#in fact i think she can be read as all three

[ye4gerz]

my game, your rules. — ldh part three (FINAL)

‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x afab reader 18+MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: brothers best friend au! fake dating! friends to lovers! humor! fluff! angst! smut! adult life au! jenos sister! flirty hc! ‧˚⭒ word count: 11k+ ‧˚⭒ cw: the beginning part is mostly angst, sorry! smut towards the end. dirty talking, raw sex, choking, etc. drinking, mentions of jaehyun, dom hc. ‧˚⭒ summary: you’re fed up with your family constantly telling you how to live your life, but what would they think if you showed up with your brother’s best friend as your new boyfriend? even worse—what happens when you realize you’re actually falling for him?

‧˚⭒ a/n: thank you for the wait everyone! i realized due to my personal life being so busy sometimes, i’m prob better off sticking to long one shots lmao. sorry i had to end it short at three parts. i'll be working on another one shot soon, thank you to everyone who engaged with the series, enjoy! (ignore any grammatical errors if any)

previous

It was one thing to pretend to be with your brother’s best friend, and another to actually be with your brother’s best friend, but what do you call it when the best friend you’re fake dating starts to feel… real?

You guessed it was whatever complicated, undefined thing you had going on with Haechan right now.

It had been several nights since the first time you’d slept together, and somehow, it had slipped into your routine without much discussion. Every evening, he was there—waiting outside your job to pick you up, a sly grin on his face as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Days and nights repeated like clockwork, neither of you acknowledging the shift, as if naming it would make it too real. Instead, you both just… enjoyed it.

“Fine, we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Your own words replayed in your mind endlessly, and you found yourself wishing they had been a promise instead of an empty phrase, left to dissolve into the early hours of the day.

Yet, even without a label, you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you. Your stress was melting away bit by bit, the weight of work no longer consuming you like it used to. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were beginning to understand the elusive concept of a work-life balance.

As you stood in front of the mirror, your gaze traveled over your reflection. Love bites peppered your skin, faint but impossible to ignore. Each one held a memory, moments you couldn’t help but replay in your head. You smiled softly, warmth spreading through you at the thought of him.

You missed him already.

“What’s taking so long?” Karina’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, followed by a series of impatient knocks on the bathroom door.

“Sorry!” you called back, hurriedly finishing your last-minute outfit adjustments. “I’m coming out now!”

Tonight was girls night—a night you’d promised yourself would be nothing but fun, but as you opened the door and met Karina’s scrutinizing gaze, you couldn’t help but wonder how much of the night your thoughts would linger on Haechan.

“Impatient much?” you teased Karina as you slipped on your earrings.

“It’s been forever since it’s just been the two of us,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I swear, I should sue Haechan for stealing you away from me.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “No need to worry. Tomorrow’s the night he meets my family, and soon after, our ‘relationship’”—you emphasized with air quotes—“will officially be over. I get my peace, and they get to meet someone who isn’t you for once.”

Karina leaned against the doorframe, her sharp gaze raking over you like she was trying to read between the lines. “You’re not convincing me,” she said, raising a brow. “Do you think you can hide those marks? Please, you two are so deep in denial it’s almost painful to watch.”

Her words hit like a sucker punch, and you fumbled for a response. It had nothing to do with your best friend, but all with the fact that Haechan has been a bit distant today. You didn’t want to flood your thoughts with worry, but the intensity of your underlying feelings were too much to ignore. Instead of addressing the comment, you busied yourself with adjusting the strap on your heels, your eyes glued to the floor. “Like I said, it’ll be ending soon. Can we not talk about him right now?”

Karina frowned but didn’t push further, though her knowing expression didn’t go unnoticed.

Meanwhile, across town, Haechan sat on his couch, the glow of his phone illuminating his frustrated expression. He knew you were going out with Karina tonight—you’d told him—but something about it gnawed at him. He hadn’t responded to your last text, and even when he did, it took hours because every reply felt like walking a tightrope.

The thought of you at a club, surrounded by strangers, without him, it sent his mind spiraling. What if some guy tried something? Worse, what if you met someone—someone you actually liked—and decided to drop this whole fake relationship?

“Would that be cheating?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Yes—no—shit.”

This wasn’t real. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself; every lingering glance, every stolen moment, and every kiss that left him breathless felt all too real. The weight of unspoken feelings hung between you both like a thread threatening to snap. He turned his phone off and on again, trying to distract himself, but the pull you had on him was intoxicating, inescapable.

Back at your apartment, Karina softened, rubbing your back in a gesture of comfort. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s not my place to bring up your love life. Let’s just go have fun tonight, okay? Who knows, maybe we’ll both go home with someone new.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood made you smile despite yourself. “Yeah, let’s just have fun,” you echoed, grabbing your purse and heading for the door.

Even as you walked out with Karina, a small part of you wondered if Haechan was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.

Meanwhile, Haechan logged online with Jeno, hoping a few rounds of gaming would help clear his mind. However, playing with your brother, of all people, might not have been the smartest way to distract himself.

“So, are you nervous about tomorrow night?” Jeno asked as they waited for the game to load.

“Not really,” Haechan replied honestly. “I’ve met your parents before. They’re nice people.”

Jeno adjusted his mic. “Yeah, but you’ve met them as my friend. You’ve never met them as my sister’s boyfriend. Not to mention, it’s the first time she’s bringing someone home.”

Haechan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of Jeno’s words sinking in. The idea of meeting your parents in this new role suddenly felt a lot heavier than it had before.

He had pitched this whole fake dating idea to help you out, to make your life easier during a time when you needed it most. He’d told himself that was all it was. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t just that anymore. Somewhere along the way, the lies stopped feeling like lies.

The hand-holding wasn’t just for show. The playful teasing, the lingering touches, the way his chest tightened whenever you smiled at him—it had all become painfully real. With each passing day, the guilt of keeping this from Jeno gnawed at him more.

He thought back to one of the nights you’d slept over. You’d fallen asleep in his arms, your breathing soft and even, while he stayed awake, unable to tear his eyes away from you. His gaze had traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fanned out against your skin. Without thinking, he’d leaned closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your hair.

This had become his new normal—holding you, being with you. Every time he thought about what came next, a deep ache settled in his chest. What if this all ended? What if he lost you?

“Hello? You good?” Jeno’s voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present.

“Yeah, my fault,” Haechan muttered, fumbling with his keyboard. “Um… yeah, I guess I am nervous— but you’ll be there too, so not much to worry about, right?”

“Exactly, bro,” Jeno said, his tone light. “You’ve got this. Now, focus up—I’m getting mobbed over here!”

Haechan managed a small laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “On it,” he replied, diving into the game.

As the action picked up, his thoughts remained elsewhere. His grip tightened on the mouse, his chest heavy with the weight of his own emotions. This was going to be a long night.

Three shots in, and you were already feeling it. You’d never been one to hold your alcohol well. While you weren’t completely gone, you were definitely teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk. The music thumped through the club, vibrating in your chest, and the dim lighting made it easy to lose yourself in the atmosphere.

“There’s my girl! Look at you having a good time!” Karina cheered, hyping you up as you squeezed the life out of a lemon wedge after your latest shot.

You coughed, shaking your head with a laugh. “I’m getting there, that’s for sure.”

Karina plopped down on the barstool beside you, resting her chin in her hand as she watched you with a fond expression. “Not to kill the buzz or anything, but do you think you’re ready to talk about what’s been weighing on you? I can tell you’ve got something on your chest, and you won’t fully let loose until you do.”

You hesitated, your eyes drifting to the crowd behind her. That’s when you spotted him—a man dressed clean and sharp, head to toe. His neatly parted black hair framed deep, unreadable eyes, and they were locked on you. Feeling a strange flutter of nerves, you quickly shook it off, turning back to Karina as you fidgeted with the rim of your shot glass.

“I guess it’s no secret that Haechan and I have been… kind of together? I don’t really know what to call it.” You sighed, glancing at her. “I mean, yeah, we’re supposed to be pretending, but lately, it’s felt a lot more serious. No matter how much we try to keep it casual, we just keep getting pulled toward each other— and sleeping together? That’s only made it worse.”

Karina’s brow arched slightly, but she stayed silent, letting you continue.

“I’m scared this is all Haechan wants,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “What if I’m just something to pass the time? I’m too afraid to bring it up because if I’m wrong, and I read this all wrong… what then? What if I ruin everything, and he rejects me for real? That would be awkward as hell.”

Karina’s wide eyes softened, and she reached out to rub your back. “Wow. Yeah, that’s a lot to carry around. No wonder you’ve been so tense,” she said gently. “But listen, you’ve got to talk to him. Tell him exactly what you just told me. If it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know you tried—and hey, this whole thing has already benefited you in some ways, right? Don’t feel guilty for walking away if that’s what you decide to do. You’re not actually together, so you don’t owe anyone anything. You can do what’s best for you.”

Her words brought some comfort, and you smiled at her, feeling a flicker of gratitude. Before you could respond, the bartender approached, placing a tall margarita with a cherry on top in front of you.

“A gentleman paid for your drink and the next few shots for you two,” he explained.

“What the hell…” Karina whispered, scanning the room with wide eyes.

Your gaze followed hers until it landed on the same man from earlier. He was making his way toward you now, a confident stride and a charming smile revealing deep dimples.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted smoothly, his voice rich and warm.

“Well, hello, handsome,” Karina replied, nudging your leg under the bar as she batted her lashes.

His smile lingered, but his eyes moved to yours, the anticipation in them unmistakable. “I’m Jaehyun,” he introduced himself, “I just wanted to say you both look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Thank you, Jaehyun! We appreciate that, don’t we?” Karina said, looking at you expectantly.

You hesitated before giving him your name, your voice quieter than you intended. His reaction caught you off guard—he took your hand and kissed it lightly. “Wonderful to meet you,” he said, his smile deepening. “I’ll let you get back to your conversation, but if you’d like to have a good time together, well—this is for you.”

As he walked off, Karina grabbed your arm. “Wow! Talk about dreamy! What did he give you?”

You unfolded the napkin he’d placed in your hand, already knowing what to expect. Inside was a neat scrawl: In case you need another shoulder to lean on ;) – J followed by his number.

You rolled your eyes. “Great. Just what I needed.”

Karina laughed, shaking her head. “If you’re not going to use it, you can pass it my way!”

