#a friendship between them is much more appealing to me

[wilcze-kudly]

Someone once said Aang and Katara’s romantic interactions have no impact on their relationship. Which I find a ridiculous notion, given how

One: The Series genuinely wasn’t built around romance.

Two: We do gradually see the characters develop feelings for each other more across the show.

https://www.tumblr.com/melu-lis/762094698681745408/one-of-the-most-baffling-thing-about-kataang-to-me?source=share

Honestly, the fact that Katara and Aang's relationship has that strong aspect of friendship is one of my fave parts of it.

Like, maybe this is an unpopular opinion and I'm just a degenerate little dyke but I'm so so tired of romances having to follow the typical usually heterosexual conventions that have been set ib place both irl and in media.

And not to sound like an old man shaking my fist at a cloud, but in an era where romance is very standardised (look at the plethora of YA romance books selling basically the same plotline but in different aesthetics). It's nice to find a relationship that doesn't fully fit that mold.

Like people have joked about this but Aang and Katara really do follow the famously memed lesbian relationship stereotype of "we've been besties for ages and we've kissed a few times and she's said she loves me and I'm starting to think she's into me but idk". And I love that for them.

Also OP's examples aren't really saying much. They mention that "sokka learns that aang has a crush on katara in the fortuneteller, but we never see aang trying to get advice from sokka after he learns about it" while disregarding the fact that Aang did try to get advice from Sokka, and it backfired. Did we all forget "Soooo... papaya?" (also Sokka didn't realise that Aang had a crush on Katara? He thought Aang had a crush on Meng.)

Another argument from OP is that: "aang and katara kiss in the cave of two lovers but we never see katara's perception of aang change at all" which I find a bit of a flawed idea because there's not really anything in Katara's perception of Aang to change? Like she was already seeing him as a viable romantic partner from at least the Fortune Teller, she was blushing when considering kissing him and offended when he didn't immediately agree to it.

(I actually think this is the moment where Sokka realises there's something between Katara and Aang man look athis face.)

We do not see Katara's pov, but we can pick up her thoughts from how she's animated and other clues because atla makes it quite easy to emphasise with its characters. I talk more about it in the Kaatang and female gaze post.

OP using the description of "natural development of a platonic relationship becoming a romantic one" is also mildy annoting because just because a romance doesn't follow established conventions and timelines, doesn't mean that it's not natural or badly written. We study tropes and aechetypes usually in order to subvert them.

The concept that romance has to be a series of events followed by switches flipping automatically in response is incredibly limiting and, frankly, overdone. I can see the appeal of romantic stories being a series of actions and reactions between two people, but I personally find a slow, budding development even more compelling. But once again, thsi is up to preference. If OP doesn't like this style of romance, than that's fine. Though I will stress the golden rule: your preference doesn't mean that everything else is bad/unnatural/unethical etc.

[americannslytherinn]

been thinking

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for sabotaging my husband's relationships?

CW for discussions about sex, but I wouldn't say it's NSFW

In my country, arranged marriages are very common and this was how I (24F) got married with "Jason" (24M) (note that I said ARRANGED marriages, not FORCED marriages. An arranged marriage is basically when your family plays matchmaker with you and someone else, but it isn't forced). It's important to say I never wanted to get married and am for sure placed somewhere in the ace spectrum, because sex was never something important to me. But I knew Jason since we were kids and he was always nice to me, so I accepted to spend some time with him and see where it would go.

Turns out Jason and I had a lot in common. Our country is pretty religious, but neither of us saw that much importance in religion and just pretended to our families to not cause problems. We are both more on the introvert side and don't like crowds or big family reunions. When I told him about my feelings about sex and sexuality, he was sweet and understanding. We ended up becoming good friends and it was obvious the idea of marrying each other seemed appealing for us.

So we got married two years ago. We made a deal to be basically good friends who are married, to not have sex and sleep in different rooms. He was allowed to sleep with whoever he wanted since he was not getting this from me. Everything was perfectly fine.

Our families, however, really started to pressure us to have children this last year. Since this was so important to them, we agreed to, well, try. But first I asked him to make an STI exam since he had his fair share of casual sex and, even though he reassured me he always used protection, I wouldn't feel safe otherwise. After the exam showed he was clean, we had our first time together and it was great. Way better than I could ever imagine. After that, he noticed I liked it and asked if sex was in the equation of our relationship now. I said yes.

This was a few months ago and since then we've been having sex pretty regularly, but we also started to spend more time together outside of that, and I think my feelings of friendship for Jason are starting to change. Not only that, but I started to feel jealous of his casual relationships, especially his affair with this "Anna" girl (20sF) who he's been seeing regularly for the past months. I'm scared he starts to fall in love with her, because he always speaks highly of her and he seems to like her.

So I kinda started to sabotage his dates with her and other girls, in a way? I pretend to have headaches, to feel sick or sad or any other excuse so he has to stay with me instead of go see them. I know it's childish and maybe I should just talk to him about it, but I'm so scared he doesn't feel the same and things get weird between us. It's not like we can escape each other.

AITA?

[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

[hawkinsbnbg]

shooting stars

prompts: backseat, bruise, clothes on | @steddiesmuttyseptember

tags: mutual pining, fwb to lovers, hand job, blow job, come swallowing, soft dom Eddie Munson, good boy Steve Harrington.

word count: 2k4 | rated: E | ao3

Steve didn't know how he ended up having Eddie Munson between his legs in the backseat of his car of all places.

Oh yeah, the spinning bottle had pointed at him and Tommy had dared him to go teach The Freak a lesson.

Steve doubted Tommy would've come up with that if he knew the little game Steve had been playing with Eddie since the beginning of his senior year.

Still, he complied. There was no way he would pass up such an opportunity to go search for Eddie without raising suspicion on them both.

"No, you stay here," he gave Tommy a cocky smile, tuning up his King persona to the ten. "Sending me is already overkill. It'd be a fucking joke if I even need you to take down The Freak."

Steve let the hollers and mocking laughter wash over him, feeling both at home and wrong-footed in the skin he was wearing.

He couldn't wait to get out of there and be as far away from those people as possible, knowing Eddie would make everything right again even just for a night.

The party-goers had been none the wiser when he wandered to the backyard of Tina's house, heading to Eddie's regular dealing corner and told the metalhead to meet him at the quarry where no one would bother them.

One thing led to another, instead of dragging him to the back of the van like usual, Eddie chose his beamer to be their destination of the night.

Given the limited space, their frantic movements slowed down after a while, panting into each other's mouths and melding their tongues together.

And yet, their clothes were still on because they liked to keep up the pretense, liked to deny that they cared.

As if Steve didn't secretly protect Hellfire from the jocks all the time, as if Eddie didn't shush him softly as he cried the other night, shield him from the darkness and call him baby.

It was confusing, the trajectory of their not-friendship; but it was intoxicating, the way they gravitated to each other without fail.

"Why here?" Steve asked, chest heaving up and down as Eddie quickly worked his belt and flies open.

The inside of the beamer's backseat—however spacious it had been before—was now cramped with two grown boys, all muscles and gangly limbs.

And Steve was no cheerleaders, either. He couldn't curl up to make himself as small as those girls. Fortunately, he was flexible enough for Eddie to mold however the metalhead liked, forcing his legs apart with pure teenage brawn.

"Wanna see what's the fuss over the famous Harrington Backseat about," Eddie murmured, licking a stripe on his hand before shoving it down Steve's briefs, stroking him right away without any lube.

Steve hissed at the burning stimulation and the raw friction of those chunky rings, but he was already dripping too much precum to feel uncomfortable with them. If anything, he quite enjoyed it whenever Eddie was a little rough and mean to him.

"Yeah?" Steve bit his lip, aware of those dark eyes following his movements like trackers, sending shivers down his spine. "And what's your opinion so far?"

To be honest, Steve never understood the appeal of having sex in the backseat. The space was never enough for two people to move freely.

He simply did it because it was more convenient that way; less risk of falling off the roofs and windowsills, less time of cleaning up, no need to worry about which ways were better for sneaking out once the deed was done.

Then again, with Eddie looming above him and those calloused fingers enclosed his cock like heated brands, he supposed he finally got it.

"Not as bad as I expected," Eddie mouthed at the column of Steve's throat when he threw his head back in a strangled moan. "Maybe it's because of a certain pretty thing here."

Steve whined and bucked his hips, wanting to fuck into the tight circle of Eddie's palm, but he was pinned in place by Eddie's weight—solid and warm and heavy. It messed with his tipsy brain, making him feel small and helpless, knowing he was entirely at the older boy's mercy.

"So wet already," Eddie kissed his jaw, thumb rubbing Steve's sensitive tip meanly, prompting another breathless moan from him. "Just needing someone to take care of you, hm, little prince?"

Cheeks flaming red, Steve felt his breath hitched, felt his inside loosened up and turned into molasses.

He knew it was just an act to set the mood, but Eddie's honeyed words did weird things to him, causing his heart to stutter and soar higher and higher, reminding him too much of love that it was a little bit scary.

Although Steve couldn't physically melt into the leather seats, he felt like he already did as Eddie played with his cock, pulling embarrassing noises out of him effortlessly, feeding him sweet filths between fervent kisses, gnawing his lips until they swelled up, until they were red and shiny like cherries.

Those sharp teeth trailed down his neck, sinking into the tender flesh and carving their marks on the bronzed skin, leaving bloody bruises behind.

The pain made it real, made Steve feel owned, possessed.

As if he was good enough to be kept, as if he was worth more than a pretty face and a quick fuck.

Steve knew he wasn't thinking rationally, he should be realistic and stop expecting Eddie to reciprocate his hopeless feelings.

He longed for it still, yearned to be touched, to be held by those arms every night, unable to keep himself from daydreaming about the what-ifs.

"Tell me," Eddie wrapped a hand around his throat, never too tight but always enough to turn Steve's head fuzzy. "Who do you belong to?"

The question came out of nowhere, shocking Steve to the core. Because whatever they had between them wasn't like that, was it?

Steve was The King and Eddie was The Freak. Two parallel lines that would never meet.

And yet, they crossed paths. Innumerable times. Rushing into each other like moths to the flame, knowing they would burn and explode, knowing they would ignite and crash like shooting stars.

Transient.

Beautiful.

But Steve refused to let them be a tragedy as long as he could help it. Refused to hide behind the forsaken fortress he had built up for years.

Because Eddie deserved better, and all Steve could offer was himself.

"Y– Yours," he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as if he was drunk. "'M yours, D– Daddy."

Eddie's gaze was dark and heavy on him, bottomless and ravenous as they drank in his debauched state; disheveled hair, flushed skin, teary eyes, swollen red lips, redder cock drooling over the white cotton and thick denim.

For a second, Steve was afraid he had ruined it, had exposed himself too much with that slipup, but Eddie didn't even pause, he just grinned wildly, looking unhinged as he made his demand.

"Again."

"'M yours, Daddy," Steve babbled, losing his mind over the encroaching orgasm, curling his toes and arching his back off the seat as he reached the peak. "Yours."

Without preamble, Eddie spat into his gaping mouth and Steve's eyes just rolled back as he shot off, dirtying his jeans and shirt as well as Eddie's hand.

Eddie kissed him—for no other reason than to eat his whimpers right from his mouth—humming and moaning as if tasting ambrosia, not just saliva and the lingering sweetness of cocktails Steve had religiously knocked back during the party.

What came next was the belt's clacking noises. It sounded distant to him, like his brain couldn't catch up with his surroundings anymore.

But Steve was a man of habit. So it was no surprise when moments later, he blinked back to reality and found himself sucking the head of Eddie's cock, tonguing the slit and tasting bitter musk as Eddie groaned and gave a few quick strokes before coming into his mouth.

Greedily, Steve swallowed everything, licking and drinking until Eddie grabbed his hair harshly to stop him.

He was still quite dazed as Eddie cleaned him up, as Eddie redressed him, as Eddie guided him to the van and bundled him in a soft quilt that smelled like weed and smoke and drugstore soap.

The quilt was his comfort blanket, which Eddie never questioned him about, just always happened to have it around whenever Steve needed it.

And somehow, that was the first reason Steve fell for him.

Shaking his head to the joint Eddie offered, Steve leaned on the metal wall of the van and sipped slowly from the bottle of water he had been handed, basking in the peaceful silence that he rarely had for himself these days.

Then, he shifted his gaze to Eddie, meeting those intense eyes, and set the bottle down beside him.

