#just to clarify things will actually be okay. this is just in reference to Black Friday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemonhemlock · 1 month ago

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"you see i find this hilarious because my boyfriend insisted the other day that (with a few exceptions, as per his words, referring to the astarionwives) this fandom was “wholesome”. 😂 i am squinting my eyes v hard at that statement" Okay, I should've clarified my statement because I was too actually referring to the Astarionwives mostly and I say this as someone who likes and…actually romanced him in my first playthrough, which is something I'm quite wary to admit nowadays out of fear of being lumped with his crazier fans lmao. A lot of them can be really, really intense about the guy and NOT in a good way and tbh most of my negative experiences in the fandom are indeed related to this crowd. He really is the type of character that is a magnet for discourse and I have to say that ignoring a majority of his fans can make your fandom experience much more enjoyable, ESPECIALLY if you do like him, as crazy as this may sound. Sure, some of them will be making you laugh in the sense that it takes a high level of delusion to come up with certain takes but most will just make you lowkey angry. They are also very numerous and extremely loud compared to fans of other characters, who (with some exceptions here and there) are quite chill. Every other day though there's some Astarion related drama going on or his fans trying to stir some shit up and it's so tiring. Frankly, I have more Astarion fans blocked than fans of other BG3 characters put together and this is saying a lot. In my opinion, they are crazier than Aemondwives, Aegonwives and Daemonwives and lots of Team Black or Targ Nation stans.

It's not that they will attack other fans for not liking his character (well, some are doing it, I won't deny it) but they also often rabidly attack each other for having different interpretations of his character, even when there's enough information in canon to support more than one POV or theory. There are also some choices (one of them being pivotal or very, very important) you can make involving his character that can be very controversial or divisive and insane fans on all sides of the debate will try to shame others for (not) making them and proceed to call you or imply you are a bad person irl over it. Typical fandom "my opinion is the moral or correct one" bs, but in this case it's particularly wild since it's a RPG game with no established canon. Still, there's nothing that could justify going after a real person, in the end it's just a video game and no one is bad for making a certain choice or not. Of course this is mostly subjective and there are some nuances I can't get into due to spoilers, but I feel like overall a lot of the BG3 fandom experience depends on what characters you like since it's likelier you'll be checking out and interacting with the parts of the fandom related to them specifically so yeah someone else may have had a quite positive experience in the fandom unlike me and others, like your bf did (to his credit, Shadowives are quite sane compared to Astarionwives and I have nothing negative to say about most of them).

Other than that, there are of course antis who just like in every fandom (and I've seen it happening here like it did with HOTD) are harassing, threatening or trying to dox content creators or even regular fans who are into things deemed to be toxic and problematic (noncon, dubcon stuff mostly) despite the game itself having and/or offering you the possibility to do a lot of fucked up things. In this regard they remind me of the HOTD antis who will cry out about incest ships whilst going after fans who enjoy them in fiction. Well, maybe don't consume media with problematic elements that make you uncomfortable? But of course to them it's more about being the fandom moral police rather than genuine concern about potential victims seeing the wrong content.

"oh thank you so much! ikr?? i’m gonna give astarion 18 DEX as soon as i can level him up anyway so why bother? i was really vehement to dump the stat altogether, because i was thinking there was nothing in it FOR ME as a wizard, but then i realised i’m really getting pounded in fights because of my low dexterity!!" In my experience the game's AI will first target the characters with the lowest AC (armour class) and those are usually the spellcasters like wizards or sorcerers. Until you get those gloves and a good shield, Mage Armor should help in early game to get that number a bit higher. It does cost a spell slot, but it's worth it.

"yeah, i’m really set on having high charisma because my hope is to manipulate these rugrats into doing what i want. but the wisdom checks have proven annoying, i have to say. and i don’t really want to be dragging shadowheart with me all the time because… i can’t stand her! 😂 my bf is a shadowwife and keeps telling me to be patient with her but she is just getting on my nerves 🤌i respecc’d her to be a Life Cleric and she is more useful now, at the very least. " As a sorcerer (it also applies to other charisma based classes like bards or warlocks) it was sooo easy to navigate throughout the game thanks to this and how easy it is to manipulate NPCs into doing your bidding, plus you get so many bonuses that by the end of the game that it's almost impossible to fail your CHA rolls. I can't say I relate to your experience with Shadowheart but…sometimes we just happen not to like certain characters, which is fine? Your boyfriend may be right about being patient with her to be honest, I wasn't crazy about her in my first playthrough (but unlike you also I didn't dislike her so that helps) but she grew up on me as a character quite a bit throughout the game. Same with Lae'zel and more or less with Astarion as well, ironically. Turning Shadowheart into a Life Cleric is also something I did and she's indeed more useful unlike her default Trickster subclass. Light Cleric is also a good option for her (or any cleric), which is what I'm going for in my second playthrough.

"exciting!! i wouldn’t know where to put it exactly, though, since i read online that having odd numbers is not really giving you a bonus in bg3" Yes, this is true, odd numbers don't give you any bonuses. You should either put that point into an odd number to make it even (for example if you have 17 INT you get it to 18) or respec your character in such a way that adding the point matters, if this makes sense. Of course, you can also use that point on another companion, it's not mandatory to do it with your Tav. Most players, from what I've seen, will choose to to increase their main stat since the default number you get from the game is an odd number. Also, don't worry about doing a respec later, you won't be losing that point.

The maximum number you can max out your main ability to is 20 actually through Ability Improvement when choosing the feat. I've seen you reached Level 4 already so you probably chose that feat already but you should have the possibility of putting another +2 points into it when you reach Level 8 or 12. I don't know though if this is disabled on easy mode (my first playthrough was on balanced mode and now I'm on tactician) so I can't confirm it 100%. Multiclassing for example is disabled on explorer/easy mode.

"anyway, first of all, i’m gonna go find the soap mod asap since i just found out today you’re supposed to clean yourself so you don’t stink ☠️ and i have found exactly 0 bars of soap and 0 sponges so far, so i’m not gonna bother with that" You can find sponge and soap at the goblin camp under the main bridge. It's near some waterfall. However, I don't think it matters? I can't remember random NPCs calling me out for not washing myself or for stinking? I could be misremembering of course, but I think only some characters will be commenting on your Tav's smell, so it's not something that really matters unless you want to look clean all the time. For example, when Lae'zel tried to hook up with my character she said something about their scent driving her crazy or something like it lol. This one I haven't got it in my game, but Gale also has a similar line about him enjoying Tav's musk despite them not having washed in 10 days or so lmao (ewww), but he only says it after you flirt with him first and again, I don't think it matters if you used that soap earlier.

"after that the plan is to go back to camp, switch lae'zel out for astarion and go back to ethel (since astarion expressed interest in her so i’m curious if he’ll act out in some way)" There isn't really anything related to Ethel that makes or breaks your relationship with him other than some approval or disapproval points depending on your choices there BUT you'll want to have him in your party because there's a certain someone in the swamp, near Ethel's place that you'll be wanting to meet and it's better if you do it with Astarion in it.

Okay this got very long, I'm sorry!! Once again, my experience with the BG3 fandom is mostly subjective and I'm sure others had a more positive time in it but yeah...for me personally it was not so different compared to the HOTD one, sadly. Anyway, just enjoy your game, try to do every quest (I'm the type who explores everything in a game, it's worth it even if it takes a lot of time) and don't shy away from taking as many long rests as possible!

astarionwives being crazier than targ nation stans is quite the feat. i don't know whether to laugh or cry 😭 does that mean i'll have to put in the anti astarion tag just to steer clear of these freaks? 😂 i mean, i've heard some stories and i know they're off their rocker and i also hope to become the first of my friend group to successfully romance him, just for the incredible meme potential. but i am not interested in defending his racist ass antics or generally loser behaviour. i have to say that some of his overly theatrical lines make me gag, but he has the potential to be very funny. and, at the end of the day, that's why any person would play an RPG, to be entertained by either the straight-up comedic choices or the dark, fucked-up ones (even the latter can be considered funny with the right mindset)

you are so right about this being extra-delulu because there is no true "canon" in an RPG in the traditional sense when different choices lead to different outcomes. fandom participants far and wide seem to be getting increasingly bad at separating reality from fiction. especially when sometimes you don't even know how a seemingly innocuous action will lead to an undesired outcome. i can't imagine there are players out there who are made to feel bad by these weirdos for making different choices, some of them even random maybe

so true! i mean, this is the type of game that offers the possibility of playing with a dark urge character that is designed to do a lot of fucked up stuff (from my understanding). you'd think these spaces would be very difficulty to turn into morality police havens, but every day presents a new opportunity to be surprised by the level of delusion the human mind can engineer

In my experience the game's AI will first target the characters with the lowest AC (armour class) and those are usually the spellcasters like wizards or sorcerers. Until you get those gloves and a good shield, Mage Armor should help in early game to get that number a bit higher. It does cost a spell slot, but it's worth it.

oh, yes, i have started to use mage armour on myself and gale and it's very useful since i'm always the loser of the pack and those mean devils gang up on me in fights. i've also started to make shadowheart use Bless on the entire party using turn-based-mode before entering fights for an extra boost

As a sorcerer (it also applies to other charisma based classes like bards or warlocks) it was sooo easy to navigate throughout the game thanks to this and how easy it is to manipulate NPCs into doing your bidding, plus you get so many bonuses that by the end of the game that it's almost impossible to fail your CHA rolls.

it's so fun playing with high charistma! i see that you even have an easier time convincing your own companions? i had lae'zel with me when we met up with the other githyanki and the red dragon and i was able to successfully roll and get her to play along

i hesitated to become a warlock because i didn't like the backstory of selling my soul to a demon entity and sorcerers had fewer spells overall. for a first playthrough, wizard is pretty fun because you get to tap into that harry potter childhood and scratch that itch :))

You can find sponge and soap at the goblin camp under the main bridge. It's near some waterfall.

oh, good tip! i managed to find some in the bathhouse of the burning inn. not sure how to use both at the same time though? because you can only select one item at a time with right click to get to the 'use' function

However, I don't think it matters? I can't remember random NPCs calling me out for not washing myself or for stinking? I could be misremembering of course, but I think only some characters will be commenting on your Tav's smell, so it's not something that really matters unless you want to look clean all the time. For example, when Lae'zel tried to hook up with my character she said something about their scent driving her crazy or something like it lol. This one I haven't got it in my game, but Gale also has a similar line about him enjoying Tav's musk despite them not having washed in 10 days or so lmao (ewww), but he only says it after you flirt with him first and again, I don't think it matters if you used that soap earlier.

yeah, as you mentioned, i heard that gale mentions you smell and other characters do, as well. but i'm planning on wearing princess dresses as soon as i can find them so it wouldn't work for my overall vibe, i don't think :)) this game is so complex, i never, in a millions years, would have thought that they included an option for cleaning yourself

There isn't really anything related to Ethel that makes or breaks your relationship with him other than some approval or disapproval points depending on your choices there BUT you'll want to have him in your party because there's a certain someone in the swamp, near Ethel's place that you'll be wanting to meet and it's better if you do it with Astarion in it.

yes, i did meet that fantasy romani character and ofc astarion wasted no time in being racist with him ☠

my plan last night went to smithereens so i'll have to redo most of it tonight. no plan survives first contact with the enemy, right? 😭 first of all, i left the inn burning and completely forgot i had a Create Water spell (at least i saw it very late in my tab?? some wizard am i). honestly, i'm not really sure how game mechanics work because i assumed it would still be burning later and i could come back to it when i figured out what to do. as in, it would be left in stasis while i wandered around. turns out it did not! (again, this game is very complex) and only after i fought the gnolls outside the cave did wyll deign to tell me his dad was in there 🤦‍♀️ men truly are useless

so i decided to forgo all my hard work, loaded an earlier game, grabbed gale, shadowheart and astarion and just go to ethel's, which is what i wanted to do in the first place. i'm leaning now that a detour is never just a detour and that it takes a lot of time to explore a place. i had initially thought that investigating the shipment mark would not take as long, but alas.

