention with waving arms and comical expressions. But every movement sends bolts of pain down his side, sets his head to throbbing again. “Really? You-- you saw them.” His voice cracks, and he tries not to let it get to him. What’s a little more humiliation at this point, right?

“So?” Virgil asks.

He can’t believe he’s going to have to explain this.

“So?” he repeats. “So? So they’re ugly! So they’re… they’re just reminders of every time I’ve failed, every time I’ve been dumb enough to let myself get hurt! So I don’t like them, and I don’t… I didn’t want--”

“You didn’t want us to see,” Virgil finishes, and really, he has no right being this astute, no right to see through him like this. His gaze is level, piercing, pinning him to the spot with its sheer intensity, and Roman feels entirely too exposed. “Well, I want to see.”

He becomes very aware that Virgil is still holding his face.

“You what?” he rasps.

“I want to see them,” Virgil repeats. “Will you let me see them?”

His first instinct is to deny him, to push him away and proceed to act like this conversation never occurred in the first place. He knows exactly how they look, knows exactly how unappealing they are; how long has he stood in front of the mirror, glaring at a reflection that is never up to his standards? And for some reason, the thought of Virgil of all people looking at them, judging them, judging him and finding him wanting, is absolutely unbearable. He thinks he would die if that happened, thinks he would shatter into a million pieces on the floor, break apart into so much dust.

But Virgil is asking. Asking, not demanding, and there is no disgust in his voice.

And he’s seen them. So really, what harm could be done that has not been done already?

Virgil is likely to keep pushing if he refuses. And Roman is so tired.

“Okay,” he says, and he shuts his eyes, and drops his shifted form. It feels like a layer of water sliding from his skin, or like an eggshell cracking open and revealing the messy yolk beneath. For a long moment, there is silence, heavy and oppressive, and he doesn’t dare open his eyes to look, doesn’t dare see the expression on Virgil’s face, the horror, the disdain, or worse, the pity.

And then, Virgil’s hand moves, lightly tracing across his face in patterns that are all too familiar. He can’t move, can’t breathe. He knows all too well the scars that he is counting: the slashes across his cheeks from too many careless swords, the line cutting through his lips from a harpy that tried to claw his face off, and the biggest of all, the slash from a dragon’s talons, a deep gash that begins on his forehead and trails across his nose, reaching all the way to his jawline, narrowly avoiding his eyes. Virgil’s fingers linger there longest of all.

And then, he pulls away. Roman braces himself.

“You think you’re the only one with scars?”

His eyes shoot open.

“What?”

Virgil is watching him, an odd light in his eyes. He’s rubbing his arm with one hand, up and down, a repetitive, subconscious motion.

“Look,” he says, and his voice is shaking now, just ever so slightly. “I get it. More than you might think. You have these scars, and you think they mean that you fucked up, or that you failed at something, and... Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. But you know what else they are?”

Roman can’t speak. Virgil continues, not waiting for an answer.

“They mean that you’re still alive,” he says. “It means that you’re still here, that you survived, and that you kept going. That doesn’t make you a failure, it makes you strong. And I’m not gonna tell you that you have to think that they’re beautiful, or some shit like that, but they’re not ugly, they’re not gross, and they don’t make you worthless.”

His breath hitches. Tears pool in his eyes, and he is powerless to dispel them.

“It took me a really long time to learn that,” Virgil says. “They’re a part of you, and you don’t have to feel lesser for that. And you don’t have to hide them, not if you don’t want to. No one’s going to judge you for them.” He pauses, a strange look passing across his face. “And that’s coming from me, so, uh. You know. If the literal personification of anxiety is telling you that you don’t need to worry about it. Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Roman laughs a little, despite himself, more out of disbelief than anything else.

“You really think it’s that simple?” he asks, and hopes that Virgil doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“I know it’s not that simple,” Virgil returns. “I know how hard it is to change how you think about yourself. I mean, god, Roman, you know who you’re talking to, right? I’m kind of the king of negativity. But you’re not on your own on this.” He shifts, scooting a bit closer. “If you ask us for help, we’d do anything for you, but that’s not because we think we have to. It’s because we love you. And you deserve that love. Never think that you don’t. Scars or no scars.”

Roman shudders, emotions rolling through him with the force of a thousand rushing rivers.

“And I think, I mean--” Virgil stops. “Your-- fuck. Just, for the record, I--” He sucks in a breath, turning away sharply. “Fuck,” he says again, as if to himself, and then, in one smooth motion, he turns back to Roman, places both hands on the side of his face, and plants a kiss on his cheek, right over one of his scars. It’s like a thousand volts of energy, like a fire burning just beneath his skin, like a symphony crescendoing to its climax. Roman gasps, and Virgil pulls back, and Roman is absolutely certain that his face is melting off right now, that the warmth flooding his face and body is searing the flesh from his bones.

Virgil stares at him, face red. And then, to Roman’s shock, he does it again, on his nose, right where the biggest scar crosses his face. Slower, this time, his lips lingering for a heartbeat too long, giving Roman the chance to think about how soft they are, how much he would like them to be on his lips instead.

Well, that’s… huh. Part of him knew that already, has known for a very long time that he wants this, but the confirmation has his brain buzzing.

“I think they’re hot,” Virgil says, just above a mumble.

“You what?” Roman says, even though he’s fairly sure he didn’t mishear, even though hope, bright and warm and traitorous, is rising in his chest like a bird taking wing. He has never loved his scars, has never thought of them as attractive at all, and never so much as considered the possibility that someone else might disagree.

But Virgil doesn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie, not about this. It is a miracle that Virgil is acting this way at all, is behaving in a manner that clearly puts him far outside his comfort zone.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Virgil snaps, and there is the Virgil that Roman is most familiar with, hackles raised and spitting insults. Despite everything that’s happened, despite the fact that his mind is spinning and he still feels entirely too hot, he smiles. “Fuck, I’m just gonna go die in a hole now. See if I do anything for you ever again.”

He moves as if to stand from the bed, as if to leave, and though hours ago he wanted him to do that very thing, Roman feels a flash of panic at the prospect. Before he can think better of it, his hand snakes out and latches on to the sleeve of Virgil’s hoodie, stopping him in his tracks. For a moment, they stare at each other, both silent, almost expectant as Roman casts about for something to say, something to keep Virgil here.

“I have a scar on my lips,” he blurts out. “You, uh, wanna… do… something?”

He congratulates himself on his smoothness. He should give up being Thomas’ creativity and open up a smoothie place, that’s how smooth he is.

Virgil glares. “If you’re just gonna make fun of me, you can fuck right off and--”

“What? No,” he says. “I’m not-- what made you think I was making fun of you? I’m asking you to kiss me!”

Virgil stares, silent. He feels himself begin to waver.

“If… uh, just if you want to, I guess,” he says, voice weakening. “I just thought that maybe…”

“You’re an idiot,” Virgil declares, and captures his lips with his own.

A far as declarations of love go, it’s not the best Roman has ever heard. But as far as kisses, well.

“Don’t think this gets you out of talking about this,” Virgil murmurs, pulling back a centimeter or two. “I’m gonna sic Patton on you. You’re gonna get so much love and emotional support, and so many cookies, and you’re not gonna escape until we get it into your dumbass head that you’re worth so much more than you think you are.”

Even moments ago, the thought would have filled him with horror, horror at the prospect of anyone else knowing, anyone else seeing, anyone else wanting to talk to him about it. And maybe this is only a respite, a brief moment of insanity before that horror returns. And it’s not just the scars. Perhaps it’s never been about the scars, not really.

But right now, his head is buzzing with Virgil’s words, his lips still alight with the imprint of his kiss, and his scars are bared and Virgil likes them, thinks they make him strong, thinks that he’s not a failure at all. And most of him rejects that, suspects that in time, Virgil will come to see the ugly truth, and if that is the case, he should pull back now, save both of them the trouble.

Virgil won’t allow that, though; if he knows anything about Virgil, it is that he is stubborn, incredibly so, enough to be a match for him. And there is a voice, buried deep in his brain, telling him that he should listen, that Virgil is right, and that he deserves this. He doesn’t make a habit of listening to that voice.

But perhaps he should. And Virgil smiles at him, just slightly, and he thinks that perhaps he can.

“Cookies,” he repeats. “Sounds good.” And to his surprise, finds that he means it.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii

#sanders sides #ts sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #my fic #long post #roman (while bleeding out): haha don't worry i'll just patch myself up #virgil (softly but with great feeling): what the fuck

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

All I Want is Serenity

*ahem* Yes, thank you for gathering here tonight. I know I’m supposed to be working on my millions of unfinished fics. However, let me propose some, *ahem ahem* Roman angst? Perhaps, perhaps. Thanks to @becca-becky for not judging when I asked for “weird crab facts, stat.”

You can find this fic on Ao3 here.

(Title is from 'dreamin by The Score.)

Words: 13019 (I’m so sorry, I swear this was supposed to be like 5k)

Pairings: platonic DLAMPRT

Warnings: food mentions, missed sleep, missed eating, self-deprecation and self-hatred, sympathetic everyone including Remus, disassociation, brief suicidal ideation (although only referring to “ducking out”), slightly unreliable narrator, verbal abuse, anxiety, panic attack, sensory overload, spiraling thoughts, discussions of time and losing track of time, touch-starvation but it’s pretty brief, extra limbs but also very brief, maybe some light PTSD? The sides are portrayed as somewhat unsympathetic in Roman’s own mind, but they are not, he just views them as more hateful than they are. (I want to say this isn’t as bad as the warnings make it sound, but...it’s not great. There’s a happy ending, though, I promise!)