"Thank you."

"What for?" Eddie tilted his head, as if curious, as if wanting to observe him more clearly.

"Everything," Steve shrugged and toyed with the hem of the quilt, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I mean, I was and still am an ass to you. But you always treat me with kindness, and well, make me feel like a real person, not just some– some puppets mindlessly dancing to the music. And I'm glad that I had accepted your offer that day."

"Don't sell yourself so short, Harrington," Eddie snorted, turning his face away briefly to blow out the smoke before looking back at him. "I get it. You have more things to lose than I do so 'course you gotta put on some acts to ward off your nosy subjects. Besides, it's not like I don't benefit from our transaction, or I'm a Saint, either. But it doesn't matter, does it? You and I, we both got something out of this. And that's enough for me."

Steve felt his stomach drop. So that was just a moment of heat, then. He was the idiot to believe it had been real.

And Eddie had said all of that so bluntly, leaving him no delusions to think there was something more between them.

"Okay," he said dully, pulling the quilt tighter around himself to keep the sudden coldness away.

"Fuck," Eddie cursed under his breath and snuffed out the joint in the ashtray nearby before moving closer to him. "Stevie, sweetheart, please look at me."

He had half a mind to ignore the older boy, but his gaze could never not be drawn to Eddie. It was as easy as breathing, a natural thing that had been written into his DNA.

"What?" He looked up, allowing some irritation to seep into his voice.

"I'm not good at this, Jesus Christ," Eddie muttered, fingers carding through frizzy hair and pulling a curl to chew on it anxiously, big brown eyes honed on him. "I'm gonna be honest with you here, Stevie. I never thought I'd have a chance with you, let alone kiss or touch you. But then I did and that's already crazy, you know? 'Cause we're not even friends who greet each other in the hallways like real people. We're just what? Strangers with benefits? Fuck-acquaintances? And don't forget that you had to lie to your friends to sneak out to see me. That they're still thinking you're beating me up right now."

Which was sadly true.

Steve could see why Eddie was so reluctant to get close to him. There were too many problems between them, and they were complicated enough to give Steve a headache.

Then again, he still wanted to try. Because Eddie was the only one who really looked beneath all of those layers to see him. Which was already much more than what other people (including his parents) had done for Steve.

As if reading his mind, Eddie chuckled wryly.

"And you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"That no matter how hard I tried, I still can't get you out of my mind."

Steve inhaled sharply.

"Yeah," Eddie smiled self-deprecatingly, one hand coming up to brush the bruises on the side of Steve's neck. "And the thing is I don't like to share. I'm a possessive motherfucker, sweetheart. Once I'm obsessed with something, I'm gonna keep it and take good care of it."

Eddie sounded insane even to Steve's muddled brain, and that was saying something. Still, he only found himself enraptured by it, deaf to the siren blaring in his head.

"But you're too pretty to be hidden away, sunshine," long fingers moved up to tuck a hair behind Steve's ear, sliding down the curve of it to trace the line of his jaw and his cheekbones, drawing constellations on his skin. "You should be put on the altar, put on the display to show people how gorgeous you are. Let them covet, let them beg for a glimpse of your beauty."

Steve's eyes fluttered shut as those fingers enveloped his throat again, squeezing just right to make his head go silent.

"And I'd be there," Eddie murmured in his ear, making the heat travel down his navel. "Befoul you with my devotion, and brand you with my name. And they'd be so jealous of me, 'cause the angel they worship is already mine."

Steve groaned, growing hard again at the vision Eddie conjured up in his mind. He felt dizzy, floaty, and tender. He wanted to live in this precious moment forever.

"Still wanna be my boy, sweet thing?" Eddie nuzzled his cheek. "When you know how crazy I am?"

"Keep me," Steve whispered, swaying into the only source of warmth that he knew of. "Don't let me go."

When I've got you, baby was pressed on his lips, when those arms caught him and tugged him close, embraced him with promises of love and protection; Steve knew he was finally home.

If the following day, he pissed Tommy and probably most of the jocks off by sticking up to The Freak, then well, Hellfire was ready to extend an olive branch to the former king of Hawkins High.

Because who was they to not welcome their DM's beloved prince?

And some years down the road, when Steve became a primary teacher and Eddie opened up a garage, when they bought a house and settled down together, they would tell their children that they used to be high school sweethearts.

And it wouldn't be a lie.

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

A kiss amidst the bookshelves

pairing: Remus x reader

word count: 2k

tags / description: friends to lovers, first kiss, steamy kiss, bookish Remus and reader, best friend Sirius, friendship fluff, romance fluff, gn

“You look like you’re about to murder him,” Sirius snarks, falling into the sofa next to you amidst the noise of the party surrounding you, following your gaze across the room.

“I…” you begin your routine protesting but give it up. He raises an eyebrow expectantly, surprised. 

“You…?”

An exasperated sigh, then, “I… it… ugh,” you drop your face into your palms and speak into them, “Murder would simplify things.” Sirius barks a laugh in response. 

“Do you want an accomplice in offing our best mate?” His smile is conspiratorial, but there’s something in his eyes behind his typical teasing tone. 

“Would you mind? I don’t know if I can go through with it,” you joke seriously. “If you do the killing part, I promise I’ll help hide the body.” Sirius, smiling but knowing, pulls you into him, his arm around your shoulders, your head coming to rest on him. 

“To be fair, that would probably be the more difficult part,” he continues, and he feels your chuckle against his chest. “I know I can take him, but our Moony is pretty tall; it might pose a problem when we have to move him after.”

An affirmative “hm” is all you offer in response, basking in his warm comfort silently for a moment. 

“Or…” he cuts the quiet. “And hear me out here, love. I know homicide will seem the more appealing option initially… but you could, you know, tell him how you feel.” 

“Murder. I choose murder,” you deadpan.

“Y/NNN,” he whines with the tinge of a scold. 

“Siriusss,” you mimic childishly. 

He sighs and says, “Darling, I know it’s scary,” he squeezes you, “but your miserable pining is seriously starting to bum me out. I don’t know how much more I can take honestly.” You pull away from him and shove his shoulder as he chuckles. “Alright, alright, sorry. I suppose I’m slightly concerned for your happiness as well.” The energy between you shifts palpably. You don’t get this side of Sirius much, and the gravity of it shakes you. 

“I can’t,” you whisper, looking down. 

“You can,” he responds immediately, gently pushing your chin up, his thumb stroking your jaw. 

“Everything alright?” a third voice, achingly familiar, startles you. You rush to wipe the ghosts of tears before turning to where he’s taking a seat on the arm of the sofa, looking down at you and Sirius. 

“All good, mate,” Sirius answers before you have to, and you grin gratefully at him. 

“Sure?” Remus checks, looking straight at you, feigning levity.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you say lightly. “How’s Mary doing?” you ask, nodding to where he had just been chatting enthusiastically to her across the room. You’d always suspected they’d had feelings for each other back in your school days. “Good, good,” he nods. “We were just catching up, hadn’t seen her in a while. I might show her the shop next week actually. Think she’ll enjoy it.” You stomach sinks at this. “Oh yeah?” you hear the strain in your voice, your efforts at hiding your dismay clearly failing. So you quickly add, “That’s great, Rem. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Remus — the Remus that can read you like a children’s book — squints his eyes a bit at you, confused by your tension, probably still pondering the moment he interrupted between you and Sirius. 

The shop. Your shop. Your favourite place on Earth. A place you thought of as yours and his. I mean, it was, technically, but you know. You’d opened the bookshop together about a year ago now, and business was tough but picking up. Though you weren’t making much money (yet, hopefully), you and Remus were the happiest you’d been in years, finally doing something both of you found joy in, and together no less.

“Speaking of,” you start, stretching. “I have some work I wanted to finish, so I think I’m going to get going.” “Now?” he asks in disbelief. “It’s late, love. I don’t remember there being anything urgent?”

“No, I know; it’s not.” You get up a bit awkwardly. Standing in front of where he’s perched on the sofa, you’ve gone from looking up at him to down. He really is beautiful from any angle, you think to yourself. You realize you’re staring; you don’t know how strangely, but you see he’s looking expectantly at you, curiousity gleaming in his deep brown eyes. “Urgent, I mean,” you stutter out. “It’s just that inventory I’ve been trying to finish up.” 

“You can do that tomorrow,” he tries. “I’ll help.” “No, it’s alright, Rem, really. I just feel like it now.” You smile a strained smile with fake ease but real warmth. Then, shaking off the heaviness of the moment, you give him a quick hug, turn to give Sirius a quick peck on the cheek goodbye, and head out. 

You like the shop at night, when it’s empty and quiet. Well, sometimes it’s empty during the day as well, to be honest, but there’s something about the night and the blanket the darkness provides. You especially like it when Remus is there with you, but it’s nice when you’re alone too. Just you and the books and the sense that the shelves that envelop you hold endless possibilities and infinite feelings you can just melt into. 

You walk down the cramped aisles for a few minutes, your eyes and your fingertips tracing the titles. When you stumble on a comforting favourite, you pull it down, and nestle into one of the two inviting armchairs you and Remus had set up in a cosy corner of the small space. 

If it were any other activity, you would have been shocked at how quickly you were immersed, leaving the heaviness of your love and your worries in the real world to be picked up again on your way out. You are shocked, however, when, as you flip a page, a low voice says, “Hard at work I see.” 

You jump, dropping the book, and screech, “Fucking hell, Remus! What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me.” He’s laughing like he can’t help himself as he kneels down in front of you to pick up the book, holding it in one hand and holding the other up in a gesture of guilty surrender. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he chuckles. “It’s not like I was quiet coming in.”

“Well, I didn’t hear you,” you shoot angrily. “Clearly.” He’s grinning as he offers you the book. “Good choice,” he adds, giving it a little shake.

“Yeah, well, it’s comforting every time.” Your tone is easier now but still a little edgy as you grab the book and place it on the little table beside you. 

“Hm.” He sounds serious; it makes you turn to him instinctively; you look into his concerned eyes. “And why did you need comforting this time?” His voice is a syrupy whisper, and his question makes time stand still.  

Because I love you too much, you idiot, you think but don’t say. “I’m fine,” you do say. 

“You’re not,” he responds. You look away.

“I’m fine enough.” 

“Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” he pleads, putting his hand on your knee. “You’ve been weird all night.” “Don’t deny it,” he adds when you open your mouth to say something immediately. It’s not harsh. You close your mouth again, but don’t know what to say instead. 

“Did something happen?” he prods after several moments. You stay silent, but tears well in your eyes, transfixed on his. He whispers your name lovingly and brings his other hand to your cheek, stroking gently. You nod before you can think yourself out of it. “I messed up, Rem,” you whisper. “When?” he asks, all kindness. After a mirthless chuckle you say, “Around when we were twelve I think. Maybe even eleven.” His thumb stops its comforting motion in his confusion; his eyebrows are furrowed; one side of his mouth seems conflicted about whether to laugh or not. “I don’t understand,” he says finally.

“It’s your fault, really,” you half-laugh, wiping your eyes. “What?” He tenses and pulls away from you, concern elevated to fear in his eyes and voice.

“I didn’t mean,” you start, leaning forward and grabbing his hands in yours. “That’s not what I meant.” Your voice is still tinged in a cynical snicker, but he’s clearly not amused.

“What did you mean then?” It’s sharper, and it hurts. 

“I…” Another chuckle. “Y/N,” losing patience. 

“Fuck, this is hard.” You take your hands back and cover your face with them, kneading in frustration. A beat. He says your name again, just as firm but much more gentle, and reaches for your hands, holding them again. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I thought you knew that. We can work through anything, together… but you have to talk to me. Did I do something?”

You look back and forth between his eyes, hear Sirius’s voice in your head: “you can,” and take a deep breath.

“You can tell me,” he repeats, and you believe him… but can’t bring yourself to it. 

“I can’t,” you whisper, and you hate the familiar sound of it in your ears. You see his posture sink in defeat, but he doesn’t let go of your hands. 

“Can I show you instead?” you ask, terrified of what came next, but more terrified of never finding out. He nods eagerly and goes to stand up, but you squeeze his hands tighter and hold him in place. He settles back down where he’s knelt in front of you, staring at you intently. You shift to the edge of the chair, quite close to him now. One of your hands releases his and comes up toward his face. You hear him gasp as you run your fingertips along his cheekbone then along a prominent scar there. You keep going and run your fingers through his hair then let your hand rest there, on the back of his head among his soft brown curls. You look down at his lips. Your gaze lingers there, making your intention obvious as you move even closer to him. He’s stock-still as you approach, but when your nose touches his, he lunges hungrily forward to meet you. 

