#anyways im in love and i love this series and thank you for making it

[99020448]

OMFG. THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE BEST SUKUNA SERIES I HAVE EVER READ. I LOVE HOW HE IS STILL O CLOE TO HI ORIGINAL CHARACTER AND HOW SMOOTHLY THE TRANSITION FROM HIM BEING EVIL TO BECOME SO SOFT AND HUMAN FOR THE MAIN CHARACTER IS. TO TAKE SUCH A DIFFICULT AND CRUEL CHARACTER AND TO TRANSITION THEM LIKE THIS WITHOUT FALTER OR HICK UPS IS AMAZING. IM FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM MORE AND MORE EACH CHAPTER. ALSO IF I COULD GET ADDED TO THIS TAG LIST, I WOULD CRY BECAUSE IM SO IN LOVE WOTH THIS CHARACTER AND HIS DEVELOPMENT. AND IM NOT TEYING TO TELL YOU HOW TO WRITE IT BUT IF THERE IS EVER A CHANCE OF THERE HEING A SCENE WHERE SHE GETS TO SEE HOW CRAZY HE GOES, WHETHER ITS DUE TO HER GETTING HURT OR JUST TO PROTECT HER OR SOMETHING, I WOULD GO ABSOLUTELY FERAL.

i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend

sukuna x reader summary: you persuade sukuna to play go fish. the two of you have a small disagreement (he really can't stay mad at you). he confides in you about his past as a sorcerer. w/c: 3.4k tags/warnings: the teeniest bit of angst. mostly fluff. banter. cursing. aged up!yuuji. slight yuuji x reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: the first section could be read as a brief(ish) stand alone. and for context, the world's shortest frankenstein synopsis: victor frankenstein brings a creature to life using dead body parts and thrusts him into a world he doesn't understand, then promptly abandons him and wishes him dead. alone and regarded as repulsive by every human he comes across, the creature begs frankenstein to create a wife for him too. when frankenstein refuses, the creature is further driven to hatred and violence. series masterlist // masterlist

"we should play a card game!" you exclaim as if you've just had the world's greatest idea.

"i'll pass."

sukuna sounds listless, like it's quite possibly the worst proposition he's ever heard.

"why's that? scared i'll beat you?"

"i'm opposed to mind numbing boredom, more like."

"you really need to expand your horizons," you suggest, making your way over to where you keep your playing cards. "all you do is read and brood."

"it's gotten me this far."

you don't respond, too busy rifling through your bookshelf. just as you spot your cards, a book catches your eye and you pull it from its place.

making your way back over to him, you drop it in his lap. "since you found jane eyre so insufferable, here's one you might actually like."

he surveys the cover, which reads: frankenstein or the modern prometheus

you take a seat across from him at the kotatsu table and shuffle the deck, while sukuna flips through the pages with new found intrigue.

"what's it about?"

"the dangers of playing god. should be right up your alley."

"your subtly never ceases to amaze."

"i'm just kidding." you laugh. "there's a lot more to it than that— revenge, loneliness, personal responsibility..."

he turns the book over. "it's written by a woman?"

you raise your eyebrows at him. "what, you don't think women have enough depth to write about those kinds of topics?"

"no, it was just an observation," he says off handedly. "you are evidence enough to the contrary."

he doesn't say it as a compliment, more so as a statement of fact. you hope your astonishment isn't written all over your face.

clearing your throat, you begin dealing while explaining the rules to him.

he takes up his cards and seems to understand the game after only a turn or two, but you're narrowing your eyes at him soon thereafter.

"go fish," he says for the fourth time in a row.

your gaze shifts down to his hands. there's just no way. "show me your cards."

"wouldn't that defeat the purpose of this stupid game?"

"not if you're cheating, now let me see."

"no."

you reach across the table, hoping to snatch them from his grasp, but he just holds them out of your reach.

swiftly rising to your feet, you launch yourself at him in a sad attempt to catch him off guard.

with only one arm extended, he easily fends off your attack. "do you actually think you have a chance here?"

you sink to your knees in defeat and sit with your legs folded beneath you. "not really, but i have to know if you'd stoop this low."

"that so? had you believed me to be above cheating?"

you gasp. "so you admit it?"

"i told you i didn't want to play," he deadpans.

"that doesn't mean you had to cheat! now we have to start over!"

he carelessly tosses the cards onto the table. "i don't think so."

"please?" you lean forward, jutting out ur bottom lip.

he just stares at you with an air of disinterest.

sukuna can be so haughty sometimes, and frankly, it drives you a little crazy. you'd give anything to wipe that look from his face— to prove that he doesn't find this as miserable as he lets on.

leaning forward even further, your hands meet with the carpet to support your shifting weight. now he's watching intently as your face approaches his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

unbeknownst to you, sukuna's breath catches in his throat once he sees your gaze shift, though his mind struggles to catch up. it happens so fast that he hardly registers the quick peck you place on his lips (though maybe it's not the speed of the occurrence, so much as his shock).

"please?" you repeat.

he looks off to the side and stays silent, though his demeanor is indicative of some heated internal debate.

sukuna can't let you win, not that easily. you'd be under the impression that you actually have power over him! and for what? some measly kiss?

no, he simply will not allow that. "i already told you—"

grabbing him by the chin, you cut off his words with another kiss, but this time it lasts a few beats longer. your lips don't move against his, they just linger there in a way that that makes him question whether all of the oxygen has vanished from the room.

when you pull away, you're looking at him expectantly with the same pout still playing on your lips.

"fine!" he barks, grumbling something afterwards that sounds a lot like "evil little minx."

"human earthworm two is definitely still the best."

you're walking home with yuuji after a late night showing of the newest movie in the series.

"no way," you contend. "this one was even better."

he gawks at you. "in no world is the seventh film in an anthology the best! you're crazy—"

sukuna's mouth appears, always eager for a chance to undermine his vessel. "she's right, brat."

yuuji can't believe his ears. "what?! you haven't even seen it!"

"i don't know," you interject slyly. "i'm willing to look past that. it really seems like he knows what he's talking about."

"you mean the guy who's existence predates cinema?" yuuji asks, his eyebrows furrowing as a thought occurs to him. "what'd you do all day anyway? watch plays?"

"..among other things, yes." sukuna answers.

"if you look at it logically," you reason, "we probably wouldn't have movies without theater, so we should definitely consider him an expert in this case."

"oh please, baby. when the topic is ancient civilization or being a homicidal maniac, i'll be sure to solicit his opinion then."

"i resent that," sukuna declares, his conviction forcing a giggle from your lips.

"why?" you question. "was it the part where he called you old as shit, or the part where he called you a murderous lunatic?"

yuuji brings a hand to his mouth to stifle a snort, but you're freely laughing now.

sukuna scoffs indignantly and bites back a comment about how partial you seem to be toward said lunatic. "and to think i defended your opinion."

his response has you clutching at your sides and struggling to see through teary eyes.

but perhaps karma is real, because not a moment later you, you step off the curb in a way that sends a sharp sensation through your leg.

you gasp in pain and brace yourself for the impact of falling to the concrete, but it never comes. instead, you're left with fingers clamped tightly around your wrist and a strange sense of deja vu.

you turn your head just before the dark lines fade from yuuji's arm completely.

"tch, watch where you're going idiot," sukuna scolds, his mouth disappearing as soon as he finishes speaking.

"are you okay?" yuuji asks worriedly.

"absolutely," you claim, but when you try to put weight on your left foot, you let out a hiss.

yuuji's hands find your waist, hoping to keep you steady. before you know it, he's crouching in front of you with his back turned and beckoning you to wrap your arms around his neck.

once you do, he hooks his arms under your thighs and easily stands up. "this okay? you comfy?"

"yeah. i can't believe i just did that." you hide your face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. "thanks, yu."

when you get home, yuuji sets you up on the couch with icepacks, heating pads, three different drinks, two different books, and the tv remote.

he still asks if you have everything you need several times, then kisses you sweetly before heading to bed.

around thirty minutes later, sukuna's leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"hey," you greet. your eyes never leave the tv, as you're privy to the slight tension between the both of you.

he skips the evening's pleasantries. "i could heal it, you know."

you finally turn to face him. "really?"

"of course." he rolls his eyes. "some of us can actually use reverse cursed technique."

"and you've just let me hobble around the past hour anyway?"

he shrugs. "you pissed me off."

you blink at him a few times, rubbing at your temples. "well what about now?"

"i don't know," he begins, making his way over to you. he towers over where you're seated on the couch, so you have to crane your neck to look up at him. "just doesn't really seem like something a homicidal maniac would do, but maybe if he were to receive an apology..."

you cover your face with your hands and groan. "i didn't say that. this is really something you should take up with yuuji—"

"i don't make a habit of conversing with the brat, so if that's the way you're going to be..." he turns on his heel and starts for the bedroom, but you grab onto his sleeve just before he's out of reach.

"wait. please don't go."

just like that, your words have his resolve crumbling and any of his lingering irritation ebbs away. he urges himself to stay strong though, especially after the go fish debacle.

when he doesn't speak, you let out a breath.

"i'm sorry, sukuna." he can tell right away that you're being entirely sincere. "i would never purposefully hurt your feelings. i only meant to tease you, but i can see how i was being mean."

are those... are those tears swimming in your eyes? are you in that much pain, or did he just make you feel that badly? in any case, he endeavors to remedy it immediately.

moving around the couch until he's in front of you, sukuna kneels between your legs. he grabs your left foot gingerly, situating it on his thigh before hovering his hand over top of it.

he sighs. "i don't care if you tease me and you weren't being.. mean." the words sounds so juvenile to him.

you weren't necessarily wrong either, goes unsaid.

well, he'd like to consider himself a little more sophisticated than 'maniac' would imply, but that's beside the point.

"then why are you upset with me?"

his jaw flexes as he tries to find the right words. "i would prefer you do that when it's just.. us."

"oh." realization dawns on you, as does another heap of guilt. you know he despises being trapped in yuuji's body, and you completely failed to consider how ganging up on him might make him feel. "i'm... fuck. i'm really sorry, sukuna—"

"stop apologizing," he urges you in a low voice. it's partly because what he just said makes him feel pathetic, but more than that, it's because the look of self reproach you're wearing is akin to a thousand needles in his chest. "it's fine."

he can't believe you're sitting there with so much remorse over a man like him because you... what? wounded his pride?

he probably deserves it anyway.

why should you give a shit when he's done things a thousand times worse, a million different times?

oh, right. because you care about him.

you can't see the cursed energy at play, but you can tell it's working as your pain begins to dissipate.

once he's finished, he carefully moves your foot to the floor and looks up at you. it's not unlike the way a person might gaze at one of the wonders of the world, like they're lucky to be there in the first place.

with the intensity of his gaze, it feels like he can see right into your head— read your every thought and pick apart every emotion. has anyone ever looked at you like that before? you're having a hard time remembering. you're having a hard time thinking of anything at all, really.

so it goes without saying that you don't think about it when you lean forward and kiss him.

it's not at all like when you were trying to convince him to play cards. no, this isn't light hearted or frivolous.

and it's not like the other two kisses you've shared either. it isn't heated or desperate, nor does it leave you gasping for air.

it's tender. it's so fucking tender, in fact, that sukuna wonders whether he's going to crumble beneath your touch.

he grips the area just above your knees, as if needing something to tether himself to before he withers away completely.

his lips move with yours in a way that's slow and careful.

your hands are on either side of his face, ghosting over his skin as a testament to your hesitance— like you're not certain if this is something he would want.

he wonders how in the world you could ever second guess yourself.

when you pull back, you examine his face for a moment before a small, shy smile tugs at your lips and you murmur, "thanks 'kuna."

he just peers at you wordlessly and it makes you nervous, so you attempt to fill the silence. "it feels so much better. a-and i'm sorry again abo—"

his hand finds your the back of your neck, pulling your lips against his for a moment longer. "don't mention it, angel."

ever since you gave sukuna your copy of frankenstein, he's spent a decent portion of your nights together reading, his brows drawn together in concentration.

upon finishing, he stares at the page after reading the final line: "he was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance."

he's deathly quiet and wearing some unreadable expression. his eyes seem far off.

you leave him be for a little while, as it's clear he's lost in thought, but eventually you grow a bit concerned. it's been nearly half an hour since he last moved.

"sukuna?"

he turns to you. "why did you think i would enjoy this particular book?"

you consider his question carefully, his mood evoking your own seriousness. "it's... elegant and tragic. i guess i appreciate the moral grayness of it. why do you ask?"

"no reason."

"did you enjoy it?"

"yes."

"why?"

he ignores your question. "frankenstein— do you like his character?"

you can't help but feel like you're answering some sort of riddle. "i think he's foolish and arrogant, but i guess i pity him to some degree."

"and the creature?"

"i'm much more sympathetic toward him. he's very... complex and certainly less culpable for the events of the novel than his creator."

you're surprised when he laughs. "of course you would think that way."

and with that, he's flipping through the pages of the novel. you move to sit next to him and once he finds what he's looking for near the middle, he begins reading:

"remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my joints more supple. but i will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. i am thy creature, and i will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. oh, frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. remember that i am thy creature; i ought to be thy adam, but i am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. everywhere i see bliss, from which i alone am irrevocably excluded. i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous.”

his voice is strangely even, almost bordering on robotic. you're struck with the notion that he's attempting (with rare difficulty) to mask his emotions.

you regard him quizzically and wait for him to speak. the last thing you expect to hear tumbles from his lips.