anyway, it took FOREVER to explore her dilapidated hut and pick up everything i could before i went down into her basement cave and found her victims. opening the tree door also took me a lot of time, as did entering through it and positioning myself to fight her minions. i noticed that if i made Mirta (my tav) enter slowly and immediately take the mask off i would delay engaging with ethel and could just position my party to fight her flunkies. but it was a difficult fight nonetheless, and gale had the absolute GALL to request another magical artifact from me. again, men truly are just resource-consumers. he is currently on my shitlist for annoying me, because i only had this cool bard hat to spare that could give you inspiration points (no way would i have parted with mine or astarion's gloves or my web boots).

in any case, i consumed a lot of spell slots to finish off those unfortunates, so i think it would be best to just return to camp and replenish before i talk to the hag. so, thank you for telling me i can take many long rests, because i was a bit worried that by taking them too often i would accelerate friendship or romance plotlines before i had the time to work on my relationship or approval stats with those characters.

so, right now, i think i'll just try and see if i can get the ability point off of ethel (if her terms are acceptable to me) and then think about respecc'ing myself again in the future. i am very interested in the Actor feat to get more expertise in Deception and Charisma

after that i need to meet a vendor asap to buy more magical shit to feed into gale's annoying ass condition. and, only after then, can i try again with the inn and see how/if i could put the fire out. this is going to take me ages to do 😂

random, but i also found out that, since i had previously helped Alfira with her song and she gave me her lute, i might have musical ability?? i don't have access to my game rn so i'll have to check. that might prove really funny later on

not at all! thank you for coming back, anon, and, most of all, thank you for all the tips! much appreciated! <3 and, yes, i'm also the same type, i feel the need to do every quest and i never leave a place without picking everything up, even rotting food and useless stuff like tongs and rope. my Mirta often gets 'encumbered' LOL

#miss lemon plays bg3 #ask #anon

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questfriendspodcast · 2 months ago

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Hi, list anon again! Yes, for Hallie again.

I mean I CAN do it exact, it’s just not gonna look that good… But if you’re willing to accept that, that’s fine with me (not really no because I’m putting a lot of work and a lot of time into this project and I’d prefer to make something yall will actually like). OKAY COMPROMISE: I can do black coffee? I think that could look cool!

Also, for everyone else who SPECIFIED what kind of a thing they wanted: like paper, bones, GOLD, coffee, etc…

I think it’s awesome that you’re being specific about what exactly you’re imagining for yourself and your characters, I really do, but I wanted to clarify that I meant: “Pick three of the things on the list and specify the ones I ask you to specify, like colors and how much glitter. Because while I can probably get my hands on “old paper”, “dragon-esque mon bones” COULD POTENTIALLY BE DIFFICULT!

I’m gonna try my best, but I might have to use simplified versions of the things, because it was in fact a question of “if”, yall, not “which one” (haha musical reference)

TOM In that case I retract my unintended specificity, I think mine was the dragon Mon bones

HALLIE WHAT IS THIS PROJECT Black coffee is completely fine TRULY I'm just being a dick The only thing I'm digging my heels in on is the doubloons

KYLE We're not actually fussy - I think people just liked adding details. After all, we don't actually know what we were providing the details for. Whatever you come up with will be fantastic!

#quest friends #quest friends!#quest friends hereafter #qfestions

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headspace-hotel · 2 years ago

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update on Cold the Night, Fast the Wolves: I looked up reviews for the book on Goodreads and uhh. Uhhhhhhh.

????????????????????????????????...

I'm taking the word "worldbuilding" away from y'all. Please stop. This book barely even has worldbuilding. It's an alien planet and all the animals are the same as Earth animals, except with weird made-up words attached, and the book has yet to explain or describe how they're even different from regular bears, foxes and rabbits.

The politics and culture are vague and developed using preachy infodumping. The planet is controlled by a corporation, and there are "scavvers" which live away from corporate control, and most inhabitants of the planet are prejudiced toward "scavvers." That's it! That's all there is!!

There seems to be a city and there's a forest, but the setting is not described well enough for me to tell how these things are spatially related to each other.

Also can we talk about how the planet is named "Tundar?"

...

Anyway. These reviewers in many cases seem to be confusing "worldbuilding" with "how vividly the setting is evoked/described," which, okay fine, but...this book's descriptions are the absolute opposite of evocative. They are so ambiguous and non-specific.

Here i've got the book I'll give examples

The protagonist's cloak, which has important sentimental value to her, has strands of "silvery-black" in it, which is important because it's connected to the scavver culture. What material? Why is it significant? How does it connect to her culture? What is it even called?? We don't know!

"She'd sing songs the scavvers passed down for generations, not the corpo-produced ones they play in bars around the Ket...those same melodies haunt my darkest dreams." Okay?? Maybe give more details so I'll care, maybe?

"The ion storms mess with most tech, especially things that send signals." (page 116) I have so many questions about this. It's repeatedly emphasized that Technology Doesn't Work on Tundar...except when it does. The wolves can be tracked down using microchips that transmit signals. The wolf races are televised using drones. All the "technology" (what that means isn't consistent) shown in the story is supposed to be constantly broken down and nonfunctional, but no one has thought to USE DIFFERENT TECHNOLOGY in the "hundreds of years" the planet has been colonized.

"Something messed up when the corporations tried to calm Tundar's environment hundreds of years ago...the terraforming attempt that was supposed to stop the ice just made it worse, along with making all the species bigger and more aggressive." ????? (page 23)

And then there's the "splinter woods." There are "splinter trees" that are constantly trying to take the city back. What do they look like? What are they? Is that the only plant in the "splinter woods?"

The main glaring problem, though, is that the "splinter woods" cover the whole area of the world we're shown...which is constantly and repeatedly referred to as a "tundra."

Did the author not google "tundra???" Did she somehow miss, when researching for this book, that a forest is definitionally not a tundra?

Like???? SGSGVVFGVFGBHFFGfsafghjbfbcv

"I say one of the few scavver phrases that has been adopted into everyday speech." Do scavvers speak a different language?? Are there different languages?? We don't know!!!

Because nothing is ever described specifically or clarified!! The dialogue is both unnaturally infodumpy and so vague. Like, the protagonist says "I can show you guys how to strip some bark from the splinter trees and mix it with a few different herbs." (page 119). I've never read anything like this before. "I tell them which animals most likely make which noises." What do you mean, most likely????

We spend a lot of time with a team of scientists, but it's not actually clarified what their actual fields are. Pana is an "expert in many scientific fields, including medicine. The main scientist says he's "not an animal expert" as if "zoologist" is too difficult to say.

The whole book is like this, whatever "Like This" is.

Let's not forget the "slightly scientific-looking junk."

Like, all the reviewers claim the world is so "vivid" and evocative and when you read the book, literally every description is like, "It looks almost like some sort of thingy."

Oh, on the subject of the cold: In the beginning, the protagonist says something about frostbite scars being distinctive of people that have lived on the planet for a while, and then...any sort of behavioral or technological adaptation to cold is Never Mentioned Again.

Like, I don't get the sense that it is cold. The way the main character dresses, acts, prepares for travel, does not suggest that she's going somewhere dangerously cold. Her cloak gets taken away from her and this is important because she's sad about it, not because the planet is deadly cold like the author tells us. The scientists don't have to wear gear or special clothing to protect themselves from cold.

It's so frustrating to hear this being called good worldbuilding I can't take it

#books #negativity #bitching about ya #young adult books #reading #young adult literature #ya books

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minisugakoobies · 2 years ago

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Walkie Talkie Men | KSJ x JJK

Pairing: Seokjin x Jungkook

Genre: smut, fluff, crack, established relationship, non-Idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, kissing, dirty talk, masturbation (m), hand job, finger sucking, use of butt plug, reference to anal sex, Jin is completely whipped for Jungkook and they both know it, power bottom Jin and service top Jungkook agenda

Word Count: 1.9k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Jungkook has an idea for a fun new game that he and his boyfriend Jin can play. Three words: walkie talkie sex.

A/N: This all stems from this post, which seemed like a Jinkook prompt to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and then @hesperantha said “gimme!” and, well, who am I to deny a friend some crack smut? Thank you to @illneverrecover for lending her sharp orbs to this one!

The title is a play on “Walkie Talkie Man” by Steriogram.

I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

“Hyung, I’m bored.”

Jungkook’s whiny voice breaks into Jin’s video game induced trance. It’s another lazy Saturday afternoon, just the two of them hanging out in the living room of their cramped apartment. It’s a pretty perfect day for Jin, with his two favorite things both within his reach - his video game and his boyfriend.

Jin’s also pleased because he’s thisclose to finally beating this level, but he hits pause and turns his head to find his boyfriend has draped himself dramatically over the couch next to him, legs hanging off the back, head dipping down towards the floor.

“And that’s my problem?”

The ridiculous pout that answers his question leaves Jin squeaking with laughter.

“You can play too, if you want.” He gestures to the other controller sitting on the table.

“But that’s not a multiplayer game. I’d have to wait for you to finish. And I’m already bored.” Jungkook sighs, and Jin’s heart actually pangs a little at the despondence in the sound. His boyfriend is really good at playing with Jin’s sympathies. Unfortunately, he knows this, and casts the saddest look he can muster at Jin, big shiny doe eyes pleading for attention.

Jin never stood a chance.

“Okay, baby. Why don’t you find something for us to do together?”

Jungkook immediately perks up, rising off the couch. “Okay! What do you want to do?”

Jin shrugs. “Surprise me.”

Jungkook disappears into their bedroom, leaving Jin to unpause his game. Five minutes later, he’s back in the zone, preparing to face the big bad boss, when something small but solid lands in his lap. “Hey!” he yelps, stopping the game again before looking at the projectile. “What - why did you throw a walkie talkie at me?” Grabbing the black rectangle, he turns it over in his hands.

He’d bought the radios when quarantine had hit and he and Jungkook found themselves needing to separate in their apartment after Jungkook was exposed at work. Their place was tiny, so the walkies weren’t really necessary - Jungkook could shout from their bedroom and Jin would hear him no matter what room he was in. But he knew his boyfriend was going stir crazy in there, so he’d picked them up figuring they’d help keep him entertained and maybe he’d get to hear him giggle again.

They’d worked a charm. And then after Jungkook was sprung, the walkies had been left in the corner of a desk drawer, to gather dust.

“I figured out something we can do with these,” Jungkook informs him with a sly grin.

“Are we going on a stakeout?”

Jungkook scowls. “Hyung. Be serious for once.”

“Okay, but only once.”

“Hyuuunnggg.” The urge to nibble on Jungkook’s lower lip as it puffs out is high, as always, but Jin stays put, knowing it’ll just frustrate Jungkook further if he interrupts him again.

“Sorry, baby, tell me what you want us to do.”

Jungkook’s smirk returns. “Let’s have walkie talkie sex.”

Jin frowns. “Let’s do what now?”

“You know. Like phone sex? But with walkies?” Jungkook waves the radio in his hand like that clarifies things.

“Ah.” They haven’t had phone sex in ages, since they started living together. “Baby, if you want to fuck, we can just fuck.” No one needs to twist Jin’s arm. He’s already half-hard just from the thought of his boyfriend folding him in half on this very couch….

“Noooo. I mean, yes, eventually, let’s fuck, but first I want to play!” Jungkook tilts his head cutely. “Don’t you want to hear me whisper filthy things in your ear? Hmm? Tell you how much I want to spread you open and taste you?” He blinks innocently. “For example?”

“Holy fuck,” Jin mutters as Jungkook giggles. “Okay, fine, let’s do this.”

Five minutes later, a giddy Jungkook has shut himself in their bedroom as Jin lounges on the couch, game off for the first time in hours. He holds the walkie to his plush lips. “Check, check, can you hear me?”

