#especially when I haven’t talked to them in a year

[the-meme-monarch]

things that make scc look more like siblings that i noticed on my replay of deltarune (which is today i noticed them 30 minutes ago)

Their bullet patterns in their fight. mostly nothing gives me the vibes of 3 brothers goofing off, but the little doodles on to top of the battle box make me think of me and my brother drawing little dumb stuff when we were younger and had extra paper. i can basically invision them drawing it and going "yeah this is gonna look awesome to anyone we get in a fight with!"

after the fight, when flying away, Sweets and Cap'n are used as platforms for KK to stand on, but in the very next room where you slide down, Cap'n is now on KK's head, and Sweets is free from being stepped on. like, within the 5 seconds of them leaving and showing up again, they changed up their standing positions because cap'n started fussing about it

The way KK sabotages his brother's attempts at thwarting the fun gang read as intentionally being a jerk to your younger (or older) siblings, because you think it's funny. There is no way in the teacup room that he didn't hear Cap'n say "heh, you'll never guess the correct ride!" and thought "oh i GOTTA fuck with him"

and this one is just me vamping but when you leave their shop they all go "See ya!" "Smell ya!" "Hear ya!" and the way they do it in quick succession reads to me as an inside joke they have with eachother hochi mama that's alotta text! sory

YAY YAY YAY BIG AGREE BIG AGREE WITH ALL them doodling their attacks is so cutes:] I’m literally drawing stuff with their attacks rn

ALSO some of my own observations i would like to add i think

-their battle check dialogue saying sweet and capn look up to kk and kk looks up to the other two. theyre everything to me. w me thinking kk is the oldest sibling and sweet and cap’n are years younger than him and closer in age together it reads to me like. yknow. they think he’s so cool and they idolize him, and kk is proud of them :] “aren’t my little brothers so cool”.

i have headcanons that make this a little sad, them having parents who wanted them to conform and “be normal” and fit in, and kk being the oldest dealt with it for longer And like, had to play third parent to sweet and cap’n to keep them from getting in trouble. bc he could Actually connect with them unlike their parents. and like. yeah. it kinda changed the way he acts. got so used to masking that the mask is kinda stuck. the mask doesn’t come off the same anymore. this is not me projecting my neurodivergence and my fucking eldest “daughter” syndrome don’t worry about it. anyway he moved out and to cyber world as soon as he was able to, so him seeing his siblings’ spirits haven’t been broken and they’re just as loud and lively as they used to be, and how He used to be, it makes him happy :’] he looks up to them

- kk’s teasing, or purposeful misunderstanding of what the other two say, or just staying Out of their arguments until directly asked and redirecting them, “we’re rebels that play” “we don’t play!!” “(…) kk are we players?!” “I’m a CD player”. or when talking about how queen never gave capn candy and sweet saying “bc you kept calling her a hot mama” and cap’n seems to imply he meant it literally “she looks like a mom and tends to overheat”, when they ask for kk’s input he just goes “huh? i like candy”. and also VERY MUCH the “this right ride is the right ride” bit you brought up. absolutely fucking with him. it is a Shame capn doesn’t have new dialogue if you talk to him again after kk says that BDJDJSNDJJ

- also on kk sabotaging his siblings, capn especially, there’s also the 400 bagels bit. i know damn well you heard capn and knew what he meant he wasn’t even whispering there were No parentheses on that dialogue. and he doesn’t even actually give you the bagels if you ask for them !! In My Heart it is him saying the “you were crushed under the weight of 400 bagels and defeated instantly… just kidding. you just can’t carry that many.”

- the way sweet is just Wholly onboard with whatever kk says. “I wanna be a car” “good thinking kk! gotta have a way to get around” you literally already have the flying turntable. it just reads to me as them thinking their older brother is the coolest smartest guy ever. they also just seem much more inclined to listen to kk, like when capn says “sweet chill, there’ll be other bad guys” which seems to just further upsets sweet and makes them to call on the fight, and then after the fight kk suggest they be friends- which i think is the only time sweet has disagreed with him- but then after getting pissed off at capn again kk tells them “sweet. don’t worry. i think our dancing beat them” and they pretty much just Go with it from there

- inversely, while I don’t think either of them can really tell when kk is joking, where sweet goes along with it capn questions it, like the “can I buy a bagel too?” “you’re the one selling them?”

