#saw your reflection in the snow-covered hills...

[lalage]

so i'll take my love, take it down

[yourlocallunatic]

My King in the North

Cregan Stark x fem Velaryon!reader 18+

Summary: You fly with your brother to meet with the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to ally your families in the height of the Dance of Dragons. In exchange for soldiers, your mother has offered up you—her eldest daughter.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, piv sex, oral sex (fem receiving) canonical Stark breeding kink (seriously, hardcore breeding kink). HoTD tragedies (character deaths)

wordcount: 8.2k

The wind grew sharper the further North you flew, snow started to cling to your hair and lashes, encasing you in the cold. On the back of your dragon, you tried your best to curl into yourself to keep warm. The rain you saw from time to time on Dragonstone was cold, but not like this. You could feel the fierce power of the North in the gusts of the wind and it made you feel something, something more than you felt anywhere in the South.

You approached Winterfell, the rolling green hills and the thick forest surrounding it. The sky was gray and a light snow covered the cobblestone streets and the tops of the tower. It seemed dull, but there was a distinguished charm to the place. You and your brother landed your dragons near the front gates, and the guards standing watch shuffled stiffly on their feet–eyes growing wide at the sheer size of the beasts. The gates opened and a man walked at the front, he was broad and burly, his long hair was pulled half-back and a large sword was slung across his back. This was the Lord of Winterfell. Your betrothed.

“Winterfell welcomes you, my friends,” his voice shook with a deep Northern accent, his arms were outstretched with a gesture of welcome.

“Thank you, my Lord. Our mother–her Grace–thanks you for seeing us,” Jacearys spoke approaching Lord Stark. You stayed back a bit, letting your brother do the talking for now.

“Please, please, come in. We have a feast prepared, you shall sit at the high table with myself,” He patted Jace on the back hard, your brother letting out a cough at the impact. The Northerners were clearly not very concerned with the prim-and-proper treatment of royals. It was refreshing. You set your dragon away, leaving her to fly and explore, knowing she would return. You follow your brother, guards following you on either side—Lord Starks welcoming behavior did not reflect that of the guards he enforced. You knew it was risky of him to trust you, and he showed you that with the guards that stood by him and the sword that lay on his back. He was smart.

Warmth enveloped you as you entered the halls, every patron of the court stood and bowed as you all entered. They did not bow at you and your brother, however, but to the Warden. You’d heard of Northern stubbornness and now you were seeing it in full effect. They did not like outsiders and you saw that as they sent occasional glares to you. Lord Stark took a seat at the high table, you and Jace sitting on either side of him, though you protested to sit next to your brother.

"Please, be seated," Lord Stark's voice boomed throughout the hall, "I thank you all for welcoming the children of The Queen, the Prince, and Princess shall remain with us for a stay, I ask you all to extend your arms to them. Now eat your fill! Winter is coming," he spoke with such a high level of authority but it was so evident in the way his people listened attentively that they all respected him. And the mere fact that he had called Rhaenyra the Queen already struck something in the minds of his people.

You still did not speak, eating quietly as you listened to the conversations around you. Jace and Lord Stark spoke to each other, you could tell a bond was forming, the two seemed very alike already. Two young Lords, they knew power at such a small age. You watched the Warden from the corner of your eye, the way he spoke with Jacearys was firm, but not unfriendly, he knew what you and your brother came here to ask and he was setting his boundaries early–the type of move a king would make. Studying his face you noticed more and more, that his brow line was firm, and his eyes a steel grey, he was very much a Stark by all the accounts you'd read. He had a small scar running along the side of his cheek, one you couldn't help but wonder what it came from.

"Tell me, Princess," you turn your head to the young woman sitting beside you, a bit younger than yourself you guessed, "you came here with the intent of staying in the North, did you not?"

"Pardon me, Lady–?" you asked. Finally speaking.

"Just Sara, your Grace. You intend to marry my brother?" this was the Lord of Winterfell's sister, you recalled–a bastard–thinking back to your books on the North. Evidently, he was very committed to his family, considering he would let a bastard sit at the high table with him; let alone sit in the hall altogether.  

"The Queen's intention, yes," you bite back, still bitter at your mother for so easily sending you away for the sake of her crown.

"So you do not intend to?" the girl asked, genuine curiosity laced in her voice.

"No-well, yes..." You stutter, before taking a deep breath, "I do what the Queen asks of me."

"Do not fret, Princess, you will be well taken care of here," she sets a warm hand on your arm and gives you a soft smile, doing her best to calm you in your distressed state. "My brother may be a formidable warrior and leader, but don't let him fool you, he cares very much for those around him. Especially one so beautiful as you."

"Thank you, Sara. I apologize, I fear I've gotten caught up in my worries, leaving my family so suddenly, not even knowing if Lord Stark will accept the proposed betrothal. I have a lot on my mind." you laugh nervously, pushing your food around your plate with your fork (very un-ladylike your septa would tell you).

"You needn't say sorry, Princess," the girl was sweet, and you could tell it was genuine, hopefully, she'd be a fast friend. "And trust me, he will accept the proposal," she whispered to you sneakily.

"And how do you know that? Surely he has better offers," you combat, keeping your voice low as well, Lord Stark barely a foot away from you.

"My brother is smart. He plans to take your brother to the wall and discuss terms, leaving you here to put your impression on the people. He wouldn't have accepted the two of you here without learning more about you first, he knows the good you've done for the realm even as a young Lady. No matter the Queen's standings, he knows he would have someone good by his side. Someone the North could accept." there was something larger at play here you could tell, larger than both yourself and Lord Stark, larger than your mother and Aegon's petty argument. This was about the whole of the North.

"Moreover, my brother is a man, and no man could say no to a pretty woman with a dragon who could give him little dragon babies," she giggles, eliciting a laugh from you as well, "no man is smart enough for that." a louder laugh leaves your mouth from her comment, you cover your mouth with your hand, trying your best to be proper.

"Seems we already have two new friends!" Jacaerys voice interrupting your laughter, "Haven't heard her laugh in years, nose always stuck in a book." your brother teases making you roll your eyes. Lord Stark turns his body to face you, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Just as I hoped," he moved his gaze to his sister, his smile grew larger, and you could tell he was grateful for her warm demeanor. "Princess, would you care for a walk?" his eyes were still on his sister but he moved them quickly to you. You turn to Sara, and she gives you a smirk and a small nod, gently pushing your shoulder to go with the Warden.

"Y-yes, my Lord, it would please me greatly," you stand and bow your head. He extends his arm and you hold onto it politely. Even through the thickness of his tunic and cloak, you could feel how strong he was–and it made you blush.

The two of you didn't speak to one another as you walked the streets of Winterfell, he would stop occasionally to greet people though, goodness coming through his rough demeanor. You came to the godswood and walked through, the noise from the streets gone replaced with the whistling of the wind and the quieting chirps of birds as night fell.

"I spoke with your brother," his thick voice filled the silence, "but I wished to speak with you as well before we continue with our terms." He stopped walking and turned to face you, not letting go of your arm.

"Of course, Lord Stark," his lips turn up slightly on one side at your formality.

"As the Queen's terms stated, you need aid from the North, and in exchange, she will give me your hand in marriage. Is this what you wish?" He seemed concerned, more so than he should be.

"Of course, my Lord, whatever my Queen wishes of me." You bow your head to him in submission. Would he be a rough lover? You wondered. Everyone told tales of how brutal of a ruler he could be, how brutal a fighter. Would he be brutal with you? Only see to you to stick an heir in your womb?

"Is that what you wish, Princess?" his arm held yours tighter, a sense of urgency in his tone. "I know of your family, I know that marriage is a duty, it is here in the North too. But in the North, we believe there is also passion in marriage and love. I do not want you to subject yourself to this if you think I am only here to rule you."

"I-I wish for a happy life," you close your eyes, for the first time in your life speaking your truth plainly, "I wish for my family to be safe, children to care for, land for my dragon to fly in peace..." you trail off, his sister may have been right, he may care for those around him, but he was also dangerous to those he did not. Now all you could hope was that there was something he cared about in you.

"Then you shall have it," he spoke with the authority of a king. "I've heard of what you've done in Dragonstone and even King's Landing for your kinsman's people. I wish to have you by my side, not just to wife, but to show the North there is good still left, and we have her fighting for us."

"Thank you, for accepting the proposal, Lord Stark, it would be an honor to serve the North."

"Thank you, Princess," those steely eyes stared straight into yours and you believed him with every part of you. "I will take your brother further North to the wall to discuss the rest of our terms, when I return we shall be wed within a fortnight. Will you be alright here?"

"Yes, my Lord," you smile at him. Duty and passion he had said. You simply couldn't wait for his return, dying to see what his passion felt like.

You made your way back to the hall together, taking your seats again. They would leave at dawn he told you flying on dragon-back. You tried to get him to fly your dragon instead of going with Jace, but he insisted she stay here while he couldn't be here to protect you.

"Ever proud Northmen are," Sara whispered to you, "that dragon could protect an army," you giggle at her joke, glad you would have her here to keep you company the next coming days.

The next days you had hardly a moment's rest, busying yourself with learning more and more of the North's history within the Keep's library. At one point Sara held a lunch for you and some Ladies of the Court. "It will make a good impression." she'd told you. So you put on a smile and listened to the gossip that ensued. It took a moment for the Ladies to warm to you but once Sara revealed that Lord Stark was to have your hand in marriage they flurried into excitement, one of them even offering to sew together your wedding dress at once. You smiled, the North was a cold place, but it was clear that there was a warmth to be found in the community.

"My husband hasn't bed me in years," one of the ladies had said, several of them chiming in saying their husbands did the same, "what I'd give for one of those Stark men, I hear they bed you every night to ensure a babe takes..."

"I hear they know everything of a woman's pleasure, Lord Stark should surely pass a law to all our husbands to do the same."

"My maid saw him bathing once…told me he's got the largest member she's ever seen."

The words flew around you, the women all laughing and giving you jealous looks. Your face grew red at the thought of him bedding you, giving you all the children you could hope for. As wonderful as the welcome of these women was, it was also highly unusual for women in the South to talk about such things with one another, clearly another difference you'd have to grow accustomed to.

"Alright ladies, I'm sure the Princess would appreciate some respite on the wedding talk, as would I with hearing about my brother's cock," Sara spoke loudly, a teasing tone in her voice, but everyone listened nonetheless. She excused the two of you and led you outside for some fresh air. You wrapped the new fur cloak you were given tighter around yourself, still growing used to the cold.

You walked together for a bit before you heard the familiar screech of Vermax in the air. They weren't supposed to return for a few more days...perhaps they had come to an early agreement. You quicken your pace to the front gate, arriving just as your brother and Lord Stark entered.

"How was riding on dragon-back, Lord Stark?" you tease, walking to greet the two of them. But he didn't respond. He walked close to you, a solemn look in his eyes. Something had happened, what happened? He puts a cold hand on your shoulder, casting his gaze downward. "Is everything alright, my Lord?" your voice began to shake. He looks you in the eye once again before walking away. Had the engagement broken off? You wonder, your heart dropping slightly at the thought. Jacaerys didn't move from where he stood a few feet in front of you. His face was blank, void of any emotion trying to break through. "Jace...what's happened, am I to return home now?" he did not answer. You walked to him, grabbing his face in your hands to make him meet your gaze, "Jace, answer me. What's happened?" your voice firm, tears beginning to grow in your eyes from anger as he still said nothing. "Jacaerys!" you shout, and that's when you see it, a crumpled piece of parchment clutched in his hand. The broken seal was that of your mothers, she's sent a raven. Why? You grab the message from him and hastily unfold it, doing your best to make out the tear-stained ink.

No. No. It couldn't be real. Your brother. Your baby brother. The boy too brave for his own good. Lucaerys...

"This isn't real, it can't be..." your chest was tight and your vision began to blur, you looked around you, trying to find someone to give you answers, Jacaerys still mute. You stumbled blindly as your body began to wrack with gasping breaths, you ran into a solid body, grasping on to whoever it was and not letting go.

"Come, Princess, let's get you to your chambers," the deep Northern accent resonated from above you.

"No, my-my, no my baby brother..." your voice barely coherent, "my baby brother..."

"I know, I know, Princess, walk with me," Lord Stark did his best to keep his grasp on you, but to no avail.

"He was a child!" you screamed, pushing yourself away from him. "An innocent boy!" Your body began to tumble backward but Jace was right behind you, standing to hold you upright, his own eyes now leaking tears, trying as he might to keep a brave face. You struggle between the two men as they try to drag you back to the keep. You couldn't breathe, the air inside was suffocating. You threw open the window in your chambers sucking in a deep breath before collapsing to the ground.

You didn't know how many hours had passed, you cried until your tears ran dry and screamed until your lungs gave out. Your wails echoed through the halls. Now you sat beneath the open window, the cold air seeping into your bones as the fire in your chambers died down. War would break out soon over something so trivial. Your family had always been teetering on killing each other and you hated it. It wasn't just Aemond that killed Lucaerys, it was every single one of the Targaryens.

There was a soft knock at your door but you did not acknowledge. Not that it mattered, shortly after the knock the door opened and your brother entered. He shut the door behind him before making his way over to you and sliding down the wall to sit next to you.

"We will leave at dawn," he spoke, turning his head to face you.

"We? Jacaerys, I cannot go back there. This has gone on far too long, since the moment Aegon was born, I am finished being a part of this game of thrones," your voice was broken from the crying and screaming, and it was broken from the pain.

"Mother will want you safe, with her," he combated.

"Safe? I'm safe here Jace, away from the fighting, the safest I've been all my life. The engagement is set now and you have made your terms, my duty is to the North now, and to the North, it will stay," you spoke exasperatedly. You stood from your spot on the ground and made to tend the fire again, "Has Lord Stark given you adequate resources?" you question, trying to change the subject.

"2,000 of his older fighting men, greybeards, he calls them."

"Good, then you will take your leave at dawn. Tell mother I love her, but she cannot send me away only to try and take me back as soon as she loses a child," he nodded at you sadly, tears in his eyes, he was losing his sister too now. "Come here, I'm sorry, but this is what she wanted." You move to him and wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly to you.

"At least let me stay for the wedding," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"You mustn't waste more time, avenge Luke for me, he was the best of us."

"I will. I promise," he told you, right as there was another knock at your door. You clear your hoarse throat, trying to sound the lady you were.

"Enter," yes you tried, but your voice still shook.

"My Prince, Princess," Lord Stark enters the room, giving you each polite nod.

"Please, Cregan, you needn't use formalities, I'm to be your brother soon after all," Jacaerys spoke up, trying his best to lighten the mood. Cregan gave him a smile before he continued speaking.

"Of course, that is what I came to ask. As you are leaving at dawn, I thought you may want to be here for your sister's wedding," his gaze turned to you, almost questioning. "I've had arrangements made and was curious to if the Princess would like for the ceremony to take place tonight?" you tried to interrupt, not sure if you could handle the festivities after such a loss you've endured, but he quickly cut you off before you could say anything, "It would be small, only us and a priest, we will have a feast to celebrate whenever you're ready, Princess." your brows turned down and adoration flooded you, he looked at you steadily for a response.

"Thank you, my Lord, I would love to have my brother here, your thought is much appreciated."

"Thank you, Cregan," Jace extended his hand to give him a firm handshake, the two exchanging grateful looks. The ceremony would be in half an hour under the weirwood tree in the godswood, in the sight of the old gods. It was growing late so you didn't bother trying to call a maid, instead you re-braided your own hair and put on the heavy cloak and thick wool dress you were gifted when you arrived in Winterfell, you looked positively Northern.

Jacaerys took your arm and walked you down the cobbled streets to the godswood, where Lord Stark would be waiting. You hadn't had much time to process everything, still so caught in Luke's passing, but you did know that as Sara once said, you would be well taken care of in Winterfell. It was a clear night, the moon and stars illuminated the path through the trees to where your soon-to-be husband stood. He looked regal standing there, the spitting image of a king. Your brother kissed your forehead before handing you over to Lord Stark. Your mind was foggy. I am his and he is mine. The only words that mattered, and the only ones you would remember.

Your goodbyes to Jace were tearful. He couldn't wait until dawn to leave so he mounted his dragon and left, you knew it was because up there, so high in the clouds he could cry, he didn't have to be a prince.