He moans into your mouth as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, and yours comes up around his shoulders. Your chests are flush now, your legs open wider to accommodate his kneeling form in between them, leaning into you completely, devouring you. His lips work against yours, exploring; his hands, intent but indecisive, travel from pulling you close to holding your face firmly against his, his thumbs lovingly pushing into your jaw, his fingers wrapped in your hair. You immediately fall into a rhythm, opening your mouths to each other. He tastes like chocolate, and you giggle at the realization. Remus instinctively smiles at the sound of your laughter and the slight withdrawal from your mouth gives him the opportunity to trail away from your lips, slowly along your jaw, down to your neck, licking and lingering. You bare your neck to him, your breathing coming more heavily now, your grasp on him tighter. You grip his hair and croon his name, and he moans loudly. He gives your neck a final, wet kiss and pulls back to look at you.

His eyes are dark and lidded; his lips swollen and moist; his hair is messy, and the look on his face is one you’ve never seen before. He looks giddy and lustful simultaneously. Pulling your face to his with a hand at your nape, he rests his forehead against yours and gives you a hungry kiss, fast but firm. He chuckles. 

“I still don’t understand.” “What?” you smile. 

“How is this a problem?” His thumb is caressing you; his smile is beaming. 

“I didn’t know if you felt it too,” you confess. 

A teasing tsk then, “Quite daft for the cleverest person I know.” He brings your mouth to his again. 

~

smutty pt. 2!

[the-s1lly-corner]

CRP characters crushing on the reader 2/2

Placeholder opening here, check part 1 for the other characters! i dont usually write for zalgo because my take on him is... so... yeah... and hard to write for him, but the idea of this intangible godlike entity that can warp realities falling for someone is horrifying

Characters: Jane, Jeff, Ticci Toby, Nina, Bloody Painter, Zalgo

Notes: reader is GN but post mainly focuses on the canon characters, admin uses any pronouns for nina so if you see the pronouns swapping that's why!, heavy hcs for Zalgo and his part isnt really open for "it gets better and you guys get together" no his part is just... horrifying

CWs: zalgo is zalgo; ie non human entity does not follow human morals and is kind of... toxic and horrifying

JANE

I need you guys to bare with me because this blog has always been hc/au heavy with how I write characters but between all the main crps, Jane is probably the most likely to just.. be a normal person 90% of the time, so the chances of you and her meeting during a normal day is pretty high. She's closed off so you don't even notice that there's feelings developing on her end. If there is a difference it's just her being slightly more affectionate and open to you. She becomes even more protective of you, can you blame her? You've heard of the rumors about her family... She doesn't deny her feelings if you ask her, though, so it's a clean confession when the time comes instead of it just being spilled or forced out.

JEFF

He's so full of himself that he approaches you without thinking anything through because he's so confident that you're going to just fall for him. Makes a lot of jokes with you, some darker than others. Flirts with you up front because once more, he's so confident that you're into him that he doesn't take a moment to consider that you would reject him. Probably takes rejection the worst, at least out of the characters on this list. And that's on being on the run since your mid teen years, he didn't interact with many people because of that. "Oh you dig me" as you slap his arm because he said something dumb.

TICCI TOBY

Very similar to the other proxies, watches you from afar but he decides to interact with you sooner than the other two. He's wary, because he doesn't want to humiliate himself or screw anything up but he's so so so desperate to meet someone new who's in his age range so he's doing his best to appeal to you. Sometimes slips up because he's trying too hard. He can pester you and get on your nerves, but he doesn't mean anything wrong by it... usually.. You outright ask him if he has a crush on you and you can see him internally scrambling for something to say. It's actually a little sweet. Probably the most normal out of them all asides Jane, at least by Creepypasta standards.

NINA

Oh she is so upfront about her feelings for you! Makes you small trinkets and keepsakes with random stuff she finds. Very quick to approach you as well and make a friendship. Very chill if you don't end up returning their feelings, and more than happy to keep up a friendship with you if you want that. A yapper, too, so they have a habit of keeping you by keeping a conversation up and alive longer than others would. Custom kandi for you as well, with your favorite colors and some stuff they know you like! As an aside, Nina is a "cringe fandom enjoyer", so you guys can get into the same things and be cringe and free together! Not related to this post but have it as a bonus!

BLOODY PAINTER

He finds himself drawing you more than he draws his other subjects, and honestly its a little frustrating. You start finding some of his papers laying around. He approaches you so he can try to get even more accurate with his art, having the real thing as a reference is much better than relying off of memories of you wandering around town. Once the initial tenseness dies down, you might be able to get a few words out of him while he's drawing. "Muse of an artist" trope, a lot of the things he makes are dedicated to you in one way or another. His art is the only real tip that there's something going on, because otherwise he's good about swallowing and hiding his emotions.

ZALGO

Bonus character, Zalgo would literally alter the universe if he could to ensure that you're there and his. He can manipulate media, and create creatures.. I mean in my au he's literally the reason half the creepypastas exist... I WAS going to make a joke that he makes a stand in to act for him, but he's so into you that he can't stand the idea of someone else being with you... doesnt matter if he was living vicariously through it. Genuine psychological horror elements here with him warping the world around you in an attempt to get your attention and to get you to come to him. Technical cosmic / otherworldly horror (?) because he's something that transcends just about everything in universe. Simultaneously everywhere at anytime all the time, there is no real way to get away from him. Horrifying stuff.

[vickyvicarious]

"He is young and strong; there are kisses for us all."

May 16

"He is so young and strong and of blood so pure that we need not defibrinate it."

September 8

Thinking about this echo, and the way Lucy and the suitors + Van Helsing provide a kind of opposing force to Jonathan and the vampire ladies + Dracula.

In both cases, we have the young, appealing innocent who is soon to be married and has entered a new phase of their life (Jonathan/Lucy). Both have an older foreign man become very interested in them and very fond of them in their own way (Dracula/Van Helsing). Both have three 'admirers' who want to 'love' them (vampire ladies/suitor squad).

Of course, noting this is nothing new. Plenty of people (and I myself) have pointed out these and other parallels between all these individuals. But I want to go a little farther with it today.

A vampire's 'love' is one of corruption and consumption. Jonathan was held captive in Dracula's castle, and forced against his will to adopt a largely nocturnal schedule*; he had to adapt in this and many other ways to his captor's way of life. The vampires had him in their control from the start, and he had to behave in certain ways to please Dracula lest he suffer consequences of his displeasure. Dracula was extremely possessive of Jonathan, right up until he wasn't going to be around anymore, and then he was happy to throw him aside for the others to devour. Despite this 'sharing', he and the vampire women are at odds and dismissive of one another (he spends most of his time shooing them away from Jonathan, they scoff at and mock him), and whatever love may have been there in the past is clearly long gone.

Human love is one of dedication and trust. The suitors (and later Van Helsing) all come to Lucy. Both initially, in visiting her to make their proposals at her house, and then later on coming to her home when she is ill; they come to her side when she is in need, and they drop what they're doing to adapt to her. When Lucy has to turn two suitors down, she feels awful about not being able to please them all, but each of them emphasizes that they don't hold it against her at all, and they will remain devoted to her friendship. None of them are possessive of her. (Admittedly, Van Helsing does somewhat frequently work to keep Lucy's loved ones apart from her, ushering Arthur away or drugging her to sleep when he's there; but he also invites them to come and help her with their transfusions.) Arthur, the one she has chosen at the exclusion of the other suitors, is notable for being especially welcoming to the others. It is on his behest that both Jack and Quincey arrive to help Lucy in the first place, and he is extremely grateful for and welcoming of their efforts in that vein (pardon the pun):

"Young miss is bad, very bad. She wants blood, and blood she must have or die. My friend John and I have consulted; and we are about to perform what we call transfusion of blood—to transfer from full veins of one to the empty veins which pine for him. John was to give his blood, as he is the more young and strong than me"—here Arthur took my hand and wrung it hard in silence—"but, now you are here, you are more good than us, old or young, who toil much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm and our blood not so bright than yours!"

And this quote brings me to the next detail I find so interesting. In order to finally escape alive, Jonathan turns many of Dracula's tricks against him. Just to name a few, he does things such as: wall-climbing, sneaking around while Dracula is asleep, stealing Dracula's belongings. There are a lot of reversals between them in the last few days, both in Jonathan's explorations and his attack on Dracula. He's 'fighting fire with fire', so to speak, and it works to get him out of the castle. Later on, we see even more of this when he is hunting Dracula down near the end of the book.

He's far from the only person to do such a thing. Dracula himself is very deliberately doing this sort of thing throughout much of the book, from imitating Jonathan in the Castle to innovating ways to work around old vampiric limitations. And Mina is of course a whole example on her own of weaponizing the enemy's own tools against him. But so is this Van Helsing + suitor squad group in a really interesting way. Even Lucy herself, though due to circumstances, she's not the most intentional/active participant in doing so. Let's look back at that quote above again. Van Helsing says that Lucy "wants blood, and blood she must have" - in order to stop her from becoming a supernatural vampire, instead they willingly perform a sort of medical vampirisim. Here we once again see the contrast between modernity and the supernatural, and interestingly, how they overlap to cross purposes.

Dracula takes Lucy's blood away. Van Helsing (by proxy at first) gives it back. Dracula wants Lucy to become a vampire, and drink the blood of those around her. Van Helsing, in giving her transfusions, enables her to drink in their blood in order to prevent her from becoming a vampire. The three vampire women wanting to gang up on Jonathan and drain him of his strength. The three suitors join together to take turns sacrificing their own strength in order to supply Lucy with more when she's in need of it.

Dracula wants her to take, just as he and the vampire women do. In fact, almost everything he does to turn her involves depriving her of things: restful sleep, blood, eventually her mother. But in her friends, Lucy is surrounded by people who love her and give freely, and this saves her (at least temporarily). They all work together and love one another in a way deeply at odds with Dracula and other vampires' form of consumptive 'love'.

And so their vampiric actions of transferring blood between bodies are life-saving instead of life-taking. Jack and Van Helsing even remember a version which is all the more a mimic of vampiric body language and leans way into the vampire-as-disease metaphor, with the reference to the time Jack sucked "from [Van Helsing's] wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene" - it's got the mouth on skin, the sucking, but it's taking away illness rather than infecting someone. It also fosters a long-standing dedication and love, which in turn lends itself to the saving of someone else. This too ties in to the way vampiric love isolates, while human love connects.

* Lucy, meanwhile, in fighting against her terrible dreams, often attempts to be awake at night and is unable to do so. A more nocturnal schedule would make her safer, since her sleeping state is where Dracula has the most influence over her.

[queerfables]

Taking away the glass?

Oh gosh I'm actually so keen to talk about this so thank you for the opening!

Context: Responding to akaitsukicat's artwork of Crowley and Aziraphale separated by a glass wall, I said that the reason we're all such wrecks over their kiss is because after 6000 years in canon and 33 years in real life, that kiss was "taking away the glass".

The glass is a metaphor that media scholar Henry Jenkins uses to explain the appeal of slash, originally published in 1993. Here, "slash" refers to queer re-interpretation of heterosexual media, including transformative works exploring those readings.

This is what Jenkins says about the glass:

When I try to explain slash to non-fans, I often reference that moment in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan where Spock is dying and Kirk stands there, a wall of glass separating the two longtime buddies. Both of them are reaching out towards each other, their hands pressed hard against the glass, trying to establish physical contact. They both have so much they want to say and so little time to say it. Spock calls Kirk his friend, the fullest expression of their feelings anywhere in the series. Almost everyone who watches the scene feels the passion the two men share, the hunger for something more than what they are allowed. And, I tell my nonfan listeners, slash is what happens when you take away the glass. The glass, for me, is often more social than physical; the glass represents those aspects of traditional masculinity which prevent emotional expressiveness or physical intimacy between men, which block the possibility of true male friendship. Slash is what happens when you take away those barriers and imagine what a new kind of male friendship might look like. One of the most exciting things about slash is that it teaches us how to recognize the signs of emotional caring beneath all the masks by which traditional male culture seeks to repress or hide those feelings.

