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1moreff-creator · 2 months ago

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Fool's Table MV - Analysis

I absolutely adore this MV so it's getting an immediate analysis post. I cannot fucking believe what was in it. After playing coy with Mai for so long, we get an entire MV about her and Teruko?!?! The Terumai stocks are through the roof and my adoration is immeasurable. Let's go!!!

I hope I'm able to pick up on at least most of the most important details, I am doing this a bit off the cuff lol. As always, an important disclaimer is that the following is just my interpretation, I could be wrong about some things, and others may have multiple valid interpretations, I’m not claiming that my way of seeing the MV is the only “right” one, yadda yadda, you know this by now.

First, the description:

Together, alone, until the curtains close, I want to dance on the stage with you.

Pretty straightforward. The entire MV is framed on a stage, there's curtains, Mai and Teruko even dance. Just reinforcing the togetherness of Mai and Teruko (and don’t worry, we’ll get to that).

But, wait. Not everyone knows who Mai is, or what we already knew of her relationship with Teruko. That’s understandable, she’s had literally 9 seconds of screen time in the main series, and while it’s widely speculated she’s Unnamed Classmate, that’s not immediately obvious.

If you don’t know anything about her, I'll recommend you read up on the relevant sections of my secrets masterpost, since all you really need is her profile, Mai quotes and maybe her LGI numeral to understand this post. Or, if you're down for a longer read, my only somewhat outdated Mai post.

Next, we have to ask, what is Fool's Table actually about? I find it helps to talk about the song's overall meaning before diving into any specific lines, so we can better understand them in context.

Fool's Table is a song primarily about societal rules and expectations, and what it means to live within them. You'll see plenty of references to manners, people wearing masks, etc. The song also dwells on the concept that suffering is an inherent part of being human, and how to deal with this fact. The titular Fool's Table refers to life itself; it's framed both as a table, where society would claim manners and cleanliness are important, and described as a stage in various occasions, somewhere to dance and dirty and act on. You'll see what I mean when we get to line by line analysis, which this should be enough to get us started on, I think!

We open on a shot of a table, filled with plenty of different foods. Given this is the "table of life", you can easily interpret this as a representation of the large amount of experiences which life can offer. Before Teruko and Mai appear, the following lyrics play:

I'll deliver the final blow Already, that kid has a pitiful look on their face Everything everywhere is in flames Savages acting "sensitive"

"Everything everywhere is in flames" is pretty straightforward, I think. A very Teruko-like sentiment. This sentiment is possibly why the table that represents life is shown upside down; being "upside down" is a way of showing that everything's wrong with it, and by extension the world. The "final blow" mentioned, in my opinion, is showing this "truth" to the "kid with a pitiful face." Basically, this kid, possibly a stand-in for all children, was already sad, and now you're telling them everything is in shambles because of "savages" who pretend to be more compassionate, "sensitive", than they truly are.

On its surface, this seems like exactly the kind of fatalism that Teruko has held throughout most of her life. However, the next lines actually recontextualize these statements in quite an important way.

Let's let the flowers bloom until the end From the cradle to the grave, there's not enough love! Impatient guests, in a hurry Everyone is wearing the same face

This reveals that the singer actually wants things to get better, "flowers to bloom until the end." Although discontent with the current state of the world, with all these people who have lost their identity ("wearing the same face") due to "being in a hurry" (which you can interpret in a few different ways but it's not all that important for us), they seem to believe there are ways to improve it. And this idea that the singer wishes to go against society and make a better world for themselves is immediately tied to Teruko in the next line.

"You have no manners"

(The color's not actually in the MV just to be clear lol)

So first, sick animation. DRDTDev is awesome.

Anyways, there's the connection. For all that Teruko in current canon doesn't particularly believe her life can get better, she's certainly someone who goes against what is expected of her, here represented by dropping her cutlery and eating with her mouth. That's because Teruko doesn't think acting the way others act is going to help her, so she does her own thing. For example, pushing everyone away after the first trial, when others would want her to be more approachable. And with this idea, we reach Teruko's side of the table.

Now, gather around the pure white table

"The pure white table" is an ironic statement. Remember, the table represents life, so pretending it's "pure white" would imply it's simple and orderly, which the singer obviously doesn't believe. To amplify the irony, the statement is contrasted by the image of Teruko spilling blood all over the "pure white table." The statement is pretty clear: Teruko is a challenge to the orderly nature of society. Not only because she's a disruptive person herself, but because her life of misfortune is in itself a challenge to the idea that everything's perfect and okay, the mask that the other people mentioned before in the song wear.

Dance on spinning dishes, oh no

I actually quite like this line. The imagery of dishes is obviously connected to the table, which represents life, but spinning dishes in particular is a circus trick. Literally calling the world a circus, lmao. And asking you to dance on the dishes once again invites images of disorder and going against expectations.

We've forgotten the right way to breathe

AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!!!

Indeed, our favorite mystery girl (and birthday girl!), Mai Akasaki, makes an appearance. Unlike Teruko, Mai's eating with her cutlery, the way society would want her to. And this isn't exactly the first time we've seen Mai be contrasted with Teruko in this kind of vibe, remember?

In the LGI MV, Teruko is described as "someone dearly unloved", while Mai is "someone dearly loved." If you know anything about Mai, you know the idea that she's perfect by all standards, including societal ones, isn't exactly new.

However, it's worth noting that this is only a first impression. We'll see Mai dancing on the table later, and based on that and the whole "document" situation with Xander and Unnamed Classmate in Visiting Graves, we know Mai's perfectly fine with going against the grain and doing what she believes is right, despite what society may think. That said, unlike Teruko, her existence isn't actually a threat to the status quo, as she's:

[Mai Quote - Min]: An average girl with nothing special at all about her.

It's worth noting, though, she seems to be eating flowers instead of food. This can be an early indication of her more rebellious leanings (you eat food, not flowers), but I think it could be meant to serve as further contrast with Teruko. Remember how the foods could represent life experiences? Well, "eating flowers" in that sense could mean that Mai actually had a pretty pleasant life, which is entirely possible as, again, ordinary girl. We know from Charles' Mai quote that she loves her family, from Whit's that she has many friends, and from Visiting Graves that she doesn't have money issues. She could certainly have other issues, mind you, but right now we don't have much indication of it.

Oh also the lyric. "We've forgotten the right way to breathe" is just another way the singer has of expressing dissatisfaction with how others act. It seems like it's explicitly ambiguous whether Mai is one of the people who've forgotten the right way to breathe, or one of the people who hold the singer's opinion, playing into the dichotomy of how Mai is first presented here (eating properly) and how she dances on the table later. By the way, the word "we" actually appears and disappears before Mai shows up on screen, while the camera is still in the middle, so take that as you will.

It's all over once we drown What a luxurious dining table!

To quickly cover the lyrics, "drowning" I imagine is an allegory for death. Remember how the singer was upset others "lived in a hurry"? Yeah that. And the "luxurious" dining table thing is once again sarcastic.

You might have been wondering if I was ever going to talk about the things on the table, and don't worry, I am about to, I was just waiting for this wide shot. In general, I think most of what's on it is decorative, as I struggle to find any metaphors hidden in most of the food. The 12 colored biscuits next to Mai may be representative of the 12 members of the cast who are still alive in the killing game, maybe, but I don't think some of the colors match all that well (where does yellow go? why do we have so little blue?). Could also be the altDRDT cast + mascot, as pointed out by accirax. I don't think it's too important to know what this is, so I'll leave it open-ended.

The candles are a point of interest to me, though. The one on Mai's side is taller, but further from her, while the one on Teruko's side is smaller, but closer to her. There are like a billion ways you can interpret that, but I'm gonna choose to think of them as the two girls' "warmth", if that makes sense. Teruko is keeping it closer to herself, not as willing to open up, and the candle's shorter, so she has less warmth to give. Conversely, Mai is more willing to give Teruko her "warmth", as she's a really nice person from what we know, and that warmth is very intense judging from the length of the candle. Works well enough for me.

Finally, the most important part of the table, the cake. Obviously the centerpiece, it has both flowers and a red liquid, which I assume we're meant to see as blood. Notably, the side facing Teruko has the blood on top and the flowers below, possibly representing the way Teruko, at least in CH2, shows off her harsher side to the world while hiding more delicate and complicated feelings. Meanwhile, Mai's side has the blood being covered by the flowers, as if implying that Mai's kindness and love hide a fiercer soul underneath. Given the whole "she was probably staging some kind of revolution against Hope's Peak with Xander based on Visiting Graves" thing, I'd say that's a pretty accurate description of her character. Not to say she's intentionally hiding an evil side or anything, just that her real feelings are more complicated than what her seemingly perfect exterior suggest.

I haven't talked about the flowers because they're drawn the same as the flowers on Mai's tattoo, the Bonus Episode text boxes, and the "flowers of an unknown species" of the LGI MV. If you know the common interpretations, you'll know the two popular options for what they are is white camellias or white mai flowers. White camellias represent purity and honor like other white flowers, though they also specifically represent adoration and respect and are popular funeral flowers in Japan; while Mai flowers represent "prosperity, happiness in the new year, as well as resilience against storms and challenges", and the yellow variation of the flowers is connected to a legend about a girl who died protecting her father and village from a snake monster. Oh yeah Mai's probably dead by the time the killing game starts. 'Cuz, you know.

See that arrow pointing to Mai's portrait when her numeral XI shows up alongside the word God?

Yeah it's not very subtle. Mai's God, Mai's dead. There are other interpretations for this, mind you, but there's also other reasons to believe she's dead, so.

Trash is trash, trash will act like trash Fools are fools, fools will act like fools That's the ironclad rule of society And there's no room to complain

You get the lyrics by now, right? I don't have to point out that this is once again talking about rigid societal rules and expectations? Good!

Everyone everywhere is a nuisance The noisy crowd from earlier

For now, let's dance in the palm of their hands

Yay more pretty animation! :D

Here, the singer once again insults society at large, but also says that "for now, let's dance in the palm of their hands." As in, they're not fully ready to complete go against society yet, and will engage with its expectations for a while longer.

However, we're actually left with a pretty important question: what the fuck is the apple? Apples are usually representative of the “forbidden fruit”, a temptation or desire which goes against what is accepted. So, perhaps Mai is doing as the lyric on screen says; by discarding the apple, she’s discarding that which is forbidden by society and “dancing in the palm of their hand.”

That’s certainly an understandable interpretation, but I don’t find it fully convincing, because it just… doesn’t fit Mai.

[Mai Quote - Xander]: She couldn’t stand to do nothing.

Not only because of the whole “rebelling against Hope’s Peak” thing, but because later in this very MV, she’s seen dancing on the table with Teruko, going against societal expectations.

Additionally, it doesn’t explain what giving the apple to the dog would represent. Dogs can’t go against human societal norms, as far as I know. So, that’s another point that would need to be explained in that interpretation.

But maybe the doggy can help us? Maybe we can get to another interpretation through it, because I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before-

Oh for the love of- Can this stop being the most plot relevant execution of all time???????? I don't want to think about it anymore!!!!!! /silly

Yes, the presence of a black dog/wolf is an explicit callback to Min’s execution. This would draw a connection between the apple and Min. On the surface, there are a few other ways we can connect them, as apples have a lot of associations with a bunch of things. In pop culture, apples are a common gift students give their teachers, and Min is a Student who wished to be a teacher. Allow me to ignore that this could also connect to the About Page Text and altDRDT Teacher real quick, since this connection is very minor and very cherry picked and only works because of the dog that doesn’t have ties to those two things.

However, it does bring even more issues with the interpretation I previously mentioned. Because, to put it bluntly, Min is the exact opposite of going against societal norms. Her recap foil is the Rebel, she’s under the orders of XF-Ture Tech, you know the drill.

Is it possible, then, that the meaning of the apple is the opposite as well? That eating the apple represents accepting society’s rules? It may seem weird with the associations to forbidden-ness I mentioned earlier, but if you go back and look at the Lone Apple scenes again, this idea gets a bit stronger.

The apple is full when the singer talks about the ironclad rules of society, as if implying that the apple is the ironclad rule. Then, right before we hear the singer talk about dancing in the palm of the hand of the “noisy crowd”, the apple is seen eaten, as if eating it is directly connected to dancing in their palm and following the rules. This would be consistent with the apple’s connection to Min, as Min herself is representative of following societal expectations as discussed earlier.

But then, why would it be “forbidden”? Well, I propose that we’ve been thinking about it wrong. The apple isn’t forbidden from society’s perspective, but from Teruko’s perspective.

Theory: An “Unfortunate” Point of View

The idea is that the MV doesn’t show things from a neutral perspective, but rather, from Teruko’s perspective, specifically. I’ll discuss why I believe this in more detail in a bit, but for now, I’ll ask you to bear with me.

This is the final piece of the puzzle for my take on the apple. Since the world has been unkind to Teruko, playing along with the rules of the world would make you an enemy in her eyes. She has been opposed to them from the very start of this MV, after all. Thus, the act of accepting the “ironclad rules”, eating the apple and “dancing in the noisy crowd’s palm”, would be seen by Teruko as eating a forbidden fruit. Therefore, the MV presents it as such, since I believe it’s shown from her perspective.

However, Mai discards the apple, which in this case is consistent with her dancing on the table later. She’s forgoing society’s rules and “throwing them to the wolves.”