“No way,” you said firmly. “I don’t need the reminder of this awkward interaction if you end up hooking up with him.” Stuffing the napkin into your purse, you resolved to toss it later.

“Fine, but that’s a major loss,” she teased. “How about this instead: we finish our free drinks, grab something sweet to eat, and call it a night?”

You smiled at her sincerity. “Sounds like a plan.”

The plan, however, turned out to be a little hazier than expected. Jaehyun had paid for more shots than you realized, and by the time you left the club, you and Karina were beyond tipsy, stumbling into an Uber together.

After dropping Karina off safely, you found yourself standing in front of Haechan’s building instead of your own. Buzzing his apartment repeatedly, you chuckled loudly into the intercom when his tired, slightly annoyed voice answered.

“May I ask who’s obliterating my buzzer at this hour?”

“It’s meeee!” you said through a fit of giggles.

There was a pause, and then the door buzzed open. Moments later, Haechan met you in the hallway, his arms crossed as he watched you nearly trip over your own feet.

“Someone had fun tonight, I see,” he teased, shaking his head as he walked over to steady you.

You clutched onto his shirt, looking up at him with glassy eyes. “Can’t have fun when I’m missing you so much,” you mumbled.

His teasing grin softened into something gentler, and he wrapped an arm around you, guiding you to his apartment. Once inside, he carefully sat you on the edge of his bed, rummaging through his drawers for some comfortable clothes for you to change into.

Haechan gently changed your clothes for you, his touch careful and deliberate. Using the makeup remover wipes you’d left at his place over the past few weeks, he softly cleaned your face, wary of being too rough as he worked around your features.

“Let me grab you some water, okay? Just get comfortable,” he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You nodded sleepily, sinking into the pillows as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Your gaze wandered across the room, catching the faint glow from his gaming monitor. A small smile tugged at your lips as you pictured him sitting there, completely immersed in a match, his focused expression etched in your memory. You reached toward the side table, expecting to find your phone, only to remember it was still in your purse.

“Hyuckieeee!” you called, raising your voice as much as your drunk tired state allowed. “Can you bring me my phone, pleaseeee? It’s in my purse!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, his voice light and playful.

In the kitchen, Haechan grabbed a glass of water before reaching for your purse. As he rummaged through it to find your phone, a folded napkin clung to the device, slipping free and floating to the floor. He bent to pick it up, expecting it to be nothing—but then his eyes caught the scrawled handwriting.

In case you need another shoulder to lean on ;) – J xxx-xxx-xxxx.

His playful smile vanished instantly. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, he stood frozen, blinking at the napkin as though he could force the words to change.

Who the hell was J? Why did you have his number? And why the hell did he feel like the ground beneath him was starting to crumble?

“Hyuccccck!” your voice whined from the other room, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

His heart pounded as he shoved the napkin back into your purse, burying it as deep as he could. Grabbing your phone, he forced himself to compose his expression before walking back into the bedroom.

“Here,” he said, his voice a little too quiet as he handed you your phone and set the glass of water on the nightstand.

You barely noticed the change in his demeanor, already distracted as you unlocked your phone. Haechan, however, didn’t linger. He walked to his desk, muttered a quick goodnight to Jeno—completely ignoring whatever your brother was saying—and shut down his computer.

“W-Wait!” you called after him, frowning when you realized he was heading toward the door. “You’re not staying?”

He paused, his back to you. “You’ve had a long night, and tomorrow’s going to be even longer,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “You need sleep, and I can’t afford for you to get distracted.”

The coldness in his tone made you sit up slightly, confused. “Hyuck—”

“I’ll take the couch,” he interrupted, not turning around. “I’ll drive you home in the morning. Goodnight.”

Before you could respond, he flicked off the light and shut the door behind him.

You blinked at the closed door, baffled by his sudden shift. However, the exhaustion weighed heavy on your body, and soon enough, your head hit the pillow, pulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Meanwhile, Haechan sat on the couch, your purse on the table in front of him like it was mocking him. His mind raced, replaying every moment of the night and every possibility of what that napkin could mean.

His jaw clenched as a wave of jealousy surged through him, mingling with something deeper—something more vulnerable. Was this all a game to you? A distraction? Did this J mean more to you than he did?

Haechan leaned back, staring at the ceiling with a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t shake. Tomorrow was supposed to be the big day—the day he met your parents—but now he wasn’t so sure he could go through with it.

The couch was uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the problem. You were just down the hall, sound asleep in his bed, yet Haechan couldn’t close his eyes for more than a few seconds before they snapped back open.

Your purse sat on the coffee table like it was taunting him, the folded napkin inside feeling heavier than it had any right to. He rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a frustrated sigh as he leaned back against the couch cushions.

It wasn’t real. That’s what he kept reminding himself. You weren’t really his girlfriend, so why did the idea of someone else trying to be with you twist something so raw inside of him?

He replayed the events of the night, the way you had stumbled into his arms at the door, laughing and clinging to him like he was your safe haven. The way you’d told him you missed him—it echoed in his head, warm and sweet, and he had wanted to believe it.

Then he’d seen the napkin.

In case you need another shoulder to lean on.

The words looped in his mind like a curse. He sat up, staring at the purse again, his jaw tightening. Who was this J? Why did you have his number?

You had been with Karina, sure, but what if this guy was someone you’d met at the club? What if he’d been the one to buy you drinks, to make you laugh, to look at you in a way that Haechan foolishly thought only he did?

His fists clenched at the thought, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to push the images out of his head. He had no right to feel this way, he told himself. You weren’t his. Not really.

The idea of you leaning on someone else, laughing with someone else, kissing someone else—it made his stomach churn.

The minutes turned to hours, and the city outside the window grew quieter, yet his mind stayed restless.

He thought back to the times you’d spent together recently. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him, the way your fingers would brush against his as if it were second nature. The quiet moments after the fake laughter, when it felt like everything between you wasn’t fake at all.

Could he have imagined it all? Were the feelings one-sided?

He threw himself back against the couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Maybe this was what he deserved. Maybe this was the fallout of blurring the lines, of letting his heart get tangled in something that was never supposed to be real.

Then he thought about tomorrow—or rather, tonight. Meeting your family as your boyfriend. Pretending to be yours in front of the people who mattered most to you. The thought had filled him with nerves before, but now it felt unbearable. How was he supposed to stand there, play the part, when he didn’t even know where he stood with you?

His eyes drifted back to the purse again. It was a small thing, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, yet it felt monumental. That napkin had shattered whatever fragile understanding he thought you shared, leaving him questioning everything.

As the first rays of sunlight began to creep through the window, Haechan sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. His body was heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refused to let him rest.

One thing was certain—if he didn’t get answers soon, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending.

The faint scent of coffee and something savory woke you first. You blinked groggily, your head heavy and your body sluggish as you turned toward the nightstand. There, beside a glass of water, was a small bottle of Tylenol waiting for you.

The gesture brought a soft smile to your lips. Even after nights like this, he always took care of you.

Rubbing your temples, you sat up slowly, the ache in your head reminding you of last night’s drinks. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from the kitchen. Pushing yourself out of bed, you shuffled toward the source of the noise, following the smell of breakfast.

When you stepped into the kitchen, he was already there, leaning against the counter with a coffee mug in hand. A plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon sat on the countertop, clearly made for you.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice scratchy from sleep as you pulled out a stool.

He barely glanced at you, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the mug down with a soft clink. “Eat up,” he said flatly, his tone devoid of its usual warmth. “You’re probably hungover.”

The coldness in his voice made you pause. You looked at him carefully, noting the stiffness in his posture, the way his eyes refused to meet yours.

“Thanks,” you said hesitantly, sitting down and picking at the food. You watched him from the corner of your eye, trying to gauge his mood.

When the silence stretched too long, you finally spoke. “Are you okay? You seem… off.”

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, too quickly.

“You don’t seem fine,” you pressed, setting your fork down. “Did something happen last night?”

He let out a sharp breath through his nose, finally looking at you. His expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of something beneath it—hurt, frustration, something he wasn’t saying.

“I’ll start getting ready,” he said abruptly, brushing past your question. “You should eat and get some rest when you get home. We’ve got that big dinner tonight.”

You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against his arm to stop him, but he yanked it back before you could get a firm hold.

The motion was reflexive, but it felt like a slap. The shock of it lingered in the air between you, and you froze, your hand hanging in the space he’d just pulled away from.

“Did you just pull away from me…” your voice trailed off, your words caught somewhere between disbelief and hurt.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, his voice sharper than he intended. When he saw the look on your face, he cut himself off, turning away from you entirely.

“No, talk to me,” you said, standing now. The frustration bubbled up in your chest, and you didn’t care if your head was pounding or if your voice cracked. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been weird since last night. Did I do something?”

He clenched his fists at his sides, his shoulders rigid. “It’s nothing. Just drop it, okay?”

“Nothing?” you echoed incredulously, stepping closer. “You won’t look at me, you won’t talk to me, and now you’re pulling away like I did something wrong. If it’s nothing, then why are you acting like this?”

“Because I’m tired!” he snapped, spinning around to face you. His voice was sharp, the anger in his tone startling you; but beneath it, you heard the cracks, the weight of something deeper. “I’m tired, okay? Of this, of pretending, of…” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as if trying to physically push the words back down.

“Of what?” you pressed softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

His jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “I just think you should go home, get some rest, and be ready for dinner tonight. That’s it.”

You stared at him, frustration and confusion swirling in your chest. He wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t explain himself, and the distance he was putting between you felt suffocating.

“Fine,” you said quietly, the word laced with hurt. “If you want to push me away, then that’s on you.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t look up, didn’t move as you turned on your heel and headed back toward the bedroom to grab your remaining belongings. The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the pounding in your head and the ache growing in your chest.

Whatever was going on, whatever he was holding back—it felt like it was slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Meanwhile, he stood frozen in the kitchen, staring at the spot where you’d just been. His chest felt heavy, and the words he hadn’t said echoed in his mind, louder than anything else.

You stormed out of his room, grabbing your things with shaky hands, your chest tight with frustration and hurt. The air between you had been tense and suffocating, and you couldn’t stay another second in that apartment.

“Wait—” he called after you, his voice laced with urgency.