The vid I refer to, inspired by Jenkin's comments, is The Glass by thingswithwings. It's a beautiful vid, sad and hopeful and empowering, with a very moving commentary on fandom history. It was originally published in 2008, which is relevant to understanding the position it takes in the dialogue around queer relationships in media.

Here's thingswithwings' summary of the vid, as it appears on YouTube:

Henry Jenkins, speaking of the Spock death scene from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, said, "slash is what happens when you take away the glass." It has been said, in response, that death also happens when you take away the glass. ie, if you took away the glass Kirk would die of radiation poisoning too; the barrier between desiring men cannot be removed on pain of death. Homosexuality, or just loving touch between two people of the same gender, is equivalent to death in this media narrative. One of the interesting things about slash is the way it takes away the glass, then puts it back, then takes it away, then puts it back, often pleasurably. I think this is both problematic and powerful. It is problematic because it reasserts the impossibility of the touch (it fetishizes oppression in a negative manner); it is powerful - and good - because it dwells on and thinks about and removes the glass (it fetishizes oppression in a transformative manner). One of the interesting things about mainstream media is that it continues to put the glass back up, no matter how hard we try to tear it down. Queer desiring touches have been, and remain, imaginable but impossible. TL;DR ALTERNATE SUMMARY: THERE SEEMS TO BE SOME KIND OF INVISIBLE BARRIER IDK WHAT IT MIGHT BE

In regards to Good Omens, it's relevant that this entire conversation about homosocial relationships in media takes place within the 29 year period between the publication of Good Omens the book and the adaptation of the story to screen. The vid was created 15 years ago - which is to say 18 years after the book was published and 11 years before season 1 was released - and it talks about realised queer desire in mainstream media as being so impossible that it is equivalent to death. That is the kind of resistance that queer representation in pop culture has been up against, these last three decades.

Crowley/Aziraphale, as depicted in the book, is such a classic example of slash. I've seen some people who read the book in a contemporary context saying they didn't necessarily pick up on any subtext between the characters, and I suspect this is a mark of cultural expectations. Firstly, because the cultural references that the intentional subtext relies on have become obscured over time - see Neil Gaiman's explanation of the "consenting cycle repairmen" line. But more importantly because the audience's frame of reference for unintentional subtext has shifted, too. What is unsayable and which silences are emotionally loaded has changed over time. Even if you are intentionally using a queer lens in your reading, you might not see subtext in the same places that someone would even 10 years ago.

For example, take this passage from the book:

On the whole, neither [Aziraphale] nor Crowley would have chosen each other's company, but they were both men, or at least men-shaped creatures, of the world, and the Arrangement had worked to their advantage all this time. Besides, you grew accustomed to the only other face that had been around more or less consistently for six millennia.

On it's face, this line suggests that the relationship between the two of them is a matter of convenience more than desire. Maybe that's the intended reading and maybe that's how it started or how they justify their association to themselves, but taken together with how deeply they know each other and how they are always each other's first thought in a crisis, suddenly "neither would have chosen the other's company" sounds like an extremely British way to say they care about each other far more than they were supposed to. Plus, this is Aziraphale's take on their relationship, and it plays rather beautifully against Crowley's much simpler expression of the exact same sentiment:

Aziraphale. The Enemy, of course. But an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him a sort of friend.

To go back to Henry Jenkin's wise words, what we're seeing here is Aziraphale thinking about Crowley through the glass - through the "aspects of traditional masculinity which prevent emotional expressiveness or physical intimacy between men". If you came up in slash fandom at a time when seeing queer relationships in canon was unthinkable, you probably find it easier to identify the gap between how Aziraphale thinks about his relationship with Crowley and how their relationship actually functions. That gap was where a lot of slash lived.

You might say that the book shows Crowley and Aziraphale watching each other through the glass, and season 1 is them pressing up against it. They're still prevented from showing the full depth of feeling between them, they still hunger for more than they're allowed, but they are reaching for it. We see the history of their relationship developing through the ages. The unsayable is still left unsaid, but we feel the weight of it in everything they do. They come so very close but they still can't cross that threshold.

And then there's season 2. Within the text, Crowley and Aziraphale are not just pressing against the glass, they're actively trying to dismantle it. They're searching for a door to the other side. They're inspecting for weak points where they could cut their way through. And then suddenly they're out of time and out of options and the glass is still between them, and there's nothing they can do.

As the audience, you feel that desperation. You feel that grief. And if you're someone who's been watching the glass go back up on every relationship you thought might stand a chance of tearing it down, it hits hard. You're longing vicariously with the characters, but you're longing for yourself too, to see queer desire made possible. To see queer touch made not just imaginable but real.

And then, with all hope lost, Crowley throws himself through the glass. It doesn't matter that it doesn't save them. They kiss and it changes everything. Queer desire is no longer up for debate. Queer touch is no longer impossible. They kiss and the glass shatters, entirely and irrevocably.

This is why it matters so much that they did kiss, even though the love between them was already undeniable. For thirty years, Crowley and Aziraphale were part of a media landscape that relentlessly reinforced the glass at every turn and flooded fatal radiation through any crack they couldn't fix. In a different context, that kiss would be less vital to affirming their relationship. But in the world we live in, with the specific history that this story has, I don't think anything else could have done what it did. The glass between these characters had been reinforced over decades, in a culture that made the barriers to open intimacy between men inescapable. Their kiss was what it took to break it.

And by shattering the glass, this story has fundamentally rewritten what is possible. It proves the rules preventing true affection between people of the same gender can be defied. Queer people are already becoming more visible in pop culture; we're no longer reliant on slash reimagining queer longing between heterosexual leads. But Crowley and Aziraphale's kiss is cathartic and vindicating in an entirely different way. It turns slash into intentional queerness. It takes a fetishisation of oppression vacillating between problematic and transformative, and finally stands up on the side of powerful, empowering transformation. It confronts the barriers that once rendered this desiring touch impossible, and breaks through them once and for all.

That's what taking away the glass means. That's what Good Omens did.

[wing-ed-thing]

The Head, The Neck (Madara x Reader)

Synopsis: The man may be the head of the household, but the woman is the neck, and she can turn the head whichever way she pleases. You and your husband have strikingly different opinions about the rising Hidden Leaf. In the face of his indecisiveness, you take matters into your own hands.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Uchiha!Reader, Slight Hashirama x Reader, Bickering and Insufferable Married Couple, Like If Two Cats Were Married, Sexist Madara Uchiha, Mild Marital Physical Violence

Madara was just beginning to look agreeable until he happened upon a paper amongst his things. Hashirama sat across the negotiation table, watching as Madara stopped in the middle of his sentence. Hashirama exchanged looks with Tobirama, several other clan leaders, and prominent figures filling the seats between them as they, too, glanced at each other in confusion. But as Madara continued to hold the room in silence, it became clear that new information had been thrown into the negotiation room.

Tobirama let out an audible huff. More pointed eye contact from Hashirama told him to hold his tongue. The moments Madara seemed deep in thought only served to unsettle the gathering. The leadership began to whisper and murmur amongst themselves. 

Hashirama had a decent feel for the rest of them. After generations of clan warfare, most were ready to settle for Hashirama’s appealing proposals for peace. Even the most skeptical of participants were pacified after a round or two of assurances and negotiations. Hashirama, lauded for his genuineness and sincerity, was taking the unspoken role of de facto leader. But the Uchiha, despite being clear losers in the battle against the Senju with no real leveraging power, were the only party holding out.

Madara let the paper drape backward onto his tight grip. His fingers wrinkled the paper before he let it fall to the table’s surface with a deep scowl and a narrowing of his eye. The neatly handwritten page slid to the center of the negotiation table. The rest of Madara’s neatly organized files disappeared from the space before him, and he leaned forward on a single crossed elbow.

“It seems that once again, the Uchiha Clan offered a mere pittance when it comes to your slight adjustments,” he gritted, staring down Hashirama. “Do you think you are clever in your crafty wording?” The corners of Hashirama’s neutral expression dipped, wavering for the quickest of seconds.

“You have been left out of nothing,” he spoke sternly. “I assure you, Madara.”

Madara had none of it. He stood quickly, his features severe with quiet, seething rage. His knuckles clenched red and white against the table's surface as negative chakra radiated from him in waves. Unfurling a single hand, he brought his palm down to strike against the flat space in front of him. The one slap filled the atmosphere with a mighty boom.

“Do not lie to me, Hashirama Senju!” Madara roared, his every word clear and barely restrained. They took up the air like an expanding explosion, ripping the cordiality of the room. Seething, he stormed out, and you followed him. Hashirama caught your eye, trailing behind your husband with his meeting notes, and as you diverted your gaze, he knew that he was negotiating with more than just Madara.

Only when he left did the leadership around the table take a collective breath. The sole evidence that marked Madara’s presence sat at the center. Hashirama took the paper in his hands gingerly, studying the writing on the page closely. The proposal, which had not yet been shared with the rest of the clan heads, had been annotated thoroughly.

***

You knew about Madara’s friendship with Hashirama as a boy, but only at length. He never told you much about it, but as he sat outside your home, folded in on himself, you could gather enough to confirm your suspicions. 

“Madara,” you sighed, leaning partially against the broom in your one hand. He was blocking you from sweeping the back engawa, and without a response, you stepped around him to start on the opposite end, working on what you could. He didn’t pay you any mind, letting the silence take the distance between you. The rough bristles scratched against the wood. You heaved another sigh. “You will have to come to a decision eventually. The leadership will not wait for you forever.” His head shot up from between his knees. 

“Do not meddle in affairs that do not concern you, woman,” he frowned, but you were too busy to notice. Madara’s hands ran through his hair as he cast his gaze downwards. “I already know this.” You scoffed. 

“Affairs that do not concern me?” You stopped, hands clenched punishingly around the broom’s wooden handle. “The Uchiha are my people as well as yours, clearly. Unless being whipped about by Hashirama Senju for all these years has caused your mind to deteriorate.” The bristles of your broom beat more harshly at the wood of your engawa. “You should take your losses and move on instead of moping and licking your wounds like a sad animal.” 

You knew Madara and his buttons inside and out, yet he was none the wiser. He stood with a tremendous growl, stalking over to you as you relocated a flower pot. Madara stopped short of you, stewing in quiet rage as you didn’t even offer him eye contact.

“You best watch your tongue,” he said lowly and dangerously as he blocked your way. He gripped the shoulder of your robes, tearing the fabric off your shoulder as he jerked you. The reds of his sharingan had been activated, boring down at you as he brought a crushing grip to your broom with his other hand. Only then did you meet his eye, staring into his challenging gaze with your plain, unamused irises. 

“Or what?” You delivered a swift swat to his cheek, only the tips of your fingers making contact with the skin of his cheek before he slapped your wrist away. You huffed, ripping yourself from his grasp to snatch your broom back. You took to sweeping where he just stood from, not without first knocking the back of his skull with the broom handle. “You know better than to try to bully me around, you brute. ” 

“You know not of what you speak.” He turned to face with a stomp. “I do not believe sincerity from the Senju for a single second, nor should you.” Madara gestured with his large hands somewhere in your peripheral.

“Because of your personal vendetta against Hashirama Senju—”

“You be quiet, woman!”

“Ah, so, I can keep your books but am too much of a woman to know what I speak, eh? I see—” You jutted the end of your broom punishingly into his chest, pushing him back a half step. You shook your head, knocking the base of your palm mockingly against your temple, pushing him back a step more. He growled, gripping it in his palm but not yet pulling it away. —“Too stupid to understand government affairs when my husband does not even bother to attend important gatherings and blows up when decisions are made without him. Ah, yes, he does not even notice the fine print!” Madara averted his gaze.

“I noticed just fine.”

“When I was the one to include it in your things.” 

Madara parted his lips to retort but quickly closed them. A deep simmer escaped his wide nostrils. He crossed his arms with a narrowing of his brow. You almost smiled, self-satisfied at chipping your way to victory, but the tension made you bitter. 

You leaned your broom against the side of your home, and Madara allowed you to approach. Wordlessly, you smoothed out the front of his robes, pulling the fabric taut on his shoulders.

“Hashirama is a dear friend from childhood. I understand this,” you spoke softly, running your finger down the fold of cloth across his chest. “For the good of the clan, please, have an open mind.” You tugged on his collar, wordlessly signaling for him to lean forward. You placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “It will all work out for the better. I am certain.”

