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catchastarorten · 20 days ago

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—Hey, brother.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Hwang Jun-ho x sister!reader

Summary: after your father went through a second marriage, there was suddenly a new brother in your life, Jun-ho. While In-ho gave up so much of himself to save the ones he loved, like Jun-ho, you couldn’t help the one that In-ho loved the most, his wife. In-ho disappeared after that, but you couldn’t give up searching for him.

Warnings: angst, use of y/n, grief/loss, guilt/self-blame, mentions of illness, mentions of death, mentions of organ donation, if you watched the show you should be fine, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.6k

The air in the house always felt heavy when you thought about In-ho. But It wasn’t always like that. You used to laugh here. You used to sit around the dinner table, teasing Jun-ho about his crushes or arguing over who’d do the dishes. Back then, your family had found ways to stay intact despite all its flaws. You, In-ho, and Jun-ho were bound by something stronger than blood.

But things had changed. They had fractured slowly, piece by piece, until you were left holding jagged shards of what once was.

You still remember when your father remarried. You were young, barely old enough to understand what it meant to have a “stepmother” and a “stepbrother.” Jun-ho had come into your life like a soft, hesitant breeze, unsure of his place. You’d been unsure too, unsure if you were supposed to treat him like a stranger or a brother. But then one day, he got sick—a fever so high you thought he might burn away entirely.

In-ho didn’t hesitate. He had been younger back then, but he was the oldest of the three of you, the protector, the one who had to shoulder responsibility, he thought.

He gave one of his kidneys to Jun-ho to save him. You found out later when your stepmother sobbed into his shoulder, thanking him over and over again.

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” he had said quietly, as if it were no big deal. But to you, it was everything. In-ho was your hero, the glue that held your world together.

In-ho gave away a piece of himself so your stepbrother could live. It had been an act of selflessness that cemented something unspoken between the three of you: you were family, no matter the circumstances.

Things were good for a while after that. The three of you had your arguments, your moments of distance, but there was love. You and Jun-ho grew closer, and there was always this warmth when he smiled at you, it felt like he had been there your whole life—his little sister.

In-ho watched over the both of you with the quiet patience of someone who had put it on himself to take on too much responsibility, as if he was you and Jun-ho’s guardian, you two always teased him about it.

And then, In-ho met her. The love of his life. She was sweet, with a laugh that filled any room she entered. You adored her immediately. You still remembered the way she blushed when she first came over, how In-ho’s eyes softened whenever she spoke. He was happier than you’d ever seen him, and it made your heart swell.

When they got married, it felt like a new chapter. They talked about building a family, about all the dreams they had for the future. For once, things seemed solid.

But life wasn’t kind. Not to you, not to your family, and certainly not to In-ho.

When she got sick, it was like a storm cloud had settled over everything. You could see it in the way In-ho’s hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, in the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights spent worrying.

You wanted to help. You needed to help. Watching him crumble under the weight of helplessness was unbearable. Selling a kidney seemed like the only logical choice, right? Then you could get the money and pay for the treatment that would save her. It wasn’t a question of whether or not you should do it… it was a question of when.

But Jun-ho stopped you.

“Y/n, no.” he had said, grabbing your shoulders and shaking his head, his voice low with concern. “You can’t do this.”

“She’s dying, Jun-ho,” you shot back, your voice breaking. “And they’re having a baby. How can you just stand there and—”

“We’ll find the money another way,” he interrupted, his voice firm but filled with desperation. “Please, Y/N. Don’t do this.”

You didn’t want to listen. You wanted to storm out, to prove that you could save her, that you could do something. You had slipped away one night, signed the papers yourself, you were a grown adult who could make your own decisions, and you decided that you weren’t going to let the one good thing in In-ho’s life leave just like that. But before you could, before the surgery could start, it was too late.

She passed away, along with the baby in her stomach.

The day she died, the house felt emptier than ever. In-ho didn’t say a word. He just sat there, staring at nothing, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. You didn’t know what to say to him. No one did. Your stepmother tried, but he brushed her off. Jun-ho tried, but In-ho wouldn’t even look at him.

You tried.

“In-ho, I’m so sorry,” you whispered one night, standing in the doorway to his room.

He didn’t answer.

“I should’ve done more,” you said, your voice trembling. “I could’ve—”

“Stop.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. He turned to look at you, his eyes hollow. “It’s over. She’s gone.”

The bitterness in his voice stung, and you didn’t know if it was directed at you, at himself, or at the world. You wanted to say something, anything, to bring him back to you. But the words wouldn’t come.

In-ho disappeared a week later.

You woke up to find his room empty, his things still scattered where he’d left them. There was no note, no explanation, just an aching void where he used to be.

Panic set in immediately. You called his friends, the hospitals, anyone who might’ve seen him. But no one had.

Days turned into weeks, and the silence stretched on, suffocating. You blamed yourself. You replayed every moment in your head, searching for where you had gone wrong.

“If I’d just gone through with it,” you told Jun-ho one night, your voice barely above a whisper. “If I’d just been a little faster, she might still be here. He might still be here.”

Jun-ho didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly like he could keep you from shattering completely. His hand stroked your back, his fingers threading through your hair as he whispered, “It’s not your fault, y/n. None of this is your fault.”

But the guilt didn’t go away. It clung to you, a constant reminder of what you hadn’t done.

You started dreaming about In-ho. In your dreams, he was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners like they used to. You were kids again, running through the park near your old house, your laughter echoing into the night.

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” you asked him in one dream, just like you had when you were younger.

“Like what?” he replied, his voice soft and warm.

“Together.”

He didn’t answer this time. He just smiled that bittersweet smile of his and walked away, leaving you alone.

You always woke up out of breath after those dreams, your eyes welled up in tears but they never fell, the ache in your chest sharper than ever.

Jun-ho tried to keep you grounded. He was your anchor, the only thing keeping you from spiraling completely. He spent hours searching for In-ho with you, combing through any lead, no matter how small.

“We’ll find him,” he said one night as you sat together on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

“What if we don’t?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“We will,” he insisted, his tone firm. “He’s out there. And when we find him, we’ll bring him home.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that In-ho was somewhere, waiting for you to find him. But as the days turned into months, hope became harder to hold onto.

The memories were what kept you going. You held onto them like lifelines, replaying every moment you’d shared with In-ho.

You remembered the time he taught you how to ride a bike, running alongside you and laughing as you wobbled down the street.

“You’re doing it!” he’d shouted, his voice full of pride. “Don’t stop!”

You remembered how he used to sneak you extra snacks when your father wasn’t looking, smiling at you as he handed them over.

You remembered the way he’d held you when you cried after your first heartbreak, whispering that anyone who didn’t see how amazing you were wasn’t worth your tears.

Those memories were all you had left of him now. And no matter how much it hurt, you clung to them.

One night, you sat in In-ho’s old room, running your fingers over the things he’d left behind. A worn-out baseball glove. A stack of books he’d never finished reading. A photograph of the three of you, taken on a rare day when everything felt right.

“I miss you,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Please come back.”

The silence was deafening.

You didn’t stop looking for him. Even when the hope felt too small to hold, even when Jun-ho begged you to take a break, you kept searching. Because In-ho was your brother. He was the one who had always been there for you, who had given so much of himself to protect the people he loved, but you couldn’t give a piece of yourself to save what he loved the most, and you blamed yourself every day for that.

But still, you couldn’t give up on him. Not now.

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freelancearsonist · 6 months ago

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every breath you take

➔ (no outbreak) Joel Miller x f!Reader

➔ 5.3k words

➔ Your dad is getting married to his soulmate and you have every intention of making it the perfect day. The only kink in your plan is your unexpected feelings for your soon-to-be stepdad’s best man.

➔ Rated MA // BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. LONG LIVE BILL X FRANK. no outbreak, age gap (reader is early 20s, Joel is 45), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, fingering (reader receiving), references to masturbation (reader), pussy pronouns, pet names // reader has female anatomy (no body description but is generally able-bodied) and uses feminine pronouns, is Frank’s adopted daughter (written for all skin tones), wears makeup and a dress, has hair (unspecified length)

➔ Big big thank you to @sugarcoated-lame and @sunlightmurdock for this idea and letting me run with it (sorry it took 5 months 😂) this is psuedo-inspired by my own current activities as my best friend's moh which is why i haven't been super active in the past month or so, thank you to everyone for being so patient with me <33

June, 2013.

After months of planning—stress, sweat, and tears abounding—the big night is here. Well, almost here. The actual wedding is tomorrow, but tonight is the rehearsal dinner; and as your adoptive dad has spent the entire preparatory period impressing upon you, the rehearsal might be even more important than the wedding itself.

With that in mind, you arrive at the venue a few hours early to assist with the set up. Seeing the unassembled pieces and parts of the event brings a smile to your face and a determination to your soul–you want this to be perfect.

Someone else shares your determination, too.

