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awkwardauthorwrites · 1 year

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Wildest Dreams - Part One

Word Count: 6.6k

Themes: fluff, pining

Summary: Ten years have passed since the events of Hogwarts Legacy and Y/N is invited back as part of a reunion to celebrate.

Warnings: Potential spoilers for HL. All characters are aged up and around 25/26 years old

Dear Miss Y/L/N,

You are cordially invited to the ten year reunion of the events that marked you as the Hero of Hogwarts. We look forward to your attendance as our guest of honour, please RSVP at your earliest convenience.

Y/N grimaced at the letter she had read time and time again, sorely regretting that she had allowed Poppy to talk her into attending. While it would be nice to see her classmates again, she wished it was under different circumstances - it didn’t matter how much time would pass since she defeated Ranrok and saved the school, she didn’t want to celebrate something that had taken such a significant piece from her that she could never get back.

She didn’t regret protecting Hogwarts, and inadvertently the rest of the world, but sometimes she did wish things had gone differently. Hogwarts had been her first real home and sometimes, in the middle of the night when she was alone with her thoughts, she just wished she had been able to attend as a normal student. From eleven like a regular first year with no ancient magic or goblins bent on wizard destruction. She still had people come up to her to thank her for her deeds and she hated it every time. She hated the handshakes, the tears, the praises they sang to her as they put her on a pedestal as if she were a Saint, as opposed to the terrified child she had been. She knew, of course, that they all meant well but Y/N couldn’t stand the constant daytime reminders of everything that caused her sleepless nights.

“Are you excited?” Poppy asked from beside her, her voice soft as she broke Y/N from her thoughts.

“That’s one word for it,” she muttered, stuffing the parchment back into her pocket. Despite her sour thoughts Y/N was excited for the reunion. Reminder of the worst time of her life aside, she was looking forward to seeing her classmates again, to catch up with them all and see what had become of their lives.

“I heard Imelda managed to get the night off from training with the Holyhead Harpies,” Poppy continued. “It’ll be nice to see her properly this time.”

“Without a dragon in between us, you mean?” Y/N smiled wryly at the memory. She didn’t think Imelda would ever forgive her for ruining one of the bigger matches of her career, but apparently saving a couple of dragon eggs from a group of poachers and returning them to their mother would do the trick.

“Yes, well, she did request we leave the dragon behind this time,” Poppy laughed as they made their way down the cobbled street. They dodged a few shoppers as they walked through Hogsmeade and expertly avoided the throngs of students who seemed to be everywhere but in class, considering it was the middle of the day.

“Sorry.” A tall, dark haired wizard walked by them, accidentally bumping into Y/N. He barely spared the pair a glance as he continued on, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Sebastian?” his name fell from Y/N’s mouth before she could process it, and they both watched as he came to a stop and turned to face them. “Sebastian!” She shot forward, narrowly avoiding a student, and launched herself at him once she was close enough, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him into a tight hug.

“Was that…?” Poppy trailed off, an unsure expression crossing her face as she watched the man walk away from them.

“Oof,” Sebastian had only just recognised the figure barrelling towards him before her body hit him. He took a step back to steady them and make sure they weren’t going to fall over before he wrapped his arms around her waist firmly. “Y/N, give a man a chance, will you?” he laughed, squeezing her affectionately.

“ShutupImissedyouyouidiot.” Her words were unintelligible as she mumbled into the crook of his neck, although he could feel her smile against his skin. His grip tightened in response, lifting her off her feet as he embraced her.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” Y/N pulled back fractionally and narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “I see you’re still the charmer you were back in school.”

“Only for those I hold in the highest esteem.” He grinned down at her and finally loosened his clutch. “Hello Poppy.”

“Hello, Sebastian,” Poppy had a sly smile on her face as she watched the pair ease their hold on each other but made no move to let go. “How’ve you been?”

“Great, although I hear you’re both doing better than me,” he glanced back down at the woman in his arms. “Did you really take down Ratcliffe, one of the biggest poachers in the country? You just can’t stay away from trouble, can you?”

“Trouble can’t stay away from me, you mean. Nothing changes,” Y/N offered him a teasing grin, finally (and reluctantly) pulling herself from his arms.

“Some things clearly do,” he murmured, eyes roaming down her figure. Although they occasionally sent owls to each other, it had been years since the pair’s last meeting. The lanky limbs and awkward persona from the girl he knew before was long gone, only to be replaced by soft curves and a gracefulness he couldn’t quite explain. “Look at you, all grown up.” And rather gorgeous, he noted. He grinned as she nudged him playfully, but was delighted to see a faint blush on her cheeks.

“I’m not the only one who’s done some growing.” He had always been a couple of inches taller than her, but now her head just about came up to his shoulders. Rather broad ones, Y/N thought to herself, which paired nicely with the muscles she could see despite the jacket he was wearing.

“Shall I leave you two alone and come back later?” Poppy asked, breaking the pair from their trances. It was now Sebastian’s turn to flush as he looked down at the former Hufflepuff, who had also grown into a beautiful young woman even though he still towered over her.

“Come here, Sweeting,” Sebastian rolled his eyes at her, tugging her into a hug as well. Poppy laughed and patted his back before extracting herself from his hold. “What are you both doing here? Are you here for the reunion as well?”

“We are,” Poppy nodded. “We thought it would be nice to get here early and check in on the shop. Maybe take a walk around as well.”

“You have a shop?”

“We do,” Y/N nodded. “We bought the Brood and Peck a couple of years ago. All the beasts we save - magical or not - go there. Ellie Peck still does most of the management and finds them all good homes.”

“I thought it looked bigger,” Sebastian looked impressed, “did I see a shop in Diagon Alley too?” His smile widened as both Poppy and Y/N nodded bashfully. “Who would have thought, Poppy Sweeting and Y/N Y/L/N, a beast’s best dream and a poachers worst nightmare.”

“It was mostly Y/N’s idea, she couldn’t bear to release the creatures just for poachers to grab them again.”

“Stop it, Poppy. You know I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you.” Y/N’s face flushed at the praise and she turned back to Sebastian as her friend started to protest. “Please tell me you’re going tonight. I’m going to need all the friendly faces I can get.”

“Well now that I know you’ll be there, how could I say no? Should we make our way together?”

“We could, but I should probably warn you that we’re getting there ridiculously early. It seems I have the absolute pleasure of opening the doors to welcome everyone inside.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget I’m standing with our honorary guest?”

“Don’t start.” Y/N was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes and he caught a flicker of emotion passing across her face before she could hide it. He remembered how much she had disliked the attention for saving the school in their sixth and seventh year, and even though a decade had passed since then it didn’t seem like that had changed much. “Where are you staying? I have a house on the outskirts of the village with more than enough room, if you want.”

“Ah, I’m over at the Three Broomsticks,” he nodded at the pub that was a couple of hundred feet from them. “I stopped by earlier for some lunch and when I told Sirona I was thinking of heading home in between to get ready she told me I had a room there if I needed and it was best not to fight her on it.” Although Sebastian rolled his eyes, the affection for the older witch was still visible in the smile on his face.

“Well, we can all meet for a drink before we go then,” Poppy suggested, looking so excited at the idea that Y/N and Sebastian didn’t have the heart to disagree with her. “Imelda and some of the others are going to be there before the reunion as well. Will Ominis be joining us?”

“No, he’s taking care of Anne. They both told me to say hello if I saw you. Anne said it’s been too long, and if I don’t bring you back for tea after all of this she will keep me away from my soon-to-be-born niece or nephew.”

“Oh, she told me she was expecting, but I’ve not had a chance to come see her yet. Are you excited to be an uncle?” Y/N grinned, her hand reaching out to squeeze Sebastian’s arm with such elation he could feel his heart flutter in his chest.

“I can’t wait to spoil them. I think Ominis has learned every child safety spell he can get his hands on,” Sebastian let out a quiet chuckle and slipped his hands in his pockets once more. “I still have a couple of errands I need to attend to for them, but I’ll see you both later at the Three Broomsticks?” The three of them made quick plans for when they were going to meet before Sebastian left them with a grin and a wave.

“That man couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” Poppy commented, nudging Y/N playfully. Y/N rolled her eyes and nudged Poppy right back, but couldn’t help to look over her shoulder at Sebastian, who was currently doing the same thing. Y/N couldn’t read his expression from this far away, but she did catch the slow smile that formed on his face and couldn’t help but to smile back, her heart thumping in her chest.

*~*~*~*~*

Y/N looked up at the Three Broomsticks, the hood of her cloak protecting her from the light rain that had started. She fiddled nervously with the lace of her dress as she waited patiently for Poppy - who had stopped to pet a cat she had seen - to catch up. She felt out of place, and not just because she was standing in front of the pub in a ball gown that was fit for a castle in one of the novels Poppy loved to read. Although, Y/N mused, she supposed she was on her way to said castle. She sighed and smoothed down the fabric of her forest green skirts, wishing she was in her usual attire of a tunic and light pants (fighting poachers while wearing a corset and heavy skirts did not go well the last time).

Y/N looked back down the street, the last of the light fading as the sun set behind the hills. At this rate she could make her escape before Poppy would even notice and she weighed the pros and cons of not attending in her head for what felt like the hundredth time. Imelda would likely hunt her down if she didn’t attend, and she didn’t particularly feel like battling the witch tonight. Sebastian would forgive her - in fact, she could even owl him to see if he wanted to scrap the whole event with her. Anne had been hounding her to come round for tea and she would much prefer to see her and Ominis than to be paraded in front of her old peers like a prized calf. With a low groan Y/N dragged her feet into the pub, deciding the least she could do while she waited for Poppy was to get warm and have a chat with Sirona.

The Three Broomsticks hadn’t changed much since Y/N had first stepped inside all those years ago, practically glowing from defeating her first troll with Sebastian by her side. The smell of butterbeer and burning logs greeted her and a familiar warmth that had nothing to do with the fires burning in their hearths ran from her head to her toes. Sirona had added a couple of new booths over the years, as well as a particularly comfortable pair of armchairs that were placed next to one of the fireplaces.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sirona had a large smile on her face as she dried her hands. “Is that Y/N Y/L/N in my pub? Where’s your other half?” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as Sirona rounded the bar and pulled her into a hug.

“Poppy saw a cat. You know how she is,” Y/N released the older witch and let Sirona look her over as she removed her cloak.

“Well, I’d ask what kind of trouble you’ve both been in since I last saw you but…” she glanced at the still-healing scar that ran from Y/N’s eyebrow across to her temple. “Is that one waiting for you?” she gestured with her head to the man that was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, and Y/N realised that it was Sebastian. He looked to be deep in thought as he stared into the flames.

“He is,” Y/N turned back to Sirona with a smile. “Could I trouble you for three glasses of firewhiskey?”

“On the house,” Sirona winked at her and made her way back behind the bar just as Poppy walked into the pub. She waved hello at Sirona and came to stand by Y/N’s side, her gaze landing on Sebastian as well.

“Well, he’s certainly not the same boy we went to school with,” Poppy muttered. Y/N couldn’t help but murmur back in agreement. He had been considered attractive back at school (and knew it), but now…Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate how devastatingly handsome he looked in his dress robes, the warm glow from the fire lighting his face. Sirona placed the three glasses on the table next to him, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he finally looked up with a smile as he took note of both the girls.

“There you both are, I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me.” He stood to greet them with a smile and looked between the pair, his eyes lingering on Y/N. There was an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes roamed over her dress slowly until he finally met her gaze. He was vaguely aware that his staring was bordering on indecent when the door opened again and a large, rather loud, group walked in. Poppy looked between the pair, a small smirk on her face when she caught the matching telltale flush on their faces. She filed the thought away for later when she could get Y/N alone and turned to look at the group who had just walked in, her smile widening when she caught sight of Imelda.

“Kneazle caught your tongue?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, a teasing smile on her face.

“It’s entirely your fault for looking so ravishing tonight,” Sebastian caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before handing her one of the glasses of firewhiskey. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh quietly and reach up to straighten out his tie.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr Sallow.” She gave him a coy smile as her hand lingered on his chest for longer than necessary, feeling the telltale thump thump thump of his heart. A voice calling her name from behind them broke their stares and Y/N let her fingers trail down his chest slowly as she turned to walk away.

“Have you got nothing to say to me, then?” Imelda met Y/N halfway, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

“It’s good to see you again, Imedla,” Y/N pulled the girl in for a hug, who laughed in response.

“Yes, it’s much better seeing you here on the ground, instead of interrupting my match by riding a dragon. Honestly, Y/L/N, if you wanted to come see me at one of my games all you had to do was ask.”

“You rode a dragon?” Sebastian finally seemed to snap out of his stupor and took a couple of steps forward to greet his former housemate.

“I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I, Reyes?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as Sebastian stood by her side.

“Showing up in that dress would have worked just as well,” Imelda’s eyes roamed over her appreciatively. “Green has always looked best on you.”

“I’ll bear that in mind for next time.” Even though the wink wasn’t aimed at him Sebastian felt his mouth go dry and quickly took a sip of firewhiskey to chase away the fluttering feeling in his stomach. He lingered by Y/N’s side as they caught up with Imelda and a couple of their former school mates, his arm brushing against hers every-so-often in a way that made his face burn. Sebastian decided he would blame the firewhiskey if anyone (especially Imelda) tried to call him out on blushing like a first year every time his hand brushed past hers.

“To our saviour!” Leander Prewett called out, raising his glass in Y/N’s direction. A couple of the others followed suit, not noticing how uncomfortably still Y/N had gotten as she glanced around the room. Y/N felt her skin prickle as a few people turned to openly stare at her, expressions varying between awe and gratitude. She offered them a tense smile as Poppy shot Leander a glare and tugged his arm down, whispering harshly at him as he sipped from his glass.

She could feel her chest tighten at the attention and willed herself not to scream at them all that she didn’t deserve their praises. That she wasn’t a saviour, she had just gotten lucky. It had taken Y/N far too many sleepless nights to come to terms with what had happened to her under the castle, and even longer to fully grasp that it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t save everyone. Moments like these - with people muttering about how she was a hero - made her feel like a fraud.

