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gojover · 2 months ago

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the subtleties of being in love

summary: kuroo tetsurou is the spider-man. he’s also your best friend. he’s also hopelessly in love with you. between fighting crime and juggling college, kuroo barely has the time to confess his feelings to you. lucky for him, you’ve got him covered. or, five times kuroo tetsurou tries to ask you out, and one time you ask him out instead.

⇢ pairing: spider-man!kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers au, spider-man au, college au, debatable attempts at comedy, idiots to idiots in love, 5+1 things, profanity, mentions of violence but nothing graphic—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 5.0k

ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF SWINGING INTO A WALL

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he isn’t trying to be stupid.

It’s just that when he sees you, his mouth dries up, the words he want to say get stuck on the tip of his tongue and he can’t force them out no matter what, he feels his brain turn to mush and his legs turn to jelly, and—

You’re laughing. At him.

All because he swung face-first into a goddamn brick wall.

You don’t even know it’s him—he has a mask made out of spandex covering his face, thankfully—but he saw you on the street, talking to the old lady who sells churros next to the sandwich place both of you love. He may have lost all directional sense after that, because one minute he’s watching you gesture animatedly while you converse with the shopkeeper, and the next he slams solidly into the brick-red compound of the building he was supposed to swing over.

At least his webbing is still intact.

Kuroo’s pride, on the other hand? Completely, utterly shattered.

For a minute, there’s silence—a sort of muffled, hazy silence that blankets everyone, the kind that’s impossibly rare to come by in a city which never sleeps—and then every single person whips out their phones and takes pictures, giggling to themselves throughout. It’s not every day Spider-Man accidentally swings into a wall, after all.

Kuroo can already picture the headlines: City’s Masked Superhero Can Fight Aliens But Is Apparently Blind When Confronted By A Gigantic Barricade. Or worse. He can hear J. Jonah Jameson’s voice in his head, bellowing into the cameras, “Breaking news everyone, this just in: Spidey has been caught lackin’! Is he truly good at his job or is he just a farce? We may never know.”

He peels his head off hard brick, contorting his neck to relieve all the cricks, and that’s when he makes direct eye contact with you.

He swears his heart stops beating—but it starts again in less than a second, starts rabbiting around like it always does when he sees you, before settling back down into its regular rhythm. It’s only then that he remembers his feet and fingers are still glued to the wall.

He pries them off, wincing at the hoots and hollers from the crowd, and glances at you again.

You have a few churros in your hand, wrapped neatly in butter paper—no doubt a gift from the old lady—and you have your phone in your hand. He watches your fingers fly rapidly over the screen, notices the slight tilt to your head, the way your tongue pokes out of your lips slightly, the amusement at his mishap still running through your veins.

He hears the ping of the notification through his mask before you even put your phone down.

The letters swim in front of his eyes, on the screen in front of him.

(11:36) You: KUROO!!!! u wont BELIEVE what i just saw!!!! I SAW SPIDERMAN CRASH INTO A WALL LMFAOOOO

Kuroo winces. He should probably tell you that there’s a hyphen separating the words ‘spider’ and ‘man’, but he doesn’t want to burst your obvious elation at the city’s most prominent superhero’s accident. (Despite the fact that you’re the cause for him losing all common sense, in the first place.)

He doesn’t get the chance to form another coherent thought before a yell from below gets his attention. Specifically because it’s your voice.

“Hey!” You have your hands placed on your waist, your bundle of churros tucked into the corner of your arm as you squint up at him. “Need some help getting down?”

Unlike the jeers of the onlookers with their phones still out, you don’t sound malicious at all. You sound genuinely concerned, as though he isn’t Spider-Man, who’s fought off a hundred different villains and rescued the earth from alien infestations. You talk to him like he’s just a regular guy who accidentally swung onto a building and now finds himself in this precarious position.

His chest warms at the thought. “No thanks!” he hollers back. “I’m good.”

He lets his feet loosen up, feels his muscles relax and then he pushes himself off the wall, letting the momentum pull him through a graceful somersault before he lands softly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” You ignore the passersby.

“I’m fine,” Kuroo replies. “Are you okay?”

You look at him strangely, and Kuroo can feel his cheeks heat up. “I’m not the one who almost broke my nose because I wasn’t looking at where I was going.”

Kuroo shifts from one foot to the other, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You have a point, he supposes. He clears his throat. “Right, um. Thanks for offering to help me out.”

“No problem,” you reply easily, the corners of your lips rising upwards. “I’m glad you’re okay. Can’t have our city’s best line of defence get obliterated because of a wall.”

Kuroo’s not sure whether he’s supposed to feel happy about the fact that you’re worried about him despite not knowing who he is or if he’s supposed to be embarrassed at you pointing out his lapse of attention.

“Listen,” he begins, feeling a rush of adrenaline surge through his veins, run its course throughout his body, and settle at his heart, “do you… maybe want to get some coffee with me? As a thank you. For offering to help.”

You raise an eyebrow sceptically. “I’m not sure that warrants a coffee date.”

“It’s not,” Kuroo hurriedly says, heart thumping erratically, “I swear. I just want to thank you.”

You purse your lips, drawing out a sigh that’s in between contemplation and refusal. Kuroo’s heart sinks—he knows that expression of yours all too well. “I’m sorry, Spider-Man. You’re a great superhero and I’m sure you’re a really nice person behind the mask, but… I’m actually running late for a meet-up with my best friend. I’m sorry.” You shrug apologetically. “Maybe next time.”

“Okay, uh—” Kuroo licks his lips— “n-no worries. I’ll see you around.”

“Break a leg, Spider-Man.” You salute him with two fingers. “Not literally, but you know what I mean.”

He manages a smile, then realises you can’t see it through his mask—and then realises that the friend who’s meet-up you’re running late to is with him, so he’s going to see you again, anyway. The thought makes him smile again, this time wider, and he can feel his cheeks crinkle at the corners.

He stretches an arm out, presses his web shooter and swings onto the top of the building. Maybe he’ll have to deal with you retelling the story of how he crashed into a wall with extreme detail and lots of exaggeration, and Kuroo should probably feel extremely embarrassed about it. Instead, he finds himself looking forward to it.

Maybe he should crash into walls more often.

TWO — THE SUBTLE ART OF ACCIDENTALLY ASKING YOUR PROFESSOR OUT

Kuroo Tetsurou is decidedly fucked.

He’s late—unbearably so—but what else is he supposed to do if a platoon of aliens show up in the middle of his Introduction to Organic Chemistry class and he has to stop them from blowing up the president’s summer retreat? Once the situation is wrapped up and the foreign visitors agree to sign a peace treaty with earth, he’s effectively missed three classes, skipped lunch, and is currently running late to a study session you planned out after classes.

He supposes he can make up for it—he’s not sure how, but… something is better than nothing, right? He swings down in front of a flower shop, hurriedly asks for a bouquet and a box of chocolates, places a wad of money bills on the counter and swings away. The whole interaction takes place in less than fifteen minutes, but Kuroo is in a hurry. He has a slew of texts from you, all detailing the same thing: That if he doesn’t magically appear in the next ten minutes, you’re leaving, and you better make it up to him somehow.

Kuroo touches down on the rooftop of your university’s library and quickly removes his Spider-Man suit, stuffing it into his backpack and shouldering it. He heads down the fire escape, taking two steps at a time, and comes to a standstill in front of the Biology section of the library. It’s the least crowded part of the library, which is why you and Kuroo have chosen it as your designated spot.

He sees you immediately and braces himself for the telltale quickening of his heart. You smile at him as soon as you spot him, raising a hand in greeting. Books and sheets of paper are scattered around the table in front of you, and your hair is messy, swept up hastily. You’re wearing your favourite sweater with the coffee stain down the front, because even though it’s not something you would wear in public, it’s still the most comfortable piece of clothing you own.

Kuroo’s lips curl upwards on their own accord. The words form on the tip of his tongue, as they always do. He wants to tell you—he’s been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you—and it would be so easy to confess right then and there. He walks towards you.

Fate is never kind to him, it seems.

Kuroo keeps his eyes fixed on you, which is why he doesn’t notice his Organic Chemistry professor walk right across him.

In his defence, Professor Suzuki is short, with a head full of bountiful grey curls and a pink flower-patterned umbrella always tucked underneath her arm. She barely comes up to Kuroo’s shoulders, so she’s never in Kuroo’s line of vision unless he’s sitting down.

It’s no wonder he collides into her.

Professor Suzuki lets out a startled “Ooh!”, the stack of papers in her hand flying out of her grip and falling around him and his teacher like snowflakes on a winter morning. She twists her lips at him, mouth downturned like she just sucked a lemon raw, and tuts disapprovingly at him.

Kuroo feels his cheeks blaze as he bends down and gathers all the loose sheets of paper and stacks them. He doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re gleefully watching the whole encounter. He tucks the bouquet and chocolates into the crook of his arm and hands the stack of papers to Professor Suzuki, mumbling an apology.

“Well, you better be sorry,” she says, looking up and down at him—except she has to crane her neck at him to meet his eyes, and the sight is so hilarious, Kuroo needs to stifle his laughter. Then her eyes narrow in recognition, and Kuroo stiffens, dread pooling in his stomach.

She pauses for a minute. “Aren’t you the young man who ran out halfway through my class? Is your stomach feeling better now?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you snort and then cover it up as a cough.

Kuroo wants to melt into the floor, pretend like he’s one of the tiles on the ground. “Yes ma’am,” he answers politely instead, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him.

“Hmm.” She scrutinises him carefully, reaching out with her free hand and pinching his stomach. “Indigestion is a serious issue, young man. Make sure you have enough ginger in your diet—it helps with your toilet problems.”

“I will, ma’am.”

“Now, how do you plan to make up for your lost lesson?”

Kuroo licks his lips. “I’m… not sure. I could come over for a remedial class—”

“Oh, please. You insult me.” Professor Suzuki lets out a giggle. “Remedial classes are such mediaeval methods. These days teachers will let anything go for a small price. Young, handsome men like you especially…”

Kuroo nearly chokes on his own spit. “I—”

“Just some flowers and chocolates will be fine,” his teacher waves him off good-naturedly, as though this is a conversation she has all the time. Her eyes land pointedly on the flowers and the chocolate box still tucked safely in his arms.

“Oh. Um.” Kuroo curses his luck. He’s Spider-Man, after all—shouldn’t he get some slack? All he wants is to ask you out, and if not that, at least spend some time with you without getting caught up in outworldly situations all the time.

Professor Suzuki’s expression turns serious upon noticing his hesitation. “Of course, not every teacher is as lenient as I’m being. Some would—and I’m really just throwing it out here—assign compensatory essays, or—”

He hurriedly shoves the bouquet and the chocolates into Professor Suzuki’s waiting arms.

“No, ma’am. Thank you very much for being so kind to me.”

“Not a bother, not a bother,” she waves him off again, smiling thinly at him. “Anything for my students.”

Kuroo bows and waits patiently for her to skitter away from him, finally letting out a loose breath that has his shoulders slumping forward and his head hanging dejectedly. He drags himself to your table, places his bag on the desk, and buries his head into his arms in such a way that half his upper body is spread-eagled across the wooden desk. A tired, muffled groan escapes his lips.

“Rough day?” Your voice is soft, and you tentatively reach out and gently run a hand through his hair.

Kuroo lets out another groan in response, closing his eyes when he feels your touch. He lifts up his head and props his chin on the desk, glancing at you. You have a soft smile playing on your lips, eyes twinkling.

“You recorded all of that, didn’t you?” It’s more a statement than a question; Kuroo has all your tendencies mapped out in his head, and you would never pass up on an opportunity to record his humiliation.

“Yup.” You grin at him, patting your pocket where your phone is stowed away. “I won’t show it to anyone, don’t worry.”

