#but it simply did not happen. unfortunate

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[johnbrand]

Recycling

I watched as the next employee entered the chamber. He appeared a bit confused, probably having expected a conference room rather than the dark space with mirrored walls. By the look of it, he had no idea that any one of the panes were one-sided, hesitantly fidgeting with his tie as he announced his presence with a timid “Hello?”

I leaned into the microphone, “Good afternoon.” The nervous boy’s eyes dashed around the room, trying to identify the person speaking to him. His physical characteristics and mannerisms resembled a mouse, small and skittish.

“Am I supposed to be here?” he eventually replied, choosing the speaker above my viewpoint as his receptor.

“Yes, this is the meeting to discuss your annual review.” I replied. “You're in the right place, Mr. Donson. Would you like for me to refer to you by your given name?”

The boy shuffled anxiously, “Drayton is fine.”

Habitually, I continued. “I’m sure you're wondering why your annual review this year is different from those in the past. Don’t worry Drayton, you are still one of our top performers, and your review reflects your incredible performance.”

Feeling a delicate surge of confidence, Drayton let a smile sneak up onto his lips. Being clean shaven and still holding some baby fat, it frankly was quite endearing. Cute even.

“As you are already aware, our company has been having some financial issues recently. And as a high-ranking official in our accounting department, I am sure that you are more than knowledgeable on the details of this subject.”

Drayton’s youthful glee faltered for a moment.

“Unfortunately, we do not have the funds available to keep you on board and give you a raise,” I started. “The company would like to offer you a deal: in exchange for accepting a substandard review and a 19% decrease in pay, we will offer you external benefits.”

Shock emerged from Drayton’s face, “What benefits would be worth a fifth of my paycheck?”

“Unfortunately I am liable to disclose that information,” I robotically replied. “You can either accept or tender a resignation.” 

Drayton took a moment to decide, just like all the other employees typically did. But eventually, they all convinced themselves that losing employment at the company was the worse of the two options.

“I’ll accept.”

“Stand by.” I followed procedure, locking the exits and airways into the chamber. Once that was done, I began flipping the switches. Steam mechanisms, followed by audio machines, followed by visual projectors. I did not even pay attention to the squabbling accountant, panicking as his chamber was bombarded with smoke, abrasive phonics, and commands that flashed against the walls and reflected into every corner of the room. 

Thanks to the padding in my control room, I absorbed none of it. I simply ignored Drayton’s screams and opened my laptop, getting back to my own duties as the process did its work. With all the vapors, I typically could not witness any of the changes that happened anyway–which also meant I could never attest to possible allegations if our company did ever come under some sort of legal fire in the future. But sometimes I did spot little things, flashes of commands that were being ingrained into the employee. MASCULINE, TRADITIONAL, ATTENTIVE. The small letters would pulse by an instant, although they were meaningless to me within my enclosed accommodations.

Eventually, my timer went off, and I closed out of the procedure. I exited the program and flipped the switches back over, shutting off all stimulatory mechanisms. It took a moment for the smoke to clear, presenting me with a new version of the employee. More muscular, more masculine, and more virile.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Donovan?”

"It’s Donson, boss." The man stood tall, stoic. His voice now held much more depth and presence.

"It’s Donovan, Drake Donovan,” I affirmed. “That's what's in our system."

I watched the man process this, the command’s installation literally visible behind his now less-intelligent eyes. 

“I see you were able to find part of your new uniform already.” I was referring to the briefs and sweatshorts that were covering the lower half of Drake’s much larger body. The remnants of the former business casual outfit were scattered across his large feet. “The closet behind you will contain the rest of your attire. Company fitness uniforms and approved footwear that will better fit your size and new position.”

“New position?” Drake inquired, his question curious rather than interrogative.

“The company has decided to reassign you as a security liaison, seeing as that will be a better fit for your paygrade.” I typed away at my reviewal report, adding in details of Drake’s benefits package. Increase in height, dramatic increase in musculature, increase in hair, increase in virility…

To save money, the company liked to recycle its employees. We would bring in fresh graduates to run our corporate operations, and then once they hit their pay ceiling, recycled them into more manual, less intellectually-driven roles. Naturally, no one ever filed any complaints about this procedure as no one realized it existed. And even if they did, they would no longer have the brains capable to file such a complaint.

“Sounds good, boss,” Drake replied, even though I had already known what his answer was going to be. With his dominating size and brutish stature, Drake had been remodeled into the standard male form that we needed for our team. And with this mind simplified to only focusing on traditional objectives (upholding masculinity, working out, fulfilling his role), Drake was now bound to solely focus on the company’s objectives. Thanks to the recycling process, our company would keep the profits high and the employee turnover low. And now, Drake would remain entertained without the extra money by merely following orders and enjoying the simpler things in life, like flexing his muscles.

[asunflowerana]

will you go to prom with me?

summary: prom is near, and your sweet, popular friend will do anything to have you as his date.

with: Gojo Satoru.

warnings: yandere behavior, blackmailing (not from satoru), slight blood mentions.

words: 1448.

a/n: i'm just gonna sit back and pretend this didn't give me chills. thinking of turning this into a series, but i'll hold myself from now haha

"Go to prom with me." It's not what you'd expect to hear on a Tuesday morning, right after a wearing History class. Even more so coming from the mouth of no other than Gojo Satoru, the coolest, most desired boy in school.

Yes, you've been friends with him for almost a year. And yes, you get on very well together, crack some side-jokes at classes, sometimes go out to grab some food, do homework at the library, and even stay up at night until sunrise on the phone, freaking out while studying for a math exam that none of you knew about it — or not paying attention, to be more honest. 

So yeah, you're friends. But it's Gojo Satoru we're talking about. And Gojo Satoru is just way out of anyone's league.

You're simply dumbfounded.

"I—" You swallow hard, feeling like you just lost your memory and no longer know how to complete sentences. You're feeling a lot of things, honestly, the guy you've had so many daydreams with saying he wants to have you as his partner, and there you are, a pile of nerves trying to hide the hard, loud way your heart beats inside.

And it's not that you don't want to accept it. Heck, you want to say yes so badly, how many times did you catch yourself watching those sappy rom coms and wondering if you and the white-haired boy would make a fine couple like that. He's the whole package, and if those gorgeous blue eyes and jaw-dropping looks weren't enough, he's also so kind to you, that you can't help but develop a crush.

But as expected, he didn't catch only your attention, but the whole school as well. Kaya Nami, one of the troublemaker cheerleaders, is in the line and does everything she can to make sure nothing gets in her way.

"If I were you, I'd stay away from Satoru Gojo. You won't like having me as an enemy, believe me." She threatened you last Friday, right during PE class. Confused wasn't enough to describe how you felt, but you didn't say anything back to not cause drama, only nodding and watching her head off like nothing happened.

"...I'm sorry, Satoru, but I can't." And unfortunately, that warning was enough to hinder you from making the choice you wanted.

It goes without saying how astounded Gojo was by your answer, that probably being his first time ever being rejected. "What do you mean 'you can't'?" And then his tone dropped an octave, changing to something more seething. "Did someone ask you? You said yesterday to me that you didn't get invited."

"And you're right, I didn't get it." You try to reason, not liking the way he's bothered by your rejection. " it's just... I didn't think you wanted to go with me!" And you didn't lie, even though you said it more as an excuse.

"Well, now you know." He gets closer, almost making you hit your back at the locker behind you. His eyes say he didn't buy any of your excuses. "So, why can't you go? I mean, I know how overwhelming my beauty can be, but you're just as pretty, sweetheart."

His mood suddenly changes to the usual Gojo Satoru, the cheeky guy who enjoys flustering you for fun. Grazing your chin between his index and thumb, he looks deep at you. "I'll give you the best time you ever had. Just be my date."

It takes everything on you to not jump in his arms and let yourself get swept off your feet. Why does he have to make this so difficult? Taking a deep breath, you remember the headache you're gonna get if you don't make the right choice. "Satoru, I'd love to be your date, really. It's just, I think there's someone else that would make a better date than me."

He stares at you with an unreadable expression. You don't know if he got angrier or had enough of your pitiful answers, but you wish you could be able to read only a fraction of Satoru's mind, cause he's staring for too long at you, and you don't know what else to say other than stare back at him.

Finally, he steps back, diverting his gaze to a random spot for a moment before moving to look at you again. Sliding his hands inside his pants pockets, he seems to accept the situation, but you're still not sure of what you see. "I guess you're not changing your mind, huh? Then tell me, who's this 'perfect match'  that you think would be better for me?" He questions with a hint of disdain, but he tries to hide it with a small side smile.

The girl appears in the scene before you can mention her name as if she was waiting for the right opportunity to pounce and make her move on him. By the way your shoulders slump and your eyes lower to the ground, he quickly assumes that she's the person you were talking about earlier and that for some reason, she's making you very uncomfortable. Not you nor Nami noticed the way Gojo glares at a blank spot. Thinking, he mindlessly accepts the blond girl's invitation to lunch, giving you a brief hug before going away. "If that's what you want." He whispers unexpectedly in your ear, offering you a final smile before letting himself be guided to the cafeteria.