After a minute of no response, Jungkook shouts through the door. “Take your finger off the button, hyung!”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” He lifts his crooked finger.

“That’s better,” Jungkook’s voice crackles in his ear. He’s talking as low as he can so Jin can’t hear him down the hall, Jin assumes, based on his hushed tone. Trying to make the experience more authentic. Jin can’t help but smile.

“So how do we start?”

“Well, you could ask me what I’m wearing,” Jungkook suggests.

“I already know the answer. A t-shirt and sweats. That’s all you own,” Jin replies.

“Hyung.”

“Sorry.” Jin clears his throat. He presses the button again. “So… what are you wearing?”

“Just a smile,” Jungkook purrs. Jin closes his eyes, imagining his boyfriend lying naked on their bed, nothing but golden skin and swirling tattoos and a cheeky grin (of all of Jungkook’s smiles, that one’s Jin’s favorite), and he goes from half-hard to fully stiff in his own sweats.

“You’re naked already? Someone’s eager,” Jin teases.

“Oh hyung, you have no idea,” comes the husky response, and Jin’s smile evaporates as he bites back a moan. His boyfriend absolutely knows how to wind him up. “What about you? Are you still just sitting on the couch, in all your clothes?”

Jin quickly shucks his hoodie and sweats until he’s reclining on the couch in just his boxers, long legs akimbo. “No, I lost the sweatsuit. I’m out here in my black boxers. You know the pair - the silky ones you got me?” Jungkook can never keep his hands off Jin when he wears these boxers, and from the noise Jungkook makes into the speaker, he knows the younger man is also thinking about it. “Oh wait. Am I supposed to say ‘over’ when I’m done? Uh, over?”

Jungkook laughs, the warmth coming through even as the talkie garbles the happy sound. “You don’t have to take this that seriously, hyung. I think we can just talk normally. No need to end every statement with ‘over.’” He pauses. “Are you touching yourself through those boxers?”

“Mmm,” Jin confirms, palming at his erection. “I am now.”

A sigh drifts from the walkie. “Me too. Stroking myself right now. It feels so good.”

Jin slips his hand under the waistband, taking his own cock in hand. “Tell me what it looks like, baby. What you’re doing.”

“Ah, ‘m just running my hand up and down the shaft. I’m so hard, hyung,” Jungkook coos, and Jin’s dick twitches. “Sliding my hand so slowly, just teasing myself a little.”

“Sounds like I’m missing a good show.”

“You are.” Jin grins at Jungkook’s cockiness, knowing he’s probably not wrong. “What about you? Are you gonna wear those boxers all day, or are you going to give me a show, too?”

It takes half a second for Jin to lose his underwear. His hard length slaps against his lower stomach as he settles himself back against the arm of the couch. “They’re gone, baby. And I’ve got my fingers wrapped around my cock, too.” He lets his hand drift lower. “And there’s a surprise down here for you.”

“Oh?” There’s a burst of static interfering with Jungkook’s response.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I said, what’s my surprise?”

“I’ve been wearing something else since this morning. Something less silky but just as black. Something to help me get ready.” His hand curls around the black silicone between his cheeks, grasping the base there.

“Oh,” Jungkook inhales, understanding immediately. “I see. And what exactly were you getting ready for?”

“You, baby.”

“Mmmmm,” Jungkook moans, and somehow despite the muddling of the walkie, the sound is clear in Jin’s ear, and he finds himself groaning along. “Fuck, hyung, you’ve just been sitting there all morning, playing your game, the whole time just ready and waiting for me?”

“Of course.” Jin tugs gently on the toy, dropping it onto his discarded boxers. “Always want to be ready for you, Jungkookie. Always need you.”

A hiss, audible through the door before Jungkook comes back through the speaker. “What do you need me to do, hyung?” There’s a wet slapping sound beneath his words, and from the slick sound Jin imagines his boyfriend’s cock must be covered with lube as Jungkook pumps away.

“What you do best, baby. Fill me up.” Jin traces his rim, feeling how he’s gaping slightly from the toy, before he brings his long fingers back to his cock, which aches from neglect. He quickly remedies that, spitting on himself, hips bucking as he starts to fuck into his hand. “Want you to use me, Jungkookie. Like I’m your toy.”

“Hyung.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Stand up for me. Stand by the arm of the couch.”

Jin does as he’s told, still gripping his dick with his free hand. “Now what?”

Jungkook’s breathing heavily when the walkie crackles to life again. “Bend over.”

Jin tries. He really, truly tries to resist.

He cannot.

“Bend what, over?”

His shoulders start to shake as Jungkook skips the walkie and wails directly through the door. “Hyuuunnggg!”

“I’m sorry!” Jin yells back, still honking with laughter. “I’m sorry,” he says again into the talkie.

“I don’t want to do this any more if you’re not going to take it seriously.”

“So what, you’re just gonna stop?” Jin hums. “Just gonna leave me out here, bent over, dying to be filled, with a throbbing erection, I might add, and no one to help m- “

Jungkook’s out of the bedroom and halfway across the living room before Jin breaks off. As soon as he reaches the older man, he pushes him towards the couch, not roughly but not exactly lightly either, hurriedly guiding him onto his back before he crawls over him. He smashes their lips together as his muscled body writhes against Jin’s.

Jin whimpers into Jungkook as the younger man slips his hand around the elder’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the darkened tip. As Jungkook lifts his head, Jin chases his mouth, but his boyfriend diverts his attention with a roll of his wrist, and Jin drops back against the couch cushions, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

“What - what about the talkies?” he manages to stutter out, hips rising as Jungkook continues his ministrations.

“I give up. I was so excited at the idea of trying something new that I forgot one very important thing.”

“What’s that?” Jin’s impressed he’s still able to speak coherently, given the frantic way Jungkook is jerking him off.

“There are way better things you can do with that mouth than speak.”

“What d - “ And then Jin moans as Jungkook lays two heavy fingers on Jin’s tongue. He automatically closes his lips around them, sucking lewdly. Saliva drips from his mouth as he laves his tongue over the digits, and Jungkook whines, head lolling forward as he clutches at Jin’s cock with his other hand.

“Fuck, that’s it, just like that.” Jungkook sighs, corner of his mouth quirking in a soft smile. “Sorry to say it, hyung, but I don’t think walkie talkie sex is going to be our new thing.”

Jin just grunts around a mouthful of Jungkook. He’s fine with that. All he’d wanted was Jungkook’s hands on him, anyway, and he got that and more. Sure, Jungkook knows how to manipulate Jin, but Jin knows exactly how to rile his boyfriend up, too. And as Jungkook finally pushes Jin’s thighs into his abdomen, folding him like laundry before fucking him into oblivion, he applauds himself for a job well done.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

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#jungkook smut #seokjin smut #ficscafe #btswritingcafe #bts smut #btshoneyhive #btscarnivalnet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #jeon jungkook smut #kim seokjin smut #jungkook fanfic #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #kim seokjin fanfic #possumswrite #fic: walkie talkie men

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years ago

Text

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons. Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie.

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth.

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink.

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list.

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.”

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter.

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart.

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly?

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist.

Bliss.

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip.

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare.

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.”

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens.

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It��s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers.

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine.

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut.

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon?

It’s worth the mess.

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener.

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display.

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor.

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department.

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down.

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally.

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.”

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace.

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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ebonyheartnet · 1 year ago

Text

*groans* For my own sanity as a native speaker of AAVE, allow me to clarify the following:

Tucker would not sound like that unless he was intentionally trying to make Lucius Fox—a fellow Black man—think he was one of the young, probably-white interns. It sounds culturally incompetent, like they’re trying to be casual with their superior and friendly, but failing so hard that Lucius would be disgusted just reading it. Lucius would 100% not think, “Ah yes, the young Black man who knows how an old head would likely respond to someone being overly familiar,” so yes, it would throw him off initially.

When Lucius figures it out anyway—both for the sake of security and sheer fucking annoyance—Tucker’s probably going to get a pat on the shoulder, a promotion, and a reminder to never refer to an employer who is old enough to be his grandfather as, “Bro,” ever again. IYKYK. Mans prob drafted his formal apology before he hit send, and put it in a folder labeled, “Hi Mr. Fox, I see you caught me. Please read this first.”

If we wanna play it like that, that’s one thing, but what’s up there isn’t, “teen slang,” it’s the misuse of my fucking language. That message is slapped together with zero regard for the fact that this is someone Tucker not only answers to but respects.

He would not speak to a parent, teacher, elder, or even a fellow professional of the same level in that way unless they were close friends. The presumption of closeness to someone who is an elder, as well as your superior multiple times over, is a mad disrespectful microaggression at best from someone who doesn’t speak AAVE. From a native speaker like Tucker is? If he spoke to Lucius like that in front of his parents, they would lose their minds, okay? We know they raised him better. Like, depending on temperaments, that is actual-fighting-words levels of disrespect for a lot of old heads. They been here too damn long to be spoken to any kind of way.

When non-native speakers use our dialect as flavor text, then call it teen slang, it just further infantalizes Black people. It’s gross appropriation, and the reason I can’t get a job in a lot of places if I speak my actual dialect in a work setting. Learn the rules of my language, what the social consequences are for breaking them, and then you can have fun. I love this fandom, but do not bring this into my house.

—A motherfucker tired of play Southern White Woman over the phone because y’all treat my dialect like it’s childish

Tagging @victoria-has-no-secret, @jaytriesstuff and @hypewinter for the sake of getting us all on the same page. Y’all have a day.

Of all the things Tucker was expecting from his first day as an intern for WE, it was not overhearing his boss, Lucius Fox on the phone with Batman.

#dp x dc #fandom racism #AAVE #respect my culture or perish #and yes. I’ll help.

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menelaiad · 2 years ago

Note

"that follows the Cassandra was not claimed by agamemnon for sexual purposes, but leople don't seem to like that narrative" - can you explain this one a bit further? I kinda get what you're saying but its not something I've really heard before. Sorry if it's actually something obvious and I'm asking a basic question. Thank you for your time

sure sure! i spoke about this in my lectures and it made said when i verbalised it, but if it comes across all warped and muddled in word-form than please just ask me to clarify ASDFGHJKL

OKAY SO. we know that cly wanted to kill aga. it was planned. aeschylus (and to an extent the other tragedians) give us the whole watch-tower-carpet-walking scene that shows that. she WANTED to know when he was coming home to put her plan into action. homer is not so explicit BUT he, again, mentions that it was cly and aeg that killed him implying Some preparation. the two had a plan to execute.

it was not something she planned to do upon seeing aga arrive at mycenea with kassandra.

SO WE HAVE TWO THINGS - it was iphi. pretty black and white. aga had sacrificed their daughter ten years earlier and she spent ten years plotting his murder. did it. credits roll, that's that.

at least that's what the tragedians say. Homer doesn't say WHY. and this is where hyginus comes in and says:

§ 117 CLYTEMNESTRA: Clytemnestra, daughter of Tyndareus and wife of Agamemnon, heard from Oiax, brother of Palamedes, that Cassandra was being brought as a concubine to her house, a false statement Oiax made in order to avenge the wrong done to his brother. Then Clytemnestra, together with Aegisthus, son of Thyestes, planned to kill Agamemnon and Cassandra. They killed him with an axe as he was sacrificing, and Cassandra, too. But Electra, Agamemnon's daughter, rescued her brother, the infant Orestes, and sent him to Strophius in Phocis. Strophius had married Agamemnon's sister, Astyoche.

(disclaimer: hyginus is roman. however. we cannot say for certain he made this up lmfao. there may be something lost that he got this from. a play. a fragment. something from the epic cycle. We Don't Know. so dont come at me with 'UHHH THATS A ROMAN' - i know. but romans lived closer to the greeks than we do. they may have had access to stuff that we have now lost. okay? good.)

this does kinda hold up though. cause palamedes was wronged by his fellow greeks and aga is the leader of said greeks. so this statement does have legs.