Am I cooking? Am I burning down the kitchen? I have no idea! But that’s what makes it fun! This whole thing is obviously very up to interpretation, and there’s not really such a thing as a right or wrong one, really. I’m very open to hearing other interpretations on this thing.

Btw while we’re here, the wolf thing could also be connected to Elliot’s death, since he likely got killed by dogs as well (long story). In that case, the apple could represent knowledge, as in, the “forbidden” knowledge of Elliot’s existence and death. But… that’s kinda really disconnected from the rest of the MV and I don’t know how to relate it to the other lines the apple is seen alongside. So, throwing it out there, but I don’t think there’s a connection there.

Finally, I don’t think Mai’s the mastermind. Yes, I know that her throwing something to a wolf could be an allegory to her executing Min. But as stated earlier, it’s likely she’s already dead, and it’s kinda hard to mastermind a killing game from beyond the grave. You could connect it, in a more roundabout way, to theories that Mai’s death caused the killing game, but I don’t think it can really go further than that.

Gather around the pure white table Dance on spinning dishes, oh no We've forgotten the right way to breathe Let’s continue until we drown

Same lyrics as before, except for the change of “let’s continue until we drown.” It fits with Teruko lying on the table, not really doing anything. See, I believe this moment represents one where Teruko has given up on actively fighting, and is just deciding to go along with the flawed society she lives in. If I compared her eating with her hands earlier with her attitude at the start of CH2, this could be compared to her attitude when MonoTV told her she’d get executed but before Levi jumped in. That is, resigned and just letting things happen. This bouncing between harsh and “socially condemned” methods of self-preservation and resignation to her fate is a common thing for Teruko, I find.

Go ahead, enjoy the sour and sweet as you please Forever uncertain, I’ve held onto this poison Let it make my cells dance With those sharp-edged words! Our pain, we couldn’t choose any of it Look, it’s spinning round and round On the dining table of “life”

Yeah remember that thing about Teruko resigning herself to her fate and bad luck? “Our pain, we couldn’t choose any of it” is pretty in line with that. Teruko’s just accepted that bad things will happen, the world’s terrible and her existence is suffering. Hence, “enjoy the sour and sweet as you please” while she’s lying on the table; she’s a meal ready to be consumed by those who hurt her at their whims.

And who do I mean by “those who hurt her”? Well, if you didn’t catch it, the type of knife and its placement is a clear echo of Xander stabbing Teruko. Now, judging by several of her statements through the series, Xander isn’t the only person who’s ever hurt her, but he does work as a stand-in. Someone Teruko trusted has stabbed her in the… I’d say back but it was really the stomach, and she thinks this is what will always happen if she opens herself to hoping things will be better. She wants to, to some extent (“forever uncertain”), but she knows it will still hurt her eventually (the poison “making her cells dance”).

Well, except.

Here Mai is, pointing a knife away from Teruko. Defending her, possibly. This is the same knife she held at the start, the one which seemed to suggest Mai was playing by the rules of society. Except, she’s now taken those things, and is now using it to point at whoever may want to “eat” Teruko. That could represent a couple of things, but the most straightforward idea for me is that several of the things that make Mai a standup member of society are also just good traits for a friendship, such as her kindness and compassion.

Now, the next section has a lot of repeated images, so I’m just going to describe what shows up with each lyric.

[Mai pointing knife from uninjured Teruko] Now, gather around the pure white table Dance on spinning dishes, oh no [Teruko stabbed, alone] We’ve forgotten the right way to breathe [Mai holding knife, Teruko hidden] It’s all over once we drown (What luxurious dining table!)

(Btw you can know if Teruko is injured or not by facial expression, if you were wondering how I could tell)

Chorus, we know the lyrics. However, I’d like to point out that the line “we’ve forgotten the right way to breathe” is shown with Teruko injured and no Mai, possibly implying that being alone is “the wrong way to breathe” as it gets Teruko injured. That’s my favorite interpretation for that, anyways. Also ominous showing Mai front and center when talking about drowning as an allegory for death, but frankly? This is the first “dead” allegation she’s caught this entire video, and seeing how she managed to catch, like, three in the two seconds her numeral shows up in LGI alone, I’m actually quite proud of her! She may not be beating the allegations, but at least she's not getting one per scene!

Now, play a pure black elegy Let’s dance on the palm of your hand, oh no How does it feel to be devoured by the prey you once mocked?

Let’s start by focusing on what’s happening with Teruko in in the background, because it’s quite sweet. Not only does she start smiling and crying in joy, her stomach is covered in Mai’s signature flowers. This is pretty clear; Mai’s kindness has “fixed” the injuries other people had caused Teruko, her flowers covering up the Xander related injury that serves as a stand-in for all the betrayals Teruko’s endured over the years.

Admittedly, such heartwarming visuals are a bit of a contrast to the line “play a pure black elegy”, which if you don’t know is a “poem of serious reflection, usually a lament for the dead”, and the whole “devoured by the prey you once mocked” thing. However, that’s presumably because Mai is still very much holding a knife up to someone, so we can get away with some darker stuff.

I choose to interpret these lines as these two effectively talking to the status quo of Teruko’s life, if that makes sense. With Mai’s help, Teruko’s finally regained the courage to fight against her fate and stand up again, looking to “devour” the vague enemy of her luck whom she was always the prey to. The elegy, then, is aimed at this vague enemy, who they seek to defeat and “kill.” Does that make sense?

And this is the final link I need to explain my aforementioned “this MV is from Teruko’s perspective” theory. Because, you see, I believe this entire MV shows a story, and there’s an arc about Mai and Teruko’s friendship which can be followed. I believe this MV represents the process of Teruko befriending Mai, from Teruko’s perspective.

Think about it. It starts with Teruko and Mai literally opposed to one another, and Mai effectively being shown as one of the people who “wears the same face” as the others, given she’s following proper table manners. She’s nothing special, just someone else who will betray Teruko eventually, hence Teruko’s almost angry expression on that table. Someone who will bite that “forbidden fruit” that is the ironclad rule of the world. Trash will be trash, fools will be fools, and Teruko will be unlucky and get betrayed.

But then, Mai rejects the apple. And when she grabs the knife again, she points it away from Teruko, even when Teruko was lying on the table and ready to get hurt again. This is also, by the way, the first time Mai opens her eyes in the MV; the first time Teruko and her see eye to eye (per se). Because Mai always trusted Teruko, always wanted to be her friend, and only now is that good faith being returned. Well, I assume she never had any bad intentions, anyways.

Look, from how Mai is usually presented, she may as well be perfect in my books. If I catch her burning an orphanage, I’d probably assume the orphans deserved it. This is hyperbole, of course, but only barely.

And so, Mai has officially broken through Teruko’s bad luck and allowed her to “devour” that horrid fate which had always been pushing her down, allowing them to finally dance together in the end, smiling all the while.

Now, obviously, this makes 15000 assumptions as to how Mai and Teruko actually met, what their relationship was like, etc. There are a million things I may have just gotten horribly wrong. But as always, we know too little about Mai to make any good theories without a lot of assumptions. And with the little we do know, this interpretation makes sense in my mind, so it’s the one I’m currently going with!

Go ahead, enjoy the sour and sweet as you please Forever certain, we’ve been waiting for love Let these cells dance With that completely decayed mind! Nothing will be taken from us Our pain and everything is spinning On the dining table of “life” What a luxurious fool’s table!

Look, by this point, you’ve heard what this scene is all about. Mai and Teruko finally both throw away the rules of society and dance upon the table together, not caring what they destroy or messy up in the process. They’re more certain now, because they’ve found the love they were looking for, and feel like nothing will go wrong because “nothing will be taken from us.” The pain’s still there, but they’ll face it together! What a wonderfully hopeful ending! Ignore that Mai's probably dead please.

And since this part’s pretty easy, it gives me time to appreciate the yuri!

You see, this may be something I’ve only ever brought up once, but Teru-Min-Mai is my favorite DRDT ship, and it has been for a while. And while I can’t find any excuse to talk about Min for longer than I already have (a tragedy, I know), I can spare some time to spread the Terumai side of the Agenda, at least! I’ve seen a few people start thinking about shipping it too because of this MV, so let me make a sales pitch. Ehem.

-Opposing themes: You’ve heard of the “dearly unloved” and “dearly loved” thing from the portraits, but did you know red and green are complimentary colors?

-Looking for each other: I mean, just look at what can show up on Mai’s page.

[Mai Quote - Teruko]: Some years ago, she was searching for someone named 'Teruko Tawaki.'

Come on. Why’re you so interested in looking for her if not to kiss her on the lips?

-Matching phone charms: We see that Teruko’s monopad has a phone charm in 2-1, which she shares with Unnamed Classmate. Btw, Mai’s profile states she likes phone charms :)

-Matching tattoos?: Mai’s iconic flower tattoo is on her left arm, and Teruko’s left arm has always been conspicuously hidden from us. But from the jacket off reference, it seems there is something important there. And from the only time we’ve ever had even a glimpse of it, it seems like she may be hiding the same tattoo as Mai.

-Dream sequences: Teruko literally dreams of Mai in her 1-6 dream sequence. And her dialogue there couldn’t hold more fondness if it tried.

It's strange I would remember her now, of all times. What was her name again? It's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't remember. Xander always reminded me of that girl. Perhaps that's why I'm thinking about her now. They looked similar, with that same red hair and smile. And... they both wanted to help, didn't they?

-Teruko’s favorite color is red “by association”: Considering Xander stabbed her, I think the association comes from someone else. Imagine loving someone so much they change your favorite color wow.

-Apocalyptic levels of doomed: We’re DRDT fans, we enjoy our yuri when it’s doomed. And the second anniversary art makes the doomed-ness pretty clear.

(I have to remake this collage there's like three pixels on it total lol)

The code translates to “It’s all your fault.” Combined with Mai likely being dead, you can put two and two together that Teruko might blame herself for Mai's demise, or at least she would if she had all her memories. This is doomed as can be.

-This entire MV: Like come on.

Anyways, ship Terumai. Or don’t, I really don’t care about shipping much and you can do what you want forever. This is just so newer fans aren’t hopelessly confused on why these two are together in this MV and seem to be about two seconds from proposing to each other; the basis for them being really good friends, if nothing else, has always been there.

Anyways, the video ends with a curtain closing, because we’ve been interpreting life as a stage to dance upon, so it’s a natural way to close things out. If you wanted a sadder reading, you could take the idea that Teruko ends up seeing her relationship with Mai as a play, an act that would always end eventually, because it was too good to last when taking her luck into account. The yuri is even more doomed than we expected, I fear.

And that should be it! What a wonderful MV this was! It’s nice to really get insight into what Teruko and Mai’s relationship looked like, sort of, and I know I’ll personally savor some of these frames forever. Loved it. Happy 5th anniversary everyone, and happy birthday Mai! Thanks for reading! See ya’!

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #teruko tawaki #mai akasaki #fools table mv #drdt analysis

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bigskydreaming · 8 months ago

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Imagine looking at a character whose entire premise is that in every stage of his life, he's made every version of himself into someone that inspires people to such a degree that EVERY SINGLE VERSION OF HIM has people wanting to literally follow in his footsteps in some way or another.....

And coming to the conclusion that like.....the most important things about him are the sum of all his trappings. His entirely homemade developed from scratch could not exist if not for what he already was and brought with him BEFORE crafting this newest version of himself trappings, with his greatest trait throughout all of it being his adaptability; his ability and willingness to roll with the punches and not try to simply weather any opposition or changes to his life but instead reshape himself as needed to better fit INTO whatever new shape his life and the world around him takes. All while managing to carry the most innate, fundamental and necessary aspects of himself from one version to the next. Thus every single version of himself is different but simultaneously every single version of himself is also undeniably the same person.

The strength of this character, to me, will always be that he can be so many versions of himself, he can become so many things, all without ever actually losing or discarding any of the aspects of himself he considers most essential, the things he's not willing to lose or give up just to keep going. Finding that road not taken by most, usually because most never even think to look for it as an option. But one that he's always able to find because the one trick he's mastered in his tumultuous life is threading that needle of not just digging in his heels in an unproductive way but rather being selective about when and where he makes a stand and decides "this is not a thing I'm willing to compromise about" but here are places and ways I can and will change and evolve and adapt in order to make it possible for me to hold onto these parts and keep them as they are.

And that's why its always so mind-boggling to me that so many writers can't seem to think of anything else to do with Dick Grayson other than invent some new reason for him to just....not be that person, or to like just take the character whose most basic fundamental trait he's NOT about to compromise on is willingly giving up his spot in the driver's seat of his own life.....and make him just a passenger in his own life and stories.

Dick Grayson at age nine....at age nineteen...at age twenty nine....the one core thread running through all versions of him is the only way he's standing back and letting you call the shots for him or putting him on the sidelines in some way is over his dead body.

HOW he goes about that, what that looks like, who he becomes and what aspects of himself he plays up at some times and what traits he lets fall by the wayside at other times when they offer less in service to his primary goal here....that changes constantly. He changes constantly.

But those changes are almost always (or at least they used to be/should be IN MY OPINION) made with the intention of keeping certain things about him or his life as consistent as possible.

That's the duality of Dick Grayson that I'm here for. The inherent contradiction of him that COULD allow for endless conflict and breaking new narrative ground in all sorts of ways if mined properly:

His eternal willingness to compromise....but only ever in pursuit of doubling down on the ways he's not willing to compromise.

Forever walking that tightrope in ways that only a kid born and raised in a circus could ever hope to.

