i do not support all engenes. some of you getting excited at these tour dates just tells me exactly what y’all are thinking.
1) “this is their last concert before they disband!”
and tell me why that is.. tell me why do you think they’re not going to renew their contracts? don’t you think it’s because of the mistreatment and constant shit belift’s putting them through—it’s no one’s fault but the companies and now when it’s on us to say something, we fall right into their trap.
you guys make no fucking sense omfg
2) “boycotting won’t do anything meaningful”
so we should just empty our wallets at belift’s beck and call? just because you’re negative and believe that ot7 engene’s efforts are useless, you see no problem in handing money over to belift???? please.
3) “i want to support the remaining members”
funding their overworked schedule and lack of proper rest is not called supporting them. all your money goes directly to the company that wants to milk them for all they have.
it’s like you guys don’t remember fate plus at all. how won said they felt like they were going to DIE, jake literally GRIMACING on stage with tears down his face. not to mention riki not being able to see his family, and many other incidents that i don’t mention. imagine what the fuck is going on behind the cameras, thanks to YOUR money and YOUR financial support.
what more will it take for you all to see that this company is evil? will someone have to die? collapse? get severely injured? because even if that happened tomorrow, i bet y’all will be talking about “when will belift release more tour stops”. you guys have no spine and it sickens me.
unfollow me if you’re going to that fucking tour. i genuinely cannot believe some of my mutuals think that is okay or acceptable. i understand that belift will continue mistreating their idols regardless if you give them money or not, but do you really think that it matters?
this isn’t even just about kpop. if you’re so excited to give money to an inhumane company like BELIFT, you don’t deserve to say you’re an engene. you only see enhypen as tools for your entertainment, and as long as you get your money’s worth, it’s fine right? as long as they sing and dance for you, it’s okay!
It's so strange and evil how everyone only cares about boycotting now that heeseungs gone, not when they were doing tours back to back, you're not fucking slick.
Some of y'all do not have a single ounce of digital literacy in your bones and you should not be allowed on the internet until you do. How are we still believing everything y'all see on the internet? On fucking twitter of all places? In the 21st century??? "This was all an experiment by HYBE and Enhypen was the scapegoat" meanwhile, the source: trust me bro, i read through hybe's 400 page report in korean + chatgpt citations. LIKE????? Guys, let's be vigilant now...
At some point, it stops being "support" and starts becoming blatantly disrespectful. When people are overanalysing every single fucking thing that they cannot even smile without some bitch on the internet saying "he's forcing it" or "he has no remorse" like please? Let's be serious.
I think it's pretty clear by now that Heeseung made that choice, whether he was driven to it or not. Am I upset? Yes. Do I think this could've been handled better? Definitely. But what i'm not going to do is sit here and pretend Jungwon, Jay, Sunghoon, Jake, Sunoo or Ni-ki did something wrong to deserve boycott from their own "fans".
At this point, I think I can clearly see how this fandom is moving. Twisting and turning rumours to fit your agenda is NOT helping anyone. In fact, we are all watching, IN REAL TIME, our own fandom sabotaging and causing irreversible damage to the members' careers. The last thing I want is to project my wants and beliefs onto the members and Heeseung as if they don't already have a whole ton of shit on their plates. I refuse to take part in it, and I would rather face reality as painful as is if it means I get to support all 7 on their own paths.
If y'all don't agree with me, then feel free to unfollow me. On god, i'm actually getting so tired.
"Boycott boycott," like u genuinely can not be that fucking dumb, I'm sorry to be harsh, but seriously? Do you guys think the company is seeing it from our perspective, NO!! All they're gonna is
"shit, we're losing money, Oh well, let's put the boys to more work"
That's literally it they'll just give them more work to make more money, not suddenly reduce their workload.
I understand everyone is upset and it's hard for people to face the reality of things but alot of people are tipping towards being parasocial.
We get it. You've been a fan for 5 years. I've also been a fan of enhypen for a long time, but noone has the rights to just sit and psychoanalysis them like they're psych patients it's fucking odd,
"I've known heeseung since iland he would never"
Do u fucking hear yourself like deadass, do I have to keep reminding people that we don't knowww them at alll, we don't know what's going on in his head we have no idea, making rumors and blaming people to suit your narrative is fucking parasocial, if every engene was making the same noise for the people in gaza, that would've made more imoact than whatever tf this is.
The possibility of this being heeseungs choice is still there, and I'm honestly leaning towards it more, I think it's weird that everyone is acting like heeseung isn't a human being, with thoughts and decision making skills, Heck even his frontal lobe has developed.
Anyways I'm not saying it's his choice or the company did this or whatever, but we have no single idea noone know no matter how many times yall want to annotate the letter, no one fucking knowwwsss!!!
I genuinely still haven't processed this properly.....of all my ults, I genuinely would've never expected enhypen losing a member....not renewing contracts sure, but a member just leaving.....idk what to believe cause the 2 scenario I've thought of is the company forcing him or him genuinely not wanting to do this anymore and what's even worse is the second option also makes sense I desperately want it to be just the first option that makes sense I've been thinking about this since heeseungs weverse post and both options still sit at the top...idk what to do I joined this fandom at the worse time of my life and they've brought alot of comfort to me, even to the point were I couldn't choose a bias even when I ALWAYS have a bias in every group I Stan, I haven't been able to not have a bias since bts back in 2019 so being able to ot⁷ a group again means I love alotttttt and so I can't believe how they all feel about this. I'm just gonna stop here cause the screen is starting to get blurry, and I genuinely can't process what I'm writing anymore. I'm just writing at this point, and it's looking messy.
I’ve just looked into the entire enhaconfessions situation, and I genuinely hope that every single person who got dragged into this is doing okay. Please, please don’t feel like you need to shy away from the damage this must have done. Speaking about how you feel, no matter how “small” it may seem, is always going to help
I don’t even know everything that happened, but from what I’ve seen it’s clearly serious, and honestly really upsetting. So please know that if any of you ever need someone to talk to, you can always talk to me. I’m not a therapist or anything like that, but I really do want to be someone you feel comfortable reaching out to in situations like this.
What happened is not okay. Behaviour like this is manipulative and genuinely disgusting in so many ways, and however you feel about this, especially those directly affected is very, very justified.
And I need you all to know this, you are amazing writers. Every. Single. Last. One. Of. You. I will die on that hill. You’re all so unique and recognisable in the visions you create your stories, your execution, your concepts, the colours, the textures and emotional resonance you bring to your work. Even down to your Tumblr pages and the way you curate your spaces, I can always tell whose fic I’m about to read without even looking at the username.
With the current state of the world, all we need right now is more love, not hatred or jealousy, or bringing people down in spaces where they're supposed to feel loved, appreciated, and comfortable.
You all deserve safety, respect, and peace both as writers and as people. Please take care of yourselves, and don’t ever let anyone make you doubt the value of your work or your presence in this community. I don't know all of you personally, but I'd like to imagine that we're all fairies and mermaids living in our own unicorn world with glitter everywhere.
Here are all the amazing enha writers I currently follow pls if u see this, make sure to reblog and tag your fav writers as well they ALL need to see this.
Hey guys, I know I haven't updated the masterlist in a WHILEEE, but bare with me now bare with me.
I've been reading a lot, so yall bout to gerrrriiittt and also might add more groups so slayyyy also gonna make a masterlist for my black girlies cause I've finally found black authors.
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ♥️🧜♀️
STAWPP THIS IS SO CUTEEEEEEEE MWAHHHHH LOVE THISSSS
syn. it’s been seven hours after your hook up with riki nishimura, and he’s still thinking about you — a seven minutes sequel.
an. nah i did NOT expect so many people to like 7 minutes omguh?? thank you so much???? not proofread at all btw and im pretty sure i wrote some paras like half asleep so.. Ignore what you can. rbs appreciated w a kiss!
cw. 18+ mdni. he is such a FLIRT WTFFFFF oral sex (f!rec) riki nishimura munch agenda never dies riki cums in his pants oooh he falls so hard (spoiler u do too) praise/degradation afab reader, u r referred to as a woman fluff towards the end Mb i couldnt help it
playing. make it to the morning — partynextdoor.
join the taglist here <3
this is a part two to 7 minutes.
riki: im outside 2:40AM
your phone dings obnoxiously loud, the high pitched text tone waking you from your daydream. ever since riki sent that stupid ‘on my way’ text, there’s a weird churning feeling that’s been building in your stomach.
you’ve spent the last twenty minutes running around your house in search of sexy clothes to wear — nothing you own screams promiscuous enough, and now, your house is a mess. articles of clothing are scattered across your wooden floors, and you walk around kicking them up into your hands with a very unhappy frown.
your apartment is dim. the only light you’ve left on since stumbling (drunkenly) back home was the lamp standing on your kitchen island, and it barely eases your current task of squinting and picking up the clothes you’ve left around.
you’re not even sure why you care about this so much. it was just a fucking hook-up — fuck and leave, simple and straightforward enough. even with that fact practically drilled into the base of your skull, you don’t feel very convinced, mind bouncing like a ping pong ball between ‘of course it matters that i look sexy’ and ‘he’ll fuck me anyway’.
you stand in the middle of the quiet, crepuscular hallway of your apartment, clothing folded under your left armpit as you held your phone with your right hand. you’ve been staring at your lockscreen for 5 minutes, you realise, only when riki drops another text.
riki: dont ghost me yet i just got here 2:45AM
you bite down on your bottom lip so hard you think it’ll draw blood. in a last ditch effort to uphold your dignity, you’re sprinting to your bedroom — you drop your clothes onto the floor, using your feet to kick them haphazardly hidden under the bed frame.
riki fucking nishimura and his absurd effects on a woman like you. it should be a chargeable crime.
your footsteps lead you back outside, towards the tight entryway. light from the corridor spills through the crack beneath your front door, and you catch two shadows breaking the fluorescent glow — a clear sign that riki’s been standing there, waiting for you to let him in.
your thumbs move for your phone’s keyboard, anxious to explain to him why you’d kept him waiting for a solid… five, ten minutes outside.