***

Hashirama’s schedule had become too booked for him to remember much of what he had planned on any given day. Given the socio-political state of things and Hashirama’s often flawed memory, the most important meetings of the day had to be repeated to him several times in the morning on most days. On exceptionally hectic weeks, he even recorded a list of them under his sleeve. So when Hashirama was informed that his post-lunch meeting was waiting for him, he didn’t think much of it.

“It is Uchiha,” someone told him on his way toward his office. He stopped briefly, scrunching his brow as he repeated,

“Uchiha?” Hashirama swiveled his head almost as if to physically clear his thoughts. He glanced toward his office door, and with the squaring back of his shoulders, he thanked his assistant and walked forward to meet his fate. Hashirama had expected Madara Uchiha, but instead, sitting in front of his desk was you. He couldn’t help the clear expression of surprise that fell over his face. “Ah, Mrs. Uchiha! What can I do for you?”

“Please, do not be so formal.” You stood to greet him, the exchange quick and unremarkable, before Hashirama took a seat behind his desk. 

The two of you had met before, albeit very briefly. Hashirama and Madara had only been friends in childhood, after all, and by the time they could speak on civil grounds again, they were already grown, and Madara married. With female Uchiha warriors only allowed at the end of the Senju-Uchiha conflict— due strictly to desperation— Hashirama couldn’t say with certainty if he had ever met you before on the field. If he had to bet, probably not. 

“I must say, this is quite the surprise. Would you like some tea?” You gave a small wave of your hand.

“No, no. Thank you, though, for your hospitality,” you laughed. Hashirama studied the foreboding look hidden in your eye. “Surely, not an unpleasant surprise. I am sure you were expecting my husband.” He smiled at your correct guess. Although judging by your meticulously contained chakra, Hashirama would be surprised if it was truly a guess.

“Indeed. I have been attempting to get a hold of your husband for quite a number of days, but he has been refusing my summons as of late,” he said, holding your gaze. Peering into your dark pupils, he thought they might tell him something. But what Hashirama searched for, he didn’t find, or at the very least, it wasn’t easily surrendered. “But you already knew this.” 

He tensed as you reached into your sleeve. A bundle of letters skitted across his desk, landing between his hands—a pile of letters on Senju stationery upon further inspection. 

“All unopened,” you noted before he could think it. “You should have expected as much, Hashirama Senju.” Hashirama took the bundle in his hands. Unraveling the neat string that bound them, he sifted through the pile. Most of the letters were from his office or the greater council. But even the handwritten ones directly from him were untouched. 

But any questions he had about his unanswered messages were dwarfed compared to the one thought that occupied his mind. 

Why were you here?

As if reading his mind again, you offered him another selection of pages in a chrisp folder. He eyed you, skeptical, almost laughing as he tilted his head to the side. An instinctual part of him wondered if this was all a practical joke of some sort. It was an uncommon phenomenon, but Hashirama was at a loss.

You slid them toward him, and with a last look for approval, he flipped through them, too. He thumbed through page by page of annotated meeting notes and addendums, not too dissimilar to the page Madara had tossed across the table at negotiations.

“These will be the adjustments you will propose to the Uchiha in the next meeting if you want Madara to agree.” When Hashirama looked up, your unyielding gaze was still on him. “You will come by in tomorrow for dinner—”

“Mrs. Uchiha, with all due respect—” 

“Follow the instructions detailed in those pages. No skimming.” Hashirama shook his head as he made a motion to stand our of his seat, this ordeal crossing an unspoken threshold. He compiled your papers in his hands, ready to hand them back to you.

“Mrs. Uchiha, I am—”

“Do you want negotiations to conclude or not?” You flickered forward suddenly, slamming your palm against the desk hard enough to cause it to tremble, just as Madara had. Your voice shook with barely restrained fury, and Hashirama immediately sat back down.

You held up a hand, fanning yourself as you breathed. Hashirama had seen your expression before. In Madara, on the battlefield. He could see it now. You and Madara were indeed an even match.

You pursed your lips, appearing to gather yourself before you continued, accenting every word with dripping poison. 

“Madara had been designated the leader of our clan through battle, and now look where that has landed us.” You stood out of your chair. Hashirama’s back hit the back of his seat as you leaned a knee on the front of his desk, hovering over to point to a few notes in the margins. 

“He had been dodging your summons, as we just discussed. So the remedy?” You crawled across the glass surface, Hashirama pinned in his seat against the bookcase that stood a bit too close behind him. With a firm push, you took the first page of your notes in your hand, slapping and holding it against Hashirama’s chest. He held his breath as your eyes bore into his very soul. “You have an Uchiha in front of you now, do you not, Hashirama Senju?” 

You recoiled, and Hashirama hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath. It was almost comical, the strongest warrior in all of the Land of Fire intimidated into submission by a single housewife. He watched you as you stared out his office window, dusting off the skirt of your robes. When you turned back to him, you nodded with finality. 

“Follow those instructions, and the Uchiha Clan will submit.” And with a second nod, you began to head for the door. 

“Mrs. Uchiha?” Hashirama called, your fingers on the handle. You held onto the knob even as you pivoted to face him. Hashirama stood at his desk, attention half of you and half on your thorough compilation of documents. Documents that you should not have had in your possession. And when he met your stare, he said only one thing, “I know it must be difficult to trust a Senju.”

The corner of your lips twitched downward, forming the semblance of a scowl. 

“The Uchiha lost as much as anyone during the conflict, if not more. Madara has a right to be suspicious. He wishes to protect us.” You turned back toward the door, shaking your head to yourself. “Resisting change— the protection of a herd— will not allow our people to thrive. I do not trust the Senju in the slightest.” You stepped out into the hallway, but before you shut the door behind you, you had one more request of Hashirama. “Do right by us, Hashirama.”

“I will.”

You shut the door.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[writinground2]

The Trainer and the Rookie

Arsenal gets a new trainer and a new rookie takes a bit too much of a liking to her, much to Leah's entertainment.

Note; I wrote under a previous name, but I am potentially looking and getting back into it. If this get's picked up, I may turn it into a series.

“How are you not fuming right now?” Lia asked, her gaze bouncing between Leah and the new athletic therapist, Y/N, “the rookie is hitting on Y/N again and she’s doing nothing to stop it.”

Y/N was currently across the room working on another player, twisting her ankle around and asking questions as she worked. 

“Because she is completely oblivious,” Leah let out a laugh, smiling at shaking her head. 

The pair watched as one of the rookies continued to shamelessly flirt with the trainer. The rookie had spent the entirety of the preseason working her hardest to gain the attention of the new therapist, to no avail, and much to the entertainment of the rest of the team. 

The returning players had met Y/N weeks prior to the preseason starting. She quickly became well liked amongst the group. Y/N was quiet and professional with the players but did well to banter and joke alongside them. She offered a level of trust and respect quickly, asking players permission before placing her hands on them for treatment, and ensuring they were comfortable for the duration of their treatment. The level of clear communication she showed allowed the players to quickly feel comfortable in the woman’s presence. 

Leah had quickly noticed an attraction to the trainer. Y/N made her laugh and eased her nerves about getting cleared to play without even trying. She felt drawn to Y/N anytime they were in the facility together. Leah found herself sitting in the treatment room frequently just making small talk with Y/N as she worked, staying well after her training was over for the day. 

Their connection was apparent. To everyone except Y/N. Leah kept waiting for Y/N to ask her out or to initiate something, but it never happened. The defender finally confidently asked the trainer out, to which she agreed. Only for Leah to realize that trainer still seemed unaware that Leah was pushing for more than a friendship with the woman. 

“She oozes sex appeal and she has no idea that rookie is hitting on her right now?” 

“No, she truly doesn’t.” 

“That rookie has spent the last three weeks throwing themselves at her, and Y/N doesn’t know it?” 

“Nope.” 

“So why aren’t you worried about it?” 

“Because there’s nothing to worry about,” Leah shrugged, confident in her relationship with the new trainer. 

“Does that mean you guys finally made thing official?

“I practically had to spell it out for her a couple weeks ago, but yes,” Leah chuckled. 

Leah felt like she had practically been throwing herself at Y/N in an attempt for them to move past a friendship. Y/N always leaned into the blondes touches and lapped up the flirting comments Leah sent her way; if Leah was any less confident, she would have thought Y/N didn’t return her feelings. She had finally snapped one evening while the pair had been hanging out. They had spent the afternoon at the training facility, then went over to Y/N’s flat to order supper and watch movies.

 Leah had moved along the couch, leaning her body against trainer, even moving Y/N’s arm out of the way to cause her to wrap it around her shoulders. Y/N had given her shoulder a squeeze before softly asking if the contact was okay. 

“I snapped at her and told her of course the contact was okay, I put it there,” Leah rolled her eyes retelling the story, “I asked her why she hadn’t made a move yet. I was practically sitting in her lap, and she looked at me confused and said she didn’t know if I wanted her to or not.” 

Lia let out a loud laugh, gaining the attention of the training room. Offering a small apology, she softened to a giggle, waving the room off. Y/N kept her eyes on the pair for a moment longer, earning a small wink from Leah. 

“I’m happy for you Leah, really happy for you,” Lia spoke softly once she got her laughter under control. Leah stretched a hand into the space between the beds, Lia stretches a hand out, the pair sharing a quick squeeze of hands before laying back, continuing to watch the rookie unabashedly flirt with the trainer. 

“She keeps calling it soccer,” the rookie later spoke with disdain while the team was stretching post lifting session, earning an eye roll from the rest of the team. 

“She also calls jumpers ‘bunny hugs’,” Beth cut off, “she’s Canadian, she uses funny words, give it a rest.” 

“If she can’t even get the name of our sport correct, how is she supposed to be a good trainer?” 

“And you can’t get a solid cross into the box, but you don’t hear us commenting,” Katie snapped, sending the glare at the rookie. 

The room sat in silence, the occasional snicker sneaking out from players attempting to cover their laughter. 

“Alright enough,” Kim spoke up before anything could continue, “she was hired for a reason and is good at her job. If you have genuine concerns, then you can bring it forward. Katie,” she paused, not knowing what to say.

“Isn’t wrong,” came a grumbled response, earning a few giggles.

“Let’s just keep our inside thoughts inside,” Kim finishes. 

“Guess the flirting didn’t get her anywhere,” Lia whispered to Leah at lunch. 

“Flirting didn’t work for who?” Alessia cut in, dropping her plate down at the table with the pair. 

“The rookie flirting with Y/N,” Leah spoke up. 

“Oh yea, that was painful to watch. I thought you two were together?” 

The comment causing both women to glance up at the blonde. Leah barely contained her smile, small blush, she gave a subtle nod of her head. 

 Alessia didn’t comment anything further, just nodding along. Conversation moving to the what the after session was going to be like. The lunchroom slowly filled with players and a few staff member, the room gradually becoming louder. 

Leah’s head immediately popped up when she heard Y/N’s voice chatting with one of the chefs at the entrance to the kitchen. Y/N shyly took a plate of food from the chef, she awkwardly laughed attempting to hand the special dish back to the chef. She relented and graciously thanked the man with an appreciative smile and pat and on the back. 

“If you’re trying to be subtle about this, watching her from across the room doesn’t help,” Lia elbowed the defender in the side. 

Leah bit her lip and glanced down to her hands before looking back up to the trainer making her way out of the room. The couple made eye contact, Y/N shooting her a quick wink before leaving the room. 

“Oi, do you think staff purposely gave her all the wrong size shirts?” Beth exclaimed, having watched Leah’s eyes follow Y/N out of the room. Viv giving her a brief smack on the arm. 

“What? That shirt couldn’t be any tighter on those shoulders!”

“Ugh! Yes! Finally, someone else said it!” 

Eyes all whipped to the table full of rookies behind them. Leah immediately scowling, working hard not to glare at the blunt rookie that couldn’t seem to leave her girlfriend alone. 

“I’m glad I get to have those hands all over me all season,” she spoke again, a pleasured hum emphasizing her words. 

“Woah now, I was kidding,” Beth corrected herself, “I teased her about it earlier too. We keep it professional here, what you’re saying is completely inappropriate,” she snapped back, stunning the rookie to sit back in her seat. 

The veterans smirked; their patience having worn thin with the arrogant rookie that most likely wouldn’t make it to the end of preseason. 

“Heard you had a fun lunch with some of the rookies, well one of the rookies,” Y/N smirked, dropping her dropping her dumbbell on the ground when Leah approached her in the gym a couple minutes later.

“How’d you hear about that?” Leah stood aghast. 