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muttcvnt · 10 months ago

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responsible owners that want the best for their pets always make sure their dog gets her checkups on time. to preserve our ability to do so, consider letting the vets of tomorrow sit in on her exams. hell, you know her better than anybody; why don’t you teach them yourself?

invite them over, remind them to bring their clipboards. make sure she’s stripped down and sitting pretty like a good dog when they arrive. muzzle her if you’re worried she may be nippy; it’s a small precaution that could prevent a nasty bite when she finds an unfamiliar pair of hands prodding at her. keep the room cool but not cold, just enough to keep her from growing sluggish and throwing off her results.

be mindful of her temperament. an overlooked part of health and wellness is how well socialized your pet is. make sure she looks your guests in the face and doesn’t shrink away when they get close. don’t allow her to hide any part of herself - if she closes or crosses her legs, guide them back into a spread position. if she tries to cover up her chest, take similar measures.

bring them forward one by one as the others take notes. guide their hands; run them down her spine to make sure it’s nice and straight, have them palpate her ribs, her thighs, her tits. make sure her sweet, dumb animal eyes are bright and clear. hand one student a stethoscope to listen to her heart. have them take note of how her pulse starts to race when you take her balls in your hand, how it goes even faster when the anticipated squeeze is actually delivered. test her reflexes; you never have guests over without her shock collar at the ready to assure her best behavior. deliver a jolt and watch her muscles tense with no delay at all, perfectly healthy. retest this one several times to be absolutely certain.

she should be used to the presence of her visitors now, so the muzzle can come off. open up her jaws and call yet another student over to examine her teeth. run gloved fingers over them, assuring they are smooth exactly where they are meant to be smooth, sharp exactly where they are meant to be sharp. take note of the color. another reflex test can’t hurt at this stage. press your fingers back into her throat, measuring how deep you can push before she seizes up and gags. ask your audience to take notes on the quality of the spit she produces. get a hand between her legs and check up on her erectile function - can she get fully hard? if so, how long does it take? does she get wet, and if so, how wet? an alert and responsive puppy is a healthy puppy, does she whine and buck her hips when you play with her? does she shiver when you drag your fingers up and down her back? is her skin well hydrated and stretchy? how many fingers can she take before you have to put in serious work to fit another?

run through her full wellness exam, and then invite the students to ask questions. let them get invasive, she’s your dog after all (NOTE: this portion is best performed simultaneously with the previous few tests; your dog will be more likely to answer readily and honestly with fingers in her hole or a hand on her cock) let them ask about her height and weight, how she likes to touch herself, where she got all those highly suspect bruises from. to wrap up her appointment, prepare her shot and talk the group through its proper administration.

thank your guests for showing up ready and eager to learn, send them home, and then fuck your puppy stupid for behaving for her exam. if you were especially impressed with her behavior, I recommend allowing her a night outside her kennel, curled up at the foot of your bed.

#nsft puppy #t4t nsft #t4t puppy #petpl4y #medfet #mtf sub #transfem sub #growling #humiliation kink #t4t #or more practically; get three to eight other doms in the same room to stare and prod at your naked and shaking puppysub

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shakingparadigm · 10 months ago

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what is the theory that ivan manipulated the event where till and mizi met the wagyein?

It's not a theory, actually! It's confirmed that Ivan orchestrated the whole event. The true reason as to why however is still unknown. The information provides more context to this scene, though:

During the earlier times of ALNST the most rational explanation for this scene was that Till ran after a flower crown (presumably Mizi's) and Ivan followed him in out of curiosity. Now we know that Ivan was conveniently just standing there because he was waiting.

Side note, I find it heartbreaking (and maybe a little funny, sorry) that Till most likely didn't notice Ivan in this scene. That's just like him, isn't it. Always too busy running after Mizi while Ivan trails behind, an ever-present shadow.

I'm not sure how Ivan manipulated the circumstances for both of them to end up there, but it is confirmed that everything was intentional. What strikes me most is how they describe this particular scene:

I can't copy down what they said word-for-word (Patreon info), but they described Ivan watching "creepily" as Till and Mizi are faced with danger. We know that Ivan was familiar with the Cerberus wagyein beforehand, enough to touch its teeth and even to rest himself inside its maw. To Ivan, the wagyein is not dangerous, but to Till and Mizi, it could be. Ivan prepared the wagyein, led them there, and watched "creepily" from afar as Till fell on his knees, seemingly injured.

The closest I can get to making sense of Ivan's "scheme" is that he wanted to see how other children would react in a dangerous situation. Ivan's always been an observer, after all, and he's learned to survive by copying the more "normal" behaviors of his peers. This situation occured when Ivan was still young and had not yet developed his more charming mask, so perhaps he staged this encounter to study a situational response, to learn and mimic the emotion of fear. And what better subjects for the experiment than two of the most expressive and reactive humans of their batch? It helps that he was already fixated on Till beforehand, too. I think Ivan became irreversibly obssessed after this incident, especially since it's framed as a turning point in Ivan's life, comparing Till to the stars.

This is just my attempt at an interpretation, though. It could very well be for another reason. He most likely chose Till and Mizi specifically for personal reasons, not just for reaction. I'm still not sure on the purpose behind the whole thing.

The team wanted to capture Ivan's "dark emotions" through the shot of his stalking, which could relate to his more sinister intentions. His gaze can be read in a few different ways, though. Curiosity, interest, fear, etc. Maybe that's why they decided to redraw the shot in ROUND 6.

I think this better sells the feeling they were trying to convey.

#ivan u fucked up little guy.#also okay i just wanna clear this up #i know i make a lot of posts about ivans darker side and his more problematic traits #but this isn't me trying to villainize him or reduce him down to “toxic yaoi”#I HOPE YOU GUYS KNOW ALL MY TOXIC YAOI POSTS ARE LIGHTHEARTED.#i just want to clarify that ivan was always intended to be a darker and complicated character. even since his debut in round 3 #the way i refer to ivan (“twisted” “creepy” “obssessive” etc) are literally the direct words used by q and v themselves to describe him #but despite that id like to emphasize that i don't see ivan as a villain or a completely bad person. hes complicated #there is no normalcy in this world they are living in. none of the characters know what being truly normal is #this isn't me condoning his actions #but it has to be acknowledged that alnst is fucked up in nature. we can't expect perfect relationships from people who are born to die #plus ivan has a lot more layers past the “dark” parts. he's constantly battling himself and his desires #especially at the end of round 6 where he performs a myriad of conflicting actions (kiss strangle peck smile)#thanks to the r6 production notes we now know that ivan was going through a rapid internal conflict #“sure and unsure at the same time”#there is sooo much to ivan. his low self-esteem. his desire and possessiveness despite knowing till will never love him #his VEHEMENT insistence that till will never love him vs his desperate persistence in trying anyway #uh i need to shut up i think #anyways sorry. just wanted to clarify my thoughts on him in case people think im. yk.#in short. hes a fucked up little freak and he fascinates me. this poor tragic child. i love him.#SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY #alnst #alien stage #alien stage ivan #alnst ivan #asks

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empress-of-time1109 · 27 days ago

Text

Track VI. The Phantom, the Devil, and the Red-Haired Menace[Dazai x Chuuya x reader] [requested]

Dazai Osamu was many things—a suicidal maniac, a flirtatious nuisance, and a headache wrapped in a trench coat—but a fool, he was not. And yet, here he was, six months into a game of cat and mouse with a ghost who barely left footprints.

“Again?!” Chuuya snarled, slamming the latest report onto Dazai’s desk. The impact sent his untouched coffee wobbling, but not enough to spill. A pity.

Dazai laced his fingers together, smirking as if he hadn’t just been handed a document detailing yet another failure. “Ah, Chuuya, my dear, do you ever stop to consider that maybe—just maybe—you’re the problem?”

Chuuya twitched. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, but I must. It’s my calling, my burden.” Dazai gestured dramatically before picking up the report. “The Phantom strikes again, vanishing into the night like an overpaid stage magician. Honestly, it’s almost impressive—”

“They’re doing it on purpose,” Chuuya cut in, voice dripping with barely contained irritation.

Dazai’s smirk widened. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

Chuuya slammed a separate piece of paper in front of him. It was a hastily scrawled note, its ink still fresh, its contents obnoxiously familiar.

‘Better luck next time, Osamu. Try keeping up.’

Dazai’s brows lifted. “Oh, now that is rude.”

“Rude?” Chuuya scoffed. “Rude was last month when they left you a bouquet with a ‘Get Well Soon’ card after you got shot. Rude was when they stole my hat off my head mid-fight! This—this is straight up mockery!”

Dazai tilted his head. “Well, to be fair, I did get shot—”

“That’s not the point!”

It was the point. It was also the fact that no matter how many traps they set, how many times they closed in, the Phantom always slithered away. Not even Mori himself could find them, and that was saying something.

Which meant they were smart. Too smart.

And that—of course—meant Dazai had to know them.

He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Chuuya, my dearest partner in crime—”

“I will break your legs.”

“—I have a hunch.”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “If it’s another one of your ‘let’s do absolutely nothing until they come to us’ plans, I swear—”

“No, no, this one’s different.”

It wasn’t.

But Chuuya didn’t need to know that.

Meanwhile, the Phantom had a new problem.

A job. A big one.

And it was going to be a pain in the ass.

(Y/N) flipped the contract between their fingers, eyeing the reward with disinterest.

Get rid of both Dazai and Chuuya, was it? Simple on paper, if one ignored the part where they were essentially unkillable, impossible to track, and more stubborn than roaches.

Still, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice.

“You’re actually taking it?” came the dry voice of their informant, who had long since given up trying to predict their actions.

(Y/N) hummed, tucking the paper away. “What can I say? I love a challenge.”

Their informant gave them a deadpan look. “You love making their lives miserable.”

“That too.”

A job was a job, but (Y/N) had their own priorities.

There was a reason they couldn’t just up and leave this city, why they kept taking these jobs. A sick brother didn’t pay for his own treatments.

And when it came down to it—no matter how amusing Dazai was, no matter how easy it was to needle Chuuya—they would finish the job.

They had to.

It went wrong.

Spectacularly, cartoonishly wrong.

One moment, (Y/N) was flipping over rooftops with the kind of elegance that made the Port Mafia’s security look like amateurs, and the next—

“Gotcha.”

A hand closed around their wrist.

Dazai.

(Y/N) twisted, knee aimed for his ribs, but Chuuya was already there, blocking their escape route.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dazai grinned, a cat with its claws already hooked into its prey. “Miss me?”

(Y/N) glared. “Like a rash.”

They swung their other hand, something sharp gleaming between their fingers, but Dazai caught it effortlessly, eyes dancing.

“Nuh-uh,” he sang. “None of that.”

A flicker of movement. Chuuya’s coat rippled.

(Y/N) ducked.

Too slow.

Pain slammed into them, a fist to their stomach, an arm locking theirs behind their back. Chuuya yanked them forward with unnecessary force, his scowl practically tattooed onto his face.

“Done running?” he asked.

(Y/N) grinned, breathless. “What can I say? I like a little cardio.”

Dazai hummed. “And here I thought you enjoyed the chase. I’m almost disappointed.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” (Y/N) leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a purr. “I’ll still haunt your dreams.”

Dazai chuckled. “Cute. Now, how about we have a little chat?”

They didn’t get the chance to refuse.

Interrogation was as expected.

Dazai talked.

Chuuya threatened.

(Y/N) said nothing.

Hours ticked by.

(Y/N) whistled.

Chuuya twitched.

Dazai offered snacks.

(Y/N) threw one at him.

It hit his forehead.

Chuuya laughed.

Dazai pouted.

It was a mess.

And yet—nothing.

Not a word.

Not until—

Not until (Y/N) tried to escape again.

Dazai had been expecting it. Chuuya hadn’t.

Which meant when (Y/N) darted for the window, Chuuya reacted on instinct.

A blur. A shift.

Corruption.

And suddenly, (Y/N) was on the ground, coughing, gasping—

Pain.

Real pain.

Not the kind that bruised or cut, but the kind that unmade.

Their body screamed.

Their mind faltered.

And then—

Then they broke.

The words slipped out.

A name. A reason.

Everything.

And just like that, the game was over.

Silence.

(Y/N) sat, arms bound, eyes fixed on the floor.

Dazai leaned against the table, watching them carefully.

Chuuya had left. He wasn’t good with guilt.

Dazai sighed. “You should’ve said something.”

(Y/N) didn’t respond.

A pause.

Then—

“What’s his name?”

(Y/N) flinched.

Dazai tilted his head. “Your brother.”

Nothing.

Dazai exhaled. “You think silence is strength. That if you don’t say it out loud, it won’t feel real.”

(Y/N)’s fingers clenched.

Dazai softened. “It doesn’t work like that.”

More silence.

Then, finally—

A whisper.

A name.

Dazai nodded.

A deal was made.

Work for them.

Get paid.

Get the money needed.

Simple.

Or, at least, it should have been.

(Y/N) stared at their new contract.

Chuuya scowled. “I don’t like this.”

Dazai grinned. “That’s because you don’t like anything fun.”

“Fun?” (Y/N) echoed dryly. “I’m being recruited by the same people I was supposed to assassinate. You call that fun?”

Dazai shrugged. “It’s poetic.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Chuuya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I already regret this.”

Dazai beamed. “Oh, you’ll get used to it.”

