rose𑣲.

Y/N had a massively embarrassing secret.

She was hopelessly in love with someone who could never love her back. Someone who probably doesn’t even remember her. 

2 years ago

It all came crashing down on her one autumn night her freshman year. Her lab had just ended at 9 PM and she was rushing back to her apartment to turn in her lab report before it was due. Of course, with her luck, it had started to pour. This only added to her already sour mood. 

She sighed dramatically and put the hood of her hoodie above her head. The walk to the apartment was only 10 minutes, and she’d done it before, both in the daylight and dark. But, something about the atmosphere of this specific night felt wrong. And, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, the uneasy feeling lingered in her stomach throughout her walk.

Only about 3 minutes into her walk, she heard a noise behind her. Frightened, Y/N looked back, only to discover that a rat had seemingly knocked over a metal trash can. She took a deep breath to stabilize her rapidly beating heart, and then turned around.

2 steps in was all it took for Y/N to realize that she was not alone on her walk. As she looked up from the pavement she saw a figure standing several yards ahead of her. Breathe. Maybe they’re harmless. Of course, at that moment, the mysterious figure pulled out and opened a pocket knife. She had decided that this might be the right time to start freaking out. 

“Drop the bag,” the figure ordered.

“I-I’m a college student. I have no money in here, I promise. You’re only wasting your time,” Y/N defends. Although she was verbally defending herself from his orders, she shakily began dropping her shoulder to take off her backpack. She knew better than to go against a man holding a knife at her. 

“You have a laptop, don’t you? A phone too? That’s money, kid.”

Before taking off her backpack completely, she reaches into one of the sides and pockets the pepper spray she always carries around. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. Now, she just has to wait until he’s close enough. Maybe then she can spray him, pick up her bag and run as fast as she can to safety. Or potentially die trying. But if the latter occurred, at least she wouldn’t have to stress out about that lab report anymore. 

“Ok. Here you go. Look through my bag, just please don’t hurt me.”

As the attacker began to come closer, she heard an echoing scream coming from the alleyway adjacent to where they were standing. What the fuck? 

Just then, a swinging figure dressed in a red and blue suit catapults into the man in front of her. Both the attacker and the masked hero tumble to the ground in a mixture of limbs and grunts. 

I should probably get out of here, right? She thought to herself. 

But, before she could take a single step back, the masked figure had the attacker’s wrists pinned above his head in a mess of stringy webbing, hoisting him a few feet off the ground and sticking him to a rusty lamppost along the pavement. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna hold. Probably. Actually, definitely, don’t worry about it,” the vigilante said, more to himself than anyone else, giving the makeshift webbing trap an experimental tug before turning around. 

Y/N’s brain, which had been running off of pure adrenaline for the last couple of minutes, short-circuited completely. Because, standing in front of her now, was Spider-Man. The actual, real-life Spider-Man was standing in front of her, after just saving her life. 

“Hey! You okay?” He jogged (well, sort of bounced) over to her, hands up like he was approaching a spooked animal on the side of the road. “That was some quality bag-defending, by the way. Very compelling argument. Have you considered politics as a career path?”

She stuttered through a mess of vaguely familiar words before blurting out a coherent sentence, “Knife. He had a knife.”

“Yes. I noticed that. Kind of my whole thing actually. Noticing knives.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and even through the mask she could tell he was cringing at his awkwardness. “Sorry. Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

“Uh. No. No, I’m okay. I’m fine, I think. I dropped my pepper spray.” She looked down at her hand. She had not, in fact, dropped her pepper spray. She was still holding it in a death grip. 

He looked down at it too, and tilted his head. “Is that your backup pepper spray, then? Very prepared, I respect that.” Then, silence. “You can, uh, you can put that away now, if you want. I’m the good guy. Allegedly.”

She did, face going hot despite the cold weather. “Right. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, I’d be spraying me too. First impressions are rough when you swing in mid-mugging.” He effortlessly picked up her backpack from where it had been placed and held it out to her. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yeah, thank you.” She took it, fingers brushing his covered hand for half a second and something about the size of his hand compared to hers registered somewhere in the back of her scrambled brain. “Uh, thank you. Really. I don’t– I’m not really sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s no big deal. Just get home safe, okay? It’s late, and it’s pouring, and I’m guessing…” he tilted his head slightly, eyes landing on her backpack, “you have a lab report due soon? You’ve got that look. Well, that and the fact that I can see your Chemistry notebook sticking out of your backpack. And your goggles are clipped to the side of your bag.”

Y/N laughed, bewildered with the entire situation at this point. “You know, you’re weirdly observant for a guy wearing a onesie.”

Before he could quip back with something clever and charismatic, a siren wailed, and his head snapped toward the sound.

“Duty calls,” he said, already backing away. “Go home, lock your door, and maybe… I don’t know… take the well-lit route next time? I can’t be everywhere.”

She imagined that if he weren’t wearing a mask, he’d have the cockiest smirk on his face. A blush crept up on her cheeks as she pictured the sight. 

“Wait,” she said, unable to stop herself.

He paused. 

Y/N didn’t actually have anything to say, she just didn’t want him to leave yet. Which was definitely a strange sentiment to have about a masked vigilante she’s known for a grand total of five minutes. 

“...Good luck with the lab report, stranger,” he muttered out. And then he shot a web line and was gone, swinging up into the rain and out of her sight. 

An idiotic smile crept up on her face.

Present Day

Y/N burst through the lecture hall doors just as class was about to start. She, of course, was running late this morning. But, by sheer determination, she had somehow made it to class on time, hair slightly out of place and face flushed from her stressful run across campus. She plops down in her usual seat next to her friend, Mia, who she whispers a greeting to so as to not disturb the rest of the class. 

As she begins to pull out her notebook and laptop, she feels a pair of eyes on her. Looking up from her backpack, she makes eye contact with the guy sitting two benches ahead and to the left, half-turned in his seat like he’d been looking at her for longer than she realized. 

He was definitely cute, she’d noticed that, for sure. Messy dark hair that always looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, a hoodie that had seen better days, and this expression like he was either about to crack the worst joke known to man or apologize for something, she was never sure which. 

He held her gaze for a moment too long before his eyes went wide and he spun back around in his seat so fast she heard his notebook fall off the edge of the table and hit the floor with a slap that echoed in the lecture hall. 

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Mia, who was already grinning back at her. 

“He does that literally every class,” Mia whispered, full of amusement, evident by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“What?”

“Stares. At you, specifically. And then combusts the second you notice.” Mia nodded toward the front, where the guy was very intently bent over, retrieving his notebook and obviously refusing to look anywhere near their direction. “I think someone might have a little crush.”

“He’s probably just spacing out. People stare at nothing all the time, Mia.” Y/N pulled her laptop out and flipped it open. “I do it constantly. Yesterday, I stared at a vending machine for like four minutes. Four straight minutes, I kid you not.”

“Sure. And I’m sure it’s also a coincidence that the ‘nothing’ he’s spacing out at specifically is … you.”

“Mia. It’s a big lecture hall. Statistically, someone’s gotta be looking this way. It’s all just timing, seriously.”

Mia opened her mouth to protest further, but the professor cleared his throat at the front of the room, and the lecture hall quieted down into the low rustle of laptops opening and pens clicking. Y/N caught one more glance toward the front, where the guy whose name she was pretty sure was Jake, had his shoulders hunched slightly, ears a little red, and taking notes on a lecture that hadn’t even started yet.

She shook her head, amused with his awkwardness, and then turned her attention to the professor.

The lecture droned on in a sea of stoichiometry problems and diagrams, and Y/N’s attention drifted in and out the way it always did during early morning classes. Sometime around the professor’s third tangent about molarity, she noticed a girl in front of her lean over to her deskmate.

“Can I borrow a pencil? Mine just totally gave up on me,” the girl winced, holding up a pink mechanical pencil.

Before her deskmate could even respond, a hand appeared over her shoulder from the row behind her. Jake’s row. He was already holding out a spare pencil, pre-sharpened of course. 

“Here,” he whispered, voice low so as not to disturb the class. “Keep it, I have like six.”

“Oh my god, thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” the girl whispered back, already turning to face the front again.

“No problem!” He gave a small thumbs up, which he immediately retracted with embarrassment. 

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh at this, which Mia, ever observant, had noticed.

“He’s so effortlessly friendly,” Mia murmured. “Last week, he gave up his lab stool for that girl who sprained her ankle, and I’m pretty sure he stayed after to help clean up someone’s spilled acid solution even though it wasn’t his mess.”

“Oh, that’s… sweet.”

“I also heard he tutors freshmen in the library on Thursdays. For free. And Priya said he walked her all the way to her car during the thunderstorm last month because she didn’t have an umbrella.” Mia shrugged, her tone somewhere between impressed and exasperated. “Basically, what I’m trying to say is, if there was a school award for Most Likely To Give You His Jacket, this guy would win. By a landslide.”

