──⋅✮ forsaken
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⁷an deireadh
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ pairing. highlander!johnny mactavish x reader
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about. life had gone on. now that you had finally found peace, you couldn't help but remember how everything had changed for the better the moment you first set foot in the highlands. (wc: 8.940)
ㅤㅤ ㅤ.ᐟ warnings. smut. fluff. loss of virginity. pregnancy. domesticity. chubby reader.
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ masterlist.
⭑ series masterlist. (bold ⤑ french ⟡ italic ⤑ gaelic)
Tired, that’s how you’d felt for the past seven months.
Of course, you were happy, overflowing with love for the life growing inside your belly. But God, did you wish they were born already. This wasn’t your first babe, after all. You already had a few little Mactavishes running around to look after, and now, you were growing another.
It had been years since that fateful night. Years filled with discovery, with life in the Highlands. Your body, mind, and soul had taken to the changes well, once you'd accepted that fate had brought you here for a reason.
And that reason stepped out the door, stumbling into the sunlight at just the right moment.
He was broader now, if that were even possible. Maybe he’d put on some weight alongside you during the pregnancy, his own strange way of offering support. He was softer, yes, but you loved him all the same. His thighs were still thick with muscle, strong enough to lift you whenever you needed, you or the little ones who now raced across the garden to meet their father.
If there was one thing you could never fault Johnny for, it was his boundless love for his children. From the moment the first was born, he had been nothing but a devoted father, tending to every need before you even had to ask. Even as the chief of the clan, he never once let his duties as a father fall by the wayside.
Johnny had always loved children, always dreamed of a big family. Growing up with seven siblings would do that to a person. You’d once told him, back when you married, that you wouldn’t go through eight pregnancies. And yet, here you were now, safely carrying the fifth.
Yours had been the sweetest of marriages, a blend of christian traditions and sacred Celtic rites, the perfect union of you and Johnny, in every way that mattered.
Nerves were eating you alive.
Left alone after Johnny’s sister helped you dress, you stood before the mirror, watching yourself. Waiting. For what, you didn’t quite know.
It felt strange to be in a wedding gown again, especially after what had happened the first time you wore one. The memory threatened to pull you into panic, but you reminded yourself: it wouldn’t happen again. The war was over, it had been a year and peace lasted. No one was looking for you anymore.
Not even your own family.
News of your mother’s passing had reached you months ago, and the grief still lingered. She had likely been the only one back home who still believed you were alive. After her death, and still burdened with guilt over the battle that had taken place here, you had made the decision to stay.
To stay forever.
Perhaps Johnny had something to do with that choice.
The way he looked at you. The way his hands always lingered, warm and steady. The way he had held you through your mourning. The way he’d gone and called for a new priest when the village’s old one passed. When he asked, formally, to bind his life to yours, you had said yes without hesitation. All those quiet, loving gestures… they made you fall for him.
And now, here you were.
A firm knock pulled you from your memories.
When the door creaked open, Sir John stepped inside. Though, he simply went by John now—the French knight was long gone. He was a Highlander these days, through and through. He trained the village’s young men, sat at Johnny’s council and had even found himself a woman to share his life with.
She had lost her husband in the battle, left to raise two babes on her own. And John, ever the quiet protector, had stepped in. They had met when the council had offered help to widows and families that had lost their father, brother or son. From the second he had seen her, John had felt the need to help her—after months of kindness and warmth, she had fallen in love. Just like John had.
He loved her children as though they were his own, and his affection for their mother was plain in every glance, every touch.
Once, as your personal knight, he had sworn an oath never to marry. His life had belonged to you , his sword, his loyalty, his every breath. It was heartwarming. Now, as your eyes caught the glint of a simple ring on his finger, a soft smile spread across your lips. You were happy for him.
He was still by your side, always, but things had changed. His priorities had shifted, and you were no longer a woman in danger. No one in the clan would dare harm you now, not the future bride of their Chief. He was ready to let another take care of you.
More than that, you had found your place here. Slowly, quietly, you’d begun walking the village paths, speaking with the people, learning their ways, their stories, their customs. And in time, they welcomed you. Loved you. As deeply as you had come to love them.
There was no talk of war anymore. No whispers of kingslaying, no embers of revolution. The French court, once the centre of your world, was far behind you now. Left in the past, a past you had once clung to with shaking hands, unwilling to let go.
But you had. At last.
"You look beautiful," John said softly, his eyes filled with quiet wonder at the woman you had become.
"Thank you," you whispered, still gazing at the delicate details of your dress, fingers brushing over the fabric as if grounding yourself in the moment. "You think he's going to like it?"
The dress was far more extravagant than the first one you had worn—the one that had ended up stained with blood. That dress had been plain and simple, nothing like the one you were wearing now. The lace detailing was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen: an intricate blend of leaves and flowers carefully sewn into the fabric.
“He’d be a fool not to,” John chuckled, clearly amused by your doubts, as if Johnny could ever dislike anything about you. “The boy worships the ground you walk on. I’m certain he’ll be overjoyed to see you in a wedding dress, darling.”