You: i look terrible 2:46AM
riki: cold feet huh 2:47AM
riki: let me in. im cold 2:47AM
You: i am not joking w u rn btw 2:47AM
riki: lol just open the door pretty girl 2:48AM
riki: ill make u feel soooo beautiful dw bout it 2:48AM
you gulp, eyes fixed on the door. you want to burn holes through it and throttle riki nishimura for being so distractingly perfect — damn that boxy, dangerous smile, and the low, sultry tone of his voice. not to mention the expensive cologne that lingers long after he’s gone and the way he talks like he already knows exactly what makes you weak.
damn all of him. a pain in the ass, truly, in every sense of the phrase.
your hands reach for the digital lock on the door — the familiar, supposedly comforting chime plays when you pull it — but right now, it’s anything but that.
riki nishimura’s smug-ass face peeks through the widening gap, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. hair tousled, eyes squinting as they peer into the darkness of your apartment behind you, sweatpants practically mopping the floor.
“hi,” he says, and you feel the warmth creeping up on your cheeks once again. “missed you, pretty.”
his hands are tucked into the front pocket of his grey hoodie, pulling off an almost too-casual look. your ego takes a hit — you’d spent way too long worrying about what to wear, and he still manages to show up like this, effortless and somehow perfectly put together.
“what’s with the clothes on the floor?”
your heart pounds embarrassingly hard. when you whip your head around, you see a mismatched lace set lying on the wood floor — on display, all for him.
“ignore it,” you wave him off, an awkward smile painted on your face. “i was cleaning my closet.”
“right,” riki snickers, nodding as he kicks off his slippers. he steps into your entryway, socks sliding slightly against the floor, hands buried in his pockets. “you’ve got a nice apartment.”
“thank you,” you mutter, letting him pass, a weird self-consciousness creeping in about your furniture. you wonder if he’s judging you silently, or if he’s just not used to this: after the clothes he wore last night, you were half sure he was living in some high-end penthouse.
your palm pushes your front door closed, lock clicking in place as a familiar tune plays. when you turn around, riki’s leaning against your kitchen island. “you’re shaking,” he mutters, a tinge of disbelief in his tone, a faint blush at the tips of his ears making your head spin. “missed me too much?”
“you’re so annoying,” you retort, walking past him and towards your bathroom with the intention of cleaning yourself up — something you should’ve done before you opened the door.
you barely step forward before riki’s hand clamps around your wrist, firm and unyielding. his eyes drop to your unsteady thighs, gaze sharp yet teasing.
“getting shy?” he murmurs, voice low, laced with that smug confidence that makes your stomach twist.
the way he pulls you in feels achingly familiar, like a memory your body remembers before your mind does. his arms loop around your waist, touches needy with a warmth that sets your skin on fire. your chests press together, close enough to feel each heartbeat, and in that space, no words are needed: you both understand why the message was sent. he knew why you called. you knew why he came.
“fucking flirt,” you mutter.
it’s a blur of movements. riki’s lips crash against yours, as if he’d been holding back the moment he saw your face peek through that door, his sculpted arms beginning to lift you up the way he did in that pantry.
he carries you to your bedroom, and it’s a little odd how he can just tell which room it is — perhaps it’s the trail of clothes that you left behind, or the fact that it smells just like you; riki feels his cock stretching his briefs at the mere thought of being inside your private space, surrounded by everything that made you you.
he gently drops you onto your bed, and you’re stumbling back as your ass lands on the mattress — sounds of sheets rustling as you try to sit yourself up, while riki presses feverish kisses onto your lips. his head tilts with a sickening precision, just right to get as close as possible to you, lips meeting yours like a puzzle he’s been trying to solve for eons.
your tongues swirl, all heat and passion and saliva. his hands run down from your neck to your waist, over the thin fabric of your shirt — they’re hesitant, too soft for his cocky and teasing nature — and they trail back up an opening in the hem, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your back.
you whimper into his mouth almost instinctively, feeling electricity with every movement of his. the skin on his palms are smooth, well-taken care of — it feels shamelessly good on you, the pressure of his touches increasing with every second longer that you spend intertwined with him.
“riki—“ you manage to mutter just as his lips part from yours. he presses a wet kiss to your jaw, then the skin under your earlobe, finally sucking right above your jugular; his tongue presses flat against you, your head tilting to give him better access.
“so pretty,” he whispers between licks, wet sounds of his mouth making out with your neck sending you into overdrive. riki breathes heavily, taking in as much air as he can before he gets to work at leaving as many hickeys as he can. “can’t wait to taste you for real.”
his hands feel you all over with a kindling curiosity, feeling every curve and dip in your back with the intention of memorizing you. sparks light where his fingertips press deeper — on your lower back, where your spine curves at his touch. you gasp his name when he sucks at the crook of your neck, simultaneously sinking his fingers deeper into the flesh of your waist.
“take it off,” you chunter, half-lidded eyes threatening to shut with how sensitive you’ve gotten, “please.”
“i got you,” riki’s quick to let his fingers escape from under your shirt, only to return with the action of pinching at the hem of it. riki slips it off of you in one, swift motion when your back lifts off the bed, abdomen tensing before you fall back onto the mattress.
riki simpers, watching how your face immediately flushes when his eyes meet yours. your left forearm reaches over your chest, covering your tits before he could take a good look.
“beautiful,” riki mutters under his breath, bundling your tee and throwing it into the corner of your room — he kneels between your spread thighs, cock twitching at the sight of you almost bare. shit, he doesn’t know how he’ll manage seeing that cunt up close with the way pre-cum is sticking to his briefs.
you lay on the sheets, arm pathetically trying to cover yourself up. you want to strangle yourself for asking him to undress you; heat rushes to your face watching riki nishimura’s eyes study you like you’re art in the renaissance, his pupils visibly dilating at the sight of your mounds pressed against your arm.
“stop staring,” you huff, brows knitting as you turn away. you can’t tell if he’s looking at you because he thinks you’re weird or because he’s plotting something so inherently devious — honestly, you’re not sure which would be worse.
“can’t,” riki grins, his hands hooking under the hem of his hoodie. they pinch at it, before his arms bring the piece of clothing over his head. you watch in silence, a slow reveal of his abs as the hoodie is pulled off of him — it seems ridiculously cinematic, like a curtain being drawn to reveal a shiny gold prize.
you don’t even realise you’re staring hard until riki’s hand moves to grip yours — the one that’s covering you up, albeit miserably. his fingers close around your wrist, before slowly pulling your forearm off your chest.
you don’t fight it. though, your face contorts to one of utter embarrassment and you pout, eyebrows furrowed, while riki towers over you with the most smug grin you’ve seen on a man.
“what, are you the only one allowed to stare?” he snickers, teeth biting his bottom lip as your nipples stare back at him, all perked and hard and practically asking for his mouth.
“riki!” you frown briefly, replaced by a soft smile that comes when you watch riki’s face begin to heat up — your eyes drift to the tips of his ears, airbrushed with a tomato-red that you wish you could photograph.
“you this pretty down there?”
you feel something bubbling inside of you at his words. it’s hidden deep, simmering slowly as he backs away; riki’s bending over, face approaching your belly button.
“come on,” his lips whisper against your skin, causing you to shudder. “tell me, baby.”
“mm,” you nod feverishly as you watch him press a kiss to your stomach, right below your belly. when he hooks his index finger into the band of your sweatpants, you find your mind going blank — the only thought in your head is the visual right in front (or below) of you.
he pulls down your pants torturously slow, bundling it up before he throws it to the edge of the bed. they slip off the mattress, falling onto the ground, and for a moment you grimace at the thought of cleaning the mess up.
you’re not very sure if you’ll be able to, with the way riki nishimura’s looking into your eyes — his dark pupils peek through his blonde locks, hungry gaze locking onto your flushed face.
he wants nothing more than to have you on his tongue, truthfully, in the way that he can say no one else has.
“so beautiful,” he whispers against the skin of your inner thigh, nose bumping into the flesh. you twitch at the sensation of air brushing against your core, his heavy breath fanning against the fabric of your panties — it’s lewd, so fucking dirty how he glances back up at you, waiting for your green light.
“hurry, riki,” you mumble, already feeling cold from exposing yourself to the harsh air — he laughs at the neediness, brown eyes scanning wet patch right.
“so needy.”
riki licks a long, wet stripe against your underwear, from bottom to top, where your clit throbs so painfully at the lack of pressure. you whine, thighs threatening to close before riki’s hands move down to pin them apart.
“stop teasing,” you mutter, hands rushing to cover the embarrassed look on your face.
you twitch as he continues to press his long tongue flat against the thin fabric, your mind instantly turning to mush when the muscle moves down, tip of his tongue circling around your clit.
“i’ll do whatever i want,” he states, index and middle finger curling around the elastic band of your panties. riki’s hands move slow, nothing new ever since you got to know of his existence roughly 5 hours ago. “you’ll take it, won’t you?”
you huff, heavy breaths expelled into the air — your fingers grip the sheets as riki pulls your panties down to your knees, and then your ankles — he slips it off your right leg, letting it pool by your left ankle.
“she’s fucking talking to me,” he titters, white of his teeth flashing in that prideful grin. riki’s eyes sparkle at the sight partially because of how wet you are — so much so that you’re glistening in the reflection of his eyes. “fuck. . . i get you this wet?”
riki nishimura brings face closer, drawing a deep breath from his nose before shoving it against your cunt; it’s haphazard, his precision and control nowhere to be found now — you gasp when his tongue lays flat on your folds, lapping at them like it’s his last meal — moaning, groaning into you as his lips suck and kiss at every exposed part of you.
“riki, fuck—oh my god, riki—!” the name falls off your tongue like water, or a desperate prayer for more. when your eyes drift from the white ceiling of your bedroom to the head of blonde hair sitting between your legs, your heart pounds against your ribs.
his eyes meet yours, tongue slurping all of your arousal up: his gaze doesn’t waver, steady and unhesitating, and for a moment you forget you’re the one who called him. with the way he’s moaning against your folds, he seems worse than you.
