sean

you were distracted by a gorgeous black dress, clad in soft lace that looked carefully woven into the fabric. silk lining in the inside that felt like it was barely there when you held it in your palm. striking like a midnight sky that blurred over gotham while the sounds of the city were masked behind those bulletproof windows bruce had built.

the price tag was hefty, so many zeroes that you questioned whether you should do your part and actually eat the rich, starting with your husband.

you didn’t feel his presence lurking closer behind you. you didn’t notice when he looked away from his phone, responding to emails while he let you pick something out, even when you said over and over you didn’t need anything.

“get it.”

the sound of his voice made you actually jump, turning around with your hand clutching your chest.

“fuck me— bruce! stop doing that!” pushing lightly at his hard chest.

he gives you the smallest, amused smile, just barely there so you couldn’t tell anyone of it.

“get it. it’ll look beautiful on you,” he takes the dress off the hanger from in front of you, “or off you. whatever point of the evening we’re at.”

you roll your eyes at him, following behind him while he continues to sift through another rack of clothing. shoving his phone into his pocket, he puts the dress over his shoulder and pulls out another from its hanger.

“oh,” he starts, holding it in front of him while you remained blocked by his huge stature, back blocking the view of what he held, “this is scandalous.”

“bruce, i don’t need any more clothes really. you buy me enough,” sighing as you rounded his enormous back to gape at the dress he held, “wha—that can’t be for me, i’m not wearing that!”

he turned to you, tilting his head with the worlds softest feigned stern expression etched across it, “it’s beautiful.”

you’re shaking your head, “not for me! do you see how short it is? and the neck line is so low!”

“are you claiming you wouldn’t look good in it?”

“i’m saying i’m not wearing it anywhere, my titties will pop out,” you cross your arms while you continued whisper yelling at him as he held it up against your front trying to imagine it on you, smiling like he could see exactly what you described, “stop that bruce.”

it was always a losing war with him when he wanted to buy you something.

he shrugs at you before throwing the dress over his other shoulder and walking to the counter to pay, already gliding his credit card out of his wallet, “you can just wear it for me then hmm? you know how i feel about your spillage.”

shit eating grin on his face as he taps his unlimited card on the pinpad and takes your hand in his. he lifts your linked hands to kiss the back of yours and then the enormous rock on your finger as he starts to lead you out from the store.

“can you wear it for me tonight? i promise i will misbehave, mrs. wayne.”

the concept of bruce wayne being your husband…

Bruce didn’t want to, and had no plan of revealing identities anytime soon. It was months before anything happened.

And during those months, he noticed everything.

He noticed how there always seemed to be at least one pair of League eyes on him. It was quite irritating, actually. He got through his nightly patrols through Gotham fine, but whenever there was a special mission there was always at least three hands shooting up to join him.

He stopped attending those missions as Batman all together, instead giving instructions to whoever had taken the mission as their own. Instead, he observed as Bruce Wayne.

For instance, there was one time where Green Lantern and Wonder Woman volunteered for something to do with Gotham Racing (pretend that gotham has something similar to F1 pls guys), and you and Bruce were in the audience.

You had your arm linked with Bruce’s when you encountered the pair.

Diana first checked that you were both okay, before she remembered. She gave Hal a side glance, a silent question. Hal’s mind was already working, but his mouth just didn’t match.

“Batman isn’t here,” He had to work Batman into the conversation somehow! “He’s, uh . . . he has other business. That he’s taking care of.”

They both look at your face to see if your expression changes in any way at all. It doesn’t. You just nod a little, seemingly unconcerned. Bruce says, “yes, I can imagine that he works quite hard.”

“You like him, then?” Diana asks. “The Batman?”

Neither Diana nor Hal knows what exactly they’re trying to get out of this conversation. More information, maybe? Or perhaps just some gossip for later.

“Well, he works hard,” Bruce replies. He adds on, “I have great respect for heroes.”

They inwardly groan. It’d be easier if Bruce hated Batman. Instead he has respect for him. Hal wonders how much respect he’d have if he knew how Batman looked at his wife.

Diana looks at you, trying not to make it too obvious.

“Yes, I agree.” You say. “Batman makes an effort to keep Gotham safe. It’s admirable.”

They glance at each other, before saying their goodbyes and departing. Neither of them notice the way that Bruce’s fingers curled around your dress a little tighter.

They don’t hear Bruce murmur, “admirable, hm?”. They don’t see you smile before saying, “well, he can brood a little too intensely at times, but I don’t mind.”

The next meeting Bruce stared particularly hard at Wonder Woman and Green Lantern, as they avoided his eye.

Yes, Bruce noticed those. What he didn’t notice, or didn’t piece together, was Oliver Queen. Bruce doesn’t know Oliver has anything to do with Green Arrow, so he doesn’t know that Oliver knew anything about the little situation.

So, while he found it slightly odd that Oliver started talking about Batman during the charity event, he didn’t link it with anything to do with the League.

“Have you two ever met him?” Oliver asks. “Personally?”

Bruce nods. “I’ve met him a few times. Very brief, though. He likes to keep to himself.”

You add on, “yes, me too. Most times after a crime scene. Oliver, you remember when he fought Scarecrow?”

Oliver nods, “Yeah, I do.” He swallows his pride for the sake of gossip investigating. “Batman’s a good fighter. Very . . . stealthy.”

He looks to Bruce from you. Neither of you provide anything reaction that would cause suspicion. Oliver continues.

“He seems to sneak around at night, have you noticed?”

Bruce chuckles. “Gotham Gazette does tend to call him ‘The Dark Knight’.”

You laugh too, “I think he just likes the dark.”

Oliver hums. He’s trying to gauge something out of this. He doesn’t expect a full blown confession in public, but he wants something to report back to the common room. “I suppose he’s a very private person.”

“Perhaps he’s just smart.” Bruce quips, a tad too quickly. He takes a drink. Oliver sees you give Bruce a small grin before you looked at him.

“I imagine he doesn’t want to give out information about himself.” You say smoothly. “With villains like Gotham, it wouldn’t be smart to show vulnerability.”

Oliver nods. “Of course.” He drops the topic.

One time, Flash was called to save Bruce Wayne from his latest kidnapping. It isn’t exactly a rare occurrence, given his status. So, Flash takes the mission without a second thought.

It’s only when he actually returns Bruce to his manor that he’s reminded of his teammates crush on the man’s wife. But it’s too late now because you’re at the door, and now you’re getting closer-

Flash watched as you practically grabbed Bruce. Your fingers dug into his shirt, your eyes anxiously scanning him for injuries. Bruce getting kidnapped is a happens-more-often-than-any-of-us-would-prefer, but it doesn’t mean that you get less worried each time.

Bruce calms you with words of assurance, showing you that he’s alright. You still don’t let go of him, even when you thank Flash multiple times.

Flash sees first hand how much you both care about another, and chews the inside of his cheek when he thinks about Batman.

And then Nightwing was questioned. He was with Superman, helping with surveillance. The older man was sitting next to Dick, pausing for a second before speaking.

“So, you and Batman are quite close.”

Dick grinned a little. “He trained me for seven years, so I guess.” Dick gave Clark a questioning look. “Are you trying to figure out what to get him for his birthday again, even though you don’t actually know when it is?”

“No, not that.” Clark shook his head. “I’m just wondering if he has any . . .” he cleared his throat, trying to push down the incredible awkwardness he felt. “. . . infatuations with anybody.”

Dick blinked and was silent for a second before his face softened. “Oh, Supes, that’s really sweet but I don’t think Batmans into guys-“

“No!” Clark exclaimed, flushing. “That’s not why I’m asking! I’m not- I don’t-“

“I mean, I can ask him-“

“No!” Clark groans. He racks his brain for an excuse. “Im just wondering if any other heroes know anything about, you know, being in a relationship. Just . . . it can be hard when you’re a hero.”

“Oh.” Dick thinks. He thinks of Bruce and you, and the challenges of a hero being married to a civilian. The inevitable arguments it sparks up. He really does have empathy for Superman, especially if he’s trying to navigate the same thing. But then he shakes his head. “Batman doesn’t really do relationships.”

Clark nodded. “I see.” Batman isn’t with anybody, and Clark thinks it’s because he’s seemingly loyal to Bruce Wayne’s wife. A woman he has no chance with.

Dick gives him a nudge. “But I can tell you all about me and-“

“That’s quite alright, Nightwing.”

And so that goes on for a while. Bruce learns to live with the unspoken suspicion and subtle questioning. He doesn’t find himself complaining about it, as it’s more entertaining than anything. And he gets to come home to you every evening anyway, so why should he care?

Every night he slides into bed with you, making sure that you both have your arms wrapped around each other. If you’re already asleep, he takes extra care to not wake you, but he will slowly lift your arms to fall around his shoulders.

Every morning he pushes his face into your shoulder, mumbling “five more minutes.” Even if he has to be in a meeting in half an hour, or if there’s already a kid at the door, demanding something or another.

But so far, the League thinks there’s absolutely no chance of anything really happening. Batman is doomed to have a pining for a married woman who simply cares too much about her husband to do that to him. They think there’s no chance that Batman and you could ever be a thing, because, well, you’re much better than that.

That’s until a night in winter.

A message came in through the watchtower. The Riddler had you in his clutches, wanting to play another sick game. When their eyes landed on your name, each pair of eyes landed on Batman, where they noticed he had his fists clenched.

Before anyone could say anything, Batman had already stood and began moving quickly out of the Watchtower.

Under normal, nobody-has-a-crush-on-anyone’s-wife circumstances, the other members would’ve let Batman go. He’s handled the Riddler plenty of times before, and could probably take him down with a simple plan.

But now it was different. Green Arrow and Flash also stood, following him. Oliver had slipped into the Batmobile with a smirk sent towards Batmans grumblings about how it’s “getting ridiculous now,” while Barry ran alongside them.

Batman tracked down where Riddler was keeping you, and they found a dim room where a sound of … shuffling could be heard?

Oliver grabbed a flashlight out of Batmans utility belt, shining on the room before Batman could say anything. They found you, tied to a chair. You had been moving yourself across the room to get closer to the door slowly. With every shuffle of the chair, you had been trying to move your wrists out of the ropes, your skin rubbed raw.

Barry moved towards you before Batman could even take a step. He untied you, already speaking assuring words.

“Yes, yes,” you said, nodding. “Thank you three.”

The two blondes beamed at you, but Batman stayed stoic. However, as Barry swiftly offered to bring you outside, they missed the tiny smile you sent Bruce’s way after catching his eye.

And they missed the way his eyes relaxed under the mask, changing from their narrowed shape to something softer.

After the whole fight with Riddler, the jokes from Barry, the remarks from Oliver, and the steely silence from Batman, the three man began working outside again.

“Huh,” Barry said to Oliver, while Batman walked ahead, he had already rounded the corner while the other two men were at the end of the street. “He didn’t react to her once.”

“Maybe he’s gotten over her.” Oliver said calmly. “I definitely hope so, because it’d be better for all of us.”

“Yeah.” Barry agreed. “I’m actually quite proud of him. It can be really hard to move-“

And that’s when they heard it. Your voice from around the corner, speaking to someone. Someone who they prayed it wasn’t who they thought was.

“You think so?” You said with a grin they could practically hear. “I tried using the self defence you taught me when he grabbed me, but he bound me almost straight away.”

“But you still kept trying, I saw it.” Dammit. The familiar deep voice of their batty coworker met their ears, making the two of them exchange glances of horror.

“Maybe Alfred can give you something for your wrists.” Alfred? The Wayne butler? I’m sorry, is Batman seriously speaking about this woman’s husband’s butler while having an affair with her? Is he officially gone mad?

“Not the first time my wrists have been hurt from bondage.” You replied in a flirty manner, making Oliver almost hurl up his dinner. But it isn’t as bad as the next thing that assaults their ears.

“Quiet.” He mumbles, before the unmistakable sound of lips meeting makes the two other men scramble to actually need to see it with their own eyes.

And lo and behold, against every single odd, there you two are. Mrs Wayne and Batman kissing in a dark Gotham corner. The other two rip back around, practically tripping over each other to return to the Watchtower without being seen.

“So,” Oliver mutters. “Not completely over her.”

Barry groans. “Why can’t he use that stupid self-restraint he’s always going on about? Where is that now when we would it like it most?”

And when Batman returns to his Batmobile a while later, he briefly wonders where his two teammates disappeared to, but decides they probably made their own way home.

Besides, why would he spend his night looking for two perfectly capable men when the promise of you waits at the Manor?

And now he’s confused again when the previously worried and pitying looks he was receiving from his teammates have changed into looks of disappointment, disapproval, and sometimes disgust.

The whole identities ordeal had been gradual. There was no dramatic scene where everyone ripped off their masks. People found out at different times.

Barry and Hal knew each others before anyone else. Bruce, Clark, and Diana knew each others. Oliver and Arthur found out each others. J’onn knew everyone’s the whole time.

but eventually, everyone knew everyone.

When Clark had discovered Batmans identity, his mind went back to the certain meeting about Bruce Wayne’s- er, Batmans wife, he offered an apology to his friend. Diana smirked, focusing on the amusement from the whole situation.

But nobody went as red as Hal did when identities were revealed. The man froze for a second, before stammering an apology out in the most unlike-Hal way. Bruce just hummed, raising a brow.

Oliver just laughed when he realised that Batman, the man that spiked fear in hearts of criminals, and could stare down the whole Justice League, was the same man who always had a hand on his wife’s waist and the other on the scruff of one of his children.

and then Bruce made the horrible mistake of telling you. He told you about how the League knew identities, and you immediately suggested a get-together. Bruce made a few excuses like “we’re really more work colleagues than friends,” but you were already buying ingredients for finger sandwiches.

Oh yeah, he reminded himself. That’s how you got here. She asked you.

It had been bit of an awkward proposal. Bruce had decided to mention it at the end of another meeting.

“I would like you all to attend a lunch at my house.” He had said, as relaxed as he could. Diana raised a brow.

“You?”

“My wife.” Bruce corrected. “She would like to meet you all . . . properly.”

Barry turned to Hal with a look of amusement, silently reminding him about their last joint encounter with Bruce Wayne’s wife. Hal gave him a look that told him to shut up before he said anything.

Bruce continued. “She also invited you all to bring your own families.”

There was a small pause before Clark clapped his hands together. “Brilliant idea!” He exclaimed.

J’onn arrived first. He expressed the value of bring early to events to not be rude, and you simply nodded. He seemed to be similar to Bruce in a way that he had a very stoic demeanour about him, but held empathy underneath. You also noticed he was very intelligent. He also had a fond for Choco cookies, discovered when Alfred offered him some.

Clark and his family arrived second. Jon practically burst through the door, with Conner after him. The two boys quickly went to their respective bat after saying a polite greeting to you and Bruce. Lois came in with a lasagne dish. You took it from her, thanking her, but she said “thank Clark. I’m a hopeless cook.”

You and her got on pretty quickly. She’s sharp-minded, and not much escapes her eyes. Conversation with her is so genuine, but she always has a look that she’s storing the pieces of information that she collects.

Diana and Steve were third. Diana had greeted you with a strong hug before beaming at you. You smiled back, it’s impossible not to. She pressed a bouquet of flowers into your hands, thanking you for your hospitality. Alfred put them in a vase to set on the table.

Steve seemed to linger behind Diana a little, a little awkward while taking in the grand manor. He held his hand out for Bruce to shake, and it seemed like a gesture he had put a great deal of thought into. However, after you all talked, he seemed to become a lot more comfortable. He pulled out a chair for Diana, making you and her exchange a look of simple understanding.

Arthur and his wife arrived precisely on time. He greeted you with a small bow, and offered a “heartfelt greeting”, which you returned. Mera, who once thought that humans were nothing more than barbaric, seemed to relax a little when surrounded by luxury. She entertained you by making small whirlpool in the water in your glass. Nobody can deny the royal presence of the two.

Hal arrived on his own, his entrance quite loud. He grinned at Bruce, exclaiming “nice place, Spooky!”. Bruce didn’t return the enthusiasm, but that didn’t seem to deter him. Now that Hal had gotten over the previous mortification of accusing Batman of being in love with another man’s wife, he was back to his usual self around him.

Hal greeted you by pressing his lips to your knuckles, saying “well, I wasn’t aware anyone as beautiful as you would fall for someone like Bats,” before joining the others outside.

Bruce grumbled beside you about “tactless humour.” You turned to him, a look of slight confusion on your face, “but you always kiss my hand on date nights.”

He knows that you knew what he actually meant, but he still says, “and only I’m allowed to do it,” making you smile before rubbing his arm soothingly.

Oliver, Dinah, and Roy were next. Bruce was positive that they were a little late on purpose. “Oliver’s idea of being ‘fashionably late’,” he murmurs to you. Roy gives you a nod and a “Hiya, mrs (name),” before hurrying off to find Jason.

Dinah shakes her head a little at him before grinning at you. You’ve met before, at more formal events than this. However, Dinah remains unapologetically herself, although that could just be because she’s too stubborn to change.

Barry, and Iris are last. Wally had decided to come along too. He is as jittery as usual, pushing past his aunts legs to say hello to you and Bruce, before walking off in his search of his best friend. Iris apologises for being late.

“Honestly,” she says, “I’m surrounded by the fastest people on the planet and yet we’re late everywhere.”

And now Bruce is sitting outside, watching his civilian life and vigilante life mix. Duke was beside him, talking with Clark about the sun or light. Ace was resting his head on Bruce’s knee, because Bruce kept slipping him little pieces of ham that was spread on the table.

At first, the League members had made their own circle while their partners made another.

You, Lois, Dinah, Mera, and Iris had shared similar experiences with having husbands that like to put themselves in danger, and then talked about your own lives. Steve had drifted from Diana’s side, to the women talking. He stayed by the side for a minute or two, before being invited into the conversation. He had related to being worried about partners, and felt glad that he now had a group to talk about it with.

The children were either running around the garden, or simply talking.

Dick was trying to show Wally a new trick that involved a backflip, but Wally was busy stacking bread rolls in his arms.

Jason was attempting to bring a ladybug closer to him by spreading little crumbs around while Roy talked in his ear.

Cass, Tim, and Conner were sitting at the table, likely complaining about protective parents and the usual teenage problems.

Damian and Jon were crafting their own games, although Damian often claimed that imaginative games were too “simple” for him. Alfred The Cat stayed by the two boys’ ankles. Every so often, Damian would come over beside you to eat a bite or take a drink while Jon did the same beside Lois.

After a while, people mixed a little more and Bruce had drifted away from the League to sit next to you.

Bruce is introverted, but has years of practise to hide it. He’s good at putting on a face for hours. But when he’s around those few select people he’s comfortable with, he’s able to be quiet.

So, he doesn’t notice how he doesn’t feel the need to be the life and soul of this event. His presence is noted, of course. Clark is one of his closest friends, along with other members. There’s also seven kids here that appear at his side every so often to sit and eat before running off again.

He doesn’t feel the need to make any exaggerated statements. Everyone here has seen him as Batman, stoic and untouchable. He can comfortably listen and talk when he wants to. He decided not to confront the fact that he feels comfortable enough around these people to do so.

With Bruce being a few feet away, Hal leaned forward.

“So, when are we all going to address the fact that Bats managed to get married?”

Barry gave Hal a look. “Can you stop calling him that? You know his name now.”

“Never.” Hal said shortly before continuing. “I need information. How did he get her to stay with him?”

Iris raised her eyebrows. “He’s Bruce Wayne, Hal. That’s how.”

Barry turned his head to her. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing, Bar.”

Hal spoke again before Barry could open his mouth. “Yeah, I get that he’s Bruce Wayne, but eventually she found out about Batman. What could he have possibly said so she didn’t turn and run? I mean, it’s Spooky. I didn’t know he could feel positive emotions.”

Iris shrugged. “You’d be surprised what women are into.”

Barry looked alarmed for the second time in the short conversation. “What women are-“ He spluttered, giving Iris a questioning look. “Are you into- . . . is this a general thing?”

“Barry, listen to me.” Hal pressed, “are we sure she isn’t under some voodoo magic?”

Iris sighed. “Why are you confused by their marriage?”

“It’s Batman, Iris.” Hal said, as if that was answer enough. “I know it’s Bruce Wayne too, but it’s Batman. Who has the patience?”

“Her, obviously.”

“How do you think their wedding went?” Barry grinned, before putting two of his fingers behind his head to mimic Batmans ears. He continued in a much deeper voice than his own, “I, Batman, promise to love you in sickness and in health, in justice and in vengeance.”

Instead of laughing, the three sitting with Barry went silent. Hal was looking over Barry’s head at something behind him, and Iris just smirked at Barry as if she knew something he didn’t.

Barry blinked and lowered his hand. “At least give me a pity chuckle.”

Hal shook his head a little. Barry paused for a second before realising.

“Who was that meant to be? I only caught the last words.” A familiar deep voice came from behind him. Barry turned, mustering up the best expression of relaxation that he could manage. His eyes followed Bruce as he sat down beside him.

“Um. You know . . . I was doing an impression of Megatron getting married.” Barry got out, while Iris tried not to laugh beside him. “ . . . From Transformers. Because he has a deep voice.”

“I know who Megatron is.” Bruce said with classy ease. “Jason used to love the series. Tim enjoys the films.”

“Ah.” Barry leaned back a little, scratching his neck. He avoided Hal’s eye. “Well. There you go.”

Across the table, Lois was talking to you about a similar thing.

“I knew about you and Bruce since it was announced years ago, but I always thought it was you and Bruce.” She said. “Not Batman.”

You grin. “That is what most people think.”

Lois leaned forward, her hand underneath her chin. “You know what I’m going to ask, right?”

“How is Bruce and Batman so different?” You guessed. But Lois shook her head.

“I’m well aware that most famous people have different personalities. Although Bruce’s is quite a step further.” She slightly teased. “I’m sorta wondering how the dating thing went. I mean, Batman is very . . . distant from practically everything. But you obviously changed something in him.”

You smile.

Bruce was sitting across from you, dressed in a very fancy suit that you probably couldn’t afford if you worked for ten years straight. The low lights from the fancy restaurant lit up his face in a way that made him look almost angelic.

He was doing his best to look at ease, but inside his head he was wondering what he should do. ‘Should I hold her hand? Or is that too forward? Would she like that? Is she expecting it? You’ve been on enough dates to know this, Bruce, how don’t you know this???’

You cleared your throat, making Bruce’s eyes flicker to yours and his racing mind stops. He isn’t panicking over how his hair looks or what his next move should be, and instead he waits for your next words.

“I’ve never been here before,” you say, glancing around.

Bruce responds, “I’ve only been here once. A dinner party a year or two ago.”

“Ah.”

Bruce analyses everything about you. Your fingers are playing with a loose thread on your clothes, as if you’re trying to half-hide it. Your posture is more fixed than usual. Your eyes dart around every so often to other people in the restaurant. Men in suits and ties, women in designer clothes and real gold jewellery. Your feet shuffle every few seconds underneath the table, as if you are far too conscious of them and you aren’t sure where they should be. You haven’t made much conversation with him as usual, and when you do speak, your voice isn’t as strong.

He comes to a conclusion. You aren’t comfortable.

He reassures himself that you aren’t uncomfortable because of him. He knows you, you wouldn’t have accepted a date with him if you didn’t like him. He knows you aren’t comfortable because this is uncharted territory for you.

Bruce gives you a smile and leans forward. “You don’t like it here.”

Your eyes widen a little at his words, looking at him with surprise. “No!” You claim quickly, before lowering your voice. “No, that isn’t- I mean, I haven’t even tried the food yet.”

“The food isn’t the reason you don’t like it.” He raises his eyebrows a little. He isn’t accusing you of anything, or making you out to be ungrateful. He’s just stating a fact.

“I do like it here.” You say, as if that finalised the matter. Your eyes scan the menu, and you catch sight of some dishes you’ve never heard of before. “It’s very nice. A . . . um, great selection of food.”

Bruce made a small humming noise, pretending to look over the menu.

When the waiter came over to take your orders, he noticed how you ordered one of the cheapest things on the menu. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional, since all the choices were quite lavish so it wasn’t like you were depriving yourself of anything. But it made him wonder. Everything you do always does.

You two ate your appetisers while making conversation. Stories from childhood was exchanged (although Bruce was a little more cagey with his), and embarrassing incidents from teenage years were laughed over.

But when the plates were clear and taken away, you were silent again. Nervous, judging by the small tapping of your fingers against each other. You grew conscious of yourself.

“I don’t really like it here.”

You look up, giving Bruce a puzzled look. “You finished your plate.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t enjoy it much.” He looked around, leaning back and sighing a little. “Do you know any place better?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Any place better than . . . this? No Bruce, I don’t know a place better than a restaurant with a chandelier in every room.”

Bruce’s face fell, expressing great disappointment. “That’s a shame. I sort of want to go somewhere else.”

And whatever Bruce Wayne wants, he gets.

So, after claiming that it was “far too stuffy”, he paid the bill and took your hand outside the restaurant.

He didn’t call a driver, or a cab, which would’ve been the safe option in Gotham. Yes, Bruce wanted to keep you safe, but he also really wanted to walk with you. He purposely slowed down when walking past food sellers to see if your eyes lingered on anything. A few minutes later, you were telling him a story that happened in one of the small diners in the quieter part of Gotham. Bruce immediately suggested going there.

“You don’t want to go there,” you shook your head a little. “You’re wearing a suit and-“

“And I want to go there.” He can get a bit cheeky with you sometimes.

And now you watched him slowly eat a slice of pizza, his chewing careful as ever. One would say that you both look a little ridiculous, sitting in a rundown diner with a suit and dress. You look at Bruce.

“Why did you want to leave to come to this place?” You ask.

Bruce stayed calm. “I already told you, I didn’t like the food at the other place.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You know I don’t believe that.”

Bruce paused for a second before setting his pizza down. He’s able to put on a mask for hundreds of people. He can lie easily through his teeth to people he cares about. He’s able to track down the most hidden secretive of Gotham. But he can’t figure out how you see through him everytime.

“I just thought that it was a bit awkward there.” He said slowly. “I was a bit too conscious of myself, I think. Just because of the . . . atmosphere there.”

You think for a moment before nodding. “I think I felt the same.” You smile a little.

Bruce grins back at you.

“That’s actually quite sweet.” Lois said, quickly bringing you back to the present. “Very thoughtful.”

“Surprised?” You said.

“He’s a man, (Name),” she said without missing a beat. “You get surprised when any one of them is thoughtful.”

You laughed, looking down.

A minute later, Clark slid into a chair beside Bruce. “She’s lovely.” He said, his head giving a small nod towards you. “Lois always managed to get interviews with her before I had the chance, and I can see why she was so eager to meet again.”

Bruce nodded. It doesn’t matter who spoke praise for you, Bruce would agree. The Joker himself could compliment you and Bruce would be compelled to take a moment to agree and bask in you.

“I remember the first time you two appeared at a gala together.” Clark smiled. “And now married with six kids!”

Bruce had an easy expression in his face that only comes when he thinks about his family. His memory brings him back to the first gala Clark mentioned.

“Bruce!” You called from your en-suite bathroom on your shared bedroom. “Do these earrings look nice? I don’t know if they go with my makeup or not.”

Bruce appeared in the doorway, taking a look at you before moving to put his arm around your waist.

“You look beautiful, darling.” He said quietly, pressing a kiss to your neck. He’d prefer to kiss your cheek or lips, but he knew you’d fuss if he smudged your makeup. “You always do.”

“Thank you,” you said, grinning for a moment before your face was serious again. “But seriously, do the earrings look okay?”

“Yes,” He replied. “They look as gorgeous as the woman wearing them.”

You bit back a laugh as you tutted. “Always with the flirting.”

“Not flirting if I’m simply telling the truth.”

It was safe to say you were nervous. It was the first time you would be surrounded by people in a completely different class to you. You don’t want to seem like the clueless girl who didn’t know her way around a room, and hoped that Bruce would at least give you some advice on how to act. But when you asked him, he just replied with, “I usually just pretend to listen and then I smile and nod. Sometimes you can sneak a few minutes of sleep if they’re particularly too wrapped up in themselves.”

But you didn’t want to fall asleep while talking to someone. You wanted to be refined, and, well . . . fit in.

So when you arrived at the gala, you smiled for the cameras beside Bruce, while he walked with you with a hand around your waist. Bruce never lingered too long outside these events, instead preferring to get inside as soon as he could. But you decided to turn at the last second to blow a kiss to the reporters, making the flashes of light increase significantly.

Bruce tugged you in with the tired grin, as if he already half-expected you to make a little show.

“First night in public with me and you’re already sucking up to the cameras.” He said.

“Have to make an impression.” You shrugged.

And after, when you two walked out of the event back to the car, reporters were already scribbling down different article titles about the lipstick marks on Bruce Wayne’s neck.

You and Bruce went through all the different phases of marriage. The newlywed stage (which makes your cheeks heat up whenever you recall the honeymoon), the familiarisation stage, the adopting-every-child-you-find-on-the-street stage (which you’re almost sure that not every couple goes through), and now here.

It’s not a traditional family, in a sense. It’s certainly not normal or average. But nobody’s life in this family has been even close to normal. And yes, arguments happen. Ranging from teasing bickering to real shouting matches, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the fact that you get past it. You work on it. Together.

And Bruce Wayne is further in his life than he ever thought he would be.

bruce: how is the opera, my love? i’m sorry i couldn’t be there, the league has demands.

a lie. he just had a headache earlier and felt like jumping out of a window at the thought of having to put on a smile for the folk and sit through an opera. he did feel guilty about you being on your own, though.

you: it’s alright. i actually know some people here, and they aren’t all bad, bruce.

bruce: you say that now, but wait until they each give you a rundown on each car in their garage.

you: like how you give me a rundown on each gadget you come up with in the batcave?

bruce: that’s different.

you: of course it is. i actually like listening to you.

the familiar ‘ping!’ of one of batman’s gadgets interrupted the silence.

superman looked up, eager to be doing something other than whatever paper in front of him that he wasn’t even focusing on.

“what is that?” his words came out immediately, and before batman could answer, he was speaking again. “robbery? alien invasion?”

“Poison Ivy in Gotham.” Batman is already standing, beginning his exit of the watchtower. Superman follows him.

“Can I come? Please?”

Batman turns, looking at him. “What?”

“It’s boring in here!” Superman gestures around. “And if I’m on my own it’ll be even more boring. C’mon, Batman, I can help you.”

Batman considers it for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But we’re going in the Batmobile.”

“But I can-“

“You are not flying me there, Superman.”

A few minutes later, they’re in the opera hall. Ivy seems to have taken over the stage, giving a speech on ways for the average person to decrease their carbon footprint.

Batman can see a few different people caught between her weeds. Long, thick plants have people in their grip. He scans the room quickly for you, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he sees that you are not captured, but instead just huddled in the corner with a group of others.

Superman doesn’t notice the way that Batman isn’t looking at Ivy, and begins his attack. Batman quickly follows. After a swift battle (turns out having Superman as an ally cuts down on battle time), Ivy is restrained and authorities arrive. The two start on recovering civilians before they both encounter you.

You’re comforting one of the women that was tangled in the weeds. You’re sitting beside her, nodding as she talked. You recognise the familiar pair of boots coming from the side of you. Your head lifts up slightly as you catch sight of the two men.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Wayne?” Superman speaks first, the familiar concern he has for everyone clear in his voice and expression. He recognises you from articles, and he’s heard enough from Cat Grant at the Daily Planet to know you’re married to Bruce Wayne.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you answer with a small smile. Your eyes move to Batman. “Thank you.”

Superman gives Batman a side glance as he hears Batmans heart skip a beat when you smile at him. He tries to not to make his suspicion obvious. However, he turns a little when he hears that Batmans heartbeat is now quicker than it had been five minutes ago.

However, nothing on Batmans mostly covered face gave away any feelings. He just nodded and said a quick: “Stay safe, ma’am.”

And Superman didn’t bring it up again. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. A heart skip doesn’t always mean feelings of infatuation, right?

The second time is with Flash and Green Lantern.

Batman is a stark contrast to the pair. Barry and Hal are close friends, and joke around when put together. Bruce will sigh, and tell them to be quiet, and then Barry tries to be serious, but Hal will mutter a sarcastic comment that makes him start laughing again and the cycle repeats.

So Batman is already tense from working with the two.

They’re investigating a case together, and encounter you somehow. (sorry that’s so vague i literally cannot think of a specific scenario here to save my life)

Flash asks you a few questions if you’ve seen or heard anything suspicious, and you shake your head and answer. Barry notices Batmans shoulders softening a little beside him.

It isn’t hugely noticeable, but Barry senses it. Batmans shoulders loose some of their tension as he talks to you, this civilian. And when Hal opens his mouth to make an implying comment, he tenses right back up again.

Barry’s eyes narrow. It isn’t often that the Bat actually feels emotions, so when he does, his friends take an interest.

On the way back, Barry nudges Hal.

“Hey, you notice the way Bats was acting around that woman earlier?” He whispers so the third man in front of them doesn’t hear.

“You mean that really hot one? Who wouldn’t act like that around her? Did you see her, Bar?”

Barry gives him a look, “yeah, but this is Batman. Brooding, stays-in-the-shadows, feels-nothing-but-rage-24/7, Batman.”

Hal ponders before shrugging. “I don’t know, maybe Spooky’s changed. Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman, Barry.”

Barry thinks. “She looked kinda familiar, didn’t she? I can’t think of where I’ve seen her before.”

And when they see that the familiar face they were talking to was Bruce Wayne’s wife, they give each other an alarmed look before looking at Batman from across the room.

The third time was with Oliver goddamn Queen.

A charity gala. Bruce couldn’t go because he had intel that Scarecrow was planning on infiltrating the building while everyone was distracted, something about wanting to ‘test out a new gas’, and he had to be on watch as Batman for the evening.

You, however, decided to go. You had a nice dress and were getting close to some of the women there your age. It was nice to not be a total stranger in the room anymore.

So, as you filtered around the room, you met Oliver Queen. He sometimes teases Bruce on purpose by asking for a dance with you at other galas, but without Bruce he was simply a friend to enjoy a chat with.

When Scarecrow did burst in, you actually had been dancing with Oliver. A friendly turn around the room like the others were doing. By the time Batman had taken him down, and everyone emerged from the corners or hidden rooms, Oliver checked to see if you were okay. Lord knows Bruce would probably blame him if anything happened to you.

You were fine, thank God. Oliver’s sentence was interrupted by the Bat himself.

“Was anybody harmed?” the gruff voice asked, his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.

“I don’t think so,” you replied. Oliver looked at Batman with a certain questioning that nobody seemed to notice.

“Good.” Batman was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Perhaps you all should start making your ways home. Scarecrow might return, or someone worse.”

You don’t miss a beat. “It’s a good thing we have someone like you to protect us, Batman.”

“Only a fool wouldn’t protect you, ma’am.”

Oliver blinked. Is Batman . . . flirting? With a married woman? Also, was that sentence a sneaky diss on him?

and Oliver could’ve sworn on his entire fortune that Batman’s lips were almost in a grin during his next sentence.

“Your husband is probably waiting on you, Mrs. Wayne.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows at your response. You laughed a little under your breath before speaking, “probably. I wouldn’t want to keep him up.”

Oliver looks between you and Batman. Perhaps he’s imagining things. You turn to him as if you’ve just remembered that he’s still there.

“Oliver, you have a safe way home, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll call my driver.”

He doesn’t bring it up the next time he sees Batman as Green Arrow. Batman doesn’t speak of it either. But his eyes narrow a little at the Bats whenever Bruce Wayne or his wife is mentioned.