You walked back to your chambers, Lord Stark escorting you. You weren't sure if you could do this, he would want to consummate you were positive of it, but after the day you'd had...you couldn't muster your strength. You came to your door and waited for him to enter before you shut the door behind you, you stood there, not certain if you should wait for him or just get it over with. You turned and watched as he removed his cloak before adding another log to the fire. Get it over with. You told yourself, removing your own cloak and boots before starting on the strings of your dress.

"What are you doing, Princess?" He looked at you, confused, walking over to you quickly and pulling your dress back on your shoulders.

"This is my duty, Lord Stark," you said tearfully. He gave a slight laugh before taking your face in his hands, making you look him in the eye.

"No, no, not tonight, I only came to tend your fire, it's been a long day for you, I will never expect anything of you." you wrapped your arms around him suddenly, aching to be held. And that he did, one arm was around your shoulders and the other cradled the back of your head pulling you close.

"Thank you, again, my Lord," you mumbled into his chest. He pushed you away, and a teasing smile played on his face.

"Never mind, I will expect one thing of you, and that is to call me by my name, no more 'My Lords' or 'Lord Stark'. You are my wife."

"Then thank you, Cregan, for treating me so very well," you smiled at him, "no more 'princess' either, I am no longer one after all," you spoke back. The smile on your face turns down.

"Very well, I will leave you to rest then," he spoke your name as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and made his way to the door. You didn't want him to leave. He was yours now, you wanted him with you, to protect you and care for you in your hours of sorrow.

"Cregan," you called out softly, your dress now slipping off your shoulders again. He turned back, a hopeful look in his eye, "Stay with me?" he said nothing as he walked back to you, ridding himself of the cloak he held before removing his boots, you continued with the strings of your dress, trying your best to reach behind your back when you suddenly felt warm fingers entangled with yours and he continued your work. You were left in a linen slip, standing close to the fire to keep yourself warm. You watched as he unbuckled his belt and removed his doublet, he walked slowly to one side of the bed and placed his formidable sword next to the bed. He held back the fur coverings and nodded to you, motioning you to climb in the bed. Your steps were slow and cautious, but you trusted him. You moved beneath the furs, instantly feeling much warmer, your body heated even more when Cregan moved in next to you holding out his arm so you could fall into his body. It felt right, you were warm, you were safe, you were cared for. Your head lay across his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as you fell asleep.

"Always, dear wife," he spoke into the silence of the night where he soon fell asleep with you to the dying embers on the hearth.

You spent your days the next few weeks trying to take hold of your grief, you did your best, keeping your head buried in books to distract yourself. Cregan would take you with him to various meetings and suppers, you were thankful for the distraction and you slowly drew closer to him. You continued on with your arrangement, he would see to your chambers in the evening, tend the fire, and climb into the bed with you, stroking your hair till you slept. But with that, you grew more and more frustrated, his closeness began to stir something in you, a deep longing. You woke one night with the space beside you empty, you sat up in the bed hastily calling out his name. He was standing at the window staring into the darkness of the night, he had taken his tunic off, something he hadn't done in front of you yet, and his back was stiff and muscular from years of training. His arms–now bare–you could see exactly how strong he was, a force to be reckoned with. He hadn't heard you call his name so you slowly slid out of the bed, tugging on the silk robe one of your ladies' maids had embroidered for you, direwolves wrapping around your neck, and snowflakes falling down the sleeves. You walked to where Cregan stood, standing close to him and peering out the window along with him. The wolves were howling in the night causing a chill to run through you, you still couldn't tell what their cries meant, were they mourning with you? Were they angry? Hungry?

"It's said the blood of the first men runs through your veins, that I believe," you spoke into the night. "there's also a folk tale that says the Stark men who have that blood can turn to direwolves when they wish, that... I'm still not sure of." Cregan smiles at the sound of your sleepy voice.

"You've been reading," he states, looking to meet your eyes.

"Yes, I like learning about your people, and your library is always kept so warm," you giggle, thinking of the cozy days you've spent in there.

"I wish that tale were true...it would make ruling so much easier, I wouldn't have to go to meetings anymore, I could intimidate people without having to use my sword, protect my people better..." he sounded hopeful as if he believed he still had a chance for the tale to come true.

"You are a good ruler, you would make a splendid King," you told him, grabbing his hand to hold within yours, despite the cold of the night you could feel his blood still running hot.

"A King?" he questioned, never more than just the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

"Your people were kings for thousands of years, my ancestors took that away from you so they could unite and rule a monarchy," you say, speaking of all the books you've been reading, "In my eyes, you are still the King in the North, and the North remembers, your people remember."

"What you speak is treason, treason to your mother the Queen, and your family!" A man of honor. He pledged himself to the Queen, he would not back out of his oath, even if this is what the North had for thousands of years.

"Perhaps, but my duty is here now. We will let them fight amongst themselves as we prepare for something bigger...your kin, and mine," you give him a look of urgency. "My mother told me of the Prince who was Promised. The Song of Ice and Fire. The book I've seen sitting on your desk..." he knows what is to happen, every Stark Lord is told and does well to abide by it. Cregan was shocked to know you had knowledge of it, and even more shocked that you would put aside your family and call yourself a traitor all for a prophecy.

"My wife..." he trails, worried that this would grow into something far out of his reach.

"Your oath to the prophecy proceeds that of your oath to my mother. We will not betray her, but we must survive for the whole of the realm," you're holding both his hands now, looking at him desperately. He knows this is true.

"We will survive," he states, agreeing with you. "but I will not be the king."

"You will be my King," your eyes draw closed as you sink to your knees. "I have wed myself to you, now I pledge myself to you, I know no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." His eyes fill with adoration as he looks down at you, soon following suit to kneel with you on the ground.

"Then you will be my Queen," his words ring clear and true as he rests his forehead against yours, drawing you close to him. "come to bed with me, our celebration feast is tomorrow, and you need your rest." He stands and extends his hand to help you up and doesn't let go once you are standing as well. He leads you to the bed letting you get yourself comfortable before laying beside you, your faces mere inches away as you stare into one another's eyes.

"Cregan," you whisper, your eyes flitting down to look at his lips, his mouth was slightly open and he spoke your name back to you, "Please kiss me." he wasted not a second, moving those few inches to connect your lips, he was warm all over, the pure fire that warmed the North, his lips were dry and slightly cracked but they were full and consumed you whole. He pulled away before anything went too far and a giggle left your mouth as you looked at his reddened face. He smiled at you before placing another kiss on your forehead and pulling you close. You both fell asleep fast, holding each other until the sun rose.

The next day was a flurry of commotion to prepare for the feast. The lady from the lunch you'd had with Sara (who you now learned was Lady Umber, wife of Lord Umber) insisted you wore the dress she had sewn for your wedding ceremony, claiming you had to wear it to the feast if the ceremony had already happened. You complied for the dress was stunning, thick and woolen, a real northern dress lined with white furs and embroidered with the direwolf sigil. Foods were rushed into the great hall as garlands were hung on the hearths. One of your ladies was finishing braiding your hair in a northern fashion like you'd insisted when there was a knock at your door.

"My Lord," your lady bowed before finishing the braid and swiftly exiting to leave the two of you alone.

"You look beautiful," Cregan said softly as he made his way over to you, he grabbed a piece of your silver hair between his fingers and twirled it, "I do hope our children take after their mother." he teased, letting go of your hair in favor of taking your hand to place a kiss on your knuckle.

"I hope they take after their father," you tease back, "true little wolves they'd be," he smiled brightly at you, but behind his eyes, there was a darkness, a yearning, one that you knew for certain he had been holding back for weeks.

"Let's be on our way then, the people are waiting for the new Lady of Winterfell," even though the two of you were wed already, it still didn't feel real thinking that you were to be the new Lady of Winterfell. You'd done your best in your mourning of Lucaerys to try and connect with the people, all you could hope is that they would accept you now.

The feast was in full swing when you arrived, shouts and songs echoed in the hall but all grew silent as you and Cregan entered, making your way to the head table. You reached the front and turned to face the people, hand in hand.

"Thank you all for welcoming our new Lady of Winterfell!" Cregan shouted over the masses, and a roar of cheers erupted. "You will do well to remember our new allegiance to the Queen Rheanyra and keep your honor. These past weeks as you've welcomed our new Lady of Winterfell you may know that she has lost a brother to the usurper of the Iron Throne, we will keep in the North for our duties, but if war reaches us, think of the Prince Lucaerys and his sister, the North remembers!" more shouts echo in the halls as tears fill your eyes at the mention of your brother.

"Now, this is a celebration of our marriage, please, celebrate!" the halls resume their shouts and songs as Cregan leads you to your seat beside him, your glasses immediately being filled to the brim with wine. You make eye contact with your husband, giving him a grateful look, a silent thank you. He gives your hand a squeeze in acknowledgment.

As the celebrating continues Lords and Ladies of the surrounding Northern lands flood to your table, gifting you with all sorts of words and treasures–mostly it was the ladies sneakily whispering if you'd been bred proper yet–to which your response was a deep blush before sending them away. You do your best to match the names of those you read about to the faces you saw. Currently speaking to you were the Lord and Lady Mormont of Bear Island, more so the Lord Mormont and Cregan discussing recent wildling attacks further North. You and Lady Mormont faced each other in an awkward silence, Sara beside you at the high table waiting for the conversation to start.

"So... Lady Stark can we hope for some wolf pups soon, maybe even an heir to Winterfell?" of all the things she chose to speak about...

"Oh um...yes, I suppose..." You try to smile along. Sara beside you stifling a laugh

"Surprised you aren't already, those Stark men are something fierce," she continues.

"What are we speaking of now wife?" Lord Mormont chimes in. Oh no. He was a burly man, one of honor and tradition...

"Oh I was just asking the Lady Stark when we should expect a babe," she laughs, linking her arm with her husbands.

"She's not yet?" Mormont sounds exasperated, "You may be my Lord, Stark, but come on lad! You should be fucking her till your seed takes, surely it's been too long now!" your face grows redder than it was already, an uneasy look on your face, this had gone too far. Cregan could see the look on your face and immediately took control.

"That'll be enough, Mormont," his voice went lower in pitch as he reminded Lord Mormont of his place. "I think it's high time we all retired, I will send a raven when I need to speak to you, no sooner will I hear from you." Lord Mormont looked down in shame, put in his rightful place.

"Yes, My Lord, My Lady," a single bow and he and his wife were on their way, the rest of the people in the hall filling out shortly after hearing the altercation. Cregan stood and took your hand again, walking you to your chambers at a fast pace, one you could hardly keep up with. Once in the room, he slammed the door shut before throwing down his cloak and rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

"I'm so sorry, I should've warned you people in the North are very attached to customs–" you cut him off.

"When will you bed me?" you asked, genuinely confused.

"I-I believed you wanted to wait longer..." He trails off, slightly taken aback by your question.

"I'm tired of laying next to you in bed growing more and more desperate each night," you spoke your truth and saw his back straighten, eyes darkening as he walked closer to you, almost stalking you like prey, "I cannot say how many Ladies tonight asked me if you'd put a babe in me yet."

He loomed closer to you, "And what did you tell them..." the hairs on your neck stood at the deepness of his voice.

"I-I didn't say anything," you respond, head hanging down. He lifts your chin to meet his gaze.

"But what did you want to tell them?"

"That you'd fill me every night till a babe took." your voice grew confident, he was giving you the sense that this was something he deeply, deeply, desired.

"Would you like to do that?" his hand cradled your face now, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches in your throat, and thoughts flood your mind about what he would be like, he was a strong man, but he was gentle with you, would he be desperate enough to take you hard?

"Give me a babe, Cregan," it was over. All sense of self-control that he held was now burning in the fire. The hand that was on your face moved to the back of your head, tugging you to meet his lips, he devoured you. It wasn't like the gentle kiss he gave you last night, it was depraved, his tongue wrapped around yours, teeth clashing together with an uncontrolled hunger. His mouth began to move down your neck and you felt him nip at you, soothing over the spot with his tongue. He began to walk backward towards the bed, still holding your body close. Your hands grew restless, grabbing onto him anywhere that you could, you soon found them tangled in his hair, tugging slightly.

His hands were roaming your body now, he was restraining himself from ripping your dress right off of you, but he knew it would make you sad, what a pretty dress. He moved his hands back, beginning to undo the buckles on his doublet, you broke away from his kiss for a moment and leaned down to remove your boots. It was all a flurry of motion as the two of you hastily began to undress yourselves, at this point, he was left in only his trousers and you in your shift and corset. You made eye contact for a moment the both of you smiling giddily. He raised his hands and started on the laces on the back of your corset, his arms were wrapped around you, your face staring straight at his chest where you grew bold and started to press kisses across the expanse. The corset–now loosened–fell from your body, Cregan could see the hardness of your nipples through the thin slip dress and proceeded to cup your breasts in his hands, tweaking the hardened peaks through the fabric. Slowly–so slowly you hadn't even noticed at first–he sank to his knees in front of you, when he reached the ground his hands started running up and down your legs caressing you while moving the shift upwards. He took one hand and placed it on the center of your belly, pushing, and in one motion you lay back on the bed, your husband still on his knees in front of you. he continued to move the dress up until it hung around your waist, you sat up on your elbows and looked down at him nervously, your center now fully exposed to him.

"Do not worry, sweet wife, I want to make you feel good," you nodded at him as he drew closer to you, his hands slowly dragging up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing the insides gently, growing closer and closer to your heat. He spread your legs further apart, looking at you once more before taking a finger and running it through your slick. You moaned out a curse and fell back onto the bed, the furs around you enveloping you in warmth. Cregan carries on running his fingers through your sex, they would barely dip inside of you before he moved them back up to circle your clit, causing a teasing repetition.

"Please, Cregan, I need more," you beg.

"More? You really have been needy," he teases, his other hand moving underneath you to squeeze your behind, "Alright, then, whatever my wife wants, she shall get." You were waiting for him to move, to get up and remove his trousers so he could fuck you. But no, his warm mouth licked a stripe up your slit and followed the same motions his fingers did, never staying in one place long enough. You cried out again, moving your hands down to tangle in his hair again. He teased you a little longer before his mouth kept place on your pulsing bud, alternating between sucking and licking at you. It was heavenly, you'd never been touched like this by a man, he was pouring all his adoration into you. And as good as it did feel, you still needed more, you felt nothing would satiate you until you were dripping with his seed.

"I-I want you to fuck me now," you barely breathe out between heavy breaths, he moves his head away from your core after pressing one last kiss to your clit. A smirk grew on his face, loving the way you were practically begging for his cock. He moved agonizingly slow, standing to his feet and staring down at where you lay on the bed. He refused to move his gaze away from you as he began untying the strings on his trousers, "please..." you breathe out in a breath of desperation. His trousers fell to the ground and you move your eyes to his center where his cock hung heavy, tip red and leaking, aching for your wetness to swallow him whole.

"You want me to fill you up now?" you nodded eagerly, itching to feel his body on top of you. He lifts you by the waist pushing your body up the bed like you weigh nothing, he removes your shift entirely now, pulling it swiftly over your head. "Tell me if you need to stop, alright? His tone shifted into seriousness. You breathe a yes in response. His body moves to hover over you and his head dips down to press gentle kisses against your chest, trailing down to lick at your nipples. You feel one of his hands reach between your bodies before the blunt head of his member runs through your slick. You grab onto his upper arms, steadying yourself as you prepare for him to push into you, he goes torturously slow and you grip onto him harder, a silent way of begging him to take you already. The stretch hurts a bit, not as bad as everyone had told you but the wetness surely helped dull some of the pain. He groans as he seats himself in you fully, not moving, you rock your hips into him trying to create some friction.

"Cregan, please, it feels so good, just take me already!" he lets out a breathless laugh at your restlessness, his mouth open and panting. He pulls out in one motion before thrusting into you again. And again. And again. This is what you had wanted, for this fierce warrior to lose himself in you fulfilling a yearning desire to fill you up completely. Your moans ring against the walls and you do your best to hold yourself together before you utterly fall apart. The bed creaks as he rocks into you, his pace growing quicker and quicker.

