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hellfirenacht · 3 days ago

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Saving Throws

Fic Summary: Hellfire is your favorite place to be, but why is it so hard to show up when the sun sets at 4 pm?

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, Seasonal Depression, Hurt/Comfort, suicidal ideation if you squint but Reader does NOT want to die and is not actively suicidal, drug use, smoking, no use of y/n, reader is not described, assumed fem!reader, happy ending, SFW

No Beta, we live and we laugh and we love.

Word Count: 4.8k

Master List

It wasn’t even 5 pm, and it was already dark outside. You hated it. Stuck all day in school, too cold to be outside during lunch, and by the time you made it home any daylight had already faded over the horizon. On the weekends you could at least enjoy sitting by the window, taking in as much daylight as you could, and when school let out during the week, there was at least that precious 2 hours before the darkness came.

Fridays were the hardest, even though they shouldn’t be. Fridays used to be the day you looked forward to most because that was Hellfire. It was the one day you were guaranteed to see Eddie and the rest of your friends. You hated that you were moved to a different lunch period.

It was grey and gloomy out, the leaves on the trees that had brought you joy just a few short weeks before were now empty and dead. It was cold. There was no sunlight this Friday.

You still sat outside, hoping that a shock of cold for a few minutes would snap you out of the fog that had been creeping in the back of your mind for the last few weeks. You knew it was coming, inevitable, but it never got easier. You wished there was something more you could do to slow it.

October was a pleasant distraction, and usually you could combat the worst of it until January. Holidays and Hellfire were the best things to hold onto until March.

Today wasn’t one of those days. You didn’t want to go to Hellfire, you didn’t think you’d be able to add any modifiers to your ability score. You didn’t think you could find your character voice or pick a fight with Gareth or team up with Jeff.

In your state, you felt like you might just let the party down. Let Eddie down.

That was the worst part. You could handle the rest of your friends being disappointed in you, but Eddie was different. If you missed Hellfire, there wasn’t any guarantee that you’d come back and have your character still be alive. Most days you loved that he was a bit ruthless and sadistic as a DM. Most days, you cackled as he threatened to off someone’s character for being late or dipping out early or missing Hellfire completely. Most days you loved him- his DM style, that is.

Most days.

Today wasn’t most days.

It was now two minutes to 3:00 pm. If you hurried now, you could make it without a lecture. If you were five minutes late, you could blame it on going to the bathroom and Eddie would give you a look but wouldn’t hound you too bad. Later than that...

You had never been later than that. You had only ever been late once, and Eddie had forgiven you by giving you disadvantage on a roll that caused your character damage but ultimately didn’t kill them.

It took you five minutes to force your body to move back inside, your whole body covered in goosebumps from the cold. You pulled your jacket back on as you trudged towards the storage room where Hellfire met every week. You walked down the stairs where Eddie was just now starting in on his opening monologue. Ever the professional, he shot you a look, but didn’t stop.

You hated that look, you hated the idea of letting Eddie down, ever.

The game passed by in a haze. Even Eddie’s antics and loud voice couldn’t fully keep your attention today. You felt like you spent most of the time telling yourself to focus rather than actually focusing. It was fine, Doug and Mike took charge of the dungeon and you were happy to let them have the spotlight. You hoped you looked more like you were focusing hard on the battles and strategies over spacing out.

The relief of the meeting being over was washed away by the dark parking lot, the sun long gone despite the early hours. Everyone else was chatting excitedly about the dungeon and you trailed behind, readying yourself to say goodbye before heading to your car.

Everyone was loitering around Eddie’s van while he pretended to be annoyed as he smoked a cigarette. You liked these moments, where everyone was together and you didn’t feel as though the pressure was weighing down on you. Outside of Hellfire, even if it was dark outside you were starting to feel a little lighter, the fog in your mind clearing just slightly.

You took a hit off of Eddie’s cigarette. You didn’t normally smoke but the burn in your lungs at least helped you focus. You didn’t even mind it when you were teased for coughing so much.

One by one everyone else was picked up or drifted to their own cars, leaving you and Eddie. You were about to say goodbye, when he spoke up.

“So, where were you?” Eddie asked, dropping the cigarette and crushing it out with his boot. In the silence of the night, you could hear the slight hiss of the embers dying under his old Reeboks.

“Huh?” you asked, head snapping up to meet his eyes. Eddie crossed his arms and leaned against the van.

“You were late today, and I was benevolent enough to let it slide.” he said. “So, where were you?”

You wanted to tell him that you were only a little late, but you didn’t have the energy to challenge him. Normally you enjoyed the occasional argument or play fight with Eddie but today you didn’t have the energy. That spark was as cold as the smushed cigarette.

“I was in the bathroom. Made the mistake of eating the surprise casserole during lunch.” you shrugged. You didn’t want to lie to him. You hated lying to him. But there was no good way to explain that the reason you were late was because you had to convince yourself to go. There was no way Eddie could understand, and you didn’t have the words to make him understand.

How the hell could you explain that the place you wanted to be most was also the place that something deep inside you couldn’t bare to face. You hadn’t done anything wrong. Your friends hadn’t done anything wrong. Eddie hadn’t done anything wrong. So why did everything have to feel so wrong?

Eddie seemed to accept your excuse for now. He clapped you on the back, which cleared the haze in your mind for just long enough to make your heart beat faster and for a moment you could think again.

“Don’t be late again.” he said sternly, an evil glint in his eyes that usually made you melt. “Or else.”

“I won’t.” you said, wishing you knew if you were lying or not.

You kept your promise through November. Sacrificing those few moments of Friday sunlight to go directly to the club room after the bell rang. You were still dragging your feet, convincing yourself that you wanted to be with your friends as your shoes squeaked on the linoleum tile.

That was the worst part, being at Hellfire did make you feel better once you were there. But getting there was harder than actually coming to school. You still weren’t fully alert during club, but at least you were there. As long as you were there then you wouldn’t be in trouble and your friends would still like you and Eddie would still want you around-

Why was he giving you that look? Eddie walked into the club and had a disapproving look on his face. Anxiety flooded your system, washing away the haze as alarm bells rang in your head. You were here, right? It was Hellfire and you were on time, early even! You were here before Eddie. You had your character sheet, you had your figurine, you weren’t sitting in his chair-

“Where’s your shirt?” Eddie asked, and you felt your face flush of all blood. Your shirt...?

To your horror, you looked down at your shirt. It was an old faded t-shirt with the logo long since gone. It was soft, and usually worn for bed-

You hadn’t fully gotten dressed this morning. You slept in this shirt and had just thrown on a hoodie over it, not even thinking about the fact that Hellfire was today. You were out of uniform.

Fuck.

When you forgot your homework during class, you didn’t care if teachers gave you that disapproving look. You could block out your peers jeering at you for what you wore, they didn’t matter.

None of them mattered, but Eddie did.

“....Fuck.” you said, mostly to yourself, staring at the offending and comfortable material.

You expected him to lecture you, like everyone else. You braced yourself for him to tell you to leave and come back when you knew how to dress yourself again. A small part of your brain almost hoped that he would.

Instead he just gave you that manic, evil grin that you usually loved. You knew what was going to happen for the rest of the day.

“I hope you’re feeling lucky today, because I’m not going easy on you.” Eddie said. “In fact, I think today I might play favorites.”

Being Eddie’s favorite in Hellfire could be a death sentence if you weren’t careful. Being his favorite meant that he was going to pay special attention to you. Eddie didn’t often play favorites, but the last time he did it ended in Doug starting a new character sheet while rolling his saving throws. He was saved by a lucky 13 roll.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” you said, louder to show your disdain for this turn of events. Eddie only winked at you and started setting up the table and his area.

One by one, everyone showed up while you looked over your character sheet as if you were cramming for a test. Normally you loved any attention that Eddie gave you, but right now it felt like too much as you scrambled to try and remember what the hell was even going on in the campaign.

You pretended to have fun, swallowing down any panic you were feeling during the game. Even though all you wanted to do was go home and sleep and cry and disappear until Spring. How were you supposed to finish the campaign like this?

Eddie was picking on you the whole game, and you wanted to be mad at him. You wanted to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone and wasn’t it good enough that you were even there? But you couldn’t, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it because he wasn’t actually mad at you. You could see it in his eyes that there was nothing malicious behind that grin. This was a punishment, yes, but he wasn’t doing this to hurt you.

A few weeks ago you would have loved this, loved being picked on by him and having his attention and investment in your character. You would have been locked in, challenging him and pushing him as much as he was pushing you, cracking jokes and batting your eyelashes at him for fun.

You miss who you were a few weeks ago.

You had been fighting on equal footing, but now you felt backed into a corner. With a final push, and with an assist from Jeff, you managed to get your final attack in before the battle ended. You would be worse for wear next session, but alive.

By the time you all walked out of the school that evening, you felt extra drained. You had fun, you think. You should have had fun. Hellfire was always fun.

Something heavy fell on your shoulders and you made a noise and swatted in front of your face as Eddie snapped his fingers and smacked your face around a little. You felt the snout of that damned pig ring poke into your cheek.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” He asked, his arm swung around your shoulders as if it were the most casual thing in the world. The weight of his arm dragged you out of the clouds and back down to earth.

“No one’s home.” you deadpanned, but you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth from pulling up slightly. This was Eddie now, not the Freak, not the Dungeon Master, not the guitar lead of Corroded Coffin. No pressure.

“Should I tape a note to your face if I want to leave a message?” he asked.

“No, I’ve seen your sticky notes, they don’t stick.”

“That’s what happens when you drop them in slush.” Eddie shrugged. “Now, what the hell is wrong with you?”

That was a loaded question. “Alphabetically or chronologically? Actually scratch that, we don’t have time to get into that.” You laughed, hoping he’d drop it.

You felt Eddie’s hand move around your back from one shoulder to the other. He moved in front of you to make you face him completely. His free hand rested on your other shoulder, his head tilted down slightly. His head always tilted down like that when he was being serious. Shit, he wasn’t going to drop it.

“Is something going on?” he asked. “You were at the table but...” Eddie seemed to struggle with how to phrase it. “You’re phoning it in.” he finally settled on.

You hated disappointing Eddie. He was one of your best friends, and you admired him so much. How were you supposed to answer him without feeling like a massive failure?

Eddie had seen right through you, had noticed that your head and heart wasn’t in the game. Despite his looks, Eddie was always so intuitive about how people were feeling. He noticed when things were off.

This isn’t how you wanted him to notice you. It was ironic really, ever since you joined Hellfire all you wanted was Eddie’s attention, to catch his eye. Now that you had it, you wish he’d look anywhere else. This wasn’t the you that you wanted him to see.

“Finals.” you said, giving the canned answer that you had given to the guidance counselor early in the week. “Classes are kicking my ass and I’ve just been a bit off.” The counselor had bought it, and if Eddie didn’t you could blame stomach issues or-

“You sure?” Eddie asked, frowning. He was still holding your shoulders. “It’s just- it’s been weeks, man. You’re barely there.”

“There’s nothing wrong.” you tried to assure him. It was true, and that was the worst part. There was no reason why you should feel this way. Things weren’t bad at home, things were fine at school. The worst thing that’s happened in the past few weeks was today's encounter with an owlbear. “I’m just really tired lately. Stress. Can’t sleep.”

Eddie looked at you hard for a few seconds before nodding, finding the answer satisfactory. He let go of your shoulders and you immediately missed the pressure. He opened the back of his van and dug through a small mountain of clutter and pulled out his lunchbox.

“No, Eddie, it’s fine. I don’t have any money right now.” you said as he pulled out a small baggie. He tossed it to you anyway.

“Pay me back later.” he said. “Ten.”

It was a discount, he must be actually worried about you. The fog in your mind told you to take the weed and go home. To smoke and sleep and lay around for the next few days and wallow in whatever feeling this was.

It took you longer than it should to force your lips to say “I suck at rolling.”

And that’s how the two of you ended up at the far end of Forrest Hills trailer park, away from a majority of the trailers and RVs as Eddie carefully rolled the joint. This wasn’t something that happened often, the two of you hanging out alone. The last time it happened was the start of the school year when Eddie had given you a ride home when your car had a flat. The two of you ended up spending an hour in your driveway just talking. That had cemented the crush you had been suppressing for the past eternity. You had thought that maybe he had felt that same spark you did that night, but the two of you hadn’t been alone like that since.

Eddie took the first hit and handed the joint over to you. You held it for a moment, unsure if weed was a good idea with your already cloudy mind but you took a deep hit anyway.

“Woah, easy.” Eddie said, taking the joint back as you coughed from the smoke. He smacked you on the back a few times before offering you a swig from a water bottle. You chugged the rest of it before your coughs subsided. “It’s just me. You don’t need to smoke like you have something to prove.”

You winced at the call out. You absolutely did take that hit to try and impress Eddie and he saw right through you. Of course he did.

“Sorry.” you coraked out.

Eddie just shrugged and took another hit, leaning back against the driver side seat. The mixtape he put in was louder than you would have liked, but it kept you alert. You felt at ease for the first time in a while, excited even, and that made you feel guilty. You didn’t want your brain to be dependent solely on Eddie to function. That wasn’t fair to him.

You considered asking him to take you home when he started talking again. He turned up the music just slightly, his voice a little louder as he launched into a ramble about the guitar solo.

“Are metal songs usually this long?” you asked, leaning against the passenger side door to face him more.

“If they’re any good, yes.” Eddie laughed, shredding on his precious imaginary air guitar.

“It’s nice of Metallica to slow down in the middle of a song. Gives the pit a break, you know? Like, ‘Hey good work everyone! Grab some water and meet back in the pit in three minutes for the big finale!’” You laughed, taking a smaller hit from the joint.

“If you leave the pit, it doesn’t count. I don’t care how much they slow down.” Eddie said firmly.

“You have too many rules.” you shook your head. “Not everyone has the never ending stamina that you have.”

“That’s why we need to work on yours.” Eddie stretched out dramatically and dropped his feet in your lap, the heels of his Reeboks digging not unpleasantly into your thighs. “You’re damn near falling asleep on me at Hellfire, how am I gonna get you in the pit at our first big gig?”

Your stomach turned with guilt but you pushed through it. “Just toss me in from the stage and if I thrash enough I’m sure it’ll count.”

“Come on, you know it won’t count unless you start the pit willingly. If I can’t make you feel like you want to fight with our songs then I’ve failed.” Eddie pouted.

“You make me want to fight without your singing.” you teased, untying his shoe laces.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You froze, holding the broken aglet between your fingers. “Dunno what you mean.” you lied.

“These past few weeks you’ve been hanging back during battles and have barely talked during the campaign.” Eddie said. “Do you...”

“Do I what?” You asked, rolling the aglet.

“Do you enjoy Hellfire anymore?” he asked, his voice quiet and unsure. You felt your heart break at the question, you hated that your damn brain made him feel like this. You were fine suffering in silence, but the last thing you wanted was to drag Eddie down with you.

“No- I mean- yes.” you stuttered out. “I do like Hellfire. I promise.” It sounded childish, and you couldn’t force your voice to sound as sincere as you wanted it. Eddie would see through the bullshit in a heartbeat. “I.. I don’t know what’s wrong.” You conceded finally.

Eddie nudged you with his foot. “Talk to me. Normally you won’t stop talking during the campaign. Don’t clam up on me now.”

“It just... I get like this every year around this time. The sun disappears right after class and suddenly I feel like a damn zombie. I can’t think, or do anything. I feel like I’m fighting fog. You can’t punch fog.”