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more frustrated for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a ‘friendly’ competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

It’s unintentional on his part, you’re sure, but the tension is palpable enough to slice with a butter knife nonetheless. Today is no exception—he’s dressed for labor in worn jeans that are just a little too tight around his thighs and a faded Iron Maiden shirt that hugs his strong biceps. His hair is ruffled like he’s been tugging and running his hands through it, and it puts all kinds of indecent thoughts into your brain.

It’s wrong. The guy’s old enough to be your dad, and that’s aside from the fact that he’s your soon-to-be-stepdad’s best man. No self-respecting young woman should be looking at a guy who’s old enough to remember the Nixon administration the way you are right now. And yet…

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says in that drawl of his which makes you want to throw your sanity out the window and fall at his feet to worship the very ground he walks on.

You’ve never hated Joel Miller more than you do right now.

Regardless, you greet him with the sweetest smile you can muster. ��Good morning. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

“Well, rehearsal’s as important as the weddin’ itself,” he dutifully repeats the line that you’ve heard from your dad a million times over. “And this barn ain’t gonna decorate itself.”

“Well, that’s kinda my job,” you remind him, hoping your tone sounds more annoyed to him than it does to you.

He flashes that boyish smile that no middle-aged man should be able to master, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

You want to grumble about it. You want to be annoyed by this goofy-ass forty-five year old man and his stupid competitive streak. Instead, your mouth betrays you by smiling. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He punctuates it with a wink, and you consider just falling onto the ground and perishing. Instead, you roll up your shirt sleeves and get to work.

The fruits of your labor are well worth the effort they take. You feel a heady sense of pride when you look around at all the decor–as long as this barn has been a wedding venue, you’re certain no one’s ever made it look this good before.

The tables are arranged neatly in rows, draped with luxurious white tablecloths and topped with neat arrangements of greenery in the centers. The seating chart that Bill and Frank worked so meticulously on is put into effect with hand-written placards designating each chair to an occupant. Strings of white globe lights hang from the rafters and cast a hazy, reverent glow over the entire barn. Everything is the perfect mix of modern and rustic.

Outside on the lawn, rows of neatly arranged chairs line a petal-scattered aisle. Everything leads to the focal point–an eight-foot high arch wrapped generously in green vines and white blossoms. It’s definitely the highlight of the entire thing, which irks you just the slightest bit–it was solely Joel’s vision. Apparently, he’s a lot more artistic than you’ve ever given him credit for. It tracks, you suppose; construction is an artform if you really think about it. He uses his hands to create just like a sculptor, but to a larger scale. And those hands are capable; you’ve seen exactly how much they can move or carry and you wonder if they could–

You shake off that train of thought before it can go any further. If you can’t get yourself under control you’re going to start wearing a rubberband on your wrist that you can snap every time your thoughts about Joel stray into the ‘things you shouldn’t be thinking about a middle-aged man’ category.

He certainly has aged like fine wine for a forty-five-year-old man, though…

Snap.

With a sigh, you give your head a shake in hopes of clearing your mind and take a look down at your watch. You’ve finished with perfect timing–you’ve got about two hours to go home and get cleaned up before you have to be back for the rehearsal dinner.

You look for Joel for a few moments before leaving, but he’s nowhere to be found. It puzzles you a little bit that he wouldn’t at least say goodbye before leaving, but then again he really doesn’t have to answer to you. It’s a well-needed wake up call, a reminder that your feelings–can whatever you’re going through really be called that?–your attraction, is one-sided. He’s here for Bill and Frank, not for you. You’re his best friend’s daughter and nothing more, and the realization washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

You hate the way it sends you spiraling on the drive home. You hate the way you care so much about what he might think of you. You hate the way that you have to look at yourself in the mirror and give yourself a stern talking-to about needing to let this whole stupid crush go. You hate the way that you can’t even pretend the extra layer of mascara you apply isn’t for him.

You avoid Joel the entire night, which isn’t easy to do. You have to walk down the aisle next to him during the ceremony rehearsal but you avoid his eye contact, taking a twisted little satisfaction in the way he frowns when all of your replies to his chit chat are short and clipped. Dinner is easier–both Frank and Bill sit between you and Joel, so there’s no attempted conversation to deflect from him. But you could almost swear you feel his eyes on you, as if he’s looking right through your dad and soon-to-be-stepdad.

Joel is puzzled, to put it simply. One second, he’s got you in the palm of his hand. Then a moment later, you’re looking at him like you might look at a bug you stepped on and got stuck to your shoe.

He puts it out of mind as much as he can. He’s not supposed to be looking at you like that, after all. He’s not supposed to be admiring the perfectly kissable curve of your shoulder or the biteable expanse of your neck. He’s definitely not supposed to be wondering what you’re wearing under that adorable dress of yours. You’re his best friend’s daughter, for god’s sake. You’re so far off limits that he shouldn’t even be looking in your general direction.

But he is. He’s looking, and he can’t stop looking. And most of all, he can’t stop wondering if you feel it too.

Evidently you don’t, because you won’t even take his arm as you practice walking up the aisle in preparation for the big day tomorrow. You’ve probably figured out how much he’s been thinking about you and the kinds of things he’s been thinking, and you’re disgusted. He’s just a dirty old man to you, surely.

Little does Joel know that you come on your fingers moaning his name practically as soon as you’re through the door of your hotel room that night. You fall asleep before you can feel too ashamed about it–blissfully unaware that Joel’s doing the same exact thing just a few doors down.

You wake up in the morning with much more clarity than you usually have, especially at 9AM.

No matter what, today is about Bill and Frank. You get to be part of a true love story, the kind that your dad used to read about to you in bedtime stories when you were a little girl. That knowledge steadies your mind more than anything else ever could.

You jump into the shower and try your best to tame your unruly hair before shuffling down to the dining area on the ground floor of the hotel.

Bill and Frank really spared no expense on this place. All the food is fresh and hot, replenished every few minutes. It smells incredible–there’s overlapping waves of pastries, sausages, eggs, and fruits. It’s almost overwhelming; there’s way too many options.

After you pile up a plate with as much as your stomach can comfortably handle, you make your way over to the table your father occupies by himself.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he says through a mouthful of cantaloupe.

“Decided to sleep in a little,” you explain. “Where’s Bill?”

“He already had breakfast, he’s getting ready,” Frank explains. “Joel made out a whole schedule for us, put us on different shifts so we don’t see each other before the wedding. It’s bad luck, after all.”

You snort through a bite of biscuits and gravy, because that’s such a characteristically Joel thing to do. From what you know of him, he thrives with routine and function–you’re surprised he doesn’t have you working off of a schedule, too.

A small, annoying part of your brain thinks it’s really adorable that Joel plays into that whole superstition. Another, more sensible part tells you that nothing Joel does is adorable and you’ve really got to stop thinking about him so much.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, looking up at your dad through a bite of blueberry muffin.

“Relieved, honestly,” he admits with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I finally get to marry my best friend today, with my other best friend by my side.”

You hide the way the comment makes you choke up behind another bite of your breakfast.

There have been a lot of times where you’ve gone unwanted in your life; starting right at birth, continuing with unrequited crushes and lost friendships. But one person has always wanted you and been there for you through thick and thin. Frank picks you up every time no matter how hard you fall, and you feel so unbelievably lucky to be in his life.

If anyone deserves a fairytale ending, it’s Frank. He always puts the people he cares about first, and now it’s his turn to shine. You’re not letting anything get in the way of that–especially not stupid, unrequited feelings for the best man.

With a little more resolve in your mind, it’s easier to get ready for the main event.

Every step of your preparation has been immaculately planned over the course of months. From your dress to your make-up, to your hair, not one detail has been overlooked. It takes you more than an hour to get ready–but when you’re ready, you’re a vision. Even though you’re not normally the type to enjoy looking into the mirror, you have to admit to yourself that you look stunning.

Your traitorous brain wonders if Joel will think the same.

With a heavy sigh, you grab your bag and your car keys. You really wish you had a way to shut those intruding little wishful thoughts off–they’re doing more harm than good at this point.

You take a deep breath, shove as much as you can down, and resolve to have a good time celebrating your dads–then you open the door and set out towards an unforgettable night.

Whatever kind of shock and awe you were hoping to inspire in Joel, it’s surely nothing compared to the rush you feel as you find him in the bridal party lounge.

You’ve never seen him quite so put together. He’s normally a bit undone–a symptom of being a long-time bachelor–but today, he’s perfectly styled. The hair he’s been growing out is slicked back into gorgeous curls, his black tuxedo pants hug his hips like a dream. He’s in the process of fastening the last two buttons on his impeccable white dress shirt and every bone in your body screams to stop him–to keep that peek of his tanned chest on display for your hungry eyes.

You have a fearful moment of thinking you actually made the request aloud, because he does stop in his tracks when his eyes land on you. His lips part in shock and his pupils dilate and he freezes. Fingers that were once absentmindedly completing their task drop to his sides as he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like “wow.”