You spend the rest of the day wanting to beat yourself for wasting the chance you had to go out with Satoru. You don't talk to him as much during the week, since Nami was making sure to grab every second of his free time at break. It didn't take too long to figure out that both of them would go to prom together, and even though you were the one who made that happen, it still stings to imagine them having a good time.

Prom day arrives, and in the end, no one invites you. It wasn't something completely unexpected, but to be honest, you were hoping that at least one of your friends would be kind enough to want you as a company just so you could all enjoy the "night to remember". Honestly, you didn't want to miss such an important event, and even though there was a chance that you'd make a fool of yourself, it's still your prom, and you have the right to make the most of it, with or without someone.

Kicking away the self-pity, you dressed up and got ready for the special night, wearing that beautiful gown that you remember once showing on Pinterest to Satoru, months before the event. Checking your purse one more time, you catch your phone to ask for a cab, when you hear three familiar knocks on your front door.

Opening your house, you come face to face with someone you never would've imagined seeing at that moment. There stood Gojo Satoru, with a black tuxedo that perfectly accentuates his body, a bouquet of pink camellias in his left hand, glasses off, and a beautiful lopsided smile.

"...Wow." The combo of his honest compliment, his lingering, fond gaze in your direction, and the fact that you made him momentarily speechless, makes your whole self overwhelmed with endearing sensations, especially your warm cheeks.

But that passes too quickly since you don't understand the sudden visit.

"S-Satoru? What are you doing here?" You didn't want this to be the first thing to say to him, but you're so confused, that you don't know what else to say. "I thought you were going out with Nami. Where is she?"

Awakening from the brief trance you provoked in him, the white-haired boy only increases his smile in a rather strange way. " Didn't you know? Mina got in an accident yesterday, she fell from the stairs and ended up breaking her leg."

One more time, you were taken by surprise. As for your friend, he doesn't sound as worried as you imagined he would be after giving this message, but he still makes a respectful pause after saying it.

Satoru also notices your reaction, observing the way you empathetic self got sad for that girl's situation. Little did you know that she got exactly what deserved. And if you looked more closely at your gift, instead of worrying yourself, you'd notice the blood stains around the wrapping paper, the remains of what your future partner did to prove his love.

To his luck, you're just too pure to realize what you don't need to. And for that, Satoru smiles, gazing at you with sparks again.

"So now, will you go to prom with me?"

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated 🦋

© asunflowerana 2024

[joemama-2]

somethin' sweet

synopsis: you own a five-star renowned restaurant that is extremely hard to get into. business is great, the customers love it. everything is as perfect as can be. that is until a harsh food critic leaves you a bad review. you're stuck with a dilemma, let this one review overcome you. or.....fuck him so he can change it. tags: smut, sort of public sex, vaginal penetration, oral, gojo is kind of mean and annoying, praise, degradation, doggy, missionary, cunnilingus, dividers by @cafekitsune word count: 6370

The one time you’re not here, the one time you actually listen to everyone’s complaints about taking time to yourself because you overwork way too much. The one time you use your PTO to vacation to Bali for a week,

A distinguished critic visits your restaurant. 

You stare down at the screen in your hands, having not at all prepared for this news to be brought on you as soon as you enter. Its words stare back at you, taunting you almost. You’re half tempted to throw it across the kitchen, but that would be another expense added to your list of supplies you needed to buy for the upcoming month.

“What day did he come?” you ask as your pointer finger scrolls the screen, reading more of the nasty review that was left.

“A Saturday. None of us even knew he was coming.” Mayra, your head sous chef, replies. The rest of the staff stands around. Some in nervousness, anticipation, and even anger at the predicament. “We sat him on the top. Even made sure he had the whole floor to himself.”

The top floor, strictly reserved for distinguished guests who waited on your month long reservation list, or for those who would simply buy it out for the night. Your top floor is constantly raved about in the media, sometimes for its lavishness and other times in jealousy. Long story short, the top floor is for the best of the best.

And they gave him that.

But it seems he didn’t care for that at all.

“If you’re in the mood for a culinary adventure that feels more like a misadventure, look no further than Lovely Haven, the so-called “fusion” restaurant that blends American comfort food with Italian classics. Unfortunately, the only thing they seem to have fused successfully is disappointment and confusion. The result is a dismal failure that feels like a cruel joke on the palate, this is what happens when culinary confusion collides with utter mediocrity.

Let’s start with the decor—an odd mix of rustic Italian charm and the kind of neon signs you'd find in a questionable diner. It’s as if someone couldn’t decide whether to create a romantic trattoria or a roadside burger joint. The atmosphere is confusing, much like the menu.”

You scoff as you read this part to yourself. The decor? The decor was one of the things almost every customer raved about. Its bright lights mixed with sleek and stainless furniture was the epitome of success. Going as far as bugging your interior designer for days, even weeks on end, to get it down to the T. 

Secondly, mediocre? How dare he? You’ve been in the culinary arts for over two decades now, and so has your staff. You were very nitpicky and quite a perfectionist when assembling your employees for your place of solace. Your 5-star Michelin restaurant, yes, 5-star. It only took two years to achieve that goal, which placed you as the quickest growing restaurant in your area. And he’s treating it like you’re nothing but a simple Applebee’s or Chili’s. 

The balls on this man.

“Now, onto the menu—a dizzying array of choices that reads like a desperate attempt at creativity gone horribly awry. The lasagna burger is a prime example of this misguided ambition. It arrives as a soggy monstrosity, with layers of pasta and a sad, overcooked beef patty that would make even the most forgiving diner weep. It’s a culinary abomination, devoid of flavor and entirely forgettable.

Then there are the “famous” Alfredo fries, which manage to be both an insult to fries and Alfredo sauce. The dish is an affront to all things Italian and American, featuring limp, greasy fries drowning in a thick, tasteless goo that resembles some sort of industrial paste. It’s a disgrace, and I genuinely questioned whether anyone in the kitchen had ever tasted actual food before.”

By this point, your grip has tightened on the Ipad, jaw clenching and brows furrowing. This man, he really, really was an asshole. Disrespecting your hard-working kitchen staff was a low blow that you took personally. “How long did it take to get his food out to him?”

“Twenty minutes, Y/N.” Luke, one of the managers, replies. “I timed it and made sure it was prepared before the other guests who were dining.”

So not only was he being treated like a princess, but the other customers, who probably got there before him, received their food after he was served. All for the sake of him not reviewing your restaurant’s “unkempt timeliness”.

You continue to read the last few paragraphs while your stomach twists and turns.

“Service, predictably, matched the culinary catastrophe. Our server was inattentive and seemed more interested in their phone than in providing any semblance of hospitality. Drinks took an eternity to arrive—warm, naturally, because why would you expect cold beverages at a restaurant?

Dessert? Oh, you mean the “Tiramisu Sundae”? It’s a ghastly creation that defies logic, featuring layers of sad, mushy sponge cake drowned in what could only be described as a failed attempt at chocolate syrup. The entire dish is an insult to the beloved Italian classic, tasting more like a punishment than a treat.

In conclusion, Lovely Haven is not just a failure; it’s a disgrace to the culinary arts. If you value your taste buds and your sanity, steer clear of this pitiful excuse for a restaurant. Save your money and your appetite for a place that actually understands food. You deserve better.”

The silence that follows is harsh, awaiting a potential outburst from you. You lift your head and swivel around to glare at the group around you. “Who served him?”

Hesitance replies back, some of your staff looking down as though the ground seems more interesting than your death glare. It isn’t until you ask the question again, in a firmer tone, does Mayra respond. “Susan.”

Jesus christ. 

As if things couldn’t be worse, who’s bright idea was it to decide that the slacking employee serves your distinguished guest. The one person who has been trying your presence since she was hired. “Where is—”

You’re disrupted by the kitchen door opening, the problem herself walking through with earbuds in and of course, scrolling on her phone. As she looks up and sees the numerous amount of eyes on her, her steps falter. Confusion sparks through her expression, but as soon as you step forward, it begins to click.

“You’re thirty minutes late, I put you on opening because you said you couldn’t close anymore.” You don’t even have it in you to lighten your tone, eyes narrowed and voice clipped in annoyance, frustration. “Your performance has been lacking for months now, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ever the brat she is, her arms cross. “I’m a busy college student, I have other priorities and thing on my mind unlike the rest of you.”

“And I understand that,” you snap back.”But there is a difference between having other priorities and simply not caring. You don’t listen, you show up late, and you’re using your phone while you’re on the floor. Do you understand how extremely disrespectful that is?”