That made you laugh a little too. Johnny had been nothing but loving toward you since what happened in the chapel. Just thinking about this night made you feel guilty, the way you had been sinning in God's house, but it had felt so good, you didn't truly regret it. If anything, you were eager for more.
Johnny had always been ready to give everything, to wait for you as long as you needed, but you had insisted on remaining pure in the eyes of God until your wedding. Even if he didn’t share your beliefs, he had never pressured you.
“Are you not happy?” John asked gently, his hands settling on your shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
“Of course I am,” you replied immediately, conviction in your voice. “I just… I cannot stop thinking about what happened the last time I wore a wedding dress.”
John sighed softly behind you before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Nothing like that will ever happen again,” he said, trying to reassure you.
And while you wanted to believe him, fear still lingered. That day had been traumatic, just like the night the Englishmen had attacked the village. It had all been because of you. Men had died for you, and you had never wanted any of it to happen.
But the war was over. The Highlands were quiet now, and across Scotland, the echoes of battle had finally faded. The English had retreated, no one was hunting you, no banners waved with threats. Safety, at last, had wrapped its arms around you, but your mind refused to follow.
Guilt clung to you like a shadow, forged into your bones since childhood. Guilt for being a woman and not a warrior, guilt for surviving when others had fallen, guilt in the eyes of God for daring to love a man who did not share your faith. Even now, surrounded by calm and laughter, the memories of blood and screams clawed at the edges of your consciousness.
“Stop all this,” John’s voice broke through, firm yet gentle, dragging you back to the present. His hands rested lightly on your shoulders, anchoring you. “Today we celebrate. Everything else, leave it for another day.”
And all the guilt, all the fear, was instantly forgotten as you walked up the aisle of the small castle chapel, guided gently by John.
The wooden floor creaked softly under your steps, the faint scent of burning candles mingling with the fresh Highland air drifting through the open windows. Sunlight streamed through the small stained-glass panels, painting fragments of colour across the stone walls, falling on your dress and making it glow with a soft warmth.
Johnny waited at the altar, a calm yet radiant presence, his posture straight, shoulders squared, yet there was a tension in him you could almost feel even from this distance. He was clad in a black wool jacket, a matching belt cinched over his kilt, the tartan draped over his shoulder blending seamlessly with the Mactavish Clan colours, perfectly mirroring the pattern of his kilt. Even the same tartan traced along his knee-high socks, subtle but deliberate. A symbol of loyalty, heritage, and pride.
A memory of his father and his legacy.
The very same colours that would soon become yours seemed to blaze brighter in that light, marking the beginning of something unshakable, something eternal.
Every step you took brought you closer, yet time itself seemed to slow. The soft rustle of your dress echoed in the quiet chapel, mingling with the faint scent of lavender from the bouquets lining the aisle. The warmth of John’s hand guiding yours was an anchor to the present, grounding you, reassuring you that this, this was right.
Johnny was watching you with a storm of emotions in his eyes. He tried to hide it, as he always did, but it was impossible, impossible for either of you. Your own eyes were already glistening with tears, and the moment his gaze met yours, just after he had taken in the sight of you in your wedding dress, every thought and worry melted away.
And when you finally reached him, standing before him in that quiet chapel, you knew that every danger, every tear, every moment of fear had been worth it. The world outside could rage on, but in this moment, nothing existed but the promise in his eyes and the tartan that now bound you together.
Now that you were by his side, even with the white veil concealing part of your vision, you could see the tears lingering in his eyes as he took your hand from John's. He nodded respectfully to your old knight.
It was symbolic. John had spent your entire life protecting you. Now, he was finally letting go.
The ceremony was simple, soft, and intimate. Even though Johnny had not been a believer for a long time, he honoured your faith, speaking his vows under the protection of the God you believed in.
For the past year, you had drifted away from your faith, only to return to it changed. You had washed away your sins, but you had also renounced the guilt you once felt over the love and pleasures life had to offer. You still believed, but you were no longer the utterly faithful woman you used to be.
However, t was still important to you to be married in the eyes of God. When you had explained your feelings to Johnny, worried about how he might react, he had simply agreed. Almost like it wasn't that big of a demand—even though you were asking to be married under the God he believed had killed his mother.
He had been with you through every moment of doubt, through every conversation and every question. He knew it all. Accepting it had not been difficult for him, so long as, at the end of the day, he could call you his wife. He had once believed in the same God. He would oblige.
After a kiss made you a married woman, you walked down the aisle with your husband under the cries of joy from the crowd.
Gone was the name that tied you to the French monarchy, you had become a Highland woman, symbolised by the ring resting on your finger. It was simple, but you could see the countless hours the jeweller had spent crafting it, along with the soft stone carefully carved into the gold band.
On Johnny's finger rested a simple gold band, one he had chosen himself, not wanting anything too fancy. What you had yet to notice were your initials engraved inside it, just as his were engraved inside yours—a small surprise he planned to reveal later.
While everyone else headed to the main hall for the celebrations, you and Johnny parted ways with the crowd and made your way to his mother's clearing, beneath his favourite tree. Under its branches stood Duncan, a man who had been like an uncle to Johnny his entire life, ready to unite you in the way of the Clan.