“mmhm. . . baby—haa—so sweet,” riki speaks, sending waves of pleasure that propagate from your core. his voice is husky, too low for you not to replay in your mind over and over.
his moans are muffled as he continues to stuff his face into your pussy — you watch the muscles in his back flex and pull from pinning your legs down, every dip catching your attention. it’s effortless, like he was carved to fit perfectly into the light. every detail feels deliberate, almost divine, and it makes your head spin, heart stumbling over itself in your chest.
his nose bumps against your clit as his tongue pushes past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, pornographic noises of slurping echoing through your apartment. your hand flies to his hair, tugging at the roots while your hips buck into him.
“needy fucking girl,” he speaks momentarily before his lips latch onto your clit, kissing and playfully biting as if he had all the time in the world with you — his own hips grind against your sheets, cock rubbing against his sweats and leaving sticky pre all over himself. “prettiest pussy ever, mm. . .”
you whine at the praise, jaw hung as you watch him through wet eyelashes. “rikiii. . . so good, s-so fucking good,”
you feel the blonde smile against your cunt, lips curling into a sickeningly arrogant smirk. he pulls away from you, just enough so you could see how you glistened on his chin so beautifully.
his mouth glimmers under the warm light, so soft and glossy on his pink lips that you could almost mistake it for gloss. riki breathes heavily, every exhale reminding you of how empty you felt without his tongue fucking into you — it’s embarrassing how you pout at him, somehow hoping it’d coax him into continuing.
riki’s tongue runs over his lips, licking up every remaining drop of slick you left on him, before swallowing: his adam’s apple bobs, smile growing wide while yours got shy. your hand moves to grip the sheets and riki frowns at the lack of contact, eyes flicking from your face back to your throbbing cunt.
“didn’t know [name] was such a slut,” riki gathers a pool of saliva on his tongue, letting it collect thickly before spitting it out right on your clit. you twitch when his stupidly thick fingers start rubbing slow circles around it, sticky sounds of you against him making you blush furiously. “calling me up so late. . . you’re fucking shameless.”
your elbows sit you up, helping you get a better view of him — he smiles at the sight of your messy hair and wide eyes, pupils dilated upon meeting his gaze — riki feels something swell in his chest when you gulp, lips parted as you breathe heavily.
“missed you so much,” you breathe, smiling down at him until riki kisses his teeth and rolls his eyes; a second later, and he’s pushing a finger into you. “o-oh, fuuuck, riki—"
his middle finger feels ridiculously long, curling just right as you writhe under him. your chest falls and rises at an unsteady pace, jaw hung as whimpers left your lips.
all riki can focus on is how beautiful you look: legs spread and moaning his name, his fingers feeling every wall inside of you and memorizing it for future use. “so tight—fuck, how are you gonna fit me?”
“i can—“ you shake your head upon hearing those words, heavy breaths morphing high pitched whimpers and broken moans as you clench around him. “please.”
you’re shaking; so achingly close to cumming all over his pretty face, a perfect visual already painted in your mind in HD — you’d be squeezing him dry, crying his name while you left scratches all over his back. he’ll hold you nice and tight, chests pressed together as his hips stutter.
“yeah. . . i’ll make it fit, anyway.”
he touches you like he knows your body, fingers pressing delicious, perfect pressure on you. his eyebrows knit together, a look of frustrated focus painted over his features, watching you visibly pulse around him as his thick digits curl and poke and prod inside of you. each movement draws a different sound from you — a whimper, a moan, a whine of his name — and riki nishimura drinks all of it up, dark eyes zeroing on your pretty lips.
you fall limp back onto the mattress as his pace quickens, fingers reaching deeper, cunt sucking him back in with every retraction of his hand. riki’s eyes soften, watching you with adoration: head tipped to the ceiling, teeth biting down on your bottom lip trying so hard to keep your moans all to yourself.
“you look so pretty,” riki says blatantly, ignoring the fact that you were probably too busy fucking yourself on his fingers to hear his words. “all for me.”
it takes him a minute until his fingertips finally brush against that one spot inside of you, and your back arches off the mattress almost instinctively: your spine curves, hands flying to his wrist in an attempt to control the overstimulating speed of your orgasm approaching. “riki, i’m close—so fucking close!”
“yeah? gonna cum for me?”
a smirk emerges on the blonde’s face while he’s watching you squirm, pretty hands scratching at his wrists with little damage — he analyzes your reactions, fingers angled just right to confirm which one had drawn such a reaction from you — when he finally recognises it (after seeing you gasp and grind on his palm 5 times over), he never lets it go.
“‘s too much,” you whine, feeling his brutal pace quicken — the squelching sounds of your pussy around his digits makes riki feel dizzy with hearts in his eyes, dark irises shining so bright as he watches you come undone: “i’m cumming, riki—!”
riki feels compulsion course through his veins, his heart thumping so fucking hard at the sight of you shaking so hard at his touch. he feels your wet, warm walls squeezing him tight, pulsing so erratically as you arch off the sheets.
“fuck, baby,” riki mumbles in awe, “so fucking beautiful.”
he suddenly shoves his face between your thighs, nose rubbing against your skin as his tongue laps at your clit — the extra stimulation makes you short-circuit, desperate slurps being the only thing you can hear aside from your own screams.
“o-oh my god, i’m cumming—“
it hits like an avalanche, crashing into you so hard that you swore you’d black out 2 seconds in. your vision goes blurry as tears prick at your waterline, body twitching, fists balling into riki’s locks: he sucks, drinks, gulps every last drop of cum you can give, yet still hungry for more.
his fingers work overtime while you ride out your extravagant high, cramping so tight that he almost stops… but when he sees your face, eyes screwed shut, jaw hung with his name rolling off your tongue, he just can’t.
“yeah, just like that,” riki’s lips mumble against your cunt, the vibrations causing you to whimper as your thighs squeeze the sides of his head tight. “cum for me.”
his free arm hooks under your thighs, ensuring that you’d have no room to wriggle free while you finish all over his face and fingers.
he meant it when he said he’d taste you for real. every single drop you had to offer was his. all his.
riki is so achingly hard. he’s been rutting into the mattress in hopes of alleviating the painful problem in his pants, swollen tip rubbing against his briefs like a desperate animal. it’s when he tastes your cum on his tongue that he thinks he’s cursed himself — he grinds into the sheets one last time, needier than he’s ever been in his life — and feels his cum paint the inside of his briefs.
he’s convinced he’ll never, ever cum harder than this.
his cock twitches with each spurt of white, sticky fluid. riki’s lips are still sucking away at your clit, making you tug at his hair from the sheer overstimulation; his eyes shut, tongue making out with your pussy like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have.
riki swears you’re a fucking dream. he has to be in bed right now, because everything seems too damn good to be true — you’re thrashing so hard that riki has to pin your thighs down, both hands looped around your legs to spread you further apart.
“so fucking good, [name],” he’s smothering himself in your folds like a starved man, tips of his fingers digging into your thighs as he desperately holds you close. “so messy for me.”
“fuuuck, riki—i can’t!”
it’s a mess, really. the room smells like sex and sounds like sex; you’re screaming his name and the bed-frame is creaking with every movement of his hips. his own thighs are twitching as his orgasm washes over him, while you beg for him to slow down, tears streaming down your face.
your hands cover your mouth in attempt to soften your pleas. with how the night’s gone, you’re almost certain your upstairs neighbour’s already drafting her notice to move out. you can practically hear her packing boxes in your mind, muttering about the ‘noisy couple downstairs.’
the thought makes your stomach twist with a mix of embarrassment and reluctant amusement. you can only hope you’ll figure out how to time the elevator just right, anything to avoid meeting her eyes tomorrow morning — because god knows you won’t survive that awkward silence and judgmental stare.
when he finally pulls away and sits up with knees folded on the bed, the sight that greets you steals the air from your lungs: riki, flushed and breathless, his hair a beautiful mess from your fingers. a faint sheen clings to his lips, catching the light just enough to make them look impossibly soft, glossy in a way that makes your pulse skip.
“what the fuck. . . ” you pant, chest heaving. his tongue licks the remaining slick off his digits, a pop! sound ringing through the room as it swirls around his index and middle finger. “what the fuck.”
a thin veil of sweat coats the both of you, hair clinging to your foreheads from the heat of the encounter. he snickers, head hanging low, eyes watching your chest fall and rise in an attempt to even your breathing.
“shit. . .” he huffs. “can’t believe we didn’t do this in the closet.”
you knee him in the shoulder, and his familiar boxy smile makes your heart flutter again — this one scares you, though, because you know it’s not because he has his face buried between your thighs.
“shut up,” you giggle, your eyes squinting as you smile wide at him.
he wants to strange himself.
he bites down on his bottom lip, silent, observing you below him. you’re still shaking, breathing heavily, face messy with tear stains. riki knew he’d fucked himself over the moment he handed you his number, but he only truly realizes it when he sees you bare for him. his breath stutters, chest blooming with warmth.
you are beautiful, he thinks, so much so that it hurts to look at you — he’s still not sure how he’s supposed to go home after this.
“you’re so pretty,” he mumbles, voice low and almost dazed as he leans forward to press a kiss to your collarbone. the warmth of his lips makes you shudder, a new kind of electricity running through you: those familiar lips now carrying a memory that feels entirely different.
again with riki nishimura and his damn effects. that annoying, fluttery feeling of flowers blooming in your chest with every sweet word that slips past his lips, like he’s planting something in you you’ll never be able to get rid of.
“did you cum in your pants?” you snort, eyes drifting to the wet patch on his crotch. “no fucking way.”
“what’s it to you?” riki grins, hands sliding up and down your waist as if you were two lovers who had known each other for years, as if this were something ordinary, casual, and not the most reckless or intoxicating choice either of you had ever made. “i’ll cum all over that pretty face next time, mm?”
fuck riki nishimura. fuck his smug little grin and those painfully perfect features that make your stomach twist.
fuck the way every glance, every touch drags you deeper until you’re certain there’s no escape from this beautiful, maddening fall.
fuck the way your hands find his, drawing him into the sweetest, most tender kiss you’ve ever shared with another human being. how your fingers tangle perfectly with his as his lips settle on yours, as if it was some kind of twisted fate that led him to your bed.
“next time?” you whisper, breath barely grazing his lips.
