#but this is about those two distinct identities

[mamawasatesttube]

someone sent me an ask about timkon love square au stuff and i, dingus that i am, accidentally deleted it instead of answering 😭 i forgot who sent it BUT hopefully they will see this post. because yes! i think it's very fun if they manage to get into a true ridiculous love square situation between themselves and their hero identities. i have created a chart to illustrate:

the thing that fascinates me about kon and secret identities is that while tim is great at compartmentalizing and separating "tim drake" from "robin" or "red robin" (to a frankly kind of concerning degree? tim are you fucking good?), kon is... not. conner kent comes later, after kon-el. he's a hero first, and only starts to learn how to be a regular person after that. this is in direct contrast to tim, who is by all counts a mostly normal kid before he becomes robin, and has to learn to be a hero.

for kon, secret identities are therefore tied directly to trust. he doesn't have a secret to protect for a long time! and when he finds out that superman does have a secret identity, it kinda blows him away. he's shocked that superman isn't just superman all the time. before he even learns that, he expresses that it's nice in smallville, that it must be nice to have a place to "fall off the map" (superman '87 #155). when he does learn superman's identity, he's upset that superman never told him, not because he feels like he's entitled to that information but because he feels like he's failed to be someone superman would trust with it (superboy '84 #70). to me, that feeling is the crux of why he's so upset about tim not sharing his identity in yj98: everyone else in the group has deemed him worthy, like cissie and cassie and bart. so what has he done to tim, that tim won't tell him or any of them? (and like, he's 15-16, he's not grasping the whole picture, sure. but it's not just coming from a place of entitlement, is my point. it's about trust and feeling unvalued.)

BUT in an au where the supers are more closed off from the rest of the world or something, where literally anyone but karl kesel got to control kon's narrative, kon would have a secret identity earlier on, because he'd end up at the kents' way sooner, etc. so suddenly he has to grapple with a whole new set of feelings: that superman has trusted him with his biggest secret, and brought him into the family as part of it, and he can't let superman down. so he has to learn to make those distinctions, to accept that people can trust him and he can trust them and that's why they don't share their identities with each other until circumstances dictate it's actually a good time.

so. let's say tim somehow ends up in smallville for a bit, has absolutely NO idea that the superfam even have secret identities, and kon's going aaaa!!! aaaaaa!!! why is red robin here!!!! ma whatever you do DON'T look at him!!!! and meanwhile tim's going oh god i think i'm bisexual but i didn't know that that means i might like TWO boys?!?!? oh god. oh fuck. (he may be stupid.)

[faggy--butch]

I've been out as both a trans man and a butch lesbian at different times and I feel like, if I make a post about feminism or talk about how women are treated or anything revolving sexuality or sexualization or honestly really anything, in "leftist" spaces;

people treat me with MORE misogyny if I tell them that I'm a trans man vs telling them that I'm a butch lesbian, being a trans man really does give people permission to treat you with absolute vitriol.

It's the same kind of opinion they hold regardless, but they really just let loose if I say I'm the first one vs saying I'm butch, which causes them to pause more, and be less open about it. I have the same knowledge regardless of my identity, the information and experiences I'm giving you are the same. i'm bigender, so I'm both, but as a trans man it's like I've have to detranstion myself, I have to hide one side of my identity that's just as important as the other, to even be listen to at all. I know this has been said before. I've seen it, but to have it happen to frequently to me is really really weird

[exhausted-archivist]

On the topic of the inherent racism in the Qun and its people, with how baked in racism is, you can't buff it out and reformat. You can't remove it, and BioWare has only been doubling down on it up to Tevinter Nights in 2020. Which means you need to be careful with how you interact and build on it. At least that is how I approach it, in general I don't like to engage with it because it's just so difficult and not in any thought provoking or insightful way. So I refrain from doing so as much as possible in public spaces anyways, because it is so inherently unsafe for me to do so. From an interaction with fandom level, but also on a personal level because some of it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

I am extremely weary of how da4 is going to portray them, I hope it will be better since the writing team has been moved around and there have been some acknowledgements on poor writing of stereotypes and biases in 2020. Which I take with a salt mine worth of salt, especially with the way the new comics like the Missing having lingering themes and stereotypes remaining. How Patrick Weekes described the rebelling antaam in Three Trees to Midnight (Tevinter Nights 2020) was the biggest red flag, followed by the yellow flag from As We Fly short story by Lukas Kristjanson (short story 2023).

With how BioWare has racism and harmful elements baked into the Qun and people in general it is going to difficult for them to fully separate it, update it, or reformat it. But I hope they do. I hope that they actually attempt to make it better like they have suggested they would. Because it is so harmful and they should. I don't think they'll get it right on the first try, but I hope they try. It won't magically fix the racism in the fandom but I would like to not feel the need to crawl out of my skin when playing a vashoth. I would like to see the franchise grow and become better than it started out as. I don't want it to stay stagnant for the sake of "consistency" which it doesn't have by design.

[askshivanulegacy]

THANK.

I had to suffer the psychic damage reading about how people have just decided experts don't matter because occasionally they're ... wrong?

TF, who do you think experts are SUPPOSED to be? And who do you think YOU are to decide they're wrong? Like YOU'RE never wrong about anything ever? What are YOUR credentials to be right? Are you equipped to give a sourced and cited argument??

Good grief, it's fine and dandy to question things and then go educate yourself about it, but like. These people are looking up nothing new and then barfing fantasy like it's real.

In less than 10 mins, I did my own superficial research, learned that 4th person pronouns didn't exist, AND identified the 4th wall/4th POV errors before anyone on Tumblr ever pointed it out, AND learned about pronoun categories which made everything crystal clear just in case there was any lingering confusion.

It's not like it's hard. "We can just MAKE 4th person pronouns real because we WANT to beCauSe tHaT's lANguaGe. And how dArE you qUesTIon scHoOlTeAchErs." Eat dry cinnamon.

I keep seeing the "chat is a fourth person pronoun" post and it's getting increasingly hard to avoid starting discourse in the notes of it. chat I don't think they know what these linguistics terms they're using mean

[owlbelly]

so. i understand where the sentiment "listening to an audiobook is the same thing as reading the book" is coming from - i mean, yes, the bottom line is you are taking in the same words in what is possibly a more accessible (or maybe just more enjoyable) format for you! and i'm 100% in agreement that "book snobs" who say "no you didn't really read it" if you listened to the audiobook are full of shit. ofc you should engage with stories in whatever way works for you, there is no moral or intellectual superiority to reading words off a page vs. listening to them

but it also is different? an audiobook is a performance. choices a narrator makes about line readings can drastically influence the meaning of the lines. even just different voices, accents, etc. - there are creative choices being made by the person delivering the words to you, and that affects your experience of the story in a different way than if you were making those choices in your own head. it might even change the way you visualize what's going on!

this isn't a bad thing it's just An Actual Thing & i think it's worth talking about. it rubs me the wrong way when people act like accommodations (and for many people audiobooks are an accommodation) always result in a completely identical experience, or even that they should, & if you suggest that people accessing media in different ways are having different experiences it's somehow ableist

anyway on rare occasions i really enjoy audiobooks but mostly they are much less accessible to me than words on a page (i need to be able to reread, flip back and forth, go at my own pace) & i also just really strongly prefer to encounter a text on my own before hearing someone else's performance of it, if possible! again i don't think it's "better" to read a physical book i just think it is a Distinct form of experiencing a story & acting like the two things are entirely the same is sort of doing a disservice to both

[mashpotatoe]

im a white jew, i was born in israel,

ive lived there all my life and was brought up in an environment that fosters racism driven by nationalism, nationalism driven by racism.

in israel, they teach you jews and muslims (though usually, they just say arabs) have always been enemies, the same way the US deems the entire middle east as a inherent war zone, ridding them of the responsibility for perpetuating war in thst region.

they tell you "were the fair and humane side who strives for peace! its the arabs who never accept the offer!"

i remember the first time i began doubting that sentiment was in fourth grade, when we were having a discussion in class about the character of Saul from the Torah. the teacher was talking about how Saul, the first monarch of the Kingdom of Israel, used to fight the Philistines, and when she added that the Philistines were the natural enemy of the Israelites, she asked the class what group of people is their modern equivalent to which everyone very eagerly replied "Arabs!" and nevermind that there in that same class sat two arab boys, one of whom sat next to me, who i looked at and thought "but he isnt my enemy? hes just a boy in my class."

they teach you to hate arabs. sometimes they say it outright. sometimes they say it more carefully, or make a distinction between good and bad arabs, those who are with us and those who are against us.

in a state based on the idea of (white) jewish supremacy, they teach you jews are naturally superior. they use the conspiratorial narrative of "jews controlling the world" to their favor, giving their own watered down explanation for why antisemitism exists, saying that it must be driven by jealousy.

the zionist movement always used antisemitism to its advantage, either for reinforcing the notion of jewish supremacy or appealing to the real pain and trauma of generations, people who survived the holocaust, connecting them to stolen land where they are "guaranteed" safety ergo granting "justification" for the suffering of others.

its using peoples real pain that makes fear mongering so effective, and when the israeli population grows up being told all of their neighboring countries want to kill them, they quickly get defensive of the "only land where they can feel safe", but the only explanation ever provided for Why these neighboring countries are considered enemies is because theyre arabs.

and when it comes to palestine, it isnt even recognized as a country, nor identity. just a threat. ive talked to many people who are genuinely unaware of the occupation, and they arent willing to believe it either, because the media narrative has successfully shifted the blame on hamas. because "how could it be us? we want peace! its the terrorists who make us look bad! and their children, they grow up to be antisemites*, might as well get rid of them too!" they never stop to think what environment these children must grow up in to develop these "radical" ideas.

* what they mean by antisemite is really just antizionist, but the term anti/zionist isnt practiced in local dialect, being a zionist is treated as a given

any jew who stands against israels oppression is dubbed a self hating jew, but the biggest contributors to antisemitism is the people in charge of an ethnostate, because at any moment they could decide who is not white enough to be jewish, who is too jewish to be white, who stood against the current coalition government and who is an obedient dog.

israelis arent a monolith, but many of them have been won over, convinced its an "us v them" situation, when in reality it could never be the "us" that "loses"

the israeli government was waiting for an event like the massacre on the seventh of october to declare war, to have the so called "right to defend itself", so they could initiate the final steps of an ethnic genocide and displace, if not kill, all remaining palestinians. under the guise of bringing peace.

it isnt too late to call for a permanent ceasefire, to end the occupation.

please contact your representatives, attend protests and rallies if you are able. palestine will be free, and the flowers will rise again.

[madelynraemunson]

pass the salt • e.m. smut

DAD’S BEST FRIEND!OLDER!EDDIE x FEM!READER

part two here

summary: you’re home from college and staying with your dad for the summer, spending as much time as you possibly can with him…and his hot best friend that you’ve never seen in your life.

authors note: okay have you guys ever seen those text posts like “when you say ‘daddy pass the salt please’ and your father and your man both reach for it” 💀💀 well this is inspired by that concept. also i went overboard and this is a LONG BOI

disclaimers — photo credits to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple 🫶🏼porn with plot, reader’s nickname is “sunshine”, reader has female anatomy, race unspecified, divider: @iluvpooks

NSFW — 18+ obv, porn with plot, daddy kink pls keep scrolling if it’s not ur thing, slight age gap (eddie is mid to late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), corruption kink, size kink, masturbation (m&f), p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, teasing, sexual innuendos, extreme flirting, eddie kinda being a perv, praise kink

The sound of breakfast on the griddle summons you downstairs.

Dad never cooks.

For as long as you can remember, weekends at your dad’s have always consisted of Lucky Charms cereal and powdered donuts. That tradition continued even after you started college.

Oh yeah. Someone is here, alright. Someone Dad desperately wants to impress.

Trailing after the commotion, your fuzzy pink slippers guide you down the wooden steps of your dad’s ‘bachelor pad’ and into the kitchen. And when you near the bottom of the steps, you can make out two distinct voices — one belonging to Dad, another belonging to someone who's identity is obscure.

“God, I fucking missed you, Jeff. Missed everyone so much.”

The smells of pancake batter, cigarette smoke, mint, and petroleum fuel reel you in, but not nearly as much as the sight of the man sitting on the opposite side of your dad. He's built, handsome with wavy brown hair, leather, black denim, twiddling a toothpick between his teeth as he listens to your dad speak with a smile on his face. That is, until you come into sight. It then that his intense focus circles in on you.

Funny. You don’t remember this friend. And something in your gut tells you that you won’t ever be forgetting him after this.

The stranger's grin curls into a wonder-filled smirk. You can feel your knees start to buckle.

“Uh oh. Looks like our shenanigans woke up Sleeping Beauty.”

When you get a closer look at Dad’s friend, you observe his faint brown beard — neatly kept and lightly peppered with some gray — delicious lips, shiny white teeth, and grooves along his laugh lines that would deepen with every theatrical cackle he belted out.

You can't help but freeze in your tracks as him and your dad continue on with their banter, reliving their glory days like it was yesterday. Man. What a damn dreamboat.

Your dad’s eyes light up with glee when he sees you.

“Hey, good morning, Sunshine!” Dad cheers. “Thought you’d never wake up. This is my friend Eddie. We were in that band together in high school. Come say hi.”

"Yeah, come say hi," Eddie agrees. feeding into the obvious tension in the room. "I don't bite."

The stranger laughs at his own comment as soon as he utters it.

There’s a charm — a magic — about Eddie that could only be found in Hollywood or the Big City. But of course, you didn't expect any less from Dad's supposed ‘Rockstar Friend’.

When your parents had you at 17, life went on for Dad’s band Corroded Coffin. And although he missed out on the ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll’, Dad insists that tea parties and white picket fences were an ideal trade-off. Because — despite how things ended with Mom — it still meant a life spent with you.

You tell him your name as Eddie offers you his hand to shake. Electricity serges through you when your hand is enveloped by his firm, calloused one. Eddie smiles down at you, his presence all-consuming. It's almost as if he knows it. And as much as you were dying to, you resist the urge to fall into him.

Eddie's no better.

It takes everything in Eddie's power to keep his eyes above your collarbones, reprimanding himself with the utmost tedium. Because heaven knows he'd be TOAST if his best friend found out that Eddie thought that you were absolutely stunning — strutting around the house the way that you do, without a bra underneath that poor excuse of a sleep shirt — a sleep shirt far too tight for your own good. With tight, pajama shorts to match…

Of course, this is all an assumption…Not that he caught wind of it or anything.

“You know…” he mentions. “Your dad has told me SO much about little miss Sunshine.”

“Me, really?” is all you can say behind those fuscia cheeks.

“Really,” Eddie insists. “He never shuts up about you, darling.”

“Hopefully you’ve only heard good things,” you mutter faintly.

And instantly, your dad and Eddie share a laugh.

“Only good things,” Eddie assures you. He nudges your dad playfully.

Your dad doesn’t exactly deny the last part, basically confirming to Eddie that you’ve got a hint of spunk to you. The heat settles at your cheeks as you shy away from your father’s curious friend.

Taking note of how timid you’ve just become, Eddie furrows his brows.

“What — was that an implication that you’re not always good?”

“No comment,” your smile melts into an awkward one.

“Kept me on my toes back then,” your dad reflects with a sigh. “Keeps me on my toes now.”

“You don’t say…” Eddie smirks slightly, gaze panning back over to you.

Eventually your dad leaves you two alone, going into the garage to fetch something that he insists Eddie would like. But little did he know that such thing was already in the room, leaning…reaching into the fridge for some orange juice, not realizing its atmosphere caused your nipples to harden.

Eddie’s eyes proceed to follow you as you strut back to the griddle, flipping some hot cakes over before tending to your messy bedhead.

Eddie probably doesn’t know — or maybe he does, who knows? — that you feel him staring at you. It’s a burning gaze that practically impales you, but you’re too nervous to say anything. You’re better off pretending like it’s something you don’t notice.

You and Eddie continue to help yourselves to breakfast, enjoying the company of each other and your mutual silence. That is, until Eddie speaks up.

“Got some sausage for you if you’d like.”

“I’m sorry?” you sputter, looking up from your food.

Eddie shoots you a weird glance as he holds up some breakfast franks.

“Sausage?” he repeats. “Store was out of beef so I settled for turkey. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” you clear your throat. “I love turkey sausage.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie chuckles, seemingly relieved at how quickly the situation had diffused.

“Cool,” you chuckle with him while taking some links to cook.

The silence returns once more and is replaced by the sizzling of the grill. It’s short lived, however, because soon, the man nearly twice your age speaks again.

“What’d you think I said?” Eddie circles back.

“Nothing, why?”

“You just looked stunned.”

“I just woke up,” you shrug. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

“I can tell,” he smirks. “Get that thing out of the gutter.”

The coming days paved way for some more innocent flirting.

…Like when you make sure to wear the shortest skirt in your closet when running Eddie his afternoon beer in the garage.

“Well don’t you look absolutely darling…” he says as he peers up from his guitar.

“Hehe,” you smirk connivingly. “Thank you!”

“You are so welcome.”

Eddie downs the liquid guilt along with his pride, watching you strut around…the hem of that pleated cotton fabric just barely covering the roundness of your asscheeks. And as you blush a rosy pink when you process his little remarks, Eddie can only clear his throat in arousal, fantasizing about just how badly he wanted to turn your other cheeks that very shade.

…Or when you come downstairs the next day to help Dad manually wash his car.

While he and Eddie are harassing each other with soap and that god-forsaken hose, you decide to join in on all the fun.

“Watch out, Sunshine,” Eddie forewarns. “You’ve just entered the splash zone!”

And with the intention of cooling you off on a hot summer day like this, Eddie teasingly sprays you with said hose, your white shirt becoming transparent when lathered with water. He could see everything. Your erect nipples. Your perky tits bouncing in the sunlight as you jump around in excitement. How glazed your oil-nnuendo’ed skin looked when glimmering in the sun. All as intended.

“You got me,” you surrender yourself to him. “You got me good, Eddie.”

And when you walk away, Eddie mutters slyly to himself.

“Yes, yes I did.”

…And then there’s dessert after dinner.

Eddie watches as you lick your popsicle, his fingers curling at his thighs in arousal as you retract the wrapper before enclosing your lips around the bright pink dessert. And he swears he’s going to blow his pants when he envisions the melted sugar shooting into your mouth with the swiftest hollowing of your cheeks, the quiet suction noise you make with your pursed lips forcing him to adjust the way he’s sitting.

…The final instance takes the cake.

“What’s your major?”

You’re in the home library grazing some of Dad’s old books and vinyls, talking to Eddie while your father gets ready for the day. Meanwhile, Eddie is perched at your dad’s desk, rolling around in his expensive swivel chair and occasionally doing some spins on it to make you laugh.

“History.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You just haven’t found a topic that interests you,” you point out.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says. “Maybe I will eventually.”

Eddie watches as you waltz around in front of him, following your movements with his eyes as you get onto your tippy-toes in order to grab some books on the top shelf.

“Oh my god!” you yelp.

Your plan to entice him seemingly fails when you graze a book that’s halfway off the shelf. It’s already flying off of its platform, headed straight towards Eddie's lap before you can even stop it.

Eddie catches it before any damage can be done, saving Dad’s old campaign book with the hand furthest from you and snaking the other around your waist to prevent you from sinking any further into him.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you gasp in embarrassment. “That book has a mind of its own.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie laughs. “Can’t defy the laws of gravity. Sometimes it betrays us.”

You feel yourself burning up a fever. Excusing yourself from the room, you leave Dad’s library and make your way over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But you’re nearly taken aback when you feel tight, calloused hands wrap around your hips, and like a feather it’s like you’re whisked away into the air, and soon your body is pressed up against the wall.

Slam!

Breathing heavily against each other now — chest to chest, lips so unbearably close you can smell the whiskey — Eddie draws you even closer to him. You both study each other intently. It’s like you’re waiting for the other to say something. Eddie does the honors and speaks first.

“I wasn’t born last night, doll. I was also your age at one point.”