Eddie crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “That’s how fog works.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You’re oh so helpful.”

“Normally the way to get rid of fog is an assload of light. That’s your problem, huh? No light means more fog.”

“That seems to be the case.” you agreed and turned down another hit of weed. It wasn’t helping right now anyway.

“Should I shine one of the spotlights on you next time?” He suggested.

“You already did that this afternoon.” you deadpanned.

“Nah, I just made you participate. I’ll rig one of the drama spotlights to shine directly on you-”

“Giving me disadvantage on every roll because I’ll be blind.” you countered.

“You will be, but I might have mercy on your character. No, but I was thinking more of a Care Bear stare. Blast you with light to make you give a shit again.” He crushed out the joint.

“A Care Bear stare? Who even are you right now?” you stretched your own legs out to rest on his lap, your legs tangled together now. “You can’t even name three Care Bears!”

“I can so! There’s Grumpy Bear and uh... Happy Bear and Brave Heart.” Eddie said smugly.

“Wh- That last one isn’t even a bear, it’s a lion!”

Eddie threw his arms up dramatically. “Does it matter?”

“Yes! You’re a fake Care Bears fan. How are you supposed to blast me with a Care Bear stare if you can’t even name the characters? I’m embarrassed to even be here right now, Eddie.” you sighed, disappointed in him. “Poser.”

“Poser?!” Eddie looked offended. “I can handle being called a freak, or a satanist, but poser? That’s a low blow. I’m wounded.”

“Crit hit on psychic damage.” You cackled.

“You sound better.” Eddie said as your laughter subsided.

“I.. feel better. Thank you.” despite the weed and the only light in the van coming from the overhead light, you did feel better. There was still a bit of fog, but the exhaustion wasn’t as bad as it had been over the last few days.

“Are you gonna be okay for the rest of the campaign?” Eddie asked. “I’d hate to lose a party member to a monster we couldn’t see”

“You aren’t gonna lose me.” you promised. “I’ll be there and I’ll try and be perkier.”

“I don’t care about perky, I just want you to have fun.” Eddie said firmly. “If you aren’t having fun then that means I’m not doing a good job as a dungeon master. Come one, tell me what I gotta do to make it fun for you again.”

“Kill off Blorbo.” you said.

“Anything but that, he’s an essential NPC.” Eddie smirked.

“He’s really not.”

“Blorbo bring joy and wonder everywhere he goes-”

“Can he go to Hell? I think they need more joy and wonder there.” That damned goblin had started as a joke and quickly turned into the most obnoxious character that would show up to cause problems when things were going too well.

“I’ll tone him down.” Eddie promised. “The voice is straining anyway.”

You took a deep breath and fiddled with his aglet again. “I just.. Don’t want to let you down when I can’t give my all.” You admitted, laying out your vulnerability. “I don’t care if anyone else is disappointed in me, but you and the rest of the party are different. I want to be there for you all. I want to fight the fog and show up and be a part of this adventure. I... I don’t want you to- if you give me the same look that the rest of the school gives us then that’s it. I won’t be able to face you, Eddie.”

Eddie was silent for a while as you stared at his shoes. “Look, I know I can be harsh when it comes to Hellfire.” he admitted. “I can be an asshole because it means so much to me. I know that. If my threats are making it harder for you to show up then I’m sorry. I don’t want to be so much of a dick that you run away because I’m threatening to kill off characters because of my precious dungeon master ego.”

You felt your chest tighten and you swallowed a lump in your throat.

“I want you at Hellfire.” Eddie continued. “I love playing with you. When you and Jeff team up, I know I’m in trouble. The two of you come up with plans that, frankly, no sane dungeon master would let you roll for. But I do, because you make it fun.”

“And because you’re insane.” you laugh as you blink back a tear.

Eddie grabbed your ankle and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be nice to you at Hellfire. I’ll be patient. I just want you to show up and enjoy the game. Just don’t tell the others I’m giving you special treatment.”

“Not being a dick is giving me special treatment?” You gave him a small smile, a real one. “I’m honored.”

“Yeah, well, if word gets out they'll start demanding that I be nice to them too, and I can’t have that. Not during the game anyway.”

You felt lighter than you had in weeks. You really did feel better. It wasn’t going to be a permanent feeling, you knew that there were going to be more foggy days. Feelings like this don’t really go away until Spring, but you would prevail. You wouldn’t let Eddie down, or the rest of your party. You wouldn’t let yourself down and fall victim to an endly haze.

“Can... we hang out like this more?” you asked. “Outside of school, I mean.”

Because this is what you needed. It wasn’t gonna be easy, but having this time with a friend is what would get you to the end of winter. Eddie, Jeff, Doug, even Gareth and the freshmen. You had put so much pressure on Hellfire that you had forgotten that your party members were also your friends and allies.

This didn’t have to be a solo quest.

“Yes!” Eddie said, so quickly and forcefully it actually made you jump. “Yeah, absolutely, You should really come to the Hideout more and watch us play and after we could go get uh... questionable snacks from the gas station. Or I could sneak behind the bar and get us some beers.”

With how enthusiastic he was, you wondered if he had also felt that spark that night at the beginning of the school year.

It was almost 2 am when Eddie dropped you off at your place, stepping out of the car to give you a real goodbye. The rest of the night had been a whirlwind of a million topics at once, music, life, plans to hang out in the future. You felt happy. Really, genuinely happy.

You hugged Eddie, which he seemed surprised at but he hugged you back tightly. You were squished against him, enjoying the texture of his leather jacket under your fingers. It was cold out, and you could see your breath now, but you felt a warmth in you.

You didn’t need Eddie to be the light that kept you going, but he could help your own light stay lit. Him and the rest of your friends. Though you knew that a part of you would always burn more brightly for him, specifically.

Eddie pulled back and dramatically bowed to you, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. It was so over the top and so Eddie.

“Come by Gareth’s place on Sunday. We’re having rehearsals while the neighborhood is at church.” He instructed.

“I thought Corroded Coffin had closed rehearsals?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. They were always serious about their band, they didn’t let people come and distract them.

“Think of it as a special open casket.” Eddie said. “You don’t have to talk, we can focus on our music, and you get to spend time with us during the day.”

It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever offered you. You nodded, knowing that it might be hard to get your ass out of bed but you would. For him.

And for you.

With a final hug, Eddie saw you inside before peeling out of your driveway. You made your way to your room and looked at the photo on your nightstand of you with the Hellfire club. What you were feeling might be a solo quest, but you weren’t alone.

For the first time in weeks, you were able to fall asleep without the weight of the fog.

A/N: This fic was originally hurt/no comfort out of my own seasonal depression and insecurities. But what stopped it from being that was that none of you deserve to feel abandoned or like you're fighting alone. None of of who love Eddie so much deserve to be kicked out of Hellfire without a fighting chance.

Get yourself some vitamin D gummies and a SAD lamp. We're gonna get through this, guys.

Also I really need a regular Tag List so comment if you wanna be added.

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

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saladoffruitcolored · 2 days ago

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Yandere platonic omega father x neglected child reader PT 6

Rowan wasn't surprised, he really wasn't, but it would be impossible to say that when his boss called him into the office for a private conversation he didn't have a sinking feeling in his stomach because he knew exactly what that conversation would be like

He was fired, and that was scary because if he hadn't married Sarah, if he hadn't looked at those red flags and decided that the best option was to ignore them and move on, he wouldn't have been able to support himself and you anymore

It was TERRIFYING to realize how close he had come to losing everything,

He was almost forty, at that age and with his secondary gender it would be impossible to find a job as well paid as the one he had been in for the last 16 years

If he was lucky enough to have a job it would be at least with a HUGE pay cut, you wouldn't be able to attend your school anymore, a lot of family memories would have to be auctioned off, the house would be auctioned off

With no family or close friends better than he could do is temporarily pay for a hotel, he doesn't have a large emergency fund because practically 70% of his salary goes to his ex-husband

He got into huge debts paying for private school and it was only the generosity of the principal that allowed you to continue studying normally even when the payments were late

He felt ashamed to pick you up from school, he always felt like he was being looked at with pity by the teachers and with judgment by the other parents, what kind of father isn't capable of supporting himself and his own child?

Many times he simply didn't pick you up because he would faint from exhaustion when he got home, he would work overtime and secretly work a second online job to try to make ends meet

Rowan felt very ashamed whenever he had to use money from his college fund to pay a bill or buy food how many times did he not eat and lie saying he had lunch at work?

It was always hard to look you in the eye afterward

Rowan was doing his best to shield you from reality, so he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not you could afford an expensive dinner at your favorite restaurant or pay the electricity bill, he was doing his best to hide the reality that despite the house and the nice clothes you were broke

The decision made it more real, the truth is that you were both a hair's breadth away from losing everything, Rowan, once an orphan, had to build his achievements through his own sweat and years after escaping poverty he almost returned to the cold clutches of hunger again, and worst of all he would take you with him

He gathered the material from his desk quickly, Rowan could feel his curious colleagues looking discreetly out of the corner of their eyes (he felt like all eyes were on him again)

Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck

If he hadn't chosen Sarah as your psychologist... if he... If he hadn't accepted her advances despite the discomfort... what... what would have become of him and you?

As he walked towards the exit he could hear the murmurs, the whispers and laughter

WHY DID IT SEEME LIKE EVERYONE, EVERYONE, EVERYONE WAS LOOKING AT HIM!?

He doesn't even remember how he left through the back doors of the company (avoiding the other employees) or how he got into the car (he threw himself frantically inside) but at some point he realized that he was parked in front of the house

Not his house, the house he knew, the house where he raised you, the house he bought when he was still a young man in love and full of dreams

This was a new house, still sterile and without decorations or personality, the house was perfect with three bedrooms, a beautiful kitchen, a spacious living room, strategically designed bathrooms, two offices, a musical instrument room and two backyards with beautiful flowers and trees and the other with a swimming pool, the house even has a fence so white that it hurt Rowan's eyes

The house was everything he had ever dreamed of when he was a miserable orphan, so different from the orphanage full of leaks that made all the rooms cold during the winter and so different from the old house his house that was slowly declining due to lack of care or renovation

He didn't have the time or money to solve the problems of the leaks in his room, the old coin purses were already starting to give way due to time, the paint was slowly peeling, the tap water itself had a strange appearance some animal probably died there again

This new house was different, it was new and impeccable, there were no small handprints and there were no leaks, the new house was in an upscale neighborhood that exuded silent luxury, everything was so perfect that Rowan was afraid someone would simply kick you out and he would yell that it was all a cruel prank

He felt like a country chicken among majestic peacocks, a plastic diamond among natural jewels, a peasant trying to pass himself off as a prince

Everything was scary, everything was so different from what he knew

Even the car was new, it was different from the one he knew (the old car always had problems and smelled like burnt meat because there was always some old dead squirrel hiding under the hood), it was new and shiny, it seemed to glide smoothly over the asphalt unlike the rough shaking that Rowan was used to

He always paid for a taxi to take you to school, he was always afraid that his really rich classmates would laugh at you if they saw you arriving at school in that old junk car

Rowan always tried his best to project the image of a successful father but he knows he failed even at that, why is he so useless?

He needs a moment to compose himself, to gather the courage to go in and tell you and Sarah that he was fired

What if Sarah thinks he's useless? What if she thinks he's really pathetic and decides to leave, leaving you and him in misery? Would she do that? What if you thought he was a failure as a father!?

Telling him the truth hurts his pride, despite your and Sarah's assurances he still feels like a failure

Being alone in the new house is strange, you are studying and Sarah is busy managing all the hospitals

It's just him and the loneliness in the huge house, with not much to do he starts cleaning and cooking, these actions end up becoming a habit

Getting up, taking a shower, brushing his teeth, going downstairs and cooking, cleaning the dishes while you and Sarah get ready, serving breakfast and delivering packed lunches to the two of you, saying goodbye, tidying the house and resting

He tries, REALLY TRYS to find another job but no one wants to hire an "old" alpha in the job market, the young betas who were just out of college were much more efficient, faster and versatile than him, Rowan didn't want to admit it but lately he was having trouble understanding new technologies

Why would any boss hire an alpha “old dinosaur” like him instead of a young man fresh out of college who was more prodigious than he had ever been?

It was clear that society was about to be intractable in a crisis involving alphas and omegas, no boss wanted to hire people with these secondary genders anymore

The society in which everyone lives is a capitalist society and what kind of capitalists would prefer to hire an omega who is required to take a week off with pay every month due to heat than a beta who, for a salary slightly higher than the omega's, asks to work the whole week without having to take time off for biological needs?

At that time, omegas were also exalted, pampered by everyone even when they were adults, justifying cruel acts and even crimes because according to conservatives it would be impossible for a little omega to make mistakes on purpose, they were too “innocent” for that

Nowadays there are movements created to hold omegas accountable for their actions and ensure that they comply with the laws and are punished like any other citizen

Why hire an alpha employee who is not fully capable of submission and can become irrational due to hormones when you can hire a beta employee who always remains balanced and calm?

A few years ago it was common for heirs of large companies to all be alphas. The collective thinking at the time was that alphas were superior to other genders. This idea changed quickly when dozens of companies began started to go bankrupt because young CEO's were more interested in chasing omega employees than managing the family business.

Back then, if your alpha boss growled at an employee, the employee would accept the humiliation in silence. Nowadays, if your superior growls at an employee, he can sue the boss and the company for moral damages, threats, and humiliation.

When companies began to realize how much it cost to keep an alpha employee, a rapid succession of layoffs began to happen.

Omegas were also no longer welcome. People began to avoid them. establishments with omega employees due to the fear that their spouses would be robbed, with fewer customers the best option for the establishments was to simply fire the cause of the problems

A great demand for beta employees began, betas began to earn at least 2 times more than omegas and 3 times more than alphas, the price of higher salaries for betas compensates more for the entrepreneurs than the price of the various lawsuits and benefits that they would have to pay if they hired alpha and omega employees

The Beta Harmony movement started a great discussion about whether or not omegas and alphas should be accepted for certain jobs, it was a fact that omega phenomena could influence the people around them, if for example an omega worked as a lawyer and had a session with an alpha judge the result of the judge's decision could be tampered with to favor the omega

That was all that was happening on TV lately, on every news channel there was at least one discussion about whether the Beta Harmony movement was right or wrong

It wasn't a very good scenario to look for a new job...

When Sarah proposed that he stay at home he refused, he tried to refuse but honestly it was obvious that it was the only option

In five months he wasn't able to get a single interview, as soon as the interviewers read on his resume that he was an alpha he was rejected by default

Despite hurting his male pride he had to admit that staying at home wasn't so bad, he didn't need to stress about work anymore and now he has all the time in the world to spend with you

He's no longer late for your school presentations, he has time to have daddy-puppy dates with you, now he can really afford to spend money on himself and he doesn't even need to skimp on your gifts

Sarah just gave him a BLACK credit card and told him to have fun

It was like living in a dream and he was so, so, SO SCARED OF WAKEING UP

Everything was perfect until one day he received a notice from his ex-husband's lawyer requesting an increase in alimony again

Everything was going too well, of course something would eventually go wrong

With his heart racing and sweating cold, Rowan's hands shook holding the letter, what if... what if Sarah gets mad? What if she decides his ex-husband is too much for her to handle? What if she wants to leave? What if...