“mhmm,” riki nishimura confirms, cheeks warm with a feeling he can’t quite name. “or should i take you out on a date first?”
“that doesn’t sound too bad,” you giggle, pulling him into another kiss, bare chests flushed together as he sinks his weight onto you. “the date, i mean.”
riki can’t help the grin that creeps up on his face. “not bad at all.”
and i will take the liberty of tagging those who commented for pt 2… this is for yall my fellow rikigooners 💔 @irenexj @enhypen-riki18 @frikimura @yenienha @hallowmingi @wenomakiluvr @hhoonieeswifxyy @aarriiaa1 @sunooselle @schaulii @lolliloopsy
— in which jake and jay capture the most beautiful, fucked-out masterpiece on film.
warning: explicit content (smut), threesome (rough dom jay, soft dom jake, sub reader), blowjob, deep throating, facial, unprotected sex, multiple sex position, hentai like expressions, picture taking, some mxm scene (don't like? don't read), double vaginal penetration, straight up porn. MDNI.
note: this is rotting in my drafts, i really need to clean since my storage are full (128 gb is not enough for my fucking files lol)
"I can't believe you spent a hundred dollars on a Polaroid camera."
You huffed, arms crossed as you stared at Jake, who was grinning ear to ear while unboxing his parcel. Across the room, Jay chuckled, his fingers absentmindedly adjusting the tuning pegs on his guitar.
Jake barely acknowledged your complaint, too absorbed in peeling away the tape and lifting the lid of the box. His eyes practically sparkled as he gently pulled out the camera, running his fingers over its smooth surface.
"I've been jealous of my friends showing off their Polaroid pictures—sticking them on their phone cases, tucking them into their wallets, pinning them to their walls," Jake explained, turning the camera over in his hands. "I just had to get one for myself. Besides, Polaroid film is so aesthetic. I wanna start a collection."
You scoffed, unimpressed. "We have a printer, you know. I could literally edit a photo with a Polaroid frame and print it out for you. Same look, less money wasted."
Jake shot you an incredulous glance, his nose scrunching slightly before he turned back to the instruction manual. "It’s not the same," he muttered, flipping through the tiny booklet.
Jay, who had finally set his guitar down on its stand, stretched his arms before strolling over. "You know what’s so special about Polaroid photos?" he mused, plopping down beside Jake and watching as he struggled to insert the film. "It’s the fact that it’s a one-time shot. No retakes, no backups. That exact moment, captured forever in its rawest form. And because there's only one copy, it's yours alone. It makes it feel... special."
You raised a skeptical brow, watching the two of them fumble with the camera like a pair of kids assembling a Lego set.
"It's called being practical," you said, holding up two fingers in a peace sign to emphasize the word.
Jake finally managed to snap the film cartridge into place, and the camera let out a satisfying click. He gasped in delight, shaking Jay’s shoulder. "It’s in! It's ready!"
Jay grinned, leaning back on his hands. "Then take a test shot. Let’s see if it works."
Jake eagerly lifted the camera, aiming it at you. Your eyes widened. "Wait, no—"
Click.
A soft whirring sound filled the room as the camera ejected the developing photo. Jake snatched it up, waving it in the air with excitement. "Ohh, this is gonna be so good."
You groaned, covering your face. "I wasn’t ready!"
"That’s the beauty of it!" Jake beamed. Jay laughed, watching as the image slowly began to take shape. "If you hate it, just take another one."
You shot him a deadpan look. "Defeats the whole ‘one-time special moment’ argument, don’t you think?"
You leaned in to get a better look at the Polaroid in Jake’s hand. The moment your eyes landed on it, your mouth fell open in horror. Your expression in the photo was atrocious—wide eyes, lips slightly parted, caught mid-protest.
Jake, instantly reading your mind, grinned wickedly. Just as you reached to snatch the photo, he yanked his hand up, holding it high above his head. "Oh-ho, no way! This is a masterpiece!" he cackled, his laughter echoing through the room.
"Jake, give it!" You lunged, but he danced backward, still laughing, the Polaroid waving mockingly in his grip.
"Throw it away, fuck you!" you huffed, but instead of complying, Jake grinned and tossed the photo to Jay.
"Catch!"
Jay snatched it midair, immediately taking off across the room. Your eyes widened. "No—Jay, don’t you dare!"
The room erupted into chaos. You bolted after him, but before you could get close, Jake grabbed you around the waist, locking his arms around you in a tight hold.
"Not so fast!" he teased, holding you back as you squirmed in his grip, your feet kicking wildly, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to break free.
"Give it!" you shrieked, voice pitching with sheer indignation. "I’ll let you guys take another one—just give it to me!"
Jay stood on the couch, tilting the Polaroid in his hand as he examined it with an amused hum. His gaze flickered toward you, still trapped in Jake’s arms, your face twisted in frustration.
"I need a Polaroid to display in my wallet too," he mused casually.
You rolled your eyes and marched toward him, reaching for the photo, but Jay smirked and lifted it just out of reach.
"You can take a picture of me anytime and display it however you want," you huffed, stretching on your toes. "But not this one."
Jay watched, clearly entertained, as you finally managed to snatch the photo from his hand. You immediately scowled at the image.
"We need a lot of photos with you," Jake chimed in from behind. Ignoring them, you dropped onto the couch, still glaring at the Polaroid.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just need to fix my hair first before we take another one."
Before you could move, Jake suddenly wrapped his arms around you again from behind, pulling you close against his chest. You barely had a second to react before he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.
"No need for that, love," he murmured, his voice low and affectionate.
You stiffened, gripping the Polaroid tightly, heat rising to your face. Jay raised an eyebrow, watching the two of you with a smirk.
“Tongue out, baby,” Jake groaned, gripping his cock, his one hand holding the camera as his eyes locked onto your flushed face.
You knelt before them, naked, skin damp with sweat. The heat of their gazes burned into you.
Obediently, you let your tongue slip out, and beside him, Jay let out a low groan, his fist working himself faster at the sight.
The sharp click of the Polaroid camera echoed through the room, the flash blinding for a second. Before you could even register the moment, Jay’s fingers tangled into your hair, yanking you forward.
A startled gasp left your lips before his cock pushed past them, the thick weight of him filling your mouth. You choked out a moan, hands gripping your knees, keeping still as his grip tightened.
"Fuck—just like that," Jay hissed, forcing you down further, his other hand fisting his base as he watched you struggle to take him. His grip was rough, tugging you back only to shove you down again, setting a ruthless rhythm.
Tears pricked your eyes, spit dribbling down your chin as you gagged around Jay’s cock. Beside him, Jake smirked, watching intently, his own fist gliding lazily over his length.
Click.
“Fuck,” Jake groaned, lowering the camera slightly, his gaze trailing over you—your swollen lips stretched around Jay, your flushed cheeks stained with tears. "So beautiful."
Jay chuckled breathlessly, his grip tightening in your hair as he angled your face toward the camera. “Yeah? Then let’s give him another good shot, baby.”
Without warning, he pushed deeper, his cock sliding past the tight ring of your throat. You gagged, body jerking, but Jay only moaned, holding you there, forcing you to take it.
“Holy shit,” Jake exhaled, capturing the moment with another click. His eyes darkened as he watched your lashes flutter, the way your throat contracted around Jay. “Hold it, baby. Just a little longer.”
"Me too, please."
Jake grabbed your free hand, guiding it to his cock, groaning the second your fingers wrapped around him. He was hot and heavy in your grip, pulsing with need, and as soon as you started stroking, he let out a low whine.
“Ahhh, you're so fucking sexy,” he breathed, hips twitching upward, fucking into your fist as he snapped another photo.
The Polaroid films were scattered across the floor in messy disarray—blurry flashes of you on your knees, your lips stretched around Jay, your eyes glossy with tears, your hand wrapped around Jake. Each moment captured, each one more obscene than the last.
Jay let out a sharp breath, his grip in your hair unrelenting as he started thrusting into your mouth. Your throat tightened around him, gagging as he pushed deeper, his groans growing desperate. Jake wasn’t any better, fucking into your palm, his breath coming out in ragged pants.
You forced your head back, Jay’s cock slipping from your swollen lips with a lewd pop as you turned your attention to Jake. His breath hitched, eyes blown wide as you wrapped your mouth around him, tongue swirling over the tip before sinking down.
"Fuck—" Jake groaned, head tipping back, his grip tightening on the camera as he barely managed to snap another photo.
Your hands worked them both—one stroking Jay’s slick length, squeezing just right, while your tongue alternated between them, switching back and forth, keeping them both on edge.
Jay hissed, hips twitching into your grip, his thumb swiping over your cheek, smearing spit across your flushed skin. “So fucking greedy,” he muttered, watching the way you licked up Jake’s shaft before turning back to him, taking him down again.
Jake cursed, his free hand gripping the back of your head, guiding you down further.
Jay shifted, slipping from your grasp, moving behind you instead. Your mouth slipped from Jake’s cock, a needy whine escaping you as Jay manhandled you into position.
"I need to fuck you so bad," Jay murmured against your ear, his hands gripping your waist.
You hummed in response, too focused on the way Jake kneel to adjust and tugged you back toward his cock. Obediently, you opened your mouth again, tongue flicking over the head before sinking down. Your head bobbed eagerly, taking him deep, and both of them chuckled at your desperation.
“Such a good girl,” Jake groaned, brushing your hair back to get a better view.
Behind you, Jay spread your ass cheeks, groaning at the sight of your glistening cunt, slick and ready for him. His cock pressed against your entrance, sliding slowly along your folds, teasing—rubbing against your labia, down to your clit, making you moan around Jake’s length.
Jay watched as your pussy clenched around nothing, making his cock throb. He let out a shaky breath, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along your spine, trailing up to your nape before whispering filth into your ear.
“So fucking hungry,” he groaned. “Let me feed this needy little pussy.”
Then, without warning, he pushed inside.
A sharp squeal tore from your throat, body jolting forward at the sudden stretch, but Jake was there, his grip firm on the back of your head, keeping you in place.
“Stay still, baby,” Jake murmured, voice low and commanding. Behind you, Jay’s fingers dug into your stomach, trapping you against him as he bottomed out, your walls squeezing around his cock.