SO LET'S SAY homer is right. there is just iphianassa, laodike and chyrso as his daughters. all alive and no iphi (like in the iliad) - why the plot to kill aga? in this timeline of events (that we know of) there is no iphi sacrifice.

THEREFORE. the spreading of a rumour that cly becomes aware of that she THEN concocts a plan to kill aga for makes sense. someone has told her about kassandra (falsely) and she's made her plan with aegisthus. THUS showing that kassandra being taken by aga for sexual purposes as a falsehood.

EXTENDING FROM THAT in Aeschylus, aga tries to get kassandra to acknowledge cly has her mistress or like cly to acknowledge she's now kass' mistress - which means she's there for cly. and that's a theme in TW too. that these trojan women are going back with greek men to serve their wives (like hecuba and penelope). ALSO. the ONLY reference made to kassandra being in aga's bed/sleeping with him etc. comes from cly. she's the only one who seems to be on that wavelength. nobody else is. aga never says it. kass never says it. only cly - she's the only one privy to the rumour. that's why.

ALSO in homer aga is killed at a feast. not in the bath. also also. kass is not killed with aga IN the bath if you wanna do the bath stuff. she is killed separately and then thrown on top of his body. they are Not bathing together. that is a modern sexualisation of the story (cause we love this shit to be sexual for some fuckin reason lmfaooo welp)

elephant in the room - euripides has kassandra make a big show of being a sexual slave to agamemnon when she leaves with him in trojan women. i've said it before, i'll say it again - euripides needs a LOT of context to be understood. he is ..... i dont wanna say projecting but i legit cant think of a better word ... about the war he is currently in.

NOW - am i saying 'aga doesnt suck cause he didn't wanna sleep with kassandra' NO. taking a poor girl from her home. killing her family. u know the spiel. is AWFUL. whether you sleep with her or not ... doesn't matter tbh. BUT it seems to be like concrete that that is what aga wanted and it's not .... that concrete, there is .... explanation for the contrary i suppose. also, people, stop making everything regarding the epic cycle about sex and sexual violence, like who are you? pat fucking barker?

#long post for ts ///#hope this made sense!!! <3333 #i always sound so fucking mean lmfao but i just cant #express myself cause im stupid #and when i say 'people dont really like it' i mean like.#people just love to make aga unnecessarily more awful than he is???#and its always sexual???#like how they just gloss over the part were he SAYS he's never slept with briseis????#that just didnt happen apparently????

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sundaysundaes · 4 years ago

Text

Make a Wish

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff, Humor | NC-17 | College AU

Summary: It’s your birthday today and instead of giving you a box of gift, your boyfriend, Lee Donghyuck, decides to grant five of your wishes. You can’t help but feel a smirk creeping up your face. It’s time to get a little… creative.

This can be read as a stand alone but if you want to read it in order, you can start with Before Our Story Began and Jealousy.

You were having a dream. A really nice dream about your boyfriend, Lee Donghyuck, where for once in his twenty-years of living, he promised himself not to whine about anything ever again for the rest of his life. He was situated in difficult positions—got an F for the papers that he’d worked on for days, overcooked his eggs until they tasted like a pile of ashes in his mouth during breakfast, or lost a battle because Jaemin was too distracted with Jeno’s dick rubbing against his ass during the game. And even then, he did not form any complaint or whine with his head thrown back like how he usually would’ve done. It was a pleasant dream, seeing him all mature like that.

But then you woke up to the sound of that boyfriend of yours, screaming—literally screaming—directly to your ear, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY GIRL,” as if it wasn’t the middle of the night where he could wake up the whole dorm.

So now, you’re glowering at him with bleary eyes, wiping your drool away with the back of your hand. Haechan shows his phone screen, grinning when he sees you noticing with squinted eyes that it’s 00.00 am and the date written underneath it is your birthday.

“Thanks,” you flatly mutter, sinking your face back into the pillow and pulling the blanket over your head. “I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Haechannie.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Your boyfriend is loud, too loud. You understand that Jaemin is having a sleepover at Jeno’s place so Haechan has the entire room for himself but that does not give him the right to scream right next to your ear like this. Especially when you’re this sleepy with nothing but exhaustion pumping through your veins.

“Noona~” He shakes you by the shoulder, peeling the blanket off your body and succeeding, even when you’ve tried your best to keep it tangled around you. “Come on, it’s your birthday. We have to celebrate!”

“We’ll celebrate when the sun is out. Like normal people.”

“No way, come on! You can sleep some other time!”

“You can be annoying some other time.”

He huffs loudly, puffing out his cheeks. “If you don’t get up, I’ll do things to you.”

You sigh. You know what kind of things he’s referring to and as much as you love it, you’re really drained from the part-time job you did earlier today. It’s true that you haven’t had sex with him for more than a week or so and you kind of miss doing those sort of things with him but you’re just so tired that you ended up crashing face-first on his bed earlier this evening the second you arrived in his room. You hadn’t even kissed him properly yet.

“Okay, fine.” You sit up on his bed with your shirt—or rather, his shirt—all wrinkled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “What do you want us to do? If it’s sex, you have to wait because I’m dead tired right now.”

“I wanted to give you your present, actually.” But the way he juts out his bottom lip seems like sex was exactly what he had in mind.

“Okay, so where is it?” You ask, considering you don’t really see him carrying a box of gift with a red bow wrapped around it.

“Well, it’s kinda predictable for me to be giving you like an actual present, so I thought hey, maybe I can grant you a wish. Any kind of wish,” he emphasizes, raising that eyebrow of his in the way he knows you like it. “If you know what I mean.”

You ignore him completely, though the sight of his sexy smirk still leaves you unfocused for a good few seconds. “Only one? On my birthday? Do you even want to do this or are you just making an excuse for not buying me a present?”

“Yah!” He scrunches his nose, playfully jabbing a finger to your stomach. “I don’t see you granting me any wishes on my birthday!”

“You wanted to come inside me and I allowed you to do just that. Twice. Stop being so ungrateful.”

That wipes the playful angry look off his face almost instantly. “You’re right, fine,” he concedes, looking at you with a disinterested look in his eyes. “How many wishes do you want then?”

“I don’t know, like, fifty?”

“The hell? Do I look like Santa to you?”

“If you keep eating those samgyeopsal past midnight, your belly will.”

“Stop body-shaming me, you little—“ He suddenly leaps over, attacking you with tickles to the sides of your stomach until you fall back to the bed with his bare chest hovering over your body. You retaliate by moving your legs around, trying to kick him away but failing every time. You can barely hold back your laughter. He only stops when your face grows scarlet and your chest heaving up and down, slightly out of breath. “I’ll give you three wishes,” he offers, a bit breathless as well. “Only because you look so irresistible right now with those lips of yours.”

“Make it ten, then.” You play with his necklace, twisting it around your finger. Your other hand draws a line on his golden skin, starting from the column of his neck down to his chest. “And I’ll be even more irresistible.”

“Hmm, tempting.” His lips slowly breaking into a sultry smile. “But no. I’ll give you three and that’s final.”

“If you give me five,” you say, hooking a finger around his silver necklace this time so you can bring his face down to yours and whisper in his ear, “I’ll let you cum in my mouth later today.”

His entire face beams up almost like a kid on his first school trip. “You get yourself a deal, sister!”

You smile, caressing his cheek softly with your fingers. His gaze softens, leaning against your touch like how a kitten would. “Well then, here’s my first wish,” you speak softly as if you’re telling a secret. Your lips are just a few inches away from his, and he licks his lower lip in anticipation. “No doing sexual activities whatsoever with me on my birthday.”

That sensual, excited look he has on his face earlier? Gone, being immediately replaced by sheer horror. “What?!” He shrieks when his realization sinks in. “BUT YOU SAID YOU’D LET ME CUM IN YOUR MOUTH LATER TODAY!”

You grin at him, almost cackling out loud. “It’s not fun being on the other side of a prank, is it now, Haechannie?”

“You’re so—” But even the infamous Lee Haechan can be at loss for words. “Not even a kiss?”

“Not even a hug,” you clarify, pushing his body away with both hands so he ends up sitting on his heels, only in his boxer. “I’ll allow you to hold my hands but that’s it.”

“But why?” The way he whines the word ‘why’, loud and long, is just so him. “Hugging is like a totally normal thing to do! People hug all the time! Even kids do! It doesn’t have to be sexual.”

“It becomes sexual when you keep popping out a boner during one.”

“Screw you.”

“Not today, Haechannie. Not today.”

***

Haechan, no matter how bratty he can act from time-to-time, does keep his promise intact. He hasn’t touched you for like eight hours by now, even when you were taking a shower inside his room and ‘accidentally’ leaving the bathroom door open. You heard him groan, “Seriously? You’re doing this to me now? You’re torturing me, Nooonaaaaa~” once during your shower, but he didn’t act on his desire. You’re actually quite surprised. You know just how much this is driving him crazy.

“Let’s get some breakfast,” you say, already looking all dolled up in the red dress he once bought for you. You know how much he likes it, know how much his eyes ogle your body from top-to-toe, staring at the way the fabric hugs your body perfectly, emphasizing your every curve.

He glares at you menacingly. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” You play dumb, though you're sure your grin betrays you. “Come on, I’m starving. I’ll let you hold my hand as we walk, just make sure don't get a hard-on in the meantime.”

“Have I told you I hate you today?”

“And I love you too, Haechannie.”

The cafe near the dormitory you usually visit to get your daily intake of calories is closed for the day. “Why are they closed?” You ask, adjoining your eyebrows together in confusion.

“Maybe the old man has diarrhea or something.” He shrugs, hands buried deep inside the pocket of his black ripped jeans. The way they tightly hug his legs, combined with those holes, is becoming very distracting for you. “I sure as hell, hope so.”

“Will you let it go already? It was an honest mistake.”

“How on earth is putting wasabi in my cream soup an honest mistake? He totally did that on purpose!”

“Yeah, well, knowing how you just straight-up told him he looked like a walrus, I’m not even surprised he spiked your soup.”

“Now that’s an honest mistake, in which I tried to be honest but came out as a mistake.”

“You didn’t have to tell him he looked like a walrus, though.”

“But he did!” He groaned, stomping his feet on the ground. “He totally did! Look me in the eyes and tell me he didn’t look like a walrus, come on, I dare you.”

You roll your eyes. He’s always one for the dramatic. “Should we go somewhere else? How hungry are you right now?”

“For your love?” He smirked, sending you a flirty wink. “Starving.”

You make an exaggerated gesture of you vomiting your insides. “If you’re not that hungry, wanna just go grab some crepes and take a walk in the park?”

“Sure, why not.” His shoulders are relaxed as he yawns unattractively, though it still counts as adorable in your book. “Let’s drop by to that bakery you told me before on the way home. I’m gonna buy you a birthday cake.”

That earns a surprised smile from you. “I didn’t think you’d be this thoughtful.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always thoughtful.”

“Is calling a middle-aged man a walrus a form of your thoughtfulness?”

He snorts, tilting his head to the side with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Since when did you get this sassy?” You’re about to put another retort when he suddenly kisses your cheek.

“Hey!” You abruptly step away from him, palming the side of your face. “What did I tell you about my wish again?”

He grins, eyes turning into a cute pair of crescents. “Honest mistake, babe.”

And you poke him in the abs until he drops to his knees, whining, “Whyyyyyyyy?” into the air.

There’s this park near your campus that has nice scenery—unexpectedly picturesque, even—with a huge fountain in the center of it. The green leaves of the camphor trees sway from the morning breeze, intoxicating you with a scent similar to how the pine trees smell after the rain. Children are running around, playing tags, with their parents sitting next to the fountain, busying themselves with their phones while occasionally mutters, “Be careful, don’t run too much!” from time-to-time because apparently, that’s what parents do these days.

