𦢠hello, welcome to my blog! angel. brazilian, black & 20. minors dni.
youâll find my masterlist and the list of characters i write for below the cut . enjoy!
iâm always taking prompts / suggestions!
âââ joel miller.
even the nights are better â longfic.
SUMMARY: in which joel falls for the nearly arrived woman in jackson . . . and her newborn daughter, sarah. TAGS: eventual feelings n smut, hurt n comfort, fluff
read it here.
âââ tommy miller.
untitled â one shot, coming soon.
âââ mark meachum.
SUMMARY: just mark being a dick. TAGS: mean!mark. casual relationship.
i donât know if this is considered a spoiler but⌠that thing about mark is canon here too.
tags / warnings: angst and hurt. a little comfort if you have a positive mind. unexpected pregnancy. established relationship. grief. mentions of death.
authorâs note: i know everyone is feral for smut fics with this man but i live for the angst lovers
The test was still sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink, mocking you with its two smug, unflinching pink lines.
You didnât even realize you were staring at it again until your reflection blinked back at you in the mirror. A dazed, heavy-lidded expression stared back â part disbelief, part quiet panic. Your hand hovered near your stomach as if some instinct might reveal a different answer, some shift or flutter you could pretend to feel.
You were pregnant.
And Mark didnât know.
The thought sat in your chest like a stone, pressing down each time you tried to breathe normally. You weren't scared of him â not really. Mark had never once given you a reason to be afraid oh him. He was the kind of man who rubbed your shoulders when you got off a long shift and kissed your forehead when he thought you were asleep. The kind whoâd drive across town just to bring you your favorite takeout because âyou sounded off on the phone.â
But still⌠this wasnât part of the plan. Your plan. His plan. Any plan.
You never discussed kids yet.
He didnât know what was coming.
Behind you, in the hallway, you heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. Boots hit the floorboards. Keys hit the bowl. The heavy thunk of a six-pack landing on the counter. You swallowed.
âHey, sweetheart,â Mark called, voice already tinged with warmth. âYou home?â
You wiped your palms on your jeans, half-hoping the trembling would go with it. You opened the bathroom door slowly, walked out like the hallway was a tightrope.
Mark was standing in the kitchen in that stupidly soft flannel he always wore when he wasnât working â sleeves rolled to the elbows, hands busy cracking open a beer. He glanced up at you, green eyes lighting up with that same easy affection that made your stomach twist for entirely different reasons now.
âHey,â he said again, smiling. âGot those chips you like. Thought weâd do burgers tonight.â
You managed a small smile, eyes flicking briefly to the six-pack on the counter. You hadnât had a drink in a week. Heâd noticed that. You could feel it.
âI, uh⌠need to talk to you.â
Mark's hand stilled. His gaze sharpened â not suspicious, just attentive. Alert, like he could feel something shifting in the air between you.
âOkay,â he said carefully, setting the bottle down. âWhatâs up?â
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.
Mark crossed the kitchen slowly, reaching for your hand. He didnât push. Didnât press. Just held it, thumb brushing your knuckles. âHey. Whatever it is, you can tell me.â
Your throat was dry. Your voice, when it came, cracked just enough to make your own heart hurt.
âIâm⌠pregnant.â
It wasnât a shout or a whisper. It was just the truth, laid bare in the middle of your kitchen, between the takeout menus and the half-unpacked groceries and the man who looked at you like his whole world was standing right there.
Mark blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he dropped his gaze to your stomach â barely a hint of change yet â and back up to your face. His expression didnât change, not at first. Just stilled. Quiet.
You couldnât tell if he was about to bolt or pull you into his arms.
But he was still holding your hand.
The silence stretched long, almost gentle.
Mark didnât flinch. Didnât speak. Just stood there with your hand still in his, thumb still brushing across your knuckles, like his body was on autopilot. Like some part of him was trying to comfort you even as his mind caught up to what youâd said.
You stared at him, waiting. Bracing. Every heartbeat felt like a ticking clock now, like a cruel reminder of just how little time you had left with him.