This had been Johnny's compromise. He would marry you under the eyes of a God he no longer believed in but he would also marry you in the way of his people—the traditional ceremony he had dreamed about since the moment he had set eyes on you.
As he held your hands and repeated the sacred words along with you, you saw the longing in his eyes. Sadness briefly overtook him as he wished the man standing before you could have been his father.
The feeling vanished as quickly as it had come when he turned to look at you.
Draping his tartan over your shoulders, he promised to care for you, love you, and cherish you until the end of his days. It was a promise you repeated back through tears. It had been so long since you had cried this much, but this time, it felt good.
After the vows had been exchanged once more, you turned toward Duncan as he tied your hands together. The ribbon was, as expected, made in the colours of Clan Mactavish. It was a sweet ceremony, one that felt real and sincere.
When you entered the main hall where everyone had been waiting for you, you were greeted by loud applause and joyful cheers. Hand in hand, you smiled as you made your way to the largest table, sitting in the centre beside Johnny—starting the feast.
The joy of the feast was heartwarming as you ate, drank, danced, and laughed.
There was nothing but smiles and love, everyone united like one large family. For someone so far from her own, it filled an empty place in your heart, even more so now that you were sitting on Johnny's lap.
It would not have been considered proper in France, but things were different here. No one batted an eye when Johnny pulled you onto his lap after you returned from dancing with his sisters.
The wine flowing through your veins made you less concerned with etiquette, so you simply accepted it.
It was nice, and it felt even better when Johnny fed you pieces of meat from his plate. Something primal inside you burst into flame as you felt the strength of his body pressed against yours while he cared for you, fed you.
Every now and then, he would press kisses to your cheek or neck without a hint of shame. He even did it in the middle of conversations with John sitting right beside him. Both men were slightly drunk on wine, neither of them finding anything improper about it.
The sweet moment shattered when you felt Johnny's body stiffen beneath you.
Pausing your conversation with one of his sisters, you turned toward him and watched his expression harden as he stared at the main door.
There stood Isla.
Although a year had passed, Johnny had yet to forgive her. She had been cast out of the castle, though not from the town as she lived alone.
From time to time, you visited her, knowing what it was like to be consumed by guilt. She had always been kind to you, you did not blame her for what had happened. If anything, you still blamed yourself—a thing Johnny hated, always trying to change your mind.
Johnny did not like that you went to see her, but he allowed it. Deep down, you knew it was because he wanted news of his sister as well. He simply needed time.
"I invited her," you whispered to Johnny.
Frowning, his eyes turned toward you. The moment they met yours, they softened. Tilting his head, he clicked his tongue and released a long sigh.
"Mo ghràdh..." he muttered, shaking his head. "I—"
"You need to forgive her," you cut him off. "Every time I visit her, you pretend not to listen when I tell you how she's doing, but I know you are."
He was already preparing to deny it, as he always did whenever Isla was mentioned, but you spoke first.
"Do not lie to your wife now," you scolded, holding your index finger in front of his face.
He closed his mouth. Then a spark of mischief crossed his eyes, and he nipped lightly at the finger pointed at him. Laughing as you pulled your hand away, you swatted his shoulder before rolling your eyes.
"It's time to make amends, my love," you whispered, your hands cupping his cheeks.
"If it wasn't for her," he started, his voice low as he looked anywhere but at you, "my father would have been here."
"No, Johnny," you replied softly, shaking your head. "The English would have come here eventually, and you know it. You know it, but it's easier to blame her."
Looking back toward the large doors, you watched Isla staring at the two of you. Her eyes were filled with tears she refused to let fall. Her fingers twisted together anxiously, as she looked like she might faint at any moment.
When you turned back to your husband, his gaze had returned to his sister. You could see the turmoil in his eyes, the battle raging within him as he struggled to decide what to do.
"Alright, yes," he sighed, dropping his head onto your shoulder.
Before lifting it again, he pressed a kiss to your skin.
Then he gently got the both of you up before helping you back into his chair, finding comfort in seeing you seated in a place that belonged to him.
With soft eyes, you watched him cross the room toward his sister. He did not stop directly in front of her, merely spoke a few words you couldn't hear before the two of them left the hall together. Taking a deep breath, you hoped with all your heart that this would end well.
One of the reasons you had fallen in love with Johnny was the depth of his love for his family, for his siblings. For what it meant to be the eldest brother.
You had watched him care for the younger ones and patiently listen to the complaints of the older ones. He truly cherished the role he had been given. You knew he missed Isla and this reconciliation was long overdue.
To take your mind off them, you decided it was time to dance again. The music was lively, and you joined the children, taking their hands and following their playful steps. The moon climbed higher into the sky, and fatigue began to settle pleasantly into your bones—a reminder that the day had been full and fulfilling.
With no sign of Johnny, you eventually returned to your table, sitting down with a contented sigh as your muscles relaxed. Beside you, John glanced your way, offering a warm smile before returning to his conversation.
That was when Johnny reentered the hall, Isla following close behind.