A moment of silence passes as she seems to formulate what to say in her mind. “I jus—”

“You’re fired.” you cut her off. “Your last check will be deposited within 24 hours, do not come back and if you do, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Luke and Mayra, along with your other manager, Ren, sit next to you in your office. Computer screen displayed in front of you four while your fingers type away. Mayra glances at your focused expression before back at the screen. “Do you really think he’ll reply back? Critics don’t usually come to review a place for a second time, especially one they strongly advised against.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes not straying from the email you’re drafting out. “Out of the seven years we’ve been operating, we haven’t had a single bad review. And now, this entitled ass thinks just because he gets paid to eat and critic, he can ruin our reputation.”

Ren sighs, hand lifted to his forehead. “Y/N, it’s okay. One bad review doesn’t and won’t define us.”

“Besides, he’s known for being harsh, he does this to everyone,” Luke adds on.

“Even more of a reason for me to do this. I will not allow him to openly disrespect our hard work and dedication like this.”

The three around you give one another a knowing look, right before you click send on the email.

“Hello, Mr. Gojo. 

My name is Y/N L/N, I’m the owner of Lovely Haven, a place you recently reviewed. After reading your honest review, I am extremely upset and apologetic for the food and service you received that day. That is not at all what we strive for, and again, I sincerely apologize. 

If you would accept, I would like to set up a second visit for you. We are closed on this coming Friday, due to the holiday, but I’d love to personally serve you myself and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Lovely Haven and its history.

Please respond back as soon as you have a moment. Thank you again.

Kindly,

Y/N L/N”

“Hello, Ms. LN,

I appreciate you reaching out to me. I’ll come around 8am on Friday. Thank you.

Sincerely, 

Gojo Satoru”

You;ve spent the better half of the past two hours setting up and making sure everything is perfect. You’ll be damned if you have a rerun of last time, especially on your watch. Your staff insisted you don’t handle this alone, urging for at least two cooks to be present. But you refused.

Lovely Haven is your business and creation, your heart. So in a way, you feel as if it’s your job as the owner to make this all right. If anyone can serve this man, it’s you. 

You’re dressed formally, hair up (in case he tries to complain about hair in his food). Wearing a simple black dress, modest enough as it reaches your knees. It’s tight, but not too tight. You’re wearing small black heels to match, gold jewelry complimenting the attire. 

The clock inches towards 8 and you, for some reason, find yourself feeling oddly nervous. Maybe it’s the anticipation or anxiousness for a second try. Your stomach curls, almost like you’re a lovestruck high schooler seeing her crush in the hallways. Sweaty handles fiddle together in front of you while your eyes dart from the watch on your wrist and the glass front doors.

Either this man had a penchant for being late, or you somehow mixed your days up and he’s not coming today. Dramatically, you check your phone and let out a sigh of relief when you see it’s Friday. Okay, good. Then he’s really just late.

Well, not exactly late. But he said he’d get here at 8, it’s 7:57. Usually people don’t get to places at the time they said, because if he came at 8 exactly, that is late. You should always show up at least five minutes before your estimated arrival time, at least that’s how you thought.

No, that’s how most normal, responsible adults thought.

Maybe he’s not normal. Can’t be if he gave you a one star and brutal review. He’s probably just trying to be different from the rest. And you hate people like that. Shitting on something that is actually good, whether it be a show or movie, simply because everyone else says it's good. And the fact that he’s known for his low reviews is even more infuriating. 

There’s no way every place he visits is below three stars. It has to be his taste buds, they’re probably—

“Good morning.”

You snap your head up, completely lost in thought that you didn’t even notice, let alone hear the dreadful man walk in. Already not off to a good start. A smile finds its way on your face, hand held out, to which he shakes. “Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gojo. I’m Y/N.”

He nods, a small smile reciprocated back. “I figured.”

Is it just you or did he tone sound almost condescending? And that smile on his face seems like he’s the type to think he knows it all. 

Nope, don’t do that. 

Pulling your hand away after what seems like a longer than usual handshake, you step aside and motion towards the array of tables. “Well, why don’t I show you to your table?”

“Yeah, why don’t you?” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, raising a thin, white eyebrow as if to silently urge you to start walking. You hold back an eye twitch, turning around and walking to the area you set up specifically for him.

He’s following behind you as you walk, the heels of your shoes softy clanking against the ceramic tile. As you glance back, you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes quickly raise up to meet yours. Like he was—

“I apologize for not being around last time, I was on vacation.” you say, cutting off your own train of thought that you won’t entertain.

“Ah, no worries. Where did you go?” His pace matches your own now, walking side by side as his arm barely brushes against your bare skin. “Somewhere nice?”

You chuckle lightly and nod. “Yes, I went to Bali. It was quite lovely. The people were very welcoming and the food was absolutely delicious.”

A hum. “Better than this place, I hope.”

That comment. God, that comment. And the fact that he’s hiding it behind his sickeningly sweet smile, a tilt to his voice like he’s joking but not actually joking. You’ll pray for the former. “I can assure you, Mr. Gojo, both residences of food are exquisite.”

You two get to the square table prepared for him. A crisp, white linen tablecloth across the surface, that creates a clean and elegant contrast that elevated the rustic charm. At the center, a simple yet striking centerpiece emerged—a small terracotta pot filled with fresh basil and rosemary, their vibrant green leaves offering a delightful aroma that whispered of Italian kitchens.

Polished silverware gleamed in the soft light, laid out neatly on either side, ready for the culinary delights to come. An elegant, crystal wine glass on the side. Cloth napkins, folded into intricate designs, rested atop his plate. The dual flickering candles in small glass holders cast a warm glow over the table, creating an intimate atmosphere that you hoped would help catch his eye.

Finally, a menu card that displayed the special dishes you had prepared just for him. You took the time out of your day to make this specifically for today, crafting your menu for a man who probably didn’t think twice about it was not on your 2024 bingo card.

He takes his seat as you stand in front of him, placing the menu closer to his reach. “Here we have a variety of our best sellers and limited editions. Just for you, Mr. Gojo.” Your smile gets a little harder to keep up as he lazily sits back in his seat, scanning the menu with his sharp, blue eyes.

“Interesting,” he observes, even flipping it over. He glances back up at you. “The stuffed arancini, is that good?”

“Delicious, sir.”

“Okay,” he looks back down at the menu. “Then I’ll get the Buffalo Cauliflower Bites for an appetizer, plus the Bruschetta Trio. Oh, and to drink, I want one of your craft mocktails.”

So he asks for your opinion, and doesn’t even order it. “Of course, Mr. Gojo.” You don’t write it down, having already committed his order to memory, due to years in the food industry. “I’ll get started on that right now.”

With one more smile, you turn around and head to the kitchen. As soon as the doors close, your face hardens with irritation. Walking around to grab the appropriate ingredients, grumbling to yourself curses. Sure you’ll make his food and smile at him, doesn't mean you won’t be a brat about it behind closed doors. 

The minutes Gojo spends alone, he’s meticulously counting them down. Eyebrow raised as he eyes the kitchen doors and the arms of the small clock. Leg crossed over the other with his arm resting on top of the back of his chair that he;s currently tipping back and forth with the stability of his foot. 

After about three minutes, you greet him with his mocktail, setting it down. “Here you go, sir.”

“Finally, I almost died of thirst, you know?” He huffs a small chuckle and he sips from the straw. You want to grimace as he swishes the liquid around his mouth, head tilting in dramatics. He’s acting like it’s mouthwash or something. As he swallows, you do your best not to focus on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

What do you think you’re doing? Checking him out right now, seriously?

“How is it?” Your voice raises a tad, either in nervousness or a way to calm your suddenly rapid beating heart. 

“Not too bad, a little sour for me.” He comments, tongue coming out to lick across his bottom lip. “What’s in it?”

“Basil lemonade and berry spritz, Mr. Gojo.” 

“Satoru,” he corrects you, eyes rolling while his hand waves around dismissively. “Stop calling me ‘sir’ and all that, makes me feel old. Besides, this is supposed to feel comfortable isn’t it? Don’t force yourself with the formalities.” 

Well, that’s a small breath of relief. You simply nod. “Of course, Satoru. Then you may call me Y/N.”

“Was already gonna do that.”

“Right.” 

A small pause follows, hands awkwardly fiddling behind his back. You didn’t even realize it before, but the way he stares feels really invading. Especially with how bright his eyes are, you’re starting to feel naked under his gaze. Like he can sense it, he grins boyishly. “The appetizers?”

You nod again, quicker this time, clearing your throat. “Yes, coming right up.”

And once more, you leave him be while you finish up his food. The bruschetta trio, a classic tomato and basil, roasted red pepper and feta, with wild mushroom and truffle oil topping, served on toasted artisan bread. This dish is loved among your regulars.

And the buffalo cauliflower bites which are spicy, crispy cauliflower tossed in buffalo sauce, served with a side of creamy blue cheese dressing. Perfect for customers with a higher spice tolerance, craving that explosive taste in their mouths.

Holding the two white, glass plates with ease, the doors push open by your back as you walk back over to him. “Bruschetta and the cauliflower, Satoru.”

