#and this is not directed at anyone in particular

[blkkizzat]

PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ 𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟔 — 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: nov 28th, 5:47 pm ⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: thanksgiving speech + heavy innuendo + dirty talk + bathroom sex + fellatio/blow job + backshots + pussy smacks + brat taming + brat!reader + dom!nanami + nanami has a lil' sadistic streak when it comes to payback ⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 9078 (5k of it is pure smut khfjhdrfrdgjhf)

𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

How does the saying go again? Play with fire, get burned?

Well, when it came to mischief, you weren’t just playing with fire—you were a regular pyromaniac. 

And poor Nanami? 

He was the one whose patience kept getting scorched time and again.

Case in point: right now.

With feigned innocence, you stretch across the dining room table to set down a china plate. A mundane act by anyone else's standards—except you’re braless under your loose sweater dress, and the moment you lean forward, your pert nipples peek through the gaping neckline, jiggling carelessly right in Nanami’s direct line of sight.

Nanami, of course, pretends not to notice. Attempting to hold himself to his signature stoicism as to not reward your slutty antics. Yet, Nanami’s hands give him away, hesitating mid-fold as the napkin fumbles through his fingers.

The result: a sagging, lopsided swan. 

A far cry from the pristine little flock he’d already created.

With a sharp exhale, Nanami quietly undoes his work and begins again, a clear scowl tugging at his lips.

He should by all accounts be happy, it’s Thanksgiving. 

Yet today also makes it Day 28 of the cursed No Nut November bet.

All month, your playful taunts, pretty pouts and cutesy whines have been tortuously chipping away at Nanami’s resolution to remain firm in not fucking you. Although it’s really no surprise to Nanami how bratty you could get when you went too long without a good dicking to remind you to behave—and for that, Nanami continues to lament letting Gojo rope him into the bet in the first place. 

Not that Nanami particularly cared for any bets, he did however have a petty streak towards Gojo’s antics. Nanami couldn’t resist this particular challenge. After all, if there was one thing Nanami could undoubtedly best the so-called infinite strongest in—it was self-restraint.

Something Gojo has in laughably short supply, so it would be an easy win.

And it had been. Gojo folded within the first 72 hrs.

The satisfaction that came with besting Gojo had been short-lived. What really had kept Nanami going all this time is his more sadistic side relishing in how desperate you’ve been for him all month. 

You, his perfect lil’ slut—you had zero false illusions of pride, especially when it came to getting your sweet lil’ pussy pounded. At the mere mention of your involuntary participation in the month you quickly unraveled like an addict from just the thought of having dick withdrawals. As such, dealing with your horny desperation has been a whole other beast of its own.

A few times Nanami had nearly caved too as he found himself fighting against his more debased animalistic urges that would arise. 

You’re his weakness after all and it’s far too easy to be enamored by you. 

Especially when you would rub your thick thighs together—your plush skin sliding against whatever scandalous lingerie you’d be wearing, splayed out on whatever surface was the closest—bed, counter, sofa, floor— wet pussy on display and  all while cooing for him to reconsider. 

You would beg so sweetly for Nanami to touch you, to stretch your pretty pussy out just a little bit with the fat head of his tip—yet to his own maddening torment, Nanami held firmly and refused. 

Your charms had finally met their match. 

For every ounce of brat you possess, Nanami has pounds of stubbornness to counter. Nanami would have thought though as the end of the month drew closer, you’d be able to hold on knowing you’d made it this far. 

Yet contrary to his hopes, you’d only ramped up your teasing to practically insufferable levels. 

All of which is particularly bothersome to Nanami right now seeing as your entire family is in Japan to visit you for Thanksgiving this year. 

Much to Nanami’s chagrin, even your family’s presence is not enough to deter your lewd stunts—if anything you take it up a notch, slyly using your family as a shield from his reprimand. 

Your family, of course, doesn’t think of you as anything less than an angel, your shameless behaviors going undetected to all but him.  

Like the time you insisted on stopping for ice cream crepes after taking your family out for lunch despite the near-freezing temperatures. The chill didn’t faze you one bit as you messily devoured the treat. When your relatives weren’t looking, you made a show of deep throating your pristinely manicured fingers—in slow, exaggerated motions, like you were devouring something far filthier than just the frozen sweet cream flavor you had purposely let drip down to your palms.

The bitter chill also never stopped you from flouncing around the city in the shortest of mini skirts. Your legs would be comfortably wrapped in thick, form-hugging thigh-highs—another one of Nanami’s undeniable weaknesses. 

You knew that though, and as expected you made sure to tease him whenever you got the tiniest chance. Exampled by your flashing him glimpses of your crotchless panties during a casual family trip to the local Daiso for souvenirs.

Despite the warmth indoors, Nanami was forced to uncomfortably pull his thick wool coat tighter around himself. The last thing he needed was to be seen with his arousal leading ahead of him because you feigned sudden interest in every item on the lower shelves. Every time something new caught your eye you’d bend over just enough to offer him, and only him, the perfect view of your smooth, bare cunt— the glistening flesh plumping out between your thighs as if your pussy lips would have blown him a wet kiss at any moment.

The sight almost broke him.

Nanami had to dig for newfound strength in order not to push you up against the shelves that day. Public indecency charges be damned, Nanami would have given almost anything in that moment to spank your naughty cunny red for rebelling against him to these extremes. Then of course, he’d bury his aching cock into that tight lil’ cunt of yours, already pulsing and soaked, just so ready to be punished.

Worst of all though, was the constant weight of his arousal resting heavy between his thick, muscular thighs, growing unbearable with each one of your taunts. Nonetheless Nanami endured it—and his blue balls—if only to teach you that haughty lil’ brats couldn’t get their way. 

Now it was deeper than the bet with Gojo even, this was on principle.

Two more days.

In just two more days it be December, your family would be gone and Nanami could finally fuck you into the slobbery, sated stupor you’d been fiending for all month. 

Nanami sighs again, looking up to see you already staring at him, smiling sweetly like you weren’t the embodiment of Lilith herself. 

You only giggle at him.

Patience is Nanami’s virtue, not yours. Surely destined for the naughty list this year, you and those venus like curves of yours are driving him to insanity—and you knew that.

All according to plan! 

“Ken~to~~”

Your sing-song lilt not only grabs his attention but the attention of his cock as well, to his utter dismay the dull throb in Nanami’s pants responds before he can.

“Whatcha thinking so hard about, babe…?” 

Well, he certainly couldn’t answer honestly.  

No way in hell Nanami was going to admit he was vividly picturing how satisfying it would be to rip your sweater dress down the middle in two. He’d spread you out until your thighs trembled from the ache, plating your sassy lil’ pussy right next to the crystal centerpiece in the middle of the table before devouring you whole. 

That’s the true feast Nanami wanted—fuck the turkey.

Instead, Nanami tiredly shakes his head as if to say ‘not much at all’.  

“I meannnnn, it must be something pretty intense because you’re ignoring the timer for the turkey right now, it's been going off for over a minute.”  

Oh fuck—the actual turkey! 

Nanami couldn’t burn it, not the turkey he’d spent 10 hours basting with meticulous care. Nanami being the amazing partner he is, followed your Nana’s recipe to the letter so your family could spend the little time they had visiting Tokyo sightseeing and not in the kitchen. 

You smirk as you bide your time, all while listening to Nanami quietly cursing as he fusses to himself the entire way to the kitchen.

Breaking Nanami before the end of the month has become your personal mission and you took that seriously. Even with all his saintly restraint you reasoned that Nanami was still just a man of flesh and blood.

He had to have a breaking point somewhere.

And when he finally snapped… well, you weren’t dumb, knew that wouldn’t bode well for you.

But wasn’t that the thrill? 

The anticipation of pushing him off the very edge of his limits, of coaxing out the strict, authoritative side to him—the side he only let loose when he was truly fed up with you? 

You’d wind your A-type boyfriend up so much today that the second your family left back to their hotel for the night he’d have no choice but to release all his frustrations out on your ass—literally. 

For now, you return to setting the table. Your parents and older family members would be back from their shopping trip and your cousins back from the walk—and then, your little plan could finally unfold.

Sure enough, it isn’t long before the front door swings open, laughter and the crinkle of shopping bags flooding in to announce their return. Your cousins also return, eyes a bit redder but thanks to raiding your bathroom cabinets for eye drops, your family none the wiser. In no time, the dining table is brimming with your Thanksgiving favorites.

And unlike the wonky napkin swans, Nanami executes each dish with the precision of a seasoned chef, as if these recipes had been his own all along. The rich aroma of roasted turkey, buttery stuffing, and stewed collards lures the rest of your family into the dining room as everyone settles to eat.

Out of respect, you let your parents take the seats at the heads of the table and intentionally save the seat beside you for Nanami. But when he pointedly chooses the chair diagonally across from you instead, your pout is impossible to hide.

Nanami’s gaze snaps to yours, and he offers the faintest smirk—as if to say he knows better.

At best? 

If he sat across from you you’d tease him under the table, playing footsie. Your delicate feet gliding along the rim of his socks, tickling his ankle and testing just how composed he could really be.

At worst? 

Well, if he sat next to you and your shamelessness got the better of you, you might just get bold enough to slip your hand into his lap and onto his cock—breaking any boundaries of your already reckless antics. 

The idea of being jerked off under the table, in front of your entire family, just because you were too much of a cock-hungry slut to wait?

Nanami refuses to entertain it.

Because knowing you? 

The likelihood of getting caught wasn’t an "if." It was a "when" and there simply isn’t enough therapy or meditative prayer in the world for Nanami to be able to recover from that.

Nanami tries to hold back his glower, while you flash him a saccharine smile musing at how this works in your favor.

This time your stubbornly patient boyfriend needed to think a little bigger if he wanted to stop you. 

Footsie and grabbing at him? Ha! That was child’s play. 

Far too predictable and too much of a risk with your family here, even for you. 

To be honest, with what you did have planned though you could savor his expressions better across from him than next to him. Nanami actually did exactly what you wanted him too—he didn’t need to know that though. 

Thus, enacting your grand plan begins when you speak up once everyone is seated, cheerfully announcing that you’d be the one giving the Thanksgiving speech this year. 

Your family of course delightfully agrees. 

Ever composed, Nanami remains stoic—yet the slightest twitch of his brow betrays his exasperation. 

He’s not stupid. He knows you are up to something. But here? Now?

The unspoken reprimand of ‘this is not the time’ radiates off him in controlled waves, but that only fuels your misbehavior.

Clearing your throat, your smile curls just sweetly as the marshmallow fluffed candied-yams that are steaming on the table. 

“I just want to say how thankful I am for us all to be here—Mom, Dad, Grandma, Auntie, Uncle, all my dear cousins. I'm so thankful you all could finally make it to Japan!  And of course, I’m so very thankful my sweet Kento could finally get away from his busy job this year to celebrate with us!”

Shooting Nanami a demure look, your eyes dance with devilment yet your tone is angelic. 

Nanami’s gaze sharpens just a fraction, his jaw tightening in silent warning although his lips are composed into a polite smile that says ‘you wouldn’t dare’. 

Oh, but you absolutely would! 

You revel in the tension, in the silent promise that later tonight—when your family is safely back at their hotel—you’ll be paying for this in full.

All according to plan of course~!

"Again, thanks are due to my Kento, for volunteering to cook most of the dishes and for following Nana's recipes so closely! The dressing smells divine, and honestly, I’m amazed by how much you managed to stuff into that bird. But then again, you’ve always been so good at making things fit, Ken.”

Your parents, aunts, and uncles remain blissfully unaware of the roguish double meaning laced in your words, offering nothing but approving smiles and nods. 