"you know they called me the disgraced one?" you nod. "do you know why?"

"i know the story that sorcerers have passed down."

he hums. leaning back into the couch, he looks fixedly at the ceiling before continuing. "i was just a boy when i was orphaned and no one knew anything about my heritage, including me. jujutsu society took me in and raised me as a sorcerer."

"and you didn't care for it?"

"oh, quite the opposite. i reveled in it. my strength was unprecedented, that much was clear from the start. i surpassed my teachers with ease, and eventually, i took to training alone— reading primitive texts and honing skills that they couldn't teach me."

your hand finds his thigh, hoping to offer him some consolation before beckoning him to continue. "then what happened?"

"the men who had been my teachers, who had been the only.. family i'd ever known.. they scorned me. deemed me reckless and dangerous to jujutsu society. plotted my demise."

your voice is small when you ask, "were they right?"

he wants to hate the question— wants to hate you for asking it— but he knows that it's warranted.

"no. i admit i was forward thinking and a bit.. unorthodox, but i wasn't..."

"what they thought you were?" you offer gently.

he nods. "not until they made me that way— not until they abandoned me and backed me into a corner like some animal."

you struggle to find the right thing to say, if any such thing even exists. you're amazed that he's confiding in you, and while it makes your heart swell, you really don't want to fuck it up.

he looks back down at the book, his eyes scanning the paragraph before repeating, "i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend."

he says it as if he's coming to terms with the circumstances of his life for the very first time.

"the creature was remorseful at the end of the novel," you recall somewhat bravely. "are you?"

sukuna thinks for a great deal of time before replying. you wait patiently for him.

"no," he answers decidedly.

looking over at you for the first time since he began his story, he's relieved to find your face is free of rebuke. instead, there's a warm willingness to understand him. a sadness because of the way he was alienated.

he's curious whether anyone would be able to read the sentiment on your face, or if he just knows you better than most.

is that a privilege he's worthy of? he doubts it.

"you didn't deserve what they did to you," you whisper, reaching up to rake your fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp before your palm rests against his cheekbone.

his head leans almost imperceptibly into your hand, and any regret or unease he may have felt at relaying his past to you disappears. watching a single tear slip down your cheek, he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

he means to say "don't cry. not for me," but the words die in his throat.

for once, your tears are for him rather than because of him and it's utterly riveting. the fact that someone like you would cry on his behalf seems to contradict every horrible thing he's ever been told about himself.

he could sit here and bask in the feeling forever— he's always known himself to be selfish after all. and you know it too, don't you?

his eyes flicker between each of yours, studying your face. "do you want to know why i don't regret the things i've done?"

you tilt your head to the side. "why?"

"because even if it's made me into a monster..."

for a moment, he contemplates not saying anything more. he considers forcing to himself to pull away from your touch, even if it's the only comfort he's been given his entire life. he might still be able to salvage whatever tiny, laughable pieces remain of his pride—

"all of my actions have led me to you."

your eyes soften before you're wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body to his. he returns the gesture after a few seconds pass.

you know he's awful. you know he's cruel. you know that what he's been through doesn't excuse his actions. but still— you want so desperately to take away his pain. to make up for all the things in his past. to wipe the blood from his hands.

as you embrace such an incredibly complicated man (one who is infamous for unrivaled wickedness, yet has his face buried in your hair), you ponder the creature's plea: "make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous."

a/n 2: if you're still w me, thanks for reading!! i'm not sure how i feel abt this part, so feedback is both welcome and appreciated!! also, how do we like sukuna using angel?? in my head he picked it up from the "my good angel" line in jane eyre, so i hope it doesn't seem too unnatural. alsoooo, highly recommend frankenstein. it's one of my favorite books!! mary shelley popped off and literally created the entire genre of science fiction at 21! anyway, thanks for all the love yall, it means the world<3

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[wienners]

"dude its not that embarassing to rewatch some creepypasta stuff you liked as a teenager" the character i imprinted on like a baby duck at 16 was a demon from new jersey that acts like the humanization of every offspring song and canonically listens to scissor sisters. His favorite color is purple and his favorite pokemon are gengar and haunter. His favorite candy is reeses cups. He leaves people notes with emojis on them. He acts like a beetlejuice scare actor at halloween horror nights. His catchphrase is "feeling sassy?" Hes (allegedly) worked with every war criminal throughout history and been every serial killer. even the gay ones. He ate a baby. His animal motif is a rabbit. Hes kind of based off the donnie darko rabbit. He almost exclusively wears merchandise of the quentin tarantino movie death proof. He talks to his cats in a baby voice. He wears a white fedora that makes every video he wears it in feel dated by like 7 years. Hes 5'3. Sometimes he barks like a dog. Hes from new jersey. He hacked a girls tumblr blog so he could post about how awesome he is. He added a laugh track over a video of him killing people. He named a chainsaw rex. He torments people by playing frank sinatra at them. His name comes from an animal collective song. His creator drew his "true form" as a giant buff wolf bug anthro. Theres a (semi)canon blog entry where he makes the speakers blare rob zombie before he enters a room, then holds a guy at gunpoint to describe what he did to to him while "making sure to leave in all the cool parts". The guy hes possessing has radioactive blood. He tried for 2 whole minutes to pick up a bottle of ketchup with a grabby hand. Hes kind of suicidal.He can be reasonably compared to pretty much every major tumblr sexyman. His actor has gone on record saying heath ledgers joker inspired his acting choices. His creators were too attached to him to permanently kill him at the end of the series. Sometimes his voice gets distorted and it makes him sound like bill ciphers first year on HRT. Hes basically like my artistic muse. For some fucking reason i associate the song cake by the ocean with him. I firmly believe that if everymanhybrid didn't require a masters degree in creepypasta autism to comprehend, he would've caused more teenage stabbings than the slenderman incident and more kin war tumblr scenarios than nagito komaeda.

[pali-and-proud]

analysis on buddy i beg 🙏🙏 (if its alr with you ofc)

Babe I cannot stress enough how much I love talking about our purple goth histironic antisocial petty freak of a fan favorite character. Absolutely. Strap in 'cause this is going to be long.

(edit: lmao guys this is long. Like I know some people told me they didn't mind the lengths of my other posts--thank you so much for that, by the way, y'all are so sweet--but i am most definitely pushing it with this one. Get urself something sweet to drink, youll be here a while.)

Let's start with early Buddy!

Episode 3 is the closest we get to understanding early Buddy's motives, and it isn't great--he outright mutters to himself that he needs to get "the obnoxious brat" out of the stories + get the key back. This cements two things: one, that Buddy is the antagonist, and two, that Buddy dislikes Chase.

(Note: I know that Buddy isn't really the antagonist, and that he...lmao...does not dislike Chase. But! Early Buddy is not Crushing-Badly Buddy, so bear with me.)

He ALSO reveals, in the same episode, that he needs to get the key before the old man finds out something's missing. This implies a higher power (which we know now to be Ex Libris), and the episode ends by zooming in on a book with a page ripped out. The episode before had that page, so we know the page detailed how to use the keys and what they were, but keeps the mystery of how the ripped page made it to Chase.

The point: Buddy acts as an antagonist to Chase, yes, but he also has a motive and a deadline. Get Chase out and get the key back before (assumingly) Ex Libris finds out.

With this in mind, Buddy's...tactics...start making a little more sense. He drops pots of dirt on Chase, frames Chase for murder and arson (possiblyyy to be petty), splashes water on Chase, drops a bucket on his head, fills Chase's shoes with worms and bugs (sidenote: Buddy loves insects. Chase hates insects. Someone please write that down PLEASE), sets traps to snag the kid, etc etc. We know he's doing this to get Chase out, but we can infer that there's a consequence if he doesn't.

He also drops more information about his perspective in his arguement with Chase in ep4, where he tells Chase he doesn't deserve the keys and implies that Buddy does deserve them (and, also, that other people use the keys). He despises cheating (shout out to later Buddy, who "hates liars"), and he is completely convinced that Chase will give up sooner or later.

But then the original Cinderella story happens. And it's a turning point, because it's the first time Buddy actively helps Chase. Yes, it's with the end goal of getting Chase to leave (he bets on the key), but it's the closest we get to seeing Buddy in a non-antagonistic role.

Important to note here is that Buddy makes sure to tell Chase: when you lose, don't think you can lie your way out of it. We've never seen Chase lie to Buddy (lol not for, like, another 50 chapters), but we DO see Buddy maintain this theme of assuming Chase will lie/cheat. And it's kinda fascinating, because lying/cheating/manipulating is something pretty villainous, and since Buddy keeps expecting that from early Chase, you can argue that Buddy's typecasted Chase as his own antagonist.

Even so, we see tiny peeks of later! Buddy. He sees Chase desperate for the cakes/snacks, and even though he's insulting about it, he does tell him that he can eat it. He could, hypothetically, let Chase continue to avoid the food here (since it would help coax him out of the stories), but Buddy doesn't.

In fact, this whole story, Buddy never lies. He tells Chase exactly what is about to happen. And when Chase is happily escaping, he notes Buddy's shaded expression (somewhere between pensive and tired, to be honest), and wonders why Buddy tried to help him.

This could be, honestly, the moment Chase realized there was more to Buddy than surface-level.

And then we get to ep13, where Buddy and Chase are in the Princess-Tutor-Dancing scene. There are so many little things in this scene: Buddy complaining that everything in the stories is a waste of time to Chase, acknowledges that he deviated from the other story, and admits that he didn't win the bet. We see a moment of guilt or dissatisfaction from Buddy when Chase says Silver deserves better than to be stuck with someone like him, and he knows the keys only help if they were on speaking terms with whoever they worked with.

Chase asks how he knows Buddy's going to keep his word, and Buddy responds by stressing that he'd be more surprised by Chase being honest. Which kinda brings me to my bigger point: So far, we haven't seen Buddy lie...at all.

Also, Chase slaps Buddy. This is mostly just really funny to me and also relevant for later.

AND NOW LATER BUDDY. I warned you that this would be long.

We get to the Toffee Arc, and we start on one of my favorite details about Buddy: the guy loves touch. He sees Chase with someone new, and immediately he's pressing a hand and his whole face against Chase's hair. He also doesn't love that Chase doesn't reciprocate the touch, but in Chase's defense, this is the first time Buddy's actively touched Chase (outside of them dancing and/or Chase slapping him).

He also loves touch that isn't necessarily from Chase. He loves getting pets from the Duke, and he doesn't even like the Duke. I know some people hypothetize this is from touch starvation, which is absolutely possible, but it is pretty interesting that Buddy has absolutely no shame or embarrassment whatsoever in recieving tactile affection. Most notably because he never, ever actually asks for it.

Also, since a lot of people have pointed out the symbolism of the yellow flowers and the purple vines: this is the first overlap we have of them! It's specifically when Buddy's warning Deacon against being on his bad side: it has faded yellow flowers in the background (all of which are shaded and appear almost tainted), bright yellow bulbs that are untainted, and purple vines.

Personally? I think this is when Buddy starts developing his crush.

Buddy following this scene/ep with him bugging Chase and Deacon about their relationship with one another really truly does not help his case. Neither does Deacon mentioning that he's heard about Buddy and Buddy immediately asking for details. Get some self-control, man.

(Deacon tells him that Chase didn't really say anything good about him and Buddy outright says he isn't surprised. Buddy's not oblivious to his actions, but he's still justifying it through the motive we established ages ago: he needs to get Chase [and now, Deacon] out of the stories. Which he reminds us by immediately trying to trick Deacon out.)

Also, Buddy keeps saying "We'll" get the keys back, implying himself alongside Ex Libris (unless Buddy's already separated from them, which is a theory some people have). I just think it's important to note, particularly for later, when we see that Buddy doesn't have a good relationship with them.

Chase, though, does ask Buddy for any words of advice. Buddy refrains from offering any, but it does reinforce the fact that Buddy had been more forthcoming with book assistance in the recent episodes than before. It's almost like the more he recognizes Chase isn't really an antagonst, the more he's willing to help.

Also, I don't know if this counts as manipulation? But Buddy tells Deacon that Chase was confident in how to continue the story, despite knowing Chase was not (BUT Chase was trying to pretend that he was--so kind of a loophole, I guess?). Interesting that the first maybe-manipulation by Buddy was towards Deacon.

We also learn a new thing about Buddy! He loves to talk. He talks with the Duke, insulting him left and right, despite being a cat. Earlier, when he was in the Cinderella story, he was chatting with one of the background characters. We see him later listening and idly talking with one of the princes; the guy likes to yap, essentially.

(It's also kinda funny because Buddy likes to flirt? But he doesn't do it that often, and he almost always seems to prefer flustering by touch then verbally. He sits on a prince's lap within seconds of love-dosing him. He's shameless.)

We have Chase calling out Buddy for being jealous that Chase brought someone along, and Chase wondering if Buddy is that desperate for attention. The short answer is yes. The long answer is this entire post.