“Hey.” Sebastian felt Y/N jump slightly as he placed a hand on her lower back gently. “Come with me?” He set their empty glasses down before leading her to the door, only stopping to grab their cloaks as he led her outside. Thestrals were tethered to a carriage a couple of feet away from the pub, the Hogwarts emblem carved onto the side - no doubt meant to take Y/N up to the castle for the event. “Are you still with me?”

“Just about,” Y/N’s eyes flicked up to meet his as he draped her cloak around her shoulders and fastened it for her. “How did you know?”

“You had that look on your face you used to get in our sixth year.”

“I didn’t realise you paid that much attention to me.”

“How could I not?” The corner of his mouth lifted up in a barely perceptible smile as he brushed a stray hair from her eyes. His fingers lingered on her jaw before gently tilting her face to his.

“You’re a rake, Sebastian Sallow.” She narrowed her eyes at him playfully, a smile falling on her painted lips. Sebastian had the overwhelming urge to close the gap between them and kiss her but managed to restrain himself and settled for pulling her body closer to his.

“You say rake, I say dashing rogue, who’s to say which one of us is right.” Y/N laughed quietly and brought her hands up to rest on the lapels of his jacket. “Either way, I can’t help but to be charming in the presence of such a stunning woman.”

“Is that what you say to all the pretty ladies you meet?”

“Just the one.” Y/N’s fingers tightened around his jacket at his words, at the look in his eye. She wanted nothing more than to pull him into a searing kiss she had imagined more times than she could count but refrained, unsure of his reaction. “What are you thinking about?” Sebastian brushed her cheeks gently, his face inching closer to hers.

“Whether we should make our escape or not.”

“Do you not want to attend anymore?”

“I didn’t particularly want to attend to start with.”

“Do you want me to get you out of here?” He looked so concerned for her wellbeing that Y/N felt her heart crack in her chest. How long had it been since someone had taken care of her? Of course, Poppy was always around to patch her up with things that went south against the poachers but even she didn’t know how deep the internal wounds went. Or if she did, she never commented on it.

“No, not yet. I think Imelda would hunt me down and drag me back, anyway.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Y/N. I’ll fight Imelda myself if I have to.”

“You would fight Imelda ’The Muscles’ Reyes for me?”

“Darling, I don’t know how to make it any clearer that I will always fight anyone who tries to harm you.”

“My hero,” Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, a laugh bubbling up as she took in his mock affronted expression. She leant up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, mindful not to get any lipstick on his face. The arm around her waist tightened fractionally, holding her in place against him as he processed what had just happened. “Sebastian?”

“Hold on, I’m trying to remind myself that you’re one of my closest friends and if I kissed you like I really want to right now you would probably punch me.”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Always.” He made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” The door flew open before Sebastian could question her further and both Poppy and Imelda came to a stop when they took note of how close the pair were standing.

“Are we interrupting something?”

“Not anymore,” Sebastian sighed. He brushed a thumb down Y/N’s spine gently, a silent gesture that they would be continuing this conversation later away from prying eyes, and reluctantly released her. “Is Imelda joining us up to the castle?”

“Someone had to come along so Sweeting wasn’t a third wheel,” Imelda shot a wicked grin at Y/N and made her way over to the carriage. The footman jumped down to help the women in first, only climbing back up when Sebastian insisted on closing the door himself. The carriage started to pull away before he could get fully seated which resulted in him falling into his seat next to Y/N, his body pressed against hers in a way that frayed his nerves.

“Oof. There’s no need to throw yourself at me like that, Seb. There are other ways to get my attention,” Y/N playfully pushed him away from her.

“You mean like earlier when you tackled me and nearly sent us both to the ground?”

“You weren’t exactly protesting when you clung into me like a niffler with gold.”

“What can I say, I seem to have a penchant for pretty women.”

“You’re both disgusting,” Imelda cut in. She tried to frown at the pair, but there was an obvious smile playing on the corners of her mouth. “If you both are going to flirt the whole way there I’d rather walk.”

“At least you didn’t have to watch them earlier when we first saw Sebastian,” Poppy adds with a laugh. “I might as well have not been there.”

“You’re both welcome to walk the rest of the way to the castle,” Y/N raised her eyebrows at the pair and tried to fight the blush that was rising to her face.

“I’m sure you and Sallow would love it if we left you alone,” Imelda remarked dryly.

“Alright you,” Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes. “I forgot how needy you two are when you’re together. I love all three of you equally, I promise.” Protests erupted from the two girls in front of Y/N and she listened in amusement as they started to bicker about which one she preferred.

“I’d like to add my own two sickles in to say I’m offended at being placed in league with Reyes,” Sebastian leant in, his voice low so as not to attract any attention. “We all know I’m your favourite.”

“Are you?” Y/N turned her head up to give him a teasing smile, only to jolt slightly when she realised how close his face was to hers. She heard his voice echo in her head, the pure sincerity as he had said he always wanted to kiss her. It could have just been one of his lines, but it still made Y/N’s stomach flutter and a blush rise to her face. She was thankful that the carriage was dimly lit and no one could call attention to her red cheeks.

“You’re a cruel, beautiful woman.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Y/N rolled her eyes at him and turned to look out of the window so he couldn’t see the smile on her face. The carriage rolled through the north entrance to the castle, skirting round the fountain that lay in the middle of the courtyard and came to a gentle stop outside the doors. Sebastian climbed out before the footman could grab the door for them and helped the girls out, his hand lingering on Y/N’s after she was back on solid ground. A small part of him had been worried he had gone too far when he told her he wanted to kiss her, but the small blush that seemed to appear on her face whenever he stood too close made him wonder. Could she possibly want him as much as he wanted her?

The doors swung open before they could step forward, revealing the inner halls to the group and Y/N felt a rush of warmth come from within the castle gently caress the magic inside of her. It felt like greeting an old familiar friend, as if Hogwarts was saying welcome home. Y/N looked at the entrance hall in front of her as a million memories flashed through her mind. From the first time she walked through these doors with Professor Fig by her side, to returning from her battle with Rookwood while clutching an injury she had sustained to her side (which had left her with a scar). She saw flashes of laughter with everyone she had been friendly with at school, from Poppy to Imelda to Natty, Garreth, Ominis, and finally Sebastian. Hundreds of moments with Sebastian flew through her mind - laughing with him, sneaking into the restricted section, sneaking out of the castle, meeting up in the Undercroft. She had heard people say it since she had left school, but Hogwarts was, and always would be, her home.

“Are you coming, Y/N?” Poppy’s soft question brought her back to the present, where the three of them had already made their way through the doors and were waiting patiently for her. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her, silently asking if she wanted to get out of there. She shook her head at him with a small smile and walked towards them, holding her skirts in one hand.

“Yeah, I am.” The group made their way through the familiar halls in semi-silence and Y/N couldn’t help but remember how nervous she had been the first time, when she had been late to her own sorting. The ever-present pang of pain flickered as she thought of Professor Fig and how kind he had always been to her.

“Ah, there you all are,” Professor Weasley stood in front of them, a large smile on her face as she pulled each of them into a hug. “It’s so good to see you all again.”

“Likewise, Professor,” Poppy’s excitement was infectious and Y/N soon found her dark thoughts scattering as she took a look around the Great Hall.

“Matilda, please. You’re not students anymore.”

“Might take some getting used to,” Imelda pulled a small face but laughed quietly nonetheless, quickly excusing herself as she spotted their old flying teacher. Poppy trailed after her, unable to hide her eagerness to talk to Professor Howin. Professor Weasley (Matilda, Y/N reminded herself) looked between her and Sebastian casually, taking note of how close the two stood next to each other.

“How have you been, Prof - Matilda?” Sebastian asked, saving Y/N from making awkward conversation. “Are the current students just as chaotic as we were?”

“I don’t think anyone could cause as much trouble as you did, Mr Sallow.” There was a teasing smile on the older witch’s face as she ran her eyes over Y/N, taking note of a few new scars that littered her arms (and the still-healing one on her face). “How are you holding up, Miss Y/L/N?”

“Y/N is fine, especially if we’re to call you Matilda,” Y/N forced a smile on her face and shuffled on her feet nervously. “I’m doing fine, no rest for the wicked as they say.”

“Hm…I hope you’re making sure she’s taken care of, Mr Sallow.”

“Oh, we all try. I’m sure you remember how stubborn she was in school though.” Sebastian shot Y/N a cheeky smile in hopes that the teasing would loosen her up. She rolled her eyes back and nudged him gently.

“I can take care of myself.”

“No harm in letting others help,” Matilda smiled to herself as she watched her former students interact with each other. It had been painfully obvious to all the staff that the two were meant for each other when they were back in school and it looked like they still hadn’t quite worked that out for themselves yet. “Anyway, are you ready, Y/N?”

“Ready for what?”

“To dance. Surely someone has informed you that you would be opening the festivities tonight with a dance?”

“No…no they did not.” Y/N slid her eyes shut in annoyance, her stomach churning with nerves. Maybe it wasn’t too late to say she wasn’t feeling very well and just leave? Surely if she threw up like she wanted to that would buy some points in her favour.

“Oh…well now you know.” Matilda fussed with her hair and glanced around awkwardly. “I’m sure Headmaster Black wouldn’t mind being your partner for the evening.” I would rather battle Ranrok again, Y/N thought to herself, this night cannot get any worse.

“There’ll be no need for that, Professor Weasley,” Sebastian grasped Y/N’s elbow lightly, an easy smile on his face. “I’ll lead Y/N for the dance.”

“Oh…thank you, Mr Sallow.” Y/N could have sworn the corner of Matilda Weasley’s mouth twitched up as she looked between her and Sebastian, but the smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. “It looks like others are starting to arrive so we shall start soon.” With that she quickly turned and walked away to greet some students who had just entered the hall, leaving Y/N and Sebastian behind.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Sebastian shrugged and turned to face her. “It saves you from having to dance with Black and I get an excuse to hold you close. There’s no losers this way.” He bit back a smile as he watched her look away from him nervously, the same pretty blush coming to her cheeks. He didn’t know if she was flustered because she wasn’t used to the attention, or because the attention was coming from him, but Merlin did he hope it was the latter.

“You won’t feel that way when I step on your feet. I’m a horrible dancer.”

“And here I was thinking there was nothing you couldn’t do.” He brushed his fingers along her hand subtly to get her to look back at him. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent dancer.”

“There’s plenty I’m not good at,” Y/N disagreed and tore her eyes away from the crowd of students who had just walked in. Leander was amongst the group and if she looked at him for a moment too long all she could hear was him calling out a toast in her name and it simultaneously made her want to throw up and punch him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He watched as she fiddled with her fingers anxiously, her eyes darting around the room as more of their former school mates began to trickle in and wanted nothing more than to whisk her away from it all. He didn’t understand why she was subjecting herself to this when she clearly wanted nothing more than to be away from here.

“If I could have your attention, please,” Phineas Black stood at the top of the room where the staff table would usually be, an orchestra in its place. “I would like to welcome you all to the ten year anniversary of our very own Y/N Y/L/N saving our school.” He gestured towards her and Y/N wished the ground would swallow her whole as they all turned to face her. “If our Hero of Hogwarts would like to make her way over we can officially start this reunion with the opening dance.”

Y/N placed her hand in Sebastian’s and let him escort her to the middle of the dance floor, her heart skipping a beat as she squeezed her hand reassuringly. He turned to face her with a small bow, a cheeky smile on his face as he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him playfully but couldn’t help to smile at his antics.

“You can do this,” Sebastian murmured, pulling her close as the music started. She placed one hand on his shoulder as his own came to rest on her waist, eyes darting to the crowd that surrounded them.

“Everyone’s staring,” Y/N mumbled.

“Just keep your eyes on me, I’ve got you, darling.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his at the term of endearment only to see his eyes were already on hers, a teasing smile on his face. He started to lead her into a waltz, standing a little closer than needed so he could continue to speak to her.

“You’re being far more charming than you usually are.”

“How could I not when you turn the prettiest shade of pink every time?”

“You’re a rake.”

“You know, that’s twice you’ve said that now and I have to disagree.” He placed both hands on her waist as the music swelled and lifted her briefly. “If I were a rake, I’d be flirting with every woman I met.”

“You've been flirting this whole time? I never would have guessed.”

“Don’t start,” he rolled his eyes at her and tugged her closer, leaving no space between them.

“You could have given me some warning, maybe I would’ve liked to flirt back.”

“Now that I would pay to see.”

“What are you implying, Sallow?”

“I’m not implying anything,” he chuckled and span her in a gentle circle before tucking her back in place against him, “I’m just saying it’s usually me who flirts and showers you with compliments.”

“I didn’t think you needed me to tell you how good looking you are.”

“Probably not,” he shot her a devious grin, “but it would be nice.”

“Do you want me to start now?” Y/N lowered her voice considerably, her arm leaving his shoulder to wind around his neck and pull him impossibly closer. “Would you like to hear about the thoughts that ran through my mind earlier when I saw you in the Three Broomsticks?” she murmured in his ear. She felt him falter slightly as he led her and laughed quietly, her thumb brushing the back of his neck gently. “I don’t think you could handle hearing the way I think about you.”

“Think about me often, do you?”

“Always.” She pulled back slightly so he could see the serious look on her face as she repeated his early words with just as much conviction. The sound of applause startled them both slightly, and Y/N belatedly remembered there were other people in the room watching them dance indecently close to each other. Sebastian brushed a thumb down her spine again, signalling that their conversation would be tabled for later. He led her off the floor and towards Imelda, Poppy and Natty, who all wore matching wicked grins as the pair neared.

“Well I don’t know about you two but I feel positively scandalised at that display,” Imelda teased as they walked within earshot.

“Jealous, Imelda?” Y/N offered her friend her own sly smile. “I’m sure I can make time for you later if you feel left out.”

“Depends, does Sallow share?”

“Absolutely not,” Sebastian tightened his grip on Y/N’s waist, which he had yet to release. “You’ll need to find your own dance partner, Reyes.”