———

To his own despair, Eddie touches himself later that night. Facing your room, he strokes his rock hard cock with his lotioned-up hand, running his thumb across the slit of his head, pretending it’s your tongue giving him a little tease like you did the popsicle.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts quietly. “You like when I fuck your throat, baby? Gonna suck me dry with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You’re playing make-believe just as much. Because at the same time, in your room, you’re a drooling, pathetic mess, riding your wall-mounted toy to oblivion in your bathroom, legs trembling when the thick, veiny piece of silicone slams into the spongy part of your heat, initiating shock-waves all across your body.

“Eddie,” you find yourself blubbering. “EddieEddieEddieEddie…”

You both know it can’t be like this, but that was the mere thrill of it all. And when you both have overcome your peak, just one mere wall apart, the floodgates of guilt outweighs both your arousals the way it comes pouring in.

So, so wrong. But oh, so right.

You’re anticipating…waiting…aching for Eddie to make the next move.

He doesn’t.

“Going to the store again,” Eddie announces. “Hopefully this time they’ll have beef sausage. Need anything?”

Need you, is what you think. But you end up shaking your head, a part of you disappointed that you and Eddie won’t be able to spend some time alone together.

“No,” there’s defeat in your voice.

“Are you sure?” Eddie questions softly.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Okay,” he gives you a grin, one in the form of a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back. You be good.”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes.

——

Eddie leaves the door of his room open that night. Just a smidge. You end up following the sound of his TV that he’s placed at a low volume, making out that it’s Seinfeld just by Jerry’s voice and the laugh track.

Your heart skips a beat as Eddie laughs along with the show, shaking his head at a stupid joke. But he shifts his focus immediately onto you when he sees you at the doorway.

“Having some alone time tonight?” you ask him.

“Mmm…not by choice,” he responds. “Tuckered your dad out after dinner doing P90X.”

Eddie follows a crazy workout routine. He says that it helps with his stamina, especially when he does crowd work during his stage performances. Your mind can’t help but wonder what else he may be using it for.

You snort. “Yeah. Dad wasn’t what you’d call an athlete in high school.”

Eddie laughs at that too. Both you and him know that.

He then pats the space on his bed beside him. “Wanna come watch with me?”

Your stomach does a series of cartwheels when you process Eddie’s question. You know what’s bound to happen if you follow through. And it seems Eddie knows it too. Even if there wasn’t any sexual tension between you both already, the concept of it all would rub anyone that way.

But you still follow through with it. Just like Eddie knew you would.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks you, eyeing you endearingly as you squirm around on the bed.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good…” he replies, voice nearly at a strained whisper now.

You two watch the show in silence for a few minutes, exchanging commentary and pleasantries regarding the show every so often. It’s not too long after Eddie pulls a laugh from you that he starts closing up the space between you both, scooting himself closer…and resting his gruff palm over the base of your knee.

You inhale sharply as he does so. And evident by your refusal to pull away, it’s enough of a green light for Eddie to hike up further.

A soft moan escapes your mouth from the back of your flustered throat, but you bite your lip in restraint.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?”

You shrug sheepishly as Eddie continues to graze your thigh. Your breathing falters even more.

“Don’t be scared,” Eddie coos.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then what’s stopping you from getting on top of me? Hm?”

He’s in between your legs now, the rough material of his denim jeans riding up your sex, teasing your clit with every calculated rub against it.

“And riding my rock hard cock til those pretty legs give out?” Eddie continues. “I see how you’ve been looking at me, doll. It's all over your face how bad you want it.”

“The bed is squeaky,” you answer honestly. “And that headboard is a lost cause.”

Eddie puts the dirty talk on pause, squirming around to assess the guest bed’s squeak factor. When it checks out, he gives you an understanding nod. You giggle.

Eddie wastes no more time. You watch as he grabs one of the pillows on the bed and wedges it between the wall and headboard. He issues you a sly smile.

“Oldest trick in the book.”

You're back to fooling around shortly after, your aching core burning with lust as you pine for him.

“The boys at school ever touch you this good?” Eddie quips rubbing circles around your puffy, needy folds as you hopelessly cling to him out of pleasure.

“No, Eddie.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He continues to tease, gliding his fingers along your slit before slowly inserting two large digits inside of you.

His calculated pumps into your needy pussy are steady, a pace so agonizingly beautiful that it makes you squeal sweet nothings into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, baby," Eddie hushes you. "Your dad's gonna hear us. Gotta be quiet for me, mkay?"

Your hot, messy, and muffled sounds cease as Eddie soothes your quivering lips with his tender ones.

The wet sounds that ricochet and fill the room in tandem is almost enough to send him over. And Eddie is sure to communicate that… with an abrupt curving of his three thick fingers.

Fuck.

Needing him direly now, you tug helplessly at his pants.

“God, Eddie,” you whimper. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

Eddie laughs at the desperation. He hasn’t ravaged you to his fullest extent yet, and you’re already a pooling mess beside him.

“Well since you said please, sweet girl,” Eddie obliges as he starts to undress himself. “Your wish is my command."

You watch Eddie as reaches over into the bedside drawer for a fresh box of condoms. Looks like the sausage links weren't the only things he went to the store for.

“Oh.”

Eddie chuckles at your observation before shrugging. Can you really blame him? You both knew what was coming.

You watch with absolute lust as Eddie slides the piece of rubber over his long, girthy, throbbing cock. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before, and the snarky, hooded-eye smile as he watches you fawn reveals to you that he knows exactly how to use it.

"On your stomach, babygirl. Will have you all nice and pounded out just like you wanted.”

You situate yourself in prone and spread your legs for Eddie to line himself up against them. He teases his wrapped cock against the entrance of your pussy, and when his soothing countdown is over, your lips part in disposition as you accommodate his ruinous stretch.

A throaty moan spills out of the both of you the moment Eddie snaps his hips in and out of you. Meanwhile, one of his hands lays tauntingly at your stomach, so the prideful man can feel himself wriggling inside you, glazing his shaft with your slick more and more with every pump into your weak cunt.

"Fuck, Eddie... yes..." you mewl. "R-right there, Eddie, please..."

And then it picks up. You can feel Eddie’s hips practically collapse right onto you, his balls slapping against you as he digs further into your body.

"God damn..." the man sighs in disbelief.

He can only beam down at you in awe. You were taking him so good, pussy swallowing him so nice and tight. And when you nestle your ankles between each other to keep him there in prone, the nearly cries out in pleasure, but refrains because he knows your dad is resting — just a thin wall over.

That still doesn’t stop him from going to town though. Practically seeing stars, the broken record of a mouth that belongs to you chants Eddie’s name like it’s all you know. Eddie attempts to keep you contained, offering you his fingers to suck on as he’s railing you dumb.

And when he fucks you through your climax, Eddie continues with his string of lust-filled praises, satisfied at himself that he was able to make you wet enough to soak the mattress.

“Did so good for me, angel,” he praises you as he sucks at your temple. “Always knew you weren’t all that innocent.”

The griddle comes out again on Eddie’s last day. But this time, for a homestyle southern dinner.

You and Eddie were on mashed potatoes and gravy duty at the stove, an ordeal that only opened doors for lots of innuendos on Eddie’s part. Meanwhile, Dad insisted on making the rest, having taken pride in continuing his Mama’s legacy.

“This is amazing, Daddy,” you rave. “I really missed this. Do you mind passing the salt, please?”

And to your horror, you watch as your father and Eddie automatically extend their arms, bumping into one another in the process en route to getting you the salt.

The gentlemen meet each other’s eyes.

“Ohp!” Eddie exclaims, letting out a slight chuckle. “Sorry.”

You try your hardest not to blush. Eddie kicks you from under the table, and softly he oh-so-seductively he mutters,

“I was just tryna help her out.”

[whateveriwant]

18+ mdni

I know I’m far from the first person to say this, but I love the idea of Simon and Ghost being like two separate people.

Like on the one hand you have Simon, the caring, devoted family man who holds his duty to his loved ones above all else, and on the other hand you have Ghost, the cold, detached soldier whose only driving forces in life are his need for blood, order, and karmic justice. Or one moment he’s Simon, the wisecracking goofball trading jokes with his comrades over the radio, and the next moment he’s Ghost, the sadistic interrogator hooking up enemy combatants to live car batteries.

And those are just a few in-universe examples we’ve seen of this divide in Simon Riley’s identity. Imagine what it’s like in his day-to-day life; what it must be like as his significant other trying to navigate such a personality schism.

Is it Simon who you’re about to pick up from the airport, the one who’ll eagerly take you into his arms the second you step into the terminal? Or is it him, Ghost, the one who’ll not hug you or kiss you or so much as hold your hand over the center console during the drive home?

Is it Simon who sits across the dinner table from you tonight, the one who, given the right amount of liquor, will regale you with (heavily redacted) stories of his time away? Or is it Ghost, the one who, no matter how well fed, fueled, and fucked he is, remains as tight-lipped as a corpse?

Is it Simon you’ll wake up beside tomorrow, finding him gazing at you like you’re a gift from God? Or is it Ghost who’ll leave behind cold, carefully tucked sheets for you to discover in the morning, wondering if he ever came to bed at all last night?

Is it Simon you feel beginning to stir behind you, who warms you up with soft kisses and sweeter touches before he makes gentle love to you? Or is it Ghost you feel pressing hard and hot against your lower back, who holds you down by the throat as he fucks you through the mattress?

Is it Simon who stumbles into the kitchen when you accidentally nick yourself with a knife, who helps wash and bandage your finger until it’s as good as new? Or is it Ghost who spots the crimson spilling from your hand, who sticks your bloodied finger in his mouth so he can suck it clean?

Is it Simon who’s dying to spend hours with his head between your thighs, much preferring to give over to receive? Or is it Ghost who’s pushing you down to your knees, clutching your head between both hands, and skull-fucking you until you’re dripping with spit and almost passing out from lack of oxygen?

Just the thought of these two distinct, almost opposing personalities coexisting in the same body is super intriguing to me. And how at the drop of a hat, he could switch from one to the other, leaving you guessing who it is you’re really dealing with at any given moment.

[gossippool]

hi welcome back to leanne rewatches deadpool & wolverine and goes insane about every single detail in this movie. in this edition: how logan's clothes reflect the trajectory of his character

1. the suit—inside

so we start off with the scene in the bar where logan appears to be wearing what we're used to seeing him wear. flannels, leather jackets. his outfit and even the setting is not at all unfamiliar for him. but, as we later find out, he was wearing the suit underneath all those layers the whole time.

during his talk with laura, he reveals that he wears the suit to remember those he'd lost, and as a reminder of what he'd done. he's had the suit on permanently for god knows how long, hidden under his clothes. at this point he bears the suit like a cross, suffering in silence under the guise of normalcy, yet sacrificing what's left of his identity by reducing himself to what the suit represents; by taking all the jabs and nasty looks people throw at him that he thinks he's too deserving of to combat.

2. the suit—outside

after wade pulls him out, he has the suit on display for quite a while. on one hand, it shows the fight that's in him now as a contrast to his passivity in his own world. on the other hand, it's also a sort of vulnerability: what that suit stands for and by extension what he himself is is now laid bare to the world. out in the open for people to question. maybe that fight that's in him now stems precisely from this vulnerability.

this vulnerability is both good and bad for him: it causes him to lash out at the questions from wade that he's not ready to answer. it also leads him to open up to laura and finally speak about what happened—who knows if he's ever said any of it out loud before. fun! even with just the suit, we're already seeing some development.

and THIS is where it gets interesting.

3. the white shirt—his mind

the first time we truly see him without the suit is when cassandra nova looks into his mind. i've been going back and forth on whether this is logan's own manifestation of himself or if it's cassandra's, and i still don't know. i think the distinction does matter, but in the end what it conveys is the same.

firstly, another layer of vulnerability again. he's already on his knees for cassandra, submissive—now in his mind he's also stripped as bare as he can be (i think we all know white shirts can sometimes leave little to the imagination). cassandra looks at him and says "you're hiding ... from all the ones you let down." how interesting is that?? if we go all the way back to the first scene, he hides his suit under normal clothes. and he hides this version of him in his mind even further underneath all of that.

secondly and as an extension of that point, white symbolises purity. cleanliness. even a promise of new beginnings. let's tackle this from the two possible perspectives.

if this is logan's manifestation of himself, it would be so intriguing that this is how he appears. maybe it means that despite it all, there's some good in him. maybe it means that deep, deep down, past all the shame and the guilt and the grief, there's still a part of his mind where he can just be.

on the other hand, the white could also symbolise a second chance—like i said, a promise of new beginnings. i made a post about this scene here, but the basic point is that cassandra is offering him something that no one else may ever be able to offer him. a chance to fully be himself, to silence the voices. the white is such a stunning visual representation of what she is saying logan could be if he stays with her. which makes it even more poignant that he doesn't.

4. the time ripper

after this scene, he's in the suit again, necessarily. but then! BUT THEN!!!!! the time ripper!!! y'all need to understand the significance of this scene in all its nuances FR! here you can look at his abs again:

but the thing is we know by now what the suit represents. all his failures, all his guilt, his inability to let go of his past. it represents him. isn't it just so fitting that it's at this point where he saves the fucking world that the suit breaks away. it breaks away from him. he's free. this not the same as him just taking it off, because with it breaking into pieces he literally cannot wear it anymore. this is not just a hugh jackman body appreciation, this is logan finally moving on. this is him realising that he is not a failure, that he is not his failures, that he has something else to live for.

5. him

and oh my god, we finally make it to the extremely satisfying ending. after all of that, we finally come full circle. he's in his normal clothes again, the wife beater and the flannel, except this time without anything underneath. he's no longer defined by that one incident, defined by his mistakes and the people he let down. he is just him.

[thewanderingconstellation]

Dimensional traveling Prince!Danny Fenton & Obsessed but still somewhat sane and logical! Damian Wayne

Just a random DeadSerious prompt I thought of at like 2am :>

Clockwork stumbled upon a peculiar universe where a group of humans had been engaging in bizarre activities. Recognizing the need for investigation, Clockwork assigned the newly announced Prince Phantom, a 14-year-old named Danny Fenton, to venture into this realm. It was a training opportunity for Danny, preparing him for his future role as King. Through a portal, Danny found himself suspended above the Lazarus pit, with Ra's al Ghul standing below him. Fortunately, Danny was dressed in his regal attire, which inexplicably aged him to 18 years old, sparing him from too much embarrassment. Ra's began questioning him, leading to a discussion about the potential dangers of the pit.

During his stay, Danny crossed paths with Damian, who was in the midst of his training. The 8-year-old assassin-in-training wasted no time in challenging Danny to a duel. As expected, Danny emerged victorious, leaving a lasting impact on Damian. Danny revealed that he too was an heir to a throne, possessing strength, power, and a tolerable personality, as Damian had previously remarked. These qualities managed to thaw Damian's cold and unyielding heart, finding a special place within it. From that moment on, Damian began courting Danny using the rituals he had learned from secret books in the league's library. He showered Danny with small gifts, heartfelt letters, acts of service, and even presented him with his second favorite knife.

In the meantime, Danny had been well aware of the situation right from the beginning, and he wasted no time in creating distance between himself and the child. Forget about it! Sure, he might be clueless at times, but he's not foolish! When a child hands you a thornless Rose and affectionately calls you 'Habibi', 'Rohi', 'Hayati', 'Albi', and/or 'Ya Amar'—even though he may not fully understand the meanings behind those words, he definitely knows what 'Habibi' means—you can't help but have doubts, you know?! So Danny tried his best to keep the kid at arm's length, not wanting to give him false hope. After all, the kid was only 8 years old for crying out loud! But you have to give it to the kid, he was incredibly stubborn and persistent.

As time went on, two whole months flew by, and Clockwork finally informed Danny that there was no longer any need for him to investigate or keep an eye on the pit. When Danny asked for an explanation, the old man, true to his cryptic nature, simply delivered a mysterious message and left, much to Danny's annoyance. All he could do was leave a letter of explanation for Damian. Damian's heart shattered into a million pieces when he read the letter, realizing that he would never be able to see or even meet Danny again, as they belonged to different dimensions.

Time flew by and it was finally the moment to reveal his secret identity to his parents as Phantom. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned and he ended up being captured by the GIW, strapped to a surgical table for three days. After escaping, he made a quick exit from home, promising his friends and sisters that he would keep in touch. Clockwork then whisked Danny away to another dimension, sensing that he needed a change of scenery. Dropping him off in a crime-ridden city with just a backpack of essentials, including a dagger from Damian. As he transformed back to his human form in Gotham, he pondered his next move. Suddenly, a young vigilante? Hero? appeared and whisked him away through the city with a grappling hook. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse!

Damian, now taking on the role of the vigilante Robin, was out patrolling alone. His father wanted him to gain more experience on his own. As he made his way through the city, he noticed a faint but distinct bright light coming from one of the nearby alleys. Curiosity piqued, he decided to investigate.

To his surprise, he saw his beloved from years ago emerging from a strange green portal. Gone was the royal attire Damian was accustomed to seeing him in. Instead, he was clad in a black and white HAZMAT suit, with a symbol in the center. And astonishingly, he even held the second favorite knife that Damian had given him all those years ago.

In a matter of seconds, his beloved transformed into what Damian believed to be a Wayne adoption bait. Without hesitation, he sprinted towards them, landing in front of them and carefully assessing the situation. In one swift motion, he slung his beloved over his shoulder and shot his grappling hook, swiftly taking off with them.

Damian wasn't sure what he would do next, but one thing was certain - he would never let his beloved out of his sight again. He had lost him once, and he refused to lose him again. His possessiveness over the things and people he considered his had grown stronger.

Perhaps he would find a way for them to sign marriage papers, or at least become engaged, despite their young age. Of course, it would only happen if his beloved, Danny, agreed to it. Consent and trust were crucial in any relationship, after all. If Danny disagreed, Damian would resort to the courting rituals his mother had taught him. The conventional methods from books hadn't worked, so he would try his mother's unique approach. Granted, he was technically kidnapping him, but it was only a few steps ahead. Damian was determined to win his beloved's heart, no matter what it took.

[greengoblinswifey]

More than Friends- Brother’s Bsf!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you’ve always had a secret crush on Nicholas, your brother’s best friend and your childhood friend. when he invites you to his show’s premiere, long-buried feelings finally surface, and you face what’s been growing between you all these years.

warnings— friends to lovers, loss of virginity, jealous!nicholas, oral, unprotected sex(don’t let a 🥷🏿 fuck you without one) , fingering, praise kink, fluff, aftercare.

a/n— requests are open <3

You had known Nicholas Chavez for as long as you could remember. He’d been your brother’s best friend since the early days, which naturally made him a big part of your life, too. He was only three years older, but there’d always been a distinct gap, he was your older brother's cool best friend, the one you looked up to, even if you’d never admit it out loud. There was something about him, though, that always lingered in the back of your mind, a pull you couldn't quite name but always felt.

Growing up, you and Nicholas shared a special bond, separate from his friendship with your brother. You’d go out together, always managing to find matching clothes or even wearing identical rings. “Twins,” he’d joke, holding up his hand to show the ring you had given him on his birthday. It was simple and unassuming, but every time you glanced at it, there was an unspoken tension that lay just beneath the surface, neither of you daring to bring it up.

But as the years went by, things changed. Nicholas landed a role on Monsters and Grotesquerie, the TV shows that catapulted him to fame, and it wasn’t long before his life was full of red carpets and late-night shoots. He was often away, and you’d find yourself scrolling through TikTok edits of him when he was too busy to FaceTime. Everyone on social media couldn’t stop talking about how attractive he was, how lucky any girl would be to date him. A knot would twist in your stomach every time you saw those comments, jealousy mixing with a feeling you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Whenever he did have a moment to breathe, he’d reach out, sometimes posting photos of the two of you together on his stories. His fans would flock to your profile, leaving jealous comments or speculating if you were more than just childhood friends. One time, you’d posted a shot of your hand with his, each of you wearing those same rings from years ago. Fans had gone wild, and your brother hadn’t missed it, either, throwing you a suspicious glance when he’d noticed.

One day, he called you out of the blue with a proposition: he wanted you to be his plus-one for the premiere of Monsters. You’d agreed, trying to keep your excitement in check, though a part of you hoped this might finally be the moment when something would shift between you.