I do love that this is the first time we see Buddy flustered, and he immediately resorts to threats of violence. This becomes a pattern. I love him so much.

(Buddy revealing that he knows Chase's name while openly flirting with him and then shoves Chase away when Chase realizes that Buddy does know his name. He's got two modes, Cool/Collected and violently awkward /j)

Chase kicks the thing out of Buddy's hand. Which is only relevant 'cause that makes the actual physical assault 2-0 Chase. But it also leads to Buddy being thrown in the water, which we know he hates, and Buddy ends the arc by thinking about how Chase could prove useful.

Then we have Beach Boys. This is the iconic arc, and easily one of my favorites. Shocker, I know. I like the arc where they have fun and then argue and then apologize and then bicker again.

Buddy reminds us that he has a much better understanding of the keys than Chase or Deacon, and that he's perfectly good at utilizing loopholes. Remember how earlier, I said Buddy hates cheating? He's fine with cheating the system, so long as he isn't cheating for the reward.

Chase also notices that it seems like Buddy's good at everything (with the exception of sparking a fire). Buddy can hunt fish, but can't cook them. We know, of course, that Buddy can be diplomatic (we've seen that), and we know Buddy can dance. And frame people for various crimes. And, also, poision people. A man of many talents.

We also learn Buddy loves chocolate. He sees chocolate bars, and he so clearly desperately wants one, but it's really not until Chase offers any that Buddy takes. We never, ever see Buddy ASK for anything.

Chase comments that Buddy acts like Ex Libris locks him up and never feeds him, and Buddy just shudders. Chase repeats again, asking if Ex Libris feeds him, and Buddy doesn't answer.

Interestingly, we know that Buddy has claustraphobia. We know Buddy has not lied yet to Chase. And we know Buddy didn't respond to Chase.

So technically, even when Chase learns that Buddy'd been pretending to sleep to try to coax out information from Chase, Buddy was right: he told Chase his intentions from the beginning. Buddy has never, ever, ever actually lied to Chase.

Yes, he didn't contradict anything Chase said. But we also know, from Buddy's reactions, that he genuinely didn't expect Chase to be hurt, because he didn't think Chase was being genuine.

He typecasted Chase as his antagonist, and this arc marks the start of Buddy realizing he might have been wrong. That maybe Chase really was this nice.

Chase tells Buddy he deserves whatever he gets, and Buddy doesn't disagree. It's reoccuring: Chase tells Buddy he deserves to suffer, or he deserves what happens, or the keys deserve better than him, and Buddy doesn't argue.

And then Buddy decides: you know what. Violence.

Throughout this active arguement, Buddy reveals so much about his own mindset. Chase offering to drive over to wherever Buddy is becomes Chase trying to weasel a location out of him. Chase trying to help was Chase trying to manipulate. "You're just as self-serving. You're not better than me!" is CAKED with projection.

Buddy mocks Chase's desire to be friends, and he mocks what he sees as a savior complex, because to Buddy, Chase's selfless persona is all hypocritical: he knows Chase wants to make a wish.

And it's this projection, coupled with the anger of what he sees as Chase's useless manipulation, that makes him finally react when Chase (once again) tells him he deserves whatever happens. Buddy hates that idea--hates that he might actually deserve whatever Ex-Libris is doing to him--and he's so furious that he's genuinely just lashing out. And he hurts Chase.

This is where I'm going to glance back at Chase slapping Buddy and Chase kicking at Buddy's hand and cough awkwardly. This isn't the first time one of them has resorted to violence (although it IS the first time Buddy has, excluding the black eye Chase got in the first episode, but that was from a fight Chase initiated). It is the first time it's resulted in actual blood, though.

It's just something to note that Buddy could try to defend himself--could point at Chase's attacks from before--and instead immediately drops his weapon and looks so genuinely upset for the first time.

And now we regress back to Chase telling Buddy he's scum, he's a monster, and Buddy doesn't argue.

But he apologizes. And we get his thoughts for the first time--recognizing he needs to apologize now, and wishing he was better at it. He apologizes the way he usually initiates conversation with Chase: he starts by rambling about the story. The cut isn't real, even if it hurts, and Chase will be okay, and he's sorry, and he didn't think Chase actually wanted to help, and he lost his temper, and he never meant to cause harm.

He's not willing to call a real truce yet, because he knows it's going to break eventually. But he does help Chase with his coconut, and gets genuinely happy/amused when Chase gets excited.

Buddy likes Chase, guys. I'm not just talking about a crush or attraction or anything. He likes seeing Chase happy. He doesn't like seeing Chase sad. At some level, by this point, he does see Chase as a friend. Which is nice and sweet, but then you look back at Chase insulting and snapping at Buddy and Buddy not arguing, and it gets a little bittersweet.

And then Buddy "cleans Chase's cheek." I know what you are.

Sick Day, we see Chase sick, and we see Buddy fret over him. He fusses over Chase to the point where he fully forgets plot-relevant details, like poison. I love headcanons that view Buddy as forgetful, especially if one were to take Buddy and apply PTSD symptoms to him (#PsychMajor) but I'm not willing to give the guy a psychological analyzation until AFTER we get details on his background. But oh guys, I will be so annoying when I can finally put nature vs nurture into action.

Again, we see Buddy genuinely concerned over Chase. Concerned to the point of forgoing everything he's supposed to do in the story to follow Chase, even though he maintains his claim that he's merely walking in the same direction as Chase. (once again, idk if that counts as lying? But it's definitely not manipulative).

The reason this is important is because Buddy's concerned for Chase, but when Chase asks him to help by telling Deacon to leave, Buddy asks what he gets out of it. And it isn't even with a specific angle: he genuinely wants to know what benefit he gets to convincing Deacon to leave.

Remember Buddy's early motive? To get Chase and Deacon out and grab their keys before "the old man" notices? Yeah, that's on hold, evidently.

Chase tells him that he'd get the satisfaction of helping someone, and Buddy squints and fully rejects the plausibility of that. Which is so interesting, because he has helped Chase before (via giving him information, or opening a coconut, or even this arc, by making sure the kid doesn't faint on the stairs) without really getting anything out. Again, I know what you are, Buddy. absolutely useless in the presence of a cute boy

And despite all of that, Buddy doesn't hesitate to run after Chase. Doesn't hesitate to save Deacon when Chase faints. He even goes so far as to grab Chase's stuff, even though he completely forgot and forgoes the literal poision that he's supposed to be in charge of.

It isn't that Buddy doesn't know how to be good. It's that Buddy does good, but both doesn't recognize that he's doing something good AND doesn't acknowledge that he's doing something good for Chase. He isn't oblivious to the bad he's done--just oblivious to the good.

Think of it in terms of the speech Buddy gave Deacon. If there are times you need to be a hero, and times you need to be a helper, then it goes to reason that there are times you need to be villainous. But Buddy doesn't need to be villainous anymore, right? He's aware that Chase isn't actually an antagonist, that Chase isn't actually a problem. He's aware that his treatment of Chase was entirely one-sided. And that's only reinforced by Chase giving him an entire bag's worth of vitamins and food.

Like, to Buddy's credit, how do you even respond to that. A whole bag's worth of food. Non-perishables. Chocolate. And we know Chase doesn't even have the money to really afford that, but Buddy doesn't, and Buddy's already rendered speechless.

We know that in the All That Glitters arc, Buddy didn't thank Chase. And we know that's because Buddy assumed Chase had to want something in exchange. Because what kind of a person would be so genuinely selfless as to give someone an entire bag's worth of food.

We know, exactly one arc later, that Buddy did thank Chase. He makes sure to tell Chase he's capable of feeling grateful. Remember all the stuff Chase told him, when they were arguing? About being a monster, and being scum? It's almost like Buddy's trying to humanize himself to Chase, or something. Because WE know Chase doesn't actually see Buddy as a monster, but Buddy doesn't.

Buddy reminds Chase that he doesn't have to care, and he doesn't have to worry, right before returning Prunella's book and apologizing for looking inside. Again, and I cannot stress this enough, Buddy could have just...lied...and said he didn't look inside, or just not mentioned it at all, but he doesn't. Buddy...doesn't really lie.

He apologizes AGAIN for accusing Chase of being underhanded. We know Buddy has a lot of guilt, and we know Buddy's never been unaware of his actions, but it is really interesting to see that Buddy actually has a pretty tight moral code. Chase just...wasn't on the right side of it for a while.

And now we're at the Requium arc. And Buddy had to deal with being woefully ignored by Chase, and then went against the story to get Chase to not marry the vampire, and then got locked in a coffin. And honestly, nowhere near enough people have pointed out how quickly Buddy fell to apologizing and begging forgiveness--he hadn't done anything, but he didn't care. Buddy doesn't lie, remember? Not nearly as often as he acts like he does. But he was desperate, and he begged his apologies for things he knew he/his character hadn't done.

And when Chase let him out, he hugged him.

Remember what I said, in the Toffee arc? Buddy loves tactile affection, and Buddy never asks for it. He was desperate to get out, and he got out, and he needed a hug, and he got one.

And when Buddy realized the hug he needed hurt Chase? That the vines he covered himself in, the barbs he prided himself in, were causing actual harm? Immediate guilt, with him mentioning how often he hurts Chase. And this time, Chase is quick to deny it--he tells him not to worry, that it's completely fine.

But Buddy hurt Chase, so Buddy fixes it: he gets rid of the vines. Get's rid of the thorns. He's literally shedding a shield, a protection. Because the vines he coated himself in didn't protect him from the real problem (Drac), but just hurt the only person trying to help him.

Someone said it before, but Buddy LIKES his outfits. He likes them being intricate and detailed. But that didn't matter, because it hurt Chase, so Buddy got rid of it.

And after he sheds the outer protection, he's a bit more expressive. It's subtle, but he doesn't shy from openly telling Deacon he trusts Chase. He also locks Deacon outside the door to be potentially mauled by wolves, but nobody's perfect. He doesn't hesitate to remind Deacon of the baby teeth comment, either: this is his petty retribution for that joke, and he stands by it. Deacon asks why Buddy's wrestling with the bottom half of a vampire, and Buddy isn't sure.

And finally. Buddy realizing Chase lied to him. Buddy being so deeply, genuinely, painfully taken aback. Buddy, after apologizing again and again and again, after feeling guilty for suspecting Chase and for hurting Chase and for misreading Chase, after trying to figure out how to humanize himself without lying about who he is and what he plans to do (remember? get Chase out? get the keys?), discovers that Chase lied to him after all.

So in the end, Buddy just wants to be good. He doesn't really lie, and his manipulations are really just exploiting loopholes, and he doesn't actively want to hurt anyone. He's truly not malicious, but he's aware that's the role he's been given (figuratively and literally). And there are times you need to be the hero, or the helper, or the villain. And he's trying to figure out what role he can be, since he's really only had to play the villain. Remember: if Buddy wasn't the villain, Chase wouldn't have tried to do the whole Cinderella book. He wouldn't have met Silver, or Bronze, or Goldie. He wouldn't have known anything.

I hope this makes sense :) And I am mildly sorry for this being so long and much more impressed with anyone that stuck on this long.

[ef-1]

burn your village | female rage playlist

[deus-ex-mona]

she’s so proud of herself…

[todayisafridaynight]

whatever //blasts your old man with the butch beam//

[c0smiccom3t]

Silly Bandicoot Doodle Batch !!!

(Turns out i can draw the bandicoots in the same exact artstyle as in the "It's about time" game... Well, except for Aku Aku, kind of.... idk.)

(OK thats all the fanart i can make. time to work more on my webcomic until its time to draw more fanart!!)

[stormyoceans]

hiii monica!!! hope your day is going great :)) i have so many thoughts and feelings about lt and mohkday, i thought it'd be better to tell you than make a post of my own (i feel like most of these things have been said already, but just so i can get em off my mind) hope it's not too much :D - just so much of how the plot being what drives their relationship forward than tropes. we got the 'sharing a bed' and for what! in the end, it dint act as a catalyst in any way. rather, it's the casual intimacy, of day feeling what mohk is wearing, remembering his scent and being able to recognize his touch that invokes the flutters. all of which are basically essential considering day has to rely on his other senses to be able to single out mohk from a crowd. and yet. it's how the touches start to linger, as they gain new meanings. as they begin testing the waters. all while mohk has the most smitten smile (that day doesn't see). - it's their little spontaneous outings, and mohk only selecting the most perfect spots, so day can make the best out of them with his other senses, where his deteriorating vision only feels like a mild inconvenience. a flower market (touch and scent), a bridge with a prominent railing (day can feel his way along), rooftop (you can probably feel the breeze in your face, and it's totally empty, perfect to clear your mind after a rough night). - mohk planting jasmine in HIS house, and bringing the book home to practice??? how do you even come up with the second one? day's reactions when he found out!!! lmao he never stood a chance. (also giggling, kicking his feet, twirling hair day is asdajkdhjf, every expression is. i am.) - the goldfish slippers. if day's at home, he's cozy in them and it's simply the most endearing thing (day is, who am i kidding) - anywhere day has to be and he's pondering out loud, basically about to wave it off with some or the other excuse, 'it's a hassle anyway', mohk will catch on immediately. 'what are you waiting for? i'm here to take you' something about that is just. i know you want to do this and i'm not going to let petty things hold you back - their story develops from their natural day to day interactions. but it's so immersive. seeing mundane gestures gaining magnitude as feelings come to light. someone needs to write a 50k fic is all i'm saying. - the intimacy thing? god where do i even begin. to the bed scene with them covering each other's ears, i saw someone comment 'hope day's walls are thicker' and i haven't been fine since. and if you remember, one of your tags, i guess around the ep 3 dressing room mark, you said something like 'they're gonna touch one naked shoulder and have to go lie in the grass to calm down' and i know the vibe bw those two statements are wildly different but i haven't been able to get it out of my mind. you hit the nail, because it's exactly what's going to happen. it's just SO them. and that's SO. that extent of treasuring one another, the adoration, the pure raw emotion behind finding people in life, that you want to keep forever. it's the finding someone who sees you differently from everyone else, who never takes you for granted, who is elated to be in your company every single time. who above all, makes you feel safe. - everything about them is so. for lack of better words, natural. like second nature. like falling into place. you're so right. they invented romance. and i think no one could've captured it better than jimmysea, cause no one does gentle, comforting, homely like them. but that's just me. -Skate

HIII SKATE HIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!

first of all, im both very honored and very grateful that you wanted to share your last twilight thoughts with me!!!!! i do also want to encourage you to post about them if you're comfortable with it because i think fandoms need as many voices that can bring their own uniqueness to it as possible (what you want to say has already been said? maybe, but no one else can tell it quite in the same way that you would), but if you don't feel like it that's perfectly fine and im more than happy to (hopefully) provide a safe space for you and your thoughts!!!!!!