Even from across the room, you could tell they had both been crying, their eyes were red, but matching smiles rested on their faces. The moment Johnny's sisters spotted Isla, they rushed toward her, pulling her away to dance.
You knew they visited her often. The only member of the family who had never gone to her new home was Johnny.
Once he reached you, he leaned down and kissed you firmly. A kiss that said a lot. Thank you. I love you.
At the same time, he pulled you up before he dropped into his chair and you onto his lap with a single tug, making you stumble into his arms.
"Thank you," he murmured against your ear before pressing another kiss to your cheek.
His words needed no response. You simply smiled and kissed him again.
Together, you watched as all of his sisters danced across the hall, laughing loudly as they spun in circles hand in hand, filled with a childlike innocence.
Nearly another hour passed before exhaustion finally caught up with you. The night was still young, but keeping your eyes open was becoming increasingly difficult. Johnny noticed.
With you still perched on his lap, he helped you to your feet before standing himself. Without a word, he took your hand and began leading you toward the side door that connected to the main chambers.
The chambers you would now share.
No one commented as you crossed the room, but the knowing smiles and amused glances were enough to make your cheeks and neck burn with both excitement and apprehension.
You knew exactly where Johnny was leading you.
Even though you had dreamed of this moment ever since that day in the chapel, a small part of you remained nervous. His hand remained warm around yours as he guided you along int the corridors and into your new chambers before quietly closing the door behind him.
His eyes lingered on you as you stood awkwardly in the centre of the room.
His head tilted slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. For the first time all day, it felt as though you were truly looking at him and he was undoubtedly the most handsome you had ever seen him.
He was broader than when you had first met, the responsibilities of being Chief strengthening him both physically and mentally. His thighs were powerful—almost unfairly so—and he flexed them deliberately when he noticed your gaze lingering, like he always did.
A slight frown crossed your face when your eyes landed on the stubborn scar on his knee, the one that refused to heal properly because Johnny refused to leave it alone.
His stomach pressed faintly against the fabric of his shirt tucked into his kilt, while his arms bulged as he crossed them over his chest. You had never imagined yourself being attracted to a man with his physique—strong, broad, and imposing.
Perhaps it was because men like him simply did not exist where you came from.
"Like what ye see?" Johnny teased, his smirk widening. "Ye should, I am yer husband now. I sure like how me wife looks."
The word made you smile immediately. It was a childish reaction, perhaps, but you could not help it.
In return, Johnny gave you the same bright, excited smile, remaining on his face as he approached. He moved with the confidence of a predator, his gaze fixed entirely on you. And in a way, you were his prey.
The difference was that you had no desire to run.
Yet the pounce never came. Instead, Johnny circled around you and stopped behind your back. His hands settled on your hips before sliding across your waist, drawing you gently against him.
Once satisfied with the closeness between your bodies, he lowered his lips to your neck and bare shoulders, placing soft kisses against skin untouched by fabric.
"Ye're the most beautiful lass I have ever seen in me life," he whispered against your skin, his lips barely leaving it. "From the first time I saw ye... I ken it was ye."
His words brought tears to your eyes. Your hands settled on his forearms, which were wrapped around your waist.
"It wasn't mutual," you joked, though Johnny already knew how you had felt about him back then.
Against your skin, you felt the rumble of his laughter. His arms tightened around you for a moment before they disappeared but not his body. His warmth remained right behind you while his fingers worked at the ties of your dress.
He moved slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop him if you wished.
Once the dress was completely untied, feeling strangely like déjà vu, he pushed the heavy fabric from your shoulders, pooling at your feet with a soft thud.
There you stood, dressed only in your underdress. The fact that he remained behind you made you uneasy, you wanted to see him, to see his eyes.
What if he did not like what he saw?
You wanted to look at him and know that he still loved what was before him. Your mind worked against you as your arms rose instinctively, trying to conceal your breasts through the sheer fabric, as well as your stomach.
"Nae, nae, nae," Johnny murmured softly from behind you before stepping around to stand in front of you.
There they were. His eyes. Filled with nothing but love and concern.
"I just want to see you," you whispered, unable to speak any louder.
"Aye," he replied with the gentlest smile.
A moment later, his lips found yours.
Instinctively, your arms dropped, only to rise again around his neck. Against your lips, you felt him smile at the gesture before his hands returned to your hips, pulling you closer.
For several long moments, you stood kissing in the middle of the room.
It had been a year since you had felt his lips. Though he had courted you—and you had accepted his courtship—you had denied yourself nearly all physical affection beyond holding his hand or allowing him to kiss your forehead and cheeks.
Only now did you realize how much you had missed it. How much you had missed him.
"My wife," Johnny murmured against your lips as he slowly guided you backward toward the bed.
Once you were seated on its edge, he remained standing before you. With a teasing nod, he silently encouraged you to move farther back toward the headboard.
You obeyed carefully, aware of how shaky your hands felt, until you were settled against the heavy pillows. Once you were comfortable, Johnny removed your shoes, pressing a kiss to the top of each foot before tossing both shoes and stockings behind him.
He did the same with his own before pulling his shirt over his head.
It was a sight for sore eyes.