“I don’t need a ride home, and I don’t need a pity breakfast,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended as you reached the door. You turned back for a moment, your heart aching but your pride keeping you standing tall. “I’ll see you tonight, and then after that, whatever this is will be officially done.”

Before he could respond, you slammed the door shut behind you, the sound reverberating through the hallway.

The cold morning air hit your face as you made your way home on foot, each step heavy with unspoken emotions. The weight of everything pressed down on you, but you pushed through, your pace quickening as if moving faster would stop the thoughts from racing in your head.

When you finally reached your apartment, your hands were trembling as you unlocked the door. Once inside, the silence of your room felt deafening. You tossed your bag to the side and collapsed onto your bed, the weight of the morning and everything leading up to it crashing over you.

And then, it all came out.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and relentless as you buried your face in your pillow. The ache in your chest felt unbearable, and no matter how much you tried to quiet yourself, the sobs broke free, filling the room.

The sound must have carried through the walls because moments later, a soft knock came at your door.

“Hey,” Jeno’s voice called through the wood, cautious and concerned. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”

You froze, your breath hitching as you quickly wiped at your face, trying to compose yourself. “I’m fine,” you croaked, but your shaky voice betrayed you.

“Please,” Jeno insisted, the worry in his tone clear. “Let me in.”

Reluctantly, you reached over and unlocked the door. Jeno pushed it open gently, stepping inside and closing it behind him. His eyes immediately found you on the bed, your tear-streaked face buried in your hands.

“Hey,” he said softly, walking over and sitting at the edge of your bed. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I… I don’t know if we should even do the dinner tonight,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Jeno frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “Why not? What happened?”

You swallowed hard, debating how much to tell him. For a moment, you considered brushing it off, but the weight of everything you’d been holding inside was too much.

“I—” you started, hesitating before letting out a shaky breath. “I need to tell you the truth about something.”

Jeno’s brows furrowed, his expression soft but cautious. “Okay… I’m listening.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping your arms around your knees. “Haechan and I… we’re not really dating,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt, letting you continue.

“We started fake dating because you and Mom and Dad wouldn’t get off my back about finding someone. I thought it would just be for a while, to take the pressure off, but…” Your voice cracked, and you rubbed at your face, frustrated with yourself.

“But what?” Jeno pressed gently.

“I fell for him,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I don’t know when it happened, but it’s not fake for me anymore. Now he’s barely talking to me, and I don’t know what I did wrong or what’s going on in his head. I feel like I ruined everything.”

Jeno stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a sigh and reached over, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice full of genuine regret. “I didn’t realize how much pressure we were putting on you. I never meant to push you into something like this.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace soothing some of the ache in your chest.

“I think you need to talk to him,” Jeno said after a moment, pulling back slightly to look at you. “You’re never going to get answers if you don’t. If he doesn’t feel the same way, that’s on him, not you. You were just trying to protect yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“What if it makes things worse?” you asked, your voice small.

“Then we deal with it together—or not at all,” Jeno said firmly. “But you deserve to know the truth. Don’t let him leave you in the dark.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in.

“What about me moving out and finding someone? Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what Mom and Dad want? To push me out?” you scoff, the words spilling out as your mind flashes back to the way Haechan pushed you away earlier.

Jeno’s reaction is immediate, his tone sharp with hurt. “What are you talking about? You think that’s what this is about? That I want to kick you out?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you nod slowly, wiping the tears off your cheeks with trembling hands.

Jeno starts to say something but stops, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath as he forces himself to calm down. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, steadier.

“I love you,” he says firmly, his words cutting through the silence. “You’re my sister, and you’re the only one I’ve got. It’s just you and me here, besides Mom and Dad back home. I don’t want you to leave. You’re my real best friend.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and you blink back fresh tears as he continues.

“I just want to see you happy,” he says, his tone gentle now. “I want to see you live your life, not bury yourself in work or stress. You put so much pressure on yourself, and it kills me to see you overwhelmed all the time. I thought… maybe having someone close to you, someone new, might give you a sense of peace.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair before sighing. “And listen, I know you said you and Haechan schemed this whole thing, but it’s obvious there’s something between you two. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

Your sobs come back harder, and Jeno instinctively moves closer, rubbing soothing circles on your back. His touch is warm, grounding, as his words wrap around you like a protective shield.

“I’ve always just wanted the best for you,” he says softly, leaning his head closer to yours. “I want you to be happy and healthy, and if that means staying here as long as you need, then stay. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ve got your back. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t welcome. That was never my intention, and I hate that I made you feel this way. I don’t want to push you away.”

You collapse into his arms, burying your face in his shoulder as your sobs come freely. His embrace is strong, steady, as he holds you like he’s anchoring you to the ground. For once, in a while, you felt wanted by your own blood.

“Thank you, Jen,” you manage between cries. “For everything. I’m so sorry I lied to you. I love you.”

He pulls you closer, his chin resting on your head. “I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “No more lying, okay? I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts just slightly, enough for you to breathe. You stay like that for a moment longer, letting yourself cry until the tears run out, until the warmth of your brother’s hug melts away the worst of your pain.

Jeno gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing. “Thank you for opening up to me. I’ll give you some space. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

As he left your room, you could hear him muttering something under his breath. A moment later, the sound of his voice carried through the apartment as he tried to get a hold of Haechan.

“Yeah?” Haechan answers after the third ring, his voice tense.

“Meet me in front of my building in ten minutes,” Jeno says, his tone tight as he tries to keep his anger in check.

“So, she told you?” Haechan asks, his voice low.

“Yeah,” Jeno replies curtly.

Haechan pulls the phone away from his mouth, letting out a desperate sigh as his eyes fix on the ceiling, silently pleading for something—anything—to save him from what’s coming. After a long pause, he exhales sharply. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

Jeno stood outside the complex building, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The air was crisp, but it didn’t stop the tension from coiling in his chest. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets as he waited, replaying the conversation he’d had with his sister earlier.

Her tears, her shaky voice—everything about it had gutted him. Whatever had happened between her and Haechan, it needed to be resolved. Jeno wasn’t the kind of brother to let things like this slide, not when it was so obvious how much she was hurting.

Finally, he spotted Haechan approaching from a distance. The usual lightness in his step was gone, replaced by a slower, heavier gait. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his head tilted down, as if he already knew what was coming.

When Haechan reached him, Jeno didn’t waste time. “Do you love her?”

The question hit like a punch, straightforward and impossible to dodge. Haechan froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly before his gaze darted to the ground.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “I do. I have for a while now.”

Jeno’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but his expression remained firm. “Then what the hell happened?”

Haechan let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “I… I don’t know, man. She came over last night after the club, and everything was fine until I found this note in her purse. It was from some guy—‘J’ or whatever—and it just… messed me up. I didn’t know what to think.”

Jeno frowned, his brows furrowing. “A note? From who?”

“I don’t know,” Haechan said, his voice rising slightly. “It was just some number and a message about being there for her. It made me think—what if I’m not enough? What if she’s keeping her options open?”

Jeno’s jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling. “So you let your jealousy get the better of you and pushed her away instead of talking to her?”

“I didn’t push her away,” Haechan argued weakly, though the guilt in his voice was evident. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Jeno shook his head, exhaling sharply. “She loves you, Hyuck. She told me everything—how you two started this whole fake dating thing because of me and our parents. Only, it’s not fake for her anymore. She’s scared you don’t feel the same, and now she’s in her room crying because she thinks you don’t care.”

Haechan blinked, his breath catching. “She… she said that?”

“Yeah, she did,” Jeno said firmly. “And let me tell you something—you’re one of my best friends, Hyuck. You’re a good guy, but if you care about her, you need to prove it. You can’t keep shutting her out every time something scares you.”

Haechan swallowed hard, the weight of Jeno’s words sinking in.

“You’ve been a great friend to me,” Jeno continued, his voice softer now. “I know you’re the kind of person who would go to the ends of the earth for the people you care about. So if you really want to be with her, if you see a future with her, then you need to go upstairs, talk to her, and fix this. Don’t let one very stupid misunderstanding ruin everything.”

Haechan’s hands clenched at his sides, his heart racing as he processed everything.

“What if I screw it up again?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his expression both serious and reassuring. “Then you keep trying. Relationships aren’t perfect, but they’re worth it when it’s real—and this? I can tell it’s real for both of you. So don’t waste any more time.”

Haechan nodded slowly, the resolve in his chest growing stronger. Without another word, he turned toward the building, his legs carrying him toward the confrontation he both dreaded and needed.

Jeno watched him go, letting out a deep sigh. For the first time all day, he felt a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—things would turn out the way they were supposed to.

You had finally managed to calm yourself down after a long, warm shower and curling up under the covers of your bed. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, your mind kept replaying the events of the morning. Every sharp word, every look, every lingering feeling—it all circled in your head like a storm you couldn’t escape.

A sudden knock at your door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah?” you called out, assuming it was Jeno checking on you again. The door creaked open slowly, and when you looked up, it wasn’t Jeno.

Haechan stood there, hesitating in the doorway, his hand gripping the frame as if he needed it to steady himself.

“Hey… Can I come in?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost cautious.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that you’d fought so hard to push down. Fidgeting with your hands, you nodded. “Sure.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him gently, as though he was afraid of shattering the fragile air between you. He moved to the corner of your bed, sitting down hesitantly, his posture stiff and uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice tinged with guilt. “For the way I reacted this morning. I was upset, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You gave me every chance to talk, and I just… didn’t.”

You stayed silent, watching him from the head of your bed, the weight of his words making your chest tighten.

“Truth is,” he continued, rubbing his hands together, “I found that napkin in your purse last night. You know, the one with the note.”

Suddenly, everything clicked.

“I got jealous,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “At first, that’s all it was. However, the more I read it, the more frustrated I got—not because some other guy was interested in you, but because I realized it was more than that.”

He sighed, his hand running through his hair, tugging at the strands in a way you recognized as his tell when he was struggling to get the words out.