"Fuck!" Cregan grunts out through clenched teeth. The sight above you is heavenly, strands of his dark hair frame his face, some sticking slightly where a sweat begins to sheen on his brow. His jaw was tight, and his body was stiff, a deep concentration in his features. Then, in one sudden movement, he pulls himself out of you to flip you onto your front, yanking your hips up before plunging deep inside you again. The pleasure from this angle was insurmountable, the head of his cock hit the back of your tight walls repeatedly, fucking straight into your womb. You prayed for a brief moment, begging whatever gods were listening that his seed would take and you would soon have pups to take care of. His hands gripped your hips tight, surely there would be bruises tomorrow and surely he would feel horrible about it, but you cared not. The rawness of his passion would remain on your body. A subtle heat grew in your belly and it became warmer and warmer.

"Cregan, I-I think something is happening," you mutter from where your face was squished into the furs on the bed. He groaned out another curse before speaking again.

"Let go, let go for me," his voice still strained in pleasure, "I'm gonna fill you up now, and every. Single. Night. Until it takes," his thrusts annunciating his speech. The coil in your belly grew tighter until it finally snapped and you moaned out blissfully. His thrusts didn't stop and you grew more and more sensitive, but he did not last much longer after you, cursing out one final time before emptying himself right against your cervix.

When he pulled out of you, you could feel his expense steadily beginning to drip out of you, but his fingers soon found your center again, scooping it up before pushing it back inside of you. And if that wasn't the most arousing thing ever...

"Can't have you wasting any of that, can we?" he wipes his fingers off on the bed and climbs in under the furs, beckoning you to come lay with him. You crawl to him and fall into him unceremoniously. His arms pull you in close and hold you tight and his lips fall down to press a kiss to the top of your head. There was a smile on your face, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to stop smiling. You shift your head and turn to look him in the eye, only to find he is already looking at you, his own smile shining down at you.

"Even after a babe takes..." you begin and his eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the chambers, "can we still do that?" his smile grows wider and he huffs out a small laugh.

"Of course! I don't know if I would be able to keep myself off of you knowing that you are carrying our child, you'll be the most beautiful mother." he lifts a hand to stroke your hair, the same way he's done the nights you've shared the past few weeks.

"Well, then I hope we'll have a little prince or princess on the way soon," his brow furrows in confusion at the titles and he asks a silent question with his eyes, "You are a king after all! Our babes will be royalty."

"I've told you, I'm no king," his eyes held back a sadness.

"As I have told you, dear husband, you are my king," it was your turn to hold his face in your hands, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against your palms, "I will know no other." he leaned down to press his forehead against yours and you sat together in the quiet of the night, with only the company of each other until you fell asleep. A sleep where you dreamed of a family with him, boys running through the godswood being chased playfully by their father, a young girl sitting upon your lap as you flew your dragon over the forests of the vast Northlands. The lands where your husband would be your king.

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the tufts of fallen leaves that it covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood, streaked down arms like veins. It plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you’re standing in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them and their research from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that was quickly replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stuck stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion. You couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally get a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde, possibly light brown haired—the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone’s a comedian. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from the expanse of his arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents have to be and how good they are at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Isn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turns his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this isn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead silence and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was an impressively difficult task for absolutely no reason other than that he avoids people for his own benefit. The motive for this disappearing act was, and still is, lost on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which is practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his chest, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” As if there was a fight put up when you relent. You smooth a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You create a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet.

There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You aren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it holds no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand comes up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watch his back, you’re left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you’re a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appear at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight isn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they want because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?” 

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him leaves nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the soft surface of his back. 

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you know. 

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must feel like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims yours when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you have left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you.

Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs his face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head.

I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does.

His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, her thin brows raised expectantly. You and Leon jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to muster any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something tangible comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and a sheepish, apologetic smile breaks across his lips in your direction as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch of completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of cutters reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others, turning to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some of your resolve escape you. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—no, you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but locked in yours, they prickle with warmth, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

[janeyseymour]

Landslide

Summary: Melissa's doing a lot of self-reflection while she ponders about what the future might hold for the two of you.

Feel free to listen to my cover of the song too!

WC: 1.95k

Melissa Schemmenti has been through a lot- there’s no two ways about that statement. She’s had plenty of rough seasons, and they’ve shaped who she is today. And then you came crashing into her life the day that you quite literally tripped and fell walking into her during the first day of development at Abbott your first year. Your mere existence threw her into an existential crisis, and that was before the two of you started dating. And now? She’s contemplating asking you to marry her (how you managed to get her to rethink her entire outlook on life, love, and marriage without your realizing it is beyond her). With this revelation of hers that she might want to get married again, she’s doing a lot of reflection of the course of her life.

I took my love, I took it down. I climbed a mountain and I turned around. And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills, til the landslide brought me down.

She used to wear her heart on her sleeve. That’s actually how she fell in love with Joe. It was a typical school girl crush in the eighties when she met him in an entry level writing course during college that everybody was required to take in order to graduate. They fell in what she thought was love and got married far quicker than she had ever expected herself to do. She had climbed that mountain, and she almost made it to the top. But then, their marriage had turned into the situation that she had promised herself she would never be in. She turned around, and as she began her trek down, she saw her reflection in what was now a snow covered hill. She saw the way that this experience changed her, and she knew that she would never be the same again- not after what Joe had done. And then the landslide brought her down, and she had fallen from what felt like the highest peak, and she found herself in one of the lowest valleys.

Oh, mirror in the sky: what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Building herself back up to be as much of the Melissa Schemmenti that she knew and missed was a process, and the redhead knew that it was always going to a little different than it once was.

Melissa found herself looking up at the sky quite often, feeling a sense of serenity when the sun in the sky shone on her face or when the droplets of water that fell from the clouds trailed down her face and she couldn’t quite tell what was rain and what was tears. It was freeing and made her feel as though everything might just be okay.

The redheaded woman was looking up at the sky on a rather cloudy and dismal day as she wandered through the city aimlessly when she finally decided to ask herself what love really is.

Melissa came to the realization that day that she had no idea what love was. Her mother and father certainly didn’t have the love story everyone yearned for- no, they ended up divorced by the time the redhead was ten. She remembers hearing their fights, the cursing and tears, while she lay in bed trying to fall asleep. A part of her had died in those years, and she truly wondered in that moment if the inner child within her heart could ever rise above and find love- true, real, and natural love that wasn’t forced or expected of her.

The woman walked through the city without a destination, wondering if she could handle the changing ocean tide of being in a marriage to being single again. Could she handle the different seasons of her life that were yet to come? She supposed she made it this far, so she can’t give up now- if anything to spite whatever God was trying to make her life a living hell.

Well I’ve been afraid of changing, cause I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older. And I’m getting older too.

That night, Melissa went back to the small apartment in the middle of Center City Philadelphia that she couldn’t quite yet call a home. She stood out on her balcony, eyes focused down on the streets below her. Somewhere, Joe was roaming those streets looking for his next booty call. And in that moment, she realizes that she needs to change her ways- it’s been two months that she’s been moping around since the divorce was filed.

But she was terrified of change. She had built this whole life around Joe and his friends and family,  and she lost it all in an instance when she caught him in their bed with another woman.

With time, Melissa’s heart healed and mended itself- the only true remedy for heartache and heartbreak. And in that time, she grew to love where she worked at Abbott Elementary. She grew bigger and bolder, back into the woman that didn’t put up with shit and marched to the beat of her own drum.

Years passed, and the redhead found herself watching her first class graduate from Abbott. Only then did she realize that even children grow and get older- onto their new chapter, and then in a few short years she would find herself at their high school graduations cheering and clapping for them among their families.

But Melissa Schemmenti was like family to some of those kids- like a second mother, or even a first mother in certain cases. And she would continue to be there for them.

Only after she enters the door to her townhouse that at least somewhat feels like a home to her now does the second grade teacher realize that she too is getting older. 

And then you came around. You started working at Abbott when Melissa was finally settled into her own being and she was happy with where she was in life. And you came and shook that all up in your flowery sundresses and bright smile. You turned her world upside down with your infectious positivity and sunny disposition. The redhead who wore mostly muted colors with her pleather pants and leather jacket started to wear brighter colors again, because you unintentionally made her see the world like she was living in technicolor.

And after a few months of you working there, the two of you began to see each other romantically. You brought out parts of the hardheaded second grade teacher that she thought she would never see again, yet she was still Melissa. She was still the woman who knew a guy and wasn’t afraid to back down from a bare knuckle fist fight or to bring out her bat to destroy someone’s car who wronged her. You found yourself loving that. You also found yourself loving the way that Melissa would turn soft for you in an instant if you needed it. You knew she was the woman of your dreams, and the redhead felt that too oddly enough.

And so, here she is in her classroom as she waits for you to finish up a meeting with Malik’s parents and doing some self-reflection again as she wonders if maybe you are the miracle that she’s been waiting for her entire life- if you are the one true, real, natural love that she’s been looking for. If you’re the one that she’s going to throw caution to the wind for and get married to.

Well I’ve been afraid of changing, cause I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older. And I’m getting older too.

She’s been afraid of change her entire life. Melissa Schemmenti thrives off of routine and the things that she knows to be true in the world. But you came and shook everything up, and she’s built her new life around you now. Is she willing to change everything if a second marriage of hers goes south again?

But… time has made her bolder. Time has shown the redhead that no matter what happens, she’s resilient- she’ll make it through. And genuinely, she isn’t so sure that she would hate the change of being married again, as long as it was to you. 

Time passes around her slowly as she looks around her classroom and realizes just how much has truly changed since she started teaching you and even just in the past few years that you’ve been in her life.

The kids that she started out with are onto the real world, they’ve grown up. They’re off creating their lives, creating families and raising beautiful children that are now wandering through the halls of Abbott themselves.

The practice of teaching has changed and evolved as Melissa’s been here, and while she’s always been afraid of change, the redhead realizes that she’s always been changing and growing to fit the standards of the time in order to give her students the best education she can.

And you? You’ve brought a new sense of life and passion into her world… she’s getting older, she’s aware of this. Maybe you’re worth the potential landslide that could take her out again. She doubts you will- you’re nothing like her ex-husband in the slightest. And that gives her hope. The lingering fears though stay with her, because much like you’ve shaped her, so have her past experiences. 

Oh, take my love, take it down. Oh, climb a mountain and you turn around. And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills, well the landslide brought me down. And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills, well the landslide bring it down.

Melissa’s worn her heart on her sleeve when it comes to you. And so far, she hasn’t had to take it down. You’ve both climbed the mountain, but neither of you have turned around. She saw her reflection as she climbed up, and she’ll be quite frank: she still glances down at the snow-covered hills occasionally when a moment of self-doubt and self-worth takes over. But she doesn’t think that the landslide will ever bring the two of you down.

And so, she opens her phone and pulls up the number of one of her guys.

“Jack? I think I need a ring,” she says into the phone lowly, praying to God you aren’t coming around the corner. 

“For?”

“I think I found the future Mrs. Schemmenti,” Melissa reveals with a soft smile on her face. “I’m done letting the landslide bring me down.”

“Meet me tomorrow after work, and I’ll have a few things picked out for you.”

She hangs up the phone with a smile.

You walk into her classroom a few moments later, bags slung over your shoulder.

“Hey, babe,” you sigh. “You ready to go home? I’m beat, and I need some relaxation and Desperate Housewives.”

Melissa chuckles softly as she stands from her desk chair and grabs her own bag. She stretches to peck your cheek before taking your left hand in her own. Subconsciously, she rubs her thumb on your ring finger as she thinks about the meeting that she has tomorrow with her guy. 

Melissa Schemmenti has always been afraid of change… always wanted to heal that inner child of hers that used to look up into the night sky and wonder what love was. And here she was, changing for you and knowing what love truly felt like.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

[f1bordeaux]

Landslide | cs55

"Even children get older, And I'm getting older too" Life moves on, pretty quickly at that. Your last night with Carlos is one that you'll both remember forever. Even years later when he fulfills his biggest wishes. Warnings: Suggestive content, heated make out sesh lol, sadness, happy/unhappy ending? Mostly unhappy Pairings: Carlos Sainz x Reader(y/n) Word Count: 4.2k Poetry style | Story style A/n: I LOVEEEEEE Landslide by fleetwood mac and the way this song hits you when you're about to move out-UGGHHHHHH I wrote the first half of this then went out, got drunk as fuck, woke up and wrote the rest of it with a hangover, so forgive me if there are any errors. Anyways, enjoy this internal dread i'm feeling turned into a FanFic. Growing up is so weird, isn't it?

I took my love, I took it down I climbed a mountain and I turned around And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills 'Til the landslide brought me down

2012.

“¡Sainz joder!” He turned around to look, a smile splitting his lips. Antonio had a frying pan in his hand as the two of you ran through his kitchen. Carlos’ hand squeezed yours with so much force that you wondered if it would bruise. It didn’t hurt, though. In that moment, nothing mattered but that damn smile that Carlos carried. “¡Anda, anda!”

Finally, you reached the back door of the kitchen. Carlos used his whole body to push it open, hoping that nobody would be on the other side. Luckily, the alleyway was empty, save for an employee sitting on a bucket smoking a cigarette. Carlos kept running and you had no choice but to keep up-your hands were still intertwined after all.

Antonio ran out the door, stopping as he watched you two make your grand get away. “Bastard! I ought to tell your father! And your father too, young lady!”

It was the same threat he used every time you and Carlos cut through his kitchen. I’m going to tell your fathers that you two are devious children! He’d say. He never did, though. Antonio was a friend to both yours and Carlos’ parents. He could if he wanted to, but he didn’t. For over ten years, you and Carlos would walk into his restaurant-situated on a busy Madrid street-and slowly sneak your way into the kitchen. Sometimes, when he wasn’t there, the waiters and cooks would just let you freely pass. But, more often than not, he was there and it suddenly became an obstacle course of running past cooks, dodging frying pans and slipping between shelves. It was worth it, however. A small, secret alleyway that was blocked off by a fence from the main road laid on the other side of the restaurant.

On the left-the building that Antonio’s restaurant was in-was a fire escape. It spanned up ten stories to an abandoned rooftop bar. Over the years, Carlos would bring small objects up there. Pillows, blankets, a small folding table, a few boxes to keep the stuff safe. He had the place designed to his liking-like it was his house or something. He’d put string lights up there too, giving the space a dreamy, photogenic atmosphere. So many nights were spent underneath the abandoned bar. You’d slept there a handful of times. You’d gotten drunk for the first time there, too. That space was yours and his. It was Carlos and y/n’s spot; everyone knew it.

So, as you and Carlos climbed the fire escape, it was hard to believe this was the last time the two of you would be spending the night up there together. It made you nauseous to think about.

“Try not to look so down.” Carlos chuckled as the two of you kept climbing the stairs. He could read you like a book, obviously he saw how upset you were. “Let's enjoy tonight.”

“Easier said than done, Carlos.” He stopped suddenly, your chest running into his backpack. His hands grabbed your shoulders and he-shook you? “Carlos stop it!”

“Sorry I was just trying to get the idea that I’m leaving you out of your brain.” He said, dropping his hands.

“But you are.” You said, evoking a sigh from him. Before he could apologize-which you knew he was about to do-you shook your head. “Listen, I’m so excited for you, Carlos, but-I don’t know. Life is going to be so different without you in it.”

“I’ll still be in it, mi novia. It’s not like I’m dying.”

“But Carlos, you’d always come home to Madrid after a race. You’d always be back to see me. We would work on school work together. I’d come to your races sometimes.” You sighed, looking at the metal ground beneath you. “But I’ll be in college and you’ll be in the British Formula 3 now. That's a massive step up. And when you do come back to Madrid, I won't be here.”

He didn’t speak, not for a while. The two of you just stood there, in the Spanish heat, looking at the ground. Life would never be the same. He couldn’t say anything to deny that. Tomorrow night, he would be catching a flight to London, and at the same time, you would be catching a flight to the United States. You’d both leave behind Madrid and only ever return as guests to your hometown. Maybe your rooftop hideaway would go untouched. Maybe some new children would find it and claim it as their own. They’d find the boxes that said, Carlito&Muneca, in sharpie and wonder what those names meant. Maybe they’d sort through your things, maybe they’d turn on the string lights and gasp at how beautiful the place looked.