The candlelight, lit by the maids before your arrival, cast a warm glow over him. The room felt impossibly intimate, as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
The stone walls were thick enough to silence the celebration still raging elsewhere in the castle.
Here, now, you were alone with your husband.
Warmth returned to your cheeks and neck as Johnny climbed onto the bed beside you. As gently as possible, he settled over you before kissing you again. It was the first time your hands explored his body without even a trace of shame or guilt.
Those feelings were gone. All that remained was the excitement of sharing your love with him.
His body pressed against yours, every movement making the muscles beneath his skin shift and flex.
"Johnny," you breathed softly against his lips when you felt him press closer.
You might have been a virgin, but you understood how these things worked. Back in France, you had spoken with women who were far more reserved than the women you had met in Scotland.
Here, women did not speak of intimacy as a burden to endure. They spoke of pleasure, trust and sharing a part of themselves with someone they loved. It was exactly how you had hoped your first time would be—especially with Johnny.
A man you loved with your whole heart.
"I'm here," Johnny whispered back before gently catching your lower lip between his teeth.
As though reassuring you, one of his hands drifted from your neck down to your hip, where he squeezed lightly. In doing so, he shifted your underdress slightly higher, exposing more of your skin to the warmth of his body.
"So soft," he murmured, his hand lingering there.
As the fabric gathered higher around your thighs, you instinctively parted your legs enough to make room for him. Johnny settled between them without hesitation.
A small sound escaped your lips.
"Oh." The breathless whisper seemed to delight him.
Johnny leaned back on his haunches as his fingers slowly lifted the fabric of your underdress.
As it rose, his gaze followed the soft curves of your body and the pale marks that crossed your thighs and stomach from the weight you had regained. Those marks, along with the hair between your legs, had always made you self-conscious.
Yet there was nothing in his eyes except genuine affection.
When the fabric reached the underside of your breasts, the urge to pull it back down nearly overwhelmed you. Even after everything that had happened in the chapel—after his hands had already explored so much of you—you still felt shy beneath his gaze.
A moment later, the garment disappeared over your head entirely.
The cool air raised goosebumps across your skin, making you shiver—your first instinct was to cover yourself. But before you could, Johnny's warm hands gently caught your wrists.
His eyes raking over your body, the anxious feeling nagging at you and the chill of the room made your body shake while his hold on your wrists loosened. Once they were free, you didn't know what to do with them—until Johnny laid back on top of you.
Carefully. Making sure he wasn't putting all his weight on you.
It was the first time he had seen you naked, but he seemed to remember that it was also the first time you had been naked in front of a man.
Johnny had never hidden that he had been with women before. He had told you very soon after the courtship started, wanting you to know who you would be accepting as your husband. You hadn't tried to know more, only that he wasn't seeing those women anymore, which he promised he wasn't.
That had been enough.
And in a way, it was reassuring that he knew what he was doing because, even after gossiping with the women here, you had no idea what you were doing. All you could do was follow his lead.
His lips were back on yours, his warm chest now bare against your own exposed one. The feeling of his skin was addicting. The second you felt his warmth, your shaking stopped.
Almost as if your body knew it was meant to be beside Johnny.
His kisses were growing deeper, his tongue becoming bolder by the second, and his hands were no less relentless. While he never stopped kissing you, his fingers fondled one of your breasts while his other hand kept his body from completely crushing yours.
For a few minutes, he played with your breast, making your breathing quicken and making it difficult to kiss him back. Every time you pulled away from his lips to let out little moans and whines, you could feel Johnny smiling. It was intoxicating, like you had drunk too much wine.
Before long, his fingers left your nipple and drifted between your legs, feeling how soaked you were. Even when you had tried things on your own in the middle of the night, you had never felt like this, and it had never felt as good.
Not as good as when Johnny's fingers started rubbing the little sensitive bud between your legs. He wasn't rushing, nor was he hurting you, it was the perfect amount of pressure—something you hadn't even learned for yourself.
His body leaned a little more against your right thigh, letting you feel something hard pressing against the fabric of his kilt. You didn't know if Johnny was doing it on purpose, but he was rutting softly against your skin. It felt so good, you were starting to lose your mind.
"My wife," Johnny breathed against your lips, his head dropping to your shoulder.
It was as if he was intoxicated himself, the gaelic slipping out of his mouth without him noticing. Between your legs, his fingers stopped rubbing and instead drifted lower until they were teasing your fluttering hole. At the sensation, your body immediately stiffened.
The unfamiliar feeling caused the reaction, even though you trusted Johnny with your life. Sensing it, your husband lifted his head from your shoulder and looked into your eyes.
"We dinnae have to do anything, mo ghràdh," he whispered, trying not to break the moment with speaking to loudly.
"I want to," you said in a meek voice, shifting slightly on the bed. "I'm just nervous."
After your words, Johnny sat back, looking at your face with the softest eyes you had ever seen on him.
However, the nervous feeling returned when he left the bed. Frowning, you were about to apologize, though you weren't entirely sure what for. The words died in your throat when he undid the belt of his kilt, leaving himself bare beside the bed.
Unable to stop yourself, your eyes settled on what was between his legs.