Summary: Roman knows the only way to keep the Sides from hating him is to make sure he’s perfect. He needs to say the right things, act the right way, and smile at the right times. But his endless practicing, high standards, and ugly thoughts are only making him screw up more. He needs to get a handle on things and become the perfect prince they want, or he’ll be kicked out for good.

It was cold in Thomas’ living room. Roman shivered as soon as he rose up. He’d try and fix the temperature, but there wasn’t time, not with everyone’s eyes on him.

Usually he loved attention, or was good at pretending that he did. But with Logan’s cold stare, Virgil’s glower, Patton’s shaky smile, and Thomas’ blank expression tearing through him, his skin crawled and he hid his shaking hands behind his back. He was ready for this. He was.

“Greetings,” he said, trying for a smile and his usual confidence. Was that the right way to go about this? Could he even maintain the facade anymore? Should he just let down his guard and stop being so insufferably extra all the time?

“Roman,” said Janus, and Roman flinched. Why did he do that? He knew Janus would be there, a few feet from Logan, yet he found himself unable to even look in Janus’ direction.

“We need to talk,” Thomas said, and Roman nodded. He knew.

“About the last episode.” Logan adjusted his glasses and Roman felt a little flicker of comfort at the familiar motion. "Clearly there are some things we need to sort out.”

Roman opened his mouth to apologize. Was that the right way to do this? Apologize right off the bat? The idea rankled at him, the fragments of his pride trying to stop him from throwing it all away, but maybe it would help to get everything out of the way.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I was rude and very unprincely towards Janus, and I hope he can forgive me.”

Janus watched Roman for a moment before inclining his head. Not forgiveness, but acknowledgement, which was better than Roman expected.

“That’s good, kiddo,” Patton said, his smile growing a little more real. “Now what about the rest of us?”

Roman swallowed. “The rest of us?” he repeated, wishing desperately he had chosen to do anything else, wondering why he thought this was ever a good idea.

“Well, yeah.” Virgil’s arms were curled around his knees and he was sitting instead of standing on the stairs. Rather out-of-character for him, but it helped ground Roman, not having everyone here be perfect and unaffected by the situation. “You’re...y’know...”

Virgil blew his bangs away from his eyes. Now that was classic Virgil, and it made Roman’s heart clench.

“You need to apologize to all of us,” Virgil finished, shrugging. “Sorry, dude, but...you messed up. Big-time.”

“I...” Roman nodded. “Of course. Logan, I am so sorry for insulting you by pushing the Ignorant button. That was a rude and insensitive joke and I’m sorry.”

Logan’s eyes softened, just a little bit.

“Patton, I...” Roman bit his lip. “I’m sorry for pushing you so much. We went into territory you were clearly uncomfortable with, and instead of hearing your concerns, I led you to have a breakdown.”

Patton’s eyes flashed. Okay, bad choice of words. Roman made a mental note to avoid calling it a breakdown.

“Thomas.” Roman tried to remember what to say. He’d wronged Thomas, hadn’t he? How? “The wedding,” he guessed, hoping Thomas would give him a cue.

Thomas nodded slowly.

Okay. Good. He was on the right track. “I shouldn’t have forced you to go to the wedding,” Roman continued, keeping his voice level. “It wasn’t what you wanted to do, and I let my own fears of siding with Janus get in the way of doing the right thing for you. I sacrificed your dreams, and for that, I apologize.”

Roman could have made a snarky comment about how they were his dreams too, and really he was only trying his best, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. Maybe he’d try it later, when he was tired and looking to let out some anger, but for now he was giving this his best shot.

“And Virgil.” Roman let all his sorrow and guilt flood his voice. “Virgil, I...I’m so sorry for ever treating you like the villain, for not listening to you, for being so prejudiced against the ‘Dark Sides.’ I’m sorry for even making up that name. I’ve been a terrible prince and an even worse friend, and I hope you--all of you--can forgive me.”

For a second, Virgil looked about to smile. Had Roman done it? Had he made his way through with no mistakes?

Then a sharp voice cut through his fog of hope. A sharp side to cut through all the bull. A sharp tongue and sharp eyes, slicing Roman back down to size.

“Why would we?”

Roman’s mouth went dry. He swallowed a few times. Stay tall, Roman. He was born for the stage, the spotlight. He was a master of improv. So why did this specific scenario get him so off-kilter?

“Why would we forgive you,” Janus continued, stepping forward, “when you’ve been lying this whole time?”

“What?” Roman whispered.

“You’re not actually sorry.” Janus’ voice was louder than Roman’s heartbeat, but only by a little. “You’re just apologizing so we’ll forgive you and you can start getting what you want again. I can taste lies, Roman, and you’re coated in them.”

“I-I’m not...” Roman took a step back. “I’m not lying!”

It was a weak line. A weak comeback. But Roman had always been weak.

“I’m not going to forgive you,” Janus said, and there it was. A simple statement that stabbed into Roman’s heart. “You’ve apologized before and you’ve never tried to change your ways. The fact is, you can’t change, because you don’t even believe you’ve done anything wrong.”

“How could you say that?” Roman protested. Yes and, his own mind whispered at him. Improvisation is yes-and, not blind denial. But how could he agree to that and still survive this? How could agree to that and get the good ending? “I’ve done so many things wrong! I’ve--”

“You have,” Janus agreed, stepping forward again. Roman felt his back hit the wall. The TV was between them, he noticed dimly, and cursed himself for the thought. Janus wouldn’t attack him! What kind of unsavory fear was that? So much for thinking of Janus as a good guy.

Still, even if the real Janus would never attack him, Roman had a sickening feeling that right now, all bets were off.

“You’ve made a million mistakes,” Janus said. Something we’re both familiar with, Roman remembered, but that was just a line to flatter Roman, make him let his guard down. There was no flattery now. “But you’re not sorry. I can tell.”

“Of course I am! I--” Roman paused, doubt squirming into his head. Was he sorry? Sure, he acted like he was, he told himself he was. But was he really apologetic? Or did he just want to get rid of the guilt that ate him up every night, the loaded glances everyone gave each other when he entered the room, the bite in everyone’s voice when they greeted him? Was he so selfish that he didn’t care about his friends’ feelings, only his own?

“Finally, an epiphany.” Janus smirked. “I knew it would take a while to get through that idiotic head of yours. But now that you’ve finally caught up with the big kids, do you know what it means that you’re only thinking of yourself?”

Roman knew. Roman knew. He didn’t want Janus to say it, but Janus was going to, because everything was out of Roman’s control. Why had he wanted it like this? Why did he think he could handle it?

“Evil,” Janus said, relishing each letter. “You’re the evil twin, Roman.”

Roman glanced around wildly, hoping for some scrap of support. He knew there wouldn’t be any. He knew their faces would cut him even deeper. But he looked around anyway, and he hoped, because Roman had always been pretty stupid.

Logan’s face, stern and cold, eyes flashing. Virgil, glaring at Roman like he did long ago back when they were enemies, baring his teeth. Patton, smile finally slipping off his face, looking at Roman with furrowed brows and a pout. Disappointment.

And Thomas. His Center. His person. The one he did everything for, the one he dreamed for, the one he lived for. Thomas looked at Roman, shook his head, and looked away.

Roman tried to scrounge up some sort of fight. He needed to get them to forgive him! Or at least continue the conversation! He couldn’t just give up now. Giving up wasn’t something heroes did, and if Roman wanted the slightest chance of success, he had to brave this out.

But Janus’ eyes were gleaming and sharp like the edge of a knife. The script had been torn to pieces long ago, and the more Roman stood among the people that resembled his friends, the more it tore him up inside.

He sighed, slumped against the wall, and waved his hand. “Cut.”

The room dissolved around him. He sunk to the ground, or what might have been ground. It was hard to tell when the Imagination was between worlds. Everything was the same shade of parchment white. He ran his hand down the wall and felt the roughness. Usually this place invigorated him, an empty canvas, a blank slate to create wondrous worlds and spin scintillating stories. Now it just reminded him of his failure.

Ugh. The first round was always the worst, but he thought he’d be able to handle it a little better than that. But no. He’d frozen, choked, run dry. One malicious monologue and he got tongue-tied? Pathetic. And he was supposed to be an actor.

Well. Maybe it would take longer than he expected. Ten rounds instead of five, maybe even twenty or thirty. But he’d figure it out. He’d be able to brace himself for the hatred. Or better yet, find the good ending. If there was one to get at all. He certainly didn’t deserve their forgiveness. Perhaps, though...perhaps if he found the right words, he’d manage to salvage their tolerance.

Either way, he knew when he finally had this conversation in real life, he’d be prepared. He’d be insulated from the harm of any stinging words thrown his way. He’d be fine.

Practice made perfect, after all.

Roman hauled himself to his feet and waved his hand, building the living room from scratch. He put the finishing touches on Virgil’s patchwork hoodie, Logan’s striped tie, Janus’ scales, Patton’s smile. Maybe it would hurt less if he made it less realistic, didn’t pour all his love and knowledge into each creation, but it was supposed to hurt. It wasn’t practice if he didn’t feel the weight of the real situation, didn’t feel the pressure on his lungs and the shake of his hands, didn’t feel the shame of being ridiculed.