“I’m sure Prewett would love to join you,” Y/N added. Sebastian shook in silent laughter from next to her as Imelda glared at the pair of them.

“On that note, since I know how much you hate being the centre of attention - are you ready to accept your award?”

“My what?”

“Imelda! It was supposed to be a surprise!” Natty chastised her.

“Well, I’m glad I told her because she looks like she’s going to be sick.” The Scottish witch wasn’t wrong, Y/N could feel her stomach start to churn and the lingering buzz from dancing with Sebastian disappeared. She didn’t deserve an award for what had happened. Poppy gave her a concerned look as Imelda and Natty started to bicker about ruining the surprise, although Y/N was too far gone in her thoughts to realise. Echoes of what she had been through flashed through her mind, but there were no good thoughts sprinkled within this time. All she could see was Ranrok in his strange dragon form as she fought him, followed by Professor Fig lying on the floor and dying by her side.

“Hey,” Sebastian took hold of Y/N’s elbow gently and leant in to whisper in her ear. “Let’s go. No arguments this time.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Just say the word and I’ll make it happen.” She looked up at him, panic still lingering in her gaze along with such pure agony that Sebastian could feel his heart shatter.

“Let’s go.”

Part Two

#sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x fem!reader #hogwarts game #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #awkwardauthormasterlist #awkwardauthorwrites #awkwardauthor

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nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

the sargeant's tattoos | b.b.

SUMMARY: It's a lazy morning in bed, and your boyfriend has new tattoos, which means inspection. Bucky lets you do your thing, as always.

🏷️ Established relationship, fluff, body worship. WC: [2.2k].| 📑 This work is part of a series called Coming In Hot, but it can be read as a stand alone. This is specially for the nonnie that missed it. Mwah.

"Can you get back up here?" You giggle. "I wanna see the new one. You said it's healed. Lemme see, Sargeant."

Bucky's got a thing for your legs, he tells you all the time, but the amount of time he's willing to spend sometimes kneeling on the floor just because your bed is basically on the floor is ridiculous sometimes.

He looks up at you, rubbing his scruff on your calf and smiling with the same indecency in his eyes he had when he first walked in and saw you sprawling across the bed with a book in your hands and only your newest sundress—pure want, mixed with devious thoughts and even more devilish intent.

"I like it down here," Bucky answers. He puts on a cute pout, and you grab him by his hair. The soft and now longer strands are perfect for pulling, and you smile with your jaw hanging open at the fact that this bastard hisses with a smile on his face at the strength you use. "Ow. So you get to trace my tattoos for as long as you'd like—ow, woman, god, you're hot when you're needy little this," Bucky's laughter tastes somehow even better when he presses it against your mouth. "But. If I spend half an hour sucking bruises on your legs, I can't? I don't like that. Doesn't sound that fair to me."

You're successful in pulling him back in bed with you.

"I just miss you," you whine. You kiss him back when Bucky dives for several small pecks, holding his head there, as close to you as possible. "And your tattoos are up there with my favorite art pieces. You know that. You also gave me full permission to ogle them for as much as you want, so..." you shrug your shoulders.

Bucky scrunches his nose, then lets all of his weight drop on you.

Your body lets out an 'oof' sound when he does that, but you wrap your legs around his waist even though you can barely breathe.

In a mocking tone of military order, Bucky says. "Tell me I can go back to my duty of honor after you're done with your starin'."

"No!" Bucky's heavy, and if he makes you laugh this is over before it starts. "You said we're gonna go watch a movie, Buck."

"Don't whine at me, darlin'. Tell me I can do it or else I'll just crush you to death," he insists, wiggling his body for good measure.

Muscle.

Your boyfriend left the military many years ago — thank everything that's real — and his only exercises involve a lot more aerobics than you'd like to think of at any given time, but he's also a mechanic.

One who loves what he does, who's always doing the most himself. You've seen him lift things in that car shop you were sure were a part of the decor, and it shows.

"If you stay on top of me like that for one more minute I'm gonna lick your face, Barnes."

The threat almost sounds real, but Bucky knows how to recognize weakness in your voice when he hears it better than anyone.

He leans closer to your face. "Tell me," he whispers, inches away from your lips.

"Fine. You can go back to whatever you want between my legs," you exhale heavily. Oh, what a cruel hand you'd been dealt with. "Now off. On the bed, face down." You wiggle your eyebrows.

A deal's a deal, so Bucky gets off.

Smiling because he's won what he wants, too, but all that matters right now is finally getting the time to look.

When he arrived earlier at your place, you'd been so lost in the ocean of sadness, longing, and desperate need to see him, be near him, kiss him, taste him feel him rub on him gasp his name have him writhing and begging for you, begging for him right back, Bucky BuckyBucky—there was time for nothing else.

Barely a hello.

His working clothes were still somewhere close to your front door, with grease on them and a button missing, most likely.

You hated residency.

Hated being away from him, the boys — your boys — and hated even more that the limited time you had was often wasted doing stupid, grown-up shit.

You missed and loved Bucky Barnes each more every day, ever since the day he welcomed you into his shop and fixed your Baby, and being away from him felt like torture at times.

Specially when he got a new tattoo.

Bucky laid with his stomach on the mattress, wiggled his hips a few times to get comfortable, and placed a pillow under his head.

"Go ahead," he muttered, resting his cheek on your silk pillowcase and casting his blue eyes on you.

You climbed on top of him this time, sitting on his ass.

"Pain level?" You ask.

The first of many questions, as he well knows.

"Mmm. A solid five. The parts closest to the ribs were the worst," he answers.

Your fingertips start tracing the lines of the tattoo that so far you had only seen through pictures.

There was not an ounce of a lie in your previous statements to Bucky:

All his tattoos were art.

This new one was no exception.

"Time?" You ask.

"Seven hours with a few breaks here and there," Bucky answers.

You whistle. "That's impressive, Sargeant."

He chuckles. "It's not that painful," he states.

"So you say," you tease him.

Bucky's still daydreaming about the day you'll allow him to pay for a tattoo on you, and the day is yet to arrive.

The art he puts on him makes him look like art as well.

It was the first thing you said back when at the beginning of the relationship you had a chance to truly look at his tattoos. To lay on his chest and analyze them from up-close without feeling like you were invading the privacy of what they meant.

Each tattoo Bucky had held personal meaning to him — unlike his best friend, Steve, who had a bunch of random (and beautiful) shit permanently drawn on many parts of his body — and it took no genius to figure out Bucky would rather chomp his own feet off than talk about it with anyone.

You knew from stories of the boys that Bucky had the habit of giving people the bluntest answers he'd given on the times they all traveled to the beach and the rare occasions when someone saw him shirtless and asked about his very sick tattoos.

How could you blame those people?

On his right side, drawn across his ribs, there was a raven taking flight. A very realistic one about the size of an adult man's hands spread wide open.

"That's my dad's favorite bird. He liked the poem by Poe—very on the nose, I know. But I like it, too. It's funny this is the first one you ask about 'cause... this was the first one I got."

Unlike with others, Bucky had no problem talking to you.

He told you about the raven, about Saturn on his chest, and the story his mother told him when he was a kid about how she had a guardian angel who picked up rocks and asteroids straight from the planet of Saturn only on the special occasion of her birthday, and how his mother started to give him her special "Saturn stone" to him whenever he felt anxious.

"She said it wouldn't give me superpowers, but that it had superpowers and I had to trust it would just be whatever I need to face off the challenge I was anxious about, and... it worked." That explanation had been so beautiful you told him it made you want to get Saturn's rings tattooed on you, and that had made Bucky laugh. "It's a nice magic thing to believe in. You know... back in the desert, sometimes... I would just pick up any stone, close my eyes, and pretend it was a Saturn ring. Carry it around in my pocket like a lucky charm."

Before the newest addition, Saturn had been your favorite of all his pieces.

Bucky also had tattooed on his left chest a hyper-real android thing that made it look like he was part robot on the inside.

"This one was just after I learned how to accept this," he'd told you, wiggling his prosthetic arm. "Learning how to feel okay with the new me and all that yadda."

Then, there was the constellation.

Wrapping around the left-wing on the back of his left shoulder there was the constellation of Cassiopeia.

"It was... this was Kim's favorite." The sound of Bucky's lost battalion member might be closed, but the scar of losing a loved one was forever. "Stars and stuff like that was the first thing that got him talking back then. You know how he was intimidated by Stevie and I..." You recalled seeing the fondness and the obvious infatuation still visible in Bucky's eyes when talking about Kim, and all it made was bring you this wave of sadness of knowing you'd never be able to meet someone who made Bucky feel so happy. "It was the first thing we really talked about. And we could talk about it for hours."

After you two started dating, Bucky got a new one a few months after on the back of his right shoulder in the same conceptual style as this newest piece.

It was a quote from Wuthering Heights.

Be with me always. Take any form—Drive me mad!

The quote stood between an anatomically correct heart and a book.

Seconds before showing you, Bucky had stood on your bedroom door playing with his fingers and hair, trying to figure out what to say. Then, he had just closed his mouth, took off his shirt and come to sit next to you in bed in complete silence.

When you read the quote, all you could see was your Instagram post.

He had sat and waited for you to find your own words, and it took you a while.

"It's gorgeous."

Bucky had looked at you, smiling so softly it hurt. "An ode to love."

"Is it?"

"It is. It turns out... that there is such thing as a love you'd want forever."

That day was one of your favorites. Ever.

Today, though, you stand there sitting on your favorite seat with your fingers tracing the new conceptual art on his back.

There were a lot of things, but the main connection was time, and in the other lines, you recognized little things that each traced back to one of the boys from his group. To Steve, Sam, Peter, Gabe, Morita—even Kim was there if you paid close attention to details.

It was gorgeous.

Then, you noticed that the dismantled machine on one of the edges of the tattoo was a 1959 Cadillac.

Your Cadillac.

"Bucky..."

"Ah. She found it," he says with a laugh, talking to himself. With a look up, you see Bucky twisting his neck a little just to look at you. "You like it?"

Like it?

To be included in his vision of... what? Family? Love? All the things that time brought to him and mattered?

Your answer is to close the distance between your bodies and press your lips on his. Bucky sighs softly, kissing you back and trying to hold onto his smile.

"I love you so much," you whisper to him. I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna cry. To fulfill that, you focus on kissing him some more. "I love how the art on you makes you even sexier. It should be fucking illegal, to be honest, but it's the best eye candy ever so I do not care."

"I'm eye candy?" Bucky asks, laughing again.

You nod. "You know you are." And... there it is. The blush on his cheeks as he shakes his head, trying to play coy or argue with you when he knows it's useless. Caressing his face, you sing the praises your lips are used to. "Beautiful, pretty, gorgeous Sargeant," they're as familiar as the taste of his mouth by now, and how much he seems to drink them in is all that you ever want to see at the end of the day.

Bucky blinks heavily, smiling so hard his cheeks must be hurting.

Then, he opens those hypnotizing blue orbs and leans in to sensually touch his lips on yours.

"And she wonders why I love to spend time between these legs," he hums in feign disapproval.

There's a sharp slap on the side of your thigh, and you yelp.

Bucky's smile turns devious.

"You've done your ogling. Time to stick to your word, darlin'."

He's right.

This time, it's you who sighs before lying down. "Yes, Sarge."

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say-al0e · 1 year

Text

Finally

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: You have a rule; don’t pursue any of the other regulars at your favorite bar. Rooster is a regular and one night, makes you question why you ever thought that rule was a good idea.

Warnings: Protected PinV, oral (fem rec), drinking, consent is hot, pre-TGM (set in VB). (Anything else, just let me know and I can tag it)

Pairing: Rooster x fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Top Gun Taglist | Top Gun Masterlist

The little dive a few blocks away from your apartment had long since turned into something of a second home for you and your friends. Most Saturdays - if none of the girls had made more pressing pans - found you seated around a table near the door, empty glasses littering the sticky surface as you all decompressed after a stressful week. There was cheap alcohol, greasy food that was decent enough, and rarely any crowds.

Unlike other bars in the area, most of the people who filled seats on Saturday nights were your run of the mill regulars. Though the vast majority of bars in the area - new and old - seemed to cater to the large and ever-growing Naval population, the little dive never seemed to attract any particular clientele.

There always seemed to be an interesting mixture of regulars scattered about each weekend. The ones you saw most were the small group of college students - eager to flash their new, real (they swore) IDs - a few couples, a few loners who drank quietly at the bar, and a group of, in the words of your friends, obscenely handsome men.

That description wasn’t wrong, the group was obscenely handsome, but you did your best not to stare. The bar was your safe haven, a refuge from the offense of a rough week, just as you assumed it was theirs. As such, you thought it best not to pursue any of them.

Things could get messy - the bartender had slept with a handful of one-time regulars who had since stopped appearing - and losing your favorite bar to a night that may or may not be worth it was the last thing you wanted. Avoiding them seemed practical, however, just because you decided that you shouldn’t didn’t mean you didn’t want to.

The group of men was never loud, no more so than any of the rest of the patrons in the bar, but there were moments of light that showcased their personalities. Their voices tended to carry on slower nights, when it seemed to be just your group and theirs, and you’d gotten to know a fair deal about them.

The most revolutionary piece oof information you’d gleaned from their conversations was that the one they called Rooster was the one who’d caught your eye.

Rooster - whose real name you never heard uttered by any of his companions - was at the bar most weekends. He was one of the quieter members of the group, usually choosing songs at the old jukebox in the corner and grinning as he nodded along, but never failed to laugh when the group lobbed half-hearted taunts his way.

There was a boyish charm about him, despite his size and relative quiet, and it did nothing but make you wonder.

If anyone asked, you’d argue that the duality of him was what drew you in. He was easily among the tallest men in the bar at any given time, with broad shoulders and defined biceps. There were a handful of scars smattered across his skin and, every so often, a handful of bruises to accompany them.

The men he ventured into the bar were so obviously Navy, even without the uniforms but Rooster carried himself easily. The rigidity you’d come to expect from soldiers, pilots, and sailors - living so close to the largest Naval base in the world gave you plenty of experience with them - was missing entirely, replaced by gaudy Hawaiian shirts and a playful smile, and that was that.