- “kk’s always got it right!” “what’s why he’s second-in-command!” “…who’s first?” “huh? I’m not the leader?” “can i be third?” i think it is infinitely funnier if sweet Thought kk was leader and was just fucking Fuming at cap’s implication that he’s second. I think capn thinks of himself as the leader, capn typically being a contraction of captain, and just the way he talks sometimes, he’s the one who tells them they should go back to the junk shop, and calls in the turntable to leave. aslo i remember seeing someon say Years ago, that from capns perspective he’d be at the top of the line up, like kris is in their/our perspective. I do think sweet comes off as the leader though, but I don’t think they intend to, they just seem the most proactive about their mission, where i think kk is actively and quietly trying to hold it back (i think he knows the music ban isn’t real but well his siblings are having fun) note that he doesn’t have anything to say about queen, nothing on how he feels about her, except that he doesn’t want to break into Her House ! “we’re just rebels, we don’t want to get in trouble”

-a lot of this ended up being about kk that was Not intentional. so for one that definitely isn’t about him. the way sweet gets on cap’n’s case about flirting like every single time. sick of hearing about/Being Witness his brother’s annoying ass love life. and he’s gotta be stupid about it too? radio antenna.

- sweet and cap’n are literally simultaneously The Two Ways Siblings Are Depicted In Media Like All The Time. 1 gets along so well to where they complete each others sentences but also 2 are fighting all the fucking time over the stupidest shit NDNSJSNKSNJ. i love how they seem to actually be closer together than either of them are wirh kk, but kk is both of their favorite person. bc like. kk doesn’t finish their sentences, and they don’t bicker with him.

sweet and cap’n will often end their lines with a comma(,) or an ellipses(…) Literally Incomplete Sentences, that the other will then Complete. often what kk says is a non-sequitur to what the other two said. and i just think sweet and cap’n being able to bicker the way they do and still get along afterward like it was nothing is indicative of them being more comfortable with each other. they feel comfortable calling each other out and fighting about it, where they don’t argue with kk. granted this could be him just being more passive than the other two so fights just never arise with him, but with how sweet seemingly will just pick fights with capn, when they pretty firmly show And Say they think kk’s always right- and cap’n will question things kk says, but doesn’t double down like he does when arguing with sweet . but so them bickering Combined with how they also complete each other’s sentences, and how they independently look up to kk, but kk seemingly not having this same dynamic with either of them, that’s just how it reads to me !

- also this one has nothing to do with anything but it’s still one of my most favorite bits of info on them and i need to share it any chance i get. it says “battle won!” instead of “you won!”, and they don’t give you money after their fight. i might be wrong but i think they’ve been like the only fight that doesn’t give you money (besides i think susie’s fight with lancer). but it’s bc they think They won. susie says “wrap it up losers, battle’s over” and Then they come to the conclusion they lost, “over?” “in other-type words,” “we lost?” but then after kk suggest they be friends and sweet gets upset he says “i think our dancing beat them.” lying to them to get them to drop it HXBSNSJSSM

[coquetteflowersandcalligraphy]

A few thoughts on recent things:

1) Ellen is a PR freak, her following Sammy’s friends does not surprise me whatsoever. Her being in MI while that party is happening, also does not surprise me. Maybe she likes them, maybe she doesn’t, I don’t know, (I’m leaning towards no) but I do know ever since Sammy was caught being in contact with news outlets, (I confirmed this story last year) Ellen doesn’t trust her and her friends are an extension of her, so it makes sense. Ellen can’t tell Jack what to do (which is why he’s her least favorite, also said this last year), but she can scare those girls into behaving.

2) The girls smoking cigarettes or cigars is a little surprising, I’ve never seen them smoking anything besides weed (not judging they’re adults). I can’t give a full opinion or thoughts, because I haven’t seen the photos, I don’t know if it’s just the girls or some boys too, but I do know Quinn hates smoking (cigarettes, cigars, and weed), so I’m gonna assume he’s not there, or even bounced at some point (edit: I meant if Jack or Luke were smoking with whoever was smoking). I’ve never personally seen Luke or Jack smoke weed (could be possible, I’ve just never seen it again said this last year), but if they have it’s most likely when Quinn’s gone.

3) Jordyn only followed Quinn for attention, they know how to rile you guys up. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you guys, but they’re on these blogs. Anyways, hey Jordyn!! Hope you’re doing well, your friends talk bad about you, especially Claire!

- ex anon

[monowritestoomuch]

Mono’s Pride Event: Day 6

Day 6: Bittersweet: Alphonse x Seth

Title: Bittersweet Lovers

Rating: PG

Summary: Unpacking boxes and a conversation occurs, dredging up the past between the two of them.

Notes: I know this shit is super late but also I’m human and motivation is a son of a bitch okay? I’m not really good with romance yet so let me know some tips. GN SugarBoo so yeah. Okay I’m not going to stall any longer, I know you’re here for your homosexuals. Eat up.

Alphonse lifted the next box with a grunt, hauling it over to the other side of the attic. “Fuck,” he swore. “Feels like this shit weighs a ton.”

Seth chuckled at his statement. “I wouldn’t be surprised given all of Sugar’s clutter,” he joked. “Sometimes, I don’t know how they find a damn thing in this house.”