Y/N glanced toward the front again, where Jake was now diligently annotating his notes, tongue slightly poking out in concentration.

“And he’s cute. And single, as far as anyone knows.” Mia’s tone shifted, casual on the surface to the untrained ear, but very clearly leading somewhere. “Just saying.”

“Don’t,” Y/N said, not even looking up from her notebook.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Liar. I can hear your scheming from here.”

Mia grinned. “Okay, but for real. Jake is sweet, he’s clearly into you, and you’ve been single since forever. Why aren’t you literally pouncing on him?”

Y/N sighed, closing her notebook. “It’s really stupid.”

Mia cocked an eyebrow.

“There’s just… someone else. Sort of. It’s complicated.” She lowered her voice, glancing around to make sure no one could hear what she was about to say. “You know how I told you about that mugging thing, freshman year?”

Mia’s expression shifted. “The one where Spider-Man saved you? Yeah, obviously, you’ve told that story like a gazillion times.”

“I have not– Okay, whatever.” She felt her face heat up. “The point is, I don’t know. Ever since then, I just haven’t been able to feel like that about anyone else. It’ll be like… I meet someone, and they’re nice or funny, or whatever, and it’s fine but it’s never…” she struggled to find a word, “... it never feels like that.”

“Y/N, babe, that is deeply unwell behavior and I say that with love.”

“Ugh. I know.”

“You’re comparing every guy you meet to a superhero you talked to once. Two years ago. Two!”

“I know, Mia.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember it. He probably saves like, hundreds of people a month. You’re one alleyway in a very long list of alleyways.”

“I know,” Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her folded arms on the desk. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Not stupid, just inconvenient. And totally unfair to Jake, who doesn’t even know he’s competing against a guy in spandex.”

The professor’s voice cuts through their conversation. “Alright, before everyone runs off, one more thing before you go. Your semester project assignments are up on the portal. I’m pairing you up for this one, so check now if you want to plan around your partner’s schedule.”

A collective groan ripples throughout the room. Y/N pulled out her phone and scrolled the portal posting until she found her name in the list of alphabetized names. Aha! Bingo. 

Y/N L/N & Jake Sim

“So?” Mia leaned over her shoulder without asking, and then immediately gasped.

“Don’t,” Y/N pleaded.

“The universe is really pulling you two together, huh? A whole semester project. Alone. Together. At, presumably, someone’s apartment. You know… because that’s how these things goooo…”

“It’s a lab partner assignment, Mia, not a proposal.”

“Sure. Sure, sure, sure.” Mia was already gathering her things, too pleased with herself and the situation to calm her smile down. “I’m just saying, maybe give the golden retriever a chance. See what happens.”

See what happens. Okay. I can do that, she thinks to herself. 

Just as Mia exits the room, Jake approaches Y/N.

“Uh, hi. Y/N, right? I’m Jake Sim. I think we’re partners for this project,” he mutters in a shy manner before sputtering out a bunch of nonsense, “I know people have like, partner preferences, or whatever, so if you’re not comfortable with this we could probably ask the professor to switch some groups around–”

“This is fine,” Y/N assures him, mostly just wanting him to stop rambling. “I was thinking we could do some research at my apartment? It’s pretty close to the campus, and I could send you all the details if you give me your number.”

Jake’s face immediately turns beet red as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to her. “Y-yeah. That sounds a-awesome,” he blurts out with a voice crack mid-sentence. 

She hands the phone back to him, now with her number typed in. “Right. Well, okay. See you then.” 

“See you.” He lifts his hand in a half-wave before she leaves, before face-palming and muttering to himself.

Jake had texted her twice before their meeting. Once to check the address, and once to ask if he should bring snacks (something she found incredibly charming). 

By the time he knocked on her door at exactly the time they agreed upon, she was mid-way through cleaning off her kitchen island. Shit, he’s here. Rushing to open the door, she found Jake standing there with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a bag of pretzels held up like an offering. 

“I wasn’t sure what to bring. Do you like pretzels?” he said, by way of greeting. 

“I do like pretzels.” She stepped back to let him in, biting down a rising smile. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Yeah, I know. But, I wanted to. Not– not in like, a weird way. Just, a normal… project partner gesture.” He winced, visibly regretting every word that had come out of his mouth.

The door secured behind them and an awkward silence filled the room, one that can only be described as the strange feeling of having a new person enter your place of comfort. 

“Right. Well, the bathroom’s down the hall if you need it,” she offered, mostly to fill the silence. “And, the kitchen table’s set up. Or we can do the couch. Whichever is easier for spreading stuff out.”

“Table works.” He set his backpack down but didn’t sit, instead glancing around the apartment with unhurried curiosity, almost like he was trying to store new information. “Nice place. Very… you. N-not that I’d know what ‘very you’ means. That was a weird thing to say.”

“It’s fine.” She wasn’t really paying attention, mostly digging through her backpack in an effort to find something. “Feel free to look around, I just need to find the rubric, I swear I had it–”

She trailed off, raking through several folders, completely missing the moment when Jake had turned toward the hallway that led to her bedroom, where the door was left slightly ajar. 

Through the gap in the door, visible even from the kitchen table, was a wall. 

A wall covered, floor to ceiling, in Spider-Man. Posters, mostly. Some were the kind you’d find at a comic book store, while others appeared to be homemade. Several newspaper clippings scattered throughout. And a shelf lined with action figures posed ridiculously. 

The sudden silence was deafening. Jake did not say anything for a solid five seconds. Which, for Jake, was practically a record. “So,” he finally managed, his voice strange and almost strangled in a sharp inhale, “you like Spider-Man.”

Y/N promptly looked up from her folder, followed his line of sight to the half-open door, and felt her stomach drop through the floor and to the depths of hell. “Oh my god.” She was across the room in two steps, slamming the door shut like it could somehow undo what he saw. “Okay, so that’s– you weren’t supposed to see that. Like, at all. I usually close it, I just forgot–”

“It’s okay!” Jake said quickly, hands up in a way she realized looked strangely familiar. “I’m not judging, I just… that’s a lot of Spider-Man. A very impressive amount, actually,” he stopped just then, realizing that her face was redder than he’d ever seen it, “I mean, I collect vintage stamps, so I’m not really in a position to judge anyone’s hobbies.”

A surprised laugh sprung out of her. “You do not collect stamps.”

“No, I don’t, but I panicked and said the least cool thing I could think of to make you feel better and it just came out as stamps.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Can I ask why you like him so much, though?”

A moment passed as Y/N weighed how much of this she actually wanted to say out loud. “It’s a long story,” she said finally.

“I’ve got time.”

So she told him about it all. The late-night lab, the dark road, the man with the knife. And then the kind, masked stranger who came swinging in to save her. “He could’ve just left the second the guy was all webbed up. But he stayed, and he made sure I was okay, and he made me laugh. And I know that sounds insane, getting hung up on some guy I talked to for five minutes two years ago, believe me, I know–”

“It doesn’t sound insane,” Jake said, tone going very soft and careful, eyes spacing out on the wall.

“Jake? What’s wrong?”

“Can I tell you something,” he said, eyes back to hers, “and you have to promise not to freak out?”

Her stomach flipped. “Surely you know how terrifying that sounds.”

A breath, and then he spoke again, his voice dropping into something quieter, and more honest, stripped of his nervous rambling. “I remember that night.”

Y/N stared at him. “But, that’s impossible. There was no one else there, just me, the attacker, and Spider-Man.”

His eyes pierced into hers as a beat passed, “I remember that night… because I am Spider-Man.”

A laugh threatened to escape from her. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“No! No, I swear. Watch,” he pulled up his jacket sleeve and aimed his posed hand at a corner of the wall, before firing a string of web fluid. Holy shit. “I know it’s crazy, but Y/N, you’re not the only one who can’t stop thinking about that night. God, I mean, I’ve been crushing on you for years now, and when I realized we were in some of the same classes together? I lost my mind. But you didn’t know Jake, you only knew Spider-Man.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Now I know both,” she stared into his eyes, now with the realization that he’s the same guy she can’t seem to get out of her head, “You saved my life. A-and you give people pencils in class, and you stay after lecture to help clean up spills, and you tutor freshmen at the library for free!”

The space between them shrank as he approached, “I didn’t know you knew that much about me.”

“Turns out I had a lot more reasons to like you than I realized.”

“Yeah?” A small, disbelieving, boyish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he still wasn’t entirely sure that this moment was real. He was now close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to keep looking at him. “Is this okay? That I’m here. Like this.”

“This is more than okay, Jake. You’re the reason for my poster wall.” Her shaky hand found the front of his hoodie, pulling him in slightly. 