Eventually, it comes up in conversation when Batman isn’t there.

They’re in the common room, and Diana is flipping through the newspaper. She’s on a page that features a picture of you at the latest event with a description of your outfit beside it. Beside her, Hal recognises you.

“Hey, Flash,” he begins, stabbing the page with his finger. “Isn’t that who we were talking to a couple days earlier?”

Barry is behind the couch in a second, nodding. “Yeah, we asked her a couple questions with Batman.” He looks up a takes a quick glance to see if anyone’s expression changes. “He seemed . . . different around her.”

Clark closes the book in his hand with a loud snap, looking at the three on the couch.

“You’ve noticed too?”

Hal laughs, “that Bats has the hots for a married woman? Yeah.”

Diana frowns a little. “That is unlike Batman. He’s known for his self-restraint. It doesn’t seem likely he would harbour a liking for someone else’s wife, especially Bruce Wayne’s. Doesn’t Wayne sponsor him or something?”

Oliver joins in. “Wonder Woman, you haven’t seen him with her. I mean, it was only a few seconds but he was a totally different person.”

“How so?” Diana asked curiously.

“He . . . relaxed a little.”

She raised her eyebrows. Barry cut in.

“Wonder, you need to see it to understand it. It’s like no one else even enters his mind when he’s looking at her. I think everything else sorta faded away, you know?”

“Like in those rom-coms I’ve been shown?” She suggests.

“Yeah!”

Clark thinks for a moment, wondering what to do to help his obviously hopeless friend. How do you break the news to an emotionally constipated Bat that he has to squash his feelings before anything terrible happens?

So, they organise an intervention. A very unorganised organised intervention.

Your name gets mentioned during a briefing. About how you could be potential target for a kidnapping due to your status.

Hal’s mouth works quicker than his mind.

“What about Bruce Wayne?”

“What about Bruce Wayne?” Batman asks in his low voice, his back still turned to the team.

“Just saying, he’s probably a potential target too, right?” Green Lantern points out. “He’s her husband, after all.”

Batman turns. They all seem to be looking for his reaction.

“Right, I was just getting to that.” He says stiffly. “So I think until Joker is tracked down again, a pair of eyes should be on them. Since Gotham is my city, I can-“

“Ohhhh, hold on,” Flash says, leaning forward. “Central City has been very quiet lately, so I’m free too.”

Wonder Woman joins in. “I’m interested too. I think the more people, the quicker we could get this done.”

Batman blinks. “Why the sudden interest in Gotham from you two?”

They both shrug, mumbling incoherent words that overlap each other. Something about “new environments” and “change of pace”.

Green Arrow smirks. “I wouldn’t mind accompanying. (Name) and her husband should get all the protection they can get.”

Batman isn’t showing it, but he’s confused. Less members have volunteered themselves for prison breaks. Why are three other members wanting to go to Gotham for an unconfirmed threat? And why do they keep looking at him like that?

“Yes,” Superman clears his throat. “Mrs (Name) is a kind woman who shouldn’t be in danger. And Bruce Wayne is similar in nature. He is valuable to Gotham City.”

Batman prepared his disliking-Bruce-Wayne act with practised ease. “Bruce Wayne is a spoiled idiot.”

“Of course you think that.” Green Lantern mutters with a smug smirk. Flash nudges him.

“What do you mean?” Batman asks, and Hal practically explodes.

“We know you’re attracted to (Name) Wayne!” He says, making Barry cover his eyes with his hands. Not how the conversation was supposed to go.

“Excuse me?” Batman is -frankly- appalled. Hal grimaces, instantly reminded of who exactly he’s talking to.

“You’re, uh . . .” he splutters before quickly mumbling, “you’re in love with (name).” He gains some of his confidence, and straightens up again, “and you were about to let Bruce Wayne get kidnapped, so you could swoop in and seduce her!” He tops it all off with hand gestures of the supposed ‘swooping’.

Batmans gaze sweeps the table. Nobody meets his eye except Diana, who just seems to be staring at him for his response. A few of them have to stop themselves from laughing at the idea of Batman ‘seducing’ someone.

“And what exactly gave you that idea?”

Barry is filled with a newfound confidence. “Oh, c’mon Bats, a blind man would see how you act around her!” He smirked a little. “You went a little . . . soft.”

Green Arrow snorts. “Sometimes I think you’re only protecting Gotham because she’s in it.”

Batman thinks. Has he been that transparent? He’s always careful about his expressions and body reactions. Maybe he is getting soft. He obviously didn’t take enough care.

A fleeting image passes his mind, where he declares his love for you to the team. How could he not show you off? He would love to tell them that you were with him.

But, of course, he doesn’t do that. He just blinks.

“I am not in love with (name), that’s ridiculous.” He scoffs. “Number one, I don’t fall in love with anyone. Number two, she’s married, so I think that means she’s out of the dating pool.”

Not one face looking back at him looks convinced.

However, a cold stare and a swift change of topic ensured that nobody tries to start the conversation again.

They do, however, take a bigger interest in Gotham nowadays. Whenever a mission includes you somehow, there’s always one of them volunteering to go. They all think that distance will make sure Batman goes back to his cold and steely ways of not having a crush on anyone’s wife.

Bruce crawls under the covers with a small groan, shuffling next to you. His arms go around your warm body as he rests his face near yours. He’s desperate to soak up your warmth after being out in the cold all night.

“Long night?” you ask, your voice still quiet from sleep.

“Long day,” he responds, tucking himself into you. You keep your arms around him. “The League accused Batman of being attracted to Bruce Wayne’s wife today.”

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s talking about. You breathe out a laugh. “Is Batman not in love with me?”

Bruce grins against your skin. “He might be.” He murmurs. “Just a little, though.”

You raise your eyebrows, turning to look at Bruce. “Does Batman know I’m married? And that I’m very loyal to my husband?”

“Oh, yes,” he responded, and sits up a little. he pressed his forehead to yours. “and Batman knows that there’s nobody else on this earth that loves you more than I do.”

You smile, your fingers in his hair now. he leans closer to press his lips to yours, an action that you return. Bruce keeps himself against you for a long time. He likes falling asleep with you in his arms. He likes feeling like the protector.

It’s why he needs to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s why he needs to know where you are each night. It’s why he needs to know you’re safe. And if your safety comes along with each League member giving him looks because they think he’s harbouring a crush for another man’s wife, then so be it.

He’d do anything for you, anyway. 

No space was safe from Jake's influence nor did the American make it easy to escape his presence. It seemed like whenever Enoch and you were together, he appeared from thin air, begging you to help him with something. It was as if the American knew of Enoch's feelings and acted to rile him up, whisking the attention of the only person he actually liked. It's not as if there weren't any other children who would be happy to spend time with the American, why did he seek you out specifically?

Every time he saw you two together, a storm brewed inside him, and a tight knot formed in his chest. Enoch wasn’t stupid. He understood what jealousy was, but this wasn’t just jealousy. This was fear. Fear that you were slipping away from him. Fear that Jake was replacing him.

One day, it all became too much.

Enoch was sitting in the library, flipping through one of his old, tattered books on embalming techniques, though his focus had long since disappeared. His mind, as usual, was on you. He had tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but the bitter feeling gnawed at him constantly. And then, as if the universe was mocking him, you and Jake walked into the room together.

Jake was talking about something, gesturing wildly with his hands, and you were laughing. A bright, carefree laugh that Enoch hadn’t heard in days.

That was the last straw.

"Seriously?" Enoch snapped, slamming his book shut. His gaze was fixed on you, his voice sharp and biting. “Do you really have to follow him around all the time?”

Your smile faltered, a confused frown replacing it. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Ever since he got here, it’s like you’ve forgotten everyone else exists. You’re spending so much time with him, acting like he needs you for everything. It's pathetic."

Your eyes narrowed, a flash of anger crossing your face. “He’s new here, Enoch! He does need help adjusting. And I’m not just going to ignore him because you—”

“Because I what?” Enoch cut you off, his eyes blazing. “Because I’m not needy enough for you? Because I don't fawn over you like a mutt every second like he does?”

Enoch could see the hurt forming in your eyes, but he was too wound up to stop now.

“Face it,” Enoch continued, his voice colder now, “you just want to feel like you matter to someone, right? Like you have some purpose. Well, here’s the truth. You’re not needed here. Jake can deal just fine on his own and I don’t need a dessolent friend.”

Your hands trembled slightly at your sides. “You’re wrong, but I guess I was wrong too for thinking you were my best friend.”

Before Enoch could think to apologize, you turned and stormed out of the room. The American looked like he was about to say something, but Enoch shot him a glare, daring him to speak.

TIME SKIP

Days passed. Days where Enoch didn’t see you, didn’t hear from you, and the space you used to fill in his life became an empty void he couldn’t bear to acknowledge. You weren't just avoiding him, you had begun to spend even more time with Jake, much to Enoch's dismay.

He tried to act like it didn’t bother him. He pretended he didn’t care when he saw you laughing as if his absence meant nothing to you. But it did. It hurt more than Enoch was willing to admit. It was only when Olive pushed him to accept his mistake that led him to stand at your door, long after the others had gone to bed.

Enoch stood there for a long moment, his hand raised to knock, but his usual stubbornness kept holding him back. What if you didn’t forgive him? What if you’d already moved on and replaced him for good? Taking a deep breath, Enoch knocked.

After a few agonizing moments, the door creaked open, and you stood there, blinking groggily at him in the dim light. “What do you want, Enoch?”

“I…” Enoch faltered for a moment, struggling to find the right words. His usual snark and bravado were gone, replaced with something more vulnerable and uncertain. “I came to apologize.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe, clearly not ready to let him off the hook so easily. “For what?”

“For what I said,” Enoch muttered, not meeting your eyes. “For being a complete prat.”

Your expression softened, but you didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. Enoch sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Look, I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I was just jealous. Of Jake. Of the time you’ve been spending with him.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Jealous? But why?”

This was it. Enoch could either admit the truth or lose you for good. Meeting your eyes, he confessed.

“Because I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time, and seeing you with him made me feel like I was losing you. Like I wasn’t needed anymore. Like I was being replaced.”

Your camera bag felt heavy on your shoulder, but you blamed it on the fact that you couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that clung to you like a stubborn shadow, in addition to the sweltering heat of the summer sun that only added to your irritation as you made your way to the Daily Bugle, where you were interning as a photographer.

Now, you actually liked your internship, despite the chaos that often unfolded around you. You have always liked capturing moments with your one and only camera, one that was a gift from your grandfather before passing away; he always told you that those pictures will always tell a story, freezing time with just the press of a shutter. But days like today tested your patience.

You finally entered the building, slipping past the crowded desks and skillfully dodging reporters that were frantically typing away at their articles; you could already hear Jameson ranting about something—but this time, it was someone. The new and masked hero in town, Spider-Man, was doing as he had usually done for the past 2 weeks.

Your possible future boss, Mr. Jameson, was notorious for his gruff demeanor and demanding nature, and today seemed to be no exception, as he barked orders at the staff. You adjusted the strap of your camera bag, rolling your shoulders as you approached your friend, Jay, who looked one bad headline away from quitting. When you sat on his desk, which was thankfully next to each other, he gave you a tired smile while handing you a bagel.

You gave it a bite and rolled your eyes in delight. “Don’t say anything; I brought another extra because I also skipped breakfast today.”

"You’re an angel… Rough already?"

"And it's not even 9 a.m." Jay spat in anger; you opened your bag to give him some of the jelly you always carry around. He took them slightly happier, tearing the packaging off and licking his lips before talking again. "He's now decided to put stupid challenges on everyone here. I spoke with his secretary, and she says he's getting jealous of the other newspaper company since they took the #1 place from us."

Jameson's screams got louder, and your neck turned to take a look at how he was walking to the employee launch. “Speaking of the devil.”

"Good luck." You raised an eyebrow at his words, looking back and forth at him and Jameson. “Hide the bagel.”

“What do you mean by ‘good luck’?” You whispered, but your expression spoke louder of the panic you started to feel.

"Ah, there you are," Mr. Jameson said. You braced yourself before turning to face him, a small smile plastered on your lips.

“Good morning, Mr. Jameson.”

"I've got a special assignment for you."

The word “special” itself was already making your brain think about any crazy options, feeling your heart sink at his words, knowing that whatever task he had in store would likely be thankless unless it benefited his pockets, just like Jay said in the past. But you nodded, steeling yourself for whatever was to come.

“May I know what you have in mind?”

"I want you to get me a picture of Spider-Man," he said bluntly, with no filter and zero emotions whatsoever.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his request. Spider-Man? The one that is the talk of the town? You opened and closed your mouth, struggling to form words that were nice. Jameson arched an impatient brow, his foot tapping against the tiled floor that was causing you a headache.

“Well? You got a problem with that?”

You glanced at Jay, who was suddenly very invested in his bagel, offering no help. Turning back to Jameson, you forced yourself to nod. “No, sir, just… How exactly do you expect me to find him? We have no—"

“You’re a photographer, aren’t you? Use your damn head! That wall-crawling menace shows up all over the damn city. He isn’t shy about swinging around like he owns the place!” After that screaming session, he rubbed his temple, as if you were the one giving him a headache when it was the complete opposite. “I don't care how you do it—just get me a photo clear enough for the front page, or you'll be out of your ear."

And just like that, he turned on his heel and stomped off, barking at another poor intern about coffee.

Jay let out a low whistle. “Damn, he really hit you with that assignment, huh?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “What am I supposed to do? Just wander the city with my camera and hope Spider-Man swings by? Or maybe make an attempt of suicide to see if he can save me?”

“Wow, let’s not go that far, shall we?” He said, rolling his chair to your desk with a concerned face after seeing you actually think about your last question to attract the hero. “But I do think you just have to wait on the streets.” Jay shrugged, shoving the rest of his bagel into his mouth.

Sure, you’d seen Spider-Man in grainy photos on social media and extremely blurry clips on the news, but actually tracking him down? Getting a clear shot? That made a wave of panic wash over you.

The hours passed slowly, and 7 o'clock of the night finally arrived, which made you fly to the only place you were sure that you would be comfortable at the moment, Jake’s place.

More than his place, Jake has always been your safe haven, ever since you were kids. You still remember the first time you met—he was sitting alone in the playground, sniffling quietly while being bullied by a group of kids; the sight alone made you leave your friends behind for a moment to march right up to the ringleader and sink your teeth into his arm. You still remembered how Jake looked at you like you had just saved his entire world.

Since that day, you two became inseparable. He was the first person you’d call when you had good news and the first to show up when you needed a shoulder to lean on. He knew all your quirks, and in return, you knew him just as well. You knew the way he would start biting the straw of a drink he was having unconsciously, the way he always made sure you walked on the inside of the sidewalk, the way he’d drop everything the second he felt you needed him. Just like you need right now.

Work was way more stressful than usual, and that was reflected in your tensed shoulders that were screaming for a massage, but that would need to wait; the elevator reached the floor you picked, and you pushed the button to announce yourself. To your surprise, you found yourself with Ni-Ki.

“The del—oh, it’s just Y/N.” Before you could speak, he closed it again, soon hearing your name louder with a surprised tone, He opened the door again with a smile. You blinked at Ni-Ki, still processing the interaction. “Y/N! Hey! What are you doing here?” He leaned on the doorframe like nothing happened.

You squinted at Ni-ki, arms crossed. “Did you just try to shut the door at me?”

Ni-Ki let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “What? No, no. That was just… muscle memory!”

“Muscle memory?” You deadpanned, and he nodded.

“Yeah! You know there are these random people knocking on the doors to bother, and I just always happen to be here when that happens, and I just… close the door.” He did some mimicry to what he said, but you weren’t buying it.

Your eyes flicked past him, trying to catch a glimpse inside, but Ni-Ki moved along his head. “Is Jake home?”

“Uh, nope! I mean, yeah, but, uh… he’s doing… something. You should probably come back later.”

“Right.” You took a step forward, but he quickly blocked your path, his leg and arm on the other side of the doorframe. You sighed. “Nishimura Ri-Ki!”

“Yes, ma’am?” He said, his voice clear like he was a soldier as he stood normally.

“I had a horrible day at work to the point that I will actually cry myself to sleep today due to the amount of work I have to do plus an almost impossible task Mr. Jameson gave to me. I just need to talk to you two to make this day less miserable.”

“And this is why we will go out for boba, my treat!”

Your eyes narrowed further. “Ni-Ki. Move.”

“No can do.” He leaned against the doorframe again, arms stretched wide.

“I’m literally just here to see both of you and to take a nap.”

“And I’m literally just making sure you don’t—uh, I mean, that you’re comfortable. Jake doesn’t want visitors right now, does he?”

You rubbed your forehead, already having enough. “I come over all the time, and Jake’s never cared before. What’s really going-”

“He’s touching himself!” Neither you nor he expected that sentence, your eyes opening wide at the statement, your cheeks getting warmer as seconds passed by. It was Ni-Ki’s turn to open his mouth, but before he could come up with another excuse, a loud thud echoed from inside the apartment, followed by a very familiar voice muttering a string of curses.

“Ni-Ki! I came!” Ni-Ki looked back and then at you, red in his face as he made a small dance.

“Good job, Jake! Glad you came! We will be right back!” His voice got a little higher, and with a panicked face and awkward laugh, he closed the door even harder than before, startling you. Soon, the noise of things falling, more curses, and somebody hitting himself with furniture was the only thing that actually kept you sane.

"Hold on a second!" A few seconds passed, and Jake was the one who opened the door. He had his hair messy; he had grey sweatpants on and a hoodie that was bigger than his usual size. "Hey lensgirl! Wow, you look tired."

“Yeah, no thanks to Mr. Jameson,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I swear he’s actually trying to kill me with work.”

Jake fully opened the door with concern written all over his face, and that’s when you went for a hug, this time with tears going down, noticeably crying.

Jake was taken aback by your sudden display of emotion, immediately wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, rubbing your back soothingly. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself as you entered the apartment. "It's just… work," you managed to choke out between sobs. "Mr. Jameson… He wants me to get a photo of Spider-Man for the front page, and I—I don't know how to do it. I'm so screwed, Jake."

Jake's expression softened with understanding, though you had no idea just how much he truly understood. "Hey, it's okay," he repeated, guiding you to sit on the couch. "We'll figure it out, okay? You're not alone in this."

“And you know what’s the most fucked-up part? Until this morning, I had 2 weeks to give the picture, and he randomly decided to change the deadline to Thursday. I have three fucking days.”

Ni-Ki, hearing the commotion, came to the living room, a package of donuts in his hands. He took one donut and placed the rest on the table in front of the three of you. It was a very brief moment of silence before Ni-Ki spoke after taking a bite of his dessert. "You know what? Jake can help,"

You looked up at Ni-Ki, the hand Jake had in your back getting tense. "What did you say?"

"Jake knows Spider-Man. You could get a picture like that." He snapped his fingers to emphasize the quickness, and that’s when you lost it.

"Since when?!" You practically shouted at him, and he gave a shy smile, which you loved, but not right now since your only thought at the moment was of him being friends with the hero and not telling you.

Jake shot Ni-Ki a deadly glare, but the younger boy just shrugged, taking another bite of his donut like he hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of the evening after all the excuses. You looked at Jake, and for a moment, he got lost in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t say ‘best friends,’ but… yeah.” You sat properly; your hands were now on his shoulders.

“So you know Spider-Man?”

“Uh… yes?”

“And you never told me?”

“I—well—”

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” Ni-Ki cut in. “Jake and Spider-Man are like this—” He crossed his fingers. “—so the picture? You got it.”

"Hey, your face looks awful due to the crying; how about we continue this conversation right after you clean yourself? Go to the bathroom; we will go to my bedroom." As you were protesting, Jake obligated you to go inside. The boys went straight to the room and locked it, Jake basically punching Ni-Ki for opening his mouth.

"Are you being serious?! Why did you say that?"

"You know I'm fond of her, and I can't stand her crying. And also, I'm doing you a favor; you've liked her since forever, and with this, you can make a move. And you know that she loves Spider-Man. I consider this a win."

Jake's heart raced as he processed Ni-Ki's words. He couldn't deny the truth about them. He had developed feelings for you for what felt like forever, but he never found the courage to act on them, and because of the sudden powers he got after being bitten by a spider, the dangers were too much to the point he would rather die with the secret in order to keep you safe if they get to know you’re his… something. That's how much he loved you.

Jake groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “This is not a win, Ni-Ki! This is a disaster!”

Ni-Ki flopped onto Jake’s bed, unbothered. “You’re being dramatic.”

Jake paced the room. "Okay, okay," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "But we have to be careful. She doesn't know about this, Ni-Ki. It's too risky."

Ni-Ki nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I won't say anything else, I promise. Only you have to stay cool; you get too nervous around her. I'm surprised you're not right now," he assured Jake.

"Because someone opened his mouth."

"Stop crying and be grateful. I pulled a move that you couldn't make for the past 4 years."

The door of the bedroom opens to you with your face clean; you actually had to wash your face the moment you saw your mascara falling down your cheeks through the mirror. You took a seat next to Ni-Ki and once again looked at Jake.

“Please, Jake, I need to take a picture for the front page; otherwise, I’m fired. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me the name of the person, but please.”

Jake shot Ni-Ki a glare before sighing. He couldn’t say no to you, not when you looked at him like that. But he also couldn’t risk exposing anything.

“Fine,” he relented. “I will talk to him and text you later.”

Your face lit up, smiling right away and contagiously affecting Jake with it. “Thank you so much, Jake. Really.”

Ni-Ki smirked as he watched the exchange, mouthing a silent “you’re welcome” to Jake, who simply rolled his eyes with the smile on his face when he felt small kisses on his neck.

Two days have already passed since that weird conversation and the explanation of Jake being friends with Spider-Man. It was still so odd to you, although that didn’t matter anymore when you felt your phone vibrating because of a text he sent to you.

"He’s arriving in five minutes; be ready!"

And here you were, waiting next to the entrance of the alley that was near the agreed-upon spot; it was getting late, and you could feel your heart beating fast when you saw a few guys in there, cigars in their hands, their auras as bad as how they looked. You felt a presence behind you, and you tried to move, but a hand grabbed you with enough force to pull you inside the alley.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them said, his grip on your wrist tightened, making you wince.

“Let go of me!” You snapped, trying to yank your arm away, but another one of them stepped closer, blocking your escape.

“Shhh, relax,” another one chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke before blowing it into your face. “We just want to talk.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you ignored the leering comments from the men in the alley. You clutched your camera bag tightly, feeling a surge of unease as you realized just how vulnerable you were in this dimly lit space.

Just as panic threatened to overtake you, a familiar sound cut through the tension—a whoosh of air followed by the distinct thud of impact. Before you could even process what was happening, Spider-Man descended from the shadows, landing gracefully in front of you with his trademark agility.

"Hey there, fellas," Spider-Man said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "I don't think the lady appreciates your company."

The men scoffed, eyeing Spider-Man with defiance and uncertainty. "And who are you supposed to be, huh?" One of them sneered, taking a step forward. You started taking your camera out of your bag, setting it up for a good shot, and taking as many photos as you could as both men focused on the hero.

Spider-Man's demeanor shifted subtly, his stance becoming more assertive as he addressed the group. "Let's just say I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and I'm not too keen on seeing people hassle innocent bystanders, especially this pretty girl," he replied, his tone firm.

The men hesitated, sizing up the masked vigilante before them. They could barely move as Spider-Man sprang into action, his movements a blur of speed. All his movements were well calculated, and so were his dodges; his combat skills were even more impressive up close than seeing them on TV; he was a superhero.

It didn’t take him five minutes to leave them groaning on the ground in defeat; he effortlessly dispatched the thugs, taking a deep breath before turning to you and lightly running to the place you hid yourself.

You watched in awe as Spider-Man, his masked eyes meeting yours—at least you think they did—with a sense of warmth and reassurance. You took your camera and looked at the pictures, so many good enough to be front-page material.

"Are you okay there?" he asked, his concern evident even behind the mask.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you in his presence and how he came to you for these pictures. "Yeah, I'm okay," you stammered, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded before you. You felt some drops of water falling on your face, looking up at the sky and wondering if more drops were falling. "Damn it, it's raining."

"Then let me take you out of here." Without a warning, his hand wrapped around your waist, both of your bodies covering the camera; you felt his grip tender. "Hold on tight, lensgirl," you frown at the nickname. There's only one person that could call you like that, but you couldn't think much of it as you held dear life to him as he swung you around places, screaming and closing your eyes due to the fear.

You ended up on your apartment building—on your balcony, to be more exact—and the roof kept both of you off the water. You went inside for a moment to leave the camera in your bed and return. He was hanging from the ceiling as you watched him, forcing you to believe that everything that happened in the past ten minutes was not a dream.

"Don't you want to stand up? So you don't get dizzy."

"I like it this way. Don't worry. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

"No problem; that's my job."

"Because you're a hero," the masked guy sighs in front of you. It was one of those that made you question if he was really tired of hearing the word or if he had something else on his mind.

"Some people don't think so." And it was true; all the articles were more fake rumors to paint him as a bad guy; even your boys wanted to paint him as an awful person, not even considering that they are writing about someone who just really wants to help everyone.

"But you are, at least I think that."

"It's nice to have a fan as pretty as you."

"Let me say thank you."

"But you already did."

"I meant the pictures, not you saving me and my job." You approached him more, feeling the raindrops falling on your face; the sound of the rain in the background gave the ambiance.

He didn’t stop you, giving you a green light and trusting you; you slowly took the mask, only revealing his lips. A shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold rain. Your breath hitched as you took in the sight before you—it was a shape you had seen countless times, normal, curved in a teasing smile and even forming words that had irritated and amused you several times.

Your fingers trembled as you traced his lower lip, your mind going wild. No wonder Ni-Ki and Jake got nervous; no wonder Jake was the only one that could help you with the hero; and there's no wonder why he called you "Lensgirl."

Your pulse quickened as you whispered a sentence with the name you had a sinking feeling was correct.

"Thank you, Jake," when you felt his body stiffen, you placed your lips on his. His tense body shortly after calmed, and he slowly kissed back the almost electrifying kiss, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt so familiar. His fingers touched your hand in a way to ground himself, as if this moment wasn’t real unless he could feel you.

Everything made sense; all that scandal was all because he was Spider-Man, the hero you had admired from afar, and now he was the man whose lips were pressed against yours.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss, the world fading away until it was just the two of you tangled together on that rooftop balcony. The rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm against the loud city, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the soft, almost shaky exhale Jake let out as he deepened the kiss.

The moment you decided to pull away, he rested his forehead against yours, your breath mingling in the space between you.

"Wait… how?" he steadied his voice before asking, his voice quieter now.

"You let out "Lensgirl," and I've stared at your lips too much to actually know the shape." Your lips curled into a small smirk; he finally dropped himself, taking off his mask completely, revealing his red cheeks and normal shy demeanor.

He actually searched your face for any sign of rejection. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "But I wanted to tell you, not in this way; I've got to learn to also be more careful."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up to cup his face in your hands, sinking in his words. "It’s okay, Jake," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "I just… I never imagined…"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jake leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss; this one was slower than the previous one. He pulled you closer with his hands on your waist; your hands rested on the back of his head. He pulled away this time, his gaze darting to the side like he used to do to gather his thoughts.

He went to your hands, holding them in front of his lips. “I wanted to tell you for a long time; I wanted to confess before all of this… Spider-Man thing. But then things changed. I changed.”

You stayed silent, giving him space to vent just like you were used to when it was your turn to be the shoulder he needed to lean on.

“I didn’t think being Spider-Man would be this big,” he continued, running a hand through his damp hair in frustration. “At first, it was just helping people—stopping small crimes, saving a cat from a tree. But then the bad guys started noticing, and suddenly, it wasn’t just me anymore. I’m part of the Avengers, and I had enemies. People who would do anything to get to me. And I would rather go to war than to put you in danger.”

“Jake…”

“You don’t know how many times I wanted to just blurt it out, but my mind simply remembered what could happen. What if they found out about you? What if they used you to get to me? What if they…” His voice cracked mid-sentence. Was he that terrified of you?

You forced yourself to let go of Jake's grip on your hands, this time putting your palms on his face and grabbing his face firmly. “I know what this means now, and I’m still here. I’ll be right next to you.”

“Are you sure? There’s no turning back.”

You nodded, “I don’t want to turn back.”

With a smile on your lips and love in your heart, you leaned into Jake's embrace, letting the warmth of his touch chase away the chill of the night as you watched the city skyline glitter in the rain.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You reached up, placing your hand against his chest, right on top of the spider in his suit. “You deserve to be loved, Jake. Not just as Spider-Man, but as you. And I’m glad that I love both of them.”

He gave you a smile before hugging you tightly. "Please write good news about me."

"Don’t worry, Jay is in charge of your paper, Spidey." You took the discarded Spider-Man mask on the floor and looked at it up close. “Wow, ‘Stark Industries.’ Fancy.”

“Give that back.” He tried to reach it; you were quick enough to put it behind your back teasingly.

“Come get it, Spidey,” you said, a smile on your face, not counting that his hand will go behind you to pull you closer for a quick peck. The sudden kiss caught you off guard, your breath hitching as Jake pulled away with a smug grin.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, snatching the mask from your hands before stepping back, twirling it around his finger.

“Cheater.”

He chuckles. “Nah, that was strategy. Plus I wanted to kiss you again.”

─── MY BABY IS OUT AND FREE! if you read something similar to this around april or may of last year, no worries, it was my work too and this version have way more stuff added (plus it's way better)

he’d called you, practically hyperventilating and saying his goodbyes, scaring you shitless as well for a good minute before you’d finally pried out of him what had happened.

luckily, entomology was something you were actually studying, and you had enough knowledge of various spiders and the effects of certain venom that when you arrived at his apartment (for his own peace of mind and yours) you were able to calm him enough to the point that planning his own funeral was no longer at the forefront of his mind.

with the strange spider safely captured in a small jar (as afraid as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to kill it) he felt a little better even just from your calming presence.

(“jake, why did you put a piece of cheese in there?” “i wanted to be hospitable.” “..cheese.” “i don’t know what spiders eat!”)

you spent the night on his couch that night as well (he hadn’t asked, but you knew if you left he might start typing up a will) so you were able to keep an eye on him.

the next morning jake wakes up feeling fine, albeit a bit groggy. he flops out of bed, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes as he wanders across the hall to the bathroom.

grabbing his glasses and sliding them on, he looks down at the spot on his arm that he’d been scratching at to check it’s status.

but its.. blurry?

he blinks a few times to focus his vision, but nothing changes.

its not until his hand pushes his glasses up to rub at his face and he gets a view without a lens that he realizes that its actually his glasses that are the issue. he moves them out of the way, and to his shock he can see completely clearly without them.

he lifts them up to sit on his head, looking at himself in the mirror, absolutely dumbfounded.

“what.. the fuck?”

“jake?”

he jumps, banging his knee on the counter.

“jesus! sorry,” you chuckle, hands up. “not a spider!”

“har har,” jake mocks, massaging his leg, a cute pout on his face.

you step into the bathroom, reaching up to adjust his glasses that had fallen from the crown of his head to the tip of his nose. he squints, rubbing at his temple.

“you.. okay?” you venture, watching him blink hard a few times.

“yeah! uh-“ more blinks, eyes wide- “i’m good.” a fake smile. its your turn to squint, not quite believing him.

you see him instinctively clenching his fist, shaking out his arm a little. you grab it and drag him forward a little to examine the splotch on his forearm.

“mm.” you hum. you brush your fingers along the bump, making a shiver roll up jake’s spine. he watches you over the rim of his glasses.

“its a little red, but it looks okay. i don’t think it was poisonous.”

“great! uh- cool, that’s good news,” jake bumbles, an awkward smile on his face.

he stares at you.

you stare at him.

your face is blurry.

he adjusts his glasses.

“right..”

he gulps.

“well. i have a lecture soon, so i should get going.” you give his arm a little pat and release it from your fingers. he nods, scratching at it absentmindedly again.

“still on for movie night later?”

jake answers without thinking through it.

“of course.” shit.

you grin at him. “great.” shit shit shit.

but the twinkle in your eyes and the way your fingers ruffle through his messy hair makes his heart flutter less with anxiety and more with something.. warmer.

you turn and round the hallway corner and jake lets out a tense breath he didn’t know he was holding. he knocks into a small table from his lack of clear sight as he follows you, and swiftly blames it on lack of sleep when you quirk a brow at him.

a minute later you’ve gathered your things from the living room, the bottled spider included to take to your class to be studied, and give him a wave as you walk out his front door.

“see you tonight, spider man.”

jake takes off his glasses once the door is closed behind you, sighing heavily and rubbing a hand down the side of his face. he swipes his thumb across his forearm, your touch lingering in his mind.

“spider man.” he scoffs, but he can’t help the fond smile that turns up his lips.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

“where are your glasses?”

“i got contacts.” jake lies through his teeth.

“today?” you question incredulously.

“… yeah.”

you clearly don’t believe him, if the way your brow furrows is anything to go by. you’d seen him just a few hours ago.

“is it because i always call you a nerd? you know i mean that affectionately, right?” jake hears the hint of guilt in your voice and panics.

“no! yeah i uh, i do- i just-“ he trails off. he isn’t sure where else to go with this. you catch the awkwardness, watching as he scratches the back of his neck, and decide to let it go before he starts sweating.

“well, if you can’t see the screen don’t ask me what happened,” you joke, lightening the mood to jake’s relief. you set down the snacks you brought and plop down on the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table, remote in hand.

jake relaxes in his spot next to you, ripping open a bag of chips. “you’d probably be asleep even if i did.” you roll your eyes and smack his arm. jake lets out a laugh.

fourty five minutes later, jake does have to ask a question about the movie you’re watching (but not because he couldn’t see, he’s just been daydreaming for most of it.)

and lo and behold, you are asleep, so he’s left to wonder.

jake starts to reach for his soda on the table in front of him, but you, wrapped around his right arm and sleeping comfortably, tighten your grip when you feel him start to move.

he moves just the left side of his body forward, ever so slowly, wiggling his fingers as he strains to grab his drink without disturbing you.

but suddenly, something knocks into the can, denting the side and sending it falling over with a tinny clank against the wood. liquid spills from the opening and dribbles over the side and onto the floor.

“how the-“

“shhh,”

he freezes, looking down at you. you pull him back again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. your cheek presses up against his sleeve, smushing up your face and jakes’s heart almost explodes. he reaches up gently, pushing a tuft of hair away from your face, and you hum happily.

jake thinks for a second that maybe a stain on his carpet is worth it if he can stay like this forever.

something stuck to his wrist catches his attention.

its a strand of web.

jake yelps before he can catch himself, frantically flicking his arm to detach it and startles you fully awake in the process. you let out a similar yelp in practically the same octave as his was, jumping up and clutching tighter onto his bicep.

“what!! what happened?” you squeak.

he doesn’t answer, just continues his task of brushing off every square inch of his body to rid himself of any potential dangers. when he deems himself safe, he looks over at you, and is met with crossed arms and a disgruntled look.

“sorry! sorry,” jake huffs apologetically. he clears his throat, his face flushing red from embarrassment as he explains, “spider web.”

you chuckle incredulously, rubbing your eyes and letting out a yawn. “spider web,” you giggle through a playful smirk. you stand, stretching your limbs, and hobble in the direction the bathroom.

“try not to die out here without me, alright?” you quip as turn the corner.

jake groans. he gets up himself to grab a towel from the kitchen, coming back to crouch down and sop up the mess still dripping from the table.

he picks up the can and tries to set it back on the table top, but it sticks to his hand. even when he uncurls all five fingers from it, its still stuck snugly to his palm. he uses his other hand to grab it and pry it away, and it detaches with a sticky snap, leaving multiple strands of web connecting his skin to the tin.