Your cousins, however—the ones closest to your age—are all high off their asses and catch on instantly. Some have to bite their lips to suppress giggles, while others shake their heads in mock disapproval, faint smirks betraying their amusement.

Nanami’s fingers flex subtly around the armrest of his dining chair, his smile dips ever-so-slightly as his dark cocoa eyes meet yours, piercing and questioning.

Are you seriously doing this to him right now—and are your cousins actually high!?

Dear God.

Your lashes flutter innocently at Nanami, like butter wouldn’t melt in that hot sinful little mouth of yours as you continue.

“Speaking of the turkey, you really took your time preparing her and so thoroughly. Just basting her in her juices for hours! She looks so good—sooo succulent and moist… She’s just dripping."

Nanami’s hand lifts to adjust his glasses—a calculated effort to distract from the faint flush creeping up his neck. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose briefly, trying to quietly suffer through the absolute depravity spilling from you.

Across the table, one of your cousins bites down on their lips, muzzling their laughter. Another abruptly ducks under the table, allegedly retrieving a dropped napkin, though it’s painfully obvious to everyone in the know they’re just extra baked and trying not to completely lose their cool.

Nanami sends a pointed, pleading glance at each one of your cousins, his cocoa eyes practically screaming at them to keep their shit together. 

But that only makes it worse,  their sniggers becoming audible and earning reprimanding glances from the elders at the table who thought it was rude they were interrupting your lovely speech.

"Oh, and let’s not forget the mac and cheese—the true star of the table! Kento baby, you really outdid yourself. It looks so rich, so creamy… has that perfect gooey squelch when you stir it up." 

You hum, deliberately dragging out each syllable before shifting your attention elsewhere on the table. 

"Mmm, and the ham? Perfectly pink, with that honey glaze oozing so invitingly between the folds. Doesn’t it just make you want to slide your *ahem* fork, right in?"

Nanami exhales slowly, the tension carved into his handsome features intensifying.

Around the table, your high ass cousins are seconds away from crumbling, somehow though holding it in for Nanami’s sake. 

The youngest one cracks first as they start violently choking on their water they took a sip of, prompting your aunt to firmly pat their back. 

And you?

Oh, you're reveling in every second of this masterpiece—the scandalous spectacle you've written, directed, and are now starring as the lead slut yourself as you prepare for your finale.

"Anyway, I’m rambling now. Wouldn’t want all the yummy food Ken cooked to get cold…"

Wrapping up your x-rated Thanksgiving speech, you decide to end it with a bang.

"So I’ll just end it by saying that Kento has such a knack for taking care of everything, as you all can see. He always spoils me, and he cooks for me regularly too which is why I had so much faith he could pull this off in the first place…" 

Turning towards Nanami you smile brightly.

“...Kento always keeps me full with his yummy meals—and hopefully with his kids someday too!"

That last remark sends your cousins over the edge, howling their laughter bursts out now that they finally have an excuse to do so openly. 

To the rest of your family, it’s cheeky fun—oh just you playfully pressuring Nanami, your boyfriend of 3 years into starting a family.

Your parents and older relatives even chuckle along too.

“Sweetie! Don’t embarrass poor Nanami like that, let him take his time—oh, look, now you’ve got his ears all red!” 

Your mom softly chides you and you’re giggling innocently as if you’ve hadn’t just turned Thanksgiving grace into an impromptu smut reading.

“Poor mans, looks like he’s about to pass out.” 

Your uncle shakes his head, clearly unimpressed with your brazen attempt to push kids on Nanami—especially when you’re both still unmarried. He casts Nanami a knowing, sympathetic look, the kind that silently says, ‘I’ve been there, brother.’

Nanami, ever composed, simply returns a curt nod in acknowledgment.

To his credit, Nanami isn’t anywhere close to losing consciousness, but his anger? 

The tension radiating off of him?

That’s a different story entirely.

Nanami’s cursed energy fluctuates in restrained waves, betraying the quiet storm beneath his civil smiles. His sanity is hanging by a thread, and though he maintains perfect decorum, as he diligently carves and serves the turkey, you—and only you—can sense the static hum of his furry crackling just beneath the surface.

While the mood quickly settles for your family as dinner is served, the hairs on the back of your neck remain standing at full attention.

The food is, of course, delicious—Nanami never misses when it comes to executing a perfect meal. But you barely taste anything, too on edge from the weight of his stifled fury pressing against your senses to fully enjoy your plate. 

On one hand you’re positively ecstatic, you know you’ve succeeded in pushing Nanami past his limits—yet on the other, you still can’t help but feel a chill for the utter bloodlust you sense in his energy. 

Such malice you’d only felt him direct at curses before.

And so as your cousins gossip beside you, spilling all the tea about the drama and happenings back home, their words don’t register over the buzzing tension sitting right across from you. 

However, by the time dinner winds down, Nanami at least outwardly appears much more at ease. 

His posture has relaxed, his tone is as smooth as ever, and even his cursed energy has seemingly leveled out. Nanami engages effortlessly with your family, charming your parents with thoughtful anecdotes eliciting genuine laughter from them—because of course he does. 

Nanami is the perfect partner after all. 

But you know Kento too well.

The minuscule, erratic twitch in his fingers, the hardly perceptible grind of his teeth—it’s enough to tell you the truth.

He’s still pissed. Livid, even.

And later tonight?

You’re so getting fucked for this!

Perfect right? 

Your plan went off without a hitch! 

Then why do you still feel like you took it too far and your impending doom is at hand? 

You’d never seen him this irritated at anything before, even after he had a week long mission with Gojo.

Fuck…Did your cousins have any weed left over? Likely not…

On second thought, maybe you should go back to the hotel with your family tonight.

You’d never pulled a stunt quite like that before, so it could give Nanami a chance to cool off and you could spend more time with your family. Sure, you wanted him to fuck you but you also needed to be able to get out of bed tomorrow as you still had to play tour guide to your family.

Avoiding being alone with Nanami seemed like a solid plan.

However, the universe is clearly working against you, wanting you to lay in the smutty bed of trouble you made for yourself.

“Sweetie, go help Nanami put the pies in the oven.”

Your mother’s voice disrupts the chatter of your thoughts like a bucket of cold water to the face.

Shit.

You gulp, dropping your fork to clatter onto your plate as your eyes flicker toward Nanami. 

You knew he wouldn’t try anything with your family in the house, but the idea of facing his simmering rage in the kitchen? 

Yeah, that’s far from ideal.

“Oh, Momma, I’m still catching up with my cousins though! Ken doesn’t need my help!”

You plaster on your cutest pout, puffing your cheeks as you loop arms with your favorite cousin—your shameless co-conspirator, the one who gave you the idea for your lewd monologue in the first place.

Your mother arches a brow, unimpressed.

“Young lady, I wasn’t asking, now was I?”

You deflate, instantly resigning to your mother.

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought! Now, help your man if you want that ring and babies, sweetie—Nanami doesn’t want a lazy wife! G’on!”

You sigh, defeated. You should have known the cute puppy-dog pout wouldn’t work on the very person you learned it from.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nanami chuckles, clearly entertained. 

No matter how much of a brat you are with him, your mother has you in check with a single look. 

Still, Nanami clearly did have some authority over you as you visibly flinch the moment he stands and walks around the table to you. Taking your hand firmly, he pulls you to your feet with an air of finality as you try not to gulp.

“Of course, we’re on it, ma’am—or should I call you ‘mom’ now?”

Nanami’s voice is welcoming and warm—endearing enough to make your family chuckle again as he clearly has them eating out of the palm of his hand. 

But the pressure tightening around your wrist? 

That promises a very different Nanami once you’re alone.

Your stomach twists. The short walk to the kitchen suddenly feels like you’re being led to a firing squad. 

Yet, once inside, Nanami does something unexpected. 

He ignores you entirely.

Somehow the silence is worse.

Sulking, you plop onto one of the stools at the kitchen island as Nanami moves around his kitchen like you aren’t even there. 

Like a child in time out.

You both know damn well he doesn’t need your help. The pies are already prepped, perfectly assembled—apple, pecan, and sweet potato, each looking like they belong on the cover of Southern Living magazine.

Worse still, you can’t leave—not unless you want to risk another tongue lashing from your mother. 

Sighing, cross your arms as you pout and you kick your feet impatiently like an actual toddler would.

This sucks!

After a few more agonizing minutes you can’t stand the tension any longer as you push off the stool in a huff.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” 

Breaking unbearable silence with your announcement you bristle slightly as Nanami doesn’t even acknowledge you. 

Not a glance, not a nod—nothing.

Rolling your eyes, you slip out of the kitchen. You’re careful to avoid the dining room and your family as you make your way to the hallway bathroom. At least here you can breathe without the thick tension suffocating you.

Humming a soft tune, you scroll through your socials with one hand while the other carefully touches up your mascara in the mirror. The bathroom—really more of a powder room without so much as a shower—was small, but just secluded enough to serve as your personal hideout for now.

Fixing your makeup and catching up on the latest celeb drama blogs, it’s a decent escape.

For all of three minutes until the door knob twists.

“It’s occupied! Geez, can’t a girl get some privac—”

Your complaints are cut short as you choke over your words. 

“K-K-Kento!”

You’d expected it to be one of your cousins barging in or maybe even your nosey ass aunt, who had zero respect for boundaries.

But Nanami?!

Nanami’s broad imposing frame fills the doorway before he moves inside, shutting it behind him without a word.

Click. 

The sound of the lock clicking in place is synchronous to your audible gulp.

“K-Ken! W-What are yo—”

But Nanami moves faster than you can finish speaking. 

His hand clamps firmly over your mouth as his other muscular arm bands around your waist, pinning you between him and the sink.

Nanami has you in his grasp now, ironclad and inescapable.

"Shhhhh, just shut those filthy little lips of yours for once, my love…"

Nanami's deep, velvety baritone drips with sinister intent.

"...you've already said more than fucking enough tonight, yes?"

A shiver rolls down your spine. 

Oh, you’re so fucked!

You freeze up entirely as you are caught in a state of panic and growing arousal. 

You wanted this—you had begged for this treatment all month. 

But not here and certainly not right now!

Especially not while your entire family is just in earshot across the hall!

Yet your body is never fully yours when Nanami touches you. Despite your mind's protest, your back arches instinctively as Nanami—completely indifferent to anyone else in his home—smashes himself even closer against you.

That's when you feel it—his stiff, heavy erection, nudging petulantly against the swell of your ass. 

Even through Nanami’s thick wool of his slacks, you can feel the fiery heat radiating from him. The outline of his cock is thick and unforgiving as it nestles between your rear cheeks.

This was all happening so fast?!

Your eyes widen, tears dusting your lashes when you meet his own in the mirror, pleading with him. 

But if you thought your feminine appeals would soften him this time, you were sorely mistaken. 

If anything, it only spurs Nanami on, wanting to punish you for that manipulative nature of yours that had subdued him more often that he wanted to admit.

“You’re such a good girl for your mother, sweetheart…” 

Nanami purrs, his lips dragging down the column of your neck.

“...and yet so disobedient for Daddy.”

Your small, helpless whimpers are muffled into Nanami’s hand as your thighs squeeze together. Heat simmers low in your belly, ignited by Nanami’s weighted words overflowing with authority as he’s clearly not referring to your actual father—just mere feet away in the next room.

Nanami’s arm around your waist slackens just enough to let his brawny hand roam free, his fingers splaying possessively over your body and drawing out more submissive whines from you.

