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shy-writer-999 · 3 months ago

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1-800-LONELYCHEF (ii)

Summary: It's date night with Sanji. He meticulously prepared this for weeks and he's so nervous that he feels like he's going to faint. Afterwards, he's planning on asking you to come over. What will happen if you say yes? WC: 7.5k (read part 1 here!) CW: NSFW! Afab reader w/gendered pronouns (she/her/hers). Modern-ish AU; pwp; intercourse; oral (f. receiving); ejaculation inside. Minors do not interact!

It’s a Friday night. Months ago, you would have been gearing up for a long night at your job, being a phone sex operator. But you quit a while ago and your weekends look different now.

Like many Friday nights over the last year, you’re spending it with Sanji. But this time he’s actually there—materially present, in the flesh, smiling at you a couple feet away.

It’s a special night tonight. You’ve been seeing Sanji for around a month and a half, and tonight you’re at his restaurant, finally. You’ve fantasized about this for ages.

The darling chef across the table from you planned this carefully. He adjusted his schedule—instead of working tonight, he’s added an extra shift in next week, making up for the deficit.

He’s gone to great lengths to ensure that the crew in the kitchen is the best of the best, including that sous chef, who he strongly dislikes—but personal feelings aside, in Sanji’s kitchen there are only the most talented of chefs. He’s made sure of it.

He watched the ordering forms and produce vendors like hawks in the week leading up to this. You will only be eating the best quality ingredients, the freshest food, and nothing less.

Sanji is tense and he’s so nervous that he’s starting to feel sick. He’s running the logistics over in his head, trying to calculate if there’s anything he forgot, anything he missed, anything that could fall flat.

You can tell he’s overthinking, and it’s endearing. When his eyes aren’t darting around the restaurant, peeking into the semi-open kitchen and factoring all sorts of minuscule variables in your dining experience, he’s looking at you.

His gaze is warm, and when he’s around you, he’s sunshine personified. You can’t deny that he looks at you with such reverent adoration that it’s almost off-putting. But nothing he could do could actually put you off. You’re far too in love with him for that.

The restaurant is dark and the lights are warm. Slow jazz music plays at a low volume and the whole establishment smells exquisite.

There are tea lights on each table, with tiny flames that reflect in the gorgeous dark mahogany accents and mirrors on the walls. Next to each candle is a small vase filled with a couple flower stems—tonight, Sanji specifically asked the front of house staff to use your favorite flowers.

Across from you, the blonde man is dressed in what you now know is his signature outfit—black slacks with a button up; the sleeves are rolled up and a few buttons are undone. He looks effortlessly handsome and stylish. Your heart beats a bit faster when he catches your eyes.

How many dates has it been?

You’ve lost track at this point. Maybe you should be taking things slower with him, but you can’t hold yourself back when it comes to spending time with him.

One thing that you’ve been very intentional about, however, is intimacy (which is interesting, given your relationship history). After all, Sanji used to be one of your clients. You’ve had plenty of phone sex, but you haven’t gotten to the real thing yet.

You’re saving that for the right moment. Sure, you’ve made out with him a few times and you can’t deny that you both certainly get excited, but you’ve exercised self-restraint so far. You take this man very seriously. That seriousness entails caution.

The caution is only natural—not only do you feel like this man may be the love of your life, but he also wounded you deeply before. Building your trust, becoming accustomed to his affection and attention, and mending your heart has taken a little while. It’s an active process. But you’re comfortable now.

Soundlessly, Sanji breaks your train of thought. He reaches his hand across the circular table and places it palm-up in front of you.

You slide your hand onto his and he twists his wrist slightly—your fingers are entwined now. His thumb tickles as it draws a soft circle across your skin.

The flame from the tea light on the table reflects in his irises.

“My love?” He asks, rousing you from your stupor of thought. “What do you think?”

He gestures to the scenery around and you take a second to respond, soaking in the ambiance before giving him your verdict. He’s dying to know whether or not you’re impressed.

You haven’t told him yet, but you’ve been here before. Just once. A date took you here long ago, years before you started your old job, years before Sanji took up the position as head chef. The ambiance hasn’t changed much but it feels different now. For one, the man sitting across from you is simply radiating love. He’s devilishly handsome and chivalrous. He squeezes your hand gently.

“I like it,” you reply. “It’s just like you described. Very classy.”

He smiles. “I can’t wait for you to try the food.”

You’ve had Sanji’s cooking before, and it’s (simply put) the best food you’ve ever been served. Any time you go to his apartment, he cooks for you. But tonight, Sanji isn’t in the kitchen. This is a show of his skill in managing the kitchen, purveying ingredients, instructing his subordinates, and running the show, more than anything else.

“Tell me about the menu tonight,” you prompt him. You know he’s put an exorbitant amount of thought and energy into creating and testing what will be served tonight.

This restaurant is French. Sanji describes the prix fixe menu—he tends to link the dishes and flavors he constructs to very specific memories, emotions, or envisioned scenes. It’s impressive, and he shares each nugget of inspiration with you as the courses are served, per a promise he made weeks ago.

This experience is necessarily intimate—this is his passion, his art, the thing that he’s dedicated his life to.

It doesn’t escape him that you’re listening intently, appreciating the nuances of what he’s saying, and looking breathtaking while doing it.

The courses are small and painstakingly procured and presented. It’s interesting, looking at each dish and hearing the waitstaff explain what’s going on with each one, especially when the man in question—the artist and chef himself—is sitting in front of you. You can tell that the waiter is a bit nervous to serve him, but Sanji is kind and affable, putting them at ease immediately.

The first dish is a rocket salad with pears, pea blossoms, and a light vinaigrette.

“This recipe was actually passed down from my dad,” Sanji begins. “The story is kind of funny. Years ago, he was exploring some island and came across a tavern. They served something similar to this. He tried to get the recipe but ended up getting in a fist fight with the owner, so he just had to recreate it himself. He always complains that this salad isn’t as good as it should be, since it’s missing that ‘je ne sais quois’, but over the years he’s tweaked it. I stole it, obviously, and made some of my own adjustments.”

The dish is tangy, refreshing, and bright. It’s ridiculously good. Obviously.

You compliment him and, even though the room is dark, you can make out a pink flush across his cheeks. He lives for your praise.

Next, there’s a soup. Sanji explains how it came about.

“When I was growing up, Zeff had a bunch of leftovers that he was going to use for something else and I swiped them when he wasn’t looking. I threw them into a pot and… this is kind of the outcome. He was making some dish with leeks, so the scraps I stole were mostly leek trimmings. He was pissed when he realized I snagged them. The soup turned out awful the first few tries, like it was literally inedible, but I got it down to a science at some point. The trick is adding in some sage and the tiniest amount of white wine—it changes the balance of flavors completely.”

“How old were you?” You ask between flavorful spoonfuls.

You swear no one has given him any attention or love before, from the way he responds to your questions and praise. He looks genuinely shocked that you’ve asked him a such a thoughtful question. He’s never gotten used to the very sincere attention you treat him with, hasn’t reckoned with the fact that someone like you would be genuinely interested in him. You’ve known him (and treated him like this) since your first conversation, but it still takes him aback.

Sanji explains that he must have been 13 or 14 at the time, and he goes on to describe how upset his dad got with him over the whole fiasco. When Zeff finally tried the one of the more perfected, streamlined iterations of the leek soup, he said dropped the subject entirely. “That means that he liked it,” Sanji explains.

You’ve tried to piece together the man in front of you as long as you’ve known him—evidently, he wasn’t showered with praise as a child. The stories he’s told you, and his reaction to your compliments, make that clear. But he still has so much kindness in his heart, it’s absurd.

While Sanji tells you about the anecdotes and memories that prompted certain recipes, you notice that he’s figeting with the edge of his napkin with one hand. He’s nervous. It melts your heart a bit.

You lose track of the courses. Each is more scrumptious than the last, which shouldn’t be possible, but he’s a culinary genius so he’s pulled it off somehow. Afterwards, there’s a cheese course, a platter of dips, a carpaccio of some sort, a savory galette, another salad… the plates are small and never ending.

The last dish is, of course, dessert. It’s a tiramisu, scooped out of a huge serving dish, table-side.

The layers are defined, and it smells like cocoa. Sanji hesitates with this explanation. You wonder why.

“Tiramisu? How’d you come up with this one?” You smile at him, sensing his pause, and his heart flutters.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I heard my mom say that she liked it one day, offhand… So, I made it. I’ve been making it ever since.”

This is the first time he’s mentioned her in all your long months of talking. “Your mom?”

“Y-yeah, she uhh… She passed a long time ago when I was a little kid. She got really sick. She never got to try the tiramisu. But, ah, fuck, this sounds a bit cheesy, but whenever I make it, I make it for her.”

“Oh,” you respond, softly. “That’s very sweet, Sanji.”

He averts his eyes for a split-second, and you see that blush is taking over his whole face. Your heart is twisting at his story—how is this man real? He makes it for her? Fucking hell, he’s perfect.

Each story he’s told tonight has given you a look into his character, his childhood, memories, and impressions of the world. The tiramisu is perfect—it’s not too sweet and the flavors are balanced. The perfect way to end the perfect meal.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you say, furrowing your brows in an expression of incredulity. “It’s delicious. Like, one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I made this batch myself.”

You can taste the love that it’s made with, really. This whole meal has been ridiculously good. You didn’t know food could be this good. It tastes even better because the handsome man across from you is showering you in compliments and the bill is completely taken care of.

“So, what did you think?” Sanji asks when the meal is over, reaching for your hand again. He’s smiling and a bit shy.

“It was amazing.” You respond simply, and he sees your lips curl up into that smile he so covets. “Thank you, Sanji. Seriously. For sharing everything with me. This was lovely.”

“It didn’t disappoint?” His eyes are brightening. You can see he’s starting to positively beam at your praise.

“It didn’t disappoint in the slightest. You’re so talented, it’s just, wow.”

When you leave the restaurant, you walk into the parking lot holding hands. You reflect in the third person for a second—how wild is this, to be with this man here, right now, hand in hand, with bashful smiles. Those familiar butterflies stir when he looks at you.

Like clockwork, Sanji invites you back to his place. You usually decline his invitation (which he presents without fail) because you don’t want to get too attached too fast, but… you’ve decided that sentiment is futile. You’re already attached. Very attached. There’s no point in deluding yourself any longer, really. You’re madly in love with each other and it’s no secret.

“Would you like to come back to mine for a drink, gorgeous?”

You take a second to study him. He does look fantastic, so put together and well-kept, and he’s been so sweet with you. You like him too much to decline.

“I’d love to.”

The ride back home is quiet—you’re comfortable enough with Sanji to sit in silence for periods of time. It’s peaceful, and it feels like you’ve known each other for years. He reaches a hand over and sets it on your thigh, giving you a soft squeeze.

Before you know it, you’re in Sanji’s apartment again. You’ve been here a handful of times. He’s made you dinners and lunches, you’ve watched shows together and cuddled on the couch. But tonight, you feel something in the air. Maybe tonight is the night that you go all the way with him, finally.

When you’re settled on the couch, he offers you a glass of wine or a cocktail. He caters to you like you’re royalty. An interesting irony.

“Would you like a pair of sweats and a hoodie, darling?” He asks after he’s fixed you your drink. You smile at him and respond in the affirmative—the stuffy, cute outfit you’ve been wearing is getting on your nerves, and it’s going to feel so much better to wear his clothes. It always does.

When you change into his clothes and return to the living room, Sanji’s face goes crimson again. He’s only seen you in his clothes a handful of times before and it makes him feel things. His heart and stomach are doing flips and his eyes are practically turning into hearts. He’s adorable.

“Would you like to watch something together, gorgeous? Maybe that show you were telling me about?” He asks as you both get comfy on the couch. Your bodies are pressed side-by-side.

“How about we just snuggle for a bit?” You propose, and he readily agrees.

“I could be persuaded to snuggle.” Sanji puts an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “I can’t believe you spend time with me. I’m the luckiest man on earth.” He’s smiling and peppering your face with kisses.

“Sanjiiii,” you say, giggling. “Cut it out. It tickles.”

“I—don’t—ever—want—to—stop,” he kisses you somewhere between each word. Your cheeks, your neck, your hand, your forehead. Anywhere he can reach. “You’re stunning.”

His hand reaches for your chin and guides your lips to his. He’s preposterously suave. It’s like something out of a romance movie.

When he breaks the kiss, he says, “How did I land you? You’re just too beautifu—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips on his mid-word. You can tell he’s nervous and high-strung from dinner. But now that he’s impressed you like he wanted, he can calm down. He relaxes into your embrace after a second.

The kisses start soft, but they quickly increase in desperation. He wants you so bad that you can feel his yearning with each kiss. Ever the gentleman, he keeps his hands to his self, only placing one on your cheek and the other softly on your hip.

Maybe tonight is the night.

As you lock lips, you move his hand from where it rests on your hip downwards, so he’s touching your ass now through the sweatpants he lent you. Sanji timidly grabs a handful. He’s being gentle and shy, but you suspect that he’s in agony with desire.

This is a moment he’s dreamed about for around a year at this point. This night is about to be filled with moments that he’s been dreaming of.

You move his other hand from your cheek to your chest—his hands do as they please, petting and kneading you through the fabric of his clothes. After a few moments of Sanji’s hands getting their fill, they trail to your waist and he maneuvers you backwards, guiding you to lay on the couch while he perches over you.

You’re on your back now and he’s braced over you, with one hand next to your head and the other placed on your waist. He slides a knee between your legs, pressing it up between your legs, leaving it to rest there. Who knew this chef had it in him.

As you continue to lock lips, the pleasure from his knee grazing your core starts to make heat bloom between your legs.

You start to grind onto his knee slightly, and when your quiet sounds of pleasure seep out of your lips and into Sanji’s mouth, your hand finds his hard bulge. You caress him gently and pulls your lips from his.

“I want you, Sanji,” you murmur, and he pauses his wandering hands. He wants to ravage you totally, to have his way with you and make you reel in ecstasy, but he needs to check on you first.

“Wait, wait, my love, are you sure?” He whispers, softly placing a hand over yours, keeping it still. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go farther?”

“Mmmhmm,” you look at him with pleading eyes and he almost melts on the spot. “I’m sure, Sanji.”

“Then let’s get more comfortable,” he says. “Want to go to my room?”

You agree, and within moments you’re in Sanji’s bed under the covers. The bed is big and plushy, the sheets are soft, and the lighting is low and warm. He wastes no time pulling off his shirt and pants as he slides under the sheets.

You do the same, pulling off the clothes he so nicely lent you. You’re in your underwear now, and he’s in his, and he’s looking at you like you’re a piece of art. He’s wondering if he should pinch himself—is this a dream?

Not only does he get to spend time with you, the person he loves, but he also gets to see you and touch you? He’s thanking his lucky stars. If he knew many months ago that this would be his future, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Sanji pulls you to him and your chests are pressing together. He brings his lips to your neck and kisses a trail down to your collarbone.

“What did I ever do to get so lucky?” He asks again before he presses his lips on yours. His skin is warm, and his hands are rough. But the rest of him is soft—especially his hair, which your fingers weave their way through.

You throw a thigh over his hip and draw him closer. You realize that he’s hard, pressing on your core through the fabric of your underwear. While he kisses you he starts to slowly, barely rock his hips into you.

Sanji’s strong hands wander to grab rough handfuls of your ass. He uses his grip on your skin to press your body closer to his, and at the same time, he grinds harder into you. Heat is starting to build at the base of his spine—he can feel his lust slipping out. He’s about to lose his composure.

You suspected that Sanji would have some skills but he’s sinfully good in bed so far and you’re not even naked yet. Just the way he rolls his hips is mesmerizing. His kissing technique leaves nothing to be desired.

You have a feeling that he could do this for hours. But he’s not going to make any first moves here, no matter how crazed and desirous he feels. You’ve already talked about what this moment would look like, after all. Sanji told you a while ago that if and when you had sex for the first time, he wanted you to take the lead. He hates the idea of doing anything to you that makes you even the least bit uncomfortable or pressured.

Knowing this, you extricate yourself from him and remove your bra. He helps you shimmy out of your panties. Then you place your hands on him and drag your fingers downwards, conjuring a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your fingertips pass over his broad chest, his toned and hard abs, and his dark happy trail. They reach the waistband of his boxers and slide underneath.

When your fingers touch his bare skin and wrap around his erection, his breath hitches and he goes completely still. All of his senses are focused on how soft your hand feels on his aching length and how leisurely you start to stroke him.

“Ah,” he lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a groan. “That f-feels so good, gorgeous.”

You hum in response and bring your other hand to the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down so his erection springs all the way out. Bringing both hands to his shaft now, you stroke him, slowly twisting your wrists.