(Y/N) exhaled, staring at the contract a moment longer before picking up the pen.

For their brother.

For survival.

For whatever this ridiculous mess was about to become.

With a flourish, they signed.

Dazai clapped.

Chuuya groaned.

(Y/N) smirked.

The game had changed.

But oh, how it was just beginning.

Lupin’s bar was still humming with laughter and the clinking of glasses when (Y/N) slipped out the back door, hands shoved deep into their pockets. The night air was sharp, cutting through the remnants of warmth clinging to their skin. A job well done. Another step toward their goal.

And yet—

The weight in their chest didn’t ease.

They exhaled, their breath curling like ghostly wisps in the moonlight, before vanishing into the city’s embrace.

Back inside, Chuuya watched them leave, eyes dark with something unreadable. He didn’t say anything at first—just swirled his whiskey, watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass. Then, finally, he broke the silence.

“You really are the devil, Dazai.”

Dazai—lounging as if he hadn’t just orchestrated another grand tragedy—tilted his head, expression all easy amusement. “Oh? What did I do this time?”

Chuuya scoffed. “You know exactly what you did.”

Dazai hummed, swirling the ice in his own glass. “But do you?”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

“You roped them into the Port Mafia,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Just like you roped me in.”

Dazai’s smile didn’t waver, but there was something sharper behind his eyes. “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Chuuya’s grip on his glass tightened. “No, what’s dramatic is how you dragged them into your mess and made me help.”

That made Dazai’s smile widen. “Made you help?” He tsked, shaking his head. “Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya—always so quick to blame me. You were the one who activated Corruption, weren’t you?”

The ice in Chuuya’s glass cracked.

Dazai leaned closer, voice barely above a murmur. “Face it—you wanted them to talk just as much as I did.”

Chuuya exhaled sharply, pushing his drink away. “Yeah? And now what, huh? We put them on a leash? Watch them like a damn pet?”

Dazai tilted his head, considering. “I suppose we could get them a collar—”

Chuuya nearly threw his glass at him.

Dazai laughed, the kind of laugh that said he had already won.

“Again?!” Chuuya snarled, slamming the latest report onto Dazai’s desk. The impact sent his untouched coffee wobbling, but not enough to spill. A pity.

Chuuya twitched. “Don’t start.”

“They’re doing it on purpose,” Chuuya cut in, voice dripping with barely contained irritation.

Dazai’s smirk widened. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

Chuuya slammed a separate piece of paper in front of him. It was a hastily scrawled note, its ink still fresh, its contents obnoxiously familiar.

‘Better luck next time, Osamu. Try keeping up.’

Dazai’s brows lifted. “Oh, now that is rude.”

Dazai tilted his head. “Well, to be fair, I did get shot—”

“That’s not the point!”

Which meant they were smart. Too smart.

And that—of course—meant Dazai had to know them.

He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Chuuya, my dearest partner in crime—”

“I will break your legs.”

“—I have a hunch.”

Chuuya crossed his arms. “If it’s another one of your ‘let’s do absolutely nothing until they come to us’ plans, I swear—”

“No, no, this one’s different.”

It wasn’t.

But Chuuya didn’t need to know that.

Meanwhile, the Phantom had a new problem.

A job. A big one.

And it was going to be a pain in the ass.

(Y/N) flipped the contract between their fingers, eyeing the reward with disinterest.

Get rid of both Dazai and Chuuya, was it? Simple on paper, if one ignored the part where they were essentially unkillable, impossible to track, and more stubborn than roaches.

Still, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice.

“You’re actually taking it?” came the dry voice of their informant, who had long since given up trying to predict their actions.

(Y/N) hummed, tucking the paper away. “What can I say? I love a challenge.”

Their informant gave them a deadpan look. “You love making their lives miserable.”

“That too.”

A job was a job, but (Y/N) had their own priorities.

There was a reason they couldn’t just up and leave this city, why they kept taking these jobs. A sick brother didn’t pay for his own treatments.

And when it came down to it—no matter how amusing Dazai was, no matter how easy it was to needle Chuuya—they would finish the job.

They had to.

It went wrong.

Spectacularly, cartoonishly wrong.

One moment, (Y/N) was flipping over rooftops with the kind of elegance that made the Port Mafia’s security look like amateurs, and the next—

“Gotcha.”

A hand closed around their wrist.

Dazai.

(Y/N) twisted, knee aimed for his ribs, but Chuuya was already there, blocking their escape route.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dazai grinned, a cat with its claws already hooked into its prey. “Miss me?”

(Y/N) glared. “Like a rash.”

They swung their other hand, something sharp gleaming between their fingers, but Dazai caught it effortlessly, eyes dancing.

“Nuh-uh,” he sang. “None of that.”

A flicker of movement. Chuuya’s coat rippled.

(Y/N) ducked.

Too slow.

Pain slammed into them, a fist to their stomach, an arm locking theirs behind their back. Chuuya yanked them forward with unnecessary force, his scowl practically tattooed onto his face.

“Done running?” he asked.

(Y/N) grinned, breathless. “What can I say? I like a little cardio.”

Dazai hummed. “And here I thought you enjoyed the chase. I’m almost disappointed.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” (Y/N) leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a purr. “I’ll still haunt your dreams.”

Dazai chuckled. “Cute. Now, how about we have a little chat?”

They didn’t get the chance to refuse.

Interrogation was as expected.

Dazai talked.

Chuuya threatened.

(Y/N) said nothing.

Hours ticked by.

(Y/N) whistled.

Chuuya twitched.

Dazai offered snacks.

(Y/N) threw one at him.

It hit his forehead.

Chuuya laughed.

Dazai pouted.

It was a mess.

And yet—nothing.

Not a word.

Not until—

Not until (Y/N) tried to escape again.

Dazai had been expecting it. Chuuya hadn’t.

Which meant when (Y/N) darted for the window, Chuuya reacted on instinct.

A blur. A shift.

Corruption.

And suddenly, (Y/N) was on the ground, coughing, gasping—

Pain.

Real pain.

Not the kind that bruised or cut, but the kind that unmade.

Their body screamed.

Their mind faltered.

And then—

Then they broke.

The words slipped out.

A name. A reason.

Everything.

And just like that, the game was over.

Silence.

(Y/N) sat, arms bound, eyes fixed on the floor.

Dazai leaned against the table, watching them carefully.

Chuuya had left. He wasn’t good with guilt.

Dazai sighed. “You should’ve said something.”

(Y/N) didn’t respond.

A pause.

Then—

“What’s his name?”

(Y/N) flinched.

Dazai tilted his head. “Your brother.”

Nothing.

Dazai exhaled. “You think silence is strength. That if you don’t say it out loud, it won’t feel real.”

(Y/N)’s fingers clenched.

Dazai softened. “It doesn’t work like that.”

More silence.

Then, finally—

A whisper.

A name.

Dazai nodded.

A deal was made.

Work for them.

Get paid.

Get the money needed.

Simple.

Or, at least, it should have been.

(Y/N) stared at their new contract.

Chuuya scowled. “I don’t like this.”

Dazai grinned. “That’s because you don’t like anything fun.”

“Fun?” (Y/N) echoed dryly. “I’m being recruited by the same people I was supposed to assassinate. You call that fun?”

Dazai shrugged. “It’s poetic.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Chuuya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I already regret this.”

Dazai beamed. “Oh, you’ll get used to it.”

(Y/N) exhaled, staring at the contract a moment longer before picking up the pen.

For their brother.

For survival.

For whatever this ridiculous mess was about to become.

With a flourish, they signed.

Dazai clapped.

Chuuya groaned.

(Y/N) smirked.

The game had changed.

But oh, how it was just beginning.

And yet—

The weight in their chest didn’t ease.

They exhaled, their breath curling like ghostly wisps in the moonlight, before vanishing into the city’s embrace.

“You really are the devil, Dazai.”

Dazai—lounging as if he hadn’t just orchestrated another grand tragedy—tilted his head, expression all easy amusement. “Oh? What did I do this time?”

Chuuya scoffed. “You know exactly what you did.”

Dazai hummed, swirling the ice in his own glass. “But do you?”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

“You roped them into the Port Mafia,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Just like you roped me in.”

Dazai’s smile didn’t waver, but there was something sharper behind his eyes. “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Chuuya’s grip on his glass tightened. “No, what’s dramatic is how you dragged them into your mess and made me help.”

That made Dazai’s smile widen. “Made you help?” He tsked, shaking his head. “Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya—always so quick to blame me. You were the one who activated Corruption, weren’t you?”

The ice in Chuuya’s glass cracked.

Dazai leaned closer, voice barely above a murmur. “Face it—you wanted them to talk just as much as I did.”

Chuuya exhaled sharply, pushing his drink away. “Yeah? And now what, huh? We put them on a leash? Watch them like a damn pet?”

Dazai tilted his head, considering. “I suppose we could get them a collar—”

Chuuya nearly threw his glass at him.

Dazai laughed, the kind of laugh that said he had already won.

And maybe he had.

Because Chuuya had helped. He had gone along with Dazai’s schemes, just like always.

And now?

Now, they had someone new trapped in their web.

Someone who, for better or worse, had nowhere else to go.

Chuuya let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

Dazai smirked.

“Oh, absolutely.”

(Y/N) leaned against the grimy rooftop ledge, their phone screen casting a dim glow against their smirking face.

The final thread to their past—a name, a number, a false promise of loyalty—blinked up at them. They hovered over the delete button, rolling their shoulders, exhaling slowly.

Click.

The contact vanished.

They grinned, slipping the phone back into their pocket.

Finally.

They were out.

No more groveling under the boot of those leeches, no more empty threats disguised as protection. The Port Mafia was dangerous, sure—deadly, even—but at least here, power meant something.

And more importantly—

Here, they could win.

With the Mafia’s resources, their brother would be safe. Treated. Cured. Everything had fallen into place, just as they planned.

It was almost poetic.

The hunted had become the hunter.

The pawn had become a player.

It was perfect.

(Y/N) chuckled to themselves, watching the city stretch out below them. A chessboard of flickering lights, of people moving in neat little lines, following their scripts without ever knowing whose hands wrote them.

And maybe that’s what it all came down to in the end.

Who was really in control?

Them?

Or Dazai?

(Y/N) closed their eyes for a moment, inhaling the crisp night air.

Did it matter?

They got what they wanted.

Dazai got what he wanted.

Perhaps it was inevitable.

Perhaps it had been planned from the start.

But planned by who?

(Y/N) grinned, pushing off the ledge, their silhouette vanishing into the shadows.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

A victory was still a victory—no matter whose game they were playing.

#anime #isekai #fanfic #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd #bsd oc #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #bungou stray dogs chuuya #dazai x reader #dazai osamu

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bosbas · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 6: you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, angst, miscommunication (ish), lots of feelings in this one, benedict actually being the biggest idiot known to man, slow burn continues to slowly burn

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: kind of a Benedict heavy chapter oops

May 29, 1814 - The Featherington Ball two nights prior proved quite the romantic affair, prompting not one, not two, but three proposals in its aftermath. The inquisitive minds among you may inquire, 'To whom were these proposals directed?' But the more important question, dearest reader, is of the identity of the proposer. The answer is quite simple: it was Mr Nigel Berbrooke on all three occasions. And so, the members of the ton may be unsurprised to find that Mr Berbrooke was met with three swift rejections. One hopes that Mr Berbrooke will have a shift in fortune at the Smythe-Smith musicale tomorrow night.

Among other news, our esteemed diamond has fled the spotlight. Miss Y/N Beaumont has not been spotted in the ton since the night of the Featherington ball. While Mr. Alexander Beaumont, her brother, cited an awful headache as the reason for her early departure from the ball, this author wonders whether Miss Beaumont was simply through with the social scene. One could certainly not blame her if Nigel Berbrooke is the only man of the ton who has taken romantic action this season. Hopefully, the Smythe-Smith abode will provide a better stage for young love, and if not, then at least the musicale will undoubtedly prove very entertaining.

As Francesca finished her dramatic reading of the Whistledown column, she was met with resounding laughter from her siblings. Although Nigel Berbrooke's lackluster success in his romantic pursuits was amusing in itself, Lady Whistledown's sharp wit and Francesca's theatrical flare only added to the absurdity of his situation.

Even Benedict, who was in a disagreeable mood because he hadn't spoken to you since the ball, couldn't help but chuckle. Eloise, breathless from laughter, extended her heartfelt condolences to the three unfortunate ladies who had fallen victim to the decidedly disagreeable Mr. Berbrooke.

"Three proposals in two days, all met with rejection? Positively ghastly," remarked Anthony, shaking his head in amusement.

Hyacinth was quick with a playful dig at her older brother. "Bold of you to assume you would be more successful than him, brother," came her retort, met with more giggles from her sisters and a feigned gasp of offense from Anthony.

"I assure you I absolutely would, dear Hyacinth. To start, I would refrain from pursuing three women at once. But you can rest peacefully knowing that whenever I choose to propose, my future wife will say yes in an instant," he drawled, a playful arrogance underscoring his words.

"I'd certainly like to see you try," Ben spoke, a slight edge to his voice. "Proposing to someone, I mean." Anthony turned to face his brother on the couch and raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

He retorted with an equally cutting edge to his voice, "In reality, Benedict, it seems that you are in a better position to propose than I am, don't you think?"

As the thick tension in the room became palpable, Francesca, Eloise, and Hyacinth held their breath in anxious anticipation. Though neither brother displayed outward aggression, their words carried an unmistakable undercurrent of intensity.