Head swimming, your shaky breaths draw in Nanami’s scent—his natural musk tangled with the rich notes of his woody cologne. Cedar, myrrh, and a faint whisper of smoked vanilla saturate your senses, leaving you lightheaded, dizzy with need, and aching for more despite the dangerous proximity of your family just beyond the door.

“All because this troublesome lil’ pussy can’t even go a mere month without my cock inside her, hm?” 

Nanami’s smirks at your quivering under the weight of his wicked words as his fingers graze the waistband of your panties. 

To be honest he was surprised given your antics you’d even bothered to put them on today.

You really must not have thought he’d be the one to escalate the situation. 

Yet, a man could only be pushed so far…

“You were a virgin when we met, remember? Who knew I would unleash such a greedy n’ spoiled lil’ slut.”

You don't even get the chance to protest—not that you even had a leg to stand on—before Nanami’s hand presses his thumb past your plush lips, pinning your tongue down and robbing you of any ability to speak. Your moist, wriggling tongue squirms helplessly against his digit, a low hiss escaping him as the pressure of his cock grinds harder into the curve of your ass through the strained fabric of his slacks.

At the same time, Nanami’s other hand dips beneath the fabric of your panties, his skilled fingers parting the moist swampy folds of your cunt.

The goan that escapes Nanami is visceral when he feels the slippery evidence of just how fucking drenched you are for him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” 

Before you can even process what’s happening your dress is bunched around your hips as his thick thigh slots between your legs. Writhing, you shake your head frantically as Nanami forces you to ride his thigh. 

"S-Stowp! Mmfph—muh fampfy, K-Kem!"

Your garbled protest earns you a sadistic chuckle from him. 

"Your family? You want me to stop because of your family, princess?" 

Nanami hums thoughtfully, as if weighing the idea—yet still grinds his thigh harder against your damp core. He swaps the thumb silencing you for three thick fingers, stuffing them past your lips to muffle the desperate sounds spilling from your throat.

"No, that vulgar mouth up here didn’t mind being such a shameless cockteasing slut in front of your family. She’s racked up quite the tab of misbehavior. Why should this one down here—" 

Nanami’s fingertips glide past your fluttering entrance, submerging into your soaked heat, stroking against that spongy spot that never fails to curl your toes.

“—mind finally cashing me out?”

A broken moan dies in your throat, gagged by Nanami’s thick fingers in your mouth all due to his fingers in your pussy methodically dragging along your soppy, pulsing walls to gather every trace of your need before finally withdrawing his hand. 

"See, my love? How she's unabashedly drooling…" 

Strings of your silky gossamer arousal web between his fingers, glistening even in the dull bathroom light as he displays them before your face.

"This is exactly what your naughty lil’ pussy has been begging for all month."

Your mind drifts into a hazy abyss, the raw need between your thighs consuming you entirely. 

Everything else—the scandal of your family being in the house, the risk of them hearing you and getting caught, even your own better judgment—it all begins to fade away.

“Sorry, my dear…I’m afraid you can’t have your slutty cake and eat it too this time.” 

Nanami husks the words against your skin, inhaling deeply to bask in the scent of your arousal lingering on his fingers before daring to taste it himself—consuming every sinful, decadent drop.

“My sweet girl has been a fucking cockteasing menace all month. You’ve succeeded in breaking me, now it’s time to reap your consequences…��

Your protests are audible even through his slobber coated fingers as his words ignite goosebumps over your skin.

“Aht-Aht-Aht…”

Nanami admonishes you.

 “...you begged, manipulated and schemed for this. You’ll take Daddy’s cock now, exactly how he gives it to you or you will go another week without it. Your choice, love.”

The muffled cry you release is loud and needy. Your eyes are like saucers and your body trembles at Nanami’s very real threat. Yet Nanami just brings his face down to smoosh against your cheek, piercing you with those unwavering cocoa eyes of his that meet yours in the mirror once more.

“This silly month might be over in two days but that doesn’t mean your naughty lil’ pussy will get fucked anytime soon, sweet girl. Not if she doesn’t take it for Daddy now…”

Thick tears spill down your cheeks, wetting Nanami’s hand as the oppressive tension in the tiny powder room grows suffocating. You'd get what you wanted, alright—

Nanami would break No Nut November and fuck you stupid—

—but only on his terms.

Anticipation and dread knot tighter in your belly, a dizzying cocktail of fear and excitement. You’re in no position to stall now, and Nanami’s patience has long since rotted away.

"Can’t decide?" 

Nanami drawls, voice dark with amusement. 

"Then we'll defer to the lewd lil’ brat between your legs, hm?"

Without another word, Nanami hooks two fingers into the gusset of your soaked panties. The lace gives a pitiful snap as he rips them clean off, stuffing the ruined fabric into his pocket like a prize. Before you can catch your breath from the shock of it, his hand slaps harshly against your drenched pussy—an obscene, wet crack that ricochets off the cramped bathroom walls.

You jolt forward with a sharp, broken whimper, your thighs quivering as the sting melts deliciously into heat. Nanami just watches in the mirror, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he drinks in the sight of you coming undone from just a single strike.

Now bare, the cool air brings a chill to your exposed, leaking cunt.

SMACK

Another sharp slap lands against your throbbing cunt and your knees almost buckle from the pleasureful sting. 

Nanami hums in satisfaction, his fingers dipping lower to ghost over the sticky mess leaking out from your twitching hole.

“Looks like she’s already made the decision for you, princess. That’s two against one.”

You flinch as you feel his cock pulse in between your cheeks—impatient, demanding, aching to be acknowledged. 

Nanami’s own body is thrumming with need, to bury himself to the hilt, to fuck you so deep his cock kisses your cervix, the force of his hips so powerful they’d leave their imprint on your skin soft skin even the next day.

“…I stand corrected, make that three against one.”

And so your fate is sealed—which is how you ended up in this position now—squatting before Nanami on the bathroom floor, staring up at him as he looms above you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth in nervous anticipation as you watch his practiced fingers work his belt open, the slow, torturous pace makes your pussy clench.

“I really should put you over my knee for a proper spanking, princess.” 

Namani’s belt buckle clinks, as he undoes his zipper and he slides his slacks down just enough that his cock springs free—flushed red, and already dribbling beads of pre down his large veiny shaft.

“But we can save that for after your family leaves—at the very least.”

The metaphorical hearts in your eyes drown out the implications of any further punishment later. You just nod dumbly, too transfixed by the primal scent wafting off his cock as it stands proudly, heavy and imposing, bobbing directly above your face. 

Oh, you’ve missed it bad. 

You don’t know how you survived this entire time without it.

“Open.”

Finally obedient for the first time all month, you don’t protest or pout. You simply part your lips wide, presenting your tongue without hesitation.

Three times—Nanami’s weepy tip taps against your tongue, smearing precum across the soft bumpy surface and you are keening at the familiar, salty taste. 

Biting back a groan, Nanami’s eyes momentarily flutter shut. 

Reveling in the comforting pleasure of your tongue against his sensitive tip. 

When Nanami finally opens his eyes again it takes everything in him not to spill himself right there, utterly ruin that pretty face of yours before he even gets started. Nanami tightens his grip around the base of his shaft because fuck—you look absolutely destroyed already, your glazed-over eyes locked onto his cock as though it were a holy relic. 

Awe-stricken, mesmerized, your mouth opens wider, wordlessly inviting him to sheath himself inside fully and return to the cozy confines of your throat—a place he’d been aching to bury himself in for weeks.

My God, you’d really be the end of him one of these days.

“We don’t have much time to spare. Be a good girl and prep her for me, won’t you sweetheart?” 

The raw desperation bleeding into Nanami’s voice goes unnoticed by you, too lost in your own pleasure to realize just how close he is to completely snapping. Your plump lips closing around his swollen cockhead as your tongue flicks sharply before flattening over the tender slit.

Of course, you don’t neglect yourself either—one hand wrapping around his girth to guide him deeper into your mouth’s wet molten cavern—the other snakes between your legs to your exposed pussy that is already eagerly leaking droplets onto the tiled floor. 

Your fingers feel good of course, but they aren’t enough—truly, nothing has been since Nanami put you through the trials of NNN this month. But now with his cock cradled between your lips, knowing he’d soon be inside your pussy causes her to tingle even from your own touch this time. You don’t hesitate to sink them deeper inside your slippery cunt, pumping yourself frantically, so riled up by the sounds of Nanami’s suppressed hisses and the vulgar slurps of you sucking him off.

It’s been a whole month since you’ve had him in your mouth and thankfully, you haven’t lost your touch or your practically non-existent gag reflex—not by a longshot. 

As a further testament to your skill, Nanami threads his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements as he rolls his hips forward in a slow, greedy thrust. His lust-darkened eyes remain locked onto your lips, transfixed by the way they stretch obscenely to accommodate him. 

The salacious sight driving him past limits for the nth time tonight, Nanami presses your head down until your nose nestles into the neatly trimmed hairs at his base. He’s so deep in your throat his length is nudging past your tonsils. 

You moan wantonly, throat stretched out so obediently around his cock as Nanami’s palm closes firmly around your neck. His fingers flex, savoring the way he can feel the thick outline of himself bulging through your tender skin, the vibrations of your desperate whimpers rippling straight up his shaft.

Instinctively, your throat tightens even more, eliciting another sharp hiss of approval from him. You feel the heavy, pulsing vein along the underside of his shaft pressing deliciously against your vocal cords—a clear reminder of how badly he's missed this. 

Yet before you can fully appreciate the exquisite stretch, Nanami’s composure shatters completely.

Using your mouth as a fleshlight, Nanami tips his head back, letting go.

Who the fuck cares that he technically caved to your bratty whims? 

That this wouldn’t teach your slutty lil’ cunt a single lesson about behaving in the long run? 

If anything, it only meant he’d have to keep fucking you nice and sweet all over again, something that he’d gladly do over again if the delayed release felt this good everytime.

"Such a good little slut for Daddy, aren’t you? You can’t help but to crave my cock, hm princess?"

More groaning pulsations around his cock are the only answers you are capable of at the moment and of course that encourages more hushed curses to roll off Nanami’s tongue. The tight, punishing hold he has on you, keeps you in place. 

Fortunately, this allows you to lower the hand that isn’t feverishly scissoring your pussy, loosening your tight walls for her long awaited turn, to rub your neglected lil’ clit. Your thighs shake from the burn of squatting and your tear smeared mascara burns your vision—but you don’t care. For the first time in a month you were about to be successful in making yourself cum.

So close m’gawd—m’gonna cum!

You can nearly taste the suffocating pleasure building, hurling you steadily to your peak—and yet abruptly, Nanami pulls out—because he can’t afford to cum now. 

Not in your throat at least.

The action leaves you choking, gasping for air as spit and pre-cum are splattered across your chin. Your hands instinctively ripped away from your pussy, thwarting your impending orgasm as you have to catch yourself from completely falling over.

"Hands on the sink." 

The command is gruff, the strain evident in Nanami’s voice—but you’re still the bigger mess by far.

You nod obediently, though your legs tremble so badly they nearly give out beneath you. Nanami has no patience left to spare. Gripping you roughly, he yanks you upright, a resounding smack landing on your ass before he turns you toward the mirror with a force that leaves your head spinning. You collapse against the sink, elbows bracing against the cold porcelain, panting and gasping as your chest heaves—desperately trying to catch up with the ruthless pace he’s setting.

“No, absolutely not—."

Nanami lifts you upright against him again, grabbing your jaw and tilting your flushed, tear-streaked face up to the mirror.

"—you must look at me while I fuck you, my sweet girl. Look at whose cock you’ve been dying to slut yourself for.”