The night of the premiere, you could hardly believe it was happening. The cameras flashed as Nicholas introduced you to his co-stars and other industry people, and people couldn’t stop asking if the two of you were together. Each time, though, he’d shake his head with a soft laugh, throwing an arm around your shoulders and saying, “Nah, she’s like my little sister. We grew up together. It’s nothing like that.”

The words cut deeper than you’d expected. It wasn’t until that moment, standing beside him under the bright lights, that you realized you were in love with him. Maybe you had been for a long time.

It hurt, watching him play it off as though your bond meant nothing more than childhood nostalgia, knowing he would never see you the way you wanted him to.

He turned to you at one point, noticing your silence. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet tonight.”

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just, taking it all in, I guess.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking like he didn’t quite believe you, but he let it go, just pulling you closer for a photo.

At the after-party, you decided to let loose a bit. Nicholas was busy mingling, so when Cooper Koch found you, you didn’t hold back. With a mischievous grin, you allowed yourself to dance, feeling free as you moved with Cooper, who, to your surprise, didn’t seem to mind the attention either. You leaned in, laughing as the music pulsed around you, and let your body fall into rhythm with his.

Suddenly, a firm hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back, breaking the spell. “What the hell was that?” Nicholas’s voice was low, his eyes narrowed as he stared at you. He looked annoyed, even... jealous?

“I was just having fun, Nick. It’s a party,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly, though your heart was racing.

He clenched his jaw, looking away from you, and after a tense silence, muttered, “Whatever.” Then he ignored you for the rest of the night.

In response, you doubled down, laughing a little too loudly with Cooper and reaching for his hand as you leaned against him. You could feel Nicholas’s eyes on you now and then, but he kept his distance.

When the party finally ended, you were a bit tipsy, and walking in heels felt like a challenge. Nicholas was by your side in an instant, his arm slipping under your shoulders. "Come on," he muttered, guiding you out. The car ride back was quiet, filled with tension you could almost taste.

Once you reached his place, he carried you to the guest room, careful but intense, his gaze meeting yours with each step. He laid you down gently on the bed, eyes dark as they flicked from your face to your lips. For a moment, he lingered, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned up and kissed him.

The kiss was electric, and he leaned into it, his hands moving instinctively, pulling you closer. But just as quickly, he pulled away, shaking his head. “I can’t do this. Not with you. I can’t do that to your brother.”

You looked at him, a mix of hurt and defiance swirling in your eyes. Before he could say more, you slipped out of your dress, revealing the delicate lace you wore underneath. His breath hitched, and his eyes traveled over you, unable to tear away. "Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair before lowering himself back down, his lips meeting yours again, more desperate this time.

“Forget everything I said,” he whispered against your skin.

Nicholas's fingers slipped down, finding your pussy wet and eager, his touch precise as he stroked and teased you. He rubbed your clit slowly, staring into your eyes, the moment was intimate and everything you ever dreamed of. His thumb rubbed your clit as he slipped his finger inside you and you felt like the world around you ceased to exist. The pleasure built until you couldn't hold back, your body arching as he pushed you over the edge. You lay there, breathing heavily, and as he leaned back, your words broke through the haze between you.

"Nicholas, I'm a virgin," you confessed softly, your cheeks flushing as his eyes widened.

Nicholas looked down at you, visibly stunned, his voice a little rough. "Wait, you're a virgin? But, what about your exes? I thought—"

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, two boyfriends, but my brother scared them off from anything serious. And, honestly, they just weren’t, the right one." You met his gaze, your hand reaching for his. "But you are, Nicholas. I want this. I want it to be you."

He hesitated, taking in your words, the sincerity in your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek, still searching for reassurance.

You nodded, your answer clear in the warmth of your expression.

He leaned down, pressing gentle kisses along your body, his touch reverent and careful. As he moved lower, he whispered, “I want to make this good for you.” His mouth pressed against your sensitive clit, eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you slowly, purposefully, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure from you until you finally came, breathless.

You reached out to his clothed cock to help him, but he shook his head, a smile curving his lips. “Tonight’s about you pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. “This is your first time, and I want to make sure it’s perfect. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that carried a weight of its own. The two of you sat close, the low lighting casting soft shadows across his face. Nicholas had been your friend for years, practically family, and yet, right now, that familiar face held a depth you hadn’t seen before.

He brushed his thumb along your cheek, a touch he'd offered countless times in comfort or friendship, but this time, he lingered, his thumb tracing the delicate line of your cheekbone. Your breath caught, the air thickening between you. The words tumbled from his lips, barely above a whisper, as if he feared breaking the fragile tension. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, heart pounding, and took his hand, intertwining your fingers as if grounding yourself in the moment. “I’ve waited so long, Nick.” He swallowed, his gaze steady, the quiet weight of everything unspoken passing between you.

With a hint of humor to ease your nerves, you took in the sight of him, and your eyes widened. “That’s gonna go inside me?” you said, slightly stunned. He chuckled softly, with a smirk that was all confidence and warmth. “It’ll fit. I’ll make it fit.”

He placed your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Just say the word if it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”

Every step was deliberate, every touch gentle as he moved slowly, his focus entirely on you. He watched your face, the slightest changes in your expression, waiting for any sign of discomfort. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as your grip tightened around his fingers. Each small movement was slow, careful, his whispered reassurances grounding you.

You gasped, and he immediately stilled, eyes scanning your face. “Everything okay?” His tone was soft, a mixture of concern and patience. A shaky breath left your lips, and you nodded, steadying yourself as his gentle encouragement filled the space between you.

“I’ve always loved you, you know that, right?” you whispered, almost afraid to say the words out loud. He hovered just inches from your face, his lips brushing against yours as he replied with a smile that held years of unspoken emotions. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice soft and warm. “I think I always have too, I was just too scared to admit it.”

Nicholas stayed close, his hand finding yours as he moved slowly, stretching you and practically reaching your cervix before whispering, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes Nicholas, please, don't stop.”

He chuckled softly, eyes full of adoration as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “You're taking me so well,” he murmured, his voice warm and encouraging. “I knew you would.” His words and steady movements built you up again until you came all over his thick cock, your body clenching around him as he held you close, grounding you with gentle praise.

“That's it, beautiful, let go for me,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder and neck. When your breathing slowed, he gently flipped you onto your stomach, his touch delicate as he continued, tracing kisses along your shoulders and down your back. “You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you felt the tension building again, his whispered words filling you with warmth and reassurance.

With one final thrust, he groaned, spilling onto your back, then smiled, tracing his fingers along your spine. “You’ve always had the most perfect ass,” he teased, making you laugh as you both caught your breath.

Afterward, he was attentive and gentle, cleaning you up carefully, checking in with soft words and brushing stray hair out of your face. “Are you okay baby? Did I hurt you at all?”

You shook your head, a peaceful smile spreading across your face. “No. You were perfect, Nick.”

He climbed into bed beside you, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close, pressing gentle kisses along your face, your nose, your eyelids, and murmuring, “You’ve always been mine. I just, didn’t know how to tell you.” His fingers traced patterns along your back as he held you, letting the night settle around you both.

In his embrace, with his whispered reassurances, you felt safe, warm, and exactly where you’d always belonged. He was finally yours.

[transandrobroism]

an observation from several posts/conversations that could really help in avoiding a lot of misunderstandings: often when people talk about 'transmisogyny', they are using the term 'transmisogyny' to mean at least three different things simultaneously and conflating different meanings of the term in discussions. in general usage i've seen 'transmisogyny' used to mean:

transmisogyny-as-phenomena - i.e. 'transmisogyny' as a term for the intersection of transphobia and misogyny, a common feature of transfems' experiences;

transmisogyny-as-framework - in which transmisogyny is elevated to the level of a conceptual framework for understanding all transphobia. under this meaning everyone is encouraged/expected to conceptualise their experiences of transphobia through the lens of transmisogyny and run it through a filter of "how does this relate back to transmisogyny as the primary driving force for all transphobia"

on top of this both uses of the term are also conflated with the TMA/TME framework that divides people into two neat categories of those affected or primarily targeted by transmisogyny (transmisogyny affected, or TMA) and those exempt from transmisogyny and only accidentally impacted by it (transmisogyny exempt, or TME).

conflating all these meanings with each other is how you end up with soggy takes like "rejecting the label of TME is denying transfems the right to define and discuss their own oppression" which is a real thing that someone (transmasc) said to me. treating these concepts as all interchangeable meanings of the term transmisogyny contributes to a lot of the discourse and (frankly) animosity about discussions of transandrophobia, because when someone says something like "idk i just don't think transmisogyny is adequate as a robust framework for understanding how all transphobia works" or "dividing the world into TMA/TME is a flawed way of viewing transphobia and replicates the gender binary we're all trying to dismantle", that's a critique of transmisogyny-as-framework, but is read as a rejection of transmisogyny-as-phenomena, and thus is viewed as invalidating transfems' experiences.

add to that the fact that i've seen some people insist that transmisogyny is not just an umbrella term for the ways transfems experience transphobia but just means the intersection of transphobia and misogyny - but at the same time people insist that AFAB (trans) people are all exempt from transmisogyny by default and that our experiences should be discussed as 'misdirected transmisogyny'. which renders the de facto meaning of the term 'transmisogyny' an umbrella term for transfem experiences from which anyone not transfem is exempt.

the conflation of terms and definitions means any critique of transmisogyny or TMA/TME is taken as a denial of transfems' experiences. it also means that when transmascs propose a term like 'transandrophobia' - meaning the intersection of the identity positions of 'trans' and 'man', or more broadly a term for commonly-shared experiences of transmascs - that's read as an argument that all men are systemically oppressed for being men (it's not) and/or that transmascs are proposing transandrophobia-as-framework (again, not the case). but because 'transmisogyny' can refer interchangeably to both transphobic phenomena and experiences and a proposed conceptual framework for transphobia in general, the term 'transandrophobia' is misconstrued as a conceptual framework. we say "we've come up with a term to describe our experiences as transmascs" and people hear "you need to conceptualise all your experiences with transphobia in terms of the oppression of transmascs and centre our experiences in your discussions about your own marginalisation".

the reality is that most people discussing transandrophobia are not denying that transfems experience transphobia or denying that transmisogynistic phenomena happen. objections to the TMA/TME distinction are objections to a conceptual framework that treats all transphobia as just transmisogyny in a trenchcoat, and not a denial that transfems experience transmisogyny or are 'not oppressed' or whatever else.

for the record, i have no beef with transmisogyny either as a term for the intersection of transphobia and misogyny or as a term for shared transfem experiences. my critiques of transfeminst thinking are theoretical, namely:

transmisogyny-as-framework presupposes that the major driving force of all transphobia is a desire to target/punish trans women and that everyone else is caught in the crossfire. i don't think that's adequate as a conceptual framework because transphobia is better understood as a result of a gender-essentialist society punishing all non-normative performance of gender. it also relies on a lot of faulty assumptions about the transphobia that transmascs experience. transphobia experienced by transmascs is treated as a category-typical experience of transphobia (i.e. trans men get the 'just transphobia' version, whilst transfems get the 'transphobia plus' version)... but also transmasc oppression must be framed in terms of 'misdirected (trans)misogyny'. you can't treat trans men as having the most typical, 'basic' experience of transphobia whilst also insisting all transphobia is actually a form of transmisogyny misdirected at other trans people. those two positions are mutually contradictory. if all transphobia is actually about transmisogyny then transfems are getting the default transphobia experience and transmascs/trans nonbinary people/etc are all getting variations of that, not the other way around.

if you want to use transmisogyny as a framework for understanding all of transphobia, you cannot label anyone as exempt from transmisogyny. if transmisogyny is the proposed framework for understanding all transphobic discrimination of any trans person of any gender, then you are saying we all exist in a system of transmisogyny. therefore none of us are exempt from it. and if you're proposing transmisogyny-as-framework for all trans experiences, then all trans people get to weigh in on it, because you're applying it to all of us. i get to disagree with the framework being coercively applied to my experiences and i should be able to do that without being called transmisogynistic, because critiquing a framework you're asking every trans person to submit to is not synonymous with hating on trans women or denying their lived experiences or saying they're not oppressed. you can't insist that transmascs are TME by default whilst also insisting we only ever discuss our experiences as 'misdirected transmisogyny'. and you definitely can't label all transmascs as exempt from transmisogyny whilst simultaneously insisting we use transmisogyny as the conceptual framework within which we understand our oppression. that's trying to have your cake and eat it.

the TMA/TME framework is just reinventing binary gender but with extra steps. especially since in practice determining whether someone is TMA or TME seems to involve an awful lot of focus on people's assigned gender and what genitals they were born with.

a lot of this theorising follows a very radfem pattern of dividing everyone into two gendered categories, labelling one of those categories to Privileged Oppressor Class, and then heavily policing who gets to belong to the Oppressed Victims Class based on their genitals and socialisation. at which point you're just doing TERFism from the other direction. any framework that proposes we can understand gendered experiences in terms of a strict binary is automatically throwing intersex and nonbinary people under the bus. a comprehensive theory of trans experiences must have space for nonbinary identities and intersex experiences otherwise it is incomplete.

i'm making this post in good faith and i'm not denying the impact of transmisogyny on transfems. but i do think theorising around transmisogyny and TMA/TME as a framework have a number of flaws and i'm not going to use those frameworks to talk about my own experiences because they are theoretically inadequate. a robust theory of transphobia and trans experiences must have room for all trans experiences within it, as well as overlapping experiences of gendered oppression such as intersexism, misogyny, butchphobia etc. TMA/TME ain't it.

[allaboutthemoonlight]

How to Master Motivation

Hi friends,

Today I want to talk about motivation and finding ways to maintain it in our daily lives. Motivation is a crucial factor that drives us to achieve our goals, overcome challenges, and stay committed to our development.

Understand the locus of control

Our locus of control, internal or external, is the degree to which we believe we have control over what happens to us in our lives. It influences how we respond to circumstances that impact us and how motivated we feel to take action.

An external locus of control is when we believe that our life and the outcomes we experience are a result of external forces beyond our power. We think everything that happens to us occurs because of chance or luck—two things we can’t control.

The key to staying motivated is to develop an internal locus of control. This is when we believe that we’re responsible for the things happening to us and understand that we have control over the outcome. It’s a level of self-determination where we realize our efforts, decisions, and habits create the life we live.

So, how do we adopt an internal locus of control?

The first point I want to emphasize is that, regardless of your perception of how much control you have over your life, the amount of work you put into something is always within your control. The first step is to abandon the mindset that everything is left up to chance and, because of this, you should stop trying. You need to understand that you always have some level of power over your circumstances, even if you’ve been told otherwise:

Be more aware of the choices you make and realize there is always a choice to be made.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help or guidance from those around you.

Spend time self-reflecting and trying to understand yourself better. Reflect on previous instances where you’ve felt a lack of control and write down what could have been done instead.

Don’t be afraid to fail; it’s an opportunity to learn.

Know the different types of motivation

Next, I want to talk about the different types of motivation and how they impact you.

There are 4 different types of motivation, each with their own distinctions:

Intrinsic motivation: This is where you do something because it aligns with your values or just because it’s fun. Although it’s good to have intrinsic motivation, this type is fragile and can be undermined when we start feeling like we’re losing autonomy over our choices.

Extrinsic motivation: This is what most people think of when they imagine motivation. It’s when our motivation comes from outside of us—we’re doing something for a reward or to avoid a punishment. It’s the opposite type of motivation that you should seek if you want to be self-driven.

Introjected: This type of motivation can create resentment or tension. We do something because if we don’t, we’ll feel shameful or guilty. For example, you might go to the gym not because you enjoy it or care about the health benefits, but because you feel guilty if you don’t work out.

Identified: The reason you’re doing something is because it aligns with your idealized self. It’s something that you’ve internalized to be important and allows you to behave in accordance with your self-concept and identity. This is the most important type because it creates habitual behaviors are no longer choices. We understand our identity and that certain habits and behaviors need to be done so that we’re constantly aligned with our higher selves. For example, you might regularly volunteer at a local shelter or organization because you’re someone who values compassion and community service.

So, how can we implement identified motivation more into our lives?

Really try and understand the reasoning behind a goal you want to achieve. Ask yourself “why do you actually want this thing?”. This is also a good time to review your values and whether or not your goal aligns with them.

Constantly remind yourself about why the outcome matters to you because we often forget the reason that we started in the first place. —ex.

Like James Clear said, make your goal, system, habit, or whatever you’re wanting to accomplish more motivating or fun. Beyond that, start associating the reward with the challenge itself. If you’re training for a marathon, instead of seeing the finish line as the only reward, find or fulfillment in the training process and the discipline you developed along the way.

Adopt a positive mindset. Rather than complaining about having to workout in the morning or studying for an exam, start saying “I get to study for this exam and further my education” or “I’m blessed to have a body that works for me and allows me to exercise”. It’s all about perspective and embracing gratitude. If you put half the energy that you use from complaining into figuring out how to take the next step, you’ll accomplish a lot more.

Don’t neglect your emotional and mental health

Slumps are very real, and mental health can impact every aspect of motivation. Self-improvement and changing your life aren’t easy journeys by any means, and there will be times when stress and feelings of being overwhelmed can paralyze you. In these moments, it’s critical to take a break, a breather, or anything that can help reset your mental health. Remember to engage in activities that support your emotional needs. Not every second of the day needs to be spent doing something productive or working toward your goals. It’s okay to take breaks and have rest days; in fact, I think it’s crucial.

Reward yourself often, even for the smallest achievements. It’s not about what you completed, but the fact that you completed something at all. Spend time acknowledging your accomplishments.

Take it one step at a time and remember no action is too small. Starting small is what helps us build consistency in the long run.

Embrace positive self-talk. Avoid talking yourself into a negative spiral, as it will only make you lose motivation and put you in a slump.

Get an accountability partner. Having someone in your corner who will cheer for you and keep you accountable is a game changer.

Stay motivated, stay grateful, stay resilient.

Love,

Luna<3

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [12]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 11 | Fic Masterlist | Part 13

Prince Yeosang.

The fourth son born to the King and Queen of Joseon, was among the most widely recognised princes in the nation, though not for reasons one might consider positive. Unlike his numerous brothers and sisters, he adamantly resisted marriage despite reaching a suitable age.

But of course, his singledom was not the main reason for the constant chatter about him. The real cause for the heightened attention was the prominent birthmark beside his left eye.

In Joseon, beauty held immense significance, particularly for members of the royal family, who were deemed superior and held to higher standards than the commoners. Consequently, the prince's distinctive mark marked him as an anomaly within the royal lineage.

Throughout his life, Yeosang had been accustomed to the constant scrutiny that came with being perceived as a defect. From what he understood, even his own parents had reacted with alarm upon witnessing the sizable red birthmark on the side of his face when he was born. In reality, the mark didn't diminish his attractiveness, but societal taboos surrounding such markings led people to overlook his overall appeal and fixate solely on the spot.

As a result, he rejected all marriage proposals, having observed the disdainful glances directed at him by potential candidates. The thought of being wedded to someone who did not genuinely appreciate him was unappealing. Besides, he loathed the constant parade of pampered girls presented to him annually.

He would prefer to remain alone for the rest of his life than be tied down to any of those brats. Having always believed that no one could ever empathise with the pain of having such a mark on their face, he was more than astonished to discover you proudly displaying your scar. What's more, you stood in stark contrast to any of the snobbish noblewomen he had met.

It was when he was evading his many princely obligations meant to prepare him for the throne, despite being fourth in line, that he unexpectedly came across you, the beautiful stranger, while seeking a brief escape in the garden. For the first time in a long while, his heart quickened as he approached you, fearing he might lose sight of your enchanting presence.

"Allow me to express our deepest respect, Your Highness. This is Lady Park, the esteemed wife of General Park. Mistress, may I present to you Prince Yeosang." As if sensing his intentions, the servant standing beside you quickly clarified your identity.

However, if she thought this revelation would dissuade the fourth prince, she was sorely mistaken as Yeosang only smiled wider. So, you were the famous Miss Jang, currently the talk of the town. Knowing that you were here only to discuss wedding arrangements, he deduced that you and the general were not yet properly wedded.

That meant not all hope was lost for him.

Your eyes widened at Eunsook's words, the realisation sinking in that you were in the presence of a prince. Without wasting another second, you performed the formal bow you had practised countless times with the head maid before visiting the palace. Greeting the prince respectfully, you maintained the poise and grace befitting your status as the general's wife, "It is my greatest honour to be in your presence, Your Highness. Forgive this humble subject for failing to recognise you."

Up close, Yeosang's admiration for you only intensified. The genuine respect you demonstrated meant more to him than you would ever know. The prince had rarely been shown sincerity, and he knew then that he was right about your purity. Unlike any other noblewoman, you didn't eye him with even the slightest hint of disgust.

She's the one.

"Please rise, Miss Jang. It is quite alright; no harm is done. If anything, it feels very refreshing not to be recognised in an instant." He extended a hand to assist you, gently lifting you from your bow. Your eyes widened in wonder, and you offered him a grateful smile, not recalling Eunsook mentioning this part of the greeting.

Meanwhile, the head maid was in a state of panic, realising that the prince seemed interested in you. He had disregarded your title as Lady Park and had taken the opportunity to be close to you. Seonghwa would not be pleased if he found out.

"I'll be honest, I have yet to meet anyone who adores flowers as much as I do. It's almost as if fate brought us together." Yeosang said, chuckling as he took in your eyes sparkling with sincere enthusiasm. You seemed innocently happy just to make a new friend.

How precious.

"Would you care to take a stroll with me, my lady? I know of a perfect spot with a view that surpasses even this one."

Eunsook's stomach sank as you agreed to his invitation. It wasn't that she blamed you for being unfaithful to her master; she knew you were simply too clueless to see through the prince's intentions. Her concern was for the potential aftermath of the situation – what would happen if the general were to learn about Yeosang's interest in you and your willingness to spend time with him.

In another part of the palace at the War and Strategy Department building, the atmosphere was the furthest thing from peaceful as the words spoken by His Majesty weighed heavily on your husband's heart, "I'm so sorry, my boy. It seems your wedding will have to wait. Relations with the neighbouring nation, Ruhon, have not been very good lately. I fear war is inevitable this time, and... we need you."

Seonghwa sank into one of the chairs, his eyes blinking rapidly as he absorbed the weight of the words just spoken, "War...? H-how serious is the situation? And why haven't I been informed about the strained relations with Ruhon?"

San, taking a seat beside him, sighed and responded, "We've been attempting peace negotiations with them for months, but an agreement seems elusive. They've been making unreasonable demands. We didn't want to burden you with any of this at first, we wanted you to focus on your new marriage. But the situation has escalated, and it appears we're left with no choice but to prepare for the worst."

The King continued with a heavy heart, "Unfortunately, despite our efforts, we haven't been able to reach an agreement with Ruhon regarding their latest demands. They are now threatening to settle matters through force. We must start preparing and strategising immediately; their attack could come at any time."

The implications of the impending conflict raced through your husband's mind, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. The realisation that he would have to lead the army into battle overshadowed the joy of his recent marriage. Just when he thought things were finally looking up for the two of you, the looming threat of war cast a dark shadow over your lives.

He pressed a hand against his head, eyes shut tight, muttering, "I could be gone for months or even years..."

"I'm sorry, Seonghwa-yah. I know this is not what you expected, especially right after your marriage. I wish we didn't have to ruin your plans like this." The King apologised with a solemn expression.

With a shake of his head, the general replied, "No, Your Majesty, I understand the gravity of the situation. My duty lies in protecting this nation. I promise I won't let anything jeopardise its safety, even if it means altering my personal plans."

Nodding, the ruler pursed his lips appreciatively, "We thank you for your dedication, General Park. We'll need you to lead our forces and devise a strategy to repel the impending threat from Ruhon."

"I'll do everything in my power to safeguard our country, my King. You have my word." Seonghwa knew that safeguarding his nation also meant keeping his own wife safe. As much as he hated it, there was no time to dwell on the disappointment of the changed plans; he needed to get to work immediately.

Transitioning into his professional demeanour, he interlocked his hands as he met the gaze of the ruler of Joseon, "When is my deployment to the war zone scheduled?"

His Majesty sighed deeply before answering him, "You have a few days to spend with your wife; the troops are still establishing the base as we speak. You can head over when it's ready. General Officer Song has also been notified and will be there to start strategising in detail with you by then."

Following the finalisation of the main details, the meeting came to a close. As the general prepared to leave, the King stopped him once more. Before he could offer yet another apology, Seonghwa intervened, "You don't owe me any apology, Your Majesty. None of this is your fault; you've done your best to protect your people. Now it's my turn to perform my duty. I... I only have one thing to ask of you while I'm gone..."

The ruler nodded, aware of the request that would follow, "I ask that you watch over my wife for me and make sure she's well protected until my return," His Majesty agreed, a hand squeezing your husband's shoulder, "Of course, my boy. You don't even have to ask."

As your husband headed towards the cherry blossom garden to find you, the unexpected sight of you with the fourth prince caught him off guard. Suppressing a sigh, he shook his head, preventing another wave of irrational jealousy from taking over. He reminded himself that, as San had assured him, you were his. Perhaps, he reasoned, you were simply making new friends.

Moreover, he recalled Prince Yeosang's firm stance on not settling down. Seonghwa reassured himself that there should be nothing more to this than platonic bonding.

Catching sight of her master approaching, Eunsook's panic began to seize her. Mentally preparing herself for the incoming wrath, she knew he wouldn't be pleased to see you spending time with another man. Turning back to you, she hoped to catch your attention, intending to warn you of his presence. However, you were too engrossed in your conversation with the prince, discussing your favourite flowers.

"I think my favourite might be the lotus flower, but that's probably because my husband has dedicated an entire pond full of it to me." The general's heart swelled with affection at your words, confirming that his trust in you was well-placed.

That's my girl.

Before the prince could respond and tell you that he could give you so much more, Seonghwa had finally arrived behind you.

"You're here, master," The head maid greeted, but he waved her off and bowed at Yeosang, "Yes, I'm here now. Thank you for keeping my wife company while I was busy, Your Highness. If there is nothing else, we will be taking our leave now."

Brightening up at your husband's presence, you stepped over to him, and he instinctively circled an arm around your back. Despite the enjoyable time with your new friend, the instant comfort of being with Seonghwa made you feel at home again. The fourth prince's eye twitched at the interaction, but he did his best to maintain a smile on his handsome face.

The elderly woman was genuinely surprised; she blinked as she tried to comprehend her master's calm demeanour. It was unexpected, especially considering how unhappy he had been when you were around Yunho and San. But she found relief in not witnessing him explode or resort to his usual passive-aggressive self.

"Ahh yes, General Park, off to make arrangements for your upcoming wedding ceremony, I presume?" The prince's tone carried a hint of smugness, almost as if he were privy to some knowledge.

Your husband's expression dimmed at the reminder; there would be no wedding plans for some time. Mustering a cordial smile, he bowed lightly, "Something along those lines, Your Highness." He had no intention of breaking the news to you in this manner, and he certainly didn't feel obligated to provide Yeosang with any explanations, so a little fabrication wouldn't hurt.

As if on cue, a few palace servants finally caught up to the prince, out of breath, "There you are, Your Highness! Please don't make our jobs any more difficult than they already are. Will you return to the library with us? The royal tutor is still waiting for you." Yeosang sighed and reluctantly turned to bid you goodbye.

"Very well then. It was nice talking to you, Miss Jang. I hope to see you again. And you, General Park." You and Seonghwa bowed politely as he left the garden with the poor servants trailing miserably behind.

The general did his best to brush aside the prince's borderline irritating behaviour, particularly the way he insisted on addressing you as Miss Jang despite your change in marital status. In the grand scheme of things, such trivialities held no importance now. Chances were slim that you would ever meet Prince Yeosang again, given the impending war and the duties that awaited your husband.

With a deep breath, he focused on the immediate task at hand – spending precious moments with you before he had to leave for the war. Gently tucking a strand of stray hair behind your ear, he offered a warm smile, "Come, my love. Let's make our way home."

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you questioned, "We're heading home already? Aren't we supposed to meet His and Her Majesty?" The head maid shared your astonishment; she was equally puzzled.

Seonghwa let out a small sigh and nodded, "Yes, there's been a change of plans. I'll explain on our way home."

As you walked back to the waiting carriage, your husband's mind raced with thoughts of how to break the news to you. You had only just overcome a traumatising ordeal and were finally getting your happily ever after. The daunting task of telling you that he would have to leave for war for an indefinite amount of time loomed over him. He wondered about your possible reactions and couldn't shake the uncertainty of whether he would return.

Despite being the great General Park, he couldn't escape the reality that, at the end of the day, he was still human.

Settling down into the vehicle, you noticed your husband staring anxiously out the window, lost in thought. Placing a hand over his, you softly called out, "Seonghwa," When he turned to meet your concerned gaze, you inquired, "What is it? What was the emergency meeting about?" He grasped your hands, squeezing them, as he prepared himself to share the news with you.

"I... I'm so sorry, my love, but our wedding ceremony will have to be postponed... indefinitely," As disappointing as that was, you wanted to know the actual reason, so you nodded and waited for him to continue, "That's because... there is an incoming war."

He didn't need to elaborate for you to grasp the situation immediately. Naturally, it meant he would have to go and fight. As the most promising general in all of Joseon, the King's most trusted warrior, if it wasn't him going off to fight, then who else? Your heart clenched uncomfortably at the revelation, but you understood it was only part of his job, so you smiled reassuringly at him, "Oh... I-I understand, Seonghwa. Wh-when are you leaving then?"

Raising his brows in surprise, it took him a minute to react, "W-wait, are you not upset with any of this? I will be leaving you, and it could be for months or even years... and you're okay with it?"

You sighed shakily, the smile now dropping.

"Of course, I'm not okay with it... If only it were possible, I would like to keep you all to myself, but it's your job to defend the nation. You're General Park, and I'm so proud of you for that. You've won so many battles; I'm certain this will be another easy victory for you. As your wife, I will do my duty to safeguard our home until your return."

Just as he believed his love for you couldn't deepen further, your words proved him wrong. He felt incredibly fortunate to have such an understanding wife. He should have known better; he didn't know why he expected you to throw a tantrum. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and pushing your head into the crook of his neck, "You're right; I'm an idiot. I hope you know you're not making it any easier for me to leave you."

Despite the tears welling up in your eyes, you chuckled, trying to maintain a positive outlook amid the looming dread. Inside, you were trembling, and letting him go was the last thing you wanted. Yet, you had to face your reality, "You haven't answered me, Seonghwa. When are you leaving?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold around you before whispering, "In a few days, my love. A few days."

« Preview of Part 13 »

"Your Majesty, the fourth prince requests an audience with you." The Queen arched an eyebrow, surprised that her most rebellious son would willingly seek to meet her. She had anticipated him doing everything in his power to avoid her due to her constant nagging for him to settle down.

"Hm, does he now? Allow him to enter."

With a deep bow, the eunuch complied, "Yes, Your Majesty, as you wish," before exiting the Queen's chambers to fetch her son.

"The fourth prince, Your Majesty," Yeosang made a grand entrance with a half-hearted bow and greeting, "It's been a while, Mother."

Her Majesty snorted in disbelief, but it no longer surprised her. He had always been the most disobedient among all of her children. She tried to be understanding, acknowledging that his life hadn't been as easy as his other siblings due to the birthmark on his face. This understanding explained her leniency with his attitude.

"What a surprise, Yeosang. To what do I owe the pleasure, my son? If this is regarding more funds or approval for another one of your expeditions out of the palace, you can forget it. I don't want to hear it unless you're telling me you wish to get married—"

With a smirk, the prince crossed his arms over his chest, "That's exactly what I am here for, Mother. I came to tell you I have changed my mind and would agree to get married, on one condition."

The Queen immediately straightened in her seat, wondering if she had heard him wrong, "Y-you're willing to get married?" He nodded, and she widened her eyes, "Name it; what is your condition?"

"It has to be the eldest Miss Jang promised to General Park Seonghwa. It's her or nothing, Mother."

Y'all, my new and final semester of uni starts next week. Here's a heads-up; updates are probably not going to be as frequent, but I will do my best! Also, I apologise if this part felt like a filler chapter HAHA gotta let the drama build up slowly.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[fairuzfan]

Hey, I've read your post reply on the ask about the Standing together movement, and there you mentioned that it's incorrect to separate Palestinians and Jews and create a false dichotomy when speaking about liberating Palestine and anti-occupation movement. Could you please elaborate on that? It's a very interesting take that I haven't heard before yet.

So I generally don't understand why we are separating "Palestinian" and "Jews" with no potential for overlap between the two. By separating them, this implies, fundamentally, that there can be no Jewish Palestinians which... is not true. Just even historically, Jewish Palestinians exist and continue to exist.

Why are they mutually exclusive terms within their mission statement when they wish to "stand together"? And I'm not saying this in a condescending manner, I'm saying this because I know there are Palestinians who live in Israel who insist on being referred to as Palestinian. They won't let their Palestinian identity be erased under any circumstances. But they're the only group at risk of having that happen to them. Jewish people are not at risk of having their Jewishness erased for being Palestinian. So how can it be "standing together" when you acknowledge that there is a divide, societally, between perceptions of identity where one is at risk of total destruction by another and you, yourself, do not risk anything?

Where do Jewish Palestinians fall in this dichotomy, exactly? Does that mean no Palestinian will be able to convert to Judiasm without giving up their Palestinian identity? Are Jewish people just innately separated from Palestinians as a whole? If so, what is the thing that categorizes "Palestinian" in their eyes? Is it their religion? Well it can't be, because Palestinians have a diverse array of religions and like I said, people who identity as Palestinian and Jewish exist and are at risk of having their "Palestinian" erased in favor of their "Jewish" one.

Is it their ethnicity? Also can't be, because there is a vast array of ethnicities within Palestinian society. Unless they mean Palestinian=Arab, which is erasure. It erases Armenian Palestinians who play an integral part in Palestinian culture, for example.

So like what is the separation exactly? How are these mutually exclusive categories and how are we defining them? Unless, which is the reason that underlies all this, you mean to say that there is a difference between people who are Palestinians and people are Jewish innately in some unidentifiable manner?

Now, many Palestinians who have Israeli citizenship are not really subject to equal rights lol. And those rights are taken away *because* they are Palestinian. You have to acknowledge that. So when we say "Jewish and Palestinian" in a mission statement where you intend to """solve""" inequality, you're already setting that distinction in your mind that there is an actual difference between these people. So it's problematic in that vein.

But also, the group doesn't address the systematic abuses Palestinians face for YEARS, even before the Likud government. You can't erase that and attribute it to Netanyahu only. You have to address that the very system of Israel was founded on the mass expulsion and erasure of Palestinians, that includes Palestinian Jews.

But again, we have this dichotomy of "Jewish" and "Palestinian," setting into motion that "Palestinian" is somehow an identity that is separate from "Jewish." And through what definitions are we imposing that difference? Through... race science? Through cultural differences? Well, again, what about people who have cultural overlaps. Like if a nonJewish Palestinian marries a Jewish person who is not Palestinian and their child is growing up with both cultures? What does that mean for them? What does that mean for the two people who got married? And even Jewish Palestinians, are they having to give up their Palestinian side for marrying someone Jewish? Won't that cause further inequality within our groups? Isn't this separation just a nicer worded version of segregation in that way?

We have to acknowledge that it is within the state of Israel's interests, at their core, to separate these two identities. So by playing into this narrative, we're continuing the very colonization of history as they try to rewrite the past, implying that Jewish Palestinians especially were not considered a part of Palestinian culture and werent allowed to partake in it.

And it's just, to me, very racist to assume that there can't be overlap between these two types of people. It's happened in Palestine for centuries. But when Balfour comes in and is like "here you go, Jewish people of European cultural heritage, here is your homeland, nevermind the other people who have customs and traditions here, just do whatever you want and get out of Europe," everyone just nods their head like yeah that's reasonable. They didn't even try to learn Palestinian culture and life they just kicked us out. I'd argue that Palestinians would have welcomed Jewish immigrants who sought a safe homeland, so long as they didn't kick us out and enact nearly a century of violence. Palestine is the holy land for a reason! This land is the convergence of faiths and ideas and culture in such a unique way. Labeling it "Palestine" emphasizes that Palestinians are diverse and allow for an overlap of identities!

Essentially, when you try to separate groups of people like this, particularly when the separation of "Palestinians" (or more commonly referred to as "arabs" in Israeli society. Even our identities are erased to homogenize us) and "Jews," it makes it seem like Palestinians are fundamentally anti-jewish and antisemitic. And historically, just doesn't even make any sense.

[star-sim]

supermassive blackhole ☆ jay park pt. 2

☆ non-idol!jay x fem!reader

☆ summary: You and Jay Park couldn't stand each other. But after a drunk makeout session at your university's annual soccer mixer, combined with Jay's secret identity as the city's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two of you are pushed closer to each other than ever, challenging your long-time status as 'enemies.'

☆genre: enemies to lovers, suggestive but no nsfw/smut, angst, fluff, spiderman! au, college! au, so incredibly american HELP, reader has glasses bc it's cute and jay has a lip piercing bc i said so

☆ warning(s) ? many mentions and instances of alcohol (all characters are of age), this is very suggestive but there is no smut

☆ word count:  16.7k ☆ tag list: @sophiko22 @yenqa @kwiwin @okikinshasthehiccups @lovelickies @siyen @blackhairandbangs @pjjongsaeng @chkltmlk

part 1

The next day, exactly one week before finals week officially began, you and your friends decided to have a beach picnic to de-stress from the impending doom that was semester finals. It was your meeting place, ever since high school. Clad in a pretty yellow sundress, you entertained yourself with a sand-castle building contest between you and a few friends. Unfortunately for them, a course in urban design (which you shared with Jay Park) equipped you with just enough knowledge on how to build a killer sand-castle.

“Woah!” Isa, the one that you helped get with Jay’s friend all those years ago, exclaimed. You were crouched right next to her in the sand, using silicone molds to make sand seashells. Since junior year of high school, you and Isa have grown apart. It wasn’t the break up rift that caused the distance. In fact, you got closer because of the break up. People just grew on their own, and sometimes that growth was in opposite directions. Now that you were at the same university, you were still friends, but not as close as you used to be. “Specky, you’re really good.”

You grinned to yourself, melding the wet sand into a pillar. “I know.”

Even when your friendship thinned, there was one thing that made Isa distinct: the fact that she called you “Specky,” (short for “spectacles,” since you wore glasses) and no one else did.

“It’s what a course in urban planning and design gets ya,” you quipped, poking your friend with a sand-covered finger.

There were some things that you two disagreed about.

Like when Isa picked her major to be fashion design and apparel construction. Not the most useful or appealing to most employers unless she made it big, which was why you were so vehemently against it. Between the required courses in fashion design and political science (your own major), you argued that the latter would be much more useful. 

But that was two years ago, and now you joke about it.

“Yeah?” Isa cocked a brow. “But can you make leopard print look good?”

You smiled. “No, but I know how to pass a law that makes leopard print illegal.”

Isa nudged you playfully. It was supposed to be a light nudge, and it was. Except, your heads bumped together. After a bit of laughing and a few ‘sorry’s’ Isa stopped in her tracks, nose scrunching.

You glanced at her curiously.

Isa didn’t say anything, only leaning closer to you. This time, she pressed the tip of her nose against your exposed shoulder.

“Are you sniffing me?”

Isa only laughed before pulling back. You shot your friend a suspicious look. 

“You smell like someone.”

“Don’t I always smell like someone?” you molded the sand in your palm. “Like.. I dunno, myself?”

“Yes, but-” Isa leaned into you again. “You don’t smell like yourself.”

Before you could question her further, Isa called over a few more friends.

“Jake! Kazuha! Come smell Little Miss Specky!”

After having five whole people smell you, they all agreed that you smelled “un-[Name]-like” (whatever that meant).

Isa frowned, placing a thinking hand on her chin. “A-Ha!”

You watched amused as the woman jumped to her feet.

“I know who you smell like!” 

Isa threw an accusatory finger your way. 

“You smell like Jay!”

Jay Park knew there was something wrong when his toaster broke that morning. 

Him and his (your) friends were having a beach get-together, but you went first. He told you that he “had something to do for his job.” Probably easy to guess what he was actually doing.

He arrived at the outing an hour after you did. 

And the moment he stepped out of his taxi, there was an entire group of grown adults (read: his friends) charging at him. It wasn’t unnatural for this to happen, but it was what they were screaming and the person they were dragging along with them– You.

Except, when he made eye contact with her ,you looked away embarrassed.

And that was when he remembered the worst slip-up of his life.

“Yeah, I think Jay Park is in love with you. He tells me all about he’s liked you since freshman year and–”

Lying to you while being Spider-Man…. About how he, in his civilian form, liked you.

In his defense– he was panicking, okay? He didn’t know what to say! And he didn’t want to make it awkward either– ew, that would be so icky. 

Apparently making his enemy think that he was madly in love with her better than making the atmosphere awkward. When he went home yesterday night (that is, after dropping you back at his place and then making another round around the city so that you wouldn't suspect him), he almost jumped off a building without shooting a web to suspend himself. 

He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip.

Jay couldn’t make out any words they were shouting at him, other than your name, “fucking,” and “smell.”

“Okay, okay, shut the fuck up!” Jay finally yelled back at them. “All of you. Let me sit down first.”

When they got back to where all their other friends were, his friends sat him down, looking very serious, as if he was their teenage son who they caught drinking, or something.

“Why are you guys so serious?” he questioned suspiciously. 

“You know why!” one of his friends chided.

Jay really didn’t.

In the corner of his eye, he could see another one of his friends dragging you toward them. 

Dread. 

He could not face you after what happened yesterday.

Eyes narrowing, he turned back to them. “What is this about?”

“How ‘bout you tell us what you’re about?” one of them quipped. “Why does [Name] smell so much like you?”

What.

“Wait, what?” Jay’s lips curled. “What do you mean?”

“Let go of me, Jake!” Jake Sim finally managed to get you, who was kicking and screaming, to come over to where Jay was. You struggled out of his grasp. “Dude, I just want to build my sand-castle, Jesus fuck-”

When your eyes met with Jay’s again, instead of a glare or disgusted expression, you simply looked away awkwardly.

“[Name] [Last Name]!” Isa proclaimed. “Are ya gonna tell us why you smell like your sworn enemy?”

“I don’t know!” you shot your friends a glare. “What do I even smell like normally?”

“Sweet, kinda like an orange,” Jake answered matter-of-factly, smiling.

I would know that, thought Jay.

“And what does Jay smell like normally?” 

When Jay and you locked eyes, you knew the answer exactly. You both knew why you smelled like him, and it was an answer that was more complicated-sounding than it should be. 

You slept in his bed. Not because you slept together on his bed, but because he also used to sleep in that bed, so it was only natural that his scent wore off on you. You also used his shampoo and body wash. Not because you showered together (ew!), but because you lived in his house.

But if you told them that, there was no way in hell anyone would believe that there wasn’t some sort of relationship between you two.

“He smells like wood, but like, mixed with Axe body spray.”

“I do not!”

It was a silent agreement between Jay and you.

Act stupid.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jay grumbled.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I knew you guys were stupid but I didn’t think you were that stupid.”

Jake and Isa sent each other suspicious looks, reconvening before a large grin spread across both of their faces. 

“I knew it,” Jake murmured. He got louder. “I knew it!”

Everyone looked at him curiously.

“What are you talking about–”

Swinging an imperious finger at Jay and you, Jake announced loud enough for surrounding people to hear and turn their heads. “These two are fucking!”

.

.

.

What?

The uproar that that single statement caused was uncontrollable. In your group of friends, it was common knowledge that Jay Park and [Name] [Last Name] had nothing to do with each other. If Jay was on one end of the spectrum, you would be on the other. Even suggesting that there may be anything more than simply hate was outrageous.

“No way, man….”

“That’s insane.”

“Impossible!”

When Jay looked over at you, ready to deny everything that they were saying, instead of your characteristic scrunched nose and curled lips in disapproval, your face was plastered with nothing but an awkward and almost embarrassed expression. 

“Y’know what?” one of their friends spoke up. “I saw Jay and [Name] kissing at the hockey mixer last week!”

You were completely out of commission, and uncharacteristically so, with a panicked and flustered face. Everyone else was consumed in such clamor. So Jay would have to take everything into his own hands. Taking a deep breath, he waited (while showing great disapproval) for everyone to shut up.

It wasn’t like they’d believe him if he explained the truth. 

“Are you guys done…?” he finally spoke, clear dissatisfaction in his voice. 

Everyone shut up. 

Jay Park was generally an easygoing guy. He didn’t snap at people, and if anything, he was often the butt of jokes. Not that he minded. He was hot-headed and an asshole, but he was probably one of the easiest people to joke with.

However, his censure was not something to mess with.

He was an older brother. He was a STEM major, which was already a rigorous department to go into, no less civil and urban engineering. He was the top of his class in high school (after a certain someone, of course), and ostensibly worked, like, three jobs.

If there was anyone who was normally very patient and smart, it was him. If he’s annoyed, probably shut the fuck up.

Plus, there was nothing like pissing off a tired college student a week before finals.

Jay wet his lips. “You guys are making [Name] uncomfortable. Look at her.”

It was true. You were literally cowering into yourself, frowning deeply and playing with the hem of your yellow sundress.

“Look, I get that you’re our friends, or whatever,” Jay huffed, folding his arms. “But maybe there’s a reason that we don’t tell you certain things. Maybe because everything gets so blown out of proportion and you guys assume the worst.”

He turned over to Jake. The scariest thing about Jay was that even if he was hotheaded most of the time, he was incredibly calm and laid-back when confrontational. “You– You especially. You constantly force [Name] and I together. Some people don’t get along, and that’s okay. Stop trying to force people who don’t want to be forced together.”

Jay wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even annoyed. Just trying to set things straight. When he was done, he looked at his friends expectantly. One by one, they apologized awkwardly.

There was no real resolution, just Jay saying, “Cool,” and walking away to talk to his other friends.

To say that you felt awkward would be an understatement, and to say that you were comfortable with the fact that you were feeling awkward would be a lie.

There was a lot to unpack.

Everyone was trying to suggest that you and Jay had some sort of sexual relationship. People always joked about it, sure, but for an entire group to accuse you of it was beyond disorienting. Now sitting under the parasol with a floral-print towel beneath your sundress, drawing shapes on the sand that had gotten onto the towel, you wished you could have said something. Sure, they were probably being light-hearted, and you knew your friends had no intention to make you feel uncomfortable, but there was something else they didn’t know.

That the number one source of your discomfort was directly from Jay.

When Spider-Man detailed everything that Jay had apparently told him about you, you didn't know how to feel.

According to Spider-Man, Jay Park has had a thing for you since freshman year of high school, and he keeps the hero up until early hours of the day just talking about you. Initially, you were horrified. Could Spider-Man be messing with you? There was no way that Jay Park– the bitch-faced, uncouth, uncivilized, villain that was Jay Park– liked you.

Just the thought that someone like him saw you in a different light made you uneasy.

On the other hand, you were a bit flattered. As Spider-Man explained it, Jay had a thing for you but not necessarily a crush. Rather, he found you attractive. 

“And he still does,” the hero had added. “He still thinks you’re attractive, even if he argues with you.”

Jay was the victim of some of your worst moments. You’ve screamed bloody murder at him, shed hot tears, and shrieked so hard that you’d lost your voice. He’d point out your major flaws and insecurities, ones that you didn’t even know that you had. He’d seen your true destructive, tyrannical, and malicious self.

But he still found you attractive? 

That was terrifying.

Has he ever seen you with your friends? How you were you soft and kind, all affectionate and tender? How you’d take care of them, how you’d pet their heads and listen to them cry?

How could he ever find you attractive if he’d never seen you be a good person, when he’d only seen the monstrous side of you?

How could anyone find you attractive?

You got positive comments about your appearance many times before, but they were always followed up by comments about your character

You were snapped out of your thoughts when a familiar dark head of hair passed through your line of vision. You never took the time to observe what he was wearing: basketball shorts and a hoodie. It seemed like he could never dress for the occasion, regardless of where he was.

He had his earbuds jammed into his ears, an irritated expression on his face. 

After years of purposefully trying to make his life miserable, you could read his face easily

Jay was hot. Physically– Wait no. 

Jay was hot, as in ‘affected by the scalding weather.’ His brows always scrunched up with his bottom lip jutting out when he was feeling especially warm. 

Maybe if he took off that hoodie of his for once.

You looked down at your hands.

You were under a parasol. 

Which gave shade. 

Which would make someone feel less ‘affected by the scalding weather.’

“Park!”

You never really thought that you would be the one to invite Jay Park to sit under a parasol with you. Especially after such events that transpired earlier.

It was silent.

Awkward.

Usually, you’d be able to look him straight in the eye, but now equipped with the knowledge that he may or may not have been attracted to you this entire time, you felt queasy.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

He had his eyes glued to the book that he was reading. Upon closer inspection, you knew that book. In fact, you had it.

It was Design of Cities: Revised Edition by Edmund Bacon. The textbook for your urban design course.

And he had the audacity to call you nerdo freak all this time! 

He only looked away from his book to glance at his phone. 

To change the song that he was listening to.

When you peeked at his phone screen, you noticed a familiar album cover playing.

Bright orange and blue, four men gathered around the table.

Then you noticed the white text right below it.

Supermassive Blackhole.

Before your mind could even think, your mouth moved for you.

“You listen to Muse?”

Jay took his earbud out of his ear, looking up at you slowly with a questioning look.

.

.

.

This scene has happened before.

“You asked me that already,” Jay said simply. 

“I-I know.” Why were you stammering? “Summer of freshman year. We were at the beach then, too.”

He cocked a brow at you, and just as he was turning back to his textbook, you continued, voice meeker than usual. “I asked you if you listened to Muse because I also listen to them. But you.. You thought I was making fun of you.”

Jay looked at you slowly.

Why were you shy?

He fingered the earbud that he had removed. You seemed to notice, bracing yourself for the slight embarrassment that would come with his shoving that thing back into his ear. Except, he didn’t. Instead, he presented it in his palm before you.

Was he… offering it to you?

“If you’re just going to stare at it–”

You snatched the bud from his palm, prodding it into your ear.

When the music played, you were met with Matt Bellamy vocalizing into your ear and that iconic, yet rough, guitar rift. Weird that the very song that you listened to when working out was the one that Jay used to study urban planning and design.

You watched Jay’s focused face. The scar on his nose got lost in the divots on his skin when he scrunched his nose, presumably in reaction to something he had read. You never really noticed the birthmark on his neck either.

The next song played, but before it did, Jay paused it.

“What are you looking at?”

You recoiled.

“You were looking at me,” Jay remarked. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, there’s nothing.”

“Okay.”

He caught a glimpse of the song playing before pressing ‘play.’

“You must love this song,” he muttered.

You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, until you were met with a distinct drum, rugged bassline, and the 4-on-the-floor beat.

Exo-Politics.

That was the name of the song. 

The song that was playing was called Exo-Politics.

You were a political science major.

Was he trying to joke with you?

Was the Jay Park attempting to joke with you?

In the corner of your eye, you could see some children building sand-castles, just like you had been doing earlier. You then peered at the textbook he was reading.

Design of Cities: Revised Edition by Edmund Bacon.

You bit your lip.

“Do you…” you began. “Do you want to see who can build a better sand-castle?”

A civil and urban engineering major and a political science major. 

Both were taking the same urban planning and design college course.

Who would build a better sand-city?

“What the fuck is that?”

“I’m going for a high-rise look!”

Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea. 

Especially when it was two ‘nerdo freaks’ trying to out-wit each other.

“The housing density is insane.”

“That settlement looks squatter.”

“That looks unsustainable.”

“That neighborhood is just looking to get gentrified.”

At that comment, you, who were only a few feet away from Jay, grabbed a handful of semi-wet sand and hurled it at the man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hey!” The glob of sand had landed on one of his ‘high-rise’ buildings. “I’m trying to say that your neighborhoods look poor.”

“Poor?!”

You went for a more sustainable look. Geometric layouts, charmingly sinuous roads, mid-height buildings with only a few clustered high-rise ones, concise zones of income, and clumps of wet sand littered all across the sand-city, imitating trees.

“Is that… New Urbanism?”

You patted your hands off. “Glad that you can recognize it, Park.”

The detail really was something to marvel at. Each building had a indents into their surface to imitate windows, the sandy ‘roads’ were strategically carved with a sharp fingernail to replicate the different uses of land, and even the globs of sand that represented trees were fluffed up to look like actual trees rather than miscellaneous globs.

Jay rolled his eyes, going back to shaping the pointed tip of his building.

Whereas your city was terribly idealistic, he went for a more true-to-life replica. After all, it was his job to study and create infrastructural pieces for real-life cities. High-rise buildings, strong geometric structures, high-density housing, narrow spaces between structures, and little open space. They were built with incredible precision: all the lines were perfectly straight, all the shapes were beautifully even on all sides, and it genuinely looked true-to-life.

“Your city looks like something that would need protection from Spider-Man.”

Ironic.

Jay sighed to hide the slightly-amused grin that you had elicited from him.

“You like Spider-Man?” 

Your face contorted, eyes squinting. “In what way?”

“Whaddya mean ‘in what way’?”

You frowned. “I mean, economically and politically speaking, he’s kind of a disturbance, dontcha think?”

Do you even like Spider-Man? Has Jay been misconstruing everything?

Did he technically kidnap you?

“He’s, like, more effective than other law enforcement, but that’s really a testament to him as a protector and how shit current law enforcement is,” you thought aloud. “I think he’s good.”

“Just good?

You frowned again. 

“Aren’t you his friend?” you changed the subject. Even in your strange uneasiness, you didn’t find it hard to maintain steady eye-contact with the man. Given the fact that you’d cussed him out using all swears under the sun while looking him straight in the eye.

Jay feigned surprise. “Yeah, he is. How do you know that?”

The man watched as your bottom lip was taken under your teeth. “He came by last night.”

Jay quirked a brow.

There was a pulse of silence between you two.

Not quite comfortable, but not exactly hostile.

Other than the sound of soft breathing, seagulls squawking and people laughing in the distance, and sea waves crashing against the sandy shore, it was completely silent. 

Dare Jay say, a nice moment.

“Jay, come play football with us!”

That’s right. 

Every time they’d go to the beach, Jay would play football with the boys. 

He wanted to play. 

But he also wanted to show you up in your sand-city competition. 

As he constructed another sand skyscraper, Jay slowly looked up. His eyes met with yours. You gave him a sharp nod, as if to say, ‘Go ahead.’

The man sighed.

Dusting his sandy hands off, Jay rose to his feet.

“I’m not done here, by the way,” he remarked as he passed your crouched form. “I can still make a better city than you.”

Jay felt a glob of sand flicked at his leg, he knew that the feeling was mutual.

Jay lost control of his spider-like abilities sometimes.

His fingers would stick implacably to papers if he wasn’t careful, he’d turn a door handle mindlessly and break it with his inhuman strength, or be acutely aware of the most miniscule of all dust specks flying close to someone’s face.

Sometimes, he’d use those abilities to his advantage.

Like right now.

Jay wasn’t cheating!

Just making use of what his body can do.

Fast reflexes to dodge those that would charge at him head-on, incredible (in a human way) running speed, and probably the greatest throws, like, ever.

When Jake Sim passed the red-brown ball in his direction, who was he to not use those spider reflexes and catch it with larger-than-life precision? As his eyes scoped around for who to pass to, he found the perfect person. Preparing, he raised his arm, squinting for accuracy. At once, he hurled the football.

Except, he found that he’d lost control of just how much strength he was putting into the throw. 

At top speed, it began shooting through the air, its pointed tip charging like a missile. As if it was in slow motion, gravity dragged the leathery ball toward the sandy ground. Like a rocket torpedo, the football flung straight into the elaborate city of sand sculpted by your very hands.

If it was any normal, human-strength throw, only a portion of the sand-city would be destroyed.

But because Jay had an obscene amount of strength, the ball not only destroyed the entire city, but dug so harshly into the sand that it exploded it– debris-like chunks of sand just bursting everywhere. And especially all over you and your pretty yellow sundress.

The earth must have stopped spinning, the sun shedding a single ray like a stagelight in a theater over your now frozen figure.  It wasn’t just Jay’s super hearing senses. It was like all sound at this bustling beach died out in an instant, zeroing in you.

You turned your head slowly. Your expression was completely vacant, but that spoke volumes. There was sand all over your face, so with a willful arm, you wiped all of it in a sharp swipe.

Even though he was several meters away from you across the beach, and even though there was no way of telling who threw the ball, Jay could feel your stone gaze right at him. You took a deep breath.

Jay ran to you.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “I didn’t realize that it– the ball– was going your way– I–”

Everyone was ready to hear you shout your lungs out at Jay. In fact, Jay braced himself for the onslaught of profanities and obscenities that would be rightfully spewed at him.

But there was no yelling.

You breathed through your nose before rising to your feet and dusting off your sandy dress.

You looked at him.

“Thanks a lot, Jay.” There was a sliver of a smile spreading on your lips, but the way your teeth so clearly clenched together told a different story. You squeezed your eyes shut to conceal your bubbling anger, but you simply couldn’t take it. “It always seems like you ‘didn’t realize’ something all the time. But I’m not really surprised anymore.”

With that, flicked a piece of sand off your shoulder before snatching up your tote bag that was perched against the parasol and turning on your heel.

All Jay could do was watch your retreating back, football in hand, as you walked in the opposite direction away from him to the parking lot. 

He dug his nails into the leathery ball. Tearing his eyes away from you, Jay was about to turn back to his friends. 

Except, a massive crash erupted through the air.

With his spider-like reflexes, Jay snapped his head up. From behind the high-rise buildings and tall structures emerged a giant shadow. 

Almost immediately, in the distance, Jay heard cars honking, wheels screeching against the road, and screaming. There were mini fires in the distance from cars crashing.

As people scurried for their lives, the car smoke cleared, revealing a greater shadow in the distance. 

Six claws, seemingly mechanical and woven together with many tiny wires. Two antennas extending from the crown of the figure. Metallic body, with red and flashing accents.

Shit. 

He knew exactly who that was.

Doctor Discotheque.

Didn’t he fight him a week ago?

“Where’s Spider-Man?!”

Jay clenched his fist. 

He had to find a way to get into his hero suit without anyone seeing. Speaking of…

The man whipped his head around to where his friends were. Like everyone else, they were running for their lives. At least they were going in the opposite direction.

Clenching his fist again, Jay was ready to charge straight up to the supervillain, but his dark eyes incidentally caught onto the frozen figure of none other than you. You were completely frozen in your spot, unmoving as you gawked at the incredible size of the villain.

Damnit, [Name], Jay sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn’t abnormal for people to freeze in the face of danger, but he never thought it would be you. 

Shooting a web from his wrist, Jay retrieved a stray towel. In what was only a fraction of a second, he threw the towel over him before he changed into his Spider-Man suit. Fixing his mask, he discarded the towel.

The ground rumbled under his feet as Doctor Discotheque’s gigantic body terrorized the streets.

Jay’s feet immediately began moving, running toward your direction. As he approached her, he shot a sticky white web, sticking to your clothes back and effectively yanking you right into him. The hero threw you over his shoulder with an arm around your waist, and began running the other direction.

When you didn’t react, Jay gave a pat to your ass, the way a parent would do to their infant.

“Oi, [Name]!” Jay propelled himself off the sandy ground, discharging a few webs to allow him to swing. 

“S-Spider-Man?!” Finally, you snapped out of your dazed state. “What’s– What was that?!”

Jay tightened his grasp around you as he began climbing up a building. By now, he was far from where Doctor Discotheque was. Good for your safety, but not good for his own crime-fighting. 

“What, that big thing?” He felt you nod. “That’s just my good pal Doctor Discotheque.”

His tone was far too easygoing, and you audibly gulped.

“Relaaaaax, Angel,” Jay swung to another building. “He’s just a little villain. I beat him twice already. Nothin’ for ya to worry yer pretty head about about.”

“But he’s huge! And, you’re–”

Jay gave your ass another pat. “Just trust me on this, Baby.”

Finally, you reached the destination Jay had planned for you– the underground subway station. It was far enough from all the commotion for it to be calm, but just safe enough.

Jay placed you down. Despite all his reassurance, your face was twisted with concern.

You squeezed his shoulder, lips jutting out into a frown.

“I told ya already,” Jay knocked on your head. “Don’t worry about me.”

When you wouldn’t stop frowning, Jay flexed his bicep, placing your hand on it. With his hand over you, he squeezed his firm bicep.

“Ya feel that muscle?” you nodded slowly. “I’m strong. Spider-Man is strong.”

You stared at him.

“So you don’t hafta worry about me.”

Granted, Jay was talking to you the same way that he would talk to a crying six-year-old, but hey, it’s the principle of it!

“Just…” you took a deep breath. “Be careful.”

Jay unknowingly grinned. “Yeah, yeah.”

There was a pulse of silence between you two.

You looked up at him, with nearly glossy and wide eyes. You bit your lip.

“Before you go…” you murmured something under your breath. Abruptly, you grabbed Jay’s masked face, bringing it down so that he was eye-level to you. You pressed a quick peck to his cheek, before pulling back immediately. “Just…  Don’t do anything dumb.”

Jay stared at you, blinking a few times to absorb everything. He swallowed on his dry throat, licking his lips. Another wide grin spread over his face. 

“Of course, Gorgeous.”

Okkkayyy….

So maybe Jay was a bit of a liar.

According to the supervillain himself, Doctor Discotheque got access to some high-tech science shit and now had this supermassive mechanical body to control.

Just great.

Spider-Man was no wimp. He fought with all his might and was actually quite effective. Effective enough to damage Doctor Discotheque to the point that he ran away and yelled, “Damn you, Spider-Man!”

The only issue was that Doctor Discotheque was a little too strong for Jay to handle unprepared. 

The night was completely silent now. That is, if you didn’t count the police sirens and helicopters flying overhead, reporting on the incident.

There was an undoubted hush that fell over the city. The supervillain hadn’t done anything that was crisis-causing, but he was an unequivocal threat. According to the police reports, three people had died, while an entire block and a half of important infrastructure, including parts of the beach, had been subject to damage. The news, after collecting data, reported that quantitatively, 67% of citizens felt unsafe and were fearful of what was to come. Indeed, there was a threat.

And even worse, Spider-Man was injured.

Doctor Discotheque wasn’t lying when he said that he had “some high-tech science shit,” because one of his tentacle-like claws managed to stab Jay’s thigh. It was nothing fatal, but it was certainly debilitating.

“Ah– Shit.” Jay had to resort to climbing the walls instead of swinging around buildings. Before he entered his apartment complex, he made sure to tie a piece of cloth around his bleeding wound and change back to his civilian clothes.

When he cracked open his apartment door, he was surprised when you bombarded him with questions.

“Where the hell were you?” The you that Spider-Man knew was vastly different from the you that Jay Park knew. “We were all so worried– Shit– No one saw you, like, at all, at the beach– and you weren’t responding to any texts or calls– and–”

Jay blinked. 

“What were you doing all this time? You could have been killed, or injured!-- or– It doesn’t matter– Where have you been all this time and why haven’t you been responding to any of us, or–”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip. “Look! Even your brother’s worried sick!” 

Jay looked over at Wonnie, who was eating chips (and getting crumbs all over) and watching TV, completely unbothered.

“I, um,” Jay stared at you. Quick! How was he going to get out of this one? “I was– I was at my internship. We.. uh, We were studying infrastructure… as a result of the… Incident.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Was the studying so interesting that you couldn’t respond to any texts or calls?”

Jay fumbled with his phone that was deeply squashed in his pants pocket. “It was dead.”

It was now that he noticed the way that you were circling him, inspecting him like a hawk. It was a good thing that he changed into his civilian-wear, or else you'd see the cuts and bruises all over his arms, as well as the dirt and debris that had gotten into and onto his hero suit. 

“Oh my god, are you bleeding?!”

Jay looked down, and lo and behold, there’s blood dripping down his thigh, creating a puddle of dark red below him.

Maybe next time, he shouldn’t use a tiny piece of cloth to tie up such an absurd wound like that.

“Oh. I am.”

“?!”

And that’s how Jay found himself sprawled across the bathroom floor with one ear pressed against the bathroom door, listening to your voice on the other side.

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah, there’s blood everywhere.”

“?!”

He finally fessed up and admitted that he got stabbed in the thigh (with an appropriate excuse, of course). You were just going to leave it at that, snarkily saying, “Hope you know how to fix up a stab wound,” but when he responded with, “I don’t,” you grumbled under your breath and forced him to take a shower. You weren't exactly excited to see him naked and so bare (his thigh!) and neither was he, so your direction was all told behind a bathroom door.

It was a tedious task having to listen to you. 

But you were a tedious person.

Look for things in the wound like glass shards, disinfect it with alcohol, patch it up.

Except he couldn’t get past the second step.

“Shit, shit, shiiiiit,” Jay hissed. Rubbing alcohol burned.

“Park?” your voice resounded behind the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?”

He fumbled with the various medical equipment. “Y-Yeah– It just kinda hurts.”

There was a silence.

“I’m fine.”

Behind the door, he heard you sigh.

“Put on some clothes, Park.”

“W-What?”

“You’re so fuckin’ incompetent that I need to help you. Put on some clothes so I can get in there, will ya?”

Now the two of you were sitting on the floor.

“Ow! That really hur–”

“Stay still then!” “I can’t when it’s burni– Ah.. Agh! It hurts!”

The wound was a lot worse than you had thought. Jay said that one of the interns dropped a saw knife on his lap, causing it to stab him. Honestly, you did not buy that story but it was the best he had so you just accepted it.

Unfortunately, this stab wound looked a lot worse than someone just accidentally dropping a sharp object onto his lap.

The two of you were now sitting on the cold bathroom floor, you in between his legs. Jay had shorts rolled all the way up, revealing his injured thigh. Other than the occasional hiss of pain, annoyed murmur, and sound of Wonnie’s TV channel in the background, it was completely silent. The early-summer night was only beginning to darken. If the night of the party was discounted, then this may have been the closest that you two have ever been.

Your delicate fingers against his skin, Jay sunk his teeth into his lip. Your glasses were at the very tip of your nose, almost falling off your face. He wanted to push them up badly, but decided against it. After all, you and him were not friends. Barely even acquaintances.

Well, you and him, a.k.a.  you and his civilian form, a.k.a. you Jay Park.

You and Spider-Man seemed to be great friends.

He wondered why you hated him so much. You got along well with Spider-Man just fine, and Spider-Man was probably the most free version of Jay there was. Was it just the very essence of Jay Park?

Thinking back to what happened earlier at the subway station, you were sweet. Too sweet. The sweetest that he’d ever seen.

Jay never thought that he’d look into your eyes and see genuine worry, concern.

The way you held onto him, those pouty lips, gleaming eyes that looked up at him like he was some god.

Jay’s lips parted unconsciously as he watched the way you were currently working between his legs. 

It would be a lie to say that Jay wasn’t, to some degree, attracted to you. He’s always been. Your [H/C] hair, those glasses that would delicately lay on your nose. Your mean words, nasty glares, critical eyes, and most strikingly, your wicked intelligence– they should have made him completely terrified of you, but for some reason, it only made him more attracted to you. 

Too many guilty nights were spent thinking about you, contemplating what he should say to you the next day to elicit a reaction.

Sometimes, at night, his mind would wander about what would have happened that night at the soccer mixer if Wonnie hadn’t called him. What would have happened between him and you? 

And when you kissed him earlier, he felt like a little schoolboy talking to a girl for the first time. Why was he so giddy?

He bit his tongue as you finished off your bandaging job.

He was going crazy.

Yes, you did indeed need to ask Jay Park for help again. Normally that would be embarrassing enough. But now it was another level of embarrassment.

A few days had passed since the incident at the beach, and someone had the wonderful idea to have a frat party. In the middle of the week. Which was what you (and by association, Jay) were getting ready for.

You and Jay agreed that you both would be taking your car to the party, but under the condition that you went in at appropriately-spaced times to avoid misunderstandings.

Jay’s version of “getting ready” was literally nothing. He wore what he always wore to parties. On the other hand, you actually dressed up.

The only issue was you didn’t have your friends with you, who would usually help you get ready.

Which was why you were now embarrassingly asking Jay Park to zip up your tiny red dress.

“C-Can you– just–” you had to cross your arms to keep the thin spaghetti straps from falling off your shoulders. Even so, in front of him, you felt like you were practically spilling out of the dress. “Can you just zip up my dress?”

How embarrassing.

Jay agreed to it with a silent nod, but you could feel his judgment boring into the back of your head. 

You felt his large hands ghost over your lower back before stopping.

“Move your hair.”

When you didn’t respond, Jay repeated himself. “Move your hair. I can’t zip it up if your hair’s in the way.”

“O-Oh.”

How embarrassing.

When he was done, you instinctively turned around to face him. When you were with your friends and they zipped up your dress, you’d turn around and ask, “How do I look?”

Unfortunately, Jay wasn’t one of those friends.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment when Jay gave a questioning look, ready to turn around and scurry off. However, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes clung to your dress-clad body, and especially the way that he gulped harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

You couldn’t stop the self-satisfied curve forming on your lips.

“What?!” was the simultaneous reaction of Jay and you.

Inevitably, when you arrived at the party, you parted ways to go to your own friends.

“I don’t know how you could hate him,” a friend chuckled into your ear as you hung out in the billiard area, drinks in hand.

“Hate who?”

Another friend nudged you. “Y’know.. Jay.”

You grimaced. “What about him?”

The friend laughed. “Have you seen his arms?”

“No, I haven’t.” You frowned. 

Your friends shrieked, giving you a slap on the arm. “Christ, he’s, like, fine as fuck– oh my god, the lip piercing–”

The bespectacled you frowned again, taking a sip of your canned beer. “If you like him so much, you should tell him. His big ass head might like the attention.”

Your friends exchanged looks.

“Nah, I can’t do that.”

At that point, you weren't even paying attention, too focused on the pool game happening in the room. “Why not?”

“Because everyone knows that Jay Park is yours.”

.

.

.

“WHAT?”

Jay Park?

Yours?

?????

“He’s not-”

Your friend threw an arm around your shoulder. “Look, babe, we all understand. It’s pretty much an unwritten rule that Jay Park is reserved for you and you are reserved for Jay Park.”

You scowled, taking another long sip of your beer, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your neck felt uncharacteristically warm. “But, we’ve never even shown interest in each other!”

Another friend put a hand on your shoulder. “Everyone sees the way he looks at you.”

“But that’s just him!” you crossed your arms. “I do not like him!”

There’s cheering in the other room, which you momentarily poked your head out of the room to take a look at. Meanwhile, your friends shared a look.

“[Name], Sweetie,” they smiled when you came back. “Remember when he got his first girlfriend? You were glaring daggers at her.”

“Because she was an objectively bad person!”

“Then why were you crying into my shoulder for hours because you randomly ‘felt sad’?”

“Because I was randomly feeling sad!”

“Right…”

Your friend sighed. “You guys are crazily oblivious.”

You spluttered.

Likewise, Jay was having a similar dilemma.

“Dude, I don’t care if you think [Name] is hot,” the dark-haired man crossed his arms.

His friends stared at him. “Uh. I think you do.”

Jay’s nose scrunched. “I don’t.”

“She always looks like she’s gonna eat you up–”

Jay leaned back on the sofa, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yeah, which is why–”

“And you always look like you want her to eat you up.”

.

.

.

“That’s not true.” Okay, so maybe Jay Park knew that it was true. When you called him stupid or cursed at him, it may or may not have been a turn-on. He’s not weird. “She doesn’t even call me by my name.”

“Right, [Name] exclusively calls you Park.”

Another friend chimed in. “She wants your last name!”

“Wha–”

Another one spoke up. “She calls you by your last name because she’s waayy into taking it.”

“Okay, okay,” Jay muttered. “But even if I did like her, I don’t think she’s like me back.”

“We never said anything about you liking her…”

.

.

.

“I’m leaving.”

He didn’t end up leaving. In fact, he and his friends ended up in the hallway bedroom along with an entire group of other people. Including you and your own friends.

“Let’s play truth or dare!”

The moment that that fuck-faced, son of a bitch Jake Sim reached for the glass Heineken bottle and gave it a spin, Jay knew he was doomed. Because the bottle landed on you yourself. And the mischievous look on his face told the room everything they had to know.

“[Name], I dare you to play 7 Minutes in Heaven with Jay!”

That’s how Jay Park found himself sitting face-to-face with you in a stuffy closet. 

Awkward.

Outside, you could hear the muffled voices of your friends, giggling amongst themselves. It was deathly silent in the closet, so quiet that Jay’s ears rung with static. Despite this, your eyes were not shy; steady and unwavering eye-contact was always the way for Jay and you, no matter the situation.

“Are they gonna kiss?!” someone whispered not-so-loudly on the other side of the door. You, staring dead into his eyes, cocked a brow, your lip twitching. 

“Six minutes!” someone shouted outside.

Jay was uncomfortable. You probably were, too.

How could he lighten up the mood?

Well, he’s comfortable with you when he’s Spider-Man, and vice versa. What’s something Spider-Man would say?

“You look great tonight.”

Good one, Spider-Man.

Your brows furrowed together, your entire face scrunching. Just as Jay was about to pray to the sky for the ground to swallow him up, you opened your mouth. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, and for the first time since you got into the closet, averted your gaze from his. Your eyes dropped, before using your foot to nudge him. “Nice socks, Park.”

That’s right, tonight he was wearing… Spider-Man socks.

Oh man, he looked like a weirdo.

Jay chewed on his bottom lip. 

When he glanced over at you, for the first time ever, instead of feeling indignation or irritation, he felt something adjacent to admiration. 

Jay had seen you for every one of your embarrassing phases. And when he looked at you now, those dark and curly mascara-laden lashes, glossy pink lips, and shimmery eyeshadow lining your eyes, he only realized then how gorgeous you were. You had always been attractive to him, and he’d always known that. But now you were seriously beautiful. 

There was no doubt that you put effort into your appearance. He was stupid, and he knew he was, to indulge in the idea that, perhaps, you dressed up for him.

On your end, your heart was hammering in your chest. Which was weird. Because that only happened when you were nervous. And what was there to be nervous about when it came to Jay Park?

“Five minutes!”

Your friends’ words rang in your head.

Was Jay Park really that attractive?

He had honey-gold skin, strong and sharp features, tousled dark hair, and a pierced lip. If you looked past his smug expression when he got what he wanted or that slightly-pathetic look in his eyes when he didn’t, you supposed that he could be attractive. 

You glanced at him. His distracted gaze, pointed at the carpeted floor below their feet, was almost daunting.

Was there something between you and Jay, something that neither of you knew about?

If someone asked you that question years ago, you would have punched them square in the face for asking such a dumb question.

But now you didn’t know.

You would be lying if you said that you never thought of Jay Park in a different light. As much as you hated to admit it, there were times where you questioned your attraction to him. It wasn’t like he was going around charming you with physical affection. 

Instead, it was small actions.

Rolling his sleeves up, his large hands littered with rings, the bruises along his knuckles and splinters and cuts along his fingers because of his engineering workshops, licking his lips, that little side smirk he’d do when satisfied with himself, when he’d quirk his brow at you, when he’d correct people, when he’d speak academically, when he’d help people in class.

You were so immersed in thoughts that you didn't notice the way Jay was outright staring at you. 

You were only pulled out of it when you felt a finger push up your glasses.

Surprised, you jerked back, eyes looking up at a just-as-surprised Jay.

“I’m sorry,” Jay blurted almost immediately. “Your glasses– they were falling down your nose, so I–”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling your ears prickle with heat. Sheepishly, you pushed up your glasses, holding onto the rims as a way to hide your embarrassed face.

“I’m so sorry,” Jay rambled. “That’s so weird and I shouldn’t have and–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. You pushed up your glasses again.

Another silence fell over you, this time, even more tense. Until Jay broke the silence.

“How did we even start hating each other?” 

You cracked a small smile. “You don’t remember?

“No, I do,” Jay said. “I just feel like there were so many opportunities for us to become friends. We just never did.”

“I guess.”

There’s another pulse of silence.

“I don’t hate you, by the way,” you mumbled. 

“You don’t?”

“I mean, at least I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t think I hate you either.”

“Thanks.”

Jay almost laughed. “‘Thanks?’”

You shrugged.

Your eyes met, staring into each other’s eyes for a few moments before a bashful expression spread across Jay’s face. “Y’know, I stopped talking to Taehyun after you yelled at me.”

Your lips parted. “Why?”

Jay scoffed, his brows knitting together in an attempt to explain himself. 

“I dunno. I guess you..” he trailed off. Again, those wide and glossy eyes that looked at him. This time, though, instead of gazing at him as if he was some god, you watched him as if he was a book, trying to read him. “You beat some sense into me.”

“Three minutes!” someone shouted. From outside, there were giggling and fake kissing noises.

You two shared a small laugh at your friends.

The remaining 3 minutes were quiet.

College student stress was no joke. That coupled with a pinch of sexual and housing frustration, and the result is a drunk you.

You really didn’t mean to drink so much tonight, but everything seemed to become a much bigger problem when on a dance floor next to a whole bunch of sweaty bodies, so why not drink your problems away?

Currently, you were on top of a guy, who was equally as drunk as you, in the guest bedroom of the frat house. Tangling your hands in his hair, you smashed your lips against his. Whoever you were kissing was a messy kisser– He shoved his tongue into your mouth, aggressively exploring every crevice. His kisses left your lips swollen and pouty, pink lip gloss leaving pretty residue at the corner of his lips. Cold metal pressed into your bottom lip– it must have been a piercing. It should have hurt, and it did, but the foreign and cold pain only made the kiss even better.

Meanwhile, his hands roamed.

Would it be a good time now to mention that the guy was Jay Park-- just that both of you were too drunk to even notice each other? For the second time.

Jay's large, ring-covered fingers gripped your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. With each passionate kiss, he pulled your hips against his, before sliding his hands down to your ass and giving it a squeeze, earning a squeal from you. 

You finally pulled away from each other only to catch a breath of air. You, with puffy lips and blown-out eyes, shifted in the man’s lap; you shoved your knee between his thighs, while your hands grasped his hair to tilt his head, giving you access to his neck.

Pressing wet kisses along his honey-gold skin, you took in his woody scent. Your fingers, laced harshly in his soft locks, pulled on his hair.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jay groaned. 

You gave his hair another harsh tug, pressing your lip directly against his neck– right at the crook where his jaw met his neck. You swiped your tongue over his skin. Grinning to yourself, you graze your teeth against him, before sinking them in and giving his plush skin a soft suck. He gasped.

“You like that?” you breathed in his ear. He shuddered, nodding quickly. 

Unsatisfied, you sank your teeth into his skin again, sucking harshly this time. “I wanna hear you fuckin’ say it.”

“Yes– shiiit–” your lips moved to the crook of his neck. Jay threw his head back, sighing loudly. “Fuck, I like that.”

Even under the dim bedroom light, when you pulled away,you could admire the red-purple marks left on his skin, along with the slight shimmery sheen of lip gloss left. Just when he thought it was over, you ran your tongue along the bruises that you left, pressing the sensitive skin. 

You ran a pedicured hand up his chest, before pushing him down so that he was lying flat on the soft bed. Currently, you were completely straddling his thigh, so you threw a leg around him so that you would be straddling his hips.

In your drunken stupor, you couldn't make out his features, other than a sharp nose and dark hair. Jay's hands came up to grip your hips once again, rocking yours against his just slightly and letting out a desperate cry.