“From the top,” Roman muttered, clapping his hands. And the scene started again.

“Greetings,” Roman said, smiling as wide as he could, ready for another try.

“Logically, there is no reason to forgive your apology. I hold no affection for you and you have sidelined me on multiple occasions.”

"Cut. From the top.”

“Kiddo, I’ve always supported you, but don’t you think you’re getting in Thomas’ way? I really think I should take the driver’s seat on this one. Maybe you can take some alone time and think through how you can be better.”

“Cut. From--from the top.”

“Oh, hey, bro! Whatcha up to? See, we’ve decided you’re not really all that, so we’re trying the other Creativity out as the good twin. Just take a backseat and be a nuisance, which shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Cut! From the top!”

“Jeez, Princey, can you pump the brakes? And I thought I was a bad guy. Hate to say it, but maybe you should just duck out and stop corrupting him.”

“C-cut. From...from the top.”

“You’ve never been my hero, Roman, and you never will be.”

Roman couldn’t even say “Cut” after that. He was too busy crying.

Eventually, though, after a million wrong choices and a billion broken smiles, he found his way to some semblance of the good ending. No jolly good fellows and cheering citizens, no happily-ever-after, just a version that didn’t make Roman want to curl into a corner and hide forever. His fake smile got better with every round. His apologies grew more polished, and even though they felt less and less sincere, they got better and better results. Soon he was just running through the words like he was reading off a teleprompter, bobbing his head along to a script he knew by heart.

He knew what to say. He knew where to pause, where to let his voice crack, when to smile and when to let someone else talk. He learned to wait his turn, to accept the first two insults from Logan but push back at the third, because if he didn’t, Janus would accuse him of taking things lying down which would lead to an entire diatribe from Virgil about Roman never fighting for himself anymore. It was a delicate balance between meek and egotistical, quiet and loud, apologetic and confident. One slip of the tongue and he’d be berated again, kicked out, encouraged to just duck out and save everyone the trouble of his company.

Still, it stung less after the tenth time. Roman barely even flinched after the twentieth. By the thirtieth, he was able to just nod and smile, swallowing the hurt. By the fiftieth--fortieth? Fiftieth? How many times had he remade this room, polished up these characters, and tried again? He didn’t remember--by the time he stopped, it didn’t hurt at all.

He was tired, he realized as he finally put away the living room for good. His eyes ached and his head swam. He must have been doing this for several hours. Time was hard in the Imagination. Well, no longer should he deny himself his beauty sleep! Usually he’d have a walk into town to reward himself for succeeding, have a chat with some characters or slay a mighty dragon or just enjoy the wind on his skin. But he didn’t really feel like he deserved a reward right now. And he definitely wasn’t up for any dragon-slaying. Or socializing.

Roman summoned a quill and scratched out a door in red ink. Maybe it was overkill when he could just sink into his room, but he enjoyed watching the ink spread over the surface of the wall and sink into a three-dimensional figure. It was one of his favorite parts of the Imagination, the way he could will anything into existence, plant a seed and let it have a life of its own.

Or it usually was. Not when the Imagination supplied biting words and cold eyes, going above and beyond even Roman’s worst fears, forcing him to confront every possible worst-case scenario.

Other than that, though, it was a fun place.

Roman opened the door to his bedroom. It was dim and empty, smelling almost stale. How long had been away? Didn’t matter, he was tired. And hungry, he realized as his stomach growled, but sleep before food. Did he even have any food? He’d been storing as much as possible under his bed so he wouldn’t have to attend meals too much, but he was pretty sure he’d eaten the last chicken wrap this morning. Or maybe yesterday morning.

Roman collapsed on his bed with a sigh. The food issue could wait for now. His eyes were already closing. He pulled his quilt over him and sunk into his pillow, breathing another sigh of relief. Goodness, he felt like he could pull an Aurora and sleep for a hundred years. All that crying must have been exhausting.

But just as Roman drifted off, he felt a tug in his chest.

Thomas.

Oh, no.

Roman’s eyes flew open. He thought he still had a day before this! That’s what Logan’s schedule said, and Logan’s schedule never lied. Why would they push it earlier?

Roman glanced out the window at the sunny day. His alarm clock read 4:30. The little red x’s over the previous days on his calendar proclaimed it to be a day before the Talk. Maybe he’d gotten the date wrong, misread it somehow. That would be just like Roman, to be such an idiot he messed up a simple date.

Well, no time to worry about it now. Thomas was summoning him again, the tug stronger and almost painful. Roman quickly jumped out of bed, waited for the room to stop tilting, and strode over to his full-length mirror. He looked like a hot mess. Nay, not hot, cool. Nay, not cool, uncool. An uncool mess.

Roman quickly snapped his fingers and straightened the wrinkles from his outfit, combed the tangles from his hair, and dried the tear tracks on his face. He practiced a smile, a grand pose, and recited his part in his head. He knew what he was doing. He was ready, he was prepared, he was numb. This would be fine.

When he felt another tug he took his chance, rising up in the real world and beaming at everyone. “Greetings,” he said, going a little quiet on the second syllable and purposefully softening his smile when he was done.

It was warm. No surprise, it was late spring in Florida, but Roman had gotten used to the icy chill of the Imagination. He’d never bothered to fix it. Maybe he should have, because the warmth was throwing Roman off, reminding him that this was the real thing and if he messed up, he got no do-overs.

“Hi, Thomas,” he said after a two-and-a-half-seconds pause. “Everyone.”

“Roman.” Janus’ voice cut in, right on time.

Roman nodded at Janus, lifting his lips slightly. Janus didn’t smile back, but he didn’t until later. So everything was going to plan.

“Where have you been?” Thomas burst out, his eyebrows furrowed. “Nobody’s seen you for days!”

Oh. Okay. That was off-script.

“I’ve been in the Imagination,” Roman said quickly. Not a lie, so Janus couldn’t see right through him. Just a layered truth. “What would you like to talk about, Thomas?”

Thomas pressed his lips together. “I think you know.”

Roman carefully let his smile fall, just a bit. “I know.”

“Yeah.” Thomas looked around. “We need to talk about the last episode, Roman.”

“We’ve already spoken about it,” Logan said carefully. “Just...not with you.”

“You weren’t answering us,” Virgil said, curling into himself, just a bit. “We, um--I. I was worried. But you’re here now, so--so that’s good.”

“So.” Patton tugged at the sleeves of his cardigan, looking nervous. The same nervous smile as Roman expected. “I--”

“I’m sorry,” Roman said, reciting the speech he perfected, the one tailored to ruin his friendships with the least people. “I messed up, and I’m sorry. Janus, I shouldn’t have laughed at your name--I actually like it, it’s very dramatic and it suits you.” End the compliments there, before Janus thought he was laying it on thick, or worse, figured anything Roman liked had to be terrible. “Patton.” Pause for emphasis, keep his voice level. “That video was kind of a mess, and that was my fault.” Don’t add any ‘maybes’ or ‘partiallys’ or ‘kind ofs’. Don’t imply it was Patton’s fault or everyone will get mad. “Logan, I’m sorry for cutting you off. I do that far too much--” Not ‘we’, ‘I’, because the last time he said ‘we’ Virgil got mad that Roman thought Virgil ignored Logan. “--and I would benefit from listening to you more.”

It was Virgil’s turn now. Roman didn’t have to say much to Virgil--too much, and he’d send Virgil into a panic attack like he did in the Imagination. “Virgil, I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been cruel to you. I haven’t ever apologized for those before, and that was my bad. You’re...you’ll always be one of us.” Oh, no. He’d gone off-script. But he just couldn’t help it! Hopefully the extra compliment wouldn’t be seen as too forthright, and no one could get mad at Roman for assuming that there was an “us” and Roman was part of it.

Everyone was silent. Roman let his words ring for a second or two. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, instead turning to Thomas. Thomas had an unreadable expression on his face, and Roman knew how quickly it could turn to anger, disappointment, fear, disgust. He had to do this right.

“Thomas.” Roman carefully shifted from one foot to another, a small sign of weakness that would make him seem a little less egotistical than usual. “I...I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t add anything else. No chances for misunderstandings with Thomas. He was a part of Thomas, all of them were, and Thomas would know exactly what he meant.

And Thomas did. His eyes softened. “I forgive you, Roman. Thanks for saying that.”

“Great!” Roman knew a cue to leave when he heard it. Sticking around too long had never ended well. They’d gotten their apologies, which meant he was no longer necessary. “Now, I’m afraid a noble quest awaits me, so I shall take my leave. Farewell!”

He gave a little flourish of the hand and sunk out, leaving the rest of them frozen in the living room.

“Wait--” Virgil started to say, but Roman was already gone.

Roman spent the rest of the afternoon dozing, watching TV, and scribbling down the first lines of stories he knew he’d never finished. At some point, maybe two hours or so after the dinner he skipped by insisting “I ate earlier, Padre, and I’m awfully busy right now,” he learned why the Talk had taken place a day early. Or rather, that it hadn’t. He’d been in the Imagination for a whole day without realizing.

Well, that happened sometimes. A day or so, and Roman would be back to his fabulous self. And he’d navigated that conversation with barely a hiccup, a real achievement. He usually messed up somewhere, the panic getting to him, lashing out at someone or feigning too much confidence and coming off as egotistical. And of course, before he started doing this, he’d been a mess.