His shaft is thick and long—the perfect size. You can tell it’s going to feel like a nice good stretch when he finally nestles himself inside you. If he’s not careful it might be a bit painful. He’s quite well endowed.

Minutes pass like seconds and precum starts to weep from his head, trickling down your fingers. He’s squirming slightly. Every twist of your wrists around his throbbing length elicits a delightful, lewd noise from him.

“Fuucck,” he whines softly, “if you keep it up I’m gonna—gonna cum.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that yet, would we?” You offer him a coy smile and stop moving.

Sanji kisses you in short, passionate bursts. After a second, he makes a proposition.

“How about I go down on you?”

“Mmmm. I’ll allow it. I heard you’re quite talented.” You smile, referencing a conversation the pair of you had many months ago. Sanji cracks a grin, and you giggle.

“Let’s hope I wasn’t overselling myself, huh?”

You lay back on the pillows. Sanji gets on top of you, situating himself between your wide-spread legs—he starts to leave a trail of kisses from the hollow of your throat over your sternum and across your belly button. His lips keep moving lower—when he reaches the space where your thighs meet, he pulls one of your thighs up slightly. He holds it up effortlessly, kissing from behind your knee inwards and upwards towards your core. His lips stop right before they get to the place you crave them the most.

Sanji does the same with your other thigh, lifting it up and kissing the inside until he’s painfully close to your sensitive spots.

After teasing your thighs with kisses, Sanji finally touches you where you’ve been waiting for. He brings his fingers to your already sticky core. When his flesh meets yours, you gasp. He spreads you apart just barely, giving himself full access to your clit.

He wets his lips and places a soft, delicate kiss right on top of your sensitive bud of nerves. It’s a slow kiss, one that’s so gentle that it leaves you wanting more. When he goes in for a second kiss he uses a bit of tongue this time, just barely swirling the tip of his tongue in a circle. It sends a zap of pleasure through your body—your toes curl and you inhale sharply.

Sanji spends a few minutes doing this. He kisses your clit, alternating between using tongue and no tongue, and when your thighs spread wider and you begin to shake just the tiniest amount, he places a long lick from below your folds all the way upwards, ending with your clit. He dips his tongue in slightly, tasting you and relishing your scent, noises, and movements.

Your hands wander into his hair and he holds back a smile. He needs to focus on making you feel good. He knows he’s doing that right now, but he wants to make you feel even better. He’d love to hear you begging for more.

“S-sanji,” you murmur, your tone bathed in lust and oozing with need. You don’t say anything other than his name, but he knows what you mean.

His tongue and lips move lower—he presses his tongue into you slowly and it feels otherworldly. He brings it out and back in again, going as deep as he can. One of his hands rests on your thigh, pushing it down so he can have better access.

He relishes the weight of your fingers in his hair and your shallow, rapid breaths. This is heaven. He wishes he could freeze this moment and live in it forever.

As more arousal seeps out of you, Sanji pushes his ring finger into you slowly. He hooks it, delicately pressing you in all the right spots. While his finger explores, he keeps placing kisses on your clit. After a few moments, when you’ve adjusted to his finger, he presses another one into you.

Sanji’s cock is weeping against the covers as he eats you out and fingers you. His hips press into the sheets, humping against the fabric slightly. He can’t hold himself back.

His eyes snap upwards and meet yours. You’re staring down at him, gazing at where his pretty lips meet your flesh. When he looks up at you, he sees how glossy and half-lidded your eyes are. His heart patters and threatens to stop. He takes a mental screenshot.

Sanji’s fingers search for a certain spot inside of you—a spongy, gooey one. When he thinks he’s found it, he presses it slightly. Your thighs shake, your back arches off the sheets, and your toes curl again.

“Mmmppphhhh, Sanji, fuck,” you moan and he hums in response.

The slurping noises that he’s making are paired with muted squelching noises from where his tongue works on your heat and his fingers caress you inside. You’re almost at your limit.

He pulls his lips away and his fingers stop moving. “Do you want to cum, princess? Or do you want to wait?”

He’s so polite even when he’s feral. It’s heart melting.

Your brain is short circuiting. You do want to cum. You feel too good to ignore that crazy desire. But you also know that waiting and edging yourself a little bit would result in a better orgasm overall. But who’s to say that you can’t cum multiple times?

Sanji can see you check out mentally while you have this inner conversation with himself. A couple seconds pass. It’s hard to think straight while his fingers are inside of you, while his lips are poised so closely…

While you attempt to think it over, Sanji presses a kiss on your clit to get your attention. You whimper and respond, “I can’t make up my mind.” Your face looks tortured and it’s making his heart do flips.

“Just let me make you feel good,” he says, voice warm and comforting. You nod, closing your eyes, and he reaches under you to pull you even closer to his face.

Sanji draws his fingers out of you slowly and then presses his lips back to your entrance, probing his tongue against your hot arousal. Your hips buck inadvertently, and the movement presses his tongue deeper into you. Lost in pleasure already, you pull on his hair so hard that it hurts him (in the best way).

Sanji’s technique is mind blowing. You lose track of where his tongue and lips and fingers end and where your skin begins. All you know is that the space between your legs feels good, and hot, and sloppy, and buzzing, and throbbing, and Sanji’s there.

He can tell you’re close after a little while, can feel you writhing against his eager tongue as depraved sounds trickle out of you.

After fucking you with his tongue and playing with your clit, Sanji slides a finger into you to caress and pet your g-spot as he lavishes your clit with the rest of his attention. It’s mind-numbingly good and brings you to orgasm in seconds.

“S-s-sanji, I—fuck, fuck,” you whine at him and moan his name through your orgasm. The greedy slurping sounds that ring in the room are filthy and loud. While you cum you pull him (by his hair) as close as he can get to your core. Sanji licks you clean, savoring every last drop of the pleasure he coaxed out of you.

You’re in a daze, riding out the ripples of ecstasy from your orgasm as he moves upwards, climbing over you, to pull you into a tender kiss.

He’s prepared to leave it there—he doesn’t want to push anything further. He made you cum and that’s his dream come true. But even though you just came, you feel a burning, carnal desire for more. More of Sanji’s skin on yours, more of his hips moving, more of his soft hair in your hands, more everything.

“Sanji,” you mutter and his ears perk up. “Wanna do more.” It’s both a statement and a question.

“Are you sure, gorgeous?” He looks worried for a second. He doesn’t want to push you too far. But when he sees how strongly you nod your head yes, how blown out your pupils and lidded your eyes are in lust, he lets go of all apprehension.

“How about you sit up, pretty?” He asks, and you do as he says. Sanji sits up too, and he maneuvers you so you’re straddling him, chests pressed together. Your arms are thrown over his shoulders, you wrap your legs around him, and your lips come to meet his neck—he smells manly, musky, and faintly of cologne. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest.

Your head is still floating from your orgasm moments ago, but you have enough sense to lift up slightly, positioning yourself over his erection.

“Please, darling,” he whispers, feeling your hot breath on his neck.

While you place kisses on his neck, you sink down onto his length, slowly and cautiously. It’s a delicious feeling of being spread open—your body conforms to his girth and accommodates his (many) inches. The stretch feels amazing somehow, not painful like you were worried about.

When he’s fully inside of you the wiry ring of hair at the base of his shaft meets with your skin and he lets out a quiet groan.

“F-fuuhhhckkk.”

You sit like this for a second—his arms come to wrap around your waist and your walls throb around him. He’s trying to be patient, trying to fully appreciate this moment and etch each sensation in his mind. But his body is going into overdrive. His patience wears thin and disappears.

Sanji presses his hips upwards slightly, eliciting a gasp from you that makes his heart flutter. He does it again and the leaking tip of his shaft brushes that spongey spot inside of you just right.

“Ah, Sanji, fuck that feels good,” you whimper, speaking into the crook of his neck.

He does it again, harder this time. Each thrust of his hips conjures what feel like fireworks of pleasure. While your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth hangs open in absent concentration, each press of his hips makes pretty colors erupt behind your eyes. Every burst of pleasure is red, white, purple, dazzlingly distracting.

His hands creep from your waist to your ass, then lower, to cup your thighs underneath and you’re reminded that this is a very real moment. He begins to slowly pull you up his length and press you back down, manipulating your movements on his shaft in a way that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your moans increase in desperation.

“Fuck, you’re—you’re perfect,” Sanji forces the words out between ragged breaths and grunts. “Perfect for me.”

Sanji is getting dangerously close to orgasm. He doesn’t know what to do—should he go slower now? Edge himself? Would you prefer he pulled out and took care of his own business?

As Sanji’s mind races for a second, you mutter something into his neck that makes him feel like his heart is going to stop.

“Inside.”

He pauses.

“What?”

“I said—ah—I said inside.”

Sanji gets the message. And while you’ve been explicit, he has to check. He’s just a gentleman through and through.

“Are you absolutely sure, beautiful?”

You nod again and lick a soft stripe up his neck. Sanji stifles a groan. His voice is hoarse, and his groans are punctuated by raspy breaths that go straight to your ear (and right between your legs).

When he starts to move again, Sanji finds a measured pace that shifts up a notch every few thrusts. The speed grows and he’s using all strength and concentration to make you feel as good as possible.

Your moans are so guttural that they almost sound like sobs. Each one goads on Sanji’s pace—and all the while, he’s actively conscious of the fact that he’s having sex with you, the person he loves, the person he’s loved for many months, the person he’s fantasized about being close with in every way.

If you could focus enough to get a good look at him you’d see that his cheeks are ruddy and his hair is plastered around the temples with sweat. He looks like a mess, and damn, it suits him.

In your daze, you’re approaching orgasm. You want him to cum, too, of course. You have an idea of something that might push him over the edge.

Your lips trail from his neck upwards, finding his earlobe. When you suck on it softly, Sanji pauses almost imperceptibly. He’s holding on for dear life. He’s close to orgasm, resisting it as much as he can so he can relish this moment for as long as physically possible.

But when you bite down on his earlobe, just enough to cause pain, Sanji crumbles. His thrusts turn haphazard and frantic. He loses himself in pleasure. Each gravelly moan that tumbles out of his mouth is followed by a whimper.

He cums when you bite down again. And while he cums, you whisper his name into his ear in the filthiest tone you can manage. It’s a tone that’s far more erotic than any you employed with him on the past. It’s a sincere one, one from the heart (and elsewhere), totally anchored in the reciprocal and yearning desire of the present moment.

Sanji comes apart and splits at the seams. As his arms encircle and pull you tighter, he rocks up one last time then, per your request, he orgasms inside of you. He moans your name through his orgasm, much like you did for him, and you know that he’s done this many times before. Your name is familiar and comfortable in his mouth.

The difference now is that (among other things) his words are met with a pair of ears other than his own. His moans are caused by your real warmth, flesh, and pleasure, too. It’s more intense than he could have imagined. He’s seeing stars. He buries his face in the crook of your neck while he orgasms, shuddering breaths while he embraces you so tight that it’s almost painful.

After many moments of labored, recovering breaths and soft nuzzles into each other’s skin, Sanji gingerly pulls out of you. He lifts you and sets you on your back on the bed. You’re coming back to reality slowly but surely. He props himself next to you and brings a hand to pet your hair.

“That was spectacular. You’re perfect, my love.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” you roll your eyes jokingly.

“Mmmm. Agree to disagree, gorgeous. C’mere.” Sanji kisses you softly once, cupping your face with both hands. When he pulls away, he seems to stiffen a bit. He offers a smile—did that look a little reserved, or are you overthinking things?—puts on his boxers, and goes to the bathroom to get you a towel.

The thought that just flitted through Sanji’s mind making him stiffen up isn’t a kind one. Frequently these sorts of thoughts weasel their way into his mind. This one just reminded him to not be 'too much'. Don’t be too overbearing. Don’t scare her away. Don’t suffocate her with your affection. What if she doesn’t want it? What if it’s too much for her?

Sanji reflects as he walks to grab you a towel. He’s been holding back his love for you for months. Ever since you first talked on the phone, he knew that he loved you. It has been many long months since then. And through all these long months, he’s tried to keep the visceral strength of his emotions at bay.

Now that Sanji knows you in real life, now that he’s started seeing you, now that the feelings are (supposedly) mutual, the love inside of him has only grown. But it hasn’t grown proportionately to what he allows to escape. In other words, as much as his love for you grows, he tries to reign it in for fear of being too much for you.

Sanji has been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you’re comfortable enough with him for him to be fully himself. Because of his fear of scaring you away, he’s been trying to practice restraint. He’s been trying to present a version of himself that doesn’t seem too eager, too lovey-dovey and too obsessed. But every time he sees you, he feels like he’s going to burst at the seams.

As he walks through his apartment to grab you a towel, thoughts of self-doubt and caution assail his mind.

Could someone like you really love someone like him, a lonely, desperate loser who only works and smokes? It doesn't make any sense.

Will you get sick of him if he lets loose the strong feelings inside? If you get sick of him, he doesn't know how he'd cope with the heartbreak.

If he’s open with you, if he pets your hair like he wants to, holds your hand, stares longingly into your eyes and pulls you closer—if he does all of that and more, would it be too much for you? Will too much put you off, chase you away, or scare you?

Concern is written on his face plain as day, as much as he tries to hide it. You’ve noticed it a couple of times. On a few of the dates you’ve been on you've seen it peek through. And you saw it just now, when he stiffened up a bit.

You ponder for a moment on how to ease the tension you feel from him. How best can you offer this man some solace, in a sincere way that doesn’t have a trace of the artificial sugar through which you used to have to filter your words?

A couple seconds pass and you can hear Sanji padding softly back into his bedroom with a plush, white towel.

You take a second to admire his frame as he approaches the bed. He’s slender and toned. His hair is ruffled up and his cheeks are still rosy from the effort moments ago.

Your eyes sweep from his feet to his legs and thighs—they’re thick and hairy. Upwards more and you admire his pretty happy trail that snakes up his abdomen and thins out before it reaches his belly button.

Your eyes wander farther and you see his pecs—trimmed and defined—the same goes for his biceps, shoulders…

Sanji can tell you’re giving him a good look and he flushes crimson. The blush is enough to avert the negative thoughts mulling in his head.

As your eyes flick up to meet his, he smiles, but you can still make out some restraint—this faint tension from Sanji is a tension you can only surmise comes from his insecurity. You know him too well.

“Here you go, beautiful,” he says, rounding the bed to your side. He gets ready to kiss you again and help you get a bit tidier.

“Sanji,” your tone is different when you speak. It’s soft and firm at the same time. He pauses, heart stopping for a second.

Are you about to tell him you don’t want him? His mind races to the worst-case scenario.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget that I’m head over heels for you, okay?” You reach out a hand to him. “You don’t have to hold anything back with me.”

He exhales and sits down on the bed next to you, sliding his fingers through yours.

“Fuck. Am I being that obvious?” He furrows his brow and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Mmmm, only a little bit. Are you doing okay?”

He brings a hand to your cheek again. “I’m doing wonderfully. I’m just… I’m trying not to drown you in affection. I like you so much and I feel so strongly about you that I get a little worried about scaring you away.”

“Sanji.” You frown. It hurts to hear him say something like that. Maybe you haven’t been vocal enough with him about how you feel. “You’re not going to drown me in affection. I told you I’m head over heels for you. I mean it. I’m here for good and I love you.”

“You promise?” He squeezes your hand, and a smile takes over his lips.

“I promise. You're not going to scare me away. So no more holding back, okay?”

Sanji nods, relieved, and leans in for another kiss. He goes in with the intention of giving you a good one. But it turns into multiple.

His kisses feel different this time. Maybe they feel more honest. Softer. Sweeter. Something has changed.

When he pulls away from you, he keeps his face close. He’s so pretty up close like this—his eyes are stunning. His irises are a complicated color that you can’t quite place, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is pushed back. His smile is charming and makes your stomach do flips.

“Now that I’m not holding back anymore,” he begins, “do you know how precious you are to me? How much I cherish you?”

“A lot?” You venture a guess, and your grin makes Sanji’s heart trip.

“A lot is an understatement. I can’t put it into words. I just want to shower you in affection, cook for you all day, and treat you like you deserve. I think about you a, uh, probably a concerning amount. I’m enamored.”

You thread you fingers through his hair again, pushing it back to expose his forehead some more, admiring those pretty cheekbones, and those swirly eyebrows.

“Well, I feel the same, Sanji. I’m glad you finally worked up the nerve to ask me out. You say that I’m perfect, but I think that’s you. Do you know how much I cherish you, Sanji?” You bring your entwined hands to your lips, kissing Sanji’s softly. "A lot. So don't ever hold back with me."

“Hearing that makes me happier than I can put into words, gorgeous.”