“jesus christ,” he gripes, watching the web strands flutter under his breath.

“oh, there really was a spider web,” it’s jake’s turn to startle, jumping a bit as he sees you crouched down right beside him, observing the wiggly webs.

jake gives you an indignant look, one that reads ‘did you think i was lying?’

“honestly i just though you were being paranoid.” jake rolls his eyes, nudging you with his shoulder.

“sorry! not my fault you’re a scaredy cat!”

“i am not!” he defends, pressing the towel further down into the carpet plush.

you glide your fingers up the back of jake’s neck in a gentle tickle, and right on cue he lets out a little ‘eek!’, slapping your hand away. he pushes you softly and you giggle, falling back from your crouched stance on your toes and onto your butt. you hug your legs, resting your chin on your knee as you watch him continue to dry up the mess.

“they probably just like you. i know i do.” you drop a little hint at the end. he never seems to catch on.

“they can like me all they want, just far away from me please.” he grumbles, taking the can to the kitchen to toss it in the trash.

“spiders are friends!~” he hears you sing from the other room.

he drops the can into the bin, hoping this is the last of his spider related worries.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake never thought he would ever be friends with spiders. let alone be one.

it took him a while to realize that the spider bite had caused him more trouble than just a slight fear of the nooks and crannies of his apartment. much more trouble.

he discovered that it was him creating the webs he was finding around when he dropped his pen once while writing out some notes for a class, and when he tried to grab it before it hit the ground, he’d caught it with a collection of web strands that shot out of his wrist instead.

he discovered how strong his webs were when he tripped on the staircase while running late one day, spurting out a web that stuck to the wall and caught him, and tugged him upright before he hit the ground.

and he discovered how useful this strange new talent could be outside your apartment.

“so, any news about that spider? you brought it in to study it, right?” jake asks as nonchalantly as he possibly can, walking down the concrete steps beside you.

“oh, actually yes! we think it might be a-“

suddenly a hooded figure runs by, snatching your backpack from right off your shoulders, and sprinting down the sidewalk through a dense crowd of pedestrians.

the stranger nearly knocked you to the ground with the push-and-shove of stealing your belongings. jake caught you, steadied you on your feet, and booked it after him without even thinking twice, leaving your confused cries to stop behind him.

his speed and reflexes seemed to be heightened as he caught up in a few seconds flat, and in a fraction of that time he had a web wrapped around the strap of your bag, pulling it directly into his chest to wrap his arms around, and a leg out to sweep the thief’s legs straight out from under him, sending him face first into the pavement.

jake stands motionless for a second, energy rushing through his veins, and waits for his brain to process what had just happened. when it does, it feels like he’d just returned to his own body from somewhere completely different.

you caught up to jake after a moment, heaving heavily from your tired lungs. your eyes widen at the scene in front of you; a completely unscathed jake and a nearly unconscious criminal bleeding from the nose below.

“how did-“ you struggle for a full breath. “how did you do that?”

“uhm- adrenaline, i think?” honestly, jake isn’t quite sure how he did this either.

“jake, you could have gotten hurt!” you scold him, trying your best to sound steady and serious, but by the way your hands tremble it tells him you were more worried for his safety than anything else.

“i wasn’t gonna stand there and do nothing,” he says like its the most obvious thing in the world. he settles your bag back on your shoulders, looping your arms through the straps for you and adjusting the fabric of your sleeves. your eyes gloss over and you’re gnawing at your lip like you’re trying your best not to cry.

“your laptop is expensive. we can’t have you lose that,” he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

you let out a trembling laugh, and yank him in to hug him with a full crushing force. “you’re such an idiot,” you whine, and he returns the hug with a chuckle of his own.

jake isn’t sure how he did this or what exactly is going on, but what he is sure about is that whatever is happening to him, using it to protect you will always be his first priority.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

the idea to become a “hero” of sorts struck jake one day like a bolt of lightning.

the notion sounds absolutely crazy, jake knows that, but the circumstances have fallen directly into his lap, and he knows that if he has the ability, the real ability to protect people, he should take it.

he practices his web slinging in private, and he’s gotten quite good at it; he now can do it on command instead of at random, and can control it when he needs to.

(and yes, he’s made all of the jokes, even if he’s the only person around to laugh. he can shoot sticky white goo from his wrists, did you expect him not to be a little silly with it?)

he practices his dexterity in the air out in an old alley that no one has any reason to frequent. in doing so, his muscles have bulked up significantly, and he was flustered beyond belief when you of all people were the one the pointed it out.

he told himself that if he was going to be this new face of justice, he should protect his identity and keep it separate from his personal life. he didn’t want anyone he knew and loved getting involved; if someone got hurt because of him he wouldn’t be able to bare it.

so he made a few suit prototypes from old clothes and acrylic paint. he may not be the craftiest, but he made do, and he learned some sewing basics in the process, though you really wouldn’t be able to tell. (in the end he commissioned someone to make one for him anyway, for the sake of quality.)

the last thing he really needed came to him after he’d successfully helped a woman with an issue involving a man following her down the street late one night. after making sure the woman was safe enough to leave, he attaches his web to a fire escape and is about to swing away.

“what do i call you?” she yells out from below him as he hangs from the rail.

he thinks for a second. web boy? no, that’s dumb. arachnid kid? a little silly, he likes that it rhymes, but it still doesn’t feel right.

and then it hits him.

“spiderman.”

he swings away, and within the next few weeks, ‘spiderman’ is everything that people are talking about.

you included.

“have you seen him?” you ask him excitedly, rocking back and forth on your heels as you both stand in line at your favorite ice cream shop. “he’s so cool!”

he chuckles a little. “i’ve heard of him.” a blush creeps up on his face he hopes you don’t see, but you’re too excited to even notice. “cool, huh?”

“so cool!” you thank the worker for your milkshakes and leave the small shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step outside. “i want to talk to him so bad, i bet he’s so interesting, and he’s probably so cute under the mask,” you daydream out loud as you walk down the sidewalk.

jake coughs a bit in surprise. “what makes you think that?”

“don’t be jealous,” you poke, a smirk on your face. “just a hunch.”

in a split second you’re suddenly yanked to the edge of the sidewalk by jake as you’re about to step onto the crosswalk. before you can comprehend why, someone comes barreling through on a bicycle, shouting a faint ‘sorry!’ as they whiz by, the wind fluttering your hair. your milkshake slips from your fingers, a small gasp leaving your lips, and jake grabs it before it can splatter across the ground, placing it back in your hand for you.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing off your jacket. you don’t answer, still staring off in the direction the bike went in shock. as soon as everything catches up to you, you look at him, eyes wide. “that was insane! when did you get such crazy reflexes?”

“what do you mean?” jake sweats a little. “didn’t you hear him coming?”

you shake your head. “no that’s not it, you did that so fast, and my drink-“

“i think- i think you were just caught off guard,” he excuses, ushering you forward to keep walking.

“so um. you were talking about spiderman?”

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

and talk about spiderman you did.

specifically, you talk about how you would love to meet him, to speak to him.

so, who would jake be to keep that from you when he is the one you want to meet?

well unfortunately, it wasn’t his choice.

(how was he supposed to go about that? knock on your door and say “hello random citizen, i’m spiderman! your best friend jake who i totally don’t know and definitely am not the same person as said you wanted to talk to me”?)

no, in reality, it was a total accident.

he finds himself crash landing onto the roof of your apartment building after a particularly brutal fight he’d gotten himself tied up in, his fatigue and pain not letting him swing any longer to make it all the way back home. he groans loudly, cradling his leg in his arms as he lays on the cold roof in the fetal position.

“spiderman??”

fuck. he knows that voice.

he lifts his head up in the direction it came from, seeing your head pop up over the ledge of the building. before he can say anything, you scramble up from the fire escape and run over to his side.

‘great,’ jake thinks. this is the second worst byproduct of you having a top floor apartment. (he still remembers how sore he was after having to help you drag your mattress up several flights of stairs when you moved in.)

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i’m good, i just-“ he attempts to stand on his own, but groans again, and crumples under his own weight. its your turn to catch him before he falls.

“oh god, um, i can help! just- here-“ you sling his arm around your shoulder and huddle into his side, and you help him hobble to the edge. he clambers down the fire escape, using his webs to keep him relatively stable, and fumbles through the window and onto the floor of your apartment. he hits the floor with a thud and a moan.

“sorry! um, i’ll get my first aid kit! i’ll be back!”

you leave and come back in a blind hurry, making quick work of rolling up the torn part of his suit to get a clear enough view of the gash in his leg to start your process. it hurts at first, a lot actually, but the pain subsides not long after. maybe because its you doing it, and he trusts you more than anyone, but he feels so much love and care in your movements.

he lets you focus in quiet for a while before he finally decides to say something.

“for someone who studies bugs and not medicine, you’re pretty good at that.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, wrapping a bandage around his calf. “how do you know i study bugs?”

shit. “just a hunch.”

you glance at him, not convinced.

“the pinned butterflies on your wall.”

“ah,” you say, nodding.

whew.

“maybe i just like butterflies.”

“that could be it too.” he chuckles under the mask. “i mean they’re pretty. like you. so it makes sense.”

you blush, a smile tugging at your lips. “smooth.”

“thanks, i know,” jake drawls, leaning to suavely rest on his elbow next to him, and hits his head on a table. “ow.” you both laugh.

when you finally get him patched up, he thanks you (he almost leans in for a hug on accident, but settles for a firm handshake instead) and climbs over the windowsill in preparation to take his leave.

“hey, can i ask you something?”

jake’s heart pounds. “sure.”

“can you.. come back sometime?” you twist your fingers nervously as you ask, avoiding his eyes. “i always wanted to talk to you but, this wasn’t really.. under the best circumstances, i guess.”

jake’s brain doesnt know if he should say yes, but his heart knows he could never say no to you, spiderman or otherwise.

“of course.” your smile makes it worth it.

he slings a web up onto a bar of the fire escape and flings himself out.

“wait!”

he turns back, glancing back down at you leaning out the windowsill, the chilled wind fluttering your hair.

“i don’t just like butterflies. i like spiders, too.”

jake grins.

“i didn’t used to like spiders. but i think they’re growing on me.”

and with that, he swings away.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

despite his better judgement, jake does come back. more than once.

he knows he shouldn’t appear as spiderman in front of you more than he needs to, but it just makes you so happy, it was physically impossible for him not to when he knows he’s the reason for your smile every time.

he sits with you now on the roof of your apartment, the same place you found him the first time, and the same place you two always meet now.

“-and that’s the story of how i met my best friend jake.” you finish your story, face flushed from laughing, and he’s forever grateful you can’t see his face under his mask. if he’s being honest (having lived through that torture with you) you actually told it way less embarrassing than he remembers it being. whether you perceive it less humiliating than he does or if you’re just gracious enough not to go into detail with strangers he’s not sure, but he’s thankful nonetheless.

“seems like you really care about him.”

“jake?” you ask, leaning back to rest on the heels of your hands. “well, yeah. he’s my favorite person in the whole world. don’t you feel that way about your best friend, too?”

jake feels his face heat up. “yeah, um. you pretty much took the words right out of my mouth.”

“yeah? tell me about them. what’s their name?”

“hey, whoa” jake lifts his hands in defense. “ask me about my favorite ninja turtle all day, but i can’t be giving out my best friend’s identity. why do you think i wear the mask?”

you laugh, nodding in understanding. “okay, okay, fair.”

a comfortable silence falls for a moment, and jake watches you gaze at the stars above the city lights.

“you remind me of him, you know.”

“huh?” jake snaps back into the present.

“jake. you guys seem really similar, honestly. same mannerisms, same cologne-“ you know the smell of his cologne? “you say things sometimes that i definitely think he would say. same favorite ninja turtle, too.”

he never really realized you paid this much attention to him. his heart flutters.

“ehh, i don’t know. guy sounds like a total nerd.”

you snort out a laugh. “oh he is,” ouch?? “but he’s my nerd. i love him just how he is. i wouldn’t change a single thing about him.”

“.. you love him?”

another silence. this one a little more.. tense.

“i love all my friends, but jake is.. different.”

“different how?”

“i’m not in love with my other friends.”

jake’s brain nearly short circuits right then and there. how he gets a single comprehensible sentence out of his mouth after that is honestly beyond him. but he’s not jake right now, he’s spiderman.

“i’m in love with my best friend too.”

“really?” you look at him, a sense of hope in your eyes, like you just found the only other person in the world in the same position as you. if you only knew.

“this,” he motions to his suit, and in turn the whole act of being spiderman at all. “its for them. i help everyone i can, of course, but,” he seems to be lost in thought for a second, drumming his fingers on his knee. “like you said, they’re different. i’d do anything for them. anything at all.”

you tilt your head at him. “wow, who knew a superhero could be so sappy.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “my bad, gotta protect my stone cold image.” you huff out a laugh.

“have you told them?”

“no.”

“why?”

“same reason as you, i’m guessing.”

“fear?”

“fear.”

a knowing look is passed between you.

“my best friend doesn’t actually know i’m spiderman.”

“wait really?” you ask, surprised. “why not?”

“how am i supposed to tell them that? ‘hey by the way i’m risking my life every day for you!’ that seems like a horrible conversation.”

you chuckle. “yeah, i get that. i suppose its similar to the reason you haven’t confessed. the fear of rejection is present either way.”

“exactly,” he sighs.

after a second, a light bulb seems to come on above your head. “hey, i’ve got an idea. you tell your best friend you’re spiderman, and i’ll tell my best friend i’m in love with him.”

“that’s a terrible idea,” jake admits through a chuckle.

“is it?” you feign indignant. “if they love us, they’ll accept us, right?”

jake thinks it over for a second, his heart racing so fast he hopes you can’t hear it.

“okay. deal.”

you grin. “perfect.”

how the hell is he gonna do that?

“jake should actually be on his way, i’ll call him to make sure.”

shit. shit. he forgot about movie night.

you pull out your phone, tapping quickly to find his contact and press your phone to your ear. jake panics, pulling his phone from his suit just as it starts to ring, and presses end as soon as he can reach the button.

you give him a puzzled look, and he huffs nervously. “sorry, scam calls.” he shoves his phone into his suit before you can see it.

“hm. it went straight to voicemail. that’s odd,” you muse, glancing at the ‘call ended’ screen.

“maybe he’s driving. yknow, gotta stay safe,” he bumbles, nerves flooding his system as he stands up and dusts off the back of his legs. “hey listen, its been great, but i just remembered i have to go-“

“wait, wait!” you jump up as well, grabbing onto his gloved hand. “can you stay for just a minute? i think jake would really love to meet you!”

“i really uh- its- its important- i should-“

“it’ll just be a second! i promise! don’t move!” you plead. you give his hand a squeeze, and before jake can stop you, you hop down the fire escape and scurry back into your apartment.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake is fucked. absolutely fucked.

as soon as he sees you disappear into your apartment to wait for, well, him, he slings himself down to an alley to ‘jake’ himself up.

luckily, he has spare clothes stored across the city in case of emergencies like this. he stuffs his hand through a hole in the bricks of an abandoned building and pulls out a backpack, and as quickly as he possibly can, he pulls his clothes on over his suit, shoves his mask in and zips it up. he ruffles his messy hair in an attempt to seem a more presentable type of messy, and sprints out into the street.

now trekking up the stairs toward your apartment door, he thinks there wasn’t even really a logical reason to do this. he could have just told you right then that it was him, but something inside him told him that wasn’t the right time or place.

stopping in front of your door, he prepares himself, catching his breath before he knocks.

you swing it open immediately, a huge smile on your face.

“jake! i have something to show- why are you so sweaty?”

“i uh- i was running late so i ran.” he fumbles for an excuse. he walks in and is about to kick off his shoes when you grab his arm, dragging him across the living room to your window.

“come with me first! i have something to show you!” you say, brimming with excitement.

“hold on- i need to-“

“hurry!” you squeal, and hop out the window to climb the ladder. jake internally groans, following after you.

he grabs the rungs and hoists himself up behind you. “can i tell you something first?” he calls upwards. “its important!”

“this is important too! he has to be somewhere!”

oh, so now you listen to that information.

when his head pops up above the ladder to see the expanse of the rooftop, you’re already looking around, confused.

“where did he-“

“why are we up here?”

“i’m looking for someone! he said he would stay for a second,” you whine.

he never actually agreed to that, but he’ll let it slide.

you grip the barrier of the roof and pull yourself up to stand on the ledge, putting your arms out to steady yourself as you survey the area.

“what are you doing!” jake shouts, running up to you and grabbing your waist to prevent you from falling. “you have terrible balance!”

“relax, i’m fine. maybe if i fall he’ll come back to swoop in and save me.”

and as if the universe took that as some sort of sick challenge, a huge gust of wind blows through, knocking your balance off. you tilt forward with a strained yelp, flailing your arms. jake tries to grip your belt loops but they slip from his fingers, and he lets out an exasperated yell.

bracing yourself for a horrendous fall, you let out a scream, squeezing your eyes shut.

but it never comes.

you’re suspended in the air, but there’s no rushing air, no sinking feeling in your gut, everything just.. stopped.

you pop an eye open, met with the rough red texture of the brick in front of you. you follow your arm that’s outstretched above you upward, expecting somehow to see jake’s grip wrapped around your wrist, but instead you see a bracelet of weaved white. you lock eyes with him, a terribly worried expression on his face, the same white around your wrist attached to the underside of his.

for the first time, it all clicks together.

the webs in his apartment. the way they have the same voice, same habits. the way the spider on the suit is jake’s favorite color. his change in demeanor these past few weeks. jake having a limp from the same leg spiderman had injured around the same time.

it all finally makes sense.

“you-.. you’re-..”

“surprise,” jake whispers, a small, guilty smile on his face.

“can you. pull me up, please?” you tremble.

“oh! yeah, sorry.” jake brings you in with ease, grabbing firmly onto your body until you’re sat on your knees on the safety of the roof. you lunge forward, trapping jake in a bone crushing hug. he feels that you’re still shaking, and wraps himself around you with equal fervor, holding your head to his shoulder and stroking your hair to soothe you.

how could you have been so stupid? so clueless? you had every single piece of the puzzle, yet you were so blind to the placements.

it hits you then, that you had confessed to him without knowing it.

jake pulls you back and holds onto your shoulders, scanning you for any injuries. “are you okay?”

when he locks eyes with you, he sees how flustered you look, the blush on your face, and he has to bite back a smile.

“well, this is a little awkward,” he chuckles.

“you’re such an idiot,” you scoff, a common phrase nowadays it seems, but he hears no real weight in your words.

“i should have known. no ones favorite ninja turtle is leonardo except yours.”

“don’t bring my boy into this.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“well i think spiderman already explained that,” he says with a shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, he told me quite a bit, actually. some pretty gushy stuff.” jake whines nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“big mouth on that guy, huh.”

“jake.”

“hm?”

“i have something to tell you.”

he smiles shyly. “yeah?”

you grab jake by the zipper of his jacket, pulling you together to connect your lips in a kiss. his hands immediately find your waist to pull you closer, practically falling on top of him. he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. you sigh happily in tandem.

after a second your hands find the sides of his face and you pull away, giggling at how you both can’t stop smiling and its making it hard to continue.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

you run your thumb across his bottom lip, admiring the contours of his face and how his goofy grin and lidded eyes are so full of warmth.

“don’t you have something to confess to me, too?”

“i still don’t like spiders.”

“jake!” you push him back by the chest and he laughs, wrapping his arms completely around your torso.

he wiggles his fingers up your spine in a crawling motion, making you shiver and swat him away in a fit of giggles. he leans in close to your ear, and whispers-

warnings 𖢥⊹ ࣪ ˖ mentions of violence, blood, wounds // mild cursing // multiple kiss scenes bc jake is just so kissable whoops // slowslowburn // jakehoon bromance keeps me alive // jake pines & yearns & longs & yearns.. // concept of 'casual' dating // superhero & mcu elements & easter eggs :3 // jake is a loser but spider-man is a smooth-talker heh

°˖➴ .ᐟ 𖢥 addie ── FINALLY !!! i have finally, finally finished a full fic for the first time in literal forever and i'm actually so excited for this one bc i freaking love mcu & spiderman & jake so freaking much you guys dont understand...spidey was my first ever childhood crush i think i literally made a post abt it somewhere here on my blog ages ago...so my reaction when i got this anon request for this fic?? i cheered. ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) ty for being patient with me and for all the words of support & encouragement & love throughout the process <333 if you've been here some time and read my other works you know i literally get myself way too indulged into the whole process,,,but i really did have so much freaking fun writing this so i really hope you guys like all 25k words of spidey!jake :3

sim jaeyun has a lot of secrets.

like the fact that he’s secretly (but not so secretly) a giant nerd and, frankly, a genius with the probable IQ of someone who can calculate pi to the 500th decimal in his head just for fun. or maybe the fact that he’s definitely smart enough to hack into the school’s database and find copies of the finals’ answer keys under ten minutes flat.

but he doesn’t. because again. sim jaeyun is a genius (and because he’s scared of getting caught. but mostly the genius thing).

sim jaeyun pours his milk before cereal. he sleeps on his stomach. he doesn’t separate his white socks from his colored ones. he’s terrified of cats. he loves rom-coms. he’s spider-man. he can’t fall asleep without his favorite build-a-bear. and he doesn’t know how to ride a bike.

but his most important secret? he has the biggest crush on you.

so big that he’d say it’s more top-secret than the fact that he uses 5-in-1 men’s soap and being the city’s web-slinging, crime-fighting, red-and-blue spandex-wearing superhero.

and in all honestly— it’s not like the latter is even that secret anymore.

because another thing about jake? he sucks at keeping secrets.

he figured this out about two weeks into accepting his new life post-radioactive-spider-bite—right around the same time he decided yeah, sure, i can totally handle having powers and a double life. and not freaking out every time he accidentally shot a web out in his sleep.

he figured this out when park sunghoon, his longtime best friend, accidentally found jake’s suit in his room. and by accidentally, we mean jake just…left it lying out. on his bed. in plain sight. because he forgot to put it away the day sunghoon came over to share his history notes.

that was the day sunghoon declared himself jake’s “guy in the chair.”

so yeah. jake sucks at keeping his spidey secret…a secret.

but his crush on you? oh yeah.

that one’s highly classified (except from sunghoon. because again—guy in the chair).

“you should probably stop staring before it gets creepy.”

jake blinks.

he stops staring at you—across the cafeteria, laughing with your friends, completely unaware of how he’s most definitely about five seconds away from writing your name in bubble letters with a pink glitter pen on his notebook cover.

he turns his head toward the voice. sunghoon, of course.

“actually, too late. it’s creepy,” sunghoon adds before casually chewing on the cafeteria pizza that’s always a little too suspiciously rubbery but no one ever questions it for their own sake.

jake sighs, his eyes going back to your figure across the busy room. “you think she’ll talk to me in chemistry today?”

sunghoon doesn’t even blink. “she has to talk to you. you guys are literally lab partners.”

“that’s different,” jake mutters, chin in his hand, eyes never leaving you once. “i mean, i could ask what her favorite color is or something…”

sunghoon stares. jaw slack. full deadpan.

“that’s a joke, right? please tell me that’s a joke. because i don’t know what funnier—the fact that you have the pick up lines of a first grader, or the fact that even i know that you know you don’t have the guts to say anything to her that’s not directly related to ionic bonding.”

jake whips his head to his best friend, the look in his eyes being nothing less than betrayed, “i so totally can!”

“jake,” sunghoon says slowly, voice lowering, “you broke the test tube in your hand last week when she asked what your weekend plans were.” a pause. “then you ran out of the room. without saying anything.”

jake groans. drops his head into his arms on the table. “okay, i specifically remember saying we would never bring that up ever again.”

sunghoon chuckles, hands raised, “just saying.”

a brief silence falls over the table as jake lifts his head up in despair. he goes back to probably-definitely-not-so-subtly watching you from across the cafeteria.

“you should just…y’know—” sunghoon nudges jake’s side. “—get your lil buddy to help you out.”

jake freezes. turns to his best friend in horror, “my…lil what now?”

sunghoon’s palm smacks the side of jake’s head before his voice drops to a whisper, “your alter ego, idiot.”

jake rubs the side of his head, staring at the way sunghoon is casually sitting there like this is a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

“you heard me,” sunghoon continues when jake makes no sign of responding, the look on his face enough to tell sunghoon he thinks he’s probably borderline psychotic. “go up to her as spider-man. be mysterious. say something cool. i bet she’ll be super impressed and instantly fall in love with you.”

“that is literally the worst idea you probably could’ve ever thought of.”

“is it?” sunghoon shrugs, smug as he leans back in his chair. “because seeing as your track record so far is either a) breaking glass around her, or b)…actually, no. yeah, that’s it. that’s all i got. your track record sucks, bro.”

jake groans for the nth time and lets his head thunk onto the table this time with a soft clunk. “i hate it here.”

“you’re not even going to consider it?”

jake lifts his head just enough to glare his eyes at sunghoon, “do you hear yourself? you want me to flirt with her…while wearing spandex. in full mask. while i talk like this—” his voice drops to the deeper, definitely-not-as-disguising-as-he-thinks-it-is tone he uses while saving the city at night. “‘hey. i know i’m wanted by, like, a hundred bad people out there, but also, what’s your favorite color?’”

sunghoon grins. “add a little web trick and shoulder touch and boom—she’s yours.”

jake deadpans at him, his voice returning to normal, “do you even like me? are we even friends?”

sunghoon shrugs. pops a fry in his mouth. thinks for a second. “you’re entertaining.”

jake groans again. slumps dramatically into his seat, staring at the too-bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling above him. “i can’t flirt as spider-man me,” he mutters. “that sounds like a nightmare. i can’t even talk to her as me me.”

“duh. that’s kinda the entire point.”

“and then what, huh?” jake dramatically throws his hands up. “i take her on a date while web-swinging through the city? and if i drop her?”

“i dunno,” sunghoon takes another unbothered bite of his rubber pizza. “use two webs? you’re the one with the sticky powers, i don’t know it works!”

jake lets out an exasperated sound.

sunghoon pats his back, attempting to be the supportive friend he is. “face it. it’s the only way she’s ever gonna know you’re slightly even remotely cool and do anything more than read books on like…i don’t know—how physics makes the earth spin or something.”

jake pouts. “i am cool!” “you own a build-a-bear named woofy.” “he’s a comfort object!” “exactly. that’s why spider-man has to take the wheel from now on.”

jake stares at sunghoon, shakes his head, and starts packing up his completely untouched lunch.

“whatever. i’m going to chemistry,” he mutters, swinging his backpack around his shoulder with a huff, despite the fact that class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.

and it’s not like he needs to get to class early to ask the teacher questions or get extra help on the homework or anything normal and productive like that—don’t be ridiculous.

because here’s the thing. jake getting to class early means one very important thing: he gets to his seat—the one next to yours—before you do.

which means you have to acknowledge him first. which is crucial.

because if the roles were reversed—jake does not trust himself to be able to acknowledge you first and say hi without choking on his own air or probably knocking over a glass beaker that wasn’t there before but would somehow magically appear because that’s just jake’s luck in the process.

regardless, it works. the system works. he’s perfected it by now. because it’s about half way through the school year and without fail, every time you walk into class and jake’s already sitting there—busy pretending like he’s reading some article on his laptop when in reality his senses are going haywire over being overwhelmed by your entire presence that he already felt from down the hallway—you always greet him first with the same airy, cheery tone in your voice, bright smile, hair flowing, perfume floating in the air—

"hi jake!"

jake's soul ascends.

he looks up (too fast), catches himself (too obvious), and tries to play it cool with a little nod and smile that definitely looks a little more like a grimace (too tragic).

"hey." nailed it.

you smile casually as you plop your backpack down on the lab table you share with him and start pulling out your notebooks for the day. and jake just stares ahead like a soldier at war. his hands are sweating. his feet are bouncing. his entire nervous system is screaming at him to say something, anything.

and as if the universe decided to play a casually cruel trick on him—

"...so what's your favorite color?" "so, any fun weekend plans?"

both your voices overlap. you both freeze. turn to each other at the same time. blink.

"oh—" "—sorry, you go—" "no, you first—" "okay—wait—i, i forgot—"

silence. you hold back a smile. jake wishes to melt into the earth and hopes he never reincarnates.

"i was just gonna ask," you say, a small smile still playing on your lips that it makes jake's brain actively start doing 360s, "if you're doing anything this weekend."

jake short-circuits.

say something. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. channel spider-man. but maybe...not spider-man when you talk to him. spider-man when he talks to everyone else. "i'm...uh." he clears his throat. tries again. "probably just, y'know. working."

you tilt your head, eyes sparkling with curiosity, "working?"

"yeah," jake nods, too quickly for his own liking, then stops himself. "like—side gig."

if a side gig came with at least two new bruised ribs some nights and meant saving a city from criminals, but yeah, okay. sure. side gig.

your brows raise. "that's cool! what do you do?"

jake freezes. panics. what does he do.

he can't say spider-man.

he also can't say he has the molecular build of an eight-limbed arthropod and can stick onto walls with only his bare fingers.

and he definitely can't say i spend 70% of my free time thinking about you and the other 30% swinging off buildings.

"...delivery." he says it like he's mysterious. cool. totally normal.

you blink. as if waiting, as if expecting him to elaborate.

he blinks back at you.

"delivering...what?"

"...pizza."

(and he did once deliver a stolen pizza order back to its rightful owner after webbing the thief to a lamppost. that totally counts.)

"oh," you nod slowly, giving him a genuine smile. "that sounds fun!"

jake gives a thumbs up. mentally smacks himself in the face repeatedly. but then, his brain suddenly catches up to the situation at hand and before he can stop himself, he blurts—

"wait—uh, why do you ask?"

and then you break eye contact, glancing down at your notebook, and jake pretends not to notice your fingers suddenly fidgeting with one of your many too-colorful pens.

"well," you start, and jake is trying his very, very best to ignore the fact that his senses can pick up on your heart beat. "we've got the final coming up next week, and i don't know—you always seem like you know what you're doing in class, so—"

she thinks im smart? oh my god. she notices me? even when i’m not breaking glass? oh my god oh my god oh my—

"—i was hoping maybe we could study together?" you look up at him again, your eyes wide. "or go over the study guide one last time or something. but it's totally fine if you're busy working! and that makes sense, you probably don't even need to study, you're, like, uber smart and stuff, so—"

"no."

your words come to a halt and your mouth is left slack.

jake smacks himself. mentally. again. and again.

"...oh, um—"

jake coughs suddenly, a little too loud, a little too forced. "sorry! i mean—no...no, i'm not busy. yes, i'm down. down. to study. together. yeah."

he takes note in the way your shoulders slightly relax and the way you release a breath of what sounds like relief and amusement at the same time.

then, a soft smile makes its way to your face again, "okay! okay, cool!"

jake doesn't know if he should scream, sob, or launch himself into the sun.

he smiles back. "cool."

there's a pause.

"wait—but what about work?" your head tilts slightly, a soft crease forming between your brows.

shit.

"oh. right," jake mutters, clearing his throat as his hand casually brushes through his hair as if he thought this one through (he, in fact, did not).

quick, lie—wait, no. casual lie. lying is not cool. don't lie to the girl you like. you're simply protecting her. be mysterious. be cool. be normal.

"i'm...sure the pizzas will be okay for a night! yeah. they have flexibility. my job, i mean. not the pizzas. my manager's chill."

your smile brightens at his answer and jake decides launching himself into the sun is dramatic. in fact, he thinks the sun came out today just for him.

"okay, yay!" you're beaming. "sounds like a plan."

jake also thinks his heart just tripped over itself.

"here, let me—" you rip off a corner of your notebook and start scribbling something down with one of your pens before sliding the slip of paper over to his side of the table, "—give you my number and you let me know when and where works best, yeah?"

and jake is simply a guy. a guy entirely entranced.

it's the way you lean a little closer to the desk, tongue peeking out at the corner of your mouth in concentration. the way your hair shifts when you tilt your head, the gentle swish of it brushing over your shoulder. the way your bracelets softly clink together when your hands move. the way you smoothly push the small slip of paper with your number and name signed with a small smiley face towards him like it's no big deal.

jake stares at the paper like all those nights of manifesting finally paid off and this small slip of notebook paper is first proof that a manifestation journal really does work.

your name. your number. a tiny smile doodled next to it.

it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

he looks at the note. then at you. then back at the note.

how did this happen. what did he say? was it the pizza lie? no, it couldn't have been the pizza lie.

"cool," jake eventually says, but he realizes he's said cool one too many times and it comes out so high-pitched, he's genuinely unsure if he said it out loud or just squeaked like a mouse.

and you just simply smile back at him, soft and sweet and light, and jake decides to revisit the potential idea of self launching into orbit.

and when the teacher enters the classroom, immediately starting the lecture, jake turns back to the front of the class, trying his very best to focus—

"pink."

it comes out as a low and soft whisper. jake's head jerks slightly towards you, and you're leaning in, just slightly enough for your shoulder to brush against his.

"...i—what?"

you smile, your eyes crinkled at their corners as you look at him, "my favorite color. it's pink."

then, you turn back to the whiteboard, already scribbling down your notes like you didn't just change the entire trajectory of jake's future.

jake doesn't move. jake, in fact, doesn't hear a single word of whatever the teacher is saying about the synthesis and characterization of something-something-carbene-molecular-something.

all he knows is:

he's seeing you this weekend.

your favorite color is pink.

and tucked into the back of his phone is now a piece of corner notebook paper with your number on it.

and, of course, it's written in pink.

jake doesn’t know what he’s going to tell sunghoon about first—the fact that the favorite color pick-up line potentially worked, or that he has an actual study date with y–

wait.

“do you think it’s a study date?” jake’s voice is muffled by a peanut butter protein bar, his legs dangling off the edge of some random apartment building he deemed clean from bird poop to sit on.

there’s a long beat of silence from the other end of his phone that’s perched beside him on speaker, before sunghoon finally answers.

“i think it’s your chemistry lab partner…who needs to study for an exam…with her super genius bench partner,” sunghoon pauses. “but yeah. it’s definitely also a study date.

jake fist-pumps the air. “right?! that’s what i’m saying!” he leans back on one of his palms, staring down at the blur of streetlights and car headlights below, watching the tiny dots of normal people go about their normal people lives after their normal people days.

“god, i’m gonna say something dumb. i always say something dumb. i’m gonna probably tell her my favorite element is, like, carbon, or something. that’s not even a fun one,” jake sighs as he watches the sun slowly set along the skyline in front of him.

there’s a long, suffering sigh from the phone. “please, for the love of God and everything He created, do not tell her what your favorite element is.”

jake frowns, even though he knows sunghoon can’t see it. “you don’t think it’s charming?”

“remember what happened in the sixth grade when that girl asked for a pencil and you gave her an entire lecture on valence electrons and then she never spoke to you ever again?”

jake makes a face. “okay, but she didn’t specify what kind of lead she needed—”

“just…be normal,” sunghoon cuts in. “be jake.”

jake goes quiet. because that’s just the problem, isn’t it? because jake isn’t normal.