“Need help?” You offer before you can think better of it.

There’s a long moment of tense silence, and then he nods silently.

Your mouth is dry as you approach him, trying desperately to keep your cool. Your clammy palms are definitely not the most qualified to complete this task for him, but you can’t back down now. With a deep breath–you’re so close now that it fills your nose with the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne–you will your hands to stay steady and reach for his shirt buttons.

His lead tongue finally remembers how to work as you fasten the first button. “You look… incredible.”

“So do you,” you whisper. Just when you think you’re out of the woods, ready to step back and breathe properly again, his hand comes up to offer you a bow tie.

“This too?” His warm brown eyes search yours–how could he ever expect you to say no?

“Y-yeah. Sure.” You turn the collar of his shirt up, then carefully fasten the tie around his neck. The band is perfectly configured to his neck, the bow already tied–all you have to do is secure a hook through a loop. He could’ve easily done this himself; and yet he didn’t. He wanted you to do this, and that particular bit of knowledge sends a rush of heat burning through your veins.

Maybe this whole song and dance isn’t quite as unrequited as you originally thought.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again.

You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and–

The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

“There you are!” Frank’s got an untamable smile on his face–his hair is impeccably gelled back, his white tuxedo tailored to fit like a glove. The sight of him, so close to everything he’s ever wanted, brings tears to your eyes. “Wow, you two look amazing.”

“Hey. Thanks.” You’re fighting with all your strength to keep your voice even and calm despite the compliment. The reality of your father’s happily ever after comes crashing in and you’ve never felt so proud. “First look time?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “Is Bill–?”

“Dressin’,” Joel answers after clearing his throat. “I’ll bring ’im out when he’s done.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Frank takes your hand to lead you outside, but not before you look over your shoulder at Joel. He looks thoroughly disheveled despite his sharp appearance–you’ve gotten under his skin. Good.

Thank god for waterproof make-up because you nearly lose your whole face during the first look. Not that you’re wearing much, but it’s enough that it’s jeopardized by the tears your treacherous eyes shed despite trying in vain to will them away.

You’ve never been so happy for two people before. You’ve never seen two people more in love. In their matching white tuxes, with their matching watery eyes, as they turn to greet each other for the first time today, you know that Bill and Frank are a forever thing. It brings you a sense of peace that you never knew was possible.

At some point, you become conscious of the fact that you’re holding Joel’s hand. You know you probably shouldn’t, that you could get both of you in serious trouble–but he’s not pulling away, so neither do you.

The true test of your mascara comes during the ceremony–it passes the test with flying colors, which is truly impressive considering the tsunami it has to hold up against. You’ve never really been a wedding cryer, although you suppose no one would blame you for this one. You’re hardly the only person walking away with tissues to their eyes. Bill and Frank have loved so hard and fought for so long in order to obtain this day–it’s nothing short of incredible to see them finally seal their union with vows.

Before the reception, you pop into the bridal lounge to make sure you’re still presentable. A couple tissues later and you’re good to go, but the sound of the door opening and the lock clicking into place stops you in your tracks.

Joel’s standing there, looking like a dream. Curls slightly disheveled from the wind, top two buttons of his shirt undone with his bowtie hanging out of his jacket pocket. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, albeit not as bad as yours.

His breath seems to catch when he sees you–he clears his throat before whispering, “Hey.”

For a long moment, your tongue is too heavy to speak. Every ounce of desire from earlier comes rushing back in a flash flood of emotion. It’s just you and him and tension so palpable you could grab ahold of it.

“H-hey,” you breathe. Earlier, you were ready to do something drastic. Now, all the familiar doubts come crashing back in. Are all these feelings one-sided? Were you just seeing what you wanted to see? The feeling of his hand in yours is burned into your palm. Does he feel it too?

“I think it went pretty well,” he hums. His hands are tucked into his pockets, thumbs twitching unconsciously as if he’s nervous.

“It was perfect,” you agree.

For a moment that seems to last a lifetime, you both stand toeing the line. It’s right there, unseen but waiting to be crossed. You don’t know if either of you have the courage it takes to step over it.

And then he moves; he breaks the tenuous balance of platonic and something more by closing the distance between you.

“You really do look amazin’,” he breathes, hands clenching indecisively at his sides. “I mean, you always do, but–”

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

The world fades away as his breath becomes yours. There’s nothing but the feeling of his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip and his hands gripping your waist and his curls tickling your forehead. Nothing but the sound of his deep groan and the desperate thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm as it slides up his chest. Nothing but finally feeling complete.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, but he doesn’t dare pull away. His steps sound like cannonfire as he backs you up against the wall, a march towards something deliciously irreversible as his tight grip on your waist bunches the fabric of your dress up. Nothing has ever felt as right as his entire body surrounding and swallowing you this way.

“I want to,” you breathe against his lips. “Do you?”

“God, yes.”

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and tug him closer, desperately wanting every inch of his body pressed up against you. Just as he’s starting to pull the skirt of your dress up, the song outside changes to ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’, strangely apt but also a reminder that you don’t have time. You made this playlist yourself–you know that there’s only three more songs after this one before you’re supposed to be ready for the bridal party entrance to the reception.

“Joel…” you moan out. “Joel, we have to be quick.”

“How quick?” He questions between searing kisses down the length of your neck.

“Ten minutes at the very most.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. He doesn’t pull away though–if anything, he pushes you back harder against the wall. “You still wanna do this?”

As much as you want to say yes, as much as you want to say fuck the reception, you can’t do that to Frank and Bill. “You think ten minutes is enough time?”

“If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”

It makes you shiver in conjunction with the way his hand slides feather-light up your thigh.

Even the ghosting touch of his calloused fingertips on your sensitive skin has you aching for more. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

The cocky bastard has the audacity to actually wink at you. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You drag his lips back to yours with a renewed sense of desperation, relishing the gentle scratch of his trimmed beard against your chin and under your palms. “It’s definitely working.”

“Good.”

You know this is territory that you probably shouldn’t be crossing into, not when he’s twenty years older than you and he’s your new step-dad's best friend, but you can’t be brought to care when those deliciously rough fingertips are slipping under the hem of your panties.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grumbles against your lips. “She’s soakin’ for me.”

“A-always is,” you gasp out.

His fingers sweep through your folds, gathering as much slick as he can to swirl around your sensitive clit. He smirks at the way your hands tighten on him even at the lightest of touches.

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Joel, please…” Your hands move to his arms, squeezing tighter than you probably should but you can’t help it when he’s touching you like this. It’s exactly what you need and he knows it–he watches your face for every little indication that he’s doing a good job.

“Please what?” He purrs quietly. “What do you need?”

You could go on like this for hours, you’re sure–and you’re sure he’d be more than willing. You could stay here in his arms forever and let him work you over until there’s nothing left in your head but his name.

The song outside changes again, and you know forever will have to wait.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Need you.”

“It’s gonna be tight, sweetheart.” You’d think he was being overly confident if you couldn’t feel the size of the bulge pressing against your thigh.

“That’s okay. Please.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” In a flash he’s got his belt undone and your greedy hands are more than happy to assist in shoving those perfectly pressed pants down his sturdy thighs.

You can’t help the gasp that bubbles out with the sight of him. He’s big. There’s no debate. The flushed tip of him is peeking through mouth-watering foreskin, red and flushed as if angry it’s not inside you already. You’re devastated you don’t have time to take that thick length into your mouth, to make him shudder and shake until he’s begging to fill you.

Later, you remind yourself.

“Still sure about this?” He asks, tone no longer brimming with the urgency and arrogance from just a few moments prior. He searches your eyes intimately for any hint of hesitation–the last thing he wants to do is to push you.

You’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

“Easy, honey. I’ve gotcha.” The hand between your thighs moves to coat him in your slick–for a moment, you’re mesmerized at the sight of his big hand working over his cock. “Gotta tell me if anythin’ doesn’t feel good, ‘kay?”

“I will, I swear, just please–”

The rest of your sentence gets lost in a breathless moan with the first gentle thrust of his hips. Even just the tip is a stretch–one that has your nails digging into his shirt-clad back and your thighs tightening around his waist.

“Shit, sweetie,” he purrs, voice liquid gold. “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”

You manage to loosen your thighs a little and it gives him the space he needs to press all the way in to the hilt–the feeling of him filling you completely is nothing but breathtaking. A broken groan tumbles from his lips–you can feel the way his breath hitches from how his forehead is pressed against yours. It’s nothing short of heady, to know that you have such a profound effect on a man you thought might be immune to you.

“Good?” He questions in a whisper. One of his hands is hooked under your left knee to keep your leg up around his waist; the other strokes absentminded patterns over your right hip, as if unconsciously soothing you.

You give him a shaky nod in response. “Good.”