“Fuck,” Jay groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he felt you pulse around him. “You’re so fucking tight." His hands moved up, grabbing your breast, kneading the soft flesh with slow, deliberate squeezes.
Jake’s breath came in heavy, his cock twitching against your tongue as he shakily lifted the camera. His fingers gripped it tight, the moment too perfect to miss.
Click.
Jay smirked at the flash, looking directly into the camera, his cock buried deep inside you while his hands continued to toy with your body. Meanwhile, your face was a wreck, tears clinging to your lashes, cheeks flushed, mouth stretched full around Jake’s cock.
"Try to smile for the next photos, hmm?" Jake murmured, brushing his fingers over your cheek, smearing your spit and tears.
“Yeah,” Jay mused. “Give the camera a pretty little smile while we ruin you.”
Both of them started to move, fast and rough.
Their moans turned breathless, high-pitched with pleasure as they used your body, stretching you open, leaving no part of you untouched. Your tears kept falling, slipping down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up.
Jay’s hands roamed everywhere, gripping your waist, squeezing your breasts, trailing down to your stomach, pressing against the outline of his cock buried deep inside you. Meanwhile, Jake was losing himself above you, his head tilting back, jaw slack as his hips stuttered, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over.
"Hey, give her mouth a little break," Jay gritted out between clenched teeth, his pace never faltering as he slammed into you from behind. His fingers dug deeper into your hips, anchoring you in place.
Jake groaned, looking down at you, watching the way your lips stretched around him.
He clicked his tongue, brushing damp hair from your face. “Tired already, baby?” he cooed, his thumb swiping over your puffy bottom lip. “Alright… but don’t think we’re done yet.”
With a final, slow drag of his cock over your tongue, he pulled out, tapping the tip against your cheek, smearing precum over your flushed skin. He sat back, stroking himself lazily as he watched Jay take over completely, his smirk growing as he reached for the camera again.
“Guess it’s time for some close-ups.”
You squealed as Jay’s thrusts turned brutal. His hand went to your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks, forcing your lips into a soft pout as he fucked you harder.
Click.
Jake adjusted his angle, the camera capturing everything—the way Jay was ruining you from behind, the exhaustion in your glossy eyes. His own cock twitched as he positioned himself between you both, rubbing the leaking tip against your flushed lips.
"Come on, my love. Smile." Jay’s voice was teasing as he whisper it.
You tried—forced out a tired, dazed smile, your mind was too hazy with the pleasure. Click.
Jay groaned at the sight, gripping your chin to turn your face toward him, pressing a hot, messy kiss against your parted lips.
Jake chuckled, the shutter clicking again. Click.
Jay growled against your mouth, his pace turning erratic, slamming into you even deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. Your moans came out in broken cries.
Suddenly, Jay pulled away from your lips, his grip never loosening on your waist as he reached for Jake’s cock, guiding it into his own mouth.
Jake cursed under his breath, his thighs trembling as Jay’s lips wrapped around him, tongue flicking over the tip. You whined at the sight, leaning in without hesitation, your tongue trailing along the base, tracing every vein where Jay wasn’t covering.
“F-Fuck,” Jake gasped, his camera shaking slightly in his hand as he struggled to focus. His hips twitched, his body torn between watching and giving in to the overwhelming pleasure of both your mouths.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to steady the camera. Click.
The flash illuminated the scene—Jay sucking him off, your tongue lapping at his shaft, eyes eager with lust.
Jay pulled off with a slick pop, stroking Jake lazily. "Shit, you’re shaking already?" he teased, glancing up at him through heavy lids.
Jake let out a shaky breath, smirking despite himself. “Hard not to when you two look this good.” He ran a hand through his hair, barely holding back a groan as Jay flicked his tongue over the slit again.
Meanwhile, Jay’s thrusts never faltered, still driving into you, keeping you stretched around him. His free hand snaked back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles that had you whining into Jake’s skin.
“Go on, baby,” Jay murmured, glancing down at you. “Make him cum.”
Jay pulled away, straightening his back, leaving you alone with Jake’s cock. You didn’t hesitate, immediately taking him back into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him as your moans vibrated against his length. The brutal pace Jay set behind you only made it messier, your body keening, your cries muffled as Jake groaned, watching you struggle to take it all.
Tears spilled freely down your cheeks when Jake decided to thrust deeper, fucking into your throat without mercy. Your gag reflex flared, but you took it, letting him use you, letting Jay ruin you from behind.
“Shit,” Jake hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair, keeping you in place as his hips twitched forward. “You look so fucking good like this—choking on my cock while he splits you open.”
Jay groaned, his head falling back, completely lost in the way your cunt clenched around him, sucking him in tighter.
"She's about to cum," Jay told Jake, voice breathless and strained. “She’s squeezing me so fucking tight.”
Jake gritted his teeth, looking down at you, he bites his lips as his stomach coiled painfully tight at the sight.
“Fuck—I’m gonna cum too,” he muttered, his hips jerking forward, his cock twitching on your tongue.
Jay let out a strained chuckle between moans. "Fuuuck, already? Goddamn," he whined, barely keeping himself together as he felt you pulse around him.
He pressed two fingers against your swollen clit, this time he rubbed it with ruthless, desperate circles.
"Come on, baby," Jay gritted out, his thrusts turning messy. "Cum for us—fuck, I wanna feel you shake."
Jake groaned as you whimpered around him, your body twitching violently, your thighs squeezing shut as the overwhelming pleasure took over. You couldn’t hold it back, your orgasm slammed into you, your walls clamping down so hard on Jay’s cock that it had him cursing, his rhythm faltering.
“Fuck—fuck, there you go, baby,” Jake grunted, watching your body shudder, the way your moans vibrated around his cock. With a sharp inhale, he pulled away, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. He replaced your hand with his own, stroking himself fast as he positioned the camera again, angling it just right to capture everything.
Your body still trembling from Jay’s relentless thrusts, but you forced your eyes open, letting your tongue loll out in anticipation.
"Paint me with your cum, 'Ikeu."
Jake cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as his orgasm hit. Hot ropes of cum spurted across your face, dripping down your cheeks, your lips, your tongue—just as the camera shutter snapped.
Click.
Jay grunted, his grip firm as he pulled you away from Jake's arms, his hands cupping your breasts, pressing your back flush against his chest. He carried you effortlessly, not once slipping out of you as he moved toward the couch.
You whimpered, your walls clamping down hard around him. Settling onto the couch, Jay wasted no time—his arms slid under your thighs, forcing your legs wide apart, keeping you completely open for him and Jake to see. His forearms bracing your trembling body as your hands clung to him for support.
He slammed into you again. The force had you crying out, your back arching. Your vision blurred, as the tears continue spilling freely down your cheeks.
Jake groaned at the sight, his cock twitching as he looked around at the polaroids scattered across the floor—each one capturing every filthy moment, every ruined expression on your face.
“Take it, take it, take it!” Jay gritted out, his focus solely on the way your pussy clenched around him, sucking him in with every thrust.
Your breasts bounced with each movement, the force of his strokes sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He was hitting that spot—that spot—so perfectly that your screams filled the room once again.
Your dazed eyes locked onto Jake, who was fisting his half-hard cock, watching the two of you with dark, hooded eyes. The moment he noticed you staring, he smirked and raised the camera again.
“Say cheese,” he teased, voice dripping with amusement.
Jay tilted his head over your shoulder, making sure to be in the shot, his cock still sliding in and out of you, the slick sound echoing in the air. Your body was trembling, overstimulated beyond reason, but somehow, you managed to raise a shaky hand in a peace sign, your eyes half-lidded, a ruined little smile tugging at your lips.
Jake grinned, angling the camera just right. Click. And by that time the flash illuminated, your orgasm hits.
“Ahh—fuck! Yes!” You screamed, your body convulsing as another orgasm ripped through you. Your walls fluttered, tightening so brutally around Jay that he nearly lost control.
Jay cursed under his breath, slowing his thrusts for a moment, trying to hold back the heat coiling in his stomach. Your pussy was gripping him too damn tight, milking him, begging for him to spill inside—but he wasn’t ready to give in. Not yet.
Still catching his breath, he smirked down at Jake. “Come here,” he panted, gripping your thighs tighter. “We’re gonna get a shot of you, too.”
Jake’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening as he give the camera to you. He knelt between your trembling legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he leaned in.
The moment his tongue met your clit, you jolted, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as fresh overstimulation crashed into you. Your fingers instantly tangled into his hair, pulling him closer as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking softly.
Jay groaned, feeling every little tremor of pleasure ripple through you, feeling the way your walls pulsed around him as Jake devoured you.
“Shit,” Jay exhaled, his grip bruising on your hips. “You better get a good fucking shot of this, baby.”
He grabbed your trembling hand, guiding you to lift the camera. Your fingers barely steadied around it before the flash went off—click.
The image burned behind your lids for a second—Jake between your legs, tongue out, teasing your swollen clit while Jay’s cock was still buried deep inside you.
A whimper left your lips, your body shuddering violently as the pleasure became unbearable. Your legs tried to close instinctively, but Jake was quick to push them apart again, palms against your thighs.
“Stay open,” he muttered, his lips brushing over your slick folds. “Let me taste all of it.”
A drawn-out moan escaped you as Jake trailed his tongue lower, licking along the outline of Jay’s cock stretching you open. The sensation sent a shiver up Jay’s spine, his head falling back as he groaned.
“Fuck, Jake—” Jay gritted his teeth, feeling the wet heat of his boyfriend's mouth so close to where he was buried inside you.
Jake hummed in response, the vibration making you both shudder before he dipped lower, his tongue sliding over the mess of your fluids dripping down. Then, without warning, he took Jay’s balls into his mouth, sucking lightly, his hands still keeping your legs spread wide.
Jay let out a strangled moan, his grip on your hips tightening. “Stop for a moment—I don’t wanna cum yet,” he gritted out.
Jake pulled away from Jay just to latch onto your clit again, sucking hard. The sudden jolt of pleasure made you gasp, your back arching as another wave of heat surged through your body.