“Rowan! ROWAN!! Are you okay?”, she arrived and he didn’t even notice, he should have welcomed her at the door like a good husband

“What’s this?”, before he could answer she snatched the open letter from his hands

“Hmmm, it looks like we’re going to court, don’t worry dear, I’ll take care of everything”, Sarah hugged him, he couldn’t see it but he was sure she was smiling, the tone of her voice simply echoed satisfaction

Despite not wanting Sarah’s approval and comfort, it filled him with relief, he slowly relaxed in her embrace

he was so happy that she wasn't mad at him

After a small eternity Rowan looked up towards the clock on the wall

12:30 it was time to get ready to pick you up from school

#yandere omega #oc #yandere omegaverse x reader #yandere platonic #yandere x reader

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justagalwhowrites · 2 days ago

Text

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 4: Past and Present

Being in Los Angeles is a challenge - and an opportunity - for you and Joel. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 2 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Depiction of someone experiencing a trigger. Remembered child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 12.6k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter

September 26, 2019

“Joel.”

The sound of his brother’s voice pulled him out of his own head. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, half sitting, half leaning against the window ledge, staring at his daughter’s body. The blood on his skin was drying now, starting to flake off in some places and get caught on the hair of his arms and chest in others. It pulled slightly when he moved, an odd sensation that tied him to his body in a way he could hardly stand.

It was still dark outside, which made sense. He wasn’t sure the sun was going to rise. Such a thing seemed impossible now, that the earth would still be turning at a time like this.

“Did you hear me?” Tommy asked, coming and standing next to him.

It took him a moment to process that question. Tommy sounded so far away, like he was speaking to him above water while Joel was deep below it.

That would be a welcome change, he thought. Then he could just open his mouth and pull all that water into his lungs and never have to breathe or think or be ever again.

He couldn’t do that here. The window behind him couldn’t even open – he’d tried. Just to see if he could get some fresh air, he told himself. The fact that he was 10 stories up, that the fall would almost certainly kill him, was just a fringe benefit.

He couldn’t keep going like this, he knew that already. He kept picturing it in his head, over and over and over again.

Him and Tommy leaving the bar. Tommy driving him home. Stopping a few blocks away from his house, finding the car a tangled mass of metal in the street.

He’d just frowned at first, things not quite clicking. There was something familiar about the car, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Jesus,” Tommy said, pulling over and getting out his cell phone, already moving to call 9-1-1. “Be a miracle if anyone survived that…”

Joel saw it then, the bumper sticker on the back of the sedan. Red with white lettering, “Blow it hard & finger it fast” with a clarinet in the middle. He remembered it because, the first time he saw it, he told Sarah he didn’t think that kind of bumper sticker was appropriate for a teenaged girl’s car.

“Dad,” she’d rolled her eyes. “It’s just a joke. Emma plays clarinet, don’t be so lame.”

He’d just sighed and dropped it. It’s not like he could tell the girl to take it off, she wasn’t his daughter. Besides, what trouble was one bumper sticker?

He knew that bumper sticker. Sarah had gotten in the car with that bumper sticker this morning. The car with that bumper sticker was supposed to be taking her home.

Joel was out of the truck before he really knew what he was doing, running toward the accident as fast as he could, praying that Sarah was already safely at the house, that Emma had dropped her off and was going home herself when she was hit.

“Joel!” Tommy yelled after him, getting out of the car, too. “What…”

“That’s Sarah’s friend’s car!” He yelled back to his brother, making it to the passenger side door – the side with the worst of the damage – swearing up and down to every god he’d ever known that he would do anything – anything they asked, anything at all – if that seat was empty, if Sarah was safely at home waiting for him.

His prayers went unanswered.

“No,” Joel breathed, his heart pounding. He pulled at the door but it wouldn’t move, locked shut. He went to the back seat and threw himself against the window until the spidering glass caved. He thrust his arm inside, ignoring the cuts from the glass on his skin, fumbling for the handle until he forced the warped door open. He wasn’t sure where to touch her, a bloody splotch on her stomach that seemed to be spreading. One of her arms was at an odd angle, one of her legs too. But she was breathing, almost hyperventilating, her eyes closed, one hand tight to her stomach. “You’re OK baby girl, you’re OK, just move your hand for me, just…”

“Dad?” She opened her eyes, wide and afraid. “Dad, I…”

“I know,” he said quickly, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I know, I know, just move your hand baby girl, just…”

She pulled her trembling palm away from her stomach and he saw the wound, a chunk of metal embedded into her skin so deep he could barely see it. She reached for him, the blood on her hand soaking into his shirt so he could feel it on his skin.

“You’re gonna be OK,” he said, looking from her stomach to her face. “It’s OK, you’re gonna be OK.”

He had to stop the bleeding. He unbuckled her seatbelt so he could get clearer access to her and pressed his hand into her stomach, making her cry out.

“I know,” he said. “I know it hurts, I know baby, I know. Just gotta hang on for me, OK? Just hang on, you’re gonna be OK.”

Her fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt and she pulled herself against him. He could smell the blood and gasoline and smoke. He had to move her, before a fire started and made this worse he had to get her away from here.

“Just hold on,” he said. “I gotta move you…” He pulled her tight against his body and she screamed, her shallow breaths coming quicker. “I know baby girl, I know, I know, it hurts, I know, I just…”

He looked behind him to find Tommy, hoping to have some idea of when help was coming. But his brother was just standing there, watching Joel, a broken look on his face.

“Tommy,” Joel looked at him, holding Sarah as tight as he could to his chest. Her blood was warm on his skin. “Tommy, help me!”

“Joel,” he said softly. “I… I can’t, I’m sorry, there’s nothing…”

His eyes were on Sarah and Joel realized, suddenly, that she was quiet.

He looked down to her and she had gone still in his arms, her head lolling back lifelessly. Her fingers weren’t clutching his shirt anymore, she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t even breathing.

“No,” he said, his grip on her tightening. “No, no, no, no, no! C’mon baby girl, you’re OK, you’re gonna be OK, you’re…”

He looked back to his brother, Tommy crying silently. There had to be something he could do, something one of them could do.

But there wasn’t. Joel just clung to his daughter’s body until the police and EMTs came, a paramedic pulling her body from his arms before trying to revive her.

It was no use.

Joel stayed with her on the ambulance ride to the hospital. No lights, no sirens, no racing through the streets. There was just quiet as he looked at the sheet that covered his only child, the little girl he’d held when she first came into the world, the one who had wrapped one tiny, perfect hand around his finger when she was just hours old.

She was still there, just a few feet away from him. He’d refused to let them take her to the morgue, the outline of her visible through the sheet. He needed to be next to her as long as possible, he couldn’t let them just take her away and put her somewhere cold and dark. He needed to be next to her, take care of her.

They left him alone with her when he made it clear he wasn’t going to just let them take her away from him. Tommy took over then, talking with police and people at the hospital. Joel wasn’t sure why he bothered.

What did any of this matter without her?

Joel cleared his throat, Tommy still watching him cautiously.

“No,” he said. “M’sorry. What’s happenin��?”

“Said I got some news,” he said. “Some good. Sounds like Emma’s gonna make it, her parents are here…”

Joel nodded. Part of him knew he should feel good about that but he was having a hard time doing it. Of course it was good that another child hadn’t died but fuck, he hated how much he’d do anything - including sacrifice that other child - to bring his own back.

“What else,” Joel said when Tommy didn’t continue.

“Well,” he said before he sighed and crossed his arms. “Sounds like we know the car that hit ‘em…”

Joel stood up straight then, suddenly alert, ready to take care of it. Whoever it was had been in good enough shape to drive away from the scene which meant they were probably still alive. He’d change that. He’d like changing that.

“They got some video from security cameras and shit nearby,” he said. “Some SUV just barreling through, swervin’ all over the road, probably drunk but…”

He trailed off.

“But?” Joel asked, his voice dark.

“But,” Tommy said again. “The plate they pulled was reported stolen three days ago, they got no idea who’s driving it. That asshole ditches the car, they got no way of finding ‘em.”

“What’s that mean?” Joel asked, looking toward where Sarah lay, still and cold under the sheet. “Are they not gonna even fuckin’ look?”

“No, they’re lookin’,” Tommy said, putting his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Just… not sure what they’ll be able to actually find.”

Joel clenched his jaw, his arms crossed, fingers digging almost painfully into his biceps, his eyes never leaving the place where is daughter lay.

If the police wouldn’t get justice, fine, he would. He’d find it and he’d take it. He’d find it and he’d take it from anyone who deserved it. As long as it protected someone who needed it, he didn’t care if it killed him.

October, 2024

There was an Oscar in his closet.

He stood there, the t-shirts from his duffle dangling from his hand, staring at the smudged and dusty but still glimmering gold of the statuette sitting in the middle of a high shelf at the back.

There was a fucking Oscar in his closet.

Was this your idea of a joke? Were you trying to be fucking funny, leaving it here for him to find?

He went to it, setting the shirts on top of the chest of drawers before getting the statue down. It was high enough that he had to stretch to reach it, and he was almost surprised when his fingers closed around cool metal. He’d half expected it to be fake, some plastic bullshit you’d put there to try to taunt him in some way, but if it was a fake, it was a damn good one. It was metal and far heavier than he was expecting as he pulled it down to examine it. You’d set it so it was facing the wall and he turned it over to see the front of it, a plaque on the base.

Your name was engraved on it, as well as “Academy Award” and “Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role” and “The District.”

It’s not like he knew a goddamn thing about things like Oscars but this seemed real. And as much pleasure as you seemed to take in annoying - or even just puzzling - him, Joel couldn’t come up with a reason why you’d go through the trouble of making a fake one to stick in his closet for whatever reason.

You’d just… left your Oscar in his closet.

A while ago, from the look of the damn thing. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious it had been sitting there for awhile. It was tarnished in places and dust had settled heavily into the crevices. It didn’t seem like someone had moved it here recently. It seemed like you’d just put it here one day and left it for him to find years later.

He just shook his head a little, going and dropping the statuette on the bed - the thing bouncing heavily before settling into the mattress - before unpacking the rest of his bag.

He’d only been in LA a few hours and he already missed Texas.

You’d been mobbed at the airport, swarms of photographers descending on you as you left the secured area.

Here, at least, security and police seemed to expect this behavior. Celebrities flew in and out all the time, and it didn’t take much for Joel to usher you through the crowd, your chin tucked into your chest, your carryon bag over your arm.

A car with a driver was waiting for you and the two of you went straight for it, you climbing in first and Joel sliding it next to you, snapping the door shut as quickly as he could. But, as badly as he wanted to get away from the chaos of this place, he was surprised when the car started moving almost immediately.

“They’ll deliver the luggage to the house,” you said, apparently reading his mind. “Not exactly smart to just stand there at baggage claim and wait for it as I’m sure you can imagine.”

He scoffed at that, crossing his arms and settling into his corner of the back seat of whatever fucking luxury SUV this was.

“Someone just takes care of everything for you, don’t they?” He asked, probably sharper than he should have.

You laughed once, derisively.

“Something like that.”

In truth, this whole thing made him uncomfortable. He was in a place he didn’t know, one full of people who were obsessed with his charge - not just whoever was stalking you but the whole of the world, it seemed - and he didn’t even have his fucking gun.

He planted his feet more firmly on the floor of the car before texting Tommy that the two of you had made it to LA and were en route to your house.

You relaxed more, now that it was just you, Joel, and an oddly silent driver. You just watched out the window, the streetlights casting a glow on your skin as the car made its way slowly through the gridlock of Los Angeles. Joel ground his teeth, his whole body drawn tight and tense, waiting for some release after the chaos of the airport set him on edge.

But none came, the driver eventually pulling up to a surprisingly modest house in nice neighborhood.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it was more than this - a house that looked not much bigger than his own back in Austin. Unlike your place back in Texas that sat on several acres and had no immediate neighbors, there were other houses close to yours on this quiet street. It wasn’t a gated community, there was no full fence around the place, it was just a suburban house on a suburban street.

Joel followed you inside, the lights on and jazz playing somewhere. He frowned, looking around, half expecting someone to come out and greet you.

No one did, though, and he just hovered in the entry way, watching as you set down your bag and lit candles.

“Can I help you?” You asked after a moment, your brows raised.

“No,” he said, a little defensive. But you didn’t move, just raised your brows further and he sighed. “This place just… ain’t what I was expecting.”

“Oh,” you said, relaxing a little. “Before I had Ellie, it was just me, I didn’t need anything insane. When I moved to Texas, I just wanted a place where Ellie would have plenty of space and want to invite her friends to.”

Joel nodded slowly.

“That’s… nice.”

You shrugged.

“Your room is down the hall,” you said. “There are only three bedrooms here, I’m not sure which of the spares they set up for you but one should be made up. They stocked the kitchen, too, but there’s no one here all the time like Esmo is so you’ll have to look after yourself. Just… make yourself at home.”

The luggage was delivered not long after - his gun safely inside - and Joel went to get settled in when he found the damn Oscar.

It stared him down as he talked with Tommy about logistics, about exactly what the hell he was getting into out here.

“There’s fuckin’ nothing here infrastructure wise,” Joel said, his foot bouncing impatiently. The statuette rolled into his side as he sat on the bed and he glared at it before moving it to a bookshelf covered in impersonal knick knacks that sat opposite the bed. “Not even a goddamn chain link fence between the front door and the street, Tommy.”

“Yeah, well, I told you it was a different set up,” he said, at least having the dignity to sound sheepish as he did.

“Different,” Joel said. “Not a security risk.”

“She’s kept where she lives pretty private and you have the resources you need to handle it. You’ve got the driver,” Tommy said. “And the auxiliary guards outside. And you know what you’re doing. You’ll be fine.”

Once they were off the phone, Tommy sent Joel a roundup of tabloid coverage about your arrival to LA and, once he got past the surreal moment of seeing pictures of himself online like that, he tried to analyze what he was seeing. Speculation was rampant about where you’d been, screenshots of tweets sharing photos of you - or someone people thought was you - scattered throughout the coverage.

People seemed to have pinpointed the reason you were back in LA but no one seemed to know why you’d left or where, exactly, you’d been. He sighed, staring at the picture of him walking behind you, trying to shield you from camera flashes as much as possible.

What the hell was he getting into?

He was exhausted but it took him a while to fall asleep in the too comfortable bed, your Oscar watching him from the shelf nearby.

So it was a rude awakening when he was jerked back into consciousness by a twangy guitar. It took him a moment to realize where he was, still dark outside, but the music loud enough that he heard the rattle of the lightbulb in the lamp by his bed.

“What the…” he forced himself up, grabbing is gun and loading it before moving quickly but cautiously toward the main part of the house, the music growing louder as he went.

“And it didn’t take ‘em long to decide, that Earl had to die!”

You were more yelling the lyrics than actually singing them and Joel found you in the kitchen with a blonde woman who was also singing, the two of you jumping around like you were at a fucking concert at six in the goddamn morning.

“You’re feelin’ weak?” The two of you sang at each other, you using the handle of a spatula as a microphone. “Why don’t you lay down and sleep, Earl?”

He rolled his eyes, lowering the gun.

“Hey!” He yelled over the music.

The two of you stopped and turned to face him, both of you in skintight athletic wear and covered in a sheen of sweat. You laughed and winced and reached out and tapped some touch screen, making the music stop.

“The hell are you doin’?” He asked, looking you over and trying to ignore how fucking good you looked right then.

“Babe,” the woman - who Joel suddenly realized he knew, a singer that Sarah had been obsessed with - leaned over and half whispered, half said to you. “There’s a shirtless man with a gun in your kitchen.”