“Spite, probably,” Alphonse responded nonchalantly. “And sugar, Boo bakes a fuck ton of sugar.”

Alphonse walked back over to the other side of the attic, heaving another box towards Seth. He grunted as he placed it down, sighing to himself with relief.

“I think this sucker was heavier than the last one,” Alphonse remarked, pushing back his hair with a firm hand. 

“I feel like you keep saying that every five minutes,” Seth shot back, groaning as he leaned against the wall. 

“Well if you’re so fuckin’ smart, mister ‘wise guy,’ maybe you could help me unpack some of this shit,” Alphonse commented, rolling his eyes at Seth before turning back to the box and going on one knee, opening it gently. 

At the top of items in the box was a framed photograph, but while most of the boxes Alphonse had sifted through being Boo’s old items or family sentiments, this was a photo of Seth and Alphonse as teenagers.

They were side by side, shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. Alphonse, black hair and all, was flipping off the camera, while Seth shot a finger gun into the air with one hand and had his other hand grasping at Alphonse’s waist.

Alphonse gingerly picked up the photo, examining it as if it were an ancient relic that could break at any moment.

Seth looked up from where he had been staring, his interest piqued at Alphonse’s sudden silence. “What’s got your panties in a twist now—?” he asked, before his eyes landed on the photo, causing him to freeze where he began to approach Alphonse. 

The pair didn’t speak for several seconds, both with their eyes entrapped on the photo. It was Seth who first broke the silence.

“I know that we haven’t exactly talked about it yet,” Seth began, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “And it especially wasn’t a good time to talk about us when I came back to town—and now you’re dating Sugar—“

Seth paused, unsure whether he should continue speaking, listening to Alphonse’s steady breathing. 

“I know,” Alphonse responded, his voice even. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve wanted to address it for some time now,” he continued. “Boo and I have talked about it several times, and we definitely need to talk about it more before we do anything officially. Communication is key and all that,” Alphonse began to ramble, before sighing and standing up, dusting off his knees as he did. 

Alphonse walked over to Seth, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You were my best friend, and then my boyfriend, and for a time that was what we were. Then we had that argument and you left, and we didn’t speak for years man. And the only reason we did was because of Boo and their stubbornness for friendship and all’that,” he waved his free hand dramatically. “Point is Seth—“

“I missed you,” Seth admitted, interrupting Alphonse mid sentence. “So fucking much and I still hold so much regret for what I said and did to you—“

“Seth,” Alphonse began, squeezing the Southern man’s shoulder.

“Don’t, okay,” he started, sighing. “Just let me say my piece.”

Alphonse nodded mutely in response, squeezing his shoulder in indication of understanding and Seth continued speaking. 

“You were my best friend, and my boyfriend. Fuck, we were good back then, good for each other,” he sighed, feeling guilt pool heavy in his heart. “Back then we were both in shitty mental states. And now, Al’, I’ve never seen you happier than you are with them. They’re so good for you—“

Seth was holding back tears at this point, feeling their sting in the back of his head. “And there are lingering feelings, I won’t deny them. But you’re with them now, and they make you happy. I’m fine with just being your friend, someone to stick by you, and maybe your best man one day—“

“That’s a load of shit and you know it you asshole,” Alphonse interrupted, grasping both sides of Seth’s shoulders at this point. “I care for you too, and you’re right, I am in a committed relationship, and I love them so damn much that some days I wonder how I got so fuckin’ lucky,” he continued. “But we’ve talked about this, so damn much. Boo themselves has admitted that they care a whole damn lot for you, and yeah, to agree with them I am the same fuckin’ way—“ he stood firm, his voice shaking but slowly becoming steady. 

“What I’m saying is, man you gotta fuckin’ open up and talk about this shit instead of wallowing’,” Alphonse scolded firmly, grabbing on og Seth’s hands and heading for the attic door. 

“Where are we going?” Seth asked, surprised by the sudden change.

“Downstairs, with Boo, to have a long chat,” Alphonse responded. “And it’s a chat we should’ve had a long damn time ago.” His voice wasn’t firm or angry about the matter, it was gentle and caring, empathy lacing it heavily. 

“Hey Al’?” Seth called, his tone questioning. “Thank you for this, for all of this. For takin’ me in and shit when you didn’t have to, when you hated me. And for stickin’ by me through all of this shit.”

Alphonse smiled gently. “Of course man, I’ve got your back. And I do forever now,” he continued. “Now, let’s go downstairs and get all sappy talking over our feelings over some nice fresh and hot cinnamon rolls with Boo.”

Seth smiled, allowing Alphonse to lead him out of the attic, the pair heading to the kitchen and sitting down at the table beside their partner and friend, plates of fresh and frosted cinnamon buns plated in front of them as they began the conversation of a new era.