Jay smirked at your reaction, his hands sliding up your trembling torso. His fingers found your nipples, rolling them between his fingertips before giving them a sharp pinch. You cried out, your thighs twitching against Jake’s face, but he only held you down harder.
Jay started moving again—slow, teasing thrusts that had you gripping the camera weakly, your fingers struggling to keep hold as your body trembled under their combined assault. Every part of you was being used, overstimulated to the point of madness, and you could barely process the sensations anymore.
“Jake, open up,” Jay breathed. Jake lifted his chin from your stomach, parting his lips obediently.
“Ready the camera,” Jay commanded, his gaze flicking to you. Your fingers trembled as you struggled to lift it, your body still reeling from their touch.
Then, without hesitation, Jay pushed three fingers past Jake’s lips, pressing them deep onto his tongue. Jake groaned, his lashes fluttering as he hollowed his cheeks around them. The sight had your breath hitching, your grip on the camera weak as you barely managed to angle it. Click.
Jay smirked, watching the way Jake took his fingers so easily, how his lips stretched around them, drool beginning to pool at the corners of his mouth.
Slowly, he pulled his fingers free, only to bring them down to your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles with the slick mixture of Jake’s spit and your own arousal.
“Up,” Jay ordered, “we’re gonna fuck her stupid.”
Jake grinned, licking his lips as he stood, positioning himself above you. His hands gripped your trembling thighs, spreading you wide as he lined himself up.
“W-wait—” you gasped, barely able to get the words out before Jake groaned, pushing inside you in one slow, agonizing stroke.
Your body arched, a broken scream tearing from your throat as your walls stretched around him.
Jay moaned at the sensation, feeling the press of Jake’s cock against his, both of them buried deep inside you, stretching you beyond anything you thought you could take.
“Relax, baby. I can’t get inside—fuck,” Jake groaned, his jaw clenched as he tried to push in deeper.
You whimpered, your breaths coming out in sharp, uneven gasps. The stretch was burning and your walls struggling to take them both.
Jay, still buried inside you, hummed against your ear, his fingers never stopping their relentless circles on your clit. “Just focus on this, baby,” he cooed, “It’ll feel good soon, I promise.”
Your fingers went slack, the camera slipping from your hands and hitting the floor with a dull thud, forgotten.
With a deep breath, Jake pushed again, his hips rolling forward, forcing himself inside inch by inch. Your walls fluttered desperately around them both, your body trembling as you tried to adjust.
Finally, he bottomed out, a deep groan escaping him as he settled inside you. Your head lolled back onto Jay’s shoulder, body completely limp between them. The stretch was overwhelming, but they fit—stuffed so deep inside you, pressed against each other, filling you to the brim.
Jake exhaled shakily, looking down at the way you swallowed them both. “Goddamn,” he muttered, he slowly starts moving inside you, his dick brushing on Jay's was making his mind lost it completely.
Slowly, he began to move, his cock sliding against Jay’s with each thrust, the tight space forcing every sensation to heighten. The friction and the heat was enough to make his mind go blank.
Jay’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hips as he felt every movement, every shift inside you. Since he was underneath, his own thrusts were shallow, but the way Jake’s cock brushed against his still sent sparks of pleasure.
“F-fuck,” Jay groaned, “She’s so—tight—”
You cried out, back arching as the overwhelming stretch turned into pleasure. Every roll of their hips pushed them deeper, stuffing you so full that you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
“Ahh, ahh,” you moaned, your voice is so shaky.
Jake smirked at the sound, gripping your thigh to keep you open. “You hear that, Jay? She’s losing it.”
Jay let out a breathless laugh, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck. “Not yet,” he murmured. “She can take more.”
And with that, he bucked his hips upward, meeting Jake’s thrusts perfectly, filling you over and over again, stretching you to your absolute limit.
“Fuck, no matter how many times we stretch you, you’re still so fucking tight,” Jake moaned.
Your mind was lost, floating somewhere between pleasure and delirium, your body completely surrendering to them. It wasn’t just the way they fucked you—it was how perfectly you fit together. The way Jay’s girth stretched you open, making you feel so impossibly full, while Jake’s length filled every inch, reaching places that made you see stars. And the way they both curved just right, their tips pressing into every sensitive spot inside you, leaving you utterly wrecked.
Your lips parted, a choked sob escaping you.
“Hey, you still with us?” Jay murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. Jake chuckled breathlessly, his fingers gripping your chin, tilting your face up to his.
“She’s barely holding on,” Jake smirked, rubbing his thumb over your spit-slick lips before pushing it past them. “She's completely fucked out.”
Jay groaned, rolling his hips even deeper, setting a rhythm that made your entire body tremble. They moved in sync—when Jake pulled out, Jay drove in, and when Jay withdrew, Jake filled you again. The push and pull leaving you with no moment of emptiness, only the overwhelming sensation of being ruined.
Your moans vibrated around Jake’s thumb, eyes rolling back as pleasure consumed you. Your body was overstimulated, wrecked, yet you wanted more.
You always wanted more when it came to them.
Jay’s grip moved to your breasts, kneading them just the way he knew you loved, while Jake’s fingers found your clit, circling it with expert precision. They knew your body like it was theirs—knew how to break you down, knew exactly how to tear you apart.
And in this moment, the only thing your mind could process was their names.
“Jay, Jake! Fuck—fuck!” you cried, body arching between them.
Both of them were completely lost in you, drowning in the way you took them so perfectly. But still, their focus never wavered from your pleasure. Their thrusts turned rougher, deeper, until Jay’s movements stuttered first. With a deep, strangled groan, his hips slammed flush against you, spilling inside with a shudder, his hands still greedily kneading your breasts as he rode out his high.
Jake whined, his hips stuttering as he felt Jay spill inside you, the warmth of it making his cock twitch violently.
“F-fuck, that’s so hot,” he groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs as he chased his own release. “You’re so fucking full, baby, and you’re still squeezing me—shit.”
Jay hummed lazily, his grip on your breasts tightening slightly as he kissed the side of your neck, still buried inside you. “She’s greedy like that,” he mused, his voice husky. “She wants it all.”
And you were definitely going to get that.
Jake thrust into you harder, his fingers rubbing relentless circles on your overstimulated clit. The pleasure teetering on the edge of painful as he used you to reach his high. Your body can't stop trembling uncontrollably as your walls clenched down around him.
“Fuck, fuck—” Jake’s head tilted back, his mouth hanging open as his orgasm crashed over him. He spilled inside you with a deep, shuddering groan, his fingers still lazily circling your clit, forcing you to ride out every last wave.
You gasped, body going limp between them, trembling as the aftershocks wracked through you. Every nerve was on fire, your skin glistening with sweat, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure.
Jay leaned back against the couch, keeping you pressed against his chest, his fingers trailing lazy circles over your skin. He pressed soft, lingering kisses against your temple, whispering low, soothing words into your ear, grounding you even as your body continued to tremble.
Jake was the first to pull out, hissing as he did, still breathless. He reached down, grabbing the fallen camera from the floor, his fingers brushing over the discarded polaroids scattered around.
Jay shifted next, carefully lifting you, rolling you onto your stomach. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he watched both of their cum spill from your wrecked pussy, dripping down your thighs. His hands spread you open just a little more, admiring the mess they made of you.
Jake knelt beside you, his fingers carding gently through your damp hair, his touch soft and tender. “Last shot, baby,” he murmured.
You barely had the strength to lift your head, but you did, your fingers resting against your flushed cheek. Your hair was damp with sweat, your lips swollen, your eyes hazy—completely fucked out.
Jake framed the shot just right, both of them beside you, the aftermath of their work on full display.
Click.
The flash flared and faded, casting a fleeting glow over the room before leaving behind only the three of you. On the floor, some of the polaroid slowly developed, its edges soft and hazy, immortalizing the moment in perfect, messy detail.
maybe the heat isn't so bad after all: new beginnings - y.jw
pairing: jungwon x reader
synopsis: After an impulsive hookup in a broken elevator, Jungwon’s been avoiding you like it never happened. But when you’re finally forced to face him — and what the two of you shared — it’s clear that pretending it meant nothing isn’t an option anymore.
genre: situationship to lovers, non-idol au
warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, catching feelings, voyeurism (kinda?), angst, sexual tension, public act, temperature play (sort of?), overstimulation, Jungwon and y/n are like incredibly awkward lol, mutual pining, pet names (baby, pretty girl)
WC: 4.4k
A/N: what a way to celebrate after coming back from vacation! Lowkey I'm so proud of this fic, and I'm gonna be honest, I did NOT envision for this series to actually be a series, but it's all thanks to the lovely @limo-shi for requesting a pt 2, and i lowkey LOVE IT and I hope you all do too! again, thank you so much for the request, I had a TON of fun writing this!
pt 1
You never thought that after yesterday’s events, that your dynamic with Jungwon would be like this. You now suddenly see him everywhere: getting the mail, leaving his apartment, coming home with groceries. It wouldn’t be so bad, if every time you looked at him, he would meet your eyes, say hello.
Or acknowledge what happened yesterday.
With each small glance you both give each other, it’s like you can feel the elevator walls surrounding you again, his touch ghosting over your skin, his lips trailing over your pulse point as he ruins you. The electricity that shoots through your body is enough to make your cheeks burn bright red, biting your lip raw. When you run into each other in the lobby of your apartment complex, you watch him step out of the elevator, eyes widening into saucers, and walking right past you, his steps hurried. He spares you a quick glance before his face explodes in colour, and he slams the front door in your face. Ouch.
“I guess he’s not taking me up on that second time offer,” you grumble to yourself, marching off into the room next door and slamming it, the door rattling on its hinges.
The next day is the same: stolen glances, hurried steps, and even more confusion. It’s almost like what happened between them was a mistake, was only a fluke, but neither of you could ignore the rush of heat that flowed in your veins whenever your eyes met, the way your skin prickles whenever he was too close. No one’s ever made you feel the way he does — and you know he feels it too. And you’ve finally had enough.
You don’t even think twice before leaving your apartment, turning to Jungwon’s door right next to yours, raising your hand and rapping your knuckles hard on his door. You can hear his movement, his faint footsteps inside, until he opens his door, his breath hitching as he sees you at his doorstep, your eyebrows pulled into a slight frown.