“Yeah, that’d be Big Miller,” you said, looking him up and down. “Shirtless but pajama pants? Interesting, totally thought you’d be a boxers and nothing else guy…”

He narrowed his eyes.

“What’s a Big Miller?” The woman asked, her blonde ponytail reaching almost to her waist.

“My bodyguard,” you said. “He’s a bit over the top, though because, really? A gun? Come on.”

“You’re the one who’s got some psycho writin’ her letters,” he snapped. “The hell was I supposed to know it was you acting like a fucking teenager?”

“This isn’t a teenager thing,” you said. “This is a ‘your friend just go dumped so you sing about murdering him and then running away to start a small business’ thing. Which you wouldn’t understand because you have no friends.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Why are you up this early? I got your itinerary, you don’t have anywhere to be until ten.”

“Well actually, we have a pap walk in about,” you looked at your smart watch. “Forty-five minutes. Which is why Tanya is here. By the way, Tanya, that’s Big Miller but you can call him Joel if you really want.”

She looked at him from head to toe and then shrugged before looking at you.

“I’m single again,” she said. “I’d be down to find out just how big Miller is…”

He looked quickly between the two of you and then the two of you laughed, practically falling over, hanging on each other to stay upright.

“The look on your face!” You were still laughing, gasping for breath. “Oh my God!”

“That’s not funny,” he scowled.

“No, it’s hilarious,” Tanya said, straightening up. “Who knew we were such a threat?”

“Oh, shit,” you said, turning to the stove and doing something Joel couldn’t see with a pan. “Almost burned it… Want some egg whites, Big Miller?”

“What?” He asked. “No, I…” He looked between the two of you again. “Did you work out?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, looking back over your shoulder toward him. “We went for a run.”

“Went?” He asked. “Went where.”

“Just a few miles around the neighborhood,” Tanya waved him off. “Nothing crazy.”

He put the gun down on the counter with a little too much force.

“You went out without me?” He stalked over to you. “The hell were you thinking!”

“That I needed to go for a run,” you said, brows raised, incredulous. “And it’s best to go before the sun is up because then it’s too hot.”

“Do you really think you’re safe here?” He asked. “That the guy who’s been sending shit to your house just ain’t gonna come by when everyone on the fuckin’ planet knows you got here last night?”

“I think this whole thing is overblown and that there isn’t a threat,” you said. “And Ellie isn’t here so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“It’s really not bad,” Tanya said, looking between the two of you. “It’s a quiet neighborhood, no paparazzi or fans or anything…”

“But we do have that pap walk in a few,” you said, pulling the egg whites off the burner and tipping them onto plates. “And we still need to drive there.”

“The fuck is a pap walk,” Joel asked, looking between the two of you.

“Oh, it’s where we tell the paparazzi where we’ll be and when we’ll be there so they can grab their photos,” Tanya said. “In exchange, they don’t follow us all the time. With the two of us there, there’s going to be a lot of them.”

“And were you planning to say anything about this?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Or were you just gonna take off without telling your fuckin’ security team?”

“You seem mad,” you said, spearing some eggs on the end of your fork.

“I seem mad,” Joel said, grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing.

“You seem mad,” you again, eating the eggs. “You should work on that.”

He clenched his jaw, trying to resist the urge to yell before stalking off to his room to get dressed. Because if he was going with you on this fucking pap walk or whatever the fuck it was called, he’d need to be dressed.

The whole thing was a surprisingly simple affair. He followed behind you and Tanya with one of the auxiliary guards, a man named Nick who’d been camped in front of your house, to some smoothie place in the city.

He watched as the two of you got out of Tanya’s car, laughing and touching each other as you angled your bodies toward the flashing cameras while pretending like they weren’t there. It was a strange dance, Joel sitting in the car with his nails digging into his palm, his jaw clenched tight, the sense that he should be between you and the photographers you were putting on some strange performance for all but taking over. His heart raced, his chest getting tight. He was so out of control in this situation, you were so far away from him that there was very little he could do to reach you if he needed to.

Yes, the whole thing was - relatively - safe. It was early, there was almost no one here but you, the paparazzi and a few other overly dedicated men and women in workout gear. He’d texted Tommy while he got dressed and Tommy assured him that he’d gone over this with your manager, that this was fairly typical and that, no, Joel shouldn’t go inside with you but it didn’t make him any less uneasy.

What if something happened, right now? What if the man who’d been sending you letters found you here? What if something else happened like a shooting or a robbery or any number of other, mundane evils that happened every day? He’d be too far away to get to you in time, too far away to save you and, for some reason, that terrified him.

He’d just decided to ignore you and his brother and your damn manager and go after you, anyway, when you and Tanya came outside again, clear plastic cups filled with green shit in your hands. Joel took a deep breath then, trying to calm himself down.

But then, a paparazzo darted forward, camera raised, getting in your face, making you flinch back. A thrill of fear shot through him, the feeling shocking and foreign now. He was too far from you, he couldn’t get to you fast enough from here. He was supposed to be keeping you safe, he didn’t have much left he felt like he had to do in this life but that was one of them and, right here, right now, he could fail.

Joel moved quickly, throwing open the door and starting for you, but your eyes met his and you gave a subtle shake of your head, navigating around the photographer and moving quickly for the car, the illusion of you ignoring them shattered.

Tanya drove quickly and Joel’s car followed, the only thing keeping him from beating the shit out of that photographer the fact that you were only getting further away from him.

Joel slammed the door behind him as he stalked into your house to find you, standing in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone.

“I got you a smoothie,” you said, glancing up for a second and looking back at your phone before you frowned and actually looked at him. “Are you OK?”

“You are not doing that shit again, understand?” He snapped.

“Not… getting you a smoothie?” You asked.

“You know what the hell I mean,” he said. “You can’t just go off on your own like that, I don’t give a shit what your manager says, I don’t care how fuckin’ typical it is, you’re staying close to me. End of story.”

You watched him for a moment before you smiled, looking like you were trying not to laugh.

“What.”

“You were worried,” you said. “Big Miller, afraid! Who knew it was possible…”

“I was not afraid,” he said, probably too quickly. “I just don’t want you dying on my damn watch. If you’re outside, I’m next to you. Deal with it.”

He stalked off to his bedroom, your stupid Oscar there in his face when got there. He grabbed it and went back to the kitchen, smacking it down on the counter, making you jump.

“I don’t need you to remind me how fuckin’ great you are,” he said. “Put that in your damn trophy case. And don’t leave this house without me.”

He retreated to his room and heard your shower start a few minutes later and he felt like he could relax then. He wouldn’t put it past you to try and sneak out of your own fucking house, just to spite him. If you weren’t careful, your obsession with being right and being in control was going to get you fucking killed.

He tried not to think about how uneasy that thought made him.

Joel stayed in his room, listening for you as you moved through the house, until it was almost time to leave for your first appointment of the day, some lunch with your agent. He found you in the kitchen again, the Oscar nowhere to be seen.

Your hair and makeup were done and you were wearing jeans and some shirt that looked more like a corset or some kind of lingerie and it forced Joel to notice just how fucking beautiful you were.

It still caught him off guard, these moments where he couldn’t avoid that cold fact. You were beautiful, unquestionably so, but he’d grown blind to it in certain ways. He was around you all the time now so it was a fact that faded to the background more often than not. Especially since, most of the time he saw you, you weren’t trying to be beautiful, you were just existing in the form you had.

Now, though, you were clearly trying and it hit him hard. The sculpture of your face, the glow of your skin, the curve of your body was right there, impossible to ignore.

“Am I allowed to leave the house now?” You asked, an almost smug look on your face.

“No,” Joel said, more to be an asshole than anything else.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, ignoring him and stalking toward the door, the spikes of your heels loud on the hardwood floor, throwing a leather jacket on over your all too exposing top. “The driver’s here, are you coming or not.”

You were silent beside him until the pair of you got into the gridlock of the city.

“You’ll have to wait in the car,” you began but he cut you off.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

You looked at him, a stern expression on your face.

“There are going to be photographers there,” you said. “I’ve already been seen with you at the airport, I really don’t need someone making up some bullshit story about why you’re with me if we’re trying to keep the extra security bit quiet.”

“Too bad,” he shrugged. “Your optics aren’t my concern. Your safety is.”

“Because I’m sure people at the fucking Ivy are such a threat,” you snapped.

“We either do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said. “The easy way is I come inside with you and you can say I’m a friend or some asshole on your team, I don’t really care. The other way is I put you over my shoulder and haul your ass back to the car because you don’t listen. Don’t make much difference to me.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” You twisted to face him now, your painfully beautiful face tight in anger. “What did I ever do to you?”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” he replied. “Don’t make it difficult and we won’t have a problem.”

“Fine,” you sat back in your seat forcefully. “Come inside then, just don’t come crying to me when the press starts to bother you.”

He resisted the urge to smirk. He might be in your territory but that didn’t mean he was just going to let you win every damn conflict.

The car dropped you off in front of the restaurant and the photographers were waiting for you. Joel watched as your expression went blank for a moment and then you painted a carefree smile on your face before you opened the door, smiling and waving with Joel following close behind.

Of course, the hostess led you directly to your table without needing to ask anything because everyone was always just ready to do exactly what you needed, all the time. Joel wondered what that must be like, to be so beautiful and so rich and so famous that the entire world shifted just to please you.

There was a man already seated there, watching as the waiter set up an ice bucket and showed him the bottle of wine. He nodded and then noticed you there, looking you up and down in a way that set Joel’s teeth on edge before standing up and calling your name in an almost sing song voice that grated on him.

“Hey Leo,” you smiled and he reached to hug you. You hugged him back, kissing his cheek as you did, the man seeming to notice Joel then, his face falling a little as he did.

“And who is this you’ve brought me?” He asked. “I’m sure he’s not some hopeful…”

“I’m sure Quinn mentioned some additional…” you trailed off.

“Ah,” he said, seeming to understand but then frowning. “I didn’t think they’d be quite so… hands on.”

“Neither did I,” you smiled, a little self satisfied. “But, Joel, this is my agent, Leo Musgrave. Leo, this is Joel, my shadow for the last few weeks.”

“Good to meet you,” Leo said, offering Joel his hand. He took it, an odd satisfaction settling over him at the way his palm dwarfed Leo’s and the way the other man had to tilt his chin up to meet Joel’s gaze. “But I can assure you, she’s perfectly safe with me.”

“Ain’t you I’m worried about,” Joel said, gripping the man’s hand a little too tightly, looking him up and down in a pointed way. An odd expression flitted over the man’s face, one Joel couldn’t place, but it passed quickly.

“Good,” he said, smiling again before going to pull your chair out for you. “Because I know we both just want what’s best for our girl here. Speaking of which, I got that rosé you like…”

“Thank God,” you smiled, taking your seat. Joel sat beside you, surveying the area quickly, noting the points of entry and egress, where people could be concealed. “I’ve got media at one, I could use a drink.”

The two of you talked and you ordered a salad and Joel got a steak just to spite the asshole sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like him but he didn’t. Something about this man rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on your breasts when you were talking to the waiter, maybe it was the way he sat back in his seat, lounging like he owned the place, Joel didn’t like him.

“Oh,” Leo said, just as the waiter turned to leave. “We’ve got one more joining, if you could bring an old fashioned when you can, whatever’s top shelf.”

Joel watched your face fall for a fraction of a second, the moment so fast he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he wasn’t so used to you now.

“Who’s joining us?” You asked once the waiter was out of earshot.

“Remember how I said I was working on bringing in another producer for Savage Starlight?” He asked. “Someone who can make sure it doesn’t turn into the typical superhero bullshit and keeps its strong narrative structure, doesn’t ditch the character development in favor of big set pieces?”

“Right,” you said slowly, your hand clenching around the stem of your wine glass.

“Well, we’re bringing in the best man for the job,” he smiled, proud. “And you were a big selling point, he’s been dying to work with you again… Henry!”

Joel didn’t turn to see who was making his way toward the table, Leo standing up to greet him. Instead, his eyes were on you. Your eyes were wide, your hands in your lap, fingers pressed tight into your thighs, breaths coming in fearful little pants.

“Leo!” A booming voice at Joel’s shoulder said. “It’s been too long.”

“We really should do this more,” Leo hugged the new arrival, clapping him on the back. “Everything you touch is magic, swear to God.”

“Could say the same thing about you,” the man said, stepping back from Leo and turning to face you and Joel, though he didn’t seem to be paying Joel any mind at all. It didn’t make a difference. Joel immediately disliked him, too. He was older, in his 50s at least, wearing a sport coat and an ostentatious ring, his bald head shining and he was looking at you like you were something he could consume. “You’ve got the best talent in the industry right here. How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know me,” you said, a casual and cool smile on your face, almost no sign of your momentary discomfort from just a second earlier. You got up and went to greet him, keeping your hands at his biceps but kissing both his cheeks all the same. His hand went around your back, spreading over you, his pinky slipping inside the waist of your jeans before you pulled back from him. Joel’s hands tightened into fists. “Same as ever.”

“So, causing trouble,” he said, taking his seat.

You laughed.

“Something like that,” you said, sitting down and relaxing back into your chair. But the hand closest to Joel went back in your lap, clenched into a fist so tight he could see the strain of your skin over your knuckles.

The man seemed to actually notice Joel then, looking him up and down.

“And who’s this?” He asked, directing the question at you and Leo, not Joel.

“Just a little added security,” your smile shifted to something almost daring and triumphant, the hand in your lap still drawn tight. “Never can be too careful anymore. Don’t worry, he’s got a very thorough NDA.”

“Not worried about anything in particular, are you?” He asked, brows raised. “Because you could always come stay with me, my security is very good and my door is always open for you, you know that.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” you said. “But let’s not bog things down. Tell me, Henry, what brings you into this project? It doesn’t seem like your area of expertise.”

“Not cerebral enough for me?” He asked, an almost teasing edge to his voice.

“I’d say not up its own ass, but��” you said in a winking tone but something told Joel you meant it differently than that.

Henry laughed all the same, as though he was in on the joke.

“You always knew my taste,” he said. “But, truth is, I’ve been seeking out some projects that look to have the prospect of greater commercial success without sacrificing the art of storytelling. This seemed like the perfect project, especially once I knew you were attached.”

You hummed, nodding slowly, and Joel just sat there and watched as you and your agent and this new asshole discussed creative choices and shit like points on the back end, the whole time some part of you stiff and strained. Something was off. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or irritation or that you were just caught off guard by someone else being added to the mix but something about this was bothering you. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

Regardless, it set him on edge. He tried to focus on the potential threats from around you as you picked at your salad, more moving the food around than eating it, until it was time to go.

Henry moved around Joel to you as you draped your jacket over your bare shoulders and Joel wanted to fucking punch him, the way he pressed into your space as you shifted away, your fingers tight on the back of your chair.

“Now we can’t go almost 20 years without working together again, sweetheart,” he said, his hand at your waist as he held you to his side, his thick fingers pressing into the sheer parts of your top. “What we make together is too beautiful to let a little history get in the way.”

“Let’s see if we still have it,” you smiled politely. “Then we’ll talk.”

Henry pulled you out front with him, something Joel was cursing as the flashes started going off again, the paparazzi screaming your name. Had these assholes just camped out here for the last hour? Doing fuck all besides waiting for you to come outside again?

“This is me,” Henry said as a car pulled up to the curb. “We’ll chat soon, yeah?”

“Oh I have no doubt that you’ll make sure we will,” you said, a sour smile on your face.