Just like the rest of him, it was covered with hair—oddly well-kept, however—with his penis resting against the lower part of his stomach. It was flushed, veined, and leaking slightly. In a strange way, you found it fascinating... and pretty.
With a gentle smile, Johnny sat back on the bed and pulled you up in front of him, sitting your up. Sitting bare before one another felt more intimate than anything you had ever done in your life.
It was the first time a man had seen your body, and the first time you had seen a man's.
Baring yourself like this, even in the dim candlelight, made it feel as though Johnny could see every one of your flaws.
However, your husband seemed to see only a dream come true.
"Ye're so pretty," Johnny whispered, unable to speak any louder.
Awkwardly, you laughed, looking down at your hands resting in your lap.
"You're really pretty too," you whispered back, meeting his eyes.
Taking your hand in his, he gently pulled you closer until you were sitting in his lap once more.
Any doubts you had once had about your weight were long gone, especially after seeing the softness on Johnny's stomach and finding it beautiful.
If you loved his softness, why wouldn't he love yours?
Once you were settled, he kept your hand in his and looked into your eyes before guiding it down, between his legs. It was warm, firm, and surprisingly soft. Your gaze fell to your hand, noticing how much larger his was than yours and how small your hand looked in comparison.
"Is this okay?" Johnny asked, his eyes never leaving your face.
Nodding, you squeezed your hand slightly, earning a sound from your husband.
When you tried to pull your hand away, worried that you might have hurt him, Johnny's hand simply tightened gently around yours—a silent reassurance that you hadn't.
After a quick glance at his face and the reassurance in his eyes, you looked back down and squeezed him again. Against your hand, you felt him twitch slightly, making you giggle.
You were becoming more familiar with him, moving your hand a little more, squeezing slightly harder here and there. It was comforting to feel his hand covering yours—simply rested there, not moving, letting you explore him.
The more comfortable you became, the more comfortable Johnny seemed to become as well.
His own exploration resumed, but this time his attention returned to your trembling hole, between your legs. You felt his fingers wander for a moment, gathering some of the wetness that had begun to coat his skin.
When he felt no resistance and sensed that your fear had eased, Johnny slowly pushed a finger inside.
"Oh," you breathed out, your fingers tightening involuntarily around him.
This continued for several minutes, your hands moving in sync as pleasure slowly built for both of you. Johnny added a second finger, his movements as slow as possible, yet enough to make you feel good.
When he touched a particular spot inside you, your forehead dropped onto his shoulder. As Johnny's shoulder shook with laughter, you couldn't help but smile along.
That smile was quickly cut short when your husband withdrew his fingers, leaving behind an emptiness you had never felt before. His hands remained gentle as he removed yours from him.
You were about to complain, but he cut off your protest, kissing you sweetly while lowering you onto your back once more.
When your head settled against the pillow, you felt more relaxed than before, though your breathing remained shaky with both pleasure and anticipation. Just as before, when Johnny leaned over you, your legs parted on their own, making room for him. This time, he pulled one of them over his hip, drawing himself closer.
"Ye're okay?" Johnny asked softly, his eyes fixed on yours.
You couldn't speak. All your emotions seemed to melt together, leaving you able to do nothing more than nod. His head tilted slightly, as though he were waiting for something more, while a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Yes," you finally whispered.
That was all Johnny needed before he kissed you again. It served as a small distraction as you felt a warm, hard length push into you. It wasn't painful per se, but it was filling. A sensation you weren't used to, more uncomfortable than truly painful.
It didn't stop the little uncomfortable whine from leaving your lips. It was instinctive. Johnny hadn't even moved as he was now fully inside you, he had waiting for you to adjust without you saying a word. His own instincts kicked in as well, one hand cupping your cheek as he looked into your eyes.
You knew what he was seeing: the tears gathering there, tears you refused to let fall. They weren't relevant to how you felt right now. It was simply a physical reaction, something you couldn't control.
"I'm fine," you reassured him with a smile.
Johnny didn't say anything. He simply nodded, offering a soft smile of his own. You thought that would be enough to make him move, to start thrusting, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned in and planted soft kisses all over your face.
It started with your forehead, then your eyebrows. Two little kisses landed on your eyelids, then the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and both sides of your jaw before he reached your lips. He didn't kiss them immediately. He kissed both corners first, making you reach for him and whine when he barely pulled away.
"Greedy," he laughed against your lips before finally kissing them.
The kiss was soft and gentle, nothing like the rushed ones you had shared earlier. He was making sure you felt all his love and affection before choosing that moment to finally move. It was more uncomfortable than his fingers had been, but at the same time, it brushed against something inside you that made your whole body tingle.
His lips never left yours, and his thumb continued to stroke your cheek. It was comforting and intimate, everything you had always known he would be.
His movements were slow, just like his kisses—almost as if he were following the rhythm you were setting. Your lips pushed back against his, and you noticed that whenever they slowed, so did his thrusts.
Testing your theory, you slid your hands behind his neck and pulled him closer, pressing your lips harder against his. Just as you had predicted, his movements became a little stronger as well. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it more. It felt good, a warmth that spread all the way to your stomach.