After exchanging more kisses and sickeningly sweet words, you put Sanji’s comfy clothes back on. You move to the living room again and he fixes you anything you please. You show him that show you love a lot, and he watches intently, laser-focused because he believes your taste in media (and other things) reflects some part of your character. As he watches, he wonders, what does she like best about this? What speaks to her about this?

His ardent admiration for you seeps out of him in a steady stream now. You soothed his heart and applied a salve of words and kisses. He’s happy to his core, with every fiber of his being, a pure sort of joy that he hasn’t felt in many, many years. He savors you as much as he possibly can and never stops counting his lucky stars, per say.

Maybe his lovesickness and insecurity will sneak up again on him. Most likely. He knows that next time that crushing wave comes for him—the wave of self-doubt and disgust—you’ll reassure him wholeheartedly. He won’t scare you away, he can’t, and he will never be too much for you.

< previous part | masterlist >

a/n: yay for more writing to laufey! i hope you liked this :) i feel very intense things about this man! :0 also this really is a labor of love it took me so long omfg.

#happy birthday sanji!#sanji smut #op sanji smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley asks you for your number, you can't believe he wants to spend his phone call on you. Even though you're nervous about asking, you realize you need answers to some of your questions. The promise of getting to hear your voice is enough to get Bradley through the week, but is he going to be enough for you?

Warnings: Fluff, language, Bradley being sexy

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

When you woke up for work and checked your phone, there was a new email waiting for you from Bradley, and you couldn't decide what to do about it. As soon as you'd hit send on that selfie of you in bed, you felt like an idiot. Was he expecting something more than a random picture of you after you'd removed your makeup for the day? Was he going to eventually give up responding at all when he realized that one date with you was ultimately just a waste of his time on his stop back in San Diego?

But he had written back yet again, and you were nervous to see what he had on his mind. You dropped your phone into your purse, making a deal with yourself: you could read his response once you were at work. That would give you enough time to process your thoughts on the matter. You were being silly for wanting more and expecting more with every interaction. This man owed you nothing. You were probably in over your head with the mutual daydreaming and flirtation.

What were you going to do when it was easy for him to say that talking to you had been fun, but he needed to get back to his real life? What were you going to do when you weren't able to do the same?

Once you were settled at your desk looking at your Natural History notes in those last few minutes of solitude before your eighteen students arrived for the day, you let yourself indulge in Bradley's words.

Hey, Gorgeous,

You're the only woman I'm going to let email me regularly. And I was right. You do look adorable snuggled up in your bed. That photo is going to keep me up at night wondering how cute you'd look in mine...

It looks like I'll have the opportunity to make a phone call soon, and I'd love to hear your voice. If you want to talk. I can't guarantee I won't sound like an idiot, tripping over my words the whole time, but hey, a guy can dream. Will you let me have your phone number?

Yours Truly,

Bradley

"Oh my god." You forced yourself to read it slower the second time around. He was thinking about you in his bed! He wanted your phone number! "What are you doing to me?" you groaned.

He wanted to call you. This man wanted to use his phone call allowance on you. He wanted to let you hear his deep, raspy voice over the phone while he spoke sentences that were tailor made for you. He expected you to be able to respond to him in real time? You were embarrassed to admit that it often took you hours or days to figure out how to reply to one of his emails after he set the butterflies off in your belly.

You did not know what you should do here, but you knew exactly what you were going to do. It was going to be impossible to pull yourself back out of this mess when the time came.

---------------------------

Before Bradley got a response to his email asking for your phone number, he got a box from your class. He could certainly get used to waiting in line when the mail arrived to find himself smiling with satisfaction instead of feeling disappointment. When he got back to his bunk and opened it, he rooted through all of the drawings of F/A-18s in search of the note from you. He smiled at the more businesslike greeting, knowing how many personal topics you and he had covered through email.

Dear Lt Bradshaw,

It seems as though we can't get enough of you. We're back, hoping for a little more of your time. Here's a batch of drawings for you to judge in any manner you see fit, but please be kind... I drew one of them.

Whether it's a handwritten note or an email, I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Just looking at your tidy penmanship had Bradley antsy to check his email again. He had put himself out there as far as he could at the moment when he asked you for your phone number, but now he was nervous as hell. What was he supposed to do if you told him no? He'd already planned out not only a first date but a second date as well. He could wait you out. Unless you outright shut him down, he would take his time, making sure you were comfortable.

Upon inspection of the Super Hornet drawings, it was easy enough to determine which one was yours. It was clearly crafted with a steadier hand than the others, and even the block printing on the side of the aircraft where you'd written 'BRADLEY ROOSTER BRADSHAW' looked like your penmanship. He looked through the other ones, quickly making the assumption that the one with flames and dragon scales had been drawn by Oliver. The one with purple outlining was most likely from Violet. Something was telling him the one with a dog piloting the jet was drawn by Jayden.

He smiled at how connected to these kids he felt, but ultimately he tossed everything back into the box and started heading for the lounge. If you had responded to him with your phone number, he could get himself on the call schedule. His heart was racing, and his skin felt too warm as he logged into his email account. He had three new messages.

"Come on," he groaned when he was met with two names above yours in his inbox. Nat and Vanessa. He almost forgot about the fucking water bottle.

He tapped on the email from his best friend first.

Rooster, I need you to make better choices regarding your girlfriends, okay? I took care of it, but it wasn't pretty. Her pink monstrosity of a water bottle was in your kitchen cabinet, and then she tried to have a conversation with me. Sorry, but I called her a flaming bitch who never appreciated my best friend and said she needed to leave your house before I made her. Everything is locked up tight again to keep the rats out. When you get home, there's a new restaurant you can treat me to on Rendova Road. -Nat

He smiled as he tapped on the email from Vanessa which was exactly one sentence long.

I got my water bottle from your house.

"God bless Natasha Trace," he muttered, deleting Vanessa's email. Then he went ahead and deleted every email he had ever received from her. He shouldn't have been surprised that you and he had already exchanged more emails than he ever had with a woman he'd dated for several months. It didn't take long before they were all gone, and then he was left with the newest one you'd sent to him last night sitting at the top of his inbox.

"Here we go," he whispered, wiping his palm nervously on his pants before opening up your message to see what you had to say in response to his bold request for your phone number.

Bradley,

I read your last email an embarrassing number of times, trying to be sure I understood it properly. You want to use your phone call allotment on ME? And you were thinking about ME snuggled up in your bed? There's no possible way you could sound like an idiot. Not with that voice that I think about when I'm trying to fall asleep at night.

You know what, I don't even care if I misinterpreted something. Of course I'll let you have my phone number. Of course I'll let you call me.

Your giddy pen pal

Right there below your parting words was your full phone number complete with San Diego area code. Bradley smiled as he grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the shelves behind him and wrote it down. He double and triple checked that he had it correct, knowing his next mission would be to get approved for a specific time slot and hope it wasn't going to be at a horrible time of day for you in California. Then he wrote back to your email.

Gorgeous,

You shouldn't sound so surprised. This thing we've got going on isn't open to interpretation on my end. I told you I have a thing for you. I believed you when you said you were interested in getting to know me. There's nobody else I'd rather spend my twenty minute phone call on than you. In fact, you're the only one.

I already memorized your number. I'll email you back when I know which day I can call you and at what time. I can't wait to hear your voice saying my name.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

He logged out and did some quick math to take into account the difference between time zones, and then he was all smiles as he signed up for the opportunity to finally talk to you in real time.

------------------------------

You read his email again as the hours slowly ticked away on Saturday afternoon. Your friends were asking why you kept checking your phone while you were out to dinner. Well, they would be doing the same thing if Bradley Bradshaw was in their email inboxes sounding sweeter than any man had the right to.

Hey, Gorgeous,

How does 10:00 on Saturday night sound to you? I know it's a little late, but I didn't want to potentially interfere with your work week. And I don't know if I can wait until next week anyway. I'm feeling greedy right now when it comes to you. I can't wait to make a fool of myself on the phone.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

When you let him know in the calmest fashion you could muster that Saturday night was just fine for a phone call, he wrote back one additional sentence.

Talk to you then, Gorgeous Girl.

You received that email on Friday morning, and in an effort to seem less desperate for this man than you were, you didn't write back. It was better to let his anticipation grow to match your own. But once you'd parted ways with your friends and headed home for the night, your nerves settled in. You were going to have to ask Bradley where he lived, and that would be that. You'd know all the facts soon enough, and that would pretty much become the determining factor on how long the two of you could really keep this up.

It was almost time. You made sure your phone was fully charged, and you had your ringtone volume turned way up. Barring some sort of disaster, your phone should be ringing in exactly fifteen minutes.

"Chill out," you whispered as you walked a few laps around your apartment in your favorite underwear and an oversized sweatshirt. At 9:56 you paused in your bedroom doorway, convinced Bradley wasn't even going to call. And at 10:02, you sat on the edge of your bed with your phone in your hand, wondering how you managed to get yourself in this deep.

He was in the Navy. Things ran on precision. It was 10:04, and your phone was sitting there on your palm like a dead brick. "It's okay," you told yourself. "Maybe he'll still call." For a few minutes, you thought that being hopeful was the way to go. Perhaps he dialed the wrong number the first time and was just regrouping. Or perhaps not.

At 10:11, you set your phone on your nightstand and walked out into your living room without it. That was when you realized that the lighter-than-air tingling sensation you'd been enjoying all day was gone, replaced with something uncomfortable.

"Don't even think about crying," you whispered as you pulled the hem of your sweatshirt a little further down your legs. You'd normally be drinking a cup of tea and getting settled in to try to go to sleep. A few months ago, you might have even been scrolling through a dating app right now. But you didn't want to do either of those things when you'd essentially been promised something as exciting as Bradley Bradshaw's voice for twenty minutes straight. "Fuck."

Just as you dragged your toe along the kitchen tile, trying to decide what to do now, you heard your ringtone. The clock on your microwave told you it was 10:16 as you turned and ran for your bedroom. Your fingers were shaking as you snatched up your phone and read RESTRICTED CALLER on the screen. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it had to be him.

You took a deep breath and sank down onto the floor with your back against the side of your bed, and without any further hesitation, you answered the call as your heart hammered hard in your chest.

"Bradley?"

There was just a short pause, and it sounded like he was smiling when he said, "Hey, Gorgeous."

The lighter-than-air tingling sensation was back as soon as you heard him say two whole words, and you slid slowly down until you were laying on your back on the floor like a boneless mess. "Hi," you sighed, pressing your free hand to your belly to try to calm the butterflies.

You heard him clear his throat softly before he said, "I'm really sorry I'm late calling you. I've been waiting for this all damn weekend." There was an edge to his voice that gave you goosebumps on your legs, and you smiled before you immediately frowned.

"Does this mean we only have four minutes to talk instead of twenty?" you asked him.

"No, I made sure of that," he replied in his deep rasp. "I even got a little bitchy with the guy before me who wouldn't end his call on time. I told him the most gorgeous teacher from Mira Mesa Elementary was waiting for me to call and that I'd be lucky if she still wanted to talk to me now."

You couldn't help but laugh as the tingling sensation made its way to your fingers and toes. "You didn't tell him that!"

"I swear I did," he insisted, his voice on the verge of laughter. "He sends his apologies." He cleared his throat once more before he asked, "Any chance you could say my name again?"

You thought you detected some nervous energy in his voice which was somehow the most flattering thing you'd ever encountered. You closed your eyes and licked your lips, picturing his handsome face as you said, "Bradley."

Now his voice was as breathless as you knew yours was. "Yeah. I really like the way that sounds."

"Bradley," you repeated with a laugh as you rolled up into a little ball on your side with your phone held to your ear.

"Hey, if you want to just say my name for the next eighteen minutes, I'm not going to complain. I was dying to hear your voice, and now I just want more of it."

You had to press your lips together to keep from making an embarrassing sound, but you did manage to say, "Yeah, that's not really going to work for me, Lieutenant Bradshaw. I'm going to need some back and forth, especially with how much I like your voice. And your face."

He groaned softly, and now you really did make an embarrassing noise before you could clap your free hand over your mouth. "My face is nothing special, Gorgeous," he said. "Yours on the other hand... that's the kind of thing that could get a guy through a long deployment."

You whimpered, and you were sure he could hear it. But you weren't even as embarrassed as you were needy for more. You wanted to know everything about him, and twenty minutes wasn't going to be enough to satisfy you when it came to Bradley. "Let's just say you've had my full attention for months now. And the photos you sent are enough to get a girl through a long school year. Will you tell me how you got your scars?" you asked him. It was something you'd been curious about since the first photo he sent where you could see his face. The one of him standing tall and sexy in front of his jet.

"Oh, hell," he laughed, his voice taking on a self deprecating tone. "I knew I shouldn't have sent that sunset selfie. I was kind of hoping you wouldn't be able to see them in the photos or the video. I have a lot."

You scrambled to your knees and then your feet. The last thing you'd meant to do was make him feel badly about himself. "They just make you look hotter," you blurted out. "I've thought about kissing them."

"Shit," he grunted. "Baby, I'll tell you anything you want to know. My social security number? My bank account information?" You laughed and had to bite down on your knuckle as he said, "I got my scars when I was a sophomore at the University of Virginia. Just typical nineteen year old guy bullshit. I was riding my bike back from a party late, and I skipped the curb. Just a lot of stitches."

"Oh," you gasped.

"It's okay," he said quickly. "More superficial than anything. I didn't even miss any of my classes. This is just why I don't usually send selfies like that. But you're already an exception, aren't you?"

He was so sweet, you were afraid the butterflies would never stop. But now you were picturing him going back to a beautiful house in Virginia, and it just made you sad. You paced the length of your room as you said, "I'd still really like to see your face in person."

"That's a done deal, Gorgeous."

You bit your lip, already knowing how you were going to react, but you just needed to have all the facts. "I know we could probably meet for a date or two while you're on leave in San Diego, but what happens after that?"

There was a brief pause before he asked, "What do you mean?"

You tipped your head back and looked at your ceiling as you finally said, "I don't even know where you live or where you're stationed. All I know is that if you're returning to Virginia or somewhere else far away... I'm going to have to brace myself for it."

But when you heard his next sentence, you let yourself drop down onto your bed with a smile on your face. "Gorgeous Girl, I live in San Diego."

-----------------------------

This was going well. Bradley's whole body was thrumming with anticipation, and your voice was already embedded in his mind. As soon as you mentioned just the thought of your lips on his scarred cheek, he had to stand up for a minute. And when you brought up meeting him when his deployment ended, he was afraid his heart rate might never return to normal.

"I'd still really like to see your face in person," you told him, and all he could think about was Thai food on the beach and kissing your lips.

"That's a done deal, Gorgeous," he replied, satisfied in knowing for sure that it was going to happen now, but your follow up question left him confused.

"I know we could probably meet for a date or two while you're on leave in San Diego, but what happens after that?"

After that? He sat back down in his seat and thought about what would happen after a date or two. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands and lips off you, but somehow he didn't think that's what you were talking about. "What do you mean?"

Your voice took on a softer, maybe sadder quality as you told him, "I don't even know where you live or where you're stationed. All I know is that if you're returning to Virginia or somewhere else far away... I'm going to have to brace myself for it."

He froze. He hadn't told you where he lived? Had he really never mentioned it once in all the times he wrote out the address to your school in Mira Mesa? His heart was beating erratically now as he pieced together the fact that he was making all of these plans while you were trying to protect yourself, but you kept emailing him and sending him letters anyway. You were showing that you had genuine interest in him while afraid he was going to leave you high and dry after one date? Hell no. Oh, he was falling hard.

"Gorgeous Girl, I live in San Diego."

Your little surprised gasp had him holding his breath. "You do?" you whispered.

"I do," he promised. "Shit, I can't believe I never mentioned it. My house is in Coronado, near the beach in the photo you sent me where you look more flawless than the sunset. I'm so sorry I got so carried away with our emails that I never put it together that you didn't know I'm stationed out of North Island."

You were quiet for a beat, and he wanted to crawl through the phone and reassure you that he had never meant to stress you out. "You live in Coronado?" you asked.

"Yeah, Gorgeous. About thirty minutes away from your school. I mean, there's always traffic, so maybe forty minutes," he told you nervously. "I hope that's not too far for you to deal with?"

"That's nothing, Bradley," you said with a sigh. "That's... absolutely not too far. I thought you potentially lived thousands of miles away, and I was trying to figure out what to do about my feelings. I was so scared to ask you sooner."

Vanessa wouldn't even drive the extra ten minutes to the restaurant he liked, meanwhile you were putting yourself out there for him. He cleared his throat and said, "I already have our first date planned out."

"Tell me. In an abundance of detail."