An odd expression passed over Henry then and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek but Joel caught him whisper something in your ear, something that made you freeze against him, your hands on his arms to force some distance. You stayed like that as he got in the car, the flashes still going like crazy. Joel looked around for a moment, your driver nowhere to be seen in the immediate traffic, and you were out here - exposed.

Shit.

“C’mon,” Joel said, tucking you below his arm and steering you back in the restaurant, putting you out of sight of the windows. You were breathing fast and shallow again, your eyes wide as you stared into space. “Hey, look at me.”

You obeyed, those wide eyes meeting his.

“You OK?” He asked. “He hurt you?”

“No,” you shook your head and swallowed. “No, I’m fine, just… I’m fine.”

He wasn’t sure he believed that.

“Can you sit tight for one minute?” Joel asked. “I’m going to find your driver, get you out of here, OK?”

You just nodded quickly and Joel reluctantly stepped away from you to a place he could see outside, calling the driver. It took a moment for the call to connect but he reached him and stayed on until he was close enough that Joel could see him out the window before he went back to find you, his chest oddly tight at the distance, a strange relief in him knowing that you’d be where he could properly protect you again in just a second.

But he couldn’t.

You were gone.

***

You weren’t really thinking when you left The Ivy. At least, not consciously.

Something else had taken over your mind, something animalistic and protective, and it only had one thought: Go.

So you went. You found a back way out, dodging servers and cooks who did doubletakes as you wove your way through kitchen until you were outside, the sunlight bright and harsh. You’d just walked after that, not picking any direction in particular, just desperate for some distance.

You weren’t really sure where you’d wound up when you finally seemed to come back into yourself enough to make yourself just stop walking. Your feet ached, there was a dumpster next to you that absolutely reeked and you realized then that you’d ditched your shoes at some point but you weren’t quite sure when. You vaguely remembered running for a bit and your shoes making you stumble but you didn’t remember taking them off. You also didn’t have your purse, probably left behind at the damn restaurant because you hadn’t been thinking, so you had no phone, no ID and no money.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You walked to the end of the alley and looked around, asphalt cutting into the soles of your feet, and peered out to the street. It was mercifully fairly quiet, a bar across from you open, the soft sound of a guitar drifting out from the open door. You darted across the road and into the bar, thankful that no photographers had managed to catch you on your unhinged run through Los Angeles.

Inside the bar was quiet, too, just a few patrons hunched over drinks and a man playing guitar at a small stage in the corner. A few of them looked up when you came in and you realized you were breathing hard. You tried to slow it, clearing your throat awkwardly as someone seemed to clock you, his eyebrows drawing together like he was trying to place you before his eyes went wide and he quickly looked back to his drink.

“Hi,” you smiled at the bartender as you came up. “I was wondering…”

“Need shoes,” he said gruffly.

You frowned.

“What?”

“You need shoes,” he said. “Can’t be barefoot in here. Not sure why anyone would want to walk around barefoot out there anyway, but…”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling again as best you could even though all you really wanted to do was cry. But you’d acted through worse. “They broke. I was hoping I could use a phone to see if I can get someone to pick me up? I lost mine.”

“You can use mine!” The man who’d spotted you before said quickly before clearing his throat. “Um… if… if you wanted.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, relieved, and taking the phone he held out to you.

It took you a moment to figure out who to call.

You wanted to call Anna. She was the only person who would get it, she was the only person who knew all of it. She was who would make you feel like it was all going to be OK.

But you didn’t have her anymore, so you ran down the list of numbers you had memorized. You knew Tanya’s but you didn’t want to leave the number of the world’s biggest musician in some random man’s phone. Justice, one of your closest friends and former costar, was out for the same reason. But you knew Quinn’s number and you did pay her to get you out of situations like this.

Well, maybe not exactly like this, but still. It was better than the alternatives.

It took a few tries before she answered the phone and, when she did, she was clearly pissed.

“What!” She snapped. “Whoever this is, it had better be good because I’m dealing with a crisis right now.”

“Hi Quinn,” you winced a little. “I think I might be your crisis.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry with relief. “What the hell happened? Where are you? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just needed a walk. Can you send Joel to come get me? I’m at…”

You paused, realizing you weren’t sure where you were. You covered the receiver on the phone and were about to ask the bartender when he gruffly answered your unspoken question.

“O’Shea’s Pub.”

“Thank you,” you smiled at him before repeating it back to Quinn. “Can you tell Joel?”

“I can,” she said. “You know, you could have just told him yourself if you’d fucking said what you were doing!”

“I know,” you flinched. “Sorry.”

She sighed.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just… don’t do it again. I’m sure he’ll be there soon.”

You returned the phone and got a glass of water from the bartender, who still looked none too happy about the fact that you were in his bar without shoes. But he was, at least, not forcing you to leave. You’d take that.

You tucked yourself into the corner booth, your feet on the seat next to you to get them off the floor, and stared out at the bar, listening to the guitarist as he played, letting your mind drift.

It had been so long since you’d been in the same room as Henry, even longer since it was close quarters. Years. Maybe a decade, even. You’d avoided him and he, mostly, let you. Every few years, a script would wind up in front of you with him attached and you never even read it, your stomach turning just seeing him listed as a producer. You just passed and he’d go back to leaving you alone.

You should have known he’d have done something like this eventually. You usually insisted on producer approval in your contracts but you’d foregone that to land Savage Starlight. You’d wanted the part so badly, wanted to be someone Ellie liked and looked up to and thought was cool, you’d made concessions. Henry was not the superhero movie type, you’d never even considered that he’d try to attach himself to this. A mistake on your part, it seemed.

“I still own you.”

That’s what he’d whispered in your ear as he was leaving, when he had you far enough from Leo and Joel to get away with saying whatever he wanted. Just the memory of it sent a chill up your spine and made your stomach churn. You fidgeted with the water cup, trying not to cry. You couldn’t cry, not in public, not before you had press, not when you were about to be crying in front of fucking Joel. You had to focus, not let things that happened more than a decade ago get under your skin.

It seemed like you’d hardly been sitting there any time at all when, suddenly, Joel was there, his large, broad frame blotting out the sun from the open door of the bar.

“What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snapped.

You couldn’t make out the expression on his face from your spot in the corner of the booth, just a silhouette, but you looked up at him anyway, not really sure what to say.

“Where the hell are your shoes?” He asked, his voice softening slightly.

“I’m not sure,” you said. “I lost them somewhere…”

He sighed and then took the seat across from you and you blinked in surprise, watching him as he crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaning in and looking you over, his eyes strangely soft.

“Want to tell me what happened.”

“Not really,” you said, leaning back against the wall behind you.

He nodded to your cup.

“What’re you drinking?”

“Water,” you said. “I didn’t have my wallet, so…”

Joel snorted.

“You tellin’ me they’re not bending over backwards to give the biggest movie star in the world free booze?”

You laughed, too, the sound thick in your throat.

“Not exactly,” you said. “But I shouldn’t be drinking, anyway, I have press in… fuck, what time is it?”

“About noon,” Joel said. “We got a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Whisky?” You asked, brows raised.

Joel looked surprised for a moment before he nodded.

“Whisky it is.”

You watched him go to the bar and bring back two glasses, setting one in front of you before taking his place across from you again, taking a sip himself.

“Thank you,” you said.

Joel shrugged and the two of you sat there in silence, sipping your drinks. The whisky was shitty but you kind of liked it that way for a change, the burn of it strangely satisfying, grounding you in your own body.

“Who was that guy?” Joel asked eventually, looking more at his glass than at you.

“Henry Wilde,” you said. Just saying his name made your stomach turn. “He’s a producer.”

“Seemed like he was more than that,” Joel said, looking at you now.

You watched him for a moment. One of the strange things about being famous was the fact that it seemed like the entire planet new your romantic history. It was disorienting, talking with someone who didn’t.

“We dated for a while,” you said. “A long time ago.”

Joel frowned.

“Seems old for you.”

You snorted.

“Yeah, well,” you said. “It is what it is, I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a while except at awards shows and things. The breakup… it wasn’t great.”

Joel nodded slowly, downing the last of his whisky before looking you in the eye.

“You know it’s my job to protect you,” he said. “Someone shoots at you, it’s my job to take the bullet. Someone tries to grab you, it’s my job to grab them first. Thing is… it don’t really matter who the threat is. If he’s a threat, it’s my job to protect you from him. I will keep you safe. Understand?”

You looked at him across the table, the seriousness of his expression, the uncanny openness of his gaze, the breadth and strength of his shoulders. There was something about him that made you believe him. He might hate you for some unknown reason but you trusted him. He would keep you safe, that you knew.

The thought made your throat get tight and you smiled a little at him.

“I understand,” you said. “Thank you, Joel.”

He just gave you a stiff nod and you polished off your whisky and Joel helped you to the car that was waiting outside. Joel, at least, had thought to grab your purse and you texted Quinn about the shoes. You made a quick detour to Christian Louboutin, a sales woman running a pair of pumps in your size out to the car so you made it to your call time on time. They ushered you right into hair and makeup to touch up what you’d done to yourself that morning before bringing you in to the studio, a craft services table set up at the back.

“There she is!” Your costar, Chris Reese, greeted you with open arms, a beaming smile on his face. You fought the urge to grimace as he hugged you, kissing you on both cheeks. “My God you look incredible, you really ought to have mercy on us mere mortals and have an off day sometime, love.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You asked, brows raised. “Besides, you look pretty good yourself.”

Which wasn’t a lie. Chris was almost unnaturally handsome - you wondered if he’d had some work done but, if he had, it was done well - with a sculpted face, dimpled chin, thick hair. He was good looking and he knew it but he seemed to love you admitting it, anyway.

“Well, if you say so,” he winked. “Still say we’d make a beautiful couple. C’mon, just for a few weeks. We wouldn’t even need to fuck. Unless you wanted to, of course, because who am I to deny a beautiful woman what she wants…”

“I think I’ll pass,” you said.

“On the PR relationship or on the sex?” He asked, his British accent thick. “Because I’m happy to offer the sex with no strings attached.”

“Oh I’m sure you are,” you clapped him on the shoulder before going to get yourself a Diet Coke.

A production assistant came in then, calling you and Chris over to show you examples of some TikTok trends they wanted you to recreate for promos.

It was hard to focus on them. You felt like you needed to play a character for things like this, some version of yourself that the public might want to see and be friends with, the kind of person they’d want to see on their social media feed instead of just on a movie screen. But it was hard to fall into it today. You had to say “Chris, this is the media day for ‘As We Know It’” three times before you finally settled on a take to use.

Chris, to his credit, was good natured about it, willingly saying “I hope she plays Hot to Go” again and again until you were both happy with it. He did the same thing for some choreographed dance after you fucked it up more than you cared to admit and you tried not to feel completely humiliated by it all.

After you posed for some photos - so many with your head on Chris’ chest or your face close to his, the faked intimacy making your jaw clench tight - you settled in for the interviews and you were already exhausted. You hadn’t counted on seeing Henry that day and, even if you had, you wouldn’t have known how much it would take out of you.

“You alright, love?” Chris asked as you had a few minutes between interview three and four. “Seem like you’re not quite yourself.”

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of Diet Coke. “Just a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, taking a swig of water. “God, this is the worst part of the job.”

“Not the night shoot where we were covered in mud and it was 40 degrees outside?” You asked, brows raised.

He barked a laugh.

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “That might have been worse.”

The next reporter came in and introduced himself and settled in across from the two of you and everything seemed normal, the usual questions about research and challenges and favorite parts of the film when he turned is focus to you and you had to fight the urge to frown at that.

“This one is just for you,” he said. “Sorry, Chris.”

“Don’t worry, I know where I stand when this one’s involved,” he smiled jovially. “Rightfully so, I might add.”

“Such a charmer,” you smiled at him before turning back to the reporter.

“As We Know It is familiar territory for you in a few ways,” he said, making you frown slightly. “Not so much in plot but more in the awards aspect. You famously won your Oscar - your first Oscar, I should say, since you’re the favorite this season - when you were just 20. You were the frontrunner then, too, because you were such a standout…”

“I mean if you want to talk about how great I am, I won’t argue too much,” you smiled, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh, I could,” he smiled back. “But more what I’m getting at… The District, which was about a teenaged prostitute working in a red light district, was a very different film from As We Know It. This is much bigger in scope while also being very intimate - framing the dissolution of a marriage around the end of the world - while The District was much more of a character study, one that caught a lot of flack for the rampant nudity and graphic sex scenes.

“But you also had a very different connection to The District, didn’t you?” He continued. “Your boyfriend at the time, Henry Wilde, developed it as a vehicle to launch that era of your career. The movie really existed because of you, didn’t it?”

Your eyes darted toward where Joel was standing, your fingers pressing down into your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you, could sense the tension drawn tight between you, like he was waiting there for something to shift just enough for him to jump in.

“Well…”

“I was wondering what that was like for you,” he said. “Being in on the ground floor like that and having something built around you and your skills versus what the process looks like when you don’t have someone in that director/producer role crafting a film specifically for you? And how does that change awards season for you?”

You dug your nails into your leg.

“Well, I…”

“I’ll take this one, love,” Chris said, his hand coming to cover yours and you turned to look at him and you realized that he was watching you, intently, before turning his attention to the reporter. “I’m going to lay this out for you as clearly as I can: we aren’t doing that.”

The reporter opened his mouth to argue but Chris cut him off.

“No, you asked your question, I’m giving you the bloody answer,” he said. “First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due. She’s also a lot kinder than I am because she would just answer your bullshit question which is why I’m not letting her. Someone needs to teach you some manners.

“I’m not going to let you sit there and say - to her fucking face - that you think she slept her way to the top,” he said, tone heated. “Because that’s bullshit. You’ve seen her films, you’ve seen her act, if you think she got here off anything beyond talent and incredibly hard work, you’re insane but, more importantly, even if she DID fuck her way to the top, who cares? Why would that be on her? She was, what, 18 when making that film? Henry Wilde was pushing 50? Never mind the fact that he bragged about recognizing her talent when he first met her when she was all of - what was it, love? 13?”

He looked at you again, giving you a chance to answer.

“Twelve,” you said, your grip on your leg easing.

“Fucking 12!” He turned his attention back toward the reporter. “Can you imagine meeting someone who is 12 years old when you’re in your fucking 40s and then DATING THEM six years later? If she slept with him for the part - which I highly doubt since she wouldn’t even pretend to date me to get good PR for this movie, I know because I asked - why would that be on her? That’s on him, ask him why he was going after fucking teenagers, don’t ask her.”

“Alright, I think that’s all the time we have,” Chris’ publicist all but jumped in between him and the reporter, cutting him off before he could go any further. “Thank you so much for coming, why don’t we just see what I can answer for you over here…”

She guided the still dumbfounded looking man away, leaving just you and Chris sitting there in awkward silence.

“Sorry about that,” he said after a moment. “Just think if I had to sit there and let that jackass keep going I was going to lose my bloody mind.”

“No, I…” You looked at him for a moment. “Thank you. Why did you do that?”

He shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked. “Meant what I said. You are supremely talented and an all around lovely person. You may not be too fond of me…”

“I never said that,” you said quickly but he gave you a look.

“But that’s really my own fault,” he said. “Something tells me if I came on a little less strong when we met, you and I might be friends.”

You smiled a little.

“We still can be,” you said.

“As long as you don’t hold it against me,” he gave you a wink. “Even if I do deserve it.”

You reached a hand out for him and he took it, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“My publicist is going to kill me,” he said cheerfully. “Maybe I’ll never have to do press again.”