Benedict's breathing grew heavier, his eyes narrowing. Keeping his temper in check, he shot back sarcastically, "And what, pray tell, gives you that impression, dear brother?" Silent ripples of anger emanated from him, and the Bridgerton sisters felt a rising unease as the dispute seemed on the verge of eruption.

Sharp and deadly, Anthony's voice cut through the charged silence of the sitting room, "The fact that you already have someone to propose to, perhaps."

Anthony had barely finished speaking when Benedict rose abruptly, hands formed into tight fists at his sides. With a murderous look on his face, he ground out, "Actually, I don't believe I do."

Seeing Anthony open his mouth to respond, Ben cut in quickly, pure poison dripping from his voice, "You are mistaken, Anthony. I have absolutely no one to propose to. There is simply nothing there. Nothing that a marriage can be built on, at least. I am aware that Y/N is looking for a husband, but it will most certainly not be me."

Hyacinth let out a quiet gasp of disbelief, quickly covering her mouth. Benedict swiftly stormed out of the room, leaving his siblings in dumbfounded silence. After a brief pause, Anthony shook his head, cursing under his breath and running after Benedict.

Benedict could barely feel his legs, white-hot anger flooding through him as he made his way to his bedroom. Typically, in such intense moments, he sought solace outdoors or channeled his frustrations into his art. But he had spent too many afternoons watching your nose scrunch as you laughed on the swings with him in the garden, and the walls of his studio were entirely filled with endless incomplete sketches of you, so he found the prospect rather unbearable at the moment.

But he felt Anthony's firm hand on his shoulder before he could reach the staircase. Rolling his eyes and turning around, Ben spat a callous, "What?"

"Benedict, you are being ridiculous," came Anthony's response, in a tone of voice that was not unkind. "I cannot pretend to understand the inner workings of your friendship with Y/N, but I do know that you are inadvertently distracting her from finding a husband."

Entirely disarmed by his brother's change in tone, Benedict let out a long breath, defeated. He ran his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated by his impossible situation.

"Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to let her go," pressed Anthony carefully, aware of the sensitivity of the topic. "I doubt she is aware of it herself, but the girl clearly has some sort of feelings for you, and you are only leading her on, so to speak."

Benedict could only nod, anxiously chewing at his lower lip. He knew his actions at the Featherington ball were not helping in your search for a husband, but it hurt just as much to stay away. Either way, Ben was desperate to speak with you. He knew he had to give you space, but it had been two days of complete silence from both of you, and he was itching to apologize properly.

---

As you waited outside of the Bridgerton residence, you shifted on your feet. Usually, you were happy to walk in unannounced, the closeness between your family and the Bridgertons removing the need for formalities. But you were nervous to see Ben. You hadn't seen him in a few days, let alone spoken to him, and you really would rather not have the conversation you were about to have with him. Cass suggested sending him a letter, but you couldn't imagine him opening it alone, reading that you wanted distance from him. It was much better to do this in person, and hopefully, he would understand your situation. He would have to, as the Smythe-Smith musicale was tonight, and both of you would be in attendance.

Steeling yourself, you opened the front door and walked in, greeting the butler with a smile and a short wave, as you usually did. You practically skipped to the back door, eager to see Benedict despite dreading the difficult conversation ahead. You found him on the swings, staring off into the vast expanse of the Bridgerton garden. As you reached him, you tapped his shoulder three times and uttered a soft "Hi, Ben."

Immediately turning toward you, his face lit up in joy, and he stood up to hug you tight, spinning you around. "Well, hello! It's been far too long. How have you been?"

As you both settled into the swings, you cleared your throat uncomfortably. "I've been alright. How about you?"

"I've been alright. Anthony has been as irritating as ever, but unfortunately, there's no cure for that at the minute," he answered, earning a soft laugh from you.

But your face dropped quickly, and you found yourself anxiously chewing your lip and staring into his perceptive eyes. Wordlessly, he asked you what was wrong with a slight tilt of his head and furrow of his brow.

You cleared your throat again and spoke, "I apologize for running off the other night. I feel like I should explain myself. I've had some time to think in the past few days, and I do realize that I overreacted a bit, and for that, I am sorry."

He reached over to grab your hand, rubbing his thumb in a comforting manner. Although it pained you, and you wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch, you carefully took your hand out of his grasp and set it in your own lap. A look of hurt flashed briefly across his eyes, and you felt your throat tighten and your stomach ache. But you had to continue. You had to get it all out now while you still had momentum.

"I just-" you paused. "Um, it might... benefit me... if we took some time apart," you said. You knew Benedict was trying to hide how crestfallen he truly was, but you knew him too well to be oblivious to his pain.

You quickly jumped into your loosely prepared speech, "I don't mean away completely! And I don't mean forever, of course. I just think I could benefit from us... not acting how we usually do while I am trying to attract suitors."

He let your words hang in the air, fully processing what you were saying. "Of course, whatever you need. I'm sorry if I was distracting you from-"

"No!" you cut in. "Not at all! I think I was more distracting myself. This is not your fault in the least, Ben, and I'm sorry it's affecting you."

With a small smile, he shook his head, "It's quite alright, darling. I understand completely."

Except you really didn't think he understood. At all.

"Maybe... maybe we could refrain from dancing at future balls? And perhaps it is not the best idea for you to call me darling. Or kiss me on the forehead. And I know I get anxious sometimes, and you really do help me when you hold my hand, but maybe we could refrain from that as well? And I still want to see you loads, obviously, but maybe I won't ignore any potential suitors who come calling in the mornings in favor of coming to see you here."

Benedict was staring at you dumbly. Hearing you say, out loud, everything that needed to change, it was astounding to him how close of a friendship the two of you had. But he understood. Oh, did he understand. And he would do anything for you, even if anything involved giving up ballroom dances, because, let's be honest, who else would he dance with if not you. He realized you were staring at him expectantly, and he nodded quickly.

"Yes, yes, of course, dar-" He cringed internally. Perhaps this would be more challenging than expected. "Yes, of course, Y/N," he finished.

You smiled back gratefully, responding, "Well, that's settled then."

---

Benedict's earlier confidence in his ability to refrain from touching you was proving to be completely misguided. He had been at the musicale for barely an hour before he felt himself nearly vibrating with the need to be close to you. He had watched as you talked with suitor after suitor, patiently waiting for you to come over when you had a spare moment. But the spare moment never came. You were utterly enthralled in your conversations, not even sparing him a glance. The only time you had spoken to him was a small "Hello!" in passing as you walked across the ballroom holding Lord Egerton's forearm. At least you were not ignoring him purposefully, but he was still moping dejectedly about the ballroom, unable to join in the lively banter his siblings and yours always provided.

His night had not improved much by the time the musicale was over. His mother had pleaded with him to dance with Penelope Featherington, and he had begrudgingly complied. Of course, he usually enjoyed the girl's company, but tonight, he would have preferred to sulk in a corner of the ballroom by himself. Ben had also gone to the terrace with Colin and Alex but quickly opted to go back inside and torture himself by keeping an eye on you. The whole time he observed you, he could feel an unpleasant feeling deep in his stomach that traveled up his torso until it settled uncomfortably in his chest. It was an exercise in masochism, watching you flirt and smile and even giggle with other men. But Ben knew he could do nothing about it, aside from stewing in his own despair, of course. You had explicitly asked him for a chance to properly be courted without his interference, and it would be cruel to disallow you that.

While Benedict had a relatively uneventful but painful evening, you barely had a moment to yourself. Gentleman after gentleman, followed by mama after mama, came to ask you to dance or talk to you. You smiled through it all, of course, but as the night wore on, you became more and more irritable, finding that you simply wanted to go and chat to Benedict for a few minutes, to take a break from social niceties and have a laugh or two with him, at least. But you needed to stay focused, or your talk with Ben would have been for nothing.

After hours of listening to the grueling sounds of the Smythe-Smiths playing various instruments, you rejoiced when your mother interrupted your conversation with some earl or viscount and his mother. Their names escaped you, but at this point in the night, you were proud of yourself for even giving them more than one-word answers. Politely excusing yourself from the pair, you smiled gratefully at your mother, who only laughed good-naturedly at your distress.

"I didn't see you talking to Ben much tonight. Is everything alright with the two of you?"

You looked at your mother, cringing. "That obvious, was it?"

She gave you a questioning look and smiled, answering, "Given that the two of you usually are attached at the hip at every event you attend, yes, it was quite obvious."

You rolled your eyes at her, hiding how truly upset you were that you and Ben had taken some time apart. "We were not that attached! Besides, it's only one ball where I was more focused on finding a husband than my best friend. You should be happy!"

---

It had not, in fact, been only one ball. You had now gone five consecutive balls without dancing with Benedict. Opportunities to talk with you at these events were scarce, and he was lucky if he managed to secure a mere five minutes alone. Colin had noticed him looking dejected and morose at every social event, not that Ben was trying particularly hard to hide it, and asked about you. Benedict's response to his brother's concern was curt and evasive, a gruff "everything is fine."

Despite the distance, Ben found solace in your afternoons together after you had finished seeing callers. The moment you saw him, you would relax and launch into a lengthy explanation of the latest exciting information you had acquired from the vast library in the Beaumont home since none of the "so-called gentlemen" bothered to listen to you, as you put it.

He did enjoy your ramblings and appreciated the opportunity to ramble himself, launching into detailed studies of his favorite artists of the time. However, he was finding himself less able to put on a happy front when he barely talked to you for days at a time. At this point, he was not even harboring any negative feelings toward any of your suitors; he just missed you. His days felt empty and long, not having been apart from you for this long since before you could speak, probably. His family had noticed, and he was growing sick of their soft voices and careful treatment of him. He just wanted you back. He wanted to feel your head on his lap again and spend hours by your side in his art studio, painting on a canvas as you sat near him and read. Most of all, he missed the comfortable intimacy that came with your friendship, the quiet understanding that had been feeling out of sorts since you asked him for some space.

So, when you had bounded into the Bridgerton home this afternoon, carrying a new book in tow, he knew he couldn't go on the way the two of you were right now. You immediately noticed Benedict's tense mood, even more so than usual, and did not relent until he spoke to you about what was bothering him. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to say, having also felt his absence to the point of distraction, and had prepared to have a talk with Ben whenever he was ready. You would usually give in to anything he asked of you, having little to no self-control when it came to Benedict Bridgerton, but you knew you had to be strong today.

Seeing his bloodshot eyes, you placed a comforting hand on Ben's shoulder, breaking one of your rules but not finding it in you to care. He put his hand over yours, instantly feeling better than he had in over a week.

"It's just hard, isn't it? Have you felt it, too?" he looked at you, feeling a tad vulnerable.

You looked away, unable to meet his eyes for fear that you would start crying. You took a breath before answering, steeling yourself. "I have. It is proving to be quite difficult. But I need to find a husband, Ben," you said, your voice firm. "So, unless you're willing to marry me, it does have to be like this," you tried to make a lighthearted comment, but the crack in your voice gave you away too easily.

Your words left him speechless, and if he was completely candid, he could have cried right then and there. Benedict understood what you were saying. What you were implying, rather. And he shook his head, voice soft, "I can't do that, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

Of course, you had expected this answer, but it didn't make it any less difficult to know that Ben was still opposed to the idea of marrying you after having experienced the last week or so. So you nodded, finally looking at him, a sad smile gracing your lips.

"I guess that's our answer, then," you spoke.

Your words were a complete blow to his chest. He felt like he was going to be sick. Because, of course, this didn't only mean that the two of you would not be married, something Benedict already knew. This meant that your friendship could truly never be the same. The search for a husband you didn't even want was simply an insurmountable obstacle.

At least for today, he could still pretend things were normal. Your hand was still enclosed in his, and for a moment, he could forget all that had transpired and just enjoy the feel of your skin against his and the promise of an afternoon full of your entertaining and lighthearted literary commentary.

---

Violet was at her wit's end. She could recognize that her son was being a complete idiot, said with affection, of course. However, Violet would not stand for you, Benedict's best friend, her own best friend's daughter, looking absolutely heartbroken night after night, talking to men who would never understand you in the way that Ben did, and who did not even want to try. She knocked on his studio door and, upon entering, let out a deep sigh at the sheer volume of sketches of your face, your hands, your eyes, and just you in general that adorned her son's art studio.

The dowager viscountess cleared her throat with an air of authority, ready to give Benedict some much-needed tough love. Once she had made herself comfortable, sitting on the couch facing Ben, Violet clasped her hands in front of her. She could tell Ben was already dreading what she was going to say.

"Benedict, my sweet. You know, when I married your father, I was over the moon to be marrying someone I was not only in love with but also someone I could call my dear friend. In my experience, friendship as the foundation of a marriage creates the best kind of partnership."

Ignoring Benedict's increasingly tense energy, she continued, "I know you have an extraordinary friendship with Y/N. Everyone knows, actually. One can very clearly see that the two of you care for one another, and a friendship as special as that is not easy to come by."

Seeing her son open his mouth to interject, Violet silenced him with a stern look, not in the mood to be interrupted. "I fear that if you do not take advantage of this wonderful gift you have been given, your best friend will end up married to another man, and your friendship will be lucky to survive."

Benedict had had quite enough already. Anthony, then you, his mother, and even Hyacinth and Colin were all telling him the same thing, clearly not understanding that he simply did. Not. Want. To. Marry. You.

