Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jisung has never been the best student. He’s always waking up late, missing classes, forgetting to turn in homework he’s already completed– the list goes on. Having unmedicated ADHD is mostly to blame for this (thank you, predatory American healthcare system and big pharma), but truthfully, there’s a myriad of different things taking up space in his easily distractible mind. Things that keep him distrait. 

For example, he has a dumb, stupid crush on one of the guys in his journalism club. Minho Lee. A not-so-tall, gorgeous dance major with sharp feline eyes and a smile that makes Jisung’s gut flip. Jisung’s been enthralled by him since the day they first met… two months ago. 

Well, ‘met’ is generous. They’ve never spoken directly, but Jisung’s been slowly absorbing information about the elder from afar, and yes, he’s painfully aware of how stalker-ish that is. 

Minho is an enigma. The kind of person who speaks so little yet still commands attention from everyone in the room. His presence is an impact in itself, a figure that turns heads despite his perceived elusiveness. 

Jisung barely knows anything about him despite all the eavesdropping he does. It’s hard to learn anything about Minho when he’s the most private man on the planet. 

The only information Jisung has managed to snag is that Minho has two cats: Doongie, and Dori. It’s like that’s all there is to know. 

Yet Jisung’s convinced that Minho is destined to be his future husband. Who cares if he knows next to nothing about him? Minho’s funny, kind, charismatic, and drop-dead gorgeous. That’s enough for Jisung. Pathetically. He’ll figure the rest out when the time comes. 

Unfortunately, Jisung is a massive fucking loser, so he’ll probably never do anything about his infatuation any time soon, especially not when he’s supposed to be focusing on his studies. 

If he fails any of his classes, he’ll have his scholarship taken away. Then he’ll be thoroughly fucked.

He hasn’t had many opportunities to speak to Minho anyway. There aren’t a lot of group projects for the journalism club, and when there are, the two of them are never paired up. It’s like fate and his professors are against him.

Jisung will just have to settle for watching Minho from a distance. Like a creep.

🕷

“And if you’ll follow me over here, we have this beautiful specimen called–“

Jisung spaces out as the tour guide explains the habitat of some spider, where it’s from, and what it eats. Truly, he doesn’t care. If he’s not immediately interested in something, he can’t force himself to get into it. 

Jisung functions on interest-driven attention, and insects don’t exactly flip his motivation switch.  

Besides, he’s just here to take a few photos for the school newspaper, like his professor requested. He doesn’t know why the prof picked him of all people, but hey, an easy grade is an easy grade. He won’t turn down a few extra points. 

When the field trip to some university science lab two cities over was announced, Jisung didn’t think much of it other than ‘great, we’re gonna go stare at plaques all day’. That’s exactly what he’s doing now, reading some pretentiously written paragraph about a weird species of spider. 

“Steatoda grossa.” He mumbles to himself, lazily scanning the description. 

Blah blah, something about being related to the black widow, blah blah. He wishes he could’ve dragged his best friend with him on the trip, but Felix is busy with some computer science thing he’s doing for one of his classes. 

Jisung thinks it’s a group project, but he doesn’t remember the details. Felix talks too damn much for Jisung to retain anything the blonde tells him.

When Jisung tries to see the spider, it’s nowhere to be found. He adjusts his glasses, peering into the little terrarium to see if it’s sitting under one of the twigs, but it’s not. Jisung assumes it’s hiding. 

How boring. 

He shrugs it off and takes a look around, watching as his club mates wander through the different displays and glass boxes that hold other insects and arachnids. 

Admittedly, some of the facts he’s read so far are pretty interesting. A lot of the specimens this university is studying are genetically modified, crafted by human hands. 

Jisung ponders the ethics of it. Playing God and whatnot. 

Then he spots Minho standing with a couple of other people in front of a large dome-like display. The morality argument in his head comes to a screeching halt. 

He glances down at his camera, then back up. Gears in his brain start to turn, practically creaking with rust. As he walks over, he throws on an awkward, heart-shaped smile and holds his camera up. 

“Hey, Minho. Can I get a photo of you and your buddies in front of that-“ He pauses to read the name on the plaque. “-Orchid mantis? I need a picture with students in it. For- uh, for the school paper.”

Minho glances over at him, his expression blank but his gaze contemplative. Those cat-like eyes could freeze time and space, Jisung swears. Minho shrugs, nodding. He’s always been easy-going and nonchalant. Jisung likes that about him.

“Sure, Peter,” Minho responds, turning his body to face Jisung and slinging one arm around the guy next to him. Sam or something. Jisung doesn’t remember.

Jisung pretends that hearing his English name from his future husband doesn’t make him cringe and holds up the camera, looking through the viewfinder so he can focus the lens. 

Minho puts on a smile, showing off his bunny teeth, and it makes Jisung’s chest flutter. Right as he’s about to click the shutter button, something bumps into his shoulder.

Someone.

He nearly drops the camera, fumbling to catch it before it drops to the ground. If it breaks, he ends up owing his professor $800, and he’ll have to apologize for the person he becomes after paying that bill. His head snaps up to see Terry snickering as he walks away, sending Jisung a smug glance over his shoulder. 

Jisung rolls his eyes, stands up straight, and lifts the camera again. When he looks through the viewfinder, Minho is already walking away, laughing at something his friend said as they follow the tour guide.

“Wait, no, I-“ He starts, but of course, the dancer doesn’t hear him. “… didn’t get the photo.” He mumbles, huffing out a sigh. 

He glares down at his camera, flipping it over in his hands as he stews over his horrible luck. Terry has been fucking with him the entire trip, as always. Purposely shoving him whenever he tries to take a photo, trying to trip him, and making weird comments when nobody else is listening. Jisung’s getting fed up. 

Not that he’ll do anything about it. Dude’s built like a brick shit-house.

Jisung fiddles with his camera settings, his ears red with embarrassment and frustration. He’s so focused on the screen that when a sharp pain stings the back of his neck, it startles him enough that he yelps. 

“Shit!” He hisses, smacking the back of his neck. He feels something squish and yanks his hand around to examine his palm. There’s a spider smushed to bits in the center of his hand. It’s blue, red, and quite large. “Gross.” He grimaces, wiping his hand off on his pants. 

Maybe he should tell one of the employees he just got bitten by a spider. Maybe he should tell anyone he just got bitten by a spider, but he doesn’t. 

What’s the worst that could happen?

🕷

On his way back to the dorm, Jisung starts to feel like shit. Not because of the whole ‘looking like a loser in front of Minho’ thing, no, he physically feels like shit. He’s sweating buckets, nauseous, and his hands are trembling. 

Naturally, his stupid, dumb idiot brain doesn’t connect this with being bitten by a literal spider. A spider from a lab that’s probably genetically modified with bullshit beyond normal college student comprehension and very well could be deadly. 

Instead, he runs through every other option in his head. Food poisoning, flash fever (like those exist), hot flash (like he, a man in his early twenties, would get those), etc. 

When he finally arrives back at his dorm and stumbles through the door, Felix is on his side of the room, sitting at his cluttered desk. He glances up when Jisung hobbles through the door, noticing the awful state he’s in. 

“Jesus Christ. You good, mate?” Felix asks with a raised eyebrow. He saves the work on his laptop and closes it, swiveling in his little desk chair to face Jisung. “You look gross.”

Jisung gives a grunt in response, shutting the door behind him. “Think I ate something bad.” He mutters.

Without taking his shoes off or undressing, he drops his bag by the door and flops onto his bed, breathing labored. His body feels heavy, and so, so weak. His shirt is drenched in sweat, and his vision is swimming, white spots dancing behind his eyelids.

Something is wrong. Felix knows because Jisung is a neat freak and never gets into bed with his outdoor clothes on, and he’s still wearing his shoes. 

Felix scoots across the floor and presses the back of his hand to Jisung’s forehead, only to reel back in shock. 

“Shit. You’re burning up. What the fuck did you eat?”

Jisung shrugs weakly; he can’t be bothered to respond verbally. 

Felix blinks rapidly. “Should I call someone? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

That gets Jisung talking. “Absolutely the fuck not. Hello? I don’t have health insurance. I’m not paying $450 for someone to tell me I have food poisoning.” He grunts, glaring at Felix. It looks a bit funny since his cheek is smushed into his pillow.

Felix sighs. ”Alright, dude, relax. At least drink some water, though, and don’t throw up. If you throw up, I’m getting the RA.” 

He takes Jisung’s glasses off so he doesn’t roll over onto his face and break them, then sets them on the nightstand. 

”Yeah, whatever.” Jisung mumbles. He adds a soft thanks before promptly passing out. 

Ever since they met, Jisung and Felix have been inseparable. Two peas in a pod. Partners in crime. Sunshine twins. 

Orphans stick together, or something like that. 

He and Felix met in elementary school on the playground. A bigger kid had been making fun of Jisung for having no parents and for not being able to tie his shoes. 

Felix, who’d only recently lost his own family, came in hot and on fire. He’d launched himself at the bigger kid and shrieked like a fucking banshee, pounding his tiny little fists into the older boy’s head as hard as he could. He had a lot of pent-up rage for an 8-year-old. 

After that day, nobody dared to mess with either of them again. Sure, he and Felix earned a few not-so-cool nicknames, but it didn’t matter as long as they had each other. The crybaby and the psycho, they were called. Rolled straight off their backs. 

They became attached immediately, spending every waking moment they could together. Felix was Jisung’s first real friend. The only person he could trust.   

Felix had also been the only person to bother learning Jisung’s real name. To this day, he’s the only one who uses it. It made Jisung care a lot less about the pseudonyms from his peers. 

🕷

For the first time ever, Jisung wakes up before his alarm. 7:14 am. He sits up, confused when he doesn’t hear the familiar blaring that usually rouses him from his sleep. He goes to grab his phone from the nightstand, where it usually is. 

When he doesn’t feel it, he’s lost for a moment, then remembers he never took it out of his pocket yesterday. He fishes it out, blindly grabbing his glasses and shoving them on. He looks at the screen. It's incredibly blurry. He blinks a few times, tearing up from the strain the lenses are putting on his eyes, and tries to squint, but to no avail.

Jisung frowns, taking his glasses off, and suddenly everything around him is clear as day. Crisp lines. Sharp edges. Depth perception that isn’t completely fucked. His vision is perfect. Better than it’s ever been with any prescription. 

“What the fuck…?” He whispers, trying his glasses on again. Blurry. He takes them off. Clear. What the fuck is going on? How did his vision correct itself overnight? Is he hallucinating? Is he dead?

It’s then that he realizes that he feels great. Better than ever, and that’s crazy because yesterday he could’ve sworn he was on the brink of death, and now he feels like he could run an 8-minute mile. Which, to put things in perspective, he’s never been able to do before. 

Felix isn’t awake yet. Thank god. He doesn’t need the freak—angel and beloved best friend—fussing over and questioning him while he goes through this mental crisis. 

Jisung stands up from his bed, grimacing at how sticky his clothes feel. He strips off his shirt as he makes his way to the bathroom, still reeling over his newfound 20-20 vision. 

As long as he feels good, he should go to class. Since the first day of his freshman year, Jisung hasn’t missed a single day, and today won't be the first. Perfect attendance streak, baby. 

He flicks the light on and grabs his toothbrush. As he’s getting ready to brush his teeth, he finally looks up at the mirror. Then screams.

”What the fuck!”

It’s high-pitched and loud, terrified. Jisung doesn’t recognize his reflection. 

From mid-neck up, he’s more or less the same, but it’s like his head has been copied and pasted onto another body. Instead of the slim, thin build he’s used to seeing and scrutinizing in the mirror, he’s met with… muscles. Toned and big. His pecs are pronounced and defined, his biceps are twice the size they were yesterday, his shoulders are broad as fuck, and he has abs. 

A deep, raspy morning voice shocks him out of his distress. 

”Holy shit.” 

Felix is standing in the doorway, staring at him, gawking with his jaw practically on the floor. Jisung spins to face him, arms uselessly flying to shield his body as if it’ll hide what Felix has already seen. 

“Felix, I-“

”Dude, how did you de-twink overnight? Are you on steroids? I know for a fact you didn’t look like this last week. I see you naked all the time.” He’s throwing questions faster than Jisung can answer them. It's not helping his already overwhelmed brain. 

“I-I don’t know!” He almost whimpers, looking down at himself. “I swear to god I’m not on any drugs. I’ll even piss into a cup. I really don’t know.”

Felix reaches out and grabs his bicep, then gasps like he hadn’t believed they were real until now. “Whoa, man. You’re ripped. Shredded. Jacked-“

”Shut up!” Jisung hisses, nudging his hand away. “I know, I get it. I don’t know what's happening to me. I-I woke up and I- my glasses and my eyes and my- dude. I can’t.” His voice begins to crack. ”What’s happening to me?”

Felix takes a step back, folding his arms. He’s studying Jisung’s form, deep in thought. After a moment, he shrugs. “Fuck if I know.” 

Jisung inhales deeply, trying to calm himself as he turns back to the mirror, and yelps when he feels Felix grabbing a handful of his left asscheek. 