Somehow, in only a matter of months, Rooster managed to capture your attention and kept you coming back for more, week after week.

Everyone seemed to notice.

Both sets of friends - yours and his - wagged eyebrows and snickered whenever your paths managed to cross. Endless amounts of whispering, begging you just to say hello to him, plagued you nearly every weekend and if you glanced at his table, you assumed he was being given the same treatment.

It seemed impossible that he wasn’t, given you seemed to have caught his eye, too.

Night after night, piercing brown eyes met yours across the bar. A soft smile, hidden beneath a mustache you would’ve deemed ridiculous on anyone else, was sure to accompany the warm gaze and, despite yourself, you’d grown to anticipate the shared glances.

That gaze, those eyes glittering even in the dim light of the bar, was the highlight of your night. That night was no exception.

Each time you took a cursory glance around the bar - gaze sweeping over the sticky bar top, the bright jukebox, the worn pool table, the wall covered in stickers and patches and signatures from patrons past - you always seemed to find your way back to him.

Over the course of the night, glances were exchanged - sidelong, flirty, curious - more frequently than ever. It reminded you that there’d always been something stopping you from taking him home.

The desire to keep yourself, and him, from losing your second home for a night that had no guarantee; the determination to avoid your friends’ knowing smiles and fond teasing, no matter how deserved; the desperation to keep from making a mistake by taking him home, even if it turned out to be a beautiful one.

Thoughts of what could happen - the bad, the good, the indifferent - plagued you each time you shared a glance with Rooster. As your friends sipped beer and wine and giggled about their respective partners, you allowed yourself to wonder.

There was no guarantee attached to a night spent with Rooster, however, there could be a future there. The happily ever after you quietly longed for, wrapped in an awfully tacky Hawaiian shirt and a mustache straight out of 1986, could await you. One night with him could lead to a future that saw your group of friends and his sharing a table and laughing over how long you danced around one another.

Alternatively, it could become a fond memory. There was no guarantee the intrigue you felt would last more than a night. It could end with an understanding that you were not meant to be and knowing looks shared in passing, never speaking of the night but silently agreeing to cohabitate in peace.

The worst option was the one that gave you pause. There could be heartache in a night spent with Rooster, hidden behind pretty smiles and soft eyes. The night could lead to a future in which the sight of those eyes would render you unable to step foot in your favorite bar. It could end in disappointment or hurt and that was the last thing you wanted for either of you.

Each scenario was one you’d considered at least a dozen times. Some nights, you spent the entirety of your time in the bar questioning ‘what-if’. It was why you’d avoided speaking to him, why you never allowed the glances to linger too long or the teasing from your friends to spur you into action, but something shifted.

That night, instead of allowing the negativity to take root, an unfamiliar determination took hold.

Three weeks had passed since you last saw him. During those three weeks, you wondered if he’d been sent elsewhere and you’d missed your chance. Upon realizing how devastated the thought made you, you decided that he was worth it. Regardless of what happened, you wanted to at least take that first chance.

Rooster seemed to feel the same.

There was a promise hidden in the warmth of his eyes - ask and I’ll follow, you won’t regret it - you’d never seen from him before. It had you lingering near the bar as your friends paid their tabs. You waited under the guise of patience, insisting you had nowhere to be the following day and knew they all had plans, but, really, you weren’t sure you wanted them to see you willingly offer yourself up to the man they’d been teasing you about for months.

Nothing about it was shameful, you knew that. Your friends had gone home with or taken home their fair share of partners - soldiers, sailors, pilots, baristas, musicians, artists, finance bros; you name it, they’ve slipped out of a bar with them, uttering a promise to share details upon next meeting - but this felt different.

Rooster felt different.

That thought would likely make you laugh later on - depending on the outcome of the night - but you were confident as he followed your lead.

As his friends paid their tabs, each pointedly ignoring your presence - though you knew they saw you, felt their curious glances even as you paid them no mind - and laughing, he snuck glances. With each one, the world seemed to stop to a crawl around you.

The chatter of the bar faded into an indistinct hum, a song that no longer mattered playing in the background, just as the neon lights behind the bar blurred into shapeless splotches. Rooster settled into the space at your side as he waited and warmth radiated off of him, even through the fabric of his gaudy Hawaiian shirt. You only hoped that he didn’t notice the way your grip on the bar tightened in an effort to remain upright.

For a few long moments, you kept your eyes on the shelf of bottles behind the bar, struggling to read the labels that only moments ago had been completely comprehensible, and pointedly avoiding meeting his eyes in the mirror. However, when the last of his friends stepped out of the bar and into the cool night air, Rooster turned to you.

“Bradley,” he introduced, finally answering the question you’d been pondering for months, the moment you met his eyes. His mouth curved into a soft smile, eyes shimmering and bright despite the dim light of the bar, and you had to force yourself to take even breaths as he offered his hand in greeting.

Bradley’s voice, clearer than you’d ever heard it now that it was directed at you, and lower than expected, rang in your ears as he repeated your name. It sounded perfect, as if he’d uttered it a thousand times before, and it was almost startling how his touch simultaneously calmed and electrified your poor stuttering heart.

It was difficult to remember the last time anyone had made you feel this way - if anyone had ever made your feel this way - upon first meeting but you refused to dwell. That moment was all that mattered and, for once, you were ready to take the night in stride.

With the weight of Bradley’s gaze sweeping over your skin, warm eyes roving the few expanses of exposed skin, heating you from within, little else seemed to exist beyond the present. There was no telling how long you stood, your hand clasped in his as you took the opportunity to study one another without the teasing of friends, before the moment was broken by the opening chords of Berlin’s Take My Breath Away.

Laughter, surprised but wholly amused, filled your ears as Bradley finally released your hand. “Fitting,” he teased, grinning as his gaze returned to meet yours. When you rolled your eyes, playful despite the heat rushing to your cheeks, Bradley’s grin only grew. “Are you heading out?”

“Was planning to, yeah,” you nodded with a brief glance toward the door. “Luckily, it’s a pretty short walk.”

Bradley copied the gesture, slow and understanding, as he searched your face for any hint that he’d gotten the wrong understanding. When he seemed to find none, he asked, “Let me walk you home?”At the raise of your brow, teasing, he shrugged. “It’s late,” he reasoned, “short walk or not.”

“Does the Navy encourage the buddy system or is that your attempt at chivalry?”

Despite the question, you gathered your bag and threw the bartender - who wore a knowing grin - a wave before turning to leave. Bradley waited just a moment, eager for your consent, and only followed when you tilted your head toward the door.

“What gave me away as Navy?”

The noise of the city hit you as you stepped out into the night - through a door held open by Bradley - but immediately faded into the background as he fell into step at your side. Just as you figured he would, he walked along the edge of the sidewalk closest to the street and turned to glance at you.

“I’ve lived in Virginia Beach for two years. There’s not much else you can be around here. Your friends are Navy so I put two and two together. ‘Sides, the call sign didn’t help,” you teased, grinning when he laughed and nodded his understanding. “Before we found out your friends were Navy, my guesses were either that, blue collar, or a former frat boy. But that could just be the Hawaiian shirts clouding my judgement.”

Bradley’s laughter was quiet, a little self-deprecating, but amused as he shook his head. He studied you for a moment, gaze sweeping your skin with a quiet intensity that made it difficult to keep yourself entirely together, before he turned his head to glance at the neighborhood surrounding you both. “You know, for those to be guesses, two out of three isn’t bad.”

For this to be the first time you’d actually gotten to speak to him, you found conversation with Bradley to be easier than you would’ve imagined. There was no hint of what you hoped the night would bring, only an easy banter that settled the erratic beating of your heart and calmed the nerves that prickled at your overheated skin. It reinforced the decision you were making and gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be a mistake.

“You were a frat boy? Let me guess, UVA or Tech. Unless you’re going to shock me and tell me you didn’t go to school in Virginia.”

With an easy grin, Bradley shook his head. “UVA,” he confirmed, eyes flickering to you. “You’re good. Are you always this right or am I just easy to read?” As you approached a crosswalk, Bradley took a moment to glance around at your surroundings before asking, “Which way?”

“Left at the light.” As you slowed to a stop, Bradley turned to focus the entirety of his attention on you. There was an honest curiosity there, eager to continue the conversation, and you were surprised at how willing he was to chatter on about nothing rather than rush you through the streets. “I went to UNC Chapel Hill. There are differences, obviously, but enough similarities that make it easier to see. Or maybe I just put on college-tinted goggles and never took them off. But even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

For a brief moment, the only noise was that of the city moving around you. The occasional car rushing past, the opening and closing of doors as you passed apartment buildings, the distant hum of conversations, but Bradley’s silence spoke the loudest. When you glanced at him, only to be met with a look of fond bemusement, you raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Instead of speaking, Bradley took a step closer and lifted his hand to cradle your cheek. As he leaned in, he paused for a moment to await your consent. Brown eyes swept yours, searching for any hesitance, and when he was met with a nod, he pressed his mouth to yours.

The kiss was softer than you expected, less an impatient clashing of teeth and lips and tongue and more of an eager glimpse into the coming night, and you were met with a quiet laugh as Bradley pulled away.

“I would apologize for not waiting,” he began, eyes shining even under the dim orange glow of the streetlight and not sounding apologetic in the slightest, “but I can’t. I’ve been thinking about doing that for a while.” He grinned then, honest and endearing, and you felt your chest begin to ache as his eyes darted back to your mouth. Bradley stood still for a moment, gaze sweeping your heated skin, before he took a half-step back. He remained closer than he had and smiled as you blinked at his honesty. “Left at the light?”

“Yeah.”

Stringing together a coherent line of thought proved difficult - more so than you imagined it would when you decided to embark on this endeavor - so you offered no protest as Bradley began to move in the direction of your apartment building. He kept close to your side and you struggled to keep from sparing him glances as you wandered down the sidewalk.

When the entrance to your building grew clearer, you swallowed the nerves you’d never felt bringing anyone else home and tilted your head to look at him fully. “That’s me,” you pointed out, gesturing to the building looming ever closer. “D’you wanna come in?”

There was little doubt that you were on the same page, both interested in the same thing, but you wanted to be certain.

“If you’ll have me,” he agreed readily, head turning to meet your eyes as you approached the entrance.

With a nod, you reached for his hand and tugged him through the breezeway. Bradley followed along, hand warm in yours, and flashed you a smile each time you shot him a glance. Nerves filled the pit of your stomach - excited and anxious, eager and hesitant - as you climbed the stairs to your apartment.

To your continued surprise - though you should have expected it at that point - Bradley waited for you to make the first move as the door to your apartment clicked shut. Though he remained close, his hand still clasped in yours and eyes sweeping your face for any sign of hesitance, he gave you the power in that moment.

“Is this… can I?” Though you weren’t quite sure what you were asking, Bradley seemed to understand. He dropped your hand and, instead, reached for your hip to tug you a half-step closer.

The weight of his palm pressed to your hip, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your top to brush at overheated skin, grounded you just enough to notice his hum of approval. In a moment of eagerness, you closed the gap and lifted a hand to the back of his neck to tug him forward.

This kiss, though just as pleasant as the first, was less patient. Though he gave you room to initiate, Bradley quickly took control of the kiss. He pressed himself impossibly closer, blanketed your body with his own as he stole your breath with each swipe of his tongue, and shuddered when you shifted your hand to rake through his hair.

In a flurry of movement, a little more frenzied than you’d expected but in no way deserving of a complaint, the outer layers of your clothes were shed in a heap near the couch. Bradley’s coat, tossed to the floor, followed by yours; your heels, kicked off near the hall closet, followed by his boots; there would be a trail for you both to follow upon his departure but, in that moment, nothing mattered outside of guiding him to your bed.

Warm hands caressed your skin, dipped beneath the fabric of your top and brushed the sensitive skin of your hips and stomach, as you tugged at soft brown locks. The pair of you stumbled down the hallway, Bradley eagerly helping you shed your clothes along the way, only for him to pull away from the kiss the moment you stepped into your room.

Those eyes - the ones that flickered to you every time you entered the bar, the ones that glittered even in the dim neon, the ones that captivated you from the very beginning - raked over your exposed skin and eagerly drank in the sight of you. Though your initial instinct was to hide, the cover yourself from his scrutiny, the sheer desire in the depth of his eyes left you unable to do more than allow him to have his fill.

“You’re so beautiful,” he complimented, gaze lifting to meet yours as his hands gripped your hips.

There was no hint of dishonesty in his compliment, only an earnest honesty that made your skin heat and heart flutter. “You’re one to talk,” you hummed, lifting your hand to trace the slope of his cheek. “You’re really fucking pretty, Bradley.”

It was easy to see that he didn’t believe you - or, if he did, he would’ve downplayed the compliment entirely - but Bradley simply brushed it off and dipped his head to return his lips to yours.

The kiss he pulled you into was searing, warm and eager as he pressed you back toward your bed. There was little else that needed to be said as he nudged you to lie back and settle into the center of the bed.

Bradley was eager. When he slipped between your spread thighs, large hands gripping the supple flesh to hold you open for him, he surged forward with no hesitation. He nosed at the juncture of your thigh, pressed a blistering kiss to the top of your mound, before he licked into you with reckless abandon. There were no tentative flicks of his tongue, no bored swipes that indicated he was acting out of some kind of obligation. Instead, he swiped the flat of his tongue through your folds and lapped at you like a man starved.

In the back of your mind, you wondered - only briefly, before your thoughts were wiped completely by the press of his fingers to your clit - how much better sex with him would be if he were emotionally invested. It was already better than most you’d had with committed partners and from what you were beginning to learn about Bradley, you could only imagine emotional investment would give him room to ruin you for any future partner.

Though his size could be seen as imposing, he was careful to keep the press of his fingers into your skin balanced. There was enough pressure to feel, enough pressure to ensure reminders of his presence would be left in the morning, but not so much that it caused you real pain. When your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged, he groaned openly as he pressed his face impossibly closer.