Nanami’s girth prods against your soaked entrance that’s already fluttering, hungry to have him plunged inside you. Yet you still can’t help as your heart races knowing that after nearly a month of waiting, you’d be lucky to be able to walk after this—fuck you really didn’t think this through when you deviously planned to break his ‘No Nut November’!

Yet there's no more time for thinking as with a snap of Nanami’s hips, the stretch is instant, intrusively overwhelming as Nanami bottoms out with one sharp thrust into your guts. Your lungs deflate, all the air pushed out as you can feel his cursed energy tentatively radiating off of him. 

You’re so full your tummy can’t even flex and this time it’s your own hands this time that have to fly to your mouth to keep your cries in as Nanami does not give you a single moment to adjust, his hard length ripping through you and smashing against your womb.

“My girl thought she was being cute out there, hm? Showing off like that?” 

Nanami growls through gritted teeth, his hips slapping against yours with an unforgiving force bolstered ever so slightly by his cursed energy. The rhythmic slaps of skin meeting skin and wet squeaks from your oozing core echo off the walls like a drumline.

You can hardly see Nanami now through your bleary, tear-filled eyes but he looks more like a wild animal than your perfectly composed boyfriend in this state. Nanami had never fucked you with this curse energy activated so the feeling was sensational as you felt his cock pierce through every nerve of your body.

“C’mon, my sweet slutty girl, no words now that Daddy is stuffing you better than the Thanksgiving turkey?” 

Nanami’s fingers dig into your shoulder keeping you upright as he pistons into you harder, deeper—right against the sweet spot that has your eyes rolling back into your head and you forgetting your very name. His other palm slides to your stomach to feel the thick bulge of his cock filling you and press down forcibly moving your hips back to meet his bruising thrusts when your body can no longer do anything more but take it.

You can feel the sensuous pressure building quickly within you, so full, so ready to explode and gush all over Namani’s length drilling into you. 

Mmmm, good god yessss! 

You are finally getting your nut. 

Nothing else mattered. Your face contorts in your aching pleasure behind your hands.

You’re almost there.

Nanami is growling into your neck, feeling your imminent release. 

“Don’t tell me my slutty girl is already abou—”

“Huh, Is this the bathroom? Sweetie, are you in there? Where’s Nanami?”

Your mom’s voice crashes through the filthy haze like a gunshot, and pure panic rockets up your spine. The tiny bathroom spins around you, Nanami still buried deep inside, your heart lurching so violently you almost faint.

Approaching the door, she hastily knocks.

Fuck!

Your eyes widen in horror but Nanami doesn’t flinch. 

This was your punishment after all and your consequence to bear. 

Though Nanami does slow the feverish pace, that mere moments ago had the sounds of your flesh ringing off the walls, his hips never still completely. 

Instead, his movements grow more deliberate, more precise. 

With a commanding grip on your waist and hips, his cock grinds methodically against your cervix, each rotation of his pelvis powerful and calculated.

God, you swear you can feel his cock grinding up into your fucking ribs…

“Go on, answer her…” 

Nanami goads you with low raspy whispers. Once he guides your body into a rhythm, his hands lazily wander up to pull your sweater dress completely down in the front and tweak your nipples.

Damn him! But— FUCK, if it doesn’t feel so, so good.

The well of drool you were holding in spills through your hands to dribble down your wrists

“These naughty fuckin’ lips had no problem mouthing off at the dinner table, whats wrong now sweetheart?”

What was wrong was Nanami slowly churning your core into liquified mush with his torturous strokes scraping against your womb. 

This pace was somehow even more brutal than before.

But your mom now jiggling the door knob snaps your attention back to the urgent reality of the situation.

“Are you okay in there, honey?”

No you weren’t okay! 

Nanami was driving you to insanity. You needed more. 

This wasn't enough to make you cum, only keep you dangerously on the edge of it while your body screamed for release.

But you had to answer your mother, she is totally the type to beat down the door and then your dad might force Nanami into a shotgun wedding right here and now, roping your uncle in to officiate. (That idea did make you giggle but that ultimately was NOT how you wanted to get married to Nanami!)

“Umm, er—AH! Hah, I, uh, um… jus’ ate t-too much momma, m’s-sick…shiiiit.”

You nearly bite a chunk out of your tongue as Nanami's hand leaves your waist to draw slow agonizing circles around your clit in perfect sync with his grinding while the other lazily flicks your nipples.

“Oh no sweetie, you need me to come in there to help you, pooh?”

“N-NO! Nnngh!”

You said that a bit hastily, trying to recover. 

You had to convince your mom you were fine. Well fine enough she'd be persuaded to leave you alone.

“Mmm, n-no, Momma, m-ma’am, I-I just need a minute…I-I’ll be out!”

“Okay, well I’m just a holler away, if you do…”

Thank fuck…

“Oh, and one more thing?”

God what now?! Let it end please...

Rolling your eyes in exasperation you exhale through your teeth, keeping your shit together somehow. The irony was not lost on you—now knowing exactly how Nanami felt at the dinner table.

“Y-Yes m-ma’am?”

“You never told me where Nanami ran off too, I couldn’t find him in the kitchen.”

Gnawing on your inner cheek you suppress a needy moan as Nanami takes to placing nuzzling kisses into the crook of your neck.

“The s-store! I t-think he went to the store, Mom… U-Uh, for the pies. Y-Yeah, um, to make w-whipped cream!”

It was the first excuse that popped into your head—and thankfully, it was enough. With not much more fuss from her, you finally hear your mom’s footsteps retreating back down the hall, her worries laid to rest for now.

Moreover, your lies also earn you dark chuckles from Nanami, who couldn’t help but breathe filthy praises in your ear. Relentlessly taunting you with what your mother might say if she knew she'd raised such a naughty, deceitful lil’ slut.

“Whipped cream, hm? When did my sweet girl turn into such an underhanded brat?”

You manage to twist just enough to throw a pout over your shoulder at Nanami—only to find him watching you with a rare shit-eating grin stretching across his usually stoic features.

“Something wrong, my love?”

You can't take this teasing any longer—it's downright villainous—and with a sob of frustration, you snap, squirming and cooing for him to finally give you what you want.

“Pwease, K-Ken, m’sorry, *sniff* I won’t act up anymore. *sniff* I promise.”

There she is. 

There’s his good girl that’s been hiding all along under that slutty Hyde-like brat.

Nanami hums, pleased with the turn of events. All the sass in you temporarily melting away.

“F-Forgive me…please, s-sir?”

Sir.

Oh you little minx. 

If hearing you call him Daddy thrilled the dom in Nanami, then hearing you whimper sir—so soft, so desperate—nearly drove him feral. He knew he'd broken you the moment the brat in you crumbled enough to say it without a hint of defiance or sarcasm.

“If I finally make this slutty lil’ cunt cum...are you going to take all of Daddy’s in your pretty pussy like a good girl?” 

You nod whispering through your sniffles.

“And when we return to the living room you will continue to act like the respectable young lady that Daddy trained you to be?”

You’re bobbing your head in affirmation but Nanami needs to hear it again, hear you call him that delicious little word from your lips once more.

“Words, babydoll.”

“Y-Yes, sir! I-I’ll be so good for you… I-I’ll—”

However, Nanami hushes you with a soft murmur, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, his voice smoothing into a warm, calming lull.

“I know you will doll. I want you to let it all go, everything you've been holding for me all month—I’ve got you sweetheart.”

And it hasn’t been just you holding it, not by a long shot.

Nanami’s brow prespires as his muscles tremble from the sheer restraint he’s been holding onto all month—restraint he’s finally ready to cast aside. He delights in the way your body quivers, hunched and pliant beneath him, before snapping his hips forward and resuming the merciless pace that had you falling apart earlier.

You sob in raw relief, the sound abruptly cut off as Nanami’s hand tightens around your throat—firm but careful—silencing you while your fingers scramble for purchase against the sink, clinging to it like a lifeline as the rough pads of his fingers feverishly strum over your clit.

“I thought my sweet girl wanted to cum, hm? So then cum for me.” 

Nanami’s voice is all silk and sin, his cock pulsing deep inside your creamy cunt. 

However, twice now you’ve been edged and you think you might just combust on the spot if for some godforsaken reason it happens a third time. 

You can’t even form a coherent sound to respond to him though—your body strung so tightly—buzzing with a frantic cocktail of need, paranoia, and overstimulation. 

You wanna let go so bad. 

When the coil inside you finally snaps, your sweet, celestial orgasm crashes down in violent, shuddering waves, that has Nanami’s hand returning to your mouth in order to suppress it enough not to draw attention.

When the coil inside you finally snaps, pleasure detonates through your body in wild, celestial bursts—so fierce Nanami has to slap his hand back over your mouth to smother the desperate, lewd sounds lest you draw more attention.

Growling in response to your convulsing grip on his cock, Nanami, drives one more hard slam of his hips into your ass as thick, molten ropes of cum spill into you, painting your insides white.He doesn’t stop—rubbing cruelly slow circles into your swollen clit with the pads of his fingers, forcing every last aftershock to wrack your body while he stays sheathed inside you.

A feral growl rumbles from Nanami's chest as your spasming walls clamp down around him. With a final, punishing thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, spilling thick, molten ropes of cum deep inside you—painting your insides completely white. He doesn’t relent there, the rough pads of his fingers working merciless circles over your swollen clit, wringing every last shudder and twitch from your overstimulated body as he stays locked inside you, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

Nanami is claiming you from the inside out—filling you so completely it almost hurts—and fuck, if the way your abused, sloppy pussy kept milking him didn’t make him want to start all over again.

The urgency of your current situation is momentarily forgotten as Nanami relishes every helpless flutter of your cunt around him—along every obscene, wet squelch of his cum sloshing inside your womb. 

It's addicting. Dangerously so.

Nanami almost regrets having nearly spent an entire month without it. Yet now that he’d broken ‘No Nut November’ he wasn’t about to let up on you anytime soon—you were still owed that spanking later tonight after all.

Nevertheless after a minute Nanami does pull out, albeit reluctantly. 

Grabbing a spare hand towel, he dampens it with cool water, and gives you a few through swipes—dragging it over your trembling thighs, sticky tummy, and the flushed rise of your chest. 

Nanami doesn’t bother wiping between your legs, letting the thick mess of his cum drip down your inner thighs unchecked, hidden under the hem of your dress as he tugs it roughly back into place. 

Also part of your punishment. By the time he’s done, you almost look innocent—if not for the way your frizzy hair clings to your temples and the slightly dazed flush about your face.

It would have to be good enough—for now at least—especially since Nanami is always the one stuck covering for your half-baked lies.

“Now, quickly grab your shoes and we’ll slip out the back.” 

You simply blink at him, still a bit out of it from the first actually satisfying orgasm you had all month.

“Huh? Why?” 

Nanami’s smirk is devious as he clicks his belt into place. 

“Darling, you told your mother I went to the store to buy whipped cream for the pies.”

“So?”

Nanami’s grin turns wolfish, clearly amused as the brat he spent so long fucking into submission claws her way right back to the surface.

“So sweet girl, we can’t exactly serve them the cream I just made inside of you, now can we, princess?”

Goddamnit. You’re pouting, realizing how your mouth has talked you into all sorts of problems today. 

“Now hurry along, my love. Oh, and you better keep those thighs of yours closed tight—I don’t think aisle 5 is equipped to clean up that kind of creamy spill.”

blkkizzat ©2023-2024 no ai, reposting, plagiarism nor translation allowed.