Taglist: @sombra7567 @ryder-writes

[chevelleneech]

https://www.tumblr.com/chevelleneech/787744145268768768/wouldnt-it-have-been-better-for-them-to-travel-in?source=share

If they're in closet and have mosy of their life filmed IS that not the reason to get some privacy for yourself? When you're in the closet and have been trained to act a certain way so no one would question is that not the reason enough that you'd want a time where you're supposed to let go off all your guard?? You're getting filmed in your solo content, you're getting filmed in ot7 so would you not choose to NOT get filmed once when you're with ur supposed love interest? Would you still wanna be in front of the cam? Yes a trip paid and organised by the company sounds great but they're millionaires who can afford all that on their own If it means they get the privacy of tens of staff not being around you.

Yes the staff are on strict contract but do you believe that supposed gay would let their guards down in front of Strangers of the staff just because it can get edited out? We do know they're from homophobic country right? It's not a straight couple where they'll be at ease knowing that their supposed intimate moments can be edited they're literally in a homophobic country where even if some of your intimate moments even as a celebrity gets edited out it's entirely different when you're a couple in closet that too of BTS's status. you simply don't let go off ur guard and hence it's more reasonable to go on trip privately with ur manager or a bodyguard who's there for very long than go with a whole crew where the staff keeps changing and can't be as trusted and where you'd need to be on ur guard.

If you're a millionaire with ur partner as same status but are in closet will you chose to go on a Trip sponsered by comp but the disadvantage is you're getting filmed all the time or you book your own trip and go with ur partner and gets the privacy you crave for in return?? Yes they're not going to kiss in public in both the situations but when what's the point of the sponsored trip when even after coming back to ur hotel your guards are still on? When you have the advantage of not being on guard if you chose to travel on your own??

I'm not even considering other members to even hold jm and jk at different standards I'm simply talking about THEM. You asked me if I'd not choose the comp trip managed by them and in return it just gets filmed then I'd say no I'd rather choose a trip managed by me and my partner when i get my privacy and don't need to be on guard after the whole 18 months in the eyes of tens of soldiers. I'd choose that privacy over anything especially when I'm a millionaire myself who for whom these trips' money costs nothing.

It's one thing to be a blogger or traveller and film yourself or have 2-3 ppl to film and it's another when there's tens of strangers of staff filming you.

Again I ask, why do they have to be alone for it to count as privacy, when they haven’t been alone this whole time and still manage to maintain privacy?

Their privacy is theirs, which we know, because they’ve been filmed for 12 years straight (minus the time in the military) and we still do not know anything about their private lives beyond what they tell us. So why do you think these trips are different? I’m not trying to sound like a dick, but again… they’ve maintained private lives for 12 years.

The camera crews being around them have not been an obstacle to any large degree before, so why do you think it is now? They turn the cameras on and film, they turn the cameras off and don’t film. What is hard to understand about that? Their staff hangs out with them whenever they film or have dinner or whatever, they don’t when they want to be alone. Again, whether they are friends or more. What is so hard to understand about that?

As for do I think they’d let their guards down… yes. They pay good money to be able to do exactly that. Staff is paid to be there when it’s time to work and be gone when it’s not. Same as any other employee. So when they are around, JM and JK likely act the same way they do on camera. When the cameras and mics are off… we don’t know what they get up to. We don’t know who’s around.

Because what is the difference between their off-camera privacy and Namjoon’s, when surrounded by staff but the cameras are off? Namjoon and his partner were still at risk of being exposed by staff if he interacted with them at work or when surrounded by camera crews, because he is Namjoon. So the staff would still need to be contractually bound to silence, no? Contracts that clearly work, because nothing has been leaked. Same goes for Tae, who was involved with someone of equal fame and status, yet we had no idea until they chose to finally be seen. The rest of their relationship was leaked by a fan/stalker who hacked into their privacy, not by staff.

As well, queer people exist in the Kpop industry. Their secrets are heavily guarded for both good and bad reasons, but nonetheless they exist and majority of idols are filmed constantly without evidence of queerness being exposed. So what makes the most famous idols any different?

They may not get enough privacy for your liking, but that doesn’t mean the way they craft their privacy is wrong. Whether romantic or platonic, we don’t know anything about them they don’t let us know, and we haven’t known anything for 12 years, even with cameras and staff surrounding them the whole time. Meaning, they are able to maintain privacy whilst being filmed and surrounded by staff. And because they seemingly do not have to sacrifice more than they already have, Jimin and Jungkook presumably chose to film their travels and do it without having to pay for it, because why not?

Yes, they can afford it, but so what? It’s a fully comped trip, and all they have to do is… nothing. All they have to do live their lives the way they’ve been living their lives for 12 years. What about that is confusing?