The pace he sets is the most delicious kind of torture. You both know you’re in a time crunch, so Joel is more than happy to employ the most toe-curlingly relentless speed. Every slick thrust of his cock makes your eyes flutter–little breathy moans escape your lips with fervor as he pounds deep. He's hitting every single spot all at once and then some. All the while his lips trace around your neck and jaw, careful not to leave marks but whining quietly as if he’s tempted. As if he wants nothing more than to claim you in a way that everyone can see.

You moan out his name and the hand on your waist comes to help, settling between your bodies and finding that perfect rhythm from before. You’re finding out that he’s a very intuitive and quick learner–you would certainly praise him for it if you could find the breath to do so.

The way his hips work–driving him deeper than anyone’s ever been; the way his fingers swirl–bringing you to the brink in mere minutes with the most thigh-shaking friction; the way his mouth works, sucking just light enough on the sweet spot behind your ear so as not to leave a mark… it all builds and builds and builds, leaving you breathless and trembling and teetering on the edge of pure oblivion.

“Y’feel like fuckin’ heaven,” he gasps out against your cheek. “Never gonna get enough.”

The words alone send white-hot pleasure shooting down your spine–you’ve wanted him so badly for so long, and now you know he’s wanted you too. It feels even better with that satisfaction, with the fact of winning the prize you’ve been coveting so deeply.

“Joel…” You want to tell him the million thoughts that are rushing through your head, but your lungs aren’t cooperating.

“I know baby,” he murmurs with a particularly devastating thrust. “I know. S’okay.”

It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. You dig your nails into his shirt to tug him closer, a silent plea to get him working against that spot again. He complies without words, hitching your leg a little higher around his waist and angling his hips in a way that makes you cry out his name again.

“I’m gonna–”

“Yeah, go ‘head,” he purrs breathlessly. “Lemme feel it, come all over my cock.”

His fingers press a little firmer against your clit and that’s all you need for the knot in your stomach to unravel with blinding force. It travels through every nerve like some delicious form of spontaneous combustion, making your body shiver with the energy of it. It’s the best you’ve ever felt–you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, either.

“That’s it honey, holy shit…” He murmurs before finally meeting your lips again for a breathless and panting kiss. “W-where?”

For a moment, you have no clue what he could possibly be talking about. His thrusts are losing rhythm with each moment, as if he’s about to–

“Inside,” you whine out after your moment of clarity. “Please–”

“Shit,” he spits even as he drives himself impossibly deeper. “Y’sure?”

You’re not even conscious of nodding your head–all you know is that you need him completely. “It’s safe. Promise.”

“Atta girl,” he whispers. “Gonna leave you fuckin’ drippin’, won’t be able to stop feelin’ it all night–”

His head tips back as the first wave crashes over him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth dropped open as his hips grind into yours. There’s nothing short of pure ecstasy on his face with the first few ropes of cum that fill you. You’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful as the pleasure washing over this gorgeous man’s gorgeous face. Knowing that you’re the cause of all this nearly sends you over the edge all over again.

He grunts as he shoves himself a little deeper, eager to feel every inch of you as he unwinds. “Christ, honey… squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.”

“Not my fault you’re huge.”

He chuckles at that, staying seated deep within your walls for a moment longer so he can kiss you again. It’s lost its edge of desperation, but it makes up for it with an overwhelming note of sweetness. His hand cups your jaw to guide the angle and once again you’re struck by that overwhelming sense of rightness. It’s like you were meant to be here, meant to take everything he gives you and more, meant to love him.

The song outside changes to ‘Every Breath You Take’, the song before the entrance song, and you spring to action.

“Shit, Joel, we’ve got to go.”

He pulls out with an overdramatic groan, as if it hurts him to be separated now that he knows what it feels like to be joined. You can feel the drip start even before his hand comes to fix your panties, but there’s hardly enough time to worry about that.

“How’s my make-up?”

“Perfect, darlin’. Not a thing outta place.”

“Thank god for waterproof,” you chuckle as you straighten your dress.

His dark eyes meet yours as your hands smooth out his rumpled shirt–there’s still so much swirling behind them, so much promise of things to come.

“We’ve gotta go,” you repeat when he halts by the door.

“Just a sec,” he murmurs. And then he pulls you in for one final, saccharine sweet kiss. “Come to my room w’me tonight.”

“Okay,” you promise–you’re surprised you can keep your voice even when just the question makes your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” It’s genuine, earnest. It makes your heart skip another beat.

He takes your hand before unlocking and opening the door, and he doesn’t let it go until he absolutely has to.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my darlings <3 ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut

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supernatural-bias · 9 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

• He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.�� M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

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polysucks · 16 days ago

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Your art is so incredibly good! Indigenous northmen is my favorite interpretation of asoiaf. (It really does make so much sense.) Request if you want to draw it; I love Jeyne Poole & would really like to see her in your style. ❤

Oh boyyy I really struggled w this one so I went a little overboard. When I think of jeyne Poole I either think of how sad it was that sansa was annoyed with jeyne after Ned and jeyne’s father got yeeted, or how boy crazy jeyne was. So for a happier piece, I couldn’t help but to think of the two girls being teenage girls at Winterfell, watching the older boys practice in the yard. Jeyne could egg the boys on and sansa would laugh and half-heartedly beg her friend to remember her propriety, but treasures jeyne’s humor all the same

Hold on this made me so emotional hol on I jus need a minute hold on wait—

#polydoesart #jeyne poole #asoiaf #my art #askbox #reqs #the starklings #sansa stark #house stark #personal #asoiaf art #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and feels #valyrianscrolls #a game of thrones #game of thrones

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sweetiecutie · 1 year ago

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Hi!

I fell in love with ur underbedmonster!simon au!

And I am sure everybody else fell in love with it.

Can we get some more stories with monster simon? If it's no problem, of course :)))

Love your work btw <33

A/n: sure you can, I think that this trope is my new obsession🫣☺️

Warnings: smut, mdni, possessiveness, monsterfucking, tentacle fucking

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4

Underbed monster! Simon who was slightly startled by such sudden change in your aura - once sugary sweet and syrupy turned into bitter and pungent, causing creature to sputter and hiss begrudgingly at the taste, his ears (or whatever that was that he had) straining to hear any words coming from you that could explain this drastic shift in your emotions.

Underbed monster! Simon who listened attentively as you spoke on the phone with your best friend, choking on your own tears and sobs as you told them how you broke up with your now ex boyfriend, about the ugly fight you had, how he called you numerous names, shattering your heart in million pieces just with his cruel words.

Underbed monster! Simon who felt rage simmering somewhere deep within him. How dare that pathetic scumbag treat you like that!? Yes, Ghost did torture you with horrible nightmares quite a few dozens times, but you were his human, his to scare, his to taunt, his to fuck, no one else’s. He felt possessive and angry, he wanted to soothe your poor little heart, to make all the pain go away so you could feed him more and more of that honey-like energy that your pleasure exuded.

Underbed monster! Simon who finally decided to take matters into his own hands after keeping a close eye on you when your state didn’t seem to get any better. Ghost sneaked out some of the sweets from kitchen to your bedroom so you had something to munch on, making you confused as to how those candies seemed to magically appear on your bedside. Simon tried keeping the house tidy and clean for you in hopes that it’ll make you get better soon, he even did your laundry once, causing you to freak out at the sight of your clothes, freshly washed and still damp, hanging off the rope to dry out.

Underbed monster! Simon couldn’t be more happier, watching your attention finally shift from your shithead ex to him. Simon was purposefully lurking right in the corner of your vision, making his presence in the house way more obvious. He watched with fierce amusement as you grabbed the sharpest knife from the kitchen, inspecting every nook and cranny of the house, not finding any signs of intrusion or anything that could’ve given a clue about another person’s presence, scrunching up your pretty eyebrows in confusion.

Underbed monster! Simon who fully revealed himself for the first time in your dream, standing in his full glory in front of small scared you, your breathing quickening in your sleep as you inspected his tall dark form, two red eyes glaring down at you from above. You felt paralysed as you watched this creature raise its smokey limb that slightly resembled human arm, cold tentacle fingers brushing your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear affectionately. And all of the sudden all fear and anxiety vanished, leaving place for curiosity and amazement as you studied monster’s features closer, not feeling threatened nor endangered by him. Slowly its mouth opened - even blacker that the rest of him, his voice clear and lucid, ringing right inside of your head “Wake up”

Your eyes snapped open - you were laying in your bed still, crumpled sheets dug into your back unpleasantly but you couldn’t care less as you stared straight into those crimson orbs, cold tentacles slithering up and down your sides, wrapping tighter around your limbs, immobilising you completely. Underbed monster! Simon just purred audibly at your obedience and lack of resistance, branching a few more extremities to slip under the hem of your pyjama top and wrap around your nipples, tugging and tweaking on them softly.

Underbed monster! Simon who growled satisfactorily at the small wet patch that started forming on your panties, slowly rubbing your sweet pussy while applying more and more pressure to his touch, watching you writhe and whine underneath him, begging for more.