Haechan exhales loudly as he takes a seat on the nearest bench, straightening his legs and patting a spot beside him. “Come here. I want to cuddle.”

“There are people around.”

“Since when cuddling becomes a crime?”

“It makes people uncomfortable.”

“You saying no makes me uncomfortable.”

You sigh. There’s no way of winning an argument with him. “Fine, but I’m not sitting on your lap,” you say, ignoring his pout as you take a seat next to him and hand him his chocolate-banana crepes. “Careful, you’re wearing a white shirt,” you warn, offering him his spoon. “It’ll be hard to take the stain off if—”

“I’m not a child,” he grumbles, taking the food roughly off your hand and grimacing when the chocolate syrup drips down to his shirt, staining the fabric. He blinks in surprise with his mouth wide open, before he looks back at you, only to receive a flat stare in return.

“I literally just told you that a second ago.”

Haechan shrugs. “It’s Jaemin’s shirt anyway, so I don’t care.”

With that, you bring your focus back to the food in your hand—a strawberry crepes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream—and takes a bite, almost moaning in delight when the sugary taste hits your tongue. “Man, why did I ever decide to go on a diet? This tastes so gooooood~”

Your smile and small giggle seem to be contagious because Haechan mirrors you almost in the same way though it has nothing to do with the dessert he’s holding. He observes, silently taking notes of the joyful expressions you display on your face while muttering, “How cute,” under his breath. Both of you take a moment to enjoy your so-called breakfast, sometimes taking a sip of your hot coffee to balance the sweet.

“You know,” Haechan says as he gnaws at his dessert again. “This isn’t really how I expected to go when I said I’d grant your wishes.”

“Yeah?” You decide to humor him, though you already know what he’s thinking. “Did you expect me to wish for something else?”

He nods, licking chocolate syrup off his spoon. “Something about you sitting on my face.”

You choke on a piece of strawberry you just plopped into your mouth, and you can feel it blocking your airways. “What are you—” Tears begin to form in the corner of your eyes, as you begin to cough fervently.

“What are you, a kid?” Haechan pulls your hair away from your face, patting your back. “There, there.”

“Why on earth would I ask about that?!” You shout when you can properly breathe again.

“I don’t know, I just thought that maybe you wanted me to eat you out.” The way he shrugs so nonchalantly as if he’s simply talking about finding a typo in the papers he just submitted leaves you dumbfounded. “I mean, I kept teasing you about it during sex but never really did it since you were always too stubborn to beg.”

“And do you realize now how annoying you are in bed?”

“That’s not my intention, though!” He genuinely seems a bit guilty. “You just look so cute trying to hold back when it’s obvious you want my tongue inside you—”

“We’re in public, Jesus Christ—”

“It’s your pride that we have a problem with. Why can’t you just for once say, with teary eyes, ‘Haechannie, please, fuck me with your tongue’—”

“People can hear—stop it!” You try to clamp your palm around his mouth, but he dodges it perfectly and places a playful kiss on the back of your hand instead. “And are you seriously begging me to beg you for it? I don’t think that’s how it works, Hyuck.”

“It’s because I actually really want to eat you out,” he groans, sighing into the air, “But I also want to see that cute embarrassed look on your face—do you see how big of a problem this is for me?” His whine falls short when he notices the look on your face. “Wait, are you blushing?”

“I’m not!” But you know you are, you’ve never been so ashamed before. How can you not? Your boyfriend is now a) talking about eating you out, loudly, in public, b) there’s this one passerby, a middle-aged woman who dresses in way too many layers for a day as hot as this, looking at you with the most disgusted look you’ve ever seen displayed on a person’s face, and c) Haechan is still talking about it. “Shut up and just get away from me!”

“Noona, your face is so red!” He’s giggling to himself now, his crepes dribbling more chocolate syrup onto his shirt from how much he’s moving. “Did I get you excited? Does this mean you’re gonna—”

“Next wish! I’ve already thought about my next wish!” You quickly avert his attention, desperately pushing his face with one hand so he’ll stop making kissy faces at you. “I want you to perform a song.”

“What, here?”

“Yeah, you don’t have a problem singing in front of people, right?”

“Of course not,” he snorts loudly. “I have an amazing voice. You know, people should really be paying me to hear me sing, actually.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, though deep down in your heart, you kind of admit that he really does have an amazing voice. His vocal is unique and distinct, easily noticeable even if there are a hundred vocalists in the room. And the way he does his adlibs whenever he sings his favorite tunes actually makes the song sounds a thousand times better. There’s no way you’re going to tell that to his face, though. His ego is already big enough without you feeding him compliments.

“Well then, you’re in luck.” You grin mischievously, nodding your head toward a band that’s been playing acoustic songs near the fountain for quite some time. There are three people playing instruments, with one of them being the vocalist and you comment inwardly in your head that Haechan sounds so much better than him—but maybe you’re just biased. The band is promoting their demo album, trying to get people’s attention to recognize their self-composed songs and buy their album if they fit their taste. No crowds are gathering in front of them, and you feel kind of sorry because they actually sound pretty good. “If you follow my wish and do it right, you could probably get some tips along the way.”

“You want me to sing with the band? I don’t think they’ll allow me though.”

“They will. I’ll buy their album in exchange.”

Haechan doesn’t seem eager at the slightest. “Must we waste our money away?”

“What, are you scared?” You taunt, raising one of your eyebrows challengingly because you know how much he hates to lose. And it works as expected, because Haechan is now standing up, throwing the rest of his crepes away to the nearest trash bin, and cracks his knuckles.

“Lee Haechan never runs away from a challenge.” He has this annoying cocky grin displayed on his face. “Tell me what song you want me to sing.”

“Your favorite. Man in The Mirror.”

“Dude, I nailed that song. Is this even a challenge?” He clicks his tongue, cocking his head. “So easy.”

He already has taken a few steps away, heading toward the band, when you stop him dead on his tracks by saying, “I know you nailed it. That’s why we have to keep it interesting so here’s my wish: I want you to sing out of tune.”

Even if you said that he was turning on his heels at the speed of light, it wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration. “NO FUCKING WAY.”

“Ah, but sadly,” you fake a pout, mocking him, “You promised you’d grant my wish.”

“But that’s just stupid! Why would I do something like that? Why would anyone do something like that?” He shakes his head furiously. “And doing this to my favorite singer?! Hell no!”

“Haechannie.”

“No.”

“Haechannie.”

“NO.”

You sigh, walking closer to him and pull him down by the hand to close the gap between your heights and murmur in his ear. “If you do that,” you breathe out, trying your best to sound as sexy as you can, “I might consider buying that customized dildo you want this weekend.”

Haechan has his jaw hanging low on his face, looking at you with his wide eyes shaking in disbelief. “Oh my God,” he whines, placing both hands on your shoulders before rocking you back and forth. “Noonaaaaa~ This is soooo not fair. You can’t do this to me!”

You chuckle at how childish he is. “So, how is it going to be, Lee Donghyuck-sshi?”

He contemplates hard about it—really hard, probably the hardest thinking he ever did in his entire life—nibbling on his lower lip as he does it. After a moment has passed, he finally ends it with his signature pout. “But you promise, right? No pranking me this time?”

“I promise,” you say with a firm nod but you have your fingers crossed behind your back.

“Fine,” he says as if it was the heaviest decision he has ever made. “Then, I’ll sing… off-key—eww!” He sticks out his tongue, clutching his arms around his stomach. “I’m about to throw up my crepes just by thinking about it.”

“Good luck.” You pat his shoulder. “Oh, and make sure you sing the first part like you always do, so people will notice and start listening to how amazing your voice is. And when they’re so into it, as you get to the second chorus, that’s when you start singing off-key.”

Haechan’s eyes are lifeless when they bore into you. “Isn’t it time for you to go back to hell, Satan?”

“Remember, Haechannie,” you press a finger to your lips, winking at him. “Customized. Dildo.”

“I hate you.”

“And I love you too.”

So both of you get into the business. After the band performed an acoustic version of their titled song, you approach them with a smile, offering your hand to the vocalist. You tell them how talented they are, making sure to bedazzle them with compliments and your charming attitudes so things can go as planned. It’s actually not that hard trying to convince them to accompany your boyfriend sing, especially when you say you’re going to buy two of their demo albums.

“What song do you want to sing, dude?” The vocalist, a friendly man most likely in his twenties with a goatee on his face, asks Haechan while offering a fist bump. Your boyfriend grimaces, bumping his fist against him like it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever done.

“Something wrong?” The man asks. “You look kinda pale, man.”

“He just ate something bad during breakfast earlier,” you come to answer him instead, rubbing Haechan’s back soothingly. “But he’s fine now. Can you guys play Man in The Mirror?”

“Michael Jackson, right? Sure thing.”

You elbow your boyfriend playfully on the side of his stomach. “Sure thing, he said.”

“I want to die.”

“Aaw, poor baby,” you pucker your lips, having the best time of your life making fun of him. “Now off you go, I’ll be right here.” And you bring your iPhone in the air, camera-ready with a tap of your thumb. Haechan has his eyes on the standing microphone, looking at it like it’s the most horrifying thing he’s ever witnessed in his life.

Haechan just barely takes a step forward before he runs back to your spot again, all jumpy and twitchy. “I can’t—I can’t do this—this is so embarrassing—”

“On three, okay, man?” The vocalist takes a seat on one of the little stools they have placed next to the amplifiers with his Fender guitar placed firmly on his lap. And before Haechan can give him a nod or any sign in return, he begins counting and the entire band plays the song. There’s no way out of this now.

Haechan finally walks toward the mic with his soul most likely leaving his body with every step he takes.

You give him a cheer as loud as you can—not to support him, but so you can gather people’s attention. Haechan shushes you down in panic before he finally takes the mic, constantly throwing ice daggers at you with his eyes. You begin to chant his name—“Lee Donghyuck! Lee Donghyuck!”—and with every shout of it, Haechan dies a little bit more.

Haechan falls two beats behind before he finally sings into the microphone, his voice resonating through the air. He does sound amazing, albeit a little nervous and that’s probably just because he’s doing the dare. He usually sounds confident, his voice sounding strong and clear not caring if the room is empty or filled with people so this anxious version of him really makes you think that maybe you’ve forced him a little bit too far.

He completes the first part of the song rather easily and the entire band behind him nod their heads along to the music, amazement sparkling in their eyes. You can see the vocalist quietly mouths, “Damn, he’s good,” to the member sitting beside him who shortly agrees wholeheartedly. You can’t help but smile at that, looking like a proud mom.

People, one-by-one, begin to gather around you, whispering to one another, asking, “Who is he? What band is this?” or simply praising his vocal and your smile grows wider. It vanishes almost instantly, though, the second you hear some girls chattering behind your back, talking about how attractive Haechan looks—especially in that leather jacket and those dark combat boots he’s wearing. You never pegged yourself to be a jealous, overprotective girlfriend before but with Haechan, perhaps you’re beginning to turn exactly into that.

Haechan, who seems pretty pleased with how he sang the first part, suddenly begins to fidget on his feet. The more he gets closer to the second chorus, the paler he becomes and he has his eyes tightly shut when he’s finally there, singing the first two lines in the right way before forcing himself to sing off-key.

You blurt out laughing but immediately clasp a hand over your mouth. Haechan looks like he’s in pain, and the rest of the band has their eyebrows furrowed in question, looking back and forth at each other, probably asking, what the hell is wrong with this dude, he was doing so good before. The audience begins to look at one another, eyebrows knitting in concern. New visitors stop in their tracks, looking at your boyfriend with judging looks on their faces. Even the parents that were so busy with their phones before begin to lift their heads from the screen, trying to know who is this terrible singer and why is he wailing like this.

Haechan sounds so awful and you can only imagine how much this is killing him from the inside. He barely gets to the end of the second chorus before he turns to face the band, bowing his head and shouting, “I’m so sorry!” before he scrambles on his feet, running toward you.

