#haven’t changed on the outside but i certainly have on the outside

[gregmarriage]

i’m so 9 year old kid coded

the thing with putting my hair into pigtails is that it’s cute and it gets my hair off my neck, both because of the heat and also the sensory issues. but also i look even more like a 9 year old than i already do with my hair down

[thelostconsultant]

Puppy love

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: During his karting days, you were one of his opponents, but outside the track he was just a stupid boy who fell in love with a pretty girl. Now, after all those years, you meet again in the paddock, and he doesn't want you to leave.

note: Yes, Jos is an asshole in this (too).

“Have you seen who jumped in to do the interviews?” Charles asked with a wicked smile when he stopped next to his rival after the race. Max hadn’t really paid attention to these details until now, but now that he was informed there was something he should probably know, he looked around to see where the reporter was. “I haven’t talked to her since your dad ruined her career. But she seems truly happy now.”

That’s when his eyes fell on you, the girl who had been haunting him in his dreams for long years, the one who was glowing while talking to the cameraman. He wanted to object, he wanted to say “my dad didn’t ruin her career, she just decided to quit,” but the way you had left certainly hinted at a possible connection between the two events. Because his father’s outburst took place a week before he found out you weren’t coming back to race, and you didn’t even try to contact him ever again. 

What made it real hard was the fact he knew you were left heartbroken, and it wasn’t racing that you missed. His mother called your parents to ask them about you, and they said you had been crying in your room for days, but when the option for a call from Max came up, they were quick to shut it down. They said it would be easier for you to move on if he didn’t show up in your life again, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for everything that happened. 

If he hadn’t fallen in love with you, if he hadn’t met you on a vacation, if his father hadn’t found out he loved someone, maybe you would still be racing. He remembered your bright smile that was present even after a tough race, and your good mood that was often highly contagious. The boys you raced against loved you dearly, mostly because you brought a different energy into their little boys’ club.

“Max, you’re next,” he was told all of a sudden. 

He wasn't ready to face you, but there was no escape. What he had to do now was force a smile on his face and act like he was talking to someone else, someone whose presence didn't affect him half as much as yours did. But the moment he stopped in front of you and noticed a strange glint in your eyes, he had to focus on breathing in and out while you asked your first question.

After the camera was turned off, he cautiously watched you to see if you were planning to approach him, or if you seemed open to the possibility of him doing that. When you looked at him with a smile and said goodbye to the cameraman, he walked over to you with his hand folded behind his back.

“It's nice to see you here,” he said with a small, cautious smile. You nodded, but Max could see behind the cheerful look on your face, he could tell you were tense. “If I'm bothering you, just say it.”

You took a deep breath, and soon your smile changed, and it was now showing a lot more sadness. “It's been a while, that's all. Talking to you in person brings back different memories,” you admitted.

“Good or bad ones?”

Following a shrug, you folded your arms over your chest and looked down at your shoes. “Compared to the ones that come back when I see you or Charles on TV? Bad,” you finally replied. 

Max gulped upon hearing this, feeling guilty despite knowing he had done nothing wrong, that whatever happened back in the day was the result of a series of decisions made by your parents. If it was up to him, he would have kept in touch with you, doing his best to see where this puppy love would lead the two of you. Maybe you would have broken up after he got into F1, maybe you would be married by now. It was a question he had no answer to.

The best he could do now was trying to make you understand this, making you see that he wanted to fix things now, even if you would be nothing more than friends. Sure, he had no idea how much you had changed over the years, but he knew there was only one way to find out. “I know it means very little after all these years, but I’m sorry,” he said to break the deafening silence.

You nodded, then to his surprise, took a step closer to him. “I know it wasn’t your fault. My parents told me what happened exactly eventually.”

He watched you closely, trying to figure out if you were interested in a proper conversation, maybe later in private. But before he could speak up, Charles walked over to the two of you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder with a big smile on his face. “It’s been so long,” he said happily, earning a shy smile and a barely visible shake of your head from you.

Max bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed by the sudden appearance of the Ferrari driver, but the main problem was a vivid memory from his childhood. While him and Charles had gone for blood on the track and didn’t have the best relationship off it either, you and the Monegasque were on very good terms, with you even visiting him and his family in his home. It didn’t bother him until his brain finally caught up with his feelings and he realized he had a crush on you, because then he felt intense jealousy every time his rival laid a finger on you, even if it was nothing more than a friendly pat on the shoulder.

You then suddenly moved to give him a hug, and seeing the way Charles wrapped his arms around you made his blood boil, even if he knew deep down that he had no right to be jealous. But it was painfully obvious that the two of you were talking to each other, keeping your voices down as much as you could in the noise around you, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about.

Then he finally let go of you and said goodbye, although the two of you agreed to have dinner in Italy next week to catch up. Max took a deep breath and thought about what to say, but before he could come up with anything, an official came over to drag him to the cooldown room, so all he could do was apologize and say goodbye, wishing he could see you again next week. According to Charles you were supposed to be there in Monza, which meant he would have the chance to talk to you.

To properly talk to you and possibly find out more about your life after you quit racing.

He knew in the cooldown room they were supposed to talk about the race, but all he could think about was asking Charles what you talked about, what was so secretive that no one else could hear it? So, in the end he didn’t say much, he just watched the recap of the race and discussed what he saw if it was standing out. Even while standing on the podium, his eyes scanned the crowd under them, trying to find you as if he was playing Where’s Wally?

On the way home, he spent his time browsing your social media accounts, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never checked them. On X, you were posting about F1 news, commenting on them as a journalist, while on Instagram you focused on sharing more personal posts, like photos of your holiday, your hobbies, or yourself in the paddock. There had been so many of those, how come he hadn’t met you before?

Having a glimpse into your life felt so nice that he hadn’t realized he had scrolled back a few years. Well, not until it turned out he accidentally liked a few of your old photos. If you hadn’t seen the notifications, he wouldn’t have noticed that. But you saw them and weren’t shy to send him a DM about it.

The next few days passed with him regularly checking his DMs to see if you wrote to him again, if you changed your mind and decided to have dinner with him, but there was nothing, so he was forced to wait for the perfect opportunity to talk to you in the paddock in Italy. How he would find you in the flurry of people was a mystery, although he had a fleeting idea that maybe their PR team could help him get a hold of you. Not like that could work, a request like this would certainly give them a stroke, assuming he was planning to give a random interview.

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed you at the press conference, talking to some of the drivers behind the cameras. Your eyes were shining brightly, your smile lit up the room around you, and Max felt like he had been taken back to his childhood when all the boys at their karting races swarmed around you to get a scrap of your attention. But those were hormone-driven teenagers, while these guys were grown men, many of them in serious relationships, so he knew it wasn’t entirely the same situation.

This time Max made sure he could stick around after the interviews, hoping to get a hold of you once you were done. He approached you after everyone left and you decided to chat with someone from the crew. He cleared his throat nervously, subconsciously expecting you to yell at him, to tell him to leave you alone. But your poker face was perfect, because you turned to him with a kind smile and acted like you were ready to have a pleasant chat with him. The crew member left you alone, so only the two of you were left there. 

“You either don’t understand the word no, or you just learned to completely ignore it because you always get what you want,” you said with a sigh, the smile long gone by now. 

He let the last part of the comment go past his ear, instead he just took a deep breath and began to massage the back of his neck. “Can’t we have a pleasant conversation? Just put everything aside, forget about our shared past, and let’s treat this as a chance for a fresh start.”

You watched him with a thoughtful hum for a while, then nodded. “All right. What would you like to talk about?” you asked with a curious look in your eyes. 

“Us.”

“There’s no such thing as us.”

“Too bad, because that’s exactly what I want,” he was quick to inform you, mentally kicking himself for being this straightforward, even if it was true. Because he wanted to see if you would be interested in the 2.0 version of your relationship, the chance to see how your young love would work out in your adult lives. “Are you seeing anyone?”

For a moment you hesitated, but then you shook your head. “No. I don’t really have the time for that,” you replied honestly. Before Max could speak up again, though, you began to talk once more. “But I’m a reporter here, dating a driver would be… unethical. I can’t play favorites,” you explained. 

Max took a quick look around, then gently placed a hand on your cheek. “We can figure that out later. Let’s focus on step one, which is going on a first date. Tonight? We can turn to room service to help us out if you don’t want to meet somewhere public,” he told you. 

“So you want me all to yourself in your hotel room?” you asked with a teasing smile. 

He was sure as hell he blushed, because the idea of what you were suggesting hadn’t occurred to him. Having you alone in his hotel room wasn’t something he consciously planned out, he only wanted to meet you somewhere away from the curious eyes. “It’s not like that,” he told you defensively. 

“I know, don’t worry. Send me the when and where,” you said as you patted his shoulder. “See you later, Max.”

Nodding, he watched as you walked away from him. He didn’t say a word–no, he couldn’t say a word. His brain was too busy replaying the way his name rolled off your tongue, that sweet, soft tone of your voice as you said goodbye. With his mind still lost in a pink haze, he returned to their motorhome to gather his things and call it a day. He couldn’t wait to meet you, that was all he could focus on. 

A few hours later he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his foot nervously tapping on the floor while he waited. You could be here any minute, and waiting was the worst part. Well, maybe the conversation wouldn’t be that much better, but he could still hope for the best. So when half an hour later there was a knock on his door, his lips curled into a wide smile and he rushed over there to let you in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was held up in the media center,” you apologized the moment the door closed behind you. 

Max had to take a deep breath to calm himself. You being close to him again brought back feelings he thought he had long forgotten, and he wanted to give you a kiss, a soft kiss to test the waters with you. But he had to behave, he had no idea where the two of you were standing right now. “It’s okay, don’t worry. So, dinner?” he asked after a short break, giving you a smile. 

Food seemed to get you in the mood to chat, because as the two of you enjoyed the various dishes he ordered, you started to tell him about your life after everything that had happened back then. You finished high school like a normal kid, went to college to study journalism, and you managed to get jobs at various places that were related to motorsports, especially F1. That was your dream, to once work with this world, but you were quick to clarify knowing he made it here didn’t give you the idea. 

He tried to hide the cocky smirk that wanted to show up on his face, because he was sure what you said weren’t true. A voice in the back of his mind told him you wanted to see him again, that you wanted to get back what had been taken from the two of you all those years ago. After all, why wouldn’t he think that? It didn’t take much convincing to get you to meet him tonight. And if he was delusional? At least it was a nice thought. 

It was then his turn to talk, so he told you stories that you had probably never heard, about himself, about the grid, about everything, really. If you asked questions about his family, you focused on his sister and mother, but you were mostly interested in his cats and hobbies. As you told him, you couldn’t understand how he ended up being such a cat dad, but it certainly suited him. 

“Charles said he doesn’t get murderous thoughts about you several times a day lately,” you suddenly noted with a short laugh. 

Clearing his throat, Max tilted his head to the side. “You talked to him?” he asked casually. 

You nodded and took another bite of your pasta. “Yeah, we had dinner yesterday. I remember how the two of you were back then, I was wondering what the situation was now,” you said with a shrug. 

A wide grin crept on his face upon hearing this. “So you asked him about me.”

“It was just one question, don’t get too cocky,” you pointed out with a roll of your eyes. “But I’m glad you kinda get along now. It’s nice to see that.”

Max flashed a smile at you, then returned his attention to his dinner. For a while you both ate in silence, but then you got rid of the plates and he found himself wondering what to do next. So he just looked down at his hand and moved it closer to yours, letting his little finger brush against yours as if you were back in your teenage years. You let out a laugh when you noticed, and you looked at him with a kind smile. You weren’t as cold as you had been earlier today, now you seemed to have warmed up to him, ready to give him a chance to show you what he wanted. 

So, he took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss you, cautiously moving his lips against yours to make sure he didn’t scare you away. It took you a few seconds, but you eventually eased into the kiss, one of your hands even moving up to his face to keep him close. He couldn’t hold back a quiet chuckle that drew a questioning hum out of you. Max shook his head, then he dived in to kiss you again, but at the same time he let his hand wander under your shirt, even though he could have expected what happened next. 

Because you pulled away and pushed his hand away from your body. “Stop, don’t… I shouldn’t even be here, I should just go, and–”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do this, don’t push me away. I’m sorry. If you want to slow down, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do, okay?” he asked you, his voice desperate. For a minute or two you remained completely silent, you were just watching him with doe eyes, as if you were trying to process what just happened. “Please, just stay,” he said quietly.

You hesitantly took his hand and gulped loudly as you gathered your thoughts. “Listen, it’s complicated. I already told you, I shouldn’t date drivers, but,” you began, but fell silent without finishing the sentence. 

Max cupped your face and rested his forehead against yours. “One step at a time, all right? We’ll figure out if this could even work between us, then we’ll decide how to move on,” he said with a soft smile. When you nodded, he kissed your nose. “Good. Do you want to stay with me and cuddle a little, or would you rather go?”

“We just cuddle, right?” you asked with a thin voice. When he nodded, you let out a soft sigh. “Okay, just for a little while, then I’ll leave.”

But you didn’t leave. The next morning he woke up to you sleeping soundly with your head on his chest, snoring softly while you were lost in your dream world. Max couldn’t stop grinning, he was way too excited and happy to keep a straight face. It felt so nice, so natural, that he wondered how long you would be against it. You clearly wanted this as much as he did, but if you needed time, he was willing to give it to you.

As you lay there, he remembered that vacation all those years ago, when your parents not-so-accidentally bumped into his mom. His first date in a local cinema, watching a movie that was dubbed and neither of you could fully understand it. His first kiss in that movie theater with a girl that was special enough to catch his attention. The way you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder one night when your parents talked a little too long in a restaurant on the beach. 

And he was hell-bent on going back to that town to experience everything again as adults. All he needed was you softening enough to let him take care of you in front of the whole world.

[swordgrace]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jon snow x female northern reader.

SYNOPSIS: you reunite with your beloved childhood friend, jon snow, at the edge of the world. the both of you have changed, but your feelings certainly haven’t.

note: season six jon, follows s6 ep4.

format: one-shot — not requested.

word count: 10.5K (not sorry).

warnings: SMUT (mdni), ramsay bolton warning, friends to lovers, confession of feelings, reunion sex, description of scars, jon is definitely more of a switch, horny reader (valid), lots of groping, making out, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, jon loves to munch, body worship, hair-pulling kink, unprotected sex, p in v sex, lotus position & missionary position, reader is on top and on bottom, light biting & tit sucking, soft ending + aftercare

author’s note: I don’t know where this came from, but I’m glad because I had so much fun with his one! I’m a Jon girlie until the very end <3 I would honestly love to write more of him if you guys enjoy this! thank you so much for the love and support!

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲.

Direwolf sigils were replaced with that of flayed men, befitting for the screams that often emerged from the bowels of the Keep or the kennels, where enemies were fed to Ramsay Bolton’s pack of slavering hounds. Old faces that you had grown up with as a girl were gone — removed or slaughtered.

Your father, once loyal to House Stark and to Eddard himself, was strung-up and butchered for all to see, flayed alive by the Bolton men who now controlled Winterfell. You grew numb to the pain, numb to the shifting environment around you. It wasn’t the home that you had grown up in.

When you had caught sight of Sansa Stark in the courtyard, auburn tresses like searing embers against the backdrop of endless gray and snow, tears on her face, you knew that you needed to act.

You hadn’t known Sansa very well, but you did know her brother, Jon Snow. A beloved friend in your youth and teenage years, you had watched him go to the Night’s Watch. Any letters you’d written were likely thrown to the wayside, given the oaths that Men of the Watch swore, but you had longed to see him again.

Sansa recognized your face, no longer that of a young maiden with her head in the clouds. The both of you were women grown, trapped within Winterfell, and you wholly intended on escaping.

Fleeing Winterfell was perilous — dangerous, especially with the winter so biting and icy that it threatened to freeze away your extremities. Aided by Theon Greyjoy, once a captive of Ramsay, the three of you escaped into the harshness of the Northern woodlands.

Much of your time spent was in constant peril, with the looming threat of Bolton hounds nipping at your heels, search parties sent sprawling across the Wolfswood and beyond. Every rustle in the trees, every snap of a twig, distant scream of the wind made your steps quicken.

It was only when your lives were spared by Brienne of Tarth and her squire that you knew you were truly safe.

Castle Black had stood the testament of time, the last line of defense against whatever monsters lurked outside of The Wall. When its massive gates had opened, making way for your caravan, you felt shrewd in the presence of strangers. You hadn’t left Winterfell for much of your life, and only now, the world seemed so much larger.

When you saw Jon Snow again, more a man now than a boy you’d left behind in Winterfell, your heart nearly shriveled up within your chest. Youthfulness had left him, replaced with a permanent twinge of melancholy. A scar circled around his right eye, seemingly newer, and his mound of curled tresses remained tugged into a half-bun.

You stood in Brienne’s shadow, shuddering from the gnawing bite of the cold, feeling it slowly eat away at your bones. Sansa sobbed into her brother’s shoulder — and you couldn’t fault her for it. The viciousness she suffered at the hands of the Boltons was some of the worst cruelties one could imagine.

It was only when you caught Jon’s eye that he felt his breath hitch within his throat, and he felt like a young man again — freshly eight-and-ten, watching as he introduced you to Ghost for the first time. The sound of your curious laughter had filled the courtyard of Winterfell, and he remembered it as if it were yesterday.

You were from a distant dream, somewhere close yet far away, slipping in and out of his thoughts.

The last thing that you wanted was to detract from Sansa’s reunion with her brother, and so you kept quiet, bringing yourself into the shoddy shelter of your cloak. Your visage was icy, stung by the bitter wind of the far North, and your hands ached.

“You are safe here,” Jon murmured, brown hues glistening with appreciation as he looked upon Brienne of Tarth. “I owe you my gratitude for saving my sister. Whatever you need from Castle Black, you’ll have it.” He nodded, finding his gaze drifting towards you, begging for you to look his way.

Perhaps you didn’t recognize him, but that seemed far-fetched. Edd beckoned for Sansa to follow him at Jon’s command, hoping to find warmth in the guest chambers in the Lord Commander’s suite. The burden and duty no longer belonged to him.

Brienne bowed, hand atop the pommel of Oathkeeper, the Valyrian steel sheathed within its scabbard. “I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark that I would keep her daughters safe — and I shall keep it.” She replied, cerulean hues flickering towards you. “Lady Sansa’s escape wouldn’t have been possible without her.”

Jon gazed at you as if you had brought down the sun and stars themselves, moved mountains with will alone. Gods, he missed you terribly. His departure for the Night’s Watch had left a gaping hole in your heart, never to be filled, but seeing him again only seemed to make it ache with something painful.

Wordlessly, your feet carried you before logic could stop you in your tracks, and you flung yourself into Jon’s embrace, feeling his arms wrap around you. Brienne’s countenance glistened with the realization that you knew Jon, and she seemed to steer Podrick away, allowing the both of you some privacy.

“You’re alive,” You whispered into his shoulder, feeling hot tears trickle down your cheeks. Part of you worried that he might’ve perished, but here he stood, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a man. “It has been so long, Jon Snow.”

He hadn’t been alive days ago — death had claimed him once before.

The scars that littered his body seemed to ache and throb with the mere thought of his own demise, and the anguish of betrayal that came with it. His dark brows furrowed together, visage one of gentle joy as he released you from his grasp. “You look older.” Older in the eyes — not in the face.

You were still just as beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen — your appearance hadn’t changed, and he hoped that your heart hadn’t, either. Your friendship kept him afloat for many years during his time in Winterfell, living as a Stark. You never cast your judgment upon him for being a bastard — and you never would.

“So do you,” Concern crept into your voice as you looked over his rugged beard and the scar upon his brow. “What happened to you, Jon?” There was so much he wished to tell you — from the Wildlings to the White Walkers, and his death. You could see it in his face — the maturity, the weight of duty, an abundance of stoicism.

“It’s a long story.” Jon huffed, Northern timbre crackled with a bout of faint amusement, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. He gestured for you to follow him, striding across the courtyard of Castle Black in-search of his own quarters. He no longer held the Lord Commander’s chambers, and for good reason.

The men of Castle Black weren’t accustomed to seeing a woman — it evoked his streak of protectiveness when it came to you. He ensured that he kept close to your side during the lengthy trek to his chambers. Brienne was sworn to Sansa, and Jon knew that she would be well looked-after in the Lady’s stead.

Ascending a flight of rickety wooden steps, Jon led you to his quarters. Smaller, but he preferred his solitude. His brothers had stabbed him, tore away his mantle of Lord-Commander, killed him — as soon as he could, he intended on leaving.

Pushing the door open, you were met with the gust of a raging hearth, warming your brittle bones as you rubbed your hands together, “Gods,” You whispered, immediately moving toward the crackling fire, extending your hands to the flames, eyes closing in satisfaction. “I nearly thought we wouldn’t make it.”

Jon’s brows furrowed together, and he pulled up a wooden stool for you to sit, and so did he, firmly planted at your side like a dutiful guardian. “You’re safe here. I’ll have a bath drawn for you.” Dirt stained your visage, clothes tattered and worn from travel, hem shredded and covered in snow and mud.

Something forlorn reached his eyes, a distant glimmer of melancholy that you immediately recognized. He was still Jon, but something else seemed amiss. You lowered your hands into your lap, basking in the lick of the firelight. “All my life, I longed to see beyond Winterfell. Here I am — and here you are.” Your smile was threadbare.

The both of you had endured unimaginable hardships during your time apart, yet the warmth and fondness of your friendship remained, strong as ever. If Jon told you what all had happened, what he saw, what he went through — he wondered how much of it you would believe.

“Do you remember the night of the feast, when King Robert came to Winterfell?” Jon remembered — he remembered you, most of all. Gods, you looked so beautiful that night, bringing him a heaping plate of foodstuffs from the banquet, keeping him company throughout the night’s festivities.

“Of course,” It was one of the last days you had spent with Jon before he departed for the Night’s Watch. You had a plethora of regrets, and not kissing him that evening was one of them. The opportunity had dangled itself before you, and you never acted on it. “They sheared your face clean. A disservice to you, truly.”

A brief huff of laughter escaped him, lips twitching into a faint smile. “That’s what you chose to remember?” He remarked, planting his forearms against his knees. Admittedly, he chose to remember you — the way your dress clung to you, the vibrancy of your smile, tenderness in your eyes.

Your nose wrinkled in amusement before you waved him aside, a smile stretched across your features — happier this time, full of warmth. “I remember more than just that, but yes. You weren’t so dour, then.”

Jon chuckled, effectively shattering his stoic mask as he looked at you, head canting to one side. “I still was, always sulking about in some corner,” He mused, peering toward the hearth. “The things I’ve seen — the things I’ve been through …” His jaw tightened, and the wound to his heart seemed to ache.

Empathy tugged at your countenance, one that dissipated from something lighthearted to seriousness. You reached out, resting a palm against his bicep. “What happened to you, Jon? You don’t seem the same.” You asked, glancing toward the scar on his face.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you about his death and resurrection — not yet, anyway. It was still too fresh a wound to speak of, left gaping and open, one that would take time to fully heal. “I went beyond The Wall.” Jon stated, as if that would answer all of your questions.

Silence drifted between you both, and you exhaled, brows creasing in contemplation as you looked toward the fire. You let your hands drift closer again, hoping to absorb any lick of heat that you could find. Jon stared at you, unbeknownst to you, studying the intricacies of your visage, the way your tresses framed your face.

Abandoning the rank of Lord-Commander had been a liberating thing. He was done fighting for men who had countered him at every turn, men who slaughtered him. He was unsure of his next course of action, but he wanted you there with him, regardless.

Hunger and famine gnawed at your stomach, chewing you up and spitting you out. Even Jon could hear the violent lurch of your stomach, see the exhaustion etched into your features. He didn’t want to keep you, but he didn’t want to leave you, either.

“You should clean up, join us for supper,” Jon prompted, melting away the tenuous silence. “I’ll see about finding you something proper to wear.” He wanted to continue to reminisce with you, but you deserved a moment of solace, a chance to bathe and warm yourself without his intrusion.

You nodded, offering Jon an amiable smile. “I want us to continue our conversation,” You insisted, your voice soft and tender, a silky resonance. Instead, you reached for his hand, finding the calloused, roughened plane of his palm. “I’ve missed you, Jon.” If he hadn’t realized it by now, then he might’ve been blind.

Jon’s breath hitched within his throat, reduced to a mere boy in your presence. Whatever he thought of at that moment, it was inappropriate — it transcended all bonds of propriety and proper friendship, yet he couldn’t help it. How long had he thought of you? Yearned for you, dreamed of you whenever he was laying on the cold earth somewhere beyond the Wall?

If it weren’t for his uncertainty, he would’ve kissed you then and there.

He never stopped to consider what your life was like now — perhaps you had a husband and a family, a life that had moved on from him, no longer frozen in the time of your youth. Jon always feared that being a bastard would’ve stopped you from courtship, but he knew now that you didn’t care. You never did.

Years of letting yourself toil over Jon Snow had amounted to this — to this unspoken affection that permeated the fringes of your friendship. In his absence, you hadn’t taken a husband, you hadn’t wed. Part of you thought you would become a spinster and live out your days caring for your ailing father.