“I like you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “A lot. I like you a lot more than like, actually.” He let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking his head as his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Ever since we met, I’ve liked you,” he confessed, his voice quieter now. “At first, I didn’t say anything because you’re Jeno’s sister. What kind of friend would I be if I got feelings for my best friend’s sister, right? Then, it turned into something so much more than that. You became my best friend, too. The first person I think about when I wake up, the last person I think about before I fall asleep, and the only person in my dreams. You’re everywhere in my head.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, tears spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

“I know,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “It was my idea to start all of this. At first, it was just pretending, but then it became real. For me, it became so real. And that note? That stupid, meaningless note? It wasn’t even about the guy—it was about me. I hated that a complete stranger had the courage to tell you how he felt when I couldn’t, even after everything we’ve shared. I let my pride and my fear get in the way, and I hurt you because of it. I’m so sorry.”

This time, he looked up, his eyes locking with yours. They weren’t cold like they had been this morning. They were warm, soft, familiar—filled with the Haechan you knew and cared for. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek as he wiped away your tears.

“I’m truly sorry, love,” he said, his voice trembling slightly but full of conviction. “If you’ll let me, I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want this to be fake. I want us—you and me—to be real. Please, let’s make this real.”

His words hung in the air, each one wrapping around your heart and tugging at it. You stared at him, your lips parting slightly as you tried to process the raw sincerity in his confession. The way his eyes bore into yours, the vulnerability etched across his face, it all broke down every last wall you’d built to keep your feelings hidden.

Slowly, your body moved on its own. You crawled across the bed, closing the small space between you and Haechan before throwing your arms around his shoulders. His warmth engulfed you as your head nestled against his neck, and for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to melt into him.

Haechan’s arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you even closer as he let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that to you again. I promise, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

His voice cracked with emotion, the words tumbling out over and over as he held you. His hand ran soothingly along your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

You stayed like that for a moment, soaking in his warmth and the steady beat of his heart. When you finally pulled back, your hands remained on his shoulders, and you found yourself looking into his eyes—those deep, soulful eyes that were filled with nothing but regret and love.

“The note,” you started softly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “It was from some random guy at the club. He handed it to me, and I shoved it in my purse so I could throw it out later. But… we got drunk, and I completely forgot it was even there.”

His expression shifted instantly, from shock to embarrassment, and finally to guilt. “So it really didn’t mean anything?” he asked, his voice almost timid.

You shook your head firmly. “Not a thing. I didn’t even remember it existed until just now.”

Haechan exhaled a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I overthought everything, and I pushed you away when I should’ve just asked you.”

You gave him a small, tentative smile, your fingers absentmindedly smoothing over his shoulders. “You’re not an idiot,” you said gently. “You were scared, and honestly? So was I.”

His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze softening as he tilted his head in curiosity. “Scared?”

You nodded, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “Scared because… I like you, too. A lot. Maybe more than a lot.” You let out a nervous laugh, your hands dropping to your lap. “I think I’ve been trying so hard to convince myself that this was just pretend because I didn’t want to ruin anything between us. But the truth is, I don’t want to pretend anymore either. I want us to start over—for real this time.”

His eyes widened at your words, and for a moment, he just stared at you, completely still. Then, as if something clicked inside him, his expression changed. The regret and guilt melted away, replaced by something so raw, so full of love and passion that it took your breath away.

Haechan reached for your face, his hands cradling your cheeks as if you were the most delicate thing in the world. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, your smile trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “I mean it.”

That was all he needed. In an instant, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was both passionate, real, and impossibly tender. His lips moved against yours with a reverence that made your heart ache, as if he were pouring every unspoken word, every hidden feeling, into that single moment.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his hoodie as you kissed him back, matching the intensity of his emotions. It was like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you, tangled in each other and the overwhelming feelings you’d kept buried for so long.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession.

Your breath hitched, and your lips curved into a smile as you looked into his eyes. “I love you, too,” you said, your voice steady and full of truth.

The smile that broke across his face was radiant, and he pulled you into his arms again, holding you like he never wanted to let go. For the first time, there was no doubt, no pretending—just the two of you, finally on the same page.

The evening had finally arrived, and the three of you��Jeno, Haechan, and yourself—stood outside your parents' house. The warm glow of the porch light illuminated the path, casting a comforting hue that did little to calm the nerves buzzing in your chest. Haechan stood beside you, his hand brushing against yours, and when you glanced at him, he gave you a small smile, his own nerves barely hidden beneath his confident exterior.

“You guys ready?” Jeno asked, breaking the silence.

You nodded, inhaling deeply as you stepped forward.

When the door opened, the familiar warmth of your parents' home enveloped you. Your mom greeted you with a tight hug, her smile as radiant as ever. Your dad stood just behind her, his eyes lighting up as he welcomed all of you inside.

“Come in, come in! It’s been too long,” your mom said, ushering everyone inside.

As you stepped into the living room, Haechan gave your parents a polite bow, his usual charm already working its magic. “Thank you for having us tonight,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with warmth.

“Of course, Haechan,” your mom replied, smiling at him. “It’s nice to finally have you here as more than just Jeno’s friend.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow, a curious look passing over his face. “Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

This was it. You glanced at Haechan, and he gave you a reassuring nod, his hand discreetly finding yours. Together, you both stepped forward, standing side by side in front of your parents.

“Well,” you began, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “We wanted to let you know that Donghyuck and I… we’re together now. Officially. He’s my boyfriend.”

Haechan’s smile widened as he looked at your parents, his voice filled with pride and sincerity as he added, “It’s true. I care about your daughter a lot, and I promise to always treat her with the love and respect she deserves.”

Your parents exchanged a quick glance, their expressions softening.

“Well,” your dad said after a moment, his voice warm, “if our daughter is happy, that’s all that matters to us.”

Your mom’s smile was beaming now as she stepped forward, squeezing you into a hug first before turning to Haechan. “Welcome to the family,” she said, patting his shoulder affectionately.

Behind you, Jeno let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as a smug grin spread across his face. “I told you they’d approve,” he said, clearly enjoying the moment.

You shot him a playful glare, but the warmth in his expression softened your teasing.

As the night unfolded, the five of you gathered around the dining table, the smell of your mom’s cooking filling the air. The conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the clinking of silverware. Haechan charmed your parents effortlessly, sharing stories of how you two had grown closer and subtly leaving out the “fake dating” part of your history.

Jeno leaned back in his chair, watching the scene with a satisfied look. His best friend and his sister were happy, his parents were smiling, and for once, everything felt exactly as it should be.

Your dad clapped Haechan on the back after dinner, laughing at one of his jokes. “You’re alright, kid,” he said. “Take care of my daughter, okay?”

“Always,” Haechan replied, his voice full of conviction.

By the time dessert was served, you felt a weight lifting from your chest. Sitting beside Haechan, with his hand resting comfortably on your knee under the table, you realized this was the first time you’d truly felt free. No more hiding, no more stress, no more pretending—just you and him, together, surrounded by the people you loved.

As the night wound down and your mom started clearing plates, Haechan leaned over to you, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “I can’t believe this is real.”

You turned to him, your smile soft. “It is, we don’t have to hide anymore.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” you replied, feeling the words settle warmly in your chest. Finally, you weren’t scared to say it.

As you glanced around the table, seeing the joy on your parents’ faces and Jeno’s approving nod, you knew this was the start of something beautiful. A life where you and Haechan could love each other openly, honestly, and fully—just as it was always meant to be.

BONUS

Months had passed since that dinner with your parents, and your relationship with Haechan had only grown stronger. Gone were the days of pretending and sneaking around. Now, you could openly love each other, and you savored every moment of it. Tonight was no exception.

The neon lights of the club bathed the group in a kaleidoscope of colors. Music thumped through the air, and laughter echoed as you, Haechan, Jeno, Karina, Mark, and Chenle occupied one of the larger booths. Drinks lined the table, and everyone was in high spirits, swaying to the rhythm of the music or yelling jokes over the pounding bass.

“Here,” Haechan said, sliding a glass across the table to you. “One for the prettiest girl in the room.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking the drink. “You’re shameless.”

“You love it,” he teased, leaning in to steal a quick kiss before anyone could interrupt.

“Hey!” Karina exclaimed, pointing her straw at the two of you. “We agreed to keep the PDA to a minimum tonight!”

Haechan shrugged, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he smirked. “What can I say? I can’t help myself.”

You nudged him, trying to suppress a laugh as Jeno and Chenle made exaggerated gagging sounds.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Mark said, grinning as he tipped his drink toward you both. “At least try to make it through one night without making the rest of us single people feel bad.”

“Who’s single?” Karina piped up, earning a round of laughter from everyone at the table.

As the night went on, the group gradually dispersed onto the dance floor. Haechan stayed by your side, his hand never leaving yours. You danced with him among your friends, his playful energy infectious as he twirled you under the flashing lights.

At one point, you found yourselves back at the bar, catching your breath and sipping on water.

“You know,” Haechan said, his tone suddenly lowered as he leaned closer, “you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze. “You’ve told me that about three times already.”

“I’ll say it a hundred more times if I want to,” he replied, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Careful, Donghyuck. You’re laying it on a little thick.”

He grinned, leaning in so his lips brushed your ear. “If you think this is thick, wait till I get you alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pushed him lightly, trying to hide the flush on your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re irresistible,” he quipped, finishing his drink and setting the glass down. “Come on.”

“Where?” you asked, watching as he grabbed your hand and started leading you away from the bar.

“Somewhere we can actually hear each other,” he said with a wink, weaving the two of you through the crowd.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves in one of the quieter private rooms tucked away in the back of the club. The walls muffled the music just enough, creating a more intimate atmosphere. A small couch and a dim overhead light added to the cozy vibe.

Haechan shut the door behind you, turning to face you with a smirk that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Now this,” he said, stepping closer, “is more like it.”

You laughed, backing up until your legs hit the couch. “So, what’s your plan now that you’ve dragged me back here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled you into his arms, swaying gently to the faint rhythm of the music that still seeped through the walls. His hands rested on your waist as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice soft.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. The two of you moved slowly, completely lost in your own little world.

As the song in the distance changed to something slower, Haechan tilted your chin up, his eyes locking with yours. “You know,” he said, his voice barely audible, “I think this is my favorite place to be—with you.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his words. “Hyuck…”

Before you could say anything else, he closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and electric. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, leaving you breathless.

The world outside faded entirely, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in each other. His fingers traced gentle patterns along your back, and when he pulled away just enough to whisper, “I love you,” his voice was steady and sure.

Your heart swelled, and you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks as you whispered back, “I love you too.”

Haechan grinned, his eyes lighting up with pure joy before he kissed you again, his movements more urgent but still filled with the same passion.