Bradley's skin tingled with desire as he divulged his daydreams. "I'll drive up and pick you up at your place. You already gave me permission to hold your hand, so that's happening on the ride back to the beach. There's a good Thai place not too far from the bay bridge where we'll stop to pick up dinner. Then when we get to the beach, you'll be surprised and charmed that I packed blankets and a cooler full of beer and a bottle of prosecco. And we can sit on the beach, talking and eating while the sun sets, unless you'd rather sit in the back of my vintage Bronco. And then, when the sky is just starting to turn purple, I'm going to kiss you."

The beat of silence was satisfying before you asked, "You're going to wait until after dinner to do that?" He could practically hear your pout which made him get to his feet again. He only had five more minutes with you right now, and he was going to have to make this count.

"You want me to kiss you before that?" he asked, his fingers wrapping around the edge of the counter as your soft laughter met his ears.

"I want you to kiss me as soon as you see me."

"Fuck," he panted. "Then consider that a done deal too, Gorgeous."

"Oh, I like that."

"Yeah?" he asked, watching time slip through his fingers. "You feel more confident now that you know where I live?"

"Yes," you replied softly.

"Good." He closed his eyes as he said, "We only have a little more time right now, Baby. Anything else you want from me?"

You squeaked softly. "Will you email me a gym selfie or two? With a nice closeup of your face?"

He couldn't get over you and the way you made him feel. "Yeah. I'll hit the gym tomorrow for you."

You hummed softly, and he sat down in his chair again, raking his fingers through his hair. God, he felt like a mixed up mess over you after this conversation. Your voice was so fucking sweet as you asked him, "Anything you want from me?"

His plentiful thoughts ranged the full spectrum from innocent to decidedly not as he tugged on his hair and tried to keep himself in check. "Yeah, actually," he said, gravel filling his voice. "You know that inactive dating profile you mentioned before?"

"Yes."

"You should delete the app. There's nothing I know about you that I don't like, and I feel like that trend is going to continue. If you feel the same way, then you don't need the app, Gorgeous."

After a brief pause, your beautiful voice told him, "Okay, Bradley. I'll delete it."

"Fucking aces," he said with a smile. "Where are you right now?"

You laughed softly as he realized he had less than a minute left on this call. "Curled up in my bed with the biggest smile on my face."

"Send me a selfie?"

"Consider it done, Lieutenant. It'll be there when you check your email next."

He leaned back in his chair. There was still so much he wanted to tell you and ask about, but it would have to wait. "Listen, I need to go. But I'm going to work on writing back to your class this week. And I'll get the selfies for you, too. I'll see you in our inboxes?"

That soft laughter was right there again, and he felt like his skin was on fire as you said, "I'll take you any way I can get you, Bradley."

You could have him as many ways as you wanted him. "I can't wait to get back to San Diego."

"I'll be ready when you do."

---------------------------

I'm sweating. He's too much. He's too powerful. Bradley Bradshaw, get home and get your girl some Thai food! Also, Natasha is the friend of the year for taking out the trash. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

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pi-creates · 4 months ago

Text

I can’t stop being upset about Veilguard’s writing, and apparently the only way I can get it out of my thoughts is to put it down in words, so here we go…

I’m frustrated, I’m upset, and the longer I think about the way this game was written, the more problems present themselves… and I bloody hate that. It feels like a first draft writing effort, and every time I’m reminded that this game was in development for so many years, I cannot fathom this being the end result. Dragon Age 2 had 16 months of development, and it feels more cohesive and put together writing-wise. I can see the years of polish in the visuals, but the spectacle of the game doesn’t blind me to all the problems in the writing.

Naturally, these are personal opinions, I am genuinely thrilled for people who have played the game and enjoyed it – I wish I could be there enjoying it with you – but clearly these things get under my skin more and spoil the experience for me when they aren’t problems for you. And I also acknowledge there are genuine good parts of the game which I enjoy, but those moments aren’t enough to overshadow the negative experiences that irk me.

And because this post has apparently gotten away from me… I’m gonna put some headings to summarise the problems I’m having, because otherwise this is just a massive rant with no structure.

Show me things, stop just telling it to me.

So much of the game feels like writer’s notes where they put “what the player should take away from this scene” and instead of being creative with how they do that, they just say it verbatim. My immersion in this game was being broken by the game reminding me it’s a video game – which yes, I know it is, but I want to be invested in this world and feel like I’m part of it.

Varric and the game’s own pop-up system is the main problem that’s consistent through the whole game – constantly dropping narration or mission summary where they have zero problem dropping exposition on us and/or spoiling future content. Forget letting me explore these things and reach my own conclusions, the game is going to make sure I know exactly the interpretation I’m meant to have for every moment.

And it’s so damn frequent, I feel like they don’t think I’m paying attention and therefore need to constantly poke me with reminders instead of trusting me to reach my own conclusions. Do they not trust me to have an attention span long enough to go on a walk with Davrin without reminding me at the end of the walk that I did that?

To add to that problem, I absolutely hate how the writing just has people know things – they shouldn’t know this, they shouldn’t be talking to us about this, all evidence points to them not being able to know or be ok discussing this, but for some reason they do.

The Veil Jumpers suddenly just know how to translate and interact with ancient elven artifacts, ignore how the Dalish have been trying to do that since the fall of the Dales (and realistically, even before that) and their efforts over those hundreds of years were a scrap, a pittance of what could be known. But I guess the Veil Jumpers are just better than those hundreds of years in the few years they’ve been active.

Oh, and the scary reputation of the Dalish is just gone? These people just go to the elves they have deemed “savages” because they simply know these ones have good intentions? This world has been established as very untrusting of the intentions of other groups, but that’s simply gone now for this one – I wish I was shown how this started in some way instead of just being told it’s chill now.

And don’t get me started on Strife and Irelin and their seemingly endless knowledge that they shouldn’t have. I read the comics, I get that they’d probably know about the Dreadwolf and have a vested interest in learning more once that particular bit of information was revealed to them – but they somehow also just know about the mask Cyrian is wearing? They know it will influence him but not control his will? Why do you know this with no doubt whatsoever?

Why can’t these things just be presented as theories? Or give us something to find and reference where that information comes from? I want to learn things without just having characters tell me things they know.

And overall, I hate how this game decides to just exposition dump information on us, then we sit around and talk about the exposition dump – it’s overwhelming in magnitude. It feels like such a passive way to have us engage with everything, and this is supposed to be an interactive experience. Instead of being force-fed exposition in big chunks, drip feed details, let us put the puzzle together, let us gather and discuss what we learn with multiple interpretations like the RPG this is meant to be.

And this exposition problem also ruins the stakes in the game for me. Personal interpretation, probably, but the stakes in this game feel artificially inflated to me via having characters constantly tell Rook they are going up against the biggest threat ever. We bring in past heroes of the series to reiterate that, how they think we’re up against worse things than they faced… and I don’t feel that. Telling me constantly how hopeless things are, but every obstacle ends up being overcome relatively easily and without great losses… no, I don’t feel the stakes are real.

Oh, and hearing the talk of how all of Thedas is in trouble, there is so much destruction and only Rook can save them… why don’t you find a way to show me that? Because I’m not feeling that, I’m not seeing it, and I’m starting to think the Inquisitor is making stuff up so Rook doesn’t ask them to get involved again when they’re so busy.

This is a lore problem in the series…

Plot holes and wonky lore can happen, it’s not surprising… especially when there are three games prior to this as well as several books, comics, and other branches of the universe. There have been inconsistencies since the start, and a lot of it doesn’t matter – I don’t care if the second moon is forgotten about, the moon not being there isn’t going to make a problem with the way the story is told since that moon is never something elaborated upon in the plot.

This game though… it has problem that are both related to information in this game not being consistent with previous games, and information within its own contained plot contradicting itself.

I’m not going to beat the dead horse of “this isn’t how the previous games did it/explained it”, people who played the previous games are aware, I don’t see a point of elaborating in detail all the instances of this. Just take some dot points of the one’s I noticed:

The Crows are a horrifying organisation that are suddenly presented wholesome

The Qun offering to rehabilitate Karash is horrifying and it’s presented wholesome

Slaves are meant to be everywhere in Tevinter, but we don’t see that

Racism is supposed to be rampant in Tevinter (and other nations, but particularly here for any non-human), and we also don’t see that

Handling pure lyrium is fine now (unless you’re Harding)

Adult Dalish without vallaslin (Elgar’nan’s captives)

Fenharel’s agents are just gone now – as are all signs of mass elven exodus from cities

Solas’ opinion on blood magic is suddenly negative instead of neutral

Spirits dying is given the same weight as people dying

Flemeth…….just everything about Flemeth and Morrigan

Re-write of the after credits scene in Inquisition to recontextualise the Flemeth and Solas interaction

Isabela’s attitude towards Shathann sending Taash away without their knowledge (the comics make me doubt she’d be cool with this)

Non-Dalish elves knowing things about ancient elves and elven language

Blight sickness and how darkspawn are “born” (some leeway for this one since the blight is overall just different in this one, but it does feel less interesting this way)

Morrigan naming the Crossroads in lieu of the true name being lost to time, but everyone uses the term now

Crossroads looking different through elven eyes

You can’t just make people be magic/not magic (me side-eyeing Illario and his random ability to do magic now)

This is a contained problem in this game…

What troubles me more is the inconsistencies within the same game… that isn’t just deciding “this is how it works now in this iteration”, this is a problem that they wrote into existing, then either didn’t notice or didn’t resolve appropriately. And granted, some of these things aren’t inherently plot holes, but when you put certain aspects under inspection, it doesn’t make things look good.

For starters… I have to talk about Varric. Or more accurately, not-Varric.

I’m under the impression that not-Varric is simply Rook’s memory of Varric being projected for them. I personally don’t think there’s some extra level of Solas interference in what Rook is seeing moment to moment… and I feel the need to state that because Rook’s memory cannot conjure up information that Rook doesn’t know.

So why does not-Varric point out that the ritual dagger is the dagger from DA2?

Rook could not recognise it, there is absolutely no reason for Rook to even theorise that – so not-Varric should not be able to impart this knowledge to Rook. And what makes this worse for me, aside from being an impossible situation as the plot presents it, is that this observation doesn’t matter in the slightest. They put this backstory to the McGuffin Dagger and I don’t know why since all it does is create a plot hole. The only purpose I can see for this moment existing at all is to bolster the illusion that not-Varric is real and trying to help with the cause in whatever way possible.

Then there are other issues with Varric not being alive which makes other character’s lack of talking about him feel awful. Like, it’s not natural the way people avoid mentioning him when it would be very appropriate to do so – and I understand that to an extent, the game’s gotta game – they want to surprise us and therefore the characters aren’t going to blatantly give the surprise away early. But the Inquisitor doesn’t ask after him at all? Doesn’t mention how Kirkwall is coping now that the viscount is dead? Dorian doesn’t say anything after learning Varric found Solas in his city and then died? Isabela has nothing to say about Varric until after the illusion is broken for Rook?

It makes it feel like Varric’s friends (aside from Harding, the only person who seems to actively mourn him at the start of the game) don’t give two shits that he’s gone.

That’s not even accounting for how characters don’t bother to check in with Rook who is constantly talking with the companions about their various issues of mourning, hearing voices or apparitions, and just checking in with them overall – but none of that is seemingly reciprocated.

Frankly, this makes me feel awful. I feel awful for Varric being seen as so disposable that his friends don’t mention him or his absence. I feel awful for Rook who is apparently not worth the direct effort that they offer others.

And I try to think of how a new player to this series would feel about all of this – because Varric was just some guy who walked us through a tutorial in this game. Most of our time with him is fake, any connection I saw form between Rook and Varric in this game isn’t real – but then Rook mourns Varric more than he mourns the companions we have spent most of the game with.

I don’t like it.

And I don’t like the utilisation of returning characters. Morrigan, or as she’s utilised in this game deus-ex-Morrigan, has a new view of Flemeth and therefore she will take on Mythal’s soul fragment so she can again swoop in and save the day by handing us the means to get a reconciliation type ending… it couldn’t be something that characters in this game figure out, just have a returning character provide us with the magic solution. Also ignore how the whole reason Morrigan was afraid of her mother in the DAO and DAI was that her body would get taken over by her spirit… but I guess that doesn’t happen now. We can just create new rules for this iteration because it’s easier to tell the story this way.

Solas is also just… I’m so upset by what was done with him. He was a character in DAI who told half-truths or lied by omission, leaving others to assume false information without him actually saying it – it was never just blatant lies to take advantage of others. And his motivations were about restoration of something he felt he had robbed the world, it was about righting what he viewed as a mistake which lead to such a cascade of problems that he needed to somehow rectify it. Whether you agree with his point of view or his desires doesn’t matter, his principles remain the same in terms of what motivates him.

Then this game happens and he’s just a liar constantly, and not even a clever one if you can apparently just trick him up with a “woopsie, this isn’t the real dagger”, and he also apparently has no insight into the idea that Rook would anticipate that.

They make him act like the worst interpretation someone could have of him, the thing he actively was trying to tell us was a false interpretation in DAI and the comics. But history was written and remembered by those who experienced the negative outcomes of his choices, and they remembered that as the greatest evil in comparison to what else could have been. But apparently in this game, that’s the truth now. His motivation is about his desires and he cares nothing for the people who has hurt or will be hurt. But it’s ok, because just as easily as his motivation changed between DAI and Veilguard, it will be changed again at end game if you listen to deus-ex-Morrigan.

Then there are smaller things, but things that really would have been caught if someone was just paying a little bit of attention…

Like Harding and Emmrich going camping in Fereldan… which if we’re to believe the things the Inquisitor was saying about Southern Thedas, I don’t think you’re going to have a fun trip. But I’m glad they’re able to find some time for a vacation while the refugees are getting blighted all over.

Or Rook actively saying “I should talk to Varric” directly in front of characters in the lead up to end-game, and those characters choosing to completely ignore that.

Or in Neve’s companion story, Aelia deciding to interrogate the witness to the red lyrium deal right next to where it happened. She didn’t need to be in the area, she was puppetting the smuggler, and she clearly has insight into what the person is seeing and doing while puppetting them. So I guess she’s just there so we can figure out she was involved.

Or the game telling us that Anaris need Cyrian to perform rituals for him since Anaris doesn’t have a physical body to do them himself… except he apparently doesn’t because he can kill Cyrian when he disobeys. I still would like to know if Cyrian ever died originally, by the way, and if so how he’s back and seemingly normal – this game likes to answer big lore questions like it’s nothing, but they just gloss over details like this.

Or how in Emmrich’s missions, Manfred’s spirit dies and can just be brought back to life… so I guess spirits dying means nothing if they can be brought back with their memory and personality intact. So that Solas flashback where we were supposed to be appalled that spirits died? Apparently there was nothing lost there, someone just needs to revive them and they can carry on as normal.

Or how the rewrite of DAI’s ending cutscene implies that Solas killed Flemeth/Mythal… before he had the power to do so since the whole reason he has been able to do anything in this game is because he absorbed her amassed power. So Flemeth/Mythal would have to let her power go willingly since Solas should not be able to forcibly take it, but clearly, she didn’t since the dialogue we’re given is her being reluctant. Solas apparently has the power he needs to do things when the plot demands it, but also no power when the plot demands it (aka, when Rook needs to prove they’re better than him).

Or the crew making a fake Ritual dagger near end game. For no reason whatsoever. They just decided to do that knowing it would only be a prop, but they had no plans that even involved a prop at that point – so they just did this because the plot told them they had to.

And speaking of that Ritual dagger… all the old elves want that dagger for one reason of another, but they never seem to try to get it when they can, or they don’t seem too concerned when it’s not in their grip anymore. Solas doesn’t try to hold onto it after Varric gets stabbed. Elgar’nan doesn’t try to pick it up after it kills Ghilan’nain, in spite of him knowing it’s the one thing that can kill him… nope, just leave it there and peace out.

Or my personal most hated thing – Isseya and her stupid motivation making no sense.

I cannot fathom the logic of having Isseya, a warden who was forced to blight griffons, who came to resent this order as she watched the griffons go mad, made it her mission to safeguard a clutch of eggs, takes the blight from the eggs into herself while using magic to put the eggs into status, then goes off to her calling which doesn’t actually end in her death… and somehow, 400 years later, she’s decided that since those eggs have hatched and the griffons are healthy and unblighted, the thing she wanted, but they’re in the hands of wardens which she doesn’t really like, so now she’s gonna go get those griffons to blight them.

Literally doing the thing that made her so mad at the wardens. Because she wants to save the griffons from the wardens and their cruelty… by repeating it… I just… this is nonsense.