“normal” and “jake” haven’t belonged in the same sentence since he woke up one random morning with super strength, freakish reflexes, and abs (not that he’s complaining about the abs. but still. he knows his two-day-a-week gym habit and occasional protein bar didn’t cause them).

normal isn’t waking up in the middle of the night because your fingers literally fused to your bed frame. normal isn’t learning how to navigate puberty while also learning how different wrist angles shoot out different types of webs. normal isn’t lying to your mom about why your laundry always smells like burnt rubber and concrete dust and weirdly enough, hot dogs.

and normal definitely isn’t sitting a hundred feet above the city at 10PM on a friday night with your best friend on speaker and your spandex suit hidden under a hoodie, trying to decide if your biggest life crisis is:

a — the rise of petty city crime or b — the way your ridiculously pretty chemistry partner smiled at you and made you question your entire being in 0.2 seconds

but when he thinks about you?

when jake’s with you—he’s just jake. no suit, no webs, no…fear of potential death. 

he feels like a regular teenage boy. the kind who worries about history finals and likes stupid memes and builds lego sets with his best friend on saturdays and has a crush on the cute girl in his chemistry class.

with you, he doesn’t feel like a science experiment. or a secret. or an accident waiting to happen.

he just feels like…jake.

“i just—dude. i didn’t even have to pull the spider-man card!” jake sits up a little, legs now swinging. “like. at all. she said i was smart! jake-smart. i didn’t need to save a cat or catch a bus or—”

“—instead,” sunghoon’s monotone voice cuts in, “you told her you deliver pizzas for fun and somehow it worked.”

“you’re the worst guy in the chair.”

“and yet, here we are. you’re still call—”

“wait” jake freezes. sits upright. his head tilts slightly. “hold on.”

something in the air hits him. his senses prick. muscles tense. tingling. sounds slow, scents sharpen. the world zooms in all at once.

“i gotta go,” jake stands up, his voice muffled by shoving the rest of his protein bar into his mouth, already slipping his mask over his head.

“duty calls,” sunghoon replies casually, like this is the third time this week (it is). “be safe!”

“love you, bye!” jake says before the hanging up and shoving his phone into his backpack and thwipping it to the rooftop wall in one motion. it’ll probably still be there later. hopefully.

on most nights, it is still right where he left it, waiting patiently after the hours of his city-saving. but right now, jake couldn’t care any less about his belongings. he’s already airborne, swinging building to building with smooth, practiced ease. he follows the tug in his chest, the sense of something being slightly off. a scuffle. somewhere just a block or two away.

and on most nights, you’re careful. you’re observant, aware. you know how to check left, right, then left again before crossing the street. you stick to the well-lit sidewalks, don’t take shortcuts, avoid the sketchy alleyways your parents used to warn you about growing up.

and you also know, deep down, that you probably shouldn’t have stayed at this library this late. but here we are.

you’re barely a block from the bus stop you just got off at when it happens. a shadow moves—quick, low, but intentional. he’s stumbling. smirking. slurring.

your stomach drops immediately.

“hey, pretty thing,” he calls out, “where you off to this late?”

“not interested,” you mumble, clutching your bag closer to your body, steps picking up faster.

“oh, come onnn,” he draws. you hear his footsteps behind you. too close now. “just a little chat—”

you turn over your shoulder just in time to see his hand land slightly on your shoulder, just where your bag strap sits.

but before you can even react—

THWIP.

it happens before you can even blink.

the guy disappears. yanked off his feet. with a yelp, he’s slammed against the nearest parked car on the street with a heavy thud, followed by a line of white, sticky substance trapping his sides.

and suddenly, another one hits his hands. then his ankles. then his chest.

until it’s all around him and he’s stuck to the car like a decal himself.

you freeze, not knowing what just happened or what the hell you’re supposed to do now. your heart is racing, your brain playing catch-up, your breathing paused.

and as you’re staring at the man-shaped cocoon, wondering if this is what finally wills you into full-blown psychosis—

a figure drops from above. with absolutely zero subtlety. and lands directly in between you and said webbed-up guy in a crouch.

dressed in red and blue. head to toe. and so much spandex.

spider-man.

“wow,” he says deadpan, turning to point at the man-turned-car-decal. “okay. that was, like, a solid ten out of ten on the creep scale. would’ve been a nine, but then you touched her. so. automatic point deduction.”

the guy groans beneath the webbing. “what the—who the hell are you?”

spider-man throws his arms up in exasperation, gesturing to himself like it’s obvious.  “spider-man, dude. the webs? the spider logo on my chest? keep up.”

he then turns to you, brushing off the imaginary dust from his hands. “you know, if i had a nickel for every time some scuffy guy tried the whole grabby in an alley thing this week, i’d have like…four nickels.”

a beat. you’re still frozen. eyes wide. jaw slack.

“which isn’t a lot. but it’s weird that it happened that many times. should probably do something about that. or i guess that’s my job.”

the man groans from behind him, squirming, “get this shit off me man—”

“shhh,” spider-man shushes him, raising a hand. “don’t speak. we’re in a delicate moment of justice here.”

then, he turns back to you, head tilting. the eyes of his mask dilate as they squint at you.

his voice softens. “hey. everything okay?”

and you’re still frozen.

because there are many things you don’t believe in. you don’t believe in narwhals. you don’t believe that tarot cards can predict your love life. you don’t believe in flushing ice down the toilet to make it snow the next day, and you probably, maybe, sometimes don’t believe in birds being government spies.

but spider-man? you didn’t know if you believed in him or not. sure, you’ve seen the headlines. heard the rumors, watched the blurry phone footage. but never with your own eyes. until now.

“uh…” you nod quickly, eyes still wide, mouth still slightly ajar. “i...yeah. thank you. for that.”

and jake tries his best to keep his cool. exhales behind the mask, trying to not completely lose it.

to not completely combust when the literal crush of his life is standing in front of him, somehow glowing even under a dim, flickering street light. to not think about the very real fact that he just saved you from whatever-he-refuses-to-think-about that he just saved you from.

so he gives a casual shrug.

“that’s what they pay me for.”

you blink. “you get paid?”

jake stills. “uh, well. no. not technically. emotionally, yes. and sometimes sweet old ladies buy me churros.”

you blink again, but this time, your lips twitch slightly. “…okay. right.”

jake clears his throat, straightening up, placing his hands on his hips all awkward again and then putting them down when he realizes he probably looks like a cheap superhero mascot like that.

this part—this part—he’s usually good at. web the creep. leave a note for the cops. call them in. that’s how it usually goes. what doesn’t usually happen is…this. saving the girl he likes. the girl who doesn’t know she’s the girl he likes. the girl who definitely doesn’t know he sits next to her in chemistry and pretends to read when she walks in.

the creep behind him groans again. jake spins around on his heels and double thwips a neat string of webs over the guy’s mouth.

“aaaaand silence,” jake mutters, nodding to himself. “look at that. instant peace. should’ve probably done that twenty seconds ago.”

he turns back around. and you’re smiling now. it’s small and slightly shaky, but it’s there. jake notices. of course jake notices.

“are you sure you’re okay?” his voice dips again, gentler now.

you nod. “yeah, i think so. seriously…thank you so much.”

and jake hesitates—heart thumping, nerves sweating, because you are literally standing in front of him and he has the mask of spider-man on right now but the confidence of jake from chemistry. but still, he manages, "get home safe, yeah? you shouldn’t be walking alone this late. city’s full of creeps and…men in spandex.”

you let out a quiet laugh. “noted.”

“cool,” jake lets out, throwing up an awkward thumbs up and he makes a mental note to stop using the word ‘cool’ and to stop using thumbs ups as a defense mechanism.

he clears his throat and takes a casual step back as you watch him, still unmoving, as if you’re still trying to convince yourself he’s real.

“alright,” jake says, pointing his hand up to the building behind you before saluting you goodbye with the other. “spider-man…away?”

he fires. latches perfectly. but the fact that he actually, out-loud, said ‘spider-man away’ gets to his head and so he doesn’t time the swing quite right and his foot hits the top of a recycling bin on the way up. and he really hopes you didn’t see it happen (you did).

he lands on the rooftop above you, immediately crouching down out of view, chest heaving as his brain catches up to his body, still processing what just happened. heart still hammering, fingers still tingling.

then, after waiting a few seconds, he peers his head carefully over the line of buildings down the street and watches your figure walk away. head down, bag hugged close, pace quicker now.

and of course, because he’s jake—and spider-man (but mostly because he’s jake)—he follows you from above. quiet, careful, out of sight. just to make sure you make it back okay.

and when you finally reach your apartment building and unlock the front door, he still waits.

waits until he sees a light flicker on in your bedroom window. waits until he sees your figure draw your curtains closed. waits until he knows you’re safe. only then does he finally exhale.

he drops onto the roof of a nearby pizza place—the one that claims they sell dollar pizza but it’s really $1.49—pulls off his mask with one hand and runs the other through his completely wrecked hair.

“jesus christ, jake,” he mutters to himself, a hand dragging down his face. “spider-man away? really?”

he shakes his head at himself, partly in shame, partly in disbelief, but mostly in shame, then stretches out his legs, groans at the ache in his biceps, and swings back towards the first rooftop where he left his backpack.

and thank god it’s still there. because once he unwebs his bag and fishes through his textbooks, unknown food wrappers, and decathlon club fliers to take out his phone with just merely 12% battery left, he clicks on your contact. stares at the blank message field. then he types.

JAKE (10:42PM) : hey! it’s jake (from chem lol) hope your night’s going okay :) also still good to meet at the cafe near school tomorrow? maybe around noon?

he stares at it. rereads it six times. changes lol to haha. then back to lol. deletes the smiley face. then the whole message. then retypes it word for word.

eventually, he hits send.

and jake, bless his heart, keeps staring at the screen. forgets it’s nearly 11PM. forgets that his mom, who thinks he’s in bed, is probably gonna check in on him any second now (and yes, jake is nearly a legal adult. but he also grew up with chronic nightmares, so. check ins are necessary at times).

but then his screen lights up. your name. a single message.

Y/N (10:43PM) : yes :)

he feels his entire body exhale. or light up on fire. he’s not sure of the difference, honestly. and jake’s also not sure how long he sits there smiling at his phone like an idiot.

he doesn’t remember swinging back home. he doesn’t remember sneaking back into his room through his fire escape. he doesn’t even remember showering and wincing at the sting of soap against his fresh cuts and scratches.

because all he’s thinking about is your text. which is probably why he also forgets to set an alarm.

so when he wakes up the next day at 11:45AM, twenty minutes away from the café he promised to meet you at in fifteen minutes, and absolutely zero minutes ready to leave his place—he’s in full blown panic.

“oh crap, crap—ow, damn it—crap,” he’s mutters, runs into a chair, accidentally smears toothpaste on his hoodie sleeve, and grabs the first protein bar he sees—cookies & creme this time—before sprinting out the door. but not before kissing his mom on the cheek goodbye.

his hair is still damp. his backpack is half-zipped. he’s 85% sure he applied deodorant twice and toothpaste once. or maybe the other way around.

and by the time he barges into the corner café that sells overpriced matcha lattes with the grainy oat milk but has good lighting and free wifi and outlets to use so it’s deemed a good study spot anyways, he immediately zeroes in on you at the small corner table—pen in hand, sipping from a cup casually and not at all aware that your mere existence and the way the little beam of sunlight shining through the café windows reflecting on you is already sending his sleep deprived state into overdrive.

he makes—or more like stumbles—his way over, just in time for you to glance up and catch his eye.

“hey!” you smile, so warm and relaxed that it almost makes jake forget he sprinted over in mismatched socks. “you made it.”

“yeah—sorry,” jake exhales, pulling out the seat across from you and placing his stuff down. “i stayed up late, forgot to set an alarm, then couldn’t find matching socks, i had this blue one on and then a red—“

jake stops himself. looks at you. gives you a sheepish smile. “sorry. you don’t need to hear about the whole sock saga.”

you giggle as you look up at him, “what a shame, i was kinda invested to see where that was going.”

jake tries not to float.

“and it’s fine, jake. really. if it makes you feel any better, you’re only like twelve minutes late.”

jake lets out a nervous chuckle as he slides into the seat across from you, “thanks. i’m usually only, like, ten minutes late, so this is all new to me. including the study date part.”

jake freezes. your eyebrow quirks. why did he say that. why. did. he. say. that.

a small smile tugs at your lips, “study date?”

jake’s eyes are frozen and blown wide as he stares at you in horror from across the table, stumbling over his own words, “i mean. i—no, not a date! unless…unless you wanted it to be a date, which is fine! not just fine! i mean, it’s fine if you wanted—i just assumed that—well sorry, i shouldn’t have assumed—that would be non-consensual and i’m really big on, like, mutual respect and consent and—”

he stops.

jake needs to stop. he should stop talking about consent before he even got to ask you how your morning’s been like a regular human being does.

your stare lingers for a beat longer before you break into laughter, hand flying to your mouth, the other holding onto the table in front of you to support yourself as you snort. “jake.”

jake sinks slightly in his seat. wishes he was sinking into the earth. “yeah?”

your laughter softens into something gentler, and you look up at him, sure and simple and steady. “it’s okay. let’s call it that. a study date.”

you know how your laptop sometimes freezes because it’s firing a million tasks at once and then the fan starts whirring violently before the entire thing decides to just shut off and it has to take a few minutes to recover before rebooting itself back up to be able to fully function again?

yeah. that’s what’s happening to jake. right now.

“oh. okay. cool. cool, cool, cool,” he tugs at the collar of his hoodie. stop it with the cool, jake, we talked about this. and whatever you do, do not throw up a— he throws a thumbs up at you. puts it away. tries to recover. “i’m very…pro…studying.”

you grin at him. “clearly.” the dating part? not so much.

and after that, thing settles. in that warm, weirdly comforting way things do when you’ve either known someone your entire life or just long enough to know you want to.

textbooks open, laptops propped, flashcards highlighted, questions exchanged, your iced matcha is slowly disappearing while jake’s iced americano just sits there untouched—slowly watering down because jake forgets coffee makes him jittery but he was in a state of panic when he got to the counter so…here we are.

“wait, can i ask you something kinda random?"

you glance up from your notes, giving jake a small nod. “yeah?”

jake’s eyes land on the back of your laptop and he gestures vaguely to it. “why is your laptop covered in like…fourteen different beluga stickers?”

your head tilts as you follow his gaze and—yup. it’s true. it’s covered with not only fourteen little cartoon belugas, but also otters, starfish, and a little whale in the corner that isn’t so little and cost you a whole whopping five dollars at the book fair.

you blink at it. “oh, right.” a small smile then tugs at your lips. “i’m kinda obsessed with ocean life. it’s, like…one of my things.”

and jake is silent. not because he’s judging. no, he recites the periodic table in alphabetical order to help him fall asleep at night, so he can’t judge. but because—god. you say that like it’s the most casual thing in the world and not the most adorable sentence he’s ever heard.

“like, belugas are my favorite sea animals,” you continue, your own voice picking up from your own excitement now. “they’re just so cute and squishy looking. and they always look like they’re smiling? and granted i’ve never met one, but if i did meet one, i just know it’d be kind.”

jake is still not saying anything. he’s watching the way your hands move animatedly, the way your eyes light up, the way your voice lifts when you say the words “if i did meet one” like it’s the most natural thing in the world to meet a literal beluga.

“they do look pretty nice,” jake adds eventually, absolutely trying his best to fight the grin off his face. “for a whale, i mean.”

your eyes widen as you suddenly gasp and lean in over the table towards jake, catching him off guard. “okay, i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

jake freezes. and he doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know when, but he’s pretty sure he messed up somehow just by trying to impress his crush by complimenting a beluga.

“belugas aren’t whales,” you say, matter of fact, “they’re actually a type of dolphin, despite the name. common mistake.”

“oh,” jake just blinks and nods like this is a totally normal conversation. like he isn’t currently being lectured by the cute girl from his chemistry class about beluga whales. beluga…dolphins? not whales.

his eyes flick briefly to your hands, still hovering mid-air, animated from your explanation. then to your face, your eyes sparkling just a little bit too much for him to blame it on the café lighting. and everything—every little detail jake seems to notice and learn about you—makes jake feel like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

“sorry,” you pause, noticing his stare. “i just…i really love this kind of stuff. it’s all just so fascinating to me. it’s kinda like whenever you start freaking out over, i don’t know…cis-trans isomerism in alkenes?”

jake chokes on his spit. smooth.

“wait,” he’s coughing, sitting up straighter, “how do you know that i—wait, how do you even know about cis-trans isomerism?”

“what can i say? i’m observant,” you look at him over the rim of your cup as you take a sip, casually shrugging, a small smirk on your lips.

and jake just casually tries not to freak out.

because, sure, jake has had his fair share of realizations through out his lifetime. like the day he woke up and found out he could suddenly stop a bus with his bare hands. or the time he discovered he’s mildly allergic to cauliflower. but this? this might top the list.

because you notice things. about him. him. and it short-circuits his brain. just a little. maybe a lot.

jake tries not to smile too hard. tries not to read too much into it. tries not to wonder if you notice the way he leans closer during chemistry labs or the way his voice raises half a pitch when you talk to him or the way he purposely gets to class early just so he could talk to you before.

they’re the kind of thoughts that keep him up that night. the kind that plague his entire mind until the only thing he’s thinking about when he falls asleep that night and the only thing he’s thinking about when he wakes up the next morning is…you.

and for the next few days, that’s just about the most exciting thing that happens to jake. the next few days for him go pretty normal.

and by normal, jake means boring. and by boring, i mean on monday, spider-man stops a bodega robbery and gets a pat on the back from the police officer and a sprained ankle. on tuesday, he wakes up late and almost misses his history final (which honestly would’ve been preferable). and on wednesday, you text jake for help on a chemistry review question. which is actually very exciting and not at all boring nor normal, despite how hard jake tries his best to act normal.

on thursday, however, jake stays late in the school computer lab to tinker with his web shooter tech. and that’s when sunghoon pulls up in front of him, dropping two small pieces of paper on jake’s mess of wires and tools and notebook doodles.

“bada-bing, bada-boom,” sunghoon announces as he plops into the chair next to jake.

jake looks up. sunghoon’s spinning awkwardly slowly in the swivel chair, arms out like a king clearly waiting for applause.

jake squints at the slips of paper. then back up.

“sunghoon.” “yes?” “why are we binging and booming and why are there clown fish on my web shooters?”

sunghoon beams. the kind of beam that makes jake’s spider tingle feel immediately and instinctively nervous. "because, my friend,” he begins proudly, “i am your guy-in-the-chair and thanks to me, you are now officially going on an aquarium date this weekend.”

jake blinks down at the two tickets. then looks up at sunghoon. blinks again. “wait. i’m going on a what with who now?”

sunghoon’s face falls flat. “with y/n, you idiot. who else would i be sending you to the aquarium with? me?”

jake’s jaw slackens. eyes widen. heartbeat pounding, “what—why, why, why, would you do that?”

sunghoon’s brows furrow as if the answer is the most obvious one in the world (and it is), “because you like her? and now you can take her to see those things she has fourteen of on her laptop that she likes so much. beluga whales or whatever they were.”

jake opens his mouth to argue—then shuts it. looks at sunghoon very, very, seriously. “beluga dolphins. they’re beluga dolphins. common mistake.”

and sunghoon could give two flying farts about beluga whales versus beluga dolphins versus beluga birds for all he knows, but because jake’s his best friend, he tries not to judge.

“…okayyyy, beluga dolphins.” he claps jake on the back and jake flinches. “anyways! you. y/n. aquarium date. this weekend. bada-bing. bada-boom.”

friday is the most un-normal and the most un-boring day of them all.

because on friday, right when jake slams his locker shut at the end of the day—ready to go home and debating if he should build his brand new imperial star destroyer lego set or practice different swinging techniques off the library roof—

“JAKE!”

and jake’s spidey sense could not have predicted what happens next. because before he can even register his own name, jake’s slammed into. stumbling. arms flailing. back hitting the lockers behind him.

and it’s you. you, clinging to him in a hug. smiling. glowing. and jake is dying. screaming. ascending.

“I GOT A 99,” you smile as you look up at him, eyes sparkling and wide.

jake swallows hard. his hards are still awkwardly hanging at his side, unsure whether to hug you back or just spontaneously combust into dust right then and there.

“wait. the chemistry exam?” he manages, voice higher than usual.

you nod so fast it’s a blur. “yes!—i think it’s a little stupid she docked me a single point just because i rounded wrong on that molarity question—which, yeah, i know you warned me about. but it’s fine. i’m literally a chemistry genius.”

jake lets out a breathy laugh, looking down at you—still warm, still wrapped around him, still lighting up like the literal sun in the middle of the school’s halls.

“you are,” he says, and it comes out softer than he expected.

and then you’re looking up at him again—close, glowing, happy—and jake swears the whole world pauses. like the only thing that has ever mattered to him is this exact moment. like someone hit pause on everything except you. the shouts, the lockers slamming, the overhead announcements—he doesn’t hear any of it.

all he knows is you. the way your smile curves just slightly more on one side. the scent of your shampoo. the feel of your arms around him and the way his pulse has never been louder in his entire life.

jake doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about someone before.

and like you suddenly realize how long you’ve been holding onto him, or maybe just how close the two of you are—you slowly pull back. not all the way, just a half-step, your arms slipping from around his middle. you clear your throat, eyes flickering to a locker, then to a ceiling.

“um—thanks to you, though. seriously,” you say, voice softer now, “for all your help. and studying with me.”

and jake is still staring. still dazed. “oh! no, yeah. yeah yeah. totally. i had fun. it was fun.” he swallows again. please stop saying fun. “so fun.” yeah. he’s absolutely a lost cause.

but you laugh. and god, jake loves your laugh. he wants to bottle it up, carry it around in his pocket, and use it like a power-up when he’s out fighting criminals at night.

and it’s in that moment, somewhere between your grin and the sound of your giggle still ringing in his ears, that it hits him.

this is it. this is the moment.

jake clears his throat. wipes his palms on the sides of his jeans like it’ll help. glances off to the side before looking back at you.

“listen, so um—” he’s already fumbling. “i was wondering—like if you’re free this weekend, and only if you really, really want to, seriously no pressure at all because i know you’re probably busy, but—”

he pauses. breathes. tries again. “—but if you’d be down, i, uh—i have two tickets to the aquarium. and since you’re really into the ocean and stuff i thought—”

“oh my god,” you interrupt, eyes lit up. “you got tickets to the aquarium?”

jake nods so fast he swears he looks like a bobblehead.

“yeah! well—no. technically sunghoon got the tickets but—”

“ohhh, like you and sunghoon were going to go together?” you tease, grinning now. “that actually sounds kind of fun—”

“wait. wait—no.” and jake nearly panics, his hands waving. “no, no, no, i mean—i’m trying to—”

jake inhales sharply. gets a grip. “do you want to go with me? this weekend? to the aquarium?”

“oh!” you blink up at him, clearly surprised—but not in a bad way. your voice goes a little softer. “like…just us?”

“yeah,” jake nods, trying to sound chill and not at all like he’s internally combusting. which is definitely, 100%, happening right now. “i mean—if you want. if you don’t, it’s totally cool. i’ll just…give the ticket to my mom or something. she likes fish. i think. probably. i’ve never actually asked—”

“jake.”

jake stops. looks at you again. “yeah?”

you smile. all fond and amused and sweet. “i’d love to go to the aquarium with you.”

and jake completely loses the grip he thought he had a strong hold of.

“wait, really?” “really.” “oh,” jake breathes. “cool. cool, cool, cool.” you tilt your head, “you’re doing the repeating thing again.”

“i know,” jake groans, dragging a hand down his face. “i literally had a whole mental intervention about this, it’s not working—

you laugh. again. and jake ascends. again.

“okay,” you say, stepping back just enough. “aquarium this weekend. it’s a date.”

jake ascends a third time.

“right,” he says, barely recovering. “totally. i’ll—uh, i’ll text you the details?”

you nod, already backing away towards the main doors, “can’t wait!”

and forget the imperial star destroyer set or brand new swinging techniques. jake 100% knows what he’s doing tonight—and it’s sounding a lot like googling beluga dolphin facts. 

later that night, jake’s perched on the edge of a random rooftop—one leg dangling off the ledge, a protein bar in one hand, his phone in the other, glowing with an article titled: top twelve facts about belugas that will shock you.

but then—his spidey senses prick.

because at exactly 10:32PM, like clockwork, your usual bus pulls up to the stop below the building he’s seated at.

okay. so maybe it’s not exactly a coincidence he’s here. and maybe this roof isn’t that random after all.

and maybe, just maybe, he’s made it a habit to make sure you get home safe every night. it started with just one night—making sure you got home safe after last week’s incident. then it turned into two. then three. then…every night. at exactly 10:32PM. now it’s a full-blown instinct he hasn’t admitted to anyone (especially not sunghoon) because, well…he likes making sure you get home safe. sue him.

when he sees your figure step off the bus, jake immediately straightens. the hairs on his arms prick up. his pulse quickens. his palm slightly sticks against the protein bar wrapper. and this is just a regular friday.

except—it really isn’t. because today, you—you, the very smart and very funny and very pretty ocean-loving girl who sits next to him in chemistry—hugged him today and agreed to go on a date with him and oh god.

so actually, nothing about today was regular. not even close. and nothing about what jake is about to do is regular.

instead of just watching from above like he has the past week… he swings.

with a few quick, practiced motions, he webs himself building to building, bouncing off a wall to land neatly right in front of you on the sidewalk.

and you scream. “what the—oh my god—” you jolt back mid-step, instinctively clutching your bag closer to you.

“ah—sorry! sorry!” jake holds his hands up, immediately regretting his dramatic entrance. he straightens up from his crouch, brushing dust off his suit. “that probably looked a lot cooler in my head.”

you narrow your eyes, still trying to catch your breath, looking not totally convinced, “right.”

jake rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

then, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be nearly ambushed by a red-and-blue-suited vigilante, you simply adjust the bag on your shoulder, sidestep him, and continue walking down the sidewalk.

jake blinks behind the mask, stunned for a second, before quickly scrambling to catch up.

“you know,” he says, effortlessly falling into step beside you, “if i didn’t know any better, i thought we agreed you wouldn’t be walking home alone this late.”

you glance over, the corners of your mouth slightly tugging upwards, “and if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re starting to follow me, spidey.”

“woah,” jake fake-gasps. fake-clutches his chest as if offended. “spidey? oh wow. we’re already on nickname basis and i don’t even know yours.”

you snort. “y/n,” you say, finally looking at him fully. “it’s y/n.”

jake’s heart does a triple flip. he thinks he’s heard your name a thousand times already—slipped through conversations with sunghoon, when your teacher calls out your name during attendance, in his dreams—but somehow, this feels new.

he flashes a smile you can’t see behind his mask, “y/n.” he repeats it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever learned. he then points to himself. “spidey.”

you laugh again, this time loud and real and soft and sweet. and suddenly, jake’s night feels warmer.

“yeah, i got that,” you say, shaking your head. “thanks for the clarification, spidey.”

there’s a short silence after that—comfortably quiet, but not empty. both your footsteps crunch against a thin blanket of scattered leaves, the echoes of your steps bouncing off the dimly lit sidewalk. somewhere in the distance a dog barks faintly. a bus drives by.

“shouldn’t you be out—” you finally speak again, glancing up at him, “—stopping carjackings or getting churros from old ladies?”

jake hums, the sound low in his throat. be mysterious. be cool. be normal. "well yes,” he clears his throat and adjusts his web shooter just to do something with his hands, “but it’s also part of my duty as your friendly neighborhood spider-man to make sure the citizens of this city get home safe.”

you raise a brow, smirking, “is it also part of your duty to walk every single citizen home after saving them?”

“…well. not exactly,” he tries not to sound nervous. tries. “just the ones i think are…pretty.”

you freeze mid-step. your breath catches, feet stopping entirely.

jake does the same. his heart might actually fall out of his chest. “that’s—” he coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “that’s just you, by the way. if that wasn’t…super clear.”

your mouth parts. but no words come out. only your eyes react—wide, soft, blinking.

“oh—" you eventually say, softly and unsure, as if you’re trying to figure out if the literal spider-man is trying to flirt with you. “thanks? i think.”

and jake is 98% pretty sure he’s redder than his own suit right now. “yeah, yup. of course,” he says, voice cracking ever so slightly as his mind searches for anything, something else to talk about. “uh…so any fun plans this weekend?”

smooth. so smooth.

you blink, still looking at him a little weird, but your smile comes back almost instantly as you two start walking again, “actually yeah! i’m going to the aquarium tomorrow.”

jake’s heart does another little flip. yes. yes, yes. she still wants to go. she’s still going with me—

“with this guy,” you add casually, kicking a pebble in your way.

jake feels his heart do a little pause. “a guy?” he says, wincing when it comes out just a little too quickly, a little too high-pitched. “oh. a guy guy. wow. a guy.”

you nod along, completely oblivious, mind clearly elsewhere, “yeah, he’s pretty great. got us the tickets and everything.”

jake nods stiffly, staring straight ahead like the lamp post across the street is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his entire life, “nice. that’s…really nice. sounds like a pretty solid dude.”

“totally,” you grin up at him, and it’s the kind of grin that makes jake’s lungs forget why they exist in the first place. the crinkle of your eyes, the curve of your mouth, the gentle ease in your voice—it all hits him at once. the most perfect storm.

“a little awkward,” you continue. “says ‘cool’ way too much. but he’s really sweet. and funny. and a genius.”

and jake combusts on the spot. jake thought he knew what happiness was. he thought getting accepted into the school’s robotics team felt good. he thought shaking hands with the mayor after saving him from a limo crash was peak fulfillment. he even thought finishing the millennium falcon lego set with sunghoon in a single night was the height of his serotonin levels. but this? hearing you talk about him—about jake—with that softness in your voice, that tilt in your smile, that warmth in your eyes?

oh yeah. this is what true happiness is.

and by the time jake returns back to earth, the two of you are approaching your apartment now—he recognizes the street by heart at this point.

you come to a stop in front of your building, turning to face him beneath the glow of the overhead lighting, “thanks for walking me, by the way.”

jake shrugs, hands shoved into the sides of his suit awkwardly, “it’s part of the job description. gotta make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”

you give him a look. one of those lingering ones that makes jake wonder. the kind that lasts a beat too long.

“…favorite, huh?” you raise a brow, lips quirking into a soft smile. jake’s heart stutters. “top three, at least.” you giggle again, shaking your head slightly, “night, spidey.”

“night, y/n,” he murmurs quietly before you go in, watching as you head inside. the door clicks shut behind you, and jake’s world immediately feels a little dimmer.

jake stands there in the quiet for a second. and then— he fist pumps the air in celebration, kicking his leg up like an animated character, “yes, yes, yes!”

with the goofiest grin under his mask, jake flings a web up toward the apartment building across the street and launches himself in one fluid motion. he lands with practiced ease, sitting in his usual spot just as the light flickers on in your bedroom window.

he’s still grinning. still breathless. still absolutely unable to believe what just happened.

with a newfound confidence, jake pulls out his phone from one of his suit pockets and unlocks it.

JAKE (10:54PM) : hey! just wanted to say im excited for tomorrow :) hope you have a good night y/n

he doesn’t hesitate before hitting send this time.

and when he wakes up the next morning, jake is still smiling.

no nightmares. no forgotten alarms. no dreading history finals. just the lingering memory of yesterday—from the hug to the walk last night, from the way you smiled at him to the way you said ‘night, spidey’, from the way he swears your laugh is not permanently stored in his brain’s top five sounds of all time.

now, he’s staring up at the massive curved glass in front of him, a large ‘beluga whales here!’ sign above him. you’re already right up against the glass, peering inside like you’re looking at the most fascinating thing in the world.

and to you—it is. to jake? his answer would be very different. his answer would look a lot like you.

because you’re right there, next to him. shoulder brushing him. looking effortlessly beautiful in the soft dim blue light of the tank.

and jake is trying very, very hard to look calm, cool, and collected. despite the fact that he’s sweating through his button-up because he’s nervous, giddy, and definitely sprayed way too much cologne (two spritzes max, sunghoon said. jake did six. he panicked).

but you—you look completely at peace. you’re smiling, your eyes lighting up with wonder, one palm pressed gently against the glass as you watch one of the belugas swim past.

“they’re literally smiling,” you whisper, completely in awe. “look at them. they’re so pretty.”

jake glances at you. then the belugas. then back at you.

he’s not entirely sure who you’re talking about anymore.

“yeah,” he says, a little breathlessly. “they’re…really pretty.”

at that, you turn to look at him and jake has to force himself to not look away. he smiles at you when your eyes meet his. and your smile is soft. soft and amused. like you knew what he was saying. like you’re choosing not to call him out on it.

“so,” you eventually say, tilting your head to look up at him. “on a scale of one to ten, how ridiculous does this shirt make me look?”

jake glances down at your outfit—you’re wearing an oversized t-shirt now layered over the outfit you picked out for today. it’s bright blue, has a cartoon fish giving a thumbs up, and across the front in bubbly letters sits, ‘fish makes life betta’.

your eyes landed on it the second you two walked past the gift shop. and you had to have it. immediately, of course.

jake had laughed at first when you turned to him, holding up the shirt against you, eyes wide. “should i buy this?” you asked, not a hint of sarcasm in your tone.

and that’s when jake realized, you meant it.

and that was also the exact moment jake realized he’s absolutely, undeniably, hopelessly gone for you.

“negative twelve,” jake says now, very seriously, despite the smirk on his face. “you look unironically very cool.” you scoff, “you’re such a liar.” jake shrugs, still grinning. “did that get me a couple more points at least?”

one of your eyebrows quirk, like you’re surprised by the sudden confidence. and honestly? so is jake.

there’s a beat—one of those soft, lingering ones carrying a silence that feels full with something unspoken. the kind that hums quietly below the surface. the kind jake could live inside forever.

then, your lips twitch into a smile. “mmm…maybe half a point. you’re up to, like, an 89.5%.”

jake lets out a soft, breathless laugh, eyes still on you, “i’ll take it. that’s like…a B plus.”

“better than what you got on the history final,” you say, already smirking.

jake’s eyes widen as he gasps, “hey—what!? that was so uncalled for.” you laugh again, clearly enjoying this. “you got a 73, jake.”

“a 74!” he corrects you, his voice now a pitch higher. “it was curved! and i woke up late! blame it on sleep deprivation.”

“that…still sounds like barely passing to me.”

jake narrows his eyes at you playfully, “okay, you know what? i’m deducting your points for emotional damage. 99.5%.”

you gasp dramatically. “you can’t deduct points!”

“better than what you got on the chemistry final,” jake says, eyebrows quirked, feeling ridiculously proud of himself for that one.

your eyes widen—equal parts shocked and impressed, “touché, jake. touché.”

and jake just grins, heart pounding so fast he swears it’s about to break out of his ribcage and up and run.

your smile lingers for a little longer before you glance away for a moment, returning your gaze back to the tank in front of you, watching as the belugas swim past lazily, weightless and floating like clouds. and you think there’s something oddly calming about them. it makes the whole world slow down.

jake watches you instead.

the lights from the tank dance against your skin, your features glowing blue and soft and perfect. your hands are simply at your side, head tilted slightly as you follow their movements with your wide eyes. you’re not even saying anything—but you don’t need to.

jake swallows hard. takes half a step closer to you.