He huffed out a small laugh, and reached up to gently tuck a strand of stray hair from her face, fingers lingering against her cheek. “For the record, I’ve thought about this moment a humiliating number of times. And it never once involved a chemistry project.”

“Truly a devastating use of my study time.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

He was still watching her, hand still on her cheek, waiting for permission. She closed the distance instead, rising up slightly on her toes, and dissolving his next words the moment her lips met his.

not a hundred percent sure how to format this kind of stuff, so i definitely took inspiration from several fic authors on here!! i'll have my own style eventually, i promise lol

The church was too warm. Or, maybe it was you. Skin prickling under what seemed like hundreds of layers of vintage lace and boning, your veil like a clasped hand pressed flat and firm against the back of your head. It was all too much.

Rows of unfamiliar faces smiled up at you, expectantly, dressed in their Sunday best. Not one of them noticed how much your hands were shaking around the bouquet, like it was all you had left to hold onto. You had said yes to this. Or someone had said yes for you, months ago, over a dinner table thick with the smell of expensive wine and cigar smoke. Your opinion had long been factored out of the decision.

It’s a good match, your mother had said. You’ll want for nothing.

You wanted for everything. You wanted for a different life. You just didn’t know how to say that out loud.

The priest’s solemn voice rolled on, practiced and sharp. Somewhere to the left of your vision, your soon-to-be-husband stood, in a suit that fit him with the accuracy of a tailor-made glove, watching you with the presumptuous, satisfied expression of a man who had never once considered you might say no.

“Do you take this man–” the priest continued, his voice echoing throughout the chamber of your brain.

The word no gratingly rose up your throat, like something viscous and alive.

You don’t remember when you started to run, only the sudden cold shock of the solid church doors against your sweaty, warm palms. The gasps of the crowd you left in your wake rung behind you, like a breath finally released. Someone– you weren’t sure who, maybe your mother or him– had called out your name. But, the sound dissolved as you ran, swallowed up and enveloped by the wind and your ragged breathing.

You ran achingly until the town blurred into hedgerows and dark, empty roads. You hadn’t noticed your lack of bridal gear until you looked back to see your veil caught on a low branch, muddied and ripped, like a ghost hanging in the dark. The mud squelched beneath your toes as you looked down at bare feet. When had my shoes fallen off?

The dress you hauled against your body had started to grow heavier with each step, but you did not stop. No. You couldn’t stop. There was no time to think, they would surely be chasing after you, and you had nowhere to go.

Until you saw the lights.

Lights that bled across the murky treeline. A mixture of reds and golds flickering around, threaded through the sound of an eerie tune. A carnival, you thought. Out here, on the edge of nowhere, on a night where nothing in your life made sense anymore, you stumbled across a carnival.

The strange tents rose out of the dark, pulling you toward them. You had no reason to fight back, you had no place to go. Deeply pigmented red and black banners snapped overhead at mercy of the rabid wind. Lanterns, uneven, string between poles akin to the constellations that scattered across the onyx night. The smell of smoke and sugar invaded your nose. The grounds should be empty this late, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of an unwanted presence.

You moved through the grounds with the grace of a freshly-born fawn, rebelling against the instinct telling you to turn back while you still have the chance.

A woman, dark in every sense, sat perched on an overturned crate near one of the tent flaps, sharpening something small and silver in her lap with slow, careless strokes. She hadn’t looked up from her activity as you passed, but you felt her burning attention anyway, a feeling that crawled up your back and neck.

Further on, a man, probably the same age as your father, balanced impossibly high on the top rung of a ladder that didn’t appear to be leaning against anything at all, painting gold along the edge of a sign in careful, deliberate strokes despite the hour. He hummed a tune which you could not make out, and he never once looked down. Did these people live here?

You quickened your pace, sick to your stomach with unease. The night was starting to play tricks on you. My brain must be creating hallucinations to cope with the weird fucking night I’ve had. That must be the only explanation for this strange place. You pushed down your heart as it began climbing up your throat, and continued walking. There has to be some normal person around here.

Somewhere behind you, winding through the smoke-thick air, someone began to laugh.

You didn’t look back to check, scared of what you might find. Instead, you turned the corner around a striped tent, chest heaving, and wedding dress (if you could still call it that) in tatters. A solid and warm figure collided into your frame and did not so much as stumble upon the impact.

A firm hand closed around the side of your waist before you could fall back.

“Well,” said a voice above you, grim and husky. “Isn’t this a sight.”

Your eyes took him in before your brain could register what it was looking at. He was tall in a way that made you feel helpless and vulnerable, dressed in a crimson coat that drank in the lantern light rather than reflected it. A wicked sort of grin curved across his mouth, sharp at the edges.

Then, you found his eyes, which seemed to go against all other aspects of his character. They were boyish, absurdly so, in fact. Warm. There was something gravely startling about the mismatch, and you found that against every ounce of good sense you had left, you couldn’t look away.

“And how,” he said, cocking his head to one side slightly, gaze dragging slowly over your body, cloaked with the ruined, muddy lace and your achingly bloody feet, “does someone like you, stumble onto a place like this?”

“I–” Your mind was scrambled. Both form the night you just had and the devilishly handsome man in front of you. Fuck, I have to say something believable. Anything. “I was walking. I saw the lights, I didn’t mean to intrude–”

“Walking.” He clicked his tongue with an arched brow, clearly unconvinced, gaze flickering to the torn train fisted in her small hand. “In that?”

“I-I was at an event. A formal event, and it got… complicated, soo I left.”

“Complicated.” He said the word, turning it over. “So. The runaway bride look is just your particular style then? A fashion choice?”

A sigh escaped you. “I have nowhere to go. I ran away from my wedding. It wasn’t my choice to get married, and I certainly did not want anything to do with that man. My mother sold away my future for a good match and a bottle of expensive wine. I have no home, and no one who cares enough about me to take me in.” The tears came before you could stop them, hot enough to burn.

Instead of mocking you, like you had expected him to, he reached out and brushed his thumb underneath your eye, collecting a drop of your tears. He carefully brought it up to his mouth, where his tongue darted out to lick it off, as he maintained eye contact with you.

“Careful,” he muttered, “crying like that in front of a man like me. Might give me ideas.” He studied your shaking form for a moment longer before his wicked grin returned. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“You work for me.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Whatever I ask of you. And in exchange, I’ll give you a place to sleep, a roof above your head, and considerably fewer people trying to marry you against your will.” His voice dipped an octave lower. “I find I’m… rather good at taking in strays. Especially pretty ones who fall into my lap covered in mud and lace.”

You should have asked for clarification, or maybe even his name before agreeing to anything at all.

“Yes,” you whispered instead, the world escaping your mouth before you registered it as an answer. “I’ll take it.”

HIs grin widened, “Good girl.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

“I don’t have any more beds available, it’s a full house currently. So you’ll have to stay here. With me.” His gravely voice coated each word. You were standing in one of the rooms, which you now learned was his. It was spacious and grand, decked out with decorations that mirrored the outside of the grounds.

“But there’s only one bed.” You squeak out, feeling like you might have missed a crucial detail.

“Is that a problem?” Jake, that’s what he told you his name was, turned around to look you in the eye. “I won’t try anything.”

You stared at the bed in question. It was big enough for neither of you to touch in the middle of the night and looked almost like heaven after the night you had.

“Get ready for bed. The bathroom is to the left.” He husks out.

Your trip to the bathroom was the first time since before the wedding where you could get a good look at yourself. And you were a complete mess. Hair tangled and wild, scratches scattered across your body, blood and dirt accompanying them. Yeah, I need a shower.

A pile of unfamiliar clothes sat neatly on the bathroom counter when you got out of the shower. He must’ve come in and placed them here for me. Sweet. The clothes fit you loosely, and you suspected they may belong to Jake, who was noticeably larger than you.

The bathroom door creaked open to reveal a sleeping figure in the bed. You tip-toed over, so as to not make any noise that might disturb his slumber, and crawled under the thick, plush comforter. Immediately, you were enveloped in his scent. Bold and earthy. The scent combined with the heaven-adjacent comforter lulled you into a deep sleep.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You awoke slowly, disoriented from the warmnth that didn't belong to your own bed. For one long moment, you simply lay there, taking in the weight of the comforter, the golden light filtering though canvas, and then memories of the night before hit you like a freight train.

Jake lay beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His breath soft and steady. Sleep had gentled something in his face. There was no wicked grin or mischeivous glint in his eyes. Just the slow, even, rhythm of his breathing, and the charming piece of hair falling across his forehead that your fingers itched to brush away.

He stirred a moment later, as if sensing your attention even through deep sleep. One eye cracked open to find you watching him.

"Well," he spoke, voice rough with sleep, "isn't this a domestic little scene. I have to say, although I kept my end of the promise… you certainly did not."

"What do you mean?"