Being eighteen was weird. You didn’t like it too much.

“Let's go, y/n.” Carlos grabbed your hand once again, pulling you up the fire escape. Three more flights awaited you. The sunset had just begun, but the primary color in the sky was still blue. You could still hear car horns from nearby streets. The air was still warm. The two of you were still young. At least for tonight you were.

Once you reached the top Carlos stepped aside, allowing you to take in the scene.

Oh, mirror in the sky What is love?

The spot on the stage where Carlos and you normally sang and danced to his iPod Nano was now completely redecorated. There was a plush blanket, pillows, a pizza box, and those damn string lights you loved were hanging from the roof. A small card was on one of the pillows. It was, of course, addressed to you in Carlos’ fanciest writing.

Anyone would think that this was a romantic gesture. But you two were best friends. Since birth, really. Not a day went by without conversation between the two of you. Carlos was your soulmate. Of course you had crushes on him here and there-he was hot, funny, caring, charming; you could go on and on. But you never acted on it. Keeping him around was better than losing him.

“Carlos,” You cupped your mouth with your hands. It was beautiful. “When did you-Is that pizza from Antonio’s?”

Carlos laughed, amused that the first thing you pointed out was the food. “Yeah,” He said. “He’s pretty sad that he won't see us around town anymore, either.”

Your heart sank. Right. That's why this was all set up-as a final goodbye. In the few moments of excitement and shock that filled your body upon seeing all this, you had forgotten that tonight was it. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Vamos, let's eat.”

That you did. Carlos and you sat at the bar and ate, watching as the sun sank lower and lower over the city skyline. Somewhere along the way, he pulled some liquor out of his backpack. You two drank and talked, reminiscing over everything the last eighteen years had brought. That one time you spent the night at his house and started a small fire in the kitchen-from then on sleepovers were at your house. That one time you two took a day trip to the beach and Carlos’ foot brushed a stingray's back. That one time you were at one of his races and a driver started hitting on you, so Carlos punched him in the jaw and got suspended for three races. That one time a wild hare was in your guest bathroom and your parents weren’t home so you called him over to help and you trapped it in your mother’s favorite cooking pot. That one time he lost a bet and went streaking through his neighborhood in the middle of winter.

The two of you were hunched over in laughter, your abdomens cramping from how hard you were laughing. Carlos wiped a tear away from his eye. “And remember Mrs. Nunez? She saw me that night and sprayed me with her garden hose!”

You sniffled. “Like why was she awake at five am? And why was she gardening?”

“Literally! I was fucking freezing. The scream that came from my mouth after that-”

You both mocked his scream at the same time, laughing even harder as you remembered the old lady’s shocked face from that night. Slowly, you both started calming down, giggling as you remembered the streaking ordeal. Carlos took a sip from his beer. You drank from your rum and Coke. It was darker now, still not pitch black, but darker. You looked up into the sky, watching as clouds rolled by.

“What am I going to do without you?” Carlos asked. You looked back down. He was staring right at you, bringing the beer bottle back up to his plush lips. “Can’t you just quit college and travel with me?”

You scoffed. “And be what? Your trophy bestfriend?”

“Trophy wife?”

You swore that your heart stopped beating. Wife? As in marriage? Obviously he wasn’t being serious, right? Carlos was a playboy. He’d had plenty of girlfriends in his lifetime. From your past observations, you weren’t his type at all. He preferred dolled up girls, ones with fake blonde hair and exquisite makeup. He preferred high heels and short, skin tight dresses. He preferred long nails and longer lashes. Synthetic beauty. You were far from that. When you put on makeup, it was simple. You dolled yourself up, yes, but everything about you was natural. From your hair color to your nail length. You were a natural beauty-something Carlos had never indulged in.

“Very funny,” You smiled as you took another drink.

“What?”

You blinked very slowly at him. “Us getting married? Sure.”

He shrugged. “Why not? You don’t love me?”

“Of course I love you, Carlito.” You tried using his nickname to deescalate the situation. “But you would never marry me.”

“Bold assumption.”

Was he drunk? Or, was he shooting his shot because tonight was it? This was quite possibly his last chance, was he taking it? Was he working you up so you’d miss him more? God, this was confusing. “Carlos-”

Before you could even say another word, he was leaning forward to kiss you. His lips were warm on yours, a side effect of the alcohol you were sure. His lips were so soft, so large, so perfect. They pulled yours in with such ease, such delicacy-almost like you were fine China. His free hand came to your jaw, thumb resting on your cheek.

He pulled away first, much to your surprise. There was about half a beer left in his bottle. He downed it before speaking again. “I’m sorry, y/n. I don’t know why I thought that was ok.”

Your teeth pulled your bottom lip in. You’d just kissed Carlos, something you only ever dreamed about.

Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?

You reached out, both palms resting on his cheeks this time, pulling him in for another kiss. Fuck it, you thought. This was a new dynamic between the two of you, but it was one that younger you would be ecstatic about.

This time, there was more hunger behind the kiss. Carlos understood this was something you wanted, and you now understood this was something he wanted. His tongue slipped between your lips, finding a home in your mouth. His hands wrapped around your neck, not applying any pressure, just applying warmth. You felt so warm, so satisfied. This was finally happening. Why couldn’t it have happened two years ago?

Carlos pulled away again, gasping for air while resting his forehead on yours. “Come here, hermosa.”

You got off your barstool and sat on his lap, your chest flush to his. The two of you resumed your makeout session, his hands roaming your back, your hands draped around his neck. You moaned into the kiss once his large fingers snuck beneath the fabric of your shirt and touched your hot skin. It was electrifying, it was new, it was so good.

You could feel the bulge in his lap pressed against your thigh. His kisses turned sloppy, his hands moved quicker, his breath grew shorter. It was obvious he was growing impatient with you sitting right there. He was hungry for you. He only wanted you.

His lips attacked your collarbone, leaving little bitemarks and wet spots across your skin. You ran your hands across his broad shoulders, leaning your head back as he created a constellation across your chest. The night air was cold, the sky was now completely dark. The string lights were off, but the glow from the city provided enough light for you to see Carlos at work. He looked so good, so handsome, so perfect.

He chuckled into your skin, the vibrations causing you to shiver. He involuntarily thrusted his hips up, grunting as he did so. You hung your head on his shoulder as he composed himself. “Wrap your legs around me when I stand up, ok?”

You could only nod, feeling gravity shift as he rose to his feet. You did as you were instructed, his arm coming to your lower back for support. Your chest was pressed so deep into his that you wondered if two humans could possibly get closer than this. You really wished your shirts were off so you could feel his skin on yours.

Softly, Carlos laid you down on the makeshift bed. It was more comfortable than you imagined it would be, but maybe your mind was too clouded with lust to be rational. You were focused on Carlos and only Carlos.

A gasp pushed past your lips, not because of anything Carlos did, but because of a loud and sudden explosion. The sky lights up in colors of reds and yellows, blues and purples, greens and oranges. Sparks quite literally fly as fireworks rip through the once still air. Carlos is beside you now, watching the sky with such intensity you wonder if he has ever seen a firework before.

“It’s Saint James Day.” He says to himself.

You’re pulling the covers up to your chest as you catch the small, toothy smile that he holds. He pulls his knees up and rests his elbows on them. You’re amazed at how quickly his attention changed from you to the fireworks.

“You had no idea?” You ask. “I knew there would be fireworks but I didn’t know they’d be close enough for us to see.”

Carlos shook his head. “I didn’t know, no.” He looked back over to you, that smile still on his lips. “What a way to spend our last night in Spain.”

Your heart stops beating. It’s like he was hellbent on reminding you that this was it.

Slowly, he reached for your jaw once again, bringing you in for a kiss. It was soft, it was gentle. It was reminiscent of the first kiss the two of you shared only a few minutes ago. Never, you thought, do I want this to end. It did, however. Everything has a beginning and an end. The circle begins when you place your pen on the page and it stops when you’ve finished drawing it. The story begins at birth and appears like it ends on a rooftop in Madrid-semi naked with fireworks in the background.

The fireworks carry on for a few more minutes. They seem to illustrate photos in the sky. Carlos sees it, too. He pulls out his phone to snap a quick photo before turning it to you. This goes unnoticed, you’re too preoccupied in watching the show before you. He snaps a candid photo of your side profile. It was one he would cherish for the rest of his life, even if it was low quality and dark.

When the sky falls dark once more, the sound of cars below once again filling your ears, Carlos turns his whole body to you. “I love you, y/n.”

Can I handle the seasons of my life? Well, I've been afraid of changin' 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older

And this time, it feels different. It feels like there is a non-platonic meaning to the sentence he says everyday. Carlos has been telling you he loved you since the two of you could speak. Everytime you two say goodbye his last words are, “I love you.” Every time he’s overjoyed with you he says, “I love you.” Every gift you’ve ever given him has been opened as he says, “I love you.” Every time you run into his garage after a good or bad race he greets you with, “I love you.” You begin to wonder if you’ve missed some signs along the way-if you were too immersed in the thought that, he would never date you, to realize he’s been fighting for you all along.

He answers your question when he speaks again. “All I've ever wanted in life was you. I knew that at the end of the day, I’d be alright as long as you were there, y/n. After a bad race, you were standing there waiting for me and I realized that it isn’t the end of the world. After a bad breakup, you were there to tell me that I’m not a douchebag and I’m actually a good person. After people told me I could never make it big in racing, you stood proud as my number one fan and forced me to carry on with my head held high.”

Your throat begins to burn. This was goodbye. This was Carlos’ confession.

“I have loved you for such a long time, y/n. It’s always been you. I have always wanted you.” No. “I have never clicked so well with someone. I have never thought someone was so beautiful as you. You don’t even have to try, either! You’re just so,”

He trails off, looking straight ahead at the city. His eyes glisten. You wonder if he’s about to cry. You know you’re one more word away from crying.

“I don’t know how I'm supposed to be ok after a bad day without you there to hold me.”

That does it. You hold a hand over your mouth as tears pour down your cheeks. They’re hot, but they aren't the same warmth that Carlos radiates. They’re painfully hot, his touch was pleasantly hot. You’ll have to learn to live with one and not the other, however.

“Carlos,” You choke out. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just staring straight ahead as tears of his own trickle down his cheeks. “Oh, Carlos.”

“This sucks.” He says.

“This sucks.” You repeat.

It sucks. Saying goodbye sucks. Leaving your hometown that you love so dearly sucks. Leaving your best friend sucks. What will become of the two of you? Will Carlos still love you? Will he return to Madrid and visit with your parents? Will he be saddened to see your empty room? Will he turn to look at every girl who resembles you and hope that somehow, someway, you found him? Will you do that to every man who looks like Carlos?

He leans back, laying flat on the bed. You rest your head on his chest, his fingers coming to play with your hair. “I believe with every bone in my body that you will do amazing things, Carlos. You’ll be a world champion one day. And guess what? You’re going to do it because you are strong. It’s not going to be because I’m holding your hand, it’s going to be because of your dedication, your talent, your strength, your skill. You’ve worked for this, Carlos. And you are going to do it.”

He sniffles, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “I love you, Carlos.” You say. And maybe things will be ok, maybe they won't. But you know that Carlos will go on to do great things. You know that he's the type of boy-no-he's the type of man to accomplish whatever he puts his mind to. He’ll fight for his life in that damn race car and then step out of it and make the whole room laugh and smile. He’ll make amazing friends, ones that will occupy the space you have always resided in. He’ll be happy and feel whole. He’ll think of you from time to time. Maybe you’ll visit one another when you both are in Madrid at the same time.

“I love you, y/n.”

And I'm getting older too

2026

You haven't run this fast since high school. Somewhere in the crowd, you’ve lost your husband, but you don't care. You have a mission to accomplish, a friend to see.

“Carlos!” You shout, waving your hands like a maniac. “¡Mi hijo! Carlos!”

A hand grabs you by the bicep. “You can’t be in here!” The strange man shouts. Did you run past some barriers? Yes. Did you push some young fans? Yes. Is security worried about your intentions? Yes. But there, only a few feet away, if the new World Champion.

“Let me go! I know Carlos!” You fight the man causing another to join in on the situation. Both of your arms are restrained and they’re practically carrying you out.

“Everyone says that.” One of them says.

“Please!” You beg. It’s been over three years since Carlos and you have seen each other in person. Life dragged you two apart. You thrived in college, becoming the girl that everyone loved. You made friends quickly and made memories even quicker. Carlos thrived in racing, too. He moved his way up pretty quickly, his Formula One debut coming just three years after he left. You’d seen the Youtube videos of him and his friends, you’d heard the inside jokes, read about Carlando-you knew he was happy. But, you two weren’t as close anymore. You’d text frequently, reaching out before a big race or after a difficult one. You’d facetime, too. You both had one another on social media, and sometimes he would comment on your post or respond to a story you had up. Life was different now, however. You and him were married. He couldn’t come to your wedding, it fell on a race weekend. You couldn’t go to his. You said you had work but watching him marry another girl would stir up some pain, even if you were in a happy relationship. You didn’t frequent Madrid all too much, choosing to vacation elsewhere when the time arises. But, vacations were rare now that you were a mother. This was the first time you’d been out of town since giving birth three years ago. It was worth it.

“Carlos!” You cried out once more. He knew you were at the race-he was the one that bought you the tickets-but you wanted to see him now, not later.

The commotion caught his attention. He stared for a second, trying to understand why two men were carrying out a girl, but then he saw who it was. “Y/n!”

He dropped the conversation he was having to run over to you. The hands of strange men were replaced by those of a familiar friend. You felt warm again. You felt whole.

He swept you up in a hug, spinning you around as you squealed. “You did it! You fucking did it Carlos!”

“I know! You were right muñeca! You were right!” The nickname alone was enough to make you cry. You hadn’t been called that in years. Since the two of you were in your teens.

He dropped you, hands sliding onto your cheeks. For a brief moment, you thought he would try to kiss you. He didn’t. But your mind wandered.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” He smiled softly. “None of this would have happened without you.”

“Me?”

Carlos nodded. “I carried your words with me every day. Nobody has ever believed in me as much as you have.”

“Carlos-”

“I love you, y/n.”

The tears were back, and they fell hard. “I love you, Carlos.”

He was pulled away to go do his podium celebration. The Championship had come down to the last race of the season. Carlos beat out his competitors, however, winning not only the race, but the World Championship. And as he stood on that podium, champagne spraying through the air, fireworks began to pop in the sky. It lights up in colors of reds and yellows, blues and purples, greens and oranges.

He looks down at you, a smile splitting his lips.

It seems like the highest award to achieve, but he hopes that in another life, one hopefully close by, that he can get the one thing he desires most.

You.

Maybe in another life, you followed him. Maybe in another life you two got married. Maybe in another life you reached out more. But in this life, Carlos is a World Champion. You wouldn’t trade his excitement, his pride and his joy for anything.

[fallouttboy]

spare fleetwood mac x fall out boy anyone???

i’m yours til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away->the landslide will bring it down.

i know i should walk away but i just wanna let you break my brain and i can’t seem to get a grip, no matter how i live with it->i’ve been afraid of changing cause i built my life around you

i’m sifting through the sand, looking for pieces of broken hourglass, trying to get it all back, put it back together, as if the time had never passed->time makes you bolder, children get older, i’m getting older too.

i’m just a full tank away from freedom. spitfire->i saw my reflection in the snow covered hills til the landslide brought me down

it doesn’t wanna live in a cage, a feeling that i can’t housebreak->can i sail through the changing ocean tides? can i handle the seasons of my life?

bishops knife trick by fall out boy // landslide by fleetwood mac

[lifesver]

URL  SONG  CHALLENGE .

make a playlist using the letters of your url ! 

L .    LANDSLIDE     —    fleetwood mac.

i took my love, i took it down, i climbed a mountain and i turned around / and i saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills, 'til the landslide brought me down / oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? can the child within my heart rise above? can i sail through the changin' ocean tides? can i handle the seasons of my life? / well i've been afraid of changin', 'cause i've built my life around you / but time makes you bolder, even children get older, and i'm getting older too.