He’d gotten the idea during Can Lying Be Good?, and although that episode was a disaster after Deceit showed up--Janus, his name was Janus, a change that still sent Roman’s stomach tumbling whenever he was reminded of it--it was still a good idea to work through possible options before making a choice.

So it started small. Roman practicing monologues on an empty stage, Roman working through a few different scenarios before deciding on the play to audition for, Roman conjuring up another Side and practicing asking them for help or thanking them for their assistance or apologizing for a wrongdoing. Slowly he started building worlds, polishing off characters, holding full conversations. There were more and more choices now. Everything was a choice. Every word was a choice that led to good or bad, happiness or hatred. Was this how Virgil saw the world, every sentence a pitfall? Roman hated it.

Yet made things a little better, made Roman feel a little better, a little more in control. Like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story, paging through each option before making his choice, messing up and being able to stumble back to the last moment of solid ground, searching for that good ending. Like a video game with infinite lives.

Ugh, a video game. That carried bad memories thanks to the disastrous episode after the wedding. Roman had gone in there completely blind, since he had no time to prepare with a few run-throughs, and it had gone off the rails. What was that analogy with Thomas’ dead friends? Why had he pushed Patton into blowing up? Why had he even tried to contribute to a discussion about morality, which he knew wasn’t his area of expertise? And why had...why had he laughed at Janus’ name?

He’d panicked. That’s what he’d done. He’d panicked and made all the worst choices he could. He’d panicked and showed his true colors as a thoughtless, heartless, egotistical villain. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t been kicked out of the Light Sides on the spot.

But it was fine now. He’d managed to scrounge up some compassion from the others, they’d forgiven him, and it was fine. Well, he hadn’t stuck around to see whether they’d forgive him--expecting something in return wasn’t very kind of him. He didn’t need them to forgive him. Thomas forgave him, and that was more than enough.

So now all he had to do was not mess it up again.

Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

Roman was already avoiding the other Sides as much as possible, but he dialed it up to eleven. He sneaked into the kitchen and stole a week’s worth of food. For some reason, it was depleted in three days. Either he’d miscounted the food or the days. But it was fine. He ate in the Imagination, and he felt full in there until he left, upon which his stomach would feel like it was trying to devour itself. After the third time he fainted, he figured he might want to start eating dinner with the others again.

So he spent half the afternoon practicing, ranging from best-case scenario of being politely tolerated to worst-case scenario of being stabbed by a fork. At least, he thought it was half the afternoon. It turned out to be twice as long as he’d aimed for. He’d missed dinner altogether. So Roman spent another night starving until he stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of cereal. He hoped that no one would be there. But Patton was already flipping pancakes.

When in doubt, he’d learned from all the scenarios he’d ran through, smile and nod. So Roman smiled, nodded, and started to take his cereal back to his room.

“Stay,” Patton insisted, looking far happier to see him than usual. That probably meant trouble. “The others will be down soon, and we’ve all missed having you here for breakfast!”

Okay, that definitely meant trouble. And engage in conversation before finding the right things to say? Roman would be kicked out before anyone had the chance to finish their pancakes.

“I appreciate the gesture,” Roman said, trying for an ingratiating smile, “but I truly do have things to attend to--”

“You’ve been saying that for days.” Patton slid a few pancakes onto a plate. “Kiddo, what’s going on in that head of yours? There’s no reason for you to be working this hard.”

Ah, there was his angle. He was wondering what Roman was up to. As Thomas’ Creativity, any issues with creative output could affect everyone. That made sense, and that was a conversation Roman knew how to handle. He’d practiced this very scenario, what, two weeks ago? One week? It had been a Tuesday, he was sure of that, but he didn’t know which Tuesday. Well, whatever, he remembered how to handle this. Assure Patton that everything was fine on the creative front, that as far as he knew there were no issues with burnout, and thank him for his concern.

But then Logan stumbled into the room, yawning, and Roman’s plan went out the window. Logan was a new variable, and a volatile one at that. Logan hated him. Logan thought he was dramatic and worthless and annoying. More than once, Logan had ended up yelling at him in the Imagination. And in real life, if Roman was being honest. He couldn’t blame Logan, but sometimes it got on his nerves how seriously Logan took every little jab.

Still, it was just Patton and Logan. Logan would surely react well if Roman spoke of organization, promised to follow the schedule, and maybe slipped in a compliment or two. It was kind of sad how much Logan was flattered by compliments, even backhanded ones. Still, it wasn’t Roman’s place to check on his self-esteem. All Roman had to do was play into Logan’s hands.

This was fine. It was only two of them, it was only breakfast, and things would be fine.

And then Virgil slouched through the door, sat on the counter, and poured himself an ungodly amount of coffee.

Okay. Problem.

Virgil, for lack of a better word, was the most confusing side. He was run by a myriad of internal inconsistencies and perfected paranoia, his operating system a hodgepodge of self-consciousness, worry, and a million little tweaks and complexities. Roman could make a good imitation of Virgil on the outside--just slap in some gravely remarks and a general I-would-rather-be-sleeping attitude, and he had himself a decent Anxiety--but on the inside? He was lost. Virgil followed his own rules. There was no telling whether Virgil would freak out over something, no playbook for whether or not he lashed out, no step-by-step manual for how to keep Virgil happy. Virgil was always on edge, always on his toes, and always saying just a fragment of what he really thought.

Roman liked that, in a way. Virgil was different, but he liked that Virgil was different. Virgil could surprise him. Virgil could understand him. Virgil was a good friend.

However, with Patton and Logan already in the room, Roman really did not want to have Virgil around, too.

He cast around for an excuse that would be nice enough for Patton, serious enough for Logan, and not too suspicious so Virgil wouldn’t narrow his eyes and ask “who did you think you were fooling?” That had happened...more than once in the Imagination. Sometimes it was paired with a crack about Roman’s acting skills, which always stung.

Before Roman could find an adequate alibi, the door opened again.

“Apologies for being late,” Janus said, sliding into a chair, Remus following like a lost puppy. A puppy covered in green slime and sucking on a jar. “Remus wouldn’t stop throwing octopi at my head.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now!” Patton slid plates of pancakes onto the table. “Enjoy, kiddos!”

Roman looked around at the room. Five people. Five chances to mess up. He couldn’t do this. He hadn’t practiced. There was no safety net to keep him from falling off the tightrope.

“Roman?” That was Janus’ voice. Smooth and suave and seeing right through him.

I can taste lies, Roman, and you’re coated in them.

Roman stood up abruptly. Everyone was looking at him now. Why had he ever grabbed the spotlight? This clinging attention made him want to curl up and hide.

“I-I need to go,” he stammered out. Before he could receive the consequences for his rudeness-abruptness-hesitance-everything, he sunk out. He left the bowl of cereal half-empty on the table.

The rest of his morning, which he’d planned to use to write, ended up alternating between hyperventilating and staring at the ceiling. He was doomed. Absolutely doomed. He’d made a fool of himself and probably offended, annoyed, angered or upset everyone there. Why had he even tried? Such a ridiculous idea, inserting himself in their lives like he belonged, like he was worthy to sit at their table and take up their time.

But he was greedy and selfish and didn’t want to just hide forever. It would be easiest to cut himself off. It would be easiest to lock his door and stay in his room unless summoned. It would be easiest to--no. He wouldn’t duck out. He couldn’t. He might be a defective Creativity, but he was the only Creativity Thomas had. Other than Remus, and Roman did not want to leave Remus in charge.

Then again, he couldn’t possibly mess up more than Roman had. If Roman wasn’t the hero, maybe Remus wasn’t the villain, and maybe Roman should just--

Ugh. Roman rubbed his eyes and tried to scrub the thoughts from his head. They’d always lurked in the back of his skull like an itch he couldn’t scratch, but ever since the court case, they’d returned with a vengeance. And after the latest episode? It took all his power to keep them at bay.

Well. Breakfast may have been disastrous, but this wasn’t the end of things. He would just have to practice more, is all. He wouldn’t freeze up if he had a better handle on how his friends really acted. This would be fine as soon as he was perfect at it.

So he practiced. Every day, he practiced. He did the work for Thomas and ate a meal or two, then spent the rest of his time fabricating conversations. He had one-on-ones with all the Sides. He talked to them in groups. He practiced dissolving tense situations and coming to compromises and not getting yelled at for being an idiot. He learned his way around Patton and Virgil and Logan and Remus and Janus and Thomas. He found the best cadence, the best tone, the best vocabulary.

And he messed up. Over and over and over again. At his best, he managed to avoid full-on blowouts, but after he got tired? He was berated. He was mocked. He was laughed-at and shunned and told to “just leave and make the world a better place.” He cried and that just made the situations worse, he said “Cut” and felt like a coward who couldn’t face the truth, he ran out of the Imagination and curled up on his bed and tried to get his breathing back under control. Some days, it was like a nightmare he could never wake from.

But it was worth it. On the miraculous occasions when Roman did everything right, he would get praise. Patton would beam at him. Janus would apologize for hurting him. Logan would give him a little nod. Virgil would smirk and say he “really wasn’t so bad.” And Thomas...Thomas would look at Roman the way he used to, like Roman was still his hero.