“I was just outside the door when I heard Beth putting the rookie in her place.” 

Y/N pulled the bottom of her shirt up, wiping her face with it. Leah allowed her eyes to follow the movement, biting her lip, and enjoying the site of sharp lines of muscles on display. She bit her lip, shamelessly ogling her girlfriend. 

“You can’t really not know she has been flirting with you for the since preseason started?”

The trainer let her shirt drop back down, “wait, what? No, she hasn’t.” 

Leah couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter at the utterly shocked face on Y/N’s face. Taking a brief glace around the empty gym, she stepped forward, gently pushing tapping her chin to shut her mouth before laying a delicate kiss on her lips, “you’re adorable.” 

Creating space before anyone else entered the gym, Leah stepped back, watching ss Y/N’s look of shock turned to a pout, “I’m not adorable.” 

“You are, but I’m alright with that.” 

“I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course,” Leah called back just before leaving the gym, “you know the chef was flirting with you at lunch too, right?” she popped back in briefly before leaving entirely. 

[m1d-45]

theirs

word count: 810

summary: small drabbles about what it’s like to be with your lover. kaeya, venti, zhongli, and ayato, in that order.

-> warnings: none !

-> gn reader

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

kaeya is subtle. a hand inching toward yours, a soft smile when he offers you his arm, growing wider when you accept. he invites you to the angel’s share just to have an excuse to have you sit next to him, already having a glass of your favorite drink by his side. he’s always willing to give you a drink from his cup if you’d like to try, and often steals sips from yours, if only to take your attention back from whatever bard is playing that night. he drinks less when you’re with him, whether because he’s talking or because he’d rather stay sober to hear you speak. he sticks close to your side at most times, whether shoulder to shoulder or a hand lingering over your side. he knows of what the city thinks of him, but the last thing he’d want is for you to think his feelings are anything but genuine. he sticks to softer ways to show his affection instead, whether by bringing you lunch during your breaks or flowers after work, trying his hardest to find the line between what could be seen as manipulation and what isn’t enough. take him out for a picnic sometime, by the edge of cider lake. lean your head on his shoulder and promise that you understand his affection, just don’t tease him too much if he trips over his words.

venti is cautious. he’s not that familiar with human relations, and is rather lonely after years of solitude. being a god is isolating, and he’d hate to be overwhelming in his attempts. he starts with flowers, little bouquets of dandelions and windwheel asters. he goes out and picks them himself, wandering through fields to find ones he likes best. he could go to flora, but the sight of you smiling over flowers he picked himself is far more appealing than the extra fifteen minutes of sleep. as time goes on and he can confirm that you’re not opposed to the idea of his love, he gets a bit more bold. he teases about asking for a kiss, acting more confident than he is. should you lean down and actually give him one, even if on the cheek, he’ll fluster quite easily. listen when he promises that he loves you, as it took him a long time to work up the courage to say it.

zhongli is clear. he’s always quick to dispel any doubt in your mind about your relationship, his arms warm as he holds you close. from the moment he approached you at the shops, he’s never made a promise he couldn’t keep. lying is something he’s learned not to let into his life so easily, well aware of how quickly a handful of words are able to shatter relationships. he does keep his true identity private for a long while, needing to be sure you can keep a secret as easily as he can, but minds his words until then. he never speaks without fully intending what he says, his sentences prefaced by a pause as he thinks. every morning he makes his tea, wishing you a good day. every night he greets you with a kiss, ready to listen if you have anything to speak about. his advice is as genuine as the rest of him, but he also understands the effectiveness of a good hug sometimes. lay with him on the couch, let him tell you a story, have some tea if you’re so inclined. don’t worry, he’ll carry you to bed if you fall asleep.

ayato is protective. he can’t lose you, not now and not ever, so is willing to do anything to keep you safe. his behavior almost comes to a fault, as he tends to put himself lowest on his list of priorities. he’s likely been pining for years prior to the start of your relationship and only confessed by way of an accident with ayaka, which you were happy to hear. in his defense, he didn’t want to ruin the friendship the two of you had, even if his feelings burned in his chest whenever he saw you. even now, he’s tentative about trying anything new, sticking with what he knows you’ll like. you’ll likely be the one to say you love him first, and don’t be surprised if he doesn’t return it right away. he wants to ensure he can—for lack of better phrasing—support your relationship, as if you haven’t been working by his side for years. he probably talks to you in private about the dangers that come with being with him, promising that he wouldn’t be hurt if you were hesitant. take his hand in yours and stay by his side, and he’ll reward you with the world.

[olderthannetfic]

The thing that annoys me about the " why can't they be friends" argument is that it's so obviously homophobic

Like

I LIKE the " and they were just friends". If you give me a long work where two characters become friends and nothing more, I'm slurping that shit down like nobody's business. I genuinely enjoy seeing pure platonic relationships ( between any and/ or both genders) that are either cute or toxic or whatever. I like romance, but it has very threaded over plots, lots of it feels very paint by numberz.

I'm also annoyed at the " two characters look ar each other =》 they want to get married" bcs it doesn't offer much in terms of analysis or entertainment

But none of the arguments are about the " look how good friends they are" but " why does everyone make them gay?"

Cuz it's fun, that's why, move on

--

Where's that meta about adding friendship to romance not vice versa?

A lot of the appeal of shipping these noncanon ships is that the way their intense emotions are written in canon is more appealing than the standard way of writing romance. When I write original, I try to make the actual romances more to my taste, but when I write fic, I'm probably not going to be attracted to canon ships because the most standard tropes there do not interest me.

[causenessus]

love notes

part 0.14. ONE STEP FORWARD, TWO STEPS BACK.

"let me hang around, even if it's just some way to have a common burn."

from common burn by mazzy star, left in himeji, hyōgo

he hasn’t texted her back all day. she’s sure it’s because he’s busy. if he’s really going to catch a train in time, he’ll have to pack everything he’s bringing back with him, get to the station, take the train, drop everything off back at his apartment, and dozens of other things. he's busy. she tells herself that’s why he hasn’t texted back. and she shouldn’t be bothered, she’s not the only person in his life. she can't expect him to immediately reply to any of her texts.

she tries to stay positive. there's other possible explanations, too. he’s just as mischievous as he was in high school, and it's possible he's just playing with her, so she won’t know when he’s coming.

that’s probably the most likely answer, but she can’t help pacing around her apartment in anticipation. it’s a cold day, and kuroo and kenma are lazing around in the living room by the heater to stay warm as they scroll on their phones while she tries to make sure she’s thought everything out. although maybe she’s thought too much.

too much about their time spent together, about if he’s coming back to town just for her or if she just happens to be part of the reason why. and he’s come to keep her company and eat at onigiri miya when she’s working, but rarely have they ever gone out to eat together. she stayed awake laying in bed for hours thinking about the implications of his texts last night. was he asking her out? she couldn't be sure, and she was tired of overanalyzing every text between them when it was getting her nowhere.

she’d double-checked her outfit–simple and casual, but enough to keep her warm–with both kuroo and kenma who gave her a thumbs up. she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to trust their opinions on fashion, but they were the best she had at the moment and kenma was prone to saying whatever he was thinking anyway (which was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the day).

she's also learned her lesson from last year and spent the morning searching up what places would be open on new year's eve. then, she triple-checked on the phone with overworked hostesses that their holiday hours were correct.

she decided on a place that the pottery shop owner next to onigiri miya had recommended her. it was a new place that had risen to popularity within the last year; the ravens eye diner.

the name had already drawn her in from the start, and the old-fashioned, brick exterior of the building and neon sign in addition to their extensive menu was all she needed to decide it was the perfect spot. despite it being a holiday, they were still open all 24 hours. she felt bad for the employees, but at the same time, the more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea of spending the new year in a diner became. she was sure from the looks of their warm environment, it wouldn't actually be a bad place to spend the night at. but suna already had a plan for them, so maybe she’d bring up the idea next year if they liked the diner.

‘would there even be a next time? a next year with him?’ what if she managed to mess up or say something to him that was so bad it broke off their friendship? what if she got so tired of keeping her feelings pushed down she ended up finally confessing to him and ruining everything? what if they got distant and stopped talking altogether?

she groans, putting her hands in her face as she leans against the edge of her kitchen counter, tired of thinking. she just wants to see him, and be with him. he always distracts her from everything else. it's always just the present with him.

oh shit, had she gotten him a present?

“can you stop worrying for three seconds?” kenma’s voice comes from behind the couch, and she can only barely see his grown out bleached hair peeking out from the arm of the couch, where he’s resting his head on it.

she gives him a dirty look, which he can’t see but can still feel. “it’s not my fault i have no idea where he is or when he’s coming. he’s messing with me and it's stressing me out! and i just realized that i didn’t get him a gift because i didn’t know when he’d be coming back and didn’t want to be weird but now–”

 a knock against the door makes her immediately shut up, and kenma lifts his head up slightly, looking at the door. kuroo spares it a glance as well before giving her a sly grin as she makes her way towards the door with a red face, each step feeling heavier and heavier.

it’s suffocating, standing in front of their brown wooden door. the silver lock and knob are right in front of her, and she’s frozen in place. she can feel him waiting on the other side, and then she decides ‘fuck it’ and swings the door open.

it’s only been maybe a week since she’s seen him, and she heard his voice just last night, but the sight of him makes her breath hitch; dark gray, wide-legged denim jeans and an oversized black sweater, with a white t-shirt peeking out from underneath. he has the same hooded eyes she’s been caught staring at multiple times, and he’d be wearing his trademark neutral expression as always if not for the small smile on his face that she immediately mirrors.

“hi,” he says, arms shifting. they’re behind his back, holding something she can't see

“hi,” she breathes, trying to remain composed. “what do you got there?” she asks, gesturing to his poor attempt to hide whatever he's carrying.

“just flowers,” he shrugs, brushing it off as if it's something completely casual. he takes his right arm out from behind him, revealing the bundle of lilies in his hand. they’re all still buds, closed but standing tall and she can’t help the way her smile grows at the sight and his lips follow. “i was busy trying to get this all together that i didn’t have time to text you back, i’m sorry. i mean– i probably could’ve, but in all honesty, i thought it’d be fun to leave you guessing about when i’d show up.”

“i can’t believe you,” she laughs, taking the flowers from him. “thank you for these. i'm not sure i forgive you for leaving me on delivered all day, but i can't say i didn't expect that to be your answer. did you get these from calico blooms? i would’ve thought they were closed today.”

“they were,” he answers and she tilts her head, brows furrowed in confusement. “like i said, i pulled some strings to get these. since you like lilies, right? unless you were just making up stuff when you tweeted about them.”

she’s quick to shake her head, starting to pull at one of the leaves on the stems of the bunch. “no, you were right. i love them.” she tries not to let his words get to her head. ‘for her? he had gone through the trouble of buying flowers for her?’

the conversation goes silent between them before he reveals what he’s been hiding in his left arm. it’s an inconspicuous rectangular box wrapped in brown paper with a smiley face drawn in the corner in black ink. she looks up from the present to his face as she takes the box from him with a small thank you and he only gives her a grin, “that’s your actual gift, but you should open it later. if you unwrap it now and like it, we'll be stuck here forever. which wouldn’t be the worst way to spend new year’s eve, but i’m starving. did you find somewhere we could go?”

“i did!” she brightens up at the question, reminded of the night they have ahead of them. “let me put these down and we can go.”

it’s like she’s lost all ability to function like a normal human being; she’s not sure what to do with the door in the meantime. she doesn’t want to shut it on him but she also doesn’t want to leave it open, where he’ll be able to see her embarrassment of ha roommate and his friend giving her the sleaziest, snarkiest smirks she’s ever seen that she wants so desperately to slap off both of their faces. she opts for the middle between her two choices and leaves the door slightly ajar as she places the flowers and gift on the kitchen table gently. she rolls her eyes at the two boys on her couch, flipping them off. they send up their own fingers as a goodbye before she grabs an overcoat and her keys before slipping out the door. she locks the door behind her, letting out a breath, finally glad to be out of kenma’s sight. she knows he’ll tease her to no end when she gets back, or maybe he’ll be spamming her phone with texts throughout the entire night.