Underbed monster! Simon who purred as he slipped a thick tentacle past the hem of your panties, stuffing your fluttering cunny so full of himself, finally that rich taste of your pleasure simmered right through him, filling his ghastly body with strength and energy he lacked all this time you were depressed. Newfound strength just nagged him into fucking you faster and harder, twisting out your nipples and rubbing your clit rapidly, all while forcing his thick tentacles in and out of your leaking cunt, making you scream and tremble in his inescapable grasp as fourth orgasm rippled through your weakened body, pure pleasure surging through your veins, hogging up your mind and making you incapable of thinking.

Underbed monster! Simon who only let you go when first sun rays peaked in through bedroom’s window, leaving you a fucked-out yet blissful mess, pinching you on your cheek affectionately before slipping under your mattress, curling up like a huge lazy cat and falling asleep, full of your delicious pleasure.

And even hours later as you peeked under your bed you could see a huge black spot there, still and unmoving; and if you listened closely enough you could hear your underbed monster purr softly in its sleep, happy and properly nourished.

That’s quite a pet that you have now, eh?

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, don’t be shy to give writers some love! Requests are open, so send me some stuff<3

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solxamber · 1 month ago

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Hi, Can you do Diasomnia, 5, Fluff, please?

The Answer Was You || Malleus Draconia

For the Holiday Event || Prompt: "It has always been you" ; Genre: Fluff

Malleus is talking about gargoyles again—his voice rich and animated, eyes alight with excitement as he gestures enthusiastically. You’re half-listening, lost in the way his expression softens when he describes the intricate details of their design, the admiration in his tone as he marvels at their craftsmanship.

You don’t know when it hits you, but suddenly, you’re back in a familiar moment—a memory of sitting with Ace, Deuce, and Epel, their nosy voices ringing in your ears.

“Come on, just tell us! Who’s your crush?” Ace had prodded, grinning like the menace he is.

Deuce had chimed in with a teasing, “You have to like someone, right?”

And Epel, smirking knowingly, had said, “Bet they’re someone we wouldn’t expect.”

You hadn’t answered then, brushing it off with a laugh, but now, as you watch Malleus ramble so passionately about something he loves, the realization knocks the wind out of you.

It’s him.

It’s always been him—his curiosity, his gentle heart, his quiet moments, and his wide, genuine smile when he’s with you. You’ve seen so many sides of Malleus Draconia, and all of them, every last piece, have nestled their way into your heart.

And maybe it’s impulsive, or maybe it’s been a long time coming, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Malleus,” you blurt out, cutting him off mid-sentence.

He pauses, blinking at you in surprise, his hands still mid-gesture. “Yes? Did I lose you? I can elaborate—”

“No, no.” You shake your head, nerves tangling in your chest, but your voice stays steady. “I need to tell you something.”

Malleus tilts his head, clearly curious but patient as ever. “Of course. What is it?”

You take a breath, feeling warmth creep up your neck. “I like you, Malleus. I think I have for a long time.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then his expression shifts—his eyes widen, glowing softly in the dim light. His lips part slightly, and for a moment, you swear he forgets how to breathe.

And then it happens—his face breaks into a smile, one so radiant and sincere it feels like the world tilts on its axis. You’ve never seen anything so beautiful. It’s pure joy, unrestrained and unfiltered, lighting up his face like a summer dawn.

“Truly?” he breathes, his voice low and full of wonder.

“Truly,” you answer softly, a little breathless at how dazzling he looks. “I couldn’t stop myself from falling for you if I tried.”

Malleus steps closer, his gaze holding yours with such intensity it sends your heart racing. “You’ve made me happier than I ever thought possible.”

And before you can second-guess it, you lean in and kiss him, your hands resting gently against his chest. Malleus freezes for a split second before he melts into it, his arms carefully circling you, like he’s holding something precious.

When you finally pull back, his smile remains, his eyes soft and bright. “You’ve given me a gift beyond compare.”

You laugh, your cheeks warm as you poke his chest playfully. “You’re so dramatic.”

“But you seem to love it,” he counters, grinning as he pulls you closer once again.

And you do—you really, truly do.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #twst malleus #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #malleus #𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 holiday event

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rothpie · 1 month ago

Text

❝FIDELITY❞ |part11

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: time jumps, slut shaming(kind of?), daddy issues, pregnancy and everything about that, breakdown.

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5 Months and 1 Week Pregnant

It was one of those rare times when everything felt like it was going well. There was no need to lie; you were happier than usual. In the past, you’d wake up late and force yourself to cook, but now, it was like you had an internal alarm clock. You were up on time every day, and you even found some joy in cooking.

You preferred waking up to some noise in the house rather than silence. Having someone else there, hearing the sounds of cooking—it felt like loneliness had disappeared completely. And even though you knew it wouldn’t last forever, you were starting to get used to it. Instead of dreading the day it would end, you chose to focus on the moment.

Living with JJ wasn’t hard. If anything, it made life easier.

You hadn’t thought of him as so helpful before. The way he’d try to do anything you asked, the way he made you laugh effortlessly—it all deepened your bond with him.

He never asked for anything in return. Not a single thing. Yet, he was always there for you, without expecting a thing. That made you feel awful. You wanted to do something for him, to not leave his kindness unanswered. But deep down, you knew JJ didn’t expect anything from you; he’d help you regardless.

Despite growing up with a lousy father in terrible circumstances, JJ had developed a sense of compassion that made you question so much about yourself.

Not just yourself but the world around you. It was absurd how people raised in luxury and privilege often saw helping others as a sign of weakness.

If someone lacked the capacity for kindness, what kind of success could they truly achieve in life?

To you, the answer was nothing. They could own yachts, mansions, and cars—but without a pure and kind heart, what was the point?

These thoughts stayed with you, especially during Sarah and John B’s wedding.

It wasn’t anything overly extravagant, not that you expected it to be. Just a few close friends were there, and most of the faces were familiar. Seeing Cleo and Kiara as Sarah’s bridesmaids in their blue dresses was adorable. On John B’s side, JJ and Pope stood as groomsmen, both in suits with matching blue ties.

You never thought you’d see JJ in a suit in your lifetime. It just—wasn’t his style, and imagining it had always seemed impossible.

You followed every update on Instagram, curious. Everything looked sweet, perfect even. But what really surprised you was seeing the entire Cameron family at the wedding—even Rafe.

You had no idea they’d reconciled. You couldn’t have known; you hadn’t been close to Rafe for months. Still, you always had a sense that he regretted the distance he’d put between himself and his sisters when he was younger.

Even so, you never thought Sarah would be brave enough to reach out. Especially when you saw him sitting almost front and center.

But—it wasn’t your problem. You were glad they’d worked things out, and that was it. You didn’t want Rafe occupying even a corner of your mind, despite the fact that you carried a piece of him inside you.

The two days without JJ felt long. You couldn’t believe how quickly you’d gotten used to his presence, but apparently, you had. When he returned, you couldn’t help but feel relieved. You’d gained a housemate—it was just how things had turned out. The guest room you’d prepared for visitors had become JJ’s room.

When you saw him standing there with a suitcase in hand, you realized this was really happening—he’d moved in.

As the days passed, you got even more used to each other. It was...endearing. Until the day you woke up to the smell of something burnt.

You had no idea what was going on downstairs, but the house reeked. When you went to the kitchen, you found JJ trying to make breakfast.

He must’ve heard your footsteps because he turned to you with a half-smile, looking unsure of himself. Holding out a plate of slightly burnt pancakes with an open hand, he grinned proudly. “Ta-da!”

Your eyes darted to the table, where fresh orange juice and a few other things were set out, but you quickly looked back at JJ. “Don’t get the wrong idea—it’s not for you. It’s for the baby.” He set down the spatula and gestured to your belly before turning back to the stove.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Walking over to check the pancakes, you saw they were, in fact, burnt. “You know… I have a master’s degree in culinary arts. My specialty is actually being a chef, but... if you want to keep going, I’d never say no. My pancakes are perfect, of course, so you won’t top them, but—”

Your eyes fell on the charred pancakes again. You grabbed the spatula from his hand. “Step aside.”

He smiled as he moved without protest, leaning against the table to watch. There was no way you were letting either of you eat those burnt pancakes. Still, it was a sweet gesture. He didn’t have to do anything at all.

“By the way.” You glanced over from the stove to see him holding out a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Smiling, you took it. “Since you hate tea now, I thought maybe you’d like some orange juice. I squeezed it myself.”

You turned down the heat on the stove and smiled as you took the glass from him. “Thank you. That’s so thoughtful.”

JJ shrugged, his eyes wandering around the kitchen as you took a sip. You loved oranges—honestly, you couldn’t imagine life without fruit.

“Of course.” He leaned against the counter, watching as you flipped the pancakes.

“You seem a little off.” You glanced at him. He wasn’t his usual energetic self. It felt like something was weighing on him.

“I talked to John B.” His eyes were still fixed on the pancakes. You always forgot how good he was at hiding his emotions—except now. He looked too upset to mask it. “He kept saying he hadn’t seen me on the island. So, I told him I’d moved here.”