You barked a laugh, already feeling lighter.

“Let me know if it works,” you said. “I’ve got a few screeds stashed away, think I could be just unhinged enough to pull it off.”

The rest of the media day was calm, the same basic questions just asked in slightly different ways, things handled easily by your years of media training.

There was just one other moment that set you on edge, probably because of the moment with Joel earlier in the day, the one where he brought your Oscar out from his room and forced you to look at it for the first time in years.

“So,” the reporter asked, smiling conspiratorially. “You each have an Academy Award and I’ve always wondered: where on earth do you keep something like that?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Chris said. “Keep mine on the bedside table but not on my side of the bed. Like to make sure the people I bring home know I’ve got one.”

He gave the reporter a wink and she giggled and you tried not to laugh.

“And you?” She asked when you weren’t quite so forthcoming.

“Oh,” you said, your fingers pressing down into your thigh again, keenly aware of Joel’s eyes on you. “Currently, it’s in the back of my pantry.”

“Your pantry?” Chris looked at you, incredulous. “What on earth is it doing there?”

You laughed and hoped it didn’t sound too fake.

“I just like keeping myself humble,” you said. “If it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind. Gives me something to work towards.”

“Not me,” Chris said. “I’d wear that thing on a chain if it wasn’t so bloody heavy.”

“I’ve got an Emmy that’s a paperweight in my office,” you smiled. “That one’s lighter if you want to borrow it…”

“Not nearly as impressive for me if it’s got your name on it, love. Guess I’ll need to do some TV,” he said. “Get one of my own. Will you do it with me?”

You laughed a little, more genuinely than you ever really had with Chris before. You liked it.

“Of course,” you said. “I’d love to work with you again.”

“And we’d love to see it,” the reporter smiled.

Once the final reporter left, you got up, taking a moment to stretch as best you could in your outfit, the boning of the corseted top keeping you from doing too much and you were ready to be out of the damn thing, back in the comfort of your home where you could peel back the carefully packaged version of yourself that existed for public consumption and just exist without the artifice of it all.

“Christ, media days are so long,” Chris said, cracking his back, too. “Give me back to back night shoots any day.”

“Tell me about it,” you said. “Are you staying in town at least or are you heading out tonight?”

“I’ll be here through the premier,” he said. “Want to walk the carpet with me? As friends, of course.”

“Yeah,” you smiled a little. “That would be nice.”

He gave you a peck on the cheek and a squeeze before the two of you went your separate ways, Joel sitting beside you in the back of the SUV as you stared out the window, watching the city go past.

You did a FaceTime call with Ellie after you got changed and had something to eat, not too long before her bedtime. She told you about school, excited about making friends with a girl named Dina and proud of her grade on her latest science test. You’d promised to take her to the space center in Houston if she actually studied, so you made a mental note to see if Quinn could make some calls and get you a tour. You usually didn’t like leveraging your celebrity status for things like that - you’d gone to DisneyLand plenty of times and just worn a baseball cap and sunglasses all day, doing your best to blend in while waiting in line like everybody else - but, for something that would help keep Ellie engaged in learning, you’d pull some strings.

Talking to her was good but it was also hard. You sat there for a minute, staring into space when the call was over. Something in you was so hollow in that moment, as though someone and wrenched your ribs apart and carved out your insides, leaving you totally empty.

You missed Ellie. You missed Anna. You missed a life you’d never had, one that was quiet and still and let you exist in a way that didn’t include people like fucking Henry or reporters asking about some of the worst parts of your life so everyone else could know about them, too.

When that feeling stuck around a little too long, you unfolded yourself from the couch and padded back toward your bedroom, pausing for a second at Joel’s door. The light was on in his room but it was quiet. Not that you should be bothering him, anyway. Just because he’d been kind to you that afternoon didn’t mean that the two of you were suddenly friends.

You sighed before going to your room and getting your guitar from its place in the corner.

You took it out back to sit by the pool, tuning it quickly before strumming a few chords, trying to think of what to play.

Eventually, you settled on Landslide. It had been a while since you’d played, it took you a little while to find a groove, but it still felt good. You’d never been an incredible guitarist by any means, but you loved playing. It felt like something you did just for you, something that no one else expected out of you.

That was the problem with acting for a living. It helped you think and process and understand yourself and the people around you but it wasn’t something you could do on your own terms anymore, it was always something made for someone else, so someone else could profit or be entertained. No one expected you to play guitar for them, this was something you could do just for you.

You played the song twice to get a feel for things again and just started playing music that felt right, not always whole songs, sometimes just bits and pieces, sometimes singing sometimes not as you watched the glow from the pool light ripple on the water.

“Didn’t know you played.”

You jumped, whipping your head around to find Joel hovering near the door, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants with a t-shirt on this time.

“Sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t… didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“It’s alright,” you said, looking back toward the water. “I forgot you were here for a minute is all.”

“It OK if I join you?” He asked and you looked back at him again.

You shrugged.

“If you want.”

He came and sat on the lounge chair next to yours, staring straight ahead at the water, too, his hands clasped between his knees.

“Don’t gotta stop just because of me,” he said after a moment. “You ain’t bad.”

You laughed once.

“I’m not great,” you said.

He shrugged.

“Definitely heard worse. Where’d you learn to play?”

“I had to learn the basics for Siren,” you said. “They almost never used my real playing on the show but I needed to at least look like I knew what I was doing. I just kept learning after that. I know I’m not very good but it feels good, you know?”

Joel nodded slowly, looking like he wanted to say something but seeming to think better of it.

“You doing OK?” He asked after a minute.

You looked at him, examining him closely.

“Why?” You asked. “Do you actually care or are you trying to find something to use against me.”

He examined you back, his gaze sharp and exacting before softening.

“Just seemed like you had a shit day,” he said.

You nodded slowly, looking back to the water again.

“I just miss my friend,” you said quietly. “Ellie’s mom, I mean. She was my person, she was my person for my whole life and I just want to talk to her again. I want to tell her about lunch and about Chris and I want her to know that Ellie got an A on her science test…”

“She did?” Joel asked and you looked over at him, his expression oddly earnest.

“She did,” you smiled a little. “I called her a little while ago, she was very proud.”

“She should be,” Joel said. “She worked hard.”

“She did,” you said again and then you sighed. “It just seems so impossible that Anna’s gone. She doesn’t get to see these things, I don’t have her to talk to, I can’t get drunk with her or laugh with her or… “

Mid-sentence, Joel just got up and walked away. You sat there, blinking at the empty space for a moment before you huffed derisively.

“Figures,” you muttered to yourself, before picking at the guitar strings again. But, unexpectedly, Joel was back just a minute later, two glasses of whisky in his hands and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He handed you a glass and set the bottle on the ground next to your foot.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… think we need it.”

You considered him for a moment before nodding and taking a sip. He did the same before frowning a little, holding the glass away from himself and examining it.

“What?” You frowned.

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just never had shit this good before. Probably should have asked before taking it.”

“Nah,” you waved him off. “It’s there to be taken, I don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a whisky girl,” he said, taking another sip. “This is damn good.”

“I picked it up when I was young,” you said. “Meeting with producers, they liked when a girl drank like them and seemed to know her shit. I had to force it at first but… well, I guess I acquired the taste. Course, that means I’m picky now. That’s a Macallan 25.”

Joel whistled, long and low.

“Explains why it’s so damn good,” he said.

You smiled a little.

“That it does.”

You sipped the liquor in silence for a bit, savoring the feel of it on your tongue, the heat as it slipped into your stomach.

“What Chris was sayin’,” Joel said eventually, his voice trailing off before he continued. “That all true?”

You looked over at him, watching him for a moment. Joel puzzled you. There were times he seemed to relish being cold or even cruel. Others - like this one - where he seemed to genuinely care.

You weren’t sure what to make of it.

“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not… Look, this is Hollywood. Producers and men with power date young women because they can and the young women date them because we know it can help us get ahead. Tale as old as time.”

“That why you did it?” He asked.

You didn’t really feel like giving him the real answer, so you just looked back at your pool and shrugged, taking another drink.

“Meant what I said before,” he said after a minute. “I will keep you safe. Don’t matter who, don’t matter why. If you don’t want to ever talk to him again, fine, you don’t have to.”

You laughed once, darkly.

“That’s very sweet, Joel, but he’s producing the movie I’m on,” you said. “I’m going to have to deal with him, that’s just how it works.”

“Well, then, it won’t be alone,” he said. “Not while I’m around, anyway.”

“Because you’re going to fight the most powerful producer in Hollywood?” You asked, teasing a little, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Joel shrugged.

“Don’t much care who he is,” Joel said. “But why not. I’d win.”

You laughed and then sighed and, before you were really thinking about it, your head drifted over to Joel’s shoulder. He stiffened and you were about to pull yourself back and apologize but then he relaxed a little, his arm slipping around you, his hand settling into the curve of your waist.

“You’ll be safe,” he said, so quietly that you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear it. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You smiled a little, the light dancing on the water. For some reason, you believed him.

A/N: I swear, I'm not trying to only publish once a month! Thank you for waiting for this chapter. I really am so happy you're here.

I hope you're all taking care of yourselves right now. There's been a lot going on lately, please spend some time looking after yourself. You deserve it (and Joel would want you to.)

Love you ❤️

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #The Savage and the Sanctuary #tsats

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moni-logues · 2 days ago

Text

Reciprocity

Pairing: Yoongi x afab reader (Kintsugi couple) feat. A Fine Line Couple

Genre: established relationship

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: A couples' holiday with Suri and Namjoon highlights a particular problem between you and Yoongi.

Content: one reference to self-harm (cutting) but discussion of scars, oral sex (f. receiving), discussions of sex life stuff?, i guess some poor communication, overheard sex

A/N: yes, it's me once again with my favourite characters no apologies. i have been thinking about this since maybe even before i finished the series??? and i'm glad to have it finally out of my head. this is unedited and unbeta'd, written by me in the course of this one single day and well, here we are. This is set in the summer, somewhere a few months after the ending of the series.

* * *

“It’ll be fun!”

Yoongi just nodded and continued carefully folding clothes and packing them in a bag.

“You don’t want to come,” you continued, heart sinking a little.

“Of course I do.”

“Tell your face.”

He smiled then but didn’t want you to see it, turned around to fetch underwear from a drawer. When he turned back, his face was schooled into something a little more neutral, polite.

“I’m not saying it’s my first choice of holiday,” he explained, “but I want to go.”

“Good, because you’re coming whether you like it or not!”

You hopped off the bed, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then moved into the kitchen to prepare snacks for the road. At the advice of your therapist, you were taking Yoongi at his word: if he said he wanted to come, you would believe him and it was not your responsibility if he was lying. Even though it felt like it was.

A week in the sun had been your initial suggestion. Somewhere where the heat wasn’t a curse, but a blessing. Clear blue skies and cool water. Peace. Unbridled joy where the real world couldn’t touch you. Even you weren’t entirely sure when it turned into a couples’ holiday, but it was an idea that neither Suri nor Yoongi would ever come up with, and you weren’t sure about Namjoon so it must have been yours. Sounded like the sort of thing you would say. Yoongi had said yes and let you do the research, find somewhere not too far away, easy to get to but far enough to feel new, to feel fresh.

He had been fairly tight-lipped about it since then. Got a little quiet when you brought it up, when you showed him tourism websites with activities laid out. He insisted he wanted to come but never quite managed to muster up the level of enthusiasm you’d hoped for. In a way, that was just Yoongi being Yoongi, but there was anxiety in you, too, and it was making you sensitive. You could see everyone hating the idea, hating the trip, having the worst time. The awkward silences, arguments about what to do or who should clean what. Namjoon had joked that he would have to force Suri to come and he had said it with a laugh but you knew it was true.

You turned your head and looked out of the car window at the increasingly green scenes around you and bit your lip. It felt incongruous somehow to not be happy and peaceful when the environment was so lush and bright with life. With ease. With a natural kind of solidity that had stood for hundreds or thousands of years and was still standing. You felt small and silly to be worried about this but it didn’t stop you worrying. Yoongi’s hand found yours and, like it always did, made a warmth start in your heart. You closed your eyes for a second of intense gratitude and then turned to him.

“It’ll be fun,” he said.

And it sounded like he meant it.

You and Yoongi arrived first, took the back bedroom overlooking the lake at Yoongi’s insistence because it was the better view. You had stopped on the way for groceries and you stocked the fridge, took out food to cook for dinner, since it would be about that time when Namjoon and Suri arrived.

The cabin was wooden and new, so new it still smelt literally pine-fresh. The sun was just starting to dip, dripping golden light over everything, spreading a thousand tiny diamonds on the surface of the lake. It couldn’t have been more picturesque. It made you want to send a postcard for the first time since you were a child. You settled for texting photos to Taehyung who told you to stop messaging him. Your ripples of anxiety were peaking, anticipating Namjoon and Suri’s arrival and what sort of dynamic it would bring, how it might disturb the peace of this place.

Yoongi tore you from the window and asked you to start peeling vegetables. You were glad of the task.

“-t I don’t want to be here, it’s just going to be weird.”

Suri’s voice came from the hallway and you froze. So did Yoongi.

“I don’t know why you keep saying that-” Namjoon - “it’s not as if we’ve never spent time with them. You like them.”

Suri’s hum in response sounded unconvinced.

You heard the kicking off of shoes, could follow their footsteps into the living room, around the corner from the kitchen where the two of you were hidden. Yoongi put down his knife and moved to go, intercept them before they said something you didn’t want to hear, but you put a hand out to stop him. Your stomach was sick but you had to hear it. Whatever it might be.

“She’s jus-”

And they rounded the corner into the kitchen, stopped in their tracks when they saw you.

“Hey!” Namjoon was the first to recover. “We didn’t know you guys had arrived already! Where have you parked?”

“’Round the back,” Yoongi answered.

He was looking at Suri and you were looking anywhere but. Face burning with shame—that this was your idea, that it was all your fault, that you should’ve made you presence known earlier, that no one except you wanted to do this—you swallowed and smiled as brightly as you could.

“You made it!”

Your cheer sounded forced to you; maybe Namjoon and Suri wouldn’t hear it. Maybe they would believe you.

“Public transport is a fucking nightmare,” Suri said with feeling.

“I told you we could’ve rented a car,” Namjoon replied as if they had had this argument already.

“I’m not driving in these hills! You should do it. Right?”

You flinched when she turned to you and realised you had to answer.

“Uh-”

“Yoongi drove, right? Literally what are men good for if not chauffeuring you around?”

It was a lifeline for her, really, but you took it readily, gladly, anything to drive over the awkwardness and shame you were feeling.

“She has a point, Joon,” you said, grinning at him. “You could at least get a licence.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes indulgently, let you and Suri rib him a little more, smoothing things over at his own expense. You were deeply grateful.

“Come and help us do dinner,” you said, ferreting out more chopping boards from the cupboard, handing over knives and ingredients.

It would be fine, you told yourself as you diligently and with great focus, chopped an onion. It would be fine. It would not be weird. It would be fine. It would be fine.

It was fine. Dinner was cooked and eaten and cleaned up after. Drinks were taken on to the back porch, overlooking the lake, the heat lingering long into the darkness. It was not dissimilar to the other dinners you had had as a foursome. As long as you could forget what Suri might have been about to say, you were sure you could have a good time.

You woke the next morning, sun streaming sharply through a gap in the curtains. You rolled over, tucked yourself into Yoongi’s side even though you were already hot and sticky. You were willing yourself to fall back to sleep, even if just for a few minutes, and then you were sitting, eyes wide, ears trained.