Once he even got a hug from Patton. It made his arms burn and his insides go cold and hollow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. Patton used to mandate group hugs, but everything was so tense now, and everyone avoided everyone else. Or perhaps they just avoided Roman. That would make sense.

When Roman played his cards right, he got the good ending. Which meant it was possible to get in real life, too. It was possible to maintain peace and remain accepted and even manage to be a good friend. However, the real world always threw Roman off. He panicked, froze like a deer in headlights, and his tongue curled up whenever he had to speak. He fumbled through conversations, conscious of the weight of the eyes on him, and retreated to the safety of his room.

He just needed more practice, he told himself. It would be fine.

He spent whole days in the Imagination. He brought his lunch in there with him, so he could practice eating and talking. He slept in there some nights, conjuring up a bed because he was too tired to make his way back to his real room. Sleeping in the Imagination was strange because he never knew when he’d woken up again. Everything was dreamlike and artificial. He’d stumble into his real room and pinch himself over and over again until he was sure he’d woken up.

Logan assigned Roman a brainstorming session. Roman made a note of the date and spent the day before it prepping. He had a few ideas, none of them fantastic, but hopefully Logan would be able to expand on them.

“Where have you been?” Logan asked when Roman showed up in the living room. “The session was supposed to be two days ago.”

“What?” Roman blinked and mentally ran through what he’d been doing for the past week. Oh. He must have lost track of time in the Imagination again. “I...it’s...what day is it?”

The date he got in response, along with a confused expression, cemented the truth. He was two days late.

“I'm so sorry,” Roman blurted out. “Completely lost track of time.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Logan said, but he was still eyeing Roman suspiciously. Roman quickly quieted to hear what Logan was going to do.

“I’m free now.” Logan patted the couch next to him. “We can brainstorm now, if you would like.”

Which answer was the correct one? Logan could be annoyed about the whole thing and looking for a chance to insult Roman. But he looked earnest enough. He probably wanted to get things over with and give Thomas some good ideas. Okay, that was fine. This was fine! Roman was doing great already. The ‘missed the date’ thing wasn’t optimal, but other than that, this was going so much better than it usually did.

So Roman shared his ideas. He made sure to hesitate before each one, so Logan could stop him if need be. He peppered in a few compliments, kept his voice level, and pointed out the flaws before Logan could. Everything was efficient. Logan tried to make conversation at some point, but Roman knew that was a trap and would just lead to Logan getting annoyed at Roman “getting off-track” or “not taking this seriously.” So Roman didn’t take the bait, only talking about the ideas. Logan frowned a bit but followed his lead.

As soon as the ideas were finished with, Roman cleared up his space and stood up. Lingering after he was needed never ended well.

“You’re leaving?” Logan asked.

“We’re done, are we not?”

“Of course,” Logan said, but he didn’t look convinced. Oh no. Roman had done something wrong and now Logan was going to yell at him.

“Is there something you need?” Roman asked after a few seconds of silence. He tried to sound polite instead of dismissive, but the tone didn’t come off how he liked, and he winced.

“No, I--” Logan paused. “We’re...we’re watching the filmed version of Hamilton tomorrow night. If you’d like to join us, that...would be adequate.”

“I--” Roman tried very hard to keep from squealing and jumping around the room in excitement. “Sure! I’d love to.”

Was that too eager? No, Logan just looked...relieved. Almost happy. Patton had put him up to this, probably, and he didn’t want to fail at even a simple task. Well, Roman was glad he could give Specs an ego-boost for the day.

Roman quickly excused himself before Logan could take the invitation back. He closed the door behind him, hopped up and down, and squealed. He shook his fists and twirled around and hummed a few lines of Hamilton. Because it was Hamilton! And someone wanted him to be there! He would get to watch Hamilton with his whole fam-ILY!

He was going to watch Hamilton.

With everyone.

Oh, no.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. It was tomorrow night. He would be watching the Hamilfilm with everyone. So, so many chances to mess up. And he’d never practiced a movie night scenario before. He’d figured it would never actually happen in real life.

But here it was. He was invited. And he only had a day to prepare.

So Roman spent an entire day in the Imagination, watching Hamilton over and over with the other Sides surrounding him. He practiced eating just enough popcorn, laughing quietly, and making jokes. What he found? The best way to maintain peace was to simply shut up. No snippy comments, they annoyed Logan, who was trying to focus. No singing, it got on Virgil’s nerves. No trying to talk to Patton, who sat next to him. Patton didn’t want to talk to Roman. Every time he opened his mouth, things went wrong, and he was left curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and Lin-Manuel Miranda singing onscreen.

It was a good film. The close-ups were fun and the choreography was top-notch. Maybe Roman would watch it on his own later and actually get to sing along. Then again, he’d seen it ten times or more now, thanks to all his run-throughs of every possible scenario. Any magic the show possessed at first had drained away.

He wasn’t late to the movie night, thank goodness. Patton smiled and made room for him on the couch. Roman took just the right amount of popcorn, ignoring the yowling of his stomach, and settled in to watch. They were all in the positions he’d practiced with. Patton curled up on the couch, Virgil perched on top of it, Janus sprawled on the floor, Logan in the chair nearby, and Remus behind the TV. Patton was giggling over all the puns, Virgil was trying not to look excited and failing, Logan was monologuing under his breath, Janus was rapping along, and Remus was digging around between his toes.

And Roman stayed silent. He tamped down his excitement and simply nodded along to the music. He let Logan rant about the costume design and Virgil poke fun at some of the jokes. He let Janus hum the tunes and Remus shout out all the innuendos. It ached to just sit there, almost as if he wasn’t present, but he knew that being invisible was the only way he could leech off this comfort and familiarity. He had been included, and he wasn’t going to mess this up.

“Hey, Roman?” Patton asked during the intermission. “You doing okay?”

“Of course!” Roman declared. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been kind of...quiet?” Patton’s eyebrows were furrowed. “I thought you’d like this. I know how much you love Hamilton.”

And what could Roman say? That he’d already seen this exact film a dozen times in preparation? That he’d seen every ending where he spoke up, and none of them were good? That he really wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at when he couldn’t just stop the scenario and cry on his own?

“Apologies,” Roman said instead. “I’m...I’m just tired.”

Patton looked about to continue the conversation, but What’d I Miss had begun to play, so he turned back to the TV and let it be. Roman settled in for the second act. He really wished he could just leave, but he still liked being surrounded by his friends, and they’d think it was rude if he said goodnight early.

He kept quiet, despite Patton’s confusion. He caught Virgil giving him weird looks, Janus pausing before every song like he expected Roman to join in, and even Logan eventually ran out of steam and fell almost silent.

“This is such a good song!” Patton exclaimed, humming the upper part. Janus took the lower. “Does anyone else want to sing with us?”

It was a completely transparent attempt to get Roman to sing. But no. Even if Patton seemed to want it, he’d quickly tire of Roman’s dramatics, and Virgil and Logan would hate Roman for being such a nuisance. So Roman just shrugged and smiled, enjoying Patton’s cheerful humming and Janus’ smooth vocals, pretending he didn’t wish that he could slip in between them and sing along.

Pretending was all Roman was good at, wasn’t it?

When Hamilton ended, Patton smiled and said “Wanna watch something else, guys?”

“How about Disney?” Virgil asked, watching Roman carefully. “I know one of us would like that.”

“Actually,” Roman said, standing up and stretching, “I'm quite fatigued, and a prince needs his beauty sleep. You can continue without me! I hope you have a wonderful night.”

Everyone shared glances, but Roman didn’t stick around to figure out what they meant. He waved and sunk out, returning to his room and sitting on the floor for a long, long time.

That was all he’d ever wanted. A chance to be part of the group. And he hadn’t even messed it up. So why did it feel so empty?

Roman was struck with a horrible thought. Had he left the Imagination? Was that the real movie night? Or was it just another scenario? Maybe he hadn’t watched the real Hamilton at all. That would explain why everyone was acting so strangely, all quiet and hesitant. No, it wouldn’t, because they would act the same as he expected, that was how the Imagination worked--

Roman reached out and ran his fingers over the carpet. This was real. That was real. Everything had happened for real. He couldn’t imagine the little details, like the reflections of the TV in Patton’s glasses, the threadbare edge of Virgil’s hoodie, the time Logan started singing along and immediately flushed bright red.

Still, the next morning, he casually mentioned to Patton the Hamilton movie. Just to make sure.

And Patton laughed and agreed. So it had really happened. That was good.

It apparently hadn’t a week or so later, after a long session of possible-movie-nights so he could be prepared if he was invited again.

“Did you know female crabs lay between 1,000 and 2,000 eggs?” Remus asked in the middle of lunch. “What I’m saying is, there are enough crabs to take over the world and make us all their servants.”

“You already told us that,” Roman said, smiling.

“I did?”

“Yeah, during Moana, remember?”

That got Roman a long, blank stare. Then Remus finally said, “I haven’t watched Moana in months, bro. And I’ve never watched it with you.”

“Huh?” Roman thought back to when he’d seen Moana. It was a dark night with storms on the horizon, and Patton had fallen asleep during the first song, and Logan had gotten annoyed at Roman hiccuping so Roman started over--

Oh.

“Whoops!” Roman laughed. “That didn’t actually happen. My bad.”

Remus was looking at him like he was insane, which was strange, because usually Remus was the one who was probably insane.