You waited, hoping for some kind of positive reaction, but his face gave away nothing. He didn’t look at you; his eyes stayed fixed on the frying pan. You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head, what kind of conversation he had just had.

And more than that, this was the first you were hearing about it. You’d been with JJ for days now, yet not once had John B—or any of his other friends—called him, as far as you knew. Or maybe they had, and you just hadn’t noticed. “What did he say?”

You set the perfectly cooked pancake on top of JJ’s charred pile, then turned to face him. One hand ran through his hair, ruffling it in that way he always did when he was feeling off. “He wasn’t exactly thrilled.”

When his gaze finally lifted to meet yours, you felt like you could finally read the expression on his face. He looked hurt—genuinely hurt. You wished you could read his mind; it would make things so much easier.

“Did you tell him why you’re here?” you asked, your voice softened intentionally. You didn’t want to sound harsh, not even by accident. JJ straightened up quickly, shaking his head with conviction.

“This is about you. I’d never do that.” His eyes stayed locked on yours, like he was silently making a vow.

The last thing you wanted was for JJ to deal with this because of you. When you’d asked him to stay, you hadn’t thought too far ahead, hadn’t considered what it might mean. But you didn’t want things to turn out like this. These were people JJ trusted, and you trusted JJ. You didn’t want them to fight because of you.

Eventually, everyone was going to know. One way or another, the truth would come out. There was no reason to keep it a secret, not at least for JJ’s sake. And honestly, seeing how upset he looked put a dull ache in your chest.

“You can tell them,” you said softly. “If you trust them, then I trust them too.”

JJ’s eyebrows shot up, his surprise plain as day. He clearly hadn’t expected you to say that. But if they could be understanding, and if it would help JJ feel better, then it was worth it. After all, this wasn’t the end of the world. It was just five more people knowing.

6 Months Pregnant

Everything had escalated so quickly. Even you hadn’t seen it coming. The day you told JJ that he could share it with his friends, he refused. But, of course, you pressed him until he gave in.

He couldn’t hold out and ended up telling them. No one could deny the initial shock; it was written all over their faces. Still, you were relieved when you noticed how it seemed to smooth things over between JJ and his friends afterward.

“You got her pregnant?!” John B’s voice boomed through JJ’s phone, loud enough to reach you in the kitchen where you were washing dishes.

“Have you never heard of a condom in your life?!” Pope chimed in, equally loud. You couldn’t help but overhear their chaotic exchange. JJ was trying to explain himself, but each time he opened his mouth, someone else interrupted. You pressed your lips tightly together, suppressing a laugh as you loaded the dishwasher.

“Can you guys just stop for a second? Of course not! She’s just a friend—I’m helping her out!” JJ finally managed to get a word in, and the corners of your lips twitched into a smile. Peeking through the window, you saw him sprawled on the porch sofa, legs stretched out, his backward cap completing the look of pure exasperation.

“Helping her out as the baby daddy?!” Cleo shouted in disbelief.

“Oh my God, Cleo! I literally just said no!”

From that day on, JJ’s interactions with his friends seemed to pick up again. Sometimes, yours did too. JJ often FaceTimed Sarah and John B, and while Sarah’s cheerful greetings to you felt a bit awkward, you appreciated the effort. After all, she was technically your daughter’s aunt.

The real awkwardness came when JJ mentioned his friends wanted to visit—now that they knew he wasn’t on the island anymore and wouldn’t be for a while. At the house.

When JJ first brought it up, you hesitated—not because you didn’t want them over, but because they’d see you. Pregnant. And at six months along, there was no hiding it.

But saying no wasn’t really an option, especially since you’d been the one to suggest JJ stay with you in the first place. You were living together now. How could you tell him his friends couldn’t come to see him?

Neither of you was particularly skilled in the kitchen, so you settled on ordering pizza and turning it into a casual pizza night. Simple, easy, and quick cleanup.

“Hey there!” JJ greeted them at the door while you hung back a little, watching the scene unfold with a soft smile. John B pulled JJ into a bear hug, followed quickly by Pope, who practically launched himself at him. It was sweet.

After everyone had taken their turns hugging JJ, they turned toward you. Cleo was the first to approach, arms wide open like she’d known you forever.

“Oh my God, hi! You look amazing!” she gushed, pulling you into a warm embrace.

When she stepped back, you couldn’t help but beam. Compliments like that hit differently when you were pregnant—and when you secretly felt the same way about yourself.

“So do you! I hope the drive wasn’t too hard to find us,” you replied. Cleo nodded with a grin, stepping aside as Kiara came into view. She wasn’t as exuberant as Cleo, but you didn’t hold it against her.

“Hi,” Kiara greeted you, offering a brief but friendly hug.

“Hey,” you responded with a small smile, chuckling as Pope called out from behind, “Now this is what I call a house…”

As Kiara moved aside, Sarah came up, her bright smile almost startling you. The tension you’d been holding onto crept back in. Of course, there wasn’t a person here who didn’t know who the father of your baby was. After all, after years of dating, there was no way it wasn’t Rafe. And you were certain Sarah knew that too.

“That pregnancy glow thing? It’s really working for you!” Sarah said with enthusiasm, extending the greeting dramatically before pulling you into an unexpected hug. “Look at you! Hi!”

You hadn’t expected it to go this smoothly, let alone for everyone to be this sweet. It was either because they genuinely were nice or… JJ. Just like you were being nice to them because of JJ.

Fair enough.

If you were still living on the island and weren’t pregnant, this would’ve been a completely different vibe. But here you all were, playing nice for someone else’s sake. And honestly? You didn’t hate it.

In fact, you kind of loved it.

The house filled with laughter as everyone settled around the table. You watched them reconnect over slices of pizza, their camaraderie so genuine it almost warmed your heart.

You loved how their laughter filled the space, how JJ kept drawing you into conversations even when you felt like a bit of an outsider.

You’d always hated curious stares, but their looks didn’t feel like that. They felt like they were listening—like they actually cared about what you had to say. It did wonders for your confidence.

“I’ll clear the pizza boxes; you guys can move to the couch if you want,” you offered with a smile, gripping the edge of the table for support as you got up.

“No way!” Cleo was already on her feet, grabbing the box in front of her. Kiara and the others followed suit, practically springing into action.

“You’re pregnant! No way we’re letting you do anything,” Kiara added firmly, cutting off your protest before it could start.

A warm hand rested on your back, and you turned to see JJ smiling down at you.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

For a moment, you considered pushing back but gave in with a small nod. Something about the way he looked at you made it impossible to argue. Reassuring.

As they cleaned up, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. You were the host, and having guests do the work felt… wrong.

The feeling lingered even as you made your way to the bathroom. Pregnancy had turned every trip to pee into a race against time, and you’d grown to hate how often you felt like you might not make it.

After finishing up, you washed your hands and glanced in the mirror, checking your makeup. When you opened the door, you nearly bumped into Sarah, standing just a little down the hall.

“Sarah…” you said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. She smiled nervously, brushing her blonde hair back with one hand while the other fiddled with her nose.

“Hey,” she started hesitantly, eyes flickering between you and the floor. “I just wanted to check… Are you okay?”

Her concern was sweet, and you shrugged lightly, feeling oddly touched. “I’m fine.”

“Not like that. I mean… after everything. JJ didn’t give us much detail—neither did Rafe. So,” she looked a bit uneasy. You could tell the concern in her voice was genuine. She wasn’t trying to pry or make you feel bad.

“I still don’t trust Rafe, and I don’t know what went down between you two, but I was worried about you. And after finding out about you and the baby, I swear I didn’t tell him a thing.” She placed her hand on Sarah’s arm in reassurance, and the tension in Sarah’s face softened.

For reasons you couldn’t fully grasp, Sarah looked panicked. It was like… she was acting as if Rafe didn’t know. Because she didn’t know he knew. Maybe she thought she’d kept this from him, even ran away from him.

“He knows, Sarah.” Her brows relaxed, but the shock on her face was undeniable. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no sound came for a moment.

Sarah was grappling with how Rafe could know and still let you leave. Everyone knew you two were in love—so much so it was nauseating at times. You’d been the girl who stuck around the longest in his life, especially on the island. So how did he let it go? How did he accept it? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.

She couldn’t hide the growing frustration toward her brother. It was almost incomprehensible.

“But—” Her lips moved again, but nothing came out. She was lost for words, ready to storm back to the island and give Rafe a piece of her mind—or more than that. She could practically picture herself shouting at him.

How could he leave a pregnant woman—especially the mother of his child—on her own? And not just anyone. It was you. Not just the mother of his baby, but the girl he claimed to love.

“He found out right after I did. He… didn’t want to do this together. We agreed to separate—kind of. I thought moving to the mainland was the best thing to do.” Sarah pushed the loose strands of hair from her face. She looked genuinely upset, enough to make you want to comfort her. But it was in the past, and there was no use in dwelling on it. You were looking ahead now, and you were happy with that.