If she’s capable of articulating that she’s mad at the wardens for their cruelty to the griffons, then she shouldn’t be repeating it thinking she’s saving the griffons. If she was just keeping the griffons captive to keep them away from the wardens, then I could buy that, but adding the element of her wanting to blight them just makes this nonsensical.

Oh and never talk the First Warden down – it will make the final scenes with Isseya even worse if he tells you about the feather from her griffon and show it to her. Because I don’t even think Isseya dies in that variant of the cutscene, she just says sorry and rolls on the floor while I guess Rook and Davrin let the griffons out…

Who is Rook?

Usually, in a game like this, choices are what make us feel like an active participant in the world. It helps us build up our own character and determine how/why they behave the way they do, and also how the world around them is shaped by the consequences of those moments.

But this game feels so stripped of choice, especially choice which is any way related to morality or priorities that aren’t standard ‘Hero traits’. Rook will always do the right thing, they can’t be motivated by personal desires, excitement, monetary gain, fame, etc…. and when Rook is forced to make a choice, there is no option which would be looked at as unreasonable by companions. They might give us an approval/disapproval pop up, but it never really feels like Rook is capable of being incompatible with anyone, they will always be seen as justified in companion’s eyes. And to me, this makes Rook as the game presents them incredibly bland.

Most of Rook’s unique characterisation happens in the character creator – the game gives us minimal chances to expand or form a personality for Rook that is significantly different from any other person who plays the game. We do the heavy lifting here, we transpose qualities on Rook because the game won’t give us meaningful opportunities to do that.

And not only do I feel like the game lacks choices that would help us define Rook, it lacks decisions that make me feel like I’m having any impact on the world overall. I can defend Minrathous or I can defend Treviso… this is the one choice we make which seems to actually shape the world we play in.

And it doesn’t even come up as something Rook can regret in the sequence about regrets… Rook apparently is faced with only regrets that are the result of other people’s decisions to volunteer to do something. But the one thing where Rook actually has to actively choose something, something they are actually responsible for the suffering on the side they don’t defend… that isn’t something they can regret.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Surely, if Rook should regret anything it should be the thing they feel direct responsibility for, no? But Rook doesn’t. Because Rook doesn’t regret anything they do, because they aren’t written with choices that they can regret since they aren’t seen as responsible for negative outcomes.

Honestly, that sequence might as well have been about mourning or sadness rather than regret, because Rook has to be upset at the loss of companions, we don’t get to influence that. But Rook isn’t regretful – that’s how they get out – but I can’t help but wonder why they didn’t then make us able to actively regret the legitimate choices we make, rather than feeling regret for our companions deciding to risk themselves.

Rook feels like an outside observer to everything that happens around them. They are the mediator, the sounding board, the magic-8-ball for decision making when companions need a push because they’re stuck. Sure, they do things, but for an RPG the way they go about things feels so linear.

And on another note… why is Rook seen as important? They start championing Varric’s cause in his absence, they want to stop the veil coming down and that starts with stopping Solas, then stopping Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. But to the outside observer, Rook is just some guy who says they are on an important missions, and they really need to speak with all these important leaders of factions – just trust them, I’m sure the First Warden is happy to make time for a meeting. And also the First Talon of the Crows, I’m sure they are fine with just some foreign person saying they need to meet your leader.

What I’m trying to get at is that Rook has no title, your group isn’t given any proper title or status which these people can look at and assume Rook is being truthful, trustworthy, or even worth their time. No one has any reason to hear Rook out, but in this game, they either just do, or they don’t and it’s because they’re actually a bad guy.

But Rook is no one special. They realistically shouldn’t be trusted like they are, they should absolutely be struggling to be taken seriously by others but it’s portrayed as unfair when that does happen. But they’re the protagonist, and it’s like everyone in the world simply knows that. I want Rook to struggle, I want them to grow and prove themselves, but it feels like we skip passed that to get straight to the fantasy of being in charge and considered fit for that role.

Pacing and feeling like something was missing…

The start and ending throw a lot at us and expect us to keep on running – but then the middle portion of the game suffers due to the companions putting a stop sign on the plot so you can do their companion quests. And they aren’t shy about telling you “you need to stop and do our quests or we’ll be distracted at end game”… and again, thank you game for explaining game mechanics to me.

I was going to complete character quests, because if I care about the characters of course I’m going to do that. Having to actually pause the plot and have the characters explain to you that you have to care… I don’t know how to explain this, but it immediately took me out of the fragile immersion I was trying to get into. It makes me upset with the companions for reasons I can’t put into words. Maybe it’s because in one fell swoop it made me see them as checklists to be completed instead of people I wanted to know? I’m not sure, if someone had a similar reaction to this moment and has a better explanation, I would love to be enlightened on what it is that makes me so uncomfortable about this.

But I digress, the problem here is that the plot grinds to a halt. We stop doing things which feel like we’re advancing our plan of stopping the big baddies, we just kind of patter around and make sure our companions feel ok. And most of those missions to help our companions aren’t connected to the enemy we’re facing… Aelia, Anaris, Hezenkoss, Illario, The Dragon King, Isseya – they aren’t agents of the big baddies, they are just enemies that pop up at the same time as the big baddies are around, and are therefore making the situation worse.

So yes, we’re still doing stuff, but it feels like fluff. It feels like a detour while we just hope the world doesn’t burn while we stop to go on another picnic.

This is something that happens in a lot of games, the urgency isn’t real because you can stop progressing plot to go for a long walk if you want to – but in none of the other games did it feel so blatant to me. I still felt like most of the little tasks in the interim of plot advancement were at least advancing the cause in little ways… I don’t feel that with a lot of the things that happen in the middle of the game. It just becomes about companion missions; the bad guys will wait until we sort that out, the blight will stop advancing so we can have family dinners and go for walks.

And I really don’t know how to explain this, but it feels like something is missing in how the story progresses. Like extra things were meant to be happening and they are just not there. Maybe this is another part of how the game often just tells me things that happen in scene transitions, or it’s me really wishing there were more actual plot advancing missions in the middle of the game.

This problem I think also is most evident in the romances. Veilguard seems to take its romance pacing more from the Mass Effect games than the previous Dragon Age games – and while it was acceptable in Mass Effect to have very few romance scenes, and predominantly only having one big scene which culminates at end game, but suddenly introducing it in this series makes it feel like a huge downgrade from previous instalments.

It feels like we’re missing things, we’re given banters by companions commenting on the progress of our relationship and our partner can talk about how close they feel to our Rook – we’re given the impression our relationship is strong and established midway through the game. But with how strong the characters talk, it feels like we should have experienced so many more interactions with our partner to substantiate that.

For comparisons sake, in DAI if you enter a romance prior to going to the Winter Palace, you get romantic dialogue with your partner if they’re present, you get a dance, you get to feel like you’re in a relationship as it’s developing into something deeper. You get more interactions as the game goes on, moving from spoken interest, kisses, and intimacy (in most cases). It’s a slow build, and let’s you feel the build up by giving you glimpses of each step as the relationship develops, and then letting you just experience being in the relationship.

This game feels like it gives us the bare minimum in actual content, but has characters talk about how established the relationship is. The heavy lifting is again left to us to interpret all these blank spaces and fill in how this relationship is developing. The problem isn’t inherently with what the game gives us, it's what it doesn’t.

It lets us choose a relationship in the middle of the game, then it doesn’t give us all the progression – rather it gives us the minimal amount of snippets to meet the checklist of “they express interest, they mutually agree to be in a relationship, the relationship is consummated physically”. Sure, we can continue to pick flirt/love based dialogues, but it doesn’t feel nearly as strong as the banters seem to be telling us it is. And over all, we can go a very long time between each progression point.

I love this franchise, and I so desperately wanted to like this instalment… and instead I feel hollow.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dav #dav spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dav critical #veilguard critical #i'm just sad #i don't know how else to articulate it #it looks so pretty but feels so empty #i don't like being negative about things #i'd rather enthusiastically talk about things i love #but i just can't stop ruminating on this

361 notes · View notes

miyukisu · 8 months ago

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NSFW Alphabet | Karasu Tabito .ᐟ

❤︎ | Get to know Karasu Tabito from A to Z~ ╰ feat. karasu tabito x afab! reader

minors do not interact

[A] Aftercare You should know that he takes aftercare seriously and believes that it's (almost) as important as the sex itself. He's adamant about getting to it, but not before cuddling for a few minutes. But if he starts feeling icky with all the sweat and other things, he'll get up and force you to take a shower and to pee. Definitely will click his tongue at you if you ask to lie in bed for 5 more minutes. But it's okay because he can carry you to the bathroom anyway. He has a bit of fun with you in the shower, but will dry off before you so that he can go change the sheets.

[B] Body Part Karasu loves staring into your eyes since it's how he can tell someone's truly sincere. He believes in the saying, "the eyes are the window to the soul." Naturally, that means he likes being able to get lost in your eyes while fucking the life out of you. But he likes seeing you screw your eyes shut in pleasure just as much. On himself, he probably likes his arms the most. Not only is it useful for his football style, but those are the same arms that hug you, carry you, and hold on to you while he does unspeakable things to you. He'll be so cocky about it—flexing them for you at the most random moments. Also, he won't admit it, but he loves it when you bite his biceps.

[C] Cum He cums a lot and usually in long ropes which makes clean up a bit of a hassle. It's translucent—bordering on clear—and it's not that viscous. However, it's not the best tasting since he's not that strict with his diet. With that being said, he won't pressure you into swallowing it, but it would make his heart (dick) swell with pride if you soldier on and swallow his seed anyway. He likes cumming specifically on your hip bone for 2 reasons: one, it's the nearest part when he has to pull out, and two, he likes seeing it so near to your dripping cunt. So close yet so far, he would think. Has a slight breeding kink if you can't tell yet.

[D] Dirty Secret He doesn't like the idea of filming your private time; he's a bit of an old man at heart, so he doesn't trust technology like that. But sometimes he'll leave his phone by the nightstand to record audio instead. He gets off more on sound rather than visuals when he's alone. It's his primary jack-off material basically. He loves hearing all your moans and whimpers. Karasu especially loves the part when you abruptly let out a high-pitched and breathless moan. It makes him smirk a bit even while fisting his cock to you. If you're into phone sex, he'll record those calls sometimes—more jack-off material. Though he cringes at his own voice sometimes when he listens to it again.

[E] Experience He has enough experience that he's decent in bed, but not a lot. It just so happens that he had encounters like that and it felt right at the time. Karasu doesn't think much about them though, especially if those were simple flings. He differentiates sex for experience and sex for connection. He likes to ask what his partner likes and if he's doing okay—much of his good performance comes from that.

[F] Favorite Position A sucker for missionary. He likes it because he can see your face and the expressions that you make. It's even better since he can lean down into your neck and let your moans pour directly into his ear. It gets him going. Karasu also loves the feeling of caging you between his arms. Although, if missionary gets boring, he also likes going into the lotus position. He can still see your face—even better this way. But the beauty of this one is that he can hold you close to his body in a secure embrace. But also because you can perch your head in the crook of his neck and whisper sweet nothings to him.

[G] Goofy It depends on the context really. Most of the time he's serious—silent and attentive—only making a sound to whisper dirty things in your ear. That's usually the case when emotions build-up and eventually leads to sex. Although, if you get into it because he was teasing you or you were being a brat—the more likely it is that he'll be flashing that cocky smirk of his. He'd let out an occasional chuckle when he sees how cockdrunk you become. He's not that stiff; he'll laugh when he truly feels like it. But he'll show you sincerity for the majority of your "fun" times.

[H] Hair He doesn't really think much about his situation down there. He'll trim it every once in a while, but not totally. Karasu forgets about it a lot, though it doesn't bother him. He'll tend to it when he feels like it. If his partner requests that he trims it more often, he'll feel hassled by it but would try to comply. However, if he's asked to completely shave it—don't expect him to. He doesn't dig the bald look on himself. With that being said, he doesn't really care about his partner's hair down there. As long as it's clean and well-taken care of, he could care less if there's hair. But he doesn't dig the completely shaven look on his partner either.

[I] Intimacy He seems very cold and rigid the first few times that you do it—like he's doing it because you're supposed to do that in a relationship. It's not that he's not enjoying it, but more so because he isn't ready to be vulnerable just yet. His flings would be like this. But give him some time and his walls will come crashing down. Once he feels comfortable, he'll wear his heart on his sleeve for you. Emotional sex—that's it. That's the post. Kidding, but you'll really feel how much he loves and cares for you through his actions and his words. He can be such a sap.

[J] Jack Off He probably does so most days of the week. Multiple times in a day though? Rarely. It often happens in the mornings when he has to take care of the usual morning wood. Typically does it out of necessity and rubs a quick one before taking a shower. Although, there are nights when his mind wanders and boom—he's horny. He'll quickly pull his shirt off and take his time, unlike in the morning. He also loooves to edge himself. That's another reason he does it at night—more time, less disturbances. The only downside is that he needs jack off material now.

[K] Kinks We all know he has a raging voice kink. He loves hearing anything from you—moans, whimpers, praises (this one especially), affectionate insults, and of course, his name. But one kink that isn't so evident at first is his size kink. Karasu likes to think of himself as quite the large guy—muscular, hulking, intimidating. So to see a pretty little thing like you on the verge of being ruined by him does inexplicable things to his brain. He likes hovering over you to emphasize the difference in your size. He'll hold your smaller hand and cup your cheek with his larger hand. This kink of his mostly stems from his inclination towards "cute" girls.

[L] Location He's not a fan of public sex. Don't get him wrong though; he enjoys playing around in public—rubbing each other under the table, grinding his hard on against your ass while waiting in line, or whispering dirty things while at a party. But when it comes to the actual sex, he'd rather do it somewhere private. You can do the teasing anywhere, but best believe that he's hauling your ass back home the moment it gets serious. For one, he'd just hate it if someone were to see you in such a compromising position. And he'd hate having to deal with what comes after being caught. In most places it's downright illegal. He's not about to risk breaking the law for an orgasm—no matter how good it is. A pretty rational man through and through.

[M] Motivation He says he hates it, but I'd like to think he loves it when you whisper something dirty in his ear. Hell, you could simply moan and he'll know what's up. Anyway, it's pretty easy to rile him up. You could feel him up or let him feel you up. You could prance around your space while wearing little to no clothing. Or you could outright ask him for it and he'll give it to you. He's a no nonsense guy when it comes to initiating. But more often than not, he'll be the one making the first move anyway.

[N] No Not into extreme pain or degradation. He would hate to hurt you to the point it would leave a nasty scar or make you bleed. Light pain is alright—biting, marking, spanking, and the like. Always makes sure you're still okay with it as well. He doesn't mind using harsh nicknames or saying nasty shit to you every once in a while, but he wouldn't want to be degraded himself. He's TOO big into praise to even consider that. Plus, he takes your words (specifically) to his heart. Karasu doesn't think he can handle hearing harsh words directed towards him coming from you.

[O] Oral Prefers to give more than receive (but he won't refuse EVER if you do offer to give him oral). But he likes going down on you more so that he can hear your beautiful sounds. Even though he's the one going to town on you—best believe that he's getting off to your voice anyway. It's basically a win-win situation for him. And did I mention that he's an absolute monster at oral? He's so messy with it and so shameless. He'll really push his face into your heat relentlessly. Karasu knows your pussy like the back of his hand and knows all the spots to lick and suckle on. A foreplay god—is what I'm trying to say.

[P] Pace Depends mostly on his mood and how demanding you are. There are times he prefers to go slow but hard because of how amusing your sounds are to him. But most of the time, he can't really commit to that pace. He gets restless and you can tell because he speeds up all of a sudden. The cocky smirk gets replaced by a more serious and focused expression. The usual indicator that he's about to go to pound town is when he grips your waist tightly, almost bruising. Tell him to go rougher—and he will. Although, be prepared to not walk much the next day.

[Q] Quickie Of course, he prefers a proper session, but he doesn't mind engaging in quickies every now and then when really necessary. Besides, he's the one usually asking for one. He's quite easy to tempt, so even if there are time constraints, he'll make it happen. He can control himself better while in public—at least dragging you into the car if he really needs to release his pent up "frustrations". But when it's just the two of you? He'll bend you over and get the job done right away—returning to his normal everyday tasks like nothing happened. To him, it's like scratching an itch.

[R] Risk Not heavily into risk. He's fine with slightly risky situations (e.g. few people around, really hidden, etc). But he'll never put you in a highly risky situation. It would piss him off if anyone saw you in such a compromising state. The temporary thrill and excitement isn't worth it for his jealousy. Though he does like to play around with you to see your reaction—caressing your pussy under the table, texting you or whispering something dirty while with friends, or subtly squeezing your ass.