AND SPEAKING OF YOUR THOUGHTS!!!!!!!! i absolutely agree with you about tropes in last twilight not being used to further mork and day’s relationship. we still have a few of them (the 'there was only one bed' like you said, the 'trip and fall into you', the 'wipe the corner of your mouth') but they blend into the narrative almost seamlessly: they're not the focus of a scene and the flaw of the story doesn't stagnate around them by lingering on how the characters react to the trope. rather, they're used to either give the audience a subtle clue about what those characters are feeling or give more weight to a scene. the simple fact that mork and day are gonna sleep in the same bed carries in itself a certain kind of tension because the viewers recognize the trope and with that recognition come a whole series of expectations which p’aof then proceeds to subvert. if it were any other show, we would have probably had mork offering to sleep on the floor only for day to say it was okay for mork to sleep in the bed as long as he kept his hands for himself, and still they would have somehow ended up cuddling. but the trope is only a set up. p’aof refuses to use it as a plot device and lets his characters build intimacy in a different and much more genuine way: it’s mork giving day the thinner blanket so he won’t be hot and day recognizing mork’s scent on it, it’s mork having a bowl of water and jasmine flowers at the ready to help day relax, it’s day offering mork one of the flowers to smell and getting flustered at the feeling of mork’s breath brushing his fingers…….. it’s just so refreshing to have, on one hand, tropes being used as the framework rather than as the subject of a scene, and on the other, intimacy naturally developing from day to day interactions (again, like you said) without having to rely on said tropes

last twilight is also the proof that you don’t need an intricate plot to make a show interesting: even the most mundane acts like eating a meal or cleaning a fish tank or smelling a flower can gain magnitude and keep the viewers attached to the screen if the director knows what they’re trying to tell. and while i do want jimmysea to explore and be able to portray different genres, i do think this type of story is where they truly thrive. one of the major complaints i still see about vice versa is that the fantasy aspect of the story is put in the background to favor puen and talay making movies with friend credits instead, but to me that’s actually the strength of the show, because, to quote you, “no one does gentle, comforting, homely like them (jimmysea)”. AND GOD DO I AGREE WITH YOU ON THIS. the mundanity of everyday life is often seen as boring but it’s in that quietness that their chemistry shines, giving us one of the most natural and soft kind of intimacy i’ve ever seen portrayed in television. that’s why i would love to see an intimate scene between mork and day but i also pray that we never going to get it because YEAH I REMEMBER THOSE TAGS I WROTE AND I STAND BY THEM. the kind of intimacy jimmysea can bring to the table paired with the intensity that p’aof can put on screen and the depth of emotions that mork and day feel for each other (the vulnerability the understanding the acknowledgment the recognition the seeing the wanting the care the love)??????? I WOULD STRAIGHT UP DIE

ALSO I WOULD SPEND HOURS TALKING ABOUT HOW MORK FELL FIRST AND HARDER AND IS NOW SO LOST IN THE SAUCE HE’S BASICALLY DROWNING IN IT BUT I WOULD PROBABLY END UP GETTING INVOLUNTARY COMMITTED BY THE END OF IT SO IM JUST GONNA POST THIS

IT'S THE WAY MORK IS SO ATTENTIVE WHEN IT COMES TO DAY AND YEAH HIS LOVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL IS ACTS OF SERVICE BUT BOY SURE TOOK IT TO A WHOLE OTHER LEVEL. from remembering what day said one time about people reading to him not feeling right and making sure to practice so it would feel more natural, to planting jasmine in his garden to make day feel at home if he ever visited, to finding ways to help day be more independent and places that day can still enjoy through his other senses, mork has already been saying i love you to day in everything he does for him AND I JUST. IM SIMPLY SO NORMAL ABOUT IT. TRULY

[unculturedswine69]

WAIT HELP I READ TOO FAST 😭😭

omg but who are your favs in the twdg games... 😳😳😳

OH HFHGFHJ ITS FINE I DO THAT ALL THE TIME TOO BUT YEAH AS YOU KNOW I LOVE THE GAMES AND SHOW AND ALSO THE COMIC!! BUT FOR THE GAMES UHMMM..omg this is SUCH a tough question honestly?? like, i feel very complicated about basically every character in this series so its hard to just pick one fave....

hmm i will say tho i have ALWAYS loved Lee and Clementine (obviously,who doesnt hehe) i just love them sm 😭the first game just makes me so emotional FRFR in the first game i also loved Ben,Chuck, Omid and Christa and Molly!! id also include Kenny but...i have a sorta love/hate relationship with that guy 😭😭😭😭hes such a good character tho!! in general i think the first game was just so good😌😌

for the other games im less familiar with them since ive only played the other seasons once each so my memory is probably a little off,but i remember really liking Sarah ,Nick,Luke and Jane from the 2nd season,but again i think some of these characters are like. love/hate with me currently,i think s2 is so turbulent that its kinda hard to pick faves really (for me atleast) with the 3rd season i remember LOVING that Tripp guy and also Javier,but its been years since i last played the game so i probably have a bunch of different opinions on everything now😭😭in general i just dont remember too much from that game,i definitely have to replay it eventually..for s4 tho?? hmm honestly,i think i loved like,90% of the cast in that LMAO but i think i liked uhhm AJ the most.and also i think his name was Asim (or aasim) and Ruby,i liked them alot i think,and louis and violet too 😌😌😌also the dog?? does the dog count??? in general i just thought the characters were pretty interesting in that game,but again i think ima just have to replay all of these again to see how i REALLY feel

ANYWAYS THANKS FOR THE QUESTION AURA!!! i would LOVE to know your faves too😈😈😈😈😈😈

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS: PART 9

YOU CHOSE: KEYS: TAKE THE CAR AND ESCAPE

Your choices leave your character lost. He has no choice but to succumb to the will of his captor.

CWS: non human whumper, whumper is also caretaker, captive whumpee, failed escape attempt, sick whumpee, brainwashing, torture, dehumanization, delirious whumpee, suicidal ideation, force feeding alcohol, hallucinations and delusions of bugs crawling on and into whumpee’s body, hypnosis. let me know if i should add more!

Masterlist.

Tag list (lmk if you’d like to be added or removed, my apologies for forgetting about it the last handful of parts): @skid-row-seymour @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @the9645archives

sorry this one is kinda long, but i felt like y’all deserved a bigger part for waiting so long to hear from this series :cryface:

. . .

The keys hang on the wall, the car sits outside. It’s time to go.

In one swift motion, Chase sheds the blanket off his shoulders and snatches up the keys. He strides outside the house, making easy and confident steps down the porch. Getting in the car is easy, starting it is easy, driving is easy. For once, he isn’t afraid.

The puppet opens his eyes. Now that he’s pictured his half assed plan, he can begin the attempt.

He sheds the blanket onto the couch, feeling a rush of cold air hit his skin. For a second he pulls it back, but ultimately elects to fold it and leave it on the couch. Maybe Pseudo won’t be as angry with him if he doesn’t leave a mess. Maybe he’s just stalling.

Once finished, he begins his steps towards the keys. They’re clumsy and painful, causing him to fall into the arm of the couch before he even leaves the living room. He manages to get to the keys, and with a trembling hand, he plucks them from the wall.

He feels nauseous.

Is he really doing this?

He could turn back at any moment, and Pseudo would never know. He wouldn’t question it, because Chase would still be in bed when he got home, and the keys would still be on the wall. He could turn back. He could be safe.

But instead he opens the door, against everything inside him. He can hear his inner “Pink voice” crying inside his head, “bad idea, bad idea, bad bad bad idea!”

But he is ignored, and Chase finds himself in the driver’s seat of the car.

It takes him a few minutes to muster the courage to start it, and then a few more just to remember how. His whole body shakes in cold and fear, and he feels like he could vomit at any given second. His nervousness cracks him down to his core, splitting through every cell and piece of tissue there is to have inside a human. Once the car rumbles to life, he adjusts the mirror, and sees Pseudo in the back seat.

“Fuck!!”

Chase whips around to look at him, but finds the car empty.

The relief, the fear, the sickness, the fighting Pink and Chase, God, he can’t take it. He can’t tell if what he saw was real or fake, if he’s just hallucinating or if Pseudo’s onto him and is just toying with him. But he’s come this far, and what he can’t take even more than the situation he’s in now, is staying another day here in Denmark. He wants to go home.

Chase puts the car in drive, and starts his terrifying journey.

. . .

If starting the car was difficult, driving should be its own category of horrendous.

He’s completely forgotten how. For the first ten or so minutes he either goes too fast or too slow. He almost drives off the side of the road into the wooded areas, (which he absolutely scratches the car), and at one point, he nearly crashes when trying to turn too fast on a curve. As time passes, the sun falls farther and farther beneath the trees, to which Chase panics when trying to find the switch for the headlights. He considers pulling over for a while just to cry about it all, but he gets the hang of most of it. He gets the hang of most of it, and he drives just fine for a while, despite having no idea where he’s going.

As Chase drives and drives, he starts seeing a house in the distance. Pseudo’s house.

Did he drive in a circle?

The roads don’t curve like that, do they?

Chase speeds up, terrified to be met with this fate so soon. He hopes he’s hallucinating again.

The same woods and lake and curves meet him again. He tries harder this time around to make sure he’s careful, taking different turns as not to end up in the same place. This cant be for nothing.

The same stretch of time seems to pass for Chase, though he can’t say for sure as Pseudo’s clock is stuck at 10:05. It all feels like the same terrifying drag to him either way.

Eventually, even with his precautions, he’s met with the house again.

He speeds up once more, gripping the steering wheel as tight as he can. He tries the same plan again, taking different roads or even going straight through the woods wherever the car can fit. At this point, he’d try anything to go home.

But once again, the house appears in his view.

Tears blur his vision as he tries again. He pleads to get free, more afraid of the punishment than anything at this point. If Pseudo isn’t on to his escape, then his lack of driving skills are going to be his downfall.

Again, the house appears, and again, he tries to drive.

He cries as he keeps the car going. It’s hard to see as it is, but he might need to pull over if his emotions keep getting the best of him like this.

The next time he gets back to he house, he sees Pseudo standing there, watching him. His hands are in his pockets and he doesn’t look upset, although Chase knows better than to assume. He knows he’s been caught, and that driving would be useless now. But he cant stop, this cant be for nothing.

He drives around again, and Pseudo stays put. Their dance continues, Chase driving, Pseudo waiting, until enough turns have happened that the puppet accepts his defeat. On the last drive, the car comes to a stop, but his tears don’t.

Pseudo approaches, opening the door and tilting his head at the doll. Chase has yet to stop crying.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” says Pseudo.

The puppet covers his face, smashing tears into his fingertips. He feels like Pink. Or maybe wants to be Pink. Pseudo is nicer to Pink.

“You know what happens now, don’t you, dolly?”

Chase feels sicker and sicker. He covers his mouth just in case.

“I asked you a question, Chase.”

The name names his skin crawl. Pseudo doesn’t call him that anymore, not unless he’s in serious trouble.

“Yes,” Chase whimpers. He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks up at his captor, hoping to reason with him. “Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what I was thinking, I was just scared and-“

Pseudo puts a finger to his lips. “Hush. You know where you’re supposed to go. I’ll be in there later.”

“But-“

Pseudo smacks Chase on the mouth, and the puppet shuts up. He leans in close to his doll, making sure their eyes meet and the attention is captured.

“Hush.”

He then unbuckles the seatbelt that ties Chase down, and takes the keys from the ignition.

“Put these back on your way in.”

The monster drops the keys in his puppet’s hand, and leaves him to follow his commands. But Chase is paralyzed.