“Felix!”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

Jisung smacks his hand away and shuts his eyes tightly. Maybe he’s still dreaming. He just needs to splash some water on his skin to wake up. 

As soon as he tries to turn the faucet handle, it snaps off, water comes shooting out of the pipe, and sprays him directly in the face. He can vaguely hear Felix swearing and clambering to grab something as he coughs and sputters, trying to block the water with both hands. 

“Jesus fuck, mate! What did you do?!” Felix yells.

“I didn’t- I don’t- it wasn’t on purpose!” Jisung squeals, shoving the handle back onto where it’s meant to be. The water stops, or at least stops spraying so violently, and Jisung keeps his hands there out of pure fear that the pipe will blow up again.

Drenched and confused, he slowly turns to Felix, terror thrumming through his veins. 

“Help.”

🕷

It’s been a couple of days.

The two roommates find out pretty quickly that Jisung has been afflicted with a myriad of new, fun body tricks. The super strength thing was easy to put together after the sink fiasco, but it didn’t stop there. 

The weirdly fast reflexes kicked in, then the enhanced senses, and then… being able to climb up walls?

It’s all painting a vivid, distressing picture. Jisung has developed what can only be described as superpowers. 

Felix is fucking thrilled, in spite of Jisung’s ongoing panic at the unexplainable enhanced state of his body. He’s spent the last 48 hours making Jisung lift anything remotely heavy he could find (including Felix himself), and chucking random items at his head to see if he’ll catch them. 

“Felix, enough.” Jisung groans after catching another ‘surprise’ granola bar without having to look up. “I caught it the first six times. What makes you think the seventh will be different?” 

The blonde shrugs. “Just making sure. Wanted to see if you’re still, like, freaky with it.”

Jisung huffs, shooting him a glare. The whole superhuman thing is still freaking him out, and he’s having a hard time coming to terms with it. Trying to get used to whatever his body’s become. Mutant, or whatever.

His life’s never been boring, per se, but this has flipped his world upside-down. Laying low, keeping quiet, and avoiding scrutiny is Jisung’s entire game. Why the fuck would the Univere fuck with his mojo like this? How’s he supposed to walk around campus as if his ass hasn’t doubled in size? 

It must be karma for something. He once downloaded a virus on Felix’s brand new PC when he was trying to install cheats in Stardew Valley. Bricked the thing and couldn’t afford to replace it for four months. Surely that’s it. 

Currently, he’s googling symptoms on his laptop. So far, he’s come up with nothing that comes close to explaining this phenomenon. The whole change must be somehow related to that spider bite because this sure as hell isn’t food poisoning. Food poisoning doesn’t give people the ability to climb walls or hang from the ceiling. 

Telling Felix about the bite was a bad idea. Not because of concern or worry, but because of the nicknames and questions.

“So, spider-boy,” Felix asks casually from where he’s sitting on the bed. “Do you cum webs now?” 

Jisung chokes on his own spit, cheeks flushing a deep red as he sputters. “What? No!” Truthfully, he doesn’t know the answer, and he’s not sure he wants to. “Why- Felix. Why would you ask me that? And don’t call me spider-boy.”

Felix snickers, all too pleased with himself. “Relax. It’s a scientific question.”

“You’re a fucking pervert, Felix.”

🕷

It happens by complete accident. 

Jisung’s pacing back and forth in the dorm, ranting about how his life is over, while dramatically throwing his hands around and making up fake scenarios to be anxious about. Things like ‘What if I wake up with eight legs?’ and ‘I don’t want to grow a thorax!’. 

“How am I supposed to live as a normal human in today’s society?” He cries, still flailing. “This country can barely handle people with different skin colors! Let alone-”

Thwip!

Felix squeals as something hits him in the face with a wet splut. 

Both men freeze. Felix’s expression is hidden under a gooey, sticky web plastered across his nose and mouth. 

“... What the fuck?” He mumbles, voice muffled by whatever the fuck is stuck to him. 

“Oh my god. Oh my- holy shit!” Jisung slaps a hand over his mouth, stunned. That came from him. The jizz-adjacent substance on his best friend's face came out of him. “Felix, I am so sorry.” 

Felix gropes blindly at the goo, trying to peel it off. He’s spitting and sputtering, trying to get the taste off his tongue. “What the fuck, Jisung?” 

Jisung takes a step back, eyes wide with confusion and panic. “I didn’t mean to. I swear to god, I-” He bumps into the desk behind him. “I don’t know what the fuck just happened.” 

After a bout of struggle and lots of gagging, Felix glowers at him. “You just shot me in the face with your load, Jisung. That’s what happened.” 

Jisung chokes on his own spit, holding his hands in the air defensively. “You know it’s a web, Felix! Don’t make it weird!” 

“It’s white, sticky, gooey, and it came out of you!” Felix argues, wiping the webbing all over the bedspread. “What else am I supposed to call it?!”

“Not my load?!” Jisung cries, throwing his arms up in exasperation. 

Thwip. Thwip.

Webs shoot from each of his wrists, one hitting a lamp and the other splattering against their dorm door. 

“Oh my god.” They both whisper in unison. 

“Y-You can shoot webs,” Felix stammers. 

“I can shoot webs.” Jisung echoes. 

Felix takes a beat, blinking at him. “...That’s so fucking sick.”

Jisung’s already spiraling. His knees buckle, and he drops onto the edge of the bed, burying his head in his hands. “No, no, no, this is bad. This is the worst possible outcome.”

“Mate, you literally have superpowers—”

“Superpowers that make me a freak!” Jisung groans. “You don’t get it, Felix. Normal people don’t shoot questionable fluids out of their wrists. Or climb walls. Or lift one hundred and twenty times their body weight.” He rants. “I’m, like, basically part bug now. Gross. Mutant freak. Minho’s never gonna—” He cuts himself off with a strangled noise.

Felix squints. “…Minho’s never gonna what?”

Jisung pulls at his hair. “Never gonna look at me the same way again. Why would he? He’s gorgeous and normal and dances like some kind of hot swan, and I’m—” he motions helplessly at the web mess decorating their dorm, “—this.”

To his credit, Felix tries very hard not to laugh, biting his lip. “He doesn’t look at you in the first place. You’re too pussy to talk to him.”

“Shut up! Not the point!” Jisung snaps, then flops backward onto the mattress. “Kill me, Lix. Just kill me now. I’m doomed.”

“You’re so dramatic. Wah! My steak’s too juicy! My lobster’s too buttery! Woe is me, I woke up buff as fuck without ever stepping a foot in a gym!” Felix mocks, voice high and shrill. 

“Nevermind. Don’t kill me. Kill yourself.” 

🕷

It takes a while to figure out how the whole web-shooting thing works. Much to Jisung’s surprise and displeasure, it’s not something that comes naturally like the rest of his abilities did. This takes skill. A skill Jisung definitely does not possess. 

Felix makes him practice for hours on end for days straight, setting up little targets for him to shoot at and throwing things up in the air for him to grab with his webs. It’s a tedious process. Jisung hates that it’s helping, and that he’s seeing major improvements already. 

Web-shooting is becoming a tool for laziness, too. The better he gets at it, the more ways he finds to make his life easier. Lights still on when he and Felix have settled into bed? No problem, Jisung can turn them off from across the room. Felix won’t shut the fuck up? Thwip. Problem solved. 

Sure, he misses sometimes. Like when he was trying to get the remote without moving off the couch and ended up having to dodge a cup of juice sent flying at his head. Everyone has their moments. 

“You’re abusing your powers.” Felix deadpans one night after Jisung webs the last slice of pizza from the box before he could grab it. 

“I wouldn’t call it abuse. It’s more like optimizing efficiency,” Jisung says through a mouthful of food. 

Felix scrunches his nose in disgust. “Efficiency my ass. You’re just being lazy. And a thief.” 

“Theif is crazy. I know you’re using my expensive conditioner to shave your legs.”

Felix doesn’t have an argument for that. 

🕷

Jisung isn’t a gooner. His libido isn’t high, his sexual curiosity has a small range, and he doesn’t get much privacy in their dorm to get off. Growing up in foster and group homes didn’t allow any habits to develop, either. Restricted internet access, shared bunk-beds, open door policies. Not an environment conducive to self-pleasure. 

It’s not something he thinks about often anyway. Sure, he gets horny from time to time and rubs one out in the showers when he can, but it’s more of a chore than anything. A task that needs to be done so he can get on with his day. 

That being said, a haunting question has been plaguing his mind since the day he shot that first web. One Felix had joked about. It sounded ridiculous at the time, of course, but with everything else going on with his body, the chances are greater than zero. 

“So, spider-boy,” Felix asks casually from where he’s sitting on the bed. “Do you cum webs now?”

Obviously, anyone with any sense of rationale wouldn’t consider the possibility of such a strange, off-handed idea. Jisung’s not anyone, nor does he have any sense of rationale. 

Felix is in class for another 45 minutes, which is way more than the 10 minutes Jisung will need to test this theory out. For science. 

After making sure the door is locked, checking three times, Jisung lies back on his bed and contemplates what the fuck he’s doing with his life for at least 6 minutes. 

“It’s for science.” He reassures himself, pushing the waistband of his gym shorts down and kicking them off. “Just exploring a hypothesis. Pemdas. Wait, fuck. No. Homer.” 

Sitting there in his worn, threadbare boxers, Jisung mulls over all the events in his life that have led to this point. About to rub one out in the name of Francis Bacon. 

With anxiety lingering in the back of his mind, he tentatively palms himself over the fabric of his undies. Figuring the process would be sped up with the magic of imagination, Jisung lets his head fall back against his pillow and closes his eyes. 

He can’t help but picture Minho. That smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, the way his hair falls just right over his forehead. The way he throws his head back when he laughs too hard, showing off the perfect, unmarred neck that Jisung wants to sink his teeth into. 

His cock twitches, filling out pathetically fast, and familiar arousal flourishes in his lower gut. Jisung bites his lip, pressing his hand into his crotch just a bit harder, his hips canting up to chase the friction.  

Minho’s plump, pouty lips. His broad chest, built arms, and cute, small hands. Sturdy build, soft stomach, hips made to be grabbed. Thick, muscular thighs that Jisung can’t keep his eyes off. His firm, perky ass in those jeans he wears all the time. 

Jisung’s jaw clenches as he chokes back a whimper. The images invading his fantasy are absolutely filthy. Debauched. Would be guilt-inducing if he wasn’t feeling so fucking good right now. 

Pre-cum seeps into the fabric of his boxers, and Jisung decides to rid them. The first contact of his hand against his bare, flushed cock draws a hiss out of him. The original goal–science–is an afterthought as he tightens his grip and begins to slowly drag his hand up and down the shaft. 

He wonders what it’d feel like if it were Minho’s hand instead of his own. Somehow, Minho would know exactly how to touch him. How to make him writhe and moan. Maybe cry. Would Minho like that? Seeing Jisung cry? Would he tease or would he comfort? Would he make fun of him for being so sensitive, or praise him for being so pliant? 

Jisung likes both versions. He thumbs at his cockhead to collect precum dripping from the tip, using it to slick himself up. With the extra glide, his pace quickens, and so does his breathing. Pleasure coils in his abdomen, toes curling as it radiates through his entire body. 

Back arching off the bed, Jisung lets his mouth fall open, gasps and moans spilling from his lips as his climax approaches. Pure bliss clouds his senses, all fucks about staying quiet thrown out the window, along with his dignity. 

Jisung comes with Minho’s name on his tongue and a sob wrenching itself out of his throat. 

For a long while, he doesn’t move. Post-nut clarity is one hell of a mood-killer. 

At least he got his question answered. No, he does not cum webs. Just normal, gross, ordinary man jizz. 

🕷

The gym at the university is nearly empty by the time Jisung sneaks in, hoodie up. Felix is trailing behind him with his phone already recording.

“This is so stupid,” Jisung mutters, tugging the strings tighter around his hood. “If anyone sees me break a treadmill in half, I’m transferring schools.”

Felix snickers. “If you break a treadmill, I’m posting it on YouTube.”

Jisung glares, then grips the pull-up bar. “You shouldn’t even be filming this, Lix. If anyone finds out, I’m fucked.” He braces himself, jumps, and slams his head into the ceiling tile with a sickening thunk. 

Felix doubles over with laughter, phone shaking as he wheezes. “Yeah, that’s definitely going online.”

“Shut up.” Jisung rubs his head after miraculously landing on his feet, but is surprised when he doesn’t feel the sharp pain he’d been expecting. For a moment, he just stares at the floor. “I… didn’t even feel that.”

Felix, still recording, chuckles. “Cool. Do a flip.”

“Do a flip?!”

“Yeah, Web-Boy! Do a flip.”

With a grumble, Jisung tries. His legs coil with a strength that feels alien, and he springs into a backflip that almost works until he over-rotates and crashes into a rowing machine. He definitely feels this one.

“Not bad!” Felix calls. “You only almost died.”

The rest of the night is a blur of chaos and comedy (for Felix): Jisung trying to bench press and sending the bar flying across the room when he sneezes. Accidentally sticking to the climbing wall and panicking when he can’t unstick his hands. Testing how far he can jump, overshooting, smashing into the crash mats hard enough to bounce off. Felix having to dodge his flailing body more than twice.