[S] Stamina Does it really matter when he's a beast at foreplay? Well, even after he coaxes a couple orgasms from you, he'll obviously still have energy for actual sex. Though he's not that consistent when it comes to stamina. There are days when he's tired or not really feeling it as much, so he might last for just one round. On those days, he'd rather have you in his arms while relaxing. However, on days when it's almost like he's on a rut—he'll go for as long as you need him to. When he's extra frustrated, it's like his dick won't go down at all. He's the type to shoot blanks after going at it for so long. He'll keep groaning in your ear about how, "he hasn't had enough."

[T] Toys Quite the traditional man, so it has never occurred to him to use toys. But he's not exactly against it either. Although, I feel like he'd be too shy to purchase these things himself. Maybe he'll try it online, but he would prefer it if you bought it. That way—he'll keep his "dignity" and you can go ahead and choose something that you know you will enjoy. Truth be told, he's mostly doing it because he wants you to feel better. More about your pleasure rather than his. Oh, but he'll have fun using a vibe on you.

[U] Unfair He loves giving, so I can't imagine him being unfair at all unless you ask him to. Honestly, he gets off seeing you writhe in pleasure. So depriving you of that is equivalent to him blue balling himself. He's not a masochist by any means, so he won't ever be unfair with you.

[V] Volume His pride forbids him from moaning or whimpering. As a "manly man" he's only permitted to low grunts or groans. But the unavoidable happens and he gets "lost in the sauce." He'll start moaning a bit more—whispering about how good you feel around him. There's a chance he might whimper slightly if he hasn't felt you for a long time. He's just so pent up that he doesn't give a shit about anything else. Other than that, he doesn't want to be so loud because he wouldn't want to drown our YOUR sounds. (I feel like he also cringes inwardly when he becomes hyperaware of his volume).

[W] Wild Card He realizes it later on by accident, but he loves fucking in front of a mirror. Karasu loves to see you unravel because of him, but to actually see himself do that to you? It changes things for him; it's so much better that way. It further heightens his size kink because now he can see clear as day how bigger he is compared to you—how he can engulf you so easily with his larger frame and his thick arms. He won't outright tell you, but you can kind of tell by how he always seems to drag you to the spot where both of you can be seen in the full length mirror of your room.

[X] X Ray He is hung. That's it. But seriously, he's bigger than average. He has good length—reaches all the necessary spots, but not enough to actually hurt you. The way he stretches you out is just right as well. He's extra sensitive at the tip and the underside of his dick; he feels as if he'd cum prematurely if you gave too much attention to those areas. It's a given, but he's a shower. He still grows a bit when hard, but not so much. But for some reason, he hates you seeing it flaccid.

[Y] Yearning His drive is a little above average, but it fluctuates a lot depending on his mood and errands. But it's important to note that he'll never force you into anything if your moods don't match. His drive might be high, but he's not some monster without any self-restraint. Most of the time he can be satiated with cuddles or any type of skin-to-skin with you. However, it's more unbearable for him if you're away from him. He'd rather not have sex but have you near than to not have sex because you're miles away from each other. If that makes sense.

[Z] Zzz Admits that he wants to snooze as soon as your done, but his protective instinct is way too hard to ignore. At the very least, he'll get the two of you clean first before hitting the hay. Also, he's a man of foresight. He probably already laid out a towel or any sort of barrier on the bed so that clean up isn't a hassle afterwards. That or he fucks you somewhere else around the house so you can sleep right away. Sometimes, his sleepiness vanishes completely when you offer another round in the shower before actually cleaning yourselves up. Like I said, he can never say no to you.

©kzyluvr do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note self indulgent as you can see

#blue lock #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #karasu tabito #karasu x reader #karasu smut #bllk #blue lock karasu #bllk x reader #♪ ── luvr.fm // works #♪ ── luvr.fm // abcs

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cherryblossompink303 · 5 months ago

Text

Patience:~The Sun, the Sea, and the Host Club!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: what was meant to be a relaxing trip to the beach turns into the strangest interaction with Kyoya ➼ what to expect: "You want to know what we are y/n? The truth is I don't even know the answer but what I do know is that you cannot do stuff like that" ➼ warnings: small amounts of angst ➼Part seven | Part Nine

You are hoping that after everything that went down at the jungle resort that you may finally get a truly relaxing break today. Although given who you are with you are unsure whether or not that will actually happen.

Yet still you try to finally get a tan, eyes closed as you sink further into the beach towel as the rest of the club talk around you.

“So… why’d we come to Okinawa?”

“Because Kyoya’s family has a private beach here.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“But why couldn’t we have gone-”

“- to the Caribbean?”

“Or even Fiji?”

“Do you think a commoner like Haruhi has a passport?”

You shoot up, opening your eyes “Kyoya!”

“Ah.”

“You do realize that I can hear what you’re saying, right?” Haruhi interjects.

Out on a protruding rock from the ocean, Tamaki is intimately situated with his arm around a patron’s shoulder.

“It’s so beautiful. Tamaki, being alone here with you and looking out at the sea, it’s like a dream.” She sighs dreamily.

“It’s no dream, it’s real, but if I could have my way, my princess. I’d be in your dreams every night.” Tamaki brings their faces to close proximity.

“Oh, Tamaki.” His guest swoons.

Utilizing the volleyball net, the twins and two guests play a game of two on two. Hikaru bumps the ball violently, and it goes flying over Kaoru and his guest’s head and rolling off behind them.

“Hey, take it easy, Hikaru!” Kaoru begs as he goes running off after the beach ball.

“I’m sorry! I’ll get it!” Hikaru calls, but it’s too late; Kaoru is already on his way.

It’s like a cheesy romance movie, where the two protagonists go prancing off along the shoreline in a beach montage, almost in slow-motion.

“Wait for me, Kaoru!” Hikaru calls after Kaoru as he continues along the sand.

“It’s not my fault! The ball is rolling away!” All you can hear from you position on a towel under an umbrella next to Haruhi are the giggles of two brothers who are fantastic actors. The pullover covers your nearly bare body nicely from the sun and keeps you warm in the shade.

Ah, yes, hosts working on location.

Beside you, Haruhi sits with her knees pulled up to her chest as a hermit crab scuttles by along the sand near the towel.

“Oh, Haruhi, look!” You carefully lift the crab by the shell and place it in your hand, shoving it near Haruhi.

You follow her line of sight to see Kyoya monitoring a line of girls in swimsuits, all waiting for a turn with the King in the VIP spot.

Haruhi groans, “Why?”

“Her alone time with Tamaki is up. Next lady, please proceed.” Kyoya ruins the facade of a moment with his announcement.

“This sucks. I thought going to the beach meant a day off.” Haruhi’s attention is drawn to Mori and Honey’s group stretching their limbs.

“Um, Haruhi?” A shadow casts over Haruhi’s back, and she turns to greet her caller. Well, rather three, this time.

“Aren’t you going to go swimming with us?” They urge, all three dressed in very flattering swimsuits.

“No, uh, I like looking at the sea from a safe distance.” Haruhi settles for.

“Well, if you’re not going to swim, would you mind if we sat here and talked with you?” the second patron inquires cautiously.

Now a natural facade, Haruhi charms the three guests effortlessly, “But why? You girls should go swim. You’ve got cute swimsuits on; why not show them off?”

Instead of rushing off to the ocean, the guests sigh in appreciation.

As your eyes dart back and forth between Haruhi and her infatuated guests, you take an obvious hint and haul yourself up from the ground, dusting off and waving a short goodbye to the ladies before joining the twins in their antics.

“I can’t believe he fooled us.” Hikaru opens with, picking up their lost beach ball and handing it to his brother.

“Who’d have thought he’d bring the ladies with us?” Kaoru shrugs, although not upset in the least. This is one of the rare schemes that Tamaki’s managed to fool them with.

“We certainly didn’t expect it.”

“You were invited on this all-expenses-paid vacation for a reason. And that is to keep our clients entertained.” Kyoya is seated under an outdoor table with an umbrella and two tropical drinks before him.

You hum in agreement, finally rejoining the land of the living as you reach for the second drink. "You guys want the photobooks to sell this is how we do it" You add.

The twins stand before the two of you in disbelief "Well don't you make quite the money hungry pair" hikaru muttered, you raise an eyebrow "Have you seen Tamaki's plans? someone has to find the budget for it"

The twins exchanged a glance as the two of them pondered it over, ultimately agreeing with the logic before running back to play volleyball.

"Are you not going to go off with them?" Kyoya asked, looking up over his glasses while still scribbling in his notebook. "Not yet, just taking it all in" you reply lightly, pulling your knees up to lean your book against.

"Taking what in?" He asks, he knows that you weren't exactly unfamiliar with beach trips, while it may be less common where you were from you still had gone on plenty of trips. "It is rare that we can get a moment where everything isn't...filtered"

The statement intrigues Kyoya, head tilting to the side "How so?" you sigh, closing the book as you stare out into the ocean, watching as the boys have a water fight and Haruhi goes rockpooling with the girls.

"While we do have clients here, most of us have still dropped our typical club persona's that we put up at school, there's no pressure to pretend to be something we're not"

Kyoya hums, following your gaze to watch the boys also. "Do you really think so?" he asks, placing his notebook down. "I know so. None of us are in the host club for the sake of being in the host club, we all put on persona's to ignore the persona's we have to put on for our families. When we can drop both of those...it's rare...but it is quite nice to see"

Kyoya pauses, staring back at you "You're quite insightful sometimes do you know that?" he asks, taking a sip of his drink" you shrug "It's my job to be"

"So what pretenses are you putting up then? you sounded as if you include yourself?" the question siezes in your chest as you question whether or not you should actually go there.

"I think it may be the same pretenses that you put up as well" you reply, not taking your eyes off of him as you analyse his reaction. Kyoya doesn't answer at first, having a mental war with himself as to how much information he should release to you.

You unintentionally hold your breath waiting for his answer, praying that he wouldn't shrug it off again, that he wouldn't shut off just this once. "And what is that?"

"That while we were in club hours, distracted by numbers and analytics, we can both ignore why we are always sat together and the future that is coming for us soon"

"Y/n-"

"It is fine Kyoya, I have always been aware of my place with you, you don't have to rush to protect my feelings" you place the book you were reading on the table between the two of you.

Silence falls between the two of you as you sigh. "Kyoya I am tired of this dance we do every time this comes up. We have known each other two years and we never talk about it. Not really"

"Could I get a word in please?" your slightly ajar mouth pulled itself shut at the question. "I thought when we spoke at the party that was us talking about it"

"I...we said at the party we would try...to make this work...and I am being patient but..." while you are too caught up trying to piece together the right words you didn't notice how Kyoya was hanging onto every one of those words.

"I never know...where I stand with you Kyoya...and the truth is I don't think you know either" Kyoya remains silent, debating whether it would be best to say something in defence or let you elaborate.

"I don't...I don't expect anything from you but just as i think i've figured out what we are something will happen and I'm back to square one." you look away, staring back out into the ocean not wanting to bear to see his reaction.

"We are engaged but we are not together, we hang out and as far as I'm aware I am the person you talk to the most but we aren't friends..." it is in this moment that Kyoya wishes that he was better at bringing himself to express any form of emotion.

"I didn't...know you felt that way" was what ends up coming out instead. "Please don't say it like that" you plead, regretting bringing this up in the first place, taking a sip of your drink.

Kyoya is stunned "Like what?"

"With pity, I am aware of my position, and you are aware of yours, we fulfill the agreement our fathers made only enough but it is strange because of that exact arrangement we have decided that it would be for the best that things are only one way or another"

"We have responsibilities"

"Yes we do, but you seem to forget that you can do more than just your responsibilities. Why do you think you are here?" you gesture out to the rest of the host club.

"Y/n if you are saying what I think you are you do not want to go there" You raise an eyebrow "Do I not? Because the truth is I don't know anything about you. I'd like to but I don't, not truly."

Kyoya's face falls, seemingly a flurry of realisations hitting him at once. "All I am saying is that we are going to be stuck together for a very long time, I just want to know what terms that time will be on"

"Help!" Haruhi's voice seemed to echo through the rocky outskirts of the bay. You shoot up, completely forgetting the conversation that was just occurring, running in what you hope to be the direction of the cry.

as you turn around the rocks, quickly realising that the other club members are following behind you, but that isn't what you are worried about, no you are worried by the group of guys who currently are cornering haruhi. "Get the hell away from her!" you yell out.

"Ah good another one" the guy whose hand was wrapped around Haruhi's wrist says at your presence, not seeming intimidated in the slightest. "Yeah, now get away from her" You yank his hand off of her, wrist, however in the process he grabs onto yours instead, in an instinctual response you knee him in the crotch, throwing him off you.

"Get away from them!" Honey's voice rings out, tackling them, Mori as well. they just about manage to get out enough to run away, you manage to dodge out of the way in time to miss the onslaught, accidentally stepping backwards into Kyoya.

"Are you okay?" he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders to stabilise you. "Fine."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

It's dark out, the host club have retired to Kyoya's family's beach house for the night. Kyoya is pacing the room as he is on the phone to his police force while you are sat on his bed watching him ramble on. He eventually sighs as he hangs up the phone.

"The girls are all safely at the hotel, they are tracking down what is left of those guys" You nod "Good"

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks for probably the third time since the incident. "Yes I am fine, I know the whole 'duty of care' bullshit and that you probably got asked about me over the phone but I am fine"

"Forgive me for checking on someone who is known to avoid doctors" He mutters, placing the phone on the desk. "What you did was risky"

"Haruhi was in trouble" You sat firm in your position, having no regrets on your decision despite the backlash you had received from the host club after the incident. "Yes however there were much safer ways to handle it than just throwing yourself into the situation, you're not martial arts trained like Honey or Mori"

"Haruhi was in trouble then, what did you expect me to do, wait? Kyoya she could have been seriously hurt if i did that"

"You could have been seriously hurt!"

The outburst came as a shock to you, jaw hanging open for a moment before slowly picking itself up. "I am fine"

"Yes but you could have very easily may not have been"

Kyoya has a certain intensity to him that you do not see often at all from him, your mouth hinges close in shock. "You want to know what we are y/n? The truth is I don't even know the answer but what I do know is that you cannot do stuff like that"

You could practically hear the heart palpitations in your chest, you and Kyoya stare at each other from across the room, part of you was frustrated with him. Not getting anywhere with him apparently.

On the other hand there was a familiar feeling that you recognise from a moment of closeness the two of you had in the classroom when investigating shiro.

In the wake of your silence Kyoya sighs. "I...You are right, I do have a 'persona' or whatever you want to call it, but I can't just...drop it, it has become second nature to me now...please just...be patient with me"

There's a level of vunerability in his words that is unlike anything you had ever heard from him before. You stand up, approaching him slowly while not taking your eyes off of him, sighing as you stand less than a foot away from him "I can be patient...I just need to know that I'm not the only one trying to make this work"

Thunder cracked in the background but the two of you didn't seem to take any mind. "I..." Kyoya was hesitant with his words "You aren't...the only one..." You nod, happy to finally get confirmation but now unsure of what to do or say next.

However you do not need to make that decision, as an almost electric, feather light touch brushes your hand, a finger wraps around yours, interlocking.

"Patience?"

"Patience."

Next time on patience 'A Challenge from Lobelia Girl's Academy'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28

#kyoya ootori #kyoya ootori x reader #ohshc #kyoya x reader #ohshc kyoya #ohshc x reader #ouran high school host club #ouran highschool host club #ouran host club #ouran hshc #kaoru hitachiin #ouran #ouran kyoya #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh

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hard-core-super-star · 1 month ago

Text

how you thrill me [K.Bishop]

pairing: servicetop!kate bishop x powerbottom!reader

summary: kate takes you out shopping for the next gala you’re attending together but she gets distracted in the dressing room.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> service top kate, my beloved <3; slightly public sex in a private fitting room; lowkey sugar daddy kate; one use of puppy because i couldn't resist; cunnilingus {R receiving}; like two seconds of grinding; cute banter; kate being effortlessly strong because it's hot

wordcount: 1.9k

a/n: it's been SO long since i've written for kate but i decided to give it a go once more. this was such a random idea but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

"Babe, come on," Kate says, hand tightly gripping yours as she drags you into yet another store.

You sigh but allow her to drag you behind her, her hurried steps giving away her growing excitement.

Normally, the brunette hated clothes shopping. It required far too much of her attention, far too much focus going to small details that genuinely didn't matter to her. It wasn't like she didn't like fashion, she simply didn't have the time for it most days. There was nothing wrong with wearing random coats and her signature Docs, it was winter in New York, after all.

Despite her lack of interest in her own style or clothes, she devoted a lot of time to yours. And money.