He stares down at the keys in his hand, shaking like a leaf about to fall from a tree. He pictures the cellar, he pictures the garden, he pictures the car, the vague idea of children he forgets the names of. He pictures the stupidity of his decision, and how much easier his life would be had he just stayed in bed to sleep like he was told.

But there’s no point in picturing.

Chase stands up and shuts the door. With each step he takes he feels knives digging into his feet, roots trying to plant themselves in the ground to make him stay away from his punishment. He starts losing his breath from the panic, and while his hands go numb, he simultaneously crumbles to the ground. The keys find a home in the grass, and Chase’s mouth begins to salivate from the need to vomit.

He covers his mouth, trying to take deep breaths and prevent a mess. He can’t stop shaking, can’t stop crying, can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen to him.

It takes him a few minutes to gather his strength again. Soon enough, he’s entering the house to place the keys back where he found them, and heading out the back door.

He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks at the cellar. Why, why, why did he have to be so stupid? Why can’t he just listen?

With trembling hands and closed eyes, he opens the doors for his consequences.

. . .

Pseudo takes a long time to come downstairs.

Chase isn’t sure if he’s just letting the tension build, or if his punishment is being locked in here for an unknown amount of time. God knows he’s spent long enough down here, weeks at a time, and every memory makes him more and more afraid of what’s to come. He tries not to focus on that part. Instead, he drags his hands against the wall for balance while he paces.

And paces, and paces, and paces

and paces and paces

and paces.

He paces until his feet ache from the weight of his bones. Until he has to cover his face and kneel on the ground, considering ending his life before Pseudo can come down to start the pain. But that thought leaves his mind as light drips heavy down the steps, and Chase becomes a lightening bolt to sit in the chair he’s supposed to.

His eyes lock on the drain below him. There are still stains on the concrete from his own blood, but more recently, from the man who was planted in the garden. Chase shivers as he pushes the thought from his mind.

Pseudo comes down the stairs with his eyes trained on the chair, pleased to see the seat taken. His stride is easy and comfortable, but there’s some kind of itch in his fingers that twitches as he gathers tools onto his little cart. He takes his time to think about his supplies, and what is or isn’t chosen. Chase steals a glance, but turns away when he sees a stun gun thud onto the surface.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself,” says Pseudo, still focused on his task. “It’s like you enjoy being punished, I don’t know. Or maybe you’re just dumber than I thought.”

He places a few other tools on the cart, but Chase keeps himself blind to what’s there. Once finished, he rolls the cart closer to his prey, and stands in front of him to speak.

“Which one is it, Chase?”

The puppet frowns, shaking his head. “I-“

A hard smack to the face cuts him off. Chase goes reeling to the side of the chair, but is yanked back by his hair. The man cries out in pain, leaning as far into Pseudo’s grip as he can to avoid extra pain.

“If you speak again without permission, I’ll sew your mouth shut. Am I understood?”

Chase nods.

Satisfied, the monster lets go, and the puppet’s hands come up to soothe the pain in his cheek and scalp. The relief is short lived, however, as Pseudo grabs his wrists to strap them to the arms of the chair with thin metal wire. It digs trenches into his skin, so he tries not to squirm.

His ankles are met with the same restraints, and he clamps his jaw down as hard as he can to avoid pleading. His eyes unconsciously drift to the tool cart and he catches the sight of a Sjambok, which he can already feel the sting of. He closes his eyes and keeps his head down, but Pseudo doesn’t like that.

“Look up. Look at the cart.”

The puppet chews on his tongue and obeys. His eyes scan over what he sees, and the pit in his stomach doesn’t stop growing.

The Sjambok. The stun gun. Gardening scissors. Barded wire. Needle and thread. A small jar of table salt. Shards from the plate he broke. Whiskey. A nail-gun.

Chase’s breath picks up as he scans the cart. Tears sting his eyes, and he chews and chews into his tongue. His head swims with the anticipation and anxiety of it all, heart thumping like a bird’s inside his chest. Once he’s gathered the sight of what will be used, he turns back to his captor to see him staring like a stalking, hungry dog.

“What do you think, trouble- maker? Was it worth it?”

The man shakes his head. He feels pathetic and afraid. He only wishes he could go back in time to stop himself from being so stupid.

Pseudo nods in response.

“Good. I’ll tell you what though, doll. Once I use a tool, I’ll put it away. But everything will be used. Got it?”

Chase’s eyes glance to the stun gun. He nods his head, feeling sick all over again.

“Good. How about you pick first then? Since you like making stupid decisions so much.”

He rolls the cart closer to Chase so he can get a better view of it, and perhaps to point with his eyes what he wants. But Chase shakes his head, a hum of fear crawling up his throat against his will.

“Hey, come now. You want to make choices, so make one. Pick something.”

The man brings his head back up to meet Pseudo’s gaze. He pleads with his eyes, with his frown. He doesn’t want to. Don’t make me, please?

Pseudo tilts his head, waiting.

“Pick.”

Chase blinks tears from his eyes and turns back to his options. He points with his eyes, and says what he wants in his head, just in case Pseudo is listening.

Whiskey.

Pseudo points at the stun gun. “This?”

Chase shakes his head. No, no, whiskey. He moves forward slightly to stare harder at the bottle.

“This?”

The gardening scissors.

Chase shakes his head again, pleading, pleading, chewing on his tongue. Whiskey!

Pseudo lands on the whiskey, and Chase nods and relishes in his relief.

“Alright...”

Pseudo opens the bottle, and presents it to Chase’s mouth. “Drink.”

The puppet obeys, drinking swig after swig after swig, until its spilling over his mouth and down his chin. He starts coughing and spitting it up, but Pseudo keeps it trained on his lips. He begins to feel like he’s drowning in the alcohol before it’s pulled away, and Chase’s throat is left to burn like a hungry fire while he coughs out the poison.

“Catch your breath… it wasn’t that bad.”

It takes him a few minutes of back patting and condescending encouragements to finally settle down. He tries breathing through his mouth to calm the burning in his throat, but Pseudo takes it as an excuse to pour more poison into his body.

The same motions repeat, and the bottle is halfway gone by the time Pseudo pulls it away again. But the cap goes back on, and just as Pseudo promised, its put on the bottom shelf of the cart.

“That was an easy one… so I think I’ll pick next.”

He picks up the nail- gun, and places it to Chase’s shin.

The puppet sits up, and the wire that holds him down digs into his skin. With eyes wide and breath fast, he shakes his head, clamping down his jaw to keep himself from speaking up. His tongue endures more abuse from his teeth.

“Which leg pressed the gas?”

Chase shakes his head again, tears falling down his face as the fear takes over him. Please, please, no. He shrivels into himself like a raisin, and the wire once again digs deeper and deeper into his flesh.

“Which leg, dolly? Point with your eyes.”

The doll sobs a little harder, shaking his head.

“No? Maybe I’ll just hit both, then…”

His eyes shoot open to stare at his right leg, tears blurring his vision. At this Pseudo chuckles, tilting his head and keeping his eyes on the doll’s face.

“I’m just messing with you,” he smiles. “But it would’ve been very interesting had you pointed at your left.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, a nail goes shooting through Chase’s tibia. It digs down as deep as it can get, cracking the bone with the force.

He screams as loud as he can muster. His already burned throat doesn’t do well with the strain, but its even worse when another nail goes shooting through just below the first one. He can’t stop himself from crying about it.

The nail- gun drops into the bottom shelf, and Pseudo calls his puppet back to focus. He coos at him, tapping his face, until Chase gets the hint.

“It’s your turn, puppet.”

The doll looks at his leg. His pants are soaked with blood and alcohol, but he cant see the nails from this angle. Perhaps thats a good thing.

He turns back to the cart, and makes his choice.

Salt.

Pseudo points at the Sjambok. Chase shakes his head.

Pseudo points at the gardening scissors. Chase shakes his head, leaning closer to the salt.

He points at the stun gun. Chase loses his breath, and leans even closer.

Salt!

“Mh, I’m just not sure what you’re saying. I suppose I’ll pick..”

Pseudo picks up the glass shards, and starts shoving them one by one into Chase’s thigh. He uses the last one to give his doll’s cheek a little cut, and tosses it into the cart. The remaining shards stay planted in flesh like sprouting seeds. It hurts, but it feels like a break compared to what he just felt.

Next, Pseudo picks up the Sjambok, and stands up.

“Lean forward.”

Chase groans, shivering. He feels dizzier and dizzier, and the world feels harder to navigate. Is he getting drunk already?

“Don’t make me ask again, dolly. You don’t want this to hit your face, do you?”

The doll succumbs and does as he’s told. Once he’s in position, Pseudo waits to watch his puppet just breathe. His chest rises and falls fervently in his lap, just barely grazing the glass. After enough tension builds to make Chase whimper, he strikes his back hard.

A large slice of blood erupts from the source, and the doll screams into his knees. Another three strikes are given, and the Sjambok is tossed to the floor.

Chase sobs like a child. He can’t get enough air in his lungs, and the tears seem to be never ending. Everything already aches, and there’s still so much to do. He feels dizzy and faint, unsure if its the blood loss or the alcohol, or both. But before he can get his bearings again, the wounds on his back sting bad enough for him to wail all over again.

Salt, salt, salt, like trails of snow, poured into his open wounds. Pseudo holds the back of his neck to keep him in place.

“Stop!” Chase weeps, squirming and crying like it’ll do something useful. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!! Please stop!”

Pseudo clicks his tongue three times, finishing the last row and putting the salt away.

“You just can’t get enough of this, can you, sweetheart?”

Chase sits up once free, writhing in pain. He sways as the alcohol takes over the remaining of his control, and the pain takes its place close behind. He can’t press his back to the chair, but cant lean forward, either. Everything hurts. He’s too dizzy, he feels drunk already. His wrists ache and look as red as his crying face does.

Pseudo plucks the needle and thread from the cart.

“Quiet, dolly, or this will hurt a lot more than you’d like it to.”

“Nonono, please, please!” he weeps. “I wont do it again, I won’t ever do it again, I’ll do everything you say, I’m s— ah!!”

Pseudo smacks Chase on the mouth hard enough to shove his back into the chair.

“Enough. You’re being awfully stupid..”

The needle comes up from his bottom lip first, snaking its way to the top lip. Row after row, sob after sob, every sound that comes out of Chase’s mouth becomes muffled. Blood drips down his chin to follow the paths that the alcohol took beforehand. The salty tears sting the cut on his cheek, and whatever wound from the stitches that they can get into.

The gardening scissors cut the remaining thread, and both tools are tossed to the bottom of the cart. At least his fingers wont have the same fate as Richie’s.

The next tool that’s chosen is barbed wire. Pseudo uses it to wrap around Chase’s torso and arms, making sure to roll up any clothing so the razors meet his skin instead of fabric. Then, the stun gun finds his hand.

Chase’s head swims. He shakes his head, his cries becoming weaker but more afraid by the second. He’d take anything over the stun gun. Even the nail- gun. The sensory hell that comes from electricity is simply too much for him to take right now.

“Readyyyy?” Pseudo sings. “You’re almost done.”

But Chase isn’t, nor will he ever be, ready for the stun gun. He shakes his head again, a pathetic sob bubbling up from his throat. He sinks deeper into the chair, regretting everything he’s done within the last two days. He wants to wake up in the attic with the sun on his face and be confused about what’s happening again. He wants to be hypnotized and treated like a doll, to be coddled and loved and doted upon for whatever fucked up reason Pseudo has for doing it. He wants to be Pink, he wants to be Pink, he wants to be Pink.

Pseudo aims at Chase’s shoulder, and shoots.

His entire body tenses up from the electricity. What little control he had before has now left him, and he is left to scream and endure for 10 seconds.

15.

20.

Chase opens his eyes to see Pseudo standing over him. He can’t breathe, he cant see, the world swims and twists in his eyes. The room spins and there are fire ants crawling across his entire body, with burrows dug deep into his flesh. He looks down at himself, seeing bugs crawling all across his skin.

“Mmm- mmmm!!!”

Chase writhes and hollers like his life depends on it. There are bugs on his skin!! He can feel them burrowing into his flesh, into his shin, his wrists, his torso, his mouth, his thigh!!!!! They’re everywhere!!!

He screams and screams and screams as they take over his whole body, making a home inside every space they can. Pseudo grabs hold of his doll’s face, forcing his eye contact and attention.

“Settle down,” he commands. “You’re alright. Deep breaths, Pink. Deep breaths.”

He keeps squirming and fighting, keeps sobbing and sinking deeper into the chair as the bugs eat him up like candy. But Pseudo comes soothing, and kind, and Chase feels heavier and heavier until the whole world feels too far away to focus. But Pseudo is there, and Pseudo is helpful. Pseudo gets the bugs away.

“You’re okay, Pink. Listen to me now, deep breaths. You’re all done.”

All done? All done?

Pink shivers. He remembers what he did, how stupid and dangerous that was. He can’t believe he’d do such a thing, especially when an angel like Pseudo is here to take care of him. What’s wrong with him?