Astonishment cloaked his face. "You really don't remember?" A beat of silence. "Well I vividly remember waking up in the middle of the night to find a little vixen's hand groping my chest."

If your jaw could detach, you think it would be on the floor by now. "I-I'm so sorry, I had no idea—"

"It's fine," he began to taunt, clearly enjoying your flusteredness, "you're just lucky I'm a gentlemen. I moved your hand away before it had the chance to venture anywhere else on my body. Not that I would've minded."

You could feel the blood rush up to your cheeks, and you were sure you were as red as a tomato at this point.

"Sleep well, despite my terrible company?" He questioned lazily.

Thoughts of the borrowed comforter and his scent clinging to the pillow beneath you came to mind. "Better than I expected to."

"High praise." Swinging his legs off the bed, he reached for the waistcoat draped over the nearby desk chair. "Get dressed. There's a great deal you'll need to learn today. If you're going to be useful to me, that is."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Time at the carnival had a strange way of folding in on itself. Days blurred into weeks, which blurred into months. You marked the time passing by moments rather than by calendar.

There was the one afternoon where Jake had taught you how to read the ledgers properly. It was rocky at first, with his patience wearing thin, but as you gradually improved, so did his mood. His hand rested warmly against the small of your back as he leaned over your shoulder to check your work. You're a fast learner, little bride. He was close enough that his breath stirred the hair at your temple.

Then there was the quiet moments after each show, when the crowds had gone and the grounds fell into their strange, unsettling hush. You'd gotten accustomed to sitting with him on the steps of his wagon, sharing bites of whatever food hadn't sold that day. Neither of you talked much, but you realized that he seemed to offer you more of himself than he did anyone else.

You began to think, dangerously, selfishly, that you might have found something here worth staying for.

You should have known better.

A letter arrived in the mail one day, addressed to you, from an old acquaintance. In this, they wrote about how they visited the carnival with their family and noticed you somewhere in the background of the show.

I' m not quite sure why you're working at a circus, but if you ever need a place to stay, you are welcome with my family.

From,

Jungwon

The first time you read this, your heart did a couple flips. Never in your life had someone willingly wanted you in their life for the sake of caring for you. It was always transactional. But not this time.

You mentioned it to Jake over supper, mostly in passing, hardly going into any details.

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "You're thinking about leaving."

"W-what? No. No, I didn't say that."

"I'm not stupid." His voice had gone low, lost of any personality he had shown you the past couple months. "Who's the letter from?"

"An old friend. It's nothing."

"Nothing." He set the fork down with more force than called for. "You've been here for months now. I've given you a place. A purpose. I've kept you safe from the mess you ran from! And the first letter that arrives, you're already—"

"Already what?!" Something sharp and bitter scratched at your chest. "Already considering that I might, for once in my godforsaken life, that I have a choice? That I might want to know my options exist?"

"You have a choice. You chose to stay here." He bit down, words drenched with acid.

"I chose it because I had nowhere else to go!" The words slammed against the canvas walls, echoing in the room. "I said yes to you the same night I ran from a wedding I never wanted, Jake. Don't pretend that was some grand, free decision. I was desperate and terrified, shaking like a dirty, wet leaf, and you were the only option in front of me."

A flicker of hurt crossed his face. "And now that you have another option, you leave. Like everyone else." He stood up sharply and started pacing the tent's edge. His expression shuttered closed. "I saved you."

"You gave me somewhere to sleep and a job counting your money. That's not that same as saving me." Tears burned down your cheeks, hot and sudden. You let them come, too exhausted to hold them back. "Do you even understand what that's like, Jake? To never once choose anything for yourself? My whole life has been decided by other people. I ran from that. I ran barefoot through the dark to get away from people deciding my life for me."

"I'm not them."

"Aren't you?"

His eyes sharpened as he glared down at you, approaching your figure like a wolf quietly approaching its prey. "No. I'm not." He growled out, grasping your chin and tilting it upwards.

Your breath hitched as you looked up to meet his gaze. Before you knew it, your lips had crashed into his. Oh my God. His tongue began to run over your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter, which you gladly obeyed. You were at a loss for words, he kissed like he was going to fuck you.

"Get on your knees." He grunted, voice gruff and thick.

Sinking to the floor, your knees hit the ground as you stared up at him, waiting for the next move. He began unbuckling his belt in quick motions. Smooth, effortless. If you weren't wet before, you definitely were now. You reached up to grasp at the top of his underwear, tongue sticking out eagerly, you pulled it down. His dick sprang out of its restraints, erect and grand. That's way too big.

"Are you going to be a good girl and put my cock in your mouth, little bride?" You nodded ardently, excited to please. Hands slowly going for it, you wrapped your right hand around his cock gently. He immediately responded with a barely audible whimper. "Tighter." You obliged, gripping it tighter and recieving a much louder whimper from the man above you.

His hand went straight to the top of your head, gripping onto your hair. It stung a bit, but deep down, you liked it. He tilted your head upwards. "Open." He ordered. With your mouth now gaping at him, he leaned forward and spit into it. "Now, swallow." Not one to disobey, you swallowed. "Good girl."

Your attention went back to the massive erection in front of your face, giving it a few tugs before slotting it in your warm mouth, enveloping most of his size, but not quite all.

"Augh. F-fuck. Deeper, baby." He choked out, grip still tight on your hair, now guiding you further down until the back of your throat made contact with his tip. Tears started to form at the corners of your eyes, but you did your best, taking all he was giving you, only becoming more encouraged by his groans and occasional whimpers. You looked up at him, and the sight made your knees weak. His head was rolled back and his shirt sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, showcasing clear veins and definition.

You suctioned your lips harder around him, but before he got too close to blowing his load, he pulled you off of him and up on your feet, pressing a swift peck to your lips. "Good job. Now let's get to the main part of the show," he husked, guiding you to the bed you shared on your first night here, "Lay down." You fell on the bed behind you, dress hiking up, with his coarse hands groping at yout thighs. You both began undressing each other madly, lust clouding all logic and ability to slow down.

Now he was fitted in between your bare thighs, peppering kisses down your neck and chest. "You're beautiful, y/n." One of his hands achingly traveled down to your clit, where he rubbed in circles until your breathing became uneven and rapid. Then he plunged a finger inside, repeating that motion until you dissolved in ecstasy, becoming a weak, dripping mess. He placed a kiss to the top of your womb, before begining to slot his cock inside of you.

At the first push, both of you groaned out in pleasure, holding onto each other as anchors. His hips continued to dig deeper, cock sinking further into you. Your fingernails dug at his back with every coming inch. When you looked up at him, his eyes were hazy, mouth slightly agape, letting out the hottest sounds you'd ever heard. When he caught you staring at him, he lowered too the nook in between your neck and shoulder, almost like he needed to calm down.

"Please don't leave me." His voice was so low, you barely even heard his plea. The pace of his hips slowed down, with both of your climaxes drawing near.

You spoke thorughout the moans, narrowly able to muster a sentence. "I-I won't. I won't baby." One of your hands traveled to the top of his head to caress him. That single act led to his orgasm, releasing thick ropes inside of you, which then prompted your blinding climax.

He plopped to the side of you, stroking your cheek absent-mindedly.

"I'm sorry," you heard him whisper, "I don't know how to do this without holding on too tight. Everyone I've ever cared about has left, and I convinced myself that maybe if I gave them enough… they wouldn't want to. But, it's not right. I love you, Y/N. And I don't want to be another person who decides your life for you."

"I'm not asking you to let me go." Your hand found his cheek too, needing to touch him. "I'm asking you to let me choose to stay."

"Stay," he murmured, his forehead finding yours. "Because I don't know how to live without you anymore."

You closed the distance between you, taking in all his emotions. "I don't know how to live without you either."

a/n: agh! thank you for the love on my last fic. i'm so nervous to post this. first time writing smut, clearly lmaooo hope you guys enjoyed reading this slop though, I had fun for sure. pls leave comments i wanna make friends on here (,,>ヮ<,,)!

Y/N had a massively embarrassing secret.

She was hopelessly in love with someone who could never love her back. Someone who probably doesn’t even remember her. 

2 years ago

It all came crashing down on her one autumn night her freshman year. Her lab had just ended at 9 PM and she was rushing back to her apartment to turn in her lab report before it was due. Of course, with her luck, it had started to pour. This only added to her already sour mood. 

She sighed dramatically and put the hood of her hoodie above her head. The walk to the apartment was only 10 minutes, and she’d done it before, both in the daylight and dark. But, something about the atmosphere of this specific night felt wrong. And, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, the uneasy feeling lingered in her stomach throughout her walk.

Only about 3 minutes into her walk, she heard a noise behind her. Frightened, Y/N looked back, only to discover that a rat had seemingly knocked over a metal trash can. She took a deep breath to stabilize her rapidly beating heart, and then turned around.

2 steps in was all it took for Y/N to realize that she was not alone on her walk. As she looked up from the pavement she saw a figure standing several yards ahead of her. Breathe. Maybe they’re harmless. Of course, at that moment, the mysterious figure pulled out and opened a pocket knife. She had decided that this might be the right time to start freaking out. 

“Drop the bag,” the figure ordered.

“I-I’m a college student. I have no money in here, I promise. You’re only wasting your time,” Y/N defends. Although she was verbally defending herself from his orders, she shakily began dropping her shoulder to take off her backpack. She knew better than to go against a man holding a knife at her. 

“You have a laptop, don’t you? A phone too? That’s money, kid.”

Before taking off her backpack completely, she reaches into one of the sides and pockets the pepper spray she always carries around. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. Now, she just has to wait until he’s close enough. Maybe then she can spray him, pick up her bag and run as fast as she can to safety. Or potentially die trying. But if the latter occurred, at least she wouldn’t have to stress out about that lab report anymore. 

“Ok. Here you go. Look through my bag, just please don’t hurt me.”

As the attacker began to come closer, she heard an echoing scream coming from the alleyway adjacent to where they were standing. What the fuck? 

Just then, a swinging figure dressed in a red and blue suit catapults into the man in front of her. Both the attacker and the masked hero tumble to the ground in a mixture of limbs and grunts. 

I should probably get out of here, right? She thought to herself. 

But, before she could take a single step back, the masked figure had the attacker’s wrists pinned above his head in a mess of stringy webbing, hoisting him a few feet off the ground and sticking him to a rusty lamppost along the pavement. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna hold. Probably. Actually, definitely, don’t worry about it,” the vigilante said, more to himself than anyone else, giving the makeshift webbing trap an experimental tug before turning around. 

Y/N’s brain, which had been running off of pure adrenaline for the last couple of minutes, short-circuited completely. Because, standing in front of her now, was Spider-Man. The actual, real-life Spider-Man was standing in front of her, after just saving her life. 

“Hey! You okay?” He jogged (well, sort of bounced) over to her, hands up like he was approaching a spooked animal on the side of the road. “That was some quality bag-defending, by the way. Very compelling argument. Have you considered politics as a career path?”

She stuttered through a mess of vaguely familiar words before blurting out a coherent sentence, “Knife. He had a knife.”

“Yes. I noticed that. Kind of my whole thing actually. Noticing knives.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and even through the mask she could tell he was cringing at his awkwardness. “Sorry. Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

“Uh. No. No, I’m okay. I’m fine, I think. I dropped my pepper spray.” She looked down at her hand. She had not, in fact, dropped her pepper spray. She was still holding it in a death grip. 

He looked down at it too, and tilted his head. “Is that your backup pepper spray, then? Very prepared, I respect that.” Then, silence. “You can, uh, you can put that away now, if you want. I’m the good guy. Allegedly.”

She did, face going hot despite the cold weather. “Right. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, I’d be spraying me too. First impressions are rough when you swing in mid-mugging.” He effortlessly picked up her backpack from where it had been placed and held it out to her. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yeah, thank you.” She took it, fingers brushing his covered hand for half a second and something about the size of his hand compared to hers registered somewhere in the back of her scrambled brain. “Uh, thank you. Really. I don’t– I’m not really sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s no big deal. Just get home safe, okay? It’s late, and it’s pouring, and I’m guessing…” he tilted his head slightly, eyes landing on her backpack, “you have a lab report due soon? You’ve got that look. Well, that and the fact that I can see your Chemistry notebook sticking out of your backpack. And your goggles are clipped to the side of your bag.”

Y/N laughed, bewildered with the entire situation at this point. “You know, you’re weirdly observant for a guy wearing a onesie.”

Before he could quip back with something clever and charismatic, a siren wailed, and his head snapped toward the sound.

“Duty calls,” he said, already backing away. “Go home, lock your door, and maybe… I don’t know… take the well-lit route next time? I can’t be everywhere.”

She imagined that if he weren’t wearing a mask, he’d have the cockiest smirk on his face. A blush crept up on her cheeks as she pictured the sight. 

“Wait,” she said, unable to stop herself.

He paused. 

Y/N didn’t actually have anything to say, she just didn’t want him to leave yet. Which was definitely a strange sentiment to have about a masked vigilante she’s known for a grand total of five minutes. 

“...Good luck with the lab report, stranger,” he muttered out. And then he shot a web line and was gone, swinging up into the rain and out of her sight. 

An idiotic smile crept up on her face.

Present Day

Y/N burst through the lecture hall doors just as class was about to start. She, of course, was running late this morning. But, by sheer determination, she had somehow made it to class on time, hair slightly out of place and face flushed from her stressful run across campus. She plops down in her usual seat next to her friend, Mia, who she whispers a greeting to so as to not disturb the rest of the class. 

As she begins to pull out her notebook and laptop, she feels a pair of eyes on her. Looking up from her backpack, she makes eye contact with the guy sitting two benches ahead and to the left, half-turned in his seat like he’d been looking at her for longer than she realized. 

He was definitely cute, she’d noticed that, for sure. Messy dark hair that always looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, a hoodie that had seen better days, and this expression like he was either about to crack the worst joke known to man or apologize for something, she was never sure which. 

He held her gaze for a moment too long before his eyes went wide and he spun back around in his seat so fast she heard his notebook fall off the edge of the table and hit the floor with a slap that echoed in the lecture hall. 

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Mia, who was already grinning back at her. 

“He does that literally every class,” Mia whispered, full of amusement, evident by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“What?”

“Stares. At you, specifically. And then combusts the second you notice.” Mia nodded toward the front, where the guy was very intently bent over, retrieving his notebook and obviously refusing to look anywhere near their direction. “I think someone might have a little crush.”

“He’s probably just spacing out. People stare at nothing all the time, Mia.” Y/N pulled her laptop out and flipped it open. “I do it constantly. Yesterday, I stared at a vending machine for like four minutes. Four straight minutes, I kid you not.”

“Sure. And I’m sure it’s also a coincidence that the ‘nothing’ he’s spacing out at specifically is … you.”

“Mia. It’s a big lecture hall. Statistically, someone’s gotta be looking this way. It’s all just timing, seriously.”

Mia opened her mouth to protest further, but the professor cleared his throat at the front of the room, and the lecture hall quieted down into the low rustle of laptops opening and pens clicking. Y/N caught one more glance toward the front, where the guy whose name she was pretty sure was Jake, had his shoulders hunched slightly, ears a little red, and taking notes on a lecture that hadn’t even started yet.

She shook her head, amused with his awkwardness, and then turned her attention to the professor.

The lecture droned on in a sea of stoichiometry problems and diagrams, and Y/N’s attention drifted in and out the way it always did during early morning classes. Sometime around the professor’s third tangent about molarity, she noticed a girl in front of her lean over to her deskmate.

“Can I borrow a pencil? Mine just totally gave up on me,” the girl winced, holding up a pink mechanical pencil.

Before her deskmate could even respond, a hand appeared over her shoulder from the row behind her. Jake’s row. He was already holding out a spare pencil, pre-sharpened of course. 

“Here,” he whispered, voice low so as not to disturb the class. “Keep it, I have like six.”

“Oh my god, thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” the girl whispered back, already turning to face the front again.

“No problem!” He gave a small thumbs up, which he immediately retracted with embarrassment. 

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh at this, which Mia, ever observant, had noticed.

“He’s so effortlessly friendly,” Mia murmured. “Last week, he gave up his lab stool for that girl who sprained her ankle, and I’m pretty sure he stayed after to help clean up someone’s spilled acid solution even though it wasn’t his mess.”

“Oh, that’s… sweet.”

“I also heard he tutors freshmen in the library on Thursdays. For free. And Priya said he walked her all the way to her car during the thunderstorm last month because she didn’t have an umbrella.” Mia shrugged, her tone somewhere between impressed and exasperated. “Basically, what I’m trying to say is, if there was a school award for Most Likely To Give You His Jacket, this guy would win. By a landslide.”

Y/N glanced toward the front again, where Jake was now diligently annotating his notes, tongue slightly poking out in concentration.

“And he’s cute. And single, as far as anyone knows.” Mia’s tone shifted, casual on the surface to the untrained ear, but very clearly leading somewhere. “Just saying.”

“Don’t,” Y/N said, not even looking up from her notebook.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Liar. I can hear your scheming from here.”

Mia grinned. “Okay, but for real. Jake is sweet, he’s clearly into you, and you’ve been single since forever. Why aren’t you literally pouncing on him?”

Y/N sighed, closing her notebook. “It’s really stupid.”

Mia cocked an eyebrow.

“There’s just… someone else. Sort of. It’s complicated.” She lowered her voice, glancing around to make sure no one could hear what she was about to say. “You know how I told you about that mugging thing, freshman year?”