Getting lost in not only the kiss but in his touch you find yourself breathing heavier the closer his lips moved down your neck.

"W-What are you doing?" you asked, a low chuckle escaping your lips despite the tension in the air.

"My girlfriend," he murmured between kisses, his voice low and filled with desire. In that moment, the world beyond the locked door ceased to exist.

With skilled hands, he slipped the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting them hang low and exposing your already hardened nipples. His eyes raked over you, taking in every detail as though he couldn't believe you were real.

"I'll never get tired of this," he whispered, his voice dripping with awe as his mouth latched onto your left breast, his tongue swirling against your sensitive skin.

A loud moan escaped you, echoing faintly in the private room, but the thundering bass of the music outside was loud enough to drown it out.

"Get loud for me, baby," he urged, his voice teasing and commanding all at once. "I wanna hear how beautiful you sound for me."

His hands slid to your back as he unzipped your dress, letting it pool around your ankles. Without hesitation, he positioned you on the sofa, one of your legs resting over his shoulder as his dark eyes zeroed in on your glistening core.

"Barely did anything, and you're already begging for me," he teased, slipping two fingers inside you with ease, the smirk on his lips widening when your sharp gasp filled the air.

"Haechan... please," you pleaded, your hands gripping the fabric of the couch as your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I'm not done, babe," he murmured, his fingers curling inside you, expertly hitting that sweet spot that made your back arch.

His tongue flicked out, meeting your needy clit as he lavished every inch of you with attention, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony.

Your moans grew louder, your hips bucking against his mouth as your hands tangled in his hair. He groaned into you, the vibrations driving you wild as he watched you lose control, grinding yourself against him with abandon.

Haechan's free hand wandered to his hardened bulge, brushing over his strained cock that twitched with every sound you made. He bit back a growl, desperate to feel you fully but savoring every moment of your unraveling.

When your release finally washed over you, your scream of his name echoed in the room. Your body shuddered as your juices dripped down his chin, his tongue greedily lapping at everything you gave him.

As you lay there, trying to catch your breath, Haechan rose to his feet, unfastening his belt with swift hands and tugging his pants down to his ankles.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him, your lips parting in awe as you noticed his hard cock, his tip red and aggravated with precum.

He leaned down, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist before gripping your hair gently but firmly. His dark, hungry eyes bore into yours as he spoke, his voice dripping with authority. "You're going to take me right here, right now. I don't want you holding back those pretty moans of yours. Got it?"

You nodded quickly, barely able to speak before he lined himself up and thrust into you with a deep, powerful motion. A low growl escaped his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"So fucking tight for me," he groaned, his voice rough in your ear. "Always so tight."

His pace started slow but deliberate, each thrust pulling moans from you that sent heat coursing through your entire body. His eyes locked onto yours as he noticed the outline of his protruding length against your stomach.

Grinning, he grabbed your hands and pressed them to it.

"You feel that, baby?" he said, his voice husky. "Soon, I'll fill you up right there. Is that what you want?"

Your sweat-slicked skin glistened as you bit your lip, nodding feverishly. "Yes! Please, Donghyuck, I want you to fill me up with every drop!"

His thrusts quickened, each one deeper and more relentless as his free hand trailed up to cup your throat. "That's my girl," he praised, his voice thick with desire as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

When your walls began to flutter and clench around him, his groan turned into a deep growl. "Donghyuck!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as your release crashed over you.

He wasn't far behind. His hips stuttered as his grip tightened, his eyes rolling back as he spilled himself inside you, his body trembling with the force of his climax. Even as he came, he rocked his hips, ensuring every last part of him stayed buried deep within you.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sounds of your labored breathing.

Haechan's forehead rested against yours as his hand moved to brush damp strands of hair from your face.

"Round two at my place?" he asked, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Your laugh echoed softly as you cupped his face, your gaze filled with warmth. "Only if we manage to sneak away without getting caught."

"Say less." He grinned, standing to pull his pants back on before helping you dress. His hands lingered a little too long on your hips, his touch still filled with the passion of the moment.

Hand in hand, the two of you slipped out of the private room, sharing whispered laughs and conspiratorial smiles as you made your way through the club and out into the cool night air.

You felt completely free, the chaos of the night left behind as you escaped into a world where it was just you and him. Together, you'd already won a lifetime of love

‧˚⭒ taglist: @jaeminnanaaa17 @scoobysnackszoo @1800-jigglemywiggle @karmasbestie @cathamada @yoursyuno @oneeew @serenedreamscape @moryymor @yesohhsehun @dnihyuck @doyotint @kodasity @rainverry

[soupradio]

I miss s1 y'all I'm so upset about this

I'm half asleep and Tumblr crash when I wrote this the first time this app is really trying to piss me off. This is more rant I don't think I added anything to the conversation but I had thoughts and I needed them out.

"use minorities as a way to push conservative propaganda to a left leaning audience in a palatable way."

First of all great phrasing second of all a lot of y'all are falling for it.

I don't think it's just that people like a character I think it's people who genuinely defend billionaires and bad people like a lot of y'all are showing your true colors when you defend the actions of characters like Caitlyn and Mel and even Viktor.

Yes all three of these characters are complex great but are you just saying that so that people get off your ass about your favorite character being also kind of a bad person.

"Stop trying to put your real life issues on a TV show/stop treating fictional characters like real people" What lens do you want me to view media through? Reality affects Media. When season 1 in its entirety was just a mirror for the oppression we see in real life? Did that slip past y'all? It's not just because you like the character it's because these are your real morals. Y'all might not want to come to that realization because you might realize that you're morals don't necessarily align with the shit that you post on your Instagram story.

Like they gave us a fascist cop, a classist billionaire, and a cult leader. None of which had to suffer by the way I mean the cop and the billionaire lost their moms but like that's it meanwhile zaunites are still losing everything and have for thousands of years them losing their mom don't make up for shit. And Zaun still helped them in that war and every single zaunite became a piltover apologist.

It almost feels like they hid these centrist fence sitting leaning right politics under themes of oppression and generational trauma and revolution and familial relationships, just for the lesson in the end to be forgive and hope that you're oppressors are nice to you. But a lot of y'all are eating it up.

Because you aren't just liking a character that's a fascist in the story You are defending the actions of a fascist. Your defending the actions of billionaires and bad people. Y'all are so quick to say eat the rich in real life but the second your favorite character is a billionaire you are quick to defend. That's pretty telling. This isn't just fiction.

And it feels like the creators also hid behind the fact that this fascist is a lesbian and this billionaire is a black woman in order to reel people in and almost put like hazy rose-tinted glasses over the fan base and y'all fell for it. If you do hate Mel it's never for the right reasons, you'll never criticize her for the fact that she's actually a classist. For the fact that she is probably benefited the most from the oppression of the undercity, and done nothing for them.

That's why I don't like her. If she existed in real life I would be against her whole heartedly I would have hope she didn't make it out of that councilor room too, Y'all don't like her because she's a black woman we are not the same.

Like the desire for representation overpowering your critical thinking. I can criticize Caitlyn and Vi's relationship and say it's not healthy without me being against lesbians. You can want lesbian representation and not accept every single piece of it that comes your way. Vi can be good representation while the relationship can be bad, Y'all keep saying you understand complexity and yet these basic things fool you.

Or maybe the creators are just stupid and a bunch of white people who can't read a room it's probably the latter

Arcane ignores all of the intersectionality that comes between race, gender, sexuality, social class and use minorities as a way to push conservative propaganda to a left leaning audience in a palatable way.

And it works, because you guys are out here loving a fascist and a billionaire.

It's a power fantasy they sell.

...or maybe the writers are just really stupid, dunno.

[shiny-jr]

What a New Year’s treat to read the Ignihyde chapter!!! Love Imp! MC, they’re such a different flavor of scaredy cat compared to King! MC and genuinely seem torn up by their decisions to go along with changing the plot out of self-interest.

And the way Ortho just unnerves them by knowing they’re an imposter, blackmailing and enjoying their company because they actually do their job despite their fear. Idia also revealing he knew midway is so good too! He acts like he doesn’t care but the subtle changes to his actions.

AND WHEN ITS IMP!READER USED TO TRICK HERACLEA!!! They must be blue screening mentally as they calculate just what made the heroine so focused on them when Meg’s right there. Just those tiny glimpses of them escaping time after time as she defeats the threat, slowly focusing less on the cheering crowds unless it’s to scan it for those shy, terrified eyes, and slim horns. Idia’s right, Imp!Reader just accidentally captivates people with their shivering cat energy; his fast talking was probably due to all three and the fact he gets to have them completely at their weakest.

Idia is going to keep them right by his side during the whole conquest, keeping them safe from any harm from a stray arrow to just them tripping over themselves and getting a scraped knee. Casually reminding them he wouldn’t dare let harm befall his most valuable asset, propping them on his leg as he slouches on Zeus’s chest throne atop Olympus, letting them have a front row seat to the devastation unleashed onto the world with Ortho gleefully narrating everything.

This was worth the wait and I adored every scene and interaction~!

Okay, okay, finally getting around to the asks that have spoilers and talk about the Ignihyde part of Damnation. I've been waiting for a few days, there's a few other asks like this one, but I was saving them and waiting to make sure some time passed so hopefully most people read it already if they wanted to and got no spoilers. It's been nearly a week since I first uploaded it, so I think it's safe to address it now in conversations.

So far, I've seen some asks that mostly like the MC? Which is a relief. As I know sometimes anxious MCs can come off as annoying, and I'm glad that it wasn't the case for a majority of the comments and messages I've gotten about them. So I'm really glad that they've been well received!

I know Ignihyde isn't really a popular dorm compared to the others, so I was sort of concerned when uploading that it wouldn't get that much attention. But it did. Maybe not as much as say, Pomefiore, which was to be expected, but I'm glad my expectations were exceeded and the overall feedback seems to be positive!

[rechorites]

ao3

The first promise Hermione ever makes to Draco is an innocuous one.

He’s been annoying her all morning: drumming his fingers against his desk; fussing at the tea trolley about being out of cauldron cakes; tapping his quill against parchment in a way that is both highly irritating and also bad for the quill, by the way. They’ve only been working at the Ministry together for three months, still both considered fresh new employees, not yet worthy of any serious projects.