Pink whines as he’s set free from his restraints. As all the barbed wire is peeled from his body and the glass shards are plucked out one by one. He sighs, especially thankful, when he’s able to take a breath through his mouth as the thread is cut away. He has no choice but to lean into Pseudo when scooped up into his arms, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wants to be good now, and he’ll promise that once he’s allowed to speak again.

“You’re alright, Pink. I’ve got you back now, hm? You’re alright.”

Pink whines once more, feeling overwhelmed with the urge to fall asleep.

. . .

Oh, his head hurts.

Where is Pseudo?

Pink opens his eyes to find himself alone in his room. His body feels heavy and beaten, and everything hurts. Upon seeing the sun shine through the window, he is overcome with a wave of nausea so strong that he has to lean over his bed. When he tries to sit up, however, the pain in his back and ribs is enough to make him cry out. The nausea gets worse until he gags, covering his eyes and mouth and pretending Pseudo is there to coach him through it. Once it passes, he opens his eyes, half expecting to see Pseudo already there and waiting.

The puppet groans, observing his empty room. He wants to call out for Pseudo, but closes his mouth upon remembering he’s not supposed to speak. He wishes he could ask for some water, or a hug.

Instead he asks for attention by knocking on the wall. Everything in his body hurts, so standing up to make noise doesn’t feel like a safe option for him. He just hopes that Pseudo notices soon, whether that’s through annoyance or wanting to be by his puppet. He can’t take much longer without seeing his angel.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, says Pinks room.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

The knocks are eventually returned at the door, and Pink hears a key turn into the lock. The door opens, and Pink smiles dopey and adoring.

“Ps-“ he starts, before covering his mouth. He wants to say sorry, but then he’d have to say sorry for saying sorry, and then sorry for saying sorry for saying sorry. So he just clamps his jaw shut, and prays that Pseudo forgives him for his near mistake.

“My Pink,” Pseudo croons. The key is concealed inside his pocket, and he makes his way towards his doll. “Do you feel sick this morning?”

Pink nods, sighing and relaxing when Pseudo comes to sit beside him. As if that weren’t enough, Pseudo runs a hand through Pink’s hair, and the doll leans as far into his touch as possible. He wants moments like these to last forever.

“Poor thing… but you’ll be good now, won’t you? No more slip ups like yesterday.”

Pink’s face burns in embarrassment. He can’t believe what he did; the regret consumes him. He shakes his head, holding Pseudo’s hand and kissing his palm to show his devotion.

Pseudo smiles and runs his hand through Pink’s hair, and the puppet basks in the attention. He can’t get enough of it. He isn’t sure why he ever tried to leave in the first place. Stupid, stupid puppet.

“That’s precious.. but, I have to make sure you’re being honest, don’t I?”

Pink nods. That makes sense, and he’ll do anything to prove himself.

“Good. Because if you’re good..”

He runs a hand through Pink’s hair, and a thumb across his cheek bone. The puppet melts.

“Then I’ll bring you back home, and I’ll spoil you rotten.”

Pink smiles. This time, he blushes from contentment. From adoration.

“But if you’re bad, if you show me you want to escape again, I’ll make sure you end up alone. No one will take care of you.”

Pink frowns, afraid. He points at Pseudo, and shakes his head. Not even you?

“You’ll be alone, Pink. Out of your head,” he pets Pink’s hair again, “and all alone. Do you understand?”

Yes. Pink nods.

“Good. Then I should see you soon, dolly. Don’t fret about it when you get there, hm? Nothing to be afraid of if you’re a good puppet.”

Pink wants to ask where he’s going, but is left to wonder until it happens.

[nobodieshero-main]

re-writing the start of the library keeper again. it's like a disease.

[supernova-151]

the planets, op. 32 by siempre_musica (@assim-eu-sou) poster art <3

[gu6chan]

99% just my autism speaking here but something ive been noticing lately that im sorta kinda 😶 about is when ppl are like "I think you'll like this" but not bc they ACTUALLY think you'll like it, rather they just got into it and want you to also get into it so "I think you'll like this" is a nice personal hook. i love chill stuff as much as any other person ofc but given i don't divulge that EVER, what makes you think my berserk reading, made in abyss watching, drakengard playing ass would like YURU CAMP????

[infizero]

just finished watching the og scott pilgrim movie for the first time fucking loved it

[todayisafridaynight]

i love posting to twitter cause my posts breach containment way easier and that means once in a blue moon sometimes i see shit like people calling daigo and aoki sexy old men and THAT always takes me out forever and always

[yaniluvs]

a song , that sounds like you

[ 한 ] ✷ ‎. . sleepover with your best friend, just like before. except that . . it isn't ?

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑏sf!han ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , humour , crack , best friends to lovers , uni au , skz ensemble . 71OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ LiBRARY ⟢ cw. kisses , jokes , intimacy . ┆ 💌 ⋮ requested drabble .ᐟ ֹ ₊

yani's note 𑁍ࠬܓ THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ~I.5K WORDS. yani, dont over-write and turn every simple thing into a longfic challenge: go-> status: failed. THATS WHY I TOOK SO LONG. but anyways.... i read this like a gazillion times and im very slightly unhappy about it????? idk. but i got sick of it at some point so i didnt rly proofread for the final time. soooo finally another jisung fic lol >< posted way too much abt seungmo.. not that im complaining hehe. tribute to my beloved permed-jisung and pre-shaved jisung🙏 you're missed plenty. enjoy reading, thanks to anon for the req. <3 comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading, love <3

the night felt like any other. it was nothing new. nothing unusual.

jisung had crashed at y/n’s dorm more times than he could count, so many that they’d stopped calling it a "sleepover" years ago. it was just… what they did.

tonight was no different—except maybe it was.

jisung flopped onto her bed dramatically, limbs splayed out like a starfish. "i'm dying."

y/n, arms crossed, raised an unimpressed brow. "you literally just walked in."

"my point." he turned his head toward her, grinning wide, dimples pressing into his cheeks. "the walk from my dorm to yours? brutal. my legs almost gave up. i nearly saw the light. i need some support here,"

"what you need is exercise, ji," she laughed, already walking past him toward the kitchen. "come on lazy ass, we’re cooking."

jisung groaned, rolling onto his stomach. "cooking? can’t we order food? delivery is, like, the peak of human civilization."

"you mean the peak of your laziness."

"same thing."

"you’re cooking today."

jisung immediately sat up. "i’m sorry, what?"

"you heard me."

"y/n, have you ever seen me successfully make anything that isn’t watered-down instant ramen or burnt eggs?"

"exactly why you need to learn." she shot him a knowing smile, opening the fridge. "come on, chef-nim, apron up."

jisung scoffed. "you act like i own an apron."

"you act like i don't have a spare." she tossed a black apron his way. he caught it with a dramatic sigh, slipping it over his tee. "this is humiliating."

y/n simply tied her own apron around her waist, moving swiftly around the kitchen. jisung, however, stood in the middle of it like he was lost in a foreign land.

"so," he said, rocking on his heels, "what are we making, masterchef?"

"some fried rice, with stir-fry for the sides."

"sounds safe enough. do i get a knife?" his eyes lightened up.

y/n turned to him, eyes full of doubt, hands on her hips. "do i look like i trust you with a knife?"

he clutched his chest. "ouch."

"jisung, the last time you touched a knife, you almost lost a finger."

"it was one time!"

"one time too many." she handed him a bowl instead. "crack the eggs."

"i can do that," he said confidently.

y/n watched as he picked up an egg, tapped it on the edge of the bowl—nothing. he hit it again. still intact.

"jisung."

"hold on, it's just being stubborn."

"you're literally supposed to—"

before she could finish, he smacked the egg with full force. it exploded in his hand, yolk dripping between his fingers. he blinked.

"…okay. that was aggressive."

y/n burst out laughing. "oh, good lord.."

"why are you laughing?! this is tragic!" he held up his hand dramatically, as if he'd just lost a battle.

she wiped away tears of laughter. "you’re such a disaster."

"and yet you still keep me around."

"i really question why, sometimes."

jisung wiggled his eyebrows. "because you love me."

"debatable."

"wow. you wound me."

she handed him another egg. "try again, but gently this time."

he pouted but followed her instructions. on the second try, he succeeded. barely. a little bit of shell fell into the bowl, but he picked it out quickly, flashing her a victorious grin.

"see? improvement."

y/n shook her head with a fond smile. "barely."

as she moved on to frying the rice, jisung leaned against the counter, watching her. the warm glow of the kitchen lights softened her features, and the way she effortlessly moved around—it was second nature to her.

"you're so good at this," he murmured absentmindedly.

she glanced up. "at what?"

"everything," he said simply.

her movements stilled for a second before she rolled her eyes, turning back to the pan. "corny."

"honest."

she pushed his forehead lightly with her fingers. "shut up and hand me the soy sauce."

jisung grinned, grabbing the bottle and sliding it over the counter toward her. "see? i am useful."

"debatable."

jisung gasped. "you really enjoy hurting me, huh?"

y/n only smiled as she stirred the rice.

they fell into a comfortable silence after that—jisung humming some random tune, y/n focusing on the food. it was normal. routine. nothing new.

except maybe it was.

because jisung found himself staring at her a little longer than usual.

and yn, for some reason, felt a little warmer than the stove’s heat should allow.

the aroma of warm rice, sizzling kimchi, and soy sauce had filled the small dorm, wrapping them in the kind of comfort that only home-cooked food could bring. y/n hummed softly as she scooped the steaming fried rice onto two plates, making sure to add an extra spoonful to her best friend's because she already knew he’d ask.

jisung, sprawled out on the floor like he had no bones in his body, watched her with a lazy grin. "you really know how to treat a man."

"you’re more of a babygirl, but okay," she replied without missing a beat, setting the plates down on the small coffee table in front of them.

"excuse me? i am very much a grown adult."

"sure," she snorted. "a grown adult who can't crack an egg."

jisung gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "low blow."

yn only grinned as she grabbed the remote, flipping on the tv. they didn't even bother picking something to watch—just let some random show play in the background while she scrolled through a playlist on her phone.

and just like that, the room filled with their favorite songs.

the playlist hummed in the background, weaving through the warm, dimly lit dorm like a familiar embrace. soft indie melodies blended into old tracks from their high school days, each song a quiet echo of late-night car rides and whispered confessions. nestled between them were jisung’s own songs—songs he had written on restless nights, songs y/n had begged him to release, songs he pretended not to care about being in the playlist but secretly loved seeing there.

the air smelled of soy sauce and garlic. jisung sat cross-legged on the couch, his loose shirt and plaid pajama pants slightly wrinkled. his fluffy brown hair that he'd recently gotten permed, much to y/n's pleading, was tousled, curls falling over his forehead, casting soft shadows over his sleepy eyes. he scooped up a bite of fried rice, humming in approval as he chewed, blissfully unaware of the way y/n was watching him.

she sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, chin resting lazily against them, gaze fixed on him with a softness even she didn’t notice. he looked so at home, so effortlessly him, sitting there with his cheeks puffed out from the food she made, eyes drooping slightly from exhaustion. a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

he always ate with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in days, shoveling food into his mouth like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“you’re staring,” his voice came, teasing yet laced with fondness.

y/n blinked, heat creeping up her neck as she quickly looked away. “i am not.”

jisung grinned, swallowing another bite. “liar.”

but he didn’t press further. he only smirked to himself, going back to his food, pretending he didn’t notice the way she studied him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

what he wouldn’t admit—what he barely admitted to himself—was that he did the same thing.

when y/n wasn’t paying attention, lost in the flickering candlelight of their tiny dorm, jisung found himself staring. he always did. the glow of the fairy lights made her skin look softer, her features delicate and warm. her hair, slightly messy from their earlier chaos in the kitchen, framed her face in a way that made his heart ache.

she was wearing her pyjama set, and the sleeves were bunched up around her fists as she absentmindedly traced circles against the couch cushion, after a bite herself.

she was beautiful. in the quiet, in the soft spaces between their banter, in the way she existed in his world so effortlessly.

“now,” she called out suddenly, breaking him from his trance. “you’re staring.”

his breath caught in his throat, but he recovered quickly, flashing his usual cheeky grin. “i am not.”

“liar.”

their laughter mingled with the music, and for a moment, the weight of their hidden feelings melted into the warmth of the night.

jisung exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he shoved another spoonful of rice into his mouth. he chewed slowly, eyes flickering between the half-empty plate and y/n, her expression unreadable except for the teasing glint in her gaze. his own voice filtered through the small dorm, warm and unfiltered, singing lyrics he once scribbled down at 2 a.m., never expecting them to be heard by anyone but himself.

he swallowed, running his tongue over his bottom lip before muttering, “you do this on purpose.”

y/n tilted her head, feigning confusion as she picked at her food. “do what?”

“this.” he gestured vaguely toward the speaker, his voice quieter now, almost sheepish. “make me listen to myself.”

she shrugged, stuffing another bite of rice into her mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world. “your music is good.”

jisung let out a small, breathy laugh, but there was something uncertain in the way his fingers tapped against the bowl. “you don’t have to lie to make me feel better, you know.”

y/n blinked, chopsticks pausing midair. “i’m not lying.”