𝐚/𝐧: so is nanami more out of pocket here for nnn than otaku!gojo was? lmfao, you decide 🤭.

comment and reblog to let me know how you liked it~~

idk why but it took me forever to get this fic in a place where I like it. I still may go back and edit it a bit again, fix any remaining errors. (I wrote so many paragraphs like 3x over that there might be repeating lines im so sorry I tried to delete them all).

last up but definitely not least is Higuruma, Hiromi (comment on m.list for tag). not sure when i will get his part out. I want to go back and work on like a handful of things but it's also like 70% done so we will see lol.

[bambisnc]

(   ➴ ) 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖬, 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖬𝖤! ♡

୨ৎ. 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 .. 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌.

### . STARRING ⌢ p.sh ⋆ oneshot + 1.2k // kissing + reader has an ex + i need you guys to j trust me on this please ˖ ✧

[ 陰 🤍 ] ─── i have nawt read the manga before anyone asks; i found the name super funny & then a little lightbulb in my head went "!!" ㅤㅤㅤㅤ‹ FILE.ZIP 𝟹

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor.

he’s heard people around him say this; multiple remarks of how his moral conduct seems totally unshakable. a pillar whose boundaries not one single temptation could consider breaking, they'd say.

but, he finds himself thinking, if all that were really true, he wouldn’t really be in this position—with heeseung's girlfriend all pretty in front of him, pinned up against a wall—would he?

not that he's complaining about the sight in front of him, of course. 

you are nothing less of a divine vision with slightly swollen and spit slicked lips, your delicately applied gloss now smudged from the earlier … activities.

his eyes take in the loose strands of hair framing your features, the way your eyes are delectably glazed over and the lightest sheen of sweat highlighting it all. it’s a wonder he’s able to resist diving right back in and claiming your lips in another kiss, really.

heeseung should've known better. 

he should've known that leaving you alone with sunghoon could not possibly lead to any good outcomes.

one doesn't harbour unrequited feelings for months and leave scott-free, with zero after effects. there’s bound to be some catches.

sunghoon blamed many other things too.

firstly, the sun. for subjecting him to its sweltering heat and for rendering him into a half-dazed stupor. for being the reason you were wearing that gorgeous sundress, casual but enough to catch the attention of all the others lazily roaming around the open shopping complex.

secondly, he blamed ni-ki. like, did the boy really have to drag heeseung away because he saw a michael jackson DVD (limited versions only) on display?

granted, that particular compilation was seemingly not available anywhere else without having to pay a price so scandalous that it hurt to think about. and the singer did happen to be ni-ki's favorite.

but gosh, how selfish could people be?

most importantly, though, he blamed your ex.

for? his mere existence.

it had been going just fine, peachy even, right until that person showed up, he recalls, absentmindedly tracing your lower lip—doing his best to ignore the expectant gaze you were directing towards him lest he end up doing something he'd regret.

well. regret more than he does already, that is.

when your previously cheery smile had suddenly been replaced by a pall of worry, he couldn’t help but immediately mirror your concern. you had anxiously clutched the edge of his sleeve, murmuring that you had just happened to see song eunseok. also known as your ex. 

“i just… i really don’t want to face him right now.”

that was understandable. sunghoon wouldn’t want to see the face of the man who had been such a horrible boyfriend to you (your words, not his; circa last july, pre-heeseung era) either, lest he end up lobbing a punch his way.

“do you think you could hide me?” he could practically see the unease wrapped in a sheath around you from the way you chewed on your lip, “please?...”

what was sunghoon supposed to reply to that? say no to your plea? as if he could ever.

so he did what any dutiful friend would do. he let you use him. 

an arm braced against the wall and another awkwardly fidgeting by his side—he wasn’t sure where it was considered appropriate to keep one’s hand while helping their friend’s girlfriend hide from an ex—he stood leaning towards you. 

his broader, taller frame could cover yours with laughable ease. should the ex boyfriend happen to glance your way, he wouldn’t even realize there was another person there.

it was fine even up until that point. it wasn’t like sunghoon couldn’t control himself and immediately took advantage of the situation. no matter how much he really, really wanted to.

he would never do that to heeseung or you. 

all he needed to do, he thought determinedly, was to not make eye contact and hope that this was over soon. 

but suddenly, you were tugging him closer, saying the position seemed way too odd, too awkward. and now he was closer to you than ever, and quite aware of the fact that he was sweating bullets. 

“hoon?... are you okay?” you had piped up, voice slightly muffled due to quite literally being pressed up against him, “you seem so flushed… is it because of the sun?”

no, it was most definitely not because of the sun.

he vaguely recalls replying back with some offhanded agreement to your words. you, bless your heart, had immediately brushed the back of your hand against his forehead, checking if he was truly okay.

sunghoon swore his breath hitched at the contact. noticeably.

only then did it sink in. the reduced proximity, the charged air brewing between your bodies. he really shouldn’t be getting any ideas.

"?..."

“i’m fine.” his voice was low, cautious. he ran his tongue across his lips, wetting them—a nervous tick of his. “you need to stop this.. a guy can get the wrong idea, you know?” 

you had only giggled at that airily, “no wrong ideas here, i promise.”

then, as if it was the most natural thing to do—it might as well have been, with how perfect it was—you had tipped your head upwards, placing a soft kiss right at the corner of his mouth.

“am i still being unclear?” your head was tilted at a 45° angle, playing off a cute innocence. 

... there was no way he could say no to that, rationality and morals be damned.

and so instead of gracing your teasing remark with a dignified comeback, he simply let you close the distance between your lips once again.

-

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor, sure. but right now? right now, the only thing he’s sure of is that he’s fucked up. big time.

heeseung… one can only imagine how his friend would react to this information. none of the possible scenarios that run through his head are any good.

with a jolt, he jerks away; the hurt look on your face doing nothing to break his resolve. (mostly.) 

“this isn’t—this isn’t right. you have a boyfriend, heeseung… he—he’ll be devastated.”

“what?” confusion spreads across your face, genuine enough if he stopped to take it in. “sunghoon, no that’s not it—”

“we—it’s best we forget this happened. i, um,.. i won’t say anything to him.”

a blink. and you’re laughing. wait what?

“ah…” the way your head is thrown back as you struggle to keep a straight face almost distracts him. “heeseung is actually going to burst out laughing, oh my god.”

before he can even comprehend what that could mean, you show him your phone screen opened to a chat between you and your boyfriend (?).

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : dude if you’re planning on making out w/ hoon rn do NOT do it in front of me and niki i beg.

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : cause like it’s one thing having to hear ab how u bad u want him 24/7 (it gets to a point oh my god?)

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : go get ur man by all means but i do nawt need to be seeing allat !!!!!

“see? i only made him pretend we were together because eunseok was being a little bitch. it was super funny seeing his reaction, if that helps!”

sunghoon’s not sure if he wants to now laugh himself or instead cry. maybe both at the same time? he would rather not scare you off already though. hence, he does the next best thing. 

he kisses you once again. softer this time, as if he’s taking the time to savor the moment.

you part for air only when it becomes an absolute necessity. “what was that about?”

“i need to make up for lost time. all this while, i really thought i had no chance. and…” a pause that indicates he’s struggling to find the right words.

his tone is sheepish when he finally says what’s on his mind. 

“and... i could’ve been a better fake boyfriend, by the way. for the record.”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[taeaura]

some of you guys write your y/n's in such childish and misogynistic ways

if I didn't know the context, I'd think you're describing a 12 year-old girl

like I'm 100% supportive of people's fantasies and such, but at some point in gets weird. and I don't mean weird as in awkward, I mean weird as in this is borderline soulless and dehumanizing. You're basically describing a childish tradwife sexdoll.

[frangipani-wanderlust]

Have you ever actually been to Indonesia? IDK if you have, but you seem extremely American to me. And I say this because it's a weird example to pick when talking to me since I lived in Indonesia growing up. But I didn't live on rich-people Java. Or tourist Bali. I lived on the other side of the country in Papua, and I've been out to the actual, proper jungle. I've met people who were scared of me because I was white. And I know, through the skin because I lived it, that all cultures have good and bad points. And that you can't rewrite another culture's morality, and it'd be weird to try, but it's actually okay to say the bad points are bad so long as you are willing to recognize bad points in your own culture. I'm familiar with Asia's major religions and beliefs because I actually interacted with people who believed in them and actually, most Asians do in fact believe in souls. They just don't use the English word for it because that wouldn't make sense in non-English-speaking countries.

As it turns out, humans are humans wherever you go and Asians aren't really so different from Americans. We're all just people. I learned to be multi-cultural through the skin growing up and discovered that it's really just being a normal human and taking other people as they come.

I don't feel satisfied that you've really explained why or how you're making a distinction between faithful/not-faithful here, so I'm not going to address that part. I feel like we wouldn't even be talking about the same things on that score. Instead I will go back to addressing what you said and doing so via the original direct quote I picked out.

we often see christian authority as a purely human problem. it's not softened by the possibility that maybe scripture has it right. we don't see holding onto that faith as a virtue.

Regardless of whether you, standing where you are right now and being who you currently are in this moment and having all the changeable traits you currently do (immutable traits are not under discussion here) would personally like at this particular moment in time all the fallout of the Bible being true, that is precisely what you posit in these three sentences. The possibility that Scripture has it right.

If that is so, if the Bible really does have it right, the logical consequence is that God as He is described in the Bible is, in fact, the only source of good and joy in the universe. There isn't even a "second best" option, it's God or nothing. In such a scenario, there's no possible choice but two: give over to God or intentionally choose misery.

If you are in a situation where Scripture has it right, it isn't only virtuous to become a follower of God, it's also the only way to be happy because everything else becomes a lie on some level.

And maybe that's where these supposed critiques of Christianity break down and why they're boring, perhaps? Because when you say, "Okay, sure the Bible is true and God is real and Jesus died for your sins and the cross is the only way to Heaven" but then also turn around and say, "But also, all of that is miserable and Heaven is bad" you've reached a logical impossibility. If the Bible is true, it's impossible for that to be miserable. Yes, the consequence to you will be that you have to give up some aspects of your life now that will be very hard to surrender, but that's true for everyone. And no, it isn't more true or more singularly true for "queer" people than it is for anyone else. God always demands that we die to ourselves so that we can live for Him. That demand is made of every person who follows God and it's always costly and it always hurts. But, much the same way that exercise is temporarily painful but results in deeper and more lasting health and strength, following God is temporarily painful but results in deeper and more lasting peace and happiness. To start from the premise of "Okay the Bible is true" and then go "but I reject it anyway" is the same thing as saying, "okay germ theory is true" and then saying, "but I'm going to get a terminal disease on purpose." In that story, the character is just carrying the Idiot Ball around the whole time and that isn't very entertaining.

@imissthembutitwasntadisaster, what do you think for this as a possible underlying explanation for what makes this a boring trope?

Sometimes I'm not even mad at something cause it's blasphemous I'm mad cause it's boring

[dearinglovebot]

not directed at anyone in particular or said with any particular malice but you inherently cannot treat queer woc the same as straight ships. you can’t even treat queer woc the same as gay moc or white queers. it’s not a compliment to treat us “equally” to straight ships, white queers, or mlm

the actual compliment would be treating us in a way that is CONSCIOUS of our many intersectionalities. consciously ensure that we can be flawed characters while also having happy endings. consciously understand that as women we are judged harsher than any man and let the narrative treat these negative emotions as valid. consciously understand that we face worse homophobia and on multiple fronts and thus need escapist stories about things other than that much more. consciously understand that this is one of the only depictions of us in all of mainstream tv and thus holds significantly more weight.

the reason yasammy is so beloved is not because they’re treated like any white straight couple. it’s because they’re one of the kindest and most comforting depictions of a highly marginalized demographic to ever cross TV. we don’t want or need assimilation. we want compassionate depictions that defend and support us as we already are

[crownlixliquid]

The fandom's portrayal of Starscream's abuse (A rant from an abuse victim's perspective)

To preface this, I am NOT saying that every abuse victim thinks like me or that Starscream is the "perfect" potrayal of abuse or anything like that. Nor is this directed to anyone in particular and it's definitely not a hate message or anything towards anyone who thinks differently. This is my personal opinions on the view as a victim of abuse myself and as someone who deeply relates to Starscream (especially es!starscream) on a personal level.