“We need to talk,” slips from your lips, your stomach flipping from your proximity to him. He looks good – too good - wearing a white shirt this time with loose shorts that hang low on his hips, his black hair slightly damp and falling in strands in front of his face, framing his flushed skin.
His breathing stutters: his eyebrows raise before he sighs in resignation, opening the door fully and stepping to the side, letting you in. You breathe in deeply, setting one foot in front of the other, stepping inside his home.
His apartment is clean, tidy, save for the few CD’s stacked on his coffee table, the colour palette of his home relaxing and inviting, soft, muted pops of colour throughout the place. His place smells like him: like clean linen, hints of citrus perfuming the air. You pause for a moment to take it all in, to mentally prepare yourself, before turning to him.
“What happened the other day was not casual to me, Jungwon,” you start carefully, looking from his carpet up to him, his eyes darting around the room nervously.
“It wasn’t for me, either,” he says quietly, sucking in a shaky breath before setting his gaze on you, cheeks dusted in nerves “I’ve never felt like this before, and I honestly don’t know what to do with it. I really like you — but what if I mess it all up? Just because of… that. Because of what happened in the elevator.” he says exasperatedly, voice full of emotion, the weight of his feelings finally leaving his shoulders. You can’t help but soften at the raw intensity in his words, how much he’s worried about you—about the two of you. You feel your irritation slowly seep out of you, replaced with tenderness.
“You live right next door, and I didn’t want to make things weird between us. But pretending nothing happened is worse,” he says quietly, his muscles relaxing as he lays his fears, his worries, his emotions bare for you. For a second, you just stand there, his words hanging in the silence between you both. Then you move forward – slow, certain, wrapping your arms around him, resting your head on his chest.
You feel him freeze in shock for a moment, before he melts into your touch, like he’s been waiting for this ever since your last moment together in the elevator. You let the raw emotion hang around you both, just holding each other in understanding.
After what feels like a lifetime of holding each other, you step back, only just enough so you can still feel his heat radiating onto you, your skin thrumming.
“Maybe we can start over: as friends who actually talk to each other,” you tease softly, a smile growing on your face as you watch him shudder with silent laughter, eyes glistening with hope for new beginnings, a fresh start.
“Yeah, I like that. You know, we didn’t end up getting to the pool the other day,” he hints, quirking an eyebrow. Your smile widens, and you nod in excitement. You feel so much lighter now that you’ve finally addressed the heavy awkwardness that used to hang heavily around you, your smile appearing so much brighter.
“We definitely didn’t,” you smirk, “how about we go to the pool tomorrow? As friends?” you offer, shifting your weight on your feet as you nervously look up at him, desperately hoping he would say yes. He grins widely, brushing his hair out of his face. “I like the sound of that,” he says gently, his eyes twinkling in excitement.
You can’t help but feel like you’re floating with each step as you leave his apartment, waving goodbye, heart thrumming with excitement with what’s to bring tomorrow.
You wake up with your heart beating fast with excitement, your skin tingling with anticipation as to how your day with Jungwon will go. You feel your steps light and airy in anticipation as you get yourself ready for the day ahead, dressing in the same bikini you wore days ago, never actually having the chance to swim in them.
You only just finish getting yourself ready when you hear a soft, almost hesitant knock on your door, and you feel your heart jump into your throat and your lips tugging into a smile as you rush to open your door. Jungwon stands in your doorway, his smile widening - until it doesn’t. His breath catches, eyes widening before flicking down and snapping back up so fast it’s almost comical. For a split second, you swear his face mirrors the exact look he gave you that night.
It hits him like déjà vu: how he had you in the elevator days ago, how he pulled on the knot behind your neck, letting the top fall to the floor. His Adam’s apple bobs, swallowing hard as he forces his eyes back up to your face, you only looking at him in confusion.
“Everything all good?” you ask, tilting your head, the corners of your lips curving up.
“Perfect,” he says too quickly, voice cracking slightly. “Just—uh—distracted,” he says awkwardly, blinking hard, trying to will the image of you in his head away.
You both stand there awkwardly: him not knowing where to look, and you look at him, amused, until he cuts through the silence.
“A-anyway, let’s go?” he asks hesitantly, meeting your eyes, his cheeks dusted pink. You nod, grinning widely as he lets you out through the door first and into the elevator. It’s just you two again, and memories of that day flood your head, your skin tingling and in between your legs throbbing. The soft hum of the elevator fills the silence between you, both of you stealing quick glances.
“Let’s hope the elevator doesn’t break again,” he jokes, lips curving in a tight smile. Then, quieter, almost to himself, “I don’t know if I could hold back this time.” You whip your head around, looking up at the almost sheepish boy beside you, a soft smile tugging at your lips.
“I don’t think I could either.”
The silence that follows hangs thick and electric between you, impossible to ignore.
A soft ‘ding’ cuts through the tension, signalling they made it to the ground floor. When the doors open, you feel like you can breathe again – the heavy air of the elevator melting away as you both step into the sunlight and make your way to the pool.
For a warm, summer day, it’s not as crowded as you thought: couples sunbathe together on the lounge chairs, kids splash in the shallow end, sunlight glimmering off the surface of the rippling water. You both set your belongings down on a nearby lounge chair, fingers brushing for just a second too long.
“Far out, this summer has got to be the hottest one yet,” you pant, fanning yourself as you pull out your sunscreen, quickly lathering yourself. He sits down next to you, cautiously leaving some space between you both, as he does the same.
The silence is comfortable yet charged – like neither of you want to be the one to break it.
Finally, you cut through the silence, your voice soft, almost timid, “hey, Jungwon, can you please do my back?” You sweep your hair over your shoulder, baring the smooth lines of your back to him.
He freezes.
“Yeah… yeah sure,” he says deliberately after a beat, voice low, breath shaky as he squeezes a small amount of sunscreen into the palm of his hand. His touch is careful at first, cool sunscreen, warm hands. But as his fingers glide along the smooth skin of your back, the rest of the world seems to fade out: the chatter, the water, even the heat, until all that’s left is the two of you.
His hands trail up your shoulders, down the sides of your ribs, the tips of his fingers brushing against the soft swell of your breasts. The air between you buzzes, the same unspoken electricity from the elevator, now impossibly stronger.
And it takes everything in you to not turn around, pull him close, and let the tension finally break.
“There, all done,” he breathes, pulling his hands away, and you finally stutter a breath, the scene around you fading back into the background.
“Thank you,” you whisper, turning to face him again, your gazes locked onto each other. The skin where Jungwon touched tingles, leaving a constant reminder of how intimate his touch felt. He nods, his words failing him.
The moment stays suspended in the heavy summer air, neither of you quite sure what to do. Then, Jungwon clears his throat.
“So,” he starts, voice soft, “are we actually going to go swimming, or are we just going to sit here, melting?” You both break out into wide smiles, laughing together. The sound breaks through the tension that had you both suspended, the air feeling light, intimate.
“Right, yeah,” you manage in between fits of laughter, pulling your hair back into a ponytail, hair framing the smooth lines of your back. “Pool. Before we die of heatstroke.”
He grins, standing up in front of you, offering his hand. His fingers brush against yours, brief and warm.
“Come on,” he murmurs as he guides you to the pool, hand in hand. For a moment, you’re convinced that the heat you feel blossoming deep inside you has nothing to do with the beating sun.
The cold water is a sharp contrast from your heated skin as you dive in, the coolness washing away the tension that settled deep in your bones. The world turns quiet for a moment with your head under the water, your thoughts revolving around the boy with you. You break through the surface of the water, wiping your eyes of water, laughing breathlessly. Next to you, Jungwon rises from the water too, slicking his hair back, droplets of water running down the sharp line of his jaw. It’s unfair just how good he looks like that without trying – relaxed, bright, alive.
“Not bad,” you tease, swimming through the water over to him, “Didn’t take you as a swimmer.”
“Oh, I can,” he fires back, a boyish grin starting to spread onto his face, “but the question is… can you?” He smirks, and before you can respond, he splashes water at you, directly into your face. You gasp in mock offense, retaliating with an even bigger splash that completely drenches him in water again. His laughter rings out into the open air, and for a second, it feels like everything is normal between the both of you. No awkwardness, no complicated feelings, no hesitation, just you two, and this moment.
When the wild splashing finally dies down, you find yourselves closer than ever before, your laughter turning into quiet giggles, smiling widely. The atmosphere hums, but not from heat, from him. This.
You both float around in the water for hours, talking mindlessly until the sun starts setting and people start leaving. Until it’s only you two. You float on your back, letting the final rays of the sun wash over you.
This is nice,” you murmur, your eyelids fluttering closed, “maybe the heat isn’t so bad after all,” Jungwon laughs lightly, him floating right beside you, occasionally brushing his fingers against yours.
“I second that. We should do this more often,” he sighs heavily, dragging his hand over the rippling water, staying still for a moment before submerging himself in the water again, dragging you down with him. You squeal under the water, grinning widely as he carries you in his arms, breaking through the surface of the water. Massive grins are plastered on your faces as you gaze at each other.
It feels like time stops, and it’s just you two and the fluttering feeling in your chest. Your eyes can’t help but drift down to his pink lips, plump and dripping water. You almost don’t notice how the both of you are gradually closing the distance, until he brushes a loose, wet strand of hair behind your ear, his nose almost touching yours.
“Is this okay?” He whispers, his hand settling gently on your cheek, his thumb caressing the smooth, wet skin of your cheek. You bite your lip lightly, your voice failing you. You nod gently, staring up at him through your wet eyelashes.
And when your lips meet, it wasn’t drowned in attraction and desire – it was sweet, like honey. It was tender, and it was full of unspoken fears, but also of willingness to step into the unknown. The soft clashing of your lips and his hands on you makes it feel like you’re ascending, like the only person who is holding you up is Jungwon.
With you still in his arms, he backs you up, so your back is flush against the cold tile of the pool. The cold contrast against the heat of your skin makes you gasp, and Jungwon takes that as an opportunity to enter your mouth, deepening the kiss. Your head tilts slightly, your tongues exploring, tasting, claiming each other slowly, and that is enough to have you riled up, to feel the familiar heat bundle in your lower stomach, to feel your skin prickling in goosebumps.