Lastly, your answer about not taking the free trip tells me that you don’t understand fame and closeting. Because they’re going to be on guard regardless. The only safe place they’d have is inside wherever they’re staying, but outside? When they’re doing activities and going out to eat, they’d still have to act like nothing more than best friends, because fans will see and film them. They wouldn’t be doing anything different even if a camera crew wasn’t around, except for going into a room with no cameras. So what would be the point?

What makes the trip you’re describing any more worth it, when they can obtain the same level of privacy with the trip they’re filming? The staff is large, but as we saw, JM and JK have control over turning their cameras and mics on and off. Meaning, whether you believe it or not, they do have privacy. They are comfortable (presumably) in their contracts, because the non-disclosures and other agreements signed by staff have proven to keep them safe, and they seem okay enough with that to exist as they are.

How exactly that manifests? We don’t know because of those contracts, but if they’re anything like they are on camera… we can assume at the very least their staff does their jobs very well, and get lost when it’s time to get lost.

We don’t know what happens when the cameras are off nor what makes it to the cutting room floor, and the reason for that is because, you guessed it! Contracts. That’s it. It’s that simple. Their privacy is maintained, because they have airtight contracts. They choose to be filmed on vacation together, because they have airtight contracts.

Fame might take away their privacy, but money sure enough buys it back.

[bulletforprettyboy]

Hello.

I don’t usually address my followers directly like this, but I find it necessary now. I received an ask accusing me of leading people on, sending flirtatious messages to multiple blogs, playing some kind of game. I don't know who this person seems to think I am, but I think I know who sent it. If I’m right, I’m not surprised, but that’s beside the point.

Let me be very clear:

I don’t send asks to strangers. I don’t flirt idly. I don’t play pretend with affection. The people I interact with on and off anon, apart from my own asks I get, are friends and they know it is me. And even then, the messages I send them are never romantic or promising something. I’m indifferent to most. It isn’t cruelty, it’s just how I’m built. To suggest I’d string anyone along is not just laughable, it’s insulting. Especially given how seriously I take obsession, love, and control.

This account does revolve around obsession. But not the digestible, sanitized kind. I’m talking about the type that curdles into possession, delusion, rot. You’ll find it soaked into every word I post. Through kink, through detachment, through violence, through beauty.

I’m a sadist, first and always. Attachment isn’t something I hand out freely. People serve a purpose here: they feed, they ache, they stay. And I bite, pull, test. That’s not intimacy. That’s instinct.

Obsession, though? That’s different. Rare. Sacred. If I ever truly became obsessed with someone, you’d feel the shift. There’d be no room left for anyone else. My attention wouldn’t scatter, it would fixate. And everything else would become static. All of my anons would cease to matter. But I haven’t found them. So for now, this blog lives off remnants. Off echoes. Smoke from a fire I haven’t lit. But when I do, there will be no mistaking it.

Trust that.

And to the one behind the accusation. You could have went on your merry way, but you had to stoop so low to the point you act bitter on your blog and in my asks. So I'll stoop lower.

You’re married. Let that sink in.

You come here, crawling through obsession blogs like some starved stray, begging for attention from strangers while your husband is in the next room. You want to be treated like a darling, like prey, like something worth chasing, but you’re not. You’re a grown woman playing dress-up in someone else’s fantasy. It’s embarrassing. It’s revolting.

You weren’t led on. You were ignored. And that’s what’s really eating you alive. Call me a fake yandere all you want but we both know the truth is that your ego can’t handle the silence. And when you didn’t get it, when I didn’t bend to whatever fantasy you stitched together in your lonely little head, you decided to play victim. You called it leading you on. No, sweetheart. That was just you not being chosen. You fetishize yanderes. It's plain and clear.

You’re too old for this shit. Not just in years, but in rot. You should’ve known better than to project your neediness onto someone who never even touched you. Someone who doesn’t want what you’re offering. Who finds it, frankly, disgusting.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

You want a yandere to fall to their knees over you while you keep your wedding ring on? Disgusting. You want to be branded, ruined, consumed, yet you can’t even be honest about who you are or what you want. You don’t belong here. Not in my world. Not in my inbox. Not even in the shadows.

If you somehow still want to talk shit, I will go even lower. Your choice. Find someone else to play pretend with. I’m not interested. Never was.

Now, I'm taking a mini hiatus. Just a couple days. Just long enough to make sure people that check on my page see this. I won't be gone long. I'll be watching. Be good.

- Danny <3

[sunnnfish]

hey we *should* talk abt tashiro and loneliness! sometimes i get reminded of that page in second anime guidebook extra where tashiro is just quietly observing around and when he says its gonna be lonely kuresawa does his glasses thing,,, and what happened to lonelines,,, we definitely should talk about it

okay i need to lock in. hello anon thank you so much for letting me unleash this unto the world. buckle up strap in Here we go.