He doesn’t waste time in taking small, careful bites of each platter. Humming in thought as he does this. It takes a couple minutes before he speaks, using the cloth to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “The mushroom is quite bland, the bread is too hard. And the blue cheese doesn’t go well with the bites.”

Each word is like a punch to your gut. He’s really just finding every little thing to pick at, isn’t he? Lips pursing, your eyebrows raise in faux consideration. “I see, I can remove the dressing for you, and I’ll serve you a softer piece of bread.”

Your hands reach out to take them away, just as his moves into frame. Your fingertips brush against the back of his hand. “No need to take them away, just stating facts.” His smile never seems to leave and each growing second, you feel more and more tempted to wipe it off his face. He gently pushes your hands away, interlacing his fingers together. “Do you expect replacements to suddenly wipe my memory clean? Why should I have to rely on you giving me a replica of what I ordered, when the original piece should’ve met my expectations?”

A little caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you gulp and clear your throat. “Well, if something is not up to par for my guests, it is my duty to replace that with something that is.”

“Sure, but I’m asking why it wasn’t perfect the first time.” He leisurely sips from his mocktail. 

A small, but forced laugh leaves your lips. “We do try our best every single time, Satoru. Being perfect has proved hard when everyone has different tastes.”

“So you just give out generic food and hope for the best?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Your brows begin to furrow at his nonchalance, lip barely quirking down into a frown. “I’m sorry, but our food is not generic. We serve with love and dedication.”

“Love,” he repeats in a mocking tone, picking at the bites with his fork. “This was made with love?”

He’s really getting on your nerves now. “Yes, it was. If you do not like it then I can remake—”

“I’ll take the balsamic glazed chicken,” he cuts you off. “With the alfredo fries. You’re talking about remakes, right? Then make those fries good this time. Thanks.” 

You can’t help but stare down at him, the nerve he has is beyond rude. His demanding nature contrasts with your helping one. But, you stay resolute in your politeness, mumbling a small ‘of course’ before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

It’s a disaster, truly.

A hard, long, infuriatingly annoying disaster. 

Every platter crafted with delicacy and carefulness, he sets aside with calmness. Claiming how the littlest of little things was wrong or how it tasted bad. He even makes a couple snide comments about where you learned to cook from and they should be ashamed.

No matter what, however, he conceals his comments with those stupid laughs you’ve started to despise. 

Like it’s funny to him how much you’re failing to please him. 

Sweat threatens to trickle down your forehead, using a spare towel to dab at your face. Your hair has started to become a tad unkempt, having to constantly push stray pieces of hair out your face and even grabbing at your hair in frustration. This is probably your own fault for setting this all up, but never did you imagine it would turn out like this.

His table is filled with a variety of plates and dishes stacked unceremoniously on top of each other to make room for the next one.  

Throughout it all, he watches your struggle in silent amusement. Everytime you turn around to stomp back into the kitchen, he gets a clear, nice view of the way the fabric of your dress tugs around your ass, legs sleek with whatever lotion you decided to put on.

Your perfume fills his nostrils as you come back to him, to which he feels more and more motivated to bring you down and just stuff his face into the crook of your neck. Or the middle of your plump thighs that have just been calling out to him like a siren.

Satoru would like to think he’s a man of self control, but you’re really pushing him, and you’re not even trying. 

He’s being purposeful with his actions just to keep this entire visit long. Just so he can keep checking you out and biting his lip as he inhales your scent. Just so he can have the ample amount of time to force down the boner he has from under the table.

And well, because he’s really, really looking forward to dessert.

You breathe out a heavy breath, one of exhaustion as you present him with yet another platter. He laughs to himself as he takes a bite.

“Meh, too soggy.”

That’s it. “I’ve given you everything on the menu.”

“Oh, have you?” His head tilts innocently. 

Your teeth grit. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, that’s a bummer. You really shouldn’t have had such a limited variation.”

“It’s not lim–”

“Dessert, right? That usually comes after the main course.”

“......yes. What would you like?” You’re forcing your words out by now, hands twitching as they threaten to grip his pretty throat. 

Wait, pretty?

Jesus christ, can you stop thinking that right now?

“Hmmmm, let’s see here.” As his eyes scan over the desserts listed on the menu, a frown, or a pout, makes way onto his lips. You close your eyes for a second, counting from one to ten and back. “Is this it?”

“Yes.” 

“I have to say,” he lowly whistles. “none of this looks very….appealing.” As he looks back up at you, there’s a small glint in his expression. One that almost causes you to shiver, for some reason. 

Is he playing with you now?

“Nothing?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest. “All of that is what guests order the most.”

“Well, I’m not some regular schmegular guest, now am I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s standing, one hand stuffed into his pocket while the other meekly points to you. “So, what do you say? You gonna give me something I actually want?”

A small huff escapes from your lips, now longer having the strength to hold back your irritation. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh cmon, don’t give me that.”

“Give you what?”

“That.” He juts his chin in the direction of your scowl. “Do you usually frown at your customers?”

“I frown at men who take my kindness for granted,” is your response, eyes narrowing. “Also, you have been nitpicking every single thing I’ve given you. You’ve been extremely rude about it.”

“Rude? Is honesty rude now? I thought you wanted my honesty.”

“There’s a stark difference between the two.”

“Really?” He leans closer, face teetering on the line of too close as his point finger just barely skims across your forearm. “Mind enlightening me?”

Your breath almost hitches, skin feeling all too warm. You peek down at his finger before back to his face, heart beating faster than normal. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He counters. 

“Like you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He barks out a laugh. “Trying? No honey, I am. Why, do you like it?”

“No, I don’t like being flirted with by rude and random men.” You reply, tilting your chin up. “Especially you, sir.”

His grin widens. “Cute. But you know what I don’t like?” As he steps closer, you’re forced to step back. “No dessert.”

His finger travels up your arm, your shoulder, then stops at your jawline, head tilting as his breath fans your cheek. “So, what else can I eat?”

This is stupid. So stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. Out of character. Anything that means bad. 

Is this really all for a good review by some asshat who takes joy out of making people's lives harder? Or are you  actually enjoying it? 

You feel disgusted at the situation, angered and infuriated that you’ve fallen into his trap. You want to curse out to whatever gods that may be watching and demand why you couldn’t hold back. 

Either way, you’re not the only one who couldn’t hold back. 

Your breath hitches, a broken string of whines leaving you as the flat of his tongue runs through your slippery folds. His hands on your thighs keep you grounded in place atop the table, because your hips keep twitching up in need of more friction. 

You can’t even see his face as it’s so far buried into your wet pussy, practically stuffing his face with it. But god do you feel him. The tips of his hair tickle your inner thighs. His low moan reverberates through you, making you shiver and tingle with excitement. 

“A—ahh….!” Your hand finds a place on his hair, pulling as your head tilts back with another moan. “F—fuck…”

His lips smile against your skin, pulling away for a second to look up at your blissed out expression. His face is coated in your juices and you haven’t even came yet. “Pretty good, might be the best thing I’ve had today.”

As he goes back to ravishing you, his tongue slips into your aching hole. Which causes your back to arch up, a higher pitched whine leaving you. “Tad salty, very sweet.”

His comments feel degrading almost. But with the way your thighs threaten to close around his head, pushing his face closer to your cunt, he has a feeling you like it. 

It’s electrifying and confusing at the same time. You’ve never been one with hookup culture, you’re not a virgin either but this is on a totally different level. Here you are, letting him tongue fuck you in the middle of the empty restaurant in which you were supposed to be serving him. 

Technically you are still serving him.

He urges your hips closer to the edge of the table, spitting harshly against you as he delves back into giving you the best eat of your life. 

His tongue alternates between your hole and clit, giving both equal attention while his fingers knead the plush skin of your smooth thighs. Your toes curl in your heels and you feel so close. 

You can practically taste it on your tongue, not even mindful anymore of the noises that you’re making. Too engrossed in the utter bliss of the way his mouth sucks and licks at your folds. 

You don’t even know you’ve finished until he’s come back up, licking away your release that’s plastered to his pale skin. Left panting and staring up at the dangling lights that feel blinding. 

What brings you back down to Earth is the soft clanking of metal. Your head whips down just as he’s unbuckling his pants, eyes blown wide. “W-what are you doing?”

He simply looks at you, shrugging with nonchalance as his belt comes undone, button and zipper next. “Gonna fuck your pussy, what else?”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s faster. Holding your legs open, leaning his face closer. “What? Don’t wanna?”

“I—I shouldn’t. I mean, we shouldn’t.”

“Pfft, why not?”

“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“But it has,” he tugs his slacks down, giving you full view of the raging boner nestled under his black boxers. His hand reaches to give himself a few strokes. “Haven’t been this hard in a long time.”

You feel your release ooze down onto the tablecloth, hole feeling empty as it clenches around air. All you can do is watch him jerk himself, gulping as you lick your lips. “This is….really wrong.”

Yet it feels so right. 

His lips touch the side of your neck, kissing and sucking a small mark into your skin. You tilt your head for him, arm coming up to hold around his neck. Chest heaving up and down. “I’ll fuck you good, I promise.”

Your eyes are instantly drawn down to his leaking cock as he pulls it out. Long and thin veins decorating the length with pre-cum leaking out the head. Trimmed with a small white bush of pubic hair at his base. It looks pretty. 

He huffs out a breathy laugh, titling your face up to him, lips meeting. His lips are soft and plush, melting into it. He keeps his hand on your nape so he can deepen the kiss, tongue invading your mouth like a snake. 

Spit dribbles down the corners of your mouths. All the while he’s teasing your entrance with his cock. 

“Ngh!” You pull away, face scrunching and mouth agape. 

“Mm, like that?” His tip runs up and down your slit, smearing his pre into your folds and around them. The sight is lewd. “So wet, just from my tongue too. How many guys make you finish from just eating you out?”

Out of all the times he tries for a conversation, does right now have to be one? “N-none…”

He hums. “So I’m the only one? I like that.”

He finds your hole, just barely pushing in. Your nails claw at his shoulders, whimpering into his ear. “S-shit, just wait a second…”

“For what?” His voice is husky, brows pinched together. The warmth from your cunt practically enveloping him whole. 

You croak out something unintelligible. For a few seconds, you two stay frozen like this. But that’s cut short as he slowly begins to slide deeper. “Shit, stop squeezin’ me.” He grunts.

All you can offer is a weak “I’m not” before being cut off by a breathy moan, one he replicates with you. He moves in deeper and deeper, until he’s finally buried to the hilt in your warm pussy. It’s big, bigger than you’ve ever taken. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

His fingers dig into your hips while your nails into his shoulders. 

Practically feeling his cock twitch within you, you have to hold back squeezing around him even more. But it just feels too good not to. It makes you feel full. 

As he begins to move, he’s whispering dirty praises into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Who knew you had such good pussy.”

“Look at you, sucking me in like a good little whore, huh?”

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

Each word he emphasizes with a quicker thrust. The silverware clanks around you, some even falling to the ground. The table creaks and the cloth crumples up. “W-wait….slow…ngh!” 

“No slow,’ he patronizingly laughs, his gaze darkened as he looks at you. “Going fast, you’re gonna take it too. ‘Cause you’re a desperate little thing, aren't you?”

You whine out, biting down hard on your lip you’re surprised you’re not drawing blood yet. He takes this as an invitation to devour your mouth once more. The kiss is harder this time, more sloppy. Seems sloppy is his thing.

Before you know it, he manhandles you to flip over, ass high in the air while his hand forces your back down into an arch. “Just like that. Stay still and I’ll let you cum again.”

With this new position, he’s able to hit spots you didn’t even know were there. All you have to hold on is the cloth of the table, balling them into your fists while he mercilessly pounds into your pussy from the back. His balls hit your clit in a repetitive motion that damn near causes you to see stars. 

Noises and mumble words fall out your mouth like water, the side of your face being pushed down into the hard surface. His hand twirls and tangles in your hair before giving it a hard tug back. 

“Mngh!”

With one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, it gives him all the reigns to perfectly fuck your squelching hole, pace unforgiving. And what’s he doing the whole time? Laughing. That asshole is laughing.

Either at your state or the fact that you fit so perfectly snug around his cock like a ring.

It’s like he’s moving on autopilot, just one thing on his mind. Fucking you like your his fleshlight he keeps in his room. “Maybe I should’ve come here sooner—fuck—could’ve had this pussy all to myself even sooner.”

He groans, head tilting back as a familiar sensation bubbles in his stomach. “Ah, god…fuck.”

“D-dont cum!” You half-heartedly shout, body trembling in preparation for your second release of the day.

“Hah?” he huffs out. “You tell a guy who’s fucking a pretty pussy he can’t come? You’re crazy.”

“Ah….hah…!” You mewl out, squeezing around him.

He curses under his breath, hips stuttering. A warm feeling erupts deep within your cunt, causing you to whine. It makes your whole body feel as if it’s on fire, thighs shaking. Your cum mixes with his own, dripping down the backs of your thighs in a disgusting manner. You’re left panting for air

He spends a good time watching it all happen, and as he pulls out, seeing your hole twitch and tremor around air almost starts to make him hard again. He leans over, hot air hitting the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. “Up for more?”

Monday, 9am.

Incoming message from 

Mayra: 

Check your email, forwarded you something.

You groan tiredly, fingers fiddling with the bright screen of your phone. Clicking on the wrong app a couple times before opening your Gmail. You press on the email from Mayra, an attached link.

The link leads you to a familiar site, embarrassment painting your features as you read.

“After a rather lackluster first experience at 'Lovely Haven,' I was pleasantly surprised by my second visit. Walking into the restaurant felt like stepping into a cozy embrace, with the ambiance perfectly set to spark a little magic. The soft music and intimate lighting created an atmosphere that made everything feel just a little more exciting.

Let’s talk about the food. I started with the savory starter, which was a perfect balance of flavors. Each bite was a tantalizing tease that had me eagerly anticipating what was to come. Then came the main course, which was cooked to perfection and bursting with flavor. It had just the right amount of kick, leaving me wanting more and more.

 I decided to try their special dessert this time, and let me tell you, it was absolutely divine. Each bite was a burst of flavors, rich and decadent, just how I like it. The way it melted on my tongue was nothing short of a culinary revelation. I might have lingered a little too long over that dish—can you blame me? It was like savoring a sweet secret that just kept getting better.

But let’s not forget about the service. The owner was not only charming but also incredibly attentive. There was a delightful chemistry between us that made the evening even more enjoyable. She made sure I was well taken care of, adding that special touch that turned a simple meal into something unforgettable.

If you’re looking for a place that offers more than just food—something that tantalizes the senses and leaves you feeling revitalized—I highly recommend giving 'Lovely Haven' a try. Just be prepared for some delicious surprises that might have you coming back for seconds (or thirds!). I certainly will!"

a/n: first smut piece kind of. if there's typos, pls overlook them, i was very tired and in heat. sorry if it's not very slow burn :( but i hope you all enjoyed. thank you smmm <3

[arthur-lesters-uvula]

Pisscourse drabble inspired by this

Not beta or proofread, btw. it's a shitpost EDIT: AO3 LINK

Arthur was simply trying to take his natural human function and pee. He was staring off into space, letting the fluid flow out of him and into the bowl when he felt something touching his leg. Instinctively, he jolts, moving his body away.

He stops peeing and looks down. He spots a hand, a fair skinned scard hand reaching out to him. It was John, what in the hell does he want. Arthur bats the hand away and asks.

"What, John?"

"...Can you hold my hand." It sounded like more of a demand than a question.

Arthur blinks, looking at the stall wall that separates him and John.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Why."

"It's...scary and feels werid, I don't know how you humans dealt with having this fluid come out of you every day." John says and flexes his hand in a grabbing motion, like a baby wanting to get picked up.

John was like a needy cat, but he never liked doing things alone, including when it came to using the bathroom.

Arthur sighs and places his hand in John's, holding it snug.

"Better?"

"Much."

John says before Arthur hears a concerningly loud stream of piss hit the bowl.

He furrows his brows, "Just how long have you been holding that?"

John's pointer finger twitches, curling itself inward and scratches at the others palm.

"Since I got this body -" a lie.

John sheepishly admits, and Arthur aggressively squeezes his hand.

"What?! How the hell did you not piss on yourself—christ John it's been over a week."

John lets out a full-body shudder and tucks his feet under the toilet seat. His boots dig into the dirty tile floor.

"Okay - not really. The first time was a few days ago when it hurt too much to hold. I washed the clothes and succeeded." John spits out. It was more of a half truth when Oscar found him using fabric softener instead of actual detergent. Oscar actually helped clean and showed him how to wash the clothes properly.

John made(threatened)Oscar swear that he'd never speak a word of this.

"Am I going to have to fucking potty train you? Bloody hell John."

John lets out a werid, sad sound. Something between a dog like whimper and a sigh.

Arthur squeezes his hand once more, gently this time. "Well, it was probably bound to happen eventually. Just do your business and make sure you wipe yourself after." Just like his touch, the tone of Arthur's voice was soft. It reminded John of how he'd talk about Faroe.

John hums and stays silent, the sound of his piss hitting the water echo throughout the bathroom.

Arthur inturn also continues. Thankfully, there's not much left, so he finishes up quickly.

Awkwardly reaching across the stall with his opposite hand, he grabs a thing of toilet paper and rips a small peice off. He dabs the head of his dick with the paper before throwing it into the bowl and flushing.

He hears Johns flow turn into a tirckle before it stops completely. He stays on the toilet seat as he's still holding onto John's hand.

"You done?"

John nods, for a second forgetting thst Arthur can, in fact, not see him before he speaks up.