You ran your nail along Jay's neck, admiring the marks you left.  You grasped his chin, shaking it side-to-side. “Uh-uh. Not until I say so.”

Yanking the hem of his hoodie, you pulled it up, revealing a toned and tanned stomach. You graze your nails against his skin, biting your lip.

“Raise your arms,” you slurred. He sat up and complied, so you pulled his hoodie over his head. With him still sat up, you pulled Jay close so that your chests were pressed right against each other.

Once again, you smashed your lips against his, engaging in another heated make-out session. Your nails dug into Jay's biceps, while his hands roamed your body– squeezing your ass, grazing your thighs, and tugging at the thin spaghetti straps of your dress.

“Take it off,” he whined against your lips, pawing at your dress. “Take it off, please.”

You chuckled, amused. You grabbed his chin. “What did I say earlier?”

“Please, please, please,” he begged, completely ignoring what you said.

You slammed your lips against each other, pulling him by his face. The room was filled with the sound of lips colliding with one another, and occasional whines and pleas.

Both far too intoxicated to focus on anything other than your desire, you didn’t notice the sound of footsteps and laughter approaching the guest bedroom.

“And I was like–” the door clicked open. “OH MY GOD–”

Why does this keep happening? 

The last time Jay went to a frat party, he nearly hooked up with you and got cockblocked one way or another. Last time, it was his kid brother. And now his friends.

As he ran out of the frat house (of course grabbing a water bottle and chugging it to sober up), searching for you, Jay couldn’t help but feel a harboring sense of disappointment and shame. His cheeks burned against the cool night air, his eyes glossy and watery with the initial surprise and now, shame. He tried to blink back the tears that were beginning to line his eyes, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

When two of your friends bursted through the doorway, the two of you were completely frozen. Jay was too drunk to even comprehend what was happening, but when he heard “[Name],” everything came back to him.

You didn’t seem to realize it was him either until you heard his name.

And the moment that you did, your face grew red, morphing and twisting. As crystal tears began to fill your eyes, you began hitting and punching Jay. Maybe he was too drunk to understand, or you were too drunk to generate coherent words. But he couldn’t understand anything that you said.

Not until you let out a loud sob, yelling, “I hate you, Jay Park.”

You jumped off of him, running out of the room, pushing past the group of friends that had formed a mini-crowd around the doorway. 

You must be disgusted with him. He was a fool to think that he could even have a chance with you.

Humiliated and disgusted with himself, Jay watched as you ran off into the night. His heart sank to his knees, an uneasy and nauseating feeling settling in his stomach. As his heart calmed down, Jay lowered his head in humiliation, unable to even face himself.

You said that you didn't hate him, but you surely must now.

Just as he was about to run back into that frat house and drink himself dead, he realized one very crucial thing: where the fuck was you going?

You were drunk. And crying. Even if you hailed a taxi, there was no way of knowing that you'll be safe.

Sucking in a sharp breath from his heavy breath, Jay looked down at his hands.

God, he was so ashamed of himself. He would love– and truly, love– to go drink until he was shitfaced drunk again. There’s no way that he could look anyone, and especially you, in the eye after this. He felt disgusting. Nasty. He must be a repulsive person.

But there was no way in hell that he was going to let a drunk and vulnerable woman run around the city late at night.

Which was why Jay found himself pulling the very woman that crushed his soul close under a street lamp. 

Of course, as Spider-Man. 

Luckily, you hadn’t gotten in a taxi yet. He found you sitting under a street light, crying. His heart ached, wrenching in his chest. 

Standing over you, he extended a hand.

“Let me take you home, Angel.”

Even with all the shame that befell over him, Jay was gentle with you. Even though you were the source of all his troubles, he couldn’t bring himself to treat you as anything less. In his heart, you were still the you that he knew (and loved).

Crouching down, he pushed your hair out of your face, running a thumb over your wet cheek to wipe away your tears. Patting your head, he couldn’t help but coo at your pouty face. 

He didn’t like to see you cry like this.

When Jay cupped your face, you grabbed his wrist, nuzzling your cheek into his warm palm.

“Please,” you whispered.

And who was he to refuse you?

You cried into his neck the whole way home. In a way, Jay felt like a fraud. The same person that ran you away from was the one holding you. If you knew who Spider-Man was, you’d run, too. 

“Don’t wanna go inside,” you murmured into his ear once they arrived at his apartment.

Jay stroked your hair gently. “Why not?”

“Because,” you sobbed. “Because— it’ll r-remind me of him.”

The hero frowned. “Of who?”

You cried harder. “Jay—“ you stopped yourself, only holding onto him tighter. 

“[Name],” Jay whispered against the shell of your ear. “How ‘bout I stay with you out here?”

You sniffled, glassy eyes shining in the bluish moonlight. You nodded your head profusely. Much to your surprise, Jay launched the two of you up onto the roof of the apartment complex. When you looked at him sheepishly, he simply muttered, “I go here when I want to clear my head.”

Ten minutes later, all of which were just filled with you sobbing in your drunken glory, neither of you wanted to leave your current position: Jay sitting cross-legged and you on his thigh so that he could see your face. The whole time, as you cried, Jay stroked your hair, occasionally whispering a few words of reassurance in your ear.

As you calmed down, Jay cupped your cheek. You must have been beginning to sober up, because you resisted his touch, pulling away to hide your face. 

“[Name],” he said against the shell of your ear, delicate fingers grasping your chin. “[Name], look at me.”

Rich from someone who could barely look you in the eyes right now.

“Nooo,” you whined, bringing a stray strand of hair to cover your eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

Jay cracked a grin under his mask. “What’s there to be embarrassed about?” you didn't respond. “Yer embarrassed about crying in front of Spider-Man?”

“Am not!” you shot at him, but the way you continued to hide your face told Jay everything he had to know. “H-Hey!”

Jay forced your face to turn to his. He ran his thumb across your cheek, caressing your puffy and tear-stained skin. “Talk to me, Gorgeous.” Your lips pursed into a pout. “What happened? Did someone do something to make you cry? Do I gotta fight someone?”

Yeah, yourself.

He knew the answer to that.you were going to cry again, wail about how much you hated Jay Park, how disgusted and horrified you were with Jay Park, how it was him, that bastard of a man, that made you cry. Jay knew he wasn’t emotionally prepared for what you were going to say, but he wanted to hear it from your lips for some reason. He would at least gain some closure, even if it meant rubbing salt into the wound before he was going to inevitably beat himself up over it later.

But to his surprise, you shook your head. 

“No one did anything,” you sniffled.

“B-But–”

You looked down at your hands sadly. “It was my fault.”

How could it be your fault? Jay was certain that it was his.

“I’m such a bitch,” you breathed. “He… H-He didn’t even do anything– I– I wanted him– so bad– But I pushed him away…”

Jay tightened his hold around you. “What… What are you talking about?”

“If I talk about it, I’ll start crying again,” you murmured. When Jay gave your head a soft pat, whispering, “I won’t make fun of ya if you do,” into your ear, you took a deep breath. You turned over your shoulder to gaze at him. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone though.”

It wasn’t like Jay heard you say that though.

Because he might have been too fucking enraptured by you.

The yellow-marble moon shone behind her, giving you an ethereal backlit glow. Even so, the lights of the bustling city reflected off the sparkling luster of tears collecting in your wide eyes. Your hair was endearingly disheveled, and your nose and ears were getting sensitive from the cold night air. You were probably the loveliest person he ever-

No. He should stop.

Jay extended a pinky finger. “Promise.”

You sucked in another deep breath, fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

“Me and Park… We got drunk and almost…” you trailed off, hoping that he would get what you were trying to say. He hummed, signaling that he did. You opened your mouth to continue, but frustrated, shove your face into your hands, letting out a whimper. “And then… our friends walked in on us– And– I just– Felt so embarrassed.”

Embarrassed.

That word stung.

Your eyes began to quell, and the wet sniffles started again. “I got angry, I got so– Fucking angry– and I just began yelling and h-hitting him–” you cut yourself off with a sob, to which Jay squeezed your hand.

He let you cry into his shoulder.

“He– He–” you sobbed. “He looked so hur– hurt. A-And that’s why I-I’m crying!”

Jay sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. He urged you on, rubbing circles on your back. 

You used the back of your hand to wipe your tears. “J-Jay–” His ears perked up at the sound of his name. You almost never called him by his first name. “Jay-fucking-Park makes me feel so-”

Jay braced himself.

“-weird. I-I thought I hated him… B-But–” you squeezed Jay’s hand– “I…. I think I.. I…Ugh!”

You smashed your wet face into Jay’s shoulder in frustration. In his complete and utter bewilderment (you truly didn’t hate him?) Jay let out an airy chuckle. Feeling his chest rumble, you groaned, giving him a smack.

“Y-You said you wouldn’t l-laugh!”

Jay stopped, giving your head another pat. “Sorry, sorry. Ya said that Jay makes you feel weird? Whaddya mean by that?”

You ran a hand through your hair. “Tha- That’s the problem: I don’t know!”

You looked up at him helplessly, grappling onto his wrist. “Help me, Spider-Man!”

Jay let out another airy chuckle. “I mean, how do ya feel around him?”

You glared at him incredulously. “H-He– I normally d-don’t feel anything!-- But re-recently I feel… Hot.”

“Hot?”

“Like, like I’m about to b-burst!”

Jay studied your face. “Do… Do you just hate him?”

“I-It’s not hate!”

“Then I don’t know!”

“Spiiiider-Maaaan!”

He didn’t want to say it. Even suggesting it was probably too emotionally-wrecking for the two of you.

“Do you… have a crush on him then?”

You flopped over him.

“?!”

With your body thrown over his shoulder, you shoved your face into your hands, letting out a drawn-out groan. There’s a pulse of silence. 

Jay clenched his fists. There was a lot to take in. It could be the alcohol lingering in his system, or the overwhelming emotions he felt, but he genuinely could not process anything right now. He’ll sleep on it. All he knew was that he was on-edge.

You responded to his question with an inaudible, muffled, mumble. 

From the way that you stilled against him, not even uttering a sound, it must have been an utterance to yourself, something that he wasn’t supposed to hear.

You clearly didn’t want to confront it, so he won’t force you to.

With little thought, Jay frowned while he traced shapes against your thigh, while you were still sniffling away. You two sat in a comfortable silence, soaking in the moonlight.

“Did you just draw a poop?” you blurted.

“Yeah,” Jay replied. His gloved finger, laced with mischief, traced another figure– consisting of two circles and a long tube.

“I don’t even want to say what you just drew!”

Jay snorted. Wrapping his arms around your hips, the hero hoisted you up momentarily, before lifting you off his shoulder and onto his lap. It was only when you let out a short squeak when he realized that your legs were now draped on either side of his hips.

He deadpanned.

This scene has happened before.

But instead of you pushing him away and punching his chest, you simply giggled, cold hands coming up to grab his masked face. Jay was startled when you pulled his face closer to yours.

“[Na–”

You tried to squeeze his cheek under the mask. When you felt plush, warm skin, your face lit up. “Woahhh!”

“Why’re you so surprised?”

You squished his masked cheek again. “You’re real!”

Another thing about you that enamored him: your naïvete and nearly innocent nature (but only sometimes, when you weren’t trying to kick his ass).

Jay chuckled. “Of course I am. Didja think that I was fake?”

You hummed. Then ,you cupped his cheek, before pedicured fingers slithered toward the juncture between his ear and neck. You fingered the cloth there. Jay’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’ve always wondered who’s behind this mask,” you thought aloud, caressing his neck. Your voice was low and light, like a whisper.

Jay felt like a middle school boy; he was getting nervous just by how close you were to him. He could smell your perfume, and even your breath against his neck. His heart hammered in his chest.

“You…” he rasped, voice deep. “You don’t wanna know.”

“But I do!” you giggled. “Do I know you in real life?”

“Err… I can’t answer that.”

“Awwww.”

You stared at him, before cracking another grin. “I don’t care who you are in real life. I’d still be your friend.”

Jay quirked a brow. He slunk his arm back around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

“What if I was someone you hated?” he murmured. His dark eyes locked onto yours. Such an indulgent question. He was opening himself up to get hurt, but for some reason, he didn’t care.

“I wouldn’t care,” you breathed. “I’d love you either way.”

He knew that was a lie.

That night, you fell asleep in his arms up on the rooftop.

When he snuck back into his apartment, he placed you down on his bed, tucked you in, and whispered, “Good night, Pretty.”

The moment that he shut that bedroom door, Jay felt weak to his knees. His heart rate was picking up, nose suddenly becoming runny. He was in the middle of chanting, “Don’t cry,” to himself when the first tear rolled down his face.

A hand reached up to clasp his mouth tightly as he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t wake you or Wonnie up.

Jay didn’t know how long he cried sitting with his back against the bedroom door, but when he was done, he felt dizzy.

Jay went on an early morning patrol.

He didn’t get much sleep, but that sleep was indeed helpful in clearing his mind.

As he swung from building to building, occasionally scaring off criminals and sketchy people alike, his mind was occupied with thoughts about last night. It was hard to rationalize last night, and while it still was hard, the cool morning air kissed his cheeks just enough to give him the calm to think.

Okay, so, she doesn't think I’m disgusting, I didn’t actually do anything wrong, she was just embarrassed. I make her feel weird, and she might actually hate me. She says that she would still love me if I was… me, but like, “me” as in “Spider-Man” and the other “me” as me, Jay Park, and–

God, this was frustrating.

Even if you didn’t blame him, there was no way he could face you or any of your friends as Jay. His friends were blabbermouths. Everyone and their mothers probably knew by now the events that transpired.

His anguish built up. So much so that even when Jay was disarming a knife-bearing mugger, he couldn’t bring himself to make a few snarky remarks. His body was moving on its own, jumping around and soaring through the air. His mind was in a world of its own, running and drilling with little break, just mulling over all the possibilities.

He didn’t notice the time (three hours later) until all the delis and flower stores began opening up for the day. Plopping down onto one of the hedges on top of a building, Jay only realized how out-of-it he was; his legs were plagued with an abnormal ache, and his chest pushed out air using labored lungs.

Jay pulled off his mask, letting the cool air hit his face. He took a deep breath, peering down at the quiet bustle beginning to spread throughout the city.

He was about to sit there and contemplate, probably reflect on himself or simply relax. 

However, an ear-splitting ringing sound cut through the air.

Beep beep!

“Shit,” he muttered, slipping his phone out of the seamless pocket attached to his suit’s leg. “Whaddya need, Wonnie?”

“Mayday, mayday!” his brother whisper-yelled into his ear.  “Code red! I repeat: code red!”

“Why’re you whispering?” Jay jumped to his feet. He sensed the urgency in Wonnie’s voice on the other line, slipping back into his mask. “What happened?”

“I’m at school right now,” Wonnie hissed. “It’s your girlfriend!”

The man prepared for mobility, rubbing his wrists. “I don’t have a girlfrie– And why are you calling me at school right now?”

“Aghh!” Wonnie cried. “It’s [Name]!”

“Did something happen to her?” Jay’s voice immediately switched to a serious tone. He flexed his muscles, suddenly becoming hyper-alert of his surroundings. His eyes scanned the surrounding area. 

Jay heard fumbling on the other side of the phone, presumably Wonnie almost getting caught by a teacher or something. “Okay, okay. Downtown– the skyscraper along the greenbelt– yes, that one! Doctor Discotheque; I think he’s hanging her!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jay grumbled. 

He was on top of a retail store. If Jay’s urban design professor was correct, then there should be a big stretch of apartments in the next few hundred kilometers. In the center should be the CBD. The only issue was that those apartments were dense. If he wants to drill past them in time, then he would need to be quick.

With just his enhanced spider-sight, Jay could see all those hundred kilometers ahead, straight to the central business district. Doctor Discotheque was standing at the top of the downtown skyscraper, and apparently he ditched the massive mechanical body that the “high-tech science shit” gifted him. Instead, the supervillain wore a sleek spandex suit. Doctor Discotheque was laughing villainously, because next to him was a crane hanging right at the edge of the building. The silhouette that was dangling from the crane was you yourself.

Jay heaved. 

Let’s fucking do this.

“Spider-Man did it better, by the way.”

“If you keep talking, I will drop you off the side of this building.”

You couldn’t even be surprised anymore. Somehow getting kidnapped by a supervillain was less outlandish than making out with you enemy twice.

This morning, when you were just starting to leave for class, the window shot open, revealing a goofy-looking villain in purple spandex that he totally didn’t rip off of Spider-Man. Seriously, it was the tackiest outfit ever. He had a sparkly panel as a recurring design motif and it seriously was not good.

Nowy ou were suspended 400 meters in the air, with your feet fastened to the lift of a construction crane. You crossed your arms over your chest. 

You should be scared. You really should. For God’s sake, you were dangling upside down over a busy road from an unsteady crane on top of a building that was 400 meters tall. 

But the sight of a supervillain wearing a sparkly suit was too unserious. If there was anything to be afraid of, it would be Doctor Discotheque’s little villain costume.

“Nice outfit, Sparkle Boy.”

And besides, you knew that Spider-Man would save you.

Doctor Discotheque ignored your not-so-subtle jab at his suit, too busy scanning the sky for a certain red and blue - clad superhero.

In fact, that really pissed you off.

How dare he, a sloppily-dressed, dilapidated-looking, old geezer, kidnap you and threaten your life? And when you tried to talk to him, he just ignored you? Such a poorly-designed supervillain. 2/10 from you.

“Hey!” you yelled from where you were dangling. “Hey, you! Purple Wurple!”

Doctor Discotheque ignored you again.

You huffed. “You motherfucker! How dare you ignore me!”

Nothing from him.

“Hey, answer me! Doctor Disgusting!”

Finally, the supervillain snapped his head at you.

“It’s Doctor Discotheque, not Doctor Disgusting,” he spat.

You snorted. “It’s a good thing you became a supervillain, and not a villain-namer, because wow, ‘Doctor Discotheque’ might be the worst deed you’ve ever committed.”

Doctor Discotheque narrowed his eyes at you, before a wide smirk spread across his face. “I had higher standards for Spider-Man.”

When you glared at him, he continued.

“I can’t believe he could date such a wretched person like you.”

“Date?”

“You seem more surprised at that than me kidnapping you,” Doctor Discotheque muttered. He observed your scrunched expression, his grin widening. “I saw you and Spider-Man getting cozy last night on the rooftop. Never knew that he would go for a woman as insufferable as you.”

“Hey, we’re not–”

“And, if you don’t shut your mouth,” the villain spoke through tight lips, “I’ll throw you off this building.”

Before you could retort, the man’s hand reached for the remote console that controlled the crane. Gloved hand palming the joystick, Doctor Discotheque let out a low chuckle, before giving it an experimental pull. Immediately, the lift of the crane shakily lowered.

“H-Hey–!”

He played around with the controls, philandering around as if it was some kind of children’s toy.

“You– You little bitch!” you, though shaky from the mobility, yelled. “F-Fuck you and your sp–sparkly spandex!

Doctor Discotheque let out another low chuckle, before pressing a button. You weren't sure about the mechanics of a crane remote console, but it started shaking the lift from side to side. The crane must have been old, because the parts were moving so shakily. The lift was quite literally rocking in the sky, swinging you around slowly.

“One more word from you, and I’ll be releasing you,” Doctor Discotheque mused. “And by the way, it’s not spandex. It’s lycra.”

You were seriously considering shutting up. Your stomach did flips now that you looked down at the vast expanse of the city below you. The sound of cars rushing across the road, as well as the distressed crowd that was now gathering under the skyscraper, police cars with their loud sirens, and camera shutters did not calm you in the slightest. It was a miracle that your glasses were still intact at this point.

And still, Spider-Man was nowhere in sight.

Wait.

Spider-Man.

Your eyes flickered toward the villain.

There must be a reason that Doctor Discotheque kidnapped you. Other than the fact that he was, in fact, a supervillain, there must be another reason for his evildoing.

Why would someone want to kidnap a broke college student, unless there was something to gain from it?

There truly was only one thing notable about Doctor Discotheque, other than his horrible costume. And it was that he had major beef with Spider-Man. Unfortunately for him, Doctor Discotheque let it slip that he thought you and Spider-Man were dating. 