His hands glide to your waist, fingertips drifting over your sensitive stomach, almost as if he is committing you to memory. He traces each contour, each line, each dip on you, and his careful attention to you brings a warmth blossoming in your heart. You clutch onto him, like if you were to let go, he would disappear.
He gently pushes your legs apart, stepping between them, his chest flush against yours, the scent of chlorine and water lingering on his glistening chest. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him in closer, never taking the chance to separate your lips from his. The water laps around you both, nipping at your waist.
His hands raise to the back of your neck, playing around with the knot keeping your bikini top up.
“May I?” He whispers against your lips, and all you can muster is a soft nod, a small whimper slipping past your lips.
The noise you make makes his breath hitch, nibbling your bottom lip with his teeth as he teasingly undoes the knot. He carefully removes the top, exposing the swell of your breasts and your pebbled nipples to the cold water and the hot air, the final rays of sunshine illuminating your glistening skin. He takes a moment to really drink you in, his gaze consuming every inch of you. Desperation, attraction, and love swirl intensely behind his eyes.
“You are so beautiful,” he gasps between shaky breaths, leaning in to press tender kisses to the corner of your lips, trailing down to your jawline. He brings his hands up to cup your breasts, lightly kneading the soft, supple skin. His thumb brushes over your sensitive nipples, and you suck in a shaky breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
He smiles against your jawline, his kisses travelling down to your neck, lips brushing against the strong, fast pulse in your neck, tongue darting out to taste the slightly bitter chlorine that lingers on your skin. He pinches your nipples between his fingers, rolling and pulling them slightly, your back arching into him at the pure bliss. You whimper again, and you swear you can hear him grunt against your neck, his hips pressing into you further.
You can feel his hardness right between your legs, and it takes everything in you to take this slow, to feel everything.
“I hated pretending too, you know,” you gasp, your trembling hand reaching up to caress his jawline, “maybe this was always supposed to happen.” He releases a shaky exhale against your neck, lifting his head up to capture your lips in a tender, loving kiss, his hands abandoning your breasts and instead holding you by your arms. His thumbs caress your damp skin.
“I’m not pretending this never happened ever again, not when I feel like this,” he whispers against your lips, voice cracking from sheer intensity and emotion. “Please, let me show you just how sorry I am, how much I want to make it up to you,” he pleads with her, looking down on her, a droplet of pool water dripping off his eyelashes, a wet strand of hair falling in front of his eyes.
“Jungwon… I don’t want you to make it up to me. I just want you, right here, right now,” you breathe, and suddenly, his eyes, usually warm and chocolate-brown, smoulder with something darker, raw, and urgent. His hands shake with burning intensity as he reaches down between your legs, fingers tracing lightly over your throbbing clit. The feeling of his touch barely there, teasing you, causes your breath to stutter, throwing your head back as you rock your hips into his hand, begging for more.
He smirks, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your temple as his fingers work faster, press harder into your sensitive pussy. The cold water of the pool only adds to the intensity of the pleasure, creating a sharp contrast with the heat simmering in your lower belly.
His fingers suddenly slow down, and you grumble, but the sound of your irritation is quickly replaced with a sound of pure ecstasy when his fingers slide your bikini bottoms to the side and slowly sink into your warm entrance. Your walls quiver around his fingers, and you grip Jungwon’s shoulder so hard, your knuckles turn white. The water splashes around you both, the both of you illuminated by the moon’s glow of the early night as he fingers you. It’s not rough and full of lust – it’s sweet, full of attraction, desire, and need, his fingers massaging your inner walls perfectly, like he was made to be with you like this.
It's not long until you feel the familiar coil of fire boiling in the bottom of your stomach, your pussy pulsing and throbbing, a telltale sign of how close you are. Your body shakes, Jungwon pinning you to the tiling of the pool being the only way you can stay up.
“Cum for me baby, I want to feel you,” he grunts in your ear, his teeth nibbling at your earlobe. His gravelly, hoarse voice pushes you over the edge: your vision exploding into white light, the water crashing against you suddenly feeling freezing, a loud, almost pornographic moan falling from your lips as he coaxes you through your orgasm.
Jungwon kisses the corner of your mouth, his breath shuddering as he pulls his soaked fingers from in between your legs up to his mouth, sucking off your release. Even mixed with the faint taste of chlorine, he swears it’s the most perfect taste in the world. He moans lowly, popping his fingers out of his mouth, immediately reaching for you and pressing his lips to yours.
Moaning into the kiss, you trail your hands down the toned lines of his chest, fingers gliding over his damp skin. Your hands drift downwards to between his legs, tenderly undoing the knot and pulling his trunks down, his hard cock springing up against his stomach, even in the water.
You hold him in your hand, and pull away from him, breaking the kiss. Out of breath, you just gaze at him – the moonlight glimmering off the light of his wet hair, his plump lips, his flushed cheeks. He couldn’t look more perfect.
“You are so perfect,” you whisper tenderly, positioning him at your throbbing entrance. Even being dragged through the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, you can’t wait any longer to have him inside of you.
“Say it again,” his voice trembles, “because I’ll never get tired of hearing it from you.” He positions his hands at your hips, gently gripping the supple skin underneath, caressing with his thumbs. His tip prods at your entrance, only shallow enough to have you begging for more.
“Jungwon, you are so perfect- oh fuck!” You cry out as he slowly pushes his cock into you, stuffing you full. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead as he buries himself hilt-deep in your tight, slick pussy, feeling like she was moulded only for him. The bitter scent of chlorine mixes with the smell of the night air, and the water dips and rolls around you both.
He holds himself inside you for a moment, letting you adjust, feeling his long, hard cock throbbing in tandem with your pussy.
“Are you okay?” he breathes hoarsely, looking down at you, his forehead pressed to yours. You can only muster a weak nod, but that’s all the consent Jungwon needs.
Slowly, he pulls out of you, until only the tip is left in you, before thrusting back into you, hitting new depths of your cunt. You cry out, arching your back and scratching the skin of his shoulders. With a breathless grin, he pulls back again, and thrusts back into you, setting a slow but firm pace, each thrust into you feeling like he’s hitting impossibly deeper.
Water splashes around you both as he fucks you, washing up your stomach with each thrust, creating waves of cold and heat with each thrust. You look down to where you are connected, and you croak out a moan as you see his veiny, flushed cock pumping in and out of you, filling your brain with nothing but him and how deliciously he’s fucking you.
At some point, he quickens his pace, hips snapping against yours louder and faster, the pool water splashing onto the edge of the pool. His face is contorted in pleasure, strands of wet hair clinging to the sweat beading down his forehead as he drills into you.
His hand reaches down in between your legs, and rubs your clit, hard, as he thrusts harder into you, and you swear you nearly blank out from the sheer bliss you feel. The familiar, burning hot coil winds itself tighter in the deepest pits of your stomach, and you cry out, scratching his back, trying to ground yourself.
“J-Jungwon-“ You gasp out in between broken moans, body trembling intensely, each thrust sending wave after wave of electricity through your bones.
“I know pretty girl, cum for me. Cum on my cock,” he groans, thrusting into you harder, chasing your orgasms, his fingers still rubbing your overly sensitive clit. Without any warning, you cum, hard, all over his cock, your vision blanking out as you’re hit with an orgasm that’s equivalent to a ton of bricks. His fingers still rub furiously over your clit, your body shaking violently as pulses of intense shockwaves of pleasure vibrate through you, consuming your every thought as he chases his high.
With your cunt squeezing down on him impossibly hard from the intense overstimulation, Jungwon moans loudly, his hips stuttering as he shoots his hot load deep into your cunt, the both of you breathing heavily. For a moment, you both just stay there - you pinned against the wall of the pool, his cock buried deep inside you, foreheads pressed together as you both share panted breaths, revelling in the afterglow of your orgasms.
The water finally calms to a soft roll of the waves, drifting calmly over your sticky bodies, moonlight glimmering off the clear surface.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt something like this before,” you hear Jungwon whisper, his hands drifting up to cup your face, kissing you softly.
“Yeah, me neither,” you breathe, your hands flattening against the smooth muscle on his arms, committing him to memory. His fingertips brush lightly over the features of your face, him gazing into your eyes, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just them and this moment, and that’s all that’s important.
“I want to take you out on a date – a real one, where we actually get to know each other, where I can prove myself to you,” he murmurs, his gaze consuming her entire being, his eyes full of attraction and wonder.
You let out a quiet laugh, staring up at him. “A real date sounds perfect.”
He grins widely, leaning forward and kissing you again, this time full of hope and excitement. You can feel his smile growing wider against your lips. “Then it’s a promise.”
And for the first time in a long while, the air doesn’t feel heavy, but rather, it feels like the start of something new.
A/N: Thank you guys so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Have a lovely day everyone! <333
pairing 𖢥 ₊°˖ spiderman!jake x f!reader ── .✦ fluff, rom-com, angst, slowburn, miscommunication!trope, classmates to lovers ft. guy-in-the-chair!sunghoon
wc 𖢥⊹✎ᝰ.ᐟ 25.4k ( ˶o˶˶o˶)
synopsis 𖢥 ⁺₊✧ keeping his secret identity...a secret? easy work. hiding his raging, massive, all-consuming crush on you? not so much. sim jaeyun has a lot on his plate: high school, late-night crime-fighting, a history final next week, and a painfully massive crush on his chemistry lab partner—you. and things are finally starting to look up—during the day, jake bonds with you over caffeine-fueled study sessions and at night, spider-man walks you home. but then you drop a bomb: you've got feelings for someone else. and that someone is...spider-man. and now, somehow, someway, jake is in a love triangle. with himself. turns out—falling for your lab partner and your friendly neighborhood hero? easy work. realizing they're the same guy? not so much.
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)
And I'm this close to making a jakesimfromfarmhouse gooner account, but u guys would think I'm playing cause no.....anyone who writes like this deserves their own fanfic and gooner account. Jakesimfromfarmhouse will go down as one one the best writers out there....I'm literally a simp for Jakesimfromfarmhouse.
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