It’s a small consolation. He decides to let it slide. “By the way, the flowers and the chocolates were for you. To apologise for being late.”

“Oh.” To Kuroo’s surprise, you sound… bashful, almost. His heart skitters at the revelation. “That’s alright. I’m not a big fan of flowers anyway. Are you hungry? You skipped lunch, too, didn’t you? We could go get some ramen.”

“That sounds good.” Kuroo smiles wearily at you. He just hopes there isn’t another national emergency to divert his attention from you and the time he gets to spend with you.

THREE — THE SUBTLE ART OF ALMOST DATING YOUR HOMIE

If Kuroo Tetsurou has been Tokyo’s one and only Spider-Man for the past two years, then Bokuto Koutarou, his roommate, is his designated Guy-in-the-Chair.

He’s the only one who knows about Kuroo’s secret identity, and Kuroo relies on him to make up some believable reason for his often and sudden disappearances. The last time, when he had to escape in the middle of his Organic Chemistry class and that whole debacle with Professor Suzuki took place, Bokuto had said Kuroo had indigestion. He assumes his roommate has fun coming up with excuses. As long as his secret remains safe, Kuroo’s not too concerned.

Despite all the help Bokuto has provided him with, he wants nothing more than to toss him over their shared apartment’s balcony.

For the past half an hour, he’s been consistently badgering him. Specifically about you.

“Have you told her you like her yet?”

The question drags a tired sigh out of Kuroo’s lips. He’s hunched over his Physics textbook, scribbling down notes, and he could really appreciate some peace—but that’s not something he should expect when he lives with the human equivalent of a hamster on a wheel.

“No, Bokuto,” he reiterates, “I haven’t had the time.”

Bokuto flops dramatically across the couch. “Dude. You need serious help.”

“Do I?” Kuroo murmurs absent-mindedly, wondering how to calculate the coefficient of friction with the variables he’s been given.

“Yes.” When he notices his roommate not paying attention to him, Bokuto rolls his eyes. “Stop doing homework, you have more important matters to attend to.”

Kuroo finally tears his tired gaze away from the numericals printed out on the page. He locks eyes with Bokuto, barely aware of the tic in his left eye. “Like what?”

His roommate throws his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Like your best friend! And the fact that you’re in love with her!”

“Okay.”

“This isn’t going to work. C’mere.” He gestures to Kuroo to come sit next to him on the couch. Once he makes his way to the couch and sits next to him, Bokuto takes both his hands in his. “Consider this an intervention.”

Kuroo leans back and lets his head fall against the couch cushions. This is going to be good.

“Okay, so,” Bokuto begins, “she doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man—no one knows that except me—but you love her, don’t you? Just walk up to her, tell her you can show her something she’s never seen before, swing her up to a rooftop somewhere, and watch the sunset with her. Tell her you love her and that you can’t live without her, and your heart beats only for her—trust me, girls love romantic stuff like that—and then tell her you’re also Spider-Man. Easy.”

All Kuroo can do is laugh. There’s no way Bokuto is serious about this.

“I’m being serious,” Bokuto says. “How long are you going to keep hiding this from her? She’s your best friend, don’t you think you should tell her that you’re basically in mortal peril every other day?”

“That’s exactly why I’m not telling her,” Kuroo says. “What if some villain finds out she’s special to me and does something to her to get back at me?”

His friend looks dubious. “You really think that could happen?”

“Yes.” Kuroo turns his head to look at Bokuto. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you either.”

Bokuto chews his lip thoughtfully. “I kind of see what you mean. But…” He squeezes Kuroo’s hand once, gently. “I think she would want to know.”

Kuroo considers it—for a brief half-minute, he actually thinks about it—and then shakes his head. “It’s better to keep her safe.”

You have the worst possible timing. (Perhaps it’s Kuroo’s fault for having given you a spare key to his apartment.)

The door swings open and you walk into the living room, two bags of takeaway in your hand. “Guess who’s got food!”

Then you pause, survey the situation in front of you, and your jaw drops.

Kuroo and Bokuto, both on the couch, sitting so close to each other, their knees are brushing. Kuroo’s hands are still being held by Bokuto, the latter rubbing circles on his palm. Belatedly, Kuroo realises what this must look like to you.

He shoots up to his feet. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh my God.” You raise your arms. “Am I interrupting something? I’m so sorry, I had no idea! I’ll just—”

“No, wait! Bokuto and I, we’re not—”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Your repeated reassurances don’t do anything to assure him. “You guys look good together! Congratulations on graduating from cherry boy university, Kuroo!”

Kuroo lowers his head, crimson creeping up his cheeks. He turns around and faces Bokuto, who’s busy snickering on the couch. “This is all your fault.”

You look between them curiously. “Are you both dating?”

“No,” Kuroo says at the same time Bokuto says, “Possibly.”

He glares at his friend. “No, we are not together. Bokuto knows I like someone else.”

“You like someone else?”

There’s the barest hint of hurt in your tone, a slight hitch in your voice that Kuroo picks up on easily. “I—yes.”

“You never told me.”

Your voice is carefully calm and you fiddle with the handle of the takeaway bags. Kuroo winces; he takes a step forward and grabs your elbow, gently forcing you to look up at him. “I was going to tell you. I just… forgot.”

It's the worst possible excuse he could come up with. Your eyes harden. Thankfully, Bokuto swoops in. “He’ll tell you soon. He just never has good timing.”

You poke your tongue in the inside of your cheek. “It… doesn’t matter. I brought Chinese,” you say, lips pursed into a threadbare smile, “so all that’s left is to pick the movie.”

You move into the living room and playfully poke Bokuto’s legs to make space. Kuroo closes the door behind you, a heavy feeling in his gut.

He’s fucked up. Big time. No matter what, he can’t get the look of dejectedness on your face out of his mind.

Kuroo decides he’s going to tell you. Somehow. Even if you don’t return his feelings, at least he’ll be free of the burden of keeping them hidden.

With new conviction in his head, he strides over to where you are.

FOUR — THE SUBTLE ART OF GETTING HIT ON

Kuroo loves you—he really does—but despite his obvious affection towards you, he still thinks you’re acting slightly (read: extremely) delusional.

“A… Spider-Man love blog?” he asks weakly, sitting opposite you.

“Yeah!” You nod your head vigorously, obviously excited. “J. Jonah Jameson started a Spider-Man conspiracy theory blog, so I figured I need to start a blog to support Spider-Man and all his endeavours. Too much hate is a bad thing, and… well, he is kind of hot. Objectively speaking.”

Kuroo doesn’t know whether to grimace at the fact that J. Jonah Jameson started a page on conspiracy theories about him, laugh at the fact that you want to start a blog to support him, or melt like an ice cream on a hot summer afternoon at the fact that you just called him objectively hot.

He tries to do a mixture of all three. You glance at him, concerned. “Did you just have a stroke or something?”

Kuroo purses his lips together. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you say dismissively. “Well, what do you think of the blog idea?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Kuroo agrees. “It’s like a little Spider-Man support group.”

“Exactly!” you agree, perking up even more. “That’s actually a really cool slogan, thanks Kuroo.”

“No problem.” Kuroo feels his mouth dry, but before he can second guess himself, he says, “Hey, you said Spider-Man is hot?”

“Hm? Yeah, what about it?”

“You know who else is hot?”

“Tom Holland?” Your eyes widen excitedly. “Oh, I know! Andrew Garfield!”

“No—I mean, yes but—” Kuroo heaves out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t talking about them.”

You cock your head to the side. “Who do you mean, then?”

He takes in a deep breath, forcing his heart to calm down. “I was talking about—”

He’s about to say you when the fire alarm rings. You stand up, eyes widening—not with excitement, but with panic flaring up inside you. Kuroo stands up too; how did he not notice something was off? The hair at the back of his neck tingles. He needs to get you out of here—now.

“Hey,” he says hurriedly, “you need to leave. Go out the fire escape.” He shoves you none too gently towards the fire escape, but you stumble forward and then stop.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he can hear the mounting fear in your voice, “what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he assures. A series of bangs follows his statement, and he narrows his eyes at the direction of the sound. “But you need to leave. Now.”

You open your mouth to say something, but when you hear a loud clang echo down the stairwell, you close your mouth and run towards the staircase. Kuroo waits for you to disappear from his sight, before turning on his heel and grabbing his suit from his bag.

God, supervillains really have the worst timing. All Kuroo wanted to do was tell you he thought you were hot, too, but that he found you more beautiful than anything else.

FIVE — THE SUBTLE ART OF EXPOSING YOUR CRUSH

Kuroo is so, so tired.

He lands in front of a small, quiet lake in a park you used to come to with him. The ambience is perfect for when you want to spend time alone, in solitude. A family of ducks paddles gently over the water; it’s peaceful and serene—completely unlike the destruction he just had to deal with, and the turbulence currently running through his mind.

He pulls his mask off his head and runs a tired hand through his hair. Wearily, he sinks down onto the grass, feeling the cool breeze caress his skin and the rustle of the leaves of the giant tree under whose shade he’s sitting.

He blinks once, slowly, and then again, and when a duck lets out a quack, he opens his mouth and lets everything spill out, like sand pouring through an overturned hourglass.

(He’s aware he’s talking to ducks. He doesn’t care.)

“Screw this shit. I never wanted to be a hero, you hear me? I never wanted to be bitten by a stupid spider, I didn’t ask for all this—I didn’t ask for all this! God, what does a guy need to do to have some time to tell his best friend he’s in love with her?!”

His rant falls on silent ears—but then, he hears the crunch of dried leaves, and he whips around.

Your head pokes out from behind the tree trunk. “Kuroo?”

“Oh,” he breathes out, scrambling to his feet. “What are you—”

“You said you’d be right behind me!” Despite the false bravado in your voice, he can hear how wobbly you actually sound.

“I-I was. Technically.” He takes a tentative step towards you, one arm stretched out placatingly.

“You never told me you were Spider-Man!” Your voice increases in pitch steadily with each word.

��I didn’t tell you to protect you—”

“Oh my God, you were in mortal peril every day and I didn’t even know!”

“Bokuto said the same thing, but—”

“Bokuto knew all along, of course he did!”

“I only told him because—”

“And—and now you’re telling me you’re in love with me!”

“Okay, I wasn’t telling you, I was telling the ducks, but—”

“Kuroo!” You throw your hands up in the air wildly, gaze roaming rapidly across his face. “You’re in love with me!”

He sucks in a breath sharply. “I feel like that’s not the most important thing here.”

Of all the ways he thought he would confess to you, this is decidedly not something that crossed his mind even once. He’d always pictured flowers, holding your hand, maybe even a romantic stroll down this very park. He’d certainly never imagined you’d find out about both his secrets on the same day—all while he was busy ranting about his hero complex to a bunch of birds who didn’t pay him any attention.

“Please,” he tries again, “please let me explain.”

You shake your head. “No. There’s nothing there to explain.”

With that, you turn away and walk past him. Kuroo’s heart sinks. He crumples the material of the mask in his hand, feeling the cloth twist underneath his fingertips just like his heart twists into knots with every step you take away from him.

PLUS ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF KISSING YOUR BEST FRIEND

You have Kuroo cornered, your arms crossed across your chest and your expression stern. “You need to listen to me.”

Kuroo gulps. It’s been a week since he accidentally let both his secrets slip, and this is the first time he’s talking to you in person since then. You’d sent him a text with a simple message. Library, first thing after lunch. Kuroo had complied, and here he is now.

“So. Bokuto explained everything to me,” you say.

“He—he did?”

You glance at him shortly. “Yeah, he did. I… I understand why you didn’t tell me about—about your condition, Kuroo. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“It’s okay,” he replies immediately. “If I found out my best friend was a secret vigilante risking his life every day, I think I’d react the same way.”

You smile at him then, and his heart jumps inside his chest. He smiles back. “But that’s not the main reason I called you here,” you continue. “What I really called you here for was…”

You trail off, looking down, and Kuroo is hit with a sudden sense of nostalgia. Why are you being so bashful around him all of a sudden? “Was…” he gently prompts.

You swallow, lifting up your chin and looking him in the eye. “I wanted to tell you that I’m in love with you too.”

Kuroo Tetsurou swears time stops, and the whole world comes to a standstill. The words ring in his ears, echoing inside his head. His lips part, and he stares at you, flabbergasted.

“I— Say that again.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

He sees the flicker in your eyes, notices how you’re ready to compete with him for this. “I love you, Kuroo Tetsurou. I don’t care about the fact that you’re Spider-Man.”

Kuroo takes a step towards you, holding your shoulders gently, like you’re made of glass. “I love you too.”

You grin at him, your own arms encircling his waist and coming to rest on his back. “I know that.”

And then you tip your head forward and capture his lips with your own. He gasps at first, before kissing you back with equal force, one hand tugging you closer to him and the other curving around your torso.

You giggle into the kiss, and Kuroo’s lips twitch upwards. He’s giddy, weightless, floating through the air like a feather being carried by the wind. The feeling he gets when he’s swooping through the rooftops of the city is nothing compared to the feeling of your lips slotted against his and his arms wrapped around you.

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he doesn’t try to act stupid normally. But if it makes you smile, he’s willing to do anything.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou

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gottabescientific · 9 months ago

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Everyone go read what Graeber has to say about debt RIGHT NOW

genuine question is adulthood just owing people (friends) money for the rest of your life until you die or do we like do other things too

#debt is actually a form of building community because in a social context where people aren’t leaving all the time #you can constantly be in a back and forth state of owing and being owed #and these mutual exchanges make your social webs stronger #I will buy you a drink and in a week you can buy me a snack and someone will get dinner on the promise that someone else will later #by owing your friends you are promising to be around them longer to pay them back and pay it forward #it’s not meant to be a constantly zeroed balance !!!!#it’s about mutual care trust and interest !!!#go buy your friends some snacks

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screentones-webcomicresources · 10 months ago

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Webcomic platforms can help get your comic published when you want something quick and easy to start out! They generally share a few qualities:

They format everything in a basic way so you don't have to do much set up your own space to look nice on web/mobile

They have no fee to publish your comics there, because you are using their web hosting

They may get your comic in front of other readers with mobile apps or online catalogs

If you meet their criteria, you may also be able to find hosting with digital comic stores, publishers, and collectives, and this may get you a bit more in the way of money, promotional opportunities, or editor assistance.

Even if you choose to host your website on its own webhost with a comic CMS, you might also consider finding a platform that aligns with your comic goals and "mirroring" your pages there.

In this post, we look at all the webcomic platforms out there we could find in our research!

This post may be updated as time goes on as new platforms enter the hosting arena, or other important updates come to light.

Questions:

💻 Everyone uses social media, could I just use that as a platform for my comic? - One-shot or strip comics without a continuous story that can be read in any order can do okay on social media, and people have adapted Tumblr to display a series of pages. But for continuous long-form stories, social media platforms are better for keeping your readers updated and general promotion.

📚 Wait, what if I want to build my own website and drive people there? - We have another masterlist of website hosts for that!

🕵️‍♀️What kinds of restrictions can I expect? - Many comic platforms have restrictions on NSFW content, links to other sites, or could be invite/application-only. We've tried to note those on the cards, as well as a list of comic platforms that have predatory business practices at the very end that we recommend avoiding. Always do your research!

Webcomic Platforms

Webtoon Canvas

Tapas

Webtoon Originals

SpiderForest Webcomic Collective

Hiveworks

ComicFury

The Duck

Saturday AM

GlobalComix

NamiComi

DillyHub

Shrine Comics

#masterlist #webcomic publishing #webcomic platforms

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sunarryn · 14 days ago

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DP X Marvel #28

Danny Fenton stormed into the Daily Bugle building like a man possessed, camera slung over his shoulder, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. His black T-shirt was on inside-out, his jeans had something suspiciously green on them (was that ectoplasm? Probably), and he looked two seconds away from spontaneous combustion. “I GOT THE SHOT!” he howled across the bullpen, startling at least three interns into dropping their coffees.

From behind a stack of papers that looked like it could topple and kill him at any moment, Peter Parker popped his head out like a whack-a-mole. His brown hair was tousled from stress and probable head scratching, and his sharp brown eyes narrowed like a cat spotting a laser pointer. “What shot?” he said, voice dripping with suspicion.

Danny slapped a photo onto the nearest desk, narrowly missing someone’s lunch. It was a pristine, perfectly lit shot of Phantom — that is, himself — battling some ugly sludge ghost over Times Square. Midair. Lighting perfect. The skyline behind him dramatic as hell. He looked like he belonged on a propaganda poster for ghost superheroes.

Peter’s nostrils flared.

J. Jonah Jameson himself, like a vulture sniffing out fresh blood, materialized from his office with the speed of a man half his age. “FENTON! MY BOY!” he bellowed, grabbing Danny’s shoulder with a grip that felt like being caught in a bear trap. “THIS is what I’m TALKING ABOUT! Parker, you see this? This is journalism!”

“I take great shots!” Peter barked defensively. “Better than this amateur!”

“You take shots of that masked menace Spider-Man standing still like a mall Easter Bunny!” Jameson roared. “Fenton here got the flying ghost punk throwing a goddamn ghost punch! Action! Drama! Fear! It’s what the public wants!”

Danny tried very hard not to preen like a smug cat. Peter looked like he wanted to throttle him with the camera strap.

Danny leaned over Peter’s shoulder with all the subtlety of a Mack truck. “You know,” he whispered, “maybe if your subject actually moved once in a while instead of just posing for you, you’d have better material.”

Peter gritted his teeth so hard Danny could practically hear them shattering. “Maybe if your subject wasn’t a literal glowing neon sign with no sense of stealth, your photos wouldn’t look like paparazzi shots from a concert.”

“Oh, is that why my shots sell and yours just gather dust in the bargain bin?” Danny chirped.

“Screw you,” Peter said sweetly.

“Boys!” Jameson barked. “Less flirting, more photos!”

Danny and Peter exchanged murderous glares, which lasted exactly until Jameson stomped away and slammed his office door so hard the windows rattled.

“I hope Phantom drops you off a building,” Peter muttered.

“I hope Spider-Man webs your face to a moving bus,” Danny hissed back.

Neither of them knew that later that night, Phantom and Spider-Man would be perching on a water tower together, eating street tacos and gossiping about the villains they’d fought that day.

“You’re kidding,” Phantom — aka Danny, in his ghost form, white hair glowing faintly under the moonlight — said, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the water tower. “Green Goblin threw a pumpkin bomb at you? Seriously?”

Spider-Man, legs dangling off the edge like a kid on a swing set, groaned into his mask. “It wasn’t even Halloween. I don’t even get thematic consistency. And he monologued for like twenty minutes about being the ‘spirit of mischief’ or some crap. Like, bro, get new material.”

Danny howled with laughter, clutching his stomach.

“And what about you, Casper?” Spider-Man teased, nudging him with an elbow. “You and that sludge monster. Heard it made Times Square look like a Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards slime zone.”

“It tried to eat a hot dog cart,” Danny said, still giggling. “I had to bribe it with a corn dog just to get it off the vendor.”

There was a long, comfortable silence as they sat there, munching on tacos, the city sprawling out beneath them.

“Hey,” Spider-Man said after a moment, “you ever feel like… weirdly lucky? Like… we’re the only sane people in this town?”

Danny snorted, accidentally inhaling some shredded lettuce. He coughed violently. “Oh, God, no. I’m the most unhinged person I know. You’re just enabling me.”

“Glad to be a bad influence,” Spider-Man said solemnly, bumping his shoulder.

They grinned at each other, the best of friends, utterly oblivious that by day they were mortal photographic enemies ready to commit homicide over who got the front page.

The next day, Peter and Danny both showed up to the Bugle at the exact same time, both slamming their best new action shots onto the desk with the kind of passive-aggressive force that cracked the laminate.

Jameson, sipping what smelled like pure battery acid from his coffee cup, squinted at both photos. One was Spider-Man in a perfect mid-swing action shot, muscles taut, city blurred behind him. The other was Phantom blasting a giant ghost in the face with a green energy blast, looking like an angel of vengeance with glowing eyes.

Jameson looked up at both of them. “I’m putting them both on the front page,” he said gruffly.

Danny and Peter stared at each other in horror.

“Joint credit,” Jameson added gleefully.

“WHAT?!” they shouted in perfect unison.

“I’M NOT SHARING A BYLINE WITH HIM!” Peter shrieked.

“HE STILL USES AUTOFOCUS!” Danny screamed.

“I’LL AUTOFOCUS YOUR FACE!”

“I’LL SHOVE A CORN DOG UP YOUR–”

“OUT!” Jameson roared. “OUT, BOTH OF YOU, BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT!”

They bickered all the way down the hall, accidentally knocking over a filing cabinet, a poor intern, and somehow setting a potted plant on fire.

Later that night, Phantom showed up to their usual rooftop hangout with two burritos and a soda.

“You will not believe the jackass I had to deal with today,” Danny said, dropping dramatically next to Spider-Man. “This punk at my job thinks he’s better than me just because he’s been there longer or whatever. I swear to God, if I wasn’t trying to maintain a secret identity–”

“Bro,” Spider-Man said sympathetically, handing him the soda. “I feel you. There’s this guy at my job too. Cocky little bastard. Thinks he’s so great because he got a few good shots of you.”

Danny nearly choked. “Of me?”

Spider-Man nodded. “Yeah. Just because you are a little flashy, everyone thinks it’s hard to get a decent shot of you. Like, no offense. All that brat needs to do is just stand there with a camera for five minutes and he’ll get praised by our boss.”

Danny felt personally attacked but chose to let it slide. “Sounds rough, man.”

Spider-Man peeled off a piece of his burrito. “Maybe we should swap workplaces. You go deal with my guy, I deal with yours. Mutual destruction.”

Danny smirked. “Tempting. But I don’t think I could survive two minutes without punching Parker in the face.”

Spider-Man nearly dropped his burrito. “Wait. Did you just say Parker?”

Danny froze. “Uh. No? Maybe? Shut up.”

Spider-Man leaned closer, suspicious. “Do you work with Peter Parker?”

“Do you?” Danny shot back.

They stared at each other.

“Wait,” Danny said slowly. “You know him?”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. I work…in the vicinity.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “So you know he’s an annoying, smug, camera-hogging little–”

Spider-Man laughed nervously. “Haha, uh… yeah… he sucks…”

Danny glared at him, not buying it.

Spider-Man cleared his throat. “ANYWAY. Uh. You know what else sucks? Ghosts. Ghosts suck. No offense again.”

Danny laughed and threw a chip at him. “None taken, Webhead.”

Meanwhile, across town, Peter was already spiraling internally.

“Oh my God, my best ghost buddy is probably best friends with my biggest work rival.”

“Oh my God, my best ghost buddy IS my biggest work rival.”

“Oh my God, I am the problem.”

The true chaos didn’t erupt until the annual Bugle Staff Picnic.

Danny showed up late, sweating through his T-shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a single bag of chips as his contribution. He was halfway through dodging Karen from Accounting’s attempt to set him up with her niece when he froze.

Peter Parker was across the lawn. Talking animatedly to someone. Gesturing. Laughing.

Laughing exactly like Spider-Man.

Danny’s soul left his body.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Peter turned. Their eyes met across the sea of coworkers.

Danny saw realization dawn in Peter’s eyes at the exact same time.

Both of them mouthed a silent “OH SHIT.”

Peter dropped his burger. Danny dropped his chips.

They sprinted toward each other at full speed. Everyone else thought it was some dramatic teenage romance moment and started cheering.

“What the hell!” Danny whispered-hissed as they collided behind a conveniently parked hot dog cart. “You’re Spider-Man?!?”

“What the hell!” Peter whispered-hissed back, grabbing Danny’s collar. “You’re Phantom?!?”

They stared at each other in horror.

And then, slowly, devilish grins spread across both their faces.

“You know,” Danny said thoughtfully, “we could use this.”

Peter leaned in conspiratorially. “Team up?”

“Ruin everyone’s lives?” Danny agreed.

“Front page domination,” Peter said.

“Partners in crime,” Danny added.

They shook on it, sealing a blood pact of chaos neither the Bugle nor New York City would ever recover from.

J. Jonah Jameson watched from his office window, sipping his coffee suspiciously.

Something told him he was about to have an aneurysm before the summer was over.

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dryptosaurusghost · 6 days ago

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Wof tribes redesign again!!!!! Ive been figuring out how to make them quadroped wingwalkers with malleable hands in a way that i like. I gave them pterosaur swag cause theyre my fav beasts.

notes under tha cut

Ancestral traits of my headcannon tribes

feathers, exterior ears, six limbs, beaks with teeth, wing walking, thumb knucklewalking

skywings- upright posture with long long limbs, lacking a wing thumb for a more aerodynamic build, reduced tail. They have the hottest fire and hunt aerial prey, they are highly mobile in the air.

Icewings- tallest tribe, black skin under feathers. Clear feathers, feathers on neck modified to form shiny/pearlescent spikes. They rattle when they move and they persist ant hunt large land prey.

Nightwings- Covered in iridescent star spots, have grooves on their patagium to facilitate silent flight (a la owl), and have fluff around their beaks. They have really good hearing.

rainwings- Standard posture has flexible neck folded, feathers and scales can change color. Small, elliptical wings allow for fast pursuit through thick forest but are not good for long distance flight. Short legs are better for climbing then running.

Mudwing- Has tusks that grow through the lower jaw and thick armor and osteoderms. Secondarily featherless and wallow to avoid sun damage. Sit and wait ambush predators, a la crocodile, squat posture means they are not efficient walkers.

Sandwing- Long limbs, mane down back with quill spines. dark skin to protect against sun damage, Ossicones! Grapple flying prey and immobilize them with their tail stingers.

Seawings- Largest dragons, thick webbed spines on back that can flatten down, short wings permit flight but are not efficient. Better at swimming then walking or flying. Barbles on face are sensory organs.

i plan on designing clothes for these things at some point

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entelodante · 29 days ago

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Styraphant and Caltrops face anatomy breakdown since I got a few questions about it! Info BELOW.

The last common ancestor of the both of them had a mouth of 12 tooth tipped appendages, which I'm just calling mandibles for ease of understanding. Since they are kind of analogous to an actual jaw bone? Their mouth was never involved in respiration tho! They had fleshy lips covering their mouth that they could retract to open up their mandibles and snatch prey. They also had eyestalks! Eyestalks emerge from the back of the head and could be retracted somewhat. In the case of styraphants they really went all in on them lips. The lips have evolved into two large main lobes which form each half of the trunk. I'm reworking the beak inside a bit to be separated into 4 main parts. Each is formed from a fusion of two mandibles, leaving them with technically only 8 in total. Though some individuals may sprout a vestigial tooth or two, kind of like wisdom teeth! Styraphants also retain their eyestalks, their overall build is not too far removed from their common ancestor.

Caltrops went for a more mandible focused route, their lips have reduced into the webbing between each mandible. Which they still retain all 12 of the ancestral condition. Their teeth are quite reduced and are actually pretty large for members of their group. Oh! Their eyes have also compacted from their flying days. The eyestalk is flush to the head and fused with the structure of the eye itself, both are capped by a lens. Caltrops have MUCH better vision than styraphants.

So yeah! I want to do a more in depth post about their evolutionary history. But I need to think about how I wanna do it.

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annievrse · 5 months ago

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LABYRINTH

FEATURING: TRAFALGAR LAW x FEM!READER

SUMMARY: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine...

CONTENT: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Zou spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, acts are organised by scenes, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content Warnings: Panic attacks, anxiety, descriptions of injuries, blood, passing out, trauma (Luffy & Law), drinking (one instance), torture and violence, guns + getting shot, Doflamingo (+ his past).

Crossposted on AO3: Here

ACT I... IT ONLY HURTS THIS MUCH RIGHT NOW [15k] ACT II... IT ONLY FEELS THIS RAW RIGHT NOW [18k] ACT III... BREAK THROUGH, BREAK DOWN [20k] ACT IV... HOW'D YOU TURN IT RIGHT AROUND? [20k]

See below the cut for the Reader's Devil Fruit! (This can be considered a spoiler for the fic if you want to be surprised).

The Sew-Sew Fruit: A round fruit wrapped in white thread.

The Sew-Sew Fruit is a uniquely versatile Paramecia-type Devil Fruit that grants its user the ability to control and manipulate needles and thread. From creating intricate garments to dealing devastating blows, the user’s mastery of their powers can drastically affect the battlefield—or even the very fabric of a person’s being.

Powers & Abilities 1. Needles: The user can materialize and control a variety of needles of different sizes, from tiny, sharp pins to enormous, thick needles that can pierce through armour. These needles can be used offensively, defensively, or subtly, such as sewing together injuries or fabricating traps. The user has full control over these needles, manipulating them at will to attack or defend in a variety of creative and dangerous ways.

Offensive Uses: The needles can be fired at high speed, becoming deadly projectiles capable of piercing even the toughest materials. By controlling the thread that attaches them, the user can manipulate the needles mid-flight, ensuring they find their mark.

Defensive Uses: The user can also create shields or swords, using needles to form a web-like structure of thread that blocks incoming attacks. Needles can also disarm opponents by targeting their weapons or controlling their limbs, making it harder for enemies to retaliate.

Tactical Uses: Needles can be used to stabilise ropes for abseiling, stitch up broken structures, fix broken buildings or stabilise bridges in an emergency.

2. Sew: This technique involves manipulating large quantities of thread to bind, subdue, or harm targets. The user can weave and manipulate threads in almost any environment—whether in the air, water, or solid ground—and use them to entangle or control opponents. With enough control, the user can manipulate threads to create clothing or equipment out of nothing, even adjusting their own garments to suit various needs. This ability is as creative as it is practical and can be used for a wide range of applications.

Offensive Uses: The user can conjure thick, sharp threads to slice through enemies, creating ribbons of deadly silk that can cut through flesh and bone. Alternatively, they can form spools of thread that tighten around enemies, squeezing them into submission or piercing their skin.

Defensive Uses: Threads can be used to bind attackers or shield allies. Users can also create large thread nets to slow opponents or trap them. In desperate times, the user could stitch up a torn sail or make an emergency parachute from their clothes.

Healing Uses: The thread can also stitch wounds or close injuries.

3. Seam (The Mindscape): The user has the power to pull the soul of a living being out of their body and sew it into a mental "seam"—a space where the soul can wander freely, but their physical body is left in a dreamlike, almost immobile state. While in this mindscape, the target's consciousness is free to roam, but their body remains comatose, trapped in a state where they are unaware of the passage of time.

Effect on Target: When a soul is sewn into the seam, the target's body becomes a puppet, barely alive and completely unaware of what’s happening around them. They can wander freely inside the mindscape, but they cannot control their physical body, which may be left defenceless in the outside world. Time seems to pass differently inside the seam, and a target can lose days, months, or even years while only moments pass outside.

Mindscape Reality: The mindscape can reflect the target's deepest fears, desires, or memories, often manipulating their perception of reality. This can create a disorienting environment where the target cannot tell what’s real and what is an illusion, effectively trapping them in a twisted version of their own mind.

Adverse Effects on the User: While powerful, the use of the Seam technique is taxing on the user. If the user does not manage their energy properly, there can be severe consequences. Prolonged usage can lead to excessive blood loss, typically through the hands—where the thread seems to extract life force—and chronic lightheadedness, causing the user to faint or collapse after extended use.

Permanent Effects: If the user keeps a soul inside the seam for too long without letting them return to their body, there is a risk of permanent damage to the victim’s mind, making them a mindless shell of their former self. Similarly, if the user remains in the seam for too long, they risk losing their own soul to the space, becoming trapped in a dreamlike state themselves.

4. Seam Ripper: A powerful counter-technique designed to protect the user’s consciousness from being influenced, infiltrated, or manipulated by external forces. Using the same fundamental principle as the Seam ability, which allows the user to trap souls and manipulate the mindscape, Seam Ripper acts as a mental defence mechanism, "cutting" away any attempts to tamper with or enter the user's mind.

Psychic Battles: In situations where the user is up against an enemy that manipulates minds, such as someone with telepathy or mind control, Seam Ripper is invaluable. It can break the opponent’s hold over the user’s body and mind, allowing the user to regain control and counterattack.

Countering Other Devil Fruits: Against Devil Fruits like the Magu Magu no Mi (Magma-Magma Fruit) or Suna Suna no Mi (Sand-Sand Fruit), Seam Ripper could be used as a defensive tool to sever any threads of control the enemy tries to establish over the user's mental state, preventing them from becoming disoriented or easily manipulated.

Protection for Allies: If the user is in a team fight, Seam Ripper can also be used to protect allies from mind control or illusions. By keeping their mind free of external influences, the user can focus on helping others without losing control over their own actions.

5. Interfacing: A complex defensive technique where the user manipulates large quantities of thread to weave a nearly invisible network of fine, bulletproof walls. These threads create a labyrinthine structure—an intricate maze—around the user or their allies, effectively confining enemies within a maze of unyielding walls. Each wall, while deceptively thin, can withstand bullets, blades, and even larger attacks, making them ideal for defence, trapping enemies, or controlling the flow of battle.

The technique's true strength lies in its versatility and ability to adapt to the environment. It can be deployed instantly, forming walls of thread that act as both a physical and mental barrier, disorienting opponents as they navigate the maze.

Trapping Enemies: Interfacing is an ideal technique for trapping large groups of enemies or powerful foes who rely on brute force or ranged attacks. It confines their movements and limits their ability to retaliate, while also providing the user with the ability to pick off enemies one at a time.

Control of the Battlefield: The labyrinth not only serves as a trap but as a tool for controlling the flow of battle. The user can close off certain paths, funnelling enemies into chokepoints or force them into confined spaces where they are at a disadvantage. It can also be used to protect allies, making it difficult for enemies to get to them.

Psychological Warfare: The maze is a tool for disorientation. Enemies trapped within it are often at a disadvantage as they struggle to navigate through the confusing structure. Over time, the maze can break the spirit of enemies, making them more susceptible to mistakes or surrender.

6: Binding: An advanced and highly dangerous technique that allows the user to pull memories from a person's mind and transform them into solid, real-world objects or events. When someone’s memory is extracted using the Seam or similar techniques, Binding solidifies the memory by "weaving" it into reality, making it materialize as though it had always existed.

This ability manipulates the very nature of a person's memories, turning the intangible (thoughts, recollections, or imagined scenarios) into something that can be interacted with physically. The user must be cautious, as these manifestations are not limited to harmless recreations—they can be objects, environments, or even people who appear precisely as they were in the person’s mind. Once bound, these memories can have an unpredictable impact on both the person who owns the memory and the world around them.

Trapping Enemies with Memories: The user can trap an enemy in a situation by binding a specific memory to reality. For instance, a traumatic memory can manifest as a real-world trap, forcing the enemy to relive their worst fear in physical form, distracting them long enough for an attack or escape.

Manipulating the Battlefield: Binding can be used to manipulate the environment around the user. A memory of a past battlefield, a familiar place, or even a natural disaster can be made real, distorting the surroundings to give the user an advantage or to confuse the enemy.

7: Stitch: This is the most dangerous and enigmatic ability of the Sew-Sew Fruit. It is an advanced and final step in manipulating memories. When used in tandem with Binding, Stitch takes the already manifested memory and secures it permanently in the physical world, making it an unalterable fixture of reality. Unlike Binding, which creates temporary, often unstable manifestations, Stitch locks the memory into existence, preventing it from fading, shifting, or dissipating.

Once a memory is "stitched" into reality, it becomes as permanent as any natural part of the world—whether it’s an object, an event, a place, or even a person. This technique allows the user to cement entire histories or scenarios into the present, permanently altering the world around them.

Creating Permanent Allies or Minions: If the user wishes, they can create a permanent army of memory-constructed figures or allies. Once these individuals are stitched into existence, they are real, living beings, albeit based on the memory from which they were drawn. This can be a powerful tool in battles that require long-term assistance.

Alterations to the Battlefield: Stitch can also be used to permanently alter the environment in the user's favour. A battlefield memory could be "stitched" into existence, creating an environment that traps or confuses enemies or provides a constant source of cover for the user’s team.

Weapon Creation: By extracting memories of powerful weapons or tools, the user can create permanent, reliable sources of combat strength. Once stitched into reality, these weapons would become unbreakable and always available.

Historical Manipulation: In larger-scale battles or political maneuvering, Stitch can alter the course of history by creating a permanent record of a particular event. For instance, the memory of a legendary battle or a famous leader could be made tangible, affecting the outcome of future events.

In essence, Stitch is the final, irreversible step in altering reality with the Sew-Sew Fruit. It allows the user to permanently cement a memory into the real world, creating a lasting change that cannot be undone. This powerful technique has the potential to reshape the world, but it comes with the risk of unintended consequences, personal trauma, and a heavy toll on the user’s energy and mind. It is a tool of immense power and responsibility, capable of creating eternal legacies or causing irreparable damage.

#based on labyrinth by taylor :))#trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #labyrinth series

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beardysuits · 6 months ago

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Piece of Jake

Logan has hated his body his entire life. Obese, gay, and a shut in have been a terrible combination for him. He decides becoming his sexy roommate Jake may be just what he needs to build up his confidence.

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I’ve had a crush on Jake for… well forever I guess. I guess that’s one of the perks of being a part of the same class every year since kindergarten; you get to see the cute boys become cute men. Then there was the downside of that, that anybody who bullied you from kindergarten will decide to do it until you graduate. They’ll do it for anything too; being gay, being fat, your race, your wealth. I was lucky enough to get 3 out of the 4 for about 12 years now. However, I’m ready for that to change.

See I was blessed with a fantastic combination of having a slow metabolism, and an anxiety which I decided to soothe with eating. The result has left me to be a 19 year old with a BMI of 42. And yeah, BMI is bullshit if you’re stacked with muscle, but I had the rolls and pudge to prove there was some truth to it. Combine this with the fact that I was more queer than a midnight premier of Rocky Horror, and I came out to be not the most popular guy in school. I thought that would all change once I went to college, but freshman year was hell. I essentially spent the entire time in my dorm room, locked up in the dark and playing video games. But, I guess it wasn’t all that bad.

See, back to Jake. Jake kept his status quo of being one of the top dogs from the ages of 5 to 18. Baseball star, debate captain, and voted “most likely to succeed” by our peers. Top all of that off that he was on of the few people who actually wasn’t a total ass to me, and you can see why I was head over heels for him. He was straight of course, and even if there was a touch of bisexuality in him, he would never be interested in me. Now color me surprised when I found out that not only were we going to the same college, but we got randomly assigned to be roommates in the dorms! I was astounded, it was like there really was an astral force looking out for me.

So for almost the entirety of our freshman year, we chit chatted here and there, but Jake was almost never home. Instead, he was working to get himself into one of the fraternities and move into the house. While I was sad to not have as much time to admire Jake as I would like, that did give me the opportunity to go through his stuff. Mostly his closet. Jake wore the usual clothes you’d expect, hoodies, jerseys, wrangler jeans and the like. However, being that he was on the baseball team at the college, I found his stash of jockstraps he wore for practice. And good god, thank goodness laundry day was only once a week. The other 6 days I had a full time supply of used jocks to sniff and fantasize with.

I even tried to put one of them on in a hormone-fueled rage, but my thighs were probably the same mass as his entire body, and I couldn’t get the damn thing on. The longer I admired Jake and saw him for who he was, the more my love for him grew. With that, so did my jealousy. Jake was everything I wanted. He was fit, cool, and could get any guy he wanted if he even batted an eye at them. My time alone did prove to give me an opportunity to do some research however.

See, I’ve tried for a long, long, long time to get fit on my own. Watching my diet, exercise, starving myself. But, nothing would work. That’s when I started to look for more, creative solutions. I came across a blog hidden deep on the web which talked about taking another person’s form. Most of these seemed bogus, but I had to try. I found one eventually from a user, “Magic_Mann_720” who shared a potion, once which he claimed could turn anybody into a bodysuit. I was about to just toss it aside, but after looking at my desk and seeing the empty bag of McDonald’s staring back at me, I said fuck it.

In all honesty, brewing a magic potion was easier than I assumed it would be, and after just a few short weeks of waiting for unusual supplies to arrive in the mail, I had a vial of the stuff at my whim. Now, who could I possibly give this to? No, not Jake. But also, maybe? Would that make me the worst person imaginable if I slipped this to him? He was one of the few good people I had come across, I couldn’t betray him like that. However, I saw one glimpse of his jock hanging from his hamper, and doubts crossed my mind. It was staring back at me, taunting me with how tight it fucking was. I had to wear it, and I only knew of one body it would perfectly fit.

He was like clockwork, especially early in the morning when he made his preworkout and went off to the gym at 6 in the morning. I set my alarm for 5:50, just early enough to slip the potion into his drink before he woke up and set off. It was of course impossible to wake up so early in the morning, but somehow I managed to silence my alarm without waking Jake.

I fumbled around in the dark and found his shake he made the night before. I had slept with the vial under my pillow, though I could barely sleep from the anticipation of my task today. Being careful to not wake him, I unscrewed the lid, dumped the contents of the vial into the jar, and shook it up. I had just laid back in my bed when his alarm woke him up. I kept my eyes closed, hoping to trick him into thinking I was asleep. I heard him stumble around the room, getting his bearings, getting dressed. I couldn’t resist popping one eye open to see his lithe frame as he found a tank and basketball shorts.

He was already wearing boxers, but if my plan went accordingly, he never would wear such loose fitting underwear again. I heard him grab his shake, and my heart began to race. The pop of the lid went off, and I strained my ears to listen to him drain the contents quickly and quietly. The lid closed and just as I heard the doorknob turn, there was the sound of heavy stomps. I opened my eyes a bit wider to see Jake stumbling around, trying to get his bearings.

“Hey… Logan?” Jake said weakly. I pretended to wake up and rose from bed, seeing him lean against his desk.

“Jake? You okay?” I asked him. He turned his head to me, panting.

“I d-don’t feel good man,” he said between breaths. “Get.. get help. Help.. me..” He slumped to the ground, and while I anticipated a loud thud as his jock body slammed to the ground, it was a soft thump, like that of clothes tossed to the ground. For a moment, I hesitated to creep any closer, afraid of what I would find. I mustered up the courage to turn on the bedside lamp and found a near horrifying site by the door.

There on the ground was Jake, but he was flat as a pancake. He arms and legs stretched out, head deflated, and the clothes he was wearing were atop of him in a pile. I tiptoed to the body, already feeling regret in what I had done. Fuck why did I do this to him? Was I really so driven by my own lust I essentially just killed a good guy?

My own footsteps were much heavier than Jakes, making the floorboards creek. I kicked at the body, the skin feeling as alive as ever, but made no movement of its own. I got on my knees, and with the tips of my fingers, grabbed Jake’s hair and pulled his head up. I was met with Jake’s face, his eyes now hollow sockets and mouth agape. I dropped the skin and scuttled back in fear. Fuck fuck fuck, it’s so god damn creepy! I took a few deep breaths and crawled on my hands and knees to the body once more.

I tried to be more confident this time, grabbing him by his shoulders, and pulling him up as I struggled to stand. Jake was of similar height to me, so once I was fulling standing, I leaned the face to my mine, the tips of his toes still slumped on the floor. You know, it’s less creepy now. Jake was always a cutie, and even as a husk of himself he was irresistible. It was too late now, and while I felt bad about what I had done, I did it with a purpose. The issue now was, how the hell did I fit inside? Speaking of, would I fit at all?

I pulled at his cheek and found it to be rather elastic. My curiosity piqued, and I pulled at the corners of his mouth, which stretched at least a foot wide when I put some effort in. That gave me an idea. I quickly took off my shirt and briefs, catching my reflection in the standing mirror as I did so. God damn it, I was so fucking fat. My stomach hung out in front of me, almost covering my pathetic cock. Ass was as wide as trailer, neck rolls which made it seem like my head sat straight on my shoulders. Tits bigger than most girls I went to school with. This was my last chance to do something about it.

I sat on my bed, laying Jake down in front of me like a pair of pants. Stepping one foot into Jake’s mouth, I stretched it further and further until my thick calves were encompassed by his lips. Grabbing at his chest, I pulled him further up my leg, already running out of breath as I did so. This was a workout on its own. I remember watching videos of guys slipping into wetsuits when I was a teenager, it was a slight fetish of mine. I loved seeing the neoprene cling to their slim figures. Those guys would go inch by inch yanking the suit further up them, so I went ahead and mirrored the practice.

I found doing so actually made the process easier. Soon enough, my foot aligned with Jake’s. I shimmied his calves to match mine, but it was so incredibly tight. It was like my leg was vacuum sealed inside of him, crushing the fat around my leg down to match his. I began to pant, scared I was cutting off all circulation. I was so scared to look down and see something horrific, but shot a glance and was amazed by what I saw. There, my right leg was pristine. It was a mirror image of Jake’s which I had stared at so often when he wore shorts. I wiggled my toes, and Jake’s did the same motion.

Kicking my leg around, the pain began to subside, and I could see up to my knee, it was like I had worked out my entire life. I could feel the beaming smile creep across my face as I stretched Jake’s mouth open wide again to shove my other foot inside. Now that I had some practice, my left leg was far easier to work with and soon enough, I had two sets of legs which were built from years of baseball practices and running. My thighs proved to be another issue entirely, practically twice the twice of my calves.

I stood up from the bed, almost falling over from my balance being so off. Grabbing at Jake’s stomach, I jumped up and down a few times, his skin stretching and sliding over me with his lurch. My I stuck my hand down the inside of Jake’s mouth, the feeling of my now erect cock sliding against the inside of Jake. Although I wasn’t generously endowed, it still hurt to have it crushed inside of him. I found Jake’s cock, and while deflated, certainly overshadowed mine in length and girth. With one hand on the outside, and the other inside, I guided mine into his like a sheath.

It was the most orgasmic feeling I had ever experienced. Jake’s cock went from looking like a flattened worm, to coming to full erection. He was at least seven inches long, and despite mine being half the size, somehow felt like it was filled entirely. It was beet red from anticipation, and while I wanted to cum right here and now, I had to finish what I started. I turned to the mirror once more, and was shocked by what I saw. From the waist up, I was still fat fuck Logan, but from the lower half, I was built like a god damn star. My new cock swung side to side, stiff as a board, and my ass, while squeezed in like a sausage, now was as perky as if I squatted 300 lbs. I turned and slapped Jake’s ass, watching as the taut skin slapped me back. All hints of cellulite gone.

Finally was the part I was most afraid of, my stomach. It hung over the edge of Jake’s body, the flap of my stomach going over Jake’s lips. I sucked it in, which did practically nothing. Taking one of my arms, I pushed it as far in as I could, and used my other hand to pull the lips of Jake’s mouth up. I groaned in pain, feeling like a rubber band was squishing me in and threatening to cut me in half. Somehow though, his head moved up and moved. It was by inches and incredibly painful. Once I reached my belly button, I found a system to make it easier. Moving him up further and further, I finally reached my chest before I had to fall onto the bed.

I was breathing heavier than ever, and drenched in sweat from what was left of my original body. I felt Jake’s, and he was as dry as ever, as he would never be worn out from such a task. I counted down from ten and hoisted myself up, catching my sight in the mirror. My moobs hung over Jake’s torso, but it was like I was wearing a skin corset. I rubbed my had over my new stomach, feeling how flat it was. In fact, I would even see the beginnings of a six pack bulging out. It was surreal, I don’t think I’ve been this thing since… ever. I took a deep breath and worked to shove each of my tits down Jake’s mouth.

Each of them was a chore on their own, but eventually, all that was left were my arms and head. I don’t know how that would work, but if I made it this far, it was certainly possible. It would be tough as I would lose an arm at a time trying to slide them in. Taking my right one first, I wriggled my fingers inside, pushing them down Jake’s like a skin tight glove. With each inch my fingers slid in, it was easier and easier as I gained Jake’s strength. Eventually, the fingers found their way into his. I pulled at his bicep, as stretchy as the rest of him, and snapped it into place, enclosing my arm.

I rushed to do the same with my left and with my newfound strength, found this section to be the easiest. I was almost done. Jake’s lips were around my neck, and I had to use his fingers to make sure he didn’t choke me. I glanced at the mirror, and found Jake with my head. I turned my body around, admiring his form. I had taken several sneaky glances at him as he changed, but to have full autonomy, to see his tattoo on his thigh, the way his veins popped in his hands, the curvature of his muscles, it was like I was being treated to a feast.

“Goodbye Logan,” I told myself. I don’t know if I would come back from this. Or, if I would even want to. I took a deep breath and shimmied his head up my own. The same tight sensation took over my entire headspace and it was like a migraine hit me. Using my hands, I smushed my face around, placing my nose into his, eyes, lips. I fluttered my eyelids and had to refocus my vision. Going to the mirror was a picture perfect reflection of Jake.

“Holy shit,” I said. Oh fuck, that was still my voice. I guess that wouldn’t have changed. I don’t know how I could pull off Jake’s voice, but I would have to practice it. I looked at the corner of my mouth, seeing my original lips peak through Jake’s. I took a finger, stretching and pulling it into place.

There, I was Jake. Fuck I was Jake! I laughed and rubbed my arms across my body, watching as Jake did it in the mirror.

I spent a good ten minutes trying different poses and watching as Jake bent to my will. Sniffing his pits, making funny faces, bending over and showing off my new hole to myself. That last one sent me over the edge and I knew I had to blow off the steam which had built up. I sat on the bed and hoisted my legs up, cradling the back of my knees in my hands. I could never have even thought about attempting that in my old body, but as Jake, I felt so lithe. My smile was beaming in between my legs as I puckered my hole. I had to see what this looked like. I wanted to see Jake be pathetic now. I twisted my face to match that of so many porn actors I had watched alone in this room.

“Ohhhh… oh fuck me daddy,” I said, begging, watching Jake’s eyes as they wished desperately for a fat cock to fill him up. I split into my hand and began to pump my new cock, already slick and slimy from precum. I stuck a finger in my mouth and wet it before sliding it over my hole and slicking it up. I had plenty of experience playing with my old hole, but I always struggled to get my arm in a position to really get deep in. Jake didn’t have that problem though. I started to finger fuck myself, watching as Jake became his own bitch.

“Oh fuck daddy, fuck me. Fuck me!” I yelled, the point of climax racing through my cock before I could even react. Laces of cum shot out and started to drench my body, reaching even to my face and getting into my hair. I pulled my finger out of my hole, let go of my cock, and felt it rest against my thigh. There in the reflection was Jake, covered in his own cum and looking like a bitch.

I giggled, knowing I should feel far more guilty about what I had done, but too high on my own bliss to care. After bathing in my glory, I decided to clean Jake up and explore his body some more. I grabbed one of his towels and left the room, still naked. Walking down the dorm hall to the bathroom, it was still dead silent. Logan would have been petrified at the idea of being caught naked by somebody, but Jake? Well Jake now hoped somebody would see him and be jealous.

Getting into the bathroom, I passed by Brad, another guy on our floor, who had a towel wrapped around his waist, still glistening from his shower.

“Jake, the fuck?” He asked. I couldn’t pull off Jake’s voice yet, but I gave him a pat on the shoulder and winked at him as I pushed past. For a second I caught a glimpse of him checking out my body before he shook his head and rushed out to his room. I went to one of the mirrors in the bathroom and knelt over, posing and kissing at myself. Jake was going to become a lot more playful it seemed.

I took my time in the shower, feeling every crevice of Jake’s body and feeling myself up. And of course, stretching out his hole some more to work him up to taking a real dick. Maybe by one of his new frat brothers I need to meet. Once I got back to our room, I knew there was only one thing left on my to do list of the morning. I went to Jake’s hamper and pulled out the jock which was mocking me just hours before. I sniffed at, Jake’s pheromones becoming mine.

I slipped both legs down and had no trouble at all this time adjusting my bulge and feeling the elastic hug my jock thighs. I snapped one of the bands, feeling a sheer run my spine as I did so. Slipping one of his black shirts on, I went for Jake’s phone, which thankfully could be opened with just his face. I snapped a few pictures for myself to look at whenever I pleased. Now, how about we download Grindr to it and see what this new body can pull?

#male takeover #male bodysuit #bodysuit #fat to fit #male transformation

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sweetimpurity · 6 months ago

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❀ൄ day 29 my loves!!! we're almost to the end wahhhh wc: 1022 cw: monsterfuck, Venom 2099!! rough and messy and dirty 𑈴 ❀ ͙𑱢

“You can’t hide forever… little spider…” His slobbering voice growls. Having a leech of a symbiote like venom isn’t all bad. Taking host in your boyfriend’s body and at this point you’ve had to form a relationship with the alien as well. After all, he’s become quite fond of you. And you of him.

Whispering filthy words in Miguel’s head whenever you walk by. How much he envies him, wants to fuck you and fill you up. How he’d love to plug you full of his dick. Even encouraging Miguel to go harder and deeper, on the off chance he lets your boyfriend go solo. Just watching you get fucked from the inside of Miguel’s psyche.

But tonight he’s out, wanting you to himself. Blue and red and a slobbering mess. Massive muscles bulging, veins crawling up his arms, hard sharp eyes tracking your movement. Making his way around the city after you, chasing you like a little mouse. Until the abandoned building by the docks, stalking and crawling around abandoned construction equipment and the half built structure.

You look around, you can sense him, feel him like sweat on your back. A thrilling chill and a pulse in your chest, pumping and making you feel warm. The thrill of being hunted. Knowing you’re bound to be pinned and pounded by the end of it. It ignites something in you, something dangerous.

Venom stalks onto the open roof, climbing his way up and catching the flash of colors swinging by. Your suit. He growls, getting down on all fours and following your movements, hearing your pants as you swing through scaffolding that he just tears down. “There you are!” He slobbers, long tongue protruding out in a ghoulish smile. Grabbing onto your ankle as you’re trying to swing away. Standing at his tall height, even taller than Miguel is normally, and dragging you down, holding your squirming form in his hands as you struggle to get away. Not wanting the chase to be over but at the same time so desperate for what follows.

“Such a pretty face…” He hisses, slobbering and his long tongue licks a sticky stripe up the side of your face. You wince, gasping, feeling his hulking form push you down on the roof. “Pretty neck…” He growls, licking down your cheek and to your throat, his many teeth giving you a rush of thrill, of fear, intoxicating, a claw coming to your suit and easily tearing down the front. Your bare chest confronted with the cold night air. Bounding free from the material and your nips perking from the chill. “Delicious…” He hisses. Licking down your chest now, slobbering and drooling all over your tits, swirling his tongue around your sensitive mounds, making you moan and flutter, dripping for him. Images mixing in your mind as your eyes close. Miguel, Venom, Miguel, Venom, Miguel…

Red glowing webs extend from Venom’s wrists, spreading over your chest and arms to keep you pinned to the cold rooftop. Biting your lip, your mind going hazy. Loving how he takes you.

He licks down the rest of your torso, dipping the tip into your navel and making your knees draw up at the sensation. To which he spreads your legs wide with his clawed hands, dipping his face down between them.

“Mngh-ahhnhh!” You squeal and gasp, reeling from the feeling. His tongue running down your dripping pussy. Lapping at your clit and making you squirm. Wiggling around like a worm in the dirt. His smiling sets of teeth grinning at you before plunging his long tongue into your cunt. Filling you out and jutting deep. You scream. The sound echoing off the boats in the harbor and through the abandoned building you’re stationed on.

“Oh fuck-!” You gasp, loving every moment of this. The feeling of him slobbering and drooling all over your cunt, fucking you deep with his tongue. Soon once you’ve come on him twice, he’s licking back up, slotting between your trembling thighs. A dripping mess on the metal. “Such a sweet girl… taste like… candy…” He grins hellishly, a terrifying display of teeth and the glow of Miguel’s suit in this form. He presses against you, his monster cock now free and pushing against your sex.

Feeling the veins and girth against your core, needing it, wanting it. Drooling yourself now, after all he’s already done. He pulls back, easing into you, pushing his monstrously thick dick into you. Carefully so as not to hurt you. For all his monstrosity, he does care for you, treat you as one of his own. And he can feel Miguel reaching him in the subconscious, telling him not to hurt you. But he would never do that anyway.

“Oh! Ah!” You gasp, relaxing yourself to accept him, stretched out even after he worked you out before. Got you ready. But nothing could ever get you truly ready to take him. Crying out as he pumps into you, fucking you into oblivion.

Your eyes flutter back, your mind filling with images of Miguel. Your love. Desiring his touch, his caress. Almost feeling his hands on your breasts now, knowing the feeling of his hands, his grasp. Sensing his lips down your sternum and back up to your neck. Managing your arm out of one of the webs and tangling your fingers in his hair. Eyes flicking open and seeing your boyfriend’s hulking shoulders over you as you’re being pumped full.

It is him. Both arms pull free and around him, feeling his warm skin, the comfort of his warmth. Feeling him bury his face into your neck, Venom retracting down his body and back inside, letting your boyfriend have his turn. The black veins running down his skin as he comes back into form, disappearing back inside his body except for a few tendrils that slither and swirl around your tits, rub around the juncture of Miguel’s cock in your pussy, stimulating your clit and bringing you closer. Squeezing Miguel’s back muscles as you finally come. Gushing on Miguel and Venom’s tendrils that long to keep you filled, keep you satisfied.

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

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devdozes · 2 months ago

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♥ COLOGNE

SPIDERMAN PHAINON OH MY GORR

A soft hum of a show’s theme song filled your dimly lit room, accompanied by the glow of your laptop screen. You were bundled up like a burrito under a heavy blanket, comfortably settled into your bed, and very much unwilling to leave. It was one of those nights—you had zero interest in going out, zero interest in moving, and definitely zero interest in whatever plan Phainon had cooked up this time.

Unfortunately, you had a certain overly enthusiastic Spider-Man who didn’t believe in personal space.

A familiar knock on your window made your eye twitch.

“[NAMEEE]!!! Open up!”

You buried yourself deeper under the blanket. “Go away.”

“But I just got here! And you didn’t even look at me yet!” Phainon whined from the other side, knocking dramatically. “C’mon, you love looking at me.”

“No, I don’t.”

A beat of silence. Then, the click of your window unlocking.

Your heart sank.

“Did you— Phainon!”

With a triumphant ha-ha! Phainon pushed your window open and gracefully slipped into your room. His Spider-Man suit—black, white, and blue with elegant gold accents—hugged his form perfectly, and his mask was pulled halfway up, revealing his ever-so-cheerful face with that boyish grin. His cerulean blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he waltzed right over to your bed.

“I knew you’d leave it unlocked for me,” he chirped.

“That was an accident.”

He dramatically gasped. “Oh, so you don’t want me here? How cruel!”

You rolled your eyes. “Phainon, it’s my night off. I just wanna watch my show in peace.”

Phainon, naturally, ignored your plea for solitude and flopped onto your bed, making himself right at home. He rested his chin on his palm, tilting his head at your laptop. “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Something you don’t care about.”

“Orrrrr,” he drawled, poking your blanketed form, “I do care, because I care about you. Which means your interests are my interests.”

“Lies.”

“Betrayal!” He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “Here I am, your bestest friend—”

“Self-proclaimed.”

“—who just wants to share quality time with you,” he continued, completely ignoring your interruption, “and you reject me? After all the cool crime-fighting I did today?”

You turned to him with an unimpressed look. “Phainon, if you don’t let me enjoy my show, I will literally punch you.”

“Joke’s on you, I’m into that,” he quipped.

“OH MY GOD—”

Before you could retaliate, Phainon swiftly yanked the blanket off you in one motion. You yelped as cold air hit your skin.

“PHAINON, I SWEAR—”

But the menace wasn’t done yet. Before you could crawl back under the covers, he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style.

“Time to goooooo!” he announced cheerfully.

“What the— PUT ME DOWN!” You struggled in his grip, but he held you tight, effortlessly standing up.

“You had your chance,” he teased. Then, with an absolutely mischievous grin—

He sprinted to the window.

“Phainon. No. NO—”

And jumped.

Your scream got swallowed by the night air as he shot a web toward the nearest skyscraper, the both of you swinging high above the city in an exhilarating rush of wind. Your arms clung around his neck instinctively as your stomach plummeted from the sudden movement.

“Phainon, I hate you SO MUCH—”

“Lies! You love me!” He laughed, effortlessly maneuvering between buildings, his movements graceful and precise. The golden accents on his suit glowed subtly under the city lights. “C’mon, [Name], don’t tell me this isn’t fun!”

You gritted your teeth. “I’m going to kill you.”

“That would be murder, and you’d miss me too much!”

You let out a strangled groan, burying your face into his shoulder. “Just—Just get this over with.”

“Aw, but we just started,” he pouted, but the way you clung to him made his grin widen. He loved it when you relied on him. When you held onto him like this, he felt like the most important person in your world.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hold on tight, [Name]!” he chimed before dropping down from a building, making you scream again.

Phainon’s laugh echoed through the city as he swung with you through the skyline, his grip firm and secure.

You were never gonna get rid of this menace, were you?

The city blurred past in a whirlwind of neon lights and towering skyscrapers, the wind whipping through your hair as Phainon swung effortlessly through the skyline. You were still clutching onto him—your heart hammering from the initial rush—but there was no denying the way exhilaration bubbled in your chest.

“…So THEN—get this, [NAME]—this absolute idiot of a villain tried to rob a bank with a banana.”

You blinked. “A banana?”

“A banana,” Phainon confirmed, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. “Not even a fake gun, not a knife—just a plain ol’ banana. And the guy had the audacity to point it at people like he was in an action movie. Like, ‘Freeze! Hand over the cash!’”

“Oh my god.” You snorted. “Please tell me he slipped on it.”

“HE DID!” Phainon howled with laughter, almost missing a web shot. “Dude ran, tripped on his own banana peel, and knocked himself out cold! I barely even had to do anything!”

You cackled, gripping his suit tighter as he swung around a tall building. “Phai, what is your life?”

“Absolute cinema, dear,” he shot back, winking.

Your stomach did an unexpected flip.

It wasn’t just the wind rushing past you anymore—it was him. Phainon. His warmth, his voice, the way he held you so easily in his arms. Even as he soared through the air, he was relaxed, confident, completely in control. His cerulean blue eyes sparkled with mischief, even behind the shadows of his mask.

And god, that little smirk of his? Annoyingly attractive.

You shook the thought away. No. No way. This was Phainon. Your annoying, overly cheerful Spider-Man best friend who loved nothing more than dragging you into his chaos.

And yet—

“You okay?” Phainon glanced down at you, the breeze tousling his white hair slightly under his mask.

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking about how cool I am?” He waggled his eyebrows.

You deadpanned. “Thinking about how I should’ve stayed in bed.”

He gasped, dramatically offended. “Wow. You wound me.”

“Good.”

“Okay, you know what?” Phainon gave you a look, then suddenly loosened his grip on you.

Your stomach plummeted. “PHAI—”

He caught you immediately, laughing. “Relax, I gotcha!”

“You absolute menace—”

“Ohhh, says the one who’s clinging onto me like a koala,” he teased.

Your brain short-circuited at the comment. But you refused to let him win. Then you just give him the most fucking judgemental side eye ever before doing something incredibly stupid.

You let go.

With a mischievous grin, you pushed yourself off him, falling freely through the air. Wind roared past your ears, the city lights a dizzying blur as you plummeted. But instead of fear—

You laughed.

“C’mon, Phai! Catch me!”

“Oh, you little—” Phainon immediately shot a web toward you, diving after you with pure panic flashing in his cerulean eyes.

For the briefest moment, you saw something shift in his expression. Something raw. His usual lightheartedness cracked, replaced with something deeper, heavier—like his world would shatter if he didn’t catch you.

And then—

He caught you.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you flush against him as he shot another web and swung back up. Your heartbeat was wild—not just from the fall, but from the way Phainon was holding you. His grip was desperate, his breathing heavy.

“You,” he exhaled, voice lower than usual, “are insane.”

You smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

He let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. For a second—just a second—his gaze dipped to your lips.

Phainon landed smoothly on the rooftop of a tall building, his grip on you still lingering even after your feet touched the ground. The city sprawled beneath you, a sea of twinkling lights and distant sirens.

And yet, your focus was entirely on him.

He pulled back slightly, keeping one hand on your waist as if reluctant to let go. Then—

That damn wink.

Confident. Dorky. Absolutely Phainon.

“Wait five minutes.” He grinned, then leapt off the building without another word.

You blinked. “Phai—WHAT—”

But he was already gone, swinging downward toward the city streets.

You sighed, running a hand down your face. “This idiot…”

Exactly two minutes later, a soft thud landed behind you.

You turned—and wheeze-laughed on sight.

Phainon stood there, his Spider-Man suit completely gone, neatly folded in his arms. In its place, he wore a loose white T-shirt, slightly oversized, draping over his frame in a way that showed off his collarbones. Paired with black cargo pants, he looked effortlessly relaxed, like he hadn’t just been swinging around the city at terrifying speeds.

“You stole that outfit, didn’t you,” you deadpanned.

Phainon gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “EXCUSE me? [NAME], I am offended.”

“You absolutely stole it.”

He smirked. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did. Not.”

“Phai.” You gave him a knowing look. “There is no way you just had a fresh change of clothes on standby.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“…Okay, technically, I just ‘borrowed’ them.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh my god.”

“It’s fine! I paid for them with my charm.”

“You mean you confused the poor cashier with your chaotic rambling until they just let you take the clothes out of fear.”

He grinned way too proudly. “Works every time.”

You groaned again, but you couldn’t stop laughing. God, why was he like this?

Phainon just watched you with a lazy smirk, arms crossed, and you hated that it looked stupidly attractive. His hair was still slightly tousled from the wind, strands falling over his cerulean blue eyes—eyes that gleamed with mischief but also something warmer.

Something softer.

And the way his white T-shirt slid slightly off his shoulder? Not fair.

You clicked your tongue, looking away before your thoughts spiraled further. “You are the worst.”

“Aww, c’mon.” He nudged your side, stepping closer. “You love me.”

Your heart skipped.

But you just raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Debatable.”

Phainon gasped dramatically again. “Ouch.” Then, after a pause—he tilted his head with a lopsided grin.

“…So, are you coming willingly, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Phai. Don’t you dare.”

His smirk widened. “No promises :).” . . . .

A mischievous glint flashed in your eyes as you stepped forward, rising onto your tiptoes. Phainon barely had time to react before you flicked his forehead, making him stumble back slightly with a surprised blink.

“Ow—HEY!” He pouted, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

You smirked. “For dragging me out of my warm, comfortable bed and kidnapping me via rooftop parkour.”

Phainon gasped, placing a hand on his chest as if truly wounded. “Kidnap is such a strong word. I prefer the term ‘spontaneous adventure with a touch of reckless endangerment.’”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Spidey.” Then, tilting your head, you grinned. “Let’s go to McDonald’s. And you’re paying.”

Phainon blinked. “Wait—what?”

You patted his shoulder. “Because you forced me outside, and I’m hungry.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, in a completely serious tone, he muttered, “This is robbery.”

You shot him finger guns. “Yup.”

He groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this. This is extortion. This is—”

“I will leave you on this rooftop,” you threatened, turning away.

Phainon immediately perked up, skipping to your side like a loyal puppy. “Fine, fine! Let’s go! But just so you know, this is coming out of my superhero budget.”

You gave him a look. “You don’t have a superhero budget.”

“…Okay, true, but if I did, this would definitely affect it.”

You simply smirked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the nearest fire escape. “C’mon, before you start monologuing about your tragic financial struggles.”

As you both climbed down and started walking toward McDonald’s, the city was alive around you. Neon signs glowed in the distance, taxis honked impatiently, and the streets bustled with late-night wanderers. Phainon, now completely out of his Spider-Man persona, walked with an easygoing energy beside you—his white hair ruffled slightly by the breeze, his black cargo pants hanging just low enough to be unfairly attractive.

You hated how effortlessly cool he looked.

But he wasn’t cool at all.

Because he would not stop talking.

“And THEN—get this—this dude at the store earlier saw me swinging down in full costume, right?” Phainon launched into yet another one of his endless stories, hands waving animatedly. “And I swear to god, the first thing out of his mouth was, ‘Damn, Spider-Man’s built different.’”

You snorted. “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

Phainon smirked, striking a fake flex pose. “I am pretty built.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have noodle arms.”

He gasped in betrayal. “EXCUSE ME?! These arms carry you through the city at high velocity, Miss ‘C’mon, Phai, Catch Me.’”

You just smirked, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see those muscles in action when you carry the McDonald’s bags.”

“Oh my god, you are milking this.”

“Damn right I am.”

By the time you reached the McDonald’s entrance, the warm scent of fries and burgers filled the air, making your stomach growl. The place was still busy despite the late hour, a mix of students, late-shift workers, and other night owls filling the booths.

And then—

Right at the front counter, a bright red sign caught your eye.

“COUPLES GET 40% DISCOUNT.”

Your eyes gleamed.

Phainon, still in his own world, was stretching his arms, completely oblivious to your brilliant, devious plan.

Without missing a beat, you turned, grabbed his hand, and dragged him straight to the counter.

“Wha—?” Phainon stumbled forward, blinking as he suddenly found himself standing very close to you.

The cashier, a tired-looking teenager, barely glanced up before mumbling, “Welcome to McDonald’s. Are you two—” He paused, glancing at your intertwined hands, then at the bold discount sign behind him. “Oh, a couple?”

Phainon’s brain stalled.

“Wait—” He opened his mouth, eyes widening, but before he could protest—

You smirked, leaned in, and—

Pressed a soft kiss against his jawline.

Phainon froze.