âIâm pregnant,â you said again, quieter this time. Like maybe he hadnât heard it right the first time. Like maybe you hadnât meant to say it out loud.
His lips parted, barely. Then his brows drew together just slightly, like the ache behind his eyes had spiked again â another one of those headaches he tried to hide from you.
He didnât let go.
âHow long have you known?â he asked, voice low, a little hoarse.
âSince Tuesday.â You hesitated. âI took two tests. I didnât⌠I didnât want it to be real unless I was sure.â
Mark exhaled through his nose. Not a laugh, not a scoff â just a breath, dragged from deep in his chest. He looked away for a second, eyes flicking toward the window, then back to you.
âI didnât think Iâd live long enough to be anything close to a dad,â he said softly. âDidnât think that was even⌠on the table anymore.â
You felt your throat tighten. âMarkââ
He shook his head, not sharply, but enough to quiet the instinct rising in you. The instinct to comfort him. To tell him it would be okay when you both knew it wouldnât.
Mark Meachum had maybe a year left, if the doctors werenât lying â which they might have been, just to soften the blow. No real chance. Just a countdown ticking in his skull while he kept waking up and choosing to smile at you like he hadnât just seen his own scan.
And now, this.
This terrifying, impossible flicker of life growing inside you.
âI should be angry,â he said quietly. âShould be scared as hell. ButâŚâ
He looked at you then, really looked â eyes glassy but steady, like he was memorizing your face again.
âI think part of meâs just⌠grateful.â
You swallowed hard, trying to speak around the lump in your throat. âMark, this isnât fair. Itâs not fair to them. To you. I didnât plan this, and I donât know how to do this without you. Alone.â
His grip tightened on your hand.
âYou wonât have to,â he said. âNever. And when the time comes⌠weâll figure out a way. You and your family. Theyâll help you. Hell, theyâll try to name the kid Aristotle or something, but theyâll be there.â
That made you let out a choked sound â something between a sob and a laugh. Mark smiled. Not wide. Just enough to warm the edges of the moment.
He stepped forward and gently pulled you into him, tucking your head beneath his chin. You closed your eyes and let the weight of it all crash into you â the love, the grief, the fear, the impossible hope of a child who might never meet their father but would know him. Through stories. Through the shape of your eyes when you looked at them.
Through the way Mark held you now, like you were the most important thing in the world.
Hi, love your works!! I noticed that you are writing for Mark (Countdown) and as many great other writers! If thereâs any, would you perhaps considered putting spoilers in your caption or somewhere as for those who havenât watched Countdown yet, if there were to be any?
hey, sweetheart! of course! i didn't think about it before but i sure will if i ever write anything with spoilers
even the nights are better. jackson!joel miller x reader
SUMMARY: in which joel miller falls for the nearly arrived woman in jackson... and her newborn daughter, sarah.
TAGS: hurt and comfort. fluff. mentions of toxic relationship. mentions of death. eventual feelings and smut. grief. age gap (reader is mid 20s / joel is 40s ). brief descriptions, but reader is bipoc and has curly hair. size gap mentioned.
WANT TO BE TAGGED? just reply to the masterlist post and you'll be automatically added to the tag list :)
masterlist | next chapter ( coming soon. )
prologue.
The wind still bites at your face with a sharp chill when Tommy Miller helps you down from the horse after passing through the gates. A doctor approaches from somewhere, and you only know this because you hear Tommy call him âDoctor.â
Several hands steady you on the ground, while your only focus is to hold on⌠to the child in your arms.
Sleeping as if the world were at peace again, eyes closed and lips puckered in a way that warms your heart. If you werenât so, so weak⌠youâd hold her tight.
Your little girl.
Your baby.
âSheâs going to faint,â Tommy warns, a little farther from you now.
Your vision is blurry, but you can still see the space around you. Two people hold you up while others around you have stopped to watch the scene. You can smell fresh bread baking from somewhere, more horses, andâŚ
Children.