Tension simmered, sparking to life in the wake of your intertwined hands. “I missed you, too.” His accent seemed deliciously thick, noticeably huskier with the rougher pitch of his tone. Those earthly-brown hues of his bored right into you.

Your stare became doe-like, able to feel his calloused digits, how strong his hands had become, careworn from holding a sword. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you let your hand recoil, placing it back into your lap. Your fingers curled tightly into your dress.

With a brief clearing of his throat, Jon decided to give you privacy. “I must speak with Sansa,” He murmured, standing up from his stool with an abruptness. His heart thumped madly within his chest, throat becoming thick as he gathered his bearings. “Come to supper when you’re finished.”

“Of course. Thank you, Jon.” You smiled, and he stepped out to give you your solace. His quarters were noticeably smaller yet homely, and you immediately decided to go to the washroom to clean yourself. Endless dirt and grime stained your flesh, making you feel worse than you already did.

As soon as you disrobed, sinking into the steaming-hot waters of the metal tub, you submerged your head beneath, coming up for a gasp of air. You glanced toward the hearth, scrubbing yourself down with a bristle brush and sponge, using the scarce amount of herbs and soap given to you.

You thought of Jon — thought of his hand, the firmness of it, the rough-hewn texture of his skin, the hardened muscle of his bicep beneath your grasp. You thought of the dismal, tempestuous storm of emotions raging war within his gaze when he spoke of being beyond The Wall.

It gave you much to dwell on as you scrubbed away the dirt from your skin, smoothing handfuls of hot water across your face. A simple Northerner’s dress and a furred cloak lay on the chair beside you, something suitable to wear that weren’t your tattered rags.

Sloshing around within the steaming water for a moment longer, you finished cleaning up, feeling the continuous gnaw of hunger strike at your stomach. The air was brusque and still bitter with a noticeable chill, the hearth continuing to roar in spite of being left with little attendance.

Tugging on the coarse, linen dress, you retrieved your boots, having thoroughly cleaned them off of hardened dirt. You let your hair dry by the fireside, swaddled in the cloak given to you by Jon. It swallowed you whole, yet it smelled like him — woodlands and scented smoke, the musk of a battle-hardened man.

By the time you joined the others for dinner, you felt cleaner than you had in some time, liberated from the weight of grime and hard travel. Exhaustion still clung to you like a shroud, but you assumed that a proper meal would make it easier to deal with.

Sansa greeted you with a thin smile, moving aside for you to sit next to her. There was never a fondness you shared between one another in your youth — you were always Jon’s friend, a girl who preferred mucking about in the outdoors and watching him fight with steel instead of any ladylike endeavors.

You had become quite proficient with an embroidery needle, and a dagger. They were one and the same for you at-times.

Jon’s silent admiration of you continued, hues fluttering over your form, now rid of soot and dirt. A warm plate of heaping food sat before you, helpings of potatoes, stewed vegetables, and roasted venison. You ate as if you hadn’t consumed a bite in years, the richness of it filling your belly.

“We are to take Winterfell back from the Boltons,” Sansa stated, her tone resolute and assured. “Do you think that there are still allies in Winterfell who might help our cause?” She inquired, her question directed towards you. You knew Winterfell — you’d been there this whole time.

“If Ramsay hasn’t flayed them all alive, then yes,” You murmured, thinking of your father’s corpse, strung-up on some wooden cross, muscle and flesh peeled away to reveal his bones. You shivered, masking your discomfort through a bite of vegetables. “There are still denizens inside who remember the Starks.”

Tormund Giantsbane, Jon’s ally and the leader of the Wildling forces, noisily bit into a haunch of meat, juices spraying across his ginger beard. Brienne’s discomfort and bewilderment was palpable as she turned away, blonde brows furrowing together.

“Could you find your way back in?” Tormund grunted, and you understood the insinuation of his proposal. If you were to rally those who still supported House Stark to Jon’s cause, staging a coup from the inside, it might assist his chances of taking the Keep.

“I suppose I could, but the Boltons rarely let anyone in or out, save for those bearing the Flayed Man sigil,” Jon seemed visibly apprehensive at Tormund’s suggestion, jaw tightening as he stuck his fork into a piece of meat. “It is dangerous now — one wrong move, and they string you up on the banisters, flay you for all to see.”

Tears glistened within your eyes at the harrowing memory of your father — you watched him be pinned to that post, screaming for mercy, men with knives cutting him apart as if he were a pig for slaughter. You hastily wiped them aside, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Jon’s gaze never wavered from you whenever you spoke — Sansa could see it, Edd could see it.

“That is the fate that befell my father.” With a sharp exhale, you continued to eat, momentarily meeting Jon’s sullen-eyed stare, full of sympathy for your loss. His condolences were unspoken, but he didn’t have to say the words to convey meaning.

“We will find another way,” Jon murmured, brows knitting together. “You’ve risked enough to save Sansa’s life. I won’t let you risk it again. Out of the question.” There was a finality to his words, wrought with a glaring overprotective nature.

Sansa remembered the day they left your father out to bleed in the courtyard — Ramsay’s sickening smile remained emblazoned in the back of her mind. She reached to squeeze your hand, and you nodded, the both of you returning to the food.

She plucked at hers, turning a piece of meat over along her fork. Edd stifled a brief chuckle through a mouthful of hard rations. “Sorry about the food, m’ladies. It’s not what we’re known for.” He stated.

“That’s alright. There are more important things.” Sansa smiled, but you were in the throes of consuming everything that you could. Foodstuffs had become scarce in Winterfell, especially to those who weren’t Boltons — just residents. You had to scrounge and work for every scrap — this meal was the best you had in ages.

A brother of the Watch entered the Great Hall, carrying a scroll of parchment for Jon, one that was marked by the wax seal of Ramsay Bolton. “For you, Lord Commander.”

“I’m not the Lord Commander anymore.” Jon uttered, yet he took the scroll, anger seething within his eyes when he realized whose sigil held the parchment together. He unraveled it, jaw tightening as he began to read it aloud.

“To the traitorous bastard, Jon Snow, you allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard — come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon …” Jon trailed off, breath quickening as he looked at Sansa.

Her countenance was one of shock and horror, tears welling within her eyes as she nodded for him to continue reading. The Hall was eerily silent, and you listened, brows furrowing together.

“His direwolf’s skin is on my floor — come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard, and I will not trouble you and your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you will …” He stopped.

“Go on.” Sansa murmured, but Jon refused, rolling up the parchment with a despondent, rageful expression. He felt it blossom throughout his chest, the very same anger that consumed him when he sentenced his brothers to die.

“It’s just more of the same.” Jon quipped, preparing to tear it asunder, but Sansa reached over to take it from his hands, unraveling the parchment.

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister and your Northern bitch. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother — then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She read, a shudder within her voice.

You shivered, feeling a pang of disgust and fear rattle through you, goosebumps cascading along your spine. Ramsay knew of you — knew that you helped Sansa to escape, and knew of your affiliation with Jon Snow.

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon grit out through clenched teeth, fists tightening around Ramsay’s missive. He would kill him for what he did — to Sansa, to you, to his brother. He swore it by whatever Gods were willing to listen.

“Roose Bolton is dead — Ramsay killed him. Now, he has our brother — he has Rickon.” Sansa’s voice trembled, but she remained stalwart, even if she knew what a monster Ramsay was. She used to think that Joffrey was the root of all evil — she was wrong.

“We don’t know that.” Jon protested, but Sansa stopped him.

“We do. He has five-thousand men, at least — I overheard him talking about it when he prepared for Stannis’s attack.” She replied, folding her arms together. You felt nothing but admiration for her — sorrow, perhaps, but you admired her strength in the midst of this.

“How many men do we have?” Jon looked to Tormund, desperate for answers, for a shred of something positive. They were lesser in numbers than the Boltons — they would need allies, and they would need them swiftly.

“Ones that can march and fight? Two-thousand.” Tormund replied. They had a Giant — that had to count for at least fifty men, if they were lucky.

“Jon,” You spoke up at long last, finding your voice as you sat soundly at Sansa’s side. “You are the last true son of the Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal, and they will fight for you if you ask it of them.” The gentle encouragement you offered gave him much to think about.

Sansa reached across the table, seizing Jon’s arm. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell, to save them both.” She pleaded, auburn brows furrowing together. It was the right course of action — it had been years since a Stark had truly sat in Winterfell.

Jon nodded, determination tempering his anger, and the desire for justice. He remembered wanting to ride North to help Robb’s cause, and he didn’t. Sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened if he did — if his brother might’ve survived. There was no time for inaction, not anymore.

“We will reconvene at first light, to discuss our next move.” He briefly squeezed Sansa’s hand before glancing at you. “You need to rest — both of you.” It wasn’t a request — more of a command, really. You and Sansa had been running from Winterfell for days before Brienne happened across you.

You took your leave, hoping to pray about your father alone before dusk settled in.

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

Brienne had taken Sansa back to her chambers for the evening, and you had gone to the ramparts after finishing your supper.

The death of your father was still an unsightly wound, something that had cut you right to the bone. He was your only family left — the last tether that you had, the last one to truly care for you. It left you with a gaping void of loneliness, one that had only felt healed in Jon’s presence.

Flickering torchlight danced along the wooden bridge that connected two sides of Castle Black, and despite the chill of the air, you remained outside. Rest eluded you, and you knew that you would be up all evening, tarrying around to try and occupy your mind.

Darkening skies twinkled with stars, partially obscured by large wisps of gray clouds, and with it, a light snowfall. The fur-lined cloak you wore kept you warm, shrouded from the gnawing chill as you listened to footsteps resonate from your left side.

The pale shadow of Ghost trotted alongside him, those crimson eyes glowering through the encroaching dusk. The last time you had seen Jon’s direwolf, he was the size of a small dog — now, he was massive, nearly coming up to your shoulder with the tips of his ears.

“What did you feed him?” You mused, kneeling down to greet Ghost as if he were an old friend. You recalled the day that Jon had brought the albino pup home, nothing more than a scraggly runt hidden in his cloak. Ghost nudged your hand, silently asking for a scratch along his ears.

Jon smiled, coming to stand near your side as he peered down into the silent courtyard of Castle Black. It was quiet, save for the occasional soldier scurrying across the dirt or the distant howl of the wind. “He’s much larger than I expected him to be,” He confessed. “Seems he remembers you.”

Ghost whined, ruby eyes studying you intensely, as if he recalled your last meeting. The pale direwolf allowed you to dote on him for a moment longer, padding off to lay outside of Jon’s chambers. You watched him go, a smile spreading across your face.

Your countenance softened at the sight of Jon, tousled curls still tugged into a loose half-bun, a smile toying at either corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you cold?” He questioned, noticing the way your form quivered beneath the cloak he’d given you.

“Quite,” A brief chuckle left you as you wring your hands together, letting them sink into the thick fur that you tugged tighter around you. “I don’t believe that I will be able to sleep tonight, given the circumstances.” You confessed, and he seemed empathetic.

“I don’t sleep much — not anymore.” The night that he had found himself resurrected from the black shroud of death, he did not sleep. Instead, he lay waiting for his brothers to burst through the door, knives drawn, waiting to send him to the cold, hard earth.

Jon slept with Longclaw at his side — he imagined that he’d never feel safe again without it by his hip.

A comfortable silence of understanding drifted between the both of you, and you felt him lean closer, brows furrowing together. “I am sorry about your father,” Jon murmured, knowing what it was like to lose his own. “I am sorry for what they did to him.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, yet you refused to let them fall, jaw tensing before you shook your head. “He is with the Gods now,” You whispered, mustering a threadbare smile despite the melancholy of your talks. “I hope that Ramsay Bolton is not shown any mercy.”

Jon hadn’t heard you speak like that before — so full of pain, an agony in your soft tone that he wished he could rip away from you, place the burden on his shoulders. “We will take back Winterfell — for my family, for yours, for the North. I promise.”

“You’re a good man, Jon.” The two of you remained huddled close together, and you very nearly reached for his hands again, but decided against it. “You always have been, despite what insults you’ve been hurled. They are half the man that you are.”

He was a good man, despite what he thought of himself — an honorable man, the very best of them. His shining qualities were often diminished in the face of being a bastard, and you wished it weren’t so. Jon had long been ostracized for it, even if it was no fault of his own.

Jon hadn’t believed it, that he was truly good. He had done plenty of wrong — broke his vows to the Night’s Watch, killed many men, killed a boy, and for what? What good had come out of it all, other than being sent to an early grave for his actions?

You had always believed in him steadfastly, and he often felt undeserving of your praise. Nonetheless, Jon offered you a forlorn look, smile not reaching his eyes as he bowed his head. “I wish I could believe you.” Through a softly-spoken confession, he turned to face the cutting bite of the Northern winds.

As darkness hovered, the cold beginning to bite at his flesh, Jon gestured toward the doors to his chambers. “It’s getting cold,” Even he had his limits, hardiness tested by the harshness of winter. “Come on.” His hand hovered near the small of your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

The warm sanctuary of his chambers offered you a much-needed relief, hearth roaring beside his bed, lined in countless furs. The furnishings were scarce, and he placed Longclaw at his bedside, never very far from his grasp. An orange glow permeated all it touched, encompassing you in its gentle heat.

Ghost stayed outside, furs able to outlast the encroaching winter. He was the watcher tonight, ensuring that no strangers or brothers disturbed his friend.

You moved to sit against the large, rustic footlocker that sat at the end of his bed, closest to the hearth. The cloak you wore swallowed you whole, allowing you to descend right into the pile of furs, warming your icy flesh. Jon sat beside you, keeping a comfortable distance, one that many might’ve labeled as prudish.

Jon’s lack of subtlety became brazenly clear, dark hues shamelessly fluttering across your face, absorbing the finer details of your form. You had grown into your beauty, and even then, he was at your mercy — you were incomparable in his eyes.

The sting of embarrassment rippled through him, his behavior akin to a young man with an unrequited affection. His one experience with a Wildling woman had been in an effort to feel something, anything — a retaliation against the Night’s Watch.

You were different — you were his friend, a girl he’d known since childhood, now grown into the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. It was as if you reduced him to a mere pup without even trying, unbeknownst to you.

Jon carried a flagon of honeyed mead, the warm liquid churning about within its leather confines. It tasted stale, but it was better than he expected it to be, taking a brief swig. He hoped that it would quell his nerves, but perhaps it was wishful thinking.

“I’ve never been so far away from home before,” You sighed, breaking the comfortable silence with an amiable smile. “I used to always dream of going elsewhere, an adventure away from Winterfell. Now that I’ve gone, I want nothing more than to go back.”

“Has it changed much?” Jon inquired, voice dropping into a husky lull that made you shiver. His tone had become rugged, gruff — that familiar Northern timbre always filled you with a sense of comfort and ease. He hadn’t been to Winterfell in years.

“No,” Your visage grew forlorn, tinged with a peculiar sadness as your lips wavered into a half-frown. “Just those who command it.” The homely stone and Stark banners were all you knew for the longest time — and you hoped that it would be so again.

You wanted to cease dwelling on all things bleak and dreary, and instead, you smiled at Jon, countenance melding into one of genuineness. He caught your eye, features growing unbearably hot beneath the ardor of your gaze. Something passed between the both of you, something that caused you to look away; smitten.

Jon exhaled, taking a swig of the mead before offering it up to you. Liquor wasn’t something he necessarily enjoyed, but it did take some little edge off — for now, anyway. He watched with a faint smile as you took it, giving the cork a brief sniff, nose wrinkling.

Nevertheless, you took a drink, stinging liquid burning your throat on the way down. You sputtered, your expression one of clear distaste as you handed it back to him. “Gods, what is that supposed to be? The Night’s Watch isn’t known for their ale, either.” You huffed.

A huff of laughter tore past his lips, and at last, you could see the glint of his pearlescent teeth, a smile that could melt The Wall itself. “Still can’t handle your drink after all this time?” Jon remarked, corking the flagon of mead as he placed it aside. He didn’t want to drink himself into a stupor with you present.

“There were never any occasions that called for it,” You retorted, a warm playfulness permeating your tone. You leaned forward atop the footlocker, gazing into the flickering flames, its heat basking your visage. “Winterfell wasn’t the same after your family left. Everything seemed so dour, so hopeless.”

Jon hung his head, hands folded together as he contemplated your statement. “Sometimes, I wish I’d never left.” He confessed, tone slipping into something silent, as if he were sharing his greatest sin with the septa. There were times where he missed home — missed what might’ve been.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you didn’t hesitate to look at him, hues swimming with a wet sheen. Reminiscing often brought about plenty of sentiments for you, sentiments that you thought you’d buried. “Sometimes I wish that you hadn’t left, either.” You whispered.

None of this felt real.

There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, a tension that had risen from the lingering flames of a longstanding friendship. Jon felt an unusual swell within his stomach, the onslaught of boyish nerves, yet he pushed them aside for the sake of the moment. It all seemed to feel so right, as if this had been long in the making.

Jon stared at you, absentmindedly tilting closer, enough to where you could feel the heat of his honey-tinged breath fan across your face. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t?” He murmured, hoping that you would confirm whatever it was that he felt, too.

“I am not sure,” Butterflies erupted within the pit of your stomach, hands beginning to reach for one another, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yourself. “I would like to think that I would’ve gained the courage to tell you how I truly felt about you.” There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety present — you knew what you meant, he knew what you meant.

I love you — it was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released, to let his confession take wing into the open air. He should’ve told you that night of the feast, when you took his hand and told him that you would always defend his honor and his name.

“Jon.” Your voice was nothing more than a saccharine whisper, eyes wide and doe-like, a wordless plea to act on whatever it was he felt. Before you could say another word, Jon’s mouth was on yours, hot and rugged, everything that you imagined it would be.

His calloused hand rose to cup your face, rough pads of his digits tracing across your cheek, your jaw — you felt like velvet, an unblemished plane that had eagerly awaited his touch. Jon had always fantasized about kissing you, and the reality of it far exceeded any expectations he might’ve had.

The sudden intensity of the kiss had grown, as if throwing kindling onto an open flame. You weren’t prepared for it, but you needed more. A moan stirred within your throat as you pressed forward, hands reaching for the front of his leather-studded tunic.

Jon kissed you as if you were the air itself, every breath he drew consuming you, dragging you in until you were intertwined. He seized your waist, rough palm sinking into the coarse material of your dress, nearly shuddering at the feeling of your body beneath his palm.

“I love you,” He uttered against your mouth, forehead briefly bumping into yours as he held you close, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. “I never wish to be parted from you — from this day, until my last day.” Jon promised, voice rumbling and solemn, knowing that he would keep his vow.

Incredulously, you gazed at him with wide eyes, unable to escape the feeling of complete and utter joy you experienced at his confession. Breathless, you took a moment to compose yourself, gather your bearings before you smiled. “Don’t leave me again, Jon Snow.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jon murmured, eagerly seeking your mouth again, tugging you in for a heated kiss. Gods, your mouth was so disarmingly soft, pliant and plush against his lips, giving him everything that he ever imagined and so much more.

A gentle, uttered string of breathy ‘I love you’s’ left you over and over again, each kiss ripping the air from your lungs, leaving your heart hammering beneath your breast. You shrugged the cloak aside, letting it pool around you, partially strewn across the footlocker.

Desperation laced your kisses, as if something might threaten to rip you away from the excitement of the moment, or that you might wake up from a distant dream. Jon was lost in your mouth, a grunt blossoming from his chest when he hauled you closer, until no sliver of space remained.

He stood up, bringing you with him, standing atop the sprawling furs of slain stags, closer to the lick of the hearth. It allowed him to better hold you, hands respectfully roaming your body, never allowing himself to slip below your hips. “Wait.” He rasped, removing his mouth from yours.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, fearing that you had vastly overstepped. This was all somewhat unfamiliar, the territory new and unexpected. You had been with a man before, but it never crossed a certain threshold — you wouldn’t allow it.

“Is this what you want?” Jon questioned, dark brows knitting together as he regarded you with caution, a devotion reserved only for you. He couldn’t continue without hearing the certainty escape your mouth — he hadn’t done this in some time, himself.

Gods, you loved him. There was a lack of hesitation in his movements, but instead, a desire for clarity. He didn’t want you to feel obligated or trapped in some corner — he wanted you to want him. A twinkle of ardor glistened within your warm gaze as you brought your hands together at the nape of his neck.

It’s what you’ve wanted for such a long time — a terribly long time, at that. Everything felt as if you were wading through a dream, one that would shatter at any moment. “Yes,” You whispered, longing to unfasten the leather buckles and straps that held his tunic together. “More than anything.”

Jon’s breath hitched, a subtle noise, desire beginning to blossom throughout his chest. His grasp on you became innately protective and needy, hands gingerly kneading into your curves. He bent down for another kiss, arms caging themselves around you, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest.

Soft fingertips raked through his dark curls, bringing him to heel as he kissed you, unashamed of his clear desperation. It no longer felt like the ghost of a distant thought — this was a blissful reality. He helped you to remove the bulky leather of his jerkin, but part of him feared fully removing his clothes.

His scars would reveal the abhorrent truth — that he died, brought back to life from the twisted magic of a Fire Priestess. Jon’s hesitation was palpable, especially when your digits sank into the coarse material of his tunic. The leather fell to the wayside, and you were closer to seeing him disrobed.

Jon sluggishly reached for the linen ties that held your dress together, and you gave him a nod, subtly encouraging him to unravel you. As he gently tugged upon the tie, the fabric sagged upon your shoulders, allowing you to push it aside, stepping out of it altogether.

A strangled gasp caught within the depths of his throat, manifesting as a sharp exhale that consumed his ribcage. You were every bit as wonderful as he’d imagined you to be — such fantasies had clung to the fringes of his mind out in the frozen wastelands beyond The Wall.

The plane of your flesh was velvetlike, bathed in the flickering firelight of the hearth, dancing across your body with its incandescent glow. Jon’s jaw visibly tightened, restraining himself from touching you as he pleased. The longer he stood, gawking at your body like some clueless boy, the more emboldened you became.

Careworn digits gingerly wrapped around his vambrace, unfastening the buckles there before you guided his hand to your chest. “There isn’t a need to be bashful,” You whispered, noticing the way his pupils dilated when his calloused palm embraced your pliant breast. “I want you to touch me.” You gently encouraged him.

Jon appeared a touch forlorn, attempting to mask his gnawing fear at the idea of you seeing him. “It’s not you,” His smile was humorless — pensive, even. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” He huffed, hand drifting toward your hip, shuddering at the satiny texture of your skin.

Warmth crept across your spine in the wake of his breathless compliment, prompting you to unfasten his other vambrace. He aimed to distract you, mouth moving toward the spot where your jaw met your neck, beard scratching ragged against your flesh.

He palmed your breast, reveling in the softness of you beneath his rough-hewn hand, tracing along your hip until he squeezed your derrière. Everything about you was plush and inviting, as if you were a goddess incarnate.

Jon’s kiss became hungry, wanton and passionate as his mouth peppered itself along your throat, from your jaw to jugular. He treated you kindly; gracious hands that melded themselves to your form, like a sculptor to his masterpiece.

Saccharine soaps and hints of underlying flora clung to your flesh like a springtime haze, powerful enough to melt this ice he felt. You brought with you such warmth that it threatened to swallow him whole; he delighted in it, letting you shake the frost from his bones.

Lips danced together with a long-repressed passion, now exploding like crackles of fire within a hearth, spontaneous yet heated. You kissed Jon as if he might slip away from you, turning into dust between your fingertips.

A low moan stirred within the depths of your throat when his fingers toyed with your pebbling nipple, prompting you to grip his tresses with an unexpected harshness. You mumbled a sheepish apology, yet he paid little mind to it, dusky hues swirling with an ardent adoration that made your stomach churn.

As your hand drifted to the hem of his worn, linen tunic, he very nearly stopped you — yet, part of him wished for you to see him without a spoken word. Jon’s chest tightened with quickened breaths as you kindly maneuvered the clothing away, and he watched, hues fixated upon your bewildered countenance.

A battlefield — innumerable scars, so fresh that you nearly held your hand over them to stop the bleeding, gouged across his pallid flesh. One that seemed to sting the most rest over his heart, curved and garish, the stroke of a vengeful knife that ended his life.

Wordlessly, you lifted your hand, fingertips tracing across his chest, feather-light and disarmingly gentle; the opposite of the knives that had left their mark. Your brows furrowed together, and you wondered how he could’ve survived something like this — if he survived something like this.

Jon shivered at your embrace, as sweet as the maiden’s grace, caressing him with your resplendent touch. He held you close, arm caging you in, his other hand stroking beneath your breast, above your ribcage. “I didn’t make it,” He rasped, noticing the glimmer of understanding in your eyes. “I’d like to think that the Gods wanted me to see you again.”

His smile warmed you, more than any blazing hearth could, more than that of summertime. A fluttering sensation spread throughout your chest, followed by a hitch in your throat that you stumbled over. “Jon,” You whispered, stroking across his chest with a peculiar tenderness. “I am so sorry.”

It wasn’t the time for condolences — such sentiments could wait. Jon didn’t want your coupling to be soured by what had happened, and instead, he shook his head. His yearning for you trumped that of any sorrow and mulling over death, prompting him to press his mouth against yours once more.