It didn't matter how many times you told her you didn't need the most expensive clothes or that you were running out of space for all the jewelry she bought you, she simply found some other way to spoil you.

When you told her not to buy you any more clothes, she switched to jewelry or shoes or long vacations to places she could barely pronounce or reservations to the most exclusive restaurants in the city.

Sure, her spending habits are more than a little irresponsible, but you can't deny that you prefer her spending money on you than buying unnecessary gadgets that only serve to clutter her apartment. Seriously, how many monitors does one person need for their PC?

"Slow down," you reply with a giggle, barely keeping up with your girlfriend's sleep. "Where's the fire, Katie?"

Your teasing question makes her chuckle. "Fashion waits for no one."

Now it's your turn to laugh at her. "Fashion? Coming from the girl wearing a band tee under a blazer?"

"Hey! You said you liked my outfit."

"I do like it, but it's not the pinnacle of fashion, babe."

Despite your teasing, she pulls you closer to her side, her hand leaving yours only so she can wrap her arm around your waist. "Okay, I can't argue with you there."

"You can't argue with me period," you point out.

Almost as if proving your point, she doesn't reply. Instead of making fun of her, you decide to simply lean against her and allow her to lead the way to yet another store. It's not exactly the most entertaining way to spend a day but you can't really complain when you get to spend it with your girlfriend.

You let her lead you to the next store, her fingers drumming a random beat on your arm. The contact distracts you enough to ignore the chaos going around and focus simply on the clothes themselves.

The two of you walk around a little until you stop in front of a rack filled with velvety blazers.

Kate shifts from her spot next to you, a flicker of her usual impatience shining through. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know," you reply as your eyes scan the clothes rack. "I can't decide between red or black."

"Then take them both."

You should have expected her response. Part of it is, of course, her tendency to buy you anything and everything you could possibly want, but another part of it is her own desire to see you in the expensive fabrics. To see you dressed up like you're a natural part of her world. Like you're not completely out of your depth whenever she takes you to those stupid rich people parties.

The thought is more than enough for you to snap into action. You are not going to let your overthinking stop you from enjoying a nice day out with your girlfriend.

Your hand reaches out to grab both blazers off the rack and Kate separates herself from you to help you carry them. "Anything else you'd like, love?"

You want to say no but then your eyes catch a rack of dresses and before you can stop yourself, you're adding items to the archer's eager arms. It's not clear yet what vibe you're going for but you're sure you'll figure it out soon. It helps that Kate's wardrobe is already filled to the brim with suits in all her favorite colors.

The two of you make your way to the fitting rooms after adding a few dresses and you can practically feel the excitement radiating off your girlfriend. You're not sure if she's excited about seeing you in them, though, or getting to take them off at some point.

One of the perks of shopping at rich people stores is both the size and the comfort of the fitting rooms. Not only is the area spacious, there's also an arm chair and a few wall-length mirrors. The smirk on Kate's face tells you she's thinking the same thoughts you are.

First things first, though, you have a fashion show to conduct.

It's practically impossible but you ignore your girlfriend's staring as you shed your coat and start trying out the blazers. More surprising than that, is how she's able to keep her hands to herself and keep her comments surprisingly family friendly.

To no one's surprise, though, her focus is shattered when you start trying out the dresses you picked out.

You're in the middle of rambling about the different colors, trying to figure out which ones match best with what Kate has in her wardrobe when she pounces on you.

You can't even pretend to be surprised. Especially when her hands land on your waist and she pushes you up against the door of the fitting room. "y/n."

"Kate," you reply, smirking as your arms wrap around her.

"Stop talking."

Before you can even make fun of her, her lips are on yours, stealing your train of thought before it can leave the station. You don't mind, though, and instead pull her impossibly closer to you.

The fabric of the dress you'd barely slipped on bunches underneath Kate's fingers as she grips you so hard, you're sure you'll be feeling it all day. You hook one of your legs around her before you can stop yourself, both of you gasping as the change in position makes your hips shift.

"You're worse than a dog in heat, Katie," you tease her, hoping she'll ignore how flushed you already are.

She does, but it's mostly due to how much your words affect her. "Shut up. You were thinking about it too."

"About why they make these fitting rooms so big?"

She groans, for once, rendered speechless. "Not what I meant."

You decide to give her a bit of mercy, even though she looks really cute when she gets pouty. "You're right, I was thinking about you."

That seems to be exactly what she wants to hear. Her lips find their way to your jaw where she's content to kiss and nip at your skin. "Gonna need you to be more specific."

You could be more specific or you could put her mouth to better use. The idea makes your heart skip a beat and you know you can't pass up the chance. "And I'm going to need you on your knees."

At first, she simply giggles. Until she realizes you're being serious. Then, she leans back to look at you, her eyes quite literally sparkling. "You mean that?"

"Of course, I mean it." Your hands slide around until you're gripping her shoulders, giving her a gentle push down.

Kate, the ever gracious lover she is, goes right with the movement. Even though you both know she's stronger than you, she allows you to act like you're manhandling her. It's a brief fantasy but it adds to the ache between your legs.

An ache that intensifies once your girlfriend is fully on her knees, her fingers caressing your thighs. Okay, maybe wearing a dress more often wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Kate must have the same thought as you because hikes the dress further up your legs but doesn't even attempt to take it off of your body. Instead, she spreads your legs wider, her teeth sinking into the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"Kate," you hiss, your hand tangling in her soft locks. "What's with the teeth, puppy?"

The petname makes her groan, although her pitch gets higher and it ends more like a whine than anything. "Shut up. I know what I'm doing."

A chuckle escapes you. "I wasn't complaining."

You don't get an answer from her but you don't really mind because she continues her path up your leg. She litters your skin with kisses and half-formed bites before her mouth hovers over the wet patch on your panties.

The mere feeling of her breath against you makes your hips buck. "Don't be a tease."

If she hears you, she doesn't respond. Her full focus is on your cunt and moving her tongue against you, humming at the taste that clings to the fabric.

There's something incredibly desperate to what she's doing but you don't dare call her out on it. At least not yet.

Because before you can form a single word, she's slipping your panties to the side and attaching her lips to your clit. The contact is so sudden that it makes you buck into her face, your fingers digging into her scalp.

"Oh, fuck," you whisper.

Kate hums around you, her tongue flicking out to tease your clit before sliding down to your folds. No one can ever say Kate Bishop isn't committed to your pleasure. You don't even know how she does it but she manages to slip her tongue inside your leaking hole.

It's messy and filthy and far too loud for the public setting you're in but it feels incredible. Especially when her hands move to your hips and encourage you to keep grinding against her.

You don't even have time to feel embarrassed about your movements as the pleasure skyrockets up your body.

"Don't stop," you groan, holding her so close you fear you might suffocate her.

Kate doesn't seem to have the same fear you do, though, considering the way she pulls herself even deeper into you. You have no doubt her jaw is cramping but that doesn't stop her from eating you out like a woman starved. It would be cliche if she wasn't so good at it.

The knot in your stomach gets tighter as Kate's tongue messily thrusts in and out of you. Your back arches off the door, your leg hooking over her shoulder as you struggle to keep yourself up.

The archer holds you up with ease, almost taking you off the ground with her strong grip. The quick show of strength only adds to your desire and you cum hard with a gasp.

The sudden pleasure overwhelms you, catching you completely off-guard as you soak your girlfriend's face.

There's no way to deny how little she minds. She keeps her movements up, easing off your clit to not further overwhelm you. That doesn't stop her from running her tongue up and down your folds, though.

You pull her away by her hair, barely suppressing a laugh as she whines. "I wasn't done."

"I know, but I can't feel my legs."

Kate rises to her feet, easily moving your legs until they're both wrapped around her waist. "I've got you."

All you can do is groan as her actions reignite the heat in your belly. "You're the worst."

This time, she's the one who laughs. "I love you too."

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop smut #kate bishop #hawkeye #hailee steinfeld #marvel fanfiction #mcu imagine #wlw #wlw fic #writing

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mywitchyblog · 6 months ago

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Message to @alphaltrainreflection

First of all, bitch, where did I ever say anything about "eroticizing inferiority"? Like, be fucking for real. Show me the receipts. Because unless you’re reading between lines that don’t exist, nothing in my post said anything about power dynamics, submission, or “inferiority.” It sounds like you’re projecting some judgmental bullshit that I didn’t even invite into the conversation. So let’s start there—check yourself before you come into my space twisting my words to fit your weird little agenda.

Second of all, and I mean this with every ounce of sincerity, shut the fuck up. Genuinely, if you don’t like what you see, don’t interact. It’s that simple. Not everyone has to match your narrow idea of what shifting is “supposed” to be. Shifting isn’t some gated community where you get to play security guard and decide who’s allowed in. So do us all a favor, take that rigid-ass energy, and keep it to yourself, bitch.

Let’s be real for a second. You said, “sex freaks who insist on eroticizing inferiority are ruining shifting.” Bitch, nobody’s ruining anything—especially not me. All I said was that I want to get fucked. Plain and simple. If my desire to shift for a good time offends you, you’re free to move along. Shifting means different things to different people, and if sex is part of that, it’s totally valid. If I want to shift to a reality for some damn good dick, who the fuck are you to get all sanctimonious about it? Newsflash: your opinion on what’s “appropriate” doesn’t apply here, darling.

And let’s get one thing fucking clear, because clearly, you need this spelled out: even if someone did want to shift to a reality where they take on a more passive, submissive role, what of it? Why the fuck does that bother you so much? Some people spend their whole lives having to be strong, holding shit together, constantly defending themselves, and staying in control just to survive. Maybe, just maybe, they want to create a reality where they can finally let go, surrender, and trust someone who respects them and won’t take advantage of them. Imagine that—feeling safe enough to let down your guard and explore a side of yourself you don’t get to express in this life. For some people, that’s healing. For others, it’s fun. Either way, it’s their choice, not yours. So back the fuck off.

So let’s talk about this “ruining shifting” nonsense you pulled out of nowhere. Bitch, the only thing “ruining” anything is people like you, stomping into conversations uninvited and acting like you’re the gatekeeper of how others should experience their desires. You’re clinging to this imaginary rulebook about what’s “appropriate” for shifting as if that makes you morally superior, but all it does is make you look insecure, judgmental, and way too invested in other people’s business. Spoiler alert: nobody gives a fuck about your approval or needs it to validate their experience.

Here’s the truth, since you seem to need a wake-up call: shifting is deeply personal. It’s about self-determination and freedom, not conforming to some rigid-ass code of conduct set by random bitches on the internet. If someone wants to shift for spiritual growth, self-discovery, sexual exploration, or all of the above, that’s their fucking prerogative. Shaming them because it doesn’t align with your limited, vanilla-ass view of what’s “appropriate” is straight-up pathetic.

And by the way, bitch, sex is a natural, beautiful, and completely valid part of life. If I want to shift for sex, or if someone else wants to shift to feel cherished, adored, or, yes, even submissive, that’s nobody’s fucking business but ours. Maybe instead of trying to drag others down to your level of insecurity, you could take a hard look in the mirror and figure out why other people’s sexual autonomy bothers you so damn much. Because this isn’t about “ruining shifting”; it’s about you being uncomfortable with the idea of someone enjoying themselves in a way that’s different from what you deem acceptable. Maybe some self-reflection would do you some good.

To every other shifter out there who’s ever been made to feel guilty or “lesser” for shifting for your own reasons, listen up: you don’t owe anyone an explanation, and you don’t need anyone’s approval. Your DR, your fucking rules. If shifting for you is about finding love, intimacy, exploration, or yes, even some good dick, that’s your choice. Don’t let some insecure bitch shame you or make you feel like you’re somehow ruining the experience just because it doesn’t fit into their narrow little box. Shifting is about creating the life and reality you want to live—whatever the fuck that looks like for you.

So, here’s a suggestion: take your unsolicited, holier-than-thou attitude and keep it to yourself. If you can’t handle seeing people talk openly about their desires and goals for shifting, then bitch, scroll past and save yourself the outrage. Because at the end of the day, I’m not here to please you, and neither is anyone else. We’re here to live our best lives, however we see fit, and if that’s too much for you, the door’s right over there.

To everyone who’s out here shifting for what they want, keep going. Own your desires, own your reality, and don’t let anyone’s outdated judgment make you feel like you’re doing it wrong. Shifting is your journey, and if that includes exploring intimacy, vulnerability, or sexuality, you’re not alone. You’re valid, and your experience is just as real and important as anyone else’s.

Consider this your reminder that no one’s begging for your approval. I’ll be over here, unbothered, shifting for exactly what I want, and loving every fucking second of it. ✨

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moonlit-bunny · 1 month ago

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honestly, I can't think of a single reason to enjoy or tolerate k@t/ang - everything about it gives me the biggest ick. usually I'm not that frustrated by ships, but this one really nags at my "this feels unjust" part of my brain. what likable quality is there?? even before I had any real opinion, I knew it was eugh... the way their interactions were written and shown always made me uncomfortable. "the younger boy has a crush on the babysitter" canonically being the creators' intent for their dynamic is not cute, wholesome or appealing to me whatsoever - particulary when that dynamic never changes throughout the entirety of the storyline, and their fundamental disagreements and conflicts are left unaddressed (to the BOY'S benefit).

the worst part is that the shippers try to make it seem like they're more cognizant of social justice, genocide, interracial relations (especially against zk fans) and a girl's needs. but the thing is, their arguments fall flat because the main character is so clearly the white creators' self insert whose romantic portrayal undeniably gives major "Nice Guy" red flags and treads incel territory: he doesn't need to earn her love - no, he is entitled to it. this is actually anti-feminist messaging and we never saw our girl's needs met in that dynamic. instead, it was him who was one-way benefitting from her mothering (which he wasn't bothered by), and his actions kept pulling her back into that role. in TSR, we see it even more - assuming the worst, lecturing and imposing his beliefs based on his idea of how she should be, not trying to listen or be present when he very well could have due to shared experiences of colonial violence. not to mention the grace, presence and non-judgmental comfort she'd offered him when he lost his bison and lost his temper.

at this point I am reminded that this series was made by white americans, so while the other characters can push the boundaries a little, the main character must be an enlightened boy with a supposedly higher moral conscience (in contrast to the angry, irrational brown girl) palatable to an audience residing in an imperial core (in which the majority of us do not regularly encounter or fight off the horrors of an active genocide). in other words, he unfortunately plays the role of a white man's mouthpiece for lukewarm takes - telling us essentially doing nothing is the correct answer to your loved one learning that an imperial soldier who murdered her family has made no amends and is out there walking free - no haunting, no memory, no consequence.

how does all of this not make one raise an eyebrow? by season 3 I really felt like someone had just thrown a tantrum in the writer's room and that's how we ended up here.

in some ways we got to see a fuller development and journey for zuko: we find zuko confronting his father become a better parallel to her confronting her mom's killer (that he considerately does not bring up on her journey), with both of them overcoming a generational trauma that share the same root cause. maybe we are drawn to this, maybe this feels more gut-wrenching, maybe this makes for a richer character arc because he is not a wide-eyed baby-faced self-insert, journeyed alone, and therefore was not shielded from having to make tough choices (like the main character's s2/s3 final dilemma). to think - his story more closely mirrors Buddha's own origin story! the irony.

it really is mindboggling because there are so many beautiful ways to write a friends -> lovers story, and it doesn't even need to be complicated. (if anyone's read fma, just look at ed/winry - heartwarming, reciprocated, felt natural and earned.)

this one's an unfortunate, utter mess, and season 3 plus the comics and LoK seemed to rub salt on the wound instead of making any meaningful attempts at clarifying previous issues and improving their relations. I just feel like seeing this pair as overall wholesome or something is ignoring certain key moments in the storyline, especially those concerning our girl. you'd really need to AU-ify their dynamic to get to a point where a romantic relationship between them (that is actually mutual) feels right or compatible.

#anti kataang #zutara #tbh if any ka shippers find this and try to say something im blocking #im venting and i don't have any energy to argue #ofc most of these points have already been made im just rephrasing them but these are the points that really get me

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etherealily · 7 months ago

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ꜱᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ ~ ꜰᴇʟɪx ᴄᴀᴛᴛᴏɴ

Felix Catton + fem! reader. SFW, but discretion advised, slightly dark, abuse.

My other Felix fics, if you have the time.

Part 1: Hard Candy Part 3 : Rock Candy

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : He's sorry, he's so very sorry. But will he say it?

════════════════════ ⋆🐦‍🔥⋆ ════════════════════

END OF SEMESTER

One thing about Felix is that he always got what he wanted.

It both enamored and infuriated you.

Even when the two of you weren't hooking up, both before and even - with much audacity - after, he got away with everything.