Tommy told you when he first spoke about Jackson that the place had children of all ages, and that it would be a safe place for your little girl.
Part of you believed it, but a much bigger part still thought it was too good to be true.
But itâs true. You see it now, hearing laughter and overlapping conversations that make this place really feel like a world apart.
A woman approaches with a kind smile, asking permission and reaching out her hands to take your daughter.
âNo!â you cry, outraged. Who does she think she is, trying to take your baby from your arms?!
âSweetheart, sheâs one of our nurses. Theyâre going to take care of her,â Tommy assures you.
You havenât known him long. Actually, the opposite. He found you the night before, about to give birth. He helped with the delivery. Stayed by your side. Even though you hated the idea of having a complete stranger near you, touching you in one of the hardest moments of your life, he stayed. He spoke words of encouragement when you felt like you were one breath from death. He wrapped your daughter in a blanket and balanced her in one arm while tending to you, like heâd held a newborn a million times before.
Thatâs why you trust him. You probably trust him even when you donât want toâbecause you owe him.
He gives a reassuring smile when you relent, handing your babyâyour most precious treasureâto the woman in white.
âWhatâs her name?â the nurse asks, adjusting the blanket around the tiny girl.
You need to moisten your dry lips and summon a strength that no longer seems to exist inside you to make the words come out.
But they donât leave your mouth.
Then, everything goes dark.
And you faint.
ââË.â
You wake up in the hospital. Itâs warm, mostly thanks to the blankets covering your body.
Ah, damn. Your body. It hurts.
Youâre not surprised to be in such rough shape. You hadnât eaten in days and had just a little water when Tommy found you in an abandoned house, trying to escape the intense cold while your body gave every sign that your baby was coming at any moment.
He gave you food, yes. But it wasnât enough to undo the damage of days starving.
You look to the side, seeing your little girl⌠in a crib. Sleeping.
âSheâs quieter than most newborns.â
The male voice startles you, and you turn your head to see a man standing in the doorway. Dressed in winter clothes, arms crossed as if he still needed warmth. Thereâs snow on his shoes.
âI didnât mean to scare you. Tommy sent me to check on youâheâs my brother.â He takes a step closer into the room. His eyes are fixed on your daughter, as if the sight of her is something beautiful to him too. âAre you both okay?â
âAs much as we can be.â
âYou donât have to keep worrying about survival all the time here in Jackson. I imagine Tommy already told you that.â
He did.
And you still arenât sure if you believe it.
Well, at this point, you donât have much choice but to believe it.
âThank you,â you say, unsure what else to say.
Joel comes closer, placing a package on the little table beside your bed.
âTommy sent sandwiches. Donât let the nurses see them or theyâll swap it for more soup.â He smiles. Or at least, itâs an attempt at a smile. Joel definitely doesnât look like the smiling type.
You try to smile too. It must be the first time in a long while that a smile crosses your face.
The past few hours have been⌠far too tense for smiling.
âThank you,â you say again.
âWhatâs her name?â Joel keeps his hands behind his back, as if trying to make you feel safer as he steps closer to the crib. âTommy said you hadnât decided yet.â
You shake your head.
Thatâs a lie. Youâve known what name youâd choose for your daughter since the moment you found out you were pregnant.
You told Tommy, and you canât see a reason why heâd lie to anyone about it.
âSarah,â you say, finally.
The faint smile on Millerâs face vanishes.
His brows furrow.
Joel steps back a few paces, his eyes fixed on Sarah like he physically canât stop staring.
Suddenly, youâre not so sure you want him to stay in the room. Your protective mother instinct knows something is wrong.
âIs something wrong?â you ask anyways, suppressing the urge to get out of bed and stand between Joel and your daughter.
Joel doesnât answer this time.
He looks at you, but you canât decipher whatâs in his eyes. Fear, anger, confusion? Impossible to tell.
Before you can say anything else⌠Joel leaves the room. In silence and with quick steps.
even the nights are better. jackson!joel miller x reader
SUMMARY: in which joel miller falls for the nearly arrived woman in jackson⌠and her newborn daughter, sarah.