“you say that.” he glanced at her, then away, focusing on a loose thread on his pajama pants. “but you’re my best friend. you’d tell me it’s good even if it wasn’t.”

she frowned, setting her chopsticks down with a soft clink against the ceramic. “sung..”

he didn’t respond, just stuffed another bite into his mouth, chewing like he was trying to make himself busy. y/n sighed, shifting so she could look at him properly. the glow of the fairy lights cast gentle shadows on his face, highlighting the quiet vulnerability in his eyes—the kind he tried so hard to hide.

“look,” she started, voice softer now. “i don’t put your songs in our playlists just because you’re my best friend. i put them there because they belong there.”

jisung stilled, fingers tightening around his spoon.

“you write music that makes people feel something. i know because i feel it. i always have.” she toyed with the hem of her top. “and maybe it’s because i’ve seen you go through every stage of it. the late nights, the self-doubt, the way you talk about music like it’s the only thing that makes sense in your life sometimes.”

he swallowed thickly, staring at his plate like it held answers.

“i don’t just like your music, jisung. i believe in it. i believe in you.”

silence settled between them, thick and heavy, but not uncomfortable. jisung’s throat bobbed as he licked his lips, finally daring to meet her gaze.

something unreadable flickered in his eyes, something fragile and hesitant and real.

“…you always say things like that.” his voice was quiet, uncertain. “and i never know what to do with it.”

y/n smiled, small and knowing. “you don’t have to do anything. just don’t forget it.”

he stared at her for a moment longer, chest tightening with something he didn’t quite have the courage to name. then, exhaling softly, he looked away, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“i won’t.”

they ate comfortably, stealing bites from each other's plates despite having the exact same food. it was normal, the way their chopsticks clinked against each other in midair, the way jisung would groan dramatically after every bite, acting as if he’d just tasted the best thing in the world.

"marry me," he said, mouth full.

y/n gave him a look. "chew first."

he swallowed, grinning. "okay, now will you marry me?"

"no."

jisung clutched his chest. "you are cruel, woman."

"you are an idiot, man."

"a lovable idiot," he corrected, shoving another spoonful into his mouth.

she rolled her eyes but didn't deny it.

a beat of silence passed between them, the kind that wasn't awkward but rather filled with something unspoken. jisung glanced at her between bites, again, watching the way the light from the tv flickered against her skin.

she looked… soft. comfortable. the same as always, but maybe not quite.

"so," y/n spoke suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. "how was your day?"

jisung blinked, needing a second to process the question. they spent most of their time together, but during classes, they went their separate ways. it was rare for them to actually talk about what happened when they weren't in the same place.

"uh," he started, stabbing his rice absentmindedly. "it was fine. boring. had a music composition lecture, but hyunjin fell asleep and snored loud enough for the whole class to hear."

y/n laughed. "no way."

"swear to god. professor park just stared at him for a solid minute before moving on."

"did no one wake him up?"

"i tried, but he swatted me away like a fly."

she shook her head, still laughing. "what else?"

jisung hesitated for a moment before answering, "i worked on a song between classes."

her expression softened. "the one you told me about?"

"yeah." he looked away, suddenly a little shy. "i, uh, actually finished the demo."

"jisung!" she smacked his arm lightly. "why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"i dunno," he muttered, playing with his chopsticks. "didn’t seem important."

"of course it’s important," she said firmly. "can i hear it?"

he met her eyes, something flickering behind his own, before he looked down again. "maybe later."

she didn't push, just nodded. "okay. your turn to ask."

he raised a brow. "ask what?"

"about my day, genius."

"oh. right." he leaned back, lazily twirling his chopsticks. "so, how was your day, my dear best friend whom i love and adore?"

she snorted. "it was fine. boring, mostly. but i had this duo project in business class."

jisung hummed in acknowledgment, taking another bite. "who’d you get stuck with?"

"a guy named sunwoo."

jisung froze mid-chew, his spoon hovering just inches from his lips. his brows furrowed for the briefest second before he blinked and forced himself to keep chewing, though suddenly, the fried rice didn’t taste as good anymore.

“i see..” he said after swallowing, voice casual. too casual. “never heard you mention him before.”

y/n shrugged, taking another bite. “yeah, we never really talked until today. he’s nice, though. smart, too. i was kinda worried i’d get stuck doing all the work, but he actually pulled his weight.”

jisung scoffed lightly, poking at his food. “that’s the bare minimum.”

she snorted. “true.”

silence stretched for a beat, the playlist shuffling to another song. jisung tapped his chopsticks against the edge of his bowl, trying to ignore the weird feeling curling in his stomach. it wasn’t a big deal. just a project partner. nothing to think about.

except—

“he was pretty talkative, too,” y/n continued, oblivious to the way jisung’s grip on his spoon tightened. “like, at first, it was just about the project, but then he started asking me random stuff. like, my favorite color, what i do in my free time, my favorite coffee order—”

jisung let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. “your coffee order? what, is he planning on getting you one next time?”

she blinked, considering. “i dunno, maybe. that’d be nice.”

jisung nearly choked on air. he coughed into his fist, shaking his head. “pfft. wow. sounds like he’s… really interested in your business skills.”

y/n laughed at that, nudging his leg with her foot. “oh, shut up. he was just being friendly.”

yeah, okay. sure.

he forced a grin, shoveling another bite of rice into his mouth like it would somehow get rid of the weird, nagging feeling inside him. “so, what else did he say?” he asked, tone still light, still playful. still pretending he didn’t care.

y/n hummed, thinking. “oh, he told me i have a really nice smile.”

jisung almost dropped his chopsticks.

“oh! and that i have pretty hands,” she added, wiggling her fingers in front of his face. “which is funny, ‘cause i don’t really get the whole hand thing, but—”

“he said what?” jisung cut in, voice cracking slightly.

she blinked up at him, confused. “...that i have pretty hands?”

jisung squinted at her like she was missing something obvious. “who compliments someone’s hands?”

“i don’t know! i mean, i guess they’re kinda nice…” she examined her own fingers, flexing them under the fairy lights. “they do a lot for me, you know? writing, playing, cooking—”

“okay, but still,” jisung interjected, trying not to sound too whiny. “that’s like—textbook flirting.”

y/n snorted. “no, it’s not.”

“yes, it is!” jisung threw his hands up. “first, he asks about your coffee order—classic move, by the way—then he calls your smile nice? and now your hands?” he pointed a dramatic chopstick at her. “that’s next-level, y/n. that’s, like, hand-holding agenda.”

she gave him a flat look. “i think you’re overreacting. personally i'd love making friends like that.” she laughed.

“no, you’re underreacting!” he groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him. “i can’t believe this. my best friend is so oblivious.”

y/n just giggled, poking his knee. “oh, come on, ji. he was just being nice. and it’s not like i’m interested in him or anything.”

jisung perked up at that, a little too quickly. “you’re not?”

she shook her head, stuffing another bite of rice into her mouth. “nope.”

something unspoken settled in the air.

jisung let out a quiet breath, something inside him easing—but he still had an annoyed little pout on his lips. “still. he was flirting. you just don’t see it ‘cause you’re you.”

“hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means,” he huffed, crossing his arms, “that you’re too cute for your own good, and guys like him are gonna keep trying to hit on you while you remain completely, utterly unaware.”

y/n blinked, caught off guard.

jisung realized what he said half a second too late. his ears turned pink.

“…anyway!” he cleared his throat, suddenly stuffing his mouth with rice. “this is good fried rice. really, really good.”

y/n just watched him, something unreadable in her gaze. a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

“dork,” she muttered under her breath.

and if jisung, in his flustered state, caught the way she was staring at him now—soft, fond, admiring—he didn’t say a word.

"sunwoo. what kind of dumb name is that?"

she laughed, shaking her head.

soon, the food disappeared slowly between them, the plates scraping softly as y/n absentmindedly pushed the last bits of rice around with her chopsticks. jisung, on the other hand, had long since finished and was now leaning back on his palms, his head tilted toward the ceiling, looking entirely too satisfied. he stretched with a deep sigh, his tee riding up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin before settling back down.

"i’m convinced you were a chef in a past life," he said, breaking the silence, his voice laced with a kind of sleepy contentment.

y/n smirked, still focused on her plate. "i’ll take that as a compliment."

"it is a compliment," he assured her, turning his head to face her. his cheek was slightly squished against his shoulder, making him look more like a sleepy puppy than a grown man. "i’m genuinely scared of what would happen to me if you weren’t around. i’d probably live off ramen and instant rice."

"you already do that when i’m not around. and still make it taste bad."

"exactly," he said, as if she had just proven his point. "my body is, like, seventy percent sodium at this point."

y/n rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "that explains a lot, honestly."

jisung gasped dramatically. "are you saying i look like someone who eats too much sodium?"

"i’m saying your diet is concerning," she teased, finally setting her chopsticks down and leaning back as well. the food had settled warmly in her stomach, and the atmosphere felt hazy in the best way—soft, familiar, comfortable.

jisung groaned, letting his head fall back. "this is why i need you in my life. you balance out all my self-destructive tendencies."

y/n snorted, stretching out her legs. "i’m your best friend, not your dietitian."

"best friend and dietitian," he corrected lazily.

she hummed, letting the conversation drift into a natural lull. the tv played quietly in the background, an old sitcom neither of them was paying attention to, and their playlist continued to shuffle through songs they had both heard a thousand times before. outside, the city was alive, but in their small little bubble of a dorm, it felt like time had slowed down just for them.

jisung shifted, sitting up properly, and y/n could feel him staring before she even turned to look at him. "what?" she asked, raising a brow.

he hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before finally saying, "i want you to be in my song."

the words were simple, casual even, but they made something in y/n’s chest tighten. she blinked. "what?"

"my demo," jisung clarified, his voice softer now, more careful. "i want you to sing in it."

yn let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "jisung, you know i don’t do that."

"why not?" he tilted his head, brows furrowing slightly. "you’re literally so good. like, so good."

she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "it’s just a hobby for me, you know that."

"okay, but why just a hobby?" his voice had that familiar edge of insistence, the same one he used when he really, really wanted something. "you could do so much more with it."

she shrugged, eyes flickering to the tv even though she wasn’t really watching. "it’s not the same for me as it is for you," she said honestly. "music is your thing, jisung. you breathe this stuff. it’s not like that for me."

"but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it," he argued, leaning in slightly. "i love your voice, y/n. you know that."

she swallowed, feeling warmth crawl up her neck. he had told her that before—countless times, actually—but something about the way he said it now felt different, heavier. "it’s just not something i see myself doing seriously," she admitted, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.

jisung was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying her face carefully. then, with a small, teasing smile, he said, "okay. but what if it’s just for me?"

she looked at him, confused. "what do you mean?"

"i mean," he started, tapping his fingers against his knee absentmindedly, "forget about, like, doing music professionally or whatever. i just want you on this song. not because i think you should be an artist or anything—just because it’s us. i dunno. i feel like it’d sound better if you were in it."

y/n bit her lip, uncertain. she liked singing, she always had, but she never really thought about it beyond the occasional harmonizing with jisung when he played guitar, or the times she mindlessly hummed while cooking. it was never something she considered putting out there for other people to hear.

jisung, however, was looking at her with those big, expectant eyes, his wide smile softened at the edges. "just think about it," he said, nudging her knee with his. "no pressure. but i think it’d be cool. i mean, imagine—our voices together in a song? legendary."

yn laughed, shaking her head. "you’re ridiculous."

"i’m right," he corrected.

she sighed, resting her chin on her palm. "i don’t know, ji."

he pouted, but there was no real disappointment in his face—just patience, quiet and steady. "i’ll send you the demo," he said after a beat. "just listen to it. see if you like it."

she nodded slowly. "fine. i’ll listen."

jisung grinned, victorious. "that’s all i ask."

another silence stretched between them, this one softer, almost charged in a way y/n couldn’t quite explain. the tv droned on in the background, but neither of them was paying attention.

jisung shifted again, stretching his legs out next to hers, their knees knocking slightly. he exhaled, tilting his head back against the couch. "i like nights like this," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost like he was talking to himself.

yn turned to look at him, watching the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones under the dim light. "like what?"

"just…chill." he cracked one eye open, looking at her. "you. me. food. music. no stress."

she smiled softly. "yeah. me too."

jisung hummed in acknowledgment, closing his eyes again. "we should do this more often."

y/n didn’t respond right away, letting the words settle between them. she thought about how much time they already spent together, how their days were filled with each other in some way or another.

and yet, something about the way he said it—like he wanted more, like he wasn’t just talking about casual hangouts but something deeper—made her stomach flutter in a way she didn’t entirely understand.

she swallowed, nudging his foot lightly with hers. "we already do this all the time, idiot."

jisung smiled, eyes still closed. "yeah. but i mean more."

y/n’s heart did something weird in her chest, but before she could dwell on it, jisung sat up suddenly, stretching his arms above his head. "anyway. we should clean around before the angry yunah gets back and starts lecturing us about leaving dishes out."

the moment was gone, dissipating like smoke, leaving yn slightly dazed in its wake.

she nodded, shaking off the strange warmth in her chest, pushing herself up as well.

"right. let’s clean up."

and just like that, the night continued, soft and slow, something unspoken lingering between them—unnoticed, or maybe just ignored.