There was a charming eagerness to his desire, a willingness to give his entire self in the pursuit of your pleasure, and were it not for the insistent press of his fingers to your aching clit, your thoughts would’ve been sent careening down a dangerous road. Though you knew so little about him, you felt yourself growing increasingly attached and only hoped he would feel the same.

The press of his fingers, larger than your own and rough enough that you imagined he worked with his hands, had your stomach tightening and flames of unfettered arousal licking at your heated skin as you tugged at his hair. Bradley had yet to remove anything more than his jacket but as he pressed his fingers deeper, you imagined the preparation would be necessary.

One fear when deciding to take Bradley home was that you would be left wanting, forced to fake it and take care of yourself later, but that was abated by your fast-approaching release. It should’ve been embarrassing, just how quickly he was able to throw you over the edge, but your embarrassment was only drowned out by the awe at his ability to read you already.

“Bradley! I’m gonna -“ The cry of his name echoed in the quiet of your bedroom, mingled with the lewd sounds of him lapping at your dripping folds as his fingers worked in tandem with his tongue, but he seemed to understand.

Bradley relented, only for a moment, to urge, “Come for me, honey.” The directive was mumbled into your skin as his gaze lifted to meet yours and, for a moment, you lost the ability to breathe. Honey eyes, blown wide with lust and darkening with each swipe of his tongue, captivated you. “Wanna taste you.”

Everything outside of Bradley - the intensity of his gaze, the feeling of his hand gripping your thigh, the insistent press of his fingers into your dripping cunt, the drag of his tongue through your folds, the weight of him pressed against your body, the heat of him burning you from within - ceased to exist.

With a cry of the only word your lust-addled brain could recount - “Bradley!” - you came.

Bradley didn’t relent.

The warmth of him remained pressed against your body, the weight of his hand splayed across your thigh and the rough drag of that fucking mustache as he mouthed at the soft skin of your inner thigh. Each touch felt magnified, as if your senses had been dialed to a thousand, but there was no ounce of upset anywhere to be found, even as he smirked at you.

“Still with me, honey?” Bradley hadn’t struck you as a cocky man but he oozed confidence as he pressed slick fingers into your hip to keep you from moving away. He glanced up at you, still settled between your spread thighs, and waited patiently for your response.

“Fuck.”

At that, Bradley laughed. The look on his face was one you hadn’t expected - pride, sure, but almost something akin to relief that you didn’t feel capable of dwelling on in the moment. Before you could question it, however, he shifted to settle above you. “This still okay?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, voice catching in your throat as his lips pressed to the heated skin of your shoulder. “More than. Please.”

Bradley hummed, acknowledging that he’d heard you, and shifted to allow you to push the Hawaiian shirt off his shoulders before he returned to pressing kisses along the column of your throat. With each press of his mouth to your skin, you sank deeper into the plush of your mattress.

Still, as you felt the fabric of the muscle shirt he’d worn beneath the Hawaiian shirt, you huffed. “It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re still fully clothed,” you pouted, only half-confident the words came out as strong as you wanted them to.

With a laugh, Bradley easily lifted himself from you and made quick work of shucking the remainder of his clothing. His shirt, tossed into a corner to be found later, was followed by the rough denim of his jeans and, lastly, the soft cotton of his briefs.

The assumption you’d made - that the preparation of his fingers was necessary - was accurate.

“Fuck me.” The exclamation escaped unintentionally, mumbled beneath your breath the moment you caught sight of him, and you could see the dusting of pink across his cheeks and chest as he ducked his head.

“I was hoping you’d let me,” he declared, laughing quietly as he leaned in to nip at the column of your throat. “Can I?”

The objects in your nightstand clattered as you rummaged through them blindly in search of the little box. It had been shoved to the back and nearly hidden behind a mountain of other items, but you triumphantly tugged a little foil square from the depths and handed it to Bradley with a grin.

“Please.”

Bradley readily tore open the foil packet and rolled the condom on. As he shifted closer, settled himself between your spread thighs and pressed a hand to your hip to help steady himself, you tangled your fingers in his hair. Though he’d worked you open with his fingers and tongue, there was still a slight pinch as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance and pressed forward.

Another kiss, heated and desperate, stole your breath as he seated himself fully inside. He was careful to keep his full weight off of you, though you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. After a few moments, when the slight pinch began to give way to a pleasant fullness, you shifted your hips and nipped at his bottom lip.

“You can move. Please.”

At first, the pace was slow and measured, an even rock of his hips. After a few moments, however, Bradley began to set a rhythm that stole your breath and had your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. He pressed impossibly deeper, filled you in a way you’d never felt before, and managed to hit the spot that made you see stars with each drag of his hips.

Every moan was swallowed but each sound only seemed to make him that much more eager to please.

The weight of his body pressed to yours, heavy but in the most pleasant way; the rough drag of his fingertips as he circled your clit, tight circles that had you questioning whether to chase the sensation or push him away; the insistent press of his hips, deeper and impossibly deeper with each thrust; the gruff of his voice, deeper and deeper with each curse that left his lips.

It all culminated into an end that hit you with more force than you could’ve seen coming.

This orgasm was significantly more powerful than the first, strong enough to knock the air from your lungs and send splotches of white dancing across your vision. Bradley pushed through, eagerly swallowed your cry of his name, and chased his own release on the heels of yours.

When he came, with a swear and his forehead pressed to yours, he shifted to remove his weight from your body and laid beside you. As you both came down from your respective highs, you took a moment to study him.

In the dim light of your room, Bradley seemed even more beautiful. The slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the plush of his lips; now that you knew it all, had seen it and felt it and tasted it, you wanted nothing more than to give in to the urge to press yourself into his side. It was the post-release high, you knew that, but you were still half-convinced there was something more to Bradley than any other fling.

However, after a few moments of silence, filled only with the sounds of your attempts to catch your breath, Bradley shifted. He leaned over to press another kiss to your shoulder, grinning when you laughed at the tickle of his mustache against your skin, before he pushed himself out of the bed.

With great difficulty, you hid the slight sting of disappointment as he began to gather the pieces of his clothing. “You can stay,” you offered, quiet voice sounding too loud in the near silence of the room. As you watched him search for his shirt in the chaos of your room, you added, “If you want.”

“Believe me, I would love to, but I’ve got to be at work in,” he paused for a moment, tapped the home screen of his phone, and grimaced, “three hours.” He stood and tugged on his briefs, followed by his jeans, before he turned back to you.

There was an honesty in his answer that served as something of a balm, a small glimmer of hope that he was telling the truth and would’ve stayed had the timing been different, so you nodded. “I’ll walk you out, then,” you offered as you climbed out of bed and wrapped a throw blanket around your shoulders.

Bradley walked slowly through your apartment, wasting a few moments of time as he gathered the few items of his that had been tossed throughout the apartment, before turning to you in the living room. Those eyes - those damn eyes that seemed to have an unexplainable power over you - met yours before he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

It was just close enough to tempt you into turning your head - giving in to the newfound urge to sink into him, to revel in the way his mouth slotted against yours - but before you could, he pulled away and offered up his phone. There was no need for words, nothing of note to say as you tapped away, diligently inputting the number you hoped he’d call.

And then, with a smile and one final press of his mouth to yours - a promise to call you mumbled into your skin - Bradley turned to leave.

There was little doubt that he would reach out - he seemed so fucking sincere, so sweet, and you knew you would see him again, even if it was just in passing at the bar - but you didn’t expect to see an unknown number appear on your phone screen quite so soon.

As you padded into the kitchen in search of water, you tapped the answer button. “Just wanted to make sure you had my number, too,” Bradley offered by way of greeting, grin evident as you heard the thud of a door shutting behind him. “Just in case.”

“Just in case,” you echoed, grinning without restraint. “I appreciate it.”

“Just being chivalrous,” he declared, not bothering to hide his amusement. “But, now that I’ve got you, what d’you think about dinner on Saturday? Might have to miss a thrilling night at the bar but, who knows? Could be worth it.”

“Could be,” you agreed easily. “And they always say, variety is the spice of life.” Dinner with Bradley would be worth it - he’d already proven time spent with him would be worthwhile - and you felt your heart begin to beat just a touch faster at the prospect of getting to know him. “I think dinner sounds good. The company might not be all that bad either.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he promised, laughing quietly as the sound of the city began to filter through the speaker. “I’ll see you on Saturday, then.”

“See you on Saturday,” you agreed, grinning as you leaned against the counter and felt a flurry of butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. “Have a good night, Bradley.”

“Goodnight, honey.”

In all of the scenarios you could’ve dreamt, few of them left you as giddy as reality. There was no guarantee that a future in which you and Bradley became more than you were in that moment existed but, regardless of where the future took you, you were looking forward to the journey.

_________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @lulu-noodles, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth, @withakindheartx, @ssprayberrythings, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath, @alexparkxr, @hangmandruigandmav, @alexxavicry, @calicokel, @jaymum, @dracosluvbot, @little-wiseone, @specialk6802, @mandylove1000

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun smut #top gun maverick smut #top gun one shot #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster smut #v's fics

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fireemblems24 · 4 months

Text

Golden Wildfire Ch 11

On we go to ch 11. Things are . . . uh . . . interesting.

MAIN STORY

So if you didn't see ch 10, I failed to recruit Byleth. I retried the level a few time, but honestly I just want to finish this game so I didn't bother.

Plus, the reason I failed was that Claude just sat there instead of moving forward on the escort mission, which got really frustrating, and honestly I didn't want to bother.

Ugh, I don't want to fight the Kingdom.

So those Houses that wanted to defect to the Kingdom didn't because Claude's battle was that bloody in that fire map.

Poor Dimitri and co seems like he's just betting bullied for no real reason by two imperialistic maniacs.

I love how Arval is getting snooty over Shez getting credit for their tactics lamo.

Man, this dialogue is dragging.

So Nadar is going to cause diplomatic chaos by utilizing the Almyran army without getting real permission.

Wait, Claude riled up Sreng? So much for "ending racism" lamo. Wasn't having two cultures not be prejudice against each other like his MO? The writers really just threw him in the trash, hunh.

I feel so bad for Claude fans. He's really a piece of work in this.

MAP/SIDE STUFF

Everyone missing Judith has a lot more punch than Randolph. Even Monica was like "get over it" to Fleche (but nicely).

So, let me make sure I have this right. Mr. I Want to End Prejudice Between Cultures just provoked Sreng into attacking the Kingdom so Edelgard can take it over because Rhea is the reason for everything bad. Did I get that right?

Unlike SB, GW is entertaining as hell, but man is the logic here is just non-existant. And poor Claude RIP.

Like, I know I'm biased and all, but I don't see how you're supposed to be the heroes and not Dimitri here. The people just defending themselves are getting attacked on all 3 fronts for the crime of *existing.*

Not going to lie. I kinda wish Claude didn't side with you in AG either. It would've been hype to kick everyone's ass as Dimitri after getting cornered by all these land-grabbers.

GW!Claude is really just the mean girl's sidekick. 😂

If Felix and Rodrigue die in this chapter I swear to God . . . (I just remembered Rodrigue is dead in SB now 😭 - LET THIS MAN SURVIVE).

I had to fight Felix in a side mission. Lysithea said they had to "defend this place" - like, girl, you are invading.

When the challenge is "you can't dodge" but you're using Lorenz 😌👌 (FYI, he just does not take damage in this game)

SHEZ & HILDA A SUPPORT

They're talking about how Hilda exerted energy in a battle because she worried about Shez.

Hilda claims it's just self-defense bc she was cheering for Shez on the front lines and enemies were there (honestly, this is pretty boring so far)

It's the same-old Hilda claiming she's weak but that not being true.

SHEZ & CONSTANCE C SUPPORT

I know she's an Empire character, but whatever.

She wants to create new magics to restore her noble house and wants to research Shez bc of their weird magic

Lamo, Constance low-key called us dumb

Shez suggests she get her house back through military accomplishments.

Constance refuses to train right now, she wants to at night (it's her dual personality thing, right?)

CLAUDE & LYSITHEA B SUPPORT

Their first one. Claude's unhappy Lysithea charged in the last battle. But Lysithea kicked ass, so she's upset with Claude.

Claude calls her plan dumb and that he thought Lysithea was smarter than that. Lysithea still argues it ended earlier bc of her.

Lysithea doesn't back down.

Honestly, I side with her here. Claude's being patronizing. And it's rich of him not to care about all the other deaths dragging out the battle would cause and only Lysithea dying because she's *important*

CLAUDE & HOLST A SUPPORT

Oof, this one hurts. Claude accuses the church of creating all the systems to serve their own interests, because he doesn't know the truth here. That the Empire actually created most of it, and that all the church ever did was protect a genocided race from being murdered by more power-hungry humans.

It's also hysterical to hear Claude talk about wanting to improve foreign relations while instigating a war between two cultures.

Oof, Holst doesn't care about any of this. He's only worried Claude's going to send Hilda to marry a big, brown, scary foreigner. NOT a good look.

Holst says he cares more about Hilda's future than the whole Alliance. Yikes.

HILDA & HOLST A SUPPORT

They're preparing a feast.

Oh, it's nice to see Hilda's insecurities about Holst's "perfection" come up in this, bc so far she hadn't said much.

After that last support though, Holst is actually a pretty shitty leader.

Holst wants to make the feast all about Hilda instead of himself though. Hilda likes the attention.

Hilda basically had to set up her own feast lol.

HILDA & LINHARDT A SUPPORT

Hilda's cleaning, and Linhardt's honestly upset that he's lost a fellow lazy person.

Hilda claims she never pushes work on people. That, is a lie.

Linhardt is mostly worried how bad it'll look if he's the only one not working instead one of two.

All this support confirms that Linhardt is by far the superior lazy.

LORENZ & LYSITHEA A SUPPORT

Their only support.

So, not related to their support (and watch it counter it), but I find it pretty amusing how getting a leadership position faster matured Felix and Sylvain, but Lorenz is still a bit of a joke and the butt-end of every support he's in.

He's just bragging about how awesome his position and power is.

Lysithea says she's not inheriting her house. She claims it's because she doesn't like what comes with nobility, but we all know why.

She worried that the land will go to chaos without it's leaders though. Lorenz offers help (which, imo, he's actually mature here!)

Lorenz suspects she's turning it down for another reason and encourages her to rely on others to help.

RAPHAEL & LEONIE B SUPPORT

Raphael keeps snapping bows in half when he uses them. Leonie's shocked.

Leonie seems to actually make one and invites Raphael to test it while on guard duty with her.

IGNATZ & MARIANNE B SUPPORT

Marianne found his picture. He puts it down, but she likes it (it's a horse, well a pegasus, but of course)

Ignatz gets carried away talking about it, but Marianne finds it cute.

Ignatz finds Marianne loving pegasus cute. She blushes.

He wants Marianne's help, helping him paint a pegasus bc they don't like men, but if Marianne is around he can get closer and get a better painting. She's happy to help.

Honestly, this whole support is really cute.

MAIN BATTLE/STORY

It sucks having to attack the Kingdom over and over again when all they want to do is exist in peace.

Oh, joy, Nadar wants to plunder Faerghus. I can see why Fodlan is so evil for not wanting to let them do what they will.

GW really had a chance here to finally do something interesting with Almyra. It even marketed itself as a route that WOULD. But instead it's just doubled-down on Almyra being a one-note lawless place full of barbarians. At least we have Brigid and Duscur so the only brown country isn't some racist stereotype. Since it's only 1 of 3, it's not AS bad of a look.

Fuck. I don't want to kill Felix and Rodrigue. It would be one thing if the Kingdom actually provoked this, but Felix and Rodrigue haven't done anything to deserve this.

I get to recruit Ashe again. Is he miserable here too?

Ugh, I was hoping Felix and Rodrigue weren't here. It seems vastly unfair that it's only Kingdom characters who die for reel in this.

Wow. Claude's really an A-class asshole. He told Ashe to surrender because Dimitri wouldn't want him to die. Maybe don't invade for no reason then?

Is Claude also going to single Felix out as a citizen of Faerghus who deserves to live? Or does only Ashe count and not the nobles and unnamed grunts he's slaughtering because he decided to team up with the person who plans on taking over his rule? (not hate to Ashe at all, I honestly feel awful for him in this game)

Ok, so fighting Felix is just a side quest. I'd rather fail a side quest than fight Felix so, going to try to avoid having to kill him. Ugh, he's attacking the engineers. And he's damn right saying he has every right to kill the people who are invading his home.

Thank God, he just retreated.

I still love how Claude got bent out of shape over Ashe, but Lorenz alone has killed 500 citizens of Faerghus this chapter so . . .

Felix is so worried about Rodrigue. I swear the writers wanted you to feel like shit playing this route.

Oh, fuck. Just when I thought I was finished killing people for defending themselves, Daddy Gautier shows up :( He's sacrificing himself to safe Felix and Rodrigue, isn't he?

Oh, fuck. He died for real 😭

It's really hard to like these characters, making mindless chit-chat after killing Sylvain's daddy. I hope Sylvain fucks them up a new one.

I've never wanted to slap a character more than I'd love to slap Claude right now. The moron has the audacity to be surprised people are going to die while he's invading a foreign country. What a fucking stupid moron.

He's also blaming - get this right - chivalry.

I'm like. I'm speechless right now.

That's right guys. Margrave Gautier died defending his king, his country, his home, and most importantly one of his fucking best friends from an asshole invader. But it's CULTURE'S fault he died.

I'm really confused what the hell Claude thinks he's doing. Does he REALLY think killing Rhea will magically allow people to live as they please? Didn't he grow up in another country where they had princes and shit and NO Rhea?? All he's doing is making Edelgard's take over easier.

This is starting to feel like a borderline spoof. Look at us end the war by invading another nation!!! I mean???

What's his plan? Kill everyone in Faerghus - profit - "freedom" from Rhea - Edelgard takes over - no profit???

The writing in this route has gotten really fucking stupid. Like, I LIKE the idea of evil!Claude. Either a Claude who wants to take over all of Fodlan or one who's ruthless and will do anything to preserve Leicester.

But what I don't like is really fucking dumb Claude, which is what GW's devolved into.

Oh, God, now we get a flashback between father and son. Sylvain and Gautier :(

Sylvain better not be fucking recruitable in this route.

Now Sylvain's in charge 😭😭😭😭

I'm convinced someone who's a major Edelgard stan wrote the larger plot of this, but then a Dimitri stan wrote the actual dialogue 😅

We really go from one moment Claude being like - it's Rhea's fault Gautier died bc Kingdom culture bad because church bad to Sylvain being like, naw, he died defending his friends.

At the very least, I'll give Hopes credit here. At least they didn't write anyone opposing Edelgard as either evil or like they're idiots for resisting invasion, but I almost feel like they made the Kingdom especially too sympathetic which makes Edelgard look more interesting (since SB is more honest than CF) and Claude just look like a bozo. Rhea just doesn't look like anything since she's not even here.

Though, I REALLY wish Claude didn't side with us in AG. I really wish we got to see Faerghus backed into a corner and kick everyone's asses. They've very much the underdog and watching them do that would've been awesome.

Felix and Rodrigue are beating themselves up over this.

See, this is what I mean - Sylvain just said he's reserving all his hatred for the foreign invaders who take everything for no reason - I really feel like a Dimitri fan saw how everyone collectively decided to take a dump on the Kingdom in the big plot and got revenge by making everyone look like villains (or morons in Claude's case) for doing so in the writing.

xxx

#golden wildfire #fire emblem #fire emblem three hopes #three hopes #three hopes spoilers #golden wildfire spoilers

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breelandwalker · 4 months

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How can you motivate yourself to practice? I'm so busy with work and other daily life things that I often don't have time, energy or motivation to practice, or I just forget. Time goes so fast these days and suddenly I've missed the last two sabbaths and full moon, then I get bad conscience and feel like I'm a "bad" or "failed" witch. (I struggle a lot with self deprecation in general with my mental health) Do you have any tips on how I can motivate myself to practice more?

Oof, I hear you. We all have the best of intentions when it comes to keeping up with our practice and making progress on our goals and projects, but damnit, Real Life just keeps on getting in the way.

Ideally, we'd all be able to keep perfect track of the occasions we wish to celebrate and the cycles of the moon AND have time and energy to devote to our practices on top of taking care of silly things like jobs and families and social lives and household management. Ideally, we'd be well-read, well-rested, well-organized, and perfectly in command of our faculties.

It's nice to dream, isn't it?

In reality, we're all doing the best we can and despite our best efforts, we miss holidays and moon dates and gatherings and go weeks or months without having time to sit down and actively work on our craft. And that is OKAY. None of it means we're bad people or failed witches. It just means we're human beings with human lives and human limitations. We can only do so much with 24 hours in a day.

The nice thing is that the craft meets us where we are, and if that means waiting a while, it's got a loooong shelf life. Besides that, practicing witchcraft isn't JUST performing rituals and casting spells and lighting up the altar. It's research and rest and reflection too.

In my practice, I've found that doing small things as part of my daily routine and larger things when I have time really helps. For instance, stirring a blessing into my morning drink, or setting my wards when I lock the front door, or wearing a charmed piece of jewelry. I do my best to keep track of the moons using reminders and a planner so I can put my jars out, but I forget sometimes. It's annoying, but there's always another one coming. And I find ways to make things I'm already doing magical as well, like cleansing my home when I clean or take out the garbage or reconnecting with the land I live on while doing yard work.

And when all else fails, I take a break and go back to the things that inspire me. I work on crafts. I journal. I try something new. I listen to music and watch movies and maybe re-read some things, and I give myself a little grace. (I've run myself into a full burnout before by ignoring my limits before. I don't recommend it.) Then when I have the time and energy, I get back to work.

Here are some posts that might help:

My Intuitive Spark Feels Low - How Do I Get It Back?

I’m In A Slump - How Do I Get Out Of It?

I’ve Reached A Stopping Point - What Do I Do Next?

How Do I Know When I’m Ready For The Next Step In My Practice?

Witchcraft Exercise - Quantifying Your Craft

Witchcraft Exercise - The Book of Lessons

Witchcraft Exercise - Witchy Inspo Journal

Witchcraft Exercise - Music To Witch By

I also discussed the topic on two episodes of my podcast:

Hex Positive, Ep. 027 - When Inspo Takes A Holiday (March 2022)

Hex Positive, Ep. 033 - Touch Grass (April 2023)

Hope this helps! 😊

#theswahn #witch community #witchblr #witches of tumblr #witchcraft #battling the slump #Bree answers your inquiries

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shanakin-skywalker · 2 years

Text

Sweet (Billy Hargrove x AFAB!Reader)

*Plus Size and POC Friendly; No use of Y/N*

Based off of this blurb:

Word Count: 3,799 (oof)

Summary: Billy and Reader are best friends. Best friends with benefits…and feelings and that makes Billy very jealous.

Warnings: Mean!Billy, Dom!Billy, Possessive!Billy, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it besties!), Choking (sexually), Fingering, Name-Calling, One Face Slap, One Pussy Slap, Honestly This Is Just Fucking Filthy, Every Part Of This Is A Warning

*Only description of reader is that she is shorter than Billy*

Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings I should include!

18+, MINORS DNI

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It was late, her entire house dark except for the yellow glow seen through her window. Her parents had long since retired to their room neighboring her own. Bruce Springsteen’s album, The River, was playing softly in the background and her finger tapped along to the beat of Hungry Heart on the worn, hardcover of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary. She mindlessly chewed on a Cow Tail, the sweet candy hanging out of her mouth as she went to turn the page.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

Her head snapped up toward her window, startled. Her heartbeat slowed once she realized it was Billy.

Billy Hargrove and she had an…unusual dynamic one could say. Definitely more than just friends with benefits and feelings were without a doubt involved but nothing official. Billy’s life was too complicated, the stress of a relationship not one he wanted to add to the equation. And she understood. Well, she understood to a certain extent. Billy told her very little and she never pried or pushed. Of course she wasn’t stupid. She put the pieces together like his relationship with his dad. She accepted what was and what he was willing to give. It was one of the things he lo- no, liked, about her. He refused to use that word, especially in regards to her. They had a good thing going and why would he want to ruin that? She was constant and stable and after everything he clung to that. She was his anchor.

Billy couldn’t help but find her startled expression absolutely adorable. Her eyes big and wide, lips slightly parted and candy hanging out, and fuck, his thoughts quickly became much more sinful. It was too easy to picture something much thicker stretching her mouth. Her eyes looking up at him, instead of straight on through her window, and welled up with tears, wetting her lashes and running down her face. He clenched his jaw, making his hard expression more intense.

She pulled the Cow Tail out of her mouth and set it on the wrapper on her nightstand along with her book. She stood up and her lacy little nightgown tickled the tops of her thighs as she quickly walked to her window, sliding the pane up.

Silently Billy climbed in, towering over her. She shivered, goosebumps erupting on her skin. She didn’t know if it was from the cool night air or Billy’s intimidating frame as his pretty baby blues bore deep into her eyes. He looked tightly wound, wild.

“Billy?” She breathed out but before she could continue his firm hand came to rest around the column of her throat and with big steps he pushed her back, her stumbling until her back hit the wall with a thud. She quickly looked to her wall that separated her and her parents rooms.

“Why did you give him your number?” He hissed out. It was a demand not a question.

“Wha-who?” She floundered, his scent and his warm, firm hand on her neck made her dizzy. He squeezed a little tighter and that seemed to jog her memory.

“Oh! He-,“ she swallowed and wet her lips with her tongue. Her eyes fluttered up to look at him.

“He wants me to tutor him. Help him with an English paper.” She explained but his gaze didn’t soften. He slid his hand further up her neck, right below her jaw, so her head was tilted up and back, exposing her throat.

Billy crowded over her, leaning down so she could feel his hot breath against her ear.

“He was eye fucking you.” Venom spewed out of his strawberry lips. No one attempted anything romantically with her since Billy came to town. There was an unspoken claim. Unfortunately this shithead either didn’t care or had a death wish.

“And that doesn’t work for me.” He growled and the sound sent shockwaves straight to her core. A whimper escaped past her lips.

“What do you- Are we- I-,” she couldn’t form a coherent question, all jumbled and buzzing like bees. He was so warm, smelled so good, was so firm, and oh! He’s so hard.

“My sweet, dumb baby. Do I need to spell it out for you?” His tone was condescending. Her thighs clenched together to relieve the ache. Billy released a huff through his nose and used his right foot to kick apart her legs. He brought his knee to the juncture between her thighs. He could feel the heat radiating as he teasingly brought his lower thigh forwards and backwards. Billy pressed himself against her stomach and she could feel his own arousal, hot, thick, and throbbing through his jeans. She gasped at the feeling. He pulled his head back to stare down at her in her blissed out state.

“I’ve barely even touched you, sweetheart. You’re already so gone. No one could ever make you feel like this. You know that, don’t you, baby?” She doesn’t think she’s ever been this wet. She could hear her slick as he rubbed her with his thigh. All she could do is let out a pathetic whine and nod. Not satisfied, he brought his free hand up and lightly smacked her cheek. Not enough to hurt her, but just to make it slightly sting and get her attention. Her eyes snapped open wide and a soft moan slipped past her lips.

“Don’t. You.” He all but commanded.

“Yes. Yes, only you make me feel this good.” She mumbled out. It made Billy warm with pride. A sweet, pretty thing all his, completely devoted.

“Yeah, ‘cause you belong to me. You’re my girl. Mine. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.” He smashed his lips to hers and quickly shoved his tongue into her velvet mouth.

She tasted sweet. She’s sweet. She’s sweet, and warm, and soft, and the complete opposite of everything he was. But you know what they say about opposites? They attract and Billy was all but wielded to her. You would have to pry her from his cold, dead hands and even then, he would rise from the grave. Not even ‘til death do us part. She was his forever and although he didn’t want to admit it, he was hers forever. She owned him just as much, maybe even more, than he owned her.

Billy trailed kisses down her neck, harshly sucking and biting marks, letting everyone know she was taken. He usually left them under her clothes, where no one could see but his jealously became a wildfire. They all had to know.