Despite the hiccups, Jisung continues. They spend days practicing and practicing, and even with all the dicking around, they make some decent progress. By the end of week two, Jisung feels like he might not be utterly fucking doomed. 

Through all of it, Jisung’s thankful his freaky mutant powers came with enhanced durability. If not, he’d be sporting at least four broken bones and eight cracked ribs. 

🕷

The walk from the university music wing to Jisung’s dorm is usually boring. Music playing through his wired headphones, hands shoved in his pockets, and dry skin being chewed off his lips. 

The temperature is starting to drop with the winter season drawing closer, and Jisung’s already budgeting for a new coat in his head. The one he has is falling apart, and there are only so many times Felix can fix it before it’s better to just call it quits. 

As he comes up on the library, Jisung looks up from the pavement and halts in his tracks. Around twenty feet away, Minho is standing next to a tree, clearly distressed. His hands keep moving from his hair up towards the tree, arms stretching out and fingers curling and uncurling as if he’s trying to call something down. Even with the distance between them, Jisung can hear him making ‘pspsps’ sounds. 

His gaze flicks up to the branches and sees a cat lounging among the leaves. It doesn’t appear to be impressed by Minho’s weak attempts to lure it down, and it doesn’t seem too stressed about being stuck either. 

Jisung bites his lip, contemplating what to do. He knows he can help, and that he should, but revealing his abilities—let alone to Minho—isn’t a good idea. He doesn’t want his future lover to know he’s a freak. Not yet. That’s something you ease into, like hardcore bdsm and pet play. 

So he turns and bolts in the direction of the campus store, which is thankfully only half a block away. The cat probably won't move in the four minutes it takes for Jisung to buy a beanie, but he sprints like the feline’s life depends on him anyway. 

After snagging a winter hat–with a puff ball–from the store, he rushes through the purchase and starts making his way back to the tree while using the pen from his pocket to rip eye-holes in the fabric. He glances around to make sure nobody’s watching and tugs it on. 

Not for a moment does he stop to think about how the hat is patterned with the school’s distinctive colors, and wearing it in public in an attempt to disguise his identity will do jackshit to hide the fact that he’s a student of the university. 

When he gets back to the tree, Minho is still standing under it. Jisung steels himself before shooting a web at one of the thicker branches and yanking himself up, startling both the cat and Minho. He finds purchase against the trunk and realizes he has zero plan for how to go about this. 

Does he just grab the cat? Gently nudge it into jumping down? Is the drop too high?

Balancing the best he can, Jisung reaches out and grabs the feline by the scruff, nearly falling as he wrangles the animal against his chest. It fights back valiantly, tearing up the front of his hoodie and yowling like a hawk as he descends back to the ground. 

He lands with a thump and, with a decent amount of struggle, detaches the viscous beast from his front, presenting it to Minho. 

“Here.” He squeaks, biting down on his lip to distract himself from the stinging pain on his arms and chest. 

Minho takes the cat, and it relaxes immediately in his arms. Little bastard. He looks bewildered, gaping at Jisung like he just performed a superhuman- oh. Wait. He did. 

It’s the most emotion Jisung’s ever seen on his face. Pupils blown, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline, jaw slack. “H- How did you…?”

Jisung coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ahaha, don’t worry about the details. At least your cat is safe now, yeah?”

Minho blanks when Jisung speaks, something flickering across his face before he schools it. He glances down at the offending creature, then back up at him. “This isn’t my cat.” 

Jisung blinks. It takes a moment to process. “What?” 

“Yeah, no. Sorry,” Minho says. “This isn’t my cat. I was just worried about the little guy.” He coos at the monster that ripped Jisung’s flesh to shreds, petting its head and giving it chin scratches. 

Damn. Had he really gone through all that just to find out it’s a random stray? He’d better get some brownie points for this. Maybe some head. Just kidding. 

“So…” Minho hums, back to his usual nonchalant self despite witnessing Jisung’s insane mutant freak acrobatics. “Who are you?”

Shit. Jisung’s brain stalls. He needs a name. Something cool. Something heroic. Something a really smart and creative superhero movie director would come up with. Something catchy but not cringe–

“Spider-Man.” 

FUCK.

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Spider-Man?”

There’s absolutely no way to run this back.

“Yep,” Jisung says, voice muffled through the make-shift mask. “Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Tell your friends.” And then he bolts before Minho can interrogate him further. God. He’s such a fucking dumbass. 

🕷

Back at the dorm, Jisung rips the hat off his head with a huff, tossing it to the ground. 

“Lix, you won’t believe what just happened.” He exclaims, announcing his arrival. Felix doesn’t get the chance to feign interest before he’s launching into the story. To his credit, Felix listens with rapt attention, only speaking once Jisung’s finished retelling the great tale. 

“First of all…” He starts off, voice flat. “A campus hat? Are you stupid? Everyone’s gonna know you go here.” 

Jisung opens his mouth to argue, but he can’t because Felix is absolutely right. “Okay, but it was like- It was spur of the moment! And Minho believed it! It worked fine!”

“No. No, no, no. If you’re gonna run around calling yourself Spider-Man—”

“Felix, that was a one-time thing. I couldn’t come up with a name on the spot–”

“—You need a real costume.”

“I don’t need a real costume!”

Felix’s grin is already dangerous, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes Jisung feel queasy. “Leave it to me.”

Jisung dreads whatever his evil sunshine twin is planning, but there’s no use trying to stop him. 

🕷

Jisung’s halfway down the block, heading back to his dorm while fantasizing about the bomb-ass chicken parm sub he’s planning to pick up on the way, when he gets an intense shiver shooting straight down his back. His eyes snap up from his phone, and his stomach drops like a lead ball. 

Gondolfo’s is getting robbed. 

His favorite sandwich shop–the one he’s been eating at nearly every day since freshman year–is being robbed. 

There are at least four dudes with guns inside the building, two focused on some customers and two trying to bully Mr. Castiglione into opening the cash drawer. 

Without thinking, Jisung dips into an alleyway nearby and shoves his hand into his jacket pocket, procuring the cut-up winter hat he used to save that cat. Heart pounding, hands trembling, he tugs it on and pulls it down over his face. 

Reckless as it may be, Jisung will not stand by and let this happen. Not when his 6” Godfather sub is on the line. 

After a deep inhale and only a short bout of panic, Jisung abandons his backpack and sprints across the street, straight through the double doors of the shop. 

“Hey!” He yells, slamming his hip into one of the tables and trying to conceal a wince. He straightens up, puffing his chest out and pointing at the group of scary-looking men. “Put the sandwiches down- guns! I meant guns. Put the guns down!”

A big guy, who must be the head honcho or something, stares at him, confused and unimpressed. “Who the hell are you?” He asks in a gruff, short tone. 

Jisung blinks, clearing his throat. “I uh-... A better, stronger robber!” He declares. “Your worst nightmare!”

Head Honcho snorts. “Yeah, pipsqueak? You’re like 5’6–”

“5’7!”

“–and ya shirt’s on backwards.” 

Jisung glances down at his clothes, and yes, his shirt is on backwards. His pockets are inside out, too. Jesus fuck. 

One of the other lame-asses steps closer to him, pistol raised to his forehead. His hands twitch, wrists tingling. His brain switches to autopilot, sensing danger.

“Think fast!” He shouts.

Before any of the gunmen can react, Jisung starts rapid firing webs at their weapons, yanking them into his own hands, then throwing them upward and sticking them to the ceiling. 

“Holy shit. That actually worked.” He whispers to himself. 

Head Honcho lunges at him, but Jisung panics and thwips again, this time hitting the guy straight in the chest. The web has enough force to shove him backward into a booth, where he gets stuck to the vinyl seat. He thrashes helplessly, cursing.

The hostage customers take their chance to flee. 

The other three are stunned, unsure of their next move after watching their boss get owned by a pipsqueak. Jisung awkwardly puts his hands on his hips, doing his best to exude confidence. 

“There’s more where that came from.” He blusters, ignoring the way his voice cracks. 

A lie. The rude awakening: taking on three very large, very buff men is a lot harder than one would think. Jisung is just barely able to get them all wrangled, and not before being beaten to a pulp. Turns out it doesn’t matter if your shirt’s on backwards if someone tears the fuckin’ thing in half. His coat’s been destroyed too. He’ll have to grovel at Felix’s feet for forgiveness. 

They really did a number on him. His clothes are ruined. One of the eye-holes on his mask is stretched much bigger than it originally was, and his lip is busted. He’s happy they didn’t break his nose, though. 

The criminals are carted away, and his job is done, but Jisung lingers back to help Mr. Castiglione clean up the mess. His adrenaline is still pumping, the thrill of the whole situation giving him a pseudo-high. 

“Thank you, young man.” The shop owner says as they’re finishing up. 

Jisung shrugs him off, not feeling the need for gratitude. It would’ve been selfish of him to ignore the danger, given the powers he has now. “It’s no biggie. All in a day's work.” 

Mr. Castiglione purses his lips, then nods and shuffles back behind the counter. “Well, for saving my restaurant and possibly my life, your sandwiches are on the house from now on. What’s your name so I can tell my employees?”

Jisung smiles under the mask, a giddy feeling fizzing up in his chest. “I’m Spider-Man.” 

To himself, he thinks that this whole superhero thing might not be too bad. Free subs. Hell yeah. 

Mr. Castiglione smirks, shaking his head. “Alright, Spider-Man. Come back tomorrow and I’ll make ya a Godfather.” 

Jisung doesn’t pick up on the implication. 

🕷

Jisung stumbles through the door to his dorm, the adrenaline finally wearing off as he collapses on the floor. His head hurts, and so do his fists. His jeans are missing one leg from the knee down, his t-shirt has been ripped into a crop-top, and he’s missing a shoe, which sucks because he really liked this pair. 

“Wow,” Felix marvels, standing over him with a bundle of something in his hands. “What happened?”

The lack of concern isn’t lost on Jisung, and he glares up at his roommate. "Gandolfo's got robbed. Or, actually, almost got robbed. I stepped in.” He says with too much pride for someone who’s missing half of their pants. 

Felix snorts. “So, you’re some kind of hero now?” 

“Was that not the plan?”

“I mean, yeah, but hearing you say cheesy shit like that in your little tough man voice is kinda funny.” 

“Shut up.” 

Felix helps him up with one hand and shoves him towards the bed, then tosses what he’d been holding at him. 

Jisung’s lips press together in a thin line as he lifts it, letting the fabric unfurl. It’s red and blue, decorated with white webbing and-

“Felix. What the fuck is this?”

“Your new suit. Put it on.” 

Jisung grimaces, glaring at it like it’s offending him. It looks two sizes too small, and it’s obviously meant to be form-fitting. He glances up at his roommate, who nods towards the bathroom with an encouraging expression. With a sigh, he stands and shuffles off to change. 

Moments later, Jisung comes stomping back out with his hand over his crotch. The suit is skin-tight, hugging all the right (and wrong) places. With reddened ears and a mortified expression, he vehemently rejects the costume design. 

“I am not fucking wearing this in public, Felix!” He hisses, shoulders hunched forward, arms guarding his precious parts. 

Felix has the gall to act confused, pouting at him. “Why not? I spent a lot of time on that.” 

“I can see the outline of my entire dick and balls!” Jisung argues, moving his hand away to show off the evidence. 

Felix glances down and covers his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. “That’s what a cup is for!” 

“You want me to wear a cup under my superhero suit?"

Felix snickers, still staring at Jisung’s package. Jisung lifts his arm up and points it at Felix, who then rushes to shield himself. “Wait! No! Don’t blow your load on me!” 

Jisung lunges at him, tackling his roommate to the floor and grabbing a nearby pillow to shove over his face. 

🕷

Somehow, Felix won the argument about the suit, and Jisung has to parade around the city looking like a freaky gymnast while he does his rounds. Though he’s unwilling to admit it out loud, it’s actually quite comfortable. 

Full range of motion, no snagging, and breathable as fuck. The mask is sick, too, so if people focus on his face, hopefully they won’t realize how dorky the rest of his ensemble is. 

It’s fun, running around and solving low-level crimes. A lot of his nights are spent catching catalytic converter thieves and breaking up fights. He’s also managed to keep a few drunk drivers off the road, which is cool. A few muggings here, a bike theft there, and Jisung is loving being the ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’. 

Finding a purpose is what most people would call it. Jisung spent his youth feeling unwanted, unneeded, a burden. Moving from foster family to foster family, having to crash in group homes when nobody wanted to take him in for a few days, dragging his entire life around in trash bags. 

The system even gave him an English name because the one he was born with, the one he came to this country with, was ‘too hard to pronounce’. They were so sure people would get stumped by the two syllables that made up one of the core parts of his identity.

When his parents died, so did the voices that reminded Jisung he mattered. That he wasn’t some burden, some mistake, baggage to deal with and hand off. The silence let the guilt fester, twisting into something toxic that followed him into adulthood and refused to let go.