TASHIRO GONZABUROU AND LONELINESS: AN IMPROMPTU ESSAY

first we are all going to look at this excerpt from the Sasaki and Miyano: First Years Novel:

“So you’re never coming back, President?” I said. “I ain’t President anymore.” “Not the point! I haven’t beat you yet…” I clenched my fists, a yawning, lonely feeling of loss opening within me. “Ahh. You mean the thing about getting to quit if you win? The next president’ll keep that promise. Don’t you worry.” “What?” I don’t get it. What happened to the loneliness? The new president—in other words, Hanzawa.

a bit of context just in case you're here and you don't know yet: Tashiro's chapter in the first years novel deals with his joining of the ping pong club, which he initially did as a joke kind of but couldn't leave until he beat the club president (really good at ping pong). so he's downright stuck. and he doesn't like to admit it but he dedicates a lot of his time trying to beat the president. and he never does win. and then the president graduates and hanzawa is the new president. so it's like. for a moment, all that time and dedication and well. friendship. was being taken away from him. i think the previous president was maybe one of the closest people he had. takes two to play ping pong, and all that. it's a conversation. hurts to have your partner taken away.

and then we get the second guidebook extras. where fucking this happens:

and afterwards miyano thinks about loneliness and Sasaki graduating but we're Not Going To Get Into That. sooo funny you're comparing hanzashiro and sasamiya harusono shou Sorry. this isn't about that. anyways. we see it here again. Tashiro's president is graduating again. and he feels lonely. and this time there's no one to replace it. that yawning, lonely feeling of loss. (<-just. a really insane way to describe it. insanely profound. harusono shou and hachijo kotoko Answer my calls.)

so those kind of set the stage for me being completely totally insane. even before these, i kinda always had the feeling of like. what I've mentioned in my other posts. about how hes Friends With Everyone but not close with anyone. he's quite surface level. and those he Was rather close with, the prospect of losing them makes him lonely so easily. even just graduating. not getting to see them every day. and like. when he does let that feeling slip in the guidebook extra, everyone is kinda. stunned. like that show of vulnerability isn't normal at all from him. the way it's also framed as rainy and gloomy, and especially that dim panel of him smiling but thinking "it feels like not even half of them are still around…" its ominous as hell. he's so melancholic about it. but he still puts on that smiley facade. and looks around like it's a ghost town when nobody's looking.

another facet of it is his sharp insight. he's really good about noticing things about other people. and he's a really good listener. so i think a lot of people just. end up telling him things. but he doesn't really tell other people things. which is what i mean by friends with everybody but not close with anybody. people open up to him, but he doesn't open up to them. and the only people he was getting there with go on and graduate. leaves him lonely.

so it's all kinda like. he's very surface level social. in a way that nobody thinks he's got anything else going on. hes a Fun Guy!! nothing wrong over here! not that he necessarily has anything Wrong. just the feeling of like. he could have like a dead parent and nobody would know something was amiss. thats kinda dramatic but. yknow. he doesn't really talk about his feelings. anyways.

last aspect of the loneliness i wanna touch on a bit is his relationship with his parents. we. don't get much. one mention of them in his miso soup conversation:

“Man, that makes no sense to me! For one thing, we don’t even have miso every day at my house. If I want some, I just grab a packet of the instant stuff and boil up some water—on my own. I guess sometimes my folks ask me to make some for them, too, and I grab two packets.” “Huh! Wait, isn’t it actually expensive to make two people’s worth?” “Sure is. If that goes on for a couple days, my mom is like, it would be cheaper just to make a bunch at once! She always says laziness is the root of wasting money. And I’m like, I know that! But I keep making that soup.”

we'll get more into all that again later. focusing on his folks here. we can infer here that his parents don't seem to cook that often. it falls to him to make dinner for them all sometimes. and. i dunno. something about this makes them read as kinda distant. not in a neglectful or hurtful way... just. they don't care about what he does. like. I don't think he told them or asked permission to bleach his hair. he just Did It and came home and they were like Oh! well thats cool i guess [thumbs up]. i don't think he's very close with them either. like. he doesn't know How to open up, maybe. didn't grow up with it. that may be stretching it a bit though. whatever. either way, he keeps making that soup (miso soup metaphor for love. we'll get into it later).

so it's like. he does love his friends. he just sucks at opening up about his #feelings. and nobody could tell if he was truly upset about something. and everybody wants to hang out with someone else. it's played off for jokes but kuresawa and miyano often abandon him during breaks and holidays to hang out with their #lovers. though everybody note that shirahama is probably the exception to most of this. but he's also bad at talking about feelings so they don't really Talk about it. but he Knows. and they like to #hangout. (and thats part of what makes shirashiro so good to me. shirahama can ask a "hey are you okay" in a way that no one else can. #bestfriends) anyways.

i thiiink. that's everything. thank you for coming to my ted talk. thesis: Tashiro is secretly a pretty lonely guy but god forbid he Tell Anyone. peace and love on planet Tashiro gonzaburou….