"I think so? I still feel weird, though..." He trails off. There's something pressing up against his asshole.

Arthur quirks a brow, "Werid how?"

"It feels like something is trying to escape me. There's pressure at my asshole."

Arthur stutters for a second, unable to form sentences in response. There is no way in fucking hell is he going to hold an eldritch entities hand as he shits.

"You're...going number two, taking shit."

"Oh.. Oh. Like that disgusting thing you did?"

"Yup. Now, I unfortunately am not generous enough to sit through this one with you. Just keep pushing until everything is out, John."

Arthur prys his hand away from John's, pulling his boxers and trousers up. Arthur buttons his trousers and fastens his belt.

"But Orthur... I can't do this alone." John whines, attempting to grab Arthur's trouser leg.

"You can, and you will. I'll be outside when you're done, John." Arthur moves away before John could grab him, opening the stall door he makes his way to the sink. He secretly prays that there's no one else coming in.

"Orthur! That's not fair. I need emotional support."

John kicks his feet out and leans back uncomfortably. The pressure is growing stronger.

Arthur begins to wash his hands, ignoring John's pleas and hums a tune.

"How about I send Noel in, hm? I'm sure he'd be more than willing." Arthur offers, John and Noel are close just like them, so it shouldn't be a problem. Hopefully.

John stops his movements, sharp canines bitting at his lips.

"Okay. That's fine. Please tell him to hurry."

Arthur huffs out a muffled laugh and steps out of the bathroom.

thank you to my platonic soulmates @arthur-lesters-tits & @arthur-lesters-slutty-waist for fuelling this. I appreciate you both greatly

[harmonia-university]

Some history facts with Prof. Elsie!

Hey! The name's Elsie, and I'm a history professor at Harmonia University! I specialize in human history, but I'm pretty passionate about history in general so I guess the Askblog Council came to me with all these questions from you guys, heh heh!

You probably saw me a while ago anonymously answering a few of these questions. But I think I'm brave enough now to show my face to everyone and be an official member of the Blog! I believe these questions were asked a while ago, but now I have the time to answer them so...well I guess I should address them eh?

What can you tell us about humans?

Well I think I've mentioned before, and it's probably obvious just by looking around, but they're nonexistent here! They did exist at one point, we were all living harmoniously together...until some unfortunate circumstances that led to a big war between humans and Pokemon. From then on, humans began to disappear and then just...completely vanished, without any warning.

Was it ever stated how all the humans disappeared? Is it simply an extinction event or more of a supernatural thing?

That's a pretty big topic in today's history research actually! After the war, although the Pokemon won by a landslide, there were still a good amount of humans left. Although the roles shifted a little bit, as before Pokemon were often companions to humans, almost like a pet...but now we were more independent. Living among them as civilians.

The complete disappearance is truly an enigmatic event that is a big debate among experts nowadays! Some associate it with a giant meteor shower - the biggest one seen in history that wiped out humans, as us Pokemon are quite durable. There's also been recounts of a blinding, soul crushing flashing beam of light that wiped them all out. Either way, life was becoming more unsustainable for humans as things evolved to fit Pokemon-kind more...that probably accelerated things. But from how fast it happened and the fact that the event was very poorly documented...there's more reason to believe that someTHING supernatural caused it.

What are your thoughts on humans as a whole? How do you feel about their unfortunate fate?

My family was always very close with humans. I've only heard great things about them, and all the cool stories of how my family, against all odds, won the biggest battles in international leagues and tournaments, all thanks to a trainer that knew how to make a small, weakling species like ours, very strong! I grew up with a very positive outlook on humans, and it makes me really sad that things ended the way they did. Like I said earlier, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for the humans. That's probably what led me down this path, honestly. Haha!

What's the geography of the world like? How has the geography changed since the human times?

The humans were in the midst of restructuring and renaming the regions in the world. To make them more...friendly sounding I guess. Certain areas also wanted to be their own thing...so that's where regions like Unova and Alola come from.

When the humans were wiped out, this was an unfinished project that Pokemonkind were determined to finish. Physically, the world is the same. But how everything is divided is probably different from what you're used to.

The region that Harmonia University is in - Arboria - although one of the biggest regions in the world, remained in one piece, somehow! Our downstairs neighbour got split into a few parts...Unova and Alola, as Ive mentioned, and some of the desert areas became known as the Orre region.

Another example where things are different...the Freyurr region! This was comprised of 3 different regions before - collectively known as Scandinavia. After the human extinction, this region became one with 3 distinct areas with their own language and culture.

What happened to Pokeball technology? It seems like it could be dangerous, but on the other hand it could be useful - especially for transportation! And it's low cost, low space, I'm surprised I haven't seen any evidence of the technology being converted for modern use.

Pokeballs are pretty much nonexistent nowadays, near impossible to get your hands on as a normal civilian! It was one of the biggest things that the Pokemon back then had a gripe about with the humans. Although not completely inhabitable, living in a Pokeball was very unpleasant - it's basically like being put into a very deep slumber, for who knows how long. Not much room to do anything or move around in there. Plus, many humans caught and collected tons of Pokemon with no rhyme or reason - many of them were left abandoned in Pokeballs and PC’s, never being able to see the light of day.

Other than for research and education purposes, Pokeballs have been banned all around the world ever since Pokemon civiliazation was born. We don’t even use them to capture our own ferals.

I've heard rumors that humans had experimented with themselves to turn into Pokemon before, but I'm assuming it's all just a myth. Was there ever a possibility that some of the humans ended up becoming Pokemon due to their experiments?

Pah, I'm pretty sure that was all a hoax. I'm sure humans have tried, but honestly they didn't make any breakthroughs in that front. I don't think human genetics were wired in a way that would even make that possible. They were able to kind of do it with Pokemon due to there being a particular species with properties that could allow it. But humans to Pokemon...nah that'd be a complete rewrite of everything! Or maybe...a really fun dream.

Do the Galar fossil Pokemon exist? How do fossil Pokemon work, are they revived or have they just always been around?

Yep, they do exist. But there's a bit of a catch...all of the fossil-revived species living today were revived during the human era, or are descendants of those that were. We've had to abolish a lot of those fossil revival labs, as newly found fossils would just come out as feral Pokemon with really nowhere to go. Now there are some such Pokemon in captivity, but it's strictly for ethical research purposes!

Anyways, I think that's all the questions that were left over for me! Hope that was informative. Our history isn't pretty but I think it's still really important to learn about it all. Haha! Well, if any of you still have questions, or just want to come chat with me...I'll be available!

[nunalastor]

Obsessive Roo

By the 1920s, Roo's managed to scrape up enough energy to give herself a temporary human form. She's got some business to sort out, and some cults to tempt. Unfortunately for her, a rather interesting man catches her attention. He leads her out to the woods, and just as Roo feels a spike in malevolent energy, stabs her in the neck.

Roo can't help but laugh as her body fades away. What a twist! This is the most interesting thing that's happened in centuries.

She watches this man, and the rest of his murders. This human just radiates evil; she loves it!

Which is why she chooses him. She can't wait until she's released, so he can finally be hers. Though, his little 'stunt' did set everything back another century or so. He's been waiting all this time, poor thing.

In the meantime, Roo's successfully managed to keep bad influences (i.e. people stealing Alastor's attention and making him feel safe) away from her deer. Like that Vox demon, who had the gall to try and drive a wedge between her and Alastor. As if her darling would've wanted a relationship with him anyways. Better to let Alastor assume the demon betrayed him, though, just in case to save him the drama.

And, finally, everything's in place- Roo's escape is imminent. She just has to tie up a few loose ends. Namely, that silly Hotel project her darling foolishly signed onto. (The amount of angelic energy around the building is enough to make her sick. It's almost like he's trying to get rid of her- ha!)

Oh, there's also that little deal he got himself caught up in. Who the fuck is Lilith to take Roo's property like that? 'Queen of Hell' won't mean much once she's finally free.

(And, no, Alastor's not aware of Roo in this AU. Even so, he can't help but notice the eyes that follow him everywhere... except in the hotel.)

Alastor probably would be flattered to know that such an entity is so interested in him- a powerful one, at that! It's just the whole 'being owned' thing that kinda ruins it for him. What's all that power worth if he's not at liberty to use it himself?

As for Lilith, she could have Al's soul for one of two reasons. 1) She wants to barter with Roo, who would probably pay a hefty price to have her deer in her grasp. Or 2), she knows of Roo's obsession (felt it the moment she met Alastor; real disturbing stuff) and keeps his soul to prevent Roo from getting it.

Lilith protects her people, and since there aren't many angels in Hell, the best protection Alastor can hope for is the Queen herself. She doesn't know what he did to gain Roo's attention, but it was a mistake. And she's simply not cruel enough to leave him to his fate.

👀

[eccentricallygothic]

Apology Boy

Description: Paul finally apologizes for the scar(s) he gave you when he saw you for the first time. 

Pairing: Paul Lahote | Human mate!You.