. . .

the dishes had been washed, the leftovers tucked away, and the night stretched lazily ahead of them, the warm haze of comfort lingering in the air. the tv was still on, playing something neither of them was paying attention to, but y/n could feel the way the atmosphere had shifted—thicker, heavier, filled with something unsaid.

jisung sat on the floor again, back resting against the couch, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against his knee. now, his sleeves were pushed up to reveal his forearms, and his hair was messier now, some strands sticking out in different directions. he looked soft like this—less like the flirty, chaotic mess he usually was and more like the boy she had always known, the one who could say a million things with just a glance.

y/n sat across from him, legs crossed, arms draped over her knees as she studied him. she hesitated for a moment before saying, “play it for me.”

jisung blinked, caught off guard. “huh?”

“the song,” she clarified, shifting slightly. “i wanna hear it.”

he stared at her for a second before scoffing. “you never wanna hear my songs before they’re done.”

“um, wrong, you always reject to play them for me before they're done.” she pointed, trying to sound casual. “i feel like listening everytime. and tonight.”

“and my guitar is right here, so..” she laughed.

something flickered across jisung’s face—surprise, maybe, or something softer—but he didn’t question it. instead, he reached for her guitar, a brown one, which had burgundy, floral borders over its peaks and edges. it had been sitting next to the couch all night, like it had been waiting for the right moment.

he adjusted it on his lap, fingers finding the familiar curves of the wood, the smoothness of the strings beneath his touch. the way he handled just.. guitars had always fascinated her—not just with skill, but with love, like it was an extension of himself, a second voice that spoke when words weren’t enough.

y/n watched, her chin resting on her palm as she took in the tiny details she had seen a hundred times before but never really noticed—the way his brows furrowed in focus, the way his lips parted slightly as if he were already singing in his head, the way the warm light from the tv cast soft shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the fullness of his bottom lip.

he cleared his throat. “okay, but don’t judge, ‘cause it’s still rough.”

she rolled her eyes. “i never judge.”

he gave her a look, but it was softened by a small smile before he looked down at his guitar again. his fingers moved, the first chords filling the room—gentle, familiar, warm.

and then, he sang.

his voice was low at first, careful, like he was still unsure if he wanted to let her hear it. but as the melody flowed, he eased into it, his tone settling into that effortless, raspy sweetness that always made something deep in y/n’s chest ache.

she watched, completely entranced, as his eyes fluttered shut, lost in the song. the way his throat moved as he sang, the subtle shifts in his expression, the slight crease in his brow when he hit a note just right—it was all so undeniably han jisung, and it was beautiful.

she had heard him sing countless times before, but something about this was different. maybe because it was just the two of them, the world outside forgotten. or maybe because she was finally allowing herself to see him, really see him, in a way she hadn’t before.

his voice filled the room, smooth and raw all at once, laced with emotion that made her chest feel tight. and the lyrics—god, the lyrics.

it was soft, bittersweet, almost like a confession hidden within the melody. he sang about late nights and lingering glances, about feelings that hovered on the edge of something more, about someone who felt like home.

and y/n couldn’t help but wonder—who was it about?

her breath caught slightly as she watched him, taking in the way his lashes cast the faintest shadows on his cheeks, the way his fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, the way his lips curled slightly around certain words, like he meant them.

she felt something warm spread through her chest, something unfamiliar yet oddly comforting, like stepping into sunlight after days of rain.

when he finally strummed the last chord, the room settled into silence, save for the distant hum of the city outside.

jisung let out a breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. “so… what do you think?”

y/n was still staring. she realized it a second too late and quickly looked away, blinking. “it’s…” her voice felt stuck in her throat, so she cleared it, trying again. “it’s beautiful, ji.”

he smiled, looking down as if trying to hide how much her words affected him. “yeah?”

“yeah,” she said softly.

another silence settled between them, this one different from the ones before. it wasn’t awkward—it was thick, weighted with something neither of them dared to name.

jisung shifted slightly, leaning her guitar against the couch. his fingers tapped against his knee again, a nervous habit. “i meant what i said earlier.”

y/n tilted her head. “about what?”

“about you being in the song,” he said, his voice quieter now. “your voice would fit perfectly. you have this way of making things sound… real. i dunno how to explain it, but i think it’d be better if you were part of it.”

“i know you don’t take singing seriously, and you did say you'd listen to the actual demo.. oh which i know means a no, almost,” he cut in before she could refuse, “but just this once. just for this song.”

y/n exhaled, her fingers curling around the fabric of her sleeve. “why does it matter so much to you?”

jisung opened his mouth, then closed it, as if he was debating how honest he wanted to be.

finally, he shrugged. “because it’s us.”

her heart skipped.

“i mean, not us us,” he added quickly, looking away. “just… our voices. together. i think it’d be nice.”

y/n swallowed. “i don’t know if i’d be any good.”

“you would,” he said, no hesitation. “and i’d be with you the whole time. we’d do it together.”

together.

the word settled deep in her chest, warm and heavy.

she looked at him again, at the hopeful glint in his eyes, at the way he was watching her like she was something more than just his best friend.

and maybe, for the first time, she let herself wonder—what if she was?

she exhaled slowly, giving him a small, hesitant smile. “okay.”

jisung blinked. “okay?”

“i’ll do it,” she said, and his entire face lit up in that way it always did when he was really happy, the kind of smile that made her stomach flip in ways she didn’t fully understand.

“you won’t regret it,” he promised, excitement buzzing in his voice.

she wasn’t sure if that was true.

because something told her that once she sang with him, once their voices blended together in a song meant for something deeper—

there would be no going back.

and that terrified her more than anything.

. . .

sprawled out on jisung’s bed, surrounded by the soft hum of the laptop fan and the distant city sounds filtering through the window, y/n felt weightless. not in the way that meant floating away, but in the way that meant she was exactly where she was meant to be.

the air smelled faintly of fabric softener, of jisung’s vanilla-and-woodsy shampoo, of warmth. the blankets beneath them were slightly rumpled, evidence of a thousand previous sleepovers, tangled limbs, and late-night conversations that bled into early mornings. the glow from the laptop screen cast shifting patterns onto the walls, moving in time with the video they were watching.

it was their friend group’s latest dance cover, the kind they always hyped up in their group chat but never actually watched until they were together.

“look at hyunjin’s face,” jisung snickered, pointing at the screen as hyunjin executed a particularly dramatic spin, his expression intense. “bro thinks he’s in a movie.”

y/n burst into laughter, hiding her face in her hands. “no, because he so does that on purpose. you just know he was practicing in front of a mirror.”

“i bet he stared at himself for hours,” jisung agreed, shaking his head. “such a drama king.”

they continued watching, throwing in their own commentary as felix’s fluid movements took over the screen, followed by minho’s signature sharpness, yunah’s grace, and minseo’s precise footwork. their friends were insane, and as much as they teased, the admiration was real.

“minho-hyung’s on another level, though,” yn murmured, her head tilted slightly. “look at the way he controls his movements.”

jisung hummed in agreement. “yeah. he’s scary good.”

a comfortable silence settled between them, only the sound of the music playing through the laptop speakers filling the air. the bed dipped slightly where jisung had shifted, moving to lean on his elbow. yn could feel the shift in weight, the slight press of his arm against hers, the warmth of his body radiating closer than before.

she turned her head slightly—just a fraction—to look at him.

and that was when it happened.

something… shifted.

it was subtle, but it was undeniable. like a string pulled taut between them, an unspoken question hovering in the air.

jisung’s eyes were still on the screen, but his fingers had stopped absentmindedly tapping against the blanket. his jaw was relaxed, but his lips were slightly parted, like he had just thought of something he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say out loud.

the glow from the laptop flickered across his face, highlighting the curve of his cheek, the slope of his nose, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows against his skin. his hair, slightly messy from the way he had been lying down, fell softly over his forehead.

and then, as if he could feel her looking, his gaze flickered to hers.

it wasn’t immediate. it wasn’t rushed.

it was slow.

deliberate.

his eyes met hers, and for the first time in a long time, neither of them looked away.

the music in the background faded into something distant, something unimportant.

the flickering light, the sound of their breathing, the way the air seemed to press down on them—it all blended into something almost dreamlike.

jisung’s gaze dipped, just for a second, to her lips.

and y/n’s breath caught.

it wasn’t new, being this close. it wasn’t new, lying next to each other, watching something, talking about everything and nothing.

but this?

this was new.

this was different.

she could feel it in the way the space between them seemed to shrink, in the way her pulse thrummed in her ears, in the way jisung swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly.

his hand twitched—just barely—against the blanket.

and then, before she could even fully process it, he moved.

slow. hesitant. but sure.

his fingers brushed against hers, a touch so light it could have been mistaken for an accident. but neither of them moved away.

yn exhaled shakily, her heart a wild drum in her chest.

and then, suddenly—

their lips met.

soft at first. just a press—a quiet, unsure thing that barely lasted a second.

but then she leaned in.

and he did too.

and it wasn’t just a kiss anymore. it was something more.

jisung’s lips were warm, careful, but there was a hunger beneath it, something restrained, something that had been waiting far too long to be acknowledged. his fingers found her wrist, featherlight at first before gripping just slightly, grounding himself.

her hands curled into the fabric of his tee, and he let out a quiet exhale against her lips, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

the laptop screen continued playing, casting shifting lights across their skin. the blanket beneath them was soft, but nothing—nothing—felt softer than this. than him.

he pulled away first, just enough to breathe, just enough to look at her.

his eyes searched hers, as if trying to understand what this meant.

as if asking, did we just cross the line?

but the thing was—

maybe there had never been a line in the first place.

maybe they had been here all along, just waiting for the right moment to realize it.

their breaths tangled in the space between them, warm and unsteady, still trembling with something unspoken. the moment felt like it stretched infinitely—long enough for y/n to take in the way jisung’s eyes flickered, dark pools of hesitation and something deeper, something unreadable.

his fingers, still curled loosely around her wrist, twitched, but he didn’t pull away.

the glow from the laptop continued to flicker, painting soft golds and muted blues across his face, across the fabric of his tee, across the slightly uneven threads of the blanket beneath them.

she felt warm.

not just from the shared heat between them, but from something in her chest, something that felt like a slow burn, like a realization creeping up on her.

jisung exhaled, his lips parting slightly as if to say something, but then he stopped.

she blinked at him, suddenly aware of the way her heart was still hammering. loudly. so loudly she swore he could hear it.

“…we just,” she said, as if confirming it to herself.

“kissed.”

jisung let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah. yeah, we did.”

silence. not awkward, but charged.

y/n wet her lips, suddenly hyper-aware of the lingering sensation of his against hers. soft. he was soft.

then, jisung groaned, burying his face into the pillow. “oh my god. did i just ruin us?”

she blinked, before laughing softly. “you’re literally so dramatic.”

“i am not,” he mumbled into the fabric, voice muffled.

“you are. like, so dramatic. like—oscar-worthy dramatic.”

jisung lifted his head just enough to glare at her, though the way his nose scrunched up made it less intimidating. “okay, miss i-just-kissed-my-best-friend-and-now-i’m-still-here-for-some-reason—why are you not freaking out?”

y/n tilted her head. “do you want me to freak out?”

“no?” his lips quirked. “maybe?” he groaned again, flopping onto his back, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers. “i just—wow, okay, so we really did just kiss. that happened.”

she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow, her fingers playing with the loose threads of the blanket. “do you regret it?”

jisung turned his head to look at her, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. he just looked.

his gaze trailed over the shape of her nose, the way her cheek was still slightly flushed, the way her hair had fallen over her shoulder, a few strands resting against her collarbone.

then, he whispered, “no.”

her breath hitched.

jisung swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly. “do you?”

a beat of silence.

“…no.”

another stretch of quiet, but this time, it was softer. like a shared secret, like something that no longer needed to be questioned.

then, jisung shifted, reaching up lazily, fingers brushing against the ends of her hair. “okay. so. now what?”

she huffed a small laugh, flopping back onto the pillows beside him. “i have no idea.”

“that makes two of us.”

they both stared at the ceiling for a long moment, the sound of the laptop’s fan whirring quietly in the background.

then—

jisung turned his head toward her again, watching the way her lips pursed slightly in thought, the way her fingers absentmindedly traced shapes onto the blanket.

slowly, carefully, he reached out, resting a hand against her arm. “can we—just. stay like this? for a bit?”

she turned toward him, eyes softening. then, instead of answering, she simply curled closer, letting herself nestle into his side, the fabric of his tee brushing against her cheek.

jisung let out a slow breath, his arm naturally slipping around her, his fingers resting against the dip of her waist.

she was warm.

he could feel her heartbeat, steady against his ribs, in sync with his own.

the scent of her shampoo filled his senses—something sweet, something vaguely floral, something hers.

the sound of their breathing intertwined with the faint music still playing from the laptop, a mix of their favorite songs.

jisung sighed, letting his cheek rest against the crown of her head. “you’re kinda dangerous, you know?”

yn hummed sleepily. “oh? why’s that?”

“because i don’t think i’ll ever want to sleep without you now.”

she smiled against his chest, eyes fluttering closed. “good thing i’m not going anywhere, then.”

and for the first time that night, jisung felt like maybe—just maybe—things had fallen into place exactly the way they were always meant to.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan