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emotionallychargedtowel · 8 months

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10 comfort shows

I was tagged by @imlivingformyselfdontmindme for this thing. Thanks! The instructions are simple: "List 10 comfort shows and then tag 10 people." But I'm not a big tagger, and a lot of folks I know have done this already. If you haven't, though, and you're interested, please do!

The instructions said "10 comfort shows" not your favorite 10 comfort shows or the ones you watch the most often. So I made a list and I picked the ten that I immediately thought of something to say about. i'm all about comfort viewing and watching things repeatedly so I had to leave quite a few things off of this list.

Future Boy Conan

I've lost count of how many times I've seen this series. It really is one of the most life-affirming, wholesome (in the real way) pieces of media I've ever encountered. The first time I saw it, I went into it expecting to see a fairly run-of-the-mill anime series with some early glimmers of Miyazaki's aesthetic and themes. But it's a frickin' masterpiece. Themes and visual mannerisms you see throughout Miyazaki's career are already here, full-blown, but it's also distinct from his other work in a way that makes it feel really fresh even if you've gone through his whole movie oeuvre. Mostly it just always has its heart impeccably in the right place.

Pride and Prejudice (1995)

Don't talk to me about that movie. This is the adaptation against which all others must be measured. Faithful as heck to the book in most respects (we won't talk about Wet Darcy either), with an incredible cast, not to mention the costumes, set design, and locations. Watching this miniseries as a teenager could be the reason I'm still obsessed with shows and movies where half of the story is told through meaningful glances.

To My Star (1&2)

I really lucked out having this show as one of my first BLs, except that I nearly squandered the opportunity because I wasn't paying close attention and missed a lot of the subtle details. And this is a show that is full of really subtle details! Talk about telling a story through meaningful glances. There's a lot going on on a nonverbal level in this one. It helps that the leads have such a great, nuanced kind of chemistry together and both just seemed to show up for these roles ready to dig deep and be present. Thank goodness I went back and rewatched this one after that first attempt! I know for some folks the second season premise was really painful, but I found it to be completely worth it in the end. I'd happily watch a third season if they made one. In the meantime, I continue to rewatch both series (sometimes in movie form) regularly and I notice different things each time.

Spaced

This show was there for me at a time in my life when I needed comfort shows the most, when I was rebuilding my life after the abusive relationship that consumed most of my 20s. It's usually described in terms of the various pop culture references it uses, the movies the director and one of the co-writer/co-stars went on to make, or in some kind of generational terms as representing a demographic.

But I don't think those things are what make it interesting and rewarding. I guess the thing it boils down to at the end of the day is that it's very much a found family story. And an unconventional love story in which the two leads may or may not get together--after the series--but no matter what type of relationship theirs turns out to be, it will have changed them both for the better. In the meantime they’re facing their fears, honestly fixing their mistakes, and broadening their horizons, and they’re always lovable while being riddled with personal flaws.

Also, after having been raised on Coen Brothers movies and coming of age during the heyday of The Simpsons, I'm a sucker for a really quotable piece of media.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (1979)

When it comes to adaptations, I usually have a strong preference for one while writing off the others. In this case, there are things I appreciate about the Tomas Alfredson film that this adaptation doesn't do as well, but this version has a great deal to say for itself too. The adaptation really captures Le Carré's voice, the cast is incredible, and the whole miniseries just has this wonderful pervasive tone to it that's not like anything else. (The soundtrack is unobtrusive but very effective, and it has a lot to do with that.)

I don't know if it's the fact that this series came out when I was a toddler and has the look and feel of a lot of shows my parents would watch on PBS when I was a child (heck, I bet they watched this very show on PBS), but this suspenseful spy thriller makes me feel relaxed as hell. Having seen it a ton of times helps, too. There's never anything resembling a surprise. But even if this type of series doesn't feel like your childhood and even if you're going to be surprised right and left by the plot, I think it's an incredibly well-constructed piece of work that almost anyone could enjoy.

Emma (2009)

I'm very picky about my Austen adaptations. Emma has been adapted quite a bit, and I've found at least something to like about every version I've seen. But this is the best one by a good margin. I always love Romola Garai in anything, and she's lovely here--assertive, vulnerable, annoying when she should be and charming the rest of the time. She does a wonderful job portraying all of the subtle gradations of self-awareness that build in Emma throughout the story.

But I think the decisive factor has to be the screenplay and direction (not to mention other behind-the-scenes aspects). The folks behind this version just seem to have prioritized capturing the subtleties of the novel more than others. There are a few points where this is particularly apparent. One example is how this adaptation treats Frank Churchill. The 2009 version of Frank shows what a capricious, moody, immature person he is, but it also shows his good nature and the ways he tries to be open (in the novel, he attempts to tell Emma about his engagement to Jane Fairfax on multiple occasions and mistakenly believes she understands him). Hewing to the novel makes for a more complex, engaging character than the two-dimensional cad most other adaptations make out of Frank. The portrayal of the Box Hill incident is another example. This version of Emma has the most uncomfortable, unsparing rendering of Emma's insulting comment to Miss Bates that I've seen, but it also tempts us to laugh along with Emma. The scene in the novel is exactly the same way--it's complicated and makes us acknowledge our ambivalence. This adaptation keeps all of these strands alive in the story and the miniseries is better for it.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

It's weird looking back now on how BtVS seemed back when it was new. Our standards were different for a reason. TV really wasn't as interesting or as progressive as it is now, and the range of both was narrower. Having a cishet white dude showrunner who would willingly utter the word "feminism" seemed like a remarkable piece of good fortune. And of course, we didn't know what was going on behind the scenes.

I imprinted on this show like a baby chick back then. It's not really possible for me to be objective about it. If I think it's good, how much of that is its actual quality and how much is the fact that it seemed like such a gift back then compared to what we were all used to? Well, some of it at least was actual quality, but I can't tell how much. So this show is special to me partly because it's grandfathered in due to circumstances and partly because it's actually good.

I remember when it seemed wild to me that there were people who could talk about a TV show and discuss episodes by title. BtVS was the first show I did that with myself. Eventually, it didn't seem that remarkable. Basically, this was the show that made me into a fan.

This is another show that was there for me after my abusive relationship ended. I remember at times when I was lonely (which happened a lot; not only was I newly single, I also had to start almost entirely from scratch when it came to friendships) I would look at my little dvd binder thingy with my pile of Buffy discs and tell myself, "If all else fails, I have all these shows to watch until things improve."

She-Ra

There’s that found family theme again! How could you go wrong with a story that starts with foundlings raised by a witch and a clone soldier to fight in their evil army, then follows them as they slowly get their consciousnesses raised and find their own identities and meaningful connections? It's a remarkably subversive and deeply queer show. We were in a miniature golden age for high-quality, politically progressive, LGBTQ+ friendly American animated series for a while there, and this show was not only a part of it but a particular highlight. It's been tapering off for a while now and it's sad to see it come to an end, but at least we got shows like this one and we can keep watching them and introducing people to them.

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

I don’t know why a series that’s so steeped in existential dread feels so cozy to me, but it does. Well, I guess it’s because the show is about finding your people, your coping strategies, and the unapologetically weird little hobbies that will help you to muddle through war, loss, spiritual crises, and the challenges of long-term love.

That, and it reminds me of my mom.

A lot of ink has been spilled over this series so I won't try to explain beyond that why it's so special. But I will say that it is absolutely the best Star Trek series. It's unpopular with a certain type of fan, but those philistines dislike it for exactly the same qualities that make it so great.

Kikai Sentai Zenkaiger

I'm indecisive and bad at picking favorites, so I'm not sure what I'd consider my favorite tokusatsu series or even just my favorite sentai series. Zenkaiger would rank pretty high up there in both at the very least. But this is a list of comfort shows, not favorite shows or the best shows, and that's a category in which Zenkaiger is completely unbeatable. It's hopeful, funny, idealistic, and more than anything, definitely the sweetest toku show I've ever seen. It's also easy to pick a random episode and watch it out of context because of the villain-of-the-week thing (not that the larger-scale arc of the series wasn't also compelling).

This is yet another found family show. Families of origin are still very important in the series. The central characters are all trying to find, help, or learn about one or more of their family members. But it's also about blending your found family and your family of origin into a group so inclusive that it includes aliens and robots.

I'm only picking one gif for each show on this list except for this one. I couldn't pass up having one for Kaito, one for Stacy, and one for Zox.

(Edited to add: I switched out the three gifs here for a single replacement because I realized two of the ones I originally used were made by someone who requests that others not repost them.)

#future boy conan #pride and prejudice #pride and prejudice 1995 #to my star #spaced #tinker tailor soldier spy #emma 2009 #buffy the vampire slayer #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #deep space nine #deep space 9 #star trek deep space nine #star trek deep space 9 #zenkaiger #kikai sentai zenkaiger #comfort shows #found family

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9cl · 2 months

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i just finished watching the holdovers with my mom its a really good movie & definitely partly what i needed. im not mentally stable or happy enough right now to be able to criticize it or point out things about it that are wrong or whatever & i genuinely from the bottom of my heart believe that if i cared to i would just get worse. all of the things i think about media are in relation to my process of enjoying or consuming or understanding it or just simply reacting emotionally to it more so than intellectually. if i really wanted to write an essay on why i think the best musician of all time is Tek lintowe i would but i really dont want to and since art shouldnt be spoken of in absolutes since it relegates pieces of art to rungs on a ladder or hierarchies or labels or categories, its irrelevant anyway. i dont care enough about the intricacies because when my brain is constantly on the verge of shutting down from mere pain and deep-rooted conflicts with myself, i cant handle thinking rationally and intricately about a specific piece of art. none of the words i read or am exposed to enter my brain at all and im faced with the decision to either accept that id much rather just be plain and simple in my judgement or self-flagellate and call myself stupid as fuck for not being able to "Get Stuff". sometimes and for certain periods of time for certain people, the mission statement of art is to make sure you can think about things other than your own death on loop. the holdovers was a great movie that not only did that but faced me with the proposition that i'm intrinsically never alone left stewing in my own misery. it's nice to be alive and have family and listen to new or old music. at some point the things you must face inside yourself, they stare you down with a look of tired contempt instead of murderous sadism, and that's when you get close to them and finally bridge gaps left untouched for far too long when you should have been handling the situation. you make up with yourself

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malevolentcast · 1 year

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This is gonna be a really weird confession to make over the show: i love how is, at least for me, is really difficult to get over one episode.

This is a positive response by the way, imwso amazed on how it is draining hearing one episode, how your whole world just take me, amazed and terrified with its secrets and stories and them... I'm at the credits.

This is the only story i hear that left that impression, let me so vulnerable after every step and im genuinely passionate about that, thanks you for creating such trapping story and make me feel terrified over Arthur's fate, empathize with John's discovery and cry a fucking lots of times.

Arthur's poem about his relationship with /that/ thing what happened to his parents it still makes me cry only think on it, i lived exactly the same, loosing them is still hurts and having one piece of media that could interpret such a common pain, but that became close in my case is... Just amazing, i feel validated, scared and loved for this world and the adventure you are crafting.

From the bottom of my heart, thanks you.

I'm sorry you had to go through that. <3 Thank you.

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isobelleposts · 2 years

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Understanding the Female Body: 'Breasts and Eggs' Review

by Isobelle Cruz [November 5, 2022]

ABOVE: Author Mieko Kawakami of 'Breasts and Eggs'

I am so glad to start off the month with a review of, by far, my favorite read this year. Although it took me a while to get myself to finish this book, Mieko Kawakami’s words stuck with me between those long days of setting the piece aside and always found their way back into my hands, where I would stick my nose in and devour her unique insights on the female body and the society that revolves around them.

Even with a quarter more left to be read, I had already decided earlier on that this would be my most cherished read of the year. It’s left me thinking several times about the world and pondering on situations that I had never thought of before. ‘Breasts and Eggs’ was able to educate me so much in its own entertaining and subtle way through its incredible storytelling.

“Hey, did you see that woman’s nipples?” Makiko asked. “No, why?” “They were really something.” Makiko let out a reverent sigh. “It’s a miracle for Asians to be born with nipples that pink.”

Page 53 of ‘Breats and Eggs’

I adore Kawakami so much for writing a book with such a great understanding of the female body without glossing over its hard and uneasy truths. Reading her words and shedding tears so easily made me realize how important it is for there to be a raw representation of femininity in media, especially for young people such as myself, who are cautious on exploring their bodies. Reading this book made me feel touched and understood in a way that I had not expected written words to make me feel before.

It was easy to imagine people turning away from this book, refusing to read it, or putting it down halfway through due to its lack of sugarcoating over serious topics that are often only dwelled on merely from its surface.

My breasts were in the middle of the mirror. Little just like Makiko’s. Brown and bumpy nipples. My hips had barely any shape, but there was flesh around my belly button, stretch marks curved around my sides.

Page 147 of ‘Breasts and Eggs’

Mieko Kawakami, as always, has such descriptive writing that sets the tone of her worlds so well and was able to execute the travel through Natsuko’s mind and the transitions from external and internal storytelling with grace—which is what I found so uniquely interesting about the narration.

Despite feeling like it’s two unrelated stories put together and forced to be connected—as if the first half of the book were some idea that was too afraid to be let go of—there was something and everything about the writing that still had my heart glued to the story and kept myself reading until the end.

Then she let go of my hand, opened the tiny door, and slipped inside. Lying down among the sleeping children, she closed her eyes as well. No more hurting. No more pain.

Page 357 of ‘Breasts and Eggs’

There were several times wherein reading made me feel as though I were drifting into a feverish dream, just as I had felt while reading ‘Heaven’ written by the same author. While having only read two of her books, Mieko Kawakami had already managed to set a distinctive feel to her writing, which makes it easy to identify her words amongst the millions of others out there. ‘Breasts and Eggs’ is a book that I feel would stick with me for a very long time, and will keep reminding me that my body is okay.

Which of Mieko Kawakami's works should I read next? All The Lovers In The Night or Ms Ice Sandwich?

#mieko kawakami #japanese author #japanese literature #asian literature #asian lit #book review #feminist books #feminism #kawakami #breasts and eggs #All The Lovers In The Night #Ms Ice Sandwich #Natsuko #Makiko #Midoriko

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shivunin · 1 year

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🙤 Unusual OC Associations 🙧

Tagged by @greypetrel---thanks for the tag! This is so cool :) I also might do this for all of them gradually---I enjoy this unique way of thinking about these characters. I added Arianwen under the break here, and I'll likely make a separate post for my bounty of Lavellans. (Also--I'm just putting this out there--I'm adding a Tarot section for mine because I kept thinking about cards for them as I was writing these, but it wasn't part of the original list c: )

Maria Hawke

Seasoning: Something warm and sharp, like ginger or cinnamon. The kind of thing you can add to a hot drink when it's cold outside.

Weather: Snow that falls in big, puffy flakes that make you feel grateful to be inside and warm. Not a storm, but snow that makes everything feel a bit closer than it was before.

Colour: The crimson of heart's-blood, vivid and unmistakable

Sky: When it's very cold and clear outside and there are ice crystals shining in the air. You can only see them when they catch the light, but they're there nonetheless, like clouds scattered at ground level

Magic power: Fire that soothes and sears: a healing heat that is like knocking back a finger of whiskey in the bitter cold, or a blush on a first date. The agonizing pain of reaching for a pot too fresh from the fire or overlooking the burning candle you've just tipped over in your negligence.

House plant: Aloe vera: you can forget about it, it can withstand too much sun or rain for a time, and as long as it’s cared for every so often it’ll keep taking out the sting of your hurts

Weapon: A staff made of dark wood and bronze, polished to a gloss by decades of use and her father’s hands.

Subject: History—but mostly the salacious or embarrassing bits. Hawke loves a good story, and she definitely tells the bawdy ones when she’s tipsy.

Social media: Despises it. Has a hard time reading tone on the internet. Probably runs a personal blog about her life Kirkwall that she never updates, and rarely responds to comments; she’s too impatient to work to understand a format or website culture.

Make-up product: An anise oil treatment she rubs into her hair before she sleeps at night to keep it glossy and tangle-free

Candy: Chocolate-covered roasted almonds; a study in contrasts, with the sweet, melt-in-your mouth richness of chocolate and the crunchy, faintly bitter and salty almonds.

Fear: Failure; that it was actually her fault that Malcolm and Bethany died, and that it will happen again if she isn’t quick/clever/good enough

Ice cube shape: Perfectly square, rattles nicely when you shake it in a glass

Method of long distance travel: Carriage; she can nap, read, and take in the sights exactly as much as she’d like to.

Art style: Impressionism; trying to capture the fleeting through the suggestion of detail, but ultimately only capturing the impression of what it once was. The finished result is still beautiful, if full of nostalgia.

Mythological creature: A church grim; guardian of its domain and foreteller of death.

Piece of stationery: Handmade paper with pieces of dried rose petal or herbs pressed into the paper itself; slightly ragged around the edges but thick and sweet-smelling.

3 emojis: 👀 💅🏽 😶

Celestial body: The harvest moon on the horizon, golden and full and looking impossibly close despite the distance

Tarot Card: The Hanged Man; Intuition, trials, and self-sacrifice

Tagging: @star--nymph @zenstrike

(and really, anyone who wants to do this--I know these things have the power to make one feel like the kid picked last for dodgeball, but I feel like I'm overstepping if we've never really interacted. Tell me if you want to do these things and I will tag you forever. Really.)

(I put Wen under the break, insert "nobody puts Baby in the corner" joke)

Arianwen Tabris

Seasoning: Oh, salt, hands-down. No elaboration.

Weather: Gathering cumulonimbus on the horizon, with that especially purple-grey tinge to the bottom that tells you it’s going to be a really brutal storm. There are streaks of lightning every now and then, and you can see the streaks where rain has already begun to fall in the distance. (It leaves destruction behind, but come back in a season or a year---the fallen trees grow moss now, and house animals, and the fields have grown back all the greener for the rain)

Colour: Gunmetal grey; dull at first glance but lustrous and brutal nonetheless.

Sky: Red at first light

Magic power: Reopening hidden hurts and forgotten wounds

House plant: Cactus in a terracotta pot. Sometimes you wonder why you’ve still got it on the shelf there, when all it does is poke you and look menacing. But then you look at it after a multiweek depression fog and it’s still there, unwilted, kicking ass.

Weapon: a throwing knife, painted matte-black, all but invisible at night until it hits you

Subject: Applied physics; she likes the practical reality of numbers, and the application of an object in motion can really only benefit her.

Social media: Has a private Youtube account where she saves all her favorite Lockpicking Lawyer videos. If anyone posts a picture or video with her in the background, she hunts them for sport.

Make-up product: Cover up/foundation; if all your scars and tattoos are covered, it’s more difficult for people to identify you

Candy: Rebanaditas (watermelon chili powder candy) (and hey, this is how I found out that lucas powder contained high levels of lead and that’s why it was discontinued?? If you ate a bunch of it like I used to, just a heads-up.)

Fear: Loving someone as much as her father loved her mother (as much as she loved her mother) and losing them anyway.

Ice cube shape: Circle K ice (the little crunchy ones people like to chew on)

Method of long distance travel: Foot. No chance she’ll have to climb off or down from something and get taken by surprise.

Art style: Charcoal sketches; they seem straightforward, even simplistic at first glance, but are capable of unexpected depth and dimension

Mythological creature: Cŵn Annwn; a hound of the Wild Hunt in Welsh lore. Their howls were a death portent that grew quieter rather than louder as they approached. Sometimes regarded as guides to the afterlife.

Piece of stationery: Scrap of paper torn off a larger text for convenience

3 emojis: 🔪 🤨 🐺

Celestial body: Mars

Tarot Card: The Tower; a symbol of abrupt and violent change, for better or worse

#Fereldens: all mythological dogs apparently #i only realized after the fact lol #maria hawke #arianwen tabris #oc meme #yo i went to write lucas powder for wen's candy and looked it up to make sure that was its actual name and again: lead content wtf #wen's sky also is a reference to that old adage 'red sky at night sailor's delight; red sky at morning sailor take warning' jsyk #i finished maria's and i couldn't help myself i had to write more #idk if i am allowed to alter these things strictly speaking but eh #folklore and mythology are not the same thing strictly speaking but hear me out #i am the captain here #long post #if i tagged you and you don't want me to also #shoot me a dm or ask and i will not do that in the future #dixeram

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tisetso-flowerboi7 · 5 months

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losing self control

i remember i used 2 call u medu$a, snakes on ur head and whatnot... i remember i was 15, understanding what frank ocean was saying, i was self destruction and i knew it.

a sad boi had met a broken girl, of course id lose my self control. i play the guitar nowadays and sit in empty rooms, looking at the sun singing about you...not always though, only when i remember u. i remember u alot lately. maybe im not busy enough, or maybe i have emotional trauma, after all, nearly 20 and i have no idea what frank ocean talks about in his songs, a gifted fellow but he's undoubtedly sad, i hope i never seemed that sad 2 u, when we got along u made me very happy... i cry a bit when i remember the happy days. anyway, i still think of u when i play nights but not the second part tho, everyone likes it. it's OK i guess but the part that hooks me is the section where frank harmonises and says "all my night". if it weren't 4 that piece of media i guarantee u i would not have loved u like i did. i always think of u when i hear it, i know u don't think of me tho, especially since that day i lashed out at u, i don't regret it but i just wish i hadn't raised my voice that much, im sorry and whatnot.

i wasn't sure if i was straight or not before i met u, i mean like i knew im not gay but id never been confronted by sexuality before, after the things we did and said, it was clear im heterosexual but u introduced the concept of sexuality 2 me, not sexual orientation and that changed me in a sense. its a passing phase 4 other jits but it stuck w me, especially cause most of the things we talked about we were 2 young 2 know about but i never forget u as my 1st, my 1st 2 ever look at me sexually and appreciate me sexually, so wrong yet so right. i remember when u alluded 2 us sleeping together 4 tha 1st time, it would have been my first time. i couldn't sleep that week, i questioned everything, why exactly is fornication a sin, why did i say all the things that encouraged a sexual encounter w me, why was the thought of being wanted in that capacity so fulfilling, id pray w tears in my eyes feeling like a hypocrite 2 God and a failure of a male, scared of his first nut w a girl he'd always had a thing 4 and was close friends w. how could i then not relate 2 frank ocean, how could i not look at u and see u as a bride untouched by myself, how could i then not remember my heart crumbling when i learned another man had taken ur honour, how could i then not remember the pain i felt when you'd say his name multiple times near me, how could i not remember how u told me i water u u water me and together we grow, how could i then not remember u?

i miss u someday

but remember u always

cool

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theharshestaddiction · 7 months

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it's been 4 years now apparently. i don't think I really loved him, I was just vulnerable and young.

i dont know how to explain what it is like after being groomed. it is painful to live with this trauma. i find that my own relationships sometimes cant feel as fulfilling because im not used to having such a consistent relationship. my boyfriend is a constant point of joy and affection my life. i self sabotage to try and recreate what it is like to be groomed and I cant. nothing feels the same as when he did it, or when she did. to be groomed by a teacher is an entirely different experience. when she was older it felt more like a high school thing, she was freshly graduated, but with him he was grown. he saw something in me even though I'm so young, of course I felt special. of course I felt special. it gets harder to remember exactly what happened a lot of the time, I think I am blocking it all out now. i spend everyday on the bus dreaming of writing a book or screenplay that can represent how this feels, but this pain cannot be put into words. i am loved and cared for by nearly everyone I know now, but the pain seems so attractive.

if i were to create a film or book about it I wouldnt want the actor to show his face. i think it would represent how I never put an identity to his name. i never ever made him a real person, here or in real life. my ex girlfriend might remember, but I doubt it. it would be all hands and movements, maybe some shots of his face up close. but it would be just like how it feels. bits and pieces, while I give my whole body and soul.

i always feel like someones gonna go through my blogs if im ever killed or if i die, so i think I should clarify. he never touched me inappropriately, he never raped or assaulted me. he complimented, encouraged and was personal with me. i don't know if he meant to groom me, I dont know what his intention was. i don't know why I was his favorite. i wish i did so i could swallow this all down.

i rarely write or talk about this because it hurts so much, but its been getting bad again. not processing this properly has been bad for me. i think about it on the bus all the time. for at least an hour a day I reminisce on what I think is gone. there was nothing ever there in the first place. i could talk about it endlessly and still say nothing, still describe nothing. there is a cork in my throat and I cant say words. why cant I admit it to myself? why do I still doubt him?

i know he was a good man. i want to know that, at least. the warmth I felt when he was hurting me was unlike anything I have known. like an absent part in my heart had been filled. probably because I was so angry with my parents at the time. i feel like I'm giving away too much. if I'm dead and youre reading this please don't go after him. i don't love him, I wish I never met him. he still works in schools I think. i have been searching for his social media for years, but I am unable to find it. there is nothing on him. no linked in or anything. its weird. his name is too common.

i find that i have a strange attraction to older men now. or maybe just one. pedro pascal is attractive to me, but i dont think thats because of this. hes just attractive. anyhow, I find that i read a lot of fanfiction with age gap relationships. it isn't to like, get me off or anything dumb. i just . i want to feel that way again. i want to feel so far beneath someone that when they lift me up an inch it feels like the first breath I've taken in years.

i am complacent in my own pain.

i wish he had touched me sometimes. i wonder what his bed may have felt like, when im alone and angry. i get mad that he probably has a girlfriend, and that hes forgotten about me by now. i know he only saw me last a year ago but hes probably had a hundred students since my class.i wish he would think about me, or email me. i wish I would wake up to a notification and see his name asking how I am. i just want him to see that I'm doing well in school, just like he remembers. i feel like he would care that I didn't give up. i feel like hes the only one who ever made me feel like my writing was really worth something. i dont let anyone read my stuff anymore unless its for school. no one would compliment it like he did, and even if they could it wouldnt be from him so what does it reall matter.

i remember when i learned he didnt have a girlfriend. i remember trying not to smile, thinking it could be me. i was 14, maybe. she was allergic to shellfish and he had bought her a dinner with shellfish in it, but I don't think thats why they broke up. maybe she found out that he's kind of a loser.

i just wish love hadnt been so ruined for me. it feels like my heart has been beaten down in everyway possible now. sexually, and emotionally.

i hate knowing that this is a shared pain. i hate knowing im not the only one. i hate that im letting go of this in some stupid post on a blog i made for him. i hate that there were others, i hate that there will be others. i should have been the only one for him. i should be the one with him and i should be killing him and hurting him the way he hurts me even now.

at the end of that movie she kills the man, the one with no face. i don't know anything else about the plot, but she stabs him to death in his kitchen.

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kimdokjas · 2 years

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I hope you're having a good weekend!

And no worries about being late, I just didn't want either of us to get in trouble for not doing asks for a week😂😭This is my first time doing this so idk how strict they are ykwim

So far I think the anime and manga for yuukoku no moriarty are really similar! i don't feel like anything was really left out. the manga does have some extra stuff, but i think the anime got some ova's or something, but i haven't been able to get my hands on them yet.

death note is a good anime though i think! there's a reason its a cliche😂yoi was good too, otabek definitely stole my heart though

i am actually fairly new to anime. like i've always been aware of it, i was (still am) a huge geek in public school, so i had heard about naruto and sailor moon back in the early 2010s, but i had no way of watching it myself. my partner is also really into anime, so i've been in the same room when they've watched things, but i didn't personally get into it until a little over a year ago! it was with boku no hero, so that's probably more cliche than death note at this point😂😭

The question for this week is a little more involved, you probably need time to think, so I'm definitely not expecting an answer any time soon. i'd rather you take your time and really think about it if you need to since this will probably heavily influence what i make for you and i want to make sure that you've picked something you really like

What are 5-7 quotes/poems/song lyrics/etc that make you feel ✨feral✨?

I hope you have a good, less hectic week, gaby! sending you positive vibes

-- Love,

Your ASS💖

hello my dear ASS 🥰 ahh sorry again for the late reply! work has been super hectic but thankfully the worst is now behind me! not to jinx it lol but i should have a bit more free time now. it's my first time participating as well so i'm not sure either but jic i'll try to reply a bit more quickly from now on!

oh i’m glad to hear the ynm anime is really similar to the manga! i was debating whether to read it first but i might start out watching the anime and then see how it goes. and right!! otabek is such a sweetheart, i love how at first he seems so stoic and closed off but he has a whole other side of him as well 🥺

oooh bnha is a great starter anime tho! it's one of the first ones i watched as well! same here tho, i've always been sort of aware of anime i just didn't get into it until fairly recently. aww that's sweet that your partner is into anime too! it's like a whole different world at first i think, so it definitely helps when someone you know is also really into it so you can navigate it together lol, so it's nice you can both share that! 💕

ahh that is SUCH a good question! so difficult to answer tho 😭 idk why but every time i try to think of quotes my mind blanks out and i forget every single piece of media in existence lmaoo but i tried my best

“I am. I want to be. I bleed away.” - Jorge Luis Borges (tr. Tony Barnstone), Music Box

"And the salt in my wounds isn't burning any more than it used to/ It's not that I don't feel the pain it's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore” - Paramore, Last Hope

“In the end, we are all simply 'Outer Gods' to each other.” - Sing Shong (tr. RT & APW), Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

“I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, ‘I exist.’ In thousands of agonies – I exist. I’m tormented on the rack – but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar – I exist! I see the sun, and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.” - Fyodor Dostoevsky (tr. Richard Pevear, Larissa Volokhonsky), The Brothers Karamazov

"The time for sleep is now/ But it's nothing to cry about/ 'Cause we'll hold each other soon/ In the blackest of rooms” - Death Cab for Cutie, I Will Follow You Into the Dark

“If you could only save me/ I'm drowning in the waters of my soul” - Imagine Dragons, Nothing Left to Say

"And what you hear is not silence/ It's just the trees waiting to hear what next you'll hum/ And what you see is not the dark/ It's just the gods upturning ink pots 'cause they know what you'll become" - The Amazing Devil, Inkpot Gods

"For I feared becoming a lonely lump of ashes/ After loving others with my whole being" - Ahn Do-hyun (tr. Jido Ahn), Lonely High Solitary

jsyk i’m resisting making commentary on every single one of these quotes sooo hard rn bc i’ll start frothing at the mouth lmaoo, i listed 8 tho sorry for cheating dslkjsf i just couldn’t cut any of these 😭 if you need more just lmk! i started out with like 15 and it was so hard to whittle down the list lol

tysm for your well wishes dear!! sending you positive vibes right back and i hope you’re having a nice relaxing weekend!! please remember to take care!! 🥰❤

#i just realized all these quotes are just full-blown ANGST but those are the ones that hit the hardest for me ykwim 😭#i’m curious to hear about your fave quotes as well! but i know it's a really loaded question so no pressure at all lol #animanga secret santa 💖#ask #anonymous #long post for ts

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theyayadiamond · 2 years

Video

vimeo

Interview with Alan Share author of Death of a Nightingale with host Yaya Diamond from Yaya Diamond on Vimeo.

Death of a Nightingale: With Buried Treasure in the Digital Age - A Journey from Austerity to Prosperity? ARE GOVERNMENTS OF THE LEFT FIT TO GOVERN? Have they been responsible for unforeseen, self-inflicted pain and suffering that has betrayed those who trusted them? AND GOVERNMENTS OF THE RIGHT ARE NOT EXCUSED The case study in political folly in education, in particular, special education now takes in the 2008 Credit Crunch with more startling revelations. But it points a way forward. A Play in a Book For theatre lovers, a real life drama and a drama from real life. Tracy, a pupil with cystic fibrosis, tells the story of her school as it faces the bulldozer. Why does Margaret, its head teacher, attempt to take her own life? Can her love with John Errington, the English teacher, survive? Act 2 Scene 5 The Gift of Love. For parents of children with special needs, helping to end the stigma attaching to special schools put about by those who thought that what was right for them was right for all. For music lovers, a music lesson. How important is music in education, especially for children with special needs? And it has something to say in the age-old debate between people of faith and the people like Richard Dawkins. For students of politics, a case study in political folly,systemic dysfunction and ineptitude, one reason why Governments of the Left always seem to end in tears; as the Prologue closes: "See the whole as one picture - but see it as a fragment of a very large canvas." For lawyers, academia and educationalists, an abattoir for a herd of sacred cows and a challenge they should not ignore. For bureaucrats, a cautionary tale with some lessons they may want to learn. For the media, a journey of exploration and discovery. If you have the appetite for it, theDeath of a NightingaleWebsite is just Tapas compared with the Seven Course Table d'hôte meal that is this 260 page book, with Alice in Blunderland - The Mad Hattter's Committee Meeting for your entertainment. It tells a human story with a challenging interplay of fact, fiction, satire and commentary. It brings to life dry-as-dust issues important in education and beyond it. Which is the wiser mantra in education – Equality or Equity? How far does declaring a “Right” provide the protection of “a Right”? Is this generation properly mindful of the legacy it is bequeathing? Reviews of the play at the New End Theatre,London 2009 & 2011 BBC LONDON youtube.com/watch?v=4_kcMtZU6Iw “Compelling, controversial and confrontational” Len Parkin The Teacher “A searing tale of a fight to save SEN school which drove head teacher to brink of suicide” Kerra Maddern, Times Educational Supplement "A wonderful night, very moving — I learned about another world, which can be as cruel & cynical & as warm-hearted & surprising as my own. Don't miss it, esp. if you're a human being. Miriam Margolyes A refreshingly uncompromising and meaty piece ... I loved the emphasis on music and its power to heal and educate. Susan Elkin, The Stage (2009) And representing those of an opposite disposition - and the best evidence that the play hit the target Alan Share’s badly written, didactic play - full of platitudes such as “Everyone can achieve something in life with a helping hand” - is more preachy than pertinent. It is a kind of antitheatre, virtually untouched by any attempt at direction. Public Service & Commercial Union Editor and activist, Jonathan Lovett, The Stage (2011). Brian Attwood, Editor, The Stage, describes his own reviewer on seeing some of his Tweets as "Yep, he's worse than Pol Pot." LET TRACY HAVE THE LAST WORD HERE: Remember the little white dandelion heads blowing away in the wind… Y’see I’m not just going to blow away in the wind

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whimsicalcotton · 2 years

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pmmm and anr have a Chokehold on my brain

#and also ga rei zero but i never wrote fic for that so its a lil different #its just. A Painful Piece Of Media that is close to my heart #nebular.txt

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dyketubbo · 3 years

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i think something i like about the dream smp is how when a character is anxious or pissed or upset the actors dont hold back. like sometimes ive seen better acting from fundy than i have in professional goddamn movies. its genuinely really cool how the ccs are willing to sound.. broken, when the situation needs it. they scream and shout and cry and they have moments where they just freeze up, or on the flipside- moments where they just ramble out anything they can because they cant deal with silence.

im talking bbh and skeppys arguments over the egg, fundys breakdowns in his nightmares and broken sobs after wilburs revival, tubbo choking up near the crater and his strained voice when he cries, puffys pure anger in the red banquet, sam and ranboos amazing ability to sound crushed whenever their characters are sad, quackitys giggling panic whenever he feels like hes winning, schlatts confident rage when he was suspicious of someone, wilbur banging on his desk and screaming out about his paranoid delusions, nikis simmering anger and mourning tone, jacks pained admission that tommys dead, tommys stuttering and sputtering attempts to understand why everythings so unfair.

the quiet, exhausted way characters mourn, the fervent rambles when theyre trying to justify their actions, the pained pauses when theres nothing they can say to help, the pure fear they show when getting chased or hurt, their quiet and broken attempts to tell themselves that theyre okay when theyre not, the way they all shout over each other just for everyone to go silent when one makes a quiet threat, the way so many of them panic before dying, the way some of them show rage, the way some of them simply show broken and sad acceptance that this is it, the quiet and pained goodbyes when theres nothing left to say at all.

the acting isnt perfect, of course not, but theres just so much emotion in the smp. theres no judgement for being emotional or too wordy or seemingly toppling over from what may seem like the smallest things. when characters on the smp break, they break.

ccs like wilbur, bbh, quackity, fundy, tubbo, ranboo, tommy, skeppy, sam- and more im forgetting of course- theyre all so good at sounding broken when they need to. its a genuine breath of fresh air to see a popular piece of media where emotion is not only allowed but encouraged. "it's okay to cry, i cry too!" is something that clearly many characters believe and even the ones who dont are so genuine sounding in their emotions and show them so well that even in events like tubbos reaction to tommys death you can tell how effected he truly was.

the dream smp isnt professional, nowhere close. most of the actors have little experience, theres many moments where things fall flat, and quite a few of them take a while to shake off the embarassment of doing this for a block game roleplay, but i think the unpolished feel honestly only makes it all better. real people dont sound perfect, they dont always know exactly what to say and exactly when to break pauses or when to let others speak and they dont always react how they should. on the smp, characters sound awkward. they fumble over words and interrupt each other and sometimes theyre quiet and nearly apathetic during traumatizing moments. it feels real, genuine, from the heart, and thats something that really draws me into it all. semi-improv rp my beloved

#dsmp #long post #mask mews #dsmp cast #i had to restrain myself from not just infodumping about how amazing tubbos acting is and takin over this whole post just talking abt him #but know that when i say hes up there as one of the best actors on the smp i truly mean it #amaryllis analyzes

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lovemeian · 3 years

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seijoh 5 inky thoughts—

not me headcanoning crap just because i have so many thoughts on men with tattoos, like. yes, sir. you’re right. you’re absolutely valid and right.

iwa calls you ‘doll’ + issei calls you ‘pretty girl/boy’ + tani’s an absolute sweetheart <3

masterlist.

tattoo artist!oikawa— an absolute flirt. biggest revenue of their shop is his instagram and wild thirst trap posts of his artists & piercers. has on sense of personal space or ‘privacy’ when it comes to them; they’re flexed arms + serious expression is free real estate. always booked to the brim months in advance, likes doing colourful works; dainty but intricate pieces are his speciality. talks you through the pain, very chatty, very flirty. it’s kinda hard not be attracted to him while your in his chair because he’s charisma is just wild. king of terms of endearments and praises— “breathe through your nose, pretty baby, you’re doing so well for me.” and like, he smells sweet and soft? like fresh laundry? and sandalwood and lavenver? and he’s so close that if you don’t end up simping for the man, i applaud your self control. & if you both vibe well and are comfortable with each other, mans might actually kiss your hand and end it with a wink.

tattoo artist & piercer!iwaizumi— mate, if your mouth doesn’t water the minute you come for your appointment idek what’s up. i just. see this black muscle shirt, sweatpants, and his face curled in concentration when he’s bent over you like sir, how rude for my poor heart. his arms flexing to control the machine, and he’s so close, he smells like fresh shower and musky body spray that mingles with sweat soon because its hours later, and he flexes and smiles at you, half apologetic about his state. but! also kind of baby powder??? if that makes sense??? and despite his very gruff stature, his voice is very calm and low like, if you’re scared and it’s your first time getting tattoo or pierced— “it’s okay, look at me. just look at me. you’ll be okay.” won’t call you pet names unless like, it’s sessions later and he’s gotten closer to you that he greets you with a smirk and a, “so what’s it this time, doll?” WOOF. his work is prided more on the critical details. takes lesser bookings because he does a lot of big or intricate pieces. incredibly patient and bonds well with his clients that if you’re down to be friends, the best (sexiest) friend to have.

piercer!makki— likes getting tattoos than giving them, but he’s an absolute joy to have as a piercer. will test your mood and make jokes to ease into the scariness of it all. breezy flirter, it’s just how he is. very casual with it, that even uses the most obnoxious petnames like ‘aye, honey bun, what’s up?’ ANNOYING but adorable. if he’s concentrating, then you’ll see his pierced tongue and if he catches you looking, man is winking, going, “like what you see, huh? can’t blame ‘ya.” annoying, but super cute— that’s his entire brand deal. will take so, so much care in telling you how to deal with aftercare so you don’t get it infected. likes recurring customers and is just so at eased that you just. . . relax right back. unconsciously draws circles on your skin while he hums while he works. he smells like coffee. just. fresh brew. and some fruity, minty candy that he’ll probably offer you if you’re too panicked. distracts you when the piercing’s about to go, like, will do one-liners like an idiot to keep you distracted.

tattoo artist!issei— ah. the sexiest tattoo artist you’ll probably meet. ngl, very intimidating even before you’re booking lol, his slots are at the oddest fucking hours that people wonder if his ass is an actual vampire from oikawa’s rude photos— sexy tol man in black clothes and so many silver accessories and smirks? to having a slot at 12am?? are you okay sir?? but his office is nice, superiorly wipe-cleaned from top to bottom, some moody rock song or croony jazz one, playing in the background. his odd hours are usually easier for him, because he’s a night owl. despite it, theres a long list of clients wanting to booked, always need to be months in advanced because he takes the fewest slots. he does more intricate, thick pieces. from pattern tattoos to really big ones. every single tattoo is worked on damn near for hours because he likes jotting as littlest of the details as possible. issei smells like body spray, gum, and kind of the really fresh humidifier smell shshsh, and lightly of smoke and leather. he can do long stretches of silence, sometimes humming along to the music, but will chat with you if ya wanna. he’s just more. lowkey. will call you ‘pretty girl/boy’. if a session gets really late, he’ll probably walk you to the station/bus stop? if you’re ok with it.

piercer!kyotani— poor bby, he looks intimidating, but he’s so soft and patient. it doesn’t help that some people piss him off— makki or oikawa — so you may sometimes hear him shouting, half growling when he slaps on latex gloves. and he looks so serious, listening to how/where you want your piercing, and the minute he speaks— answering any questions or the like, his voice is low and calm, and you can see how patient and knowledgeable about it he is. he would make you choose the songs to play, not back-biting on how much it might hurt, and to tell him immediately if anything feels wrong/too painful. his aftercare notes after are bulleted pointed, and telling you his number/social media is always free in case you have more questions or how the healing is doing. he’s the most concerned about his clients, asking for updates, and feeling satisfied from another satisfied customer. he’s actually such a sweetheart, best piercer this block of the gang.

made by lavi <3

taglist: @asaitashi, @jadasz, @encrytpta, @kenmaslov3r, @wuyaiscrow, @sakusasimpbot, @omiikeii, @jesssobs, @uhhkims, @iworshipyelena, @fiona782,

#seijoh #oikawa headcanons #haikyuu x reader #oikawa toru x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu scenarios #hanamaki takihiro x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #iwaizumi headcanons #kyotani kentaro x reader #haikyuu headcanons #kyotani imagines #makki headcanons #issei headcanon #lvmn.shorts #lovemeian.#mine.

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0rchard · 3 years

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Minor do not interact

🍎 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Yamaguchi x f!reader

🍏 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: stepcest, femdom, masturbation, footjob, degradation/humiliation(if you squints)

🍎 𝓐/𝓝: So 👉👈 It's my first time writing dark content/smut scenario i only do hcs usually, it's also my first time writing for the haikyuu fandom. And I do that for my first hq crush 🥺 Anyways! This scenario is a part of the hqcest collab made by the amazing @dilfsuna ! Thank you Mabel to let your 😌💅 anon take part of it!

Yamaguchi didn’t know when everything went that wrong. Was it when he started to have a wet dream about you? Or maybe when he started to jerk off at the thought of you? Or has everything always been wrong since the first time you were introduced as his step-sister?

Probably all of the above… And things surely took another turn when both of you had to live together once you got into college, financially not able to pay for two different flats.

It was probably at that moment that everything started. He thought you would never notice how he always insisted on doing the laundry. He thought you would never notice how at least one of your panties was missing and magically was back again the next laundry. He thought you would never notice how he was looking at you when you bent in front of him to grab something. He thought you would never notice how painfully hard it makes him. He thought you would never notice how he quickly excused himself to his room. He thought you would never hear his voice moaning your name as the moon was rising high in the sky.

He thought he could do abstraction of his feelings because it was wrong. You were his step-sister and he shouldn’t feel like that toward you. And yet, was knowing that it was wrong preventing him to do what he was about to do? No, it didn’t.

Your flat was silent, only the light buzzing noise of the fridge could be heard in the living room, as he crossed it to go into your room, his heart beating fast, so fast that it was almost painful. Each beat was making his body shake a bit more as his trembling hands quietly turned the door handle of your room. You were out, needing to grab something at the grocery store near your flat.

He knows he didn’t have a lot of time, that it was risqué, that he had to be quick. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to know if they were there. The black panties you’ve been chilling in yesterday, only wearing them and a loose shirt. They were his favorite ones, he thought they were the ones sublimating the curves of your ass the most. So when he noticed they weren’t in the basket laundry today, he was pretty sure that you left them somewhere in your room. It's not his fault if you left them there… As a good step-brother in charge of the laundry, he should be sure that no dirty clothes should be left behind right?

Even he knew it was just because he wanted to smell it. To smell you. To get off at your scent again and again…

His heart stopped to beat ofr a moment as he op, noticing them innocentlyheart stopped for a second as he opened your door, spotting the precious panties, standing there, on the ground, innocently.

He could already feel his cock twitch into his pants, as he could smell your sweet scent surrounding the room. He knows he doesn't have a lot of time, that he should be quick, just taking the panties and leaving would be the less risqué thing to do, but something about getting off in your room sent shivers of excitement down his spine. It's not like he would last long anyway, he never did when he got off with your panties.

He brought the dirty panty to his face as he took a deep breath in, his nose against where your core was supposed to be, freeing his hard cock from his sweatpants.

"F-fuck… You smell so good…" a small whine escaped his lips as he sat down on the ground, one hand brushing against his cock, but not totally stroking himself yet.

He shyly tugs out his tongue to give a quick lap to the crotch of your underwear, hoping it could give him a light idea about how divine his step-sister was tasting like.

Another whine left his lips as he felt the sweet taste spreading in his mouth.

"So good… you taste so good…"

He was now sucking on it without a shame, high-pitched noise of pleasure leaving his mouth, redness of his cheeks covering a bit his freckle. He was already panting, his eyes closed as he hoped he was licking your wet pussy instead.

His cock twitched, the tip as red as his cheeks, asking for more attention.

One hand stroking his dick, the other playing with his nipple, as the panties were stuffed in his mouth, his tongue licking its crotch, eyes closed, he could already feel his end coming.

He was moaning again and again, and if it wasn't for the piece of clothing in his mouth preventing him to talk, he would probably moan obscene things like "Please, let me taste you", "I beg you sis' you smell so good", "I'm sure your wet pussy taste even better..." or even worst "I love you so much, sis…"

His hand was stroking him faster, without any regular rhythm, as continued to whine. He pinched his nipple, making himself arch his back a bit more and his legs shook under the overwhelming pleasure. Your panties were now soaked in his drool, letting some escape, rolling down his chin.

He was so lost in pleasure, so lost in his own fantasy, imagining that he wasn't sucking your panties but that you were sat on his face instead like he always dreamt about.

He wanted to feel your thighs squeezing his head between them. He wanted to make his hands run on them, feel your soft skin. He would kiss them, again and again, leaving small marks on them if you allowed him to do so. And as he would come closer and closer to your crotch, he would be able to see how wet you already are, how wet his affection made you go. He would be a bit hesitant at first, giving quick laps on your panties to hear you moan, before putting them aside and finally… finally tasting you…

Maybe if he wasn't that lost into his mind, he would have heard the door of your flat open. And maybe he would have also heard your footsteps going toward your room. He would probably have heard too that you shouted that you had forgotten your wallet in your room. But he didn't.

Neither did he hear the door of your room open… And he barely registered your voice calling his name.

"Tadashi? What are you-"

He froze up, his eyes widened, looking at you terrorized. What were you going to do? How would you react to see your step-brother jerking in your room, your dirty panty stuffed in his mouth?

And yet, he couldn't explain why but the shame, the humiliation provoked by being caught by you doing something so dirty, so forbidden… It excited him, it was such a delight that he almost came from that only, or maybe that was because of the sight of your bare thighs that he just fantasmed about.

"I-i could explain!" he quickly said, taking off the panty from his mouth, whipping his drool away, trying to hide his hard cock the best he could.

What could he explain exactly? How much did you turn him on? How perverted he was? How the scent of your dirty panties sent him to heaven? That he always dreamed to be between your thighs to taste his sweet sister? That he always wanted to suck on your nipples? That he always hoped to one day fuck you slowly on the couch, to prove to you how much he actually cared about you? To prove to you how much he loved you? How did he want to kiss you, to hug you, to be there for you in another way than your step-brother?

He gulped as you silently walked toward him, not saying a word, nor showing any emotion. You were thinking he was a dirty pervert, he was sure about that. He was also sure you will tell everything to your parents and that he would be disinherited, that you will expose him on every social media, telling everyone how dirty he was… He was screwed. His whole life was screwed.

He was surely not excepting the sudden pressure of your bare feet on his cock, which made him moan in a loud way.

"So like that you jerk off by using your step-sister panties? You're such a naughty boy Ta-da-shi~"

His eyes widened, as he could feel excitement running in his blood. The way you were looking at him… The way your eyes were clouded by the same lust than him… It made his cock twitch under your feet.

"I said I could explain I- Ah!"

He could feel your foot putting more pressure on his cock as a pitiful and ridiculously loud whine left his lips.

"Shhh~ Keep quiet Tadashi, the walls are thin, you wouldn't want the neighbor to hear you, or… would you?"

He shook his head from right to left, unable to say a word that would turn into a moan. He was heavily panting, his heart pounding in his chest. Never in the best scenarios, he made by his imagination did such a thing happen… And deep down he wished for that to not be another of his wet dreams about you.

“Look at you Tadashi~ All worked up from your sister's dirty panties scent~” Another loud whine escaped from him. He already felt so pitiful, so horrible to act like that. It wasn't good, it was not okay to feel like that… They were step-sister and brother, what was wrong with him? He wishes he could go back in time to prevent himself from feeling like that but… Now that it was happening… He couldn't deny how good it felt. How much he loved that. How much he loved her.

"You're a loud one huh? It's not like it really surprises me, you're always so noisy when you get off in your room… Moaning my name~" you teased him as your feet came up and down on his dick, already leaking in precum

He felt shame burn his chest. So you know how he felt since the beginning? You were acting like that on purpose, knowing how it affected him?

"What a shame, I would love to hear you moan my name again and again as you rut against my feet, but I can't take the risk for the neighbors to know what's going between us, right Tadashi?"

He nodded again, as he opened his mouth when you presented to him the panties that were already stuffed in his mouth some minutes earlier.

"You're such a good boy Tadashi~ Knowing how to act to please me…"

Was it the way his name sounded awfully sexy when you were the one saying it or the way you called him a good boy that made him arch his back a bit more and bucking his hips for more friction?

He could feel his arousal already building up in his stomach, and his cheeks turning into a darker shade of red as muffled whine escaped him again and again.

"That's it Tadashi, be a little good boy for your sister" you whispered at the ear, nibbling on the lobe of his ear. He bucked his hips, even more, as his moan became a bit louder, but overall, needier.

He was looking at you with so much love… so much adoration… so much lust… it was such a beautiful face, the same as you ever imagined when hearing him reaching his end and moaning your name out loud in his room.

"You want to cum for your sister Tadashi?~"

He nodded quickly, his heart beating faster and faster, sweat starting to pearl on his freckled skin.

"Then cum for your sister, pretty boy~" you whispered before softly kissing his cheek, lifting his face with your hand, to be sure to not miss anything about the beautiful expression you could see on his face.

His back arched, head thrown back, as his whole body was shaken by a powerful orgasm, his loud moaning that even the wet piece of clothes in his mouth couldn’t stop echoing in the room, while the white loads of his cums were staining both his stomach and your feet.

With a devilish smile, you looked down at him again, whipping out the cum of your feet on his pants, down his ankles, as if it was nothing more than a doormat.

Picking up your wallet on your nightstand, you looked at him again. He was a mess, panting, legs spread, wide open, as his cum was slowly dripping down his belly.

“Since I got what I’ve forgotten home, I can finally go to the grocery store now. You better be rock hard again when I will be back, understand Tadashi? I’m sure you wouldn’t lose an occasion to feel your dear sister’s pussy around your cock just because you didn’t behave well, right?”

He eagerly nodded as he gulped.

"You're such a good boy Tadashi…" you softly kissed him on the lips, after taking out the "gag" out of his mouth, vaguely able to taste yourself, before finally leaving the room.

The panties you were wearing were soaked in your excitement… Maybe that you should lend it to him as a reward tonight? He surely would be the happiest.

#hqcest #🍏.rotten apple #tw: stepcest #tw humiliation #tw degradation #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq yamaguchi #yamaguchi smut #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader

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inkykeiji · 3 years

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i have the warmth of the sun within me tonight

characters: takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut n fluff

notes: this piece was written with someone specific in mind, but i wanted to share it here, too!! this is, by far, the healthiest and most wholesome piece i’ve ever posted on my blog ehehe | title cred: the warmth of the sun by the beach boys

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is extremely scared of thunderstorms, v romantic, shower sex, minimal prep, slight size difference/size kink

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

It’s dark. It’s so dark it almost looks like night despite the fact that it’s only late afternoon, heavy bloated clouds—charcoal and fluffy and overstuffed with raindrops—obscuring the safety of comforting golden rays from the entire city.

The torrential downpour feels endless, and for a brief second you’re terrified it truly may never stop, streets below having flooded with the rain, cars slowly wading through them, tires spraying out streams of water as they do.

Magnificent strikes of lightning crack through the dreary sky like thick roots snaking through the foggy canopy of smoke and steel, momentarily tainting them in shades of periwinkle and lavender and casting flashes of brilliant silver light across the skyscrapers and condominiums.

Their sudden presence makes you jolt, a rapid shudder working its way through your entire body, skin pebbling with chills in its wake.

But it isn’t the lightning that bothers you—not really, anyway.

It’s what comes after.

Rumbles of thunder so loud, so violent they cause the glass windows of Keigo’s apartment to quiver and the hardwood beneath your feet to tremble, roll through the sky, and you swear you can see the clouds ripple from the force.

Arms squeezing tighter around your body, your fingers curl in the material of your—his—hoodie, desperately attempting to resist the urge to grab your phone, to frantically scroll through social media as worried eyes scan for any mention of his name, for shreds of dreadful news, for things you never want to hear.

You hate it when he has to work in storms such as these. And you know, you know you shouldn’t be watching the sky, shouldn’t be searching the splotches of gunmetal adorning the atmosphere for a glimmer of scarlet and gold, shouldn’t be standing so close to the pristine glass windows that your uneven puffs of nervous breath cloud them, tiny blankets of condensation left by the hot air you exhale fleetingly staining the surface, evaporating into nothing just as quickly as they appear.

But you can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, almost—like some sort of sick obsession, some sort of twisted addiction you can’t control. Because—Because you have to know, unable to stand that feeling of uncertainty that gnaws away at your insides, incapable of handling the ambiguity and vagueness that comes packaged with the not knowing. You have to at least try—try to do everything in your power to stay informed, and if that means facing a vicious thunderstorm head on, with your cheek pressed against the cold glass as your gaze searches the tumultuous sky, then so be it.

You can brave it for him. You swear you can.

“Baby,” he scolds gently, his sudden presence surprising you, causing you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Topaz eyes observe you, overflowing with concern, pretty bowed lips turning down, soaked strands of gold hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks and neck. “How many times have I told you not to do this?” And although he’s reprimanding you, his voice is sweet, smooth and syrupy like the finest honey. “You know how much thunder freaks you out,”

You scoff, stiffening almost defensively as you turn your nose up a little, still avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t freak me out,”

“Oh?” he laughs a little as he kicks off his boots, tension easing from his shoulders with every step towards you, every step further into the warm sanctuary of your shared home, wet sock-clad feet slapping against the hardwood and leaving gleaming footprints.

“Kei,” you whine a little, gesturing his dripping body. “You’re getting water everywhere,”

“Hey now,” a playful smirk spreads across his lips, and a sudden, sharp whoosh slices through the air as his wings spread, spanning nearly half the living room. He gives them one good, thorough shake, crimson feathers trembling and sending tiny droplets of water flying. “I wasn’t done,” he speaks over your squeal of his name, smirk growing into that trademark mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t just stand at the window and stare up at the sky—it only scares you more,”

“I’m not scared,”

Vicious growls of thunder roil through the sky before you’re even finished speaking, almost as if it’s laughing at you, mocking you, your body flinching as the sounds crash over you, curling in on yourself a little, face puckered up in a wince as your words stutter, catching on a gasp in your throat.

Exhaling a soft sigh, Keigo holds his arms open wide, wings still stretched to span them. “Yeah, right. C’mere,” When you don’t begin moving immediately, he sighs again, strong hands gently pulling you towards him.

Your body melts into his touch—an automatic and involuntary reaction, almost instinctual at this point—and you slump against his damp chest, nuzzling your cheek against the firm muscles.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, arms wrapping around your body as he holds you tightly to his, voice reverberating against your ear. “The Big Bad Scary Thunder can’t get you here,”

Eyes rolling, you scoff at his playful teasing, a tiny smile materializing on your face as you pull away a little to look up at him, greeted with the sight of brilliant eyes—made of sunshine and liquid gold, you’re absolutely sure of it—gazing down at you, lips quirked in a cute little smirk.

His beauty never fails to knock the breath from your chest—it seems you can never be prepared for it; no matter how many times you’ve seen him, how many times you’ve been close enough to count the individual eyelashes lining those orbs, how many times you’ve been close enough to feel the inviting tickle of the short golden hairs decorating his chin—and you’re not sure you’ll never get used to it, either.

A peculiar mix of adoration and concern swirl in his honey irises, though you can see the mirth and amusement dancing just beyond that, thinly veiled by the love and worry.

“Oh, shut up—” another bang of thunder fissures through the sky, so raucous it makes the thick clouds waver and swell, your words morphing into a fearful little squeak, quickly burying your head back against the safety of his chest.

Fingers curl in the wet suede and you hug yourself closer to him, tugging him closer to you, body beginning to shudder.

He’s hushing you now, arms and wings curled around you in a defensive embrace as words of comfort pry past his lips, tender voice sheathing the armor of crimson surrounding you.

“At least they aren’t as bad as the ones back home, yeah?”

“I guess so,” you mumble, unconvinced, eyebrows knitted and mouth sculpted into a deep pout. “I still don’t like them, though,”

“I know, I know,” a warm hand rubs soothing circles into your back, voice only marginally louder than the next bout of thunder as it vibrates against your face, another quiet yelp clawing its way up your throat. “Shh, you’re safe, you’re safe,”

“Kei,”

The nickname escapes in a mangled little whimper, and you can feel it—fright, terror, dread—building in your chest, a strangling type of panic that weaves and winds itself around your windpipe and crushes; because they’re getting worse, they’re getting closer, growls and grumbles following the flashes of lightning almost immediately, roaring loud enough to quake buildings, your heart thudding so violently it’s almost painful. Tears sting your eyes, and you shake your head against him, as if trying to burrow into his chest, to carve out a little space in his ribcage, right next to his steadily beating heart, and live there.

“I-I take it back, they are as bad as the ones back home,”

Or, at least, this one is

Keigo doesn’t argue, all traces of amusement evaporated from his face, replaced by trepidation that mixes with his worry and pinches his features, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned as he cradles you against him. Ferocious tremors course through your form, chest beginning to hitch with swallowed sobs, and he squeezes you.

“Okay, alright,” he’s saying as he rocks you gently, crimson wings wrapped entirely around you both, shielding you from the storm. The scent of freshly mown grass and sticky vanilla ice cream is nearly overwhelming as it washes over your senses, invading your lungs and smothering you in its embrace. It’s a welcomed feeling, the beautiful suffocation it affords you with, vibrant bursts of heat rushing through your veins, whole body flooded and thrumming with a deep-seated comfort—a special type of solace, of reassurance, of contentment unique to him, unfathomable and mystifying on all accounts, that soothes your frayed nerves and calms your irregular heart—because he smells like home; not your home halfway across the world, your real home, your forever home.

“Come,” he instructs a moment later, stern yet tender, keeping an arm draped firmly around your shoulders, one of his wings curving around the limb as he leads you away from the window, scarlet feathers obstructing your vision.

—

The bathroom—comprised of gleaming marble and shining chrome—is enormous, housing a mammoth glass shower that spans the length of the furthest wall, large enough to more-than-comfortably accommodate his wings, and then some.

Steam fogs the glass, and a soft hiss slips from between your teeth as he cages you between his chiseled body and the freezing marble, cold rock stinging your already heated skin, his wings spreading to mimic his arms, providing another layer of protection and entirely immersing you in him.

It’s your favourite when he does this, when he engulfs you in his grasp and creates a tiny universe where it’s just the two of you, whole world having fallen away outside of the barricade his thick wings offer—and you’ve never felt safer.

And it’s amazing, you’re thinking to yourself—or maybe you’re murmuring it, lips moving in a daze—it’s amazing how even after all of the rainwater pouring from the sky, all of the zipping through those dense clouds, all of the vicious wind that whips against him as he soars; none of it could ever manage to wash away, to ever dull, his intoxicating scent, not even for a second.

You’re completely overcome by him, vanquished by his enamoring eyes and his saccharine smile—drunk and high off of it all, addicted to him in the sweetest way—and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

But you’re leaning into him, closer and closer and closer, lips parted as you inhale deeply, filling your lungs, your chest, your heart and veins and blood with his aura, his essence, him. He conquers you, intoxicates you, poisons you in such a beautiful way, and you’re enchanted by it, yearning for more, a greedy and insatiable craving that will never be fulfilled.

And he knows it. He knows the effect he has on you by merely existing near you—his cocky smirk and dazzling gaze tell you so.

But then his eyes soften, glazing over with something else, lidded as they slowly travel across your body bared to him, and his mouth falls open only for his tongue to suck his bottom lip between his teeth, and his fingers reach to trace your features, the curve of your cheek and line of your jaw, the most gentle caress.

“You…Are breathtaking,”

And he really does sound out of breath, as if he’s in awe from your beauty, as if this is his first time seeing you, as if you’re some sort of goddess, having descended right in front of him, and it forces chills to erupt across your bare skin—damp and splattered with tiny droplets of water that gleam like morning dew clinging to grass—despite how boiling it is between him and the steam from the shower.

It’s a feeling you can’t quite explain, a feeling you’ve never really been able to find the appropriate words for, something that makes you feel simultaneously powerful and weak, a swirling concoction of contradictions that invade your bloodstream and travel straight to your brain, infusing the tissues with the potent mix and sending tiny sparks buzzing through your veins, collecting to flutter together in the pit of your stomach.

He kisses you slowly, tonight. He kisses you like it’s his last day to live, kisses you like it’s his first time, unhurried tongue deliberately exploring the concavities of your mouth—every nook and ridge and crevice—as if committing them to memory, as if attempting to leave his stamp, his mark, his claim, on the real estate there.

He kisses you until neither of you can breathe, lungs shriveling as your chests heave, exhaling into each other’s mouths only to suck breath from each other’s mouths a moment later. He kisses you until you’re dizzy from the lack of air and he’s burning and hard and pressed up against your thigh, leaking head rubbing against the supple skin, leaving the prettiest gleaming trails of cream. He kisses you until you’ve gone stupid from his spit alone, fervent in the way you swallow it greedily, in the way you attempt to suck, slurp, steal more from him as it surges to your brain, tissues and nerves vaporizing into nothing more than a dazed mist, spiked with him.

The kiss breaks with a sharp whoosh of air, his lids lifting to reveal glassy pupils outlined with the thinnest ring of amber. Your tongue darts out from your mouth to lick and lap at the stringy, viscous remnants coating your chin; starved, ravenous, and forever unsated.

The chuckle huffed out from between swollen, saliva-soaked lips is nothing short of sinful, makes your vision blur and your stomach swoop, a murmured tease following it.

“Eager, aren’t you,”

And you want to point out that you weren’t the one practically humping someone’s hip, but the words tangle in your throat, catching on a gasp as nimble fingers slip between the apex of your thighs, an involuntary groan spilling from his throat.

“Fuck,” his head falls forward, face buried in your neck, and sucks an inhale through his teeth. “How are you already this wet?”

He’s nearly whining as he dips two fingers into you, soft little sounds that fall from his lips and sop into your skin, his breath scorching—sizzling more than the steam in the shower—against your neck.

And those fingers, now plunging into you, knuckles curling the moment they’re deep enough to press moans from your chest and cries from your throat, feel so familiar as they stretch you open—the same fingers that pet your hair and brush away your tears and feed you pieces of fried chicken; they feel like home.

Yet as comforting as that is, as much as it has your chest swelling with something so large, so dense you’re terrified your ribs may shatter and splinter under the strain, they aren’t enough. Not right now, not today.

Because even with the water hitting the tiles and the exquisite symphony of his pants and your mewls, you can still hear it, menacing blasts encroaching on you, deep and heavy and threatening to split the little world Keigo has created, the small haven his wings and arms provide.

“Please, please, Kei,” you’re nearly wailing out, forcing bleary eyes to open, belated in the way they find his gaze. “I-I want you, I need you,”

“Sweetheart,” he starts—and you know that tone, stitched together with hesitation and concern and embellished with thin ribbons of patronization. “You know you can’t take me without being opened up at least a lil’ first,”

Another clap of thunder rattles the apartment, sounding as if it’s just outside the bathroom door, ranting and raging to get in, and both of your hands claw at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away as words bubble past your lips, high and terrified and desperate.

“No, Kei, not tonight. Please, baby, please, I need you now, right now, Kei, right now, pl-please,” and you’re nearly choking on the pleads as they barrel up your throat and out your mouth, all garbled together and stuffed with spit. “I can handle it, promise,”

A hoarse whine hitches in his throat, the worried knitting of his eyebrows carving creases into his forehead. With pinched features and a scrunched face, it looks almost as if he’s in pain; like it’s pure agony to deny you. And you can see it, can see the internal struggle reflected in his eyes, stare wrought with the tug and pull between desire and care. But that need is growing, spreading, curling around your organs in a tight embrace, suffocating you with its urgency.

A final please, Keigo, croaked out in a broken whimper and thick with the threat of tears, is what breaks him, shatters his resolve to a fine dust and whisks it away in one breath.

“Alright,” he’s murmuring, though his voice is strained, tense and gruff under the combined paradoxical weight of lust and apprehension. “Alright, hush now, I’ve got you,”

Then he’s hoisting you up, and your legs are wrapping around his waist, one hand clutching the top of the glass door, the other digging bruises into his neck as he buries his cock inside of you in one swift movement, a set of relieved gasps escaping you both.

It stings a little, sharp pinpricks shooting through your gut as his thick cock stretches you open, but they’re chased promptly by thorns of pleasure that dissipate the pain.

Because he feels so good, and you feel so full, and everything feels so perfect like this—everything feels right again.

But a boom of thunder explodes through this moment, blowing it to bits and pieces, and you reflexively jump, whole body flinching in his arms.

“Shh,” he’s whispering to you as he pulls you closer, chest pressed flush against yours. “Don’t worry, songbird, I’m gonna make it better, alright? Just focus on me,”

And so you do, eyes slipping shut as his hips begin to pump—slow at first, almost languid in the way they roll forward, each thrust thorough, cock nearly entirely unsheathed before it plunges back in, the head nudging your cervix, and you revel in the delicious cracks rasps—of your name, of curses, and praises—that fall from his lips with each rut.

“S’deep,” you mumble, words already jumbled from the carnal bliss, from the hedonistic decadence that surrounds you, emanating off him and percolating into you, instantly diffusing the tension and panic knotted like thick vines in your chest—even though he’s barely fucking done anything. “S’deep, Kei,”

“Yeah?” the word fans across your face, sweet and fragrant, hazy eyes opening to be met with glittering gold, strands of honeysuckle hair stuck to his forehead and temples, framing the dark gaze watching you, pupils almost voracious in the way they soak up your expressions, almost greedy in the way they scan your face as his hips move, looking for more. His forehead knocks against yours, penetrating stare boring into your face. “Good? My baby like it?”

“So good,” your head nods in small movements with the whimpered affirmation, bumping against his. It’s already beginning to build, smoldering deep in the pit of your stomach, the spark that had been dulled when you had begged him to stop, begged him to give you more—to stretch and fill and form you like your insides were made for him—reigniting, bright and scalding.

“More, please,”

It just slips from your lips, brain already beginning to melt as you allow yourself to be submerged, swallowed and consumed by him; an innate desire that swamps your mind and floods your senses, and you want it all.

But he complies without complaint this time, void of the usual teasing remarks and requests that you beg for it, because he can see how depleted, how drained you are, utterly exhausted from the terror of the storm, his understanding evident in a gentle confirmation tumbling from his lips.

And his groans and grunts are so beautiful, vibrating deep in the recesses of his chest, louder than any thunder as they rumble in your ears. You find solace in them, gulping them in as he pushes them out, letting them vibrate down the column of your throat and collect deep in your belly, kindling with the flickering embers that burn and glow and multiply with each thrust, furling together in a tense ball of churning heat.

The canting of his hips increases, faster and faster and faster with each rock forward, the escalating force resulting in your body to rubbing against the marble and glass, tightly curled fingers readjusting themselves, slipping a little from the foggy condensation coating the surface.

You don’t even realize that your sensitive skin’s been rubbed raw from the action, too tangled up in his noises, his pleasure, his cock, to notice, too tangled up in him to care at all.

“Here,” Keigo pants out, hips suddenly stilling. A low whine catches in your throat, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, a breathless snicker escaping his parted lips. “I know, baby, I know,” he’s telling you as strong arms readjust you, folded wings suddenly spanning, a gentle gust of air bathing your slick body in little goosebumps, before they wrap around him—around you—sheltering you from the glass and marble as they swoop under your ass and thighs, aiding Keigo in supporting your weight. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you, I promise,”

And it’s so much hotter like this, so much more intimate like this, uneven puffs of breath mingling as his forehead rests against yours, florescent lights reflecting off of his thick feathers and tinting everything—his skin, his eyes, his hair—scarlet.

The sudden snap of his hips startles a moan out of you, and he laughs again, carmine-tinged topaz eyes positively glowing. And he looks so gorgeous like this, looks like a fucking god like this, those fine gold hairs that cover his body catching in the soft light and shimmering.

He’s kissing, licking, nipping anywhere he can reach, stamping your flesh with physical manifestations of his love, pace never faltering as skilled, powerful hips continue to pound into you, cockhead dragging against that spot with every buck.

Your legs flex around his waist, muscles coiling as the sphere roiling in your stomach blazes, curled into a concentrated ball of fire. The heat it exudes is nearly unbearable now, heavy as it sinks into your gut, glowing orb spiraling as it coils, tighter and tighter and tighter until—

“Want you to cum for me, baby,” Keigo nearly keens, almost as if he’s begging you instead of commanding, voice cutting through the dense haze your brain has evaporated into. “Can y’do that for me? Be good and cum all over my cock?”

Yes, yes, yes, your head is nodding, emitting affirmatives in the form of high little mewls with each jerk. And it only takes two more sharp pistons of his hips before the fire-filled ball bursts, half of his name escaping your throat in a fractured cry as your entire body stiffens, cunt clenching so vigorously it’s almost painful.

Words start to spill from his mouth, an endless stream of praises, sandwiched between dark groans and broken whines and hitched curses; Y’so good for me, y’know that? Ah, f-fuck—So gorgeous when you gush all over my—my cock, baby, y’feel so good, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Hot, thick cum fills you suddenly, coinciding with his last choked out declaration of love, cock throbbing as it spurts rope after rope, taut stuttering hips pressed flush against your skin.

—

Everything aches as you unwind your limbs from around him, muscles sore and legs trembling as Keigo forces you to stand, propping you up against the shower wall and returning with the fluffiest towel only a moment later. Large hands pull you towards him, dragging you from under the shower head and into his arms, swaddling your shivering body in Egyptian cotton and strong arms and soft feathers.

He leaves the shower running on purpose, steady flow of water hitting the tiled floor and marbled wall, efficiently drowning out any roars or claps of thunder.

And you’re so tired, so pliant and boneless in his arms, barely able to keep your weighted eyelids from fluttering shut. He keeps you in his lap as he sits on the closed toilet, cradling you to his chest as best he can as he gently rocks you back and forth, whispering out praises—you did so well, you always look so gorgeous taking my cock—and avowals of his love, constant words oozing from his lips, sentiments cascading over your body like a stream of thick syrup.

Unconsciousness has you in its clutches, nearly slipping into the familiar embrace that promises the numbing ecstasy that comes with such an intense orgasm, until your tummy growls, and Keigo laughs.

“No, sweetheart,” he chides softly as you nuzzle into his chest, an indignant noise sounding at the back of your throat. “You have to eat at least a little before you can fall asleep,”

“Don’wanna,”

“I know,” he’s saying sympathetically as he stands, placing your feet on the floor a moment later. You wobble a little, eyes still shut, and he chuckles again, murmuring to himself about how fucking cute you are as he begins to dress you, tugging soft fleece that reeks of him over your head.

—

The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time you’ve been clothed and fed, constant and leaking from the clouds overhead as you snuggle against Keigo in the plush sanctuary of your shared bed, tummy full and happy with roasted chicken and sauteed veggies. A deep contentment settles itself in your bones, weaving itself around the ivory in a protective glaze and imbuing you with a sense of calm, a sense of relaxation, a sense of relief, and you hum, Keigo’s lithe fingers trailing up your spine absentmindedly.

If you’re being honest, you’re not quite sure how he did it, how he slipped, slithered, seeped through the few cracks in your defence without being violent, without being forceful—how he tore down all of the barricades and shields you had built around yourself, hardened and firm from several years of paranoia and distrust, from the perpetual fear of being hurt again. It should scare you, really, how quickly he did it, how easily and inconspicuously he did it. But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, because he did it with love; stripping those protective walls with genuity and sincerity, dismantling every brick and stone with gentle touches and soft kisses and tender words. He did it with respect, with patience, with passion and affection and devotion.

So it doesn’t, because there’s nothing to fear—because you’ve never felt more safe in your life, here enveloped by his strong arms and cozy wings, resting on his chest, legs tangled in knots together.

And as you drift off to the gentle pat-pat-pat of the raindrops against the windowpane and the steady thumping of Keigo’s heart echoing in your ears, you realize he’s your very own ray of sunshine, forever present to keep those menacing clouds and malicious thunder away, even in the strongest, the harshest, and the scariest of storms.

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #bnha smut #hawks smut #hawks x reader #takami keigo #hawks #AAAAAH ITS SO VANILLA LMAO #it's really sweet tho #i hope it brings some of you some comfort and feelings of buzzy happiness <333

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twjournals · 3 years

Text

So Wrong It's Right

Sequel: What's Wrong is Right

Warning: dark!Peter Parker x reader, DUB-CON, manipulation, age gap, drinking

PLEASE READ MY WARNING BEFORE CONTINUING. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Any and all negativity will be blocked.

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: You're an old troubled friend of May's. Your life consists of being a workaholic, a party animal, and bringing home the shittest of guys for a one-hit-wonder. Just when you get your life in order, you're knocked right back into your old habits. Peter has watched you suffer long enough. He can make it all better.

Your life was far from where you thought you would be. It was sad to say, but you were anything but a role model. Yet May still tolerated you, regardless of Peter. Maybe she used you as an example to show Peter what not to be or maybe she was just too good of a friend to leave you on your own. To say the least, your life was a mess but you could not be more grateful to have a friend like May.

"Peter, go get me a wet rag, please," May spoke quietly. Peter left your side once he helped May get you over to the couch. You were beyond the limits that someone should be drunk.

You were in a fit of hiccups, giggling to yourself as May bent down to take off your heels. You had far too many drinks, that much was clear.

"Maaay, you.." you hiccupped, "are suuuch a good.." you hiccupped again, "friend."

May shook her head with a sigh, taking in the drunken sight of you. She was not sure how you managed to let yourself get this far gone, but every time you would drink, this is how you ended up. Either you had zero limits or you loved to push the limits you did have.

"Pet-" May started to call over her shoulder, but Peter was already hurrying in the room with his hands full.

"I'm here, Aunt May." Peter reminded and she watched as Peter sat the trash can nearby the couch. He then placed the bottle of water on the table with some medicine for the headache he knew would come with your awake in the morning. He kneeled down beside you on the couch, pressing the rag to your forehead.

May only smiled to herself as she pulled the blanket from its spot on the back of the couch and pulled it over your figure. She didn't say anymore. Peter had seen his Aunt May take care of you many nights when you were so shit-faced it was a wonder you could still see faces.

Your head was propped up against a pillow on the couch as Peter wiped your forehead with the cool rag. Your skin was burning up. Peter could not help but wonder how you let yourself get like this. You were quite a few years younger than May, but it amazed him how different the two of you were to be the best of friends.

You were fast asleep in no time, making Peter smile as his eyes gazed over your face. He had always thought you were so beautiful. Too precious to be taken advantage of by the guys you went after. He witnessed many nights when you had told Aunt May about a new guy you had hooked up with. Everyone knew it was nothing more than a one-night stand, but Peter could not help but hate any guys that touched you only for only their benefit.

It was not until you had eventually settled down with a guy you had met from one of your nightstands that you finally stopped ending up on May's couch. You had moved on with your life, still keeping in contact with May every now and then. You were happy. Not just the sex but he was truly seemed like a guy you could see yourself spending forever with.

You had stopped drinking. You had stopped going out to parties. After the first year, you had moved into the city and got an apartment together. Another year later, you guys were engaged and everything seemed to fall into place. After 3 years, the wedding was right around the corner.

Your world moved at a quicker pace now considering all the things you needed to get done before the wedding. In between work and house chores, you were planning for your big day.

As time went by, you were so wrapped up in your own little world you did not notice the slow-burning flame in your partner slowly being put out. While your plans had been coming together, your relationship was falling apart. You had for the most part ignored all the signs and assumed he was having a bad day. It amazed you how many he was having. When you would try to talk to him, it seemed useless since you could never get him to talk about it. In reality, it all brewed into something bigger. It all hit you like a ton of bricks.

You had been working later hours than usual for extra money. It wasn't cheap, but you had told yourself it was okay to want the things you wanted. After all, this was going to be your first and hopefully wedding. You wanted everything to be perfect. You even tried to get opinions from your fiance to include his vision of it, but he insisted you were better at this sort of thing. You couldn't argue with that.

You wrapped up your work at the office fairly early so you decided to call it a night and surprise your fiance. You felt like everything was on track. One night worry-free was much needed. You had earned it.

You pushed open the front door to your apartment before walking through the living room into the kitchen. You sit your keys on the counter, placing your bag on the stool by the counter. You peered around the apartment for a moment. All the lights were off and it was quiet. Had he already gone to bed? You checked the time.

7:13pm

You were surprised you did not hear his game or at least him yelling at it. You started down the hallway to the bedroom you shared, staring at the closed door. Why was it closed when it was just him? You shook the thought a little too soon. Maybe if you had just thought a little longer, you would have prepared yourself for what was on the other side.

You pushed the door open just a little to see inside when you heard a faint moan from the other side. Your heart stopped. You stood in shock taking in the sight of the man you were in love with hovered over another girl in your bed under your covers. Your face was hot in embarrassment, anger. You were feeling so many things right now you could not think straight. You were hurt.

"Are you serious??" You blurted out, causing them both to jump to try and cover themselves.

"You're sick, Chris." She shoved his chest, pushing him off of her as she quickly got out of the bed. "He told me you guys were no longer together."

She scowled as she hurried to gather her clothes off the floor and pulling them on. If it were even possible, your eyes could have burned holes through the girl. You were in disbelief. Your jaw would have already been on the floor if it wasn't connected to your face.

"I'm so sorry." She mumbled, embarrassed as she hurried past you out of your apartment.

You were left to deal with Chris. You starred at him with tears kissing your eyes.

"I-"

You took a deep breath, shaking your head. "Don't."

"I can explain." He started to get out of the bed to dress.

"There's nothing to explain, Chris." You stared at him, trying to restrain yourself from coming across the room and punching him in the face for acting like an explanation could even justify his actions.

"She meant nothing to me." He started to walk over to you.

“You told her we weren’t together. How is that nothing?”

“It felt like we weren’t. You were so busy.” He tried to touch your arm but you shoved his hand away.

"Don't you dare think about touching me when you were just touching another woman." You looked at him with dark eyes, struggling to fight back the cry. He wasn't worth your tears. "I want you to get out."

"Get out?! Where am I gonna go?"

"I don't know." You shrugged your shoulders. "Maybe you could have thought that through."

He frowned, running his fingers through his hair frustrated. "It doesn't have to be like this. Can't we just talk this out?"

"No!" You shouted at him, making his eyes grow wide. You could tell he wasn't telling this as seriously as you. "I don't want to look at you right now." You turn to leave the room, but he grabs your arms to turn you to face him.

"Please. Look, I can- I can stay on the couch tonight. I'll give you your space and when you're ready we can talk about it. I was wrong for that. I fucked up and I'm sorry." You yanked yourself from his hold.

"You can give me space by leaving. Pack yourself a bag and go."

"I love you, Y/n. I never meant to hurt you."

You shook your head as your eyes wandered over the bed to where they once were before meeting his eyes. "You mean you never meant to get caught."

He sighed before hanging his head in defeat and walking by you to gather up some of his things. You didn't move from your spot. Only stared at the mess of a bed. The place you made love to him while he made love to another. You listened to the front door close behind him on his way out before you finally covered your face, letting the tears fall.

For days, weeks, all you could seem to do was feel sorry for yourself. You couldn't find the strength to get out of bed. No matter how many calls you received, you let them ring through to voicemail. Everything you had felt for him was in ruins. You changed for him. You let yourself grow for him and even that wasn't enough. After all the time you spent picking up after him, cooking, cleaning, planning, staying loyal for crying out loud. You didn't know what else he could of you.

You had called off the wedding in the time you stayed closed up in your apartment. Even took some time off of work to handle it all. You took that time to gather every piece of him scattered around the apartment and packed it up. You wanted to end this as painless as possible aside from the pain you were already feeling. You had thrown away the sheets and replaced them, even get a new comforter and it still didn't feel the same anymore to lay in your bed. You stared at your phone beside you as it lit up for what felt like the hundredth time. You finally sighed, lifting the phone. You knew without even looking at the name it was from him.

You canceled the wedding? It doesn't have to be like this. I still love you, Y/n. You were so busy with work and all the planning. You abandon me. Whenever I wanted your attention, you were always too tired to pay any attention to me.

It's like the girl I fell in love with was gone. Some time ago, you couldn’t keep your hands off of me now it’s like I have to beg you to touch me.

You're being selfish.

You can't be THAT mad, Y/n. I’m a man. I have needs. You were busy and she was willing to help. We can fix this. Don’t give up 3 years. Don’t give up on me.

There were loads more, but you could not care to bother reading the rest. You tossed your phone back down on the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. You didn't owe him anything, not even a response. The girl he was talking about was not gone. She was only on hold to plan a wedding by herself and it was more stressful than he knew. You wanted to forget everything that had happened. You wanted to forget you wasted 3 years of your life planning on growing old with this man.

You weren't sure how you had got this far and with that being said, May wasn't either. You had talked May into joining you to a night out at a club. She needed a night to herself and you needed a break from everything. Along with that, if you had stayed inside that house a moment longer, you might have gone insane.

"You're going to be hammered if you keep on like that." May reminded with a laugh, both of you clinging onto the bar and each other for the extra support. You thanked the bartender as he pushed your last round of shot glasses in front of the two of you.

You smiled, passing a glass to May before keeping one for yourself.

"We can only hope." You winked at the bartender who only chuckled before clinking your shot glass with hers and downing your shot.

Your throat was already numb from all the alcohol you had already numbed it with. May wasn't far behind you. You took your final shot, grinning and pulling May along with you to the dancefloor to get lost in the sea of people. You threw your arms around May's, moving your hips as you both danced to the music.

This was the therapy you needed. Sometimes you had longed for nights like this. You had freedom. You had no worries, aside from worrying who you might wake up beside. But you had fallen in love and even though you had grown up, you had not nearly grown out of this lifestyle. It was all too familiar.

"Hey! I'm going to the bathroom! I'll be back!" May moved closer to you, raising her voice to be heard over the loud music. You nodded, watching her pushing her way through the crowd of people to get to the ladies' bathroom before easing yourself back into your dancing.

You swayed, grinding your hips with the rest of the crowd. You weren't the slightest bit bothered to be dancing by yourself. You used to lose yourself on the dancefloor for hours days after days years ago.

"I've missed this." You heard a familiar voice speak from behind you, startling you when their hands landed on your hips with your sway. They pulled you back against them, catching you off guard. "I've missed you." He mumbled in your ear, sending chills down your spine.

You peaked over your shoulder to make sure your mind was not playing tricks on you. It wasn't. You prayed it was an old one-night stand, but of course, it was the one person you were trying to get away from.

"It doesn't work like that, Chris." You dropped your hands down to his on your hips, trying to push them off your hips but they only hold you tighter. "Get- get off of me." You gritted through your teeth as your eyes glared at him. "Get off!" You raised your voice.

"Now, now, let's not cause a scene. You've had quite a bit to drink haven't you?" He wrapped your arms around your figure, making your blood run cold as his body pressed to yours.

"That's none of your business."

"I'm your fiance. You are my business."

"Ex." You corrected him. His nose flared slightly.

"You really want to go there? You're nothing without me. You're shit-faced in the middle of the club and you can't even accept my help?" He growled and you pushed on his arms.

"I don't need your help."

"You're drunk. You don't know what you need." He spat.

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your argument. "I think I've got it from here." You looked up to put a face to the voice, your eyes widening slightly.

"And you are?" Chris didn't budge while staring down Peter as if challenging him.

Peter was reaching his hand out for yours. "Her boyfriend." You stared up at Peter in shock at how much he had changed over the years and he smiled reassuringly.

Chris stiffed slightly and you could feel his eyes burning a hole into you. "Is that true?"

You didn't take your eyes off of Peter, taking a hold of his hand and letting him pull you out of Chris's arms. "Yes." Your voice was hushed.

Chris scowled. "Wow. I wish you luck there, man. She's a real catch." He laughed, making you look down. You couldn't believe he was really trying to ruin your night when he had already ruined everything else.

Peter only snaked his arm around your waist, letting his hand settle on your hip while his eyes never left Chris's. "She certainly is." He agreed. He gave your body a warm squeeze, grabbing you closer into his embrace. "Now, if you'll excuse us."

With that, he guided you through the crowd off of the dance floor.

"You okay?" He finally broke the silence once he got you back to the bar, sitting you down on one of the stools.

You nodded, letting your eyes wander up to him as he motioned the bartender over. "I'm just curious as to why you're here right now. Aren't you supposed to be in college?"

He smiled as he pulled out his wallet to pay your tab and you grabbed his hand, shaking your head. "No, no. I can pay for my own."

"What if I insist?"

"You don't have to, honestly. I have money."

You started to reach into your purse for some cash but Peter covered your hand, giving you another reassuring smile.

"You'll have plenty of other times to pay. I'll get it this time." He reminded you and you sighed in defeat, giving him a playful scowl. He only grinned, proceeding to pull some cash from his wallet to give to the bartender.

"You didn't answer my question." You continued as he turned back to you.

"I'm still college. I just sometimes stay with Aunt May on the weekends."

"And you just so happened to be here?"

Peter chuckled, pointing in May's direction as she stumbled over her feet returning back to the two of us. "Aunt May called."

You raised your eyebrow, looking over at May as she stood beside you now. "You called Peter?"

"Someone has to get you back home." She reminded you and you hit her arm slightly, tilting your head.

"May, I could have got a taxi or an uber. You didn't have to call him for me." You scowled at her and she shook her head in a tsking manner.

"No, no, no. I called Peter so I can rest assured you got home safely and not by some random stranger."

You rolled your eyes slightly and Peter butted in with an awkward chuckle. "I really don't mind. I don't consider this anything out of the way. I'd rather it be me than some stranger or someone." He noticed him giving the floor a swift scan around the three of you.

"Fine." You pouted your bottom lip slightly before rising from your seat at the bar. "You guys make me feel irresponsible or something." You grabbed a hold of May's arm and pulling her with you to the exit of the club while Peter followed behind the two of you.

"Are you coming?" You muttered over to May and she shook her head.

"Happy is here." Just as the words left her mouth when you started out the door, you spotted Happy parked in front of the building to pick up May. "Peter isn't too bad of a driver." You stopped in front of Happy's car.

"Oh goody, rest secured." You muttered and she laughed. Your arms looped around May's neck, hugging her tight. "I'm so glad to have you back. Message me when you get home." You told her and Happy a quick goodnight before letting her go.

Peter led you over to his car, unlocking the car and opening the passenger side for you. You settled comfortably in the front seat, leaning your head back against the headrest. You didn't like how it felt as if you couldn't take care of yourself, but you were in no position to complain when Peter Parker had yet again saved the day.

Peter glanced over at you in the passenger seat from time to time as he drove the distance to your apartment. He tried to keep the glances quick to keep you from noticing. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. It had been years since he had actually seen you, but you seemed like the Y/n he still remembered. Not that it was anything bad. He adored you then, and now a bit more.

He had always had the hots for you for as long as you remembered. Of course, you never minded when you ended up staying with him and Aunt May. You were always kind to Peter and he did his best to nurse you back to health to take on the hangover that awaited you the next morning.

He had never forgotten what you said to him one day while you were sick from the night before. You had been clinging onto the toilet and he had taken the opportunity to hold your hair back out of your face to keep from getting anything in it.

You sighed as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. You leaned against the toilet miserably. That was the day you learned to stay away from tequila.

"I hope I meet a guy at least half as amazing as you someday, Peter."

No doubt did the compliment find its way to his cheeks. He blushed a deep shade of red. He tried to restrain himself from making a big deal but it was a big deal to him. Though he knew he didn't stand a chance right now with his age, it meant if he had been of age, he had a chance. He thought about it even when you had stopped coming around so much. He knew this was all a coping method for you. You were hurting then and he could tell by the way you seemed toward the guy back there that there was more to that counter.

He noticed your shiver as you stared out the window. You mentally cursed yourself for wearing something this revealing. You rubbed your arms to try to warm yourself a little. Peter reached behind him in the back seat to retrieve a hoodie of his he always forgot in the car and handing it to you.

"Here." He offered before fumbling with the heat in the car. He smiled at your quiet thank you, putting your arms in the hoodie and pulling it close for warmth with putting it all the way on. He tried to control the big grin threatening to break across his face.

"I'm sorry you had to keep seeing me like this." You looked over at Peter as he kept his eyes on the road. He didn't realize how thankful you were for him in times like this. It was embarrassing how many times this had happened but you were still thankful Peter didn't think any less of you.

"You really don’t have to apologize.” He smiled at her before turning his attention back to the road.

“I really do though. I feel like you’ve taken care of me enough. I’m grown, you know? It should be the other way around.” You giggled and Peter glanced over at you.

“I’m 21.” He reminded you.

“And I’m pushing 30.”

“You’re 28. You’re still young.” He chuckled.

“Almost 29!” You huffed as he pulled into the parking lot to your apartment. “My point is- you know what my point is.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at your frustration. Your age didn’t matter to him. He could always settle for his MJ, his best friend, but seeing you tonight relit the flame to his crush for you. There was just something about you.

He parked the car in the parking lot, walking around to your side to open the door for you. You slid your arms out of his hoodie and leaving it in the seat as he helped you out of the car. You could feel the shots hitting you all at once when you stood. You stumbled out in your heels, grabbing onto Peter’s arms for support.

“Easy now.” He held onto your waist as he guided you to your apartment, asking for your keys. He took your keys when you dug them out of your pocket, letting you in your apartment.

You couldn’t help but notice all the little things he did for you. You kicked off your heels at the door, stumbling over your own two feet again as you wandered down the hallway to your bedroom. You could hear Peter in the kitchen getting you a bottle of water from the fridge along with some medicine from the medicine cabinet.

You sat on the bed when you hear his footsteps coming down the hallway toward the bedroom. You looked up at him, pouting your bottom lip out slightly when you saw him with a bottle of water and medicine for the headache to come.

He set them down on your nightstand, noticing your pout. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Peter, you’re seriously too good to me.” You sighed.

“How’s that?” He looked down at you as he towered over you.

You motioned over to the stuff he had placed on your nightstand and frowning. “All of this. You- you really didn’t have to do this for me.”

“You’re right I don’t. But I want to. I would want it done for me if I were ever in your shoes.”

You laughed slightly at the thought of Peter drunk and you smiled to yourself. “I would definitely be there anytime you needed me.”

You thought back to all the time you had ever been drunk, remembering all the time you woke up to water and medicine from him. Only from him. Even a trash can in case you were to ever get sick, but you never got that with Chris. You always took care of him, but no one ever took care of you. You shook your head with a frown. You had tried so hard to hold it together, but it felt like you were slowly falling apart. He wasn't worth your tears, yet he was always the cause of them.

He kneeled down in front of you, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Talk to me. Everything okay?”

You couldn’t stop the words from coming out. “Why am I never enough?”

His eyes widened at your words. “You are more than enough and anyone who doesn’t see that, who doesn’t appreciate you and the things you do for them doesn’t deserve you.” He corrected you, his thumb stroked over your jaw as he held your face to keep your attention.

You didn't know what to say. All you could do was stare. Your eyes scanned over his face before stopping at his lips. Don't. Don't you do it. You mentally told yourself. You couldn't control the effect the alcohol had on your mind and your actions. You tried to fight back the urge but the alcohol only pushed down the buriers you had built.

Your lips smashed against his firmly, catching him by surprise. He was frozen about your lips for a first, in shock, this was actually happening but he surely gave in the kiss. Your hands grabbed at the back of his neck and pulling him onto the bed with you without breaking the hungry desperate kiss. His body hovered over yours as your fingers curled against his shirt, gripping on it. You knew it was wrong. It was so wrong, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Your smaller hands slid underneath his shirt, brushing your hands over his defined abs. He was sculpted by a God. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't find it in him to stop. He didn't want to miss his chance to prove himself to you. He wanted to take care of you.

Your lips parted for air even though you left like you could hardly catch your breath when his lips started to kiss down your neck. Your hands tugged on his shirt until you started to pull it up and over your head.

His hands pushed your tight dress up the curves of your body, tossing it beside the bed once he peeled it from your body. Your lips still tingled from the loss of his and you whined quietly, your hand grasped the curls at the nape of his neck to bring his lips back to yours.

He kissed your lips passionately and letting your lips mold together. He could taste the alcohol on your tongue but it didn't bother him any. He had dreamed of this moment since he was a teen. Your fingers worked desperately to undo his jeans, feeling his bulge already through his pants before your hands pushed his pants off of his hips along with your boxers.

You were so desperate. You couldn't stop the whine that escaped against his lips. "Peter, please..." His cock twitched at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

He dragged your panties down your legs swiftly, placing himself back between them when he spread them open again. He peppered light kisses to your lips as he dragged the tip of precum-coated tip through your folds, not wasting any time to give you what you wanted.

You cried out as you clung to Peter's bareback, feeling his cock stretching you in all the ways you craved. You moaned out, letting him swallow them in a kiss as his hips rolled into yours again and again. He sighed in pleasure against your lips as your walls invited him in. You were even better than he could have imagined.

He couldn't believe this was actually happening. His lips covered your body in his kisses, admiring every part of your body as it sang for him. This was nothing like what you used to. He pressed small kisses against your bottom lip, nibbling on it as your core ached with a building climax. Your legs wrapped around his hips, causing you to gasp at the deeper strokes.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a loud moan drawing from your parted lips. Your fingers held onto Peter's hair as he hit that spot over and over, making your eyes roll slightly. You needed so badly for him to stop, but you couldn't bring the words to the surface.

"Oh my god..." Your core tightened with every deep thrust. His cock touched parts of you no guy had ever. You had never felt a climax so fast or so strong. "Please don't stop..." You couldn't fight the words from coming out. Your grip tightened on his dark hair, feeling yourself falling apart with an orgasm with every thrust.

"You're so pretty when you cum." He couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He was not far behind you by the way your walls sucked him in, milking him for all he was worth.

"Do it again. I want to make you cum again." He groaned against your chest as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, flicking his tongue against it teasingly before letting out a groan against your warm skin. He didn't want it to stop. He didn't want it to end. "You feel so good, Y/n..."

His hand reached between the two of you, rolling his fingers over your clit in circles. You gripped onto his wrist at the overpowering feeling. You were soaked to the core. This man made you crumble.

"I-I'm gonna cum.." His voice cracked slightly as your walls clenched around him tight In your second orgasm, pushing him over the edge into his first. His cum filled you full, marking you as he pressed delicate kisses across your neck while praising you in the process. "So beautiful, so perfect."

Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, smiling to yourself when Peter laid down on the bed behind you. He wrapped an arm around your body, pulling you back against his chest.

It only took a matter of seconds for sleep to claim you as Peter pulled a blanket over the both of you tiredly. It was only a matter of time before the morning came to rain on your parade. Bringing along the guilt and regret that followed.

#dark!peter parker #dark!peter x reader #dark!marvel #tom holland fan fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker #dub con #peter parker one shot #dark!tom holland

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