Mia’s expression shifted. “The one where Spider-Man saved you? Yeah, obviously, you’ve told that story like a gazillion times.”

“I have not– Okay, whatever.” She felt her face heat up. “The point is, I don’t know. Ever since then, I just haven’t been able to feel like that about anyone else. It’ll be like… I meet someone, and they’re nice or funny, or whatever, and it’s fine but it’s never…” she struggled to find a word, “... it never feels like that.”

“Y/N, babe, that is deeply unwell behavior and I say that with love.”

“Ugh. I know.”

“You’re comparing every guy you meet to a superhero you talked to once. Two years ago. Two!”

“I know, Mia.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember it. He probably saves like, hundreds of people a month. You’re one alleyway in a very long list of alleyways.”

“I know,” Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her folded arms on the desk. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Not stupid, just inconvenient. And totally unfair to Jake, who doesn’t even know he’s competing against a guy in spandex.”

The professor’s voice cuts through their conversation. “Alright, before everyone runs off, one more thing before you go. Your semester project assignments are up on the portal. I’m pairing you up for this one, so check now if you want to plan around your partner’s schedule.”

A collective groan ripples throughout the room. Y/N pulled out her phone and scrolled the portal posting until she found her name in the list of alphabetized names. Aha! Bingo. 

Y/N L/N & Jake Sim

“So?” Mia leaned over her shoulder without asking, and then immediately gasped.

“Don’t,” Y/N pleaded.

“The universe is really pulling you two together, huh? A whole semester project. Alone. Together. At, presumably, someone’s apartment. You know… because that’s how these things goooo…”

“It’s a lab partner assignment, Mia, not a proposal.”

“Sure. Sure, sure, sure.” Mia was already gathering her things, too pleased with herself and the situation to calm her smile down. “I’m just saying, maybe give the golden retriever a chance. See what happens.”

See what happens. Okay. I can do that, she thinks to herself. 

Just as Mia exits the room, Jake approaches Y/N.

“Uh, hi. Y/N, right? I’m Jake Sim. I think we’re partners for this project,” he mutters in a shy manner before sputtering out a bunch of nonsense, “I know people have like, partner preferences, or whatever, so if you’re not comfortable with this we could probably ask the professor to switch some groups around–”

“This is fine,” Y/N assures him, mostly just wanting him to stop rambling. “I was thinking we could do some research at my apartment? It’s pretty close to the campus, and I could send you all the details if you give me your number.”

Jake’s face immediately turns beet red as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to her. “Y-yeah. That sounds a-awesome,” he blurts out with a voice crack mid-sentence. 

She hands the phone back to him, now with her number typed in. “Right. Well, okay. See you then.” 

“See you.” He lifts his hand in a half-wave before she leaves, before face-palming and muttering to himself.

Jake had texted her twice before their meeting. Once to check the address, and once to ask if he should bring snacks (something she found incredibly charming). 

By the time he knocked on her door at exactly the time they agreed upon, she was mid-way through cleaning off her kitchen island. Shit, he’s here. Rushing to open the door, she found Jake standing there with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a bag of pretzels held up like an offering. 

“I wasn’t sure what to bring. Do you like pretzels?” he said, by way of greeting. 

“I do like pretzels.” She stepped back to let him in, biting down a rising smile. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Yeah, I know. But, I wanted to. Not– not in like, a weird way. Just, a normal… project partner gesture.” He winced, visibly regretting every word that had come out of his mouth.

The door secured behind them and an awkward silence filled the room, one that can only be described as the strange feeling of having a new person enter your place of comfort. 

“Right. Well, the bathroom’s down the hall if you need it,” she offered, mostly to fill the silence. “And, the kitchen table’s set up. Or we can do the couch. Whichever is easier for spreading stuff out.”

“Table works.” He set his backpack down but didn’t sit, instead glancing around the apartment with unhurried curiosity, almost like he was trying to store new information. “Nice place. Very… you. N-not that I’d know what ‘very you’ means. That was a weird thing to say.”

“It’s fine.” She wasn’t really paying attention, mostly digging through her backpack in an effort to find something. “Feel free to look around, I just need to find the rubric, I swear I had it–”

She trailed off, raking through several folders, completely missing the moment when Jake had turned toward the hallway that led to her bedroom, where the door was left slightly ajar. 

Through the gap in the door, visible even from the kitchen table, was a wall. 

A wall covered, floor to ceiling, in Spider-Man. Posters, mostly. Some were the kind you’d find at a comic book store, while others appeared to be homemade. Several newspaper clippings scattered throughout. And a shelf lined with action figures posed ridiculously. 

The sudden silence was deafening. Jake did not say anything for a solid five seconds. Which, for Jake, was practically a record. “So,” he finally managed, his voice strange and almost strangled in a sharp inhale, “you like Spider-Man.”

Y/N promptly looked up from her folder, followed his line of sight to the half-open door, and felt her stomach drop through the floor and to the depths of hell. “Oh my god.” She was across the room in two steps, slamming the door shut like it could somehow undo what he saw. “Okay, so that’s– you weren’t supposed to see that. Like, at all. I usually close it, I just forgot–”

“It’s okay!” Jake said quickly, hands up in a way she realized looked strangely familiar. “I’m not judging, I just… that’s a lot of Spider-Man. A very impressive amount, actually,” he stopped just then, realizing that her face was redder than he’d ever seen it, “I mean, I collect vintage stamps, so I’m not really in a position to judge anyone’s hobbies.”

A surprised laugh sprung out of her. “You do not collect stamps.”

“No, I don’t, but I panicked and said the least cool thing I could think of to make you feel better and it just came out as stamps.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Can I ask why you like him so much, though?”

A moment passed as Y/N weighed how much of this she actually wanted to say out loud. “It’s a long story,” she said finally.

“I’ve got time.”

So she told him about it all. The late-night lab, the dark road, the man with the knife. And then the kind, masked stranger who came swinging in to save her. “He could’ve just left the second the guy was all webbed up. But he stayed, and he made sure I was okay, and he made me laugh. And I know that sounds insane, getting hung up on some guy I talked to for five minutes two years ago, believe me, I know–”

“It doesn’t sound insane,” Jake said, tone going very soft and careful, eyes spacing out on the wall.

“Jake? What’s wrong?”

“Can I tell you something,” he said, eyes back to hers, “and you have to promise not to freak out?”

Her stomach flipped. “Surely you know how terrifying that sounds.”

A breath, and then he spoke again, his voice dropping into something quieter, and more honest, stripped of his nervous rambling. “I remember that night.”

Y/N stared at him. “But, that’s impossible. There was no one else there, just me, the attacker, and Spider-Man.”

His eyes pierced into hers as a beat passed, “I remember that night… because I am Spider-Man.”

A laugh threatened to escape from her. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“No! No, I swear. Watch,” he pulled up his jacket sleeve and aimed his posed hand at a corner of the wall, before firing a string of web fluid. Holy shit. “I know it’s crazy, but Y/N, you’re not the only one who can’t stop thinking about that night. God, I mean, I’ve been crushing on you for years now, and when I realized we were in some of the same classes together? I lost my mind. But you didn’t know Jake, you only knew Spider-Man.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Now I know both,” she stared into his eyes, now with the realization that he’s the same guy she can’t seem to get out of her head, “You saved my life. A-and you give people pencils in class, and you stay after lecture to help clean up spills, and you tutor freshmen at the library for free!”

The space between them shrank as he approached, “I didn’t know you knew that much about me.”

“Turns out I had a lot more reasons to like you than I realized.”

“Yeah?” A small, disbelieving, boyish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he still wasn’t entirely sure that this moment was real. He was now close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to keep looking at him. “Is this okay? That I’m here. Like this.”

“This is more than okay, Jake. You’re the reason for my poster wall.” Her shaky hand found the front of his hoodie, pulling him in slightly. 

He huffed out a small laugh, and reached up to gently tuck a strand of stray hair from her face, fingers lingering against her cheek. “For the record, I’ve thought about this moment a humiliating number of times. And it never once involved a chemistry project.”

“Truly a devastating use of my study time.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

He was still watching her, hand still on her cheek, waiting for permission. She closed the distance instead, rising up slightly on her toes, and dissolving his next words the moment her lips met his.

not a hundred percent sure how to format this kind of stuff, so i definitely took inspiration from several fic authors on here!! i'll have my own style eventually, i promise lol

Y/N had a massively embarrassing secret.

She was hopelessly in love with someone who could never love her back. Someone who probably doesn’t even remember her. 

2 years ago

It all came crashing down on her one autumn night her freshman year. Her lab had just ended at 9 PM and she was rushing back to her apartment to turn in her lab report before it was due. Of course, with her luck, it had started to pour. This only added to her already sour mood. 