He smacked your ass whenever he saw you and everyone laughed it off, because imagine being Felix's certified girl, essentially. Who'd ever complain?

You reached your limit when he grabbed you when you were out with your friends, twirling you around in a gesture that could only be described as disgustingly, unnecessarily romantic, before kissing you.

Pushing him away, you glared and he chuckled, not even bothering enough to look at your face, but instead looking over your shoulder, at your friends, and chuckling with them.

Because of-bloody-course. Because you were obviously the one who had done something wrong right now.

"What the fuck, Felix?"

"What?", he laughed, breathily. "'S a dare, c'mon, relax."

"Yeah? Yeah? A DARE?"

"Well, dares are for kids. This was more of a bet. A challenge. Definitely more manly and dignified than a dare."

"Don't you have enough FUCKING money as it is?! Why'd you need to win this?"

"Hey, hey, relax-"

"NO! You can't keep FUCKING with me! You've been doing it since high school, and you can-"

"Okay, shh, shh.", he murmured, turning you around and placing his chin in the crook of your neck as he rubbed your almost-flailing arms that were itching to have a go at him, calming you down. "Hey, hey, listen. Listen. I got carried away. Okay? You know I tend to do that."

Oh, you knew way too fucking well what this rich cunt tended to do.

Ask the pens he never gave back in high school - not because he didn't have any of his own - but because you shouldn't have had such "ugly-looking ones" in the first place.

"Listen, listen, I'm- hey, stop struggling, okay? St- Y/N, don't piss me off, stop.", he whispered, soothingly kissing the side of your neck softly. "Everyone's watching, stop making a scene."

Says the bastard who kissed your neck in public not milliseconds ago.

"Yeah? You good?"

"Shut up, Felix."

He chuckled, slowly letting go of you. "Come to my dorm tonight."

Now, you chuckled. "Funny."

"I'm being serious."

"For what purpose?"

"Mum's sent a gift for us."

"If it's a fucking engagement ring or something, I swear-"

"If it's an engagement ring, I will kill myself, you don't have to kill me.", he assured.

"She doesn't want us together, does she?" You'd genuinely kill yourself if that were the case. Because what Elspeth Catton wants, Elspeth Catton gets.

"I hope not. So far, it seems like she's just glad you didn't lose your virginity to a 'troglodyte' or summat. Apparently it's common for girls who've just gone off to Uni to-"

"Yes, I know." You'd heard the horror stories, the warnings. 'You'll have a newfound sense of freedom. Don't abuse it. Don't fuck it away. Don't be a whore.'

And you'd ignored the warnings during your first party there.

And with the biggest fucking mistake there was.

Felix Catton.

THREE DAYS LATER

Look, it isn't often that your circles interact, but when they do, you and Felix attempt cordiality. No one, not even Felix Catton wants to be 'the bummer'.

And so, tonight - the weekend before Christmas and three days after he'd invited you over and you hadn't gone - twelve of you sat on a parapet wall (you and Felix at each end of the line, naturally).

"We should go streaking."

Unsurprisingly, it's Felix's suggestion.

"You should. We'll take a Polaroid."

"You know what we should do?", you suggested. "Skinny dipping."

A murmur of agreement and you knew you'd won it.

"Why not streaking? It's funnier."

"Skinny dipping is less likely to get us in trouble seeing as it's night and the lake's far away."

More hums of 'oh, yeah, good point' and 'we'll be naked either way'.

"It's the prude's way out."

"Just say y'can't swim, Catton.", you retorted, jumping off the wall with a soft grunt, the others following suit.

"I can, too, swim.", he replied, hopping down as well.

"Then just say y'can't handle wet things."

Raucuous laughter - that you didn't quite understand (it wasn't that funny) - but didn't dislike either ensued.

"I dunno, I'd say I handled you pretty well, didn't I, sweetheart?", he replied, twirling a strand of your hair, illuminated a burnt orange by the sombre streetlight perched above the two - well, twelve, but honestly, it didn't feel like it - of you.

"Alright. Fine.", you declared. "Hands up if you wanna go streaking 'cross campus."

A couple hands, not too many, good.

"Skinny dipping?"

Majority of hands. You shrugged, grinning triumphantly as you patted him on the cheek and shouldered past him.

****

You didn't know if it was the moonlight or the water or the weed or what, but Felix had never been more annoying.

Why he insisted he wouldn't skinny dip and ruined the night for everyone, you knew. He was just a cunt.

But why he insisted that you didn't, either, and made everyone beg you to stay on the bank so that he'd shut the fuck up, you didn't know.

Till the end, that is.

"What if one of them had copped a feel? I'm just lookin' out for yah. Like mates do.", he whispered as the night winded down, before ruffling your hair up.

Oh, oh, so this was a favour, according to him. Summat to be grateful for? FUCK Felix Catton.

"What the fuck?", you yelled, following him back to his dorm as he covered his ears with his little fingers comically. "No, seriously! Did I crush your ego that much?!"

"No, sweetheart, I just thin-"

"DON'T call me that!"

"I just think you shouldn't be out there wanting to get felt up by our entire friend group just because you're angry at me!", he screamed back, turning for a moment before he foraged around forcefully in his pockets for his dorm keys.

"WHY should everything in my life have to do with you?!"

"IT HAS SINCE HIGH SCHOOL AND IT WILL FOREVER!"

"THEN YOU'RE JUST BLOODY DELUDED!"

"YEAH? WELL YOU STILL FUCKING WANT ME, SO YOU CAN'T TALK LIKE YOU'VE GOT ANY SELF RESPECT!"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN 'I STILL WANT YOU'? NO I FUCKING DON'T!"

"YEAH? WELL, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME TO MY DORM?!"

"TO YELL AT YOU!"

About five doors swung open. "IT'S THREE IN THE FUCKING MORNING, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"

You and Felix continued glaring at each other. "Fuck you, mate."

"I'm not your mate, Y/N. Don't call me that."

"Yeah, you're not my mate. You're just a prick I had the misfortune of knowing for this long."

"And you're just a cunt I've had the misfortune of fucking for this long."

You scoffed. Average conversation with Felix.

"Get over yourself, Felix Catton, or you're going to have a real fucking hard time in the real world - that DOESN'T CATER TO YOU!"

You could feel him flipping you the bird behind you as you left. You just decided to fucking ignore it.

════════════════════ ⋆🐦‍🔥⋆ ════════════════════

That night, you woke up to a knock at the door.

Deja vu. Felix on his knees. Jesus.

"What?"

"Can we please talk?"

Talk meant fuck.

You frowned.

"I promise, I'll just talk."

He doesn't try kissing you this time.

Because this time, things were even more off.

This time, he was stone cold sober.

You rolled your eyes before rubbing them, letting him take your hand to stand up. He didn't need it, of course, but it made you feel better. More in control.

How pathetic that it was the smallest of things that you had to desperately cling on to for the smallest sliver of self respect.

"I didn't mean it. When I called you a cunt. I wasn't... I was angry."

"Yeah."

"I just don't understand why you're... why do you want to forget me so easily?"

"We're terrible together, Felix.'

"I don't want to be together, alright? I can't do relationships either. I just think that we... I mean, we know each other, which makes the sex so much better, right?"

Wrong.

It would've been funny to an outsider. This was something, again, that you were very sure of. Someone else would laugh at your inability to say something to him, laugh at the way he stood there, opposite you, playing with his rings as he took a long drag of his cigarette.

And him being Felix didn't help, either.

When you let him in, he sat there like it was his dorm.

Like it had just been you on your knees, and he'd begrudgingly, magnanimously let you in.

Essentially, this was everything you had not missed since Felix had graduated and left. It was brutal, honestly, to the rest of the school when he had graduated. Because what, oh, what would they do without Felix Catton? It also didn't help that, since you were family friends, you'd been constantly badgered about whether he'd grace the school with his presence during school events like plays and fundraising fairs.

That was genuinely laughable. Felix Catton is only charitable when he wants to be. That's not to say he's an opportunist, no, if you were being honest, the purity of his intentions were truly unmatched, but his intentions often had a way of making him look like an angel.

Kind little angelic rich boy. Connivingly kind little conveniently angelic rich boy.

You decided that the silence was a good opportunity to do something you hadn't done in a while (and something he'd probably never done ever) and reflect.

Reflect on why you and Felix had actually grown apart, not his skewed version and definitely not your biased explanation.

The answer, however, was vague.

Inseparable as kids.

Insufferable as adolescents.

Ineffable as lovers.

Incapable as people.

"He really was trying to cop a feel.", he sighed after the agonizing silence. "Logan. I saw it."

Right. And he also saw every single thought to ever go through Logan's head. Because being Felix Catton gives you both an immeasurable inheritance and impeccable judgement in friends, yeah?

"Well, thanks.", you replied, biting back the word 'mate'.

He sighed once more, shifting closer to you on the couch and now playing with your rings. "I'm just lookin' out for you, okay? I got your back. Just 'cause we stopped shagging doesn't mean all of our history is just gone, yeah?", he questioned earnestly, kissing your rings, your fingertips, your knuckles, and then finally, your wrist.

In theory, that makes total sense. You did used to be best friends. You did used to like each other, at some point.

But this was all, of course, theory, because nothing would ever make sense around Felix, not when he's so noxiously himself, his fragrance, his taste, the basking glow of his attention enveloping your senses until you could feel his aura so tangibly.

"Felix, I just feel like we made a huge mistake."

"What? Fucking? C'mon, it's Uni, and we're both adults, c'mon, this is absolutely ridiculous!", he whined, softly, with his brows raised high up in pleading. He held his cigarette in front of your lips and you inhaled. Because it's Felix. God, what a hypocrite you were.

"I have hated you for as long as I can remember-"

You did have a point. You were about to mention the fact that animosity contributes to lust - just like the first time you'd hooked up, how he'd been pissed at you- and that at some point, it will destroy and consume the two of you. But he didn't let you finish.

"Yeah, and you never let me forget. What did I even do to you?"

"You really don't remember?", you sighed. "You remember your friend Henry Falker?"

"Oh, yeah, Henry Fucker!", he giggled. "What about him?"

"Y'remember when you told him and his gang that if I wasn't a family friend, you'd 'shag the living daylights out of me'? Or, at the very least, whistle at me when I walked by?"

He nodded, slyly as he tapped your nose, as though you were being petulantly annoying. "Yeah, but that was a joke. And I didn't actually do it.", he replied defiantly.

"Yeah, well, he worshipped you."

He frowned at the silence. "He wasn't the one- he didn't cat-call you. Right? I told him it was a joke. I told him you were off-limits."

Off-limits?!

See, this was news. He'd been messing in your life without your knowledge for years, then? You'd actually got along with Henry, no matter what a Felix-sycophant he'd been, and before the cat-calling incident, you wouldn't have said no to a coffee.

"Clearly, we went to different high schools. Y'know, because you went to one where teenage boys keep promises about cat-calling."

He sighed, his forehead on your chest. "He's a prick."

"So are you."

The words felt overused and false, but they had to be said.

His intoxicating kisses began, and moved up the side of your breast up to your throat as he pushed your hands away and pulled your head closer.

"Felix." Your willpower should be applauded.

"If you call me 'mate', I will genuinely hit you."

You couldn't help the breathy laugh that erupted from you as he began gripping your jaw and kissing you as he gently rested your head back down onto the couch.

"No. Felix, stop." This was the thing about Felix. Once you've got his attention, it's difficult to keep an iron will to get it off of you. Because who in their right mind would want Felix's attention off of them?

You, evidently, since high school.

"Look, this is just friends helpin' each other out, alright?"

"Then why do you not like me calling you 'mate'?"

Silence.

"I just don't."

"Do you not remember why we stopped?", you asked, attempting to sit up.

"Summat about you 'being with someone else'."

"Do you not remember the ER?"

"Shh-shh-shh.", he murmured, shaking his head and undoing his belt. "C'mon. Seriously. You had your storm-out, now come back to normal."

Why he always conveniently brushed that under the carpet, you didn't know.

Did he think this was some temporary temper tantrum? Just you being kind of a bitch? Was he already sure you'd forgive him?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?", you hissed, pushing him off. "Seriously! What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, I'm just saying, you were pissed, and you let it out. Now you can come back to normal!"

"Normal? Normal, after you bloody got me admitted in the ER at three am? Normal?"

"That didn't bother you last week."

What bullshit. What utter fucking bullshit.

"Yeah? Well, the whole skinny dipping incident exacerbated it."

"Oh, stop with the whole woe-is-me thing, Y/N, it's getting old."

Honestly, he had a point. It was getting old to you, as well. But damn him for making you that way.

"Look, we agreed to stop. Respect that, Felix."

He rolled his eyes. "Why are you always such a CUNT? Is it 'cause you think you're better than everyone else?! OH, I was a virgin before college, I'm so fuckin' pure and angelic! OH, I've got all good scores in school, I'm so fuckin' AWESOME?! YOU'RE NOT, OKAY?"

Where the fuck did that come from?

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"IT MEANS THAT MAYBE YOU FUCKIN' DESERVED WHAT YOU GOT WHEN YOU GOT PUT INTO THE ER!"

Both of you froze. Felix had obviously meant it. You had obviously believed it.

For once, though, it wasn't you believing it just because it was Felix who said it. You believed it because even you'd been thinking that for a while.

"Get out."

"Fuck, no, can we- look, I admit, I'm an arse- I just promised I'd have your back and then I-"

"Get out."

"Please."

"FUCK YOU, FELIX, GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I SEND YOU TO THE ER!", you yelled, pointing aggressively at the door, taking his attention away from your stinging eyes.

He, instead of obeying you like a sane individual, began to move closer, his hands in front of him as though you were a wild beast he had to tame. "Y/N-"

"STOP! GET AWAY! DON- NO! Don't touch me! NO!", you cried, attempting to wriggle out of his arms, but also attempting to stay between them to relish the comfort they provided.

"Listen to me. Lis- Y/N, stop being a child. Just listen."

The word 'sorry' never left his mouth, but he'd somehow managed to convince you that it was all that he had been saying.

════════════════════ ⋆🐦‍🔥⋆ ════════════════════

It's not like this was an unfamiliar feeling.

Felix had a way of doing this. Making someone feel warm until he got bored. Thankfully, though, you seemed to do the opposite of bore him.

You were essentially his personal jester.

"Toy with you", the cocaine addict had said.

Like sour candy, the addiction was to the unpleasantness, the sour sting, the challenge of how long you could last on Felix's bullshit without flinching.

Well, the unpleasantness and this feeling that you had right now. Not love, of course, but something dangerously bordering at the edge of it.

This feeling, this not-love-feeling was hard to characterise, hard to describe. It was nostalgia brewed with mutual hatred with a tiny bit of affection.

Yeah. Suppose that's the closest one could get.

The not-love-feeling usually blossomed when you were... well, doing what you were doing right now.

Counting the number of flowers on your shirt - the one which hangs precociously on the edge of your desk chair, about five paces away from the bed, which is where Felix lay, and, right on his chest, you.

He wasn't awake.

You had been for a while.

"Either you've forgiven me, or last night was the best hate sex planet Earth has ever seen.", he muttered suddenly, singling out a thick strand of your hair and examining it meticulously.

You didn't reply, but just rolled off him. The ceiling seemed to mock you.

"You packed yet?"

"For what?"

"Saltburn. Our proper-proper reunion. Don't tell me you forgot."

Did your face look like you had been on top of your itinerary for the last couple days?

He shook his head, looking past your face to the window behind you. You could almost swear you could see the snow falling through through the reflection in his eye. "I could help you."

"No, it's okay, I'm not coming."

"Like hell you're not. You've been sent a fuckin' dress, okay? My mother sent you a dress plus jewellery - which you'd know if you showed up that day at my dorm - so you're not flakin' out of this."

"A dress for what?"

"The party."

You frowned, watching him sit up and use the same hands he'd had on you to reach over to the pockets of his jeans. "You're not seriously smoking without brushing your teeth."

"Good point. I'm using your toothbrush."

"Don't you dare."

"So let me smoke in unhygienic peace."

You grimaced, looking away and out of the window.

"Relax. Been up for a while. I got up, I brushed, washed my face, and then I just... I dunno. I came back to you. Back to bed."

He was up before you?

"You weren't sleeping?"

"Nah.", he replied, beckoning you closer with the hand that was holding the cig. You moved almost on autopilot. "You forgive me, yeah?", he asked, arm around your shoulder reaching far enough to playfully squeeze your neck. "I'll choke you non-sexily if you don't, y'know? Or I'll leave you to the likes of Logan or Daniel-the-handshaker."

You laughed out loud at that, and he rewarded you with his dimpled grin. "C'mon, mate, let's get you packed."

Honestly? Fuck Felix Catton. And then fuck Felix Catton.

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