He was through feeling wounded; his hurt had transformed into full-blown anger. Being mindful to keep his voice in check, he spoke with as loud of a voice as was appropriate, desperate for anyone to actually listen to what he was saying.

"Mother, I appreciate your concern. But as I have told Anthony, Y/N, Hyacinth, and Colin, I do not wish to marry Y/N. I did not want to marry her two months ago, before her debut, and I do not want to marry her now. I am sick of everyone telling me what I want or what they think I should do. I know that I do not want her, and that will be the end of the discussion, thank you very much."

Benedict barely processed his mother's sympathetic look in response to his declaration, ignoring the hand he felt on his shoulder. Disappointed and a bit sad for your future, Violet walked out of his studio, knowing Ben wouldn't continue the conversation further.

Of course, what Benedict had told his mother was a lie. A lie so often repeated in his head he had been inclined to believe it for the better part of the last decade of your friendship. But deep down, Benedict knew it wasn't the truth.

The truth was that marriage was your worst nightmare. He was all too familiar with your grievances toward the institution, having heard you talk about your distaste for having to find a husband since childhood. Ben had spent years by your side, listening to you express your aversion to marriage over and over again. You were convinced you would be miserable after being wed, endlessly searching for something more: a freedom you thought you could never achieve once you were married.

And so, he could not marry you. It was selfish, to be sure, but he did not want your distaste and displeasure with marriage directed at him. He would give you anything else, but not this. In Benedict's opinion, if he married you, you would grow to dislike him, feeling trapped within the confines of your relationship.

Throughout your shared childhood, Ben watched you grow into an incredibly smart woman, and your growth inevitably brought about a growing hostility toward your future as a wife. He was intimately familiar with the fear that brought about this hostility, and he couldn't bring himself to be the person who made these fears come true.

Benedict knew that the two of you could learn to love each other if you were married. This was, of course, assuming that he wasn't already in love with you, which he could not bear to think about properly. He just didn't think he could survive it. Having a front-row seat to the unhappiness you would feel after being married and watching you fall out of love with him because of it. He simply couldn't be the cause of that. He cared about you too much to take that risk. So he chose to stay away instead, even if it meant the end of years of close friendship and love and intimacy.

—

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moncherriecoups · 8 days ago

Text

Muted Hearts

Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.

This is ours.

This rule or mine

On my mind

We are two main characters

Without supporting actors on stage

Sharing our breaths, even the familiar flow

Through this eternal work, let's stay together

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 3.2k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Eight

A week passed. Seven full days of unanswered texts. Seven full days of silence. Seven full days of pretending like Choi Seungcheol didn’t exist.

If she were being honest, it was harder than she thought.

Ignoring his messages was one thing—she could set her phone on Do Not Disturb, let his calls go straight to voicemail, and pretend the notifications didn’t make her heart clench. But the problem with loving someone like Seungcheol was that he existed everywhere.

She saw him when she walked past a billboard near the train station, his face staring down at her with that same confident smirk. She heard him when the radio played Super—and that was the worst of all. His deep voice cut through the static like a blade, the way he growled his lines sent a sharp tremor down her spine, tightening around her ribs like a vice. It was embarrassing how easily her body reacted, how just the sound of him could pull her back into the memories she was desperately trying to suppress. The way he had whispered against her skin, how his voice had actually sounded like that when he was right next to her. The heat that curled low in her stomach was both unwelcome and inevitable, leaving her pressing her lips together in frustration.

And at night, when she finally closed her eyes, she felt him—the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin, refusing to fade.

But she needed this. She needed time.

And so, Sua ignored him.

His gifts, however, were another story.

It started with flowers. A bouquet of white roses and orchids waiting for her at the gallery, the note attached reading a simple,

Please.

She threw them away.

The next day, another delivery arrived at her apartment—a small Cartier box wrapped in silver ribbon. She didn’t open it, just tossed it onto her desk like it was any other package. Then came the Chrome Hearts necklace, neatly placed in its signature pouch. Seungcheol’s favorite brand. She rolled her eyes at the thought.

By the time the fourth package arrived—this time a pair of diamond earrings—Ari, her coworker, was eyeing her with something between amusement and disbelief.

“Okay,” Ari drawled, arms crossed as she leaned against Sua’s desk. “Are we gonna talk about how you apparently have a sugar daddy?”

Sua sighed, closing the latest gift box with a soft snap. “He’s not my sugar daddy.”

“Right. Just some insanely rich man sending you luxury gifts every day because he has nothing better to do.” Ari raised a brow. “Did you piss him off or something? Is this an apology?”

Sua huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Something like that.”

Ari whistled, plucking the Cartier box off the desk and inspecting it. “Damn. I should start dating rich men and drive them mad, too.”

At that, Sua only chuckled. Because what else could she do? She wasn’t going to sit here and explain the intricacies of loving someone like Seungcheol—the way he gave too much and too little all at once, the way he thought money could fix things because it was the only thing he had full control over. Ari wouldn’t get it.

Hell, Sua barely understood it herself.

So instead, she said nothing. Just smiled, shrugged, and went back to work.

—

Despite the silence, despite the unread messages and unopened gifts, Sua still watched him.

She wasn’t talking to him, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t watching him.

She saw the new photo he uploaded on Instagram—a candid shot of himself, sitting on the patio of that quiet little café they went to a month ago. The one where he had worn that stupidly expensive sweater and complained about how hot it was, only to refuse to take it off because, in his words, “fashion over comfort, baby.”

Sua had taken that picture.

And there it was, sitting on his feed like a quiet message only she could understand.

She remembered it vividly—how she had told him to stay still, how he had pouted and said she was embarrassing him, how he had still done exactly what she asked because she liked capturing moments like that. Moments where he wasn’t an idol, but just hers.

She watched his random live at 2 AM, when he was half-asleep and scrolling through comments with unfocused eyes. Someone had asked if he was okay. He had laughed—low and breathy—before muttering, "I don’t know, man."

And when his schedule was over for the day, when he was supposed to be asleep, she saw him online. Just like her.

Ignoring him was easy. Not missing him was impossible.

But this was the test, wasn’t it?

Could she handle this? Could she handle him? Could she handle loving someone whose world would always, always come first?

Well, she already knew the answer. She’s just not ready to face it yet.

Not when she could still pretend.

—

It had been a week.

A full fucking week, and Sua still hadn’t answered him.

Seungcheol wasn’t a patient man to begin with, but this—this was hell. The kind of slow, torturous suffering that made his chest feel tight every time he looked at his phone and saw nothing. No texts, no calls, not even a goddamn emoji reaction to his messages.

He tried everything.

Flowers? Jewelry? Ignored. Chrome Hearts—the brand she knew he loved? Untouched.

Seungcheol wasn’t the type to beg, but fuck, she was pushing him to his limits.

And now the entire world knows it, too.

It wasn’t like he meant to cause a scene. He was just frustrated. He had gone live at two in the morning, phone propped against his pillow, half his face buried in his blanket while he scrolled through the chat. He wasn’t even thinking, just running on exhaustion and the kind of loneliness that felt too big to keep inside.

Then someone asked, "Coups, are you okay?"

And because his filter was nonexistent at that hour, he had sighed and muttered, “I don’t know, man.”

That was it. That was all he said.

And somehow, overnight, the entire internet lost their mind.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL SAID HE’S NOT OKAY—WHAT HAPPENED???

IS IT HIS HEALTH??? HIS MENTAL STATE??

SOMEBODY CHECK ON HIM, PLEASE???

His company had to issue a statement before noon, assuring fans that he was fine. He wasn’t. But what was he supposed to do, tell them he was losing his shit because a girl was ignoring him?

Absolutely not.

Instead, he poured all his frustration into one final move.

Something Sua couldn’t ignore.

Something that would force her to see him.

So, he walked into the art gallery in broad daylight, draped in an oversized black coat, as if that would make him less noticeable. A mask covered half his face, but it did nothing to dim the sheer presence he carried.

He could already hear the murmurs the second he stepped inside.

“Wait… is that—”

“Oh my god, isn’t that—?”

“No fucking way, Choi Seungcheol is in an art gallery?”

He didn’t care.

His eyes swept across the space, searching, waiting—there.

Sua.

She was at the far end of the room, speaking to a client, completely unaware of the way everything in him settled the second he saw her.

God, she was beautiful.

He had spent seven days trying to remember every little detail—the curve of her lips, the way her hands moved when she talked, the quiet elegance in the way she carried herself. But nothing compared to seeing her in real time, breathing the same air, existing in his orbit again.

She still hadn’t noticed him.

So, naturally, Seungcheol did what any sane, rational man would do.

He’s gonna buy a painting.

A fucking expensive one.

Let’s see if Sua could ignore this.

—

Ari, standing behind the front desk, gasped so dramatically that she nearly knocked over a stack of brochures. The gallery’s visitors—people who were here for art, not idols—stared in stunned silence. Even the ones who weren’t fans could recognize him.

Sua, who had been flipping through exhibition notes, felt his presence before she even saw him.

What the hell was he doing here?

Ari recovered fast. “Oh my god,” she whispered, gripping Sua’s wrist like she needed to physically restrain herself. “Sua. SUA. That's him.”

“I see that.”

“Do you?! Do you SEE how gorgeous he is in real life?”

Sua wanted to say yes, painfully so, but she kept her expression neutral. “He’s just a visitor, Ari.”

Ari, very much not believing that, smoothed down her blouse and put on her best customer service smile. “I’ll handle this.”

Except Seungcheol didn’t even glance at her.

His eyes locked onto Sua immediately, like he had walked in already knowing exactly where she was.

And when he spoke, it wasn’t to Ari.

“Sua.”

Ari blinked. “Wait, what?”

He ignored her, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Sua. He looked—God, he looked so good. Dressed in all black, silver rings glinting against his fingers, eyes dark and intense. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t playing the role of “Seventeen’s Leader.” No, this was just him.

And he had come here for her.

Ari looked between them, confused. “Wait, hold on. You two know each other?”

Sua could have dragged this out, let Ari spiral a little. But she was too focused on Seungcheol—on the way his shoulders were rising and falling like he was steadying himself, on the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he was barely keeping himself from reaching for her.

“I’ll take it from here,” Sua said, voice measured.

Ari gasped. “WHAT—”

But Sua was already stepping forward, already walking past the stunned gallery visitors, already leading Seungcheol deeper into the exhibition halls.

She didn’t look back. But she felt his gaze burning into her like a silent plea.

And she wasn’t sure if she could ignore it much longer.

—

The air in the gallery felt thick, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Sua, however, was determined to act like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Never mind the fact that Choi Seungcheol just waltzed into her workplace in the middle of the day. Never mind the way Ari was practically vibrating with excitement (and barely contained nosiness). And definitely never mind how her own pulse was thrumming a little too fast just from being in the same space as him again.

She inhaled deeply, straightened her spine, and turned to face him. “Right this way.”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she started walking, the soft click of her heels against the polished floor the only sound between them.

He followed without hesitation, his footsteps slower, heavier—deliberate.

For a moment, they walked in silence.

It wasn’t comfortable.

It wasn’t easy.

It was awkward.

Frustrating, even, because Seungcheol didn’t even seem awkward. He just walked beside her like he belonged there, like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, like she hadn’t been ignoring him entirely.

Sua, on the other hand, felt like she was seconds away from combusting.

Still, she kept her voice professional as she spoke. “This piece is from an emerging artist based in Bangkok. It explores themes of solitude and self-reflection.”

Seungcheol hummed, stepping closer. “It’s nice.”

...

Nice.

NICE?

That was the most noncommittal response possible, and it irritated her more than it should have. But before she could snap at him, he moved again—this time, stopping in front of another painting.

“I like this one more,” he murmured, his voice softer, more thoughtful.

Sua turned—and immediately regretted it.

Because of course he was standing in front of her favorite piece. Of course he picked the one she’d personally fought to include in this exhibition. And when he turned his head to look at her, when their eyes met—

It was over.

Because that look—that damn look—was the same one he used to give her when she was lying in his bed, bare and vulnerable beneath him.

Like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Like she was his favorite piece of art in the room.

Her throat felt tight.

She forced herself to break eye contact.

“Are you buying a painting today, or just here to waste my time?” she asked, keeping her tone clipped.

A slow smirk curled his lips. “I think I’ll buy this one.”

She arched her brow. “Really? What, did Minghao get to you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

Liar.

But she didn’t call him out on it. She simply turned on her heel, making her way toward her office. “Fine. Let’s finalize the purchase.”

—

Sua’s head was already throbbing from the sudden influx of visitors, but now she had to deal with him again. After that entire gallery scene, she knew this was inevitable. She had let it happen.

And now, here they were.

Seungcheol sat across from her in her office, leaning back in the chair like he owned the place. His long legs stretched comfortably, one arm lazily draped over the armrest. His expression was unreadable, but the slight smirk tugging at his lips told her he was enjoying this.

Sua, on the other hand, was trying to remain professional. She felt his eyes on her the entire time.

“You’re really not gonna talk to me?” he finally asked, voice low.

She exhaled sharply, already irritated. “I am talking to you.”

“You know what I mean, Sua.”

She did. And she hated that he wasn’t letting her get away with it.

So, instead of answering, she focused on the papers in front of her. “Sign here.”

He didn’t move.

She looked up.

He was still watching her, lips pressed into a tight line.

Something about that look—about the frustration simmering beneath the surface—made her want to push.