I .    I'M A BELIEVER     —    the monkees.

i thought love was more or less a giving thing / seems the more i gave the less i got / what's the use in tryin', all you get is pain / when i needed sunshine, i got rain / then i saw her face, now i'm a believer.

F .    FREE BIRD    —    lynyrd skynyrd.

if i leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me? / but please don't take it so badly, 'cause lord knows, i'm to blame / lord help me, i can't change / won't you fly high, free bird.

E .    EASY WAY     —    for the foxes.

all the things we've done, it's like we're living on the run, we never took the easy way, we're moving like a hurricane / i don't know where the birds have flown, but i think we'll stay here, we'll call you out on the radio, so clear / the only place that i'll ever want to be is here.

S .    STAND BY ME    —    ben e. king.

when the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we'll see / no, i won't be afraid, oh, i won't be afraid / just as long as you stand, stand by me.

V .    (GOOD) VIBRATIONS     —    the beach boys.

i'm cheating for this one. it's about the beach boy vibes there are no meaningful lyrics here <3 we're picking up good vibrations

E .    EARTH ANGEL     —    the four seasons.

earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine? my darling dear, love you all the time / i'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

R .    RIGHT BACK WHERE WE STARTED FROM     —    maxine nightingale.

love is good, love can be strong, we gotta get right back to where we started from / do you remember the day (that sunny day), when you first came my way, i said, no one could take your place.

tagged by. thank u @fuselit mwah mwah

tagging. any besties who have yet to do it

[trippytrails]

Nainital Diaries: The Lakes, Views, and Memories You’ll Always Keep

Let me take you on a journey to a place that feels like a slice of heaven in the hills — Nainital. Tucked away in Uttarakhand, it’s the kind of town that pulls you in with its old-world charm and keeps you hooked with its peaceful vibes.

When I visited for the first time, I was surprised how many unforgettable places exist within this small hill station. If you’re planning a trip and wondering where to start, here’s your perfect list of every magical place to visit in Nainital.

Naini Lake – The Calm in the Chaos

The first thing I saw was Naini Lake, and I couldn’t look away. It’s calm, clean, and surrounded by misty hills. I took a boat ride in the evening and just sat there, watching the sky change colors. Trust me, no photo can do justice to how peaceful it feels.

Naina Devi Temple – A Quiet Blessing

Just a few steps away from the lake is the Naina Devi Temple. Even if you’re not spiritual, the peaceful environment and the view it offers will stay with you. Bells chiming, incense in the air — it was a moment of calm that I really needed.

Snow View Point – A Sky Full of Peaks

I took a cable car to reach Snow View Point. Floating above the town, slowly rising towards the snow-covered peaks — it was surreal. The view from the top made me feel like I was in a postcard. A must-see for anyone who loves mountain landscapes.

Mall Road – Where It All Happens

Mall Road is where the town comes alive. Street food, local crafts, cozy cafes, and people just strolling in the evening breeze — it’s got that old-school charm. I even found a tiny bookstore tucked between shops that had vintage travel books!

Tiffin Top – A View Worth the Walk

The short hike to Tiffin Top was worth every step. It’s a favorite place to visit in Nainital for those who love taking in views with fewer crowds. I sat there with a packed lunch and felt like I had the town all to myself.

Eco Cave Gardens – A Little Adventure

This one’s fun, especially if you’re traveling with kids or enjoy exploring hidden spots. The caves are lit and shaped like wild animal habitats — and squeezing through them felt like being in a jungle maze!

Raj Bhavan – Time Travel in Real Life

Walking through Raj Bhavan felt like stepping into a different era. With its British architecture and perfectly manicured gardens, it’s one of those places that tell a quiet story — if you just pause and look closely.

GB Pant Zoo – A Hilltop Surprise

Tucked high above the town is a well-kept zoo, home to rare animals like the snow leopard. The walk up is steep, but once you're there, the fresh air and animal sightings make it worth it. It’s not too big, so it’s perfect for a relaxed hour-long visit.

Land’s End – The Last Word in Views

With a name like that, how could I not go? Land’s End gave me one of the most beautiful views of my entire trip. A quiet spot to sit, reflect, and just be. Sometimes, that’s exactly what travel is about.

A Few Handy Tips

Weather: Summer is pleasant, while winter brings snow.

Shopping: Woollens, candles, and wooden crafts make great souvenirs.

Food to Try: Don’t miss momos, bun-omelette, and local thalis.

There’s no shortage of a place to visit in Nainital, but the real charm is in how each spot makes you feel. This town doesn’t just offer sights — it offers stories, memories, and a gentle reminder to slow down.

So, if you’re thinking of heading to the hills, pack a bag, take that bus or train, and just go. Because Nainital is waiting, with open arms and a lake full of reflections.

[dorkatron79]

would you do fandom bitty adoptions? like, other than undertale bitties? if so can I get a reader adopting one? from any fandom ya like! but I do love horror and slashers and stuff like that!! thank you even if you don't do it!!

Reader and a Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, and Freddy Kruger Bitty

It was ominous, it was like the hills had eyes. The trees were naked of leaves in the ominous shadow of autumn. The pristine metal knife glinted in the dark. The metal screeched on the dark. The bitty saw his face reflected in the blade. In the knife he saw his sins staring back at him. The wind cackled with a sinister howl. The stars fled the sky. It was like black ink spilled in the cauldron of the sky. The omniscient stars watched the land of horrors below. The bitty; his mask was a ghost of white, the way he moved was phantom-like. He stalked his victim in the night, he was a bitty Michael Myers, small and foreboding. A mask with dark hollow soulless eyes. His his eyes were empty, hollow, a deep void that dispelled any light. His shirt was the color of gravestones as he crept in the midnight.

   At his side was a Jason Voorhees bitty with a hockey mask with triangular stripes that were a dull vermilion. An odd metallic smell clung to him like smoke. He was covered in head to toe, with a tiny machete wielded in his hand. He and Michael were rivals who roamed the night, prowling, hunting down anyone unlucky enough to cross them. They were like shadows in the night who ruled the streets. They were the harbingers of death, two bad omens who ruled the shadows.

    Their reign of terror was known all throughout the city. They were called the red death. A truck veered obstructing their path and swerved before them. Oh no. It was bitty control. The dog catcher who was tasked with catching bitties instead of dogs. Michael Myers and Jason ran, like their lives depended on it, they ran and fought against the torrents of wind. However he dog catcher was nimble. Jason tripped. Michael hesitated although he hated Jason with a burning passion he couldn't let him be caught and surrender his freedom. He went back to save his rival.

   Both were sent to the bitty shelter. They endured what they thought was hell, they were scrubbed in ointment and sweet smelling soap. They hated it here! They hated being pampered; they were meant to be evil not pampered. 

In your bed at home you kept having nightmares. Your stirred and shivered under the thin blankets. A clawed hand ripped at your thoughts. His face was one who haunted yours, he feasted on your nightmares, and preyed on your hopes and dreams. His face was mutilated like Deadpool and his face was one that invoked nightmares, instilling in all who saw him a primal fear of the unknown. It was your Freddy Kruger bitty. He jumped on your stomach nearly knocking the wind out of you and demanded you get him a friend. You obliged to his petulance. Languidly you both went to each shelter yet none could put up with your diva of a bitty's attitude. He was odd for a Freddy Kruger bitty. 

You got dressed and decided to visit some bitty shops, one store soon became two stores then two stores became three. Three stores! Four stores! You visited all the stores and town and still couldn't find a friend your bitty. On a whim you decided to visit the local pound you were sure they had bitties there. In a cage in the corner you saw them. They looked to you with a morbid curiosity. Your bitty strode up to the cage and pointed, they were slasher bitties just like him! With great reluctance you turned to the workers who ran the pound and said. “How much for these two?” 

*Bonus* Your Freddy Kruger bitty stabbed a cereal box with his wolverine like claws. Cereal spilled across the kitchen floor, you flipped on the light switch, it was 3 AM and you were tired. You walked in to see your Jason bitty making snow angels in the cereal. Your Michael Myers bitty threw a piece of cereal at your Freddy Kruger bitty. They seemed to be having a snowball fight but with cereal instead…? Today was going to be a long day. You scolded them and gave them each their own tiny bowls of cereal, which they devored within seconds. They truly were cereal killers weren't they?

[kaylapeytoncharlotte]

15!!!

Time is flying

4/28/25

My dearest Peyton

Here’s to another year around the sun my sun-shiny,exuberant,complex and deeply feeling daughter. You are wise beyond your years…. always wanting to be older than you really are but really I know, secretly wishing you were young again so that everyone can watch over our P. Don’t worry… we will always watch over you because of the love we have for you. Even when you drive us nuts! And you literally went from a baby to 15 in a blink of an eye! From being my cuddliest sidekick baby to being my independent, smart, beautiful and very special unique young lady. Time really does fly. 🥲

I know you couldn’t wait to celebrate another birthday and yes, with each new year, bringing you closer to being an adult, remember you are still a child. You are my child! Don’t grow up too fast! Adulting is hard at times so continue to cherish those moments of wonder and curiosity because there will be fewer days of that. It’s always ok to hug me or link arms with me or just be next to me. I love it! With every being in my body, I love it. And I love you!

We’ve had a great year Peyton. I’m

Proud of you for working hard at being organized, staying healthy body and mind, keeping relationships and making new ones, speaking up for yourself and your feelings, for working and saving money, for working hard at school and maintaining a good average, for helping with Buster and around the house when chores are done, for making us laugh and always being excited about holidays and vacations. I feel grateful to be your mom and for challenging me, which helps me to have more patience. Although it doesn’t always work so for those times I lost my cool, I’m sorry. I love you and am your biggest cheerleader and my love language is doing for others. So when I say brush your teeth, don’t pick at pimples, eat better, don’t scroll hours on end, check for ticks, etc….that comes from my deep love for you!

May this 15th year bring you the fruits of your labor! I love you My Peyton! Always have. Always will. And if you one day decide to read that book with me… we can plan our trip! I love you so much! Happy 15!

Love, Mom

Landslide

I took my love, I took it down

Climbed a mountain and I turned around

And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills

'Til the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Mmm

Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm gettin' older, too

Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm gettin' older, too

I'm gettin' older, too

[ericwenninger]

Cannonballs and Climbing Hills

In anticipation of our move to Grenada, where my wife, Angie, will begin medical school, she's been climbing our local ski hill at Rib Mountain State Park on a daily basis. She says it makes her feel grounded. I like her so sometimes I get grounded by climbing the mountain too. It’s a workout!

Summer days in Wisconsin are hot and humid, so we’ve also been frequenting my parents’ pool. After a day of work or packing up our house (or climbing a mountain), Angie will suggest we go for a float. But rather than ease her way into the water, she’s lately taken to doing cannonballs.

It's revealing that on the precipice of a huge change for our family, the two activities that are putting my wife most at peace are climbing mountains and doing cannonballs. It’s gotten me thinking a lot about movement.

Life is composed of dualities. We think of these dualities as opposed to one another but often they work together to help us find balance. Angie’s been finding her peace through rising (climbing a mountain) and falling (doing cannonballs). Rising and falling.

Rising is a movement that represents determined effort. You have to take it step by step, focusing on the tasks in front of you. As we prepare to move our household, it seems like we're climbing a mountain. The same can be said for becoming a doctor. The end goal may seem daunting but all you can do is focus on the immediate task ahead; the next step or the work of the day. Eventually you get to the peak.

Falling is a movement that represents letting go. You have to jump in. You have to leave the firm ground of your comfort behind, facing the unknown and immersing yourself in new surroundings.

I like how Amanda Shires describes falling in her song, “The Drop and Lift”:

A swarm of sparrows rising over a cane field Hearts ascend like that Falling is the closest to flying I believe we'll ever get, we'll ever get

Contrast this to how Stevie Nicks describes climbing a mountain in the Fleetwood Mac song, "Landslide":

I took my love, I took it down Climbed a mountain and I turned around And I saw my reflection in the snow cover hills "Til the landslide brought me down

In speaking of love and relationships, these songs highlight the fact that dualities are not always as they seem. They speak of the mysterious nature of rising and falling. Of looking at life from below, moving upwards; and of looking at life from above, moving downwards. Of climbing mountains and doing cannonballs.

I think the lesson is this:

Whatever the mountain you face, keep climbing it, because eventually you’ll reach the summit. But also remember to take a leap every once in a while, knowing that a fall will come shortly after, because in falling we allow ourselves to fly (or, in Angie's case, swim).

[romanoffsbish]

Landslide

Natasha (G!P) Romanoff x Fem!Reader

This one is smut free, focused on domesticated bliss only 🤪😂

Last one in this little series, unless someone had a really good pitch for a song. 👀

Symphonic Journey (Short Series)

Natasha smiled up at you from over her book while she lied in your shared bed. You were sat at the vanity, using your skincare items as if they were your lifeline.

"You know, this line here I name after you." You muttered, as you caught on to her staring through the mirror.

"Oh yeah, why's that?" She amusedly questions you with a knowing smirk, as she flips to the next page in her book.

"It's my worry line, grown rather prominent since I'd met you." You deadpan, as you begin to use your rose quartz roller to "ensure maximum absorption" as you would say.

"Ah, so it shows a life lived then." She quips, as she suddenly appears behind you, and lifts your face by your chin to place a kiss to your lips.

You sigh, melting completely into the kiss, and then she pulls back with the special smile reserved just for you upon her face.

"Yeah, a beautiful one at that." You conclude, as you turn back to finish up your routine, while your gorgeous wife makes her way to the bathroom to get herself ready for bed.

—————————————————————

I took my love, and I took it down.

I climbed a mountain and I turned around,and I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills.

‘Til the landslide brought me down.

—————————————————————

"Y/N/N, I don't see why we can't just homeschool them, or maybe just wait another year..." Your wife pouts, as you two lay facing one another in bed.

"Darling, Niko and Eli haven't stopped talking about wanting to make friends for the better part of six months. They need the socialization, and if I'm being honest I need the brief period of silence."

"Dahlia will still be here, so why not just keep all three at home." She whines like a petulant child who didn't get there way.

"You know, I'm considering enrolling Dahlia into a preschool, maybe you too..." You chuckle out, and she groans against your chest as she pulls you close.

"Natty, Dahlia is going to enjoy the one on one, plus, she's pretty independent and as of late she naps a lot. Get some sleep now, we have a busy morning ahead of us." You tiredly murmur, placing gentle kisses to the top of her head, and lightly scratching your fingers down her arms.

—————————————————————

Oh, mirror in the sky. What is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

—————————————————————

"Tasha, my love, did you make the twins lunches?" You call down to her from upstairs, and she stares down at the mess currently occupying the counters.

At the silence, you knew something was up, so you straightened Nikolai's shirt out, and placed the perfectly packed backpacks upon their tiny bodies.

"Cute." You mumbled out, as your tiny creations were stood before you in their first day outfits, nearly being swallowed by their 'big kid' bags.

"I'm not cute mommy, I'm beautiful!" Niko says, you smiled at him, and nod in agreement.

"Yes, mommy's beautiful babies..." You coo

"Now, let's go find mama, I'm kind of worried about her." You mumble out, and they giggle as they follow you down the stairs.

As the lot of you stumbled into the kitchen you were met with a rather amusing sight. Natasha had somehow slathered jelly every possible place besides atop the bread.

"Detka, this jelly won't spread over the peanut butter.”

You held back a laugh at your wife's expense, then made your way over to save the day. Their lunchboxes were rather hilarious to look at, it's as if everything you'd said had left the assassins mind.

"Well, my darling..." You begin, as you move in for a forehead kiss, prodding your tongue out lightly to lick at the strawberry jelly residing there.

"I had purchased the squeezable jelly for you, but it seems you found my bonus jar... So, there's like a whole science to this, first get rid of the knife and grab a spoon. Stir the jelly up until it's less coarse, and then slide it onto the empty slice of bread, versus over the peanut butter."

Natasha watches you with clear intentions, trying to 'perfect' the recipe, as she began mirroring your movements for the necessary second sandwich. You swiftly cut your sandwich diagonally, placed a kiss to her cheek, then readjusted the snacks in their bags when she wasn't looking.