“hey,” he says quietly. you look over. “yeah?” “i’m really glad you came today.”

your expression shifts—just a little. surprised, maybe. but then, it softens. into something gentle and honest. “i’m glad you asked,” you say, just as quiet.

and jake is so close. so close, that he can feel the slight brush of your pinky against his own. and suddenly, the air feels heavier. tighter. packed with nerves and possibilities and hope and everything that makes jake’s senses want to scream into a pillow.

and jake, because he’s still jake, blurts out the first thing his brain lands on— “let’s take a picture with a beluga!”

you blink. but then, your laugh bubbles up again as you nod, stepping close behind him as he’s already fumbling to pull out his phone.

the photo is slightly blurry. your shirt is bright and front and center. jake’s smile is too wide, and yours is somewhere between a laugh and a look—

one that’s angled towards him instead of the camera.

the walk back later that night is quiet. not the awkward quiet. not the quiet filled with weird tension. but soft quiet. warm quiet. the kind of quiet that settles over jake like his favorite blanket—thick and safe and familiar, the kind that jake feels whenever he’s tucked into bed after a night out around the city.

and when you two walk side by side, you’re close enough that jake can feel your sleeve brush against his every few steps. and the sidewalk is wide. but neither of you move away. not even once.

street lamps shine above you, the city hums quietly around, and jake—who literally has the ability to swing between skyscrapers and soar through the air—feels like he’s floating for the first time in his life.

because he’s definitely not thinking about how he can catch the small traces of your perfume or how your hand keeps brushing his. and he’s definitely not spiraling over whether or not you’re thinking about how his hands keep brushing yours back.

and right when he’s mentally trying to calculate just how fast his heart is currently beating (and if his calculations were correct, he thinks he’s at 142 beats per minute)—

you stop walking.

jake halts a half step ahead, blinking in surprise as he turns back to face you, “everything okay?”

you bite your bottom lip. squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “yeah. yeah—i just…” a breath. “i have to tell you something.”

and that knocks the air straight out of jake’s lungs. he steps towards you instinctively, his steps quiet against the pavement until he’s standing right in front of you—frozen under the soft glow of the streetlight overhead.

“okay,” he says, trying to sound normal. which is hard. because jake is currently experiencing what can only be described as sensory overload. 

he tries to not notice the way you’re fiddling with the hem of your incredibly bright blue shirt. or the way you’re blinking too many times. or the way he can literally hear your heartbeat from where he’s standing. and he calculates 143 beats per minute. maybe 144.

“i—um…i actually didn’t really need help with chemistry,” you blurt, eyes still focused somewhere near his shoelaces in front of you. “i know exactly what cis-trans isomerism in alkenes is. not only because i thought it was really cute when you explained it in class that one time, but because i genuinely think it’s super cool so i did my research project on it last—”

you pause. “…which is super irrelevant. oh my god—wait, let me backtrack.”

then your words start tumbling. “i just—i thought you were really cute. and smart. and witty. and honestly, probably a little awkward too but, like, in a cute way. and i didn’t know how else to talk to you outside of class. i figured you were too busy or not really into random girls asking to hang out. so i panicked. even though i have a 98 in chem right now.”

you stop. take a breath—finally.

jake, however, does not. jake’s entire being has stopped functioning. his brain is blank—no thoughts, just the steady, continuous static of oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. every nerve in his body is on high alert. his spidey senses are firing—heart pounding, breath caught, fingertips tingling. it’s like his body’s trying to prepare him for a fight, when really? he’s just trying his hardest not to melt into the ground.

and jake can feel everything. the warmth of the streetlight on his back. the shift in the breeze between you and him. the exact distance between your body and his. it’s all too much and not enough and jake is losing his mind.

and when you notice his frozen stare, you wince—your eyes squeezing shut again as you start mumbling, “oh my god. i’m so sorry. okay, let’s just forget i said—”

and jake, because he’s still jake, doesn’t think.

jake kisses you.

it happens before he can overthink it. which is entirely a lie, because jake always overthinks.

but this time, it happens before he could spiral through every worst case scenario. before he could remind himself of all the ways he could possibly screw this up.

all he knows is that you were standing there—rambling, flushed, perfect—and he just had to.

his hand finds your cheek instinctively, warm and unsure and trembling ever so slightly. and when his lips meet yours—it’s gentle. so gentle, like a question asked without words. like an answer given all at once.

and jake is still spiraling. his senses are everywhere—you smell like faint citrus and something a little like vanilla, your grip on his shirt is tight, and your lips are soft, so soft, moving with his like you two have known this rhythm forever.

everything is heightened for him. blurred and focused at the same time. and the kiss isn’t perfect—his nose bumps yours and you step too close and accidentally hit his shoe—but none of that matters.

because this is real. because it’s you.

and when jake finally, slowly, pulls back—just barely—both of you are breathless.

both heartbeats loud enough for jake to hear. quite literally.

“you think i’m smart?” you let out a small scoff as your eyes meet his, his shirt still under your grip, “out of everything that just happened, that’s what you’re focusing on?” “i mean,” jake shrugs, helplessly smiling, “i’m just making sure i heard that part correctly.”

you laugh louder now—relieved and warm and everything jake wants to hold onto forever.

the rest of the night moves slower for jake. literally slower. like neither of you want the moment to end—your steps gradually slowing the closer you get to your apartment building. jake keeps his hands in his pockets, fingers still tingling, goosebumps still on his skin. every now and then, he steals a glance your way, just to make sure this is real. that you’re real.

and when you reach the front of your apartment building, jake’s chest tightens the tiniest bit. you stop at the base of the stairs. so does he.

“well,” your voice is quiet as your eyes flick up to his. “i’ll see you at school on monday?”

jake nods, trying to look cool, calm, and collected even though he’s pretty sure he’s still at 142 beats. “yeah. for sure. monday.”

you smile, soft and a little shy. “night, jake.” “night, y/n,” he echoes, offering a tiny, awkward wave that makes you smile as you slip through the door.

jake lingers for a second longer, watching until the door clicks shut. then he spins on his heel, a giddy smile on his face, stumbles three steps down the sidewalk and—

“holy shi—” he physically clamps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming.

jake fist-pumps the air. once. twice. spins in a circle. nearly trips and eats it on the curb. but he doesn’t care.

he kissed you. he kissed you. and you kissed him back.

and jake is back to nearly launching into orbit.

his fingers are still trembling as he pulls his phone out from his pocket, text message already full of typos from typing too fast when the screen lights up—

incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠

“DUDE,” jake answers instantly, breathless and borderline yelling. “i was just about to text you—I KISSED HER!”

a beat.

“WHAT?!” sunghoon’s voice explodes over the phone. “you KISSED her? you KISSED HER? oh my god.”

jake is pacing now, still walking down the street but barely aware of it. “i know. it just happened. i don’t even know—like, we were walking, then she stopped and told me she didn’t even need chemistry help and that she just needed an excuse to talk to me and i literally blacked out so i don’t remember the rest—”

“oh my god. oh my god.” “i KNOW.” “like, wait—you kissed her-kissed her?” “i KISSED her-kissed her, dude.” “bro.” “i know.”

they’re both beaming. celebrating. somewhere above him, a very confused old lady stares at jake from her window as he dances in the middle of the sidewalk like he just won the lottery.

“wait. wait, crap—” sunghoon cuts in, tone suddenly serious. “hang on, i called you for a reason.” jake freezes mid-spin, “huh?”

“guy in chair duties,” sunghoon’s voice shifts. “there’s a call coming through the police scanner. armed robbery. bank on 23rd and main. it just came in, like, thirty seconds ago.”

jake stops. groans. “you’re kidding me,” he mutters under his breath.

“sorry, man.”

without missing a beat, jake glances around for any people—then ducks into the nearest alleyway.

“can’t a guy catch a break?” he mumbles, already yanking off his button up, his suit already underneath (because—obviously, you can never be too prepared), then bunches up the shirt and webs it to the brick wall in one fluid motion.

sunghoon’s voice buzzes through his phone, “good luck, spidey.” jake pulls the mask over his face. “i’ll just tell you the rest on monday.”

“copy that.”

“thanks, hoon. spidey’s on it.”

turns out—spidey, in fact, was not on it.

he doesn’t know if he should blame it on the fact that he was mildly (extremely) mentally distracted by the memory of kissing you under the warm streetlight, or the fact that those robbers had insanely good aim, but either way:

jake comes home with a black eye, a rapidly darkening bruise on his cheekbone, a bullet graze burning across his left side, and what he’s 97% sure is a dislocated ankle.

“crap, crap, crap,” he mutters under his breath, wincing as he carefully locks the window behind him. he drops down from the ceiling with a thud, trying not to yelp out in pain when he lands on the ankle that he’s now 99% sure is dislocated. the apartment is quiet. his mom’s probably asleep. hopefully.

jake rips off his mask and immediately grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, “jesus.”

his right eye is already swelling. there’s dried blood going down the side of his face. his suit is slightly torn and singed and still sticky over the wound at his ribs. he presses a palm there, breathing through his teeth.

it’s fine. he’s fine. totally fine.

the shower was probably the most painful part of the night. every drop stings, and there’s something really, really humbling about trying to wash off dirt and dried blood while also replaying the moment you kissed him in perfect clarity over and over again in his head.

and jake’s been at this for a while now. out patrolling, out fighting crime, out throwing dad jokes to creeps at night. but he’s never had a night like this. not with this much chaos, not with this much feeling.

an unexpected bullet. a slam against concrete. some dumb goon with a perfect punch. but right before it? you. you in an obnoxiously bright blue t-shirt saying ‘fish make life betta’. looking at him like that. kissing him like that.

by the time jake stumbles out of the bathroom, patched up with some teenage mutant ninja turtles bandages and wrapped in an oversized hoodie, he’s exhausted.

every limb aches. every muscle screams. every brain cell thinking of you.

and by the time monday rolls around and he wakes up to his alarm at 6:32AM—because he snoozed it for 32 extra minutes—jake frowns at what he sees.

his black eye looks worse, his face is, at least, five different shades of blue, purple, pink, and his ankle is still swollen. every step sends a jolt of pain up his body that even breathing feels like a core workout.

so jake does what any emotionally and physically fatigued teenage superhero would do.

he fakes food poisoning.

when his mom knocks on his door to get him up for school, jake meekly groans out a quick, “mooom. i’ve been projectile vomiting since, like, 3AM. i think it was the fish tacos.”

jake did not eat fish tacos.

but she buys it anyways, says something about him getting rest, and how she’s going to the store for medicine.

and jake sighs. mentally blesses his mom’s heart. attempts to fist pump weakly. fails. winces in pain. then, he turns his phone completely off, buries himself under his blanket, and with nothing but the hazy image of beluga whales, a reminder that he needs to wash his bloodied suit, and you—jake finally falls asleep.

the next thing jake can comprehend is more than twelve hours later. a lot more than twelve hours later. when he blinks awake—it’s pitch black, his body is still aching, his phone is dead, and—

there’s knocking. soft, but persistent.

he stumbles out of bed with a groan and a wince, croaking out a low, “coming..” while he limps over with one arm holding his side before he whips his door open and—

it’s you. jake blinks. you blink. your jaw drops.

“y/n,” jake blurts out, eyes wide. he rubs them once. twice. hopes, prays, this is just one of those weird fever dreams that feel way too real that he gets whenever he sleeps for too long.

but then you rush forward, brows furrowed and eyes flicking from his black eye, to the bruise on his cheek, to the way he’s leaning heavily on one leg with the other slightly elevated—

yeah. this is not a fever dream.

“what are you—what—how—what are you doing here?” jake stammers, instantly turning around, nerves spiking as he quickly scans his room for any incriminating spidey-like props.

suit? mask? web shooters? where did he put that damn mask—

“i texted you, like, fourteen times,” you say following him in, concerned painted all over your face. “you didn’t show up to school. you weren’t answering. i panicked and your mom let me in—jake.”

you stop. jake stops. your voice drops.

“what in the world happened to you?”

jake did not plan for this part. well, he didn’t plan for any of this. “i—uh,” he turns to you, eyes wide. “i…fell.”

your eyes flick down to his knuckles—bruised, battered, and definitely the aftermath of punching something hard. you raise a brow.

jake follows your gaze. panics.

“jake—did you…get in a fight?” “what?!” his voice goes an octave too high. he clears his throat. tries again. “no. no, no. i don’t—fights? me? no. i don’t—i don’t get into fights. that would be very…un-cool.”

you give him a look that says you clearly don’t buy it, but to his relief, you don’t push.

but because jake is still jake, he continues anyways. “i…i was biking—” jake doesn’t know how to ride a bike. “—without a helmet. bad idea, don’t do that. and then i hit this…massive pothole. huge. basically fell off and hit the curb and…and yeah.”

you blink at him. and jake’s panicking, so he’s still going.

“—and then a pigeon flew into me…?” you blink again. “a pigeon.”

jake nods quickly, as if that could convince you anymore (it doesn’t). “a pigeon! you know how they are. dumb pigeons.”

there’s a pause. you stare at him from halfway across the room. jake stands there awkwardly with his hands by his side.

you sigh. cross your arms. “you’re a really bad liar.”

jake looks at the ground. his ears turn red. then he looks back at you with a small, sheepish smile on his face. “yeah,” he admits softly. “kinda am.”

jake moves to sit on the edge of the bed, and you take that as an invitation to sit next to him. there’s a silence between you two again as jake fiddles with the ends of his hoodie, his face warm from either the bruising, the fact that you just called him out, or the fact that somehow, someway, you’re here. in his room. on his bed.

you glance sideways to look at him. then at the floor. then back at him again. you nudge his knee with yours. “…well,” your voice comes out quiet. “are you okay? at least?”

jake looks up. meets your eyes.

and they're wide and worried and so completely focused on him. and for the second time in twenty-four hours, jake thinks his heart might literally give out.

he nods once. swallows. “yeah. yeah, i am. thanks, y/n.”

the moment lingers as the same warm hush settles again between you, like some kind of quiet, mutual agreement—like hey, i’m here, and yeah. i care. and no, i’m not going anywhere. and jake doesn’t know what to spiral about first.

the fact that:

you haven’t left.

you haven’t pried about why he looks like a literal punching bag.

you care.

you shift a little, reaching into the backpack that jake hadn’t even noticed you brought, and pull out a packet of neatly clipped papers.

“i brought the chem notes from today,” you say, holding them out in between you. “there was a pop quiz, and i figured you might want the stuff we reviewed after.”

jake blinks down at the packet, then up at you. then back at the packet. he tries to act normal when he brushes against your fingers when it takes he from your hand. fails spectacularly.

“and,” you continue, eyes flicking to his for a second before focusing somewhere behind him. notably, the crooked bill nye ‘science rules!’ poster taped to the wall. “i just…wanted to see you.”

and jake, quite literally, forgets how to form words for half a second, but you don’t notice. your knee is still against his and he thinks he’s memorized the smell of your shampoo at this point.

“anyways—” you clear your throat and the shyness in your tone makes jake forget how to breathe. “—there’s this documentary they’re playing at the theater tomorrow.” you pause, as if gauging his reaction but jake’s pretty sure he’s blacked out right now. “it’s about—um—deep sea ecosystems? something about bioluminescence and predator-prey adaptations and this super weird jellyfish migration they just discovered.”

jake blinks hard. shakes himself back to reality. realizes this definitely, 100%, isn’t a fever dream. but surely, he’s dreamt of something like this before.

“that…sounds amazingly weird,” is all he can manage to say, nodding slowly.

“i figured,” you give a little half-shrug, “maybe you’d wanna go with me?” then you nudge his shoulder this time. “if you’re not still crippled by then, that is.”

there is a full three seconds of stunned, stunned silence. then, jake scrambles to sit up straighter, eyes wide, “yes. yeah—yes, i’d love to. with you. to see the jellyfish. yeah.”

you smile at him, “cool.” and jake can’t stop smiling back. he’s 98% pretty sure he looks like an idiot, but 100% knows he doesn’t care in the slightest.

you push up from the bed before grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “alright then,” you say, clapping your hands together. “i should go. rest up, okay?”

“i will. i will,” jake nods quickly, still a little dazed. “can’t be too crippled for tomorrow.”

you let out a soft laugh as he follows you to the front door. and when you step outside, you pause in the doorway—hovering like there’s still something on the tip of your tongue.

jake’s hand lingers on the doorknob. you glance up at him. open your mouth, then close it again.

then finally, quietly—you try again. “i, um…” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “about the other night…”

jake’s heart rate spikes. your eyes flicker up to meet his, and they’re a little unsure. as if searching.

“i wasn’t sure,” you admit. “when you didn’t show up to school and didn’t answer my texts…i didn’t know if maybe—”

you trail off for a second, then finish in one quick breath: “if maybe you regretted it.”

and jake—bruised and aching and completely out of his mind for you—feels the air knocked out of him all over again.

his entire body goes still before he reboots all within 0.5 seconds. “no,” he says. fast. too fast, jake. “god, no.”

your eyes lift again.

“i didn’t regret it. not even a little bit,” his voice stumbles, his nerves are on fire, and his chest tightens with something dangerously close to hope. “i think…i think i relived it a million times in my head, honestly.

jake lets out a small chuckle—partly pathetic, but entirely sincere. “i meant it,” he murmurs. “every second of it.”

you shift your weight from foot to foot, “okay.” a reassured smile rests on your face. “just checking.”

jake exhales, rubs the back of his neck, and looks at you with something boyish and sorry. “i don’t regret it, but i do regret not checking my phone. that was stupid.”

you smirk at him, “a little bit.” jake grins, releasing a short breath of relief as he leans a little against the doorframe, “i’ll do better.”

you hum, giving him a certain, knowing look. “i’ll hold you to it,” your voice drops a little, and before jake can fully process the shift, you lean in—just barely, but yet just enough—and place the lightest kiss to his cheek.

and jake goes completely still. because it’s not dramatic, and it’s definitely not cinematic by any means.

not when you’re both standing in the middle of his apartment hallway, under a flickering light his super refuses to fix no matter how many maintenance requests his mom files. not when there’s a suspicious cloud of weed-scented air coming from the new college neighbors, who obviously do not care about the no smoking indoors sign. and especially not when jake’s ankle is still swollen, his ribs still sore, and he’s wearing star wars pajama pants with a hole in them that he’s praying you didn’t notice.

but it’s warm. and real. and so vulnerable it makes jake’s heart yearn in the most inconvenient way. like breathless honesty wrapped in nothing but silence and the glow of someone who cares.

you pull back slowly, your cheeks a shade pinker than before, your eyes still on his. and jake—well, he’s pretty sure his entire body is red head to toe. his cheek tingles from where your lips just were and his senses are so hyper-focused on you, he doesn’t even notice the pain of his wounds anymore.

“goodnight, jake,” you say finally before turning and going down the hall. and jake stands there, watching you—entirely, irrevocably, shamelessly, gone.

when you’re finally out of sight, jake finally stands up straight, snapping himself out of it and shuts the door behind him, limping his way back to his room when—

his eye catches the clock. 10:43PM. crap. you really need to stop walking home this late.

and suddenly, jake’s adrenaline kicks back in. not from the kiss. okay, maybe a little from the kiss. but mostly because it’s you, and you’re walking home alone, and, yeah, you live a five minute walk away from his but what if something happened, and then— yeah.

with no hesitation, jake locks his room door, goes into his closet, and grabs his suit—still battered and bloodied and roughened up, but it’ll do. two minutes and one-struggle-to-put-on-a-suit-when-half-crippled-later, jake is quietly hobbling out of his window, praying his mom is asleep.

he swings himself easily onto the rooftop of his own building, easily spotting you already a block down. he keeps to the rooftops, stealthily going from building to building until—

his damn ankle. his ankle—which he clearly forgot about for a hot business second—catches on a loose gutter and the next thing jake knows is pain, the taste of concrete in his face, and a loud-and-not-so-subtle crash, bang, clang.

“crap, crap, shit—” jake stands up, dusting his suit off, one leg propped up as he balances on his good one. “ouch, god—” “spidey?” oh god. jake freezes. peeks over the edge.

and there you are—fifty-something feet below, staring up at him, brows furrowed, arms crossed. “oh—” jake gives an awkward wave from where he is. “—y/n! hey! hi. what’s—uh—what’s up?”

jake steps back to duck out of sight, muttering a stream of whispered curses to himself before inhaling sharply and flinging himself down from the rooftop, landing right in front of you with the composure of someone with a screaming ankle and bullet-shaped wound in their abdomen.

you arch a brow. “…is this the part where you admit you are following me, after all?” jake straightens up slowly. and painfully. “i—what? no. i was, uh…” he gestures vaguely down the block. he has no idea what he’s pointing to. “getting pizza. dollar slice. late night craving.”

“uh huh,” you squint, clearly not believing him. “if i promise to stop walking home this late, will you stop stalking me from rooftops?” jake pauses. tilts his head. “define stalking.” you let out a small laugh, half-exasperated, half-fond.

“fine then,” you say, shrugging, “c’mon then. you’re already out. i’m coming with you.” jake blinks. “…coming with me to…where?”  “to get pizza,” you’re walking now, already turning without second thought. “duh.”

ten minutes and two lukewarm pizza slices later, you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on your fire escape. the air is thick with humidity and smells faintly of marinara, melting cheese, and rusted metal. there’s a low buzz of cars below in the distance, and the stars up above are mostly hidden.

you’re chewing in silence. jake, on the other hand, is holding his slice in his hand in fear—too nervous to even lift his mask up to eat it. thankfully, you don’t notice. or if you do, you don’t mention it. either way, he’s relieved.

you knee bumps his. “so why do you do it?” jake startles slightly, his eyes dragging over to you beneath his mask, “why do i…do what?” you take another bite, still staring out across the street. “spider-man. why do you do what you do?”

he follows your gaze to the building you’re looking at. gives a weak shrug.

“i…didn’t really have a choice, i guess,” he offers quietly. that makes you turn. “you’re being forced to do this?” “no—no, not like that,” he’s quick to shake his head. then he pauses. thinks for a second. “it’s more like…one day, i woke up with these powers. and i realized i could do something with it, you know? like something good. and if i have the chance to…shouldn’t i?”

you’re silent for a second. then you glance over, studying the smooth fabric of his mask like you’re trying to see the face beneath it.

“so you fight crime and get beat up on the daily…willingly?” you shake your head, a small scoff escaping your nose. “you’re better than me, spidey.”

jake lets out a short breath—half of a laugh, half of a sigh. “someone has to. i mean, if i just sit back and watch bad things happen…then it’s like the bad things happen because of me.”

you nod slowly, your lips pressing together in thought. “yeah. that makes sense.”

there’s another pause. quiet, mutual. a pocket of space in the noise of the city where nothing exists but your knees pressed side by side and the pizza box going cold between you. you shift beside him, letting your legs dangle freely off the fire escape. “you’re a good guy,” you say eventually, turning to shoot him a soft smile.

jake swallows hard. his heart’s somewhere in his throat, and he doesn’t quite trust his own voice not to crack, so he simply nods—just once—and turns his gaze back out to the horizon.

“welp,” jake finally says, voice low, a little reserved, “i should probably get back to…you know. my thing.” you tilt your head, eyes narrowing playfully. “like walking your favorite citizens back home?”

“that part—” jake scoffs under his breath, then smirks behind the mask, “—is already done.” then, because spider-man is still jake, he throws up a finger-gun for good measure. he hates himself.

you roll your eyes, but the same smile stays on your face, “you’re unbelievable, spider-man.”

“i try.”

jake slowly rises to stand on the narrow ledge, glancing down at you one more time. the moonlight hits your cheek just right. you’re still holding the crust of your pizza slice, legs swinging, your eyes slightly narrowed like you’re trying to figure something out. and for the third time in twenty-four hours, jake still feels like his heart might give out.

he gives you a little salute, meant to be casual, but he feels anything but. and then, without thinking—he says it.

“see you tomorrow.” a beat of silence. jake’s face blanks. his body completely stills. you blink up at him. “…tomorrow?”

crap. crap, crap, CRAP.

jake’s silence goes for a second too long. then he scrambles for cover. “i mean—uh—hypothetically,” jake stammers, waving a gloved hand vaguely. “like, if you’re…out again. tomorrow. late at night. which you shouldn’t be. because, you know. laws.”

you give him a look. “laws?” “yup,” he taps his chest with two fingers. “spidey laws.” you let out a small giggle and lean back against the railing, arms loosely wrapped over your knees. “right. goodnight, spidey.”

jake clears his throat and bids a small, “night, y/n,” before shooting his web to the corner of the next building and swinging himself out of sight.

and jake doesn’t stop smiling the whole way home. not even when he peels the suit off with a small wince. not even when he collapses into bed, muscles aching and bruises throbbing and heart racing.

but the panic eventually sets in. and it’s early evening the next day by the time it does for jake.

jake stands in front of his closet, yanking hangers out as he quickly skims and tosses another outfit into the rejected pile.

sunghoon lies on the bed behind him, sprawled out horizontally, lazily twisting a rubik’s cube with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other.

“you know,” sunghoon says without looking up, “it’s literally just a movie. actually, it’s barely even that. it’s a documentary.”

jake whips around, ignoring sunghoon’s comments, holding up a navy button-up in one hand and a graphic tee in the other. “which one says i-tried-but-didn’t-try-too-hard-because-i’m-not-100%-sure-what-we-are-quite-yet-but-just-enough-try?”

“…okay,” sunghoon says, twisting the cube into a perfect, one-colored side. “i’m just…gonna ignore everything you said. but go with the navy.”

“perfect,” jake grins at first, before his eyebrows furrow slightly. “wait, wait, wait. do you think she suspects anything?”

sunghoon lowers the cube. looks at jake. “about you liking her? bro, you kissed her—dude, it’s so obvi—she knows, trust me.”

“no,” jake hisses, yanking off his shirt and then buttoning the navy one on. “about me. like me me. like, spider-man me.”

sunghoon pauses. eyes jake. “what? why? what did you do?”

jake tries to fight back the dumb grin growing on his face as he runs his hand through his hair. “i walked her home.”

“okay…” sunghoon gives him a look that says he’s not impressed. “and i walked my grandma home last week, what’s your point—”

jake rolls his eyes and glances at him through the mirror. “as spider-man.”

“wait—” sunghoon gasps. “so you did end up using your lil guy!”

jake turns to sunghoon, face horrified, “can we please stop calling it my lil guy—”

but before sunghoon can respond, a sudden crackle of static cuts through the air from where jake’s police scanner sits on his cluttered desk.

“—reports of an assault in progress near 37th and bay. suspect is armed. five victims. officers en route. any nearby units respond.”

the air stills. sunghoon immediately sits up. jake’s head jerks towards the tracker. sunghoon’s already reading the look in his best friend’s eyes, “don’t.” jake doesn’t answer.

his eyes are locked on the scanner. his jaw tightens. his mind already racing.

assault in progress. you. suspect is armed. documentary. weird jelly fish. 37th and bay. you. five victims. y/n. y/n. y/n. y/n.

sunghoon watches him carefully, like someone trying to talk a bomb out of detonating. “jake. don’t even think about it.” “i’m not!” jake blurts, too fast, too high, and the crack at the end gives him away.

sunghoon groans. “dude. you have another date. with y/n. you’ve been waiting for this for so long.” “i—i know,” jake’s voice rises in panic. and he’s trying so hard not to panic. “but what if no one gets there in time? w—what if…it’s close. i can handle it. i’ll be quick.”

“jake.” sunghoon gapes at him. “quick? you literally limped up the stairs today. you barely beat that guy from the other day!”

jake doesn’t hear him. in fact— jake’s navy button-up is already off.

“i’ll be fine!” “you still have a bullet scar in your stomach!” “exactly, sunghoon. scar. practically healed. no biggie!” sunghoon throws his hands up. “you can’t be serious—”

“i’ll be done and early to the theater. i swear, hoon.” jake is already tugging the suit halfway over his upper half, wincing at the movement but powering through. “i’ll swing in, swing out. three minutes, tops.”

sunghoon groans louder. and jake is already yanking the window open. “jake.” his friend’s voice softens slightly. “don’t blow this. you like her. she likes you.”

jake pauses, foot on the ledge, mask in hand. he turns back towards sunghoon, lips tight, shoulders tense. “i do like her,” he murmurs.

he pulls the mask down over his head anyways.

“but you know me, sunghoon. you know i can’t be the guy who looks the other way.” and sunghoon does know. of course he knows. this was always a losing battle from the start. because he knows his best friend, he knows jake. knows his heart wasn’t just made of gold, but forged in it. soft and stubborn, foolish yet fearless. the kind of heart that doesn’t back down, even when it knows it should. the kind that tries anyways.

so sunghoon doesn’t push any further. he presses a hand to jake’s shoulder and gives it a firm pat.

“you better not be late.”

jake offers a crooked salute with two fingers—part promise, part apology— and falls backwards out the window.

a flick of his wrist, a few shots of web, a sharp whoosh of air as jake swings into the wind—and the night cleans the rest of his loud thoughts out of his head.

because as much as he wants to see you—as much as he’s worrying about being late—he can’t think about that right now.

and so one fight, a couple hard punches to the gut, a potentially dislocated shoulder, and a webbed-up criminal later—

jake is limping his way back across a rooftop ledge, blood in his mouth and the taste of guilt already rising up like bile behind it.

he lands with a grunt just outside his window on the fire escape, cracking it open and tip-toeing in. he stumbles into his room—still half-messy from earlier—navy button-up on the floor, rubik’s cube on the bed.

jake groans softly, one hand pressed into his side, the other slowly dragging his mask off. his jaw aches. his ribs throb. his other ankle is definitely going to bruise. but his heart? sinks when he finally turns on his phone.

6 missed messages. 3 missed calls. all from you.

Y/N (7:41PM) : hey! just got here early :)) but no rush!!

Y/N (7:57PM) : are u on ur way?

Y/N (8:03PM) : jake? is everything okay?

Y/N (8:16PM) : im going in now…meet me inside when u get here?

Y/N (9:45PM) : jake if u forgot u can just tell me

Y/N (10:12PM) : i hope ur okay

jake stares at the screen. sits on the edge of his bed, defeated. like he might fall apart.

because jake has seen a lot in his short lifetime. he’s seen back alleyways soaked in red. he’s seen broken glass way too many times a teenager ever should. he’s seen someone take a swing at him with a crowbar. he’s seen bruises bloom on his ribs and vanish before anyone could ask questions. he’s seen criminals twice his size fall, and he’s seen friends—good people—get hurt anyways.

but this? this wrecks him. this has jake in shambles.

because he missed it. he missed you. and before he could talk himself out of it—before he even knows what he’s going to say—he’s tapping on your name and pressing the call button.

it rings once. twice. three times.

“jake?” your voice is soft. cautious. like you didn’t know if you should answer, but did anyways.

jake swallows hard, voice caught in his throat.

“i’m sorry.” a pause. it hangs in the air and jake already wants to scream. “i’m so sorry,” he says again, voice low, words falling out fast, as if trying to outrun his own guilt gnawing at him. “i—i didn’t mean to—i was gonna be there, i swear i was gonna be there, but then something happened and—”

“hey,” your voice cuts through. not loud, not pressing, not angry. “it’s okay.” but it’s far from it. not in jake’s head. not when the image of you sitting alone in the dark theater has already carved itself into his brain. not when he can hear the disappointment in your voice.

jake licks his lips. he can hear the shift of your weight rustling against your bed. maybe you’re curled up somewhere in the dark. maybe you’re still in the outfit you wore to the movies. maybe you cried, and maybe you didn’t. and maybe jake will never know.

“no, no it’s not,” jake manages. he winces—at the pain growing at his ribs, at the mess he’s made, at himself. “i—i didn’t even text, i—god, i’m such an idiot—”

“you’re not an idiot, jake,” you say. and your voice is tired, but never cold. “i was just…worried.”

“i’m okay. i promise. and i promise i didn’t forget,” he whispers. “not even a little.” and there’s so much more jake wants to say.

“…did something happen?” you ask gently. jake’s fingers tighten around the phone. “yeah,” jake says, the sound barely coming out. “kind of.”

another beat passes. a small exhale from you. “do you want to talk about it?” and jake’s throat closes up.

because he wants to. god, he wants to. he wants to tell you everything—about the fight, the chase, the guy with the knife, the way his side still burns, the way he pictured you waiting outside the theater for him with every swing and every hit he took and every punch. he wants to tell you he didn’t forget. that you were the only thing on his mind the whole time.

but he can’t. he knows he can’t.

“…i—i can’t.”

you’re quiet again. but this time, jake can feel the shift even over the phone. and it’s not annoyance, it’s not cold. jake doesn’t think a single bone in your body could ever hold an ounce of bitterness. just disappointment. sadness.

“…okay.” your voice barely goes through. jake squeezes his eyes shut. his fist balls up the sheet under him. “i’m sorry,” he whispers again.

you inhale through your nose, “it’s okay. i just—i didn’t know if something happened. i didn’t know if you were hurt...or if i said something wrong.”

jake’s stomach twists—sharp and awfully close to throwing up. and this time, it’s not from the amount of times he took it to the gut today.

“no,” he blurts, too quickly but he doesn’t care. “no, it wasn’t you. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

another long, still silence.

“alright…well,” you murmur eventually, voice light in that way people use when they’re trying not to sound disappointed. “i’ll see you at school then, i guess?” 

“yeah,” jake nods, even though you can’t see him. “yes. yeah, tomorrow.”

you don’t say anything else. and neither does he. you end the call first.

and jake stays frozen, still on the edge of his bed, phone still pressed to his ear even after the line goes dead with a soft click.

he shuts his eyes, letting the dark swallow him whole. and as he groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face—wincing at the physical pain, but mentally cursing at the emotional one—jake can’t stop hearing your voice in his head.

everything is too much.

halls buzzing, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking. the overhead lights are way too bright, and the air smells like gym socks and cafeteria mystery meat.

and it’s all overwhelming. well, it should be, at least. especially for someone who has heightened senses that feels everything a hundred times more than the regular human being. sharper, louder, closer.

but jake barely notices any of it. he’s already halfway down the corridor, eyes immediately locking in on you the second he walked through those doors. and as far as he’s concerned, nothing else matters. 

you’re at your locker, spinning the combination without looking, when jake finds himself next to you before he knows it.

he clears his throat, “hey.” you glance over. “oh,” you say, blinking. “hi.”

jake steps a little closer, a little hesitant, nerves jumbled in his gut. “look, y/n. i’m really sorry. i still am.”

you shake your head almost immediately, pulling out a book and shutting your locker gently. there’s a polite smile on your face as you look over at him, “jake. it’s okay. really.”

"it’s not—” he says, frowning, his voice coming out rougher than he intends. his ribs still hurt. his ankle’s still swollen. his face still bruised. but none of that stings half as much as the way you’re not meeting his eyes right now. “you had every right to be pissed—”

“i wasn’t pissed, jake,” you cut in gently. “i told you. you just worried me…that’s all.”

that makes jake shut up. his throat closes up. because worried might be worse. worried means you care. and he let you down anyway.

and that’s it for a moment. the silence that follows stretches a little too long—lockers clang in the background, someone yells about running late to class. the world keeps moving—but jake doesn’t.

“i’m glad you’re okay,” you finally say, voice quiet as your gaze skims across his face, lingering just a moment too long on the faint bruise along his jaw.

jake exhales slowly. tries not to flinch under the weight of your concern. because how? how can you still look at him like that—with care, with softness—when he doesn’t know what he even did to deserve it?

and the worst part is, he’s terrified he already lost you before he ever even earned you.

“…so,” he says, the word catching in his throat awkwardly yet hopeful all at once, “how about we try again?” your head tilts, an unreadable curiosity replacing the worry in your eyes.

jake lets out an uneven breath of nervous laughter as he searches your eyes. “tomorrow night? you, me. that corner diner with the insane milkshakes and greasy burgers. then we can regret it together afterwards.”

you only look at him for a beat. then, just slightly, your shoulders relax. and jake watches it happen in real time—the way the tension lifts just slightly, the curve of a small smile tugging at your lips.

like sunlight cutting through a cloud. like a sign from the universe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t completely ruin everything.