She gasped loudly when he bit down hard where her neck met her shoulder. He soothes the marks with his tongue and trailed the wet muscle to the front of her neck, between her collarbones. He lavished his mouth up the center of her throat to her chin and followed the path up her jaw to her earlobe where he suckled on the fleshy bit. He released it with a pop but kept his mouth next to her ear.

“Be quiet. You wouldn’t want mommy and daddy waking up to their precious, darling girl moaning like the slut she is.” Oh he’s so mean but it made her even wetter. She’s sure she stained his jeans with her juices.

“No, sir.” She breathed out.

“Good girl.” He brought his leg down and took a step back. Oh yeah, there was definitely a puddle in her panties.

“Look at the mess you made.” Her eyes trailed down and sure enough, a large spot, shining in the low light, stared back at her. She looked back up at him, cheeks heating at her desperation. Billy raised an eyebrow.

“Well, aren’t you going to be a good little slut and clean it up?” He backed up to the center of her room, standing in the middle of her rug. She vigorously nodded her head and took a step forward.

He brought his hands to his hips in a stance that radiated domination and he narrowed his eyes at her. She stopped.

“Crawl.” His voice was low and gravely. She could feel her wetness seap down her thighs as she got to her hands and knees. They made eye contact and slowly, she crawled across the hard wood of her bedroom floor and then finally across half of the rug.

Billy was smug. He knew she would never let anyone do this to her, speak to her that way. His erection was straining uncomfortably against the metal zipper of his pants but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when heaven personified was kneeling in front of him, looking up with glazed eyes and tongue running over her bottom lip.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned forward, her tongue flat and wide as she licked up her own arousal from bottom to top. She moaned softly and brought her face away to look up at him, a string of her juices connecting her bottom lip to his pants. Billy’s beautiful blue eyes were almost completely eclipsed by his pupils, clouded with lust. She went back to lapping up her mess, eyes half lidded.

When all that was left was wetness from her tongue, Billy tangled a hand in her hair and yanked her head back. Her lips were red and swollen from the roughness of his jeans. Fuck, she looked so pretty like this. So fucked out and he had barely touched her.

He brought his hand back out of her hair and pushed on her shoulders, making her land on the pastel rug. He quickly followed her, settling in between her legs and once again let his tongue invade her mouth. She went to wrap her arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to pull him closer but before she could even reach his broad shoulders Billy had her hands pinned above her head in an iron grip.

“Be. Good.” He gritted out In between kisses. He pulled one hand away, taking both of her wrists into his large palm. He hiked one of her soft thighs over his hip and brought his fingers down to play with her through her panties. A loud squelch could be heard and he broke the kiss to look at his now soaked fingers glistening in the low light. She held her breath as she looked at him.

Without hesitation, he shoved his fingers into his mouth and sucked. So sweet. His sweet girl. Her thighs closed around his hips and a moan escaped her. His eyes flashed down at her.

“What did I say?” He ordered.

“T’a be good. ‘M sorry sir.” Came stammering out of her mouth. Billy set his jaw and exhaled through his nose like a raging bull. Without saying another word he released her hands and grabbed her by the backs of her knees, bending them back until he was able to take both of her ankles in one hand while the other grabbed her panties by the crotch and yanked them off of her legs leaving her on full display. The cold night air from the still open window chilled her dripping core. He dropped her ankles so they fell on either side of him. She opened her mouth but Billy shoved her sopping, ruined panties into her mouth, her wetness filling her tongue and nose. It was so filthy, so dirty, and she loved every minute of it. A smack against her pussy brought her out of her head.

“Now shut up.” Billy went back to playing with her now exposed cunt, running his fingers up and down her slit, gathering the surplus of her arousal and bringing

it up to her swollen clit. She whimpered as softly as she could and bit her underwear, the wetness gushing from it and her eyes rolled back, swallowing it down.

Once Billy grew bored of her clit, he traced his fingers down to her hole, slipping his middle digit in. He had to bite back a moan of his own. How could she be this wet and still this tight? Her pussy sucking his finger further in until it’s entirety was encased in her warm walls. In an agonizingly slow pace, he began thrusting, taking his finger all the way out, swirling it slightly around her entrance and then plunging it back in. Her fingers dug into the plush carpet and she clenched her teeth down into the wet fabric to keep from crying out.

Billy added a second finger and started thrusting faster. She really hoped the faint background music covered the embarrassingly wet sounds of her cunt. He scissored his fingers against her walls in an attempt to stretch her out. It felt so good, so wet. Her pussy tingled at the sensation and her saliva was running out of the corners of her mouth. He curled his fingers upward and her eyes rolled back again. She was completely delirious with pleasure. Again, Billy added another finger and began thrusting into her as hard and fast as he could. The force causing her back to rub against the carpet, making it burn. It only added to the sensation. He was so good, making her feel so good. How could she possibly want anyone else. And then he curled his fingers again and immediately found the spongy spot that brought her to new heights. He could feel her clenching around him.

“You close, baby? You gonna be a good girl and cum for me? All for me?” He grunted out. She looked at him and tears welled in her eyes and she nodded. It felt good, too good, so good. And then Billy took his thumb and rubbed harsh circles on her clit. She exploded. Her walls clenching down on his finger and stars flickered across her vision. Her body convulsed and she let out a low moan.

Displeased with the continued sounds he glared down and harshly rolled one of her nipples between his fingers through the thin fabric of her nightie. She made a startled noise and he ripped her panties out of her mouth.

“‘’M sorry sir! ‘M trying. You just make me feel so good. Can’t help it. Please don’t stop!” She cried out, tears running down her cheeks. He thought about choking her on his cock but the last rational part of him knew it was already risky enough with her parents in the next room and although there was music playing, it could only drown out so much.

“You’re so lucky I’m so good to you, princess. Keep disobeying me and I’m still gonna give you my cock. What do you say?” He unbuckled his belt.

“Thank you, sir.” She panted out and before she knew it, he had flipped her over and put her onto all fours. She could hear his belt slide out of their loops in a quick whoosh and then it was around her mouth. A ‘mmm!’ Sounded at the back of her throat.

“You didn’t think I’d let it slide? Are you already fucked stupid? You’ve only just had my fingers.” He goes to buckle the belt behind her head, careful not to get any hair tangled in the buckle. She opened her mouth all the way to show her obedience and she felt him slide the buckle into place. He turned her 90° to the left where she had a mirror propped against the wall. She looked fucking wrecked.

Huge, dark bruises scattered down her neck and shoulders, tear tracks ran from her eyes, her lips were raw, chapped, red, and swollen, stretched around leather, drool still running down the corners of her mouth. She was so far gone. Her only thoughts were of Billy.

Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy.

She stared at him through the mirror. His own eyes were crazed, wild. He whipped off his jacket and white tshirt that was now wet with sweat. His chest heaved and he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them and his underwear down just enough for his cock to spring free. He looked down to see his angry, red and swollen dick, dripping precum from his tip onto the rug. He could feel his heartbeat in it every time it throbbed. Billy looked back in the mirror and made eye contact with her. He took her in, completely ruined by him, for him. And that thought alone sent him off the deep end.

He rubbed himself up and down against her slick and when he couldn’t take the waiting anymore, he roughly shoved it into her weeping cunt. The force took her arms out and she fell face first against the carpet. His pace was brutal and unforgiving, immediately punching her cervix. She bit down on the leather and turned her face sideways on the rug. A whimper escaped again.

“Can’t even help yourself can you? Look at you!” He hissed as low as he could. Billy buried his hand in her hair again and forced her to look at herself in the mirror.

It was too good. Too much. The feeling of his big, thick cock deep and stretching her pussy, the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against the drenched skin of her upper thighs, the burn from the carpet on her knees, she couldn’t help but let out a cry at a particularly deep and angled thrust against her g-spot. Billy’s big hand slapped over her mouth, clamping down to silence her as best as he could. His other hand wrapped around her waist and brought her up flush against his chest.

“Look at you. Fucking filthy slut. Just for me. All for me. No one will ever see you like this. No one could ever make you feel like this. You’re mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” Each thrust punctuating each point. He was unraveling as she clung to him, as she squeezed him. He was so close and so was she.

Billy let her go as she fell forward and he unbuckled his belt before bringing her back up to him. He turned her face so he could sloppily kiss her and trailed more down the other side of her neck. One free hand went down to rub her clit. Now that her mouth was no longer filled she babbled mindlessly.

“’M yours. All yours. Only yours. Only want’a be yours. Fuck. Y’make me feel so good. Never felt this good b’for.” She slurred.

“Fuck, sweetheart. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum so hard you’ll feel me inside you for days. Y’uh gonna come too. Can feel it. Squeezing me so tight. Fuck. Fuck, I love you.” And then they both came. Her wetness came squirting out, further soaking his lower abdomen and jeans. She kept coming and coming, milking every last drop from him. He fell forward, catching them both before he crushed her, continuing to rut inside her. They laid there quietly, Stolen Car playing and heavy breathing all that can be heard.

Billy slowly, carefully pulled his softening cock from her and she whimpered at the feeling. He quickly tucked himself back into his underwear and cracked open her bedroom door to make sure her parents door was closed and their lights turned off. He heard faint snoring and let out a sigh of relief. He was surprised but didn’t question it.

He swiftly walked over to her and picked her up. Cradling her as he silently snuck into the bathroom a little down the hall. Billy gently sat her down on the counter, the cold tile soothing her sensitive pussy and she sighed, head fell back against the mirror. He grabbed a clean towel and washcloth from the linen cabinet and wet the smaller towel in warm water. He softly, lovingly cleaned her. She whimpered when it brushed against her clit.

“Was I too rough?” Now with his head clear he looked over her, covered with bruises and handprints. She hummed and cracked her eyes open slightly.

“Liked it. Y’uh always make me feel good.” She sighed out.

“I-,” he paused briefly before continuing, “I don’t like the idea of you being with anyone else.” He murmured quietly, she almost couldn’t hear his confession. He took the towel and started drying her off, keeping his hands busy, his eyes busy. Her hands went up to cover his and waited for him to look her in the eyes. She gave him a soft, angelic smile. A complete flip from how sinful she looked just minutes before.

“I love you too.” He froze, quickly remembering what he admitted in the throes of passion.

“Yeah?” He asked not quite believing someone as sweet, soft, gentle, kind, and countless other adjectives could love someone like him.

“Mmhmm. Y’a wanna be my boyfriend?” The word boyfriend didn’t seem deep enough for what he wanted to be. Maybe soulmate but Billy had his limits with the mushy stuff. He huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, I wanna be your boyfriend.” She grinned.

“Good. ‘Cause I wanna be your girlfriend.” He smiled back, an actual, genuine smile and picked up the washcloth and lovingly wiped her face with the clean side, and then patted it dry. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and then peppered them over any place they could reach. She giggled and Billy felt his heart swell.

So this is what love feels like. He thinks he could get used to it.

He quietly snuck back into her bedroom, picking up some of the mess they made, closed and locked the window, and rolled up her ruined rug, placing it to the side to be dealt with the next day.

On wobbly legs, she brushed her teeth and used the bathroom before sneaking back into her own room as well. He had set out one of his large tshirts she had stolen and a fresh pair of underwear for her to slip on and he found a pair of his sweatpants, that she also had stolen, and tugged them on. He turned off her music and crawled into bed next to her. She followed suit and cuddled into his side, basking in his warmth and scent.

“I love you.” Her voice sounded slightly muffled against his skin but it made his heart soar just the same.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” And with that, he turned off her lamp and then fell asleep.

Early the next morning they awoke to thudding against her wall and very questionable noises coming from her parents room.

“You don’t think-?” Billy trailed off.

“Probably.” She groaned out and pulled her pillow over her ears.

“Your parents are cruel.” He looked at the clock before doing the same with his own pillow. 5:17. Oh yeah, this was revenge.

Tags: @moe1 @stranger-kinkslol

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove x plus size reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x poc!reader #billy hargrove x poc!fem!reader #billy hargrove x afab!reader #billy hargrove smut #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery x plus size!reader #dacre montgomery x poc!reader #dacre montgomery x poc!fem!reader #dacre montgomery x female reader #dacre montgomery x f!reader #dacre montgomery x afab!reader #billy hargrove x reader #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery smut #stranger things

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seijorhi · 21 days

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Hey Rhi! Hope you’ve been well!

I recently binged through all your Tokyo Rev fics and it made me think of something. I really love the concept of Tailspin with Chifuyu being the one to remember the past timeline. The simultaneous regret of how they treated reader being balanced with this uncontrollable desire to be with her again was so great and really fascinating to me.

It made me think, what do you think Mikey would do in a post-bonten/sink to the depths timeline where those events never happened, but he’s still able to remember them in the new timeline? On one hand, he was in love with reader, but how she was treated by him and bonten was a complete nightmare for her. I guess it depends on which timeline, but do you think that would make him hesitate from trying to find reader in this new timeline (to prevent her from being dragged into his mess of a life) or would he not be able to resist finding her anyway?

hi nonnie first of all ily <33

so if chifuyu's fucked up about it, mikey.... oof. man's got trauma big time.

doesn't help matters that when he was on the brink of complete self destruction the reader became his emotional support pussy person.

on the one hand, of course she's better off far, far away from him and sanzu and kakucho – all of them. it was an obsession, fucked up and depraved and sickening and damn it all to hell if does he wish he could feel that disgust all the time.

it'd be easier that way, to focus the hate inwards and pretend that's all it was. that there aren't nights he doesn't like awake and fucking miss her like a part of him's been ripped away. that his cock doesn't stir at the filthy dreams – memories – that won't leave his head.

on the really bad days, it's like an ache. an itch. incessant. he misses her.

he'd taint her all over again.

so he should leave her alone. stay as far away as humanly possible.

there's a problem, though. two, if he's being completely honest with himself. the first is that along with their whole sordid relationship, he remembers how the reader managed to end up in bonten's clutches in the first place. bonten doesn't exist anymore, obviously, but just because he and his friends aren't running around as gangsters anymore doesn't mean bad men, bad luck and bad circumstance have ceased to exist.

her brother's probably still a bottom feeding piece of shit with a gambling problem. there's every chance he's gonna do something just as stupid this time, and she'll inevitably be the one to pay for it. glass stones and houses and all that bullshit, he doesn't like it. no one's allowed to touch her. no one but him.

the other problem, the one he's less eager to admit to himself, is that he wasn't the only one fucked up over her. the haitani's might not look twice (he thinks. hopes, maybe), and who knows with sanzu, but kakucho? koko? they might not remember any of it, but if they walked past her in the street, bumped into her at a bar, would they feel that pull in their gut? would it spark something?

mikey hates the thought of her in danger, being mistreated – by her brother or by anyone else, but there's a sick, possessive part of him that hates the thought of any of them taking her too.

she was his first.

but even if he shoved that all aside, buried his head in the sand and pretended he wasn't slowly being driven out of his mind by her, the universe is a funny thing. one way or another, it'll work its magic and shove her right back into his path.

some things are just... fated.