Now, if you're in the Transformers fandom and especially if you're a Starscream fan, you may have seen a lot of other Starscream fans opinions on Starscream—particularly in the way of how Earthspark handled him—and have seen many people discuss his trauma.

From what I've seen, many people (especially in fics) tend to potray Starscream as this "Perfect Victim" that does no wrong. And this, obviously, is a very harmful sentiment because there is no such thing as a perfect victim. People react and are affected by trauma and abuse in different ways and as someone who people would call the exact opposite of a "perfect victim", Starscream is NOTHING like the way the fandom tends to potray him.

Starscream is more often than not potrayed as a cowardly, selfish, and egoistical individual who does terrible things for his own benefits. NOTHING about that screams "poor little meow meow" to me and honestly? I like him better this way, especially in the case of Earthspark, because in my experiences, that's how my trauma shaped me.

I (unfortunately) used to be one of the people wary of Earthspark due to the loud critiques of Starscream's character in s2 and so I stayed away from the show believing it to be a terrible exmaple of how abuse can affect someone (don't hate me lol! I was an idiot). But that was until I did a little digging myself and I realised... He's literally just me???

Now I'm not saying what he does is right or that I do EVERYTHING that he does. But I think some es!starscream fans have a little skewed perception on what a "Redemption Arc" truly is. As well as what an abuse victim should be. We cannot generalise all victims as "Sympathetic innocent souls" or "Unsympathetic corrupt individuals who deserve what happened to them" because... trauma is so much more complex than that.

In my case, abuse made me violent (not towards innocent people but towards my own abusers) and selfish and at times cowardly. It's not due to an innate desire to harm others and an inherent evil within me but because I was a scared child who didn't know how to protect myself other than mimicking the people around me.

To insinuate that es!starscream did the things he did in s2 because the writers were trying to convey that he's inherently evil due to his trauma (despite that, to my knowledge, nothing in the show implies such a thing) can be a harmful thought because.. 1. It's taking agency away from his character and tying him down to his abuser and 2. Trauma can influence people to do bad things but that doesn't mean there isn't a level of accountability and agency when they do. To villainise that fact just because you want a character you like to be redeemed can be damaging to the already ill conceived perception of abuse victims that are anything but "perfect". We shouldn't shame abuse victims for doing bad things (Unless of course it's something REALLY horrible) but we should still hold them accountable in a safe and respectful manner. Especially since most of the time (at least in children), abuse victims do these bad things in order to protect themselves.

In my personal opinion, I don't think the things that Starscream did in s2 was purely due to his trauma—though I do think it may have influenced him in some way, because trauma tends to influence our decisions in life—but I don't think it's due to some sort of inherent evil within him. People doing bad things doesn't mean that they're born with an inherent evilness. Experience shapes us into who we are, external factors influences our mindsets, and sometimes we get into situations where it seems like we have no choice but to do something bad. (The best example of this I can think of right now is Magneto from X-Men: He wasn't born evil, but due to prejudice and trauma, he felt as if he had no choice but to become the villain.)

As I said, obviously trauma may have influenced Starscream's decisions but to tie every single decision he makes down to his abuser takes agency away from his character and makes it seem like as if he's nothing more than is trauma, which is NOT true. Time and time again across multiple continuities we can see that whether or not he experiences the same thing as es!starscream, he's still the same cunning and egoistical bastard he is because that's who he is!

Just because continuities like Earthspark brings more attention to his abusive relationship with Megatron doesn't mean that's his only characteristic. His decisions are still his own decisions and even if it's somewhat influenced by his trauma in any way it doesn't take away from the fact it's still his choice and in my opinion, to blame everything he does on his trauma feels honestly disrespectful as if victims cannot do anything that is unrelated to their abuser as well as the fact that it once again enforces that whole "Perfect Victim" narrative. Victims can be (for lack of a better word) "imperfect", and it's important that victims like Starscream is represented as much as victims that are perceived to be "perfect" are. Trauma and abuse is a complex topic and when handled appropriately, ALL victims should be represented. Not just those that fit into people's ideal expectations of what a victim should be.

There's also the fact that almost EVERY character in Earthspark or other tf continuities are technically also victims of different forms of abuse or other forms of trauma. Whether it be physically violent or emotionally damaging, so many other characters have been traumatised in various ways and it's not ONLY Starscream that has been abused by Megatron or in general.

As an example, Hashtag: I think when people hear Hashtag say "When bad things happen, it isn't always our fault" towards Starscream, they think it's directed solely towards Starscream and forget that it may have been also directed towards HERSELF. If I'm remembering the orders of things right, Hashtag has also went through a traumatising experience which has influenced her relationship with Starscream. She felt a sense of kinship within their trauma and when she says it's not a victim's fault, I got the sense that she wasn't saying that only to validate Starscream but also herself.

Hashtag has also experienced trauma—not as violent as Starscream's, but trauma nonetheless—and if Earthspark is truly claiming that being abused or traumatised is the victim's fault like es!starscream fans like to claim, then why is that sentiment not extended to Hashtag? Or if you want a more violent example, the Autobots, who have also technically been violently abused by the Decepticons during the war.

Earthspark, in my opinion, isn't villainising abuse victims or anyone who has experienced any kind of trauma in general, nor are they even villainising anyone in general. They teach children again and again that someone's actions is not an excuse to treat them badly, but it doesn't mean you can just LET them continue doing it either, especially when it harms you or others.

If you want an example of actual continuities that DOES justify abuse for "laughs" or because "they deserve it" then turn your attention towards Transformers: Prime. The treatment of Starscream's abuse is highly questionable there yet hardly anyone (Especially es!starscream fans, who I find to often be tfp fans) discusses it. Sure, it could be because it's a kids show. But Earthspark is also a kids show. So why are we justifying tfp's potrayal of abuse but not Earthspark—a show that actually does encourage you to respect victims and makes an attempt to validate victims trauma? (This isn't hate towards tfp or anyone that enjoys it btw. I too love tfp but I find the quality and writing there to be very questionable at times.)

Also, people who criticise Earthspark's handling of Starscream's trauma tend to claim that it influences abuse victims (typically children) to believe that it's their fault. I've spoken to a few of these people myself and how that in my opinion as a victim, I find how the show handled trauma—although not perfect—quite respectable and that the show makes it clear that characters like Starscream, as I said, shouldn't be disrespected just because of their choices, and that although the line may be a bit unclear at times, Earthspark does a decent job at clarifying that trauma isn't excuse for making harmful choices but it doesn't make you inherently evil either nor does your actions excuse being abused. When I brought this up however, they tend to.. brush off my opinion? And repeat the same things again. Which I quite frankly don't get because if you're that concerned about how abuse victims, especially child abuse victims, will perceive Starscream's characterisation, then why won't you take into account the perspective of an actual child abuse victim?

In my opinion—and not to generalise, it's just a personal observation—I think most Starscream fans honestly don't actually care about how his abuse is handled or about what real victims will think. They usually seem like they just want their favourite character to live out their ao3 "Starscream redemption" fanfics. Again, I don't mean to generalise but this is just something I see a lot of in es!starscream fans. I don't mind when people criticise a piece of media when it potrays a group of people in a harmful manner but like... it's kinda pointless if you don't take into account the actual group's perspective in question.

Another thing I'd like to mention; it's not exactly restricted to Starscream fans nor is it exactly about abuse but an issue I see in a lot of pieces of media is that people tend to forget that a individual character's story ≠ the general story plot. Sure a character's storyline may influence the plot and vice versa but it doesn't mean that the character's story IS the plot. When people say that Earthspark's story sucks just because Starscream's (or any other characters) personal plot was unsatisfactory to them, I can't help but question them because even if it IS bad, one bad character doesn't always make the ENTIRE general plot bad. Of course there are exceptions but in this case? I think Earthspark—with what little I've seen of it—is already MILES better compared to other continuities. Which is a strange thing for me to say because when it comes to Transformers—or more specifically, the animated adaptations—they tend to be less than stellar in terms of quality of animation or in storywriting, or sometimes both! Sure it's not perfect by any means and there are definitely a lot of things that are worth criticising, but neither are any of the other continuities and I hardly see them get any criticism. So then why is Earthspark singled out? (Honestly, I think I know why but I don't want to generalise everyone who dislikes Earthspark here.)

And for my final opinion: Some people say that Starscream's potrayal in s2 was too sudden compared to his characterisation in s1. Which... I respectfully disagree.

First off, Starscream BARELY had any screentime in s1. He was pretty much a side character until s2 and had very few screentime enough to draw a conclusion to his character.

People claim that his characterisation in s1 was a "set-up" for a redemption arc or that he already has been redeemed, purely due to the fact he was sympathetic and was nice to Hashtag. And I personally don't quite get that from both a literary standpoint and as a victim: victims can be sympathetic... and still do bad things. Shocking, I know. But just because Starscream was sympathetic and nice to Hashtag doesn't mean he was ever gonna be redeemed or already was redeemed. A redemption arc needs MUCH more than just a few moments of kindness or sympathy. Plus, his moments of kindness towards the Terrans/Hashtag was like... two episodes in comparison to his multiple episodes both in s1 and s2 in which it is setting up his eventual villainous actions AND his offscreen DECADES of destruction and violence against the Autobots and humans during the war. Just like how doing bad things doesn't make someone inherently evil, doing good things doesn't make him inherently nice or redeemed. And it makes much more such for him to not be redeemed because there's virtually no set up for a redemption arc in comparison to his story in s2.

Not to mention the fact that Hashtag is a child. Starscream isn't the type of person to suddenly forget about his trauma and his goals for a child he barely knows, especially a child associated with his abuser. It makes more sense that his "kindness" towards Hashtag was fuelled by his ego getting stroked at the fact that she believed him because I and many others similar to Starscream typically don't just completely forget about our trust issues because of kindness but rather because we feel validated when someone believes in our abuse and trauma and assures us that it's not our fault.

Plus, it makes less sense—in my personal opinion—when all those "Starscream Redemption" fanfics make him immediately flip a switch and suddenly become all nice and selfless simply because he joined the Autobots or whatever. Not to shit on the writers or anyone else who enjoy fanfics like these, I like them too. It's just from a literary standpoint as well as when considering his trauma, I highly doubt he's going to immediately change his entire ideals and perception simply because he bonds with a child or because he joins the Autobots. And in the case of Earthspark, I highly doubt he'd want to join the team that is allies with his abuser, or even just be nice to them. Megatron and the others aren't entitled to Starscream bending over backwards to becoming nice and good for them and neither should the Autobots and the others completely exempt Starscream from the consequences of his actions simply because he is a victim.