There was no mistaking the sound of other people having sex. You grimaced, settled back down in bed and pulled the covers over your head.

“What?” Yoongi mumbled, not so much a word as a sound.

“Can’t you hear them?” you asked in a stage whisper.

Another grunt from Yoongi. Then you felt his body tense, followed by a sigh and a sleepy chuckle.

“You’re the one who wanted to come on holiday with another couple.”

You whined, prodded him sharply in the chest.

“Not because I was anticipating this! Do they have to be so loud?”

“This place is not exactly well sound-proofed.”

“I so don’t want to hear this.”

“Go back to sleep,” Yoongi said and he sounded like he was already halfway there himself.

“I don’t know how you can sleep now that you can hear that.”

Merely a hum in response.

You lay for a few minutes, desperately trying not to hear the only noise in the house, and then you gave up. Threw back the covers and went into the bathroom to shower. The rush of the shower might not exactly cover it but it would give you something to do.

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted the other couple when they came out to join the two of you on the back porch, where you were sitting with coffee and fruit. “Just a quick request: could you please have louder sex? I’ve been getting a little too much sleep recently.”

You and Suri both froze and you saw the blood swarm in her cheeks, red and hot. Namjoon just laughed.

“I’ll see what we can do.”

Suri swatted him harshly on the arm and he barely noticed, slung said arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissed her on the top of her head. If he felt embarrassed or awkward about it, it wasn’t showing. What was it like to be so self-assured, confident, relaxed about everything? Even with Suri’s face still pink, her mouth pulled into a scowl, furiously glowering at her boyfriend, he looked easy, his smile gentle and eyes bright. You envied him. You still felt silly and embarrassed about the previous evening, and embarrassed about hearing them have sex; he didn’t seem embarrassed at all to be heard.

Yoongi had insisted on washing up after breakfast. Didn’t let anyone else so much as carry a bowl back to the kitchen. He was taking his time on it, deliberately, carefully, putting off what he knew could not be avoided.

He was rarely unaware of his own body. Vigilant at all times about its exposure. He had suffered years of summers under long sleeves and trousers, would suffer higher temperatures, more humidity if he had to. He regretted everything he had done to himself, but not in a way that prevented him doing it again. No amount of shame or embarrassment would stop him, it seemed. Not that it happened much these days, but the possibility was always there.

Even when he was with you, he couldn’t let go. Even though you were sweet and kind and loving. Even though he knew there was a part of you that understood. Even though he could kiss your thighs where you had cut them and love you so much that it hurt, love your skin, love your scars (hate that you had them). Even though you kissed him, all over, generous and unsparing, even though you said you loved him, all the parts, every bit of him. He knew what he was and he found that breaking the habit of hiding himself was harder than the hiding had been in the first place.

With his task finished, and all the others he had made up for himself (cleaning counters, fluffing cushions, clearing the dryer of lint even though they hadn’t used it), he had come to the point he could no longer avoid. He moved slowly up the stairs, towards the bedroom you and he were sharing; he stopped halfway up. He could see you through the door, left ajar.

Your bikini was floral, cutesy, every bit you. The smile formed on his mouth before he had registered the sight. Then it was wiped away because he saw your face: your worried eyebrows, lip caught between your teeth. Your fingers ran over the scars on your thighs; your face turned towards the window, from which point Yoongi knew you could see Namjoon and Suri, already out, lounging. He could see cogs turning in your head, first this way then that.

And then it wasn’t just the scars. You fussed with the top, fussed with the bottom, turned in the mirror to check yourself from the side, twisted your head around to catch yourself from the back. You ran a hand over your face. You picked up a slip of fabric—some kind of cover-up, a dress?—and held it up against yourself.

He knew he shouldn’t be spying like this. He wanted to leap the remaining stairs and take you into bed where he would show you exactly what he thought of your body: your perfect, desirable, soft, body that he loved and loved to love. He wanted, briefly, to throw Suri in the lake and hope there were eels because he knew you were still thinking about it: last night.

He knew that it didn’t matter much what he did because it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t as easy as being told you were fine. He knew because you told him all the time but he still felt like there was something wrong with him.

He carried on up the stairs and knocked on the door as he entered. Your face was immediately bright, free from clouds, as clear as the sky outside.

“Coming outside?” you asked as he moved in closer, couldn’t stop himself kissing you just once, putting all his love into it, however brief, however small.

“Yeah, just coming. You go ahead.”

You nodded and skipped out and there was a deep tug in his chest. There was a pit of snakes in his stomach but, fuck it, he’d been bitten before. Everyone out there beside the lake knew him, knew what he was if not in full, lurid detail. He took a deep breath and fished around in the bottom of his bag for the pair of swimming shorts he had bought in a moment of madness and packed because he wanted to make the effort for you. He hadn’t expected to wear them—they were still fully tagged and pristine, ready for refunding—but here he was.

He hadn’t anticipated the difficulty. He sat for ten minutes at the dining table in the kitchen, willing himself to get up and go outside. His legs weren’t all that bad, not the lower half. No one would care. You’d seen them before anyway. It wasn’t a big deal. He was telling himself all the right things but he couldn’t make himself move because he was thinking about all the people who’d seen him in his grossest state. Thought of the things some of them had said. Thought about their reactions. Thought about yours. Tried to focus on that. Reminded himself that it was you out there and his best friend. Suri was still a question mark but he also thought that she could go fuck herself if she had a problem with it because he was still prepared to fight her for potentially upsetting you.

“I don’t know. I’ll go and see where he is.”

Your voice floated over to him and that was it, the alarm call, the deadline reached. He stood from the chair and made himself move with he didn’t know what power.

“Hey!” you cried, arms outstretched to welcome him as he approached the group. “I was just coming to look for you—thought you might have got lost.”

He smiled, let you kiss him on the cheek, direct him into a sun lounger, sit down with him on it, not quite in his lap but almost.

Suri raised a hand in way of a greeting; she was flat on her back, sunglasses on, straps of her bikini tucked away, her tiny body sizzling in the sun. Namjoon sat next to her, under the shade of a parasol, dug out of the cabin’s garage, book in hand. He nodded at Yoongi and kept reading.

“I’m going to go in the lake,” you said, one hand resting on his calf. “Do you want to come?”

He was putting all his energy into not looking where you were touching him, not noticing, pretending that this wasn’t the first time for he couldn’t remember how many years that he’d not been fully covered in front of people. He wasn’t sure what his face said, if his mouth said anything at all, but you were standing and holding out your hands for him so he must have said yes, let you lead him to the edge of the water and then jump in.

The water was colder than he’d expected. He gasped and swallowed a lungful, came up spluttering. He wiped the water from his face and pushed his hair back. He blinked the water from his eyes and each frame brought you closer, until your arms were around his neck and your lips on his.

“I love you, you know that?”

He nodded.

“I love you, too.”

“I know.”

Did you? Did you really know the full depth and breadth of it? The way he loved you was desperate and whole. He had loved desperately before, loved anxiously, a long time ago when he still thought it was possible he could be loved. There were times when it terrified him. You terrified him because you loved him and it was impossible. Panic seized him and he wanted to run, run anywhere, get as far away as possible until you and your enormous heart were nowhere to be seen. Then you would call him or you would touch him and the panic disappeared, a low-grade anxiety in its place.

He hadn’t realised he had given up on it. Before you let him kiss you, before you kissed him back and said things he never believed he would hear, he had retired the idea of being loved. It wasn’t for everyone and it wasn’t for him. He took what he could get and accepted that his lot in life was nothing more. But he met you and it hit him square in the face: that he’d stopped expecting joy. That he was fine because he never expected what he deeply and desperately wanted: to be loved.

And that’s why you were terrifying. Because he was getting used to you. Getting used to being wanted. Getting used to the idea that he could be wanted. Sometimes he thought he was expecting it. Expecting you to let him in your arms, in your life. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t owed anything, didn’t deserve anything. It was the other way around: he was in debt for everything he had been given by you, for being given you at all.

They say if you can’t beat them, join them. It was an expression Yoongi was apparently taking very seriously, as he slid his tongue down your torso, fingers already slipping through your lips, sinking deep into your soft, wet hole.

You were less keen to join Namjoon and Suri in being overheard so you pressed a pillow to your face and moaned into it, still louder than you’d wanted to be. You bit down hard on your lip as your back arched from the bed. Every time, it was an aria performed like a concerto, Yoongi doing the work of a full orchestra suite at once. It was lethal and moving the ease with which he played you and it was somehow never the same twice. Never had anyone spent as much time with his face between your legs and it showed: he had learnt, with apparent ease, seemingly everything about what got you off: had learnt how to do it in a rush, how to take his time, how to make you squirt (a surprise more to you than him), how to edge you until you wanted to die, how to make you come and somehow keep coming. He had, on one unfortunately memorable occasion, given you a charley horse and a third orgasm simultaneously.

You were approaching your second now, with sweat seeping into the bedsheets, and Yoongi’s tongue laving at your clit, his fingers rocking inside you. It was suffocating with the pillow smothering you, your hot breath making it damp, your breathing thick and swampy so it made you light-headed. You couldn’t have kept any quieter even if you’d be able to try; all your attention and energy fell on the mouth at the apex of your legs and the fingers inside you. An experience so in-body, it almost pushed you all the way out again, like your consciousness was hovering outside your skin, alert and alive, an electrical wire in a puddle of water.

You came hard and gasped for breath when you pulled the pillow from your face. Yoongi kissed his way back up to you, sticky marks all over your sweat-wet skin. He was damp, too, tiny curls of hair stuck to his forehead, the T-shirt he slept in stuck to his back. You peeled it back, ran your hands over him, were reaching for the waistband of his boxers when he pulled away.

“I’ll wash up and then make breakfast, sound good?” he asked, climbing out of bed and reaching for trousers.

The words died in your mouth. You could see that he was hard, see the discomfort in the way he adjusted himself as he dressed; you wished you could see into his brain. It wasn’t the first time, not even the second or third and you didn’t want to have the same conversation again, with another couple in the house, with company. Knew it wouldn’t get you anywhere if you did. Knew he would not fuck you nor would he give you a real reason why not. You rolled onto your side, away from the door and pulled the covers around you, despite the heat, despite the sweat. You lay and you stewed and you wondered just what exactly you were doing wrong.

You tried to forget about it and it had been easy until you glanced over to see Namjoon swat Suri’s backside with his book, saw her retaliate by squirting water on him from her bottle, saw him pull her down in a tumble that was entirely playful until she kissed him. You turned away because you’d already heard enough, you didn’t need to see their foreplay.

“Did you guys buy ice-cream?” Suri asked later that evening.

“No,” you answered. “Do you want some?”

Suri nodded.

“Yeah, there’s a shop down the road; I’ll go and get some. Anyone else want any?”

“I’ll come, too!”

Suri looked surprised, her mouth open (to put you off), then she shut it and shrugged.

“Ok.”

It was quiet, initially, just the soft rush of wind in the tops of the trees and the slight crunch of the gravel track under your feet.

“Can I ask you something?”

The rhythm of Suri’s feet faltered and then started smoothly again. Her answer was slow to arrive.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Embarrassment was worming through you, on its way to stifle you, to choke you so the words wouldn’t come out.

“You and Namjoon have good sex, right?”

Suri didn’t just falter but stopped completely. She looked at you guardedly, suspicious. You could feel her attempting to put distance between you, even as her feet kept still.

“Is that... ar-, we’re trying to be quiet,” she answered eventually.

You laughed not because it was funny but because you were nervous.

“No, it’s not about that. It's... I mean, you do, right?”

“Yes.”

You were stuttering over your next question, not having planned this conversation, not really knowing what you wanted out of it.

“Don’t you and Yoongi?” Suri asked, beating you to it.

“We do. Kind of. Yes, but also...”

Your face was flaming, hot pricks of sweat beading in your scalp at the embarrassment of this, at having to ask someone about your sex life—someone that wasn’t Taehyung anyway—someone who definitely did not want to be having this conversation either.

“The thing is,” you persevered, “he goes down on me, like a lot. Or not a lot but sometimes, well, often, he...”

Your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides.

“He goes down on me and then we don’t have sex and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong or why he doesn’t want to fuck me.”

You let it out in a rush, looking somewhere over Suri’s left shoulder because you couldn’t bear to look at her directly, to see her face reacting. She was quiet for a moment or two and you stewed, boiling in your self-consciousness, steaming with shame.

“Have you asked him?”

“Yes, of course! He just says he doesn’t want to or ‘it’s ok’ or that I don’t have to reciprocate or that he’s fine. But I'm not fine! I’m clearly shit at sex! And blowjobs because he doesn’t want those either!”

And it was the embarrassment, mostly, but you felt tears burn in your eyes, felt your bottom lip wobble and as much as you did not want to have this conversation, you certainly didn’t want to cry during it.

“Does Namjoon ever...” and you couldn’t finish the question because you knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it.

“Nah, if he’s even the slightest bit turned on, he’s doing something about it. Well, I'm doing something about it, you know what I mean.”

You cursed softly, tried to kick at the gravel in your flipflops.

“I just wish he would tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can fix it.”

Your embarrassment, bright enough to have burnt away now, had left you sad, miserable in fact, that you couldn’t please your boyfriend and he was being too nice to tell you so. Sad because you couldn’t give him what you wanted to, what he gave you. Miserable that you were failing where you wanted to succeed.

“Do you ask him directly at the time?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, look, I’m the last person who should be giving anyone relationship advice of any kind, ok? I really don’t know how to do anything but are you asking him why he doesn’t want to have sex right now, or have you talked about it at a completely unsexy time? Because Namjoon is barely sapient when his dick is hard; his brain is entirely in his crotch.

“Literally the only thing I have learnt over the last year is that, as horrible as it is, you have to talk about stuff, especially when you don’t want to talk about it. So maybe just talk to him again but- oh, I don’t know! I’m not good at this. But if he’s not given you a proper answer, make him give you one. You should at least know what the problem is, if there even is one, right?”

You thought about it. Thought about how quickly you let the subject drop, let Yoongi brush you off because you didn’t really want to have the conversation at all, didn’t want to know the answer—or rather you didn’t want to hear Yoongi say it.

You nodded, thanked her quietly for her help and you walked the rest of the way to the shop in silence. You picked an ice-cream at random and a random one for Yoongi, too, then you walked back. Suri tried to make conversation with you and you were grateful for it, for her. You didn’t know if she liked you, found her impossible to read, and often got the impression that she’d rather be anywhere else, but she was making an effort and it meant something to you.

“Can I ask you something?” you started timidly as you settled in bed that night.

“Yeah.”

You were quiet for a moment and Yoongi frowned, trying to work out what had upset you. You had been quieter than usual all evening and he wondered if Suri had said something to you; you had come back from the shop with two melona ice-creams, which you hated.

“Am I bad in bed?”

He blanched. Didn’t really understand the question because you weren't. Not in the slightest. The sex he had with you was as close to perfect as sex could be. He sometimes felt deranged in how much he wanted you, felt dirty for it even, like it somehow besmirched your honour for him to think about you when he touched himself. Like he would contaminate you with his need to have you. It often took all he had in him not to fuck you.

“What do you mean?”

Your mouth was pouty and your eyebrows drawn close. You didn’t look angry for which he was grateful, but you were sad and frustrated for which he was not.

“You go down on me all the time and then we don’t have sex after! You don’t let me reciprocate! I can’t do it better if you don’t tell me what I’m doing wrong in the first place!”