“You know,” she said casually, “if you were really serious about collecting art, I’d be more inclined to help you.”

His jaw ticked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged. “It means I don’t believe for a second that you’re here because you suddenly developed an interest in fine art.”

His silence was loud.

Her heart pounded.

Then, finally—

A slow, almost amused exhale.

“You always saw right through me, huh?” he murmured, stepping closer.

She held her ground. “Not exactly difficult, Choi Seungcheol.”

His lips quirked. “I did want to see the gallery.”

“Sure.”

“And I did want to buy a painting.”

“Right.”

“And I definitely wanted to see you.”

Her breath hitched.

Damn him.

She tapped her pen against the table, glaring at him. “You specifically requested the pickup to be sent to my apartment.”

Another hum. “That’s what I did.”

Sua exhaled. “Seungcheol—”

He cut her off with a slow grin. “What? I figured it’d be easier for you.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

Her fingers tightened around the pen, and she took a deep breath. “You do realize this makes things worse, right?”

Seungcheol tilted his head, feigning innocence. “How so?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You showed up here, made a scene, approaced me like it's nothing, and now you’re having the painting delivered to my apartment. Do you want people to find out?”

At that, his smirk faded slightly, but the amusement remained in his eyes.

“I don’t care if people find out,” he said smoothly. “You do.”

Sua clenched her jaw. Of course he doesn’t care.

She knew this was his way of testing her. Of pushing her. He had been too patient this whole week, letting her ignore him, letting her keep her distance. But today, he had enough.

“Besides,” he added, leaning forward slightly. “It’s not like this is the first time I've been here. Also not the first time we’ve been alone in this office.”

Sua froze.

Her soul left her body.

Slowly, her eyes snapped to his, and the knowing glint in them made her stomach flip.

“You—”

He shrugged. “What? I’m just saying.”

Her entire face burned. “Shut up.”

Seungcheol chuckled, absolutely thrilled by her reaction.

“Don’t look so offended, Sua,” he teased, resting his chin on his hand. “We had a great time. Well—at least I did. You were too busy pretending you weren’t enjoying it.”

Sua threw the pen at him.

He dodged it with a laugh. “You’re so violent.”

“You’re insufferable,” she snapped, standing up.

But before she could even take a step, he was already moving.

In a blur, he was out of his chair, closing the distance between them so fast that Sua barely had time to react. She found herself backed up against her desk, his hands on either side of her, caging her in.

Her breath hitched.

It had been so long since they’d been this close.

Too long.

She could smell his cologne, the familiar warmth of it making her head spin. His presence was overwhelming, and she hated how her body reacted immediately.

Her pulse pounded.

Seungcheol wasn’t touching her—not yet—but the way he looked at her was enough. His eyes flickered between hers, searching, waiting.

“Say you didn’t miss me,” he murmured.

Sua’s fingers curled against the desk.

“I—”

“Say it,” he challenged.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because she had missed him.

She had missed him so much it hurts.

And in the next second, he was kissing her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was desperate.

The second their lips met, Sua felt everything she had been trying to push away come rushing back. She clutched his shirt tightly, as if letting go would make this disappear. Seungcheol groaned against her mouth, one hand sliding to her waist, pulling her even closer.

God, she hated him.

She hated that he made her feel like this.

That he knew exactly what to do, exactly how to break down her walls with just a single touch.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard. Sua’s head was spinning, and Seungcheol’s lips were red, slightly swollen.

“I hate you,” she muttered breathlessly.

He smirked. “Liar.”

She was a liar.

Because she was already pulling him back in.

—

Photos of Seungcheol leaving the gallery had already begun circulating online.

At first, fans were just curious.

Then they started analyzing.

And now?

Now, Sua’s gallery was turning into a hotspot. The next day, the usual art crowd had been replaced. The gallery was still packed—but the visitors weren’t here for the art.

They were here for him.

“This is insane,” Ari hissed under her breath as she watched another group of girls excitedly whisper while looking at the paintings. “They’re not here to buy anything, are they?”

“Nope,” Sua muttered.

Ari turned to her. “So… are you gonna explain?”

Sua stiffened. “Explain what?”

Ari squinted at her. “Why Seungcheol was here. Why he suddenly cares about art. Why he requested the painting be sent to your apartment.”

Sua gave her the most deadpan look. “Maybe Minghao finally got to him,” she shrugs. “He’s one of the loyals anyway, not weird seeing a friend of his now involved.”

Ari laughed out loud. “Yeah, okay, sure. Let’s pretend that’s the reason.”

Sua refused to say more.

Because even though she trusted Ari, she also knew how insane the internet could be. The NDA was still in place, and despite Seungcheol’s complete disregard for secrecy, Sua had to be careful.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “It’s fine. This will die down soon.”

Ari raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

No.

No, she wasn’t.

Because from the way things were going…

It was only getting worse.

──────────────────────────────

I'M BACKKKKKKKKKKKK OMG finally i have time to finish this! Pls enjoy!!!!

see u on the next chapter! ><

31 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 2 years ago

Text

Always Ever Only You Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: At the Hard Deck, Bradley learns something about the origins of your friendship with Cam that leaves him feeling out of sorts. You call him out on his behavior and reassure him that he's always more than enough for you. Then he takes you away for a Valentine's trip, and he can finally surprise you with something unique.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley thought he was hilarious with the way he refused to tell you where you and he were going for the night on Friday. He wouldn't even tell you how you were getting there. All he said every time you asked was, "Just pack a bag and find out."

"Infuriating," you whispered to yourself at work on Thursday. When you heard footsteps coming up behind you in the hallway, you turned to see Jake rushing your way. "Seriously? Don't you ever work?"

"Come on, Angel," he whined. "I'm gonna ask her out. I just need one more shot at talking to her."

You sighed and said, "Fine. Come on. We could actually use your help."

A few minutes later, Jake looked absolutely delighted as Cat had him sit down on the stool next to hers. "Ready?" she asked him. "There are a lot of questions."

"I'm ready," he replied, eyes glued to her face as she opened the aviation survey document on her computer. It wasn't like this needed to be completed today. The software was still in the testing stage. But you knew this would be a good excuse to keep Jake in the lab for a little while and let him engage with Cat.

"Name, age, rank and aircraft. Please," she asked him. You tried to sit quietly and work further down the counter, but you were half focused on them.

"Jacob C. Seresin. Thirty three. Lieutenant. F/A-18." His voice was calm and even as he answered her, but you could see his leg bouncing a little bit. He was so smitten it was absolutely ridiculous.

"What does the C stand for?" she asked, entering his information.

"That's classified," he told her with a smirk.

She turned to look at him with a smirk of her own. "Your full name is Jacob Classified Seresin?"

You had to press your lips together as Jake started laughing. "Shoulda thought that one through a little better," he drawled with a blush. "It actually stands for Christopher."

"Where are you from, Lieutenant Classified?" she asked, and he leaned in to look at her screen.

"Is that actually a question?"

"No," she said softly. "I was just curious about your accent."

Jake's voice sounded smug as hell as he said, "It's not an accent, Lieutenant Coleman. It's a drawl." And then you were forced to listen to their flirtation mixed in with the real survey questions for the better part of an hour.

When Cat was finally done gathering information about Jake's flight history, you were surprised she didn't also have his phone number. "Thanks for your help," she told him as they both stood.

"Anytime, Lieutenant," Jake replied. And when he walked past you, he whispered, "I owe you one, Angel."

Once he was gone, you stared at Cat until she looked at you. "If you're interested in big, strong aviators, all you have to do is ask," you told her. "I think he'd happily go out with you."

She scoffed and waved you off. "He's just fun to flirt with a tiny bit. Absolutely none of that was serious."

"Speak for yourself," you muttered.

"Besides, he would never go for a woman like me. At least not for more than a date or two. Maybe a long weekend, if you catch my drift. And after my ex husband, I'm done playing games. Like I said, Lieutenant Seresin is nice to look at, but under no circumstances will I touch."

"Never?" you asked softly.

Cat planted her hand on the counter and leaned toward you. "He gets around, Lieutenant Commander. Women on base brag about it. And I've seen how he is at the bar. Just surrounded at all times."

Once again, you didn't know how to respond.

"But your friend, Cam?" she asked, giving you a pointed look. "He seems sweet."

You remained silent. Cat was beautiful. If she wanted to go out with Jake, she could go out with Jake. If she wanted to go out with Cam, she could go out with Cam. She could probably get pretty much any guy to ask her out if she wanted to. But if she was just going to flirt with Jake, because she thought it was no big deal, then Jake might end up getting hurt in the process if she moved on with someone else.

And then your suspicions started to come true. When you went down to eat lunch with Bradley at noon, you saw Cat and Jake at a small table together. So his reputation was terrible, but not so bad that she didn't want to keep flirting? You sat with your head in your hands until Bradley and Nat joined you.

"What's wrong?" Nat asked, taking the seat across from you. "And where's Jake? He told me he was eating with us."

"He's over there," you said, nodding your head in his direction where he was sitting with Cat. "And she's flirting with him."

"Isn't that good?" Bradley asked, dropping down into the seat next to you.

"No," you groaned. "She likes Cam. She thinks Jake is a womanizer who would never be interested in her. She thinks this is just some harmless flirting."

"Oof, he's about to get shot down isn't he?" Nat asked, and now all there of you were watching across the cafeteria as Cat and Jake smiled at each other. Then Jake leaned in a little closer, and Cat bit her lip.

"Oh no," you whispered, reaching for Bradley's hand as your heart pounded. "Maybe he is a bit of a womanizer?" you asked. "I've seen that look on his face before. He's asking her out."

Bradley laced his fingers with yours. "He's not doing that kind of thing anymore," he told you and Nat. "He seems to be ready to settle down in a relationship. Been talking about it for months. Oh no, there he goes."

Nat gasped as Jake stroked the back of Cat's hand with his thumb. Her smile faltered and she kind of shrugged and shook her head. Even though you couldn't hear them, you had a pretty good idea of how the conversation was going. Cat's hand slid away from his, and soon she was standing to leave.

"Yikes," Nat whispered as the three of you scrambled to make it appear as though you hadn't been watching Jake get turned down. "That was so surreal. Looked exactly like the day you asked your wife out and she told you no," she added to Bradley, trying not to laugh now. "Remember that, Soul Sister?"

Bradley placed a loud, sloppy kiss on your cheek and said, "She came around eventually. One kiss and she was begging me to take her on a date."

You rolled your eyes. "I would love to dispute that, but it's actually the truth."

"Hey, guys," Jake said, gingerly sitting down next to Nat. His face was completely neutral, and his voice was even. But you could tell he was upset.

"Hangman," Bradley grunted. And then he and Nat filled up the silence before it became too much while you picked at your food. And Jake just sat quietly.

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

"Hard Deck night, Baby Girl," Bradley reminded you when you walked inside after work.

You were tired, and you didn't really feel like going out. The bar would be packed, just like it was every Thursday night, and you were starting to get crampy, which meant your period was coming. "You don't want to stay in?" you asked, pouting up at him. "We could take a bath together."

Bradley ran his thumb along your pouty lips. "We can stay in if you want to, Sweetheart. Let me text Nat and tell her."

Then you kissed his thumb and said, "No, we can go. But maybe we can leave early. I'm exhausted."

Famous last words. At ten o'clock, you were kind of drunk, Bradley's hands were all over you, and Cat was waving you up to the bar. "I'll be right back, Roo," you told him, slipping away before he could keep you with him. Bradley watched you chatting with you coworker, happy you seemed to be getting along with her now.

"I gotta know, man. How do you grow such a good mustache?"

Bradley turned just in time for Cam to try to lean against the edge of the pool table, miss completely and nealy land on his face. Shit, he was as at least as drunk as you were.

"Genetics," Bradley said, thinking of nearly every damn photo he had of Goose sporting the same facial hair. Cam had a bit of a baby face, and the idea of him with a mustache was almost laughable.

Then you walked back over in a state of annoyance. "Oh good, you're here," you said to Cam. "Mr. Popularity."

"What do you mean?" he asked, stroking his bare upper lip.

"You know my coworker Cat? She just told me Jake asked her out, but that she'd rather go out with you."

Cam blinked a few times and then burst into laughter, leaning on Bradley while he hooted. "That's such a funny joke!"

"I'm serious! Roo, tell him I'm serious."

"She's serious," Bradley said, sipping his beer and trying not to get involved in this conversation.

"Nobody would pick me over that guy," Cam replied, pointing to Jake. "He's fucking ripped! And his hair is always perfect. And he can do that thing with his mouth and the toothpicks!"

You started laughing and said, "I tried to tell Cat you're nothing special."

"Wow," Cam said, feigning offense, "you're the worst friend ever. Where's Maria?"

"Wait," you said, still laughing while you grabbed his hand. "Just because your repertoire of talents did nothing for me doesn't mean you're not as good as Jake!"

Bradley choked on his beer, remembering what he had overheard you say to Jake. "I'm sorry. What?"

You both turned to look at him, and Cam's cheeks were turning pink.

"The two of you hooked up?" Bradley asked, wondering why this was something he'd only been hearing about recently. Cam slowly backed away from him, suddenly looking like he was afraid Bradley might hit him. And that's when Bradley realized that his tone definitely sounded a little threatening, but he couldn't take it back now.

"It was ten years ago!" Cam quickly supplied, taking a step to his left once he realized he was standing right next to you.