That's all my thoughts for now. Again, this isn't to shit on anyone who many have different opinions or just finds es!starscream's story unsatisfactory or anything. I just needed to rant about how the fandom treats Starscream and his abuse (or any fandom with any traumatised character in general) because honestly I'm sick of seeing his trauma being brought up only to infantilise him and take away the agency in his actions or to make fun of his trauma and insinuate that he "deserves" it (which is an awful thing to say, considering the fact real people experience such things). There's nothing wrong with having a different opinion than mine or anything, I just really needed to get this off my chest because I heavily relate to Starscream, especially es!starscream, but also as someone very interested in literature I can't help but need to rant both about the treatment of abuse victims in fandom and the lack of media literacy these days. Feel free to share your thoughts on this post, just keep it respectful.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

The Velvet Underground - La Cave, Cleveland, Ohio, April 28, 1968

Happy Sweet Sister Ray Day! This high holy day for Velvet Underground fanatics is always worth celebrating. But today, on the 57th anniversary, it's especially worth celebrating because Mr. Charlie has unearthed an "extraordinary, previously uncirculated low generation source tape" of this legendary Jamie Klimek recording, which has been bootlegged in inferior quality for decades now.

We're still talking about an audience tape from 1968, of course, but I'm going to agree that "extraordinary" is the right word to use — there's a new clarity and crispness here that blows away any previous version I've heard. And that is great news, because "Sweet Sister Ray" is one of my favorite things in the world. Thank you, Mr. Charlie! And thank you to the late/great Jamie Klimek for bringing his gear to La Cave all those years ago and capturing this unbelievable performance.

In case you need a deeper dive, you can read my long essay "The Velvet Underground's Elusive 'Sweet Sister Ray'" after the jump ...

Recorded at a tiny subterranean Cleveland, OH club called La Cave in late April of 1968, “Sweet Sister Ray” isn’t exactly a song, per se. It’s a close-to-40-minute jam, a languid, endless boogie. The audience tape we can listen to all these years later is murky, but that feels appropriate. “Sweet Sister Ray” is nothing if not a murky experience. 

The journey kicks off with the band (most likely just Cale, Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison; drummer Maureen Tucker isn’t audible here) chugging steadily, slowly over a spare, spidery riff. It’s easygoing, like they have no particular place to go, though there’s an underlying tension and menace. Reed’s guitar spirals off into a more abstract direction for a bit, almost reminiscent of Roger McGuinn’s flights of fancy on “Eight Miles High.” You lean in. What exactly is going on?  Is the band just warming up? Is there even anyone (aside from the taper) in the club? Through the murk, a decidedly surreal atmosphere develops. The music continues at a morphine-drip pace, drifting and droning, with Morrison playing a nervier counterpoint to Reed’s laconic fretwork, Cale rattling around in the background. At some point around the half-hour mark, Cale switches over to keyboards, lending the proceedings a curiously magisterial feel, as Reed begins coaxing beautiful, simmering feedback from his amp. It’s as if some new genre of music is being invented on the spot.

Extended live improvisations were, of course, nothing new to the VU. The aforementioned Columbus, OH show in 1966 features two marathon performances, “Melody Laughter” and “The Nothing Song,” that showcase the band’s most adventurous, avant-garde leanings.  But those pieces were created to complement the extravagant multimedia overload of Andy Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable, with dancers, lights and films adding to the experience. La Cave might’ve had a light show, but it was undoubtedly low-tech. On this particular night in Cleveland, it was just the Velvet Underground, the small audience and “Sweet Sister Ray.”

We haven’t even mentioned that throughout the song, Reed has been stepping up to the mic from time to time to sing a few verses. The lyrics may be off-the-cuff (Reed was known for his ability to generate lyrics at will), but they’re not indecipherable. In fact, they might even tell a fairly cohesive story, a veritable prequel to the actual “Sister Ray,” as our titular protagonist watches a movie — “the weirdest movie I’ve seen in my days.”

Reed goes on to sing about a topic he was intimately familiar with: electroshock therapy. “All the vaseline on your forehead / makes you feel so nice,” he deadpans. “My hair stood on end / and I thought I’d been frozen with a knife.” It’s a thinly veiled slice of autobiography — Reed was subjected to electroshock as a teenager to curb his homosexual tendencies — where you’d least expect it. And the final lyrics feel even more hauntingly personal, if still oblique: “Just then I saw a hole in the ground / and I jumped right in ‘cause there was no one around.” Down the rabbit hole young Lou eagerly goes, to rock and roll, to Warhol, to the dangerous and thrilling dreamscapes of “Sister Ray” itself. Which is right where the rest of the Velvets join him back in Cleveland, as Moe Tucker finally ambles onstage and beings thumping out that unmistakable beat and they segue into what was likely an even wilder excursion. Alas, it’s at this point that the tape fades out …

So where did “Sweet Sister Ray” go after La Cave? There’s some indication that it was further refined and developed into “Sweet Rock And Roll,” a mythical lost VU number from the summer of ‘68. Lou’s old sparring partner Lester Bangs is mostly responsible for the legend, calling the performance he witnessed in San Diego, CA “the most incredible musical experiences” of his life. “It was built on the most dolorous riff imaginable, just a few scales rising and falling mournfully, somewhat like ‘Venus In Furs’ but less creaky, more deliberate and eloquent.” Bangs even quotes some of the lyrics, which fall into line with what Reed was singing a few months earlier in Cleveland: “Sweet Sister Ray went to a movie / The floor was painted red and the walls were green / ‘Ooooh,’ she cried / ‘This is the strangest movie I’ve ever seen.’”

Will we ever hear “Sweet Rock And Roll”? Probably not. But Sterling Morrison claimed that a tape of the show Bangs wrote about was made, but quickly added that it was “stolen that very night. Stolen within seconds, actually. As soon as it ended, it vanished, never to reappear on this earth.”

[flyingwargle]

sakuatsu drabble inspired by this fanart! <3

it probably isn’t the best idea to visit your boyfriend immediately after a photoshoot, but atsumu doesn’t care. he doesn’t have many chances to travel to tokyo, so he’ll take whatever opportunities come to him.

he walks down the concrete pathway with a bouquet of flowers in the crook of his arm, a hand in his pocket. stares follow him, along with a trail of whispers, questions about who he is, why he is here, what the hell is going on to warrant a four-piece suit. if anyone asks, he has an answer ready – do you need a reason to look good for your boyfriend?

the studio is across the street from omi’s university, and his lecture hall is somewhere within the labyrinth of buildings. none of the signs nor maps are helpful; not even google maps can point him in the right direction. he frowns at the time - his break is three hours long, and omi’s lecture ends in twenty minutes. that’s plenty of time to eat lunch together before he has to finish his shoot, and omi attends his next lecture.

if he can find the sports medicine building, anyway.

fortunately, a group of girls approach him to ask for a selfie, and in return, walk him to where he needs to go. “the lecture hall is down the hall on your right,” one girl tells him. “it’s the last one.”

“got it. thank ya, ladies.” he waves them off, gives them a wink. they swoon, leaving in a cloud of giggles. he pushes the door open and follows their directions to the end of the hall.

the lecture appears to have just ended, based on the steady flow of students exiting through the doors. eyes flicker in his direction, but he pays them no attention, searching for a particular head of curls with a perpetual scowl on his face – and he finds it, near the front rows of the auditorium.

“omi-kun!”

his voice echoes around him. heads turn in his direction, although many pretend nothing is happening. atsumu gallops down the steps to the front, where the professor stands behind the lectern, eyes wide and bewildered. one student freezes, leather messenger bag slung around his shoulder, dressed in a plain shirt, unbuttoned cardigan, cream-colored slacks. he lifts his head, stares at atsumu.

and promptly bursts into tears.

“woah, omi-kun, are ya- oof.” atsumu grunts as his boyfriend practically tackles him, arm raised in time to avoid squashing his flowers. with his other hand, he strokes omi’s hair, fingers tangled in his soft curls, messy and unstyled. “i gotchu, baby.”

he hears mumbling against his waistcoat, feels the fabric dampening. “what did ya say, sweetheart?”

omi lifts his head, blinks at him through tear-stained eyes. he sniffles. “i missed you.”

“i missed ya, too. but i’m here now, so let’s dry those tears an’ get lunch together, hm?”

the professor grants them another moment before kindly interrupting with an apology because the next class is about to begin. atsumu takes omi’s hand and guides him upstairs to exit the lecture hall, stepping into the corridor. as soon as they cross the threshold, omi tugs him to the side, captures his lips in a kiss, salty from his tears. “why are you here?” he rasps.

“got called fer a photoshoot. the company paid fer my green car ticket an’ hotel, so obviously, i had ta take advantage o’ that. i’ll be back in osaka tomorrow.” atsumu kisses him again, sighs against his soft lips and familiar cologne of mint and sandalwood. “yer doin’ okay? school’s not too bad?”

“it’s…stressful. there are so many deadlines, and i have a lot of studying to do, but…” omi shakes his head, releasing an uneven sigh. “seeing you helps. even if you’re…dressed like that.”

atsumu pouts. “ya don’t like it?”

“of course not. i wish i wasn’t…dressed like this. i didn’t even have time to do my hair this morning.” his chuckle is dry. “you’re stunning in that suit, and i…probably ruined it when i cried on you.”

“s’fine. i’m wearin’ somethin’ different after lunch.” hopefully. he doesn’t remember, just that the director told him to come back after three hours. “these flowers weren’t from the shoot, though. there’s a florist right next ta the studio an’ i couldn’t resist gettin’ ya some.”

“yes, that place offers discounts for students. it’s quite popular for valentine’s day and white day.” omi catches his eye, gives him a smile. “my next lecture is in three hours.”

“then i’m yers ‘till then.” atsumu steps back with a bow, offering his hand. “shall we?”

a delicate hand fits in his, along with a soft voice filled with adoration. “we shall.”

Something simple for the week♥️

[ratinayellowbandana]

For the writing ask -

Imodna + nighttime, stories, blankets

"i'll do a fifteen minute prompt," she said. "it'll be quick, she said." lies. i can't write anything without worldbuilding. this went in a direction i certainly didn't see coming, but i hope you enjoy it!

if anyone else would like to send me a prompt, please feel free! i love doing little scenes.