“Wait, Hyuck, you haven’t finished—” Your protest ends in laughter when Haechan rashly hooks an arm around your shoulder, breaking through the crowd and forcing you to match his steps so you can leave the park for good.

He’s never stepping into this place ever again, you’re sure of it.

***

On the way back to the dorm, you stop by the bakery you’ve been wanting to visit and Haechan buys you a birthday cake as promised but with a permanent pout displayed on his place.

“A cake for your girlfriend?” The cashier lady asks with a friendly smile.

Haechan simply pouts harder, muttering, “Yes, my super annoying girlfriend.” And you pop out from behind his back, raising a hand in the air as you beam at her with a cheeky grin, “Yep, that’s me!”

Haechan walks next to you on the sidewalk as if he just did the longest marathon he ever did in his life—all drained out and slow on his steps. His shoulders are hunched forward, his eyes droopy and every time you take a peek and share a glance at him, he’ll start fuming again—like an angry child, upset for being left alone in his grandma’s house while the whole family went on a trip.

“Okay, knowing how fast you’re walking right now,” you mutter sarcastically, looking at the nonexistent watch you wear around your wrist for dramatic effects, “We’ll be back in our dorm at approximately eighty-four years from now.”

“Whatever. I’m still angry at you.”

“But we just started! I thought you wanted to make me happy.” You try to look as sad as possible, batting your eyelashes at him. “It’s my birthday, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware that making you happy equals giving me emotional distress.” After two seconds passed by in silence, he adds, “And physical pain.”

You smile at the attitude he’s giving, wondering just how cute can this man be by the end of the day. Maybe you should keep torturing him a little.

Just a little bit more.

“Haechannie,” you roll his name off your tongue in a playful manner, wrapping both arms around his right one. “I’m ready for my next wish.”

“Didn’t you listen to any word I just said?”

“See that old lady over there?”

“Yeah, you clearly didn’t.” Haechan follows your gaze with a heavy sigh, not quite pleased with how easily you ignore his complaints, and he sees a grey-haired woman, old enough to be his grandmother, sitting alone on a bench with a book on her hands and her glasses hanging dangerously low on the bridge of her nose. Her cane lays still on her side, and by the look of it, she appears to be waiting for someone.

“Oh come on, leave her alone,” Haechan says, already looking sorry for her even when you haven’t said anything yet. “She’s so old and she looks so frail. I am not going to do your stupid dare at the cost of her life.”

You roll your eyes.“Relax, I won’t ask something that stupid.”

“Oh, because your first wish was just so brilliant, I suppose?”

“I’m serious, I’m not that mean.” Not to her, at least. “I just want you to sit next to her on the bench and act like it’s the worst day of your life.”

“I won’t be calling that acting,” he grumbles. “I am having the worst day of my life.”

“What? I thought we’re having fun!” You try so hard to look sympathetic enough for him but it’s almost an impossible deed to do when you’re seconds away from laughing.

“You’re having fun.” He squints his eyes menacingly. “I’m having a fucking seizure.”

“You’re fine, don’t be too dramatic.” You card your fingers through his hair, pushing back the bangs from his eyes to showcase his temple exactly the way you like it. “Well, I want you to act sad—like, really sad, bawling your eyes out and everything—and when she asks you why, explain that you just found out you’re adopted.” You press something against his palm. “Here.”

Haechan has his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he takes a look at it. “What’s this?”

“A postcard with a picture of your parents. I just bought it at the minimart before when you were in the bakery.”

“But…” He stares in horror. “They’re Americans.”

“Exactly.” You know there’s a shit-eating grin blooming on your face but you cannot wipe it off. “You can walk away after she tries to comfort you or give you some advice or something.”

Haechan keeps scowling at you as if he wanted to eat you alive, but you charm him with your brightest smile until he sighs and tucks the postcard in the back pocket of his jeans. “You know I’ll pay you back for this later, right?”

“Wha—I thought you said you’ll grant me any wishes for free!”

“MAN, IF I COULD JUST TURN BACK TIME—“ He yanks out his hair, making you a bit worried because you love his soft, adorable brown locks and he’s been tugging at them for quite some time today. “Okay, fine, I’ll do it. I no longer have any shame left in my body anyway. Or soul, for that matter.” He turns on his heels, straightening his jacket as if that could give him more courage. “You better not blink your eyes.”

“It’s okay even if I do.” You bring out your phone, waving it in the air. “’Cause I’m recording it. This will go viral on Youtube.”

“I hate you.”

“And I love you too, Haechannie.”

It takes a good ten minutes for Haechan to prepare himself for the stupid dare he’s about to do, even though he previously claimed he had no shame whatsoever. He paces back-and-forth at the sidewalk, stomping his feet once or twice restlessly, and mutters quietly to himself, “Man up. Man up, you idiot. It’s just a stupid dare.” You desperately want to have a miniature size of this Haechan and keeps him inside your pocket so you can watch him being nervously cute all day long with his cheeks puffed in anger.

“Okay, I’m going.” And he finally steps forward, braver this time, and sits down on the other end of the bench, twiddling his fingers in anxiety. You bite your lip to contain your laughter and press record.

Almost fifteen seconds have passed by and there’s no reaction, not even a glance, coming from the old lady. You can see Haechan nibbling persistently on his lip, his feet tapping worriedly on the ground before he finally lets out the loudest, heaviest sigh in the history of mankind. It’s so loud that it makes the old lady jumps on her seat, her hands going to her chest, her book left abandoned on her lap. Haechan also looks surprised knowing that she’s surprised and everything just looks so hilarious that your camera begins to shake from how hard you try not to laugh.

“I-is there something wrong, my dear?” The old lady asks, shifting her body a little on her seat so she can face him properly.

Haechan takes a deep breath and begins his act by burying his face in his hands, faking a sob. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just—” He sniffles loudly, trying to make it obvious to her that he’s in agony. “It’s the worst day of my life.”

And it’s cheesy, how he acts, but she seems to buy it—or maybe she’s just too kind. “May I ask what happened? I’m not sure I can help but…” She lands her shaky hand on his back, caressing him soothingly. “It’s always better to pour your feelings out instead of bottling them inside.”

She sounds so genuinely compassionate, unlike the maniacal laughter that currently tumbles down your lips.

Haechan lifts his head, turning towards her. His eyes begin to droop, making him look like a kicked puppy. “I just found out…” He sniffs for dramatic effects. “That… That I’m adopted!” And he loudly whimpers into his hands again.

The old lady gasps, covering her parted lips with her thin fingers. “Oh my… Did your parents tell you that?”

“No, it’s even worse. I found out on my own when they were talking in their room.” Haechan rummages his back pocket, handing her the postcard. “Here, look. It’s a picture of my parents.”

The lady takes the postcard with a pair of heartbroken eyes but they soon begin to change when she notices that the two people in the picture are straight-up Americans, while Haechan, needless to say at this point, looks like the most common—though far more handsome—Korean boy you can encounter on daily basis.

“I know,” Haechan says, wiping a nonexistent tear out of his eyes and fakes another sob. “Surprising, isn’t it? I mean, we look so much alike, there’s no way I would’ve guessed I was adopted if I didn’t hear them talking about it behind my back.”

The old lady is still pretty much dumbstruck with how bizarrely stupid everything is, but she’s too kind to call him out on it. She hands the postcard back to him, looking much less sorry this time, and takes a moment of silence. Haechan cries against his palms again, and you wonder if he’s only faking it or being real about it this time because the entire situation is just painfully awkward.

“You see, my dear,” she begins, voice gentle and reassuring but the sincerity isn’t really the same as before. “Sometimes it really can feel like the world is ending, and I know that this must be hard for you,” she stops to knit her eyebrows, “no matter how obvious this should’ve appeared to you. But maybe it’s not about having a picture-perfect family, but about finding beautiful moments.”

“You’re right,” Haechan hurriedly agrees, his eyes twinkling in delight knowing that this excruciating dare is about to end. “I’m happy with them being my family, even if they’re not, you know, really my parents.”

She smiles but it kind of looks like a grimace, and she says her next words with a gentle pat on his back. “But shouldn’t you have noticed about it sooner, though, dear? You look nothing like them.”

And Haechan winces, not sure how to react. “I could be, uhh…” He licks his lips nervously. “Quite dumb, sometimes.”

“Yes,” she nods, still patting his back. “You certainly can.”

A tall man, at least ten years older than Haechan, approaches their spot with a paper bag in his arms. “Mom, are you ready to—” he stops to take a look at your boyfriend, trying to understand the situation of why is his mother sitting way too close to a guy dressed flirtatiously in a leather jacket and boots with her hand caressing his back. “What are you guys doing?”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m adopted,” Haechan says, handing him the same stupid picture. “She’s just consoling me about it.”

He takes a look and sends him his biggest judging look. “Dude, what are you, stupid?”

***

Haechan is still fuming all the way back to his dorm and no matter how much you apologize about it, he still doesn’t want to talk to you. He throws himself on his bed with his shoes still on the second he enters his room. You’re still smiling quietly to yourself, can barely handle all the cuteness he’s emitting.

“Haechannie,” you gently call, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Are you still upset?”

No answer.

“Look, I said, I’m sorry. Talk to me, please?”

Haechan has his face pressed flat against his comforter and you secretly wonder whether he can even breathe in that position. A few seconds passed by in silence before Haechan finally mumbles, “Did it make you happy?”

“What, you doing my stupid dares?” You can already feel another laughter bubbling up your throat but you have to contain it. You can’t hurt him more than this. “Yes and I know I’ve been mean to you and I’m sorry for that, but you were so cute.” You run a hand along his spine before you carefully caress his hair as a mother would do to a child. “Please don’t be mad.”

He eventually sits up, crossing his legs on the bed, sniffling a little bit while still avoiding eye contact. “Well, I guess, as long as you’re happy.”

“Are you crying?”

“No,” he states, practically puffing out his cheeks by now. “I’m just so embarrassed with all of this. Why are you being so mean to me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come here.” You motion him to come closer, and you know it’s breaking the rules of your first wish but you don’t care. This giant teddy bear desperately needs a hug.

Haechan immediately sighs when you stand with your knees pressed on the bed, wrapping both arms around his head. He sinks his face to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I hate you,” with his breath fanning your skin.

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

“Yeah, because you’re mean.”

“But I love you even more today,” you softly reply, pulling away a little so you can trace your fingers along the smoothness of his cheek. “You’re so adorable, Hyuck, do you know that?”

“Is singing out of tune and harassing old lady your kink or something?”

“That’s not it.” You pinch the bridge of his nose, making him yelp a little. “It’s just the way you forced yourself to do these things—these things you hate the most—for me and asking me whether they made me happy or not, while still being all grumpy about it. You’re just so cute and I love you for that.”

The sun is setting outside his window, illuminating his face with such a warm, beautiful glow that somehow makes him appear a bit more melancholic and angelic at the same time. He finally drags his eyes back on yours, with his bottom lip still jutting out slightly. He says the next four words so quietly under his breath that you can barely hear them. “What?”

“I said, I love you too,” he repeats in a rush, before he sinks his face in the slope of your neck again, whining all the way. “Don’t make me say it like this, it’s weird.”

And you notice that this is actually the first time he truly confesses his love for you. He’s joked about it a lot, toying with your feelings at least ten times within a day, casually throwing the word love as if it meant nothing more than mere decoration for his flirtatious lines. But now that he’s saying it in all the seriousness he can muster, he can barely look you in the eyes, can barely say it without whispering, and it’s cute how the usually confident Lee Haechan, crumbles into nothing but a shy little boy facing his feelings for the first time.

“Ah seriously,” he murmurs against your hair. “What are you doing to me? I’m not usually like this.”

You can’t help but tease him. “Yes, you’re usually more satanic.”