Your younger daughter had yet to wake up, so you swiftly ran up the stairs. Seeing her peaceful face led to you just scooping her up, and holding her sleeping form against your chest so that she could continue to rest. You were pretty certain she was going through a growth spurt as she'd been snacking nonstop, and actually taking her naps, so waking her up wasn't exactly a necessity. Plus, cuddles had become harder to come by as of late, so you'll take it wherever you can get it.

"Okay everyone to the car, it's time to go." You shout, unintentionally disturbing Dahlia, who lightly shifts in your embrace, but thankfully remains asleep.

—

Natasha felt the tears she'd been fighting flood out of her eyes as your twins giddily made their way into the classroom with their teacher; not even sparing their mothers a simple glance back. Their innocent excitement had truly filled her heart with joy, but it also saddened her immensely to see this new chapter beginning.

Your hand landed on her shoulder, spinning her around, pulling her in for a reassuring hug, and allowing her tears to soak into your shirt.

"Oh, my darling, it's okay..."

"They're growing up so fast Y/N/N, I just wish it would all slow down." She sobs against you, before pulling back and taking your hand into hers.

"No you don't, because this is going to be an exciting time for all of us. I promise you after their long day, they'll come running out to see you." You relay as the both of you return to the car, the somehow still sleeping three year old hanging off your hip.

An indignant sigh falls from her lips, and your heart honestly cracks at her sheer reluctance in letting go. You wholeheartedly understand that she's not used to this sort of white picket fence lifestyle, and that entrusting her children to absolute strangers is rather daunting for her, but you just want her to see it from your side.

"I'm going to get them, this was a bad idea." She quietly mumbles, but you catch her hand and spin her against the car before she can.

An unintentional moan tumbles passed her lips at the impact, and your eyes widen in amused shock before you simply brush passed it for the time being.

"Natty, you're being ridiculous, they're fine. Tony already vetted this place before sending Morgan here, and we have access to the surveillance. Our kids have been trained by the best spies on the planet in defense, they're highly capable of finding an escape route, and they have a direct link to Wanda who we both know would be here in a snap." You relay with an air of humor present in your tone, as you run your fingers through her hair, slightly massaging her scalp as you feel her slowly relax against the car.

"This right here is the normalcy that they crave, the part where they trade their PB&J with some kid for their Twinkie. Where they get to surround themselves with other kids their ages, and learn how to be their own people. Learn to regulate their emotions when faced with the obstacles that kindergarten brings."

"Obstacles?"

"Yeah, like who gets to be the dad during house, or who gets to be the dog in Monopoly Jr, and trust me, the list goes on." You laugh out, as your wife's face looks utterly confused, and you lean forward to peck at her lips until the frown flips.

"Wouldn't the boy just play —."

"Ah-ah Natty, due to society placing dad's at the top, everyone wants to play as the dad. Also, most of the boys seem to avoid playing house in favor of other activities, our little man tends to be the exception, but he usually plays the role of Eli's dog soo...."

"I'm sorry detka, it's just so hard to let go... Also really hard to keep up as well."

"I know, it's never easy... But look on the bright side, we'll have more alone time" You playfully quip as you point to your daughter that remains fast asleep in her carseat.

She sighs rather dramatically once you pull away from her body to climb into the drivers seat, as she continues to lean against the car for a brief moment. Glancing longingly at the door in the hopes that the twins would come bounding out in search of her, but it never happens. Once she enters the car, you watch as she curls into her seat and solemnly watches the city fly by. Without a word, or glancing over you'd simply interlocked your hand with hers to offer the silent comfort she needed.

Domesticity had always been a foreign concept to the spy who'd only ever lived a life full of constant change. Turns out, raising three kids with the woman you love comes with nothing but change, and it was the first time that something like this absolutely terrified her...

—————————————————————

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you, but time makes you bolder ;

Even children get older, and I'm getting older too...

Oh! I'm getting older too...

—————————————————————

When you were nearing your exit you'd realized that both of your girls were now sleeping. The blissful silence inspired you to continue driving around to get some errands taken care of. By the time Natasha had actually allowed you to leave the school it had already been 9AM, and since Kindergarten is only four hours, going home wouldn't be worth it now.

In the hustle and bustle this morning you hadn't exactly eaten breakfast, so you found yourself in the McDonald's drive thru after running through the post office. As soon as the machine had crackled your daughters head flew up and she tiredly murmured: 'Chiten nug peas' before swiftly slipping back to sleep.

You chuckled at her abundant hunger that apparently transcends consciousness, and then ordered lunch for the three of you before driving off to enjoy it at the park.

Once you'd arrived, 'Lil 'Dahl had finally gained a semblance of consciousness.

"Mommy! Park!" She squealed, wiggling around like crazy against her seats restraints.

Natasha jumped awake at the sound of her shrieking, taking in the scenery, then lazily reaching into a bag to take a fry from both containers.

"Hey!!"

"It's called the 'sad mama' tax." She lowly whimpers, with a pout to rival your toddlers.

"Then I get one of your nuggets, because I didn't sign up for four children." You quip, then immediately got out of the car with bags in hand and approached a set of tables.

Natasha jumped out with a genuine smile upon her face as she grabbed the giddy toddler from the backseat, and met you under the sun to enjoy the afternoon with two of her favorite girls.

"Sometimes I wish I could just freeze moments like this." You murmured as you watched your toddler happily playing with a stray cat.

"You mean like a memory?" Your wife laughs from behind you as you sat up against a tree.

"No need to be a smartass Natalia." You grumbled, attempting to move away from her but arms secured you in place.

"To answer your question, yes, I do wish I could freeze these moments and keep you all trapped in bottles on my shelf."

"Natty, that's just.. Not what I meant at all." You nervously chuckle out.

"I'm sure Wands could help me do it, stop you all from changing..."

"Growing is a part of life, and it's a rather beautiful part."

"Change was never something that represented good for me, it almost always came with loss, and I don't want to lose out on anything else."

"Darling, if you run from change you'll actually miss out on a lot more than you think. We can hold our babies as close as we want, but eventually they will become their own people, and it's our job to ensure they have the most enriching route possible. Our fear can't be an excuse we use to hold them back, we just have to acknowledge that it's all one big learning game, and face the mishaps as we go. Holding them back would only lead to resentment."

"Also, let us not forget, had your favorite coffee shop never closed, you and I wouldn't be sat here right now having this discussion in the first place. Change can be a wonderful thing Natty, you just have to open your mind to all the possibilities."

Your wife tightens her hold around your waist as you two watch your daughter playing and she lets your words sink in. Gentle fingers grip at your chin, turning you to face her, then she places a lingering kiss to your lips.

"You're right, everything you said, thank you for being my stable base." She confesses against your lips, and you smile at her words.

"Now, if only you could say that after a fight then you'd avoid so many sleepless nights on the couch." You quip, laughing boisterously at the sound of her groans as you stand up.

"Moment ruined." She grumbled, then you aggressively pulled her to her feet, causing her to stumble into you, and suddenly your lips were pressed to hers.

"Guess what..."You whispered into the kiss, she hummed against your lips in response, clearly no longer interested in much else.

"It's time to pick up the twins." Her lips were ripped away from yours so fast you hardly registered the loss.

"Dahlia!!! Time to go!!!" Your wife shrieks as she scoops her up, and flies her laughing form back to the car.

—

Natasha made certain you were at the front of the crowd waiting for the class to be let out. Her body was buzzing, unable to remain still as she watched the door with clear intent. You watched in amusement, having not had the heart to inform her that they were released by means of a roll call to ensure safety.

The doors swung open, and Natasha's eyes widened, but narrowed rather quickly once she saw the clipboard. Shockingly, no complaints were muttered, and you were hopeful that the action had actually helped to quell any of her remaining anxieties.

"Parents of Jack Quenton."

"Who's last name starts with a Q?" She quietly grumbles from beside you, causing you to stifle a laugh in favor of nudging her side, and she simply shrugs her shoulders unapologetically.

"Parents of Athena Quill."

Her eyes widen at the second option, and this time you have to fake cough to cover yourself.

"Parents of Nikolai and Eli—."

"Here!!" She shouts, then the teacher looks up to her with eyes prepared to scold, but decided against it once she registered who your wife was.

The twins ran out in a rush, practically jumping into your wife's arms, and you chuckled as you approached the teacher.

"Those two were rather great today, here's the 'homework' for the weekend, it's really just a fun way to get me acquainted with them." She gently relays to you, and you thank her before wandering off to find your missing family.

Approaching the car you noticed everyone buckled up and ready to go, and the smile on your wife's face truly melted your heart.

"Mommy!!!" All of your kids shriek as you get behind the steering wheel of the car, and you turn to face them with a wide smile.

"My babies!!!" You shriek back enthusiastically, then settle in for whatever stories are about to come flying out of their mouths.

"I made a new friend! His name was Kaleb, and he tolded me that he liked my mohawk, then we played with some blocks. Thank you so much for helping me make it."

"Of course baby..." You coo, then turn to Eli to open the floor for her.

"Oh my goodness mommy, guess what! Our classmates thought I was lying when I told them that the Black Widow was our mama. I was sad, but since she was still outside for so long earlier I gotted to prove it to them. They were so shocked, treating us like we were cellebwitties! One boy even gave me his snack for free. Then my best-friend Lindsey asked if she would come to her next birthday party, I said maybe. I had such a great day!” She speedily rambles on, honestly scaring you as she nearly forgets to breathe, and you listened intently before passing back a juice pouch to all three of them, before driving off.

Your wife's eyes were brimming with tears as she listened to your daughter speaking about her as if she had hung the stars and the moon. Deep down she still struggled with the title of hero, but seeing your daughter animatedly describe her as such clearly warmed her heart.

The drive home was lively for all of ten minutes before the entirety of the backseat fell asleep. Natasha reached out to take your free hand, lifting it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your knuckles, before linking your hands and settling it atop her lap.

“I told you they would be all over you my darling…”

“Yeah… Thank you detka, for helping me through today…”

“No need to thank me baby, it’s what I’m here for, I think we balance each other out well.”

—

As Natasha went to crawl into bed she found a few tiny bodies had made their way into her spot while she had been in the shower, and she pulled her phone out to snap a quick photo. Dahlia had taken up residence on top of you, with her tiny arms wrapped around you and her face was buried in your neck. Niko was in his signature position, with his body splayed out wildly, and his feet managed to land on her pillow. Then she found that Eli was laying on her side, head on her mama's pillow, and hand delicately placed in yours.

The sight caused her to audibly awe, as she set her new lock screen then leaned down to kiss your forehead. You instantly hummed at the contact, not even opening your eyes, but instead pouting your lips. A light chuckle fell from her lips before she happily obliged, firmly placing her lips to yours, and an endearing smile erupted on your face as she pulled away.

“Looks like we have a few visitors.” She whispered from above you, and you gently nodded in acknowledgment before tapping her pillow, narrowly missing your daughters head.

Natasha got the hint, as she gently crawled into bed, gently moving the twins over just enough so that her arm can protectively fall over all of you. You gently raised your arm, laying it over Dahlia’s back as you interlocked your fingers with hers.

“Forever…” “…Always.”

Natasha’s heart was full as she realized that no matter what life might throw her way, or however much might change, in the end she’s reassured that the abundance of love she’s blanketed in will remain the same.

————————————————————

3,274 Words.

Taglist:

@toouncreativeforausername @lostremind @my-skeleton-hats @battleg03 @fxckmiup @meurgen @hp-and-mcu @kjyarukivo @d14n4ol @inlovewithfaberry @yeux-sur-la-lune @youralphawolf72 @beenicejoy @lissaaaa145

That’s a supposed wrap on this little family besties 🤪

[pvnsys]

tag drop... let’s try this again bc i think i figured out the issue with my tags before

[colourful-void]

Supporting Satoshi - an examination and comparison of JN36 and XY121

Part One: Snowballs do not cure depression but it was worth a shot

You know that episode of Pokemon where a gym leader beats Satoshi in a battle so hard that one of his pokemon gets mildly hurt (though there's no long term effects) and because of it he becomes depressed, closing himself off from his friends before someone comes along to pull him out of that mental state, and also severe weather phenomena is involved and a reflection of a persons mental state? Or rather, the two episodes?

So when I was watching Journeys, I noticed an episode that had a similar-- but distinctly different-- plot to an xy episode I had seen before. And what was particularly interesting was that while I couldn't stand the xy episode, the journeys episode was one of my favourites. I won't drag this out for you guys, I love the journeys episode and re watch it a LOT and the xy episode sort of just leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth. and don't go claiming its solely ship bias, because i saw the xy episode first and disliked it then.

This will analyze both of these episodes, comparing them against each other. Specifically within the context of how Goh and Serena both help Satoshi through a similar situation There will be some discussion of AmourShipping and Satogou in this analysis. I'm going to be a bit negative regarding Serena's actions and the potential "romantic" weight of them here, but I want to be clear that I Do Not dislike Serena as a character. Personally, I wish the writers had given her more room to grow outside of her romantic interests, but I do not hate Serena as a character. I do, however, disagree with her actions in this episode. Please don't take this out of context and dont be ship fighting in the comments, it's boring. This is a comparison of These Two Episodes, not of Goh and Serena and their respective ships as a whole.

This part mainly focuses on the xy episode and the second will focus mainly on the journeys. It's only divided into parts because of the tumblr post limit.

(If you like the xy episode or hate the journeys episode, awesome! having your own opinions is great. these are mine though, so i hope you'll listen to them)

With that out of the way, let's start. And I'm going to use mostly japanese names here because I'm taking screencaps from the subbed japanese copies.

The set up for each of these episodes is eerily similar as pointed out in the gag at the start.

Xy has a bit more set up before the episode in question though, with the initial loss and retreat into the forest by Satoshi taking place the episode before. The episode opens up proper with Satoshi taking time to breathe to himself, alone in the forest.

Emphasis is placed on him taking a deep breath, aided by the visuals showing them (thanks cold air) and the silence of the rest of the soundscape, with the only other sounds being the wind and some bird pokemon, plus some falling snow.

Journeys Satoshi starts off in a better mental state than Xy, with the episode starting off with him jogging along with his pokemon.

However, we can still see that he's been affected by the last battle he lost, against Saitou, as he's putting a lot of effort into training and doing better.

Which, doesn't go well for him, as he loses his next two battles as well, and drops in the World Championship ranking as a result

And he's pretty upset about it too. Same thing as over in xy. In both cases, a respective friend/love interest notes that Satoshi is upset and expresses concern.

He's got support from his friends in both situations! But that support comes across in very different ways.

But, to understand how that support manages to affect Satoshi, we need to understand the problem at play.

Now, I wanna make something clear here. Satoshi's problem is not that he is a sore loser. I'm not arguing that's not a contributing factor, or that he's not upset about the loss (particularly in the world championships), He's still bitter about the lost part, but the root of the problem is not losing, he's been shown to be fine with losing (if not a bit more motivated to win now) in prior episodes.

Satoshi's problem is that his pokemon are getting hurt. Satoshi's problem is that his pokemon are getting hurt, because they're losing battles. Satoshi's problem is that his pokemon are losing battles because he's not training them well enough. And to clarify, that's not my viewpoint, it's his. Satoshi's problem is that he's not good enough for himself, and he feels that that's something he has to fix on his own.

So how do we help him?

Our weather event in question is introduced in separate points in the episodes, but I'll cover them both now.

In xy, it's this snowstorm, which conveniently becomes a problem directly after Serena returns to the Pokemon Centre.

In journeys, it's a sandstorm! That's in near direct contrast to a snowstorm! Incredible.

Heading back to xy Satoshi, things aren't going great in the forest. Luckily, Serena's run off to find him.

I think it's of note here that Serena runs off with the best intentions, she wants to help Satoshi, plain and simple. It just sort of goes wrong along the way.

It's worth noting that Xy Satoshi tries to bring himself out of being sad by the tried and true method of "stop being sad"

Despite telling himself this, he doesn't get anywhere. Which makes sense, because it's not getting the the root of the problem. It's not even addressing it at all. He's just trying to 'be better', which isn't even a battle strategy. However, it is something I can see him saying, so this isn't a critique of Satoshi's thought process, but me pointing out that this isn't really effective. Which is supported by the narrative, because again, he doesn't get anywhere, he doesn't even move.