“everything okay?” he asks with a small laugh, watching her pull her keys from the door with another sigh.

she gives him a smile back, “yeah. just kenma and kuroo being little shits, that’s all. but now we’re ditching them so things are great.”

she starts down the hall and he follows after her, falling into step. his presence next to her is comforting; she’s no longer nervous about tripping over her own feet being side by side with him like she was during the first two years they had known each other. instead, she's just hyperaware of every time their hands and arms brush against each other, the contact sending chills down her neck and spine. “i didn’t even notice them,” he comments, looking forward down the hall. “but i completely understand. that night i went to your exhibit literally everyone was waiting for me to come home, we're surrounded by little shits.”

she snickers at the image in her mind of his roommates sprawled out on their couches and suna’s deadpan when he walked through the door. “so, where are we going?” he asks, yellow-gray eyes narrowing as they look at her.

“it’s a diner my friend told me about,” she says, returning his gaze with an excited glint in her eyes. “the one from the pottery shop that osamu likes. she spoke really highly of it so i’m hoping it’s good. and they’re open all night, too.”

his brows raise with a nod, “even on new year's eve? good for them, i guess. how are the lovebirds doing, by the way? anything new between them?”

she hums in thought, trying to rack her brain for any new interactions between her boss and the girl next door, “i don’t think so. since osamu went out of town, they haven't really talked. she’s come into onigiri miya a few times to see if he’s back but i told her he won’t be returning until later this week.”

they step into the elevator to take them down to the ground level of her apartment building. the doors close as he responds, “maybe we’ll put together a plan when he gets back in town. he was always on twitter trying to see if she had posted something new when i hung out with him back home.”

she nods, “i was thinking the same thing. maybe i’ll force her to take him to this diner too if we like it.” the elevator door chimes as they reach the first floor, and he lets her go out first before walking beside her again.

the diner is everything she could have hoped for and more. she's resisted the urge to pull out her phone and text osamu about it all night; the two of them often go out to try places together because of their shared passion for food, but she wants to keep the place a secret until the pottery shop owner can take him here. they spend most of the night catching each other up on any stories they’ve missed while they’ve been apart and haven't gotten the chance to discuss over the phone yet. he tells her about the twins' latest pranks in hyōgo, and she tells him about the late nights spent gaming with kuroo and kenma.

the diner’s menu is colorful and glossy, each page laminated and spotless. there are countless items to choose from on each side, front and back, but she settles for something plain and simple. she orders half a grilled cheese and a bowl of tomato soup while he gets a soda and sandwich, seemingly unfazed by the freezing weather outside. they end up stealing parts of each other’s dinners, staying for around an hour before they pay, leaving a tip and heading towards the door. the blond hostess squeaks out a goodbye who they wave to before they wander back into the cold.

she lets him lead them as they keep chatting. even after the long nights they’ve spent on the phone over the break, they never run out of things to say. they climb up a tall hill until they reach a plateau, gravel crunching under their shoes. at the edge is a low concrete barricade overlooking the city. with such an important holiday being only minutes away, the city is as alive as it can get. minuscule yellow squares are scattered haphazardly across towering buildings, where lights are still on in offices, and she can barely make out the bright, colorful digital billboards that display advertisements, covering the walls of other structures entirely. on the surface of the barricade, a phrase has been spray-painted onto it, reading out “life is beautiful.” 

they climb over the barrier, sitting on the top of its cold surface. a quick glance at her phone tells her the time. there’s just under 10 minutes until midnight.

he breaks the silence with a question, “how did this break goes for you?” he asks, drawing her attention to him. “i know you had kenma, and we called a lot, but i saw your tweet yesterday– about feeling lost. how are you doing now?”

she looks down at her hand, splayed atop the smooth stone surface they're seated on. he’s given her a chance to tell him how she feels. that he’s the one she feels lost without. she just needs to take the risk. “i’m doing better now,” she starts, trying to be honest. “it was fun to hang out with kenma and kuroo, and i’m thankful for them, but they also would’ve been fine on their own without because they're a pair, you know? and for me, that’s how i feel about you.” she's still staring at her hand, unable to look at him. she wants to see his reaction, but she can't bring herself to lift her head and her confidence slips away, “about you and omi. you guys are like my closest friends, and my other half. so i was really missing you guys.”

it’s silent and it feels like her entire body is burning. her face is burning, and strangely, her eyes are burning. she regrets her words; both her original statement and the excuse she added to it in a poor attempt to play it off. she's missed the perfect moment to tell him how she feels, but she's also not sure she wants to tell him. it’s hard for her to navigate through their friendship when it feels like she's in the dark, feeling around blindly for a boundary between them and what they are that doesn't even exist.

he tries not to let her last sentence get to him. he froze initially at her original explanation, but now the word is ringing through his head. she values him and omi equally. she sees them both as her closest friends.

he nods, because he doesn't feel like he can formulate words yet after that blow. but he needs to say something back, and pretend like everything is fine. “you know, if you’re ever feeling lonely, you can always just come back to hyōgo with me. i’ve mentioned you to my family before–”

“you’ve talked about me to your family?” she asks, face lighting up, and the awkward repercussions of her statement that formed between them have melted away again.

“yeah, just in the passing. i told them you were the inzarizaki's sports photographer, and you know my sister a little bit, so they all like you,” he says, nervously tugging at the collar of his sweater. “but if you’re not comfortable staying with us, atsumu and osamu’s mom is nice, if you could bear being in the same house as the both of them,” they both grimace at the idea and immediately reject it. “or why don’t you stay with omi? i’m sure he’d let you,” he suggests.

she shrugs with a sigh, looking towards the sky and he follows her gaze. “i don’t know. i just feel like i’m overstepping boundaries. like he shouldn’t have to care for me at our apartment and outside of it, too. i want him to enjoy his break. i want all of you to.”

he chuckles at her words, and the lazy smile on his face when she looks back at him makes her face feel warm again, “it’s not like you made us food after every game in high school, and still do even now. i wouldn’t mind if you stayed with me, really. you’re not a burden. we're friends, and we hang out because we like being around each other, not because we're forced to. you're talking like we're taking a break from you but no one thinks of you like that. we all love you.”

his words make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. they sound so genuine, and she hates the way he says friends even though just moments ago she said the same thing. she purses her lips with a sigh, “you sure know to be convincing, but i’m still not sure. cooking for you guys was different.”

“in what way?” he quips, raising his brows.

he laughs when she’s unable to respond because she's bluffing, there really isn't a difference. he’s right, but she doesn’t want to admit it. “i’ll think about it,” she finally says after taking in a breath. “about you and your family. maybe i can suck up to them when i meet them. that’d be fun.”

their conversation is cut short by a loud explosion that startles both of them. he stands up, slipping back down from the barrier to look around. “it was probably an early firework,” he guesses, standing a few feet away. she’s looking back at him, and his face is lit up by the screen of his phone as he looks down at it. “it’s 11:59, so we’re almost there.”

she turns back to face the city, waiting for him to return to his spot next to her. however, the sound of a camera shutter makes her look back again, an amused smile on her face as she sees his phone held up in her direction. “hey, i’m the photographer here,” she teases as he makes his way back towards her.

he sits next to her again, their legs brushing, and she can feel the heat radiating off his body. “well someone’s gotta take photos of you. and i’ve decided it’s my job now,” he replies, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

she doesn’t respond, she just looks at him with a smile.

his throat feels a little tight, staring back at her. he can’t help the way his sight flicks down just a bit to look at her lips, despite how hard he’s trying to stay focused on her eyes. 

he almost says something. it almost escapes his chest before another boom makes them jump. they look forward, just in time to see yellow sparks fizzing high above the city, followed by red and white specks glittering amidst the background of the midnight sky.

she taps on her phone, just to check the time before she looks back up at him, “happy new year, rin.”

she’s finally remembered to say his first name, and he swears his heart stops for a second. he returns her smile, “happy new year, y/n.”

it’s their second new year together. another year of sitting close side by side, another year that he's not actually looking at the fireworks. he's admiring her while she watches the sky.

it's been another year.

another year of doing nothing more than stealing glances and covering up the truth with faux words; taking one step forward, then two steps back.

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

i'm sorry if there's any typos </3 i've proofread and changed things like four times now and i want to move on <3

MY BISQUE BEAU, INKED, AND THE RAVEN'S EYE DINER PLUGS!! u should go check out all of these :)

by “pulling strings” to get y/n flowers, suna texted osamu about knowing the owner of the flower shop down the street from onigiri miya and osamu said he’d text mbb yn about it because she was good friends with the owner of the store.

kiyoko met him out front of the store, giving him the bouquet of flowers, telling him they’ll last around two weeks and they’ll bloom over the next few days, although she’s sure they both know that (from y/n’s original tweet about lilies <3)

she was giving him the biggest "i know ur in love with her and it is so cute" smile and look ever

he took them and thanked her. and he assumes they’re probably just white lilies (man doesn’t know anything about flowers although he wishes he does </3) but they’re PINK <3 and y/n will find that out later

inked y/n DEFINITELY helped kiyoko pick those out

hmmmm i wonder what y/n’s gift is

taglist: @0moonii @iluvmang @bluebeanbee @wyrcan @oyasumeii @froyaoya @gyuijns @nbcvs @milkteade @eggyrocks @guitarstringed-scars @makkir0ll @mylahrins @cherrypieyourface @vivian-555 @sharkerino @r0seandth0rns @staileykout @lunavixia @thvvluvr @elliott0o0 @wolffmaiden @rockleeisbaeeee @toges-cough-syrup @cnnmairoll @ryeyeyer @hibernatinghamster @localgaytrainwreck @lemonocity @bows4life @sereniteav @madiexuberant @eclecticeggknightpsychic @phoenix-eclipses @sonicsolos @httpakkeiji @brkfclub @snail-squasher @starry-magicshop @cr4yolaas @kitnootkat @zzzlevislothzzz @iluv-ace @iluvaquaphor @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @applepi25 @twiishaa @girlkissersco @sleepystrwbrryy @encrypta

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What are your thoughts on drarry?

spireasalix asked:

Hi! I just found your blog and find your theories really interesting. I don't know if anyone has asked you before, but what do you think of Draco Malfoy? Do you think he would have a chance with Harry? Could they fall in love or there is too much history between them? Let's make Harry/Draco canon! Hahahaha

Hi, thank you so much! 😊

Since it's a ship/character ask I want to preface that everyone can ship what they want and like whatever characters they want and this is my personal highly subjective opinion.

I'll start with my thoughts on Drarry, as I had an arc there, like, back when I just got into the fandom I really liked the concept of Drarry, so I read some Drarry and didn't like most of what I found back then. That dislike kinda colored Drarry and Draco's character as a whole for me, so it was kinda like: "I can see the appeal on paper, but I don't like it". More recently though I read a lot about canon Drarry from @iamnmbr3 and she honestly got me rethinking my opinion on Draco and Drarry.

As I stand on it now, I'm not invested in Drarry, but I see them occasionally on my dash and sometimes I like what I see. It's the: yeah, I can see it happen, but it's not a pairing I'm passionate about.

Now, to @spireasalix more specific questions.

Draco Malfoy is an interesting character in theory but I don't think it comes across in the books as much as it could. Like, in books 1-5, I find him an annoying spoilt little brat. It can be entertaining when he comes on the page, and I know he'd be whining and dramatic and make a scene. And it makes sense Draco is this way, he's an only child of very rich parents who love him, he looks up to his father like Lucius could do no wrong, but he is lonely and attention-seeking. This need for attention is interesting and is part of why he is so obsessed with Harry. It shows he wants approval and is actually quite insecure under all his pride and mean attitude. He was raised to be a blood-supremacist spoilt jerk, and he does a decent job at being a schoolyard bully without crossing any super major lines.

Younger Draco can be a fun character, he's a problem Harry feels comfortable with because he knows how to deal with him, unlike his other problems (of which he has a lot). I think part of why Harry focuses on Draco as much as he does is because Draco is a predictable problem, one Harry feels he has control over how he wants to deal with him. Which is comforting considering how little control he has over literally every other area of his life.

Then in books 6 and 7, that's when Draco starts actually having his character development, and there are interesting things there, or the potential for them. I love what he goes through, becoming a Death eater only to realize, that: no, he can't really do violence. The constant fear for himself and his family, the torture he most likely goes through, being a prisoner in his own home, like, there is so much potential good angst there but I don't feel like the books really take it as far as it can go.