She sighed dramatically and put the hood of her hoodie above her head. The walk to the apartment was only 10 minutes, and she’d done it before, both in the daylight and dark. But, something about the atmosphere of this specific night felt wrong. And, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, the uneasy feeling lingered in her stomach throughout her walk.

Only about 3 minutes into her walk, she heard a noise behind her. Frightened, Y/N looked back, only to discover that a rat had seemingly knocked over a metal trash can. She took a deep breath to stabilize her rapidly beating heart, and then turned around.

2 steps in was all it took for Y/N to realize that she was not alone on her walk. As she looked up from the pavement she saw a figure standing several yards ahead of her. Breathe. Maybe they’re harmless. Of course, at that moment, the mysterious figure pulled out and opened a pocket knife. She had decided that this might be the right time to start freaking out. 

“Drop the bag,” the figure ordered.

“I-I’m a college student. I have no money in here, I promise. You’re only wasting your time,” Y/N defends. Although she was verbally defending herself from his orders, she shakily began dropping her shoulder to take off her backpack. She knew better than to go against a man holding a knife at her. 

“You have a laptop, don’t you? A phone too? That’s money, kid.”

Before taking off her backpack completely, she reaches into one of the sides and pockets the pepper spray she always carries around. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. Now, she just has to wait until he’s close enough. Maybe then she can spray him, pick up her bag and run as fast as she can to safety. Or potentially die trying. But if the latter occurred, at least she wouldn’t have to stress out about that lab report anymore. 

“Ok. Here you go. Look through my bag, just please don’t hurt me.”

As the attacker began to come closer, she heard an echoing scream coming from the alleyway adjacent to where they were standing. What the fuck? 

Just then, a swinging figure dressed in a red and blue suit catapults into the man in front of her. Both the attacker and the masked hero tumble to the ground in a mixture of limbs and grunts. 

I should probably get out of here, right? She thought to herself. 

But, before she could take a single step back, the masked figure had the attacker’s wrists pinned above his head in a mess of stringy webbing, hoisting him a few feet off the ground and sticking him to a rusty lamppost along the pavement. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna hold. Probably. Actually, definitely, don’t worry about it,” the vigilante said, more to himself than anyone else, giving the makeshift webbing trap an experimental tug before turning around. 

Y/N’s brain, which had been running off of pure adrenaline for the last couple of minutes, short-circuited completely. Because, standing in front of her now, was Spider-Man. The actual, real-life Spider-Man was standing in front of her, after just saving her life. 

“Hey! You okay?” He jogged (well, sort of bounced) over to her, hands up like he was approaching a spooked animal on the side of the road. “That was some quality bag-defending, by the way. Very compelling argument. Have you considered politics as a career path?”

She stuttered through a mess of vaguely familiar words before blurting out a coherent sentence, “Knife. He had a knife.”

“Yes. I noticed that. Kind of my whole thing actually. Noticing knives.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and even through the mask she could tell he was cringing at his awkwardness. “Sorry. Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

“Uh. No. No, I’m okay. I’m fine, I think. I dropped my pepper spray.” She looked down at her hand. She had not, in fact, dropped her pepper spray. She was still holding it in a death grip. 

He looked down at it too, and tilted his head. “Is that your backup pepper spray, then? Very prepared, I respect that.” Then, silence. “You can, uh, you can put that away now, if you want. I’m the good guy. Allegedly.”

She did, face going hot despite the cold weather. “Right. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, I’d be spraying me too. First impressions are rough when you swing in mid-mugging.” He effortlessly picked up her backpack from where it had been placed and held it out to her. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yeah, thank you.” She took it, fingers brushing his covered hand for half a second and something about the size of his hand compared to hers registered somewhere in the back of her scrambled brain. “Uh, thank you. Really. I don’t– I’m not really sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s no big deal. Just get home safe, okay? It’s late, and it’s pouring, and I’m guessing…” he tilted his head slightly, eyes landing on her backpack, “you have a lab report due soon? You’ve got that look. Well, that and the fact that I can see your Chemistry notebook sticking out of your backpack. And your goggles are clipped to the side of your bag.”

Y/N laughed, bewildered with the entire situation at this point. “You know, you’re weirdly observant for a guy wearing a onesie.”

Before he could quip back with something clever and charismatic, a siren wailed, and his head snapped toward the sound.

“Duty calls,” he said, already backing away. “Go home, lock your door, and maybe… I don’t know… take the well-lit route next time? I can’t be everywhere.”

She imagined that if he weren’t wearing a mask, he’d have the cockiest smirk on his face. A blush crept up on her cheeks as she pictured the sight. 

“Wait,” she said, unable to stop herself.

He paused. 

Y/N didn’t actually have anything to say, she just didn’t want him to leave yet. Which was definitely a strange sentiment to have about a masked vigilante she’s known for a grand total of five minutes. 

“...Good luck with the lab report, stranger,” he muttered out. And then he shot a web line and was gone, swinging up into the rain and out of her sight. 

An idiotic smile crept up on her face.

Present Day

Y/N burst through the lecture hall doors just as class was about to start. She, of course, was running late this morning. But, by sheer determination, she had somehow made it to class on time, hair slightly out of place and face flushed from her stressful run across campus. She plops down in her usual seat next to her friend, Mia, who she whispers a greeting to so as to not disturb the rest of the class. 

As she begins to pull out her notebook and laptop, she feels a pair of eyes on her. Looking up from her backpack, she makes eye contact with the guy sitting two benches ahead and to the left, half-turned in his seat like he’d been looking at her for longer than she realized. 

He was definitely cute, she’d noticed that, for sure. Messy dark hair that always looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times, a hoodie that had seen better days, and this expression like he was either about to crack the worst joke known to man or apologize for something, she was never sure which. 

He held her gaze for a moment too long before his eyes went wide and he spun back around in his seat so fast she heard his notebook fall off the edge of the table and hit the floor with a slap that echoed in the lecture hall. 

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Mia, who was already grinning back at her. 

“He does that literally every class,” Mia whispered, full of amusement, evident by the glimmer in her eyes. 

“What?”

“Stares. At you, specifically. And then combusts the second you notice.” Mia nodded toward the front, where the guy was very intently bent over, retrieving his notebook and obviously refusing to look anywhere near their direction. “I think someone might have a little crush.”

“He’s probably just spacing out. People stare at nothing all the time, Mia.” Y/N pulled her laptop out and flipped it open. “I do it constantly. Yesterday, I stared at a vending machine for like four minutes. Four straight minutes, I kid you not.”

“Sure. And I’m sure it’s also a coincidence that the ‘nothing’ he’s spacing out at specifically is … you.”

“Mia. It’s a big lecture hall. Statistically, someone’s gotta be looking this way. It’s all just timing, seriously.”

Mia opened her mouth to protest further, but the professor cleared his throat at the front of the room, and the lecture hall quieted down into the low rustle of laptops opening and pens clicking. Y/N caught one more glance toward the front, where the guy whose name she was pretty sure was Jake, had his shoulders hunched slightly, ears a little red, and taking notes on a lecture that hadn’t even started yet.

She shook her head, amused with his awkwardness, and then turned her attention to the professor.

The lecture droned on in a sea of stoichiometry problems and diagrams, and Y/N’s attention drifted in and out the way it always did during early morning classes. Sometime around the professor’s third tangent about molarity, she noticed a girl in front of her lean over to her deskmate.

“Can I borrow a pencil? Mine just totally gave up on me,” the girl winced, holding up a pink mechanical pencil.

Before her deskmate could even respond, a hand appeared over her shoulder from the row behind her. Jake’s row. He was already holding out a spare pencil, pre-sharpened of course. 

“Here,” he whispered, voice low so as not to disturb the class. “Keep it, I have like six.”

“Oh my god, thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” the girl whispered back, already turning to face the front again.

“No problem!” He gave a small thumbs up, which he immediately retracted with embarrassment. 

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh at this, which Mia, ever observant, had noticed.

“He’s so effortlessly friendly,” Mia murmured. “Last week, he gave up his lab stool for that girl who sprained her ankle, and I’m pretty sure he stayed after to help clean up someone’s spilled acid solution even though it wasn’t his mess.”

“Oh, that’s… sweet.”

“I also heard he tutors freshmen in the library on Thursdays. For free. And Priya said he walked her all the way to her car during the thunderstorm last month because she didn’t have an umbrella.” Mia shrugged, her tone somewhere between impressed and exasperated. “Basically, what I’m trying to say is, if there was a school award for Most Likely To Give You His Jacket, this guy would win. By a landslide.”

Y/N glanced toward the front again, where Jake was now diligently annotating his notes, tongue slightly poking out in concentration.

“And he’s cute. And single, as far as anyone knows.” Mia’s tone shifted, casual on the surface to the untrained ear, but very clearly leading somewhere. “Just saying.”

“Don’t,” Y/N said, not even looking up from her notebook.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Liar. I can hear your scheming from here.”