I can't show it in screencaps but the lights in Satoshi's eyes are shaking here, something that they consistently do throughout the series when he's feeling a particularly strong emotion. Keep that in mind. It couples well with another trait of his, and that's his hat!

And by that I mean how he hides his eyes with the brim of it when upset, something he does exactly as Serena shows up and calls out to him. Now, he's not upset that Serena is here. He's upset about the pokemon stuff still. He's trying to hide the fact that he's upset from Serena.

Serena starts off with her speech well, trying to appeal to Satoshi to let her in and talk things out. And maybe it's because he wasn't ready for it yet, or because of the way she phrases it (a lot of 'i' and 'me' language which can be helpful but can also come across as though she's making it about her. not her intent i don't think, but a possible interpretation.), it's not her fault for how Satoshi reacts regardless.

But how Satoshi reacts is not good.

Now it's really interesting to note that before this, Serena was standing while Satoshi was sitting, putting her above him in terms of active power, when it comes to how the shot is presented, but when Satoshi stands up, the camera tilts with the movement so that they're on equal level. Neat!

And Serena yells in return, scolding Satoshi for not talking about it. Not the best move, since pushing someone to talk about something that's upsetting them isn't really productive, but she's trying here and she's frustrated.

Satoshi continues to withdraw and self isolate, claiming it is his problem and that he wants to be left be. Now, this is the mindset of a clearly upset person and isolation may not be the best option, but he did make the explicit request to be left alone here.

He's clearly upset as he turns away from Serena's eye and slumps over a little.

And then Serena throws a snowball at him.

Angry as he is, you can see Satoshi's expression change when he sees Serena's reaction.

Serena tells Satoshi that she's not like the Satoshi she knows, who is always full of energy and positive and a leader, and a bunch of other positive traits. The problem here, is that Serena's looking at an idealized version of Satoshi. And while the intent here was probably meant to be something more like "you have so many wonderful traits about you I know you can do this", coupled with the snowballs and the phrasing, it seems as though Serena is scolding Satoshi for being sad.

Or rather, being angry with him for not living up to her idealized version of him, and not wanting him to express any negitave emotions.

Which is sort of a really bad mindset.

The snowballs continue, never once does Satoshi fight back. In fact, he stops arguing entirely after the first one. Serena knocks him off his feet and tells him he's not being himself, before running off. (In the english dub, Serena claims that Satoshi isn't being "the real satoshi" and then demands that the real Satoshi be "given back", so it could be worse)

Satoshi decides to literally run his problems away, because it will help him reach some kind of conclusion, and immediately trips and falls down a large hill. No, I'm not making that up. Something like this just isn't like him. He's just gotta stop being sad!

Now personally, I really disagree with the idea that "being upset" isn't "like a person". That's because based off of my own experiences, I know it can be really damaging to hold the mindset that any negative emotions you feel aren't a part of you and that you shouldn't be upset because you're usually a positive and happy person. Not the case with every person, but I personally really have a problem with shows telling children that they just shouldn't be upset instead of processing their emotions in a meaningful way. (The journeys episode doesn't do an outstanding job of it either, but this is a bit of a tangent anyway. A show that does do this right is "OK KO! Let's be Heroes" which actually deals with this problem in greater depth and does a fantastic job of it.)

But the snowball scene ends here. Now I'll get back to Journeys in a moment, but since Serena has finished her part of the comparison for the most part, I'm going to summarize a bit more of the xy episode.

Satoshi decides to literally run his problems away, because it will help him reach some kind of conclusion, and immediately trips and falls down a large hill. No, I'm not making that up.

The snowstorm kicks in, Serena get back annoyed, then similarly groans and yells, and the whole xy gang + pokemon go running off in search of Satoshi. Pikachu appears the most concerned.

Now Serena tells the others she lost her cool and said something horrible to Satoshi, but explains its because Satoshi is someone she admires. Cool motive, I get it, still kinda bad.

and in the end, it's not Serena's words that get he message across to Satoshi. The solution to this problem was Satoshi finding a way to reaffirm his abilities and instinct.

In the xy episode, he helps some pokemon out of the tree, and when his very cool frog friend shows up, they're able to work together with their bond to save this one from falling off a cliff.

Here's the point. Satoshi learns by doing, by actions. He needs to see first hand that there are ways of getting past his problems, and that it's worth having the courage to keep going. The lesson is about valuing pokemon as equals and partners, and specifically that trying to be better as the trainer alone isn't going to help.

This is essentially where this plot line ends, team rocket is there for a bit as well but as much as i love them they're not relevant here, and some fun stuff with the league, love it not important right now its like 3am and I'm not sleeping until this is finished so we gotta keep things moving.

This was no doubt Serena's intent to get a similar point, but she goes about it the wrong way. She tries to convey this with words, as conversation and motivational words have helped her in the past (Elle's words of praise stick with her, Satoshi's words from when they were kids, etc). It's a good idea, but their different ways of learning and growing from a similar situation are incompatible, and that's why things don't work out in Serena's favour. There's also still the problem of "pulling yourself together" not being helpful in this case.

There's also a very similar line in this scene to the one at the end of the journeys episode, as Satoshi says to his frog that they should start over from scratch. It's essentially the same phrase with different wording. It's great. The Storm ends as he realizes this as well! Wonderful in terms of pathetic fallacy.

The gang all reunites, its nice. Satoshi thanks Serena for what she said after apologizing to everyone, which contradicts what he said earlier but I've already established that I dislike this message here so I won't go over it too much. I guess he's right in a literal sense in that in response to her words he went and ran until he tripped off a cliff but the emotional growth here was because of his own actions (and the frogs), not Serena's. Sorry Serena, you'll get em next time.

This is essentially where this plot line ends, team rocket is there for a bit as well but as much as i love them they're not relevant here, and some fun stuff with the league, love it not important right now its like 3am as I write this so we gotta keep things moving.

So. What about Goh?

Well...

(Part Two here on account of image limit!!)

[fumingspice]

Big Love

Disclaimer: It includes smut and possibly some angry typing because i spilt my peach tea (might have to sue Lipton’s now smh) over my dad’s computer so if I'm not killed for writing smut then that's why I'm dead. 

Pairing: Billie-Dean Howard x Reader

Words: 2.9k

Prompts: "I might have slept in your robe while you were gone" & "I've never wanted to fuck you this badly" & "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen"

It had taken almost two years for the celebrity medium to make you fall for her, and boy did she have her work cut out with you. Sensibility and responsibility were your two strongest suits and Billie-Dean, as admirable as she may be, found is maddening.

When she had finally gotten you to blush for the first time, you knew it would be a fast and slippery slope down the landslide that was your employer. It had started with the odd brushing of hands when she stood close to you; her pinky finger "coincidentally" falling over your own that time you went to see a movie together; those beautiful brown eyes darting from your eyes to your lips in the middle of a conversation; compliments to your personality and appearance. You exuded your professionalism, unknowingly only making the medium even more desperate to call you her own. 

The final slip that contributed to the falling happened on one cold winter night- Billie-Dean had suggested you stay until the worst of the blizzard had passed. "I don't want you to get hurt, Y/N," she told you, sincerity in her voice. You pursed your lips tight and gave in to her for the first time. The medium bounced on the spot and clapped her hands together. "Excellent," she said, "we can watch a movie if you like." You agreed to this. A little movie with a boss never hurt anyone's career, you decided. And you were completely right; this wasn't going to hurt anyone at all- at least, not in a bad way.

Billie returned to the living room with two glasses of wine and a bowl of popcorn balanced on her head, a smile draped across her face. You chuckled at her and accepted the glass of wine. "I don't think you realise how proud I am of myself for not dropping this everywhere, hon," she told you, sitting at the other end of the couch- further from you than what she would usually sit. This was odd, the past few months Billie had constantly sat right beside you unless you had made it clear that you were uncomfortable with the closeness, although you rarely did. You tried your best to ignore both the strangeness and the butterflies hovering in your chest. 

"You should be very proud of yourself," you said, relaxing back onto the soft leather. Billie-Dean had chosen to put on Rocky Horror Picture Show. 

The movie was pretty uneventful until about fifteen minutes in when Billie finally scooted herself closer to you. "Oh, there she is," you tease, biting your tongue between your teeth, "I was wondering why you were sitting so far from me." Billie chuckled, telling you to shut up playfully. "I got cold," she said, her cheeks going slightly pink. You mutter a "yeah, yeah," as she kicked her feet onto the couch and lent against you, hesitating so long to lay her head against your chest that you gently brought her head down yourself. 

Your heart was beating fast and you were confident that Billie could sense your nerves, but for the first time, you had noticed a shyness in Billie's usually flirtatious manner towards you. Unsure of what to do with your hand that didn't hold the glass of wine, you brought it up to her head and started playing with her blonde locks. Another song came on in the musical and even you- the biggest sceptic of all time- could sense her shyness. 

Billie hoisted herself up on her arm closest to your body and turned to face you, clearly no longer interested in the movie. She spoke your name in a low whisper, a longing in her voice. Her darting eyes gave you her full intentions, and you would have been more than happy to fall under the spell of her lips had her legs not have knocked the bowl of popcorn and her glass of wine off the coffee table and onto the wooden floor beneath. 

"Oh, for fuck sake!" she exclaimed, running for a towel to soak up the wine. You chuckled nervously, getting off the couch to pick up the popcorn. The blonde came scuttling back in and threw a towel over the mess. "God, I'm a mess. I'm sorry, Y/N," she mumbled, biting her lip. Her anxiety concerned you- this was extremely out of character for her. You let her soak up the wine before you lay your hand over hers. 

"Billie, what is the matter with you? I've never seen you like this," you said, searching for any hint you could get in her eyes. 

The woman stopped biting her lip. "I'm afraid of messing this up," she muttered, taking the towel and going back to the kitchen without warning.

You followed her back in, finally able to see her in the light. Her makeup-free face glowed in the soft light. Mess what up?  You stood close to her, taking her hand shyly. Billie looked straight into your soul, her eyes turning warm. 

Soft. 

The swiftness and natural feeling of her touch came too quickly for you to comprehend completely what was happening, but you didn't need to. It was like the action had been etched into your soul. Billie rested her hand on your face and pulled you into herself, her lips folding over your own in a flurry of emotions. It had lasted only seconds but sweet Jesus you had never experienced such a sweet bliss in your life. Billie's hands ran on their whim, tangling into your hair and pulling you closer into her mouth. Her tongue found an entrance and rolled smoothly over your own.

"and if you saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills." 

The radio added to the silence between you when she realised what she had done and pulled away. You expected nervousness yet again, but you were met with a signature grin. "I'm gonna pretend that I'm not as nervous as I feel," she chuckled, breathless from your kisses. You grinned and chuckled back. 

"You have nothing to be nervous about, Billie-Dean," you said, glad that she finally regained her confidence a little. The woman's eyes darted to your lips again until she pulled herself back to reality. "Shall we finish the movie?" You ask, admiring her features. 

Billie nodded and led you back to couch. This time, she pulled you into her, so that you lay comfortably across her chest as her fingers ran delicately your back, tracing lines upon lines on the fabric. It was clear that now that she knew that she had you, she had no interest in the movie. Eventually, after a few deepened kisses, she snatched the remote and paused the movie, pulling you into a straddle on her lap. You grinned and brought your face close to hers before pulling away again as her face came towards you. 

"Patience, beautiful," you tell her, teasing her for a few more seconds before pushing her forcefully into the couch. Billie's eyes widened at your need to dominate her, but you had no idea that's not what she had planned. You took her face in your hands and kissed her passionately and hard. Her hands dropped slowly from your lower back to your ass, squeezing quickly before moving her lips from your mouth down your jaw and leaving small purple love bites down your neck before reaching your clavicle. Her hands fought to undo the buttons of your blouse before you pushed her back, hand resting on her throat. "Easy tiger," you breathed. Billie groaned and rolled her eyes. You chuckled at her frustration. "You know I'm not leaving until tomorrow, right?"

Your lips made her way to her jawline, sucking every few kisses until you reached her mid-neck. Billie gasped loudly as your tongue slid over the sensitive skin, sucking hard and wide. You drew back at the slightly metallic taste and admired your art. "That's for making me fall for you," you whispered. 

Billie's eyes widened as she saw the huge mark in the mirror close by. Her eyes darkened as she pulled your shirt, buttons snapping and exposing your bra. Billie glared in hunger, making eye contact with you as her lips caught the swell of your breast and kiss passionately. "Fuck," you breathed as you felt her hands slip behind your arched back and unclasp your bra. She took the garment and waved it in front of your face. 

"Oh, sweetie. Fuck is right," she teased, biting your skin to leave a dark bruise. Her mouth shifted teasingly close to your nipples before she drew back again to look at the marks she had dotted down your chest and neck. 

It was still nothing compared to what was left on her neck.

She spent what felt like hours teasing your skin, but never going as far as to slip her hand or mouth over sensitive areas, and she was driving you up the walls. Eventually, Billie decided you had suffered enough for the massive mark on her neck and she led you up the stairs to her bedroom. 

"I'm gonna nip down to the shop for some orange juice," she told you, giving you a deep kiss. "Do you want anything?" 

You declined and lay on her bed, pulling her down with you. "I want you to stay," you told her between kisses. Although; what you wanted to know was 

Billie chuckled. "I'm a fast runner," she told you as she slipped on a pair of sneakers. 

While she was out, you explored around her bedroom, taking a robe that was hung up in her closet, stripping off and putting that on before crawling into the covers. Billie kept her word and was back in less than ten minutes. 

"You made me wait," you muttered with a raised brow. Billie grinned when she saw your clothes folded on the bedside table. She excused herself to the bathroom, then returned minutes later wearing a silk robe, her red lingerie showing beneath. You bit your lip at the sight. 

"I promise that its worth it," she whispered as she crawled into the covers, her body hovering over yours. She looked at your stolen robe and giggled. "This looks familiar," she said, slipping a hand under the fabric to cup your breast. You let out a light moan, trying to push down the longing further south in your body. 

"I had to leave you something to take off, didn't I?" you teased, biting your finger. You knew how to drive this woman up the wall and you were going to do exactly that.

Unfortunately, Billie seemed to have the same idea. She pulled back, sitting straight as she straddled your hips. The medium took her hand and traced it down her neck, pausing at her breast and then sliding it slowly between her thighs and moaning lightly. You left your hands on her hips, following her swaying movements against your body. She lent down, taking your left leg and putting it over her shoulder. 

"I've never wanted to fuck you so badly," she whispered into your ear, causing goosebumps to race down your arms and thighs. Her lips went straight to yours once again, kissing you before pulling back one last time. "May I?" she asked, her fingers tracing dangerously close to your entrance. You nodded into her mouth, trying to calm your body what was about to happen, Billie kissed your neck, sliding her middle finger in slowly. Your back arched up and a low moan escaped your lips. Any indication of experiencing pleasure only made Billie more energetic. She slipped in a second finger, curling upwards and laying the heel of her palm against your clit, trying to test how far your limits were without pushing any boundaries. 

Her mouth explored everywhere- kissing your face, neck, leaving hickeys and bruises over your collar bones in a swirl pattern. 

It was still nothing compared to that zombie attack on her neck. 

Your skin looked like you had just been pelted with fifty BB-gun pellets. Your lips were swollen, some hickeys were raised slightly, your nipples were tender.

Frankly, your body must have looked like it was having a very insistent demon exorcised from it with your moans and jerks. Billie slowed down her fingers and carefully removed them, the sensation of not having her digits inside you was now unfamiliar. "Oh, baby. I'm not finished yet," she said, voice low and groggy. She made her way up, sucking, biting and kissing your skin until she reached your lips; kissing you like her life depended on you. She had edged you all the way to an orgasm before slowing down again. "I wanted to use my mouth," was her excuse. She began the trail back down again, kissing, nipping, biting until she got to your belly button. Here, she kissed gently, treating you as if you were a masterpiece. "Is this okay?" You nodded, still too breathless to speak. Billie went back into her zone, kissing your abdomen and leaving hickeys on your thighs and hips.