“Gotta go,” Roman said quickly, and disappeared. He spent the rest of the day berating himself for being an idiot and telling himself everything was fine. He’d just gotten a little confused, is all. He’d get some sleep tonight and he’d be fine tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow morning, he hadn’t slept a wink, and he wasn’t even sure it was tomorrow morning. Time was starting to blend together. Roman woke up and he didn’t know what day it was. Roman forgot he could say “Cut” in the Imagination because he forgot it was the Imagination. Roman said “Cut” in the middle of a conversation in the real world and had to quickly cover for it. Roman showed up for a deadline a week early. Roman made a joke about something Virgil hadn’t actually said. Roman flinched when Patton entered the room after a long lecture from Patton that hadn’t actually happened. Roman assumed one conversation hadn’t happened until it was referenced again and he realized it was real. Roman found himself panicking in the middle of the day, unable to name whether things were real or not.

Yes, he could feel everything around him, but was he really here? Was this the Imagination? He felt disconnected from his own body, unable to make any choices, unable to settle his thoughts. He found himself curled on the floor, shaking, running his hands over his outfit and trying to tell himself it really existed. Trying to stop himself from crying.

Everything was fine. His interactions with the Sides were good, nobody hated him, everything was peaceful. It didn’t matter if Roman felt like the world was careening around him. All that mattered was serenity for the Sides and success for Thomas. If everyone else was happy, it was fine.

Roman tried mentioning it to them. In the Imagination, of course, so there would be no real-world impact. Everyone was mad.

It was Janus who stuck out to Roman the most, because Janus was the one who grabbed Roman by the arm and said he was being selfish, didn’t he want to be better than a villain, clearly they had made a mistake allowing him to stick around. And he tossed Roman into the Subconscious, screaming. That would be where Roman woke up, if this was a nightmare, but it wasn’t. He had to snap his fingers and crumple to the ground in his room, gasping for breath.

Janus showed up at his door a few days later. Roman said “Just a minute!” so he could run through some breathing exercises and calm his shaking hands and recite the pointers for interacting with Janus. Let Janus have control of the conversation, apologize whenever necessary, and don’t rise to any of his bait.

“Roman?” Janus asked.

“Why, hello!” Roman said, opening the door just a bit so Janus couldn’t see the mess. He hadn’t spent any time cleaning his room. He’d been busy practicing. “What brings you here, Janus?” No clever nickname. Clever nicknames had been generally frowned upon in the Imagination.

“I...” Janus looked uncharacteristically...nervous. “I wanted to talk to you. Check on you.”

“Oh?” Roman asked, his stomach dropping. “And why is that?”

“I can sense lies,” Janus said. “As you know. And...I--you--”

Roman froze.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Janus said quickly, “I’m just concerned. We all are. I know you’re upset with me for what happened, and I’m truly sorry about that. We all are. Just...we would appreciate, even if you can’t forgive us, for you to tolerate us? You haven’t been yourself lately, and we’d appreciate--I’d appreciate--to know how we can make it up to you.”

Roman needed to answer. But all he could see was Janus grabbing him with an angry light in his eyes, Janus snapping at him when he said the wrong thing, Janus saying he was selfish and evil and not worth anyone’s time, Janus laughing at Roman’s discomfort, Janus calling him the evil twin, Janus sending him to the Subconscious and telling him to never come back--

“Roman?” Janus was stepping forward, concern on his face, but all Roman heard was the rushing of blood in his ears. All he saw was Janus’ twisted smile as he tore Roman down.

“I--” Roman stumbled backwards. “Don’t--”

“Don’t what?” Janus asked.

“I have to go.” Roman turned away so Janus couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. He fumbled with his doorknob and slammed the door in Janus’ face, sinking down as soon as it was closed, leaning on the wood. Breathe. He needed to breathe. Count from one to ten and back to one, in and out, big breaths. He needed to stop crying.

“Roman?” he heard from the other side of the door. Oh, no. He’d forgotten to make sure his room was soundproof.

Janus had heard him. He’d heard him crying.

Roman dug his fingers into his arm. Stupid.

“Roman, are you okay?”

Roman tried to muster up a “Yes, sorry, I’m busy/tired/alright.” Tried to find the perfect cadence and the perfect words. But he was so far from perfect right now.

“Go away,” he said to the door.

“Roman--”

“Go away!” he screamed. “Leave me alone!”

There was silence. Maybe Janus had listened to someone else for once in his life. Roman laughed a bit and found himself crying again. He’d messed up. He’d messed up for good. He hadn’t followed the script, he’d allowed himself to be weak, and now Janus would never talk to him again.

Roman didn’t even bother to practice that night. He curled up in his bed and listened to his playlist of breakup songs and cried his eyes out. By morning, his face was red and blotchy and the searing pain in his heart had turned to a dull ache. He wasn’t ready to face the other sides by any means, of course, but he felt a little more prepared to accept his fate.

So when he heard a hesitant knock on his door and a “Kiddo, can you come downstairs for a bit?” Roman braced himself and obeyed the order.

He immediately stiffened when he saw all five of the Sides, plus Thomas, sitting in the living room. Great. Thomas was here. He could be told by his Center that he was useless. All he’d ever dreamed of.

“You okay?” Patton asked. “If--if you just want to talk to one of us, or only some of us, that’s fine. Just say the word, kiddo.”

“It’s fine,” Roman said, even though it wasn’t. “Where do I sit?”

Virgil gestured at the middle of the couch. Roman slowly sat down, surrounded by the people he used to call friends, the same organization as movie nights. As all the fake scenarios he’d run. He felt so unprepared now, so naked, laid bare for everyone to see. He hadn’t even bothered to make sure his face was clear. At least he wasn’t panicking. He just felt numb and adrift.

“Greetings,” Roman said, smiling at everyone.

“Roman,” Janus said, and Roman flinched.

“We need to talk,” Thomas said, and Roman nodded. He knew.

“Clearly there are some things we need to sort out.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “About last night, and, well, the past few months.”

Roman swallowed. “I’m sorry. I’m--I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Virgil frowned. “What’re you sorry for? We were gonna say that we were sorry.”

Roman lost his train of thought. “What?” he finally stammered, looking around for a clue.

“We’re sorry,” Thomas said. “Clearly you’ve been hurting and angry with us, and we assumed that would change on its own if we gave you time, but--”

“It just made things worse.” Patton smiled softly. “So...we’re sorry. Really sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” Roman repeated blankly. “All of you?”

“I know it doesn’t mean much.” Roman looked to Logan, who was fidgeting with his tie, staring at his feet. “But we hope we can make up for...mistakes. We might have made. Prior.”

“That episode was not ideal,” Janus said. “And despite my anger, I should not have said the things I did. So yes. We are sorry. I am sorry.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Remus said from where he was sandblasting a sculpture of male anatomy. “Didn’t do anything wrong. But seriously bro, you’re acting really freaky and not in the fun way, so yeah. Talk it out or whatever.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Patton said, and he actually sounded thankful.

“I--” Roman regretted opening his mouth the moment all heads swung back towards him. “What?”

“Um, we’re sorry?” Virgil gave him a weird look. “Thought we made it pretty clear, Princey.”

Roman looked at each of them. They all looked sincere. They all watched him with varying degrees of concern and apologetic hesitation. Their eyes burned into his skin. He felt like he was floating off the couch. He dug his hands into the fabric but he couldn’t feel it between his fingers.

“I...I forgive you,” he said slowly, the movements of his mouth not matching the words. Why did everything feel like it was underwater? Why did everything seem so far away? He tried to figure out whether he was breathing. Yes, he was breathing, his chest kept contracting. He didn’t feel like he was breathing.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong--

“Roman?” Logan asked. Stood up. Stepped forward.

Roman pressed himself back against the couch.

Logan stopped. Held up his hands. Did Roman look scared? Was Roman scared? Maybe. He should be, he knew that, but everything was spinning.

Was he breathing?

No. He wasn’t breathing. He tried to take a deep breath but it turned out he had been breathing all along, and now his chest hurt. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

Virgil was saying something. Roman flinched away from him. He didn’t want to get yelled at. Not yet. He just needed some time to remember how to move. He’d moved a second ago. Why wasn’t it working now?

“Roman!” cut through the haze in his mind. Virgil was sitting in front of him. That was weird. Virgil had been on top of the couch a second ago, right?

“Breathe,” Virgil was repeating. He reached for Roman’s hand and Roman flinched away involuntarily. A little spasm of hurt crossed Virgil’s face. Ugh, he’d made Virgil upset, stupid, stupid--

“Breathe, Roman, breathe!”

He was breathing, why couldn’t they see that? He was breathing fine.

“I’m fine,” Roman forced out. It felt like a punch in the stomach. And all of a sudden, everything fell back into place. His hands, clenching around the couch for dear life. His knees pressed together. His shoulders tensed. Virgil sitting near him, trying to get him to breathe, Janus and Logan and Patton and Thomas staring at him, shocked and worried.

“You’re not,” Virgil said.

Roman tried to fight back.

But he hadn’t been breathing this whole time.

And his chest was too tight to form words.

“Breathe,” Virgil said again, and Roman closed his eyes and breathed.

It hurt. It shouldn’t hurt this much to breathe. It shouldn’t make his head spin and his eyes water. But he breathed. He breathed in and out and let the air fill him up, travel to every corner of his body. He could feel everything now. Everything was real. Everything was too real, grating on him, pressing down around him. He could feel a million things. The air smelled like a million scents.