Now, he’s swinging between buildings after another successful feat, feeling the lightest he has in years. Watching the cops haul off a group of robbers that he had rounded up boosted his pride by miles. 

For the first time ever, Jisung feels useful. Needed. Maybe the spider was a blessing, and this is what he’s meant to do. 

His rounds for tonight are just about finished. According to the map on his HUD, he’s gone through most of–if not all–the blocks in Forest Hill. Thank god for Felix being a comp-sci major. He was able to add a lot of cool features to the lenses on his mask, like night vision and a Heads-Up Display. 

There are even expressive eyes, allowing squinting and expanding, basically giving him the ability to make expressions despite having his face concealed. The only thing Jisung can find to complain about is-

“Nice landing, dumbass.” Felix’s voice crackles through the integrated communication system. 

Jisung groans from where he’s lying on the rooftop of an apartment building, having just tripped over an air duct after an overzealous parkour jump. 

Because God hates him, the system Felix set up also comes with cameras, so his best friend can watch him bust his ass and provide unwanted commentary. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do than spy on me?” Jisung grumbles, pushing back up onto his feet and shaking himself off. 

“Probably, but then I would’ve missed your Ridiculousness-worthy plunder.”

“Okay, Rob Dyrdek. Go fuck yourself.”

🕷

Nobody talks about how hard it is to attend class like a normal person after becoming a freak. Not even the good kind of freak. The mutant kind. 

Since his senses are dialed up to 1000, things like crowded hallways, chatter-filled lecture halls, and chaotic classrooms have Jisung overstimulated constantly. It’s a wonder he made it through last week's football game without breaking down. 

Walking into his tame, quiet journalism club meeting feels like heaven. He gets to finally get away from the onslaught of harsh lighting, annoyingly loud conversations, and everyone creeping too far into his space. 

If only the club met more often instead of just on Fridays. It’s like a sanctuary, somewhere he longs to be all week to recover from the exhaustion of juggling a double life. 

Something’s changed about it, though, recently. 

Out of fucking nowhere, Minho has started talking to him. Full conversations. Full engagement. A complete 180 from a couple of weeks ago. 

Not that Minho was ever standoffish or ignored Jisung or anything, they just ran in different crowds, so the sudden interest is extremely unexpected. 

He talks to Jisung more than his friends, choosing to sit by him during meetings and insisting they work on stories together. 

If Jisung were more situationally aware–or aware at all–he might’ve noticed the teasing smiles, the touches that linger just a second too long, the way Minho’s voice dips when it’s just the two of them. But no. He’s buried too deep under insecurities and self-worth issues to even consider that Minho could be flirting.

Then Minho switches up his game on what should be a completely normal Friday. 

Free to finally take his noise-cancelling headphones off, Jisung does and goes to take his usual seat by the window. He’s always around 15 minutes early, so he gets to watch everyone else file in from where he’s sitting. 

Minho strides in and beelines for him, plopping in the chair right beside him. Jisung can’t fight the grin that spreads across his lips. Minho’s presence alone has him cheesing, pathetic as fuck. 

“Hey.” Minho greets, pulling his laptop out. It’s covered in cat stickers. “Working on anything fun?”

Jisung shakes his head, tapping his pencil against his notebook. “Mm, not really. Same old stuff.” 

“Boring.” Minho jokes with a smirk. He nudges his elbow into Jisung’s ribs playfully. “Why don’t you write about that new guy running around Queens in spandex?”

If Jisung were drinking anything right now, he would’ve choked on it. Instead, he chokes on his own saliva. “What?” He coughs out, wiping a bit of drool from his lip. “What’re you talking about?”

Minho’s eyebrows raise in amusement, his smirk growing. “You haven't heard?” He asks in a way that makes it seem like he knows Jisung’s playing dumb. “The one in the red and blue? Kinda twunky? ‘Bout yay big?” He holds his hand up to exactly Jisung’s standing height. 

“T-Twunky…?” 

“Yeah, like a jacked twink,” Minho confirms. “You really haven’t seen him?”

Deny. Deny. Deny. Also, maybe circle back to that twink comment later. 

“I uh, I guess not.” Jisung shrugs with a forced chuckle. “Spandex. Wow. He must look like an idiot.” 

Minho hums, tilting his head and pretending to think really hard. “I think he’s hot.” 

Jisung’s pretty sure he implodes at that moment. 

What the fuck does that mean? What the fuck does he mean he thinks Spider-Man is hot? What about him is attractive? He wears a fucking mask.

“Did I tell you he saved a cat from a tree for me?” Minho continues in an overly dreamy tone. 

Jisung’s stomach twists, his ears starting to burn. Google, is it normal to be jealous of yourself? He clears his throat, turning his body to face away from Minho and averting his gaze to his notebook. 

“Is that so?” Jisung asks, voice tense. 

“Mhm. It wasn’t my cat, but I ended up keeping him. I named him Soonie.” 

Jisung’s chest flutters for some reason. His shoulders sag. “You… kept the cat?” 

Minho nods, pulling his phone out and waking it so Jisung can see the wallpaper. Sure enough, the infamous white-and-orange cat is front and center, wearing a pair of bunny ears and sniffing towards the camera. 

Jisung swallows. Minho adopted the cat he saved from the tree. Wow. And he managed to wrangle the little demon into a bunny costume. 

“Hey, Peter.” Minho puts his phone down, then rests his elbow on the desk and cradles his chin in his palm. Jisung peeks at him through his peripheral, internally cringing at the use of his English name. 

“Yes?”

“Come get coffee with me this weekend.” It’s not a request or a question. It’s a demand. An expectation. 

“Coffee.” Jisung echoes. He scratches his nose. “With you.” 

“With me,” Minho confirms. “There’s a cafe on the east side of campus by the auditorium. They sell cheesecake.” 

Jisung loves cheesecake. “Cheesecake.” 

“I’ll meet you there on Saturday at 3 o’clock. Mkay?”

“3 o’clock.” 

“Peter.” Minho clicks his tongue. “Stop repeating random words and tell me you’ll meet me on Saturday at 3 o’clock.” 

“I… will meet you on Saturday at 3 o’clock,” Jisung agrees softly, meeting Minho’s gaze. The elder chuckles, reaching out to pinch Jisung’s cheek and tugging it. 

“Don’t stand me up, Peter Han. I might sic Soonie on you.” He threatens, wearing that intimidating yet adorable smirk that makes Jisung’s stomach flip. 

“Okay.”

🕷

Minho is going to sic Soonie on him. 

He didn’t mean to miss their date, but he got caught up in something a lot more pressing. Like, a lot more pressing. Like an apartment building in flames on Atlantic Avenue. 

Jisung can barely see anything through the thick, black smoke. It’s hot, burning, but he knows there’s still someone left up here. He can feel it in his gut. He had to come back in and check.

“Where are you!?” He calls, choking on a cough as he scans the floor of the apartment and strains his ears to listen for their voice. 

There are toys littering the floor, princess wands, and monster trucks plastered in rainbow stickers. One of the bedrooms is painted pink with motivational messages peeling off the walls. A child definitely lives here, and Jisung hasn’t carried one out of this apartment. Yet. 

The sirens outside are blaring, firefighters trying to hose the building down, someone yelling at him to evacuate through a megaphone. The smoke is getting thicker. Time is running out. 

“Jisung, you need to get out of there. You’re gonna get hurt.” Felix warns. “If the roof collapses, you’ll get crushed.”

Jisung ignores him. He won't leave until he’s 100% sure there’s nobody else in here.

“Kid?! Can you hear me?!” He shouts, growing more desperate with each minute that passes. 

A barely audible whimper has Jisung’s head snapping to the left. There’s a bookshelf that’s been knocked over, the wood splintering and crackling as it burns. Jisung creeps closer, and his heart drops into his stomach when he sees a sliver of soot-covered skin beneath it. 

He rushes over and hauls the shelf up, tossing it aside with ease. 

“Oh, fuck.” He whispers, the little air in his lungs being forced out at the sight. A child, no older than 8 or 9 years old, is hunched over a tiny kitten. Protecting it. “Okay, it’s okay. I got you, c’mon.” He’s trying to keep his voice calm, but he’s tearing up.  

Jisung scoops the child up as carefully as he can, not wanting to jostle her too much in case she’s seriously injured. He grabs the kitten with his other hand, holding it close to her. She’s weak, barely conscious. He doesn’t want to know how long she was trapped under that shelf. 

When he turns back to the door, the roof starts caving in. It blocks his exit, and he swears. 

“The window, Hannie,” Felix speaks through the comm, and Jisung frantically searches for it. It’s on the other side of the room. He starts sprinting, narrowly avoiding being hit by a falling piece of drywall and leaping over a tipped couch. 

At the last second, he turns his back to the window to shield the child and kitten from broken glass as he crashes through it. Somehow, by the grace of god, he lands on his feet when he hits the ground from three stories up. 

“Samantha!” A shrill voice shrieks, and Jisung lifts his head to see an older woman dashing toward him. Paramedics are rushing after her with oxygen masks and a stretcher. He stands straight, still catching his breath, and holds the girl out in the mother’s direction. 

“I found her under a-” Jisung starts, but the mother is yanking her daughter from his arms before he can finish. The kitten remains in his hold. 

“Oh my god. Thank you. Thank you.” The woman sobs, burying her face in the little girl's hair as the EMTs attempt to treat her. “I-I didn’t even know she was home. She’s supposed to be at swim lessons.” 

Jisung coughs a bit, glancing around at the scene before him. He’d managed to help 14 people out of the building, and he’s certain that’s all the residents who were inside. Firefighters are still surveying, still doing checks, but everyone seems safe. He looks down at the kitten. 

Lungs burning, eyes watering, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He’s depersonalizing. Consciousness extracted from his body, like he’s spectating himself in third person. 

 Sirens. Shouts. Feet pounding, wood cracking. Fourteen out. No, fifteen. 

Alive. Alive. Relief? Maybe. Pride? Not really. Guilt? Always. Could he have been faster? Stronger? Smarter? 

The whimpers. The trapped little girl. The kitten in his palm, small and weak and fighting for its life. He sees it all. Hears it all. Feels it all. Chest tight. Legs numb. Just breathe. No, that hurts. Burns. Too much. Too loud. Too much. Everything crashing down on him at once. What’s done. What almost wasn’t. He found her, heard her, but what if he didn’t?

The kitten mewls. Needs help. Medical attention.

“Uhm.” Jisung taps one of the EMTs. “I uh-... cat?”

The EMT turns, noticing the feline, then plucks it out of Jisung’s hand and rushes off towards an ambulance. One of six. He hopes it’ll be okay. 

“You did good, Hannie. Come home.” Felix urges with a soft tone. Jisung wants to believe him. 

🕷

After helping him up and making a few repairs to his suit, Felix is doing some work on his lenses. Something about thermal sensors or whatever, Jisung didn’t understand any of his complicated tech spiel. There’s a reason he’s a music major. 

Jisung sinks back into his mattress, wishing he could melt into it and cease existing. He lets his eyes close, inhaling deeply. 

The fire was a lot to handle. Mentally. If he’d listened to Felix, if he’d left when told, that little girl would’ve probably died. The thought weighs heavily on his psyche. The fact that he stood between her and demise is a reality check he isn’t quite ready for. Is this what it’s going to be like from now on?

Being the barrier between life and death whenever he chooses to step into a fight that he didn’t start, that shouldn’t be his responsibility, and wouldn’t be if he didn’t have these powers. 

What the fuck did he sign up for? This wasn’t written in the fine print on the contract he didn’t receive.  

If he continues to dwell on it, though, an anxiety attack is bound to surface, so he switches focus to something else. 

His brain changes gears, flashing over to Minho. The poor guy left waiting at a coffee shop with no explanation. How unchivalrous of him. A bad husband in the making. 

“I missed my date with Minho.” Jisung sulks, staring at his phone as he holds it above his head. He doesn’t even know how to correct this, or how to excuse his absence. Will Minho be angry? Will he want to see Jisung after this? 

“I’m sure he’ll understand. Just tell him something came up.” Felix responds, pushing his magnifying glasses up on his nose. He’s wearing a headlamp, and Jisung wants to make fun of him for it, but decides it's better than when he used to tape his phone to his forehead. 

Jisung scoffs. “What do I tell him? ‘Yeah, sorry I ditched you. I was saving a bunch of people from a burning building because I’m secretly a superhero’?” 

“Well, probably not that,” Felix mumbles. “I’d just tell him you weren’t feeling well.” 

Jisung tosses his phone aside, then presses the palms of his hands into his eyes in frustration. “I’ll never be able to balance this stupid fucking vigilante shit with my personal life, man. I mean, how many times can I ditch Minho before he’s had enough? It’s not fair to him. There’s only so many crazy stories I can come up with to–”

“Mkay, you guys are meeting at 3 tomorrow.” Felix chirps. Jisung sits up abruptly to look at his roommate, who’s setting his phone back down. 

“What did you do?” He hisses, grabbing it to read his messages with Minho. 

“I texted him, apologized for standing him up, and asked to reschedule.” Felix shrugs. “He said sure.” 