I recently finished my reread of HBP, and Draco in it was having a crap time, truly. He partially brought it on himself, but he really was thrown into the deep end and he is flailing around to keep his head above water regretting ever asking to leave the kiddie pool (because make no mistake, he asked to be in the grown-ups' pool). And you see how he matures there, going from a spoilt brat to a terrified teen. In one summer he went from the top of his own little world to seeing how powerless he actually is. And, like, out of everyone, the person he apparently confides in is Moaning Myrtle, like, idk, I love that, I think this friendship should be mentioned more. Like, Draco is having a crisis over his family, his worldview, his own worth, being a Death Eater and what it means, and his confidant is the ghost of a muggleborn girl who Tom Riddle, his new master, killed. Like, there are some implications.

I find it fascinating Myrtle says this about Draco:

“No,” said Myrtle defiantly, her voice echoing loudly around the old tiled bathroom. “I mean he’s sensitive, people bully him too, and he feels lonely and hasn’t got anybody to talk to, and he’s not afraid to show his feelings and cry!”

(HBP, 462)

That combined with the fact that Draco doesn't ever really try to harm Harry too badly (@iamnmbr3 wrote many great posts about this). Like, at the beginning of HBP, he has Harry petrified and he just breaks his nose. And this is already after he becomes a Death Eater. He also helps Harry multiple times throughout Deathly Hollows, something that places him and his family at risk.

And, yes, he makes some attempts to kill Dumbledore that harm others (the cursed necklace that hurt Katie Bell and the poison Ron drank) but I think the methods he uses are telling. Draco attempts to kill Dumbledore with methods where he himself is far away from the action. You can say it's due to a Slytherin sense of self-preservation, and that's part of it, I'm sure, but I think the main part of it is that Draco is averse to violence. At the end when he was face to face with Dumbledore he couldn't bring himself to cast the curse. Dumbledore was disarmed and surrounded, there was nothing he could've (or would've) done to hurt Draco, but Draco still hesitated. He couldn't kill him even when his own life and his family's were on the line. Harry also talks about how much Draco is likely hurt from having to torture others on Voldemort's orders in Deathly Hollows, and I think Harry is spot on about it.

If we look at the bullying of younger Draco, he doesn't act out violently. He is the cruel words and insults type, and I remember being honestly surprised he physically hit Harry in HBP because it's not the sort of thing Draco does. So, while Draco as schoolyard bully is mean, he practically is never shown to be physically violent, at least not that I remember. He only starts being more of a physical threat in HBP, and in the cases of Ron and Katie, he does so from a distance in a way he isn't directly involved in the violence.

That being said, while what he goes through is interesting and has plenty of potential and I do like his character, I find him kinda annoying. Like, in my very subjective opinion, I find his whining in the early books incredibly annoying and I find him, even in the later books, kinda underwhelming. Like, I want more out of his character, idk. Like, really, all power to you for liking Draco, he just, unfortunately, doesn't make it into my top Harry Potter characters purely because of personal subjective bias.

Like, for all of Draco being a Slytherin from a long line of Slytherins, he doesn't showcase many Slytherin characteristics (yes, that's something I dislike about his character, go figure 🤷‍♀️). Like, Draco isn't cunning, like, at all. He's smart, I'm not saying he isn't, he gets good and even outstanding grades in various school subjects, and he fixes the vanishing cabinet he knows nothing about on his own. He is skilled and talented magically and he can figure out complex magic on his own, but when it comes to long-term planning or general cunning... yeah, I don't think that's part of Draco's arsenal.

He acts out on useful information on the first opportunity he has, with very little thought about timing or how to best use it and very little forethought in general. In 1st year he gets Harry and Co caught outside after curfew but doesn't think his plan through so he too, is caught out after curfew. And sure, he's 11, but 11-year-old Harry wouldn't have made that mistake, I think (neither would Ron or Hermione). In 3rd year, his plan against Buckbeak and Hagrid was laughable and only worked because Lucius could pull it off. I mean, Draco wasn't even doing a good job at faking an injury compared to Harry who could believably pretend to be the Bloody Baron to scare off Peeves at 11, not to mention lying reliably to McGonagall at 12. In GoF he makes these Potter stinks badges, which are magically impressive (considering they still work 3 years later) but are again, an example of Draco acting on something immediately because that's how he tends to operate. Like how he goes straight to Harry every time he finds something in the Daily Prophet to make fun of.

Even if we look at Draco's later plans, like in HBP, he was mostly trying to buy plans rather than think about how to solve his problem. Because Draco knows how to buy his way out of problems, not think his way out. And while all this does make for an interesting trait for him to have in his rule in the story and he has an invisible arc to break away from this thinking pattern and that does lead him to the vanishing cabinet eventually, it does make me like him less. I'm biased, I can't help it.

His ambition is another thing, I don't know if this is an unpopular opinion, but I don't think Draco is particularly ambitious. Like, he wants to make his parents (especially Lucius) proud, he wants people to like him, and he wants to be popular, sure, but he doesn't have any long-term plans or specific goals in mind. He grew up already having everything, so he doesn't really have any ambitions bigger than that. I'm not saying there needs to be, Harry isn't particularly ambitious either, it's just interesting to me that our poster Slytherin in Harry's year isn't that much of a Slytherin at all.

As I mentioned earlier, Draco also seems to be averse to violence and doesn't have as much of a ruthless streak as his house is usually associated with. Draco, at the end of the day, seems to me like a very sheltered kid who idolized war when he heard about it in stories up until he had to actually take part in it. He is one of the softer characters in the books actually, in my opinion.

While I think he definitely values the traits of house Slytherin as he grew up learning to appreciate them, he doesn't actually possess them, at least, not in abundance. Maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but honestly, I think Draco is more of a Gryffindor than a Slytherin considering he is brave (in the last book especially. I want to note he isn't the same brave as Harry. Draco fears a lot more than Harry does, but when push comes to shove, he keeps going despite his fear. He's more similar to Neville in that regard), bold, and definitely has his personal code of honor and chivalry he acts according to, but I digress.

My personal issue with Draco is the main issue I have with Drarry as a ship, because, like, I can't be actively invested in a ship when I find one of the characters annoying. I have a similar stance on Romione as I have on Drarry. I like Romione well enough, I enjoy the fanart of them I see, but I wouldn't actively search for fics of them. Neither would I write fics where they are the main pairing. In Romione's case, I love Ron but find Hermione kinda annoying, I don't hate her, I don't even dislike her, I actually like her, but she annoys me. Draco is the same way, I like him, but he just gets on my nerves sometimes.

To summarise, I see the appeal of Drarry, and I can see how it could work on paper. I don't think Harry and Draco ever truly hated each other in the books, so, yeah, I think they could get together. They could definitely forgive each other everything, hell, the books practically outright say they forgive each other everything in canon. I think you can build a very compelling love story for them, it's just not a story I'm invested in reading/writing mostly because Draco isn't a character that I'm overly invested in.

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

I’m curious to know what makes you like Ladrien. What’s the appeal? I have my reasons for why I dislike them, so I’m definitely interested to hear all about the other side.

Absolutely no hate, I’m just super curious

Hi! First of all, thank you for giving me an excuse to babble on about Ladrien 🥰

I just want to preface this by stating that it is my belief that people who don't like Ladrien, are those who don't really understand the ship and/or the beauty to the ship, so it would be my pleasure to talk about why I love them so much:

1. They are the pinnacle of Lovesquare mutual pining

I personally am a mutual pining fiend. If there is mutual pining in a ship, chances are you can find me onboard. Mutual pining is probably my favorite part of a ship timeline, I love the angst, the bitter-sweetness, the confused and pained but still loving interactions, and my friend, Ladrien has all that and a bag of chips.

The thing is, Adrien is in love with Ladybug, Ladybug is in love with Adrien, but there's a certain impossibility to their love. Ladybug doesn't know Adrien well enough to love him, so it would never cross his mind that she would even entertain him as a romantic interest. Adrien has hardly even interacted with Ladybug, so it certainly wouldn't make sense that he would have feelings for her, forget about being in love with her.

What cements these beliefs is the fact that they both know the other in very different circumstances. Chat Noir and Marinette both know that the person they are in love with is not fickle about their feelings and is not shallow about love, they aren't just going to fall in love with some random celebrity. What's even more so is the fact that Ladybug knows that Adrien is in love with someone (circa season 3) and Adrien knows that Ladybug is in love with someone (circa season 2), making it so that they believe that the others' affections are tied elsewhere, seemingly making them unavailable (hence the pining).

I also want to point out that Ladrien is also void of the friendships of Adrinette and Ladynoir, meaning the pining becomes even more powerful as they don't even have access to the comforts of friendship. They are apart in every painful way.

This all creates an environment where every interaction between the two is filled with this yearning tension of wanting to be closer, wanting to move closer, but having to stop themselves because it doesn't make sense, because they fear rejection, because they just can't.

2. They have amazing on-screen chemistry and interactions

If you don't watch any season 2 Ladrien scene with a giant smile on your face, then you are missing out. I chose to mention season 2 in particular, because it's the season with the most Ladrien interaction, but honestly, you can find amazing Ladrien in every season.

The way they both stare at each other in wonder, in the first ever Ladrien interaction might I add, in season one's episode "The Mime", was the perfect way to set the stage for what we were to expect from this ship. They love each other, they are amazed by each other, they make each other dizzy and distracted, it's beautiful and hopeful, and directly contrasts the very difficult interactions that Adrien has in the episode with his father. Whereas Adrien's family is a point of pain for him, Ladybug is the light, the hope for him

Just discussing my two favorite Ladrien scenes, their chemistry and brilliantly portrayed relationship is obvious. Firstly, there is the catch scene in "Gorizilla". I don't think this scene needs explanation, but my goodness it is one I like to talk/think about a lot. The way he portrays implicit trust in Ladybug, the way he fully believes that she will catch him, is just so djaskljdaksljdkals, it's so sweet to watch. But then, she catches him, and even without talking about the trope subversion (though it is important), the way that they stare at each other, how their sole focus is on each other, how the catch was fast and sudden, but then Ladybug slows down to make the descent more comfortable for Adrien, it's all just *chef's kiss*. Adrien is then so enamored and lovestruck, that he forgets where he is, he forgets who he is, and nearly exposes himself by using a term of endearment for his love, which is just the most Ladrien thing ever jdksadjaskld

Finally, I want to talk about my other favorite Ladrien scene, which is the panic attack scene at the end of "Strike Back". Here we see Ladybug coping with the worst betrayal she has ever endured, and at the hands of the person who looks identical to the boy standing in front of here. And with all that uncertainty and mistrust, he stays there, he comforts her, he talks her through her panic, through her next steps. And when he offers her to detransform in his bathroom, with only a door to prevent her reveal, despite being unsure and cautious, she ultimately decides to trust him. She puts her vulnerability into his hands and allows him to see her emotional vulnerability and potentially have access to her physical vulnerability.

(there are more scenes to talk about but for brevity's sake I will stop here)

3. They very obviously love and support each other, despite the circumstances of their relationship

Just drawing back to the episodes that were mentioned in the last point, just from viewing those two scene alone, it is obvious that though they both love each other, she also trusts him and he trusts her.

The truth of the matter is, no side of the lovesquare exists in a vacuum. The sides bleed and meld and create together some amalgamated item that will only feel whole when the full square is revealed. As such, the knowledge and feelings that they have as Adrinette and Ladynoir, are going to have some presence while they are Ladrien.

My point of mentioning this, is that trust and sensitivity for each other is going to be present in their relationship, even if they didn't necessarily reach that development as Ladrien. On paper, Ladrien is a superhero and a model who have only interacted a handful of times. And yet, to both of them, their relationship is so much deeper than that.

They know each other, they're familar with each other, and yet, they're not. Adrien knows how Ladybug will take a joke from Chat Noir, but he doesn't know how she'll take one from Adrien, or why there's a difference. Ladybug knows how Adrien will react to a gift from Marinette, but she doesn't know how he'll take one from Ladybug, nor why there might be a difference. Adrien might know Ladybug's favorite drink order, but he doesn't know her birthday, her parents' name, etc. And Likewise, Ladybug might know Adrien's favorite color, but she doesn't know what he does at night, where the ring on his finger is from.

And yet, despite all of this, despite only being familiar with half a person, they take that half and choose to love them whole-heartedly. They choose to take the information they have and trust that person blindly. Despite, the impossibility of their relationship, they choose to continue to hope.

Because they admire each other, they care for each other, they love each other, and they will do everything in their power to continue to do that. And I think that's beautiful.

There are more reasons, but these are the main three, and I doubt you want to hear me drone on, so hope this sufficed!

Thank you for the ask! <3