“okay,” you breathe, a small laugh escaping with it. “that…actually does sound kinda fun. maybe not the grease part, but…yeah. at least we can suffer together.”

you then step closer, nudging him lightly with your shoulder, a playful glint in your eye, “you’re paying, by the way.”

jake grips the straps of his backpack with both his hands, smiling at you like a child offered candy. “done and done.”

“alright, well,” you step back with a glance down the hall, “i should probably head to class.”

jake nods back, eyes still watching you, “yeah, yeah, right. me too.” but he doesn’t move. just keeps watching you, unsure if he should try pinching himself.

you look back at him one last time, “jake?”

jake’s half-way on his heels when he stops at the sound of your voice again. “yeah?”

“it really is okay,” you reassure. and it’s real. honest. grounded. and everything jake needs to hear.

he smiles, a little too lopsided and voice a little too fragile when he speaks again, “i’ll see you?”

“counting on it,” you grin before turning back and making your way to class.

the rest of the day blurs for jake. he aces the pop vocabulary quiz in english, he steals some of sunghoon’s fries from his tray, he accidentally dents his locker door when closing it because he forgets he has literal super strength.

but it all passes in a haze. muted and unimportant. because the only thing that cuts through the noise is the thought of you.

every hour stalls. every minute another reminder that the best way to distract himself from the chaos of his head is the same thing that causes it in the first place—

seeing you. obviously.

“you know,” his voice comes from above, playful and easy, “i probably sacrifice at least two churros a night just making sure you get home safe instead of saving the world out there.”

“jesus christ—” you jolt back, nearly tripping over your own feet as jake—spider-man—drops down beside you later that night on your walk back home. you instinctively swat at the air as if that threatens him. at all.

“wrong guy,” he quips, sticking the landing in a crouch and straightening up. “but i do appreciate the enthusiasm.”

your face drops and give him a deadpan stare. “you really gotta stop doing that.”

“me?” jake clutches his chest dramatically through the suit before jutting a thumb behind him towards absolutely nothing. “i could totally leave right now and earn myself some churros.”

you huff out a breath, rolling your eyes even as your lips twitch towards a smile, “then why are you still here, spidey?”

“because,” jake answers simply, falling into step beside you, “it’s part of my friendly-neighborhood-spider-man-civic-duties to make sure my favorite citizen gets home safe.”

you snort, shaking your head lightly as you tilt your head at him, “fine. let’s get going then.”

jake smiles beneath the mask—too wide, too hopeful, too much. and you don’t see it, but he feels it—feels you—in every corner of himself. and jake hates how badly he wishes this could just be him. no mask, no lies, no secret. just jake. just you.

once you two make it a block or two (jake lost count), jake coughs a little too awkwardly, breaking through the quiet, “sooo…what ended up happening with that aquarium guy?”

you falter for half a second. it’s quick, but jake notices. not because his jake-tingle makes him notice everything, but because he’s watching. especially you.

you start walking again just as fast, trying to pretend the question didn’t rattle you at all before you clear your throat, “what guy?”

“y’know,” jake gestures vaguely, hands flailing, “the guy-guy. the one who took you to see the belugas—”

oh no. jake stops. shuts his mouth. he did it again. you stop too. turn to look at him slowly.

“…how do you know about the belugas?” jake looks at you. the lenses of his mask widen. then narrow. blink. squint.

“i—uh—” jake rubs the back of his neck, the suit suddenly feeling a little too tight, a little too warm. “i saw a billboard. yeah. i was swinging around the other day and—and there was this massive ad. big and blue and very…beluga-like.”

there’s a beat. reason #1115 why jake’s going to launch himself into orbit. but you buy it anyways, settling with a small side-eye before walking again, “okay…right.”

“yeah,” jake exhales under his mask, recovering with a casual shrug, “anyways. belugas…the aquarium guy?”

you hum, the sound barely audible as if you’re thinking, “he’s…cool. he’s alright.”

and jake’s heart caves in a little. okay, maybe a lot. he pretends to nod, to be chill, to not feel like maybe he’s witnessing his entire world fall apart in front of him right now and he can’t do anything about it.

“damn,” he manages to squeak out, voice lighter than how he feels. “just alright?”

you glance at him briefly before looking back at the sidewalk, “no, no—he’s…he’s really nice,” you say and jake swears he can feel the syllables in your voice individually bruise his ribs. “he’s just…confusing. i don’t know.”

and jake, because he’s jake, watches you. watches the way your voice dips quieter. watches the way your shoulders curl in just a little, watches the way your mind trails off.

“confusing…” he says slowly, carefully, testing the ice. “like you…don’t like him?” and jake doesn’t know why he asked that. he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer.

“yes. no. i—i don’t know. i think i do.” a small pause. you kick a pebble. “but sometimes it’s hard to tell if he…if he actually cares? or if i made the whole thing up in my head.”

jake blinks hard. looks away. swallows. bites the inside of his cheek to keep everything in. because you didn’t make it up. not even a little. and god, if only you knew how desperately he cares—how much of his life he’s unintentionally rewritten around you.

his heart screams to tell you everything. that this is his chance, that he can fix everything right here, right now. but his brain knows better.

“i think…you should give him a chance.”

you look up, surprised. and jake doesn’t know why—but that hurts too.

“seriously,” his eyes flick forward again. “he’d be lucky. you’re smart. and thoughtful. and…even though you have the survival instincts and awareness of a sea turtle, you’re…fun. and honestly kind of unbelievable.”

and for a spilt second, jake forgets. forgets that he’s not just jake. forgets he’s not just a teenage boy talking to his crush. forgets that to you, right now, he’s not the awkward guy that stammers next to you in chemistry and accidentally breaks glass beakers in his hand. forgets that he’s spider-man—the one you seem to trust a little more freely than the boy who let you down.

and that’s what hurts the most. because when you glance up at him now—there’s that feeling again. the pocket of air that only ever exists between you and him. a space that feels warmer than the rest of the world, like the universe took a breath and exhaled only around the two of you.

and it’s always there, somehow—whether he’s wearing the mask or not. whether it’s spider-man and you eating cold pizza on your fire escape. whether it’s you and jake laughing over a lame pun your teacher used in class. and jake knows that air. craves it. has memorized the shape of silence it holds.

but right now, it feels more like spider-man gets to live in it. not jake. and that realization twists something sharp and quiet inside his chest.

because jake’s the one who likes you. jake’s the one who knows you like your matcha lattes even with the grainy oat milk that makes the texture weird. the one who knows you only ever take chemistry quizzes with your favorite pink pen because you think it gives you good luck. the one who gets to share sour patch kids with you under the lab table when you both think no one is looking. but jake’s the one who messed up.

and spider-man’s the one who gets to be here now.

he looks at you—you standing there, eyes soft, smile just a little sad—and he’s willing himself not to say anything stupid. not to ruin the moment. not to cross that line he drew. not to let it get to his head every time he realizes the only way he can be close to you right now…is by being someone else.

and so jake locks in.

the next morning, he wakes up early—which, in jake terms, really means waking up at his regular time and only hitting snooze twice instead of his usual six. he throws on a hoodie that he sniffed to make sure it smells like detergent and not like it’s overdue for a wash, looks in the mirror, and brushes his hair. like actually brushes it, and not just run his hands through it and hopes for the best. he walks the full twenty minutes to the café where he studied with you, orders your usual—the matcha latte with the grainy oat milk—adds a smiley face and heart on the side of the cup next to your name, and books it to school. he arrives early to school, for once, and goes straight to your locker—not before dodging a frisbee mid-air, a frantic girl running with an art project in hand, and a couple making out aggressively by the vending machine.

when you close your locker door shut, you look up surprised—jake in your view, holding the matcha out like an olive branch. if olive branches wore oversized hoodies and had a mild existential crisis fifteen minutes ago.

you blink. then you smile and take the cup. jake gives himself a mental high five. nailed it. and when you softly ask him to walk to you to your first class? jake nearly does a backflip. (he doesn’t. he plays it cool. barely.)

when chemistry rolls around later in the day, jake’s the first one to say hi this time. when the teacher is busy not looking, jake leans in and says a really, really stupid joke about ionic bonds and valence electrons and regrets it immediately but you laugh. you laugh and jake’s day is immediately better than any other day he’s had this week. at some point, you nudge his knee and when jake looks down—your hand is there, holding out a pack of sour patch kids. jake takes it as a good sign. or maybe a sign of impending life-long romance. either way, he takes one and tries not to make it weird. (and he still does. he accidentally eats two at once and chokes a little. but it’s fine.)

when the bell rings and class is over, you’re both packing up when you glance over and smile at him, “I’m excited to see you later tonight.” and jake thinks he misheard. thinks he’s hearing things because just three weeks ago, the most he’s ever said to you was either something about the periodic table or…running out of the classroom after breaking a glass beaker with his bare hands. but then your hand lands on the sleeve of his hoodie and gives him the slightest squeeze, and jake malfunctions.

jake gives you a thumbs up. because he panicked. he panicked and thumbs-upped (he will never learn). but you smile anyways and say your cute little goodbye before leaving class.

and the rest of the school day is irrelevant to jake because the rest of the school day doesn’t involve you. well, except in his head. sure, jake goes to lunch. sunghoon won’t stop talking about the new valorant expansion pack and how his computer lags everytime he tries to peek a corner—but jake’s just thinking about how your hair looked in the sunlight this morning when you asked him to walk you to class. sure, jake gets his pop quiz back in history with a big, fat, b minus written on top in red marker. normally, he’d spiral, because he really should be getting his history grade up. and normally, he’d wince at the mental image of his mom scolding him later over it—but he’s too busy replaying your laugh in his head. sure, jake goes to robotics club after school. he’s supposed to help calibrate the parts for their new battle bot but he accidentally installs a cord backwards, and now the bot is stuck running in circles—because jake sim is currently preoccupied.

preoccupied mentally drafting a speech that goes something like, “hey, i like you. a lot. possibly way more than i should but i don’t really care because you always smell good and your smile makes me want to rip my hair out and the memory of kissing you is in my dreams everynight. can i be your boyfriend? please? maybe? i’ll buy you weird oat milk drinks forever and buy you more beluga stickers even though, respectfully, you probably shouldn’t own any more.”

it’s still a work in progress.

and later that evening, jake is pacing back and forth in his bedroom, mentally preparing himself for tonight. his spider-man suit lies crumpled somewhere in the back of his closet half-covered by a flannel, a calculus textbook, and one sock he still can’t find the missing half to. he makes a mental note to wash the suit. eventually. later. not tonight. tomorrow. whatever. not important.

because tonight, he’s just jake. just jake, a regular teenage boy. just jake, a regular teenage boy with no responsibilities except to make his crush and hopefully soon-to-be-girlfriend happy.

just jake, nervously fixing the collar of his nicest hoodie, debating whether or not to wear the cologne his mom got him two birthdays ago. just jake, combing his fingers through his hair and wondering if you like it better pushed back, down, up, messy, styled, or, hell, shaved off entirely because he will do it if it gets him one (1) smile from you. just jake, practically grinning to himself because he’s going to see you.

jake checks the time again. 7:24PM. he’s early, which is good. which is the plan. because early gives him time to get to the diner first. early gives him time to find the best booth, which is the one near the corner window so you two can watch the sunset together and sit far from the kitchen door to avoid the smell of peanut oil. early gives him time to breathe and mentally run through everything he wants to say.

hi y/n. you look really pretty. i missed you—wait no, you saw her literally three hours ago, don’t say that—i was thinking we could split the strawberry milkshake together—wait is she lactose intolerant?

jake grabs his phone, wallet, the flowers he picked up at the corner deli on the way home. it’s wrapped in too much plastic, a little crooked, one of the carnations is sticking out, but it’s pink and soft and entirely you coded.

and jake makes his way to the diner, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk, heart doing backflips in his ribcage as he turns the corner and sees the neon lights of the diner come into view just a few more blocks down. one of the lights of the sign is flickering in and out, going back and forth from diner to din_r. it’s perfect. you’re perfect. he just needs to get there.

buzz. buzz. jake looks down at his phone in hand.

incoming call : GUY IN CHAIR 🧠

“yo, i’m gonna call you in, like, a few hours,” jake answers without thinking, barely breaking his pace, “i’m on my way to the—” “jake.” and sunghoon’s voice is tense. urgent. the kind of urgent that tightens something in jake’s chest. jake stops.

“it’s bad. really, really bad,” sunghoon’s voice is strained and jake doesn’t like it. doesn’t like that feeling in his gut. the pull, the weight, the way his skin pricks, the way every muscle in his body tenses.

jake shuts his eyes closed. exhales sharply. runs a hand through his hair. “how bad?”

“like…warehouse near the port is up in flames and there’s a hostage situation and no one’s close enough to get there in time.”

and just like that, jake feels it. the way the air changes, that familiar shift in gravity. that tug in his chest like a string being pulled into two opposite directions.

jake doesn’t say anything. he looks back down the street, stares at the diner. he’s so close. so close to getting there. so close to getting to you. “i can’t, sunghoon. not tonight,” he swallows hard, his voice cracking on the words. “i—i don’t even have my suit.”

there’s a beat. “jake,” sunghoon says, softer yet not any less urgent. “they’ve got kids.”

jake’s eyes flutter closed again. presses the heel of his hand to his forehead like he can press the guilt away. he doesn’t move. and for a second—just one—he thinks maybe, maybe, he could keep walking. just this once. just tonight.

but he knows better.

the responsibility. the pull. the price of the mask. it’s never not there.

his grip tightens around the bouquet. the plastic crinkles. he sighs, slips out a curse word or two under his breath, and—

“jesus christ,” jake mumbles, already turning on his heel. “tell the fire department i’m on my way. and tell them to hurry.”

and jake’s already running—sprinting back in the opposite direction back to his apartment. sunghoon hangs up and jake?

jake doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even look back.

jake doesn’t know what time it is. doesn’t care. smoke still clings to his skin, the faint sting of ash burned into the fabric of his suit. his lungs ache, and his hands are scraped raw from tearing open too many metal doors and carrying too many people to safety.

but he’s alive. they’re alive. 

and yet. all jake can think about—is you.

you, maybe waiting in that booth. you, maybe sipping a milkshake through a striped straw, twirling it slowly and glancing at the door every couple minutes. you, maybe checking your phone. frowning. getting up. leaving.

god.

he doesn’t even stop to change. just swings home, crawls through his fire escape, throws a hoodie over his soot-covered suit, runs a wet hand through his hair, and jumps back out the fire escape again. he swings and swings until he lands in an alleyway near the diner, tripping over a trash can and throwing a curse word at it as he stumbles into the street and—

runs into you.

your arms are crossed tight against your chest, your head’s down. you’re walking the other way, unaware of the chaos behind you.

jake’s voice cracks before it can even form your name. “—y/n. y/n, i—”

you stop mid-step, your head turning at the sound. and when you turn and see him, you pause—the expression on your face unreadable.

“jake?” your brows furrow. “what the hell—where did you even come from? and why do you smell like—” you stop yourself. exhale shortly. shake your head. “you know what? never mind. i—i’m going home.”

you turn again. and jake panics. he starts after you, picking up his pace to match yours “wait—look, y/n, i’m so, so, so sorry. i swear i can explain—”

that’s when you stop in your tracks. you turn, finally facing him. and the emotions written on your face are everywhere—confused, hurt, tired, and somewhere beneath all of that—still soft.

“okay,” you say, looking him in the eye. “then explain.”

jake opens his mouth. closes it. he swallows. his lips open again.

"i—" his throat burns. and it’s not from inhaling a building’s worth of smoke from earlier. "i can’t. it's...complicated."

silence.

you stare at him. eyes wide. quiet. sad. disappointed. the kind that hurts jake more than if you were angry.

when you speak up again, your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, “look, jake. i don’t know what’s going on with you. and i’m not mad. but…you’re just really confusing. and clearly, you’ve got something going on.”

you take a breath and fold your arms tighter around yourself, “—and while this was fun and all…i just—i don’t know if this is going to work out anyways.”

jake blinks. his stomach drops. he takes a step closer. “wait—no, y/n, i—”

and you keep going. “plus,” you let out a small laugh but it’s the worst kind of laugh—the kind that’s awkward and forced, like it’s there only to preemptively make up for the words coming after. “i’m just gonna be honest with you.”

jake doesn’t breathe. you look him in the eyes.

“i think i like someone else anyways.”

and that does it. jake’s world tilts sideways. the words hit him like a punch—no, worse, because he’s felt bad punches before. this feels like that moment in freefall right before the web catches you, except this time there’s no web. just the fall.

“you…like someone else?” is all jake manages to let out before the words get caught in his throat. he thinks he might throw up.

you nod. slowly. hesitantly. and jake feels like he’s unraveling.

he doesn’t know what to say. he wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to tear his stupid hoodie off and tell you everything. that he missed the date because he was saving lives. that he wanted to tell you he’s falling for you. that he bought the damn bouquet and practiced a stupid speech and picked the booth with the best view and no peanut oil smell. that he only missed it because he was trying to be good. good enough. worthy.

but all that comes out is air. because he can’t tell you. because he shouldn’t tell you. because spider-man doesn’t get to be selfish. because jake doesn’t get to be just jake.

your fingers fidget as you glance back down at the ground. you rock slightly on your heels before your voice breaks the silence again, “but hey. no hard feelings, yeah? friends?”

and that might be the final blow. and jake doesn’t even know how to respond. his brain stutters. because what is he supposed to say—”friends? no? actually, i wanted to ask you to be mine tonight, and now i can’t even tell you why i missed it?”

so instead, jake does what jake always does. he pretends. he nods, forces a smile—too quick, too wide, the kind that pulls at his cheeks but doesn’t reach his eyes.

“yeah,” he says. his voice cracks, but he clears his throat like that’ll fix anything. “yeah. of course. friends.”

you nod back and offer a tight smile, “i’ll see you at school, then. goodnight.”

then you turn. and you walk away. jake doesn’t move. the weight of your footsteps fade, but the words still echo in his ears.

friends. someone else. no hard feelings.

his chest feels hollow. like someone scraped everything out and forgot to fill it back in. like he just lost something he never even got the chance to have in the first place.

and spider-man’s the one who saved the day. and it should feel like a win, but it doesn’t. because although spider-man saved the day, jake’s the one who let you down. 

jake was too late. too late, too secretive. too much of everything and still not enough of what you needed.

“maybe it’s not as bad as we think.” sunghoon’s voice is cautious, but not exactly convincing from his slouched position in jake’s desk chair, spinning slowly like he’s debating whether now’s a good time to leave (it’s not. he’s been trying for the past hour. jake made him stay.)

jake lets out a guttural groan in response, already face down on his bed, limbs sprawled out in distress. a pillow is smushed over his head, in attempt to block out the agonizing, soul-crushing reality that is his life.

“it’s over, sunghoon,” jake muffles into his mattress. “over with a capital O. capital V. all the damn letters—over before it even started.”

jake flips over, sending the pillow to the other side of the room, “she likes someone else,” he says hollowly, staring blankly at the ceiling. “i was so preoccupied with everything else that i didn’t even notice she—who else could she even—”

jake cuts himself off mid-rant. because it doesn’t matter. doesn’t matter who you like. doesn’t matter how it happened.

it just matters that it’s not him. that you like someone. and it’s not jake.

jake presses a hand to his head, “god. i’m such an idiot.”

sunghoon lets out a low whistle and starts fiddling with one of jake’s pens, “okay. you’re not an idiot. you did what you had to do, and you did the right thing.”

jake lets out a small sigh, quiet and defeated, finally looking at his friend, “but when do i get to stop sacrificing to do the right thing?”

silence stretches out between them. the ceiling fan above them whirs. the clang of metal pots and pans echo from down the hall—which means jake’s mom is attempting to make meatloaf again. which means the fire alarm will probably go off in ten minutes, maybe eight. the room smells faintly of jake’s two-birthdays-ago cologne, and the burnt tinge of unwashed spandex crumpled somewhere in the room.

sunghoon taps the pen against the desk, eventually breaking the silence, “so talk to her. as spidey.”

jake sits up in his bed and gives sunghoon a look.

“talk to her as spider-man, tell her to give ‘jake’ another chance,” sunghoon repeats, throwing air quotes around his friend’s name.

jake gestures to the ceiling. the wall. the existential void of absolute nothingness around him. “sunghoon. that’s…messed up. morally. ethically. logistically. probably emotionally.”

“i mean,” sunghoon shrugs casually as if this is the answer to all of jake’s problems, “spidey’s already friends with her, anyways. and you told me yourself—it feels like she’s closer to him than she is to you.”

jake throws both hands in the air. “WE’RE THE SAME PERSON.”

he then lets out an inhuman noise and flops backwards onto his bed again, “whatever, man. this is probably for the best anyway,” he mutters. “spider-man should’ve never gotten involved in the first place. it’s safer this way. especially for her.”

a beat passes. jake stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to his ceiling from the sixth grade. he blinks once.

“plus, let’s be honest. i’d probably screw it up more somehow. say something dumb and let it slip that it’s been me all along.” jake pauses. “—or honestly, she probably already knows i’m spider-man. which is even worse, because now she probably hates both versions of me.”

sunghoon’s quiet for a moment. just keeps spinning slowly in jake’s chair, the wheels creaking faintly. “…so what? you’re just gonna stop walking her back home now?” he finally says, lifting a brow. “isn’t that for her safety too?”

and yeah. yeah, he has a point. so jake doesn’t stop.

he just stops being seen. and that’s what jake does for the next few days.

so jake falls into this routine without really meaning to. he goes home from school, puts on his suit (it’s clean now, don’t worry), and spends the next few hours either returning stolen bikes or webbing carjackers to brick walls or showing tourists the right direction.

and somehow, someway, jake still finds himself in the same spot at the end of the day—sitting crouched on the ledge of the rooftop across from your bus stop, a hoodie pulled over his mask, hands stuffed in his sleeves.

at 10:32PM, your bus rolls up right on the dot.

at 10:33PM, you step off. same oversized totebag on your shoulder. same way you pull your phone out and unlock it in the same three motions. same streetlight that flickers just before you pass it.

and jake watches you go home. makes sure you’re okay. makes sure you’re safe. all without making himself seen.

and only when your apartment window lights up does he finally feel okay, finally swings away, the wind cold and sharp in his lungs—but not as cold as the air around him whenever you’re not there.

he does this again the next night. and the next. and the next.

and at school, jake falls into rhythm here, too—if you can call it that.

you still sit next to him in chemistry. still copy formulas off the board. still hand in the same worksheets, laugh politely when the teacher makes a pun about avogadro’s number.

but you don’t share your sour patch kids anymore. and jake doesn’t make any stupid chemistry jokes to make you laugh either, because…he can’t think of any. because all the funny ones were ones he saved for you, and they don’t feel worth saying out loud anymore.

you talk to him, sure. when you need the answer to question six, or to ask if he got the quiz grade back. but there’s space between you now. quiet, aching space. and jake doesn’t know how to fill it.

but by the end of the week— all routines fly out the window.

because it’s friday night. and jake swings to the usual rooftop across from your bus stop, a half-eaten churro in one hand—courtesy of the sweet old lady who bought it for him after he showed her where her train station is. because it’s 10:30PM when jake lands on the roof, tossing his backpack to the side when he looks up and—

he freezes.

because sitting there, cross-legged on the ledge—on his ledge—backlit by the moonlight and the yellow glow of the streetlamps below—is you.

jake chokes. he stumbles back, the eyes of his mask blown wide immediately, “what the—y/n?! what are you—how did you—wh—”

and you’re sitting there, blinking and staring at him, unfazed. like you’ve been waiting. you don’t move. you just raise a brow.

“okay, so first you start walking me home every night, then you stop showing up, but still choose to stalk me from a distance? i don’t get you, spider-man.”

and jake is so confused right now. “i—what’s going on?” jake sputters, arms half-raised in shock and disbelief. “how are you even here right now, how did you even get up here?”

“you’re not exactly subtle, y’know,” you deadpan, ignoring his question as you tilt your head up at him. “every night you walk me home? i know this is where you drop your bag off and wait for me to get off that bus. i know you sit on that rooftop across from my place to make sure i’m okay every night. your silhouette is literally not that subtle.” then you gesture vaguely around the rooftop. “also, the webs everywhere? kinda a dead giveaway, don’t you think?”

jake’s mouth opens. nothing comes out. and if it weren’t for the mask, he’d be catching flies.

you stand now, arms crossed tight as you take a step closer to him. you take a deep breath before you ramble, “i don’t know. i’m just—i’m so confused, spider-man. i told the guy i like that i liked someone else. and i don’t even know if that was true or if i just panicked. but the truth is, i don’t even know if the guy i actually like likes me back, or even knows how to talk to me, or if i’m just completely losing it—”

“—wait.” jake tilts his head, still frozen in his spot. “wait, which guy? like the guy-guy? aquarium guy?”

you groan and start pacing, squeezing your eyes shut like you’re trying to make sense of the situation as well.

“yes. yes, of course the guy-guy, aquarium guy—who else would i be talking about? there’s no other guy—”

“you just said you told the guy-guy you liked someone else.”

“i did! i think! i—look, i don’t know! maybe i said it just to protect myself from the fact that the guy-guy doesn’t like me back. but now i might actually like this other guy—”

“okay, okay—hold on, back up,” jake steps back to process. holds up both his hands. “so there’s guy-guy you maybe like…and now a new guy…?”

jake’s mind is reeling. his insides might come out. who is the new guy? is jake even guy-guy? no. yes. maybe? jake has to be guy-guy. or else he’s gonna scold sunghoon for being very unoriginal for the aquarium date idea.

you stop pacing. you turn to him with wide eyes, like you’re mentally begging yourself to shut up, don’t do it, but your mouth moves anyways.

“…you,” your voice is quiet. barely audible. but yet, so loud and clear and more than anything else jake has ever sensed before. “i like you.”

and for a second there, jake thinks maybe he misheard, because it sounded a lot like you just said you liked him. spider-man. and there’s absolutely no way. there’s no way you said that. there’s no way you meant that.

there’s no way this is happening.

there’s no way the girl he’s been hopelessly staring at from across the cafeteria for god knows how long now, the girl he’s been walking home at night to make sure she’s safe even she didn’t know, the girl that witnessed him choke on two sour patch kids at once in the middle of chemistry—is standing here. on this rooftop. telling him that this entire time he’s been tangled up in a love triangle…with himself?

and jake? jake is actively malfunctioning. he says nothing. he does nothing. he thinks nothing.

and you seem to take jake’s stunned silence as pure horror— because you panic.

“oh my god. oh my god—i’m insane,” you whisper, moreso to yourself than him. “i knew it. i knew that guy-guy shattered my brain and messed me up so bad i’m actually losing it.”

you start pacing again. and jake’s legs don’t work, so he just watches.

“like—i don’t even know what you look like under that mask. what if you’re, like…thirty? what if you don’t even have a nose?” your voice rises in disbelief at your own choices. “what if i’m just projecting everything onto this idea of you, because you’re sweet and funny and walk me home and call me your favorite citizen and—god, i’m actually going delusional—”

jake takes a few more steps back, shaking his head once, then twice, like he’s trying to physically undo the entire past five minutes of his life. or reset his entire nervous system.

his hands fly to his hair as he turns away from you, staring up at the sky, muttering incoherent words to himself before he lets out a groan, “i—what the hell—i can’t believe i’m doing this, i’m gonna hurl. oh god—”

then, he turns around. takes one unsteady step towards you. his heart is racing. but without another word—

he yanks the mask off. and his hair is a mess (from the mask). his cheeks flushed like he’s been sweating (he has). his eyes wide like he’s terrified (he is).

“y/n.” your jaw drops. you blink once. twice. you stare at his face. at his hair. at jake.

“…JAKE?!”

your voice echos—loud. probably throughout the entire city, if jake’s being honest. your arms flail so wildly it looks like your brain is about to evacuate your body. you blink hard, like if you do it enough times, this fever dream might just break.

“are you kidding me right now?!”

jake flinches. his eye twitches.

you immediately start pacing again—back and forth, borderline hyperventilating, “YOU? you’re spider-man?! YOU??” you shout again, turning to point at him like he committed fraud. “how—hell—you literally broke a glass beaker last month—this can’t be real—”

jake raises his hands defensively, “okay, to be fair, you caught me off guard by asking me—”

“OH MY GOD,” you groan, throwing a hand into your hair, fisting a small bunch. “i told you i liked you while you were you pretending not to be you. that’s…that’s messed up, jake!”

“okay—yes, i see how that was a little—”

“you…you called me pretty but ignored my texts but still walked me home that night and…i’m so confused right now.”

jake scratches the back of his neck with one hand, the other dropping uselessly to his side, mask still in hand, “well…yeah. but also, like, i thought you picked up on it.”

“WHY WOULD I THINK YOU’RE SPIDER-MAN?” you practically screech, your steps halting as you spin to face him, full disbelief painted all over your face.

jake blinks. “i don’t know! i figured the voice, the walk…literally anything—”

“i don’t listen to people’s walks, jake!” you pace faster now. like if you don’t move, you might actually implode.

jake makes a desperate, helpless noise before he tries again, “look, y/n—can..can you just stop for a second and—”

“no, jake! i’m spiraling!” your voice hits a new level of pitch that makes jake wince. again. “i told two different guys i liked them this week and it turns out they’re the same guy and somehow that makes it worse?! do you know how emotionally unstable this makes me? i ranted to you about YOU—and you let me! oh, you’re so done for jake si—”

and that’s when he does it.

jake shoots a web. it catches your waist. and your rant cuts off mid-sentence as you’re suddenly pulled into him.

with a small yelp, you crash into his chest, hands reflexively splayed across his alarmingly solid chest. your nose is inches from his collarbone, and jake’s hands settle on your waist, immediately grounding you in place.

and you don’t have time to orient yourself—and jake doesn’t give himself time to pause or doubt it before he does it.

jake kisses you.

no hesitation, no overthinking, just all of jake—crashing his lips onto yours, immediately silencing you.

and you don’t stop him. you can’t stop him.

because your lips are already moving against his, messy and fast and a little too much. your fingers fist into the fabric of his suit like you’re trying to anchor yourself and you swear—you swear—you can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. and all of the sudden, you’re hyperaware of everything. how his mouth is warm and desperate and tastes a little like cinnamon churros and familiarity. how the air between you is sharp, your noses brushing, breath mingling in short gasps—all too much and not enough all at once.

and when you pull away briefly to take a breath—realization hits you. your palm smacks against his chest once. then again. then rapid fire.

“wait, wait. wait. did you just web me?” the words tumble out of you in a half-laugh, half-accusation. and to be frank, you don’t know if you should be angry or attracted right now.

and jake’s still breathless, forehead practically resting against yours, as you feel his chest rise and fall with each shaky exhale. his voice is low, steady. a little hoarse.

“y/n—” jake whispers, so close you can feel the shape of the words against your mouth, “—shut up.”

and then he kisses you again. slower, this time. deeper. like an apology, like a confession, like something that feels way too big to name.

jake’s hand curls tighter around your waist, the other sliding up gently, carefully, until his fingers find the back of your neck, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear in his hold.

and all you can do is lean in. closer and closer, like if you press hard enough, you’ll disappear into him. disappear into that small pocket of space that only exists between you and him and never come back out.

it’s uncoordinated, a little too frantic. but it’s everything. the shock, the nerves, the confusion all blur into static. and this time, when jake pulls back, just barely, you cant help the tiny, unintentional whine that escapes your lips as you chase his without thinking.

jake exhales a breathless, shaky chuckle against you before he kisses you again. a quicker one this time. and then another. then one to the corner of your mouth. and then your jaw. and then he’s pulling back again, this time slower, eyes fluttering open just as yours do too, his hands still around you, the web still holding you against him.

“hi,” jake whispers. it’s soft and raw and boyish. and so, so real. “it’s me.”

his thumb brushes along your jaw as he swallows hard. your heart stumbles, your eyes searching his face—his stupidly soft brown eyes, the little scar on his chin, the mole near his cheek you’ve always noticed. it’s all him.

the boy who walked you home. the boy who doesn’t know how to talk to you in class. the boy you fell for. all this time.

you’re still pressed to his chest, body still tangled up in his arms, lips still tingling, mind still fuzzy. your voice comes out in a whisper, “i can’t believe it’s been you this entire time.”

he nods, a shy, crooked smile on his face, “it’s always been me.” and then his expression falters, just slightly. “i didn’t mean to lie to you. or miss our dates. i just…i didn’t know how to be this,” he gestures to his suit, “and how to be just jake, either.”

and you just blink, unmoving in his arms, still a little breathless. because there’s something in his voice. something fragile.

“so…so that day you missed school? and you were all beat up?”

jake presses his lips together, guilt painted all over his face, “yeah, i actually did get into a fight. i lied about that part.”

your eyes narrow, “with who, jake?”

jake shrugs like it’s no big deal. “some guy with six arms. real tentacle problem. you should’ve seen the damage i did on him though.”

your mouth gapes.

“i’m kidding—” jake laughs, eyes sparkling now as his nose slightly bumps against yours. “it was a bank robber. kind of. honestly, it’s all a blur now. all i remember was thinking about kissing you that same night after the aquarium.”

you let out a scoff, part processing, part amused. “and the diner night? when you suddenly showed up out of no where?”

jake nods, pulling you in just a little tighter. “suit was under my hoodie the entire time. not fun, by the way. spandex gets sweaty…fast.”

“gross,” you mutter, scrunching your nose as you instinctively tug your hands away from his chest—only to stop halfway, leaving them right where they are anyways. then, after a beat, you slap his chest again. “i can’t believe you told me to give yourself another chance. i don’t know if i should be mad at you or kiss you again.”

jake makes a face and gives a tiny shrug, “well, if you’re asking for my opinion…” he tilts his head. “i definitely have an answer. but i might be biased.”

you roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh as your hands find the back of his neck now. “this is insane, jake. you’re genuinely insane,” you whisper quietly, eyes flickering from the spider emblem on his chest then back to his face.

jake grins down at you, eyes bright, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek.

“yeah? well you like both jake and spider-man,” he tilts his head. “so i think that makes you just as insane.”

you gasp dramatically, smacking his arm like you’re offended. jake laughs, that easy, familiar sound filling the room between you—and the air goes warm again.

there it is. that space. the one he’s always had with you—except now, it’s his. fully his. not just spider-man’s, not a half-version hidden behind a mask.

just jake, who also happens to wear spandex and save the city. just jake, who sucks at high school history and has feelings for the pretty girl in his chemistry class. and just jake—who finally doesn’t have to choose between you and the suit.

you breathe in, watching him carefully. “so…” you begin. “now what?”

jake pauses. and then he smirks. that boyish, reckless, completely jake smirk.

”how about i take you on a proper date?”

your brows lift, your head tilts. “yeah.” you beam up at him. “i’d like that. tomorrow?”

jake shakes his head slowly, leaning in briefly with a mischievous smile on his face.

“now.” you blink. “…now?”

“JAKE—” your scream cuts through the sky as you’re being flung between skyscrapers, clinging yourself around jake’s neck, legs around his torso like your life depends on it.

which, to be fair, is quite literally the case right now.

“—WE’RE NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN—”

jake just laughs, a breathless, exhilarating sound—his mask back on, one arm tight around you as the other shoots another web out, latching onto the building you two swing past.

“are you sure?” he yells over the fast wind. “because you look like you’re having so much fun—“

“JAKE—“

another swing. another scream. another terrified, stupid, perfect laugh.

the city blurs below. the stars blur above. and somewhere in between it all, you feel his heartbeat against yours.

jake’s grip tightens—instinctively, protectively—as you fly past neon signs and glowing windows and the tiny people beneath and the hum of a city that never sleeps.

and in that moment, your panic settles into something else. something warmer.

so don’t try to stop him.

you just hold on tighter.