Warning(s): Paul's anger, possible past angst, fluff, Paul is a crazed mess for you, size kink (duh), imprinting/mates, abo!verse but you're human, possessiveness, fingering, cunnilingus (worship), breeding kink, licking, biting, smut with plot because oh God I can never stop myself, teasing, pet names, unprotected p-in-v, overstimulation, manhandling, light dom!Paul because I am still me. MDNI.

Type: Request, for the sweet @wishyouloveme, here.

MASTERLIST

Just like any other day.

. . .

It hit Paul like a freight train and caused sweat to form in ice cold drops on his otherwise warm skin. He had just returned from patrol with Embry and was spread over Emily's dining table whilst stuffing his face with the food she had cooked for them. Everything was fine and dandy. It was a pleasant day and the weather was nice and cool. Soon, he would be done with his daily obligations and then he would go home.

But then Sam came up behind Emily who was standing next to her mate's seat at the head of the table, one hand on the frame and other on her hip as she listened to Seth drone on and on about something that Paul's voice refused to register due to what unfolded next.

The pack leader's strong arms snaked around the waist of his delicate lover as he nuzzled his nose into her hair until the tip had found its way past the dark strands and against her tender cheek until it was caressing and tracing the scars he had left on her. 

All blood drained from Paul's skin and something in his head clicked. His surroundings faded to a dim buzz and the next few moments went by in a blur. 

And then he was standing in front of home.

“Paul!” You yelp in surprise at the sight of your nude lover. He usually dresses himself at Sam's house after patrols before coming home to you. 

Since you are human and your initial experience with the pack had both been overwhelming -thanks to your lover imprinting on you the first chance he was given- and traumatizing -as said lover who was much worse at controlling his primal urges back then had lost control at the sight of you because he was so overcome with raw, foreign emotion he did not know how to process-, you prefer to keep by yourself near the outskirts of the community in a house that Paul had moved in with you upon your request. 

The pack life is simply too loud and… public for you; a city girl used to her secluded places and treasured privacy.

You notice that Paul is panting -which is very unlike him due to his superhuman strength- and a redness outlines his eyes when his huge form approaches yours. “Are you— Paul!” You gasp and nearly flinch from both the shock and impulse when he lets his heavy body collapse on its knees in front of you. “What the hell happen—” you never know with your hyper emotional mate.

His long fingers push your sweater up and out of his way so he can stroke the soft skin of your stomach with the tip of his nose, his head nuzzling into your chest as his dark eyes flutter close and he inhales a deep whiff of your scent. It is the only thing that never fails to calm your hot blooded lover down. 

“What's wrong?” Your voice lowers to a concerned mumble as you peer down at him, your fingers cradle the dusky skin of his handsome face -as much of it as you can reach- and your nails rake through the male's jet black mass of short hair. “Honey?” He only behaves like this if something went wrong or when he is in need of comfort, which are both rare occurrences as he is the usual caretaker in your relationship. But you aren't a complete stranger to him acting like this. 

Ever the uncommunicative one, the male only sighs— no, whimpers against your skin as if he's wounded and softly feels your skin with gentle caresses of his fingers. Words require thought, patience and wisdom. Unfortunately, Paul's instinctual mind runs too fast for those things to catch up with it in time and rash actions get carried out before better sense can supply him from its store.

“Paul…” A shiver runs down your spine when his lips that had begun to softly peck your navel find their way up your stomach before they halt to ghost over the healed, plum coloured lesions that stretch across your tender skin in menacing shapes akin to claw marks. “What are you doing?” Though he never mentions or discusses it verbally due to the guilt he feels, sometimes Paul becomes hyper aware of the scars of his unmediated passion that mar your skin and tries to make up for them in his own wordless ways.

Except, this only ever happens when you're underdressed or the two of you are indulging in activities typical to couples and the sight of them reminds him of their cause. He has never stormed into the house stark naked and marched up to you like an unreadable oversized pup on the brink of tears like this. 

“I am sorry.” You nearly jump due to how unexpected the sound of his words are. Usually he just sulks in silence. “Baby, I am so sorry” Paul never speaks when he is in one of these moods. Especially when he is experiencing bouts of guilt for his actions during his first encounter with you. “Oh, God” his body grows heavy against yours as he practically pushes his face into the crevices like he wants to become one with them and fill them back up to their original state with parts of himself. 

“Paul— oof!” Your smaller body yields to his weight and the ground slips from underneath your feet. “D- Did the guys say something?” You fear the worst as Paul's protective hands catch you before your back can hit the wooden ground and you cannot help but whimper from how his lips lock with the scars in thick, desperate and hurried apologetic kisses. 

Paul and his pack mates play rough and sometimes they go too far with the teasing. So though he clings to the tough guy act in front of them, he dismantles into you once he is home if their words ever get too far. Yes, the tussling and fighting is not enough if it's serious. And just sometimes, when it gets too much for him to bottle it up, he shares some of it with you. But most often not, since he knows how you feel about the pack and he does not like to worry you.

“I am sorry it has taken me this long to say it out loud, baby… but I am so sorr—”

“Paul, hey, look at me” but he refuses to detach himself from your skin in his shame, his big hands safely holding your whole body up against his. “You don't have to—” you cannot help it, you hate to see him like this when you know how badly he regrets it. You hate for him to hurt.

“But I do” he nearly growls against your skin, his fingers tightening on your hips to brace himself against the war in his head. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don't regret it.”

“But you didn't do it on purpose, baby” you sigh when he refuses to let you see him. Your fingers try to pry his stubborn face upwards. “And you worked and improved for us, didn't you, hm?” Your eyes earnestly search for his. “Don't sell yourself so short.” One of your hands rubs his tense shoulders to try and ease their guilt-stricken stiffness. 

“All the same” ever the stubborn knucklehead. “I should have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish and I was afraid that if I verbally mentioned it…” He hesitates and the love you behold for him renders you helpless against a burning urge to reassure him. 

“My love—”

“I was scared you'd get reminded of it and…” He takes a deep breath and then gulps down the bile in his throat, blinking back tears. “L- Leave me…” Paul's voice is barely a whisper and your heart breaks at how vulnerable he sounds. “And I am such an asshole for it because it had more to do with my fear of you leaving me than you reliving your trauma…” 

“Paul…” You blink and try to focus, but his warm gropes and caresses falter your steam of thought. 

“I love you, I really do, so much” he peeks up at you just a little, dark eyes frightened for the first time since the day he scarred you. “Please forgive me. I don't ever want to lose you. I know what I did was irreversible but I swear I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it… if you'll let me.” You shake your head. 

Does he really think there's an off chance that you will leave? 

“Paul” when you cup the side of his face, he hides into your stomach again. “Hey,” you try to duck your face closer to his. make him look at you. “Look at me” your intended request comes out an order due to all the emotions you feel. “I forgave you a long time ago. That's the reason why I am still here” you finally manage to place your forehead against his, making your breaths mingle with his. “I love you more, so much more.” He opens his mouth to drone so you beat him to it. 

“Now shut up and kiss me.”

Paul is taken aback at your demand, his widening eyes prove it. But as surprising as it may be for him, this isn't something that was unresolved for you until today -unlike him- so you aren't as overwhelmed with angst. Because your mate has proven his love, devotion and worthiness of you through his actions over the course of your relationship. He has shown you that he loves you and that he is sorry for what he did. 

If anything, his innocently intimate and lovestruck worship of your body has fired it up instead of making it sentimental. 

And so you want him. 

Bad.

“But—”

“No buts. Kiss me.” You are breathless as you urge him to do so, your hands try to pull his face closer into yours although in vain because his bigger and stronger form remains unbudging. 

Paul's eyes search yours for assurance. “... Yes, ma'am” he whispers once finds it and the next thing you know, you're being pounced down onto the floor with his arms cased around you to protect you from the impact. 

And though you always feared that him getting physical in this manner would trigger you, you giggle against his mouth that he drags across your chest and up your throat to clamp onto yours. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders and instead of trying to repel him -like you suspected you would despite having grown to trust him now- you pull him closer as you whimper into the tender yet hungry kiss, feeling your legs climb the lower half of his body instinctively.

“Paul~” you needily blabber against his tongue that he uses to enjoy the sweetness of your mouth, his balmy lips enveloping everything your mouth has to offer in tight, big kisses. “Mm~” your chest aches from the strain the lack of oxygen puts on your lungs but your sparking nether regions only scoot closer to his that you feel riling up against yours, your hips grinding against his and limbs tightening around his rock hard body.

“Mine” he growls against your mouth when he has no choice but to pull apart at last, his coarse fingers groping you in greedy handfuls while peeling away any fabric that hurdles their path to your skin. “All mine” you moan at the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender skin of your boobs that he sprays with kisses and licks. “God, mouse, I love you so much” the strength he puts into pushing everything you wear on your upper body away from it leaves you breathless. You love the thrill you feel when his touch feels like he is on the horizons of the dangers he is capable of. When he is so worked up and desperate that he cannot help but get rough because your sweet sweat and arousing body heat fires him up the way it does. You are addicted to the sight of him not giving in to his beastly impulses despite all that because he loves you so much. It is scary, yes. But it turns you on too.