Jisung doesn’t know whether he wants to attack him or kiss him. 

🕷

“You made it this time.” Minho snarks, smiling at Jisung over his cup of americano. 

Jisung purses his lips, ears burning with shame. “Y-Yeah. I’m sorry about that.” He mumbles, picking at his muffin. He’s surprised Minho wanted to reschedule in the first place, given the vague excuse Felix had come up with on Jisung’s behalf.

“You’ll make it up to me,” Minho assures, the glint in his eye far from fading. Jisung has no choice but to dumbly agree. “I saw that spider guy on the news last night.” 

Jisung’s spine stiffens. “Yeah?” 

Minho tilts his head, and it feels like he’s staring right through him. “Mhm. Saved a few people from a fire downtown.” 

“That’s cool. M’sure they appreciated that.” Jisung offers, averting his attention to the window. He’d give anything to change the subject right now. 

“Y’know, Peter.” Minho starts, setting his cup down. “You look so tired lately. You okay?”

Jisung blinks rapidly, gaze flicking back to read Minho. “Yeah, I-I’m fine. Just, y’know.” He shrugs, his leg bouncing anxiously. “Been working out a lot, I guess.” 

Minho purses his lips, eyes narrowing just a tad. “Working out.” He takes a moment to scan Jisung’s body. Jisung shivers. “You have gained a lot of muscle recently.” 

He noticed? Noticed the change? Pays that much attention?

Jisung laughs weakly, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie like it could somehow hide the ridiculous body he grew overnight all those weeks ago. “Y-Yeah, guess I finally listened to Felix nagging me about the gym. Gotta keep up, right?”

Minho nods, skeptical, but he doesn’t push. He just leans back in his chair, arms crossing loosely as if he’s analyzing every twitch and stutter Jisung makes. His gaze is too… knowing. Jisung wants to run. 

Minho points at his face. “You’re not wearing your glasses.” 

“Contacts.” Jisung squeaks. 

“Right, of course. Forgot those existed.” Minho says slowly. “You’re an odd one, Peter,” He adds, but not in a mean way. 

Jisung pouts, poking at his muffin once more. “Odd.”

“Mhm. In a good way. Intriguing, honestly.” 

If only Minho knew how odd Jisung really is. 

They drift into an easier conversation after that. Minho recounts a hilariously tragic mishap from dance practice. Jisung rambles about a new song idea. Conversation comes naturally, and the need to pretend to be he's not is nonexistent. He hasn’t experienced anything like this since he met Felix. 

There’s a connection between them, Jisung naively believes. Unexplainable but unrelenting. Familiarity that doesn’t belong. Closeness that feels unearned but welcome. Like he’s meant to be sitting at this table across from Minho, like he’s known him all his life. Old friends catching up rather than new friends getting to know each other. 

By the time their cups are empty, Jisung is laughing for real, his earlier nerves gone with the wind. 

Outside the café, the air has turned brisk, and the campus is vacant of bustling students. Jisung stuffs his hands into his pockets, trying to stretch this walk as long as he can. Minho strolls beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost brush. It drives Jisung fucking insane. 

They come to a split in the path, Jisung’s dorm in one direction and Minho’s in another. It’s quiet for a bit. Not an awkward silence, but a comfortable one, until Minho breaks it. 

“I had a nice time with you, Peter Han.” He says, a warm lilt to his voice. 

Jisung wishes he could bask in it. “Ditto, Minho Lee.” He returns. 

Minho snorts, invading his space and wrapping both arms around him in an embrace that’s more than friendly. Jisung doesn’t have the processing power to return it before the moment’s over, and Minho’s walking away without another word. 

And damn. Jisung hates to see him leave but loves to watch him go. Those jeans serve him well. 

Google, show me this guy’s balls. Then his hand in marriage.

🕷

Jisung crouches on the edge of a rooftop, shoes crunching on the rough gravel, surveying the streets below while running through possible catchphrases and ‘gotcha’ lines. 

Scoping out rooftops, fantasizing about being a real, beloved hero instead of a broke college kid with creepy spider-powers and executive dysfunction. He should be working on a music theory assignment right now, but no… Justice calls. 

The city needs me. He thinks in a stereotypical hero voice, then giggles at himself. 

It’s been pretty boring for the most part; nothing interesting has been going on for the last three hours he’s been out here. He’s about to call it a night when he sees it. Him.

Minho.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, sweaty from dance practice, earbuds in, head tilted down as he cuts through a narrow alley to shave time off his walk home. 

Jisung lasers in on him immediately. It’s dangerous to take these alleys at night, especially in Queens. Is he insane?

The exhaustion is evident in Minho’s gait, sluggish and off-balance. The duffel bag on his shoulder doesn’t look like it’d be that heavy, but it’s putting a strain on his left shoulder. One of his shoes is untied, and his left pant leg is scrunched up to his knee. A complete wreck. It makes Jisung wonder if the other dancers attacked him. 

The time in the top left corner of Jisung’s HUD reads 11:32 pm, and from stalk– observing Minho’s habits, he knows that dance practice ends at 8:00 pm. 

Why did he leave the studio over three hours later than normal? Why is he walking home alone? Why is he so haggard? 

Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in concern, and he starts to follow him from above as stealthily as he can. He’s so focused on Minho that, at first, he doesn’t notice the two sketchy fucks waiting just a few feet ahead. 

One steps out, cutting Minho off in his tracks. He’s holding something, and it glints in the light from a streetlamp nearby. Jisung squints, trying to figure out what it is. When he does, his heart halts for a moment. It’s a fucking butterfly knife. 

The other guy rounds to stand behind Minho, arms folded like he’s trying to be intimidating. He’s not wielding a weapon, but there’s no way of telling whether he has one or not. This is New York. People take inflatable hot tubs onto the subways and bathe in them. Expect the unexpected. 

Jisung’s chest tightens, that familiar shiver zipping down his spine. Heat bursts inside him, rushing through his entire body and firing him up in a way he’s never felt before. Pure, flesh-burning rage. He has to move. 

By the time Minho realizes he’s got a knife pointed at him, Jisung is already incoming like a missile. He vaults off the rooftop, web shooting out with a thwip to swing him down into the alley. He lands hard in front of Minho, knees bent, the crack of his sneakers against concrete echoing in the semi-enclosed space.

Both of the strangers stiffen, raising their hands, most likely recognizing him based on their reactions. 

Spider-Man’s built quite a reputation in the past few weeks, plastered all over social media and in the newspapers. Not that anyone reads newspapers anymore. 

Jisung straightens up, the lenses on his mask narrowed, and his fists clenched. His heart is thumping against his ribcage, and it’s hard to hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Every bone in his body is screaming danger, danger, danger.

This should go like every other fight he’s had with muggers. Web them up, call the police, and be done with it. Maybe a few jabs, a couple of hits to the family jewels, but nothing major. He should restrain them with the least amount of physical violence he can manage. He should yell at them to walk away and guide Minho to safety. He should control his temper before anything bad happens.

Should. 

The man with the knife inches closer, and Jisung lunges without a second thought. Pure instinct with only one thought in mind. Don’t fucking touch him.

For a moment, he blacks out. He can vaguely register the sound of his fists connecting with bodies, their groaning and moaning as he pummels them into the asphalt. There are a few cracks, some pops, a couple of yelps and cries. Someone’s yelling in his ear, telling him to stop, to calm down, that he’s gonna kill them.

Surprisingly, it’s not Minho. It’s Felix. 

“Jisung! Enough! They’re both out cold!” His voice is sharp but shaking, like he’s scared of what he just witnessed. “Hannie, please!” Frantic. Panicking. Begging. 

It snaps him out of it. What ‘it’ is, he’s not entirely sure.

Jisung’s vision returns, his ragged breathing slowing just a bit. Both would-be attackers are passed out in pools of their own blood, still alive but incapacitated. Bruised, bloodied, beaten senseless. 

Not a single twinge of guilt curls in his gut. They were stupid to think they’d get away with touching Minho. They deserved this. 

“Hannie? Are you okay–"

Jisung cuts the comm off, his irritation sky high. One glance at Minho’s petrified expression tells him he’s got bigger things to focus on than Felix’s yapping. He’ll apologize to his roommate later. Minho needs him. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Jisung asks carefully, doing his best to conceal the tension in his tone. 

Minho flinches at his voice, taking a step back. It’s difficult to ignore the pain that shoots through Jisung’s soul at the small but telling action. 

“Y- You uhm-” Minho gasps out, one hand over his chest. His face is paler than usual, and it can’t be chalked up to the moonlight. The horror flickering behind his eyes makes Jisung sick. 

He did this. Minho’s scared of him. That alone nearly makes him crumble. 

With his palms facing outward, he takes a hesitant step towards him. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m sorry. I–”

Minho lurches forward and wraps himself around Jisung, who freezes in shock. “Thank you.” He mumbles into Jisung’s shoulder. 

Jisung falters. It’s not the first time Minho’s hugged him–it’s the second–but this one feels a lot different. Tighter, more desperate, almost rib-crushing. Jisung can feel him trembling, but doesn’t know how to comfort him. 

He tentatively pats Minho’s back a couple of times, all the fury he’d just been overcome with dispelling scarily fast. 

“Uh- yeah. Yeah, man.” He coughs out as Minho steps back. “Just uh- just be careful. It’s dangerous out here.” 

Without waiting for a response, Jisung bends at the knees and launches himself straight up into the air, grabbing onto the rail of a fire-escape and using it to propel himself onto the roof it leads to. 

What the fuck? What the fuck. What the fuck!

🕷

Jisung all but throws himself through the dorm window, landing on the carpet with a thump while simultaneously freaking out about what just happened. He yanks the mask off, pulse erratic, and words coming out jumbled. 

“He hugged me. As Spider-Man. I- I mean, he hugged me as me too, but this was different and I–” He slaps his hands over his face, groaning into them while kicking his legs like a roach stuck on its back. “Fuck!”

“Jisung.” Felix snaps. 

Uh oh.

Jisung jolts upright, a cold sensation spreading across the nape of his neck. 

Felix is bright red from neck to forehead, his eyes glossy with tears. His laptop is open on his bed, comm system still running, tinny static buzzing through the speaker. He’s standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and jaw clenched. 

“Felix—“

“You cut me off.” He seethes, sniffing harshly. It feels like a knife to the chest. He sounds snotty, nose dripping, and bottom lip wobbling. “I-I was worried about you, and you cut me off. That was fucked up, Jisung. I thought you were going to kill those guys.”

Jisung shoots up from the floor, pacing fast enough to wear a groove into the carpet. “Felix, Minho was cornered! The dick had a knife! What was I supposed to do? Just let them hurt him? He could’ve gotten stabbed!”

Felix steps forward, catching Jisung by the wrist before he can spiral off into gesturing like he usually does. “You didn’t just stop them, Hannie. You nearly beat them to death. I’ve never seen you like that before.” The grip on Jisung tightens. “It scared me.” His voice cracks. 

That makes Jisung pause. Stop entirely, actually. He stares at Felix, defeated and guilty. The rush is gone now, replaced by something smaller and much more fragile. The fact that he hurt Felix, though not on purpose, settles and starts eating him from the inside out. 

“N-No, Felix. Felix I-” He turns to grab his arms, emotions rushing to the surface quicker than he can handle. Tears spring, and he tugs Felix closer, trapping him in a suffocating embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Felix returns it, clutching him tightly. He buries his nose in the crook of Jisung’s neck. “I thought you’d lost it, mate. I-I thought you’d gone crazy.” He whispers. 

“I’m not crazy. I’m not.” Jisung swears. “I just couldn’t-... I couldn’t let anything happen to Minho. I don’t know what came over me, but I know he was the priority.”

The events of the night flash through his mind, and admittedly, the blinding rage scared himself too. He’d never felt like that before, so violently angry that he had no control over his actions. Those men he confronted were probably still lying in that alley, knocked the fuck out. 

The memory won’t leave him. The way the mugger’s knife had glinted under the streetlight, the way Minho had frozen, the way his own body had acted before he could even think. 

Jisung had swung harder than he ever had, not thinking about control or restraint or how much force a normal body could withstand. Just… stop them, stop them, stop them.

Now his hands won’t stop shaking.

“I didn’t even recognize myself,” he admits, voice small and broken.

Felix pulls back just enough to catch his eye, still holding his arms so he can’t pull away. “That’s what I felt,” he whispers. “I didn’t recognize you either.”

“I don’t know what came over me. I just couldn’t let him get hurt. God, Felix, I couldn’t see straight or hear anything or fucking– ugh.”

“Hey, breathe. You’re working yourself up. You’re home, you’re safe, and Minho didn’t get hurt.” 

“But I scared you.” Jisung’s words come out strangled. “You saw me, Lix. You saw what I did. What if next time I don’t stop? What if next time I—”

Felix doesn’t let him finish. He cups his cheeks, forcing Jisung to meet his wet, weary eyes. “You make sure there isn’t a next time like that. You remember who you are before you start throwing hands. You promise me you’ll never let it go that far again.”

Jisung nods frantically, tears spilling hot and fast. “I promise. I promise, I swear.”