“How? That bastard—ugh, I hate him.” Her words were filled with anger, and you couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your lips. Seeing you smile seemed to brighten her mood too. She felt better knowing you weren’t as upset about it anymore.

Still, Sarah felt an odd shame, almost like she was the one who’d wronged you. The fact that it was Rafe, her own blood, who had left you to fend for yourself—and with a baby—made her cringe.

“Please don’t.” You looked at her, your voice soft but firm. There was no need for her to hate him, especially now that you’d begun mending bridges. “He wasn’t ready, and I was. That’s all there is to it.”

Her brows shot up in disbelief. You couldn’t believe how quickly her emotions shifted—she looked ready to murder Rafe on the spot.

She was furious, even livid. She couldn’t fathom how he could shirk such a responsibility. She’d be angry with anyone who did that, but knowing it was her brother made her blood boil. “So, let me get this straight—he was ready enough to finish inside you but not to deal with the consequences? Is that it?”

You didn’t reply. There was no point. These were the thoughts you’d worked so hard to bury. Of course, you’d had them too, but if you were going to move forward, you couldn’t dwell on them.

Holding onto the past wouldn’t let you live your future. What was done was done. There was no undoing it.

Sarah noticed your change in mood and quickly reached out, placing a hand on your arm. She looked worried, as though she’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, don’t apologize. You’re right. But I just want to move on—I don’t want to waste any more time feeling sad about it.” You gave her a small smile, trying to reassure her. No matter what, you were determined to hold onto your happiness. You wouldn’t let any fight or rejection overshadow the joy waiting for you.

“Of course. Whatever you do, I’ve got your back. You know you can always call me. I mean, I’m going to be an aunt, after all.” Sarah’s giggle was contagious, and you found yourself laughing along with her. It was comforting, even grounding, to know she was there for you.

“Of course you are. Just… can we keep this from your family for now?” You still couldn’t help yourself—you were protecting him. If Ward found out, he’d strip Rafe of everything, and even knowing that, you were shielding him. Stupid.

“If it were up to me, I’d tell my dad just to watch him beat Rafe into the ground—but I won’t. For you and the baby.” Sarah wrapped her arm around your waist, and you slung yours over her shoulder. As you both walked toward the living room, a quiet “thank you” escaped your lips.

“There you are!” A voice rang out as you entered the room. Your eyes followed it to see JJ standing up from the couch and walking toward you. “We were starting to worry.”

You watched as Sarah slipped away and joined John B. A moment later, you turned back to find JJ standing close, his hand resting on your waist as he leaned in. His presence was a little unnerving, though this wasn’t unusual for him. This was just how things had always been.

“You’re okay, right?” His voice was quieter now, meant for you alone. His eyes searched yours as if he were ready to whisk you off to the hospital at the slightest sign of trouble.

Your hand found its way to his arm, squeezing gently as if to reassure him. When you nodded, your other hand instinctively rested on your belly. “I’m fine.”

JJ smiled, glancing over at the others. His hand lingered at your waist. “So, who’s up for a game?”

7 Months and 1 Week Pregnant

Sleeping had become a challenge. You missed the quality rest you used to get, the kind that actually left you feeling refreshed. You longed for the days when you could sleep on your stomach, or even just roll over in bed without feeling like a beached whale.

Now, falling asleep required effort—serious effort, like you were training for some sleep Olympics.

Waking up drenched in sweat had become your new least favorite thing. The nights felt as hot as mid-summer, and every single one included at least one trip to the bathroom or the kitchen for water.

Even getting out of bed was an ordeal, just as tough as getting back in. Your back was always aching, and it felt like life itself had become one giant workout session. Exhausting in every possible way.

It was one of those nights again. You woke up, groaning internally at how much you hated this pattern. You wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep, but of course, that was out of the question. Everything felt like it was conspiring against you.

Pushing your hair out of your face, you sat up, gasping for breath like you’d just finished running a marathon. The sheer size of your belly still caught you off guard sometimes.

When you noticed your bedside glass of water was empty, you groaned. Of course. The universe wasn’t cutting you any slack. With a resigned sigh, you got up and shuffled toward the door, making your way downstairs.

In the kitchen, as you poured yourself a glass of water, a faint buzzing sound caught your attention. You paused, straining to listen. Was the TV still on? You had gone to bed early, and now you were wondering if JJ had forgotten to turn it off.

With the glass in hand, you wandered into the living room. The only light came from the flickering TV screen. The scene before you wasn’t one you expected: JJ was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling his head.

Your eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—3 a.m.

As you walked closer, it seemed like he either hadn’t heard you or was pretending not to. He stayed frozen in place. “JJ?” you called softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up, finally noticing you, and turned his body to face you fully. For a moment, your eyes locked. Normally, JJ was impossible to read. He was a master at keeping his emotions hidden. But now? His face betrayed a heaviness that made your chest tighten.

“Hey,” he said softly, straightening up. His eyes dropped to your belly, and he rested a hand on it gently. You perched on the edge of the couch, facing him. “Are you okay?”

His voice was low, almost hollow. Concerned, you ran a hand through his messy hair, and his eyes fluttered shut at the touch. He leaned back slightly, allowing you to continue.

“We’re fine. Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond immediately. He stayed still, eyes closed, seemingly trying to ground himself. You wanted to beg him to tell you what was wrong, the tension gnawed at you.

When he didn’t answer, you leaned forward awkwardly to set your glass on the coffee table. Noticing your struggle, JJ opened his eyes and silently took the glass from you, placing it down himself.

You settled beside him, watching as he intertwined his fingers and stared at his hands. “What’s going on?” you pressed gently.

JJ hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like he was testing words that didn’t feel right. His hands fidgeted, a clear sign of his unease.

Just as you were about to ask again, he finally spoke. “They called me from police station.”

Your eyes widened, alarm flashing through you. Why? What could he have possibly done? He’d been staying with you for the past two months, barely leaving your side. If someone had falsely accused him of something, you’d have your family’s lawyers on it in seconds.

“They arrested my dad,” he said, his voice flat. “And he decided to call me.”

A humorless chuckle escaped his lips, and it made your heart ache for him. He looked awful—his eyes red and tired, his hair a mess, and his clothes disheveled. This wasn’t JJ, not the one who always found a way to laugh, even in the worst situations.

“Now he remembers I exist,” he muttered, the laugh leaving his voice entirely. It was eerie, almost unsettling. Anger and hurt swirled in his expression, clear as day.

You opened your mouth to speak, but his hand shot up. He dragged it through his hair harshly, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “Hey, JJ—don’t.”

He stilled, letting his hand fall into yours. You could feel him trying to steady his breathing, his shoulders rising and falling deeply.

“It’s been almost four months. Four whole months, and he didn’t notice I was gone. And now he calls? I don’t even care about him anymore, I swear. He hasn’t mattered to me for years. But if I hadn’t seen my kid in months? I’d feel like I was dead inside.” His voice cracked, and you squeezed his hand tighter. “I’d cross an ocean to find them.”

When he looked at you, his eyes were bloodshot, the veins painfully visible. “JJ…” you whispered, his name barely audible. He dropped his gaze back to his lap.

“I hate that I still care. I hate that he’s the only family I have,” he admitted, shaking his head as he closed his eyes again.

Unable to stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn’t hesitate to pull you close, clinging to you like a lifeline.

Right now, JJ didn’t need words. He just needed you—your comfort, your warmth.

You felt his body tense in your embrace, so you ran a soothing hand up and down his back. “Do you want me to get him out?” you whispered softly.

Even though you despised the man for how much he’d hurt JJ, you’d do it if it meant bringing him a fraction of peace.

“No,” JJ’s voice was firm. He shook his head sharply and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“What do you want me to do? Just say the word, and I’ll do it.” In that moment, it felt like every wall between you had crumbled. There was no pretense, no filters—just raw, unguarded honesty.

“Just stay like this,” he murmured against your neck.

So you did. You leaned back into the couch, holding him close, your hands rubbing slow circles on his back. The faint hum of the TV filled the silence as the two of you stayed there, tangled together in the stillness of the night.

8 Months Pregnant

"JJ, put it down." You tried to sound firm, but your voice cracked slightly. JJ looked at you, confused, holding the offending object in his hand. You couldn’t bear to look at it for more than a second without feeling nauseous. Standing there in the middle of the grocery store, you were dangerously close to losing your lunch.

"What? This?" He held up the banana, inspecting it like it might hold the secrets of the universe. You quickly averted your eyes. Once upon a time, you had been all about bananas—team banana all the way. Now? Now they made you gag. The smell, the texture, even the thought of eating one was enough to make your stomach churn.

Pregnancy had turned your entire palate upside down. Foods you used to love? Hard no. Foods you couldn’t stand? Suddenly your favorites. It was fascinating in a completely horrifying way. You hadn’t even known this was a thing until it started happening to you.