Against his lips, little sounds escaped you, making him smile.
As his movements gradually picked up again, his forehead dropped to your shoulder. In response, you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around him until his chest was pressed firmly against yours.
Your nipples were brushing against his own chest, and you found out that they were more sensitive than you thought. Everything seemed to blur together. The closeness, the warmth of his body, and the growing pleasure twisting low in your stomach.
Johnny pressed his face against your neck, leaving soft kisses along your skin. Tomorrow, the traces of them might make you blush, but right now, they only made your head spin.
Just as much as the pleasure steadily building inside you.
You hoped Johnny was feeling just as good, but it was becoming harder and harder to focus on anything except how you felt. His movements had become more urgent now, barely separating from you. His pelvis was rubbing against your clit more and more, the hair there was emphasizing the pleasure as tickling it.
Every sensation seemed amplified.
When he groaned against your neck, you answered with breathless sounds near his ear. Your legs had wrapped around him without you even realising it, holding him close. It was a little crazy how quickly you had grown used to this—to him—but you certainly weren't going to complain.
"Johnny," you breathed, a little louder than before as the tension inside you tightened.
"I ken, ugh, I ken, love," your husband replied between heavy breaths and moans.
Even the sound of his voice was enough to make your head spin. It was getting harder to focus on anything except the moment itself.
You and your husband, tangled together—body and soul.
It was almost too much. You felt suspended on the edge of something, and you knew the fall was near. You could feel how close you were, and it was reassuring to know Johnny seemed just as close.
"Tha gaol agam ort," Johnny groaned before lifting his face from your neck.
Before you could answer, his lips crashed into yours again. The kiss was hungry, filled with everything neither of you could put into words.
Not long after, the tight knot inside you finally unravelled. Your whole body tensed as you clung to him, pulling him closer. A loud, embarrassing sound escaped your lips, while a similar one left Johnny.
His hips had pushed hard on last time before he stopped completely inside of you, his pelvis against yours.
"I love you too," you whispered against his lips, not trying to pull away.
The room was filled with nothing but your heavy breathing—a sort of silence that was broken by your quiet giggle. It was all the nerves finally settling, and you couldn't help it. The little giggle eventually turned into genuine laughter, one that Johnny soon joined.
Without pulling away from you, he kissed all over your face again—once more finishing with your lips. These kisses were sweet. Calmer.
Without meaning to, you felt yourself tighten around him, earning the sweetest sound you had ever heard. That made you giggle again, while Johnny dropped his head against your chest.
"Wanna stay here forever," he murmured against your sweaty skin before pressing a kiss there.
His words only made you laugh harder, to the point where the tears lingering in your eyes finally spilled over. It was a body shaking laugh, the kind that was impossible to stop once it started. It quickly became contagious, and Johnny eventually pulled out, as gently as he could, before settling beside you.
While you were still laughing, he pulled you closer until you were using his chest as a pillow. He was soft all over, making him the most comfortable thing in the room—even more comfortable than the mattress or pillows.
Once the laughter faded, you looked up at Johnny, chin against his chest, as he was now looking down at you. Both of your bodies were still warm and sweaty, but goosebumps began to rise on your skin as the chill of the room started settling in.
Reading your mind, Johnny pulled a fur blanket over both of you while drawing you even closer. Closer, for him, meant that you were now lying completely on top of him. It was a position you tried to change, worried about crushing him, but your husband didn't seem to mind at all.
"Stop moving," he groaned, his eyes closed as he fully relaxed.
Rolling your eyes, you tried wiggling out of his grip once more without success. Instead, you earned a light slap on your arse, one that you answered with a swat to his chest—his smile only widened.
"Are ye okay?" His voice was softer now. "Nothing hurts?"
His concern made you smile as you rested your head on his chest. His breathing was soothing, along with the steady rise and fall beneath your cheek, his strong heartbeat almost lulling you to sleep.
"I'm more than okay," you replied with a long, content sigh.
To reassure him further, you pressed a kiss right above his heart.
"Want to do it again," you teased.
One of your hands, which had been absentmindedly caressing his stomach, began wandering lower—a move that was quickly stopped by Johnny's warm hand. Smiling, you looked up at your husband. In his eyes, you saw nothing but admiration—not the rejection his actions could be interpreted as.
"Tomorrow," he said, guiding your hand back to his stomach. "And for the rest of our lives."
Nodding, you pushed yourself up and kissed him again. The kiss lasted longer than you expected, mostly because Johnny deepened it while his fingers ran through your hair.
Before either of you got carried away again, you pulled back and settled onto his chest once more. Even though you were used to sleeping without candlelight, however, you were far too tired to get up and Johnny seemed just as exhausted beneath you.
Instead, you shifted into a more comfortable position and closed your eyes.
If this was what every night would look like for the rest of your life, you were more than happy with it.
Your smile grew even wider as you thought about a little life growing inside you one day. Your own family, with the man you loved more than life itself. What had once felt forsaken now felt like heaven on earth, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
"The end," Johnny said, feeling exhaustion clawing at him as he sat on the floor.