Felix finally exhales, finally lets his shoulders drop. He hugs him again, tighter than before, tight enough to bruise. 

Jisung clings back, fingers twisting in Felix’s shirt, drowning in guilt and shame. He wants to sink into Felix’s affection, but after tonight, after what he did, he can’t imagine that he deserves to. 

Somewhere deep down, he knows this night changed something in him. Between them, and maybe even between him and Minho, who regarded Spider-Man with something Jisung can’t begin to name.

🕷

“He’s a criminal!”

“Did you even see the video? He saved that little girl!”

“He needs to leave that shit up to the firefighters. That’s not his place.” 

The journalism club has finally decided to cover the new mutant freak running around town. It’s not going well. 

Jisung wishes Minho were here, but he hasn’t seen him since that night. He wonders if Minho’s okay, if he’s traumatized, if he got home safe because Jisung, in his selfish mind-spiral, left him in the middle of the alley. 

Terry and Lily are arguing. Lily in Spider-Man’s favor, Terry in opposition.

“Seriously? You’re condemning him for saving lives? He’s stopped like twelve robberies!” She rants, throwing her hands up in exasperation. 

“He also beat the shit out of those guys in the alley last week! They had to go to the hospital!”

“They were violent criminals, Terry.” Sam cuts in, his tone bored but a fire blazing behind his eyes. 

“So what? They’re still human.” Terry retorts, and everyone groans at that. 

“You’re not seriously defending them, are you?” Sam counters, scowling at him. “One of them has four assault charges, two of them against women.”

Terry hesitates for a second, but carries on with vigor he shouldn’t wield. “Nobody should be playing judge, jury, and executioner.”

Lily slams her hand down on a table. “Nobody was executed! Your argument makes no sense! It’s no different from a regular civilian stepping in to help!”

“It absolutely is different because it wasn’t a civilian. It’s some guy hiding his identity because he knows what he’s doing is wrong. We have cops for a reason.” Terry snaps. 

Jisung speaks up at that comment, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “Those muggers would’ve stabbed–and possibly killed–that victim.” He grunts, apparently still cognizant enough to leave Minho’s name out of the equation. “An ambulance wouldn’t have gotten there in time, let alone the police.”

The room falls silent, all heads turning to him. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. He rarely speaks up in front of these people.

Ah. Shit. 

He clears his throat. “I’m just saying. What would’ve happened if Sp-Spider-Man wasn’t there to step in? Somebody could’ve died.” 

Terry scoffs. “So he stopped a few crimes, big fucking whoop. He’s not a cop. He’s not a hero. He’s a fucking moron running around in a kink-suit.”

Jisung levels Terry with a glare. “Insane that you’re against a good Samaritan using his free time to help those in need.” 

“Oh, don’t play the moral compass shit with me, Peter.” Terry sneers. “I don’t care what he’s doing. He’s breaking the law.” 

Jisung leans back in his seat, gritting his teeth. “The law. Because our justice system has always had the safety and rights of the American public in mind.” He mutters sarcastically. “How do those boots taste?”

“Don’t be naive. He may be helping people now, but soon enough he’ll fly off the handle and-”

“No, he won’t!” Jisung interrupts, his hands curling into fists on his lap. It’s hard to rationalize that this isn’t an attack on Jisung’s character directly, but an attack on his actions as Spider-Man. Either way, it’s offensive and disheartening, but he’s taking it too personally. “And you can’t assume that!” 

“How can you be so sure, huh? Who’s to say he won’t end up on the other side? Who’s to say he won’t start using those freaky fucking spider powers to, like, rob banks or something? He could obviously get away with it.” 

“He wouldn’t do that, Terry. He’s not a bad guy.” Sam chimes in, examining his nails. Jisung doesn’t notice the cursory glance his way. “Bad guys don’t spend their free time catching sandwich shop burglars and showing up to kids' birthday parties. With presents.”

Terry huffs in faux-amusement. “Nobody knows who the fuck this guy is.”

“I do! He’s my friend!” Jisung blurts, belatedly realizing his mistake after the sentence leaves his loose lips.

The spotlight’s on him once again. 

Bile rises in Jisung’s throat. Fuck. He fucked up. Worst possible thing he could’ve said.

“Here we go,” someone mutters.

“Peter Han is friends with the Spider-Man, guys,” Terry announces, unable to stifle his incredulous laughter. He turns and leers at Jisung, a smug expression on his stupid face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I knew you were weird, but I didn’t peg you for an attention-seeking liar.”

Oh, this mother fucker. Jisung cannot let this slide. Arthur fist meme. Now’s the perfect time to follow the motto he holds so dearly. Speak now, deal with the consequences later.

“I’m not fucking lying.” He doubles down.

“Prove it!” Someone shouts from across the room. Lewis. Instigating asshole. 

Terry nods in agreement. “Yeah, Petey. Prove it. Since you’re such close friends, Spidey won’t have a problem coming to our fundraiser next week, yeah? I mean, like Sam said, he’s just so eager to help the community in his free time.” He coos in a sick, fake-sweet tone. 

“Fine. He’ll be there.” 

The meeting continues, the arguments resume, but Jisung barely hears any of it. His pulse is still hammering in his ears, drowning everything out. By the time people start packing up their laptops and notebooks, he’s already rushing out the door. 

He stumbles into the hallway like he’s forgotten how to walk, tripping over his own foot and only barely managing to catch himself on the wall. He ducks into the nearest bathroom and braces himself on the sink, gripping the porcelain until his knuckles go white.

“Friends with Spider-Man.” He whispers the words at his own reflection, horrified. “Friends with Spider-Man? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

He’s so fucked. Double fucked. Spidey-Fucked.

🕷

“This might be the dumbest fucking idea you’ve ever had.” Felix deadpans, staring into the mirror on his wardrobe. The suit doesn’t fit him at all; it’s baggy, and he looks like a child playing dress-up. 

“Shut up. Just let me–” Jisung blows air through his nose, trying to pin the fabric enough to the point where it’s taught around Felix’s upper body. He’s pricked his fingers at least four times, and he’s thankful the suit is blue and red so the blood doesn’t show. “God. You need to stand still before I stab you.”

The plan is simple. Dumb? Yes. Whatever. All they need to do is take a selfie, which should be more than enough proof that Peter Han and Spider-Man are friends. That they know each other. It’s hard to keep making excuses as to why they’re never seen together in the same room, so this is the next best option. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything about being friends with-” 

Jisung cuts him off, sighing heavily. “I know, Felix. I’m aware. It was impulsive. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“Obviously,” Felix mumbles as if he’s never had any shit ideas. Forehead iPhone flashlight. 

Jisung flicks his hair, fishing his phone from his pocket so he can snap the picture. Felix, despite his reluctance to play a part in this scheme, trudges over to pose beside him. Jisung knows he’s scowling under the mask, so he makes it quick. 

“Perfect.” He says, studying the not-perfect photo. Somehow, his awkwardness is entirely present, his demeanor awkward, his smile painfully fake. It’ll have to do, though, because Felix is wasting no time trying to escape the suit. 

“No shot this works,” Felix says, letting the fabric pool around his feet. “And I’m not taking the pins out. You can do that yourself.” 

“Cunt.”

“I taught you that word. You can’t use it against me!” 

🕷

The fundraiser is in full swing, the auditorium lobby buzzing with booths, bake sales, and chatter. There’s a whiteboard counting how much money the club has made so far, and since Spider-Man has shown up, it’s raised by at least $950.

Jisung is sweating under the mask. Not because of the suit, but because students keep circling him like vultures.

“Spider-Man!” Terry hollers, waving him over. “Peter said you were cool, but I didn’t think you’d show.”

Jisung forces a heroic stance, trying to ignore how his cup is digging into the crevice between his groin and his thigh. “Y-Yeah, well. Anything for a good cause.”

Across the room, Minho’s watching. Sitting with his arms crossed, legs spread, looking frustratingly good in a plain black shirt and jeans. He’s working the cupcake table. 

When their eyes meet, Minho raises his brows, a smug little half-smile tugging at his lips. Jisung wants the floor to eat him whole. At least he seems to be over the whole almost-mugging situation. 

Terry nudges him with a little too much force. “So, you’re friends with Peter, huh?”

Jisung nods. “Mhm. Yep. Best buddies.” 

Terry blinks rapidly, like he’d expected Spider-Man to deny it. Which is stupid because in Terry’s mind, Jisung’s the only reason Spider-Man is at some lousy college money-grab. “So he didn’t force you into taking that selfie?”

Jisung wants to snap at him, throw an insult or two, but the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man would never, so instead: “Not at all. Love that guy.”

God. Egotistical, much?

Thankfully, the conversation doesn’t continue because Spider-Man starts getting pulled in a million different directions to take photos and film TikToks. 

Later, when the crowd thins a little, Minho wanders over wearing his usual, butterfly-inducing smile. 

“Hey, Spider-Man,” he greets casually, like he’s addressing a long-time friend instead of a vigilante who’s pummeled people half to death in front of him. “Glad you made it.”

Jisung nods stiffly. “Of course. Uh. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Minho’s grin sharpens. “You know,” he starts, tone airy and light, “if you’re free, you should come to my dance recital. It’s next weekend.”

Jisung stares. “Your… recital?”

“Mhm.” Minho leans in, voice dropping just low enough to make Jisung’s pulse spike. “Think you can swing by?”

Every rational bone in his body screams say no, but his dumb, weak little heart wins. “Yeah. Totally. I’ll be there.”

Minho giggles. The sound just about puts Jisung on his knees. “Good. I’ll be looking for you.”

Then he saunters off, leaving Jisung frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. What did he just agree to? How is he supposed to sit through Minho’s recital as Spider-Man? How’s he supposed to sit in the crowd wearing this dumb ass getup?

Felix finds him five minutes later, crouched behind a refreshment table, hands on top of his head. “Dude, what now?”

Jisung rakes his hands down his face and groans into his gloves. “H-He asked me to come to his recital. And I said yes. I said yes.”

Felix pauses, then smirks like a cat with cream. “Holy shit. Romantic. Absolutely doomed, but romantic.”

“Felix—”

“No, listen, this is great,” Felix interrupts. “You show up, cheer him on, maybe get him some flowers. Trust me, he’ll love it.”

“I can’t- he’ll- oh my god.” Jisung wants to jump off the roof of the auditorium and disappear forever. Too bad he’d stick the landing and walk away completely fine. 

Felix just pats his shoulder like he’s sealing a deal. “You’ll be fine, Spidey.”

Jisung will absolutely not be fucking fine. He’s cooked. So fucking cooked. Flambéed. Seasoned, even. Slow roasted. Broiled. 

🕷

Jisung eats shit on the stairs in his haste to get into the auditorium. The recital started half an hour ago, and he knows Minho’s performance is next. He skids to a halt in front of the double doors, steadying himself and picking the leaves off his suit. 

The group on stage is finishing their set as he quietly slips inside, which means Minho should be coming out soon. 

Jisung sneaks down a couple of rows and finds an empty seat next to the aisle, resting the bouquet he brought in his lap and ignoring the stares of everyone around him. 

Hindsight is a bitch. Sitting in the far back and staying unnoticed would’ve been the right move here. 

When Minho steps out onto the stage, all the air is sucked straight out of Jisung’s lungs. He’s beautiful, dressed in all sorts of sequins and diamonds that reflect all the light shining on him like a sick ass disco ball. The music starts up, a strong beat plays, and Minho begins his routine. 

Jisung’s not sure if he blinks throughout the entire thing. Distantly, he wishes he’d asked Felix to record it through his lenses. When the song ends and Minho does his bow to the crowd, Jisung claps louder than anyone else, which is impressive considering his hands are gloved. 

After the recital, Minho finds Jisung in the corridor where the dressing rooms are. He’s changed out of his performance outfit and is instead dressed in a pair of baggy jeans with a hoodie. Jisung still thinks he’s hot. 

“Hey, Spider-Man.” Minho says with a wide, bunny-toothed grin. “You came.”

Jisung nods dumbly, holding up the shameful bouquet. Some of the petals fall from being fumbled around so violently, landing between them. He flushes red. 

“I- uhm. I’m sorry. I swung here.” He says, kicking himself for not thinking of a better way to transport the flowers. When will he stop making a fool out of himself in front of this guy? 

Minho laughs, eyes half-mooning as he takes the flowers from Jisung’s hands and holds them up to his nose. “I appreciate it anyway. Did you like my show?” 

“Of course I did. You were amazing up there.” Jisung praises. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that.” 

Minho hums, glancing down at the fallen rose petals. “Thank you.” He simpers, then tilts his head to one side and regards Jisung for a moment, like he’s contemplating what to say next. “Such a shame that Peter couldn’t make it. I was really hoping he’d be here.” 

Jisung internally winces. With ‘Spider-Man’ showing up, he didn’t think Minho would notice or care about Peter’s absence. Throat dry and anxiety rising, he offers an explanation. A lame one. “Well, uh– I’m– he wanted to come. He just… couldn’t make it.” 