Like. Literally. He felt his throat tighten up, like a lock had been placed in his throat and the key had been thrown away. He felt like his heart stopped, Like— God you were going to be the absolute death of him. And then before he even gets to recover himself a little bit, your lips barely left his skin before you shifted slightly, brushing another light kiss beside the corner of his lips. “Yep, we’re a couple!” you chirped, completely unbothered. “I’ll have a large McNugget meal, extra fries, and a vanilla milkshake. And he’ll have… A large Big Mac, large fries, and an Oreo McFlurry, thank you." The cashier hands you the receipt as you take it from her hand and drag Phainon's huge frozen body to the chair. After you seat yourself down and look beside yourself to see Phainon. Only to find him stuck in place, malfunctioning.

His entire face was burning.

From the tip of his ears down to his neck, his skin was flushed a deep red. His cerulean eyes were wide, his lips parted, but no words came out. He wasn’t breathing. He just stood there, completely frozen, staring straight ahead like he had just experienced a full system crash. And then, Phainon made a noise. a small whimper as his left hand goes to his jawline, the exact same area where you had placed your soft lips on. He could still feel the warmth of your lips against his skin. The way you had leaned in without hesitation. The soft pressure against his jawline, the slight graze near his mouth—

His heart was hammering.

His brain was short-circuiting.

You kissed him.

The moment you stepped out of McDonald's, the crisp night air hit your skin, a pleasant contrast to the warm atmosphere inside. You cradled the McDonald's takeout bags in your arms, feeling victorious from your ingenious scam—the couple’s discount had worked flawlessly, and now you had free food and a flustered best friend in tow.

Speaking of flustered bestfriend—Phainon stepped out behind you, his movements stiff, shoulders hunched slightly, as if trying to fold in on himself.

And then—

The stares started.

People on the street, whether passing by, sitting on benches, or just minding their own business, suddenly turned their heads to look at him. Their gazes lingered, eyes darting between his face and his overall demeanor. Some exchanged amused glances, while others outright giggled as they passed.

A group of teenagers sitting by the sidewalk nudged each other, whispering and pointing directly at him. A woman, holding hands with her boyfriend, looked at Phainon, then at her own boyfriend—her eyes clearly saying why don’t you ever look like that when I kiss you?

It took you exactly two seconds to realize why.

Your lipstick marks were still there.

Still boldly visible on his jawline and beside his lips.

Phainon, in his post-flustered daze, hadn’t even wiped them off.

And now he was just standing there, dressed in a loose white t-shirt and black cargo pants, looking like an absolute wreck of a man who just got kissed senseless in public.

Oh. Oh, this was golden.

You opened your mouth, ready to tease him about it—but you never got the chance.

Because before you could even get a single word out, Phainon’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly as he suddenly dragged you forward.

“Wh—? Phainon—”

“Nope. Nope, no, absolutely not.” His voice was fast, frantic, as he swiftly maneuvered you both into a nearby alley.

You barely had time to tighten your hold on the McDonald's bags before Phainon’s arms locked around you—one arm securing your waist, the other ensuring the takeout wouldn’t drop.

And before you could protest—

Whoosh.

A strong, sudden force yanked you upward. The world blurred, a rush of air slicing past as Phainon swung you both up, up, up— the city lights below morphing into glowing smudges, the sounds of traffic turning into a distant hum.

Your stomach flipped, but exhilaration coursed through your veins instead of fear. The weightless feeling of being carried mid-air, of soaring, of being so high up with only Phainon’s grip anchoring you—it was thrilling in a way that made your heartbeat race.

Within seconds, Phainon landed smoothly on the rooftop, feet steady as he held you close for just a moment longer. The city stretched beneath you—lights blinking in rhythm, streets weaving like veins through the concrete jungle.

You let out a breathy laugh, looking up at him. “Damn, Phai. Could’ve given me a warning.”

Phainon, however, wasn’t looking at the city.

He was looking at you.

Still flustered. Still down bad.

His hands hadn’t moved. His arms were still wrapped around you. He was holding onto you like you’d disappear if he let go.

And his eyes. Oh god.

His cerulean eyes, usually bright and mischievous, were soft. Warm. A little dazed, like he still couldn’t process the fact that you had kissed him.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still thinking about it, huh?”

Phainon blinked. Then—his arms tightened.

Like a dam finally breaking, he collapsed against you, burying his face into your shoulder.

A muffled groan escaped him.

“I’m literally going to die,” he mumbled against your skin. “You actually kissed me. In front of people.”

You chuckled, shifting slightly so the McDonald’s bags wouldn’t squish between you both. “Yeah, and?”

Phainon lifted his head just enough to glance at you, his lips parted like he wanted to say something—but instead of words, his forehead bumped against yours.

You stilled.

Your smirk faltered.

Oh. Oh.

This—this was new.

The playful, chaotic tension between you two had always been there, but this? This was different.

His breath was warm. His fingers, once gripping your waist firmly, now curled slightly, as if reluctant to let go. His eyes, up close, weren’t just flustered anymore—they held something deeper.

Something fond.

Something achingly, terrifyingly real.

“…I should be making fun of you right now,” you muttered, voice softer than you expected.

Phainon exhaled a laugh, his lips barely ghosting against your skin. “You should be.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with something heavy. Charged.

Then—suddenly—

Phainon moved.

Not away. Closer.

His arms shifted, fully wrapping around you. A hug. A full, desperate, clingy hug.

He buried his face into your neck, holding you like a man starved.

“…I don’t wanna let go,” he admitted, voice muffled, boyish, soft.

Your heart did a weird, traitorous thing.

“…Then don’t,” you murmured.

And he didn’t.

He stayed pressed against you, completely attached, a lovesick puppy in human form.

You snorted, patting his back with one hand. “You’re so clingy, Phai.”

“You made me like this,” he grumbled against your neck.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “No, I think you were always like this.”

Phainon huffed dramatically but refused to move.

“Just… let me have this,” he muttered. “For like, five minutes.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re an idiot.”

Phainon nuzzled into your neck. “And yet, you kissed me.”

You groaned. “Shut up.”

He grinned. Didn’t shut up.

“…Do it again.” His voice was soft, playful, but you could hear it. That little hint of hopeful longing. The barest trace of desperate wanting.

You snorted, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. “Absolutely not.”

Phainon froze.

His playful grin faltered for a moment. His eyes widened slightly, processing your rejection as if you’d just broken his heart into five tragic pieces.

And then—he pouted.

Oh. Oh, no.

You were not prepared for full-sad-clingy-puppy-mode Phainon.

His bottom lip jutted out slightly, his brows furrowed, and his usual confident, cocky demeanor completely melted into pure, shameless, pathetic neediness.

“But whyyyy?” he whined, dramatically nuzzling into your neck again, refusing to be ignored. “You did it before. You can’t just kiss a man and then cruelly take it away.”

“Oh my god, stop.” You laughed, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

He was completely latched onto you, arms locked, legs refusing to move, as if he’d become some kind of living, breathing, human-shaped magnet permanently stuck to you.

“You’re so clingy,” you groaned, but the amusement was clear in your voice.

Phainon huffed dramatically, his pout deepening. “And whose fault is that?”

“I dunno,” you teased, tilting your head. “Seems like a you problem.”

Phainon gasped, offended. “A me problem? A me problem?” He leaned closer, his nose brushing against your skin. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You did this. You kissed me. You ruined me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I kissed you twice.”

“And yet,” Phainon sighed dramatically, gripping your waist tighter, “I am now a ruined man. Devastated. Completely in shambles. Unrecoverable.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m suffering.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m not fine,” he declared, burying his face into your neck again. “I won’t be fine unless you kiss me again.”

You opened your mouth to protest—

But then he bit you.

Softly.

Lightly.

A small, almost teasing nip at the curve of your neck.

You immediately tensed.

Your breath hitched, a small shiver running down your spine.

Phainon stilled for a second, gauging your reaction—then, realizing you weren’t pushing him away, he did it again.

Another tiny bite.

Then—a slow, teasing drag of his lips over your skin.

Oh. Oh no.

Your grip on the McDonald’s bags tightened, fingers digging into the paper as heat rushed up to your face.

Phainon, the absolute menace, let out a low, smug hum against your skin.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured, his voice mischievous, but softer this time. Lower.

You narrowed your eyes, trying not to show how flustered you actually were. “Phainon, I swear to god—”

“I swear to god, too,” he mimicked, grinning against your neck. “Swear to god you should kiss me again...Please baby :(" "Ugh c'mere"

Bonus part-

The second you and Phainon finally made it back to your apartment, barely stepping foot through the doorway, he was on you.

Immediately.

Like a damn puppy seeing its owner after a long day, he lunged, arms wide open, and tackled you onto the couch, wrapping himself around you like an oversized, overly affectionate weighted blanket.

“Finally, home!” he cheered, burying his face into your shoulder, grinning like an absolute fool.

You groaned, laughing, trying to pry him off, but he was stubborn as hell.

“Phainon, get off me.”

“No.”

“Get off me.”

“Absolutely not.”

His arms tightened, his legs tangled with yours, and now you were completely stuck, trapped beneath a very happy, very clingy human spider.

You huffed, playfully rolling your eyes. “You’re literally the most affectionate menace I’ve ever met.”

Phainon giggled, actually giggled, and nuzzled into your neck. “You love it.”

You let out a mock sigh, pretending to be exasperated. “Unfortunately, I do.”

At that, Phainon gasped dramatically, pulling back just enough to look at you with wide, sparkling cerulean eyes. “You admit it?”

You smirked. “I admit nothing.”

And with that, you did the unthinkable.

You flipped the script.

Without warning, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in so suddenly that he actually yelped.

“Oh?” Phainon blinked, caught completely off guard.

You grinned, wickedly.

“Two can play this game,” you murmured, voice low, teasing, challenging.

Phainon stared, and for the first time in a while, you had him on the defensive.

He barely had a second to react before you wiggled out of his grip, shoved him onto your bed, and climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

“Wait—oh. Ohhh.” Phainon’s lips curled into a slow, cheeky smile. “Now, this is interesting.”

You ignored him, reaching over to your nearby vanity and grabbing something crucial.

Lipstick.

Bright. Bold. Unforgivingly pigmented.

Phainon tilted his head, curious. “What’s that fo—”

Before he could finish, you swiped it across your lips, coating them fully.

Phainon’s eyes flickered. His hands settled on your waist.

“Ohhh. I like where this is going,” he teased. “You finally gonna kiss me again?”

You grinned, devious.

Then—without warning—you attacked.

Not just one kiss.

A thousand.

You scattered kisses all over his face, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his jawline—everywhere.

Phainon yelped, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his body stiffening beneath you.

“Oh—oh my god—wait, wait, sweetie, [Name], hold on—”

You did not hold on.

You pressed another kiss onto the corner of his mouth.

Phainon let out a low whimper

And when you finally pulled back to admire your work, Phainon looked fully ruined.

His face was littered—completely, hopelessly covered in smudged lipstick marks.

And he was so flustered.

His eyes were hazy, his cheeks burning, and yet—that stupid, teasing, smug grin was still there.

He was grinning like an absolute menace, but oh god, he was absolutely, hopelessly down bad.

"Holy, sweetheart.” His voice was lower than before. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You smirked, placing one final peck on his jaw before pulling away entirely.

“Well,” you said, grinning as you wiped excess lipstick off your mouth, “you kept begging for more kisses. Thought I’d be generous.”

Phainon laughed breathlessly, tilting his head up slightly. “Oh, I should beg more often, then.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder.

But as you tried to move off his lap, his grip tightened.

“…You know,” he murmured, voice slow, thoughtful, laced with something dangerously teasing, “You might have to take responsibility for what you’ve just done.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Phainon.”

He tilted his head, grinning.

His hands moved slightly, gripping your hips more firmly.

“What?” he said, all fake innocence.

“You are so annoying.”

“I’m also so in love with you.”

You froze.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You quickly shoved him back onto the bed, rolling over to the other side before he could see how red your face had just become.

Phainon laughed, loud and cheery, before pulling you back into his arms anyway.

He wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

PHAINONPHAINONPHAINON OH MY GOD I NEED HIM

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