That exercise. Name five things, four things, three things. He felt everything. He heard everything. He tasted too much.

Everything was way too much.

It took too much effort to raise a hand.

He sunk out.

He crept into the Imagination, white upon white, nothing there but possibility and emptiness. He sat there and let the itchy wrong pour out of him, until he was wrung out on the floor, empty and exhausted. He curled up on the ground and slept. He could have gone to his bed, but he didn’t want the choking cover of sheets over him, the rustles of air around him. Here in the Imagination, it was quiet and still and he could just wait.

When he woke up, he’d crafted the living room in his head while he slept, because there was everyone right before he’d sunk out. Concerned and frozen and helpless. They were just trying to help, and he’d panicked for no reason.

Although. Now that he was awake, the whole situation was just weird. They were apologizing. To him. Why? Why on earth would they try to apologize? And why had Roman felt so off-kilter from the start? Why was everything so wrong?

Unless--

It hadn’t really happened.

Roman looked around at the facsimile he’d created. Down to the smallest details, it was perfect. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if he looked at it and the real room side-by-side.

It hadn’t happened, had it?

Roman didn’t know why that felt like such a blow. Of course it hadn’t happened. Why would it? There had been no signs of it happening before then, and it didn’t match what any of the Sides really thought of him. They wouldn’t apologize to him. They’d done nothing wrong! And they wouldn’t have been so scared and worried when Roman freaked out.

Great. His subconscious was desperate for validation and made him a nice little scenario. He didn’t realize he was that much of a pathetic, selfish, greedy mess.

But this was good! It meant there wouldn’t be any humiliation or strange looks when he returned to the real world. He could continue maintaining his facade, and none of them would judge him for his weakness. Or worse, feel forced to tolerate him out of pity.

Roman’s stomach growled. Well, fantastic. He didn’t want to face the Sides again, but he’d probably faint if he didn’t have any food. Was it even breakfast time? Maybe not. Time was an illusion anyway.

Well. He climbed to his feet, vanished the living room, and stretched his arms and legs. Then he tore a little door in the side of the Imagination and strolled into his own room. He checked himself in the mirror. He looked surprisingly good for someone who just had a breakdown surrounded by manufactured figments of his imagination that resembled the other Sides.

The kitchen wasn’t empty like he’d hoped. Patton and Logan were having a hushed conversation, Janus was occasionally adding to it while fixing up several mugs of tea, and Remus and Virgil were sprawled on the floor together, watching what seemed to be Coraline on Virgil’s phone. It was really sweet. Roman smiled to himself as he walked in, stepping carefully over Remus’ feet.

Patton and Logan froze as soon as Roman walked in. Janus looked around and almost dropped the mugs.

“Hello!” Roman said brightly, opening the cupboard and grabbing some cereal. “Sorry to disturb you, I’m just getting some cereal. Carry on!”

Virgil made a small choking noise. Roman looked over and saw that he was struggling to his feet, staring at Roman with wide eyes.

“What is it?” Roman asked after a few seconds when it became clear Virgil wasn’t going to talk. “Is there something wrong?”

“Where have you been?” everyone yelled simultaneously.

Roman blinked. “Oh? I--how long have I been gone? I truly didn’t mean for it to be that long. Is there something I missed?”

“We were so worried!” Patton was babbling, running up to Roman and looking him over. “You just sunk out, and we couldn’t find you anywhere, and Remus said you weren’t letting him into the Imagination, and--”

“What?” Roman asked. “When did I sink out?”

“Yesterday,” Logan said. “After our conversation in the living room? You appeared distressed and sunk out before we could continue it.”

“Our conversation in the--” Roman froze. He thought he’d left the Imagination behind! Had he only fooled himself into leaving? Had he just sliced through one layer and tumbled into another, tossed between different pages of a book? Perhaps he was still dreaming, even. No, even his lucid dreaming wasn’t as realistic as this.

“Roman?” Patton asked, reaching forward but stopping himself, the concern painfully obvious in his face.

“Cut,” Roman murmured, waiting for the scene to change.

Nothing happened.

“What did you say?” Logan asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” Roman blurted out, stepping backwards. He tried to mentally tear the scene apart, go back to the start, rewind, pause, anything. There was no movement. All the Sides continued to stare at him.

There was something wrong. Why wasn’t the Imagination answering him? It was attuned to his every thought, molded by assumption and creation, a place where Roman was in complete control. It wouldn’t just not listen to him. Unless--

Unless this was real after all.

Which meant...

“We talked yesterday,” Roman said slowly, gauging the reactions. “That was real?”

“What?” Virgil asked. “Of course it was real, what are you talking about?”

It was real.

He’d really been in that room. They’d really apologized to him. And he’d really had a breakdown on the couch in front of everyone he knew.

“Wonderful,” Roman said. “Fantastic. Amazing. I have to go.”

“Wait,” Janus said.

Roman did not wait. He turned on his heel and practically sprinted out of the kitchen. Cereal be damned. He should have sunk out, but his thoughts were too fragmented to picture his own room, and he was afraid that the shifting of worlds around him would throw him off again. He’d just managed to get a handle on reality. He wasn’t in a mood to mess with it.

That was his mistake, though. Because as he bolted down the hallway, a figure collided with his chest and sent him to the ground.

“What--” Roman rubbed his shoulder and stared up at Remus. Remus stuck out his tongue, hands on his hips. Two octopus tentacles wrapped around Roman’s chest and held him in place.

“Remus!” Roman cried in annoyance.

“Got him!” Remus yelled.

There were footsteps behind him. Roman looked around and saw the other Sides approaching. He tried to wriggle out of Remus’ grasp, then tried to sink out, but the stupid slimy tentacles kept him in place.

“Let me go,” Roman complained as a bit of goop slipped down his leg.

“Only if you promise not to run again, bro.”

Roman sighed. “Promise. Now let me go.”

The tentacles made a little slurping noise and disappeared into Remus’ back. Roman jumped up and started wiping the slime off his uniform. Ugh, it was a mess. He’d need to conjure a new costume now! Yes, he could just snap the stains away, but he’d still feel the uncleanness in his soul.

“Disgusting,” Roman said as his fingers came away green and slippery. “Seriously. Did you have to do that?”

“You high-tailed it the heck out of there,” Patton said apologetically. “And we really need to talk.”

Roman bit his lip. “Yeah. I--I know.”

“Do you think...” Logan looked around. “Speaking in the hallway is not an optimal place. Perhaps we should go to the living room.”

“Or the real world.” Virgil curled into himself the moment everyone looked his direction. “What? I think Thomas should be there.”

Roman flinched at the mention of Thomas, and now all eyes were on him again, cloying and cloaking him in concern.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Virgil added. “Duh.”

“I--sure.” It would hurt to see Thomas, to have Thomas finally condemn him, but it was best to get everything out of the way at once. Like ripping off a bandaid or the sword from the stone. “That works for me.”

“Is he busy?” Patton asked.

“He’s watching Parks and Recreation,” Janus said. “Honestly, I think we’ll be doing him a favor by interrupting.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Logan said firmly. “This is important.”

Roman swallowed down the lump of ice in his throat. Yeah, he supposed it was important. They’d finally seen how weak and worthless his Creativity was, and they needed to decide what to do immediately, before Roman’s problems affected Thomas’ creative performance.

“Glad we’re decided.” Janus clapped his hands. Half of them rose up in the living room and the other half appeared in the living room. Roman was in his usual spot by the crooked lamp, Virgil stood by the stairs, Logan in front of the kitchen, Patton by the blinds. Remus sprawled on the floor near Roman and Janus stood by the sofa.

“Thomas?” Logan asked.

Thomas, true to Janus’ word, had been watching Parks and Recreation. When Logan called his name, he paused the TV, jumping up.

“Hey, guys!” Thomas said. “What’s the matter? Thought we didn’t have that filming session until later.”

Virgil winced. “Yeah. Um. There’s...there’s a bit of a...situation?”

“A what?” Thomas looked around and seemed to finally see the serious looks on everyone’s faces. “What happened?”

“Who’d like to tell him?” Janus asked, his eyes lingering on Roman. A clear invitation.

"I--” Roman’s voice cracked, and he swallowed. “I can regale him with the tale, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Go for it, kiddo.” Patton’s usual encouraging smile was nowhere to be found. It made Roman feel strangely empty.

Roman could easily tell a lie. Leave things out. But Janus was staring right at him, so he knew even a lie of omission would be detected.

And besides, they deserved to know just how much of a screwup he was.

“So.” Roman placed a hand on his chest. “I, as the prince of your dreams, possess a land known as the Imagination. It is a place where I can conjure creations and sift through stories until an idea sticks. Remus has his own version.”

“Damn straight,” Remus agreed, sticking a lollipop up his nose. “Mine has all the cool stuff. Roman just uses his for rescue missions and heroic quests or whatever.”

“They’re fun,” Roman argued, before he remembered talking back was not the way to handle any conversation. Thankfully, Remus seemed occupied with shoving the lollipop nearer to his brain, and didn’t fight him on it.

“Well, yes, that’s the general idea,” Roman continued, turning back to the others. “I also use it, sometimes, to practice. Run through scenarios. A rehearsal of sorts before any big discussion.”

“Like what we did after I missed Joan’s performance?” Thomas asked.