It’s—Well, Hermione’s bored too. If she’s honest.

“Malfoy, I swear, if you just stop making noise for ten minutes, I’ll take you up to the cafe and get you a bloody cauldron cake.”

He shuts up after that, so quiet it’s almost eerie. Hermione finishes reading the report she’s working on (23 mistakes! She’s not sure how any of these so-called ‘managers’ got hired in the first place, truth be told) and puts down her quill.

She tries to forget about Malfoy’s presence, as she always does.

It’s very hard when he’s suddenly looming over her.

“Can I help you, Malfoy?” she asks, not looking up at him. He’s very tall, she’s noticed lately.

“I believe I was promised a cauldron cake.”

Hermione huffs. She was rather hoping he’d forgotten.

“Fine. But we’ve got only got 15 minutes before the meeting with Transportation, so you’d better not dawdle.”

“I don’t dawdle, Granger.” He gives her a smirk.

She gives him a look that she hopes comes off as scathing, and not at all charmed.

They are, in fact, late to the meeting with Transportation.

“Granger, if you send this one owl for me, please…”

The please is tacked on as an afterthought, the sound of it from Malfoy’s mouth unfamiliar in the extreme.

“If I send this owl for you, Malfoy, everyone’s going to get in touch with me about this bloody… shindig.”

“Exactly, Granger.”

She frowns at him. Malfoy had been much less irritating lately, in general, and sometimes she found they actually got along.

“What do I get in return, then?” she asks reluctantly, halfway ready to just send the owl to stop his wheedling.

Malfoy smiles devilishly at her. “What would you like, Granger?”

There are quite a few inappropriate responses she can think of to that question, the way he’s been brushing his hand on her shoulder when he walks past her desk the past few weeks, the figure he cuts in his well-tailored robes. She blushes, and his smile seems to get wider.

“You’ll take Percy’s reports for the next… three weeks,” she says, scrambling for something politic.

“My pleasure.” Not enough of an ask, then.

“…and you can answer every stupid request that gets sent to me for the next week.”

He gives her a confused look. “Do you get many of those?”

She laughs. “Are you serious? Malfoy, I get about five a day. Don’t you?”

“Not a one.” He swings his feet up to the desk, looking at her amused. “You’re not scary enough, Granger. That’s why. I promise that after this week, you’ll never get another stupid request again.”

Hermione purses her lips in disbelief. That’s a big promise.

“I’ll hold you to it, Malfoy.”

---

“For fuck’s sake, Boot, if you come and bother Granger again I’m going to turn you into a Blast-Ended Skrewt and shove you down the lift shaft.”

Hermione smiles behind her cup of tea. Malfoy’s threats had become much more amusing throughout the week, escalating as the array of people who thought she knew everything about everything—which, to be fair, she often did—sent owls, were disappointed, sent more owls, and finally came to visit her when Malfoy’s hastily (and rudely) penned notes weren’t enough.

She’s grown to quite like him, actually.

“Cauldron cake, Malfoy?” she asks, pulling one out of the drawer that she’d brought down earlier from the cafe. The tea trolley on their floor always runs out by nine, and Malfoy was fastidiously on time, never a minute early.

He plucks it out of her hands and sits down heavily on his chair. It squeaks alarmingly.

“Bloody hell, Granger. What is wrong with these people? These—” He narrows his eyes. “These men.”

Hermione sighs. “You tell me, Malfoy. Ever since I started here they’ve sent owls.” She frowns. “I try to be helpful, I mean, it’s good that they’re asking about the Muggle world. But Terry’s dad’s a Muggle, so I’m not sure how he doesn’t know what a helicopter is.”

Malfoy looks at her suspiciously. “Are you—Do you seriously not know?”

“Know what?”

“Granger—” He gives her an odd look, disbelief clouding his handsome features. “They fancy you.”

Hermione snorts, running her quill under a particularly poorly worded statement. “You’re having a laugh, Malfoy.”

“I’m having a—” Malfoy’s eyebrows raised high in vexation. “I’m very much not laughing, actually. All these poor bloody wizards fancy you and you don’t even know it. Salazar, we’ll have to put a note on the door.”

“A note? Saying what? All those wizards trying to woo me, please form an orderly line?” She scoffs. “You’re off your trolley, Malfoy.”

“So you’d be interested, then? If one of them asked you out?” he presses.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy.” She stops writing. “I mean, I’d probably consider it. No one’s asked me out since Ron, not properly.”

He stares at her again, looking dumbfounded, his blond hair falling perfectly—as usual—and those bloody unfairly long eyelashes wide. He’s got nice lips. Not that she’s been looking.

“Go out with me.” He says it so quickly she almost misses it, her quill scratching to a stop and leaving a big blotch on the page.

“Shit.” She reaches for her wand, wanting to get rid of the mark before it settles through the page. Her brain processes the ink faster than his question, the words only beginning to penetrate once her wand is in her hand.

“Good grief, Granger, it’s not that serious. If you want to say no, just say no, you don’t need to hex me.”

“Hex—Go out—What?” She blinks at him, the page clean once again. Did he seriously just ask—

“Go out with me. Tonight, even.”

Hermione gapes at him rather unattractively for several seconds before shutting her mouth with a click. _“_Malfoy, if this is some kind of joke…”

“It’s not a joke. And even if it was, those tossers will stop owling you if they think you’re dating me, and I did promise, so…” He looks remarkably earnest, all of a sudden, as though he really hopes she might go out with him. Hermione feels something strange happen in her stomach, like she’s swallowed too much butterbeer all at once.

“I—Alright, then.” He grins, this wide, self-satisfied smile that makes Hermione feel—Well. She feels a bit giddy, actually. Lightheaded. She can’t help but smile back, a nervous little thing that feels out of place on her face.

Maybe someone’s poisoned their cauldron cakes.

---

“Hermione! Long time, no see!” calls out Cormac McLaggen from across the Quidditch stand.

Shit. Fuck. Hermione looks around desperately for someone to talk to that might save her from this interaction, but Draco, Ginny and Harry are all playing in the interdepartmental match, and Ron’s off canoodling with Lavender in some dark corner.

She sighs. “Hi, Cormac. How are you?” The players are gathering on the field below, Draco’s blond head talking animatedly to Ginny, presumably in their usual snark. He glances up in her direction, quick, and then looks back. She can’t see from here, but if she had to guess, she’d say he was glowering at Cormac.

They’ve been dating for two months, now. It’s going quite well, she thinks. The thought of it makes cheeks hurt from the want of a smile. They haven’t told anyone officially, yet, and certainly Cormac McLaggen is not going to be the first to know.

He sits down next to her, too close for comfort. She scowls down at his leg.

“You look lovely, Hermione, really nice.” He turns down to the pitch. “Supporting anyone in particular today? Last I heard you’d broken up with Weasley.” Hermione rolls her eyes to the sky.

True to Malfoy’s word, the influx of stupid questions, inquiries, and bother from the wizards of the Ministry had stopped rather abruptly after that week. There were several… rumours (truths, in fact, but that was their business and no one else’s,) circulating about her and Draco that stopped most of them, and the others were quickly dealt with by an Incineration Charm.

She let Draco burn them. He seemed to enjoy it.

“I—I’m here with Ginny, and Harry, and Draco. Why are you here?”

“I’ve just joined the League Headquarters. Would have played, of course, but they said it wouldn’t be fair for the other departments. You know, having a former professional on the team.” Godric, he was such a twat.

Below, they release the balls, the Snitch hovering up into the sky, the players all kicking off to scattered applause. Draco starts circling immediately, eyes scanning. He looks at her every few seconds, and each time he does it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Ginny’s a professional, and they let her play."

“Right. Well, next match, then.”

“Right,” she says doubtfully. Hermione lets the awkwardness linger for a minute, hopeful that it might spur Cormac to piss off. She’s never particularly liked Quidditch, but it’s certainly more enjoyable when you have someone to watch. Draco looks good in his Quidditch robes, truth be told.

He stayed over for the first time last night, and well—She’d rather like a repeat performance.

Cormac clears his throat, and Hermione feels her face twitch in irritation. Suddenly Draco is hovering several feet away, back to them like he’s looking for the Snitch, definitely within earshot.

“Listen, Hermione. If you’re not seeing anyone—”

“I am,” she says abruptly. “Seeing someone.” Draco’s broom tilts up in the air, floating. She can practically see his grin through his perfect hair. She can’t help but smile.

“Oh? Who is it?”

Hermione bites her lip. She should tell her friends first, surely.

But she’s also certain Cormac will absolutely go away right now if she tells him.

“Draco, actually.”

The look on Cormac’s face is so, so worth it.

---

Her left leg is tangled in Draco’s sheets (green, predictably, which she’s teased him about several times already and has no intention of stopping) and his arm is slung across her waist, warm and comforting. She can feel sleep dragging at the corners of her mind.

“Hermione,” he murmurs, low enough that it wouldn’t have woken her.

“Mm?” she replies, eyes still closed.

“Promise me something?” he asks quietly. She tilts her head up so she can look at him through one eye, his hair all mussed and out-of-place, mouth pink.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you? When you get sick of me?” Hermione lets out a huff of air and moves closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Draco.” She opens her eyes fully now, brushing her eyelash against his cheek, a butterfly kiss. “I won’t get sick of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[pearlofthewoods]

@celluloiddream666

Like yes, and no. I think there’s a distinction to be made here. Most superhero films (particularly the early ones) have historically centred men as the superheroes. Crucially, Buffy is a woman.

The stereotypical superhero is a man who is given superpowers which he goes on to use to protect mankind. So far so similar. He may also be a physically weak person who then becomes strong, but there’s still a difference here in the intentions behind the character’s empowerment.

Because Buffy’s superhero arc comes from a slightly different place, It’s not just about a physically weak person becoming supernaturally strong, it’s crucially about a woman gaining the ability to overcome her oppressor, and to save her own life.

Whedon envisioned Buffy particularly as a subversion of the typical horror movie scene, in which a woman is attacked in an alley (often by a man) and dies as a result. For all his flaws in writing the series, his intention was for the premise to be a feminist reversal of that trope. The empowerment of an otherwise vulnerable woman to protect herself from violence and misogyny.

A quote from the article where I read this:

“Whedon created the character of Buffy as a reaction to the trope of the blonde girl who tends to die first in horror films.”