TAGS: hurt and comfort. fluff. mentions of toxic relationship. mentions of death. eventual feelings and smut. grief. age gap ( reader is mid 20s / joel is 40s ). brief descriptions, but reader is bipoc and has curly hair. size gap mentioned.
WANT TO BE TAGGED? just reply to this post and youâll be automatically added to the tag list :)
warnings / tags. mark is a dick. but he also is your dick. mentions of smut. a little angst. also a little comfort.
authorâs note. countdown really brings back the supernatural fan i didnât even remember i was. finished the third episode today and felt like writing something about him.
Sometimes, Mark can be really mean.
Yeah, you adore him. You love the time you spend together ever since you moved into his neighborhoodâall the nights you greet him with a smile far too happy for his grumpy scowl after a long day at work.
And most of all, you love how he kisses you like you're the only thing that matters in the world. How he fucks you slowly on the days he's too tired, like he hates you on the days something's pissed him off, or like he loves you when itâs been a good day. You love the feel of his lips on your skin, his hands leaving marks on your waist or pulling your hair to keep you impossibly close.
What you have together isn't anything seriousâyou know that. Mark made that very clear while ripping your panties the first time you hooked up.
After a while, you found out why. You found out he was dying, that the headaches he kept getting werenât just regular headaches.
It killed a part of you too, but you didnât say anything. You knew heâd pull away if you did, and youâd rather keep things the way they were.
But, like I said, he can be mean sometimes.
âYouâre a pain in the ass,â he grumbles, walking past you to open the fridge and grab a beer. âI didnât say I wanted company today.â
âDonât talk like that,â you murmur, your chest tightening. âYou also didnât say you didnât want company, soâŚâ
âIâm tired,â Mark cuts in, shaking his head. âI want to sleep. To relax. I donât need you today. Go home. Was that clear enough for you, missy?â
You bite your lower lip hard. The pain that hits you is almost as strong as the one caused by his words. Almost.
âYouâre such an asshole,â you say, grabbing the bag you left on the couch and walking away before he can see the tears welling in your eyes.
âThatâs what everyone says,â he hisses, unmoved.
Then, with his door already open, you turn back to look at him one last time. A few rebellious tears slide down your face.
âYeah, but I bet none of them knows what itâs like to be treated like your personal whore. Thatâs a thousand times worse.â You see his expression shift. His mouth opens to reply, but you donât want to hear it. âGo fuck yourself, Meachum. I hate you.â
You slam the door shut. Itâs dark in the neighborhood, and the walk back to your house takes about three minutes.
But before you cross the street, you hear hurried footsteps behind you.
âBaby, wait, please.â Mark catches up quickly, grabbing your armânot hard at all, just enough to make you look at him, gentle like his touch alone could break you.
You canât look at him. This is more humiliation than you can bear right now.
But your tears fall freely now, and you donât try to stop them.
âFuck, Iâm sorry. Please.â he says, stepping in front of you. His fingers wipe away some of the tears, so gently. A gentleness youâve never seen in Mark before. âI... Iâm sorry. I was a dick. Had a shitty day, my headâs pounding. I took it out on you.â
âItâs okay. You donât have to put up with me today.â
âNo. I never have to put up with you. I love having you around,â he saysâand the way the words come out makes it clear he didnât think before saying them. They sound so... genuine. âPlease, babe. Iâm sorry.â
âDonât call me that.â
âRight. Iâm sorry.â
âStop apologizing.â
Mark looks at you, waiting.
He doesnât apologize again.
You wipe your face, taking a deep breath as you consider whether to leave or stay with him.
You look at him, and he looks so, so remorseful.
A heavy sigh escapes your lips.
âIf you ever talk to me like that again, Iâll rip your dick off,â you warn.
A smile crosses his face.
Relieved.
âAnd Iâll love every second of it, babe.â
âCome on, Iâll cook you a dinner that didnât come out of the freezer,â you say, trying not to smile at the even bigger grin spreading across his face.