The kiss seemed to convey the unspoken message, his desire to tend to you before discussing the intricacies of his scars. Jon dutifully dipped down to kiss your throat again, and then your collarbone, guiding you towards the fur-laden expanse of his bed.

As you lowered yourself onto your back, Jon kicked his boots aside, crawling across the thick mound of pelts to cover your body with his. You sluggishly spread your legs, allowing him to reside in the space between, palms planted on either side of your head.

Each heated kiss blossomed across your flesh, as he peppered his lips along your shoulder and collarbone, descending toward the valley between your breasts. It was flesh he’d longed to grace, savoring every second spent; his mouth smoothed across the silken flesh beneath your breast.

“Jon,” A sigh of passion tore past your lips, gooseflesh coalescing along your spine as he continued his descent, knowing exactly what he sought. The heat between your thighs sang to him like a siren’s song, and you weren’t about to intercede. “Please, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

The ragged scruff of his beard scratched pleasantly against your skin, the sort of burn that left you aching for more. He kissed across your stomach, inch by agonizing inch, hand reaching back to caress along your calf. It was slow, exploratory — he wanted to learn every curve, every dip and expanse of flesh.

A hazy heat gripped your surroundings, as if everything had become feverish, touched by a fog of warmth that permeated you, sank into him. Doe-eyed hues flickered toward the taut muscle of his back, the blackness of his curly tresses, the scar around his eye.

Planting a kiss against your hip bone, Jon sighed into your thigh, hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. His belly churned with an excitable heat, having waited for such a terribly long time to finally have you. He smoothed his calloused palm along your leg, ascending until he held your haunch.

Gods, you were in ruins — Jon hadn’t even placed his mouth upon you, and you writhed in anticipation. No man had been courageous enough to treat you this way, yet Jon lacked hesitation, settling onto his stomach as he bullied his way between your thighs.

Raking hot embers across your cunt, Jon lapped along your slit, eyelashes fluttering at the sound of your euphoric whimpering. He hadn’t heard a sound quite like that before, and from your lips, it was abhorrently sinful.

He sighed your name; reverent, a prayer only spoken between Gods and men — and you are no man. It made you shiver, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, soothed only by the sweet laps of your lover’s tongue.

Jon’s mind reeled with the sight of you — flushed with pleasure, visage contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss. He continued without pause, nose brushing across your mound as he buried his tongue into you, greedily lapping at your cunt as if he were a man starved.

Your heart hammered beneath your breast, that of sheer excitement, consuming you like a tidal wave as you brazenly reached for his tresses. Sinking your digits into the crown of his tousled curls, you tugged, showing your appreciation in an unorthodox manner.

“J—Jon!” A strangled moan tore past your mouth, wisps of air being ripped from your lungs. Jon was inherently greedy, consuming you in the way that you deserved, finding his solace between your thighs. His dutiful lapping continued, from the pearl of your cunt to your aching entrance.

Akin to ice against your skin, Jon’s palms glided along your thighs, moving to trace your hips. His mouth was like a wave of fire, beard searing the silky flesh of your legs as you involuntarily squeezed his head. You hadn’t intended to suffocate him, but it was a worthwhile demise, in his perspective.

One hand fisted the furs, digging in until you threatened to rip it apart, hips occasionally jerking and jolting forward into his mouth. He hadn’t tasted something as sweet as you, like a fine stout coating his tongue, leaving him intoxicating; craving more.

His eyes had nearly fluttered shut, half-lidded slits that occasionally flickered to catch a glimpse of your blissful countenance. Your back arched from the furs, seeking his mouth with reckless abandon as he lapped along your cunt, tongue briefly flicking over your clit.

It was as if you’d been struck by lightning, body bristling with a long-repressed pleasure, something that only he could cure. The sensation of his calloused skin against your plane of silk was a satisfying juxtaposition — he never wanted another’s touch again.

Jon burned for you in every way imaginable, a sonorous groan ripping through the depths of his throat as he moved to lap at your cunt again. His ministrations were slow, made to explore and to savor you instead of letting it all become rushed.

Your fingertips brushed across his scalp, untangling his curls from the half-bun he’d placed them into. They fell across his head, dark and somewhat cropped. He groaned at the sensation, feeling you pull and grip his tresses, guiding your hips closer.

Rough-hewn hands gingerly kneaded into the pliant flesh of your thighs, caressing their way up and down in a soothing manner. Jon savored your taste, letting your nectar find its purchase against his chin, glistening along his lips. He kissed your clit, evoking a breathy sigh from you.

It had been such a long time for the both of you, intensified by feelings of a long-seated desire and carnality, friendship transcending all bonds of propriety. Jon felt his cock twitch within his trousers, incessantly throbbing and straining against the thicker material, longing to be inside of you.

A cry of delight tore past your mouth as you involuntarily jolted forward, grinding yourself into his mouth. Jon treated you to a barrage of eager laps of his tongue, from your entrance to the sensitive pearl of your cunt.

Dragging his tongue in languid circles around your clit, he watched as you quivered and moaned, mouth agape, back arched off of the furs. Knowing what path to follow, he showed attention to your neglected pearl, nose buried into the softness of your mound.

“Jon,” You sputtered, thighs molding themselves to either side of his face, feeling the scratch of his beard rake itself against your silky skin. He listened, dutiful and with a burning desire to please you, continuing to lap at your clit. “Gods, don’t stop.” A trembling exhale left you.

It was then that he melded his lips around the aching bud, beginning to suck on your pearl with a pang of vigor. You shuddered, rattling like a leaf as you haplessly tugged on his mane of curls, hips tilting upwards into his mouth. You whined, fisting the furs at your side.

Jon did not relent, feeling the ironclad grip you assumed, knowing that he was bringing you close to your release. White-hot sparks fluttered across your vision, body singing his praises, collarbone glittering with the first inklings of perspiration.

A strangled gasp tore through your throat, followed by a myriad of moans and pleading whimpers, seeking friction against his mouth. Your release was fast approaching, like a tidal wave of heat, flooding across your body with its intensity. Jon’s name emerged from your lips as if it were the only word you knew.

The pinnacle of your release made you feel as if you were floating, legs shaking in the blissful aftermath, feeling Jon lap at your core a few times over. You exhaled, chest heaving from exertion as you loosened your hold upon his tresses.

“You’ll have to let me do that again.” Jon murmured, and that seemed to ensnare your attention. Seven Hells — you would let him do that for as long as he pleased, whenever he liked. He pressed a few soft kisses against the inside of your thigh, crawling up to be near you.

“Whenever you would like, I will never protest.” You mused, gaze sparkling with mirth and adoration, inviting him back to being on top of you. Though, your impulses had other plans, as your palm pressed against his shoulder. “There is something I wanted to try.”

The softness of your suggestion seemed to placate Jon, who felt you push his shoulder until you guided him onto his back, hooking a leg over his lap. Gods, he would’ve stayed like that for an eternity if you asked it of him. As you situated yourself on top of him, Jon sat up enough to reach you, kiss you if he wanted to.

He felt your fingers move towards the laces of his breeches, and he didn’t stop you, observing you in rapturous hunger instead. His breath hitched, mouth moving inward to press a string of hot kisses against the column of your throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?” Jon’s confession emerged as a husky sigh, murmured against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. It came as a surprise, a wonderful one, and it only made your hands move in a borderline frenzy.

Freeing his cock from its confines, you moved yourself up upon your knees, aided by his strong, firm hands, coming to rest just below your derrière. The flushed tip of his length nudged against your cunt, prompting you to sigh with passion.

“Jon,” A pleading moan tore past your mouth, mind becoming fuzzy as you attempted to absorb the genuineness of his words. The Northern timbre of his hoarse baritone made you tremble, hands steadying themselves upon his shoulders. “Please.”

In a sluggish descent, he gently lowered you onto his cock, the both of you shivering in-tandem. The low, throaty groan that escaped him made your stomach churn with molten heat, letting you find your own pace. He was bigger than you imagined, filling you perfectly.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

Your cunt was tight around him, slick with arousal as you continued to lower yourself, inch by blissful inch until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Jon’s heavy pants fluttered across your throat, mouth pressing near the curve of your jaw.

Jon was captivated by you, inhaling a gust of your soap-laden scent, beard ragged against your soft skin as he continued to kiss along your neck. His hands were resolute in guiding you, rocking you up and down along his cock, chest to chest with you.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled his chambers with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your skin.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders.

A burning sting began to dance along your thighs, the exertion of muscle as you rode him, moving up and down in somewhat rhythmic motions. His cock speared you over and over again, filling you completely before you nearly drew yourself out, and back down again.

“Gods,” You sighed, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulders, your countenance one of complete and utter pleasure. Leaving behind angry-red crescents against his pale skin, you didn’t want the feeling to end. “Jon, please — don’t stop!” With a simpering moan, your head began to roll back slightly.

Spurred by your softly-spoken praise and breathy sighs, Jon did not relent, hands sinking into your thighs as he guided you against his cock. The angle allowed for friction to blossom, chests bumping together, bodies tangled up within one another.

He kissed his way along your collarbone, bringing you up enough to trap one of your nipples within his mouth. The head of his cock remained pleasantly buried within your cunt, the warming of it making you writhe. He held you steady, greedily kissing at your pert breasts.

One of your hands fisted into his dark curls, tugging on them as if you were attempting to wrangle him into submission. His mouth peppered warm, needy kisses around the valley between your breasts before he let you sink yourself back down, cunt clenching around his cock.

Shameless strings of sinful noises left you in droves, eyes closed in a state of ecstasy. Jon groaned with you, vocalizing his own pleasure as he coaxed you down towards the furs, not wanting to place you there unless you consented.

With a brief bob of your head, you found yourself beneath Jon, his musculature covering you, content between your legs as he hitched one around his hips. The calloused plane of his palm wrapped around your calf, causing you to shiver at the foreign contact.

He could look upon your face, see the way your visage contorted into pure pleasure when he rocked forward, cock burying itself deep into your cunt. His skin was flushed, expression somewhat doe-eyed and awestruck, even if you were too lost to notice.

Your hands moved, one finding its purchase against his bicep, the other on his shoulder as his pace began to intensify. It was a chase, galloping after his release as he bent to kiss you, releasing a grunt into your mouth when you rolled your hips forward.

The wooden frame of his bed began to creak, groaning in protest from the vigor of his ministrations. You didn’t care if he was a touch rougher with you — Gods, you needed him. Heat swirled within your stomach, gnawing at your bones, making your toes curl in delight.

“Jon!” You cried, and that nearly sent him soaring over the edge, cock throbbing inside of you. The friction of your pelvis grinding against him almost made his resolve shatter into two. He lost count of how many times his cock sank into you — it was all blurring together.

The inevitable rush of euphoria reached him when his release came, hot and blistering, making him see stars as he groaned your name. Your nails were digging into his bicep, a gasp emerging from your throat when he thrust into you again.

Ropes of warm spend painted your insides, and he very nearly collapsed on top of you. He had the decency to hold himself afloat, hand tracing along your calf and to the crook of your knee, letting you unhook your leg.

Jon removed himself from you, attempting to gather his breath as he laid at your side, gazing at the dark ceiling above. Your breathing was just as unsteady and erratic as you drifted down from your buzzing high, wiping beads of perspiration from your brow.

Once he recuperated, Jon looked at you, noticing the smile on your face, the unrestrained delight you were experiencing as you rolled over. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured, watching as you began to shamelessly crawl into his arms.

“Quite the opposite,” You hummed, feeling him adjust the furs, drawing them both around you. Despite the feverish pitch of the room, the frost would settle in again soon, especially at the hour of the bat. “Were you jesting when you said you dreamed about this?”

Bewildered, Jon cast his eyes toward you, canting his head to one side. “Of course I was serious,” He huffed, surprised that you would think otherwise. “You were all I could think about, north of The Wall.” His confession was genuine, sweetly-spoken.

“You don’t have to dream about it anymore,” Your voice soothed him, a sound that he had yearned for with a blistering ache. He felt as if you would slip away from him if he let you go. “I won’t leave you.” Your smile was warm enough to melt even the hardiest of frost.

Jon’s lips tugged into a smile, one that you rarely saw beneath the brooding curtain of his visage. He pressed a kiss against your forehead, allowing you to get comfortable against him. The silence that followed allowed for some contemplation, absorbing all of what had transpired.

His scars seemed so fresh when they caught your eye. With a forlornly look, you dragged your fingers over the scar above his heart, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. Your body still felt as if it were caught in some haze, coming down from the blissful aftermath of your coupling.

“If you hadn’t come back …” You trailed off, attempting to refuse to think of some painful reality where Jon perished, but the thought briefly crossed your mind. If he had, none of this would be happening — he wouldn’t be holding you in his arms.

“But I am here,” Jon’s husky timbre shook you to your core as he planted his palm against your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not leaving you.” It was a promise — insistent, spoken from a man who now fully understood the weight of love, the weight of sacrifice.

You nodded, wordlessly reaching to hold his hand, feeling the arm he had caged around you plant itself against the small of your back. He drew circles there, brows knitting together as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard and warm, so real — he made sure that you understood exactly what he meant.

Within the warm embrace of his arms, you let your head recline against his chest, feeling him draw you closer, until there was no space left between the both of you. He listened to the steady, shallow sound of your breathing afterwards.

At the edge of the world, he had you — and that was all he would ever need.

[empresskylo]

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓

ZOMBIE!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X AFAB!READER

SUMMARY | Simon is dead. And you were forced to leave him behind as the rise of the dead took over. When you volunteer to sneak back into base to grab med supplies, you don't expect to run into Simon—alive, but certainly not himself...

WARNINGS | dead dove do not eat! this is literally smut about zombie!ghost... so... beware i suppose. gore. dub-con?? afab!reader. wc 3k

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ lock me up! send me to jail!!! i can't believe I wrote this yes i can. This is how down bad i am for Ghost, I literally wrote smut about fucking him as a zombie... someone send the authorities, i need my internet taken away. (happy oct 1st btw)

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had been less than two days since you lost Simon.

The image of him dying in the infirmary wing, bleeding out on the bed, was plastered behind your eyes. You saw it every waking moment and even dreamt of it during the night. You could still feel Soap’s hands squeezing your arms far too aggressively as he dragged you out of the infirmary while you cried out for Simon. You tried to claw your way to him but Soap was stronger than you by a long shot. “We have to get out of here!” he shouted at you over the cacophony of voices, people running around frantically. You let him drag you away to safety, your body limp in his hold, thinking of Simon’s dying breath.

The infirmary had promptly been boarded up, the doors all sealed tight. The breakout had begun a few weeks ago and it only just infiltrated the base. When Ghost had come back, bleeding out after a mission gone wrong, you furiously checked him for bite marks. The relief you felt when you didn’t find any was short-lived. Simon had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. You could still see it covering your hands the days following like a wraith. You felt like his blood was still wedged under your fingernails even after scrubbing your hands violently in a bucket of water. 

With the infirmary infected and the outside world gone, you had little options but to hunker down in the barracks. There were small hunting groups that would leave base and dare to edge into the city, trying to help people, and gathering resources. Ghost had been in one of those first groups to leave the safe confines of base. You wished you had begged him to stay. Pleaded with him not to go. 

The lights above you flickered, the generator not the most reliable of equipment. You looked across the table to your teammates, trying to keep yourself pulled together. It was only at night that you let yourself feel the pain, crying yourself to sleep. 

“We’re never gonna survive here if we don’t get that medical supplies,” Soap explained. 

“It’s too dangerous, Soap. We have no idea how bad it got in there. We have no way of knowing if all the bodies left behind turned,” Price retorted, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair in nerves. 

“So, what then? We’re gonna send more men off to die, tryin’ to get shit from the city?”

Price closed his eyes momentarily. The bags forming under them showed just how little sleep he was getting. “We can’t risk more men. We’d be sendin’ them to their death, Soap. We don’t have the ammo to spare.”

“We don’t know that. We’re still not even sure if it's a guarantee the dead will change, or if they have to be bit.”

“It’s too–”

You cut the men off. “I can go.” Both their heads snapped in your direction. “I’m just a technician. With everything gone to shit, I haven’t been as much help as you guys have been. I can’t fight. I can’t–”

“No. We’re not riskin’ you,” Soap said sternly. 

“Soap,” you breathed. “I’m the only one here that isn’t crucial to the team. And don’t argue with me. It’s just a fact. Let me go. I can sneak in and grab what we need. I’m far quieter than any of you boisterous men anyways.”

Soap breathed your name. He was worried about you. He could see the pain in your eyes after losing Simon. He was worried this was a suicide mission. And that you wanted that. 

“Let me be of use,” you begged. Soap wanted to argue. So did Price. But you were right. You would be the fastest. And as much as they valued you, the remaining men couldn’t survive here without Soap or Price. 

“Lass, are you sure?” Soap said finally. He wanted you to feel useful, but he didn’t want you running off and risking your life because of the pain you felt from losing Simon. 

“Let me do it, Soap. Please. I need this.”

He couldn’t argue with you. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you more than you were already hurting. 

“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”

You stood in your gear, an empty backpack plastered to your back waiting to be filled with medical supplies. Price had gone over the layout of the wing with you, showing you exactly where you needed to go to get the right supplies on a map of the building. 

You stood before the infirmary doors, the ones that would lead to a long, winding hall that would bring you to the center of the infirmary. Off of that were several rooms and more halls, and a surgical floor. It was a large span of space to cover, but you believed you could do this. 

“Be quick about it, lass. We’ll be right here when you get back,” Soap said to you, his hand resting on your shoulder. 

You took in a breath and walked up to the doors that had been unlocked, a large piece of plywood that had previously been nailed against it, removed so you could go in. Before you reached out to the door handle, you turned around and rushed into Soap’s arms. He held you tightly, your head tucked right under his chin. “Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” he mumbled into your hair. 

You pulled back and gave him a sad smile. Then you nodded at Price and faced the daunting doors again. Once you stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind you, you could hear the plywood being put back up, a hammer nailing it in place. When you got back, you were to knock and Soap would be there waiting to let you back in. 

The hall was flickering with a few overhead lights, the generator still powering a few of the rooms in this wing. 

Ghost had a glazed-over expression when he rolled off his medical bed. The room around him was silent apart from the ticking of a clock in the corner. There was blood pooled all around him and dripping onto the tiled floor as he stood. He had some semblance of who he was, of what happened, but most of his thoughts were hazed over like he was stuck in a daydream. 

He had walked the length of the room, a sudden craving for food hitting the pit of his stomach. Any sound made him snap in that direction, rushing towards it as if on cue. He heard banging coming from one of the med rooms, the door locked and nailed over with whatever scrap of wood they could find. More people like him were trapped behind those doors, their groaning echoing down the hall. 

Ghost limped as he walked, remembering how he had been shot in his leg. He looked down at his crimson-stained pants, almost like he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing. 

Days had passed and he roamed the halls aimlessly, not even getting bored. His mind had drifted off, somewhere that wasn’t in his body, allowing him to walk around like a zombie, completely void of any logical thought. 

He grumbled as he made his rounds, stuck in a time loop, walking down the flickering hall again and again, passing by bodies that had been left behind. 

He hesitated when he heard something. He turned to look in the direction of the noise, intrigued. It sounded like someone had just walked blindly into a metal medical tray, knocking instruments onto the floor. His movements were fast and nimble as he approached the sound. 

He froze in place when he saw you–though he didn’t know who you were at that moment. You cursed yourself for being loud but didn’t hear anything in retaliation so you figured you were safe. Your hand rested on the knife strapped to your hip anyway.

You were edging towards the main infirmary double doors, your hand touching the metal of the handle. You should go in there and get supplies, but that’s where you had last seen Simon. You didn’t have it in you to see what had become of him, his body rotting alone. 

Instead, you walked down the hall and into a storage closet, oblivious to the shell of Ghost who trailed behind you. 

You left the door to the storage room open to let in a few strips of light so you could see better. You hunched over and began to dig through the supplies that had been thrown all over the floor in panic. 

Ghost rolled his neck as he saw you in the room, your back to him. He had a sudden urge to sink his teeth deep into your skin, to tear you to shreds. In fact, he wanted nothing more; the instinct was overpowering. 

But when he got close, he could hear your voice as you mumbled to yourself, going over the list of the items you needed. You held up a pack of linens, trying to see if they were clean. “These will have to do,” you said softly, shoving them into your backpack. 

A wave of familiarity surfaced inside Ghost, a strange feeling of being alive pumping through his veins. When he got to the doorframe, he could smell you. His senses heightened, the waft of your natural scent sent Ghost into a daze. He remembered—though he wasn’t sure what he was remembering. All he knew was that he recognized that smell. 

His body had felt like it was in hibernation, his motors set on autopilot as he mindlessly walked down the halls. But suddenly, Ghost’s true mind was brought to the forefront. And his body craved you, though not in the way he had just moments earlier. He didn’t want to sink his teeth into your neck, he wanted to feel your warmth against him. 

Ghost moved with such dexterity and silence, it was clear he was no longer human. When you stood, his arms immediately wrapped around you, eliciting a scream from your throat. 

Ghost still wasn’t fully comprehending what was happening; all he knew was that his body wanted you. His hand slid up around your neck, leaving a trail of blood on your clothes. He tried to speak, but he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say. All that came out was a strangled groan. 

You sputtered, trying to catch your breath as your heart raced in your chest. Ghost felt for your pulse beneath his fingertips, relishing in the way your blood pumped through your body. 

You turned your head slightly, spying the man who had you trapped against the many shelves in the closet.

It was Simon.

Terror flooded your system. He didn’t look like himself. His eyes were glossed over, his pupils and iris almost unidentifiable, the entirety of his eyes were white, appearing like he was blind. The blood that had soaked his face had congealed, the rusted color running down his clothes where he was shot in the chest and leg. He looked just how you left him, and it sent a sense of terror through you. 

“S-Simon?” You whispered, unsure if you were caught in a nightmare. 

A groan escaped his cracked lips. You gulped. He had become one of them . 

You were certain he was about to tear you apart, just as you had seen other fallen men do to your teammates. You closed your eyes, tears rushing down your cheeks as you prepared for the worst. His hands felt cold around your neck, like ice. You shivered against him. You accepted your fate—a small part of you actually wanted it. You wanted him to end you. To take you down with him. You didn't want to be alone anymore.

He nuzzled his nose against your neck and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to bite you. But it never came. 

Instead, he just moved his nose against you, smelling your hair and skin. His hands were still locked tightly against you, but they began to travel across your body. You opened your eyes in shock. Ghost’s hands trailed your chest, groping you with one hand, the other sprawling over the front of your thigh and stomach. You gasped in surprise. 

You felt him harden against you, something you had experienced many times before now, and the familiarity of it made your heart pound with mixed emotions. Your mind was too caught up trying to decipher what was happening to truly take the moment in. 

Ghost’s cold hands slid under your black shirt, snaking their way up to your breasts, cupping each one in his hands. Your nipples immediately hardened from the iciness of his touch. He ground himself against your backside, making you close your eyes in a moment of reprieve. You got lost in the past, imagining this was how it used to be. How he had touched you so many times before. 

You breathed his name and he seemed to like that, for he rolled his hips against you harder, his chest rumbling in satisfaction. 

The cold of his hands left you, making you oddly yearn to have them back on your skin. His fingers traced the hem of your pants before aggressively pulling them down. He got them past the curve of your ass and turned your bodies so your hips hit the edge of a shelving unit that acted as a table. You knocked all the supplies off as Ghost pushed you down against it, using your hands to catch yourself. 

Ghost shuffled with his own pants, wasting no time at all to slip himself inside you. You called out in a brief shock of pain. He held himself deep within you, his hands squeezing as he held you, his body bent over slightly, his chest flat against your back. Your own hands reached out to grab the edge of the table to help steady yourself. The searing heat of you against his frozen skin spread through him like wildfire.

Your cries ignited a flame in Ghost’s chest—the feel of your body, the sound of your gasps, the smell of your hair—felt natural, like this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. That he was made to take you like this. That your body against him was something so ingrained in his system, that he had no choice to to let his limbs move on muscle memory. 

He began to thrust inside you, your hips hitting the table with each snap of his hips. His hand snaked around your neck, the smear of blood now coating your skin. One of your hands came up to wrap around his wrist, resting it there in support. 

You groaned as he rocked into you harder. The pain from his sudden intrusion had subsided, and now you were filled with a haze of rapture. A tear slid down your cheek. You were unable to process what was happening, but what you did know was that you had missed Simon more than anything and that this wasn’t real. This wouldn’t last longer than this moment in time. 

Ghost’s chest rumbled in pleasure as he thrusted into you. Your walls squeezed around him and he let out a loud groan. His arm not clutching your neck wrapped around your midsection, pulling you away from the table so you were flesh against him. He held you tight, almost like he couldn’t get you close enough. That if he had his way, he’d let you make a home beneath his skin. 

His hips snapped vehemently against you, his pace quickening. You moaned, your sounds coming out strangled as his cold hand held your neck. Your walls tightened around him, your climax rapidly approaching. You couldn’t quite believe that you were not only fucking your dead boyfriend, but you were going to come in record time. 

You were absolutely intoxicating to him as your warmth clenched down on him, your heat something recognizable to him, and yet, the intimacy was foreign at the same time. Now that he was devoid of his usual body temperature, the warm feeling of you around him was almost painful. 