It was particularly the idea of the female victim’s early death that I felt I wanted to address. Because if subverting that was Whedon’s aim, in a roundabout way he failed to do so.

Visually, yes, that trope is subverted in the scene where Angel meets Buffy for the first time:

But in the longer term? Buffy’s superpowers didn’t save her from dying. In fact, she dies three times throughout the series. Directly as a result of being the slayer. It was this particular irony that I was trying to bring out.

And although historically male superheroes might have experienced bullying or been physically weak before receiving their powers, I don’t think many of them were so vulnerable as to be at risk of death before their transformation. I think that’s the difference.

It’s also ironic to me that in this very specific case, Whedon intended Buffy’s powers to be of particular use for her to defend herself from danger. Not everyone else. And that’s not an intention you can accredit to all other media in this genre.

So when I say it’s ironic that she has to sacrifice herself to save everyone else, I’m not talking about her being a superhero in general, I’m talking about Whedon’s failures to adhere to the intentions he had for Buffy when creating this specific piece of media.

I understand if my point was lost on you, since I added crucial parts of that analysis in my tags originally, so I’ll reupload them below for you.

I hope that helps get my point across a little better :)

I once saw a quote that said the idea for Buffy came from subverting the horror movie trope of ‘woman is attacked in dark alley’, by making the female protagonist stronger than her attacker.

But I do find it interesting that when the female MC is given the power to fight back, she’s not just expected to protect herself, but to save everyone else as well.

And I think that’s such a tragic side to Buffy’s character, that it’s never enough for her just to protect herself, she has to save the world too, even at the expense of her own life and happiness.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Beach Day (🏖️🌊)

(a little scene set five years into the future of Little Blobs verse, inspired by the fact I finally enjoyed a sunny day at the beach after three days of rain lol but you can read it even if you don't know anything about the Blobs verse, it's very independent! Hope you like it ❤️)

He could get used to days like this, Tommy thinks. Both he and Evan had the Saturday off, and whenever they get lucky enough for that to happen, they like to pack up the car and take the twins somewhere. On a warm August day, the choice couldn't have been more obvious, and they've spent a wonderful day at the beach.

It's close to sunset now, and cold winds are ruffling the leaves on the palm trees. Tommy is lounging on a beach chair, with Leonardo cuddled up to his chest, wrapped in his lion towel with a hoodie. Tommy is gently rubbing circles on his back, aiming to both get him warmed up and to take a nap.

He and Evan spent the last hour with both of the kids in the sea, jumping waves, helping them swim and float around, delighting in their squeals as particular high waves licked their faces where they were safe in their dads' arms. But Leo got tired earlier than Stella, so Tommy left with him to get him dried and fed.

Now his boy is happily snuggled up against Tommy's bare chest, the soft ear of his hoodie tickling Tommy's skin. He has an arm wrapped around Leo's waist, and his relaxed breathing makes Tommy peaceful. Leo's always been like this, easy-going and affectionate, and cuddles are his favorite thing in the world.

Evan and Stella had briefly come by to grab Evan's surfboard, and now the two of them are back at the sea. They're closer to the shore than Evan would go if he were alone, and he is kneeling down on the surfboard, his arms steady around Stella's waist as they ride tiny waves, her smile bright enough that Tommy can see it from the sand, her yellow curls flying in the wind.

She waves at him, and so does Evan, their big smiles identical. Tommy waves back, blowing them a kiss, and gently nudges Leo.

"Wanna send hello to Daddy and Stellina?"

Leo turns around, his back now against Tommy's chest, and he waves happily at them.

"Hi Stella! Hi Daddy!" He says, and Tommy's not sure they can hear all the way from the sea, but they wave back enthusiastically.

"Wanna join them, bud?" Tommy asks gently, pressing a kiss to Leo's damp curls, but his son shakes his head, snuggling back against his chest.

"No, Papa. 'm happy here" He says sleepily.

"Me too, Leo-bear. Me too"

Tag list (lemme know if you want to be added or removed!):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21

@dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld @buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie

@agentpeggycartering

[shorthaltsjester]

what if i said imogen is a better metaphor for generational trauma than she is for chronic pain or queerness

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

MY HERO!!!

Srsly tho thank you for your analysis.. idk why but I have seemingly endless energy and thoughts when it comes to reading way too far into like every throwaway line Steph says but whenever I read this comic and look at the riddles my mind just totally blanks. No fucking clue.

That being said your breakdown has definitely sparked some ideas for me!

For the first riddle, maybe it’s my uncharitable read of Arthur’s characer, but I find it unlikely he would admit in front of other criminals that he sees his daughter as something precious to him. He usually puts up a tough front. On the other hand, it’s not like The Riddler isn’t an extremely intelligent man, he could probably read in between the lines even if Arthur never said as much directly. Agreed that the gift is almost certainly Steph. Still thinking on what the ‘theft that gives’ could possibly mean and coming up blank however.

If the gift of Steph keeps ‘taking’ it might be that Arthur saw what was meant to be a ‘gift’, his child, not being a gift and instead taking away from him and inconveniencing him instead, as Spoiler. It’s possible the theft is of Arthur’s freedom?

Agreed that Arthur seems to have have a habit of abusing Steph and threatening to kill her only to do a 180 and profess how supposedly important she is to him once she’s actually dead, or when she’s not around to hear it.

For the second one, I really like your take. The fact that we’re discussing two bugs here is especially interesting/ hard to parse. I definitely agree that one of the bugs is supposed to be Stephanie. What especially interests me is the fact that the Cluemaster stopped leaving clues by the time that Steph first appears on the scene as Spoiler. Most (all?) of his post crisis crimes don’t involve him leaving clues behind. Maybe that’s the transformation?

Three is so interesting 100 percent agreed, no notes.

Judgement Day as a response to Stephanie’s question could be a call to the idea that no one knows? Much like no one can tell their fate until Judgement day occurs (which you’re not really alive for I guess as per the riddle), Nygma is trying to indicate no one but god could know why Arthur did what he did now that he’s ‘dead’, and supposably no one will ever be able to know. Maybe. Ugh, I hate riddles.

On the oxen riddle, the tiger is as effective at violence as the Oxen, if not more, to me the riddle is drawing attention to the idea that someone only sees the aspects of a person which include the things they themselves value in themselves. I don’t know how that applies but figured I’d add that on.

I’m thinking you’re probably dead on with the last one, but I simply would never have put that together on my own so thank you again.

Overall I think you’re right with the idea that The Riddler is probably not trying to answer Stephanie’s questions honestly via riddle format, and that his riddles are likely more of a response to Stephanie’s asking of her questions at all. thats one of the things I’ve been caught up on, assuming the riddlers riddles are a direct and honest response to her questions just because he seems to agrees to answer her. Honestly, that’s on me for expecting only one layer of abstraction from the guy who goes by The Riddler.

Anyways thank you for throwing your awesome interpretations into the ring so I didn’t have to try to figure these out myself. I’m not good enough at riddles for that. I’m not good at riddles at all.

I'm gonna have a go at the riddles which The Riddler throws at Stephanie Brown in Robin (1993) #113. @a-bad-case-of-the-stephs I'm hoping you can help me out, haven't actually read Robin in well over a year.

It's a gift that keeps on taking. It's a theft that keeps on giving. Having a child is the "gift" and when Arthur was imprisoned or estranged, his child was "stolen" from him. When Stephanie came into Arthur's life, he saw her as a "white elephant", but when he no longer had her, he became driven by the idea of her.

One bug is wrapped in a web, therein to die. Another bug is wrapped in its own web, there to be reborn. In a sense, being tangled in a web can be fatal but it can also indicate introspection and growth. Arthur's obsession with leaving clues were often his undoing so will Stephanie preoccupation with her father be her's or will it actually represent reflection and change?

There is a dog in the manger, but it cannot subsist on hay. A manger is a feeder for livestock, typically holding hay; which dogs do not eat. A "dog in a manger" is a person who spitefully refuses to let someone else benefit from (or let go of) something for which he or she has no personal use (dictionary.com). But dogs cannot subsist on hay and the livestock cannot eat with the dog in the manger. If the dog doesn't relent or change, then everyone loses. Stephanie is the dog and her memory of her father is the manger she cannot let go of.

What day of the week has no man ever lived to see? Judgement day. You have to be dead to see it. And they're both very much alive.

The Tiger envies the Oxen but only understands its horns. The Tiger envies the Oxen's power but it only understands power through the language of violence. Steph easily outmatches The Riddler in a fight yet is confused how he still holds all the cards although she attacks him because she only speaks the language of violence.

I am the number you cannot count on your fingers. Edit: he’s saying Steph’s missing the point; you can’t count him on your fingers, he’s not that kind of number.

Would love some input.

[bitegore]

if your ocs were bosses in a video game, what do you think their boss fight would be like?

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[nexus-nebulae]

just realised that the first media we consumed that made us REALLY sympathetic for the monster was that fucking point and click Mystery Case Files Ravenhearst game. bc that entire game i was legitimately fucking TERRIFIED of the ghost lady in that game but the second i found out her husband was abusive i doubled down on trying to help her escape. and the ending of that game Did make me cry out of fear but hey at least i did in fact help her escape

[wordswithkittywitch]

A little bit more information for people whose interest is piqued but aren't sure they want to talk to a stranger online about beta reading a novel based on a list.

Here's the elevator pitch: In a bustling steampunk metropolis, a widow runs a boarding house for single, middle-class women who attempt to walk three steps without being accosted by adventurers, pirates, noblemen, or crazed inventors. It's a satirical melodrama examining the lives of the women who get tied to railroad tracks.

And a short (about three page) excerpt is under the cut:

Caroline looked around and tried to get her bearings. They seemed to be on the outskirts of the city, as the nearest building was a fair run away. It would have been much faster and more convenient to take the train into the city, considering that the pair of them were tied to the tracks.

"Railroad tracks!" Bittersweet exclaimed indignantly. "Who ties someone to railroad tracks in this day and age, I ask you!"

“I would think you’d be quite familiar with the practice.” Caroline commented crossly.

“Oh, I’m familiar with it.” he scoffed, “It’s gauche. No self-respecting villain has tied a young lady to railroad tracks in almost a decade.”