She let you yearn for her touch for a few moments, leaving you in a position where the only thhing you could do is stare at her ceiling and writh with desperation. You had to grab the sheets to stop your hands from grabbing her by the head and pulling her between your legs. After enough anticipation, she lowered her head between your legs and slowly dragged her tongue along your entrance. Your head fell back, the warm wetness and heat of her breath only adding to the intense rapture. A sharp moan made her pick up her speed gradually, allowing your moans and whimpers to guide her. "Billie," you moaned, your hands tangling in her blonde hair and pulling her in further, her chuckle sending vibrations into your heat which only added to the rippling pleasure. A request for her to go harder sent her up the wall as she sucked and released your clit from her mouth with a loud pop. 

"You like that, babygirl?" Your lack of a reply was her answer. She stopped what she was doing until you looked straight at her. Her big brown eyes were dark with arousal and the skin around her mouth was coated with her saliva and your wetness. Her lips curled into a grin. 

"You're done?" you asked in disappointment. "You didn't let me have an orgasm." Billie's grin never faultered as she reached up to kiss you, her tongue begging entrance to your mouth. She returned to your nether region to complete her work. 

Instead of warming you up like she did last time, she dove straight in with an open mouth. You could feel yourself edging extremely close and your thighs shut tight around her head. The blonde moved a thigh to the side, bringing her hand to replace her mouth at your entrance and continuing sucking on your clit. It was now clear that her main intention was making sure that you would be unable to sit tomorrow. Her fingers curled deep inside you, hitting the spot that she had searched so hard to find. A tension became obvious in your lower abdomen as you grabbed her head hard. You gave a long and sharp moan as she rode you through your orgasm. It lasted longer than any you'd ever had or any she had ever given. She stayed between your legs a while longer, using her tongue to clean you up before crawling up beside you. You kissed Billie and she pulled you close. 

"You know, Y/N. You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in my life."

Minutes passed and you cuddled together in a very comfortable silence as you caught your breath and relaxed. "Billie, I-"

Billie interrupted you with a kiss. "-think that was the most amazing moment of your life?" she finished. You grinned and rolled your eyes as she lit a cigarette and pulled you against her bare chest. 

"Yes," you said. "That. And I wanna know if this is something real or just some casual fuck."

Billie stopped short from taking a draw of her cigarette. "What do you mean?" she asked, her brows knitting together. 

You sit up to face her. "I like you, Billie. As in I really like you. As in if we're going to do this then I want to be in a serious relationship." Billie's eyes softened at your words, she nodded for you to continue. "I know that I'm not the first assistant of yours to fall into your bed- and God knows I probably won't be the last- but I just wanna know how you feel about me."

Billie sucked in her cheeks. "I like you, Y/N. I like you alot. Not as my assistant and not as a friend. I've never been in a relationship before that wasn't based on- I don't know- horniness or career jumping. Honestly, I've felt this way about you far too long for this to be a casual crush," she admitted. You blushed lightly and smiled. 

"So, what does that mean?" you ask. 

Billie frowned. "You're a smart girl. You don't need me to spell it out for you." 

You chuckled at her hesitance, "sorry, Billie-Dean. There's a bit of a pain between my legs that's causing my thoughts to stop." 

Billie rolled her eyes and brought you back down on her chest.

Silence crept in and you were afraid she was trying to find a way to let you down easy.

"Y/N?"

You swallowed and braced yourself. "Yes?"

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

[axther]

internal monologue

TW: main character death, disassociation, derealisation, massive angst, accidental murder, dead bodies, overall a lot of traumacore, and jumping off a cliff (but not to aliven’t). 

Beta’d by @reddriot​ HEHEHHE this was your monster, ze 

This is a paired fic with @ererokii​’s “Pretend I Am”. Please go check her story out as we both made each other suffer while writing it. 

 Venti’s memory was unreliable. He rediscovers this the hard way. 

“Do you blame yourself?” 

Venti had been drinking. He didn’t know for how long, why, when, where. It all blurred together, days, weeks, months. Everyone was talking and his head pounded and the lights made him want to hurl. He was still empty. All those years of sleep and drinking and singing and he still could never fill it. 

He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. And that’s when he heard it. 

The tavern went dark. It fell silent, and the chairs were empty. 

“Do you blame yourself?” The voice rang in his ears like a bell, one that he dreaded to hear. He remembered his voice. He heard it every day, and wished he wasn’t such a coward that he took on a dead man’s skin. 

“What?” Venti’s voice was quiet. It wasn’t his voice anymore, no. It was his, the Bard’s, and Venti couldn’t even remember the poor bastard’s name. He had given his life for Mondstadt, for Venti, and he couldn’t even be remembered. The Bard’s voice echoed in his ears, and the tavern was caving in. The woman next to him was so soft, so sweet. He could almost touch her cheek, and he reached a hand out. She could pull him out of this, and that gentle smile was so close. 

“It’s quite common in this situation for you to feel some kind of...guilt.” The Bard sounded too calculated. Cold. No, Venti’s Bard was good and kind and whole. This Bard was cruel and emotionless. Empty. 

“What situation?” Venti’s voice didn’t leave his body. Nothing was his anymore. It never was, after all. He was no archon. He was no bard. He stole everything for himself. And something bubbled in his gut. He turned to the other side of him, and the Bard was next to him, with a face of pure, smooth skin. The Bard titled his head, and Venti knew there was a sick smile under it all. 

“The accident.” 

The battle was won. 

Vanessa was talking to some of her colleagues about rebuilding Mondstadt. All those alongside here were giants, not in size, but deep within themselves. Venti knew that he would have to go on, wandering Tevyat soon, in hopes of spreading songs and joy. 

And then, he got a tap on his shoulder. 

“Lord Barbatos?” 

The voice was kind, worn, sturdy like fir and pine and all the things that grow tall and strong. Venti turned, almost jumpy, when he saw a young woman behind him. She was in all words, average. Had he seen her in the street, he would not consider her to be much more than a normal citizen. But the large spear strapped to her back said otherwise;it was enormous, taller than Venti and sharper than even Venessa’s blade. 

“Yes! Hello!” he chirped, getting back his cheery disposition. This wasn’t right. This isn’t what happened. WHAT HAPPENED She smiled at him and bowed slightly. When she looked up into Venti’s eyes, Venti realised she had green eyes. No, blue. Brown? And they were wide, and then almond, and quite suddenly, Venti realised that she was changing, her face not one thing for one second. The world around him started melting, and everyone was laughing, staring at him, staring at him, staring! 

You don’t remember what she looks like!  

Venti felt like he was choking, and he took a step back. He brought a hand up to his neck, and there was nothing there-wait! His hands were gone too! 

Just make something up! 

“Stop!” Venti shrieked, and it was his voice, finally, his true voice, squeaky and terrified. It was all acidic, dissolving and crumbling around him. 

“Wait.” Her voice was quiet, and it broke through the sound and the rage and the horror. “Lord Barbatos. What is my name?” “Wh-what?” Venti gasped, the whole mountainside empty. When was this Dragonspine? It was Windrise before, green and beautiful and now it was just cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. 

“What was my name, Lord Barbatos?” She tilted her head, and now she was panicking, face distorting into nothing but unadulterated fear. “I-I can’t remember, Lord Barbatos! Oh, gods! Help me!” 

“No! No!” Venti tried reaching for her, the world disappearing until all that was left was a pair of the most gorgeous eyes Venti had ever seen. They sat in the snow, lifeless and cold. 

“YN! No! Wait for me!” 

Venti was choking on his own drink when he came to. 

Diluc was shaking him, red eyes wide. Jean was there, the Traveller was there, and Barbara had her healing at the ready.

“Oh my gods,” Diluc whispered, pulling away before sighing and crossing his arms. “We thought you had a stroke.” “What?” Venti’s head felt like it was full of cotton. “I...did I pass out?” “We don’t know.” Jean’s voice was soft, and it reminded Venti of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made his back shiver, but it felt almost like it was being contorted. He was being crushed under the weight of something, something he didn’t know. “You...it was like you were zoning out, or daydreaming...like a nightmare.” 

“Nightmare…” Venti looked down at his mug, seeing his reflection in it. But his heart leapt to his throat and the clock stopped ticking when he saw the Bard behind him. This time, he had a mouth, too wide and filled too full with razor-sharp teeth. Something in his inhuman heart began to quake.

“I need to go.” He stumbled out of the chair, feet hitting the floor too soon. 

Too soon? Like her? 

Venti tumbled out of the bar, almost face planting on the sidewalk as Jean and Diluc called out behind him, barely catching himself before running as fast as he could. The night felt warm, the air was muggy, and he was choking. He ran out the front gates, ran past the birds, the bridge, the rolling hills. His feet ached and his head spun, and nothing could stop him. He closed his eyes, wheezing and praying to whatever god above he could. 

Oh, wait. He was the god people prayed to. 

His running slowed, soft as the air began to cool. A breeze picked up, ruffling his hair, and in the distance, he heard laughter. His eyes were still shut, and for once, he felt...peaceful. He was still walking, but if he listened closely enough, he could hear people walking next to him, chipper and sweet. 

“Well, I think the festival should be called Windblume.” The Bard huffed playfully, skipping a bit in his step. “It’s got a ring to it!” “What do you mean?” YN’s voice was soft, and Venti could almost see her tilting her head. “It’s always been called that.” “Oh.” The Bard’s voice dropped with Venti’s stomach. “That’s right.” “We never met,” YN sighed. 

“We were thousands of years apart.” The Bard finished her sentence. 

“We both…” she began. 

Venti opened his eyes, overlooking Starsnatch Cliff. 

The wind was rougher here, tugging him over to the edge and making his cape whip over his shoulders. There was the taste of blood on his tongue and the smell of it in his nose, and he felt sick. 

“Look down,” The Bard put his hands on Venti’s shoulders, holding roughly and putting his thumbs in the front. “I dare you.” 

“No.” Venti’s heart hurt like it was being squeezed by a vice. “I don’t...I don’t wanna.” “But she’s down there,” the Bard whispered. “All alone.” 

“What?” Venti blinked, taking a sharp breath in. 

“You left her down there.” The Bard sighed, almost sounding like he pitied Venti. 

“No?” Venti felt confused. “She’s...she was…” “She’s dead, Barbatos.” The Bard breathed out, letting go of Venti. “You’re really sick, you know.” 

“What? No!” Venti spun around, feeling lost in the midst of a storm that he couldn’t control. “What are you talking about?” “She hated heights.” Now, the Bard had eyes—deep, like sockets of coal instead of real eyes. No, they stared right through Venti, bore through whatever shadow of a man he once was. “Can you imagine? Her falling in love with the god of the winds?” 

“Stop…” Venti whimpered, and just for a second, when the Bard blinked, she stood there, ominously smiling. Her smile was always so sweet, Venti thought. Sweet, like flowers and the ocean breeze. She loved him so much. 

“And you betrayed her trust, just like that.” The Bard murmured and shook his head. 

“What do you mean? She…” Venti wanted to say that she grew old, and died in Springvale surrounded by their children and grandchildren. But something on the tip of his tongue split his thought in half, making him freeze. 

“She what, Barbatos?” The Bard tilted his head. “Say it.” 

“She…” 

It was a windy day. 

Venti stared over the edge of Starsnatch Cliff with a giddy grin, holding the top of his hat. The drop below was enough to make any mortal man shiver, but he turned to the love of his eternal life and grinned. 

“Hey! C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun!” He jumped up, grabbing YN’s hand and humming. “I swear, nothing bad will happen!” “I…” YN glanced at the cliff’s edge and gulped, slightly pulling away from Venti. “It sounds really dangerous…” “Nah! It’s just gliding for two, after all!” He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling softly. “You trust me, don’t you?” “Always!” Her voice was soft and pleading, looking down to meet his eyes. “But you know how much I hate heights.” “Don’t worry! I promise it’ll be a great experience!” “But what if I fall…?” “You won’t! I won’t let you go!” He was on cloud nine, floating above everything and everyone. YN was right before him, and everything felt right in the world. But then YN sighed again, and pulled away. 

“But…” “But I did.” Venti’s voice was hollow, even to himself, and he watched her spark and pop, a figment of his imagination. 

“You did, my love.” YN sounded so sad, eyebrows furrowing. “Why did you let go?” 

“I…” Tears welled up in Venti’s eyes, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“But I’m gone, Lord Barbatos.” YN sobbed, covering her eyes with her hands. “I’ve been gone for so long.” “They never found…” Venti choked on his own words, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “They never found your body.” “You told them I ran off, remember?” YN softly wept, before the Bard appeared behind her. He grabbed her hands with a tenderness that only lovers had, and gently pulled them away. YN’s eyes were gone, nothing more than gored out holes in her head. Venti nearly screamed, taking a step back in alarm before realising he was at the edge of the cliff. The wind picked up behind him, and when he turned on shaky knees, he saw a gruesome sight underneath him. 

YN’s corpse was upon the sand, blood staining the grains and flowing out into the ocean. Her blood was so dark that it was almost inky, dispersing into the water without a trace. But it stained Venti, stained his clothes and his hands and his heart. His eyes felt like they were bleeding with her, staring at the rocks that gouged her eyes out when she landed.  Her skull was the worst—split open like a nut and spilling everywhere. The sight was terrible, horrible, heartbreaking and earth shattering. 

“You loved her, Barbatos! You loved her and you killed her!” The Bard cackled. “You let her fall! How useless can you be to kill your own girlfriend?!” 

Venti felt himself swaying. The mocking was too much, and he could hear laughing behind him. Laughing! Laughing! The whole of Tevyat was laughing at him, laughing and weeping and pointing their gnarled hands at him. 

“You should’ve joined her!” the Bard howled above the din. A storm from the sea swept in, nearly blowing Venti away with the wind as he tried to hold on to anything he had left. “You can’t protect anyone! Join her, little god! Join her, and watch her rot in the abyss!” 

It was too much, it made Venti’s ears ring and when he tried to cover them, his hat blew off his head and into the sea. He closed his eyes, praying to get away from whatever waking nightmare this was, but when he opened them, YN’s corpse was right at his feet, blood soaking into his shoes as she blinked and her face contorted into a huge, toothy maw. Everyone’s yelling became one, with the Bard and YN yelling louder than all the others. 

“Don’t leave me, Barbatos!” “Don’t leave her, Barbatos!” 

“Please don’t leave me!!” 

And Venti fell. 

Venti’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

He woke up to the sea lapping at the top of his head. He had a splitting headache and the sun shone right in his eyes, making him glower and sigh. For the briefest, holiest moment, he couldn’t remember what he was doing or where he was. He just wanted a nice drink at Angel’s Share and maybe play a nice song for Aether. 

But then he heard the sea, and he remembered. 

A feeling of dread began to overcome him, and when he sat up, his hair was damp and made water run down his back. He knew his cloak was positively soaked and that he had no way of knowing how long he was out for. He just remembered falling, thinking so long as she isn’t alone before passing out. 

He stood up on shaky legs and knew that YN wouldn’t be there. 

Her corpse was only a hallucination, or something of the sort. He knew it, he knew it so well, but the night she appeared, it felt so real. 

Venti hated his relapses. 

He slowly made his way up the beach in haze, and then past Windrise, and he realised without thinking much about it that he was simply making his way to Mondstadt, without truly knowing the way. There was a magnetic pull, one that he almost hated had he not cared so much. His heart bled, oozed, spilled everywhere. But if it bled for Mondstadt, for the Nameless Bard, for YN, then when would it bleed for him? When would he get his turn? 

He stumbled into Angel’s Share and sat on his usual stool. He glanced to his side. He almost saw her there. He looked to his other side, and the Bard stared into an empty mug. He had no face, no eyes, no smile. He was mundane again, with no memory and no song. Venti couldn’t remember YN’s face again, and he wondered, should he look into his drink, if her eyes would be floating there. Someone shuffled next to where YN was sitting, and when he glanced, he saw a young woman in YN’s perfect visage. She was perhaps a little less muscly, and a little more dainty, but when she glanced at him with an annoyed eye, Venti’s blood froze. It was humiliating, and he wondered if somehow, YN’s ghost had come back, reincarnated, to torture him for his sin. 

“Do you have a problem?” The young woman asked. YN turned her head, and Venti could just barely make out her tilting her head before she seemed to quite suddenly disappear. The Bard laughed under his breath, and all of Tevyat mocked Lord Barbatos, the Anemo Archon and Windborne Bard. 

Venti had been drinking.