When you mewled and cried under him, your walls spasaming, he drew himself to the edge right behind you. Ghost came inside you with a great urge, growling in your ear as he tried to support the two of you. You felt him fill you, the white fluid seeping out around where his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His movements became sloppy, your legs shaking, your hand clutching onto his wrist for dear life. 

You couldn’t hold back the cascade of tears, finally letting them flow as Ghost slowed his pace before stopping altogether. He edged out of you, his arms hesitantly letting you go, and you immediately turned around to face him, burying your face in his chest. You sobbed as he stood there. His arms didn’t reach out and hold you like he once would. He didn’t try to comfort you like he always did so well. 

But still, he just let you huddle against him, taking what you needed from him. He didn’t attack you. He didn’t try to kill you. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t fully gone either. You turned to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He looked down and you stifled a cry. His white eyes were going to be permanently burned into your mind, haunting you for eternity. His face was sullen and blanched, blood smearing all across him; fresh blood dripping slightly from his mouth.

You tentatively reached a hand up and rested it on his frozen cheek. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Ghost made no indication he could even hear you. 

You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to do this, and stepped back. You adjusted yourself before slowly reaching down for your bag. Ghost stood and watched you, the only thing moving was the tilt of his head as he traced your movements. 

You shuffled to the door, anticipating him to reach out and end this daydream, ripping you apart. But he just watched you go, his mind riddled with foggy thoughts. He wanted to tear into you, but another part of him prevented him from doing so. He wanted to grab you and hold you against him for some reason. He liked the warmth your body provided. But another part of him felt nothing at all. 

He watched you leave in a stupor, his mind just barely grasping onto the image and memory of you. It’s true, he wasn’t completely gone, but he was fading fast. 

You cried violently as you stumbled back to the exit. When you banged on the doors, you heard the plywood being ripped off and the doors swinging open. Soap pulled you back into the base and held you at arm's length. “What happened?” he asked desperately. You were sobbing and covered in blood.

Should you tell him? Would Soap let you return to Simon knowing he wasn’t gone? Or would they make you stay here, letting Simon slip away forever? 

You suddenly regretted leaving him. You should have stayed with Simon, even if he was a shell of who he used to be. You should have waited the time out together until he fully lost himself, and you would let him take you down with him. 

[moonalumi]

arguing with ellie n it goes too far

idk if this has been done but um be ready y’all i’m bouta cry

warnings- guys this is kinda sad um, angst, arguing, crying ig, ellie being easily agitated n mean, mentions of death, reader comfort el at the end guys trust!!

“el what’s wrong?” you ask as sweetly as you can. worried about how your girlfriend has been ignoring you and other people all week. she’s just been in her own little world writing and drawing the days away. every now and then you heard little sniffles coming from her direction but choose to ignore it; thinking she’ll come to you when she’s ready to talk but it’s only been getting worse day by day.

she ignored your question again. flinching at your touch and cursing herself in her head for that.

“ellie please talk to me, i made you some food” you comfort once again, reaching out to brush out some tangles in her hair with your fingers.

“i don’t want it.” ellie mumbles out coldy. not even taking her attention away from her drawing.

“okay well i’ll leave it here in case you change your mind okay?” you kiss ellie’s head and unintentionally glance at her sketchbook. somehow she notices and slams it shut. pushing you away from her as well.

“cant you just leave me alone for two seconds?” ellie snaps. her tone of voice taking you by surprise.

“el— i’m sorry i didn’t look—“ you fumble your words. not knowing whether to look at the closed sketchbook or your angry girlfriend.

“i don’t care stop hovering over me constantly, i’m fine stop worrying.” ellie stands up to walk past you but not before you stop her.

“how am i supposed to know you’re fine? you certainly don’t seem fine when you haven’t even had a conversation with me in days!” ellie turns to look at you and you swear her eye contact with you could kill, you forget how mean she can look without trying to.

“drop it i don’t wanna argue with you” she trys walking away again but you grab her wrist.

“please talk to me, what’s wrong??” you beg, and lift your hand to push strands of her hair away from her face.

although ellie pushes your hand away, not roughly though, her touch is still soft unlike her words, “don’t fucking touch me just leave me alone i don’t want to be anywhere around you, just go.”

it hasn’t been the first time ellie had snapped at you like this and said awful things she didn’t mean. for some reason it’s in her nature to just lock away her feelings and attack anyone who tries to push their way in. unfortunately today you seem to be her victim. and after a year of being in love with her, you know her very well by now.

“you really want me to go ellie? cause i’ll go but who’s gonna be taking care of you like i am right now?” you raise your voice at her while picking up things of yours from around her room.

ellie just watches as you pick up your items. sitting there with a lil pout on her lips not saying a word as you stuff more stuff in a bag. but before you can even touch the doorknob to leave she stands up, “wait..” she whispers, if you listened carefully enough you would’ve heard her voice cracking.

“what is it?” you ask rather harshly. opening the door and stepping outside.

ellie panics, her eyes widening and her legs unintentionally making their way towards you in a rush, “wait don’t go” she whimpers.

only then do you turn to see ellie’s eyes filled with tears and her panicked expression. her tough angry demeanor changing in a matter of seconds. n that pout on her lips turned into quivering lips.

your own eyes soften at the sight. you can’t help but feel the pain and guilt for making her cry but you knew she needed a wake up call. you needed to let her know you won’t stand there and just take her hits.

“oh el i’m so sorry” you bring her in for a hug. letting her burry her face in your neck and squeeze you into her hold.

“n-no i’m so sorry i—shouldn’t have been so mean to you. don’t leave me” ellie hiccups and sniffles between her crys. getting your neck all wet with her tears and snot but you don’t mind.

“i’m not leaving you baby i just needed to teach you a little lesson i’m so sorry” you leave kisses all over her hair and scratch her back as she calms herself down.

lifting her head up, you kiss her cheek that’s all flushed and puffy n lead her back to bed. cuddling her and forcing her be little spoon.

a comfortable silence over takes you too as you just lay together, “you wanna tell me what’s wrong now?” you whisper breaking the silence.

you feel ellie take a deep breath and intertwine your hands together, “it’s— around the time of joel’s death date, i think that’s why i’m being like this.”

“i’m so sorry ellie” you try and comfort but you know there’s not much you can say or do to make her feel better about it other than being here with her like this.

“can you scratch my back? it felt good earlier,” ellie smiles at you as she asks the question.

“of course, c’mere” you sit up and let ellie lay onto of you as you lift her shirt up to scratch her back until she falls asleep <33

free palestine !!

[icomeandg0]

“More than one” part 2!

Linked universe x reader (s) (Female)

Warnings: confusing.

A/N: I didn’t think the other post would get so much, thank you all<3

“She’s awake!”

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“An explanation is due.” Legends voice cuts through the silence earning a huff from Wild, “Can this wait until…later?”

“You can’t blame us for being curious, you did leave while we were sleeping—“

“And brought a girl with you!”

Sky and Wind chimed in, Wild wasn’t going to get a rest unless he told them, always on his arse he swears—

“Fine! I’ll tell” Wild clears his throat before sighing, “You see, she’s this girl from my era, she’s very important to me and she’s…one of the best things in my life and I plan on making sure she’s safe and by my side. Y/n L/n is her name and, goddesses if anything happens to her I would never forgive myself…” Wild says tenderly, he was very fond of you.

“Eugh, I asked for an explanation not a sappy, love story.” Legend takes his chance to tease Wild, “You’re the one that asked” Wild retaliates.

“Y/n huh? Must be a common name, I had a Y/n. She was certainly…Something.” Warriors voice grew a bit quiet as he looked off to the side, however no one really paid attention. “Yeah, I have a childhood best friend named Y/n” Four says, “Really? Me too!” Sky says, “The Y/n back at mine is such a sweetheart, city gal on the outside, country on the inside” Twilight spoke with a smile.

“Well I’ve got you all beat! My Y/n’s the best, she’s on of the best people I’ve met during my adventure!” Wind grins, “How about you, Hyrule? What about your Y/n?” Hyrule scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “Well, I never met a Y/n during my adventure so…can’t really comment”

“Jeez, if this Y/n girl makes all of you like this I hope I never meet a Y/n” Legend huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “How about you, old man?” Twilight asked, Time only sighed and opened his open eye. “I don’t see how this is relevant to our current situation therefore we must shut it down and focus on the subject.” Everyone went quiet after Time spoke, they all looked a bit ashamed but none the less changed the subject.

“Sheesh, must’ve been a harsh break up for Time…” Legend whispered over to Sky who felt remorse for the eldest hero.

“When she wakes up we’ll need to ask her a few questions, hopefully she can provide a few answers.” Time says earning a nod from Wild, “I’ll do the talking”

Soon their ears twitch as they hear shuffling coming from Hyrules tent. Soon it opens to reveal you inside, “Holy Hylia! I’ve been robbed—kidnapped too! Give my stuff back you thieves!” You point at the group in front of you, clearly you haven’t processed the fact that your Link was there.

“Y/n! You’re awake” Wild got up to his feet to help you up since you were on all fours which could re open the wound on your side.

“Link? What the hell are you doing here? Did you rob me?”

“No I didn’t rob you, nor did they—look just come. We need to talk, alone.” Wild looks at the boys, once he earned a nod he took you by the hand and led you away.

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“So what’s this all about—woah!” Wild immediately wrapped his arms around you, “oh by the three, I’ve missed you so much” Wild buried his head into your neck as you giggled softly and hugged him back.

“Heh, I’ve missed you too” Wild moves his head so he’s looking up to you now, “How did you get here?” “Crazy story really! You see…a portal sucked me in while I was out trying to find you a couple weeks ago.”

“Weeks? You were here for that long, alone?” “Nah! You see I have this really cool girl group I travel with and wanna know something? They’re all Y/n’s!” You exclaimed making Wilds eyes widen in astonishment.

“Really?” “Yeah! There’s TPY/n, HWY/n, OOTY/n, SSY/n, LAY/n, LOZY/n, FSY/n, WWY/n. Bit of a tongue twister but when you meet them they’ll greet you properly”

Wild felt a bit overwhelmed of the thought of meeting more Y/n’s but he nods either way, if the others say their Y/n’s were as lovely as they described then he’ll be fine! "Anyways, do you know this place? what about you tell me what happened before, you were unconscious and wounded when I found you"

"I was? Damn, let me try and remember..." You thought for a bit before speaking again, "We found a village nearby and it was called Agoir city, it must be the capital of this land because it has a massive castle. Me and the girls were shopping around like usual until WWY/n had to go ahead and steal something and get caught. Since we all looked the same they probably thought we were a thief family or something along those lines. OOTY/n told us all to split up so we wouldn't be taken, I ended up with TPY/n but those guards were quite literally right up our asses so we had to fight a few"

"I'm sure violence could've been avoided"

"Nope! but then they all attacked me so they landed a few blows and..I don't remember the rest" You finish explaining, Wild nods, "That was helpful information, really was. I'll tell the others but- There was this dragon that was...protecting you" "Oh...That's a relief she wasn't taken...Where is she? Is she back at the camp?" You asked, Wild shook his head. "We left her back where we found her-" "You did what?!"

Wild closes his mouth and looks at you with his blue eyes that were filled with confusion, "Okay...Okay, Link I need you to come back with me to see if she's still there, please." You hold your hand out which he takes with no hesitation, "Yeah, okay. Just gotta tell the others first." "Others?" "Yeah, You woke up in a rush you probably didn't process the fact that there were others back at camp." You sighed softly as he begins to pull you back to them all.

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"Oh woah! So you all are Links? That must be confusing...?" You tilt your head as you look at the lookalikes, you could tell the differences of each Link but being surrounded by them all is making you realise...This bitch is attractive in every universe, (Besides from Wind but he still a cutie.) "It did but we got our own names to call us by" They went around in a circle to introduce themselves, after Time introduced himself he opened his mouth once again.

"Is it true? that there are other Y/n's here?" Time asked a bit on edge, "Yup! Somewhere in Agoir city, I plan on taking Wild with me if that's alright with you" "No."

Wild gulped as Time's voice was stern but you didn't falter, "Well with all due respect, mister but I don't think that's something you have control over. I need Link to help me save my friends and considering it's his duty to do so I don't think it's very wise to intervene." You spoke, a hint of sassiness in your tone...most of the boys shared one thought.

'Yup, definitely a Y/n'

"I wasn't going to deny...I was going to say we were all going to come along too" Time finishes making you sheepish, "Sorry..." You scratch the back of your head and he only chuckles lightly before getting up, "C'mon boys, pack up everything so we can leave as soon as we can"

To be continued…

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And that’s a wrap! Hope you all enjoyed, don’t worry next chapter is all about the Y/n’s I promise but if you don’t understand I’ll put down who’s who for the Y/n’s.

I’ll put up a poll later on today, but I hope you all enjoyed this.

Taglist?

@fantasyhopperhea

TPY/n = Twilights era

HWY/n = Warriors era

OOTY/n = Times era

SSY/n = Sky’s era

LAY/n = Legends era

BOTWY/n = Wilds era (who was in this story)

LOZY/n = Hyrules era

FSY/n = Fours era

WWY/n = winds era.

[pigeonpeach]

Heart of the Hearth

Aka Arlecchino Husbandry continued.

Summary: your baby daddy Arle puts a ring on your finger

Cw: none really. Fluff and domestic vibes all the way. Baby Lynette and Lyney plus Freminet but they snoozing. Fem reader.

Its a cold winter outside of Fontaine currently. You’ve decided to spend the night as you doubt you’ll make it home in this weather. Luckily your boss has given you a room of your own separate from the kid’s rooms. But you won’t make it there as for the first time ever little Lynette is cuddling with you. She lays her little head on your lap like a sleepy kitten as she dozes off into a pleasant dream. Lyney sleeps on your other thigh, drool trickling down his cheeks as you shut his mouth so he won’t stain his pajamas. Little Freminet sleeps nearby snuggling with Lyney. The domestic scenery further melting your heart more than the fireplace could. You however were awake for one simple reason:back pain. You and the kids were in the living room where you had originally been talking off their ears in a attempt to help them sleep only for you to become their pillow. If it was just Lyney you would have picked them both up and carried them to the bunk beds but little Lynette looked to cute to disturb and so you resigned to be a pillow.

The wind outside is howling but you trust the windows hold strong. The Knave should be in her office as usual. You don’t have the ability to check if she’s fallen asleep at her desk again. But the door opens as her high heels click down the stairs to your room. You fix your hair slightly as she opens the door.

“You’re not in your room? Is the mattress not to your standards?” She asks. Her eyes are typically cold and calculating, but right now you notice a different glint in them, not one you’ve seen before. A glint of pride or surprise perhaps as he spots the slumbering children.

“They couldn’t sleep so I took them here so they wouldn’t wake the others. And then they fell asleep on me.” A polite smile graces your lips. You notice her gaze soften seeing Lynette move briefly to be closer to you as she snores lightly. You notice a small smile on her face. Not too noticeable. She crouches down to examine Lynette.

“It appears you’re a more comfortable bed to them.” She says brushing some hair out of her face, giving a gentle scratch to her ears which flicker in response.

“I was quite surprised too. Its why I haven’t moved. I just didn’t want to ruin it for her.”

Arlecchino humms as she looks up at you. “You seem uncomfortable though. Why is that?”

“O-oh.. just my back. Its been a real pain recently.” You nervously say.

“Why is that?” She says as she stands up, still examining you. Her gaze isn’t as intimidating as it usually is. You notice her demeanor is different too. She isn’t just her for business or professional purposes. She deliberately left her office to look for you. Her hair is also down, no longer tied. She circles to behind the couch.

“Well.. I’m not sure. It could just be stress or maybe I’ve bent over too much.” You say. Lyney shuffles a bit, humming as he adjusts himself to a more comfortable position while still asleep. You rest your hand on his head to pat him gently.

“You certainly look more stressed than usual. You haven’t even changed out of your uniform into your pajamas.” She comments.

“Well truth be told I couldn’t sleep either. I felt like I forgot something to do.”

She humms as your nerves jolt at her hands suddenly landing gently on your shoulders. Her pals digging into the muscles of your collar like a massage. You blush taken off guard.

“M-mi-“

“Shh.” She says gently. “You will wake the children. If you get too worked up.”

“Sorry… I just..”

“Is it unpleasant for you? Its a bit difficult with my nails.” She comments. You shake your head.

“I’m just surprised. You’ve been so… soft to me lately And I just don’t understand why?”

Another hum as he continues with the massage. “You are important here, these children are easier to manage with you around. They admire you very much so. Is it wrong for me to care for the mother of my children?” She says. The way she says mother sends a shiver down your spine. You hadn’t seen your dynamic like that, a mother and father. But she was right.

“A m-mother.. oh I’m just a caretaker I’m sure I’m not that important.” You say attempting to be more humble and calm.

“Hmm not so. Little Lynette wouldn’t rest on the lap of a simple caretaker. They came to you when they were distressed. They also do, all of my children come to you when i am not available. You sing them lullabies and wipe their tears and you kiss their scars. You are the only mother they have here. Of course they would treasure you. And so should I.” Her voice sends more tingles down your spine. Her voice is deep, it sounds powerful but soft. Devoted but strong. “You are the mother to my children, you are very important to me.” There’s no room for debate on that matter. She’s clear with how she sees you. You gulp as you blush even more so.

“Y-you’re right on that matter.. but its such a…weird concept…”

“Weird?” She pauses. “How so?”

“We-well its just that it almost sounds like we’re married when you say it like that. I’m only your employee.” You say nervously. You look up at her as you notice that look in her eyes which makes you forget to breathe. Her eyes hold a passion and devotion you had previously not seen before. There’s also this sense that she’s holding back. Her fingers leave your shoulders and grip the edge of the couch. Her nails likely leaving a scratch.

“Is that idea something you’re uncomfortable with?”

“Maybe not.” You say quietly, averting your gaze. She smiles as she can sense your heart racing as her hands return to your collar. She notices how you seem to almost move to meet her touch.

“Excellent.” Her voice is almost like a purr. She presses a kiss to the nape of your neck making you blush.

“I’ll get you the finest of rings then. And we’ll start on preparations for the wedding tomorrow after my 12 o clock meeting, but for now.” Her hands trails to your right as she slides one of her own rings onto your ring finger. “This will do.”

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Hidden Embers

Series summary: You return to your home state the summer after graduating college. The relentless Texas heat, the suburban southern bubble and your treacherous relationship with your mom give you the feeling this will be a long summer. That's until Joel Miller enters the picture.

Summary: Your welcome-back party brings a re-encounter with one of your dad’s old friends, one you don’t remember looking so good.

A/N: Hello strangers, haven't seen you in a long long time. This is something that's been on the works for months now. Ideally, I wanted to put this series out when I had a good enough chunk of the story finished since I'm the most undecisive person ever. However, I wanna start posting some chapters on here as I go and then post the full completed thing on AO3. I will warn you though, it is very likely that as I write the story, I will keep on making some changes to previously posted chapters just so in the end it all makes sense and it's cohesive, I will let you guys know whenever there has been a major change. Take this as me asking the tumblr girlies to beta read this series before i publish it over on AO3. In any case, I hope the ones who decide to start reading here instead of waiting for the full thing enjoy it very much, I'm very open to suggestions, opinions and constructive critisism. :)

Warnings: Age-gap (Reader is 22, Joel is 46), Dbf!Joel, mommy issues

It was your first summer back home after graduation. The relentless Texas heat was bringing memories from your childhood that had been buried away until now, some of them felt more like dreams at this point. You had never been too good with the heat, but spending four years in chilly, gloomy New England had certainly birthed a new appreciation for it.

You weren’t sure you wanted to come back and stay for the entire summer, but your southern-to-the-core mother has a knack for getting her way. Something about “You were away for four whole years, I’m sure you can spare us a couple months before you jump right into a job in god knows where. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up moving back and finding something around here, a nice guy to settle down with and finally get your life going.” 

God forbid. 

Naturally, in true southern fashion, your parents had to make your graduation celebration a neighborhood affair. A big barbeque, with all the nice people your parents grew up with, went to highschool and college with, who married and had kids with each other. People who haven’t, a day in their lives, given a single thought to what might exist outside of their perfect suburban bubbles. 

You weren’t trying to act ungrateful – it was a celebration of one of your most important milestones after all. People were coming together to congratulate you and your achievements. But if it were up to you, none of them would have been invited and you wouldn’t have celebrated it like this. Honestly, you missed the trips you used to take with your dad as a kid, all the way out in the countryside. Just the two of you for a week during the summer, staying in an old cabin that creaked and shook whenever your steps were too heavy. You don't remember why you stopped going, but you wished you still did. It would have been a much nicer celebration.

None of today’s guests knew you as anything other than your parent’s daughter, the shiny new thing your mother was choosing to show off. You knew that’s how it was gonna be the second your mother told you there was no point in attending your college’s graduation party, why would you when they could make you your own celebration back home with all the nice neighborhood people instead of a room full of strangers?

Your dad had good intentions, you knew that… deep, deep down. But it had always just been the three of you, and even when it was blatantly obvious your mother was in the wrong, even when there was no way of justifying her behavior, he still stood behind her, echoing her words. 

And that's how you ended up here, prepping food for your own graduation barbeque, decorating your own garden, cleaning up your own house so it would be squeaky clean for people you hadn’t seen in well over a decade. It’s what a “Do it for me, i’ll make it up to you I promise. The community is just really important to your mom” from your dad gets out of you. 

You had probably been looking at yourself for a good twenty minutes now. Nothing you tried on felt quite right. It was either too formal, too casual, too revealing or too childish. This was a direct consequence of moving out of the south at the ripe age of 10; No one in Virginia taught you how to dress for a neighborhood barbeque. 

Last minute you land on a blue sundress, delicate white flowers scattered around, long enough to cover your knees but not enough to make you look like you just walked out of Sunday school. You took that as a win. 

At the sound of your mother loudly complaining about no one in the house ever helping (a comment undoubtedly directed at you), you decide to drag yourself downstairs. The sooner you get this party started, the sooner you could be done with it.

Rushing down the stairs, distractedly gathering your hair up with a tie, you unexpectedly bump into something – or rather someone.  

"Easy, there. Where's the fire?"

That familiar voice… same old Joel Miller. A few more grays overpowering the darkness of his hair, a couple more wrinkles here and there and a deeper tan painting his skin a more caramel-y shade. But it was still him. 

You knew very little about Joel, just that he was your dad’s best friend for as long as you could remember. The periodic phone calls they filled with hour-long football discussions, the christmas cards exchanged and birthday wishes texted. You remember him being around the house a lot before moving out of Texas, although the specifics of it escape your memory.

Now he’s standing right in front of you, firm hands holding you by your arms to make sure you won't lose your balance, and you’re faced with the fact that twenty-two-year-old you might be seeing Joel Miller through a different lens. 

Your brain isn’t really doing what it’s meant to do, which in this exact moment would be produce an acceptable response for the six-foot-something man with broad shoulders, dark brooding eyes and a musky, woody scent that made you wanna��� No. Focus.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t even see you there… I didn’t think anyone would arrive until five.” you finally reply to his expectant stare. 

“No need to be sorry.” He says back, letting go of your arms once he’s sure you’re able to stand on your own. “Well, welcome home. Haven’t seen you since you were running around in mermaid tees” 

Yeah, now seemed like the right time to look for a hole in the ground to crawl into. 

“Oh, that’s not fair, I grew out of my mermaid phase long before we moved.  I was well into boyband territory last time you saw me” you try to joke your way through the conversation, hoping the burning sensation crawling up to your cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. 

The embarrassment of the moment would have churned your insides for much longer if Joel's mouth hadn't quirked up in a charming smirk, so captivating it was hard to believe he wasn't aware of its effect. 

That on its own was already causing some conflicting feelings to boil up inside you, but then he had the nerve to let out a small chuckle he seemed to have been trying to hold back. He was chuckling... Texas’ resident grump was chuckling at your joke, which wasn't even that funny if we’re being fully earnest. Why did you like that thought so much?

You were about to say something, anything really, in a shameless attempt to see if you could earn one more of those, when your mother's approaching voice snapped you out of the haze.

“Are you gonna make me drag you in here, or will you do me the courtesy of helping out... Oh, goodness me! Joel! I didn’t hear you come in, you’re here early.” She switched gears faster than a professional racer. Suddenly, she was back to being the neighborhood’s sweetheart, her voice dripping with that sickly sweet drawl.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the intrusion,” Joel replies, slipping back into his usual, almost stiff demeanor. Whatever new side you had seen of him a second ago was quickly gone. “Hank asked me to drop by a bit earlier to bring him the grill. Said mine’s better suited for the amount of meat he’s buying.”

“Oh, how that man refuses to listen. I told him we didn’t need that much meat. I'm making a whole lotta side dishes,” she whines, waving her hand dismissively. “Well, I guess everyone will be taking leftovers home then. Hank went over to the store to grab me some stuff I was missing. He should be back in a heartbeat.” She glances back at you and, in that passive-aggressive tone that almost anybody else would miss, said, “Well, sweetheart, don’t just stand there. Go help Joel unload his grill and show him what a good host you are.” 

It was only your third day back home. Somehow, four years of freedom had made living in this household even more unbearable. 

Smile, turn around, walk away. Choose your peace, choose your peace, choose your peace.

Heavy footsteps echo yours all the way to the garage, where Joel's truck waited. You let him walk past you to unlock the tailgate. “Your mom hasn’t changed one bit, has she?” Joel says distractedly while grabbing some metal pieces that looked like parts of his grill. 

“Oh, if you only knew.” you say back, trying your best to conceal the sharpness of your tone. 

He hands you the cold metal parts, surprisingly lighter than you anticipated. You were convinced he only made you carry them to let you feel useful. “Believe me, I know. Known your mom since way before you were even a thought runnin’ through her mind.” 

Right. Because Joel happens to be your parents’ age and over twice your senior. One of the many reasons why getting distracted by the way his muscles flexed while picking up the grill was so beyond wrong. 

“You uh… you still live a few houses up the street?” You asked, trying your best to redirect your reckless thoughts. 

“Same old house.” He replies with a slightly strained voice from carrying the weight. Once he set it down in the backyard, he turned around to take the pieces you were holding onto. “Renovated some of it, built a new pool out back.” 

“That sounds nice, might have to check it out sometime.” You said it without even thinking much. What compelled you to think it was acceptable to tell a man you haven't seen in over a decade you would like to ‘check out’ his pool, was beyond you.

You thought Joel would chuckle it off or maybe not even acknowledge it, which he would’ve been well within his right to do, but he looked up to you from his leaning position next to the grill and said “Yeah, I think you might.” 

You couldn’t shake off Joel’s words throughout the whole afternoon. 

First chance you got to zone out in between introductions, awkward small talk and getting asked the same thing for the thousandth time, your mind drifted back to Joel’s words. 

He was just being polite, right? He has always been a gentleman after all. Maybe it was just the southern hospitality in him, maybe he didn’t even mean it and was just trying to be nice.

Yeah, I think you might

You were probably just reading too much into it, but the way he said it seemed like a lot more than just being polite. Or, and this is a very big possibility, it’s been way too long since you’ve let anyone take you to bed and you’re latching onto the first man who looks your way. 

You try to distract your brain with the old lady in front of you instead, who’s been chatting you up about her four cats for over fifteen minutes. She’s surprisingly nice but you think you’d be enjoying her chatter a lot more if your mind wasn’t so distracted.

She notices as much.  “You doin’ alright there, sweetheart?” 

You  brush it off as best as you can. “Oh, I'm alright. I just think the trip and the unpacking is finally catching up to me.” You stand up from the lawn chair you’d been lounging on. “I’ll go grab myself a drink, can I grab you anything?” 

She smiles sweetly up at you and replies “No, sweetness, you go ahead.” 

The chatter outside dulls out as you close the glass doors behind you. You don’t bother turning on the kitchen overhead lights, relying only on light seeping in from the back yard.

The chill from the fridge hits your chest as you crack the door open to grab a can of coke. Just as you pop the tab, a shadow leaning against the door frame makes you jump. 

“Jesus, give a girl a warning.” you say bringing your hand to your chest trying to slow your heartbeat back down. 

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t mean to scare you.” Joel's voice comes from the shadow

Darlin’ ? Lord, were you screwed. 

You hoped the dim lighting was doing enough to hide the burning red that was probably staining your cheeks already, especially since Joel was pushing off of the door frame and walking over to you. 

“Needed a break from the crowd too?” you ask softly, cutting through the quiet.

The corner of his lips curves up in one of his killer smirks and you can already tell that’s gonna be one of your favorite things about him. “You readin’ me like a book.” 

You give him a tiny smile and take a sip of your Coke, the cold liquid a welcome distraction. “I thought you’d be manning the grill.”

He grumbles softly, the sound reverberating in his chest. “Hank’s got it covered for now. Figured I’d come check on you.”

You look up at him confused. “Check on me? Why?”

He shrugged, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright. This can’t be easy, coming back after all this time.”

More than the charming smirks or the pet names or the indecipherable jabs, this knocked the air out of your chest. You were so used to everyone telling you how lucky you were, how wonderful your parents were and how great it was they could put you through college, how perfect of a life you had and how easy it seemed for you to deal with it all. You get it, that’s how it looked from the outside and you didn’t blame people for thinking that. But the truth was you had just become shockingly skilled at hiding your struggles, pretending you had everything under control and plastering a big, dazzling smile on your face.

Somehow, in the few hours that Joel has been around you, at least in this past decade, he managed to see right through this smoke screen you’ve been building your entire life to keep people from seeing what’s going on inside. 

It leaves you speechless for a second. “Oh, um…” you can’t take your eyes off of him now, far too unconcerned to notice if you’re staring. “It’s been… exhausting and a bit hectic but, you know... I’m alright. Thank you for asking, Joel.” His name slips out of your lips so easily, like you could picture yourself saying it over and over again without ever burning out. 

He looks down, almost like he isn’t used to doing this either, like he’s searching for something else to say. Then his hoarse voice breaks through the silence “Well, if you’re not, you know where to find me.” 

With one last glance, a lingering one at that, Joel turns back and leaves where he came from. Like he didn’t just tip your entire world out of balance. 

And you’re left there in the dark, trying to figure out what the hell this feeling on your chest is and why, on god's green earth, your father’s best friend won’t leave your head. 

[valgodd]

You sit in the waiting room of the doctors office, nervously fidgeting your hands. It’s time for the annual health check up. You sure had a good year, the trousers digging into your belly are proof of that.

A nurse calls your name. Are you imagining things, or did she she do a double take when she saw you, her eyes lingering slightly over your pudgy mid section? She offers you a polite, professional smile though, and lead you into the office.

The doctor, a graying fit man man in his late fifties, sits behind his desk, endorsed in paper work.

”Welcome mr/ms Y/N” he murmurs. He glances at you over his spectacles, his eyes sweeping over your red, round cheeks, budding double chin and protrouding belly. ”Well you certainly look… healthy. Shall we get started?” He gestures towards an old fashioned manual steele scale. You step on it with a loud *clonk*. The doctor raises an eyebrow and adjusts the metal weight until the scale is in balance. He looks in his notes and scoffs, almost sounding amused.

”Well well… you were close to underweight last time we weighed you. Now however… you seem to have fattened up quite nicely.”

You swallow, feeling very self concious.

”H-how much have I gained?”

”It seems to be… almost sixteen kilos”

”Sixteen kilos?” That was more than you had expected. 

”Sixteen kilos” the doctor confirms ”Thats… quite much in just a years time.”

”Well there obviously must me something wrong with your scale” you say with an akward laugh. The doctor smirks. ”The scale is perfectly fine, I asssure you. Any… changes of habits recently?”

”Well…” you are tempted to lie, but the doctor looks at you sternly. 

”Well what?”

”Uhm I guess I… relaxed a bit recently” you admit ”I-I moved in with my partner… They’ve been cooking a lot for me… And I haven’t gone to the gym as… frequently as I used to” your voice trails off.

”Uhuh. That explains alot, doesnt it? Well, last time I saw you, you were a scrawny little thing and you sure needed to put on a few. Sixteen kilos though… That’s overdoing it. You need to get rid of that gut” the doctor pats your tummy condencendingly. 

”Yes doc” you say and and clench your jaws. How could you have let yourself go like this? Why didn’t anybody tell you you were getting so big?

”We should measure your body fat to, dear. Pull up your shirt for me, will you?”

You reluctantly pull up your shirt and reveal a pale, squishy midsection.  The doctor takes a metal clisp and take a firm grip on your belly roll between his thumb and indexfinger. You feel the cold metal against your skin, and winces as the clisp pinches you.

”Godness me…” he murmurs. You swallow. ”Well you certainly haven’t been starving” the doctor chuckles as he scribbles down some notes in his papers. ”So… tell your partner to cut down on the butter and cream in their cooking. It really isnt doing you any favours. Maybe go on some brisk walks together. By next year, I want to see you trimmed down. Okay?”

You nod and manage a polite smile.

After the meeting, your partner meets you up outside the doctors office. They give you brief kiss on the lips and squeeze your sides. 

”How was the doctors appointment love?”

”Well…”

”You look upset, is everything alright?”

You sigh.

”Well the doctor told me I had gained too much weight” you murmur.

”Oh love…”

”Yeah… god it was so humiliating” you press your palms against your eyes, feeling tears burn under your eyelids. Your partner pulls you into an embrace.

”My poor baby… Hey hey…. Shh… Its okay, its okay... We’ve had a good year, haven’t we? Its been so nice to see you eat whatever you want, to your hearts content. I would hate him to ruin that for you love”

You nod, sniveling. Your partner strokes your belly in calming circles.

”Screw him. Tell you what love” your partner lowers their voice to a whisper ”I just made your favourite eclairs. The ones with chocolate cream. Why dont we go home and have some?”  

You can’t help but light up.

”Oh yes those are my favourite” you murmur longingly with a moan, feeling your mouth water. 

”Hey I knew that would put a smile on your  face” you partner chuckles and pinches your chubby cheek lovingly ”Lets go home dear, let me take care of you”

[idontknowreallywhy]

Fathers Day 4 - The Other Father

(Parts 1-3)

This one has been brewing a fairly long time. The 3 short sections I posted a while ago form a perfectly good trilogy and we could happily leave it there…but I did sneak in a hint that a certain somebody overheard at least part of the conversation between Scott and his siblings.

And I’m determined to force Jeff to confront his many failings as a parent and make a start on sorting things out with his sons, especially the eldest. Haven’t quite got there yet (of course it would be terribly out of character for me to actually finish the story 🙄) but they are moving in the right direction at least.

It feels a little rougher than I’d like but I haven’t managed to post a whole chapter of anything for over a month and perhaps am a little wobbly on that score but… here goes…

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Jeff hovered uncertainly outside the door to his eldest son’s bedroom, pretending to be minutely interested in the glued crack running down the doorframe through the locking mechanism and out the other side. There was probably a story behind that, an attentive father should probably ask about it… he started to raise a hand to knock but lost his nerve and continued to hover.

Well, truth be told, he wasn’t so much hovering as leaning very heavily on his cane like the frail old man he always swore he’d never be. Certainly not at his age. But he was uncertain (whilst leaning in a solid and definite way) about whether to do the thing he had been so very certain was a good idea an hour ago but about which, NOW… now he was here… at the door… at Scott’s door… he was suddenly deeply unsure.

Jeff didn’t really do unsure and uncertain. That had never been his style. He’d always been blessed with a great deal of confidence in the plans that came to him and that confidence was justified by the fact he usually pulled them off.

Nor was he the kind of man who stood in corridors staring at inanimate objects while engaging in a rambling inner monologue.

And yet, here he was…

It was amazing what years of solitary confinement on a rock could change.

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One hour earlier…

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He eased himself down on to the lounger and closed his eyes, trying to fix in his mind the new version of that sound he’d dreamed of for so long - the laughter of his children. All of them. Together. Happy. Safe. The glowing memory of it had sustained him for years. The fear that he might have somehow extinguished it for good had kept him awake in the dark for far more hours than the mundane concerns about food, oxygen supplies…

Survival.

The voices were deeper now than the ones he’d remembered. Not quite so familiar. But still so beloved. They were still his babies. Lucy’s babies. They’d just grown. A lot. In innumerable ways.

Slowly, so as not to overbalance when gravity tugged at him, he leaned over and felt around underneath the seat to retrieve what he’d initially assumed was a piece of litter but now knew with a prescient certainty was going to be incredibly important.

“It was always you…”

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Or sneak around like a teenager. He was supposed to be in bed but he’d found himself desperate to breathe oxygen rich but un-climate-controlled air for a few moments. As the lingering agoraphobia of the depths of infinite space warred with the claustrophobia born of the small liveable portion of the Zero-X that had been his entire world, Jeff had found his heart rate increasing and knew he wouldn’t sleep without proving to himself once more what the sea breeze felt like on his face.

And he’d snuck down the back stairs because they’d hear his balcony door open and come to check.

Then he’d have to explain.

If he explained, they’d just worry.

And today of all days, when the void between what he knew he was and what he desperately wanted to be to them all had loomed and sucked at him so hungrily… Well. How could he ever be their Daddy again if they had to be looking after him all the time? It was all backwards.

It had been so long since he’d been a Daddy. Far longer than the time he’d been stranded. He had been a good parent, once upon a time. Lucy had said so and he’d always trusted her judgment. To Scott and Virgil anyway. With John he’d done his best too, albeit the boy could rarely be persuaded to leave his mother’s side, but they’d had a decent relationship.

And there had been a time he was Daddy to five. Little Gordon chattering away at his knee while baby Alan’s bright blue eyes peered up at him from the impossibly tiny bundle in his arms. Lucy’s chin on his shoulder, her cheek brushing against his own… he’d known his place in the world, they were blessed with the privilege of raising these little ones together.

And then she was gone. And somehow everything good about Jeff went with her. Including Daddy.

He’d as good as orphaned them back then, eight whole years before it became official.

Eight more years to regret it after that.

Miraculously he now had his much longed-for chance to make it right. But for all the thinking and regretting and self analysis of those castaway years, he still wasn’t entirely sure where to start. He knew what he had to mend, he knew when and why it had all broken, but not how to fix it, if it was even fixable at all.

And now in light of what he’d heard, he realised that whatever “fixed” was, it might look rather different from what he’d spent all those years imagining.

And if he had been more honest with himself… he’d always known that. He let the card fall open in his lap.

“Still true.”

It was. It was absolutely true. Gordon and Alan were Scott’s kids, in all the ways that mattered. They knew it. Jeff knew it. And for all his desire to compensate for the time they had lost, he knew with absolute clarity he did not want to replace their eldest brother’s place in their lives. He had no right to.

He had no desire to. Not now.

He needed to make sure Scott knew that. His knees creaked as he shot decisively to his feet and he staggered slightly before snatching up the cane propped against the back of the lounger and making his purposeful… alright, shuffling way towards his old office.

He needed to find a pen.

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And so here he was by the doorway, the card tucked into the pocket of his bathrobe, trying to think of an opening line. Some appropriate words to broach the subject.

Jeff Tracy was pretty good with words.

He used to be king of the press conference, inspirational teacher of young astronauts. A dreamer of big dreams that could recruit almost anyone to his cause given time. He was used to being in command. When he spoke, people listened.

Yes, Jeff Tracy could make words work for him. With strangers, anyway.

With family it was different.

Especially with one in particular.

Oh, he and Scott had talked a lot. When he was home from space tiny-Scott had been his shadow, trailing him around with his excited, bouncy hop-skip drinking in all his father’s adventure stories. In fairness some of those maybe became just a little exaggerated by the lure of the warm feeling the admiration in those sparkling blue eyes created.

As time had passed the skip-hop evolved into a leggy teenage stride, precisely matched to Jeff’s own. There was less bounce in it, but the sparkle was still there. The constant reminder to Jeff Tracy that he was admired far more than he really deserved to be.

But then it had all gone wrong.

Part of the problem with Scott was he looked like Lucy. He didn’t resemble her much at all, physically - Jeff’s firstborn was pretty much a clone of himself, everyone said as much. No. It was that he looked the way she had. When he was really looking. Something about the intensity of his gaze… the colour of Scott’s eyes may have been from Jeff but the power of them was all her. It was like facing down a strangely warming X-ray.

Yes, the issue Jeff had was that Lucy looked at him out of his eldest son’s eyes and it made him confused and lonely... and so very uncertain about everything that was important.

About whether he could do any of this alone.

About whether he had got a single thing right since she’d gone.

It had made him defensive and short with his son. And when he snapped at Scott, when the same uncertainty, the same confused loneliness was reflected back at him… that chased her away and replaced her image with only himself and he couldn’t bear it.

So he stopped looking.

And so as Scott took on her role, as his son parented far better than the father had the capacity to manage, Jeff backed away and allowed him to do it. He’d let his teenage son be father to his children while he hid away inside himself and focussed on the things that Jeff had been able to do long before he ever met her - he inspired strangers, he dreamed, he commanded.

And Scott had grown up way too fast. And Jeff couldn’t fix it.

There were some short conversations that came close to the one they really needed to have in the aftermath of the Bereznik situation, when Jeff had feared he’d lost his eldest boy for good. But the important words had got stuck in his throat and he’d had to settle for an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Scott had seemed to feel safer with Virgil present anyway and his second son was incredibly protective of his big brother… of course that hadn’t been conducive to bringing up more difficult topics. Although Jeff knew he could have engineered the circumstances if he’d had the nerve. By the time Scott had recovered and they’d both thrown themselves into the Big Project, the moment seemed to have passed.

So they talked Tracy household admin, school admin. Most of all, they talked about the Project, Scott almost as excited as he was about that. His son admired and encouraged and gently challenged him in exactly the way his mother would have. It worked.

It was comfortable. And Jeff had been too much of a coward to make it uncomfortable.

He’d been home nearly two months and he’d nearly missed his chance again.

Not this time.

He raised his hand once more and let his knuckles fall against the door.

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“Scott?”

“Yes, EOS?” His reply was muffled somewhat by a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Your father has been stood outside your door for seven point five minutes.”

Some of the toothpaste migrated to his pyjama shirt. “What?! He should be in bed!”

“And yet he is currently located in the corridor. Just thought you’d like to know.”

“Is he ok?”

“His heart rate is a little elevated but his other vitals seem as healthy as they have proved in recent weeks.”

“I… ok, alright. Thanks for telling me.”

“Of course.”

Scott scrubbed pointlessly at the mark on his shirt and headed out of his en-suite towards the hallway door, where he paused and compulsively tidied his hair.

He reached for the door handle then jumped out of his skin as a loud knock sounded inches from his face.

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TBC when Jeff can work out how to start the conversation ;)

[lovetaroandtaemin]

Kinktober 2024

Day 19: Cucking

Kim Hongjoong x Reader x Song Mingi Word Count: 2,154 THIS FIC IS NSFW, MINORS DNI!!! Warnings: Dom!Hongjoong x sub!Reader x sub!Mingi, Voyeurism and exhibitionism, masturbation, boob play, unprotected sex, implied round 2. A/N: If you would like to be added to my Kinktober taglist, you can send an ask, send a dm, or comment on any of my Kinktober-related posts with the username that you'd like tagged. Happy reading!

Taglist: @unlikelysublimekryptonite

Fic is under the cut.

You and Hongjoong sat together in the dorm’s living room, drinking wine and discussing your kinks. The rest of Ateez was out of the house, and you were grateful for the alone time with him to just hang out and talk. While you weren’t entirely sure when the topic of conversation shifted, you weren’t really upset about the change. You’d been dating Hongjoong for a while, but you still didn’t know much about what he did and didn’t like in bed. You had expected a bit more preparation before that particular conversation happened, but you’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t fun to just talk about it with no added anxiety or pressure.

“Alright, there’s one other thing I haven’t told you about,” Hongjoong said, “You have to promise you won’t judge me, though.”

“I promise, honey. What is it?”

“Cuckoldry.”

You were quiet for a minute, processing the new information. While you hadn’t tried anything like it before, you certainly were willing to give it a shot. Hongjoong interpreted your quietness as discomfort, though, quickly adding, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, no, it’s ok. I was just surprised. I’m down to try it as long as you’re sure you want to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” you asked with a smile.

Before the two of you could discuss further, however, Mingi stumbled through the door. He saw you and smiled, asking you how your day went. Whether it was the alcohol in your system or the way he smiled at you, you weren’t entirely sure, but you felt butterflies in your stomach. You loved Hongjoong dearly, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t think that Mingi was sexy. You briefly considered asking Hongjoong if he would be willing to indulge his newly revealed kink by watching you fuck Mingi, but you were hesitant. What if it ruined their friendship? What if it ruined your relationship?

You were snapped out of your thoughts by Mingi saying, “Hello, Earth to (Y/N).”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“How was your day?”

“Oh, it was good. Thanks.”

“Are you ok, baby?” Hongjoong asked.

“I’m ok, I promise,” you said, “Just a bit tired. Can we go to your room?”

“Sure baby. Good night Mingi.”

“Good night!”

Mingi could tell from the way that you acted around him that you liked him. While he would never come between you and Hongjoong, he had to admit that he found himself thinking about you a lot. Most of the time those thoughts were innocent, sure, but there were also a lot of times that they weren’t. This was one of those times that they weren’t. He considered dealing with the growing ache between his legs before he went to sleep, but he decided against it. He was too tired. Besides, he didn’t want to risk you or Hongjoong hearing him.

Hongjoong could tell from the way that Mingi looked at you that he liked you. Maybe it was the fact that he was tipsy and not thinking clearly, but he was certain that he saw you looking at Mingi the same way. He considered asking you about it once you were in his room, but before he could, you were out like a light. So, he decided to ask you about it another time instead. If he was right about your attraction to Mingi, and Mingi’s attraction to you, he wanted to ask both of you about trying out one of his biggest fantasies.

The next day, Hongjoong had the perfect opportunity to find out if his suspicions were correct. All of Ateez had a rare day off, and most of the group already had plans outside of the dorms. Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang had made plans to go to an arcade and were getting ready to leave. Seonghwa, Jongho, and Yunho had already left to go shopping and see a movie. That left you, Hongjoong, and Mingi at the dorms.

You and Hongjoong sat in the kitchen together, eating breakfast. After he finished, he asked, “Would you and Mingi be willing to talk about something with me?”

A million thoughts and anxieties ran through your head. For a moment, you wondered if he had noticed the way you sometimes stared at Mingi. Before you could panic too much, though, you took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m gonna go get Mingi, ok?”

“Ok. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When Hongjoong came back to the kitchen a few minutes later, with Mingi behind him, they both looked just as nervous as you felt. Hongjoong looked like he was about to do something he would regret, and Mingi looked like he’d gotten caught doing something that he shouldn’t have. You couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, as well as what was about to happen. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though, because Hongjoong said, “Tell (Y/N) what you were doing, Mingi.” The man in question mumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out, and Hongjoong said, “Speak up.” Mingi was completely silent this time, so your boyfriend turned to you and said, “He was moaning your name while he jerked off.”

“Shock” was not a strong enough word to describe how you were feeling. You had no idea how to respond to the new information, so you stayed silent. In fact, everyone was silent until Mingi looked at Hongjoong and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see or hear that. I thought that-”

“Be quiet,” Hongjoong said. “I’m not mad, I just had an idea that I wanted to talk to the two of you about. I was hesitant at first, but now I know that there might actually be some interest. What would you two say to indulging a certain fantasy of mine?”

You knew immediately what Hongjoong was referring to, but Mingi looked incredibly confused. So, you said, “He’s asking if you would be ok with him watching us fuck.”

“Oh, wow, ok. That is not what I was expecting,” Mingi said.

“If you don’t want to, we can pretend this conversation never happened,” Hongjoong said.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, are you sure?” Mingi asked.

“I’m sure,” Hongjoong replied.

“I guess we could give it a shot,” you said.

“Yeah, I mean as long as you’re sure, I’m down,” Mingi added.

“I’m going to clean up the breakfast mess. I want both of you to go to my room now. I also want both of you naked when I get there.” Hongjoong instructed, leaving no room for either of you to argue.

You and Mingi both went to Hongjoong’s room, nervous and excited for what was to come. You took a deep breath before you removed the pajamas you’d worn to bed the night before, while Mingi removed his own. Then, you sat on Hongjoong’s bed and waited for him to come in.

It felt like hours had passed before Hongjoong finally came in, though it was probably only a few minutes. When he saw you and Mingi sitting on his bed, completely bare and waiting for his next instructions, he had to admit that it greatly boosted his ego. He looked at Mingi and said, “First, ground rules. No marking of any kind, no tongue kissing, and absolutely no cumming inside her. Understood?”

“Understood,” Mingi said.

Hongjoong turned to you and said, “Do you understand, baby?” You nodded, and he said, “Good. You two can start whenever you’re ready."

Mingi hesitantly cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. When he felt your lips on his, though, all of the nerves he was feeling went away. He pulled away to check your face for signs of discomfort, and when he found none, he smiled and went back to kissing you.

Once the initial nervousness wore off, you found yourself melting into Mingi’s touch. You were so lost in the way his lips felt, you almost didn’t notice the sounds of something scraping against the floor. When you pulled away to see what it was, you found Hongjoong moving a chair closer to the bed. Once the chair was where he wanted it, he sat down.

You wanted to say something to Hongjoong, but your focus was quickly brought back to Mingi when he pinned you to the bed and kissed your neck before making his way down to your chest. As he sucked on your sensitive nipple, a loud moan left your lips. The tent in Hongjoong’s pants only got more noticeable as he watched the two of you. He hated to admit it, but he was already struggling to control himself.

Mingi continued to kiss and touch your breasts until you felt like you were going to explode. When you found yourself unable to take it anymore, you said, “Please just fuck me already.”

Mingi lifted his head from your chest and said, “Gladly, princess.” As he aligned his tip with your entrance, he found himself hesitating. He had thought about this moment for so long, but now that it was happening, he was unsure.

Hongjoong must have noticed Mingi’s hesitation, because he said, “Go ahead.”

Mingi didn’t need to be told twice after that, slowly moving his hips forward. When you gave the ok to start thrusting in and out, however, he showed much less restraint. At first, you tried to hold back your moans. Then you heard your boyfriend say, “Don’t be shy, baby. Let Mingi hear you the way I get to,” and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Once Mingi started fucking you, it didn’t take long for Hongjoong to discard his pants and boxers. As he watched the two of you, he started slowly stroking his cock, significantly more turned on than he originally thought he would be. He kind of wished that he was the one fucking you, but the sight of you so fucked out as Mingi thrusted in and out of you was something that he found himself really enjoying.

Mingi was amazed by how good you felt and how sexy you looked. He’d definitely fantasized about fucking you before, but none of his fantasies could compare to actually doing it. He knew then that he was going to struggle to last, especially since he’d already been so close to an orgasm before Hongjoong walked in on him.

The sight of your boyfriend jerking off while you got railed turned you on much more than you originally expected. When Hongjoong first asked you and Mingi about indulging this specific fantasy, you thought that you’d try it out but not actually go anywhere with it. When you heard the way Hongjoong moaned as he stroked his cock, however, you found yourself determined to give him a show. And that was exactly what you did.

You begged Mingi to fuck you harder, and he happily obliged. Loud moans fell from your lips as Mingi pounded into you, and he found it difficult to contain himself, to say the least. Especially when you brought your hand down to your pussy, playing with your clit in a desperate attempt to reach your high faster.

It didn’t take long at all for Mingi’s orgasm to approach. It still took longer than he thought it would, however, so he was grateful that he at least lasted for a little while. He warned you that he was close, and before you could even process his words he was pulling out, cum hitting your stomach as his climax washed over him.

Once Mingi came down from his high, he noticed you rubbing your clit faster, desperate to cum. Once he caught his breath, he replaced your hand with his own, kissing your neck as he played with your clit. Turns out, his mouth on you was all you needed, and you came with a series of moans and expletives leaving your mouth.

As you came down from your high, you felt Mingi pull away and leave the room. When he came back, you saw a wet cloth in his hand. He smiled when he saw how fucked out you were, and he started wiping the cum off of you. Once he was sure he had wiped everything away, he climbed back into bed and held you until he heard Hongjoong clear his throat. When he was sure you were ok, he stood up and got dressed, leaving you alone with Hongjoong once again.

Hongjoong smiled and got into bed with you, holding you close. You kissed him, and he groaned softly. That was when you remembered that he hadn’t finished yet. The idea of getting fucked by two different people in one day shouldn’t have turned you on, but it did. When you pulled away from the kiss, you leaned closer to his ear and whispered, “It’s your turn now, baby.”

God, you were insatiable, but Hongjoong loved it.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see what else I've written so far and the rest of what's planned, you can find my Kinktober masterlist here. If you'd like to read one of my non-Kinktober works, you can find my general masterlist here. If you'd like to see what I'm going to be working on once Kinktober is over, you can find my upcoming works here. If none of that interests you, or there's something specific you'd like to see, send a request via asks or dms!

Thank you again for reading, happy spooky season!

[imharnaannesta]

I’ve seen a lot of conversation about Anakin Skywalker and grooming and whether if someone just did something differently would Anakin have fallen. And they’ve sparked a thought of my own that I haven’t been able to put into words.

Which is that regardless of whether it would have changed anything I believe that the Jedi Order failed in their duty of care to Anakin.

Firstly, I believe that the second Qui-Gon, being a Jedi Master on a mission as a representative of the Jedi Order, takes Anakin from his mother the Order has a duty of care to Anakin. Like if Qui-Gon had taken Anakin and immediately gotten into a speeder crash that was his fault and killed them both I think the Jedi would have been liable in a wrongful death suit. Qui-Gon may have been acting outside of his mandate but I don’t believe that changes that the Order bears some responsibility for his actions. Being a Jedi Master gives him a level of authority and if he abused that authority or uses it for actions outside his mandate then the Order is responsible for responding appropriately.

When the Council decides he shouldn’t be trained the next steps should not have been letting Qui-Gon take him into an actual war zone. Whether they’re training him or not he’s a child and until they’ve made other arrangements they are responsible for his care. If Anakin had died on Naboo it would have been due to the negligence of the Order.

The responsible choice would have been to find Anakin a place to stay in the temple until arrangements could be made for him to either be returned to his mother or entrusted to a guardian. In either case it would be the responsibility of the Jedi to ensure to the best of their knowledge and ability that Anakin was being placed in a safe and stable environment. A member of their order took Anakin from one home, if they do not care for him they cannot just wash their hands of him without doing their due diligence.

Secondly, once Anakin is a member of the Order it is the responsibility of the Order to ensure that children in their care are safe. That is the responsibility of any person or organization with guardianship of children. And I cannot fathom a world in which it is responsible to allow an adult outside the order, who has taken a special interest in a specific child, to have enough access to that child to be considered the child’s friend. The only legitimate interest Palpatine could possibly have in Anakin is in his role liberating Naboo (a thing he shouldn’t have been involved in anyway) and that’s certainly not enough. And frankly even if Palpatine was interacting with Anakin under supervision it clearly wasn’t enough. Even later, they shouldn’t be sending a nineteen year old to have solo meetings with the Chancellor. Especially if the Chancellor has taken interest in that nineteen year old.

And before anyone argued that Palpatine made them… I don’t care. If they suspected Palpatine’s interest in Anakin was anything less than pure (and they should have because aging politicians have no legitimate reason to be getting close with random children) then they should have been fighting tooth and nail every step of the way. And the fact that they send him into the viper’s den more than once suggests they aren’t making that effort.

If Palpatine was abusing Anakin in ways other than emotional and arguably spiritual then would you still say the Jedi had to let Palpatine have access to him? Because what he does to Anakin is arguably worse in some ways given how it turns out.

Thirdly, Anakin returns from fighting in the outer rim, is ordered to begin spying on the Chancellor (who the Jedi Order allowed him to have enough contact with in his childhood to consider him a friend), and then shows the signs of struggling emotionally. They do not push him on this, Yoda asks him about it and gives very surface level advice. And then they allow the armed and very powerful veteran of a large scale interplanetary conflict to continue his spying mission and go on his merry way.

This is not to say I think Anakin’s fall is anyone’s fault but Palpatine’s and Anakin’s. But Anakin is coming out of a psychologically damaging environment and being put into an extremely difficult position emotionally by being asked to spy on Palpatine. He’s already emotionally volatile and he is extremely well trained, armed at all times, and capable of being extremely dangerous. As is any Jedi. And given those factors I think not pushing when he appears less stable than usual and potentially not forcing medical intervention is negligence.

This is also not to say that the Jedi somehow brought their fate onto themselves. The destruction of the Jedi Order is Palpatine’s doing and very little they could do outside of successfully killing him would have prevented it by the time it came to pass. Anakin’s involvement in it is also not ultimately the fault of the Jedi Order. But that doesn’t mean that they didn’t fail Anakin.

It might not have changed anything. It doesn’t mean that they are responsible for Anakin’s actions once he swears his allegiance to Palpatine. It doesn’t mean the Jedi are bad as a whole. Or even that any of them are bad people. But I do think they had a duty of care. And I do think they fell short.

And now I kind of want to write a fic where Padme successfully finds and frees Shmi and brings her to Naboo and Shmi sues the fuck out of the Jedi Order for the way Qui-Gon went about acquiring her son. And for allowing him to go with Qui-Gon to Naboo.

[standfucker]

Reacting to Your SH Scars - Monster Trio, Law, Kid, Killer

CW for SH, obviously. GN reader in all except Sanji’s somewhat implies a fem reader. Reader is short but it only comes up in Zoro's and Kid's sections. No established relationship, but implied feelings between everyone and the reader.

Ao3 link

Luffy

You had to wait forever for the others to finish dressing and leave the shared quarters so you could change as well, not wanting them to see your scars. You always had some excuse as to why you lagged behind, and they didn’t question it.

Your captain was less patient, however.

"Y/n! You done yet? Come on, let's go!" You hear him shout from outside the door.  You’re about to reply when the rubber man bursts into the room without warning.

You’re decent enough, having already donned shorts and a tank top, but you haven’t pulled your long sleeve shirt on yet, your scarred and cut arms plainly visible. You go rigid as his gaze falls to them.

Luffy doesn’t say anything, and you hastily pull on your shirt, but it’s too late.

“Sorry… I’m ready,” you mumble awkwardly.

Luffy still doesn’t speak. You don’t think he realizes what it is, that he doesn’t understand what he saw. That he’s naive.

So it takes you by surprise when he says softly, “Ace used to do that.”

“Ah…” You fidget with your hands, unsure of how to respond.

“But he got better.” Luffy stretches an arm across the room to wrap around your shoulders and pulls you off your feet, making you yelp as he reels you into a side hug. “You will, too. I know it.”

You weren’t going to say anything. You’re generally good at keeping your thoughts to yourself. But he sounds so certain, and you can’t help it, bitter pessimism flaring up like it always does. This time, it slips out. “What makes you so sure?”

Luffy blinks at you, entirely unphased. “I believe in you!” He says, and smiles like the sun, that bright and shining grin he always has that shows his genuine care and delight.

It catches you off guard. So much so that even though it’s been years since you’ve cried, you have to bite your tongue right then to keep yourself from tearing up. You want to believe him so badly.

“I… I see,” you manage to say. “Thanks, Captain.”

Luffy turns to walk out the room, pulling you along by the hand. He pauses before either of you exit, though, turning to face you again.

“Luffy?” You question, but a second later he’s leaped onto you, wrapping his stretched-out body around you multiple times, in a total, enveloping hug that only he can give.

He giggles, and despite everything, despite all the years of suffering and bad thoughts and hurting for no good reason, you find yourself laughing too.

Sticking around is worth it, you think, if you get to be with him and the crew.

Zoro

You and Zoro insult each other. Not in the way that he argues with Sanji–your dynamic is all teasing, neither of you ever serious in your ribbing.

“Keep up, Cyclops,” you taunt after you dispatch an enemy before he does. “I thought you trained with Mihawk?”

“How about you worry less about my speed, and more about what the adults are keeping on top of the fridge, Pipsqueak,” he shoots back with a grin.

And so it goes, until the time you’re hanging out with him on the ship. He’s spilled some of his sake, and the match you used to light your cigarette drops right into it, igniting the small puddle. You pull off your jacket in a panic and quickly smother the fire.

Zoro finally understands why you’ve never taken off your jacket in front of anyone, eyeing the scars and cuts that run up both arms.

He doesn’t comment on it. But from then on, he stops trading friendly insults, no longer responding when you call him stupid names or make fun of him for getting lost.

It messes with you, it makes you feel worse. You want him to treat you like he used to, desperately missing the banter.

You don’t know how to bring it up. You certainly won’t do it when the others are around. But finally you can’t stand it anymore, and you approach him one day when he’s exercising, the two of you alone on the bow of the ship.

“Why?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you in question. “You don’t talk back to me anymore. Ever since you saw me without my jacket. Why, Zoro?”

Zoro doesn’t stop his reps, glancing at you while he curls a massive weight. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” You pause and lower your voice. “It matters to me. I feel like… I mean…” It’s so hard to be candid in front of him when he’s so stoic. You suck in a nervous breath. “Are we not friends anymore?”

Zoro’s eyes widen. “Of course we are.”

“Then what is it?” You try to keep from sounding as upset as you feel, but maybe you don’t do a very good job, because Zoro stops and sets down the weight to give you his full attention.

He looks at you carefully, as if deciding how to phrase his thoughts. He’s not usually one to think before he speaks, but he does so this time.

“It’s not because I don’t like you,” he starts, scratching the back of his head. “It’s just… I can’t do it. I keep thinking, ‘what if I’m the cause one time?’ What if you do it because of me?”

“Oh,” you say quietly, then speak up, “oh, no. No! Zoro. It could never be you. Never.”

He doesn’t look convinced, so you keep going.

“You could never hurt me like that,” you admit sheepishly. “Not you. I’m only ever happy when we’re hanging out.”

“Not happy enough,” he mutters, his gaze settling onto your arm–first the left, then the right, remembering what he saw.

The words pierce you like one of his swords, and you feel yourself choke on nothing. “No,” you agree. “I guess not.

Zoro picks up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face before he approaches you. “Y/n. Is there anything I can do?”

You gape at him, not expecting the words, and certainly not expecting him to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“Anything at all,” he repeats. “I don’t want you feeling like that.”

You look down. You’ve been ill for so long, you don’t know if you’ll ever stop feeling that way. But… “Treat me like you used to,” you request. “Like I’m not fragile. I need to be treated like a normal person. I need to feel normal.”

Because if someone treated you like you were as sick as you really were, you think you’d throw yourself overboard. You’re not ready to confront that reality. Maybe you never will be. ‘I’m fine’ was your mantra, even when you were not. Especially when you were not.

Zoro nods. “I’ll try,” he says. “But can’t you talk to someone? I mean, no one else knows, right?”

“No one else knows,” you confirm. “And… Well, would you talk to anyone? Have you ever brought up anything that personal to anyone else?”

Zoro opens his mouth to reply, but when he says nothing, you know you got him.

“See?” You press. “It’s not that simple.”

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue, lowering his hand from your shoulder. “Shit. Alright, I get it. Damn it…”

“No need to curse about it. It’s not that big a deal.”

Zoro looks at you so sharply you flinch. “Yes it is? Are you crazy?”

You grimace. “I mean, probably? Given the whole, uh,” you raise your arms, “you know.”

He doesn’t laugh, but you weren’t expecting him to. You weren’t really joking, anyway.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to see it. I don’t want you to worry.”

Zoro looks at you again, and you can’t figure out his expression. “...I’m glad I saw,” he says after a moment.

“Uh,” you reply dumbly, caught off guard, “you are?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.

You want to ask why, but you don’t, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Surprisingly, it’s Zoro who breaks the silence first.

“You’re really happy when we hang out?” He asks, face still frustratingly neutral.

“Well, yeah. You’re my favorite,” you say without thinking, then stop and cover your face in embarrassment once your brain catches up. “Fuck.”

Zoro’s eyes widen, and then a smirk stretches across his face. “No need to curse about it.”

Your cheeks get hot, but you’re also flooded with relief, because he’s teasing you again. Maybe everything will be okay after all.

“Shut up,” you grumble. “Forget I said anything.”

Zoro reaches out and ruffles your hair, making you squawk and attempt to smack his arm away. He’s far too strong for you to move him, though.

“I’m going to finish training, and then I’ll come hang with you,” he says. “Though you can wait here if you want.”

You decide to join Zoro, exercising alongside him (with normal sized weights, thank you very much.) He clears his throat once you’ve worked up a sweat.

“You can take off your jacket, you know,” he says. “If you want. I’ve already seen your arms, so…”

You’re not really sure how comfortable you are with that, but it’s hot enough out that you relent, shrugging off your jacket. To his credit, Zoro doesn’t stare.

You thought it would be more awkward, but to your surprise, having your scars exposed without any judgment makes you feel normal. It’s almost euphoric. You smile to yourself, putting a little more effort into your workout.

The two of you drink together afterward, falling back into your routine of affectionate taunting. It’s like nothing has changed, or so you thought.

By the end of the following week, you realize telling Zoro that you felt better with him around might have been a mistake, because he almost never leaves you alone anymore. When the others are around, he doesn’t do anything differently. But he has a sixth sense for when you’re by yourself, appearing by your side right when you seem to need it. He even shows up when you wake up in the middle of the night and go to sit at the bow of the boat. It’s eerie.

You tell him he doesn’t have to do that, and he just shrugs it off. “I like being around you, so it’s fine,” he says casually, like the words don’t spear you through the heart.

The idiot. But you can’t really complain.

Sanji

It took you a while to get used to how touchy Sanji is. Hugs, pats on the shoulder, touches to your arm or side, even holding your hand sometimes–he never holds back.

You’re a bit touch-starved, so you don’t mind. So long as it never becomes inappropriate, you’re alright with it.

Sanji lets you help in the kitchen sometimes. He was reluctant at first, but you told him you needed something to do, needed to keep your hands busy. You didn’t tell him why. But he conceded, giving you simple tasks to complete.

Your sleeve gets dirty while you’re cutting fruit one evening. Sanji glances at it, damp with pineapple juice, and steps over to you, tutting.

“I know you don’t like taking off your jacket, but why don’t you at least roll up your sleeves?” He asks, and before you can respond, he’s reaching for your arm and pulling back the sleeve himself.

The moment he sees the cuts, he yanks his hand away like he’s been burned. Your freeze, throat going dry, unable to do anything but stare at him in shock.

He’s staring back. The two of you just stare at each other for a dumb minute. Fear crawls through your veins and twists up your heart. No one in the crew knew about your issue until then, and you have no idea what he’ll think of you. The anxiety makes you want to vomit. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Um,” you say, and it comes out much higher pitched than it’s supposed to.

“Y/n,” Sanji says quietly. “Who did that to you?”

You don’t know why he’s asking, because you think the answer is obvious. Those are clearly not battle scars. You’re pretty sure he knows, too. Maybe it’s just hard for him to believe–you do an excellent job masking, after all. Sharing that kind of thing got you in trouble in the past, so you only ever appear happy in front of other people, laughing and cracking jokes like you’re not crumbling inside. To any outsider, you’d seem like the most easygoing crewmate in the Straw Hats.

You set down the knife. “Uh… I did?”

His expression slowly morphs from shock into sadness, a frown etched into his features.

“Hey, no,” you say quickly, “don’t–don’t look at me like that. It’s okay, really.”

“But–” he starts to say, pausing when he sees the slight tremble in your form. You can’t help it–past experience tells you you’re about to get yelled at.

“I’m okay,” you say, as much to yourself as to him. “Everything is fine. So don’t…”

Sanji looks at you helplessly. “But… Why?”

You’re glad he’s not yelling at you, but somehow, that look is almost worse. You don’t want to be screamed at again, but you also don’t want him to feel bad for you, either. You do enough of that on your own.

“I don’t really have a good answer for that,” you swallow.

“Nothing at all?” He practically whispers.

You get it. Not having an explanation for something so drastic is probably stressful for him. You shrug, turning back to the pineapple you were slicing to finish what you started, unable to both bare your truth and look at him at the same time.

“Sometimes I do it because I need to hurt on the outside as much as I’m hurting on the inside,” you confess. “Sometimes I do it because I’m so numb that I want to feel something. Sometimes I do it because I can’t sleep. And sometimes, I do it just because I deserve it, I guess.”

When he doesn’t respond, you glance at him cautiously, breath catching when you see his somber expression. “Sanji… I told you not to look at me like that–”

Sanji wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. Normally you’d lean into it, but this time, you tense up. “Oi, be careful! I’m holding a sharp knife, here.”

“Y/n,” he says, ignoring your comment. “You don’t deserve it. I don’t know why you think you do, but you absolutely don’t.”

A lifetime of illness isn’t going to change from a single affirmation. You don’t agree with him, but you can appreciate the sentiment. It feels good to hear, at least.

“Thanks,” you sigh, setting down the knife but remaining tense. “I, uh. I’m grateful that you care…”

“It’s not just me,” Sanji says. “Anyone on this crew would say the same thing.”

“I’ve never doubted that,” you say. It’s not enough to stop your unfortunate coping method–you think all the love in the world couldn’t hold you back–but it’s still nice to know. You finally relax into his embrace, and he squeezes a little tighter.

Sanji pulls away a while later, and you’re startled to see him tearing up. “Sanji! Stop, you don’t–it’s fine! Please, stop!”

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he says, “I had no idea you were hurting. I can’t call myself a man…”

“Shut up! Of course you didn’t know. I put so much energy into hiding it.”

Sanji grabs your arms. “Then don’t. At least, not around me. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You bite your lip. “But…”

“But what, love?”

“You don’t think I’m weak?” You blurt out before you can help yourself, unintentionally revealing one of your deep-seated fears.

You never thought you’d be admitting any of the stuff you’ve told him in the past minute, but here you are. Something about the cook just draws it out of you.

“Oh, Y/n. Of course not.”

You look at him like you don’t believe him.

“You’re hurting that much, and you’re still with us,” Sanji says softly. “I think that makes you strong, more than anything.”

His look of genuine sincerity makes your lower lip tremble for a moment, but you squash down your feelings before you completely lose control.

“Okay,” you say shakily. “Thank you, Sanji.”

You ask him to keep your issue secret, which he promises on his honor to uphold.

The next time the two of you are alone, he asks you how you’re doing.

“Great,” you chirp automatically, smiling on reflex, before you pause, remembering what he told you that one night. You don’t have to hide it from me. “...Actually, uh… I don’t really feel all that good.”

“You want to talk about it?” Sanji offers.

“Not really.”

“You want a hug?”

“...Yeah.”

Sanji embraces you, tight and warm, and this time, you let yourself cry just a bit.

Law

Law sees them when he’s inspecting an injury you received in the Heart Pirates’ latest scuffle. You’ve managed to avoid it for so long, but eventually you have to take off your shirt in front of him, revealing your shoulder, and what you’ve done to it.

Law looks at you in a way he never has before, in a way that is hard to describe. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His stoic frown seems to deepen.

“It’s fine,” you say. “It’s been years. I don’t do that anymore.”

The frown turns to an expression of incredulousness. “Have you forgotten I’m a doctor?” You wince as he continues, “I know what a recent wound looks like. By the look of it, your newest cut was… twelve days ago.”

You’re shocked that he pinned the exact day. You gape at him for a moment before muttering, “I wouldn't call it a wound.”

You think the comment pisses him off, because he looks more than a little angry with you. “I can’t believe you just lied to my face.”

Oh. That’s what it was. You look away as guilt creeps in, unable to meet his eye. “I’m sorry, Captain. I just didn’t want to concern you with my problems.”

“I…” He pauses. “ I can’t… this was happening underneath my nose...”

You huff at the phrasing, not quite able to laugh at that moment. “No more ‘underneath your nose’ than any of the crew masturbating. It’s a private thing I do to relieve stress.”

“It’s not the same,” Law snaps.

Like you don’t know that. You know. You know it’s wrong. You don’t say anything. Law looks even more upset.

Then, he says, “I can hardly call myself a captain. All these years, and I had no idea you were hurting so much.”

You realize he’s mad at himself. You balk. “I’m… I’m not hurting.”

“Y/n, you cut yourself.”

For some reason, him saying it out loud makes it worse, your stomach churning as your mouth gets dry.

Silence hangs in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Finally, you say softly, “I’m sorry.”

The anger in his face drops for a moment. “Don’t apologize.”

Another awkward silence.

“What now?” You ask, afraid of the answer but unable to tolerate any more quiet.

Law’s expression softens. “From now on, you come talk to me when you’re not feeling well. That’s an order.”

“No. If I did that, I would be bothering you every day,” you argue.

“That’s fine.”

You frown. “But you’re not that type of doctor.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I will be. For you.”

For you. Your jaw drops slightly in disbelief. You knew he cared, but that… That was more than you felt you deserved.

“I don’t want to worry you,” you say weakly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please.” Law takes your hand in both of his, looking at you intensely. “Please talk to me. Don’t bottle it up like this.”

You stare at him in disbelief, because you’ve never heard Law beg for anything. It’s all overwhelming–him seeing this awful part of you, him caring so much he says that, the warmth of his hands around yours. “Captain…” You close your eyes for a moment to lessen the stimulation of the surrounding world. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

You look down at his hands holding yours, then up at him. “I promise. Next time, I’ll talk to you.” Then you look away again, because if you see him looking at you like that any longer, you think you might cry. And it’s been ages since you’ve last cried.

Law squeezes your hand, and the dam almost breaks. But you manage, barely, to stay composed.

You keep your promise, seeking him out as soon as the following day. You warned him it would be frequent, and when you approach him it’s with a feeling of guilt. But he reassures you, and he listens, just like he said he would.

Kid

Kid sees after he gets injured. The cut won’t stop bleeding, so you reluctantly take off one of your arm warmers to use as a tourniquet until you make it back to the ship.

Kid does a double take at your exposed arm. You feel your cheeks get hot, but say nothing while you finish tying the cloth tight.

After you finish, you step back to give him space, but Kid grabs your wrist, extending your arm so he can better look at it.

“Hey!” You protest, trying to pull away, but even in his non-metal hand, his grip is like iron. He doesn’t budge, openly staring at the scars and cuts.

“Kid!” You hiss, and he looks at you sharply for not calling him ‘Captain,’ “let go of me. And stop staring, damn it.”

He lets go. You pull your arm to your chest protectively. The two of you walk in silence, but you notice Kid won’t stop glaring at you.

“You got something to say?” You ask harshly, not meaning to snap but too nervous to speak calmly.

“Yeah, I do,” Kid bites back with equal pissiness. “Never do that shit again on my ship.”

The breath catches in your throat. “I can’t,” you admit before you can stop yourself.

“What was that?” He stops walking, turning to face you.

You stop too, tensing under the intensity of his full scrutiny. “...I can’t stop. I keep trying to quit, but… I have a bad day and I crave it, like a cigarette.”

Kid’s frown shows teeth. You feel yourself wither, but the admission keeps going, tumbling out of your mouth like a boulder rolling down a hill, unstoppable. “I won’t lie to you. It’s probably going to happen again. If that’s unacceptable, then I guess… I guess I have to leave the crew.” That thought hurts more than anything, and you bite your lip.

Kid’s hands ball into fists, his artificial hand screeching slightly with the grind of metal. “No one said you have to leave,” he says. “Nevermind. Just… Just keep trying to quit.”

He starts walking again. You have to trot to keep up, his legs that much longer than yours. Kid’s words repeat in your mind as you follow him, because coming from the prickly captain, it means more than he could possibly know. Keep trying, huh? Maybe… Maybe you will.

Your next concern is what you’ll do when you get back to the ship. Even if you run to where your spare clothes are stored, there’s a very good chance multiple crewmates will see your scars. They’re not exactly hard to spot.

Kid seems to read your mind, because right as you round the corner and the dock comes into view, he takes off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders without saying a word.

Your eyes widen, but he won’t look at you. With the difference in height between you, his coat is dragging on the ground, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Your heart clenches, but you don’t say anything either, knowing he’ll just snap if you point out his kindness. You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, your hands barely poking out of the too-long sleeves. The size difference between you makes you look a little ridiculous–you look like a pile of fabric with a head. You lift the bottom of his coat off the ground as you walk. It’s the least you can do.

(And, once you’re sure he’s not looking, you bury your nose into the fur of his coat and inhale deeply, taking comfort in his scent wrapped around you.)

Kid’s demeanor toward you changes after that. He’s far less harsh, he doesn’t raise his voice as often, and when he does, he quickly corrects himself. He’s generally just softer. You even notice that he appears around you more often and eventually realize that he’s checking on you. You never say anything, and you don’t really talk about it. But that’s okay.

His presence is enough.

Killer

Killer sees when he walks in on you in the shower. He leaves quickly with a muttered apology, and you don’t even realize he saw anything, at first. But after you dry off and get dressed, when you open the door, he’s standing there.

You only know he’s looking at you because his mask is tilted down in your direction. His bulk takes up the doorframe, and you wait for him to move. He doesn’t, as still as a gargoyle.

“Um… Killer?” You say. “If you want the shower, you have to move so I can get out…”

Killer reaches out, and at one point, you might have flinched. But you’ve known him so long, and Killer’s always been nice to you, even when you were new to the crew. You don’t feel any fear as one massive hand rests on your upper arm, where your scars are hiding under the sleeve of your shirt.

“What’s… oh, fuck,” you breathe as it dawns on you, “you saw it, didn’t you? Shit. Um. I, uh…”

Naturally, you can’t see his expression, and it’s kind of driving you crazy, because he’s not saying anything to show what he’s thinking, either. His hand around your arm squeezes slightly, and you swallow, not really knowing what that means.

“Killer…” You mumble. “I don’t… Uh… Look, just… You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Killer pulls you toward him suddenly, as easily as if you weigh nothing, and wraps his massive arms around you, crushing you against him in a hug.

You squeak in surprise and instinctively squirm, but he doesn’t let go, so you give up after a moment, going still.

He’s so warm, and the contact feels so good. Almost too good, because suddenly you think you might cry, and you realize you haven’t actually been hugged in years. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so safe.

“Killer,” you choke out around a lump in your throat. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to cry.”

“That’s okay,” he rumbles above you, deep voice soothing. “You can cry. You probably need it, yeah?”

Damn it, that does you in, your eyes stinging as tears well up. You don’t want to, but his gentle permission is like a catalyst, and you sink into him as the tears start to roll down your cheeks. He can’t see it from how your face is pressed against his chest, but when he hears your first sniffle, his arms tighten around you.

Even while you cry, you try to hold back, to keep from openly sobbing. It’s like Killer can sense that, because his mask presses against the top of your head almost affectionately, and the action just makes you break down further until you finally let go entirely. Your arms, at first hanging limply at your sides, raise so you can hug him back, fingers digging into his shirt.

Killer holds you for as long as you need it. You’re not sure how much time has passed. Eventually your sobs fade and the tears stop, but even then, Killer doesn’t let go until you do first.

“Killer…” You look up at him gratefully, and he wipes away your tears with his hand. “Thank you. You were right. I needed that, more than I’d like to admit. Thank you…”

He nods.

“And, um,” you swallow, “you won’t, uh…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Killer assures.

“Okay,” you sigh, now more than a little tired after the swell of emotion. “I know you don’t like keeping things from Kid, so… Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You’re about to step past him when Killer gently grabs your wrist. “Y/n.”

You turn back to him, your expression asking the question for you.

He bends over, lowering his head until his mask touches your forehead. His free hand takes your other wrist. “People care about you. The crew. Kid. Me. We all care.”

You might have cried again if you hadn’t just let it all out a minute ago, but it doesn’t stop your chest from getting tight. “I know.”

Killer’s thumbs rub circles on your arms for a minute before he lets you go, straightening to his full height.

You assume that would be the last time he holds you. It would have been good enough. Even though you kind of crave the physical attention after that, you’re satisfied with the one time. But Killer seeks you out again later in the week, waiting until the two of you are alone to envelop you in another hug. He does it again days later, and again after that. In fact, you realize that he takes the chance to do so whenever you two are in private. It doesn’t happen too often on the ship.

But when it does, well, how can you be upset?

Thanks so much for reading! I hope it made you feel better, if only a little. (Reblogs are much appreciated!)

[skyloftian-nutcase]

All right, here's my ask for the prompt event

"Link, you are loved."

Your choice of which one and how to show them that but it's one of my favorite things in your writing so here we go. ❤️

Congratulations on the milestone

The wind chimes hummed gently, their song carried in the breeze that generated it, warm and gentle and comforting. Crickets accompanied it softly, a lullaby to the world as night swaddled the sky in its midnight blue embrace.

Two figures moved silently in the grass, their footsteps lost in the symphony of the night, quiet with trained precision.

Impa inhaled slowly, taking in the scent of honeysuckle, guiding her ward along. Link’s hand was warm in her own, callouses a rough reminder of all the times he’d held a blade, making her stomach churn a moment as she redirected her mind from—

Link, staring at her, covered in blood, knife slipping out of his slack fingers as he collapsed—

Impa paused a moment, and Link stopped with her. He glanced at her, just barely moving his head, eyes tired, a glimpse of how worn thin his spirit truly was. Impa took a breath, asked for strength from Din, and walked ahead.

It had been a few days since everything. Link hadn’t been outside that entire time, and Impa had decided that needed to change. The boy needed fresh air. They both did.

Eventually, Impa found one of the many benches scattered across the castle gardens. It was one with a backing, which was nice, dark metalwork intricate in how each strand interwove with the other to form a patterned design. Impa guided Link gently, and the pair sat down.

Impa waited a moment before speaking, eyes roaming across the garden. She was looking for something specific - Link was quiet in his tastes, but she knew for certain that he loved a certain summer bug that came out at night. There didn’t seem to be any here quite yet, though. She half wondered if they should keep wandering in search of a better spot, but at this moment this seemed the best place to settle. Link didn’t have much energy to walk around a lot.

Pulling out cloth from the bag she’d brought along, she gently wrapped it around Link’s shoulders. It was light blue, soft, with frayed edges and different stitches mending bits and pieces of it. It was well worn, cared for with love and bloodied hands, treasured since it had been first gifted to the young Hero many years ago.

His mother’s scarf. Link had worn it into battle time and again during the war. He hadn’t touched it since the royal wedding. He’d grown into it over the years, using it more as a shawl when he’d been younger. It was still a bit wider than a scarf for his size, but it made it a great little blanket on an evening like this one when unfolded entirely.

Link tugged sluggishly at the ends, staring down at the cloth between his fingers. He bit his lip, the distance between his eyebrows closing.

“I remember when you were born,” Impa said quietly. “Your mother had been so excited to meet you. She told your father while she was in labor that she couldn’t wait to tell you how much she loved you.”

Link swallowed thickly, turning his face away from her.

“I’m sorry she never got the chance,” Impa continued, slowly resting her hand on his back. “And I am certainly no substitute for her. I haven’t been there for you when I had promised you I would be. But Link…”

Impa faltered here, her own voice getting caught in her tightening throat. It wobbled as she said his name, displaying a vulnerability she rarely showed anyone.

She remembered painfully during the war when Link had joked around, inebriated as he’d been, calling her “mother.” She remembered the way the little one always looked up to her when he’d been growing up in Kakariko, the way his eyes had immediately sought hers out after he’d completed his trial, seeking approval. She remembered the faith he’d placed in her during the war, the way he’d smiled at her when she’d hugged him at its end, just before everything had fallen apart.

She remembered the look on his face, broken and pleading and terrified, as he’d fallen to the ground, blood pouring from his throat.

Impa took a shaky breath, closing her eyes and grabbing firmly to her resolve. “Link, you are loved. By so many. The people of Hyrule adore you, the Sheikah are proud of you, and I…”

A hiccup threatened to escape, and she held her breath to stop it, eventually looking at the teenager as he slowly returned his attention to her. Whatever tears that had been trying to leave him before had dried, emotions buried under a blanket of bone deep exhaustion. His lip no longer trembled, eyebrows heavy over his eyes, red eyes dull and seeming to look beyond her.

Impa felt her heart break once more, but it also spurred her to speak again, and she moved her hand from his back to his cheek, making him look at her. “I love you dearly, Link. And I… I will take care of you. All I ask is that you… you live. Please, love. If for nothing or no one else, for me. Just… just live.”

Link’s eyes roamed from whatever void they were lost in, looking at her, questioning her words, debating them. He looked worn thin all of a sudden, empty at the mere thought of listening to her words, and for a heart stopping moment, she was afraid she couldn’t reach him anymore.

But then his eyes watered, and he looked down to avoid her gaze, leaning towards her just a hair, a subtle, pleading request.

Impa pulled him to her in an instant, holding him tightly. She felt him go boneless under her touch, trembling, her shirt steadily staining with warm tears. He didn’t have the energy for outright sobs, spirit utterly depleted, but occasionally she’d feel a little sniffle shake his body. She ran her hand through his hair, detangling little knots as she went, disregarding the brittleness of it, the split ends that indicated how little he’d been taking care of himself lately.

The wind chimes continued their gentle serenade. As Impa continued to soothe the teenager, light caught her eye, and she finally saw what she’d been hoping to find by bringing him out here.

Impa shifted, repositioning Link with her, letting him scoot closer but turn his head so he could look out at the garden. Slowly, the environment started to glow gently, fireflies filling the space like silent fairies. Link’s eyes never left the sight, tears quietly falling down his cheeks, bathed in the warm light of the little creatures he used to seek out at night.

Impa kissed his head, closing her eyes and saying a prayer, begging for blessing and mercy on the poor child. She felt her resolve strengthen as Link let her hold him, as he weakly lifted a hand to grip her wrist in return.

The Sheikah chief took a deep breath. It would get better. He would get better. She’d make sure of it.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Four

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Injury, Blood?

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.0k

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Your shoulder stings from where Shanks presses an alcohol-soaked rag against your torn skin. He’s right—adrenaline had kept you from feeling the pain. Now your shoulder throbs, consuming almost all of your attention as you hunch in place and bite down on your lip. As much as it stings, you can feel a difference in the way he touches your wound. No one back at Bonn Manor has ever been this gentle with you.

“I’m surprised by how much dirt you have packed into this scrape,” Shanks murmurs to himself, wondering how you managed to hurt yourself in such a way where he is literally wiping away embedded dirt.

“I fell,” you meekly reply, twisting your hands together in front of you.

“You fell,” he repeats with an incredulous snort.

“I was in a hurry,” you snip back in your own defense. “It was also in the woods. I couldn’t exactly leave through the front gates. My feet are probably worse,” you add thoughtfully, pulling up the skirts to reveal your cut-riddled dirty feet. Shanks pauses his dabbing and leans over to take a glance at your feet. Ouch.

“Did you run the whole way without shoes?”

“Well, I wasn’t about to run in heels. I would not have gotten very far,” you shrug your shoulders, accepting your torn-up feet as a cost you were willing to take for freedom. It is quiet the rest of the time as Shanks places a bandage on your shoulder to keep it clean.

“No more running around without shoes, certainly not on my ship. You could lose a toe or worse,” he tells you, standing up and packing away the medical supplies. “In the meantime, you can change into something a little more comfortable than a wedding dress and join us on deck when you’re ready.” You speak up before he leaves.

“Captain?” Shanks pauses in the doorway to his cabin, eyebrow raised. You purse your lips and wring your fingers together. “Thank you.”

“I’m not one to leave a lady in distress,” Shanks replies kindly before closing the door behind him. You sit quietly for a few moments, taking in the reality that you really have gotten away from your mother and her plans for you. You aren’t a marionette anymore. Taking a deep breath, you reach over your shoulder and feel the bandage covering your wound.

You’ve never felt a touch as light as his.

Don’t be stupid or romantic, Linaria. The harsh touch of your mother and her maids won’t force you to latch onto the first gentle touch you feel after leaving Bonn Manor. But that also doesn’t mean that Shanks isn’t someone you can rely on.

“This is so frustrating,” you softly moan to yourself, pushing your fingers through your messy lavender locks. “I don’t know anything about living outside the life of a lady.” That isn’t going to stop you from learning, because with freedom comes the liberty to learn whatever you wish. Taking another deep breath, you rise to your aching feet and stride toward the clothes Shanks has left.

Excitement brews within your veins at the idea of wearing pants. You haven’t ever been allowed to wear such clothes because it is unbecoming of a lady—at least that is what your mother said. Your mother’s word is no longer law in your world. You’ll make your own rules, and the first will be that pants are allowed. Fingers plucking the tucked tail of the corset strings, you pull it out and search for the knot. Finding it, you begin working on unraveling the string.

Only the more you tug at the tightly tied knot keeping you trapped in your wedding dress, the less it seems to want to unravel. This frustrates you and makes your fingers work that much harder. But no matter how your fingers whittle away at the knot, you cannot get it to loosen up! A cry of frustration departs from your lips because you feel like you have finally gotten your freedom but are still trapped by your mother! Yanking on the knot until the string cuts into your fingers, you are soon reduced to tears as reality becomes clear.

Your mother still has you trapped in her gilded cage.

You’ve sat yourself down in a corner of the cabin, knees pulled to your chest while you cry off the makeup painted on your face. It seems that every time you manage to break free, your mother has some invisible chain around you to drag you back to her. She is positively inescapable. So you just stay huddled in place and think about all the events in your life that have led up to you fleeing from your own marriage.

Childhood had been smothered by lessons and etiquette, and cloaked in the finest of fabrics. Teenage years had been all about tea parties and socials with the elders of the community. It had been quite boring. Then at eighteen, your bearable life had been wrecked by the knowledge that you would have to marry a greedy man who had no interest in the common people or doing the right thing. You really had just been a marionette your whole life, strings directing you through each life event in a way that your mother saw fit.

“I am so useless,” you whisper to yourself, pushing your fingers into your hair. Several decorative pins clank against your nails, and you immediately grab them and rip them out. Pain flickers across your scalp, but that doesn’t deter you from chucking the expensive little pins across the room. They clatter and skitter across the worn wood, shimmering and reflecting beneath the stark contrast of their surroundings.

Hair hanging in a limp braided mess around your bare shoulders, you drop your head to your knees and press your wet eyes into your legs. Your lack of sleep begins to catch up to you, and drowsiness sets in. With how tightly tied your corset strings are, you aren’t going to change out of it anytime soon. But even with the confines of your outfit holding you tight, you slip into a much-needed sleep.

The Red Haired Pirates have been sailing for most of the day on smooth waters and good wind. Their day on the water has been uneventful and mundane at best, but they haven’t heard or seen hide nor lavender hair of you.

“Captain?” Benn speaks from where he is at the wheel of the ship. Shanks glances up from the book he is reading. “Heard anything from our lady guest? Haven’t seen even a single strand of lavender hair all day.”

Shanks frowns at the thought. He and the crew have intentionally left you alone in his cabin, allowing you to choose when you want to come out. You certainly looked spooked and distressed. He and his crew are pirates, not heathens. But it is odd that you haven’t emerged from his cabin, especially after Shanks has noticed how much you seem to enjoy the breeze and just looking at the ocean.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she fell asleep,” Shanks speaks, closing his book and standing up. “Lucky, can you fix a plate for our guest?”

Lucky Roux holds up the giant rack of meat in his hand and waves it around.

“You got it, Capt’n!” he grins before getting to work. While the cook prepares a tray of dinner for you, Shanks walks over to his first mate.

“We gonna expect trouble from our guest?” Benn asks, hands lightly resting on the wheel. Shanks arches an eyebrow briefly.

“From our guest? No, I don’t think so. Can’t say the same for the Commodore. Collins isn’t known to let those who scorn him get away scot-free. Let alone the woman he planned on marrying.”

“So we drop her off on our next stop?” They could do that. It would probably save Shanks and his crew a lot of headaches with the marines, if they ever manage to catch up. But the red-haired pirate can’t, in good conscience, just drop you off at some random island to fend for yourself. It is a thought that rubs him the wrong way.

“I think that is something I’ll have to think about,” Shanks replies, much on his mind regarding your situation. “But given Collins' reputation, it would probably be best to get her far from this quadrant of the sea.” Bride-napping, that is not something he thought he’d ever add to his resume of pirating. Lucky Roux trots up to Shanks, tray in hand, and perhaps overflowing with food.

“Didn’t know what the lady liked, so I fixed her a little bit of everything.” Lucky Roux speaks, holding out the tray. “Hopefully she likes somethin’.”

“I have a feeling she’ll be thankful just for the thought,” Shanks muses, taking the tray in hand. Moving towards the cabin of the ship, Shanks ducks inside to see Yasopp still on guard, tossing one of his lead shots in the air and catching it.

“Haven’t heard a peep,” Yasopp speaks, tossing the lead shot up and catching it over and over.

“Doesn’t surprise me; she looked like a mere breeze would knock her over,” Shanks replies as Yasopp opens the door to his cabin. “Go get some food; Lucky just finished.” The sharpshooter grins and licks his lips, food now on the brain. He disappears in a flash, leaving Shanks to shake his head before proceeding further into his room. The first thing he notices is the clothes he set out hours earlier, untouched. That brings a frown to his lips.

You had been more than happy to have something other than your large wedding dress to wear. Had gazed at the clothes with an overeager look that made your features glow. So why had you not changed? Placing the tray of food on the table, Shanks looks for where you have hidden yourself. It isn’t hard, for you still wear your wedding dress, and the luxurious silk and lace fabric sticks out like a sore thumb in his room. You’ve tucked yourself in a tight ball and huddled against a corner of the room.

“Madam—”

“This dress is a prison,” you softly cut him off, face lifting from your knees. One look at your puffy eyes and smeared makeup makes it clear that you’ve been crying. “It doesn’t matter how far I run, I’m still trapped in her cage.”

Moving closer, Shanks slowly crouches down near you and examines your body language. Every muscle in your body is taut with tension, rigid and unyielding. Fear no longer rules within your eyes, but devastation has taken root fueled by hopelessness. Even now, you look on the verge of tears.

“You are only trapped in her prison if you let yourself be.” Shanks tells you before holding out his hand. “You are on my ship, free to do what you want; that includes getting out of that uncomfortable-looking wedding dress.”

“The knot won’t untie,” you demurely point out, fingers scraping against the skirt of your dress. Shanks raises an eyebrow as his lips quirk. You really think that would hinder you? Hinder him?

“I may be one-armed, madam, but I am still quite proficient.” The frankness within his eyes combined with his playfully insulted look upon his face makes you giggle softly.

“I hardly noticed that… but you are welcome to try. I can’t undo it.” Shanks effortlessly pulls you to your feet and leads you away from the corner you’ve spent the day huddled in. Holding your arms against your chest, you force yourself to breathe evenly as Shanks moves to stand behind you.

You have never had a man this close to you, let alone one you didn’t know. Nor have you ever had a man’s touch so close to your skin. But Shanks’ fingers are light and warm as he inspects the knot of your corset strings. Whoever tied these strings tied them in a way that was not meant to be easily undone.

“Are you partial to this dress?” Shanks asks you, already knowing your answer but still insisting on asking. You can’t help but snort indignantly.

“Most certainly not.” With that answer, Shanks reaches down and grabs his small knife, flipping it out and easily slicing through the knot. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you the moment your corset finally loosens up. Returning his knife to its place at his hip, Shanks wiggles his fingers up through the criss-cross of corset strings to loosen them up.

He has every intention of leaving you be to have privacy to change… but the moment your corset loosens up enough to reveal the skin of your back, his attention zeroes in on the discoloration hidden behind boned satin fabric. Brows furrowing, Shanks investigates further, finding that this brief glimpse of bruising is only the beginning of a mottling of beaten skin. He pulls back bone and silk down and clenches his jaw.

While you are the picture of perfection, beneath the layers of fabric hides the true picture of your life. The only way a woman like you could have any type of injury like this is if someone had beaten you. There is a mixture of healing bruises layered across your skin. Greens, purples, dark blues… Shanks thought he had seen all variations of bruising, but this certainly shocks him. You shiver at his light touch and can feel the visceral anger coming from the man standing behind you.

“Today wasn’t the first time I ran,” you supply in explanation. Shanks controls his anger and steps back from you. “It was my last.”

“Then I am glad I decided to bride-nap you,” his voice is soft, but even you can pick up on the tension within. Even his eyes look stormy.

“Is it bride-napping if I asked you for passage?” you counter, relief that you’ve finally been released from your confines slowly warming the blood in your veins. That makes a small chuckle bloom from Shanks' lips.

“Perhaps not,” he answers before looking down at your wedding dress one last time. It is droopy on your body, and he can see more of your skin, which looks rather soft and silky. He should probably leave you to change. “I brought dinner; Lucky Roux is a fine cook. He didn’t know what you would like, so he made you several different options.” You look at the tray that is overflowing with options. You’ve never had that much food offered to you at one time before!

“That was kind of him, thank you,” you murmur. Shanks continues.

“You are welcome to stay here and eat alone. If you are up to it, me and the crew will be on the main deck having a drink. You are welcome to join. They’re good men; you have nothing to fear from them.”

“I have experience in recognizing monsters,” you reply, and your words drag at Shanks' heart because of the implications. Hiding his frown, Shanks backs out of his room to give you time to actually change out of your dress. You remain in place for a moment, thinking over your circumstances. You trust Shanks' words, and that his men are good men, but you also don’t have nearly enough life experience to venture off on your own. “One day at a time, Linaria. One day at a time.”

Tugging at the neckline of your dress, you quickly have it slipping free from your body. With it pooling around your feet, you glance at the clothes Shanks has given you and reach for them. The fabric is far from as luxurious as what you are used to, but beneath your fingertips, it feels durable. Durable is practical. You eagerly change, marveling at how free it feels to wear pants. They, of course, don’t exactly fit you, and you have to roll the hem of the pants, but they feel comfortable against your skin.

Untangling your hair, you run your fingers through your lavender locks until they are mostly knot-free. You hate the length, and it would be far from practical to keep it so long now that you are free… so you begin carefully braiding it. With your hair in a simple braid, you search Shanks' room for something sharp and easily find a knife. Moving to the small mirror in the room, you pull the braid you have made out and hold the knife against the strands. With a decisive movement, you slice through your hair and immediately feel a release in burden as lavender falls onto your wrist.

Of course, your quick hack job looks terrible and uneven, but having your hair resting around your shoulders rather than at your tailbone is liberating. Returning the knife to where you found it, you gather your dress and fold it up before laying your cut braid on it. You are going to leave that life behind, and hopefully never have to live a life like it ever again. Your stomach grumbles and aches, demanding food after having been teased by the tray. Glancing at the tray, you think about Shanks' offer.

You really should get to know the people who offered an out.

So you pick up the tray and move to the door. Exiting the cabin, you hear the chatter of men and can smell the scent of dinner. Following the sound, you emerge on the main deck. Only rather than stare wide-eyed at the array of men, your eyes are drawn upwards to the Jolly Roger flapping in the breeze. Pirates. You almost want to laugh, nearly start to. The voices go quiet as the red-haired pirates stare at you, waiting for your reaction.

“The complete and utter hypocrisy,” you mutter to yourself before moving forward and planting your bottom on a barrel. It is still quiet, and looking up, you meet the careful gazes of the pirates. “If there are bad marines, then there are good pirates.” You speak, your eyes finally settling on Shanks. “I am Linaria Bonn, and it is lovely to meet you.”

Date Published: 11/28/23

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[cevansbrat0007]

The Green Light

Summary: Full Story! Andy is over the moon when you finally get the green light to be intimate again after the birth of your babies. But how do you explain to him that you're not quite comfortable with your post-pregnancy body just yet? Check out the sequel: The Green Light Afterglow.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Light Smut, Daddy Kink, Insecure Reader, Discussions of Post-Pregnancy Body, Discussions of Intimacy, Slight Lactation Kink Reference, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I know this took a while. Thank you all for your patience and I sincerely hope it's okay. Prompt courtesy of an anonymous reader. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. Warnings subject to change. All mistakes are my own. Please let me know your thoughts!

___

“Well, I’ve gotta tell you, my dear, by all appearances you’ve healed just fine.” You let out a sigh as Dr. Wilson, your OBGYN, removes the speculum. God, how you hated that thing. “You can go ahead and sit up.” You watch as he removes his gloves to make some notes on his mobile workstation. “Everything looks good. How have you been feeling lately? Raising four kids is no easy feat, especially when half of them are newborns.”

“Andy and I try to split the shifts as best we can. If he’s helping with the twins then I’ve got the older girls, and vice versa.”

“That’s good. One thing I’ve always liked about the two of you is that you believe in teamwork. You’d be surprised at how many couples don’t.” He makes a few more notes. “And how many hours of sleep would you say you get a night? Ballpark it for me if you can.”

“Um…” You have to think about that one. “Maybe five. Yeah, I would say about five hours a night. And I can occasionally squeeze in a quick nap during the day when the twins are sleeping. It doesn’t happen all of the time, but it’s better than nothing.”

The older man nods his head. “And how are Bianca and Katrina adjusting to the new additions? And by the way, don’t forget that you promised to show me pictures, because I certainly haven’t.” Dr. Wilson looks up from his computer and offers you a warm smile.

“I haven’t forgotten, don’t worry.” You tell him with a chuckle. “And they’re okay. Bianca loves to hold them all the time. And Katrina is enjoying being a big sister – she’s very helpful. She wants to play with them so bad, but she doesn’t quite get that they’re still a little too young.”

“I see. And is she still threatening to put A.J. outside?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he struggles not to laugh just like he had when you’d first relayed your three-year-old’s initial reaction to your pregnancy reveal. 

“Oh, God. She’s only made that threat twice I think since we’ve brought them home. Once when he wouldn’t stop crying. And then again when she wanted to cuddle with me while I was in the middle of a feeding. Other than that, she’s been fine. He’s growing on her.” 

“Glad to hear it.” He mutters. “That’s usually how it goes. Give it a few years, and I bet they’ll be the best of friends.”

God, you sure hoped so. Just last night you had a dream about finding your little boy out in the woods. Except he’d somehow grown a beard, making him look like a baby mountain man. And, of course, he had been clutching that damn blankie too! 

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that I’m officially giving you the all-clear to resume any and all physical activity. If you have any concerns after we’re done here, you know I’m only a phone call away.”

Thank goodness! You couldn’t wait to start working out again. You were tired of rocking stretchy pants and maternity clothes. 

Your phone buzzes in your purse as Dr. Wilson finishes up whatever else he’s typing. It goes on for a while before it finally stops, only to resume buzzing seconds later. 

If you were a betting woman, and you were, you’d put your money on the person behind all the constant buzzing being none other than your husband, Andrew. You knew he’d been waiting for this day. Your man had been extra giddy this morning. So much in fact that you could’ve sworn he’d clicked his heels on his way out the door.

___

Twenty Minutes Later…

You wait to check your phone until after your appointment is over and you're safely back in your car. According to your phone, you have two missed calls from Andy Bear, along with three new texts.  

Andy Bear: Hey, baby girl. How’d the appointment go? Did we get the all clear?

Andy Bear: Can you answer your phone, please? I want to hear your sweet voice when you tell me the good news.

Andy Bear: C'mon! You’ve got me dancing on pins and needles right now. Call me.

You shake your head and then dial your man. He answers on the second ring. 

“There you are, sweetness! I was starting to get worried there for a moment.” The genuine concern in his voice has you playfully rolling your eyes. 

“Relax, Andy. Sometimes these appointments can take a while. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong, Dr. Wilson is just being thorough.” You check your appearance in the rearview mirror, noting that the bags under your eyes seem to look better than they have in days. “That’s part of the reason he’s been my OBGYN for so long, because he’s good at what he does.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s great.” You know he's not being dismissive on purpose, it’s just that he’s chomping at the bit to hear one key piece of information. “How’s your little body? Did we get the green light?”

Ahh, and there it was. Sometimes Andrew Barber was like a dog with a fucking bone. And only your husband would refer to your body as being “little” when you were still walking around sporting maternity wear.  

“I’ve been cleared for all physical activity. Which means I can finally start working out again and –”

“Fuck, yeah we did!” He cheers into the receiver, loud enough to make you wince. “Alright, baby girl, that settles it. BiBi and KitCat are going to my sister’s for a sleepover and the twins will stay at grandma’s. Meanwhile, I’m gonna leave the office early to pick us up some dinner. How about we celebrate with some surf and turf?”

“Oh my god, Andrew! We are not leaving our two newborns at your mother’s house for the night. That’s too much!”

“What if she already said yes?” You have no doubt that your unrepentant husband is smiling hard enough to crack a tooth right about now. 

“You didn’t.” Your head drops to the steering wheel with a light thunk. 

“Oh, I did.” The sound of an eager chuckle spills across the other line. “Ma and Bill are happy to keep Rory and Junior. She said you left them with enough formula and diapers to get ‘em through and that she, and I quote, would be positively heartbroken if you deprived her of time with her precious new grandchildren.”  

“Andy…I don’t know…” As tempting as the thought of a night of uninterrupted slumber was, you were on the fence about being away from your precious babies for that long. 

RoRo needed to be rocked to sleep, while A.J. needed you to pat his little tush and bounce him just so. And they both needed approximately 1,375 kisses every five minutes, otherwise they got fussy. 

“You must really want a good night’s sleep, huh, Big Man?”

“Baby, when I get my hands on you, I promise that sleeping will be the last thing on both of our minds. Now, I’ve gotta run. But I’ll see you home around 4:00pm.”

“Andy…” 

How did you tell your husband that you weren’t really feeling your post-pregnancy body right now? You’d even taken to changing in the bathroom lately. Thankfully he hadn’t seemed to notice that increasingly bad habit of yours…

At least not yet. But it was only a matter of time.

“Hush, sweetness. You just let Daddy take care of everything, okay? I’ve been dreaming of this day for almost two months now, and I plan to take my time loving all over every inch of your delectable body. And what’s more, you’re going to let me.” You can practically feel your nipples pebbling beneath the fabric of your shirt. 

God, how did he always manage to sound so sexy when he was telling you what to do? Handsome ass buttface!

“I’ve gotta head into this meeting, but in the meantime, get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” You respond with a resigned sigh. “I…I guess I’ll see you when you get home then.”

“Damn right. Can’t wait to lose myself between those luscious thighs.” Andy rasps, with a slightly roughened edge to his tone. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had a taste…” 

Oh good God…and it had been way too long since you had to deal with beard burn. At this point, you’d almost forgotten about what it felt like.

“Bye, Andy Bear.”

"Goodbye, little love.”

The call ends, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Putting the car in drive, you pull out of the parking lot and start thinking of every argument you could possibly make to talk your sweet, although slightly ogreish, husband out of sexy times and into sleepy times. But there was also something that told you that might not work.

Which meant it was time to come up with a Plan B. And while you were at it, probably a Plan C too.

___

Later That Afternoon...

“This makes me look like an apple with legs.”

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror trying your best not to give in to the overwhelming feeling of defeat. At this point, you’d tried on multiple sets of lingerie – all different styles, cuts, and colors. 

And this one had been the only thing that seemed to look halfway decent.

Well, the good news was that your ass was still there. But the bad news? So was your stomach. 

“Swear to God…I’m gonna find an ocean and throw myself in it.” You mutter as you stare at your reflection. You let out a resigned sigh as you do a little spin. “Knowing my ass can’t swim.” You gently smoosh your hand against your tummy in an attempt to flatten it. 

To be fair, you’d only given birth two months ago and the lingerie you’d purchased was kind of slimming so…

Maybe you were being too hard on yourself. Or, maybe it was still worth trying to convince your husband to settle for an evening filled with dinner and cuddles. You really weren’t in the mood to take your clothes off in front of him at the moment. 

Hell, who were you kidding? You could walk around wearing nothing but fishnets and tinfoil and the man would still find a reason to be into you. 

Sometimes your loving husband was a man of the hopeless variety. 

Plus, while Andrew Barber wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, he would definitely do everything in his power to persuade you. And he could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it. 

Yeah. You were probably fucked.

You take a deep breath and run your fingers through your thick hair, loosening and fluffing your curls. Although Andy would be home any minute, there was still time to throw on sweats and a t-shirt or something. 

“Fuck!” You hiss as your eyes well and your bottom lip begins to tremble. The other problem was that, while you were convinced that you needed more time, you also wanted to make your husband happy. But how could you when you could barely stomach the idea of taking off your clothes in front of him.

Just last week, some asshole at your favorite smoothie bar had the nerve to ask how far along you were – his intrusive gaze lingering on your post-baby body. His audacity had caught you so off guard that you were pretty sure that you’d given some unintelligible answer before snatching your drink and running towards the nearest exit. 

That one little interaction had practically eviscerated what little bit of self-confidence you had left. And while you hadn’t made specific mention of it to Andy, you might end up doing so – if only to plead your case. 

Which was that you were simply too large right now to be sexy, let alone feel attractive. Your skin was too loose, your stretch marks too prominent. And not only that, you were pretty sure that the only reason Andy wanted you right now was because he hadn’t gotten any in a couple of months. 

Once his itch had been sufficiently scratched, the haze would clear and then your husband would see your body for what it was. He would understand your need to undress behind closed doors, without an audience. And then he would give you however much time you needed to get yourself back into some semblance of shape. 

A lone tear slips down your cheek, which only serves to piss you off more. And although you’re quick to dash it away, another one is soon to follow. The last thing you needed for Andrew to notice you’d been crying. There was no need for both of you to feel bad about the state of things, you know?

With one last shake of your head you decide to throw on your robe and head downstairs to greet your man. 

“Let’s get this shit over with.”

___

Ten Minutes Later…

“Baby?” Your husband calls out as he enters the house from the garage. “Baby, I’m home! Where are you?”

“Kitchen!” You go back to busying yourself folding your brand new set of dish towels you’d purchased from Bed, Bath, & Beyond. That store was one of your happy places, second only to Target and Disney World. It also helped that there was one located almost directly across the street from the mall you’d stopped at as well.

Your pulse quickens as you hear him approach, his rapidly falling footsteps coming closer by the second.

“Ah, I found you.” Andy rounds the corner, grinning from ear to ear. “Hi, my gorgeous girl.” His smile somehow grows impossibly wider. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”  

“Well, here I am.” You cast him a demure glance over your shoulder. “Although, I’m afraid I’m probably not much to look at.” Noticing his hands are surprisingly empty, you attempt to change the subject. “I thought you were gonna stop and grab dinner on the way?” 

“I was.” He cocks his hip against the kitchen counter as loosens his tie. “But since you didn’t seem all that keen on the idea of surf and turf this morning I figured I’d hold off. Maybe see how we were feeling later this evening.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh? Is that all my baby has to say about that?” Andy tosses his tie onto the counter before unfastening the top three buttons of his light blue dress shirt. “Just oh?” 

“Uh, yeah. How was your day?” You were quickly running out of towels to unfold and refold. If you kept it up you were going to start looking like a lunatic.

“Too long for a man who’s been missing his wife the way I have.” His sensual purr is enough to make you weak in the knees. “It was fucking excruciating, Baby Girl.” 

Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye – fuck! Your dumbass just made fucking eye contact!

Your throat suddenly goes dry as the weight of his intense gaze threatens to overwhelm you. Andrew Barber always seemed to have this way about him. Only he had the power to unravel you in this manner. 

It was truly a skill that was his alone. But on days like today, it was also a major nuisance.   

“Come here.” The gentleness of his tone softens the command.

“Umm…” Instead of doing as you’re told you decide to shove those stupid towels you’ve been preoccupied with into a drawer. Which also happens to be the wrong drawer. Kitchen linens didn’t belong with the cutting boards. Anybody with some sense could see that!   

“Sweetheart…” Andy’s voice drops another octave. “Stop fussing with those and come here already. I’d really like to hold my wife.” His earnest plea has your eyes welling with tears.

“Yeah. Okay.” You sniffle out, before dropping the towel and making a headlong dash into his waiting embrace. He wraps his brawny arms around you then, tucking his chin into your thick mane of glossy curls.

The two of you stand there without moving. Holding each other close as your hearts beat in time with one another. Andy’s hand comes to rest on your lower back, his palm slowly rubbing in small, soothing circles. 

“What’s wrong, princess?” He hugs even tighter as you gently nuzzle your face against his chest, effectively wiping off what little bit of makeup you’d managed to apply earlier. “Tell me, please.”

Aww. Your sweet Ogre had even said “please”. 

“Nothing.” Which was also code for everything. 

Andy steps back to tenderly grip your chin, his thumb lightly smoothing across your bottom lip. “You know Daddy doesn’t like it when you lie.” And then he leans in to brush his mouth over your own. “Especially when you’re upset.”

“I know.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “And I’m fine. I just, um…” You go to pull away, surprised when he actually lets you. “I went and did a little shopping today. You know…cuz’ we got the green light. But – well, not the robe. Th–that isn’t new. But once I got it home and really looked at it, I um…” You throw up your hands as everything comes tumbling out in one jumbled mess.

“It just doesn’t fit right, okay? It probably didn’t even fit properly at the boutique when I tried it on and I just didn’t notice. Because the lighting was different and the mirrors are maybe a little more forgiving. Kind of like the ones you find in a funhouse. Except all of them were super flattering. Not like the one we’ve got in our bathroom here at home. Which…I mean that’s probably how they get ya, right?”

Your husband lifts a quizzical brow as you continue to ramble and slowly back away. You knew there was quite literally no possible chance you could manage to outrun your handsome attorney. But that didn’t mean you weren’t above giving it the old college try.   

“So, I’m just gonna go upstairs and peel this ugly thing off. That way neither one of us has to even bother looking at it.” You finish rather lamely.

“And why exactly do you think I wouldn’t want to look at you? How about you explain that one to me, please?” Andy growls, jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers.                 

“Because I don’t like the way I look right now and I’m pretty sure that if I show you, then you won’t either.”

Andy stares you down, the muscle ticking in his jaw. But you were beyond caring at this point. Right now was about acknowledging the truth regarding your body and the level of comfort you had with it.  

“That’s bullshit, baby.” He rakes an impatient hand through his hair, moussing the auburn strands. “You know I love the way you look. I fucking adore you.”  

“And that last part may very well be true, Big Man.” You concede, toying with the material of your robe. “But I, um...” A lump forms in your throat, but you force yourself to press on. “I do believe you love the way I look when I’m pregnant, yes. So do I…mostly. And you also love the way I look when I’m not pregnant. As in, after I’ve lost a healthy chunk of the baby weight.”  

“What in the–? I mean, Jesus fucking Christ!” Your husband cuts himself off mid-sentence as he rocks back on his heels – as if stunned by your admission. 

“I’m saying this wrong.” Good lord, you needed to get a better handle on the direction of this conversation. “Fuck! I know I am. But I don’t feel very good about myself right now. I don’t want to take off my clothes. I don’t want you to see me in this lingerie. Because I am almost entirely convinced that once you do – once you see all that I’m currently working with – you will change your mind about wanting to sleep with me.”

“You don’t mean that.” Andy scoffs under his breath, which you ignore.

“And if I see that…if I see that switch flip behind your eyes when it finally clicks just how unattractive I truly am…I don’t think I could handle that.”  

As hard as this was, it was important for you to make him understand. And once you were finished, perhaps you could cook the two of you something for dinner.  After that you would simply settle in and enjoy an easy, child-free night.

“Meaning?” Andy grunts.

“Meaning, I’m not taking off this robe tonight.” You blow out a weary breath as your hands go rest on your hips. “In fact, I don’t even know why –”

“Are you finished yet, sweetheart?” Your husband finally interrupts, apparently having had enough of your tirade. “Or do you have more? Because I’ve gotta tell you, as nice as it is that you think you’ve decided all this shit for us, your Daddy has quite a bit to say. So, are you fucking finished?”

“Y–yes.” That strange lump in your throat is back. “But I –”

“Stop. If you’re going to be done, then be done.” Andy interrupts again, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. “Baby Girl…I know what you’re doing. Even if you don’t, even if you can’t see it. I do. And I’m going to put a stop to it right now.”

“I’m just telling us both the truth!” You cry before you can catch yourself. 

“No. You’re feeding us both lies. And I won’t stand for that shit. Not for another goddamned moment. I–I just won’t.”

The passion in his voice is enough to temporarily silence any forthcoming protests. 

“And what’s more,” Andy forges on, “you’re not giving me even a shred of credit here. Which, and I’ve gotta be real honest with you here, kinda pisses me the fuck off.” Now it’s his turn to sigh, although this one is filled with exasperation.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, looking down at your toes.

“Look. At. Me.” The authority in his tone has your head snapping up immediately. 

“Have I ever, and I do mean ever, in all the years we’ve been together, given you any indication that you are anything but beautiful to me?” He takes a step towards you, even as you take one back. “I quite literally worship the ground you walk on, sweetness. Which means that I occasionally notice things, even when you think I don’t.”

Your husband takes another step towards you, and then another. He’s getting closer, purposely crowding you with his big body – essentially trapping you like the predator that he was.   

“There has never been a time, not once, when I have been less than hopelessly attracted to you. I want you all of the goddamned time. And, you know, maybe I should seek professional help for this shit, but I don’t want to. I don’t need to. Because I love my wife. I adore every single inch of you.”

You jump when your back collides with the refrigerator, the cool surface of the stainless steel appliance piercing your skin through the thin fabric of your robe.

“So what is it, Baby Girl? What is that you’ve got under there that’s got you so convinced I’m going to be disgusted by what I see.” Andy levels you with a pointed look as his hands go to gently grip your biceps, caging you in. “What is it you’re trying to hide from me?”

You close your eyes when it becomes too hard to look at the man you loved more than anything - the man who was surely about to become your undoing.     

“While I appreciate your so-called brand of honesty, sometimes it hurts me when you talk about yourself like this. When you doubt yourself in this way. When you doubt me. Doubt us.” Andy briefly rests his forehead against yours before continuing. 

“How am I supposed to help you battle these insecurities if you won’t even let me in the ring, sweetness? Sometimes you make it damn near impossible to – fuck!” He hisses, breaking the almost tender embrace before reminding himself to pause. “Okay.”

“I–I’m sorry, Andrew.” This time you don’t bother trying to fight back the tears when they come. Instead you decide to let them fall, realizing that it might finally be okay to let your husband catch you.

Before you broke completely and shattered into a hundred-million little pieces.   

“Why on earth are you apologizing to me right now?” He cups your face with his hands as he brushes your tears away. “I’m not shaming you. I’m just…” He takes another calming breath. “I’m just talking to you. I thought we were expressing how we felt about things, weren’t we?”

“Yeah.” You give him a quick nod as more tears make their way down your cheeks.  

“Okay.” He presses a sweet kiss to your nose. “Then will you trust me to show you something?” Again you nod before allowing him to lace his fingers through yours and pull you in the direction of the hall.

“Wh–where are we going?”

“Hush.” 

He leads you down the hallway in silence, not stopping until you’re both standing in front of the full-length mirror located in the foyer. And then he reaches around to undo the knot on your robe, sliding it off your shoulders and letting it pool on the floor at your feet. 

“Well, would you look at you? Is this pretty little thing what you bought for me today?”

“Mmhm.” You breathe, resting your head against his broad chest while your man looks his fill. Andy smooths his hands up and down your sides, lovingly kneading your ample curves. “It was the only thing that I felt, um…like it might be okay.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Baby Girl.” Andy playfully nips at your ear. “You still trust me? Okay, good. Then let’s take this off, too.” He reaches for the skirt of your lingerie.

“But why?” You whine, attempting to wiggle out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, your Big Man refuses to let you go. “Wait!”

“I think I’ve waited long enough.” Even though he’s pushing you, you can tell he’s also trying to keep a lid on his patience. “We both have. You got to make your case back there in the kitchen, young lady. Which means it’s now time for your Daddy to make his, don’t you think?”

While you weren’t quite sure where this was going, you also weren’t sure if you were ready to use your safe word yet. If that particular rule even applied right now.

“I – alright.” You concede before lifting your arms so that he can help remove the flimsy garment, leaving you naked and bare to his gaze. Goosebumps rise on your vulnerable flesh as you shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

Safe to say, catching a chill was the last thing on your mind. You just wanted to get this shit over with, whatever it was, and then move the fuck on already.

“Be a good girl and open your eyes for me, little love.” Andy purrs, lightly running his fingers through your curls. “I want to show you what I see every time I look at you.” 

It takes you a moment, but eventually you’re able to do as you’re told. But instead of focusing on your own reflection, you choose to look at your husband – taking comfort in the warmth radiating from him.

You wanted to trust him. You really did.     

“Thank you. Now, I want you to do your best to hear me.” Andy begins as his hands come up to rest themselves on your shoulders. “You are gorgeous no matter what size you are. And I am consistently awed by the fact that you, my darling wife, just gave birth to two healthy babies a little over eight weeks ago. My babies.” You receive a tender kiss to the back of your neck.

Your lower lip begins to tremble of its own accord. But this time you don’t look away, instead you follow the path of his fingers as they trail their way down your body.

“It’s because of you, and your magnificent little body, that I’m lucky enough to have four pieces of heaven running around this house, making noise and causing chaos. Giving me both a reason to live again along with a few new gray hairs at the same time.” 

You watch as he lifts your breasts, hefting the erotic weight of them in his palms. He gently massages them, completely unfazed by the light dribble of milk leaking from your left nipple. Instead you’re treated to another roguish grin as his tongue darts out to greedily lap up the stray drops from his knuckles. 

“Fucking delicious. But stop trying to distract me, baby.” He rasps, his tone just shy of teasing. “We both know you’re not quite ready for me to feast just yet.” And then he winks at you, which suddenly has your legs feeling like jelly. 

Although you flinch when his focus shifts to your belly, the pads of his fingers tracing along one of your more prominent stretch marks. He keeps his touch light - bordering on reverent - as he marvels at the angry stripes painted across your skin.

The ones formed out of a natural bond built between a mother and her children. 

“I love this part of you. This part right here where you – aw, no. Please don’t look away from me, honey.” Andy moves to kiss away a fresh wave of tears. “Let me see those eyes.”  

“I…I...” Your mouth clamps shut as you stifle a hiccup. You grant yourself a couple of seconds before opening your eyes again. This time when you do, you gently place your hands on top of his. “I’m sorry. I know, you love this part of me because of the kids. And I get it, I do. But…” You shake your head and give up.

Because something tells you that perhaps you’d be better off just listening for right now. 

“Yes, I absolutely love this part of you because of our rugrats, but that’s not the only reason. It’s because, as much as I adore your tight little pussy and that spankable ass of yours, your belly has always been it for me.”

“What?” Now that has your full attention.    

“I’m not kidding.” He asserts. “I don’t think I’ve ever shared this with you, probably because I thought I’d run the risk of sounding dumb. But your belly has always been my favorite feature because it’s…it’s my anchor.”

Your husband’s heartfelt admission actually has the nerve to throw you for a bit of a loop.   

“I’m serious.” Andy continues, leaning down to press a hard kiss to your cheek. “There’s something about whenever the world feels like it’s falling apart all around me and then I reach for you, because that’s what I do. And you’re always there for me, my love. Always.” He gives you a light squeeze. “And without fail, you just let me hold you like this, wherever we are. And I just…I feel better.”

“Swear to God, I’m a grown-ass man, but this part of you brings me so much comfort. I understand the fact that you struggle with accepting your body the way it is right now, especially after welcoming the twins. But please believe me when I tell you that where you only seem to see your flaws, I see strength. I see incomparable beauty.” 

Andy takes that moment to fully envelope you, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle and burying his face in your hair. You allow yourself to stand there for a little while, drinking in the sight of your devoted husband holding your nude body.

You’ve never felt more loved. More cherished than you did right now.  

“Andy Bear…” You whisper, your voice filled with emotion. “I…I don’t quite see what you see. Not yet. But I do think I feel it now. More than I did anyway.” 

You let out a surprised yip when he spins you around. His intoxicating blue eyes bore into your own as his hands move to tease the globes of your ass.

“You should know that I wasn’t finished yet, princess. I just spent the last several minutes composing a sonnet dedicated to that greedy pussy of yours. Then there’s those luscious thighs, and that ass. I also never really had a thing for feet until I met you, but I’m particularly fond of those too. I’m prepared to wax poetic about it all because I want you to see what I see.” 

A laugh bubbles up in your chest. And when you decide to let it loose, it’s quite literally the most wonderful feeling in the world. You feel lighter than you have in days.

It’s enough to make you start crying all over again.   

“I love you, Andrew Barber.” You murmur, rising on your tiptoes to take his lips in a brief kiss. “And I know you had what I’m sure was one hell of a speech planned, and while I really hate to cut it short, I’m thinking I might wanna take you to bed now.”

“Oh?” His tone is rife with cautious optimism. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Giving in to impulse, you proceed to tickle his ears. He makes a show of batting your hands away as he playfully dodges your advances – much to your delight. Although he eventually puts an end to things by picking you up and holding you close.

“But can we maybe take it slow?” You ask as you snuggle into his chest, basking in the safety and security of his familiar scent. 

“Of course.” Andy murmurs as he spins on his heel and heads towards the direction of the stairs. “We have all night, my precious girl.”  

That was the moment you knew without a doubt. The moment you finally believed that everything he’d said, every word he’d spoken to you, had been nothing but the truth.  

And later that night, when you collapsed on the bed feeling completely sated with one another, you thanked your lucky stars that fate had led you into the arms of the one and only Andrew Barber.

END

For more about Andy and Reader's first time making love after welcoming their twins, be sure to check out the sequel, The Green Light: Afterglow.