It was a perfect plan.

Use Spider-Man’s girlfriend against him.

The only issue was that Spider-Man had not yet arrived on the scene yet. Heck, no one even knew if he knew of the situation yet.

Doctor Discotheque wasn’t going to do anything to you. Not until Spider-Man made an appearance.

“Y’know, Doctor Disgusting,” you shouted. “You suck!”

Doctor Discotheque deadpanned. “Foolish woman! Did you not hear what I just said–”

“Drop me,” you demanded. You thrashed around, flailing your arms so that the rope fastening you to the lift shook. “Drop me, you fucking bitch! I dare you!”

Doctor Discotheque stilled. He said nothing, just simply grumbling something under his breath and dropping the remote control to the concrete ground.

You watched him, proud of yourself.

But there were bigger problems up ahead now.

Spider-Man was nowhere in sight. This maniac might actually do something to you if Spider-Man didn’t show up on time. With the size of this commotion– road blocks, traffic issues, a giant crowd pooling at the base of the skyscraper– it was no doubt that the spider-like hero should be on his way.

“Hey, fuckface!” 

A familiar confident and charming voice cut through the air suddenly.

Lo and behold, it was the great Spider-Man.

“Spider-Man-!” you blurted, relief washing over you.

Doctor Discotheque let out a laugh. That laugh became a cackle, before he was howling. Except, it wasn’t really laughing out of amusement, but him pushing air from his chest to create a sound. 

“So you’ve decided to show yourself, Spider-Man,” Doctor Discotheque rasped. He snatched the crane remote control off the ground, and fiddled with the controls just enough to shake you. You let out a small shriek. “One wrong move and this little girlfriend of yours will be dropped.”

Spider-Man clenched his fists.

“So choose wisely,” the villain furbished the remote with his fingers. “Or you'll be toppling to your death in no-time.”

Jay had to be quick with this. 

All eyes were on him, and you were genuinely endangered.

Doctor Discotheque’s main goal was and had always been to humiliate Spider-Man. Jay had no idea what types of things he had hidden up his sleeve, but if he was going far enough to endanger a civilian, it must be bad. 

Like his name would imply, Doctor Discotheque had the ability to generate sounds that transpired the ordinary human sonic level. A.K.A. Doctor Discotheque had a loud voice.

An ability like that would be extremely dangerous, considering that large sound waves are capable of killing people. Except, Jay had a crucial piece of information, thanks to the invaluable research of Wonnie: Doctor Discotheque’s body was not suited for his own ability.

While Doctor Discotheque was capable of pushing air from his diaphragm and vibrating his vocal cords, his own ears could not take it. Usually, those with superhuman abilities would have different bodily functions to accommodate the harm that the abilities would have. For example, those with fire abilities would have cooler and fire-resistant bodies in order to sustain the aptitude. Unfortunately, Doctor Discotheque did not have that.

That meant that while Doctor Discotheque could do basically anything with his voice, he wouldn’t, because that would bring physical harm to his own self, too.

The only issue: if defeated, Doctor Discotheque might take on a “if I die, I’ll take everyone with me” attitude.

Jay had to be strategic.

“If you don’t attack, Spider-Man,” Doctor Discotheque started. The villain sucked in a large breath, “I’ll destroy your eardrums!”

That last part was at least 90 decibels. Jay could tell by the way that Doctor Discotheque himself winced at the sound.

What a dumbass.

“I can’t believe I have to deal with you again, man.”

Jay shot a web to the water tanks behind Doctor Discotheque, thrusting him across the rooftop, which allowed him to extend his right leg in order to land a kick at the villain. The villain dodged his kick by stepping to the side. However, Jay’s lightning-fast reflexes saw that one coming, so he swerved his body to the right to attempt another kick. His elevated heel succeeded in scraping the crown of Doctor Discotheque’s head.

The villain stumbled backward, but continued to evade Jay. Shooting a web, the hero attempted to bring Doctor Discotheque to him, but he dodged it once again. Jay had to give him credit: he had pretty good reflexes.

Jay shot a web to the hedge the villain was next to, hoping to launch himself at him, but before he could, Doctor Discotheque landed a punch square on Jay’s nose.

“Ow! What the fuck, man?” Jay’s eyes watered at the impact. How embarrassing.

Jay continued his venture to wrap this guy in his webs, shooting multiple webs at once. A few of them landed, but Doctor Discotheque was able to dodge them.

“Come on, old man!” Jay grumbled. Finally, one of his webs effectively landed on the villain’s shoulder, allowing for Jay to grapple him toward him. Before Doctor Discotheque could react, the masked hero blasted him with a bunch of more webs, slathering him in those sticky white strings. 

The supervillain struggled against Spider-Man’s iron grip. Even with the tight webs binding him, Jay could feel him suck in a deep breath, an indicator that he was about to utilize that loud voice of his.

If Jay didn’t move now, his eardrums might actually get bursted.

Jay jumped away from Doctor Discotheque, except he kept his webs attached to him so that his previous binding work would not be rendered useless. Jay whipped his head around, eyeing your dangling figure.

“Cover your ears!” he shouted, before doing so himself. Doctor Discotheque let out a shrill screech, and although the sound was only large enough to send a vibration through Jay’s body, that was because Jay had the aid of superhuman abilities.

Everything else around them? Absolutely not.

The glass of surrounding buildings shattered, while the metal crane that was dangling you shook profusely. You screamed.

Shit, shit, shit.

While Jay was distracted, Doctor Discotheque squirmed free of the webs, crawling to the remote console he dropped to the ground earlier.

“Let’s play with your girlfriend,” the villain glowered. With that, he began tinkering with the controls of the console, shaking you around on the lift. This time, though, he was literally pressing all the buttons, giving you little time to anticipate what was coming next. The movement of the crane was unadulterated, so you shrieked in fear. 

“Are you gonna save her, Spider-Man?” Doctor Discotheque mocked.

Jay clenched his fists. It was a lot more important to save you before anything else. He could deal with this maniac later.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Spider-Man!” Much to his surprise, it was you yelling at him. “Don’t worry about me, just kick this lunatic’s ass!”

“How adorable!” Doctor Discotheque cooed. 

Jay wasn’t about to let a civilian, much less you, be in a position of severe danger. But Doctor Discotheque has been getting too confident and talking out of his ass too much.

Maybe he could do both.

If Jay could debilitate Doctor Discotheque, he could take the remote control. If he takes the remote control, he could easily save you.

When Jay started toward Doctor Discotheque, the villain let out a laugh. “You’re just going to ignore your little girlfriend like tha–”

“Shut– up!” Jay knocked him down with a kick to the cheek. 

When Doctor Discotheque was knocked to the ground, he dropped the remote control, too. However, the remote dropped face-down, so with the impact of its collision, it bursted and shattered into several pieces. The crane began to malfunction, waving around its lift erratically. The excessive movement made the ear-splitting sound of rust rubbing against itself. 

Not good. 

The head of the engineering department at the university always warned them about rusty construction tools. 

Oh, not good at all.

You screamed. Still pinning Doctor Discotheque’s hands to his sides, Jay grunted, snapping his head to you.

“Don- Don’t– Ah!-” you breathed. “Don’t worry about me!”

Jay clenched his jaw.

“I-I’m serious!” you squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m not sc-scared, or anything!”

No. That wasn’t true.

All those times that he carried you through the sky.

“Stop making fun of me, Spider-Man!” you lightly slapped his chest. “I’m just…– Eep!--” you squeezed his bicep again– “Scared of heights.”

The crane squeaked, as its spasms slowed. Except, its slowing down meant nothing. It only continued creaking. It was unstable, and by the looks of it, even Jay couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t snap off.

Doctor Discotheque threw his head back against the concrete ground, letting out another chortle. Before he could say anything, Jay raised his fist and punched him straight in the diaphragm. The villain groaned in pain, and before he could recover, Jay planted another punch in the abdomen, and another one square in the nose.

A punch in the diaphragm should debilitate him for just enough time to save you.

Jay swung toward the lift of the crane.

You were tied to it by the feet. The only way to get you to the roof was to operate the crane so that it was hanging over the building, or untie you. The former was impossible now, so the second option was the only option.

“I-I told you to–!” 

“[Name], you yell a lot.” Jay didn’t realize how out-of-character it was for Spider-Man to say that, but currently, he was plagued with urgency. He had to be serious.

You shut your mouth immediately.

“[Name], I’m going to untie you,” Jay instructed. “You are going to fall.”

“Wh-What?”

Jay was already untying the ropes. Which was oddly easy. 

Why were the ropes so loosely tied? 

He clenched his teeth.

He was going to destroy that maniac for putting you in harm’s way.

“When I untie your feet, you’re going to fall,” Jay asserted. When he heard your breath hitch, he sighed. His gaze on you softened. “Don’t worry, Pretty. I’ll catch you.”

There was one loop left to unknot. Your eyes widened as you felt your feet slowly slip.

“You ready?” Jay stared into your eyes. 

“Y-Yeah.”

He sensed the fear in your voice. “I got you, Baby.”

He untied the last knot. Immediately, you began falling down multiple stories. Your arms thrashed, and your eyes squeezed shut. You let out a loud, yet strained scream.

But then you stopped. Because you felt strong arms grip your waist.

“Spider-Man!” you cried, pressing your face into his neck, holding him tighter than you ever had before. Your eyes were watery with fear.

“What did I say, Angel?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “I got you.”

Jay swung the two of you up to the top of the skyscraper. He let you down at a roof-like structure at the very back of the roof.

“Stay here.”

“But you–”

“[Name], I need you to stay here,” Jay said, squeezing your arm. “Please.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

With that, he swung back to the front to fight Doctor Discotheque.

At that point, Doctor Discotheque was still coughing and heaving from the punch to the diaphragm, but was able to stand.

“I’m surprised you could still stand, you old geezer,” Jay mocked.

Now that you were safe, he regained his humor.

“Spider-Man, you may have beaten me three times, but not a fourth ti– AGH!”

Jay punched him. “Shut up!”

Then, Doctor Discotheque kicked Jay in the stomach. From there, they engaged in hand-to-hand combat. It was a shaky fight: Doctor Discotheque had decent strength, so his punches were indeed strong, but Jay had lightning reflexes that allowed him to dodge. Soon, Doctor Discotheque backed the hero up against the electricity pole. 

“Little punks like you–” Doctor Discotheque, finally, landed a successful punch to Jay’s cheek, eliciting a groan- “Need to know your place.”

Doctor Discotheque took a deep breath.

Fuck.

He was going to scream.

He couldn’t scream loud enough to kill or severely harm Jay because he would be inflicting that same pain to himself as well. But he could definitely debilitate him with a single scream.

Doctor Discotheque opened his mouth, his chest rising and falling to widen his vocal cords. 

Just as the villain was going to scream Jay deaf, he freed his hand from Doctor Discotheque’s grip. Jay punched the villain’s mouth. More specifically, he shoved his fist in his mouth.

Doctor Discotheque sunk his teeth into Jay’s fists, but he just ignored him. Instead, Jay pushed his fist deeper into his mouth, further lodging it in.

With the agility of a spider, he attached a web to the villain. With nimble, yet confident, fingers, Jay spurted webs to bind his hands and feet together. In between, he landed punch after punch and kick after kick at the man.

“Just” punch “go” punch “away” punch “already!”

The villain was now biting into Jay’s fist so hard now that he was sure the fabric was ripping. 

“Fuck!” Jay kicked him square in the abdomen, sending him flying across the rooftop. When he looked at his fist, it was bleeding with teeth marks. Whatever.

Jay approached Doctor Discotheque’s keeling figure. The villain coughed blood, hair frazzled with sweat and sticking to his forehead. The superhero stood over him.

Then, Doctor Discotheque started sobbing.

?!

“I… I did it all for my son,” the villain quivered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “My son… My beautiful son…”

Son.

Jay never had a father. The only person closest to a father was his uncle, who already died, leaving him to take care of his kid brother. 

“My– My so-son,” Doctor Discotheque sobbed. “He– He always wanted a c-cool dad.”

???

“I th-thought if I fought you… he would th-think his dad w-was cool!”

Jay took a deep breath. “And you can be a cool dad. If you just spent time with him instead of fighting me.”

“N-No,” Doctor Discotheque sniffled. “H-He’s obs–  obsessed with Spider-Ma-Man.”

Jay sighed. He crouched down beside the man. 

“Doctor Discotheque,” he began. “I didn’t have a father. I’d do anything to just spend time with him. Your son will love you ten times more if you were just there for him.”

“R-Really?” Doctor Discotheque looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Yes.”

There was a pulse of silence. Doctor Discotheque stared at Jay, before his fingers twitched. Before he could do anything, a loud clang! rang through the air.

“[Name]…!”

You, with a metal rod, wacked Doctor Discotheque in the back of his head, sending him forward.

“I don’t fucking care!” you spat at him. You were breathing heavily, before your eyes met Jay’s.

“[Name]... what are you–”

You dropped the metal rod. You grabbed the villain’s face, slapping him. 

“I don’t fucking care about you and your son!” Slap. “You wreak havoc on this city and you expect us to forgive you because you have a tragic sob story?!” Slap.“You almost killed me!” Slap.  “You’re wearing sparkly spandex!” Slap. “No wonder your son doesn’t think you’re cool!” Slap. “You bitch!”

“[Name], that’s enough…!”

The aftermath of the incident was nothing to sneeze at.

Your face, as well as Doctor Discotheque, was plastered all over the news. Speaking of which, Doctor Discotheque was revealed to be some middle-aged professor, and was taken into custody for a court hearing.

It had only been a few hours ago since Spider-Man dropped you home. Meanwhile, he said that he had some “business” to attend to. Probably interviews and reporters.

It was the middle of the afternoon by now. The apartment was completely silent. Wonnie was still at school. And… Jay. 

You bit your lip as you remembered what happened the night before. 

You felt your neck and cheeks heat up. You really kissed him, touched him, whispered lewd words into his ear– Oh my god, you had to apologize to him! 

You brought two fingers to your lip.

His lips were chapped and the lip-piercing pressed against your lip in a way that was almost painful, but for some reason, the thought just sent butterflies in your stomach. His hands were so big, holding onto you with a desperate grip.

You shoved your face into your hands, squeezing your eyes shut.

How embarrassing!

How were you going to face Jay Park? 

Why were you worried?

“Do you… have a crush on him then?” Spider-Man’s words echoed through your mind.

Did you?

It would make a great deal of sense. 

Why you were feeling this way, why you got so angry last night, why you’d  been thinking about him at night for the past five years. 

Your heart began speeding up at the thought of having a crush on Jay Park. Not just the absurdity of the idea, but because you felt so childish. You were an adult now. How could you have such a petulant crush?

But then again, Jay Park made you feel childish. Like you were some middle schooler, all immature and giggly.

Before you could dig yourself further into a hole, a tapping came from the window. Stalking over to the sill, you spotted a red-and-blue-clad hero. 

He was lowering himself upside-down in his iconic stance, hanging onto a single spider web.

“Spider-Man!” you exclaimed.

“Hey there, Angel,” the hero grinned behind the mask when you opened the window. He was about to climb through when the unexpected happened. “H-Hey, what are you–!”

You grasped his upside-down face. You tore down his mask just enough to reveal the bottom half of his face, and pressed your lips onto his.

It was a chaste kiss, not meant to be sexual. Simply innocent.

Except, it felt familiar.

It was a soft kiss, but you could feel the hero’s lips. They were chapped, and there was a cold piece of metal on his lip. Like a lip-piercing.

When you pulled away, you gazed at Spider-Man’s half-exposed face, which wore an awkward, boxy smile.

“That’s what you get for saving me all those times,” you breathed.

Spider-Man’s lips curved. “What are you, a fairytale princess?”

You grinned. “You saved me like I was one.”

“Just my duty, Gorgeous.”

You caressed Spider-Man’s skin. Just like you expected, he had a strong jaw and sharp nose. His cheeks were a honey-tan color, with a twinge of red. 

And most notably, his lips.

Chapped, pink, but plump.

And pierced.

Her thumb pressed onto the piercing. 

His breath hitched.

You've seen that lip-piercing before.

You've stared at a certain somebody’s lips for long enough to recognize it.

No. It can’t be.

You touched his face, tracing his features slowly. 

“Spider-Man,” you drew out your syllables. “Can you stand up normally? I want to check something.”

The hero silently complied, climbing through the window sill. When he stood in front of you, swiping a tongue over his pierced bottom lip, you swallowed down hard.

Please.

In one, quick movement, you pushed Spider-Man against the wall, sliding your hands up his chest. Your hands slithered to his toned arms, grappling onto his wrists to pin above his head.

Your heart was about to fall out of yourc hest. You were breathless, eyes trained onto the hero’s lips.

A pedicured hand came up to grasp his chin.

“Are you Park?” you asked in a near-whisper. “Please. Please tell me. Are you Jay Park?”

Spider-Man stilled in your hold. He sucked in a sharp breath, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Please,” you whispered.

As you gazed at him with wide, pleading eyes, Spider-Man was able to free one of his hands. Slowly, he grasped the tight material of his mask. He pulled the fabric up and over his eyes, before freeing his entire head and face.

What was revealed?

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tan skin. A sharp nose. And that goddamn lip piercing.

Jay Park.

You audibly gasped. Your hold on his one wrist weakened, dropping all the way when you brought both hands up to clasp your gaping mouth.

Jay looked at you with an ashamed expression, yet his eyes were locked onto yours. He parted his lips to say something, but no sound came out.

This entire time… it was him?

Your body moved on its own.

You grabbed his face, and smashed your lips against his.

At first, Jay was completely still. 

But after a few seconds, he let out a low grunt against your lips, slithering his arms around your waist. That earned a small squeal from you, giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue in your mouth. Your hands roamed, sliding up and down his chest before resting in his hair. When you pulled on his dark locks, he groaned softly, allowing you to push his tongue out and put yours into his mouth.

Jay gave your waist a warning squeeze, as if to say, “Don’t try that on me.” But you only smirked against his lips, sliding your hand up his head to grab a fistful of his hair and pulling it.

When you pulled away from each other, you were breathless, both flushed in the face with blown-out, desire-filled eyes. You stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity.

“You…” you blinked. Then, your face contorted. With a fist, you began hitting his chest. “It was you this whole time? It was… It was you who carried me home, who took me out, who saved me, who– who comforted me when I cried!

“Why didn’t you listen to me when I told you to not worry about me?!” you continued pounding his chest. “And why the fuck would you try to sympathize with that lunatic?! You could have been hurt– He might have pulled out a knife, or something! I was so worried that he’d pull a fast one and try to stab you, you stupid, stupid, stupid–!”

It was Jay’s turn to smash his lips against yours.

Almost immediately, you stopped all of your movement, melting into the kiss.

“You’re-” Jay mumbled against your lips- “You’re always such a fucking brat.”

He laced his fingers with hers, holding your hands tightly. "Always givin' me hell, you know that?"

He was rough, a lot more rough than you imagined, but it wasn't like you were opposed to it. You tried to say something, squeezing his hands. You got a few sounds out, but they were all muffled by his kissing.

“Shut up,” Jay breathed against your lips. “Just shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

You whined, causing him to smirk.

This kiss was much more heated than any previous ones you’ve had with him. And also much messier.

When you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, connected by a single string of spit.

“Oh my god,” you mewled, gripping onto Jay’s bicep. “Fuck, please, Jay.”

Jay swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You never called him by his name like this. “‘Please’ what, Angel?”

“I want you,” you looked up at him with wide and glassy eyes, the same ones that he’s seen in his guiltiest dreams. “Oh my god, please, I want you so bad, Jay.”

“Are you gonna yell and hit me like last time?” he teased, hands already sliding down to grip your hips.

You pressed a wet kiss to his jaw. “Only if you won’t leave me in the middle of a hallway drunk like last time.”

You both stared at each other for a few moments, with cocked brows and narrowed eyes, neither of you wanting to relent your pride. Then, at the same time, broke out into a fit of laughter.

“I have high expectations for you, Park.”

“I won’t disappoint you, you fuckin’ nerdo freak.”

FIN.

part 1 here