Minho tilts his head, studying him with an eerily blank expression, like he’s testing how long Jisung will keep squirming. “Funny. Spider-Man manages to make it, but Peter doesn’t. Figured Spider-Man would have a lot more going on with the whole superhero gig.” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Well, y’know. I-I think he’s got some project going on?” Jisung tries weakly. 

“Sure,” Minho sighs, disappointment painted on his face. “He’s quite the busy guy.” Not accusing, not mocking, just knowing. His eyes linger a second longer before he seemingly lets Jisung off the hook, sliding the bouquet under one arm. 

There’s not much to say, not anything within Jisung’s rational mind. The familiar feeling of bone-crushing guilt has started to expand in his chest. He’s a liar. A scheming liar. He should leave. He doesn’t deserve to be here.

“Listen, I-”

Minho reaches out and pulls him closer. Impossibly closer. He leans into Jisung’s ear and whispers. 

“Thanks for coming, Peter.” 

Jisung blanks. His brain flatlines. Minho knows. 

He knows he knows he knows. How the fuck does he know?

Slowly, he pulls back enough to look at Minho. His mask hides most of his expression, but the body-quaking panic is probably written all over his body language. “I—uh. I don’t…” The words get stuck in his throat.

Minho laughs, high and sweet but oh so soft. It’s not enough to quell the impending doom Jisung’s experiencing, though. 

“Relax.” Minho mumbles, not yet pulling back. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

Jisung still can’t breathe. “Wh-What do you mean?” He croaks. 

“C’mon, you don’t think I’m that dumb. Do you?” Minho teases, nudging his elbow. There’s mischief simmering through his voice. “You don’t even bother changing your voice. How could I not recognize something that sounds so lovely?”

Okay. Alright man. Okay relax. Relax. RELAX. FUCKING RELAX.

Minho doesn’t stop. “Same height, same body type, same clumsiness. I knew you were my Jisungie from day one. I could spot you from a mile away.”

Jisung’s blood runs cold and hot at the same time. On one hand, Minho knows his secret identity. On the other hand, he just used Jisung’s real name for the first time. And by god, it sounds so fucking addictive in his voice. 

Holy fuck. Wait. My Jisungie. My Jisungie.

“Y-You…?”

“I’ve been watching you, I guess. It sounds creepy, but I’ve had a thing for you since we met.” Minho admits, pink tinting his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. Finally, he takes a step back, and Jisung wants to follow him. Wants to keep Minho in his space.

“It’s not creepy.” Jisung’s too quick to blurt. “Uh, I– well. I’ve been watching you too… and I also have– have a thing for–”

“I know.” 

“You know.” Jisung whispers, unsure of how to respond to that. 

Minho reaches for his hand, grabs it, then pulls him off down the hallway and away from everyone else. 

“Wh–where are we—”

“Away,” Minho interrupts, casting him a smirk over his shoulder. “We have some things to talk about, yeah? Better to do it in private.”

Jisung sputters, nearly trips again, but doesn’t let go. His heart’s hammering at diabolical speeds. He might go into cardiac arrest.

They duck through a side door, up some stairs, until Minho shoves open an exit to the rooftop. It’s quiet, empty, and the cool breeze does wonders for Jisung’s overheating skin.

Minho lets go, leaning against the brick wall next to the door. He’s smiling in that dangerous way he always does. Soft and amused, like he already knows exactly how this’ll go.

“So,” Minho says, tilting his head. “Now that your big secret’s out, does this mean I get, like, exclusive superhero privileges?”

Jisung blinks. “Priv– what?”

“Yeah. Like first dibs on rooftop hangs, web-slinging taxi service…” Minho’s grin widens. “…and, I dunno, maybe a kiss?”

“A what now?”

Minho pushes off the wall and slinks closer, his hands coming up to rest on Jisung’s shoulders. 

“A kiss, Jisungie.” He whispers, his hands trailing up to tug at the edge of Jisung’s mask. 

Jisung lets him lift it, pulling it up over his mouth, resting it on the bridge of his nose. 

“There he is.” Minho coos, then surges forward to kiss him before Jisung can react. 

Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Dear Jesus who art thou in heaven.

It’s gentle at first, just testing the waters, but Jisung is shaking, the dastardly organ in his chest threatening to break through his ribcage and splat onto the ground. That would be so fucking unsexy of him. 

Something in him snaps. He kisses back with all the clumsy desperation of someone who’s never done this but has thought about it way too much.

He can feel Minho smiling against his mouth, but he doesn’t give two flying fucks. He’s kissing his future husband. 

In this moment, this sloppy, wonderful moment, the silly little fantasy of growing old together beside Minho Lee doesn’t feel too far out of reach. 

🕷

Dating Minho Lee is something Jisung never thought he’d ever get to experience, but he’s one lucky motherfucker. 

Navigating their relationship was difficult at first, with the whole Spider-Man gig and Minho going into his senior year, but they made it work and are thriving. 

It’s been around 6 weeks, and they’re still in the honeymoon phase. Jisung likes to think they’ll remain this way forever. 

50 years in the future, they’ll still be cooing and flirting and teasing and joking. Throwing insults at joggers from their his-and-his rocking chairs on their front porch, one that’s overrun with cats and decorated with all of Minho’s favorite flowers. 

Until then, Jisung’s still a superhero. Queen’s savior. It’s fun, sure, but there are some bad nights. 

Like tonight. 

Some freak he’d never met before laid his ass out, then disappeared before Jisung could place who he was. It was a lot more intense than any other battle he’s experienced, like a whole new level of what the fuck-ness. 

The dude was barely human. A type of evil Jisung never anticipated facing in the humble neighborhood of Forest Hills. The only thing worse than walking away from that fight had been struggling to get back to safety with his damaged state. 

When Jisung makes it to Minho’s apartment, his knuckles are raw, his ribs aching, and the mask feels like it’s strangling him. He would’ve gone back to his own dorm, but he knows Felix is on a date, so the chances of their shared space already being occupied are less than zero. 

Through the window, where he’s crouched on the fire escape, Jisung can see Minho lying on his bed with a laptop on his stomach. Cat videos. Jisung laughs quietly, then groans when it causes a sharp pain to shoot through his ribs. He taps on the window.

Minho’s head snaps in his direction, and within seconds, he’s fumbling to get to the window. When he throws it open, Jisung almost falls on his ass. 

“Jisung, what the fuck happened?” Minho demands, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him inside. “What are you doing here?”

“J-Jagi,” Jisung whimpers, hands curling into Minho’s t-shirt. “Gentle, please.” 

Minho freezes in his admittedly rough movements, his gaze trailing over Jisung’s body. His hand shoots up and yanks the mask off, revealing the bruised, beaten skin beneath it. 

“Oh, fuck.” He gasps, gently tracing the wounds with his fingertips. “Wh-... holy shit. What happened?”

Jisung’s body sags, and he lets Minho drag him over to the bed and sit him down. “I don’t know.” He mumbles, watching as Minho sets the mask down on the nightstand. “This- I don’t even know if I can call him a guy, really. He had, like, bionic arms. Eight of them. I didn’t know what to do.” 

Minho frowns, kneeling on the bed to start helping Jisung wiggle out of the rest of his suit. “Bionic arms?”

“I mean, I think? They were metal, and he was- he can control them with his mind. I didn’t see him using a controller.” Jisung explains, voice strained as Minho tugs the tight fabric down past his torso. “I couldn’t beat him.” He whispers. 

The man had fled after Jisung managed to land a good couple of cracks on him. With the state he was left in, he couldn’t chase after him, but could only watch as he disappeared into the night. Then he had to slink through Queens with his tail between his legs, a fight lost for the first time. 

“You tried, Jisungie, and that’s all that matters,” Minho says softly, patting Jisung’s hips so he’ll lift him. Jisung does and watches as the suit is dragged down his legs. Then Minho snorts. “A cup? Really?”

Forgetting about the disappointment of his failure, Jisung’s face flushes bright red. “Felix makes me wear it!” He defends, trying to cover his crotch with his hands. “The suit is tight!” 

Minho chuckles, low and warm. “Relax. I’m not judging.” Then his shoulders begin to shake with mirth. “Okay, maybe I’m judging a little.”

“Minho!” 

Minho slaps his thigh. “Hush.” He sets the suit aside, then disappears into the bathroom. When he comes back, it’s with a damp towel and the little first aid kit he keeps tucked under his desk. “Let me clean you up, babe.” 

Jisung huffs, like a petulant child, and obeys. The teasing doesn’t continue. Minho’s tender, treating his wounds delicately and with a sort of practiced ease. 

Every brush of his fingers makes Jisung’s chest ache, but not because of the bruises. He watches Minho with fondness, wondering how he got so fucking lucky. So blessed. 

Minho doesn’t fill the silence; he just works, expression soft and focused. Eventually, though, he speaks quietly. “I’m glad you came to me, Sungie.”

Jisung swallows, throat tight. His lips part before his brain catches up. “You’re the only person I want to go to.”

Minho stills. For a moment, they just stare at each other, air charged and heavy, but not in a suffocating way. Minho brings a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing absently over his jaw.

“Jisungie,” Minho whispers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Jisung leans forward, and Minho closes the distance. It’s soft, sweet, and oh so addicting. It’s enough for all the pain to leave Jisung’s realm, leaving him feeling better than ever. Minho’s lips must have healing properties, he thinks. 

He brings a hand up to Minho’s bicep, tugging at him and whining against his mouth. Pathetic as it is, Minho obliges and lets himself be pulled onto Jisung’s lap. He settles comfortably, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s neck and nipping at his bottom lip. 

Jisung parts them, licking into Minho’s mouth as Minho does to him. It starts as something slow and gentle.

He can feel fingers tugging at his hair, Minho’s weight on his thighs, the stupid fucking cup digging into his skin. His hands trail up Minho’s thighs, snaking down to his ass. 

Minho pulls back, eyes twinkling. “Oh?”

Jisung blinks, halting. “Oh- I- Is… is that okay?”

He snickers, nodding. “Yes, Jisungie. It’s okay to touch your boyfriend.” 

The b-word still makes Jisung lightheaded. He shows off a ditzy, heart-shaped beam and squeezes. Minho’s cheeks flush pink, and he bites his lip. He doesn’t know who moves first, but they're kissing again. 

Minho shifts against him, and Jisung feels something stiff pressing against his stomach. 

Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh dear god, this is happening. 

They pull apart once more, and Jisung doesn’t know what to say. A common issue, apparently. He’s never been in this position before. 

They haven’t taken things this far yet, even with how long they’ve been dating. It’s mostly Jisung’s fault, really. A lot of it stems from insecurity or anxiety. The idea of being responsible for Minho’s pleasure has been daunting, incredibly so given his virgin status.

Not wanting to have sex was never the issue, god knows Jisung’s been dying to get down and freaky with Minho, but the very possible chance of making himself look stupid or fucking something up has held him back.

Now, though, with Minho on his lap and hard against his abdomen, he can’t find it in him to give a fuck. The idea of being able to connect with Minho in such a deep, intimate way gives Jisung a fresh, intense wave of euphoria.

“I-I uhm. I- do you? I mean.” 

“Do I what, Jisungie?” Minho hums in a sultry tone that has Jisung’s cock twitching. Minho trails a hand down Jisung’s bare chest, teasingly flicking one of his nipples and smirking when Jisung whimpers. “Do I want to… keep going?”

Jisung nods. There’s a pleading look on his face that betrays his utter inexperience. It’s Minho, for fuck sake. How could he not beg? “Do you?”

“Do you?” 

“Yes. Please?” 

Minho pretends to think about it, fiddling with the straps on Jisung’s cup. Jisung’s chest is tight, rising and falling with laboured breaths as he impatiently waits for an answer. 

“I suppose.” Minho purrs, tugging the threads loose and tossing the barrier off to the side. There’s a telling wet patch on the front of Jisung’s white underwear. He’s not even wearing boxers. He’s wearing the tighty-whities from the drug store because they’re the only ones that don't bunch up in the suit. “Oh, Sungie.”

Jisung could die as he notices the way Minho’s looking down at his aching core with pity. The head of his dick is visible through the wet fabric, flushed and twitching. “Jagi.” He rasps. 

“You’re so worked up already?” Minho says, pressing a hand against Jisung’s stomach and drags it down until he’s cupping his hard-on. “Just from a little kissing?”

It would be humiliating to have his boyfriend coo over how sensitive he is, how easy he is, but Jisung can’t find it in him to care. All he wants is Minho. 

“Yes.” Jisung whispers, moving his hands up to Minho’s hips and clutching them so tightly his knuckles go white. “Y-You drive me insane, Min. Can’t help it.”

Minho leans closer to peck Jisung’s nose, then he’s moving. He drops to his knees between Jisung’s legs, using both hands to spread them apart and make room. Jisung could barely function before, but he’s fully error-coding now. Jisung Jr. throbs in excitement at the sight. 

“Jagiya.” Jisung croaks, fingers twitching restlessly now that he’s not holding onto anything. 

“Gonna suck you off, baby.” Minho mumbles against his thigh, the brush of his lips against the sensitive skin sending sparks up Jisung’s spine. Minho trails his mouth upward, pausing intermittently to suck lovebites into his flesh on his way. 