"Didn't I tell you this, Roo?" you asked, still smiling at Bradley as you cocked your head to the side.

"No. Never," he replied, annoyed at himself for being annoyed about this. It clearly didn't matter at all. It had nothing to do with your marriage. But Cam was the same age as you, and in many ways he was probably well suited for you.

"There's literally nothing to tell," Cam insisted.

"Yeah," you agreed. "It didn't mean anything. We were twenty one. It didn't work for either of us, so we stopped what we were doing and decided to just be friends. Because Cam's moves were decidedly terrible at that age."

"God, you're so annoying," Cam told you with a grin. "You think you had moves? You did not. All you had back then was nice tits."

"Jesus," Bradley growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Because even though this happened ten years ago, suddenly he was wondering about all the details.

"There was no penetration," you said casually.

"No penetration of any kind," Cam confirmed.

"Then what was there?" Bradley asked as you laced your fingers with his.

"Wait, do fingers count?" Cam asked you, scratching his head. "No, fingers don't count, right? Whatever, all I did was feel her up."

"I wasn't good," you added. "Just friends after that."

"Yep," Cam confirmed, giving Bradley some side eye. "She likes big guys. Muscular ones. Mustaches. Which is exactly why nobody who turned down Jake Seresin would say yes to me."

You rolled your eyes and said, "That's so not true."

Bradley wanted all of the details and none of them at the same time as he pulled you a little closer. But then Cam handed you his drink and said, "Really? Watch this."

"Oh no," you muttered, gasping and clinging to Bradley as Cam walked away.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you ever tell me you and Cam messed around? I hate being blindsided by this shit. You hang out with him all the time."

But you weren't listening to him. You weren't even looking at him. Cam was walking confidently over to Cat, and suddenly he was leaning against the bar next to her, occasionally glancing this way. After a moment, Cat looked delighted, and Cam looked completely shocked.

"He asked her out!" you moaned, burying your face against Bradley's chest. "Poor Jake!"

When Bradley's eyes found Jake, he was glaring daggers from the dartboard over toward Cam and Cat. "Oh, shit," he muttered, wrapping his arm a little tighter around you. "This is a fucking disaster."

"It really is," you whispered.

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

Jake was upset. You could see it on his face. And now Cam looked concerned. When you tried to talk to him, all he said was, "Apparently I have a date on Saturday night."

And before Cat left the bar for the night, she had a smile on her face as she came over to you and Bradley. "Any idea where I might be able to find a good babysitter for Saturday evening?"

"Babysitter?" Bradley asked her, and you couldn't help but see how his expression changed as he asked Cat, "Do you have a kid?"

"Yes," she replied, looking a little surprised. "I thought you would have told your husband. I have a son. He's a year old."

You desperately wanted her date with Cam to suck, and that made you feel like a shitty person all around. So you were suddenly blurting out, "We can watch him." The look on Bradley's face as he registered that he'd get to spend a few hours playing with a one year old, made your heart clench.

"Yeah, you can drop him off with us," he told Cat, and tears stung your eyes. You had cramps. You'd probably get your period right in the middle of the overnight trip tomorrow night. But you just nodded, because even though Cat was going out with Cam instead of Jake, and even though you still weren't pregnant, you knew Bradley would have fun babysitting.

On the ride home, you were starting to get upset as you sobered up a bit more. You didn't want your mood to make you miserable for your night away.

Bradley was pretty quiet until he asked, "Why didn't you tell me about you and Cam?"

"Nothing to tell," you replied softly. It was the truth. You'd harbored a bit of a crush on your friend at first; he was sweet and funny and you had all of your classes with him. You had spent a lot of time together, and you trusted him. And one night, despite both of your best efforts, it just didn't work when you tried to hookup.

"But you spend a lot of time with him now. So what? Your attraction to him just stopped after one night?" Bradley grunted. "You go out to brunch with Cam and Maria all the time for that disgusting avocado toast. Hell, you make me spend so much time with him, I know what kind of pizza he likes and what he orders at the burger shack."

"Oh my god, Bradley. Exactly. He's just my friend! You know what kind of pizza he likes, because I want you to spend time with my friends!"

"But you clearly care about him."

"Bradley! You lived a whole life with other women before we met!"

"I never cared about them! I never loved them! Cam is your friend, and you care about him."

As soon as he parked the Bronco in the driveway, you were unbuckling your seatbelt and crawling into his lap. "What has gotten into you, Roo?" you asked, straddling his thighs and forcing him to look at you. "Cam? You're jealous of Cam in this moment? Knock it the fuck off."

"I'm sorry," he muttered, wrapping his arms around you. "I just didn't like the way I found out about it. Which isn't fair to you at all. Because you're right...about my past. And I know it has to embarrass you sometimes-"

You silenced him with a kiss as you brushed your fingers through his hair. When your forehead came to rest against his, you said, "Don't talk about yourself like that. You want all the details? We did not date. Cam and I ended up in his bed exactly one time. He was hard until I put my hand down his pants. I was excited until he took my bra off. Then we laughed awkwardly, called it quits, and watched a movie with three feet of space between us. So if you can't get onboard with the avocado toast brunches now, I don't even know what to say."

Bradley laughed a little bit. "I love you, and I'm sorry. I've just been... feeling my age recently, Baby Girl."

"What does that mean?" you asked, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek.

He sighed. "Just trying to make sure I can keep up with you and everything you want."

"I want you."

"I know you do," he whispered.

"Then start acting like it, Bradley. Or I'll call you Grandpa instead of Daddy."

He was silent for a beat as you ran your hand down the front of his body. "You wanna go have some Daddy time right now?"

"It's like you can read my mind."

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

Bradley wore you out on Thursday night, and you were still tired on Friday after work when he drove up the coastal roads to the mysterious hotel he booked for the night. "Will you please tell me where you're taking me?" you asked for the millionth time.

But he just laughed and said, "The funny thing is, I'm not really sure, Sweetheart. It's some crazy hotel called Le Chateau California, and I'm really only taking you there because they have something I think you'll love."

"What is it?" you asked, suddenly even more curious.

"I'm not telling. We'll have to experience it for ourselves," he said, reaching for your bare thigh and stroking your skin.

"Are we there yet?" you whined. "How much further? I want my surprise."

"You're worse than a child," he said with a smile, inching his hand further up under your dress. "We'll be there in twenty minutes. We're having dinner at eight, and you'll see the surprise then."

Bradley was great at teasing you, but this was perhaps his best effort to date. His fingers were just tucked inside your panties, stroking you while you tried to sit patiently, as he pulled up to a colorful boutique hotel on the outskirts of Newport Beach. "What is this place?" you asked him, whining again as he pulled his hand free before the valet could see where it had been.

"Let's go find out," he said with a smirk. When you strolled into the lobby that looked like you'd fallen down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist.

"This is so cool," you gasped, still a little wound up from Bradley's fingers on your pussy.

You were looking up at him with barely concealed lust. He had both overnight bags slung over his left shoulder like it was nothing. And when the woman at the concierge desk asked for the last name on the reservation, your core clenched as he rasped, "The Bradshaws."

As he handed over his credit card, you whimpered softly. His wide brown eyes were on yours as you pressed your lips together. Then he was smiling, but he didn't pick up the pace like you wanted him to. He asked the woman where the restaurant was located. He listened to her tell him more about the history of the hotel. He asked her another question as she handed over the room keys. He forced your hand.

"Please?" you whispered, pressing yourself to his side.

When he finally led you across the technicolor lobby toward the purple elevators, he pushed the up arrow and said, "We have dinner in twenty minutes."

You nearly wanted to stomp your foot. "You can fuck me in less time than that."

"You told me I'm never fast," he replied as the doors slid open. "So, probably not, Baby Girl."

"Bradley!" you screeched as soon as you and he were alone in the elevator. "I won't make it through dinner and you know it!"

He kissed your lips so softly before the elevator stopped on your floor. "I love it when you get like this," he said as you tripped down the hallway next to him. "Go in and get ready for me." He handed you one of the keys, and you ran down the hallway that looked like a multicolored fever dream, barely taking the time to enjoy any of it.

The hotel room was colorful and spacious with a king bed and a Juliet balcony. There was a view of the beach and some champagne in an ice bucket. But all you were concerned about was getting your underwear off and getting on the bed.

Bradley strolled in and set the bags down before adjusting the thermostat. He tossed his sunglasses on the nightstand and combed his fingers through his hair before turning to watch you where you were laying on the bed with your dress pulled up to your waist. "Get on your knees," he rasped, and you did as you were told. Then his hands and lips were all over your butt and thighs before tasting you from behind.

"Bradley!" you gasped. You'd never get used to how good it felt to have him surprise you there with his mustache. And then you heard him unzip his jeans before wrapping one muscular arm around you and fucking you hard. You rocked forward onto your hands as he slammed into you.

"You're so impatient," he grunted. "Can't even make it to dinner and to your surprise unless you're full of my cum."

It was going to be embarrassing how quickly you came for him when he was dishing out the smug dirty talk. But when his fingers stroked you in time with his thrusts, you smiled and bit your lip. The colorful bedding and walls around the room made you feel a little dizzy, but nothing compared to the sensation when Bradley hit just the right spot inside you and gently spanked your clit.

"Fuck!" you squealed, clenching so hard he groaned your name.

"Shit, Baby Girl," he growled, filling you up with his cum. But you were already there, face planted in the pillows to keep yourself quiet as you came. When you picked your head up a few inches and turned to look back at him while he was still inside you, he rubbed one big palm along your butt. "Sorry I finished so fast. You look pretty with your ass in the air," he whispered.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms. "And you look pretty with your cock inside me."

He chuckled and withdrew himself, and then he ran his fingers along your pussy like he was massaging his cum back inside you. "I'm not ovulating anymore, Roo," you reminded him. He could cum inside you all weekend and it wouldn't make a difference.

"Doesn't matter," he whispered, leaning down to kiss your butt, thighs and pussy once more. "It's not going to make me want to stop giving you creampies all the time." You sighed softly as he finally stood, and you watched him walk around the bed with his cock hanging out of his jeans. "It's almost time for our dinner reservation," he reminded you as he walked into the bathroom.

You rolled onto your back, legs clenched together as his mess coated your thighs. While you listened to him wash his hands, you closed your eyes and wished desperately that you were pregnant. You thought about everything that would change for you if you were, and you knew you'd be ready for it.

"Coming?" he asked, reaching out for your hand. Bradley pulled you to your feet and helped you back into your underwear, looking up at you and shaking his head at the sight of his cum everywhere. He wasn't old. It blew your mind that he sometimes thought he was. He was better and sexier and stronger than anyone younger. He was everything you wanted.

"Let's go."

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

Bradley spent almost seven hundred dollars for the hotel room for the night. It was another fifty bucks to valet the Bronco, and the prices on the dinner menu in the swanky restaurant were so high, he thought they must be joking. But he wanted you to have whatever you wanted, so he ordered a twenty dollar beer so you would, too. And he ordered exactly what he wanted to eat so you would, too.

He'd tapped out his savings when he bought the craftsman for the two of you, including the money his mom left for him. But he'd been working on building up his savings again. The dream of making one of the bedrooms a nursery sometime in the near future was clawing away at his mind. He thought about it a lot: colorful airplanes and clouds on the walls and a crib with a sweet baby that had his hair and your eyes.

His attention was drawn back to the present as soon as the waiter returned with your beers and a platter of bread and fruit. The colorful overhead light was reflecting blue, green and orange onto your pretty face as you glanced up with a look of wonder at the waiter. Because he was now saying the words Bradley had been waiting weeks for you to hear. It was the reason he wanted to book a room as soon as he heard about this hotel.

"While you wait for your entrees, feel free to walk around and explore our wall of condiments from around the world, our champagne waterfall, and our hot sauce vending machine."

You lurched in your seat. "Did you say hot sauce vending machine?!"

"Yes," the waiter replied with a smile, nodding to the far end of the restaurant. "Have fun."

"Bradley!" you shrieked. "They have a hot sauce vending machine!"

He grinned as you pulled him to his feet. "I know, Baby Girl. That's why I brought you here."

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that was better suited for the bedroom, but Bradley didn't care that there was a couple trying to eat at the next table. You were happy right now when there were times recently that you clearly hadn't been, so they'd just have to deal.

Bradley eventually led you to the vending machine which was enormous and filled with tiny bottles of hundreds of different kinds of sauces. You stood before it in the colorful wonderland of a restaurant, analyzing each one like this was the most important work assignment of your career.

"That's one's from Japan," you mused out loud, pointing to a green bottle. "I've always wanted to try it. Oh, and that one is made in Maryland! We need to get that one."

"Pick as many as you want, Sweetheart. They come with the meal." You actually jumped up and down and clapped your hands as you pushed the buttons to select twenty two different hot sauces, loading Bradley's arms up with the little bottles one at a time.

Then you stopped at the champagne fountain and got two glasses to take back as well. The waiter brought your dinners and some extra plates for all of the hot sauces, and you lined them up across the table. "I think I'm in heaven," you said, dipping your fork into a sauce and tasting it.

Bradley watched you enjoy the flavor before dipping the fork again and holding it out to him. Your smile and the expectant look on your face as he tasted it made him happy, too. "I know I'm in heaven."

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

How do we feel about Cam and Cat? How do we feel about Cam and BG? I also have a Cam face grab. The hot sauce vending machine is for @dakotakazansky !Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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@solacestyles

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@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

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