“Yah—”

And you stop him with a soft kiss to his lips. You can feel him taking a sharp breath, his arms stiffening as they circle your waist. You’re about to kiss him again when you feel him tensing against your body. Noticing how he looks a bit baffled, you carefully tug yourself away. “What is it?”

“I thought you said we couldn’t kiss today,” he tells in such a small voice.

“I said no sexual activities,” you retort with a sly smirk, making a poor excuse because you really miss kissing him. “This isn’t sexual,” you say, pressing your lips against his again but stop before he can return it. “This is romantic.”

He’s so distracted with your lips that he can barely take his eyes off them even when he talks. “You’re teasing me again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” You can’t help but grin but it does not stay long when Haechan suddenly hooks his arm around your hip and pulls you closer until you’re forced to climb into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist for balance.

“Haechan—” Your protest is swallowed by his kiss, his lips chasing after yours almost frantically. You can tell how much he misses you from the way his lips move against yours, or from the way he moans softly at the back of his throat as he settles his hand on the side of your face. His other hand holds you tighter by the waist, his fingers fisting the fabric of your dress. He angles your head to the side, kissing you with parted lips and swiping his tongue along your lower one so you’ll gain him entrance.

“Noona,” he whispers between quick breaths, sounding almost needy. “Noona, I need—”

“Okay, stop.” You place your arms on his shoulders, expanding the space between you. You can’t believe you almost got carried away. “Now this is getting sexual. Let’s head over to my next wish.”

“Wait—but I’m—” He stares at you bewilderedly, not believing the fact that you just casually drag your body away from his lap, smoothen down your hair as if nothing just happened. “Are you serious? You’re playing with me again? When I’m like this?”

“Sorry.” You peck him on the cheek, hiding your grin. “So, for my next wish—”

“Yah! Listen to what I’m saying—”

“I want you to—”

“Noonaaaaaaaa~”

“—sing me a lullaby.” His whining stops abruptly at your words and you quickly explain further before he does it again, “I’m sleepy so I’m gonna take a nap. Your job is to sing me a lullaby until I fall asleep. Easy, right?”

“You really just do whatever you want, don’t you?”

“Only for today. You, on the other hand, do that every day.”

“Fair enough. Do I get to choose the song?”

“Sure.” Knocking your high heels off your feet, you lie down on his bed with a thump, contentedly basking in his scent because his pillows, the duvet underneath you, the soft sheet below your fingertips—everything smells pleasantly like him. Haechan takes off his shoes and his leather jacket—which almost earns a loud protest from you because he looks so good with that jacket on—throwing them somewhere near the bed without care and he lies down by your side, facing you.

You turn your body to face him as well. “Hey, handsome.” You smile sheepishly at him.

He seems a bit caught off guard by it, but smiles back. “Hi.”

“Can we cuddle?”

He laughs softly at that. “Come here.” He gathers your entire figure easily in his arms and you sink your nose to his chest, humming in pleasure. “Stop being so cute, you’re torturing me.” You only giggle in response.

Haechan begins to sing, slowly at first as if he suddenly feels pressured with the way the room is so deep in silence, leaving no excuse for him to make in case he fails. You notice that, so you sneak both of your arms around his waist, snuggling even closer. “Don’t be nervous, it’s only me.”

“I’m not. Why would I be?” He masks his slightly shaky voice with a chuckle. “It’s just that your hair keeps getting into my mouth whenever I try to sing.”

“Of course.” And you keep your lips tightly shut, giving him the time he needs.

Haechan takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Had a perfect picture in my head, with you in the most beautiful dress,” he sings, beautiful notes flowing down from his lips, making you feel like everything around you becomes a blur and there’s only him with his velvety voice and his soft, warm breathing. “I look happy as ever, how did I let you go again.”

He gains confidence with more seconds passing by and you can feel his arms growing slack around your waist, no longer as tense. “Now I'm standing alone in the rain, like the kinda movie that we used to hate. Wish I could take back the time, but I know this time it's real.”

You’re not sure whether it’s because of the lyrics or the way he sings, but as beautiful as his honeyed voice sounds, you can’t help but feel a tinge of sadness growing inside you. It’s as if he’s not singing the song, he’s living through it. And you wonder maybe he’s had his heart broken by someone before—or maybe he’s just so good at putting emotions to his song, you’re still not sure yet.

“Hate that I'm singing this song. Hate that I have to be strong.” Haechan absentmindedly runs his fingers up and down your spine, before he tangles them around the strands of your hair, gently stroking them. “Hate that you're gone. I hate all my flaws. Hate that you love someone else. Hate everything. Just hate everything right now.”

It’s so genuine and soft the way he serenades you, baring his soul and you’re not even looking at his eyes as he sings it. By the end of it, you can’t help but ask him a question. “Will you be singing that song if you ever break up with me?”

He curls up closer, burying the tip of his nose in your hair. “No,” he says but continues before your disappointment can sink in, “If we ever break up, I won’t be doing anything besides getting you back. I don’t like to lose, you know how I am. And I definitely don’t want to lose something—or rather, someone—this important to me.”

“Stop flirting with me,” you chime in, pulling away a little so you can take a look at his face. “You already have me wrapped around your fingers.”

But Haechan doesn’t smile or act cocky about it. He just takes his time analyzing your face, taking in your features as he trails his fingers down from your hair, to your cheek, and finally stopping at the curve of your lips. “I was so worried before though when you met your ex behind my back. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just…” He loses his words when you begin to kiss his fingertips, his eyes becoming unfocused. “I don’t know, I just got anxious about it. I’ve never had someone like you before so…”

It really just sinks in that he wasn’t merely angry because you were seeing your ex-boyfriend again, he was just afraid. He was terrified of losing you but didn’t know how to react properly. He keeps on telling that you belong to him, that he owns you and everything but he doesn’t intend to dominate you. It’s just a way for him to convince himself that you’re still with him, and not in someone else’s arms.

You can feel your lips curving up into a smile. He’s just a clueless boy, probably still as inexperienced as you are when it comes to love.

You’re sinking more into his arms, sighing as he rakes his fingers down your spine. When silence starts to hang in the air, tension growing thick, Haechan spares you a glance. “Noona?”

You’re not sure what it is inside you that drives you wild but when you’re awake from your reverie, your lips are on his again, melting against his heat, and desperately asking him to deepen the kiss.

The way he inadvertently moans against your lips indicates that your kiss catches him off guard but he soon finds back his pace. He crawls on top of you, pressing your body closer, chest meeting chest, and murmurs your name with his silvery voice against your ear, successfully sending goosebumps to every inch of your body.

“Forget my first wish.” You can barely recognize your own voice from how husky it has become. He has his lips tracing your jawline, about to map his way down but you keep him still, not wanting to erase the warmth of his lips on yours just yet. “It’s a stupid wish anyway. I don’t know why I even asked that.”

Haechan forms a space between you, just to take another look at your face. His eyes are hooded, gleaming with desire. “Well then,” he rubs his thumb along your lower lip, while his tongue traces his own. “Can I kiss you more?”

“Yes.” It sounds more like a plead than affirmation, strongly painted with urgency. “Come here.”

Haechan’s lips are warmer than how they usually felt but you can’t be certain. It’s been a while since you last shared an intimate moment with him and you just now realized that it really isn’t just him who desperately seeks attention. You crave his touch way more than he does for yours.

But maybe that’s not true after all, because Haechan has his eyebrows furrowed as he kisses you passionately, his lips keep searching for yours whenever you try to pull away to catch a breath. The way he sinks his fingers along your hips, how determined he is in keeping you close to the point you can start counting on his eyelashes—everything that he does screams his emotions vividly. How much he longs for you. How much he misses the taste of your breath on his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, your fingers pressed against his jaw. “Please…”

Haechan blinks, a bit startled and perhaps a tad confused as well, considering you stopped him from going too far earlier. But he doesn’t complain and takes every chance he can get, if it means he can be closer to you. It’s so soft, the way he kisses you now, as if he’s having his first kiss, not sure if he’s doing it right but you don’t mind. It’s rare, being kissed by him like this, and somehow it makes your skin tingle as if merely just a touch of his lips is sending electricity to your entire body.

“I love you,” you whisper as you share his breath. “I really do love you, Hyuck.”

The way he halts his action for a good two seconds, probably letting your words sink into his head, makes your own heart skip a beat or two. And you’re worried if you say too much, or if you’ve become too needy and it annoys him, but when you sneak a glance at him, you notice how his cheeks are tainted with red before he leans closer, roughly murmuring, “Just kiss me again,” against your lips.

But the way he’s holding your body makes you feel way more loved than the words he said earlier. And he’s taking his time, just gently moves his lips against yours, his tongue slipping in only slightly to steal a taste. But you sigh against his mouth either way because it’s not only his kiss that weakens you, it’s his entire presence—the way his warmth seeps through the fabric of your dress, the way he’s holding back a moan when you unconsciously tug his locks a little bit too hard, or the way he just naturally smells so sweet, almost honey-like, numbing your other senses at once.

“Noona,” he breathes heavily, tilting his head to the side so you’ll have better access to running your lips against the skin of his neck. “I want… I need…” he trails off, too busy looking at the way you’re slipping your fingers underneath his shirt, tracing his hot feverish skin with your cold digits. “I really need you now.”

“Then keep touching me,” you mumble against his jaw, searching for his lips again. “I want to feel you too. Come closer.” But even if your words speak a sense of urgency, your fingers still feel as light as a feather on his skin and he seems to notice that, because he’s keeping up the same pace, not suddenly rushing to tear your clothes apart like how he usually does.

He chants your name over and over again, almost like a prayer, his desire running thick in his veins. As he moves down, his fingers find their way to the zipper of your dress, pulling it down slowly, and he takes his time to kiss every inch of your body that’s revealed to him one by one.

“You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to do this to you,” he confesses, his nose skimming along the skin of your shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” You arch your back, desperately needing to close the space between you. “I’ve missed you too.”

And you’re half-expecting him to put on a smirk and asks, “Yeah? How much, exactly?” But this time, he doesn’t. His lips are busy marking your skin, sucking gently at the spot that makes you curl your toes. He brings his eyes back to yours again when your lips moan out his name.

“Don’t do that,” he says, looking like he’s gradually losing control of himself. “You know how that drives me crazy.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I love it, but—” He suddenly presses his lips hard against yours, as if there’s another person inside him that’s been screaming at him to latch his lips with yours before he wastes more second talking nonsense. And you try to reciprocate the movement of his lips with the same speed but he doesn’t give you much room to improvise. He knows what he’s doing, all you need to do is just relax and blend into the kiss. He already makes everything so easy for you. The problem is, he makes you feel like something is pressing against your chest and your stomach is doing crazy flips over and over again.

He finally stops again when you gasp his name.

“Ah, no, seriously.” It’s like he’s fighting a battle within himself, pulling away from you and shaking his head. “I want to take it slow today, Noona, but you moaning my name like that is not making it easy for me so please, just don’t—” He exhales, pressing his temple against yours with his eyes closed. “Don’t torture me like that.”

It’s cute how he tries to hold back, trying to be as gentle as possible. “I’m fine with the way you usually hold me, though.” It’s tempting, and he’s pretty much dazed with the sultry smirk you have on your face, but he shakes his head again, snapping him back from his own thoughts.

“No, it’s your birthday,” he says, eyes switching back and forth from your eyes to your lips as he tries to enunciate his reason. “I want to make it special.”

You raise an eyebrow suspiciously. “So you’re saying that all the sex we did before today wasn’t special to you?”

He gapes. “No, that’s not—”

“Just kidding.” You giggle, pecking his cheek. “Okay, then, do your thing.” You sit up straight so you can undress properly and his eyes are instantly glued to your chest when your bra slips down your shoulders. You don’t really intend to make it sexy, but the way his eyes grow wide when you say “I’m all yours,” and lies down on his bed again in nothing but your laced underwear seems to indicate that that’s exactly how you look in his mind.