#rhi answers #sure i can answer this in a single paragraph #she said to herself #clearly lying #fic asks #sink to the depths

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phantom-of-the-501st · 23 days

Text

Thoughts on TBB 3x10: Identity Crisis and 3x11: Point of No Return

SPOILERS BELOW

Let's not start kidnapping kids for experimentation. That's never going to go well

This show has progressively gotten greyer and it's so depressing. I want my sunshine back

Of course the Empire are experimenting on kids. "Oh we cAn'T fiNd EnOugH aDulTs. We juSt uSe cHilDrEn iNsteAd". 🖕

Ayyyyy Bane is back!

Well he didn't kill the parent so that's something

This is so depressing 😭

"I was following protocol". Everything that comes close to "good soldiers follow orders" makes me really sad

Have we met someone else called Jax? I swear we've heard that name before

The fact that they have 3 specimens but their specimen numbers are much higher than 3 does not make me feel good. What happened to all of the other ones???

"To retrieve it". "It". Literally just an object to Dr Arsehole over here

Trandoshan? Pirate? FUCK YOU CID FOR SPILLING ABOUT PHEE

"Let's just say I'm good at my job" suggests he has picked up a hell of a lot more than 3 kids so where are the others?!

NOT THE LULA DOLL

I feel like this is a good time to note that I still don't like Emerie. Her dedication to Hemlock and her involvement in the Empire up until this point outweigh all of her current actions for me. So no, I still don't like her.

"But what about Nala Se?" I hear you ask. Don't like her either! I respect that she's trying to protect Omega but the number of problems that lanky bitch has caused means that I'm not going to forgive her that easily

People really need to stop leaving the door to their ship open BECAUSE SHIT LIKE THIS HAPPENS

1600??? FOR FUEL?! BITCH THEY TRIED SELLING ECHO FOR 2000

Tbf with fuel prices the way that they are I shouldn't be surprised

NOOOOO NOT PABU 😭

DON'T LEAVE THE GOGGLES THERE

AND LULA TOO?!

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

FUCK THAT'S NOT GOOD

Oof that little bit of Omega's theme really hits in the feels 🥲

Eliminate them? How about no

NOT THE MARAUDER

I KNOW IT WAS IN A TEASER CLIP BUT NOOOOOOOOO

You know what I'm suddenly very glad that the goggles and Lula were off the ship

Nah I don't like that Wrecker's down. He never goes down for long

"Search every domicile" Domicile? DOMICILE?! Now where have we heard someone use that term before...

The Kiners are really popping off with this soundtrack 🔥

Crosshair's little "uh huh" 😭

SOMEONE CALL ECHO FFS

How about no to the recapture plan

If CX-2 turns out to be Tech then we only have 4 episodes left to address that entire storyline and I don't know what to do with that information

Errrrrr Hunter's not gonna be happy when he finds out what Crosshair and Omega have been up to

Neither's Wrecker tbf

Or Echo

Anyway... Cross is going to have a fun time explaining that one

Echo's gonna get a fun call as well. "So errr... The Empire took over Pabu, Omega got herself recaptured by choice and the Marauder is in pieces so... can we get a lift please?"

FUCK CROSSHAIR MISSED THE TRACKER

Me after these episodes

Some solid episodes today. I really enjoyed them! Am I still annoyed that Echo is still stuck as someone to be name dropped but not actually put in the episode? Yes. But these were some strong episodes.

I'm still trying to compute how this is all going to get wrapped up in 4 episodes though. That's really not a lot of time. 😭

BINGO UPDATE

Only just clocked that I have "Batcher dies" written on it. When I wrote it I meant one of the Batch members. I didn't know we were gonna get a hound called Batcher 😅

#we're nearing the end folks #and I don't like it #this is all going to be over too soon for my liking 😭#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb omega

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

The first time Keith sees the boy is a brief flash of eye contact through the classroom door before he’d averted his eyes and looked away. Keith glances around the room to see if anyone else had noticed the boy, but he seems to be the only one, so he dismisses it. Probably just someone from another grade going to the washroom or something.

The second time he sees the boy is thirty-two minutes later, when he knocks on the door. Miss Dindial opens the door, ushering him in, and then asks him why he’s come to visit.

“To come to class,” he says simply, hooking his thumbs on his backpack straps. Keith thinks that it’s strange that he still has it on him, since they were a couple hours into the day already. First recess has even passed.

“I have all my students already,” Miss Dindial responds with a furrowed brow. “I think there might have been a mix up.”

“This is the fourth grade class, right?” the boy clarifies, brown eyes wide and a little nervous. “I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t find it earlier. That’s why I’m late.”

Keith thinks back to the way the boy had walked past the classroom earlier. He tries to remember the boy’s expression, but his mind comes up blank.

“It might be best if you just stay here until I get this sorted with the office,” Miss Dindial decided. “Until then, you can grab a seat — oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t get your name!”

“I’m Leandro Agustín Nuñez Carmen Esposita-McClain. But you can call me Lance.”

Ha. L-A-N-C-E. Keith has never met someone who’s name is an acronym before.

Miss Dindal blinks. Then she smiles, eyebrow raising. “Clever. Now go on ahead and sit down, Lance. You can put your bag by your chair. Right now we’re discussing class rules for this year — you haven’t missed much. Now —”

Keith stops listening, going back to staring out the window. Every so often, he glances three rows over to where the boy — Lance —has chosen to sit, watching him diligently writing on a piece of paper. Keith wonders if he’s really taking notes. He doesn’t know any other fourth graders who take notes. He wonders if Lance is one of those brainy, know-it-all teacher’s pets who tattles all the time.

Something tells him he isn’t.

Lance looks up, catching Keith staring. Keith flushes and looks away. He chances another peek, several minutes later, only to find Lance still looking at him. He smiles, wiggling his fingers in a little wave, then goes back to writing. Keith wonders what that means.

When the lunch recess bell finally rings, he scrambles out like everyone else. He looks for Lance on the playground, but doesn’t see him anywhere. He doesn’t see the boy for the rest of the day, actually.

———

The third time he sees the boy is on the bus the next day.

Keith is the first person on the bus, then a group of eighth-graders who pat him on the head before they go sit at the back. After them, usually, is Ethan from sixth grade. He’s a butthead who always starts fights when no one’s looking and then gets Keith in trouble for it later. Keith hates him. But instead of turning left on Ethan’s street, today, the bus turns right, onto an unpaved road leading to the more rural areas. Keith’s never been down there before.

The bus goes down the road for ten minutes before stopping at an old, run-down house, paint peeling around the edges. It’s the new boy — Lance — who waits at the curb, nervously picking at the ratty sleeve of his shirt. He boards the bus with his head down, mumbling a thanks to the driver before glancing up to find a seat.

When he makes eye contact with Keith, his whole face lights up. He waves excitedly, moving forward, put he pauses suddenly before he sits down, suddenly shy and unsure.

“Um. Hello. I’m in your class, my name’s —”

The bus lurches forward, sending Lance tumbling, right on top of Keith, squishing him into the window.

“Oof,” Keith exhales, but doesn’t shove Lance off of him. He’s not sure why. That would be his usual move.

“Sorry! Dios, I’m so sorry!” Lance squeaks, scrambling up. He kneels on the seat next to Keith, but doesn’t go to a different seat. This pleases Keith, for some reason.

“‘S’okay,” he assures. “You’re basically a feather, anyway.”

Lance giggles, some of the nervousness leaving his posture. Keith thinks that he’d like to make it all go away.

“I’m Lance,” he says sticking out his hand.

“I know,” Keith replies, shaking it.

Lance laughs again, and Keith finds himself grinning.

“I know you know, I saw you smile when I introduced myself yesterday. You have a nice smile. I just introduced myself again because I want to know your name.”

Keith’s ears turn red. Oh.

“Keith,” he blurts out. He’s not sure if he’s more embarrassed about the smile comment or the fact that he forgot to introduce himself, but Lance doesn’t seem to mind.

“That’s a cool name. I’ve never heard it before. Keith.” He puts a lot of emphasis on the ‘ee’ sound, cutting the ‘th’ short so it almost sounds like a ‘t’. Keith likes the way he says it.

“I moved from Cuba earlier this year —“ that explains the accent — “so everything here is kind of strange. English is a very weird language. Why are so many of the words the same? I do not understand it.”

“You don’t seem to have much trouble with it,” Keith observes.

“That’s because I’m smart,” Lance says, but it’s more of a statement of fact. The sky is often blue, the ocean is salty, Lance-from-Cuba is smart. Keith thinks his confidence is admirable. He wonders if public school will crush it to death.

He hopes not.

“Plus, Cuban schools start in August and end in May, so we moved here in May and I had more months to learn it. I was lonely, though.” Lance frowns. Keith wonders what he can do to make him smile again.”

“Why were you lonely?” he asks hesitantly.

“I left all my friends in Cuba, and all the other kids were in school all day, so I haven’t had the chance to make any friends yet. Except for you, of course.” Lance’s face gets unsure again, and he looks at Keith shyly. “If that’s okay with you.”

Keith nods frantically. He’s never had a friend before, and he likes Lance. He’d like to be his friend.

“Great!” Lance chirps, smiling his sunny smile again. Keith can’t help but smile back — it’s almost like Lance’s smiles are contagious. “I’ve never had a friend with a mullet before! I like it, though. You look cool.”

The two of them chat for the rest of the ride — well, mostly Lance. He’s a bit of a motormouth, but Keith doesn’t mind. It means he doesn’t have to talk as much. And Ethan doesn’t bother him when he sees Keith’s not alone, so that’s a bonus.

———

The fourth time he sees Lance is the next day. Lance sits with him, again, and they talk until school. They hang out a recess, too. Keith notices that although Lance never runs out of things to say to him, he’s kinda shy around everyone else. Quiet. Gets stressed if too many people are talking to him, and the screaming that’s a constant on the playground makes him wince. They take to playing make-believe on the field a distance away from the playground — they’re currently playing space defenders.

The next two days are the weekend, so Keith doesn’t see Lance at all. He stays at the group home he’s currently staying in, reading quietly in the tree in the backyard until his foster mother calls him in for bedtime

The fifth time he sees Lance is on Monday, and it’s not much different from Friday. Lance sits with him on the bus and talks his ear off until they get to school, and then they play together every recess. Lance even helps Keith during math, which he appreciates. He finds out Lance is very good with numbers. He has the multiplication table memorized up to fifteen, which Keith thinks is crazy, but Lance admits he can only do that because his dad makes him write them out every day after school.

The sixth time he sees Lance is the day after that, again, on the bus. This time, when Ethan boards after Lance, he doesn’t sneer at Keith and go to to the back with the other older kids. He seats in the seat directly behind them. Keith tenses immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Lance whispers.

“Nothing,” Keith replies tersely. He doesn’t know how to explain the situation to Lance, and besides, there’s not much Lance can do anyway.

Ethan, unfortunately, notices Keith’s tension, and laughs meanly. “Aw, Oliver Twist,” he mocks, “you didn’t think I forgot about you, didja? C’mon now, I’m not like your mommy. I won’t ditch ya. We have lots more time together, isn’t that right, Keith?”

Keith grits his teeth, pressing back the tears burning hotly at his eyes. He’s over the stupid Oliver Twist jokes – Ethan uses them so much they’re boring, now – but he’s embarrassed that he made them in front of Lance. In front of his new friend.

Through the blur of his watery eyes, Keith sees a small hand clench, feels Lance shift as he turns around the face the bully.

“Leave Keith alone,” he hisses.

“Ooooh, Keith!” Ethan laughs, “got your boyfriend protecting you now? Guess you really are a KoGAYne! Ha! Do your foster brothers know you’re a f—”

There’s the heavy thud noise of skin hitting skin, and the sickening sound of a bone crunching. Ethan screams, and the bus lurches to a stop. Keith whips around, eyes wide, only to find Lance glaring down at Ethan, knuckles split and red.

“My nose!” Ethan screams. “The little freak broke my nose!”

The bus driver storms down the aisle, demanding an explanation, and Ethan cries a made-up sob story about how he was just minding his business when the weirdo new kid came out of nowhere and decked him in the face ‘to show who’s boss around here’.

Keith snorts quietly. Yeah, right. Lance is no more a bully than fly to the moon — yesterday, he saw a worm dried up on the pavement and cried so hard Keith was worried he’d throw up. He’d insisted they have a funeral for it.

Regardless, the bus driver believes Ethan, and yanks Lance by the arm to the seat behind her. Keith stares after him with wide eyes, worried, but Lance shrugs and shoots him a wink.

Keith doesn’t see him for the rest of the school day, or the day after that.

———

The seventh time he sees Lance he is relieved. Lance strolls down the middle aisle of the bus, plopping down next to Keith. There are four Hello Kitty bandages on his left hand.

“What happened?” Keith whispers.

Lance grins. “I got suspended, and I’m grounded for two weeks, but that’s it.”

Keith stares at him, a little awed. “You got grounded? For me?”

“Of course!” Lance assures. “You’re my friend! I wasn’t gonna let that butthead say those mean things about you. You’re too cool for him, anyway.”

Keith stops counting after that.

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