It was like static was fuzzing up his brain. He knew the words but couldn’t understand them coming out of your mouth. He had thought he was doing the right thing. Giving not taking. Or taking only sometimes, but keeping the balance firmly tipped towards you. You always offered because of course you did: you were wonderful and kind and, for reasons he could rarely fathom, you cared about him.

“Yoongi!”

In a tone he almost never heard, genuinely annoyed, if also pleading and anxious.

He blinked, tried to find an answer.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do! It happened this morning! It happens at least half the time! I don’t understand why you don’t want it.”

And his heart was suddenly hammering because he could see that he had got it wrong but he wasn’t quite sure how. Colour drained from his face because you were upset, really, genuinely upset and it was his fault and if he could have squashed himself like a bug under his own shoe, he would have.

He tried to see what he had not seen, what he had missed, what maybe he had ignored. Could only see instead the times before, with other partners, when he’d try to initiate and be rebuffed, when he never asked for anything because he knew he wouldn’t get it anyway and, besides, it was ugly to ask, to want, to demand for something someone else didn’t want to give. He had spent so much time and effort learning his partners’ bodies, trying to make up for everything he lacked. He knew he was good at it. Knew it, was sure of it. Wasn’t he? Was it not enough? Was he still missing something?

“I do,” he said, voice hushed as though it hurt to say. “I do want it.”

“Then why do you always brush me off?”

He felt stripped like old paint. Had to look at you, though the embarrassment was excruciating.

“I didn’t think you really wanted it.”

And it sounded stupid when he said it out loud, really stupid, but it was the truth.

“What?!”

You really needed to hear him say it again. That he didn’t think you wanted it, even though you had explicitly asked. Even though you had sometimes tried, feebly, to insist.

“I...”

But he didn’t say it again, looked as though he couldn’t. Looked as desperate as you felt.

“Why do you think I would ask, I would offer, if I didn’t want to actually do it?”

“Because you give. You’re... You’re nice to me.”

“Oh, fuck.”

And you took a deep breath, tried to blink away the tears, sent them rolling down your cheeks instead.

“Yoongi, what the fuck?”

You saw him move, inch away just slightly, and you remembered who you were dealing with. Because he was Yoongi, your Yoongi, and he was warm and soft and sweet and funny and smart and you loved him so much that you forgot sometimes he still hated himself. Saw his denial now not of you but of his own desires. Remembered how long he had spent silently loving you without asking you to so much as hear a confession. Remembered how close you had both come to absolutely nothing at all, his disbelief overpowering his belief and his heart and his hope.

You could see it from his side. See what he was trying to do, even if it was madness. Even if it was wrong. You could feel him retreat even now, tucking himself back inside his tortoise shell.

“I’m so-”

You didn’t let him finish, would not let him apologise. You kissed him, tasted the salt of your own tears between you, leant into him, let your arms wrap around him and pressed your lips to his, to his cheek, to his hairline, to his jaw.

“Yoongi, I love you.”

“I know,” he replied, but you weren’t sure if he really did.

“I’m glad you think I'm such a nice person and everything, but I promise, I’m not offering out of the goodness of my heart. I’m asking because I actually want to. Like, really want to. Like, really enjoy myself and want you to enjoy yourself and want us to both enjoy ourselves together, y’know?”

He nodded, couldn’t quite hold your gaze.

“I’m serious. You need to know that I want to fuck you, ok?”

And you laughed, though you were trying not to, even if it did feel a little ridiculous, having to convince your boyfriend that you wanted to have sex.

He nodded again.

“You promise I’m not a bad lay?”

And you watched his face flick through shock and outrage and a kind of disbelief that become laughter.

“You are not a bad lay, I promise.”

“And what about blowjobs?”

“Also good.”

“You promise?”

And you sat yourself in his lap, legs straddling his hips, sinking yourself low, pressing against him.

“I promise.”

“What if I say you have to prove it?”

His head cocked to the side, playful, squinting at you, and you didn’t think that it was over, that he was suddenly convinced now, but with the burden of Being Terrible at Sex lifted off you, you felt not only lighter, but the deep, heavy, familiar drag of desire raise its head.

“Prove it?”

You shifted your hips again, deniably but definitely, and put your lips to his ear.

“Prove that you like it when I suck your cock.”

His hands gripped you tightly; you felt the bob in his throat when he swallowed as you pressed kisses down his neck and a stirring in his boxers that you sank even lower to press yourself against.

“I’ll prove it if you prove that you like it when I fuck you.”

“Deal.”

You were late up that next morning and Namjoon greeted you both from the back porch.

“Hey, a little request: could you maybe be louder when you fuck? Suri and I are actually sleeping a little too well.”

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #suga x reader #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi smut #bts smut #suga smut #bts fanfiction #kintsugi fic

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garciaasfluffypen · 19 hours ago

Text

take care of me (like i take care of you) pt. 3

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 2.4k warnings: SURPRISE i finished part three and wanted to post it so i could get this cross posted to ao3 hehe. its time to talk(tm) about everything that happened! y/n's rejection sensitive dysphoria episode is a prominent aspect of this part. poor emily doesn't really know what to do except comfort her girlfriends, jj has some issues she's working through, y/n feels absolutely horrible about everything that conspired

after everything that had happened in the past two hours, you were drained. you barely made it to the bedroom before bursting out into tears. this was it. this was the big kablooey. jj hated you now, there was no doubt about it. considering the way she reacted when you had let the term slip past your lips… you never should have done it. you pushed too hard, and this was the end. you’d have to change your name and move to timbuktu so nobody could find you ever again and you’d never be able to embarrass yourself in front of jj and emily anymore. the harsh what did you just call me? reverberated through your mind as you let the sobs take over your body, practically doubling over with the sheer force of guilt. you couldn’t believe yourself. how could you let it get that bad? it hadn’t even been three months and you already fucked up. but that was just it, wasn’t it? the three month curse you were stuck with. nothing romantic ever lasted past three months. it was only time that this one ended, giving you a chance to reset and find something new. your exes were right, you were never good enough. you always did something wrong. it was bound to happen sooner rather than later, and you needed to expect the worst.

peeling off the clothes you had worn to the zoo, you blindly felt in what had been dubbed your drawer for your jammies. you had gotten the shirt from an online store and it was the perfect shirt for when you were having bad days or sensory overloads. and a bonus, it was long enough to cover your butt and go halfway down your thighs. you had gotten it big on purpose, and you were glad you did. once you felt the fabric, you pulled it on and stumbled back to the bed, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to your chest as you continued to try and calm yourself down. logically, you knew you were over reacting, but the fact you were tired mixed with the immense guilt you felt for making jj feel bad… everything piled up and you found yourself trying not to spiral more than you already had.

the door opened and a figure stood there for a second before coming over and pulling you into the biggest hug they could muster. after a second, the scent of emily flew through your senses and slowly but surely you started to calm down as you curled into her arms.

“oh, lovey…”

this was one of the downsides to how bad your adhd and rejection sensitive dysphoria was- when you cried, you cried hard. you had gotten good at bottling up your feelings into a little corner of your mind that barely got touched unless you had a whole weekend carved out to mope around. those weekends were far and few between these days, seeing as the budget increase the bau got gave them more opportunities to take cases. it wasn’t too bad, until this happened and you cried so hard you felt like you might throw up.

you curled into emily’s chest, barely registering the door opening. a red eyed jj stood in the doorframe, hands wringing together as she looked for you. jj looked worse for wear, emily noted. the last time she had seen jj like this was when they were at the fertility doctor earlier in the year, when they talked about the possibility of emily carrying a viable pregnancy. but that wasn’t anything they could talk about right now. the puffiness around her eyes was evident, tear marks showing where she had piled on concealer earlier that morning. she sniffled, gaining your attention. your head perked up and you felt your heart drop when you saw how upset jj was. wordlessly, you shifted on the bed to make room for jj, letting her crawl in, curling herself up between the gap you had created. she wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you tight as she could as a single tear fell down her face. you wiped it away with the pad of your thumb, shooting her a small smile.

“i’m sorry i reacted that way, baby.”

her words were muffled into the palm of your hand, her breath dancing across your skin as you put your cheek on top of your head. your logical thinking skills slowly started to poke through the barriers your rejection sensitive dysphoria always put up during these moments, the realization that it also upset jj hitting you like a ton of bricks. you hated seeing her so upset, especially when you knew you caused some of the upset. granted, everything was still so new and you all were getting used to the idea of the three of you being together, but it still hurt you more than you could ever put into words.

“no, it’s my fault.” you started. “i pushed you too hard. i should have asked before assuming i could just call you mommy and get away with it. do you…?” you trailed off, hoping that jj knew what you were trying to ask.

“i’m not sure how i feel about the use of mommy.” jj said, quieter than normal. “it didn’t make me feel… i didn’t like it.”

emily raised her eyebrow, slightly shocked that jj didn’t give you the full truth. while she knew what seemingly the true reason jj didn’t like being called mommy, she knew that it would be something she revealed to you in due time. hell, jj was still figuring it out herself. the dislike of the feminine terms was something that had started within the past year and a half. yes, jj was very feminine presenting and loved dressing up when given the opportunity, yet she had begun to start hating when she was perceived in a feminine matter. it was an interesting late life dilemma to have, and she wasn’t sure how to go about it. she had been so secure in her identity for years, and to start questioning everything? it had started to send jj into a spiral of thoughts she frankly wasn’t ready to think about yet.

the only other person who knew about her dilemma was tara. it had come out one night while the two were having wine after a long case and emily was stuck at the office filling out more paperwork than intended due to her having shot the unsub. the two of them were a bottle and a half deep into pinot gritiot, and jj had blurted out “do you ever just… not want to feel like a girl?” and now here they were, with emily being the second person to know that jj had started to despise the feminine terms of endearment she had been taught to love growing up. it scared her. but not as much as the thought of you thinking you lost her.

“emmy?” you looked to emily. “do you like being called mommy? because for some reason it felt very natural and i don’t know why.”

“we can toy around with it.” emily squeezed your hand. “thank you for asking.”

“i’m sorry i was super bratty earlier, too. i let it go too far.”

“i thought it was hot, actually,” jj started to blush. “i do think we need to play around with different dynamics and what we’re okay and not okay with. nothing has to be set in stone, but if i’m being honest… it was…”

“i liked it when you got all controlling.” you finished jj’s thought. “i really did.”

“would you want to play around with that more? me being more… in charge sometimes?”

you nodded. “i’d like that. because i like listening to emmy but…”

“it’s very easy for you to listen to me, i know.” emily smirked. “and it’s very endearing.”

“is that something you’re okay with?” you looked over to emily.

“if you’re comfortable with it, then yes.”

“color system applies to everything we try.” jj stated. “any time, you can tell us to stop and we will. or call yellow and we can talk it out. and it applies to you, too. if there’s anything that we don’t like, we’ll tell you.”

you nodded. “is there anything else that i’ve done? have i made either of you uncomfortable?”

emily couldn’t help but clock the nervous look in your eye, seeing the fidgeting start in her peripheral vision. it was sad for her, seeing you like this. she hated when you got sad. you felt certain emotions more than others, and when you did feel them they hit you like a ton of bricks. emily most likely would never know how that truly felt, but she could only imagine the thoughts flowing around in your mind that would make you feel less than. she couldn’t control herself, searching your eyes for any emotion other than guilt. it pained you knowing that you thought you were the reason the conversation was happening. she wanted to grab you by the shoulders and scream at you that it was not your fault and would most likely never be your fault, but she knew that would be counter productive. the three of you were all adults, you could talk about it like adults.

jj on the other hand, felt horrible. her reaction was the reason you felt as if you were the reason the problem persisted. guilt plagued her as she stared at you, her hand coming up to gently brush back some of the strands that had fallen from your braid. she knew her own insecurities were the reason everything was going the way it was, and the main reason the three of you were sat here in various stages of emotional distress, but it was something she knew taking the blame for would just make you feel worse. she didn’t fully understand how your brain always made you think that you were the problem, but it was something you had been fighting for years. even penelope couldn’t get it through your brain that nothing was ever your fault. and that was saying something, since you and penelope had been friends for ten years leading up to when you joined the bau. both emily and jj knew it would take a while to get past the walls you had put up, but they didn’t realize how tough it would be. but it was a fight they were going to get through together, no matter what it meant.

“nothing you’ve done could make us uncomfortable, y/n.” jj’s voice softened. “i know this is new, and it’s making you react in ways that you normally wouldn’t react, right?”

you nodded. “i’m trying to be better, promise. i guess i just want to be taken care of?” you questioned. “but i have a hard time accepting it. like… i just want someone to take care of me like i take care of you. i’m just… i’m getting used to it.”

“is that why you were pushing today?” jj looked at you. “because you wanted to feel taken care of?”

you sheepishly nodded. “a little bit. i liked it when you told me we were leaving and got all bossy.”

jj smiled. “i can do that more. do you want to have a certain phrase or word to let me know when you want it?”

“um… maybe like… a shoulder tap to start? i don’t want to say anything out loud, especially if it happens in front of the team.”

“how about three taps left shoulder?” you nodded, a small smile forming on your face. “and if there’s anything we do when we’re out that you don’t like?”

“i’m not sure of that one yet.” you swallowed. “i’m sorry we didn’t have this conversation earlier. we could have avoided this.”

“lovey, having these conversations is one of the things we need to do to ensure we’re all happy. we can’t necessarily schedule them.”

“i still feel guilty." you sniffled. “i made jj feel bad.”

“oh baby,” jj pulled you back closer to her as the guilt washed over you again. “i’m not mad at you at all. if anything, i over reacted to that. i promise you i’m not mad. i’m not mad at all.”

“you promise?”

“i promise.” jj placed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “i’m sorry i made you feel like you hurt me.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t ask you if i could call you mommy and made you upset.” you looked down at your hands, which were fidgeting with your shirt.

jj lifted your chin up with her finger. “hey hey, none of that now. no more feeling bad.”

you chuckled. “okay. i’ll try.”

“how about i draw us a bath?” emily smiled at the two of you. “with the epsom salt for your sore muscles?”

“that sounds really nice.” you smiled. “can we light the candle i like too?”

“vanilla swirl or the one that smells like disney?”

you pursed your lips, thinking. “the one that smells like disney.”

“i’ll go grab it.” emily placed a kiss to the top of your head. “you feeling better?”

“a little bit.” you nodded. “i’ll be better soon.”

“good.” she squeezed your hand. “i’ll go get everything and let you know when the bath is ready.”

emily slipped out of the bed and went to go get your candle, leaving you and jj sitting on the bed together. she placed her forehead against yours, her hand going to cup your cheek as you sat in the silence.

“i-”

“if you say i’m sorry i’m pushing you off this bed.”

you chuckled lightly. “i do feel bad.”

“and i’m telling you that you don’t have to. promise. every relationship is going to have it's issues. we’re just able to talk them out because we’re adults.”

“yeah, you’re right.” you put your head in the crook of jj’s shoulder. “thank you for not being mad.”

jj smiled. “thank you for listening and not freaking out when i told you i didn’t like it.”

“i mean i freaked out a little bit.”

“but not a lot.” jj chuckled. “you’re adorable.”

“you are too. like, a lot.”

you snuggled into jj’s arms, curling into her side. it made you feel a lot better knowing that she wasn’t super mad at you like you thought. while you still felt guilty for making her feel bad, it made you feel better knowing that jj didn’t think of you any differently.

and that she still deeply cared about you.

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

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