"Again!" Fionn's little voice shouted as he bounced on his bed.
Shaking his head, Johnny watched his firstborn trying to pull his siblings into his enthusiasm.
Every night, his children demanded the same story—the story of their parents' love. Of course, Johnny indulged them... though he left out a few gruesome details.
Secretly, it was his favourite story to tell as well.
It was one that remained dear to his heart, even seven years later.
With a tired smile on his lips, Johnny watched his other children tucked warmly beneath their blankets, covers pulled up to their chins as they listened with drooping eyes while the oldest tried to convince his father to tell the story again.
"Fionn," Johnny said softly but firmly, glancing toward the youngest, who was already asleep.
The little boy turned toward his father, his smile fading when he saw the look in Johnny's eyes. He flopped back onto his bed, tucking his chin to his chest and Johnny knew he was trying not to cry.
Getting to his feet, the man groaned after sitting in such an uncomfortable position before making his way toward the small bed.
With gentle hands, he pulled his boy into his arms before lifting the covers and settling him back beneath the warm furs. Once he was tucked into bed, Fionn's eyes struggled to stay open, only making Johnny scoff.
"Tomorrow, boy," Johnny promised in a gentle tone. "Like always."
After his son nodded and closed his eyes for the night, Johnny kissed his forehead. He did the same for all four of his children before turning toward the door.
His body felt heavy, tired, and relaxed all at once. As he walked toward his own chambers, the smile on his lips only grew as he thought about what awaited him. His heavily pregnant wife, lying in the bed they shared, waiting for him and his warmth before calling it a night.
It was crazy how the passing years had never made Johnny love you less. If anything, with every year spent together, he only loved you more. With every child you gave him, bringing them into the world through pain and tears, he felt that love grow even stronger.
On his worst nights, he imagined what would have happened if you had returned to France. Those thoughts still haunted him.
Pushing open the heavy door, Johnny shook his head, chasing them away. His eyes immediately landed on you. You were lying on his side of the bed, your belly stretching the sheer nightdress you wore. His own pillow was tucked beneath it, but Johnny couldn't have cared less. If he had to sleep on the floor for you to be comfortable, he would.
There was nothing he wouldn't do for you.
Once fully undressed, Johnny made his way around the bed and climbed in beside you. The weather was still cool despite summer approaching, and when he lifted the covers to join you, the rush of cold air woke you.
"Johnny," you groaned, shifting around in search of a comfortable position.
As though waking up had instantly reminded you of every ache. This wasn't your first pregnancy, but seven months in, it was still exhausting. Even more so when you spent your days taking care of four small children.
"Sorry, mo ghràdh," Johnny whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder.
His body melted against yours, gathering you close and sharing his warmth.
After all these years, you had grown softer and rounder—something that drove Johnny absolutely mad. If it weren't for the exhaustion settled deep in both your bones, he would have happily spent every night worshipping you in the very own way that gave you all your babies.
Something you had never really minded, considering how many children you already had.
"How are you feeling?" Johnny asked, closing his eyes as sleep began to pull at him.
"Fat." Was the only answer you gave, your voice quiet.
Johnny reacted immediately, gently swatting your arse. He never liked hearing you speak badly about the body that had given him his children—the body he had loved from the moment he first laid eyes on it. The body he still loved every day he was fortunate enough to walk in this world.
"Stop," Johnny scolded softly before kissing your neck in apology.
"I want this baby out, husband," you said, your voice tight with exhaustion rather than anger.
"A couple more months," he replied, telling you something you already knew.
As you spoke, his hand drifted over the heavy curve of your stomach after lifting your nightdress. Johnny had always loved skin-to-skin contact, and if you weren't so determined to sleep in a nightdress, he would have had the two of you sleeping naked every night. For the children, you always said as your little kids loved to slither into your chambers.
"No more after this one," you broke the silence.
That only made Johnny laugh behind you, his arm pulling you even closer—if that was somehow possible.
"You said that with Ailie," he chuckled, kissing your skin again. "And with Connell."
"I mean it this time," you clicked your tongue, swatting his hand away.
The moment you felt his warmth leave your stomach, however, you grabbed his hand and placed it back where it belonged as if you were angry he left you—even when you had been the one pushing it away.
Johnny loved how feisty pregnancy made you. He wouldn't have changed it for the world. You could swat him morning, noon, and night, and he'd still be the happiest man alive.
"Sure, mo ghràdh," he smiled against your skin.
He knew there was no real bite to your words. But he also knew that if you truly meant them, he would respect your wishes completely. All he wanted was your happiness and that of his children.
If five children were enough for you—the one carrying them—then five would be enough for Johnny too.
"I love you," you whispered before your breathing finally began to settle.
"Tha gaol agam ort," he whispered back, the smile never leaving his lips.
An deireadh. La fin. The end.
©fromsil.
a.n.: i know it had been fucking ages, and i'm truly sorry. this fic was the first long project i put my time into, and i'm really proud of it, proud i finished it even if it had been months. although, it didn't work as much as i expected, i'm still very grateful for anyone that read, commented and rebloged. from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much! i truly hope you loved their journey as much as i love writing it🩵