𖢥⁺₊°˖ tenk u again for all the love & support, always <3 (& special ty for my love ronnie @heejamas for the beluga dolphins fun fact & being my support throughout this entire proces <333 hehehe)

m.list here!

SPIDERMAN!JAKE sits next to you in every class, it's like you're becoming best friends with him. and sometimes, he's extremely late to class and the students giggle at his funny excuses to the professor— “my alarm clock broke” or “got in a fight with my window,” he jokes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as the class bursts into laughter. but when SPIDERMAN!JAKE runs up to you after those awkward excuses to be allowed into the lecture, he plops down next to you and pulls out a sweet treat everytime, an apology gift for being late, you must have missed him all this time!

SPIDERMAN!JAKE, who disappears at the weirdest times. you’ll be in the middle of a conversation, and suddenly he’s mumbling something about an errand and bolting out the door. “be back in a few!” he shouts, leaving you confused and a little suspicious.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who's your one call away. just a missed call or single concerning text from you and he drops everything, everything to be by your side and make sure you're okay. he doesn't care if he's in utmost danger, he'll always find a way back to you, “i’ll be there in a minute,” he promises, and within moments, he’s stumbling through your door, still catching his breath, hair disheveled, making up some vague excuse about losing track of time.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who's just so kind to the point it's infuriating. he always carries your bags and books after each class, brings you sweet treats and buys you soft plushies when you're feeling low, he offers to do your assignments at times when you're overworked. even at the perfect times, jake always has a granola bar inside his pockets when you're hungry.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who has had nothing but heart eyes for you since the day that he laid his eyes on you.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who tries not to let out a sly grin whenever he’s surrounded by faint whispers and giggles from his classmates or strangers about impressive rescues from the amazing spiderman. he loves his undercover state at times when his friends come up to him all excited, “bro did you news last night? spiderman was awesome!” , “yeah he's my hero!” and jake feels utterly proud and content with what he does to keep his city safe. but then there's you.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who first noticed you in the hallway, laughing with your friends, casual and confident, seemingly unimpressed by all the talk about the city’s newest hero. “what's so special about spiderman anyways?” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, as you walked by, your tone so nonchalant it made jake pause mid-step. he could see the others around you giggling and excited, but you? you didn’t even bat an eye at his name.

it stung SPIDERMAN!JAKE in a way he wasn't used to. everyone else idolized spiderman, a token of hope and strength of the city. but you? you were indifferent to it all, and he couldn't help but feel butterflies in his stomach. he would love a little chase.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who would start to have a little crush on you, and being a hopeless romantic and being a mildly awkward, superpowered guy— he did what he could, appearing all so suddenly when you would least expect it. “bump into you” at random times like when you were collecting your books from your locker for the next class, and just when you close it, SPIDERMAN!JAKE is already leaning against it, a coy smirk playing on his lips. he tries to act nonchalant, as if his heart isn't beating a million miles per hour right now, as if he didn't take down a villian last night. “hey” he’d greet you with a grin, eyes shining with curiosity. “you said something about spiderman earlier. got an opinion on him now?” you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow at him, “what? you're his biggest fan?” SPIDERMAN!JAKE would giggle nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he mumbles out, “nah, just wondering if maybe you’ve changed your mind. you know, given all the... cool stuff spiderman does.” “still seems overrated to me!” you reply, shooting him a quick smile before returning to your class.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE couldn’t help it—his heart skipped a beat. you didn’t idolize spiderman. you didn’t worship him. you didn’t need to. and yet, that simple lack of interest made him want to know more about you.

and so fast forward to now SPIDERMAN!JAKE has developed relationships with you, and developed feelings about you at bay. he never thought of sharing a room with you, laughing and spending time after class with you or sometimes, sharing a tense eye contact with you. the one which wants him to kiss you right then, right there.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who in the middle of the night, stares up at his spiderman mask, feeling guilty for keeping you in the dark for so long.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who prays and prays that you will finally take a liking to spiderman, and that you will like the real, superhero him.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who's so overprotective of you, and he doesn't even realize it. you always wonder how he arrives just in 5 minutes after you just sent him a, “stuck at a party, come pick me up?” text. maybe he's just too fast? or maybe he's beating up creepy guys who tried to hit on you just to the next alley, you just don't know yet.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who comes late at night one day, adamant to go meet with your lousy, insufficient ex. and when you know about it, it's already late. jake’s already made him learn a lesson right after his mission. he looks at with puppy eyes, his glossy and sorrowful eyes reciprocating your worried, upset ones. “was it really necessary?” you whisper, gently tending to his wounds all over his face, as you look down at jake. “sorry, you didn't deserve that from him, that's all,” jake sighs, already too mesmerized by your face staring at him, too addicted to your honey touch on his skin. and as you see jake getting all guilty for his actions, you don't think much about it and press a quick, feathery kiss on his cheeks.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE whose eyes become wide and jaws hang low as you kiss his cheeks. you, kissed him? “thanks jake,” you mumble, a mellow blush creeping onto your cheeks. “d-dont thank me,” jake stutters as his whole face flushes up, he moves his hand up to capture your wrist, softly pressing it against your cheeks.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who swings around the city in joy the next day, who's so confident to confess to you now. he's super sure you'd like him back. maybe as spiderman too.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who spots you easily when returning home one night, still in his spiderman suit. you're alone, looking uncomfortable as you walk down the street. but there's no one around you, maybe you're just cold? but he doesn't think about it much before he swings down, gathers you in his arms and makes his way to your shared dormitory with him.

you gasp as SPIDERMAN!JAKE takes you along with him in the air, you feel like you're almost flying. he blushes under his mark as he feels you holding on to him. “but i didn't want…your help,” you mumble as he puts you down on your balcony. “a pretty girl like you shouldn't be cold outside, and it's my job to keep you safe!” you see the superhero giggle, patting his shoulder all by himself. “but how'd you know where i live?” you question, eyes narrowing. oh well, jake wasn't prepared for that. he clears his throat, “well, spiderman knows everything!” “well maybe not everything ‘cause…this is my roomate jake’s room not mine.” SPIDERMAN!JAKE gulps.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE tries to say something, but words are caught up in his throat. but before he could even comprehend, you step forward, and pull up his mask, revealing the handsome face of your roommate indeed.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who is stunned, didn't expect to reveal his true identity like this.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE, who’s now standing frozen on your balcony, watches as the realization dawns on your face. his heart races in his chest, a mixture of panic and anticipation swirling within him as you look at him, then back at the mask in your hand. “you really are terrible at keeping secrets, you know that?” you say, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. jake stammers, his usual confidence gone. “i-i can explain,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “it’s just... i didn’t mean for you to find out like this. its not exactly how i planned—” “you planned for me to find out?” you interrupt, stepping closer. his blush deepens, and he’s never been more thankful for the night sky to hide the embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“not really. i mean, yes. no. i don’t know!” SPIDERMAN!JAKE groans, running a hand through his hair. “i just... i wanted to tell you eventually. it’s not easy being spiderman and your roommate, okay?” you can’t help but laugh softly at how flustered he looks. “you’re ridiculous, you know that? swinging me around the city like some kind of superhero, and then you drop me off here, your balcony, not even realizing it.”

SPIDERMAN!JAKE’s eyes widen. “wait—did you at least enjoy the swinging?” you hesitate, biting back a smile. “it wasn’t terrible, i guess.” “not terrible,’ huh?” he teases, a bit of his usual charm slipping back into his voice. “that’s practically a glowing review coming from you.” you roll your eyes but step closer again, the space between you almost nonexistent. “you’re lucky you’re cute, jake.” jake blinks, momentarily stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form words but failing miserably. “wait, what?” “don’t make me say it again,” you murmur, and before he can even process it, you grab the front of his suit and pull him down, pressing your lips to his.

for a moment SPIDERMAN!JAKE is too shocked to react, but then he melts into the kiss, his hands instinctively finding your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. the world seems to fade away—the late-night city noise, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, even the fact that you’re standing on a balcony. it’s just you and jake, and for once, he feels like he doesn’t need to hide. when you finally pull away, his face is flushed, his lips slightly parted as he looks at you with a dazed expression. “wow,” he breathes, blinking rapidly. “so, uh... does this mean you forgive me for the whole secret spiderman thing?” you smirk, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “i’ll think about it. but you owe me, big time, spiderman”

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who just can't believe you kissed him, and that you're his now.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who visits you in the middle of the night when he says he'd be away, surprising you, both with his presence and a kitten he just saved.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who takes you out on dates but in a special way, swinging all around the nightlife of the glowing city with you in his arms.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who loves you, and only you, who promises to fight everyone just for you.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who loves you, and only you, who promises to fight everyone just for you.

© BYWONS, 2024 / do not copy or repost without permission

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

"I do not have a poker face problem, I have a you problem." You fan your cards with a small frown, holding them a little closer to your chest. Squinting at him dramatically, "this is your, what, about to be your sixth win in a row?"

"Maybe I'm just good at Go Fish?"

"Literally nobody is good at Go Fish," you counter with a playful eye roll. "Babe, it' s a children's game. It's all just luck."

"Or maybe you just suck." Jake shrugs, infuriatingly calm, and gestures for you to take your turn.

"Got any threes?"

"Go fish."

You curse under your breath as you draw a card, and it's not a three. Because, of course it's not.

And suddenly, it's his turn again. Jake looks down at his hand and that's when you catch it—the tiny twitch at the corner of his eyebrow, there and gone so fast you would have missed it if you weren't already staring.

"Baby."

"Hm?"

"...Are you cheating?"

He looks up at you instantly, "What?"

"Your eyebrow just did a thing."

"My eyebrow did not do a thing."

"Your eyebrow definitely did a thing," you insist as you stare at him with a raised brow. "It twitched, I just saw it! You do this every time before you guess right, it's like a—" you trail off, trailing to find the right words for it.

"Okay, first of all," Jake says, setting his cards face-down on the bed, "how can you even tell—"

"It's your spidey sense, oh my god!" You cut him off, sitting back on your heels as the realization hits. "You're using your spidey sense to win at Go Fish against your own girlfriend!"

"I'm not—" He drags a hand down his face, and you watch the guilt bloom rihgt there in real time, soft and helpless, like he can't even be mad at himself properly. "It's not like I'm trying to. It just... happens? I get a tingly feeling whenever someoen's bluffing, it's not exactly a setting I can turn off—"

"So you admit it."

"Baby, I'm not admitting anything, there's literally nothingto admit—"

"You've been running an unfair advantage on me for six rounds! With your superpowers! Against a helpless civilian!" You say dramatically, clutching uour chest, "Against the love of your life, no less!"

"Okay, when you say it like that it soumds so much worse than it is—"

"THat's because it is that bad, Jake, if you hate me you could've just said tha—"

He's fighting a smile now, dimples threatening at the corners of his mouth. "You want me to just—let you win the next round?"

"Excuse me?" You gasp, and any residual amusement drops clean off your face. "You'll let me win?"

"I mean—yeah? As an apology?"

"I don't want you to let me win, I want to win fairly, there's a difference! Letting me win is honestly more insulting than the cheating was—"

Jake just laughs at you—that full, delighted laugh that always makes it a little harder to stay mad at him. You watch the way his eyes crinkle slightly and it makes your chest go warm despite your best efforts to stay upset.

Before you can protest he's tugging you across the scattered cards and into his lap, arms looping around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like you belong there. Which, annoyingly, you do.

"Jake—" You say trying to sound stern. You do not sound stern.

"I'm sorry," he says, clearly not sorry at all, nose brushing your cheek. "I'll even play blindfolded next time. Whatever makes it fair."

"That's not—you can't just cuddle your way out of this—"

"Can't I, though?" He presses a kiss just below your ear, slow, unhurried, like he has all afternoon to do jus tthat. "Because I think it's kind of working."

"It is not working."

"Are you sure?" Jake asks, pressing a few more kisses around your face, "my spidey sense says it is."

"Bruh, fuck your spidey sense—"

"You love it," he murmurs, smug and warm against your skin, and when you swat his arm he only pulls you in closer, laughing into your hair like winning has never once felt this good.

⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏ ⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀ ͏/╲/\╭ºoꍘoº╮/\╱\

bonus scene:

Maybe it's the warmth of him or the fact that his thumb has started tracing slow, absent circles against your hip—but you feel yourself melting anyways, the fight draining out of you as you relax in his arms. Your head tipping back against his shoulder.

You're seconds away from fully forgiving him, honestly, you can feel it happening, feel yourself going soft and pliant and—

You suddenly bolt upright.

"Wait a minute," you twist around to look at him, eyes wide with the horror of realization. "Wait. So that one time we were playing mahjong?"

Your boyfrind's smile goes sheepish so fast it's basically a confession on its own. "...What about it?"

“Oh my god, Sim Jaeyun,“ your jaw drops in disbelief, “You swept me, Jake. I thought I was suddenly just bad at mahjong!"

Jake cringes slightly at the use of his government name. "You're not bad at mahjong—"

"You let me think I was bad at mahjong for months—"

"In my defense," he says, hands raised in negotiaton, though the smile on his face only seems to grow, "I didn't let you think anything, I just… Didn't correct you..?"

"That's the same thing! That's exactly the same thing as lying!" You say pointing at him, “You lied to me!“

"It's really not the same though—"

"How many other games, Jake? How many! Poker? Uno? Was the Mario Kart rigged too—"

He cuts you off, suddenly sitting straight as well. "Okay, the Mario Kart was all skill, I want that on the record—"

"I don't believe you! I don't believe anything that comes out of your mouth right now!" But despite your tone, you can’t help the smile forming on your lips.

"Okay, so no more card games," you say with a pout, calming yourself down and turning your head away from him once again.

"Deal," he says, reaching his arms out once again in an attempt to pull you back into his chest. Then, after a beat, far too pleased with himself: "Pun intended."

"I'm going home."

"No you're not. You love me."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, you do," he says, tightening his arms around you, pressing a kiss into your hair. "My spidey sense said so."

You groan and bury your face against his chest, but you don't move away.

⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏ ⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀⠀ ͏⠀ ͏/╲/\╭ºoꍘoº╮/\╱\

please do not repost, reupload, or translate my work anywhere else on the internet. i also do not approve uploading my work on any ai site. salamuch <33

The past three months had honestly been the best three months of your marriage.

Not perfect, Riki's life would probably never allow for perfect. You still had to spend days in boring meetings about drugs and cash. People still feared him. Problems still landed on his desk every day.

But after that night, the night Kento died. The two of you had talked for hours that night. About the future. About fear, about what kind of man he wanted to be, about what kind of life the two of you wanted together.

Riki was still Riki, but he started trying.

He worked less. Handing responsibilities off whenever he could. He stopped attending meetings that didn't absolutely require his presence. 

Sometimes you'd walk into his office expecting to find him buried in paperwork, only to find him stretched out on the couch waiting for you because he'd decided he'd worked enough for the day.

You'd gotten closer too. Not that the two of you had ever struggled with affection, with Riki practically living attached to your side. But the two of you spent more time together than ever before. You'd never been closer. Never been more in love.

Tonight was one of those nights. Riki had given the cook the evening off apparently because he wanted to cook himself.

Though you were pretty sure part of the reason was that he wanted an excuse to walk around the house shirtless all evening. The man wasn't subtle. He'd spent the entire time cooking in nothing but comfortable black pants and a dark robe hanging open over his shoulders.

Now dinner was finished. The two of you sat across from each other at the dining table.

Your foot kept brushing against his leg underneath it, ack and forth. Sometimes around his ankle, sometimes up his calf. Riki kept acting like he wasn't affected by it but the slight smirk on his face said otherwise.

Until eventually Riki stood up and collected both plates.You shake your head immediately.

"You cooked. I'll clean."

"No." His answer came before you'd even finished speaking.

"Riki."

"No." He gently squeezed the back of your neck as he walked past. "You go relax. Go take a bath." You looked up at him. "A bath?"

"Mhm." His thumb brushed your skin. "I'll clean everything up."

So while Riki disappeared toward the kitchen, you headed upstairs.

The master bathroom was probably one of the prettiest rooms in the entire house. Everything about it felt warm. A massive soaking tub sat beneath an arched window. Across from it is a long marble vanity cluttered with expensive perfumes, skincare products, and the little decorative items you collected over the years. 

You turn on the faucet and watch steaming water begin filling the tub.Soft jazz starts playing from the speaker on the vanity and light a candle next.

You grabbed the shower gel and squeezed a few drops into the running water. Probably more than necessary, but you liked the sweet vanilla smell. The bubbles started forming immediately.

Then your eyes drifted toward the mirror. You stood in front of it and your silk robe slid from your shoulders. You turned slightly sideways and one hand settled against your lower stomach. Studying your reflection. A small smile pulled at your lips.

The tub was nearly full now. You stepped out of the robe completely and carefully lowered yourself into the water. With a quiet sigh, you leaned back against the tub and closed your eyes.

By the time you come downstairs, your hair is still damp from the bath, falling over your shoulders. A butter-yellow nightgown brushes against your thighs with every step. The matching robe hangs open and loose around your body, and your gold necklace rests against your skin, the pendant disappearing into the neckline.

The house is quiet except for the sound of Riki moving around the kitchen. He's wiping down the counter when he hears soft footsteps behind him. Before he can turn around, two arms suddenly wrap around his waist. Riki lets out a surprised chuckle.

"There she is."

You squeeze him tighter. His hand immediately settles over yours. Standing on your toes, you lean up and press a kiss against his cheek. "Thank you for doing the dishes."

"Hm. You're welcome." You smile against his shoulder before letting go.

In the old wooden cabinet in the corner of the rooms stands a radio and a collection of CDs you've both gathered over the years. You open it, flipping through them until you find the one you're looking for. A second later, old jazz music fills the room. You turn the volume up a little higher than necessary.

Riki is still standing in the kitchen looking directly at you. His eyes slowly travel over your figure. Taking his time. You fight back a smile, then hold both hands out toward him. No words needed. Riki immediately knows what you want. You wiggle your fingers impatiently.

"Come here."

He laughs softly, then starts walking toward you.

His hands slide around your waist underneath the robe. Warm palms settling against your sides. You immediately wrap your arms around his neck.

And the two of you slowly start moving to the music. Your bare are feet gliding across the cold marble floor. Riki's gaze never really leaves your face, just admiring your beauty. His thumb brushes absentmindedly against your side.

Eventually one of his hands leaves your waist, sliding up to smooth a few damp strands of hair behind your ear.  Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. You smile immediately and rest your head against his shoulder. Riki's chin settles lightly on top of your head and you both close your eyes.

Neither of you talks, just feel hum of the music and the warmth of your bodies so close together and keep swaying slowly through the living room.

After a moment, he buries his face against the side of your neck and takes a good sniff.

"Mm. You smell so good."

You chuckle softly. His voice is muffled against your skin. "You smell like vanilla."

"That's because I just spent an hour bathing in vanilla."

"Hm."

One of his hands slides upward and catches on your necklace. His finger traces the thin gold chain, following it all the way down before letting it slip through his fingers again. He holds your chin lightly between his index finger and his thumbb and he looks at you for a second, before his hands start wandering off again.

They slide slowly down your spine and he lets them rest on your lower back.  You can feel how relaxed he is. A version of him almost nobody else ever gets to see.

And that's when your stomach flips, because you've been waiting for the right moment all evening. Maybe all week.  Every time you'd almost said it, something interrupted. A phone call. A meeting. A visitor. But now it's just the two of you and you can't keep it to yourself anymore.

"Riki."

"Hm?" His eyes stay closed.

"I have to tell you something."

That gets his attention. He pulls back slightly. Both hands settling properly on your sides as he looks down at you. "What?"

For a second you can't speak. Your throat feels tight, your eyes already sting. Which is ridiculous. You've rehearsed this conversation in your head a hundred times. Yet now that it's actually happening, all your words disappear.

Riki notices immediately and his expression shifts. Concern replacing the relaxed smile.

"Baby?"

You let out a shaky laugh. Then another. And somehow that turns into tears. His eyebrows pull together instantly. "Hey." One hand comes up to your cheek. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head. Nothing’s wrong. A laugh escapes you through the tears.

Then finally—

"I'm pregnant."

The room suddenly feels very quiet. Riki just looks at you like his brain is trying to catch up.

"Really?" The smile starts before he even finishes speaking. You nod.

Tears immediately spilling over. "Yes." Your voice wobbles. "I took a test a few days ago."

Then he laughs. Completely caught off guard. His hands grab your face.

"Really?" You start laughing too. "Yes, really."

The smile on his face gets even bigger. You don't think you've ever seen him smile like that before. Then suddenly his hands slide to your waist. Before you can react, you're lifted completely off the ground.

"Riki!" He spins you around once and your laughter fills the room. For one of the only times in his life, he feels like nothing else in the world matters. Just you and the tiny secret you've been carrying for days.

— 

The next few months felt like a completely different life for both of you.

The pregnancy changed everything. The way he'd suddenly become interested in things he'd never cared about before. Doctors appointments. Baby names. Cribs. Tiny clothes. Tiny clothes especially. You caught him staring at baby shoes for ten straight minutes once, then pretending he wasn't.

It was the happiest you'd ever seen him. Genuinely. Even the people around him noticed. His employees noticed. His men noticed. The people in the office definitely noticed.

Especially his assistant Kenji. Poor Kenji nearly had a heart attack the first time Riki thanked him for something. A simple thank you. That's all it was. Yet Kenji had stood there looking so confused that Riki ended up laughing at him. The entire office talked about it for a week.

Things were good, really good. You were building a family. A future. The kind of future the two of you had spent years talking about. For the first time in a long time, everything felt settled. Like the universe had finally decided to leave you alone.

But of course it didn't.

It started with a letter. A plain white envelope sitting on Riki's desk one morning. No return address, no name. Just a single sheet of paper inside. The message was short: He'd pay for murdering Kaizen. 

Riki barely reacted. He read it once, scoffed. Then tossed it straight into the shredder. Threats weren't exactly new to him. People had threatened to kill him before. Threatened to torture him. Threatened to burn down his businesses. Threatened to wipe out his entire bloodline. Compared to some of those, this letter was nothing. So he ignored it.

Then another one came. And another. The messages got longer, more personal. He still ignored them. Then the phone calls started. At first they only came to his office. The receptionist would transfer them through. Riki would answer, a distorted voice would start talking. Threats, promises and warnings. The first few times he hung up immediately.

Eventually he stopped reacting altogether, but they kept coming. Then they got his personal number. That was when things became annoying.

The calls started arriving in the middle of the night. Two in the morning, or thee, sometimes four. The phone vibrating on the bedside table waking both of you up. Riki would immediately grab it before you could, step into the hallway, come back five minutes later and tell you it was nothing. Just work. 

You knew he was lying, but not about what.

Then the photos appeared. The first one arrived in another envelope. A picture of Riki sitting in his office, taken from outside the building. The second showed him getting into his car after work. The third showed him walking through the front gate of your home. The fourth showed him standing beside you. That one made his stomach drop.

Still, he tried to brush it off to you. Every time you asked if everything was okay, he'd pull you closer and tell you not to worry. Every time you looked nervous, he'd promise nobody would touch you. Nobody would touch the baby. Nobody would touch his family.

And he meant it.

But privately? Privately, Riki was worried.

Because Kaizen wasn't some random man he'd crossed years ago. Kaizen had power, connections, loyal people.  The kind of people willing to wait months for revenge. The kind of people patient enough to make a man paranoid before making a move.

So even while he insisted everything was under control, changes started happening. Extra security around the house. More cameras. New locks. Stricter visitor checks at the office. Kenji suddenly having two security men following him everywhere.

Nobody complained. The thing that truly unsettled them wasn't the threats. It was Riki. The fact that he was taking the threats seriously. The fact that sometimes they'd catch him staring at security footage longer than necessary. Checking camera angles.

And if Riki was worried? Then everybody else had a reason to be worried too.

The thing that finally broke him was a text message that came in the middle of the afternoon while he was working.

Unknown number. Seven photos of you. His stomach dropped instantly.

The first was you walking through a shopping district. The second was you getting coffee. The third was you leaving one of the organization's office buildings. The fourth was you stepping into your car. The fifth was taken so close he could make out the necklace around your neck.

By the seventh photo, Riki was already standing. His chair slammed backward. Kenji looked up from across the room.

"Boss?"

Riki didn't answer. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He stormed out of his office. Kenji immediately followed.

"Boss?"

"Meeting room." His voice was deadly calm, which somehow sounded worse than yelling. "Get everyone."

"Everyone?"

Riki stopped walking and turned around. The look he gave Kenji was enough. "Now."

Kenji was already reaching for his phone before Riki turned back around. Within minutes, the conference room was filling up. People rushed in from every floor of the building. Department heads. Security teams. Investigators. People who normally wouldn't be in the same room together. Nobody even bothered sitting down.

Riki stood at the end of the table. Furious. When the last person entered, he threw the phone onto the table. The pictures lit up across the screen. Nobody spoke.

"Find them." His voice echoed through the room. "I don't care who they are. Find them."

One of the security managers finally cleared his throat.

"Boss, we've already been investigating—"

Riki slammed his fist into the table. Several people visibly flinched. "I don't give a fuck. My wife is being followed."

“Boss—”.

"Try harder. Check every camera. Every employee."

Another fist hit the table. "Every fucking person that has entered this city if that's what it takes."

The room remained frozen because everybody knew this wasn't about business anymore. This wasn't about power or money. This was about you. And everybody in the organization knew there was one thing Riki loved more than himself. One thing he'd burn the entire city down for.

You.

The meeting lasted three hours. For the first time since the threats started, even the most experienced people in the room looked worried. Because of Riki.

And unfortunately, things only got worse. The threats kept coming, the photos kept coming. No matter what security measures were added, no matter how many people were assigned to investigate. Nothing stopped.

And slowly, it started affecting everything. Including your marriage. Arguments became more frequent. One night you'd ended up crying in the middle of the kitchen floor because you were exhausted. Things had finally been good and now it felt like someone was stealing that happiness piece by piece.

"I'm so scared." You'd admitted it quietly with tears running down your face.

"I just wanted things to be normal now." Riki had pulled you into his arms immediately because he wanted the same thing.

He started insisting. Security everywhere, at all times. You couldn't go shopping alone. You couldn't go to appointments alone.  You couldn't even go get coffee alone anymore. A guard followed you everywhere.

You hated it, absolutely hated it. It made you feel trapped. But every time you argued, Riki only got more stubborn. Because every time another photo appeared on his phone, all he could think about was what happened if one day it wasn't just a photo.

So eventually you stopped fighting him because you saw what it was doing to him. How tired he looked, how often he checked his phone, how often he checked the security cameras. How many nights he stayed awake staring at the ceiling. At one point he'd even assigned somebody to monitor your location whenever you left the house. The poor guy probably knew your daily routine better than you did.

You thought it was ridiculous. Riki thought it wasn't enough.  Which was how you ended up back at the office. Just like old times. Sitting through meetings that bored you to death. Listening to people discuss violent things you used to care about, before you found out you were going to be a mother.

— 

Then came the threat that changed everything.

The drive home from the office had been quiet. Just you and Riki in the backseat while the city lights passed by outside. Your head rested against his shoulder. One of his hands was loosely wrapped around yours. By the time the car pulls into the driveway, you're already looking forward to getting inside, kick off your heels and relax.

Riki steps out first, then helps you out. The security guards do their usual check. Everything looks normal.  Your driver, Ren, stays by the car while Riki walks you toward the front door. His arm settles around your shoulders automatically. He pulls his keys from his pocket, then his phone vibrates. He unlocks his screen and freezes immediately. 

"Riki?"

He doesn't answer, his eyes are locked on the screen. You look down and your blood runs cold. A photo taken seconds ago. The picture shows the two of you standing exactly where you are now. In front of your own front door, riki holding his keys, you standing beside him.

The message underneath makes your stomach drop.

UNKNOWN: You, your wife and your baby are no longer safe here.

Your hand immediately flies to your mouth. "Oh my God."

You look around the property, the trees, the neighboring houses. Every corner suddenly feels dangerous.

"How do they know?" You whisper. Your eyes fill with tears instantly. "Nobody knows."

Nobody was supposed to know. The pregnancy hadn't been announced, the organization didn't even know.  Yet somehow... they knew. Riki's jaw clenches. You can practically feel the anger radiating off him. But underneath it is real fear. For you, for the baby.

He immediately grabs your hand. 

"Back in the car." You stare at him. "Now."

He turns you around and practically guides you back to the car, your heels quickly click against the stone. Ren sees your faces and immediately opens the door. Riki climbs in after you and slams the door shut.

"Office." Ren is already pulling away. His hand is shaking slightly, something you almost never see. He calls Kenji.

"Boss?"

"They know about the pregnancy."

"What?"

"We’re coming back." Riki rubs a hand over his face. "I want guards waiting outside when we arrive."

“Okay, sir.”

"Close every blind. Nobody enters the building without clearance."

"Understood."

The call ends.

Security guards line the office building’s entrance when you arrive. The second your car stops, two guards surround it, escorting the two of you inside. The emergency meeting starts less than ten minutes later. People practically run into the conference room. The moment Riki walks in and tells them about the picture, conversations erupt immediately. Suggestions, questions, plans, investigations.

You sit beside Riki and try to pay attention, but after a while the voices start blending together. Your eyes drift down to your hands resting on the table, your wedding ring catches the light. A tear slides down your cheek. Nobody notices, or maybe they do, they just don’t say anything. 

The room continues talking around you but your mind is somewhere else. Months ago. Years ago, back when things were simpler. Back when you and Riki were inseparable. When you'd follow him everywhere. When danger felt exciting instead of terrifying. When the future wasn't something you had to worry about.

You think about those nights. When your life revolved around love, money and guns . No child depending on you. Just you and him. Then your hand moves over your stomach and the thought immediately changes. Because that's not what you want either.

You want this. The family, the life you've been dreaming about. You want lazy mornings and baby names. And growing old with Riki.

Your eyes slowly lift, people are still arguing. Riki is speaking now. For the first time in your life, you realize that maybe being feared isn't enough. Because no matter how powerful Riki is... no matter how many people obey him, no matter how many enemies he's buried. Somewhere out there is a person who isn't afraid of him.

The discussion only gets worse. Every time somebody disagrees with him, Riki patience gets thinner. It literally feels like a bomb waiting to go off.

"We should wait before relocating."

The sentence barely leaves one of the managers' mouths before Riki's head snaps toward him.

"Wait?"

The man visibly regrets speaking. "Boss, I'm just saying we don't know if—"

"You don't know if what?" Riki stands up so suddenly his chair slides backwards. "We don't know if they're serious?"

"They know where we live. They know where she shops. They know what car she drives."

The room gets very still. Riki laughs but there's no humor in it.

"You think I'm overreacting?" 

Some of them do, the problem is nobody wants to tell him that. Unfortunately, one woman eventually does.

"Boss, with all due respect, we're not saying you're wrong. We're just saying that moving locations immediately might be—"

"Get the fuck out. If you don't want to help, get out."

"Boss—"

Riki points towards the door. "Out."

Riki's eyes move around the room. Everybody suddenly looks suspicious, like a possible threat. A possible reason somebody out there knows too much. The room starts talking again.

"Maybe you're just overreacting because—"

"They know she's pregnant!"

The words come out before he can stop them. Every single person in the room goes silent. Then suddenly everybody is looking at you and your eyes immediately fill with tears. You quickly stand up.

"I need a minute."

Your voice comes out smaller than intended. You leave before anyone can see the tears properly.

The hallway feels blessedly quiet. You make your way to your office. The second the door closes behind you, you let out a shaky breath. You lay down on the couch and stare at the ceiling. You don't even mean to fall asleep, but somehow you do.

— 

A soft knock pulls you out of it. The building is quieter than before. Then the door opens and Riki walks in. He kneels beside the bed. His fingers slide into your hair, gently petting it back.

"Honey."

You blink sleepily. "Mm."

His thumb brushes your forehead. "I'm sorry."

Your eyes open properly. Riki sighs.

"We're moving."

"What?"

"Temporarily." He strokes your hair again. "We're moving to another house."

You sit up slightly. "What? I don't want to."

"I know."

"Riki I don’t—"

"I know."

His voice stays gentle, but voice he uses means he's already made a decision.

"There isn't room for arguments on this one."

You immediately frown. He reaches for your hand. "They know where we live. They know way too much. It’s dangerous. I'm not taking any chances."

"When are we going?"

"Now."

"What?"

"Now. We're not going back to the house."

You groan dramatically and cover your face. He gently pulls your hands away. "You can take whatever you need from here."

"My stuff is at home."

"You have enough stuff here to survive for six months."

Unfortunately, he's right. Half your life somehow ended up at the office over the years.

You sigh. Riki kisses your forehead. "Thank you."

You glare at him. He kisses your forehead again.

An hour later you're walking through the underground parking garage with two bags and a bad attitude. The building is unusually busy. Everybody treating the situation with a seriousness that makes your stomach hurt. Riki thanks several people on the way out. Which says enough by itself because Riki almost never thanks people.

By the time the car door closes behind you, the reality of it all is finally settling in. You're actually leaving. Not for a nice vacation. Because somebody made your home unsafe.

— 

So this is how you ended up here. One month later. Living in a house that wasn't yours.

A house that was supposed to feel safe, instead it just felt temporary. The house itself wasn't bad, most people would probably call it incredible. It was huge, modern, hidden far away from the city. The problem was that it didn't feel like home. Your home was warm, brown and gold, dim lighting. This house felt cold and dark. Floor-to-ceiling windows but the curtains are closed most of the time.

Even after a month, you still caught yourself reaching for light switches that weren't there and opening the wrong cabinets. You missed your bathroom, your soft bed, everything. Most of all, you hated why you were here. Somebody wanted to hurt your family. Every time you remember, suddenly the house felt uncomfortable all over again.

The adjustment hadn't been easy. Especially because Riki trusted absolutely nobody anymore. The cook wasn't allowed to move with you, the maid wasn't either, the gardener stayed behind too. Riki had decided the fewer people who knew the location, the better.

Which meant that while he spent twelve hours a day working, you were left doing everything yourself. Things you'd never minded helping with before because you were at the office as well. But now it just felt lonely and the silence gave you too much time to think.

Unfortunately, your marriage wasn't doing much better. Not because either of you stopped loving each other. If anything, this whole situation only proved how much Riki loved you. That was the problem. His love had turned into fear, and fear had turned into control.

Suddenly there were rules. You couldn't leave without security, you couldn't drive yourself anywhere, you couldn't visit people, you couldn't make spontaneous plans. You couldn't do much of anything.

Every conversation somehow turned into an argument. Every argument somehow turned into Riki insisting he was trying to keep you safe. And every time he said that, you wanted to scream. You knew he was trying to protect you, but it felt like while you were preparing for a family and a future together, Riki had slipped right back into his old life. Meanwhile you were stuck in this weird middle position.

The only good thing was that the photos had stopped.

But the letters and calls still came. Every single week. Different numbers, different accounts, different handwriting. Always the same message.

Eventually everyone in the organization reached the same conclusion. The threats were connected to Kaizen. Nobody knew who exactly, where, or how many people. Just Kaizen. It was a dead end.

One of the worst moments happened during the second week. Your driver disappeared. One minute he was dropping somebody off, the next he was gone.

For exactly forty-eight hours.

When he finally reappeared, two security guards found him dumped on the side of a road in front of the office. His face was covered in bruises, one eye nearly swollen shut. And missing a finger. You'd never forget the look on Riki's face when he heard.