He mutters an almost inaudible fuck under his breath before he snaps himself out of his reverie again. He stands with his knees pressed on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head before he hovers back on top of you, peppering wet kisses from your ear to your neck before he ends it with his tongue trailing down the valley of your breasts.

He stops to reach for his drawer, searching for a condom while you struggle to unfasten his belt and unbutton his jeans. You’re finished a few seconds sooner and already have your back pressed against the sheet again when he crawls on top of you with a packet of condom between his teeth.

“No, wait.” You catch him by his arm as he’s about to tear the package with his teeth. “I’m on the pill today too so you can do it without.”

“Well, fuck,” he exhales, latching his lips back to yours again. “Why are you being so nice to me today?”

“You literally just complained about me being mean to you a few minutes ago.”

“Well, now that I get to come inside you again, I’m taking all my words back.” He gives playful kisses on your nose and cheeks before he licks around your face like how a cute little puppy would.

“Stop it, you’re gross!” But your airy laughter soon begins to vanish, only to be replaced with a sense of uncertainty. You begin to feel nervous when he hooks his fingers around the edge of your underwear and pulling it down your legs, baring yourself completely for his eyes. He’s seen you naked countless times and you never really felt this nervous before so it must be because—

“You seem to be thinking about something,” he interrupts, parting your legs so he can slide in between them. “Something wrong?”

“Umm—I—“ It’s not the way you stutter that betrays you; it’s the prominent blush that stains your cheeks. But you have to do this. You have to say this. Not just for your sake, but his too. “Haechannie..?”

“Yeah, Noona?”

“For my next wish…” You wet your lip anxiously, swallowing your breath, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. “C-can you eat me out, please…?”

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so startled by your action—or by anything, really—to the point that he has to remind himself to blink. “What?”

You groan, hastily grabbing a pillow nearby and use it to cover your face. “Don’t make me say it again, you idiot!” You expect him to laugh, or worse, mock you about it but instead, he snatches the pillow away, throwing it to the side, and wraps his fingers around your wrists, holding you in place.

“Noona, please,” he pleads, his cheeks turning scarlet, mirroring yours. “Please say it again. I want to see you when you say it.”

It’s actually borderline hilarious the way he’s so serious about it, and perhaps it’s really his biggest turn on—one that he hasn’t seen coming from you after all this time—so you decide to swallow your pride and indulge him further.

You repeat your words and watch as his eyes widened again for a split second before they turn gentle, looking so happy that you finally get to answer his wish. “About damn time,” he whispers against your lips, his husky voice reverberating nicely to your ears as he tastes every bit of your mouth with his tongue. He wastes no more time, heading south while placing more wet kisses down your body.

His lips are hovering above your heat, and you can really feel his breath down there. You have your eyes closed in anticipation but Haechan suddenly says, “You know what, let’s do it this way.”

He leaves you hanging and you’re about to be swallowed by shame but he suddenly lies down on the bed, his head almost touching the headboard, and motions you to come closer. “Come here.”

“What?”

“I want you to sit on my face,” he says and you almost choke on your saliva. “Come here, Noona. Please.”

And it stresses you out so much because you’ve never done this before—never even thought about it even—and you figured you just had to lay there and let him do whatever he wants with you. Crawling over to sit on his face is clearly not what you had in mind.

“Come on,” he lightly sneers when he sees how nervous you are. “I won’t bite.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling a little bit lightheaded from how embarrassed you are, but when he offers a hand, you take it and follow his lead.

You have your legs on each side of his head and he’s holding you by your hips, guiding you to lower yourself down to him. “Stop being so tense,” he chuckles and you flinch because he’s so dangerously close. “It’s not like I’ve never seen you up-close before.”

“It’s different—” You gasp when he swipes his tongue against your folds, just once, before he asks, “Different how?”

You’re too occupied with sorting out your feelings and all these sensations that coming into your head at once. “I don’t know, it’s weird—” You almost whine when you feel him moving his tongue again.

“Your thighs are shaking, Noona,” he chuckles, and you clench your teeth, trying to be less conscious of how his hot breath hitting your sensitive spot.

“Please, s-stop talking.”

“I’m trying to make this casual,” he says, his voice sounding less clear as it hits your skin. “If I stop talking, you’re gonna start thinking about things again.”

“I’m not—Haechannie—” You bring your fingers to cover your mouth to stop you from moaning too loud. He’s giving tentative licks around your clit, moving agonizingly slow and you fumble with your hands, not knowing where to place them. Everything feels both terrifyingly good and painfully awkward and you’re trapped between wanting to continue and stop at the same time.

“Here,” Haechan offers, taking one of your hands and guides it down until it finds home in his hair. “Or you can lay your hands against the headboard. But I prefer you do it this way so I’ll know if you’re feeling,” he stops to licks a stripe up your folds, making you shiver, “good, or,” this time, he stops to suck hard on your clit, startling you with the amount of pleasure jolting through your veins that your body begins to tremble. “Extremely good,” he finishes, moving to the side so he can place a kiss on your thigh, letting you feel his teasing smile on your skin.

Your breathing tatters as he continues with his ministrations, now adding one of his fingers inside you to increase the pleasure. Your head hangs low, and you’re not able to tear your eyes away from his face. Seeing him between your thighs, with his eyes closed as if he’s enjoying every second of it, is just the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

“You seem to be much more relaxed now,” Haechan leans back to show you his godforsaken smirk, “Good girl. Are you starting to regret the fact we didn’t do this sooner?”

And you want to be upset about it—about how he’s still teasing you even during this moment—but the way his breath keeps fanning against your sensitive skin makes you weak. “Please just…” You’re about to sob because it’s too damn embarrassing to be put in this situation. “Stop teasing me, Hyuck…”

Haechan blinks at your expression, his gaze immediately softens. “I’m sorry,” he says, kissing you gently on the inner part of your thigh again. “You’re just so damn cute, I can’t help but tease. Forgive me?”

And you just answer with a small nod because that’s all you can offer before his lips are pressed against your entrance again, tongue slipping inside to know how you really taste.

“Wait—” You begin to panic from how good and weird it feels. “L-let’s stop for a sec—It’s too much—” The shame, the sensation, the pleasure—they’re all hitting you hard at once and you’re too nervous to function properly.

Haechan sneaks a glance at your face, taking in the way it contorts into several emotions at once. “Baby,” he calls out softly, which sends shivers down to your core. “Don’t be nervous, it’s only me.”

You notice how he’s imitating your words from earlier and that gives you the chance to think about something else. “But… What about you..?” You ask, making eye contact with him and gulping when he raises his eyebrow in question. “I mean, I can’t please you like this.”

“Oh…” He leans his head down to the bed, giving you the space you want but not exactly what you need. “Then… Wanna do it at the same time?”

You nibble at your bottom lip, slowly nodding your head and his eyes gleam excitedly in response.

“Ah, you’re the best, seriously,” he exhales, dreamily looking at you. “All right then, turn around.”

***

It’s two hours before midnight when another idea pops up in your head. “Haechannie,” you call him out, as you click off your phone and turn to him. Hearing him humming in response, you continue. “Call Jaemin and the rest of your cute little boyband.”

By the tone of your voice, he knows he’s going to go through hell again. He groans out loud, head dangling around the edge of his bed. “Why is this day not over yet, I swear to God—”

“Just call them, I’ve got something in mind.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to make-out with them or something.”

“Why, are you interested?”

He grimaces, sticking out his tongue. “I’d rather die.”

“Glad that’s not what I’m asking then.” You climb up to join him on the bed, sitting next to his body with your knee almost touching the side of his head. He shifts around, placing his head on your lap, and stares at you with tired eyes.

“Please don’t be too mean to me this time,” he begs and you snort, can’t believe that the mischievous Lee Donghyuck actually begs you to spare his life.

You card your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes, relaxing at your touch. It doesn’t last long though, his blissfulness, because on the next second, you say, “I want you to play that online game you always play with them but be terribly bad at it.”

“WHAT—“ He blurts out, sitting upright in such a rush that he almost knocks your heads together. “WHY—HOW COULD YOU—”

“Okay, breathe.”

“But this is too much!” He whines, his eyes widening in horror. “I have a status to uphold! You can’t do this to me!”

“Look, if it matters that much to you, I’ll give you permission to explain the situation to them.” You squeeze his hand, smiling understandingly at him. “You can tell them that you’re doing this because you’re granting my birthday wish.”

That manages to calm him down a little. “So I can let them know before the game? Oh, thank God—”

“No, a month after the game.”

“WHY ARE YOU SO EVIL—”

“Just do it already!” You shout out with a teasing grin strapped to your face. “You owe me at least that much after I let you come in my mouth.”

He gapes, eyes widening in shock. “That was for this?! I feel so tricked!”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about that before but—” You shake your head, waving the rest of your sentence away. “Come on, Haechannie, please, please, please~” You rub your hands together, batting your eyelashes again.

He grumbles, pushing you away. “Stop doing that aegyo on me, I’m not doing it!”

I’ll grant you five wishes for your birthday!” You can’t believe you’re saying this and you know you’re going to regret it later in the future but there’s still time and you hope he’s gonna forget about it when the time arrives. Hopefully.

Haechanlooks extremely tempted at that. “Any kind of wishes?”

You wince but nod eventually. “As long as it’s nothing sexual.”

“Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that.” His smirk is back and he’s doing it so cockily that it sends shivers down your spine. Well, you can work over that problem later. “Fine, let’s go. Give me the phone.”

Haechan calls Jaemin an asswipe the first second he gets connected but by the sound of his voice coming from the other line, he’s not even bothered in the slightest. “Get off Jeno’s dick for once and log back into your account. Bring Jisung with you. I’ll be online in ten minutes and if I don’t see you there, I’ll text your mom the real reason why you didn’t show up on Christmas Day.” And he shuts off his phone with a click, throwing it randomly on his bed.

“Do boys normally make phone calls like that?” you ask, judging him.

He only shrugs, “Cooler ones do.”

“What happened during Christmas Day?”

“Jaemin got his ass drunk, went out with Jeno, and ended up having a threesome with a stripper.” He yawns, throwing himself back on the bed again. “I’m just glad they didn’t take Jisung with them. He’s been through a lot, that poor kid.” And when he sees you raising an eyebrow in question, he just waves you off. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

There’s a lot of shouting in the background when the game started, most of it coming from the other line of Haechan’s headphones that’s strapped to his ears. You lean close to him so you can hear Jeno shouting at him, “Yah! What the fuck, Lee Donghyuck?! I thought you said you were going left!”

“I am going left.”

“THAT’S NOT LEFT, YOU IDIOT!”

And you feel sorry for your boyfriend for degrading himself on purpose like this. “As you can see,” he says, wincing as his ears begin to ring from all the shouting. He mutes his headphone as he focuses back on you with his fingers angrily tapping on his keyboards. “This causes me physical pain. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am happy.” You peck him on his cheek. “You’re the best. I love you.”

Haechan snorts, looking away and tapping his headphone again to unmute his microphone. “Hey assholes, I just died again. Sorry about that.” More screaming and angry rantings can be heard from the other line and you savor the moment as long as you can. It’s not every day you can see your cocky boyfriend being bullied by his underlings.

It’s too fun watching him play with his face contorting like he’s in deep agony that you begin to lose track of time. You just realize how late it is when Haechan suddenly quits the game, puts his PC back to the sleeping mode, and turns his chair around to face you. You suddenly feel nervous as you sit on the edge of his bed, with him staring at you with a sinful smile creeping up his face, crossing his legs.

“Ten, nine, eight,” he says, tapping his fingers and you flinch in realization. “You better start running, Noona.” He walks over, chucking off his shirt on his way to you whilst continuing his countdown. His silver necklace glints under the fluorescent light of his room and he bends down, trapping you between his arms. “Because I’ll be in charge in three… two…”

You gulp, your heart thrumming loudly against your ribcages as you feel his lips hovering dangerously above yours.

“One.”

***

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