“I agree, it’s quite tasteless.” said Mr. Brandywine, “Which makes it the perfect death for you, Baron Ambrose Bittersweet.” He spoke the name with the cringing pity usually reserved for a thirteen year old boy who had just decided he would become a romantic poet. Mr. Bittersweet sucked his teeth furiously and scowled up at Brandywine.

“That’s all well and good for him, but what do I have to do with it?” asked Caroline.

“You?” he laughed, “That’s quite simple. I couldn’t simply tie a man to railroad tracks. That would be… weird! But a pair of young lovers, that’s another story completely.”

“You’ve quite failed to do that, then, as I am not this gentleman’s lover!”

“Oh, come Carrie, this is no time for girlish modesty.” said Mr. Bittersweet.

“And you can shut up, if you don’t have anything useful to say.” she snapped. “You’re… you’re a crime baron, aren’t you? Don’t you have some kind of protection?”

“I have the best kind of protection!” Bittersweet defended testily, “No criminal in all the city would dare move against me!”

“Then tell me, are we out of the city or is this man not a criminal?”

“Oh, I am a criminal, make no mistake about that, young lady.” said Mr. Brandywine. “I’ve simply taken umbrage with system this man is holding the city to.”

“A system you were perfectly happy with while your actions kept you in my good graces!” snapped Bittersweet.

“Why of course.” said Brandywine, sounding slightly nonplussed, “Why would I rebel against a system I was thriving in?”

“Because it’s wrong!” Caroline protested.

“Ah, perhaps it is, pretty thing, but its wrongness only puts polite young ladies out of sorts, and that is a group not famous for kicking up a fuss.” said Mr. Brandywine, “It’s perfectly alright for everyone who would have the power to do anything about it, or at least it was until a particular man lost a particular ship.”

“Is this about you losing the Outcast?” asked Mr. Bittersweet, “Because as much as I could gather without you making a proper report, that was your own fool fault. Only an incompetent would have his ship overpowered by women and children.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Well, then you should have made a report as to what it was like rather than disappearing off the map! We could be forced to reach any odd conclusion, even going so far as to believe the newspapers’ account of the attack!”

“I don’t have to make reports to you anymore, Mr. Bittersweet.” snapped Brandywine, “I don’t have to listen to anyone anymore, and certainly not a man who is about to be dead.”

“What kind of villain are you, sir?” demanded Mr. Bittersweet. “It is a well-known fact among our profession that dying men make the best confessionals.”

“Confessionals, yes, but not leaders.” argued Brandywine, “The best you can hope to be at this point is a martyr.”

“I’ll worry about becoming a martyr when I’m actually dead. For now, I only ask for a word in your ear.”

"What could you possibly have to say at this point, other than ‘please don’t kill me’?”

“Both of us know you’re not going to kill me, Mr. Brandywine. You wouldn’t know what to do with your life if I where not coordinating it. You think you hate this, but in reality, even that hate gives much needed structure to your life.”

“You—you greatly overestimate your importance, you pompous ass!” Brandywine snapped.

“I can see how it might appear that way to someone who’s plans for the future rarely extend as far as the next cutting remark you aim at someone you insist you’re going to kill without making the least effort to kill him.”

“You talk too much. Fear of death shows itself in the most curious ways.”

“I’m not afraid of death because I’m not going to die here. I am cross at the idea of it getting out that men in my Union were using such hackneyed plans as tying young ladies to railroad tracks. It rather shows a lack of imagination on their part, which reflects badly on me.”

“Well, if all goes well, the only thing you have to worry about reflecting on you is the underside of a speeding train.” Caroline snapped.

“Hush, Carrie, the men are talking.” Mr. Bittersweet scolded gently.

“And saying absolutely nothing!” she snapped. “I’m saying more than you’re worth, if only you’d listen.”

“If I were her, I wouldn’t be listening to you either, Mr. Brandywine. You spend too much time gloating because you think it makes you look intimidating. But if I don’t squirm, you watching me and waiting for me to do so becomes pointless.” said Mr. Bittersweet. He adjusted his position slightly so that his back was resting comfortably against Caroline’s.

“The only real question is how much are you going to annoy me before you realize doing so was a profoundly stupid idea?” Mr. Bittersweet asked coolly. “There is only time waiting to elapse before I have you at my mercy, rather than the other way around, and unlike you, I won’t be keeping you there to gloat over the situation. You’re going into the Boiler Room, or you’re going to die. And if you want to pick which one sounds less odious to you, you’ll untie me now.”

“Sir, in case you forget, I have already overpowered you. You are helpless, even a plea for your own life would fall on deaf ears. I’m certainly not afraid of you!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” said Mr. Bittersweet. “As it shows you to be even stupider than I took you to be.”

Mr. Brandywine fumed. This confrontation was not going at all how he pictured it.

“As amusing as this conversation is-“

“To whom?” asked Caroline.

“I’m afraid I do have somewhere else to be.” said Mr. Brandywine. “The trouble with trains is they are so put out by having something blocking the track, even when they could easily just barrel over it. I have to make sure this coming train does not stop for anything.” He smiled broadly, doffed his hat, and bowed sarcastically at Mr. Bittersweet. “Goodbye, Mr. Bittersweet. Have a painful death.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Brandywine. Report at the Repose at noon tomorrow for your punishment.” Mr. Bittersweet replied. Brandywine looked briefly down into Mr. Bittersweet’s smiling face before kicking a cloud of dust into it. With a swish of his coat, Mr. Brandywine strode purposefully down the railroad track and into the distance. The crime baron rolled his eyes.

“The man’s an idiot.” Mr. Bittersweet muttered. “If he had a single thought under that ridiculous bowler hat he would have stayed around to make sure the train actually hit us.” Caroline frowned heavily.

“That was a lot of bravado. I’m hoping there’s a plan to go along with it.” said Caroline.

“I have a half-dozen plans, the trouble is picking which one would be the most satisfying for Brandywine to never learn about.” Mr. Bittersweet grumbled, furiously trying to move his bound feet.

“How about the fastest one, in case it fails?” Caroline suggested. Mr. Bittersweet fidgeted in a manner most unlike himself. For a moment, Caroline wondered if he was trying to take advantage of their situation to grab at her, but even Mr. Bittersweet would not be so crass. He gave a soft crow of triumph and unbent one of his legs.

“That’s one foot free!” he announced, “Now if you can untie my hands…”

“I’ll untie your hands after I’ve untied my own feet.”

“Oh, but that’ll take ages…”

“You did it quickly enough.”

“Yes, but I’m…”

“Chattering at me when I’m trying to concentrate.” Caroline snapped. The two of them struggled with their bonds, both quite set against helping the other. Mr. Bittersweet knelt forward, trying to get his feet beneath him, while Caroline squealed in protest.

“Mr. Bittersweet! Give me a minute!”

“We don’t have a minute, we have to get off of this track!” With that, Mr. Bittersweet bent forward onto his knees, getting his feet beneath him. Caroline was pulled backwards by this action, and as Mr. Bittersweet drew to his feet she found that it was not possible to get her own feet beneath her, as when he leaned forward, she was lifted off the ground entirely.

“Ambrose!” she protested.

“Just a moment, love, I’ll get us out of this!” he announced, staggering forward a few steps before breaking into a slightly hunched run. Caroline screamed in protest, her feet flailing in the air.

“Where-? Where are you-?” she shrieked, trying to get her bearings. To her dismay, Mr. Bittersweet was not climbing off of the railroad track, but running down its length in the direction that Mr. Brandywine had disappeared in.

“Stop! Stop!” Caroline protested.

“When I get my hands on that odious little man, I swear-“ he growled, completely ignoring her.

“Bittersweet! Stop!” Caroline screamed, though she was become aware of the fact he wasn’t paying the least attention. So she attempted to become unignorable and slammed the heel of her boot hard against the inside of his knee. Mr. Bittersweet’s legs buckled in pain, lowering Caroline onto her feet. Caroline then leaned forward, got Mr. Bittersweet’s weight onto her back, and began to run in the opposite direction.

“You’re going the wrong way!” screamed Bittersweet.

“I’m trying to get off the tracks!” snapped Caroline, clambering with great difficulty over the railroad ties and off of the tracks. But no sooner had she gotten off of the tracks than Mr. Bittersweet kicked her legs out from under her and she found herself being borne on his back once again, running along the side of the tracks as fast as his long legs could carry them.

Hey! You down there! Do you like:

Steampunk?

Early cinema melodramas?

Deconstruction of tropes?

The Strong Female Character trope shamelessly blasted into oblivion by a variety of complex female characters?

Writing with clear influences from both Terry Pratchett and Lemony Snicket?

Absurdity with occasional splashes of social commentary?

Long books?

If you didn't answer a firm no to any of these questions, I have another question for you: Want to beta read a novel?

[vanweezer]

very very personal, just insight into where im at w my family and things that bother me/have encouraged me to move out

"i know youre moving out so im just gonna say no ones kicking you out and if you feel like this is something you have to do then ok"

thanks! i know im not being kicked out! but yknow i kinda yet a weird vibe when your out of touch husband takes me to a cemetery to yell at me, tell me im just like my father/dont give my father "the time of day", and that im "mean to people who care about me" in front of his dead mother's grave in a poor attempt at guilting me out of speaking my mind. but no yeah thanks for stating the fucking obvious that im leaving on my own terms

[womanfredvonkarma]

You can barely tell because I'm still, you know, posting, but the amount of time I spend here has decreased massively. Most of it was just scrolling out of restlessness and not actually wanting to post something lmao.

[queerstudiesnatural]

ok well. just went to see a neuropsychologist and all she asked me were the standard questions you find in every internet autism test. which i KNOW don't apply to me ("do you find it difficult to infer people's intentions", "do you find it difficult to read between the lines" etc) and like she was literally reading off of her computer and asking me to pick one of the options between "strongly agree" and "strongly disagree" and it's like girl i could have done that at home. sure hope she's not stopping there and that she's not gonna just look at what i said but at the way i said it. idk it irked me that she just pulled up the old (as in outdated and reductive) standardised test on her computer and acted as if those questions would make me question myself like girl i've done this test fifteen times. not only is it not going to tell you anything about me but it's not going to tell you anything about most people. and most autistics. and she did suggest i come back for a more formal and global assessment, but she also kept using the words "cognitive deficit" to describe autism. which i realise is a commonly used term, but it feels reductive idk. so overall i'm not overjoyed with how this went lol.