The driver insisted he hadn't told them anything. He'd been blindfolded the entire time. He didn't know where he was, didn't recognize any voices or heard any names. Nothing that could help. Just more proof that whoever was behind this wasn't playing games anymore.

— 

It’s almost 11 p.m. when the front door finally unlocks. Riki steps inside looking exhausted, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. The house is dark except for the kitchen lights. You’ve spent the entire day alone in this house again. Riki crosses the room and kisses your forehead, then your lips quickly.

“Hey.”

You try to smile. "Hi."

That's all you manage. Riki studies your face for a moment, clearly noticing the lack of enthusiasm, but doesn't comment on it.

“I saved you dinner,” you say quietly, standing up before he can really look at you.

In the kitchen, you Open the fridge. Scoop leftovers onto a plate. Reheat them.

Riki leans against the counter watching you.

“How was your day?”

You shrug. “Fine.”

"Did you eat?"

"Mhm."

You don’t continue. So he tries again. “Did you go outside?”

“No.”

“You should’ve gone into the garden at least.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “The garden surrounded by guards and cameras? Yeah, sounds relaxing.”

You set the plate down harder than necessary. Then you stop moving entirely, a long sigh leaves you.

“I can’t do this.”

Riki straightens slightly. “Do what?”

“This.” You gesture between the two of you. “Pretend everything’s normal.”

“I know about Ren.”

His jaw tightens instantly. “Who told you?”

“Kenji.”

“You weren’t supposed to know that.” He says irritated.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap. “Was I supposed to keep living here like some clueless housewife while people are getting tortured because of us?”

“Lower your voice.”

“I don’t think anybody’s gonna hear us, Riki.”

Riki pushes off the counter. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you scared.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Stop saying that. I’m so sick of hearing that.”

Riki scoffs and shakes his head.

“You don’t tell me things because you’re ‘protecting’ me. You lock me in this house because you’re ‘protecting’ me. You control where I go, who I see, whether I can leave the fucking property, and every time I say something you act like I’m unreasonable because you’re ‘protecting’ me.”

Riki’s jaw clenches. “Do you think I want this, y/n?”

“I don’t know what you want anymore!”

The words echo through the kitchen. Your hand slaps against the counter in frustration.

"I'm the same woman who used to run jobs with you."

"That was before."

You step closer. "You know I know how to keep myself safe because you've seen it."

"You're pregnant."

“I’m pregnant, not helpless. I hate asking permission to leave my own fucking house. I hate waking up every day feeling trapped.”

“You are not trapped.”

“It feels like a prison!”

“You’re alive.”

“And what kind of life is this?”

Riki’s voice rises now too. “A safe one.”

“I hate these fucking rules, Riki. I am not your child!"

"But you are carrying mine, aren’t you?!”

"Yes, and sometimes I really fucking I regret that!" you scream back. The words are out before you can stop them.

Riki just stares at you like he genuinely can't believe what he heard. "What did you say?"

His voice is quieter than before. You should stop. The second you saw the look on his face, you should've stopped. But you're too angry, too hurt.

"I said I regret it."

Riki blinks. "Baby."

His voice lowers, like he's trying to talk you down. "You're upset."

You laugh bitterly. "Oh my God."

"You're just angry."

"I'm not taking it back."

"You don't mean it."

You don't know what you mean. You just know everything hurts and you want him to hurt too. So you turn around and walk away.

"Fine." Your voice shakes. "I'm done talking."

"Baby—"

You ignore him. Already heading toward the stairs.

"Sleep on the couch."

Riki lets out a breath. "I'm not sleeping on the couch."

You spin around. "Yes, you are."

"No."

"Yes. Riki. You are!" You snap.

"No."

"I don't want you in our room."

Riki's jaw flexes. "Our room."

"Don't."

"I'm not sleeping on the couch."

You throw your hands up. "You're so fucking stubborn."

"And you're being unreasonable.”

You stare at him, then turn around before you say something even worse. A second later the bedroom door slams hard enough to shake the wall. 

The house feels painfully quiet afterward. Riki stands alone in the kitchen. The untouched plate of food still sitting on the counter. He looks at it for a long moment, then sits down, takes one bite and stops. His appetite is completely gone.  Your words keep replaying in his head. He rubs a hand over his face and lets out a long breath. He puts the untouched plate in the sink and heads upstairs.

The bedroom is dark when he enters. The only light comes from the bathroom door left slightly open. You don't acknowledge him. You're already under the blankets, lying on your side as far from his side of the bed as possible. Riki quietly changes clothes. Pulls on a pair of sweatpants, takes off his shirt, brushes his teeth.

Does everything as quietly as possible. Then finally gets into bed, the mattress shifts. Immediately you turn around.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The whisper-yell is somehow more aggressive than actual yelling.

Riki settles onto his pillow. "I'm going to sleep."

"I told you to sleep on the couch."

He closes his eyes. "I'm not sleeping on the couch."

"You're unbelievable."

No response. "Riki."

Still nothing. You sigh, long and very irritated. "You're fucking stubborn."

With an angry huff, you turn away again. Your back facing him. For a few minutes neither of you speaks.

Eventually you feel the mattress shift slightly. Riki moving closer, then his arm starts to move around your waist like it always does.You immediately push his hand away. The hand disappears and Riki doesn't try again.

Normally this would've been over by now. Normally one of you would've apologized. Or laughed, or given in. Neither of you ever really went to sleep angry. You don’t do that. Because living this kind of life, it could always somehow be your last day together.

But tonight you genuinely don't want to be touched. Or apologies or cuddles. You want as much space as possible.

Minutes pass, eventually Riki speaks.

"I love you."

Your eyes immediately sting. But instead of saying it back, you swallow hard and stay silent.

— 

The next morning feels awful. Riki is already gone. No goodbye kiss, no hand brushing through your hair, o quiet I'll see you later. The guilt from last night immediately settles in your chest. 

You can't stay here today. You need fresh air, people, something that isn't these four walls.

So before you can overthink it, you grab your phone and call Riki. The call only rings once.

"Yeah." 

You sit down on the edge of the bed. 

"Uhm. I was wondering... I wanted to maybe go out today?"

You immediately start rambling. "It doesn't have to be long. I just wanted to go to the mall for a bit and maybe look around and I can take security and—"

"You can go."

"What?"

"You can go."

His tone stays flat. "I'll send Ren."

"Oh."

"You don't have to explain."

Normally he'd tease you, ask what you wanted to buy or make a joke about you spending all his money. Now he just sounds tired.

"I'll have Ren pick you up."

"Okay."

"Be home by 6."

“Okay.”

The call ends.

The idea of leaving the house makes something inside you feel lighter. You practically jump out of bed. Finally something normal. You spend extra time getting ready, making sure you look extra good. For the first time in days, you actually feel excited about something.

Then the doorbell rings. Ren is waiting outside. You immediately notice how different he looks now. The bruises, and the missing finger is impossible to ignore.

"Goodmorning."

"Morning, ma'am."

His voice sounds strange.Before you can ask anything, he clears his throat. "Boss told me to tell you something."

"What?"

"He wants you to leave your phone at home."

"My phone?"

"So nobody can track you." That sounds exactly like something Riki would say. You sigh.

"Fine."

You go back inside and leave your phone on the kitchen counter.

Ren opens the car door for you and when the house slowly disappears behind you, you actually feel happy. The feeling doesn't last. 

At first you're talking nonstop about random things. A store you want to visit, a dress you saw online, a bakery you miss. Ren barely says anything. His eyes stay fixed on the road. His shoulders look tense.

You slowly start talking less and then your gaze drifts toward his hand. The memory of what happened to him. Something uncomfortable settles in your stomach and you look away.

The car continues driving, and driving, and driving…

Eventually you glance out the window, your brows furrow. This isn't right. The route feels wrong. You know this city. You know where the mall is, and this isn't it.

You sit up slightly.

"Ren?"

You look out the window again. The roads and buildings are unfamiliar now. A cold feeling creeps up your spine. "Ren."

He keeps driving. Your heartbeat starts picking up. Maybe there's traffic?

"Ren, where are we going?" The excitement from earlier disappears instantly.

"Ren." This time your voice comes out sharper. "Where are you taking me?"

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, and then— 

Click.

The doors lock.

Your stomach drops and for a second you just stare at him, your heartbeat suddenly pounding so hard you can hear it.

"Ren." He doesn't answer. The panic hits all at once. Your voice cracks. "Ren, what the fuck is happening?"

Your breathing speeds up. You grab the door handle anyway and pull it.

"Ren! I want to get out! Please stop the car!"

Tears are already running down your cheeks. Your hands shake as you pull at the handle again. "You're scaring me!"

Ren slams a hand against the steering wheel. "Stop yelling!" The outburst makes you jump.

"If you just cooperate, nothing will happen to you!"

You stare at him. "What?"

"Just work with me."

"What are you talking about?"

You start crying harder. "What are you doing?!"

Ren's grip tightens around the wheel, he looks like he might cry too. "They threatened my family."

Your heart drops. "What?"

"They threatened my family."

His voice shakes.  "They found my wife, my kids. They said if I didn't do this..."

He sighs. "...they'd kill them."

You just stare at him, unable to process it. "Who? Who, Ren?"

The silence is answer enough.

"Please." You wipe at your tears. "Please tell me who."

Ren just shakes his head and keeps driving. Then suddenly he reaches forward, your entire body tenses. He unlocks the glove compartment and it falls open. Inside sits a filled syringe.

Your stomach immediately turns. You don't even have to ask.

"They told me to use it if you didn't cooperate."

Your hands instinctively move to your stomach. The baby. You immediately stop talking, you just turn your head toward the window. Tears sliding silently down your cheeks. Eventually your voice returns.

"Ren." He sighs. "What?"

"You've known us for years."

He closes his eyes briefly. You keep going. "You've worked for Riki for years. You know me." Your voice trembles. "I’m going to be a mother."

You wipe another tear away. "Please don't do this."

His eyes stay fixed on the road. "I don't have a choice."

"Everybody has a choice."

A painful laugh escapes him. "No. Not always."

You stare at him trying to find something. Some sign he might change his mind. But all you see is guilt. "Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer. "Ren… please."

You let out a shaky breath. "Am I going to die?"

For the first time since this started, Ren looks at you. And when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"I don't know, ma’am.”

For a few more minutes, you keep trying. Because what else are you supposed to do? Just sit there and let this happen?

"No, you know what?" Your voice shakes from crying. "You're fucking stupid. Do you have any idea what Riki is gonna do when he finds out? You think threatening your family is bad?"

A tear rolls down your cheek. "He's going to kill you."

The threat sounds weak the second it leaves your mouth, mostly because your voice cracks halfway through it because you’re still crying. Ren doesn't even react.

"He'll find me. He always finds people." The silence makes you even angrier.

"You know what your problem is?" you snap. "You think I'm some helpless wife. You think I'm just gonna sit here and cry."

Your breathing speeds up. "I can fight. I've been around this shit longer than you."

Then suddenly something clicks. Your stomach drops.

"Riki never told me to leave my phone." Your voice breaks. "Oh my God. You lied."

He says nothing. "You lied to me. You’re kidnapping me."

Ren has been your driver for years, you trusted him. The tears start again.

"How could you do this? How could you fucking do this?!"

Ren suddenly slams his palm against the steering wheel. "They're going to murder my family!"

The yell fills the entire car. You jump immediately. Your mouth snaps shut. Then you slowly cover your mouth with your hand ,trying to muffle the sob that escapes.

Meanwhile, back at the office, Riki has no idea.

He's sitting in another meeting. His attention keeps drifting to you, though. To your words from last night. A part of him wants to call you, just to hear your voice and make sure you're okay. But every time he reaches for his phone, he’d tell himself you’re just having a nice day out and he should leave you alone. 

He promised himself something. He promised he'd try to give you space. Try to stop controlling every part of your life. You hated the cameras, the tracking, the constant security. So he'd started easing up. 

The guy monitoring your location? Day off. The guards assigned to watch you? Day off. Several camera systems around the property? Disabled. For you. Because despite everything, all he wanted was for you to be happy.

Unfortunately, that decision couldn't have come at a worse time.

—

The car finally slows. You immediately sit up and your heartbeat starts racing again.

Outside, the surroundings look unfamiliar. Industrial and empty. The kind of place nobody accidentally ends up.

Ren parks and then looks at you. "If you cooperate..." His voice is barely above a whisper. "...nothing will happen."

You nod slowly. You wipe away your tears and take a shaky breath. "Okay."

But you're lying. The second you see your opportunity, you're running. No matter how many weapons or buff men, you’re running.

A few seconds later, headlights appear and doors open. Four men, all armed. One of them immediately approaches the car. The moment the door swings open, a hand grabs your arm hard. "Move."

You do. Just not the way they're expecting. The second your feet hit the ground, you twist. Your pointy heel comes down hard on the man's foot. He curses and ends slightly and that's all the opening you need. Your knee shoots upward. The man winces in pain and you rip your arm free.

You kick your heels off and run.  Bare feet hitting rough pavement. Heart pounding, adrenaline flooding your body.

For one glorious second, you think it might work. Then somebody grabs the back of your arm. You yank away. Another hand catches your shoulder. Someone shouts. You keep fighting, keep twisting, keep trying. Then somebody catches your arm and a sharp impact slams against the side of your head.

Everything flashes white, the world tilts and voices become blurry. A second later everything goes black.

— 

At five o'clock, Riki is completely unaware that anything is wrong. Every now and then, he checks the time. Five already. A small part of him still considers calling you. Then remembers last night, the way you'd refused to say I love you back.

You probably need space. And that's what he'd been trying to give you so he puts the phone back down. You must be home already. Probably unpacking shopping bags, maybe cooking dinner, maybe still annoyed at him.

But safe.

Meanwhile, your head feels like it's splitting in half.

The first thing you notice is the ringing in your ears and hen the pounding behind your eyes. Then your entire body feels cold. You groan softly. Everything is blurry. Nothing makes sense. For a while you just sit there trying to remember.

The car. Ren. Running.

The realization hits all at once and your eyes snap open. Your wrists immediately pull against something. Rope. Your hands are tied behind the chair , your ankles too. A cloth is tied tightly around your mouth.

The panic returns so quickly it makes you dizzy. You look around. The room looks abandoned. Concrete walls, one flickering light hanging from the ceiling, no windows. No way outt.

Four men stand around the room. The second they notice you're awake, one of them laughs.

"Look."

Another glances over. "Finally."

Your breathing starts speeding up. The chair scrapes loudly as you instinctively try to move.

Then another man enters your line of vision. Older than the others, maybe late forties. Well dressed and too calm. He smiles when he sees your eyes open.

"Well well." He slowly approaches. "Look who's awake."

You pull against the ropes again. The chair creaks underneath you. The man chuckles.

"You were out for so long we thought we killed you already."

Your heart pounds. The panic fully sets in, a muffled scream sounds behind the cloth.

The man sighs dramatically and then crouches down in front of you. "Relax."

You scream again, louder. The man reaches forward and he grabs your chin. Hard enough to stop your head from moving.

"Stop that. Your husband won't hear you from here."

The mention of Riki instantly breaks something inside you. Tears immediately fill your eyes. The man notices, he lets go of your face with a small push and smiles.

"Aw."

He slowly starts pacing like he's giving a presentation. “I don’t think you know me. I’m Kaito. Your husband killed a lot of important people, y/n."

His smile disappears. "My brother happened to be one of them."

He studies your expression. "You know what impressed me most?"

You stare at him. Tears running down now.

"How predictable the two of you are." His smile returns. "We followed you for months. Every luxury shop. Every restaurant. Every office meeting. No matter how many guards your husband hired, we always knew where you were."

You think about the months of fear. They'd really been watching the entire time.

"You know the funny part?" He tilts his head. "Your husband is actually very smart. He moved houses."

He shrugs. "Hired security. Changed routines." Then his smile widens. "But eventually he made the same mistake every man makes. He got comfortable."

The tears won't stop now. You can barely breathe. Hiro walks closer again.

"He turned off cameras, he sent guards home. All because he wanted to make you happy."

You shake your head desperately. The cloth muffles another sob. Hiro crouches beside you again. His voice lowering, almost gentle.

"Do you know how easy today was?"

The question makes your stomach turn. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that might somehow make him disappear.

"Your husband spent months building walls around you. And a few arguments were enough to make him tear them down himself."

When you open your eyes again, tears blur everything. Hiro looks completely satisfied like he's waited years for this moment. 

By seven o'clock, Riki is finally heading home.

The entire day he's been replaying last night in his head. Thinking of things he should've said differently. By the time he reaches the house, he's already decided he's apologizing first. The front door opens, he kicks off his shoes, hangs up his coat, and immediately calls out,

"Baby?"

Silence, he frowns. Norrmally you'd answer, even if you were still angry, even if it’s just a hum. He walks further inside.

"Baby, I'm so sorry for—"

The words stop in his throat. The house looks exactly the same as when he left, like nobody had been here all day. A strange feeling settles in his chest.

"Baby?"

He walks into the kitchen, nothing. Garden, nothing. His pace quickens. Upstairs. Bathroom, empty. Bedroom, empty. Guest room, empty. His heart starts beating harder. Now he's calling your name louder. He checks the time. 7:03. You were supposed to be home by six. Ren knew that, you knew that. 

So where the fuck are you?

Riki rushes downstairs and that's when he sees it. Your phone still sitting on the kitchen counter.

"What." He grabs it. "What the fuck—"

His heart drops straight into his stomach. His hands are already grabbing his own phone. Already dialing Ren. Every instinct in his body screaming that something is wrong.

Miles away, your head shoots up because you hear a ringtone.

Across the room, Ren is slumped against a concrete wall unconscious with his hands tied. The phone keeps ringing. Kaito glances toward the sound and slowly reaches into Ren's pocket.

Kaito pulls out the phone, looks at the screen and smiles.

"Oh."

He turns the phone toward you. The contact name fills the screen. Riki. The sight of it almost breaks you because now you know exactly what's happening. Riki's home, he's looking for you, he's freaking out.

The phone continues ringing and Kaito studies your face, amused like he's watching a show.

"Should I ignore it? Huh?"

You violently shake your head, tears flying. Please don't. But his smile only grows.

“No? So you wan’t me to answer?” You nod your head and tears spill down your cheeks.

The phone rings, until Kaito swipes across the screen to aswer and Riki's voice explodes through the speaker. "Ren, where is she?"

No hello. Pure panic. "Where the fuck is my wife?"

Even hearing his voice makes fresh tears spill down your face. Kaito glances at you, sill smiling. Then casually pulls a chair over and sits down directly in front of you, one leg over the other.

"Good evening, Boss."

"...Who is this?"

Kaito leans back comfortably. "Oh, we have plenty of time for introductions."

Kaito keeps smiling while Riki's breathing turns harsher through the phone.

"You trusted the wrong man," he says casually. "And now I have the thing you cherish most."

You immediately start screaming behind the gag. Trying to make noise, trying to make Riki hear you. On the other end of the line, Riki loses whatever control he had left.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill every fucking person in that building. Tell me where she is."

Kaito's smile fades slightly. "Careful, Boss. Threats don't work when I'm the one holding the gun."

Riki says something else, but Kaito simply lifts the phone away.

"I'll show you something."

And then he hangs up. Kaito slips the phone into his pocket, completely unbothered. You stare at him through tears.

A minute later, somewhere across the city, Riki's phone buzzes. A video, he opens it immediately.

The screen shows you tied to the chair with a gun pressed beside your head. Your face wet with tears. If you don't come alone, Kaito says, if you tell anyone, bring anyone, fight us, or try anything clever, your wife and your baby die. Then a location appears on screen.

For once in his life, Riki listens to an enemy. Because this isn't business, his wife’s life is at risk. He just grabs his keys and leaves.

At the warehouse, you sit trapped in the chair, waiting. You keep telling yourself the same thing over and over. Riki will come, Riki will bring his men, you’ll be safe. Your eyes close briefly as you try to steady your breathing. It'll be over soon.

Then you hear a car outside, a door slamming. Your heart jumps into your throat. Kaito glances toward the entrance. One of the armed men moves toward the front.

Outside, Riki reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a handgun. He shoves it into the waistband of his suit and heads for the warehouse door without slowing down. He pounds on it hard enough to rattle the metal. The door cracks open. A guard stands there, weapon visible.

"You alone?"

"Yes," Riki snaps. "Let me the fuck in!"

The man studies him for a second, then opens the door. The moment the entrance clears, Riki sees you tied to the chair. And your scream tears through the warehouse. "Riki!"

He moves immediately, trying to get to you. A guard blocks him before he gets halfway across the room. "Not so fast. Any weapon on you," he says. "Drop it."

For a second Riki hesitates. His eyes flick to you, to the gun beside your head. 

Slowly, he reaches into his waistband and pulls out the pistol. It feels humiliating, but he lowers it to the concrete floor. The guard immediately kicks it away. The second the gun is kicked away, another man moves. 

Riki barely has time to react before someone grabs both his wrists and yanks them behind his back. Instinct takes over and he twists violently, trying to break free. For a split second, it almost works. But the man standing in front of him swings the butt of his gun and it lands hard against the side of Riki's head.

Your breath catches. "Riki!"

Riki groans in pain and his knees nearly buckle. Blood immediately appears near his temple, running down the side of his face. The man behind him tightens his grip and forces his arms higher. "Stop moving."

"Get your fucking hands off me."

Kaito sighs dramatically. "I told you not to fight. It's five against one."

He gestures around the room. "You're not winning this."

The men force Riki forward toward you. One of the men shoves him down. Riki hits the concrete on both knees.

He's only a few meters away now. Close enough to see every tear on your face, close enough to notice your shaky breathing. But too far away to reach you. You stare at him. Your vision blurs again.

"Riki..."

The cloth turns it into a muffled sob.

His tone immediately softens even now.

"It's okay, baby." Blood still running down the side of his face. "Trust me."

You shake your head desperately, tears falling faster. His eyes stay locked on yours.

"You'll be okay."

Kaito laughs, then grabs a handful of Riki's hair and forces his head upward. His fingers brush the fresh blood near Riki's temple.

"You really believe that?" Kaito asks.

Riki jerks away from him immediately. His eyes dark.

"If you touch her—"

"Listen." Kaito cuts him off.

The smile finally disappears from his face. "You killed my brother."

Kaito begins pacing slowly. "You remember Kaizen."

It isn't a question. Riki's jaw tightens.

"Good. Because I remember him too."

"I remember the phone call, I remember identifying the body, I remember seeing my nieces cry."

You can feel the hatred pouring out of him now. "I wasn't important enough for anyone to look at. Which worked out pretty well for me."

His eyes move toward you. "Because it gave me time. Every picture, every threat. That was me. I followed you both for months. Waiting for the perfect moment to get revenge.”

He looks directly at Riki. "It surprised me hard it was to find your weak spot. But then it happened..."

His eyes slowly move down to your stomach. Everything inside you freezes.

"...the baby."

Immediately you start struggling again. The chair scrapes loudly across the floor and a muffled cry escapes you.

"No—"

Riki visibly flinches. Kaito notices both reactions and smiles.

"See? There it is. That's the one."

Riki's entire body goes rigid. "If this is about me then leave them out of it."

"Leave them out of it? After everything I’ve worked for? The stalking, the months of paranoia, the kidnapping. It worked exactly how I wanted."

You feel sick. Because he's right, every piece led here. Riki's eyes never leave you. Almost like he's trying to memorize your face, preparing for something.

Kaito turns back toward him.

"And now you're alone. You came exactly where I wanted."

Kaito takes a gun from one of the men. He turns and presses the gun gently against the side of your head. Everybody’s breath catches.

"Since you took something from me..." Kaito says quietly. "...I think it's only fair I take something from you."

"NO!" Riki's voice explodes through the room.

He tries to get up, a guard immediately slams a fist into his side. The hit forces the air from his lungs and he groans.

"Please."

The word falls from his mouth before he can stop it. And everyone hears it. The feared boss, the man who’s never said thank you. Begging.

"Please. Don't touch her."

And sitting there with tears streaming down your face, staring at the blood on his temple and the panic in his eyes, you realize he's just as scared as you are.

Kaito studies the panic on both of your faces for a moment before slowly lowering the gun from your head. He starts pacing again, the gun hanging loosely at his side.

"You know," he says, almost conversationally, "when my brother got shot, everybody talked about him. They talked about his empire. His money. His power."

A humorless laugh leaves him. "But nobody talked about his daughters. Funny, isn't it?"

He tilts his head. "A child growing up without a father." His gaze locks onto Riki. "Does that sound familiar to you?"

The words hit harder than any punch. You immediately start shaking your head.

"No. No, please..."

Your voice is barely understandable through the tears. Riki drops his head.

"What do you want, Riki?" Kaiten says.

Riki slowly looks up. Kaito points the gun toward you.

"Her life?" Then toward Riki. "Or yours?"

"If she dies," Kaito continues, "you live. You get to spend the rest of your life remembering this moment. Remembering your wife. Remembering your unborn child."

Your breathing becomes shaky. Kaito then points the gun at Riki.

"If you die... they live."

You immediately let out a sob. "No."

"But your child grows up without a father and your wife becomes a widow."

Riki just stares at the floor, then at you, his eyes glassy. The thought of either option makes you feel sick. Kaito waits and waits. When neither of you answers, his patience begins to crack.

"Answer me."

Silence. "Answer me..."

"ANSWER ME, RIKI."

Riki closes his eyes. Kaito strides forward and puts the gun beneath Riki's chin, forcing his head upward. Riki slowly opens his eyes.

Then Kaito smiles.

"You know what?" He takes a step back. "I'll let both of you decide."

He gestures toward the men beside you. One of them immediately crouches down, a knife cuts the ropes around your wrists fall away. Your arms immediately drop, numb and aching. The ropes around your ankles follow. At the same time, one of the guards gives Riki a shove between the shoulder blades.

The second you're free, you're moving. You practically fall into him. Your knees hit the concrete and you're in his arms. Finally, but at what cost. 

The first sound that leaves you is a broken sob. Riki catches you immediately, one arm around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head. Holding you so tightly like it’s the last time. Your face presses against his chest and you can hear his heartbeat.

"Riki..." Your voice breaks completely. "I'm so sorry."

He immediately shakes his head but you keep going. The words pour out between sobs.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it."

"I know."

"I didn't mean any of it, I do want this. I want our family. I want our baby."

His hand slides into your hair. "I know… I know."

Another sob, you can barely breathe. Tears are running down his face now too, though he barely seems to notice. You cup his face with both hands.

"I love you so much." The words come out trembling. "So much."

His eyes immediately close for a second. Hearing that physically hurts because he doesn't know if he'll ever hear it again.

"I love you too." His forehead presses against yours.

Then—

BANG.

The gunshot explodes through the warehouse ceiling. Both of you jump violently. You instinctively bury yourself against Riki's chest and his arms immediately wrap around you.

Kaito lowers the gun and rolls his eyes. "Touching."

Kaito checks his watch. "You have three minutes."

Your stomach twists. Three minutes. Three minutes to decide something impossible.

"If you don't choose..." He shrugs. "...I'll choose myself."

The silence afterward feels endless. And as the reality of those words settles over the room, you cling to Riki even tighter. Because suddenly three minutes feels like the shortest amount of time in the world.

The moment Kaito says they have three minutes, something inside you completely breaks.

"No—"

Your voice cracks. Sobbing so hard you can barely breathe. Your fingers clutch at Riki's suit desperately, holding onto him like if you let go for even a second he'll disappear. The thought alone makes you feel sick.

"No, no, no..."

Your whole body shakes. Riki immediately pulls you closer.

"Baby." His hands cup your face. "Hey."

You can't even look at him. Because the second you do, it feels like goodbye.

"Look at me."

You shake your head. "No."

"Baby." His thumbs wipe tears from your cheeks. "Look at me."

Eventually your eyes lift. The second they meet his, more tears spill over, because he's crying too.

You know exactly what he's thinking and you hate it.

"Listen to me." His voice is gentle. The same voice he uses when you're sick, when you're upset. "You have to take care of our baby."

Immediately you start shaking your head again. "No."

"You do." His forehead presses against yours. "You have to."

"No, Riki."

"I want you to live."

His hand slides down to your stomach. The gesture destroys you. "I want both of you to live."

Your hand immediately covers his as if you're trying to stop him. 

"You'll be okay."

"No." His lips brush your forehead. "You will."

A kiss to your temple. "You're strong." A kiss to your cheek. "You always tell me that."

Your shoulders shake harder. "Stop."

"You know how to take care of yourself."

"Stop it ."

"You'll be an amazing mother."

"Riki, stop."

His voice breaks slightly. "You'll live the life we talked about."

At that, you completely lose it. The sound that leaves your throat barely sounds human. You bury your face against his neck and cry harder, because he's talking like he's already gone. Like he's already made peace with it, he's already saying goodbye.

Kaito glances at his watch. "Time's almost up."

You immediately grab Riki tighter. "No."

His arms wrap around you. One hand rubbing your back, the other the side of your face. He can't stop touching you. His eyes close briefly. He's memorizing this. The feeling of your hair, your scent, the weight of your body against his, the warmth of you. The child you carry. Everything.

"It'll be okay."

His voice is quieter now. Almost a whisper. "You'll finally get that peaceful life."

You immediately pull back. "No. Stop."

"You will. You deserve it."

Your hands grab his face. "I want you a life with you, Riki."

Kaito sighs loudly, clearly annoyed. Then he starts counting.

"Fifty. Forty-nine. Forty-eight."

"No."

You turn toward Kaito so quickly your neck hurts. "Take me."

Riki immediately stiffens. "No baby."

"Just take me!" Your voice echoes through the room. Tears running down your face. "Please!"

Riki grabs your shoulders. "Y/n stop."

"Take me!"

His arms immediately lock around you, holding you against his chest. "Stop."

"No!" You struggle trying to pull away from him.

Eventually he places a hand over your mouth. Just to stop you from saying it. Because he cannot listen to you offer your own life. Your cries become muffled ,you hit weakly against his chest trying to fight him. But you're exhausted, you’re terrified and drained.

Eventually your strength gives out. You stop fighting and Riki slowly removes his hand.

The second he does, you throw your arms around his neck. He immediately hugs you back.

"Baby..." His thumb brushes your cheek. "I need you to listen to me."

He looks at you, his eyes glistening like he’s looking at the most precious thing in the world.

"I loved every day with you."

Your face crumples immediately. "No Riki don’t say that—"

"I mean it." A small smile appears. The saddest smile you've ever seen. "I loved every single day."

His breathing shakes, a tear slides down his temple. His hand finds your stomach.

"The day I met you... I had no idea you'd become my whole life."

You can't breathe. 

"I need you." The words burst out of you. "I need you, Riki."

Your hands grab his face. "I can't do this without you. I can’t.”

"Yes you can. You're the strongest woman I've ever met."

Your entire body shakes. "No."

"You are. You’re stronger than me, baby, trust me. You survived me."

That almost makes both of you laugh weakly.

His forehead presses against yours. "You'll raise our baby."

A sob escapes you.

"You'll tell them about me. You'll tell them how annoying I was."

"No."

"You'll tell them how much I loved you."

"Stop."

"I'll always be with you." The words come out quietly. You immediately start crying harder.

"I'll look for you. In your dreams."

"No. No Riki I can’t—"

"I'll remind you I'm still around."

You're fully hysterical now. Sobbing so hard your words don't even make sense anymore.

"No, no, no, no, no..."

"TEN." Kaito's voice echoes through the warehouse.

Your arms are wrapped around Riki's neck so tightly your muscles hurt. His forehead is pressed against your shoulder.

"Nine."

His hands move to your face, making you look at him. "Riki..."

Somehow he still manages to smile. That smile he only ever gave you and nobody else ever got. That smile you hope your baby has gotten from him. 

"I'll love you forever."

Your face immediately crumples. "Riki… no."

His thumb wipes away another tear. "Say it back, baby. Say it back to me." 

His forehead presses against yours again.

"I love you.” You manage to say between sobs. “I love you so much.” 

A tear slips down his cheek.

“Five.”

And suddenly he's kissing you. So deeply, he's trying to put every feeling he's ever had for you into one final kiss. Your hands immediately find his face. His neck, his hair. Anywhere.

You kiss him back through tears. Through the realization that this is probably the last time. The last kiss, and neither of you wants to let go.

"One."

Kaito's voice cuts through the room. The kiss breaks.

Then—

Zero.

Kaito moves so fast you barely register it, and suddenly Riki jerks. A strangled sound leaves him. Your eyes widen.

A knife is buried deep beneath his ribs. Kaito immediately steps back and blood begins spreading across Riki's shirt.

"No!" The scream tears out of you.

The entire warehouse disappears in front of your eyes. Nothing exists except him in your arms. His head lands in your lap. Blood is already soaking your clothes.

"Riki."

He coughs, blood appears at the corner of his mouth. Your heart shatters. Your hands shake so badly you can barely hold his face.

"I'm here." You don't even know why you're saying it. "I'm here."

Another cough escapes from him. Another painful breath. His eyes stay locked on yours like he wants your face to be the last thing he sees. You start crying harder.

"I love you. I love you so much."

His lips twitch. Almost a smile, almost. Then his hand slowly lifts, weak and shaky, trying to reach you. You immediately grab it and press his palm against your cheek. His thumb barely moves against your skin. The weakest little movement but you feel it.

His eyes begin drifting through you. Somewhere else.

His mind drifts to the day he met you. To your wedding. The first time he slept with you. To when he taught you how to fight and he used to let you win. Late nights cuddling in bed. When he introduced you at the office. The arguments. Slow dancing in the living room. Running jobs with you. The baby.  The future. The life you were supposed to have.

The life that was supposed to keep going.

His hand starts slipping. You immediately grab it, putting it back against your face.

"No." Your voice cracks. "Stay with me."

His eyes find yours one final time, and suddenly he looks peaceful. Then his chest rises one last time. His eyes remain on yours, but something changes, he just disappears. Riki isn't there anymore.

"No." Your hands grab his face and tap his cheek gently. "Riki, baby.”

Your breathing becomes frantic. "Riki… please.”

Your voice breaks. Tears falling onto his face.

"Please wake up."

There are still people in the room, still footsteps and distant voices, preparing to leave this situation behind as fast as possible. But none of it reaches you. The world has narrowed down to the weight in your lap, to the face you've loved for years.

You don't know how much time passes. Maybe seconds, maybe hours. You just sit there.

A part of you refuses to believe it. Any second now he'll groan and tell you you're being dramatic. Any second now he'll wake up. He always wins.

Your fingers brush through his hair, sticky with blood now, but you don’t care, you smooth it back anyway. The same way you always did when he was stressed or when he fell asleep on your chest.

You lower your forehead against his and cold tears fall onto his skin. Your hand finds his, it feels heavier now, lifeless. You lace your fingers through his anyway.

Nothing about this feels real.  You bend over him, pressing a trembling kiss against his forehead. One last time.

"I love you Riki." The words come out broken.

"Forever."

You don’t get an answer. The words just hangs in the air.

Outside, the world keeps moving. Rain falls, cars drive by. People laugh, people dance. Dogs bark, birds chirp. Life just continues. Completely unaware that yours has just ended.

You close your eyes and hold him tighter. You place one hand on your stomach. You were so close to a perfect future with him, and it left you in less than a second. The old house filled with jazz music. The family dinners. Gone.

But beneath your hand, there is still a piece of him. Your child. And for the first time since Kaito started counting, you finally understand why he made his choice.

Even when Riki was terrified for what was coming. Even when it meant losing everything.

He chose you. 

✦

xtra note: I just realized I completely forgot to write about the little girls from the last past omg... SORRY. I was too focused on dada's death. the girls are fine ;)