"Okay, okay, relax." JJ put the banana back like it was a ticking time bomb and stepped closer to you. You deliberately avoided looking in its direction, shifting your focus to the other aisles as you tried to erase its image from your mind.

"Please don’t puke here," JJ teased, his tone light and playful. You shot him a glare, but it only seemed to amuse him further. His lips twitched, and before you could come up with a witty retort, he turned away, a muffled laugh escaping him.

You knew he was trying not to laugh outright, but you decided to let it go. He’d been in this mood all day—overly playful, overly JJ.

Your face scrunched up as a sharp movement in your belly caught your attention. Your baby was unusually active today. A small groan escaped your lips as you felt another jab, and almost immediately, JJ’s hand found its way to your back.

"What’s going on? Is it happening? Are you giving birth?" His voice was so over-the-top, you couldn’t even muster the energy to respond. You turned to him instead, searching his face to see if he was actually serious.

It was one of those days. Your baby girl was unusually hyper, and JJ seemed determined to match her energy with his relentless joking.

"No," you finally managed. "We still have a month to go. You know that."

JJ smirked, clearly unfazed. "You’re super tense today," he remarked.

"It’s just... she’s moving so much." You rubbed your belly in small circles, hoping it would calm her down. She felt like she was trying to punch her way out. JJ’s joking demeanor melted as concern crossed his face.

"Should we go home?" he asked, his voice softer now.

You shook your head. "No, it’s fine. She’s settling down." And thankfully, she was. The movements were starting to ease.

Convincing JJ that you were fine was always a bit of an uphill battle. When it came to you and the baby, he was constantly on high alert, acting like every little thing could be the moment. But your doctor had reassured you just last week—your due date was still a month away.

March 29th.

That was the big day, circled in bright red on your calendar. Time had been speeding by for the past eight months, but now that you were in the final stretch, the days felt like years. Every tick of the clock seemed slower than the last.

You’d started counting down the days since your doctor gave you the date. It didn’t help that waiting made you restless. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Shopping trips with JJ had evolved too. It wasn’t just groceries anymore. You were now stocking up on diapers, baby wipes, and tiny clothes that made your heart melt. It felt early, but preparing in advance made you feel calmer—and, if you were honest, even more excited.

You were counting down to the moment she’d finally arrive. Your little girl. A happiness unlike anything you’d ever known was just around the corner. You could feel it.

"An important question: Which one do we pick?" JJ held up a tangerine in one hand and an orange in the other, his face comically serious. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Both,” you replied, shaking your head. A victorious grin spread across JJ’s face as he nodded like he’d just solved the world's most difficult puzzle.

“Team Vitamin C,” he announced proudly, tossing both bags into the cart.

You were about to respond when a familiar face caught your eye. Instinctively, you turned your back and stepped closer to JJ, hoping to blend into his shadow. But your hopes were dashed as soon as you heard your name, loud and cheerful, coming from behind.

“Sweetheart! What a surprise! Look at you—you’ve grown so much! You’re glowing!”

Viola.

She practically bounced over, her smile so wide it could’ve been painted on. Behind her, a shopping cart waited, along with the little girl you’d seen with her at the park a few months ago. The child was quietly playing with a toy, blissfully unaware of the impending awkwardness.

“Hi, Viola,” you greeted her, your voice betraying none of your inner cringe. You could feel JJ’s presence close behind you, his chest lightly pressed against your back. Oh, he was doing this on purpose.

Viola’s gaze flickered briefly to JJ, but her focus quickly returned to you. “How are you, darling? I haven’t seen you at the park lately.”

It was almost funny how sweet she sounded, especially considering how your last interaction had gone. The thought of voluntarily seeking her out again had never even crossed your mind, especially knowing she was always there with her daughter.

“Haven’t been going out much,” you lied effortlessly, giving her a polite smile. Viola’s grin widened, but it was so fake you almost felt secondhand embarrassment.

The silence that followed was unbearably awkward. Viola’s eyes kept darting back to JJ, sizing him up like he was some new exhibit at the zoo. You couldn’t quite place the urge to drag him away, but it was growing stronger by the second.

Viola, who looked like she was pushing forty, seemed to be giving your “friend” the once-over, and it made your skin crawl. “I thought you said the baby’s father didn’t want to be involved? Did I remember that wrong?”

You briefly considered staying silent in the hopes that she’d get bored and leave, but her expectant gaze made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere.

“He’s a friend, helping me out,” you finally said, glancing over your shoulder at JJ. His expression was unreadable, but the slight furrow of his brow hinted at annoyance.

Viola’s smirk widened, and she nodded like she was completely on your side. “Of course. You’re only twenty, after all. It makes sense you’d need support. Though, I’ll admit, you’d feel much more secure with a ring on your finger and the father around, don’t you think?”

Her tone was all sugar, but her eyes darted back and forth between you and JJ, waiting for a reaction.

“If she wants a ring, she’ll have one. If she doesn’t, she won’t,” JJ cut in, his tone calm but firm. “And honestly, it’s better for a child to grow up with one stable parent than two miserable ones.”

You nearly bit your lip trying to hide your grin as JJ stepped closer. His hand brushed your arm, a subtle yet protective gesture.

Viola’s smile faltered as she took in his words. Her face twisted briefly in irritation before she smoothed it over with forced politeness. Giving you both one last look, she muttered something under her breath and turned to leave, her daughter trailing obediently behind.

“Who is that woman?” JJ asked, his tone dripping with disdain as he stared after her.

“Don’t ask,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

8 Months and 4 Week Pregnant

The thoughts wouldn’t leave your mind. You had assumed you’d feel calmer as your due date approached, but instead, all you felt was a growing knot of anxiety.

You wanted to be a mom more than anything. You couldn’t wait to hold your daughter in your arms, to breathe in her scent, to feel the weight of her tiny body against you. But as much as you wanted it, you couldn’t shake the nagging doubt: Would I be a good mom?

When you confided in your own mother, she’d assured you that this was part of being a mom. She’d said that motherhood was about being consumed with worry while loving them with everything you have. It was about constantly questioning if you were doing things right.

And that was exactly what you were doing.

On top of that, your mind couldn’t stop racing about the future. JJ was going to leave. You knew it. Whether he’d head back to the island or stay nearby, you weren’t sure, but the five months you’d spent living together were almost over.

“What’s got you all worked up?” JJ asked as he joined you on the porch, draping a blanket over your shoulders. His usual energy was intact, his carefree vibe so familiar it made your chest ache.

You didn’t know how you were going to say goodbye. For months now, he’d been there, in your space, filling the silence. You could barely remember what it was like to live in this house alone. It felt like he’d always been there, like he’d been a part of your life since the beginning.

“What’s going to happen after the baby’s born?”

You were tired of tiptoeing around the subject. No more guessing games or dancing around what you really wanted to say. You weren’t going to hide behind vague questions anymore. This was normal. It was okay to ask.

You needed to know—not just for yourself, but for your daughter’s future.

When JJ gave you a soft smile, your eyebrows shot up. He sipped his coffee, his gaze wandering off to the backyard like he was gathering his thoughts.

“I was actually going to talk to you about that,” he said, sitting up a little straighter.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable conversation about him leaving.

“I’ve put in a few job applications,” he continued. “I’ll stay here as long as you need me, but after that, I think it’d be better if I found my own place nearby. You know, give you your space.”

His voice was serious—no teasing, no jokes.

When his eyes met yours, you knew he wasn’t kidding. It was written all over his face: he meant every word.

You stared at him, stunned. Was this the same JJ you’d met months ago? The wild, reckless boy who didn’t seem to take anything seriously?

Back then, you didn’t even need to know him well to guess the kind of guy he was: someone who loved parties, getting drunk, maybe even picking a fight or two. After all, his reputation had preceded him. But since he’d come into your life, he hadn’t been drunk, he hadn’t fought anyone. It was like someone had waved a magic wand and transformed him.

“Really?” you asked, still skeptical.

JJ grinned, his signature playful smirk lighting up his face. “Really,” he said, nodding.

You couldn’t believe it. Without thinking, you pushed off the blanket and made a clumsy attempt to get up, forgetting about the massive baby bump that had been your constant companion for months.

As you threw your arms around him, you heard him laugh softly. “Whoa, easy there,” he said, but he hugged you back tightly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. And you meant it. More than he could ever know.

April 3rd

“JJ!” His name escaped your lips as you stared at the floor. Finally—it was happening. You couldn’t believe it. It was a bit past the due date, but it didn’t matter. The day you had been counting down to, with so much anticipation, was here.

“What? What’s going on?” JJ’s voice echoed through the house, and within seconds, the rapid thuds of his footsteps on the stairs filled the air.

This was it. The moment had finally arrived.

“My water just broke.”

When you looked up at JJ standing frozen in the doorway, a huge smile spread across your face. His eyes darted from the floor to you, growing comically wide as the realization hit him.

“Fuck.”

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