Jisung rests his palm on the top of Minho’s head, threading through the soft locks of his hair. “Min. So pretty.” 

Minho peers up at him through his lashes, pulling a moan from Jisung as he mouths over his clothed cock. Jisung would throw his head back if it didn’t mean missing this otherworldly visual experience. 

It feels like an eternity before Minho hooks two fingers into the waistband of Jisung’s underwear and pulls them down. The cool air against his naked length makes his thighs quiver, but he doesn’t have time to complain before he feels a hot wetness engulfing his tip. 

He’s falling apart already. “Nngh, Min. Min, fuck. Oh god.” Unable to stop himself, his hips buck forward, and he hears Minho gag. “S-Sorry. M’sorry. Didn’t mean to. Jus’ feels so good.” He stammers. 

Minho responds without words, grabbing Jisung’s hips to keep him still as he continues. While rubbing soothing circles into Jisung’s skin with his thumbs, Minho takes him deeper, cheeks hollowed and tongue working overtime. 

Jisung hunches over, Minho’s hair tickling his chest as he fails to keep his composure. The searing heat is building rapidly, Jisung can feel himself tensing, and just as he’s about to burst–

Minho pulls off with a pop, licking his lips and wiping the mess off his chin. Jisung chokes out a noise of protest, unable to quite form real words. The almost-bliss recedes, fading because of the abandonment. 

“Wh- I- I was so close.” Jisung whines, reaching for himself only to have his wrist caught by Minho. 

“Don’t want you to cum yet.” 

Jisung blinks, then nods like a good dog even though he doesn’t understand why. What Minho says goes. 

Minho playfully rolls his eyes and pushes himself up to crawl onto the mattress and lay flat on his back. He beckons Jisung, who wastes no time in clambering over. There’s an imbalance in their levels of modesty, with Minho still fully dressed and Jisung rocking his birthday suit, and Jisung doesn’t like that. 

“Please let me take your clothes off.” Jisung begs, already pulling at his shirt. No convincing needed, Minho raises his arms and allows Jisung to begin stripping him. Jisung does it with fervor, discarding his pants and beholding the figure meant to be carved into marble before him. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Jisung almost sobs, grabbing and groping at Minho like a man starving. He squeezes his thick, muscled thighs, buries his nose against his soft stomach, and leaves love bites all over his chest. Every part of him is fucking addicting. 

Minho’s enjoying it, whispering little praises here and there, teasingly pushing his thigh in between Jisung’s just to hear him moan, pulling and pushing him around as he pleases until Jisung’s begging for more. 

“Sung.” Minho exhales against Jisung’s ear. Jisung shivers. “Sung, I want you to fuck me.” He’s tugging at Jisung’s hair, watching him squirm and writhe. 

“M-Min, I-I want to. So bad. Want to make you feel good.” He babbles, a bit of drool leaking down his chin. “J-Just don’t know how. Never done this before.” 

Minho tugs him down and presses a few kisses to the side of his face, nibbling at the underside of his jaw. “I know, baby. I know.” He whispers. “That’s okay. Hyung’ll teach you.” 

Jisung almost blacks out at the use of the Korean honorific. He’d never heard Minho use it before, but it does something devilish to his gut. “Hyung.” He tests out, and yep. He’s a degenerate. He loves it. “Hyung, please.” 

Minho loves it too, his entire body tensing as he swears under his breath. “Okay, Sung. Okay.” 

After digging around for supplies, Jisung ends up looming over Minho once again, holding a bottle of lube and gawking at Minho’s gorgeous package. He wants to devour it, feel the weight of it on his tongue, make it hit the back of his throat, but Minho shuts that down. 

“Sung, Focus.” Minho chides, nudging his thigh with his heel. “Next time.”

Jisung snaps back, nodding and wiping some spit off his face. “Right, right. Right. I’m good. I’m cool.” He lies in a shaky voice, attention still glued to what he thinks is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

Though when Minho spreads his legs, the ranking gets switched around. Pink, small, and– did it just wink at him? He brings one hand between Minho’s legs, teasing his rim while his other hand clutches Minho’s knee for, like, moral support. 

Part of him wonders if he should be looking at Minho’s face, watching his expression, but he can’t peel his eyes away from this. 

“Put one in, Sungie.” Minho whispers, evidently miles calmer than Jisung. 

Jisung holds his breath and nods. He could die right there when his fingertip pushes past the tight ring of muscle and he feels the snug, overwhelming warmth engulfing him. He can only imagine what it’ll feel like around his cock. 

Minho’s head falls back against the pillow, his hands fisting the sheets. “Th-That’s good, baby. Go slow, okay? It’s been a while.” 

“Since what?” Jisung asks dumbly, watching his finger slip in and out with rapt attention. All brain cells have left the server. 

“Jisung.” 

Oh, right. “Sorry.” 

He refocuses, opening Minho up with his fingers and falling deeper and deeper into that lust-filled daze with every sweet sound coming from Minho’s lips. He’s so gone. He’s so fucking gone. He wants nothing more than to make Minho feel good. Want so bad it’s eating him from the inside out. 

With a slight crook of his three fingers, Minho lets out a loud, stilted moan, hips tilting and back arching off the mattress. “Fuck!”

“Di-Did I hurt you?” Jisung asks, going still in fear that he might’ve fucked up. He should’ve Yahoo’d how to do this beforehand. 

“No. No.” Minho gasps. “Do that again. That- That was good.” 

“Oh.” 

He does it again, awestruck by the reaction he receives. Fluttering excitement, and maybe some pride, fills Jisung as he continues the onslaught Minho’s pleading for. Nothing could be better than this. Nothing could be prettier than the blissed out expression on his boyfriend’s face. 

Minho grabs him by the wrist, mumbling something about not wanting to come yet. “Need you to fuck me. C’mon.” He urges, pulling Jisung up so his elbows are bracketing Minho’s head. 

“Really? Please, hyung. Please?” Jisung begs, legs trembling with anticipation as he noses Minho’s jaw. “Can I?”

“Mm. Yeah, yeah.” Minho reaches down between them, wrapping his hand around Jisung’s cock. Jisung nearly breaks right then, but steadies himself while Minho guides him. 

His tip nudges against Minho’s entrance, and he has to take a few seconds to hype himself up before gaining the courage to finally push inside. 

His eyes roll back in his skull, his arms close to giving out. “Oh god. Oh my fucking god.” It’s so tight. So warm. So fucking good. “Y-You’re so- you feel so good.” 

“Baby, you’ve only got the tip in.” Minho giggles. 

“Oh.” 

Fucking idiot. Keep it together, goddamnit. 

He presses in deeper, jaw clenched and gripping the sheets entirely too hard. He’s pretty sure his toes are curled, too. This experience is close to heaven, really. 

“Doin’ good, baby.” Minho slurs, cupping Jisung’s cheeks with both hands and pressing their foreheads together. “Keep going.” 

Jisung pulls back, slow–not steady in the slightest–and gives an experimental thrust. Dear Jesus and all beings holy. 

“M’not gonna last, Min.” Jisung admits, repeating the action twice more before stilling. If he moves, he’ll fucking bust. Minho deserves more than a two-pump chump. 

Minho responds by dragging him into a filthy kiss, tracing his teeth with his tongue, and biting at his lip. Jisung’s body moves on its own accord, grinding into him, moaning into his mouth, swallowing the noises returned. 

With his concentration on the tongue fight, his pace speeds up, intensity increasing. He pulls back farther with each thrust, slamming his cock into Minho so hard that the sounds of skin-on-skin fill the small room. 

Clumsy, uncoordinated, and messy, Jisung fucks like he’ll die if he stops. He detaches his lips from Minho and latches onto his neck instead, biting down on the juncture of his neck and collarbone. 

Minho loves it, moaning Jisung’s name and raking his nails down Jisung’s back. Spurred on, Jisung sits up straight and finds purchase on Minho’s hips, dragging them up for a better angle. He knew super-strength would come in handy for things other than crime-fighting. 

“Feels amazing, hyung. S-So warm. Sucking me right in.” Jisung rasps, that sensation mounting again. 

Minho takes Jisung’s wrist and guides it to his neglected member. “T-Touch me, Sung. I-I’m close.” 

Jisung wraps his fingers around the dripping shaft and pumps Minho’s cock in tandem with his jerky, sloppy thrusts. Multitasking is hard, even more so when the best sensation he’s ever felt is swallowing his pathetic virgin (not) dick whole. 

It feels unreal, Minho’s body against his, being inside him, making him feel good (he hopes). He could do this forever. He hopes Minho will let him. 

“Fuck. Fuck. I love you. Love you, Minho hyung.” He sobs, tears trailing down his cheeks as his orgasm threatens to crash into him. 

Minho’s body tenses for a moment, and Jisung realizes too late that it’s because Minho’s spilling all over his knuckles. 

Shit. Hot. So fucking hot. 

“I love you too, Jisung. So much.” Minho promises, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his temple. “Doing so well. So good for me, keep going. Cum for me, jagi.”

Even if Minho hadn’t given him permission, Jisung fears he would’ve lost it anyway. And he does, thrusting as deep as he can and coating Minho white from the inside with a high-pitched mewl that Minho will most definitely mimic later. 

Jisung collapses onto Minho, chest pressed against chest, still quaking from the waves of adrenaline and pleasure. He feels light, exhausted, sweaty, but light. 

Minho holds him close, arms wrapped around him tightly. “Fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “You did so well.”

Jisung buries his face against Minho’s shoulder, basking in the praise, the scent, the soft rise and fall of his chest. The panic and self-doubt from earlier are long fuckin’ gone, replaced by a dizzying sense of safety and euphoria.

For a long moment, they just stay like that, tangled together, consumed in each other’s presence. Every worry, every fear, every ridiculous thought about powers or webs or fights—it doesn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

Jisung shifts slightly, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “Think… I might fall asleep like this,” he says, barely audible.

“Good,” Minho says, chuckling softly. “Stay right here. Don’t move.”

Jisung won’t, even if his dick has gone soft, and it’d probably be a smart move to clean up.

“I really do love you, Minho.” Jisung whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind Minho’s ear. 

Minho’s eyes lift into crescents. “I really do love you too, Jisungie.”

🕷

Minho graduates and lands a job as a dance instructor for a children’s studio downtown. Jisung makes it through his junior year by the skin of his teeth. They sign a lease together, a two-bedroom apartment that’s much too expensive for its size but a place for them to call home. 

Two more cats, which brings them to five. A new career opportunity presented to Jisung by two guys he friended at the gym. Multiple new suits from Felix, each more advanced than the last. Promise rings on their right hands that come with plans to move them to the left when the time comes. 

The city’s love for him grows, his purpose cemented further with every life he saves. Viral on social media, posters plastered everywhere through Forest Hills. Interviews and news coverage and web forums, all dedicated to the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. 

If he’d been asked about it over a year ago, Jisung would’ve said that he wished he’d never gone on the journalism trip. The one resulting in the spider bite. Back then, he’d been sure his life was over. Thought he was insurmountably fucked. 

Now? He would say it’s the second best thing that’s ever happened to him. The first being Minho, of course. 

Jisung’s exactly where he’s meant to be. 

On the tiny balcony of their shitty apartment, Jisung and Minho are squished together on a bench they found in a dumpster. Hands interlanced, cats in their laps, they watch people traveling to and fro from above. 

Dinner’s in the oven, the smell of it wafting through the open glass door. Dori is sprinting around the living room, vaulting off of any furniture piece she can climb onto and knocking shit over in the process. Jisung and Minho are sharing a bottle of blueberry soju and a plate of fruit. It’s been a long week, and there’s nowhere else either of them would rather be. 

“They should really fix that crack.” Minho hums, referring to a large gap in the sidewalk in front of their apartment building. Just barely enough to catch people off guard, but difficult to spot without paying attention. 

“Yeah, but then where would we get our evening entertainment?” Jisung jokes. They sit out here in favor of rotting on the couch watching TV. It’s totally not because they can’t afford any streaming services. 

“You’re evil.” Minho snorts, shaking his head in disapproval and taking a swig from the bottle. His cheeks are flushed, Jisung can’t stop staring. 

“I can’t be evil. I’m Spider-Man.” 

“Okay, not evil, just mean.” 

Jisung chuckles, taking the soju for himself and having a drink. He’d rather taste it off Minho’s lips. “Yah, jagi. You don’t think I’m mean.” 

Minho sits up straighter, eyes on a teenager riding a skateboard. He slaps Jisung’s chest a few times, then points. “Watch, Sungie.” 

Jisung scoffs, smirking. “And I’m the mean one.” 

The teen’s not paying attention, sucked into the phone in his hand. Minho and Jisung count down and unison. 

“Three… two… one!”

The front wheels of the skateboard catch on the split in the sidewalk, the poor kid goes flying and lands family-guy style on the pavement. 

Minho and Jisung burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter. Maybe they’re both a little fucked up. 

🕷

Pro-tip: don’t use webs for Shibari. They take hours to dissolve and are a bitch to wash off.