[pumpk-n]

finally in the part of the depressive episode where i am giving up on explaining anything to anyone for the non-responsiveness of my journal - thank fuck

[yazzy-khan]

even if Sonya is actually older than her Yaz is still an older sister. because she’s Ryan’s older sister

[yourqueenb]

Feeling another random burst of self confidence (probably due to lack of sleep honestly) so have a heavily made-up eye reveal I guess? 😂

[whoblewboobear]

The way I had every intention to be productive this weekend and did none of it bc I know I’m in for some shit the minute I walk into that stupid office

[yoohyeon]

I force myself to go out take a walk to spend Halloween with my goddaughter and my other cousin’s kid and after an hour of waiting she « forgot » to tell me where they were and had already left 😑

[ofdustandashes]

Have to get this off my chest.

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

[ggukivrse]

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night�� when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

[youregonnabeokay-kid]

i think a lot of people (especially those who haven’t read the books) are underestimating Hades

yes, he presents as the sassy queer uncle who’s done with his family’s drama, but he’s not “just some guy”

when his Helm is stolen, no one knows about it. he uses his own resources and orchestrates a plan to bring Percy to the underworld alive, all while managing an entire freaking kingdom

he doesn’t threaten war because he doesn’t have to and he knows it. unlike Zeus, he keeps a level head and thinks about the situation logically

think about Percy’s priorities throughout the show, look at what the flashbacks are teaching us about him and his relationship with others. think logically. this is a 12 year old kid who grew up with a single mom and no friends

his priority is his mom, it’s always been his mom and Hades knows that. Percy’s worst fear is losing his mother and Hades uses that against him

he takes Sally before Poseidon claims Percy because he has eyes everywhere. he already knew who Percy was and he already had a plan formed before Percy even set foot in camp

when he greets Percy and Grover he isn’t surprised, relieved, or agitated because he planned this. he knew that Percy would come to him whether by force or by his own choice (for my book readers, think about this in comparison to how Zeus reacts to the situation. Zeus comes off as desperate and angry, whereas Hades is at ease. annoyed, sure, but never panicked)

when he offers them pomegranate juice it’s in the guise of politeness and humour but it has an underlying meaning. Percy knows the stories about Hades and Hades knows that he knows. the pomegranate juice is a reminder, it’s Hades demonstrating his power without outright threatening Percy. it’s him going “I can make something as small as a pomegranate seed into a weapon” it’s him asserting his dominance and control over the situation

he leads them to a seating area clearly made for their arrival. another reminder that he knew they were coming and Sally stands, frozen in the middle of it as a reminder of what they have to lose

when he learns that it’s Kronos behind the robberies he immediately offers sanctuary to Percy, Grover, and his mom. Kronos, the king of titans, the father of all Gods, and a being who could once tear the world in two with the snap of his fingers, wants Percy, and Hades offers to protect him because he’s that powerful

so yes, Hades makes dad jokes and he talks in a way you wouldn’t expect an all-powerful being to talk, but he isn’t “just some guy”

he’s powerful, he knows it, and he shows just enough of that power to absolutely terrify Percy

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Just for Practice

Caleb x fem!reader Thank you @erensfeed for the idea and all the help she gave me!! Tysm nunnie! Hope this is a nice surprise for when you wake up <3 warnings: suggestive topics, mature, kissing (of course)

"Kissing? That’s what got you so worked up? Kissing is why you haven’t been eating my braised pork?" Caleb's lilac eyes fix on you like you’re crazy, a hint of something darker lurking beneath as he frowns.

"Ugh, I told you you wouldn’t get it." you groan, flopping onto your bed in frustration and avoiding his gaze, you didn’t want to see Caleb judging you.

Your high school graduation is just a few months away, but so far, every girl in your class won’t stop talking about the people they’ve kissed this year. Some have only had one kiss, others have had plenty, but out of all of them, you’re the only one who hasn’t had a single one yet. It’s not your fault—you’ve just never found yourself even a little bit attracted to anyone at school.

You didn’t even notice your appetite waning, your mind preoccupied with this. With graduation nearing, the last thing you wanted was to feel left out—missing out on bonding with your friends was the last thing you wanted.

“What’s so special about kissing?? It barely means anything.” his face twists into confusion and disgust, as if really trying to grasp why you’re making such a big deal out of this. Caleb silent mouths ‘kissing?’ before shifting his gaze back to you—just in time for you to throw a pillow straight at his face. But the pillow stops mid-air in front of his face, before dropping onto his lap as he leans back against the chair at your study desk.

“All of my friends have already had their first kiss. That’s like the only thing they’re talking about these days.” Your lips push up into a pout as you grab one of the stuffed animals nearest to you and hug it, allowing your head to rest on the plushie.