Mia grinned. “Okay, but for real. Jake is sweet, he’s clearly into you, and you’ve been single since forever. Why aren’t you literally pouncing on him?”

Y/N sighed, closing her notebook. “It’s really stupid.”

Mia cocked an eyebrow.

“There’s just… someone else. Sort of. It’s complicated.” She lowered her voice, glancing around to make sure no one could hear what she was about to say. “You know how I told you about that mugging thing, freshman year?”

Mia’s expression shifted. “The one where Spider-Man saved you? Yeah, obviously, you’ve told that story like a gazillion times.”

“I have not– Okay, whatever.” She felt her face heat up. “The point is, I don’t know. Ever since then, I just haven’t been able to feel like that about anyone else. It’ll be like… I meet someone, and they’re nice or funny, or whatever, and it’s fine but it’s never…” she struggled to find a word, “... it never feels like that.”

“Y/N, babe, that is deeply unwell behavior and I say that with love.”

“Ugh. I know.”

“You’re comparing every guy you meet to a superhero you talked to once. Two years ago. Two!”

“I know, Mia.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember it. He probably saves like, hundreds of people a month. You’re one alleyway in a very long list of alleyways.”

“I know,” Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her folded arms on the desk. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Not stupid, just inconvenient. And totally unfair to Jake, who doesn’t even know he’s competing against a guy in spandex.”

The professor’s voice cuts through their conversation. “Alright, before everyone runs off, one more thing before you go. Your semester project assignments are up on the portal. I’m pairing you up for this one, so check now if you want to plan around your partner’s schedule.”

A collective groan ripples throughout the room. Y/N pulled out her phone and scrolled the portal posting until she found her name in the list of alphabetized names. Aha! Bingo. 

Y/N L/N & Jake Sim

“So?” Mia leaned over her shoulder without asking, and then immediately gasped.

“Don’t,” Y/N pleaded.

“The universe is really pulling you two together, huh? A whole semester project. Alone. Together. At, presumably, someone’s apartment. You know… because that’s how these things goooo…”

“It’s a lab partner assignment, Mia, not a proposal.”

“Sure. Sure, sure, sure.” Mia was already gathering her things, too pleased with herself and the situation to calm her smile down. “I’m just saying, maybe give the golden retriever a chance. See what happens.”

See what happens. Okay. I can do that, she thinks to herself. 

Just as Mia exits the room, Jake approaches Y/N.

“Uh, hi. Y/N, right? I’m Jake Sim. I think we’re partners for this project,” he mutters in a shy manner before sputtering out a bunch of nonsense, “I know people have like, partner preferences, or whatever, so if you’re not comfortable with this we could probably ask the professor to switch some groups around–”

“This is fine,” Y/N assures him, mostly just wanting him to stop rambling. “I was thinking we could do some research at my apartment? It’s pretty close to the campus, and I could send you all the details if you give me your number.”

Jake’s face immediately turns beet red as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to her. “Y-yeah. That sounds a-awesome,” he blurts out with a voice crack mid-sentence. 

She hands the phone back to him, now with her number typed in. “Right. Well, okay. See you then.” 

“See you.” He lifts his hand in a half-wave before she leaves, before face-palming and muttering to himself.

Jake had texted her twice before their meeting. Once to check the address, and once to ask if he should bring snacks (something she found incredibly charming). 

By the time he knocked on her door at exactly the time they agreed upon, she was mid-way through cleaning off her kitchen island. Shit, he’s here. Rushing to open the door, she found Jake standing there with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a bag of pretzels held up like an offering. 

“I wasn’t sure what to bring. Do you like pretzels?” he said, by way of greeting. 

“I do like pretzels.” She stepped back to let him in, biting down a rising smile. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Yeah, I know. But, I wanted to. Not– not in like, a weird way. Just, a normal… project partner gesture.” He winced, visibly regretting every word that had come out of his mouth.

The door secured behind them and an awkward silence filled the room, one that can only be described as the strange feeling of having a new person enter your place of comfort. 

“Right. Well, the bathroom’s down the hall if you need it,” she offered, mostly to fill the silence. “And, the kitchen table’s set up. Or we can do the couch. Whichever is easier for spreading stuff out.”

“Table works.” He set his backpack down but didn’t sit, instead glancing around the apartment with unhurried curiosity, almost like he was trying to store new information. “Nice place. Very… you. N-not that I’d know what ‘very you’ means. That was a weird thing to say.”

“It’s fine.” She wasn’t really paying attention, mostly digging through her backpack in an effort to find something. “Feel free to look around, I just need to find the rubric, I swear I had it–”

She trailed off, raking through several folders, completely missing the moment when Jake had turned toward the hallway that led to her bedroom, where the door was left slightly ajar. 

Through the gap in the door, visible even from the kitchen table, was a wall. 

A wall covered, floor to ceiling, in Spider-Man. Posters, mostly. Some were the kind you’d find at a comic book store, while others appeared to be homemade. Several newspaper clippings scattered throughout. And a shelf lined with action figures posed ridiculously. 

The sudden silence was deafening. Jake did not say anything for a solid five seconds. Which, for Jake, was practically a record. “So,” he finally managed, his voice strange and almost strangled in a sharp inhale, “you like Spider-Man.”

Y/N promptly looked up from her folder, followed his line of sight to the half-open door, and felt her stomach drop through the floor and to the depths of hell. “Oh my god.” She was across the room in two steps, slamming the door shut like it could somehow undo what he saw. “Okay, so that’s– you weren’t supposed to see that. Like, at all. I usually close it, I just forgot–”

“It’s okay!” Jake said quickly, hands up in a way she realized looked strangely familiar. “I’m not judging, I just… that’s a lot of Spider-Man. A very impressive amount, actually,” he stopped just then, realizing that her face was redder than he’d ever seen it, “I mean, I collect vintage stamps, so I’m not really in a position to judge anyone’s hobbies.”

A surprised laugh sprung out of her. “You do not collect stamps.”

“No, I don’t, but I panicked and said the least cool thing I could think of to make you feel better and it just came out as stamps.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Can I ask why you like him so much, though?”

A moment passed as Y/N weighed how much of this she actually wanted to say out loud. “It’s a long story,” she said finally.

“I’ve got time.”

So she told him about it all. The late-night lab, the dark road, the man with the knife. And then the kind, masked stranger who came swinging in to save her. “He could’ve just left the second the guy was all webbed up. But he stayed, and he made sure I was okay, and he made me laugh. And I know that sounds insane, getting hung up on some guy I talked to for five minutes two years ago, believe me, I know–”

“It doesn’t sound insane,” Jake said, tone going very soft and careful, eyes spacing out on the wall.

“Jake? What’s wrong?”

“Can I tell you something,” he said, eyes back to hers, “and you have to promise not to freak out?”

Her stomach flipped. “Surely you know how terrifying that sounds.”

A breath, and then he spoke again, his voice dropping into something quieter, and more honest, stripped of his nervous rambling. “I remember that night.”

Y/N stared at him. “But, that’s impossible. There was no one else there, just me, the attacker, and Spider-Man.”

His eyes pierced into hers as a beat passed, “I remember that night… because I am Spider-Man.”

A laugh threatened to escape from her. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“No! No, I swear. Watch,” he pulled up his jacket sleeve and aimed his posed hand at a corner of the wall, before firing a string of web fluid. Holy shit. “I know it’s crazy, but Y/N, you’re not the only one who can’t stop thinking about that night. God, I mean, I’ve been crushing on you for years now, and when I realized we were in some of the same classes together? I lost my mind. But you didn’t know Jake, you only knew Spider-Man.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Now I know both,” she stared into his eyes, now with the realization that he’s the same guy she can’t seem to get out of her head, “You saved my life. A-and you give people pencils in class, and you stay after lecture to help clean up spills, and you tutor freshmen at the library for free!”

The space between them shrank as he approached, “I didn’t know you knew that much about me.”

“Turns out I had a lot more reasons to like you than I realized.”

“Yeah?” A small, disbelieving, boyish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he still wasn’t entirely sure that this moment was real. He was now close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to keep looking at him. “Is this okay? That I’m here. Like this.”

“This is more than okay, Jake. You’re the reason for my poster wall.” Her shaky hand found the front of his hoodie, pulling him in slightly. 

He huffed out a small laugh, and reached up to gently tuck a strand of stray hair from her face, fingers lingering against her cheek. “For the record, I’ve thought about this moment a humiliating number of times. And it never once involved a chemistry project.”

“Truly a devastating use of my study time.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

He was still watching her, hand still on her cheek, waiting for permission. She closed the distance instead, rising up slightly on her toes, and dissolving his next words the moment her lips met his.

not a hundred percent sure how to format this kind of stuff, so i definitely took inspiration from several fic authors on here!! i'll have my own style eventually, i promise lol