“Exactly! That was what gave me the idea, actually.” Roman waved a hand. “It helps me feel more in control of the situation and avoid messing things up. I can predict how you will all react and find the best way to navigate a conversation.”

“Okay,” Virgil said slowly, “I can already predict where this might go wrong, but keep talking.”

“Then, you know, we had...” Roman scratched at the back of his neck. “The most recent episode. In which I said some rather unsavory and unprincely things to our snaky sixth side, which I am truly and deeply sorry for.”

“You’re forgiven,” Janus said almost instantly. Everyone stared at him. “What?” he asked. “It’s been months. Roman was upset and lashed out, I understand he didn’t mean to hurt me. Quite honestly, I was more concerned that he hadn’t forgiven me.”

Roman tried to hide his complete and utter shock. He didn’t realize Janus was such a good person as to feel guilty for that! Well, Janus needed all the Sides to tolerate him in order to help Thomas, that was probably the reason.

“Of course I’ve forgiven you!” Roman declared. “You were upset and you fired back, and the jab was not uncalled for. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Janus frowned slightly.

“Anyway,” Roman said, looking back at Thomas. “After that, I started practicing more often, and...I began losing track of time? Also, being exposed to that amount of rejection a day was--draining. My creative processes have suffered thanks to the amount of time I’ve spent improving my interpersonal expertise. So I apologize for that, deeply and sincerely. I promise I’ll be on-track soon--”

“Wait.” Logan looked deep in thought. “What do you mean, ‘that amount of rejection?’”

“Oh.” Virgil winced. “Knew it was gonna be something like that.”

“What?” Patton asked.

“Okay, Princey. Tell me if this sounds familiar.” Virgil blew his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re basically running through worse-case scenarios. Sure, you tell yourself they’re all accurate, but they’re the worst kind of accurate. They’re the stuff that wouldn’t actually happen. Probably on some level you get that it’s completely ridiculous to think you’d ever get that response or be in that situation, but it still seems plausible, so you keep doing it. And you start overthinking every little choice until you’re convinced you’re doomed to failure and think everyone hates you even though in real life, everyone thinks you’re great.”

Roman stared at Virgil for a very long time. There was a lot to unpack there. “How did you--”

“I’m literally Anxiety,” Virgil said, smirking. “That’s exactly what I do. Like every day.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound healthy,” Patton murmured.

“No, it isn’t,” Virgil said, giving Roman a pointed look. “Anyway. Continue.”

“Um. Alright.” Roman braced himself. “So I was having the conversation with the other Sides and you and I may-have-not-known-whether-it-was-real-or-not-and-it-was-rather-terrifying.”

“What happened?” Thomas asked quietly.

“He had a panic attack,” Logan said. It could have been blunt, but it wasn’t. It was hesitant and soft, softer than Roman had ever heard Logan be, save for when Virgil was upset.

Thomas looked at Roman, and Roman pointedly stared at the floor, clasping his hands behind his back and trying not to bounce nervously.

“He’s been acting strangely for a while,” Janus added. Again, his voice was strangely soft. “It would...it would make sense, his apprehension whenever we talked to him, if Virgil’s theory is correct and he’s worried that we hate him.”

Roman frowned. “Wait, you don’t?”

That got everyone’s attention. Roman’s stomach dropped to the floor as Patton made a little sad noise, Virgil grimaced, and Logan stepped back like he’d been punched.

“No!” Thomas exclaimed. “Of course not!”

Roman laughed a little, waiting for the punch line. None came.

“We don’t hate you!” Patton managed, his eyes filling with tears. “Oh my goodness, Roman, we love you!”

“You’re fun to stab,” Remus said from the floor. “And, like, fun. In general.”

“You’re intelligent and thoughtful and creative...” Logan waved his hands. “I envy you and your ability to fight for your ideas and create such impactful stories. I have always valued you.”

“You’re...” Virgil swallowed. “You make us better. Make me better. Always.”

“I--” Roman covered his mouth. “You’re lying. You can’t--”

“I can taste lies, remember?” Janus smiled at Roman, a smile so different than his usual smirk, reassuring and steady. “They’re not.”

Roman couldn’t stop a little whimper from escaping. “I didn’t mess up?”

“No,” Thomas said, face open and caring and so, so soft. “You’re still you. You’re not perfect, but none of us are. You’re clearly so remorseful about your mistakes. Roman...you’re my hero. Always have been, always will be.”

Roman tried to take a deep breath and steady himself, but it caught in his throat. “You--” He shook his head and found words spilling from his lips. “I thought I ruined everything, you said I did, you said I was selfish and evil and worthless and I should just duck out and--”

“We never said any of that.” Logan shook his head. “We would never say any of that. Those are blatant falsehoods.”

“That’s not us,” Virgil said. “That’s what you were telling yourself.”

“The Imagination isn’t realistic.” Remus gave Roman a long look. “Never has been. It’s not what life is really like. It’s always warped by how we see the world. So basically, Raggedy Ann is right. That stuff you thought we’d say to you? Total bull. You unreliable-narrator-ed yourself, bro-bro.” Remus smiled a little bit. “Happens to the best of us.”

“You’re amazing.” Patton’s jaw was set. “You’re wonderful and special and worth the world. I love you. We love you and we need you here. And--and I’m so sorry we didn’t see you were hurting.”

“It’s not your fault,” Roman said. “I’ve always been a good actor, right?”

That got another long silence.

“Kiddo,” Patton said, “would you like a hug?”

“What?” Roman asked.

“A hug,” Patton clarified, but that didn’t make any more sense. Why would Patton want to hug Roman?

“Hugs have been scientifically proven to increase mood,” Logan added.

Thomas just opened his arms.

Roman stumbled forward, waiting for Thomas to pull away from him, but nothing happened.

Roman sunk into Thomas’ arms.

Warm. Fire. Burning up and down his skin, heating him up from the inside. Roman buried his face in Thomas’ shoulder as Thomas’ arms came up and circled Roman. Thomas rubbed at Roman’s back. Roman whined--embarrassing, but it felt so good.

And then there was more. Patton, wrapping around his waist and pressing his cheek into Roman’s sash. Logan, running his hands through Roman’s hair. Virgil, curling up into Roman’s side and pressing against his chest. Remus, a little exuberant but surprisingly gentle, ruffling Roman’s hair and placing his head on Roman’s shoulder. A gloved hand traced Roman’s cheek, and Roman reached up to hold it. Janus smiled back at him.

“Guys, you--” Roman choked on his own words and realized he was going to cry. Great. Just what the moment needed--Roman ruining it by being sensitive--

“Hey.” Thomas squeezed him tighter. “It’s okay, Roman. Let it out.”

“Really?” Roman asked, his voice small.

“You seem to need it,” Logan said.

“So go ahead.” Virgil smiled. “No judgement here.”

Roman closed his eyes and a few hot tears dripped down his face. He took a deep, shaky breath. Then Janus ran a thumb across his cheekbone, burning and soft, and Roman broke. He sobbed into Thomas’ shoulder, holding onto his friends--his friends--for dear life. Patton made a few little encouraging noises, and Thomas whispered little things. It’s alright. It’s okay. You’re safe, we’re real, we love you.

Roman grasped on the words like they were his lifelines.

He didn’t really believe them. Not yet. But oh, how he wanted to.

“We should...” Logan said after a long time, after Roman’s tears had long dried but he’d remained in the hug to soak up the warmth. “We need to talk about this. We need to...make a plan. Find out how to be better.”

“Later.” That was Janus. “For now, I think we could all use a movie night.”

Virgil snorted. “It’s like ten in the morning.”

“Movie morning, then.” Janus looked to Thomas. “Does that sound good?”

“It sounds great.” Thomas smiled as Patton snapped his fingers and onesies replaced their usual outfits. Even Logan was wearing his unicorn onesie. “What do you guys want to watch?”

“Uh--” Roman waved a hand hesitantly. “Um. Can I--”

“Go ahead,” Patton said.

“I’d...I’d like to watch Hamilton? I...I knew--I thought. I thought you wouldn’t like it if I sang, and I, um. I didn’t enjoy it that much.”

“Neither did we,” Virgil said. “Missed having you rapping along.”

“That sounds adequate,” Logan said, flashing Roman a smile and leading the way to the couch. “I’ll get it ready. Thomas, some snacks?”

Thomas walked into the kitchen with Patton, and they pulled some snacks out of the cupboard. Roman sat down with Logan, Remus, Virgil, and Janus. Virgil sat by his shoulder and pressed his leg against Roman’s side. Janus lay a hand on Roman’s. Remus lay across Roman’s feet. And Logan bumped shoulders with Roman. The touch was warm and fiery and made Roman want to giggle uncontrollably. So he did, just a bit. Nobody seemed to mind.

Thomas and Patton came back with snacks, distributing them. Logan turned on the TV. And the first lines of Hamilton started to play.

It took Roman three songs to work up the courage to sing along. When he did, Patton’s smile lit up the room. Janus dipped lower to harmonize. Virgil huffed happily. Remus clapped his hands. And Logan consented to add a few notes in, here and there.

Thomas just stared at Roman, and for once, the attention wasn’t stifling. Because for once, Roman knew he wouldn’t be judged.

“This is real,” he whispered to no one. “Right?”

"It’s real, Princey.” Virgil reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ve got you.”

Roman smiled.

And for the first time in months, he felt at peace.

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