“And you’re jealous?” You choke on your saliva, coughing and hacking as your wide eyes meet his—one eyebrow raised and eyes heavy with disbelief. Caleb would’ve never guessed that his girl would grow up to be worried over something as minuscule as a kiss, especially a kiss with someone else.

“I’m not jealous! I mean like… It’s not like… Okay, maybe just a little?” your hands flail wildly all over as you try to defend yourself, but to no avail. Feeling a blush creeping onto your cheeks, you take a quick glance and see that Caleb's gaze has darkened.

“Do you even know how to kiss?”

“Caleb… That’s a stupid question,” you murmur, already knowing the answer. Caleb knew that too. “Why would I be so worked up if I—”

With his lilac eyes fixed on you, he tilts his head slightly, then leans forward. “Would you like to know how?” His words cut through your sentence, leaving your lips parted in shock as you prop yourself back up, still clutching the plushie to your chest.

“What? What do you mean?” your brain struggles to process his words, unable to fully make sense of them as you frown and watch him get up. Caleb's tall figure towers over yours as he steps closer, leaning casually against the wall, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“I can teach you then, Pip-squeak.” His body lowers, closing the gap between you two as your grip on the plushie loosens. You try to back away, only to find your back pressing against the headboard just inches away.

“I… I mean… does this count as my first kiss?” His right hand reaches out, gently caressing your cheek before softly holding your chin, guiding it towards him.

“Hmm. Think of this as practice.” Caleb's grip on your chin is soft and gentle, completely opposite from his hazy, clouded gaze.

“Oh. Oh…kay then-” you draw the ‘o’ out but as soon as the confirmation leaves your mouth, his lips brush softly against yours. With your eyes closed shut and brows furrowed, he slowly moves, capturing your bottom lip between his own with a delicate pull.

Your body sinks further into the mattress, plush pillows pressing against your back. The bed groans under Caleb's weight as he closes the distance between you, one large palm placed on your hips while the other rests on the headboard. You kiss him back, or at least you try to. You move your lips in the same motion of waves as he does, but everything feels so awkward and off.

Feeling quite embarrassed, and out of air, your intended gently nudges on Caleb's tank top quickly turns into desperate grasps before the kiss finally breaks. You felt like you’ve just ran a marathon—body burning up and your lungs out of breath as you pant, trying to inhale as much oxygen as you could while avoiding eye contact. Though it was harder than you thought, because Caleb was now on top of you, his smirk haunting you as your cheeks flush.

“H-hey! Don’t look at me like that. I told you I don’t know how to kiss…” Your voice grows quieter each passing second as it somehow ends up as a tiny squeak. The sound of Caleb's laughter fills your ears as you turn back to him, his knee now finds itself between your legs as his face hovers just above yours.

“You’re overthinking this, Pip-squeak. Just follow what I do.” Though his words are reassuring, that husky tone in his voice throws you off as he quickly captures your lips into a kiss for the second time. Caleb's lips move against yours in a soft, sensual way as you try your best to mimic him. Remembering what he did to you, you trap the soft fullness of his lower lip and gently apply suction to it. His hums of approval catch you off guard as you feel a subtle rumble of his chest—Caleb's hand snaking down to the small of your back, before pulling your body flush against his.

As if a flip has just been switched, Caleb's lips move frantically against yours, biting your lower lips then soothing the sting with his tongue. Your lips part at the sudden pain, allowing his tongue to delve into your mouth. Soft whimpers escape from your throat as Caleb explores you, tracing every corner and leaving an odd-yet-pleasurable feeling as he does so. Surprised, and a little scared, you push his body off of yours as you cover your mouth in shock, the faint apple taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Your tongue… Do you still use that apple flavored toothpaste or something? Because that’s all I’m feeling? Tasting?” Caleb grabs your hands, lowering it as a light chuckle leaves his lips.

“You’re a natural, Pip-squeak.” Completely ignoring what you just said as his thumb caresses your cheek and he stares at your lips, as if capturing them in a kiss with his eyes, “But I think you need a little bit more practice. What do you say?”

“Oh….Um…” Your voice comes out as uncertain mumbles and murmurs while his face only inches closer to yours. That’s when you realize how Caleb's body is pressed against yours, radiating heat—how heat crept up his neck and spreaded to his ears. How his lilac eyes were still clouded with a hazy and clouded look.

“I think you need more practice.” Caleb already had a taste of you and now he can’t get enough. Your scent seeps into his senses, impossible to ignore—like an addict chasing his next fix. He took your first kiss and now he’s going to take your every first. He was going to make sure of it.

A/N: Ughhh, this was quite hard to write considering I’ve never kissed anyone before. BUT. I have read many writings about kissing so I hope that’ll make up for this. Stay delusional ya’lls! (*´∀`*) Dividers by @omi-resources