🧡Cabin Fever - Travis Martinez X Fem!Reader🧡

He can I request dialogue 2 with Travis where reader is getting all sappy and shit when they settle into the cabin

🧡Cabin Fever - Travis Martinez x fem!Reader🧡

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He Can I Request Dialogue 2 With Travis Where Reader Is Getting All Sappy And Shit When They Settle Into

Summary: a quiet conversation at the lake...

Warnings: Convo about Periods, hurt + comfort

Word Count: 1,122

A/N: Hello Loves! I know a handful of you have wanted this, so here he is! Travis is actually a lot harder than I anticipated to write, but that could be because I'm not the greatest at writing men/boys. This turned out a lot angstier than intended, but I think we can all appreciate quality hurt/comfort now and then. Unfortunately though, pretty much all of my Travis requests have quite a hefty amount of angst in them. But that's all I'll say, so As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading! 🧡

Travis Martinez Tag List: @candylandy8173 @elliesjoints @nebulaemo

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

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It had only been a week, maybe more or less, and you were sick of the cabin. It had quickly grown overcrowded and overstimulating, so you now found every opportunity you could to leave and be outside for as long as possible. It had become commonplace for you to wander all day and not come back till nightfall. Today, however, you'd found some peace at the lake. It started as a trip to get more water for back at the cabin, only to turn into an impromptu bath and swim. You'd grown desperate for some semblance of feeling clean again. But now you'd finished and were drying off on the shore.

“You’ve been gone all day,” a rough voice said behind you, though you didn’t turn. You only shrugged, arms wrapped around your knees as the waterline lapped at the rocky terrain under you and your toes. You hadn’t felt like putting your shoes back on just yet.

“It's getting crowded over there. I need to clear my head sometimes” you mumbled, eyes transfixed on a particularly shiny stone near your feet. Travis didn’t sit beside you, choosing to stand with his hands in his pockets.

“Mind bringing me along when you get away next time?” he asked. You chuckled.

“Is all the period talk getting to be too much for you?” you looked up at him, tilting your head and covering your eyes with your hand to keep the sun away. You were starting to regret not bringing those sunglasses your mother suggested.

“What, you on it too?” he griped. After a pause, you let out a snorting laugh at him. It had your stomach churning and you had to lie down on your back, arm covering your eyes as you grinned.

“Hey, better get used to it, T-man. I have a feeling it’s gonna be a minute before we get out of here,” you heard the stones beside you shuffle as he took a seat.

“I don’t hope that’s not the case,” he mumbled. You peeked out from under your arm to get a good look at him. He looked tired and out of it. You knew Travis well. You used to play little league soccer together when you were 6. His dad had been the coach then too. Honestly, that had been the only reason you played soccer now in high school. You lost some of that relationship with him over time. It was strange, his sudden interest in you. You always thought he kind of resented you for whatever reason. He’d grown up a lot though, you noted.

“Why? Can't stand being the only man with a bunch of women? Isn't that like, every guy's dream?” you hummed, covering your eyes again. You heard him scoff and shuffle his feet on the rocks.

“Yeah, maybe, but they haven't considered what comes with being around a bunch of girls,”

“What? Travis can’t handle a little girl talk?” you teased. He sighed heavily, grumbling under his breath.

“Maybe not constant girl talk, no,” you chuckled at that some and decided to sit up again. “is that why you always leave?”

“What? Because of girl talk?” he nodded. You shook your head. “No, I'm used to it. It's just locker room stuff at this point,” Travis wrinkled his nose and grimaced.

“You talk about your periods and stuff together?” he seemed quite surprised. Your brows raised and you nodded.

“I mean, what did you think we talked about?” you could see the formings of an embarrassed blush heat the apples of his cheeks.

“I dunno, I thought you talked about boys or something. Like magazines maybe, I dunno,” you began to laugh again.

“I mean, sure, we do, but that's not all we talk about,” he continued to frown and looked away, piercing his lips.

“Whatever. I just didn’t think I’d have to hear so much about it,” he grumbled. You laughed again, looking out onto the lake with a lackluster smile.

“You sound like your dad, you know that?” you said without putting any thought behind it. Upon realizing you felt yourself cringe, sucking in a breath between your teeth. You expected Travis to throw himself into a rage, scream at you to shut the fuck up, and not mention his father, now dead a buried by the crash sight which felt long forgotten by now. But he didn’t. He stayed quiet, staring down at his shoes with a crease in his brow and a frown on his lips.

“ugh, don’t remind me,” was all he managed to say through fumbling teeth. You began to apologize but he shook his head, his eyes turning up and looking at you. “Don’t. It’s fine,” his voice faltered, letting you know that it wasn’t fine. But you weren't going to press any more than you had already. He went quiet again and you chewed at your lip.

“You know, he was a pretty shit dad,” he said eventually, his eyes transfixed on the open air of the lake. You watched, keeping your words to yourself. “I’m pretty sure he was cheating on my mom or something. I don’t know though. He wouldn’t fess up to me and no one told me what was happening,” he took a long sniff in, his lip twitching.

“I used to wish he’d just leave. Maybe then Mom would be happy. But now he’s gone, and I just-” he trailed off shaking his head with parted lips. He didn’t go on from there and you couldn't find any words, so you did the only thing you could think of and reached out, your fingertips brushing over his spin. He jumped and you hesitated, but when he looked up to meet your gaze, tears forming in his eyes with a quivering lip you couldn’t help the way your gaze softened.

You reached out your other hand, brushing your fingers over his cheek as you moved forward, hesitantly enveloping him in your arms. His nose and face found the crook where your neck met your shoulder as one of your arms snaked around his shoulder while the other slipped to cradle the back of his neck. He began to quiver in your arms. He wrapped his arms around your shoulder and waist, squeezing tight for as much support as he could get from you. You felt tears run down your shoulder, wetting your shirt as he sniffled and cried. Your fingertips tangled in his growing hair and you breathed him in as tears sting your eyes now.

“It’s gonna be ok…” was all you could muster. If you believed that or not, you didn't know, but it was what you both needed, even if it was only for a moment.

before it kills me || jon snow

"Are you jealous?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm afraid. I don't know."

you're jealous of the dragon queen, and it's tearing you up. fem!reader. takes place s8.

Thank you so much for the request! Sorry it took so long!Hope you like it!

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You'd always been the jealous type. Not just with lovers, but with friends, and with things, and with luck. When you were a child, you'd stare at the highborn whenever they passed through your village, dressed in silk and plate armor, on shining, well-bred horses. Why them? You would think. Why them, and not me?

At the Wall, you'd been jealous of Jon at first. He was stronger, and faster, and better trained than you-- that is to say, trained in the first place. You'd been jealous of Sam, who could read, and Grenn, who could ride, and Pyp, who could sing. It had faded, of course, and you hadn't let it stop you making friends for too long, but still, it was your first instinct. It always had been.

Now, at Winterfell, after years of fighting, and bleeding, and freezing your ass off on the edge of the world, you found yourself jealous again. Not of someone's skill, or weapon, or training, like would be even marginally acceptable for someone of your age. No, you were jealous of a pretty woman, and how much time she spent with Jon Snow. And it was bad.

That fucking Dragon Queen had you pacing. Pacing, and brooding, and biting your nails, and cursing yourself for all of it. You had more important things to be worried about than the affections of Jon Snow, who wasn't yours to be jealous for in the first place. Gods, when did you even start loving him? Maybe you always had. Either way, this was what you got for dancing around him for years-- you hadn't made him yours when you could've, and now, someone better had shown up to whisk him off on dragonback.

Daenerys Stormborn-- First of Her Name, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons. The Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of the Andals and the First Men. How could you ever compete with that?

Did you even want to try?

What could you possibly give him that she couldn't? She was inspiring, powerful, and unmatched in beauty. A Targaryen. A gods-damned dragon rider. And you were a bastard girl who cut her hair and became a man of the Watch. Not even a bastard of someone noble and important, like Jon was. Just a Flowers of some Redwyne or Fossoway who's name your mother forgot. Rough, weary, dressed in old black ringmail and scars.

Daenerys dressed in furs and silver.

Didn't he deserve her?

You should have just talked to him. You knew that. But jealousy was an old friend, a familiar pain. It was easy to sink back into. So you let it claw at you for hours, for days, alternatingly ferocious and grieving. It ate you from the inside out and the outside in, made you irritable and anxious and guilty. Distracted. You slipped up on the sparring field. Battle plans went in one ear and out the other. No sleeping position was comfortable anymore, and your jaw ached from constant clenching and grinding your teeth.

Your friends had grown worried. You hadn't let even Davos coax out what was wrong, though you suspected he already knew. You were growing worried too. Fighting the dead would need you at your strongest, and the dull ache in your chest was taking its toll.

You grit your teeth again, and got out of bed. This has got to end. Fuck it if he loved her, if you had been wrong, and all the glances, the stray touches, the so-nearly-kisses that always seemed to get interrupted had all meant nothing to him. At least you'd know, and you'd move on. Or you'd die fighting Walkers, and none of it would matter. Either way, it'll be better than this.

The castle was sleeping, and nobody but a few wandering soldiers were there to pay you any mind. Poor bastards probably can't sleep either. Some bowed their heads respectfully when you walked past, mumbling "M'lady," or sometimes "Ser," though you were not a knight, and lady of nothing but your sword. You quickened your pace.

When you reached Jon's room, you didn't let yourself think twice. You didn't steel yourself, didn't take a breath, just rapped on the door before you had a chance to go craven and leave.

Jon opened the door. Disheveled, in nothing but a plain shirt and trousers, though clearly awake. Your breath hitched. It felt intimate, seeing him this way, out of his capes and his leather, without Longclaw on his hip. His eyes widened, and you remembered your own appearance. Your bare feet, your undone hair, your dressing gown. At least we're even, then.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. "You need something, Flowers?" He mumbled, not unkindly, a tired smile ghosting his lips.

"Do you love me?"

"What?"

You pushed your way into the room. Jon's eyes flared again, but he didn't stop you. "You heard me, Snow. Do you love me? All those times we sat on watch together. All those times you held my hand, and came to greet me at the tunnel when I came back from a ranging, and fussed over me when I got hurt. How you called for me when the fighting ended at Castle Black, and after the Boltons, and how I called for you. Did all of that mean something to you, or did I imagine it?"

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Then, his face softened. He took your hand in his, warm and rough and familiar, and threaded his fingers through yours.

"Are you jealous?"

Damn him.

"Maybe." Your voice came out a tremble. "Or maybe I'm afraid. I don't know."

"Come here." He tugged you into his arms, and you found yourself clinging. It had all been so much so fast. All the fighting, the dying, the red woman, the free folk. Ramsay, and Cersei, and the threat of the dead, and the beautiful Daenerys with her dragons. Jon held you as you cried about nothing and everything for a while, rubbing your back and carding his fingers through your hair, murmuring reassuring things that you couldn't hear.

You could've stayed there forever.

But I need to know before it kills me.

With an effort, you stepped back, feeling a little empty without his arms around you, and a little guilty about the damp spot you'd left on his shirt. You took a shaky breath.

"I need to know if you love me, or--" you pushed a sob down, before it could break. Jon opened his mouth, but you didn't let him get a word in. "It's okay if you don't, really-- I just," you offered him a watery smile. "I need to know now. If you love me, or if you love the Queen. Please, Jon. Before it kills me."

You bit your trembling lip for dear life. You would not cry if he said loved her, you swore it to every god you knew. You would not ruin it for him, more than you already had. If he said he loved her, you would smile, and thank him for his honesty, and be done with it.

But Jon Snow didn't say anything. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed, and took your hand, and kissed your knuckles. He kissed your palm, and your wrist, inviting you to sit beside him with a gentle pull. You nearly fell into place. Something about his touch always made you lean into him without thinking. He wasn't magnetic, exactly-- it was something softer than that. More akin to the gentle urge of gravity on a feather.

He held your face in his hands, and brushed away a tear, and kissed you softer than any fur or silk in the world.

"Of course I love you," he said, voice wavering. Tears had made a home in his eyes, just as they had in yours, and the look on his face sent a wave of guilt crashing over you. "I'm sorry you ever thought I didn't. Please, forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Jon. You know how I get, I--" you paused, trying to find the words. "I'm sorry. I'm a jealous woman, a scarred woman. I have no dragons, and no crown, and no beautiful silver hair or perfect face. I have no name of my own. I have nothing to give you but my sword and my love, and Daenerys has seven kingdoms. Well, she will, I mean. Just-- I felt like you'd abandoned me for someone better. Which is stupid, because you're not even mine to think about that way--"

"And who says I don't want to be?" Jon interrupted. He took your hand, took your scarred knuckles to his lips again. The way he was fixing those beautiful eyes on you, with such perfect sincerity, took every word you'd ever known right out of your mouth. Whatever he was going to say next, he meant it.

"I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, and I don't want it because of power, or money, or dragons. I just want to love you. Is that so hard to believe, Flowers?"

"You would love a jealous woman?"

Jon laughed. "You would love a jealous man? I can be just as bad as you, you know. Remember when you got to be a ranger, and I didn't?"

That was true, and you chuckled at the memory. "Gods, you're right, Snow. You had on the most sullen look I've ever seen when you watched me and Grenn ride off for the first time."

"And that was me trying to hide it."

Jon Snow took you in his arms again, smiling now, and kissed your brow. When you buried your face in his shoulder, he smelled of linen, and smoke, and something that was just him. Familiar, safe, and gentle.

"Stay with me tonight. I want to hold you." His whisper fluttered over your ear, tone almost desperate, almost yearning. Your heart skipped about ten beats at once, and you shuddered. He's going to be the death of me, you thought, pulling back to look in those deep, dark eyes. He is going to be the death of me, and I don't mind at all. Gently, you pressed his shoulder, pushing him down to lie on his back, with you settled in the pocket of his arm.

He held you, and you held him, and for the first time in many days, you slept comfortably.

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saberlight1

3 years ago