rated G, ~1.4k words.

~~~

It was the night before the horse show, and everything was going wrong. Everything was, perhaps, an exaggeration, but Imogen's glittery show blouse had gained a truly miraculous tear just after she'd blanketed Flora for the night, and they had another event in the morning for the champion ribbon.

A fit of desperation revealed one single tailor open at 10 p.m. on a Saturday. Why the hell a tailor was open that late was none of Imogen's business, but she thanked whichever deity was listening all the same. The website, which looked like it hadn't been updated in the past ten years, said the business did on-site repairs, and that was good enough for her.

That was how she found herself sitting in the parking lot of a decently sketchy strip mall under a weather-worn awning that read Fate's Stitchers. The flickering neon OPEN sign bathed her dashboard in blues and reds. The chime above the door clattered when she entered. Imogen squinted at the noise. Wood, maybe? Or plastic pipe? The tubes had been fashioned to look like finger bones. The shop was dark, lit by faux flickering candles on the counter and three small lamps. Clothing racks with seemingly handmade pieces were scattered about the room.

"Hello?"

An accented voice called from the back, "I'll be right with you!" Imogen caught the sound of a chair being moved, a scattering of plinks, and a muted curse. A woman emerged, fumbling, from the back room. She clearly had not been expecting anyone. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a floppy bun held in place by a claw clip. She wore a faded university sweatshirt and a long skirt that brushed the tops of her fuzzy red slippers. She was maybe a few years younger than Imogen, but the dim lighting of the shop made it difficult to tell. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, hi," Imogen said dumbly. "Are you... open? The door was unlocked, so I thought–"

"We are," the woman confirmed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "I just prefer the lights off this late." From her tone, she'd gotten this question before.

"Isn't that bad for your eyesight?"

The woman adjusted a pair of large, square glasses to rest more fully on the bridge of her nose. "I believe that ship has sailed, as they say."

Imogen blinked. "Your website said you did last-minute mending?"

The woman hummed. "We do, though I will say the outcome depends on the case." She zeroed in on the blouse in Imogen's arms and gestured for Imogen to hand it over. Imogen watched as she inspected the garment, thumbing over the tear. She clicked her tongue. "Should be an easy fix." She turned and began walking toward the back room. "Are you coming?"

Imogen looked around at the empty couches, shrugged to no one in particular, and followed the woman behind the sheer curtains separating the shop from the work area. While the shop was relatively tidy, the backroom was an organized mess of sewing supplies. Racks of thread stretched floor to ceiling, with a stepladder nearby to reach the tallest spools. Buttons littered the floor, presumably what the curse Imogen heard was about. Bolts of fabric in every style, color, and texture were stacked up one wall. Music played softly from a speaker on the cutting table. Something slow and folksy that sounded vaguely familiar.

The woman took a seat on a stool and nodded for Imogen to take the one opposite. She drew her legs up under her until she was perched on the balls of her feet.

"So," Imogen said, unsure where to look, "d'you... get a lot of customers this late?"

"Mm," the woman mumbled, snatching a needle from her stash, "you'd be surprised at the things people need fixed on a whim. Wedding dress alterations that are put off until the last minute, that sort of thing." She winked, her eye magnified by her glasses, making it look almost doll-like. She chose her thread color and slid it through the needle’s eye with practiced ease. "There's always a story. The groom wants to add embroidery to his tie to honor his father," she ticked on her fingers, speech mumbled as she held the needle between her teeth, and adjusted Imogen's shirt. "Grandmother's shawl was stained before the holiday brunch, a dog made a chew toy out of a beloved stuffed animal, and the child won't stop caterwauling. Those are always my favorite to fix."

She drew the fabric of the shirt up close to ensure she poked the needle through the correct spot. "So, tell me, then, what's your story?"

Imogen shifted. "I'm in town for the rodeo. Shirt ripped during my event this afternoon, and it's my only one."

The woman's eyes sparkled. "A rodeo? How adventurous! I can't say I've ever been to one."

"Most people haven't."

"And you ride horses, then?"

"Yeah. Western pleasure."

The woman scrunched up her nose, causing her glasses to slip. "Is that... a breed?"

Imogen laughed. "Sorta. It's a riding style, though some breeds are more predisposed than others."

"And you have your own horse?"

"Flora. She's an Appaloosa."

"Oh," the woman said dreamily, "she sounds marvelous."

"She is," Imogen agreed, "and a sweetheart outside the ring too." She cleared her throat. "What about you? What's your story?" She gestured around them at the projects scattered on various work tables. "How'd you get into... seamstressing?"

The woman smiled, and her face softened. "As a girl, I was always making things. Dolls and the like. I loved to fix things, to leave them a little more beautiful than I found them. I was a very lonely child." Her lips twisted into a grimace of faint regret, but it slipped away just as quickly. "I started to make my own clothing. I would mend things for our neighbors in exchange for pocket money to buy thread and fabric. After my parents passed, I sold our farm and signed a lease for this place." Her fingers paused their stitching as she surveyed the room. "It's not much, I admit, but it's mine."

"The clothes out front. Are they yours?"

The woman nodded enthusiastically. "Patterns and all," she said proudly.

"Amazin'."

The woman averted her gaze and resumed her quick stitches. "That's very kind of you."

"I mean it. Hell, I can't even sew up my own shirt, much less design a whole new one."

Another smile cracked the woman's face, and she tied off the thread. "It's not terribly difficult. They sell sewing kits these days, you know. Maybe you could keep one in one of those Western saddlebags of yours."

Imogen didn't have the heart to tell her she didn't really have saddlebags. At least, not the way she was probably picturing. "You're gonna put yourself outta business if you keep givin' advice like that."

"Maybe." She stood, and when she stretched, her back made the same noise as the chime over the door. "Come on, then, we shouldn't keep Flora waiting."

Imogen followed her back to the front of the store. Headlights drove past, briefly casting the shop in a shadowy glow. "How much do I owe you?"

The woman waved. "Nothing. It was an easy fix."

Imogen teased again, "You're gonna put yourself outta business."

"I liked your story," the woman said simply. Imogen opened her mouth to protest, but the look on her face made her reconsider.

"Thank you," Imogen said earnestly instead. "Would've been mighty embarrassing to ride out tomorrow with a big ol' hole in my shirt."

"Disastrous, I'm sure."

Imogen shuffled her feet before summoning her courage to ask: "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name earlier."

"Laudna," Laudna said in that melodic way of hers.

"Imogen."

"Imogen," Laudna repeated. "It was very nice to meet you, Imogen."

"Likewise."

"I hope you'll visit again soon."

"If I keep puttin' holes in my clothes, you're sure to see me."

"Well," Laudna drawled, "in that case, I believe sewing kits are sold out everywhere. A shame, really."

"Truly." The corner of Imogen's mouth curved up.

"Best of luck tomorrow. Please give your horse a pat from me."

"I will. And thank you again."

"A pleasure."

As the chime clattered overhead and the door closed behind her, Imogen ran her fingers over Laudna's handiwork. She couldn't help but grin.

[bumbled-bees]

Why does lily hate apologies so much? I've very rarely seen her do it, most of the time she digs in her heels and asserts that whatever she said was deserved or actually not all that nasty of a thing to say . There was this one time in the discord where she went on a tirade and hurled insults at a server regular for following the rules (the one about not trying to dunk on "stalkers" and just sitting back and "enjoying the show"). Sure, she apologized the next day, albeit a broad apology that wasn't even aimed at the person she hurt. But she then nullified any meaning it had when she made an announcement stating that profuse apologizing would be punished after said server regular had the audacity apologize for angering her.

It's a pattern I've noticed, with the situation I explained above opening my eyes to it. She lashes out at and insults the people who literally pay her rent, gets mad at them for saying sorry, and 999 times outta 1000 refuses to say sorry herself for reasons unbeknownst to me.

I think I was actually there for the Discord tirade you mention! Not only that, if it's what I think you're referencing, I think I was one of the recipients of said tirade.

Around early-mid June of last year? I remember myself and another patron being scolded for "treating her life like a soap opera", and the next morning, a new rule was in place: No excessive apologizing.

Huh. I'd forgotten about that.

Anyway, to answer your question: Lily does have a long, noticeable pattern of avoiding genuine apologies whenever possible. When she does apologize, it’s usually extremely broad, not directed at anyone in particular, and often immediately undercut by her behavior afterward — exactly like the situation you described.

There are a few dynamics at play here. First, apologizing sincerely would mean acknowledging that she actually hurt someone, and that goes against the public image she tries to maintain: that she's always justified, always right, always the most "reasonable" person in any situation. If she admits fault openly, it undermines the authority she works hard to project over her community. Lily’s whole framework is built on maintaining control — and vulnerability threatens that control.

Second, there's the fact that she sees apologies themselves as weakness. You can even see it in how she treats others who apologize: she’ll snap at them, punish them, or accuse them of "making it about themselves." In her mind, to apologize is not an act of accountability, it’s an admission that you've "lost" some kind of personal battle. That's why, even after she lashes out, she often digs in her heels and reframes the situation so that she was the one wronged, or at least justified.

And you're right: it's the people who literally support her financially that she treats like this. People she owes gratitude and care to, and instead she meets them with suspicion, coldness, or outright disdain if they ever so much as inconvenience her emotionally.

Ultimately, Lily treats apologies — whether hers or others' — not as tools for reconciliation or healing, but as weapons in a control game. She demands submission without self-reflection, and that's why you'll almost never see her apologize properly, even when it’s painfully obvious to everyone else that she should.

[halo-stylinson]

You seem to genuinely care about adults sexualizing teens. You should know about the predators in this fandom that were swept under the rug: https://www.tumblr.com/larriearchive/167570592050/child-grooming-in-the-one-direction-fandom

hooooooooooly fucking shit. holy fucking shit. im speechless right now. here's the linked post for anyone who doesn't want to copy paste the ask. most of it is under a read more but was thankfully archived in 2017 by larriearchive.

the tldr: the anonymous, now deactivated blog, tells their story of being sexually groomed at age 13 by a blog called tvshows-addict, who was 34 at the time. im not familiar with that blogger in particular, but it looks like they havent posted since 2023. the anonymous OP also named multiple bloggers who knew they were being abused/groomed and did nothing about it, or actively sided with their abuser: cuethetommo, littlechilllarrie, nottooldforthisship, and... twopoppies. im very aware of who twopoppies is, and seeing her url listed in that post made me jump.

from a cursory glance at the blogs named, most of them have been inactive for several years, but cuethetommo and nottooldforthisship have been active in the past few months. and, of course, twopoppies is active nearly every day on here and is highly respected by every larrie i know.

thank you anon for bringing this to my attention. i know a lot of fans on tumblr really look up to twopoppies/gina in particular, a lot of people go to her for her opinions on just about everything happening within this fandom, and i can only assume many fans don't know about her involvement in that anonymous victim's grooming because it's been so many years. this is certainly the first im hearing of this.

anyone reading this, dont go harassing any bloggers named in the original post. my recommendation is to disengage with any of them you currently interact with and keep yourselves safe first and foremost.

[osmanthusoolong]

A constant of the universe, truly, is how when anyone drags out the “you wouldn’t say (similar thing with particulars altered) about (other oppressed group)!!!”, it absolutely always is something that people very much do say to members of whatever group, and regularly even. I’ve yet to see it happen where it’s not something that I’ve either had directed at me or at someone I know well, and reveals a lack of really paying any attention to that other group’s experiences beyond their use as a hypothetical

[drolta]

really do not agree with some of these takes from the vc fandom concerning the show only fanbase

[yepiamthesmileyface]

drives me absolutely batshit how no one seems to understand what internalized bigotry is anymore. internalized bigotry is internal, it is directed at you by yourself because you have bigoted thought patterns around a trait that you have. these thought patterns were instilled by society, and you are enforcing them on yourself.

but! crucially! as soon as you externalize it, as soon as you are enforcing the bigoted pattern on other people, it ceases to be internalized bigotry! it just becomes bigotry! a woman who, for example, adds pink to a tattoo because she doesn't believe the tattoo she's giving a client is feminine enough has definitely internalized societal misogyny, but by enforcing it on others, she is exhibiting misogynistic behaviour!

[utilitycaster]

I think the two most obvious foils for Ludinus Da'leth across all of Critical Role are Essek and Keyleth, which is both fascinating given how different those two characters are from each other (Essek being a foil in terms of isolation, single-mindedness, harm in the name of ambition, knowledge, and other such wizard themes; Keyleth being a foil in terms of people who have lost something at a young age to the gods and bear resentment for it, political leadership, belief that the world belongs to mortalkind, and longevity) but also it's extremely funny that they both are the partners of Liam's character.

[thebramblewood]

I think one of the hardest things as a writer posting a story serially is accepting that readers come and go naturally over time (if you're lucky enough to have readers in the first place, which is its own uphill battle) and that it's not necessarily a reflection on yourself as a creator. People have lives, and a years-long story is a massive commitment. They might stop reading for any number of totally valid reasons! But it's always a bit bittersweet to see people fade along the way. I still think often about how certain readers might react to certain developments, even if they haven't commented in months. I just hope they know how much I appreciated the time they did spend with it, and I hope they're doing well wherever they are. 💕