“I love you too, Paul” though he likes to act cocky and all-knowing most of the time, you know he needs to hear it too. Underneath all that knucklehead play fighting and manhandling of his, he needs reassurance just as much as the next person and though he tries not to burden you as his different lifestyle is hard enough for you as it is, you don't have to be part wolf to feel him and hear his heart. 

“You're so perfect…” The way he peppers wet kisses along your cheekbone whilst relieving you of the rest of your clothing causes for your eyes to flutter close to cherish the tingling feeling that sparks your body alight. “Just—” when you try to reach for him to also make it enjoyable for him, he plants your hands above your head and softens your confused pout with a kiss. “Just let me take care of you today, yeah? Don't worry about anything.” 

“But— oh!” He reaches for the mating mark that sits on the right side junction of your neck where a she-wolf's mating glad would be. And though you lack the physical features to feel him through it, the meaning that it holds for Paul serves as a bridge for the biological gap. “Oh…” You turn your head sideways to rub your cheek against his shaved one, your hips roll into his hand that dips between your legs and you shudder against Paul's hot tongue that drags across the impressions of his teeth that crevice your skin. 

“Taste so fuckin' sweet, baby” there is a strain in Paul's voice because of how much strength it is taking him to hold himself back from impaling you full of his cock right there. “So perfect” the lower half of his body leaps down so he can rub his bare erection against the softness of your leg. 

You moan at the feeling. “Paul,” you whisper into his hair, the feeling of his sharp teeth causing for slick to sizzle up to your entrance from the inside. He growls out a quiet yes, baby against the mark, one hand constantly caressing the dents running along the width of your stomach. “Don't hold back” you go to touch his rock hard cock and he grunts in denial, seizing your wrist in his fingers faster than you can blink. 

His face comes up to dominate your vision. “No, mouse, tonight is all about you” another kiss squishes out any protest you can form and when his invasive tongue has your nostrils flared from the breathlessness, Paul drags it down your writhing body in the company of heavy pecks until his mouth is between your thighs and he is propping one up with a broad shoulder and the other with his hand that isn't occupied with caressing the evidence of his temper. 

“Paul—!” He knows how shy you get when he is between your legs like this. 

But it's not his fault you taste so fulfilling. 

“Sh, little mouse, you're perfect” he kisses any and all insecurities away with gentle kisses, the hand that cases one of your thighs stroking the tender inside with its thumb. “And you taste so good too” he takes his time worshiping your pelvis, deliberately leaving out your pussy to save the best for last. And though you pretend to disapprove and whine for him to come back up and just fuck you instead, his soft kisses that vibrate into your skin every time he moans at the feeling of your nether skin touching his slightly chapped lips, you find yourself helplessly crying out for more at the end. 

“Paul, please!” You feel his mouth twist into a smirk and your hands dart to finger his thick hair to withstand the sensation of his mouth hovering over your petals. 

“Please what, mouse?” You roll your eyes at the taunt in his voice. 

“Please touch me!” Your fingers impatiently tug at his short strands and he grins.

“Oh, mouse, but I am touching you” you whine and his shoulders vibrate under your knees from his devilish mirth. 

“Y- You know what I mean!” Though your cheeks are already aflush, you feel new heat seep underneath the layers of the reddened skin. 

“Mmm, but I thought you wanted me to—”

“Paul!” You desperately whine and he lets out a deep cackle.

“Fine, geez” he is so mean when he gets smug. You go to scowl down at him but he takes the mound between your legs in a deep handful and feels the slit between your petals in a vertical caress of his thumb before you do and you end up letting out a loud moan instead. “Needy much?” You bite your lip and wantonly roll your hips closer to his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. Impatient little mouse…” The tip of his digit presses between your nether lips that are dusted with pearly discharges of your arousal and a cherry red flush and your hips buck in anticipation. “You're lucky that you're so pretty and I like you so much…” Your spine trembles in your skin when you feel the coarse skin of his thumb against your ultrasensitive folds. “Because I typically don't appreciate things so small ordering me around…” Your back arches when he finally sticks the hot tip of his tongue between your nether lips.

“Oh…” You feel your toes curl. “More, please, Paul, more.”

He is so enchanted by your sweet scent and addictive taste that he is ignorant to anything that isn't your body. “But you, my dear mouse, you're something else…” His strong hands take your ass in them and he firmly kneads the plump skin, talking pretty much over you with a lust-drunken madness. You mewl out a moan at the feeling and Paul growls at the sound you make, pulling you closer to his mouth as he presses an open kiss to your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans and licks his lips that glisten from your slick, his own tip leaking at the taste of you. “I've never tasted anything like you before and I sure as hell am never gonna get tired of it.” 

“Paul!” you cry out when his tongue twirls against your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit to caress it with the tip as he begins to eat you out.

His growl that vibrates your soaked folds to a buzzing life causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Paul” you moan breathlessly, his name turning to a prayer as you tremble on the verge of releasing more slick.

“Gimme that sweet cum, baby, let me taste it” your lips part and you can't help but arch into his mouth with need. His hands are merciless, the one on your ass kneads it with rough gropes as the other massages the underside of your thighs in broad, determined strokes. You moan and writhe against him, your vision blurring at the hot waves that take over your body.

“I am gonna— oh, Paul!” He moans against you as you tremble and then release more even slick into his mouth. His tongue is in heaven as he greedily licks up all he can get. 

“Fucking hell, baby” the grainy tip of his tongue pokes and prods at your entrance, working the little hole open. “I can't wait to stuff this pretty little pussy full of my pups.” 

“Mmm, oh fuck, Paul, oh fuuuck” when he finally penetrates the tight barrier and his hot tongue invades your sensitive cavern, the burning knot between your hips gets tighter. Paul moans at the feeling of your delicate walls and though the vibrations of his doing so shakes you to your core, you cannot help but greedily wrap your legs around his head to both stay in place and withstand the pleasure.

“Oh, God, Paul, ’m so close!” Your voice is a breathless mewl and he growls at the vulnerable sound, his cock hurting from need. “Oh, fuck” you tremble so badly that you'd collapse into the ground if your knees weren't propped up by your mate's shoulders. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” Paul’s jaw flexes against your thighs when he begins to fuck you with his tongue, one hand fumbling for your cunt before he tickles the hood with his thumb. Your back arches and you clench your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasp out his name.

“Tsk, tsk, mouse” his hot breath fans your sensitive folds and you can't help but whimper at the feeling of his middle finger replacing his tongue. “You need to relax.” His hand that holds your ass pats your cheek in an endearing yet condescending way and your whole body tenses up at the touch even more. “I'm gonna take care of you, baby” you cannot help but rock your hips to his finger stretching your insides out against it. “You're mine and I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise” he croons before pressing a tender kiss to your clitorial nub. “You know that, right?” He kisses the slick covered inside of your thigh next to soothe your shaking body. “Tell me you know you're mine” his possessive words make the heat between your legs to go haywire.

“I am yours, Paul” you breathlessly promise him before letting out a moan when he tickles your folds with his tongue in a praising manner, satisfaction breaking out on his handsome face at your obedience.

“Good mouse” he begins to lap at your nub and your walls tense around his finger as a result, causing for your slick to slosh from the opening and down Paul's hand. “Shh, mouse, easy now” he cooes to get you to relax because of how tightly you are clenching yourself and it only gets worse when he adds a second finger. Your hips are so tight. You are on the edge. “You're gonna let me take care of this cute little pussy, aren't you?” You whimper at the feeling of being stuffed full and being licked at the same time.

“Y- Yes, Paul!” The air is heavy with the smell of slick and the sound of him slurping your juices up.

He adds a third finger and you nearly burst into tears from the pleasure. “Oh God, Paul, I am gonna cum!” Your entrance burns from the stretch and you moan from the bittersweet discomfort. “Please, lemme cum! Wanna cum so bad! Please, please!” Your submissive side comes out because of how overwhelmed you are and Paul can cum from the fragility of your voice right here.

“Hold it for me, mouse, good girl, c'mon” you sob at his cruel denial and he closes his lips around a mouthful of your folds, soundfully sucking at the clammy skin as he speeds his hand up to practically hammer your trembling pussy into an orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back, fingers tugging at his hair as you tremble violently against him. Your back arches from how his free hand pinches and twists your nipples, softly landing occasional smacks to your boobs. “Good girl. I know you can take it” his hand then comes down to massage your ass cheek to make for a better stretch. “Relax, baby” you sob out his name and he smiles against your quivering core, his cheek gently caressing the inside of your thigh to get you to loosen up a little because you are clenching so hard.

“You're doing good, mouse. So good” his lips buzz against your clit. “Take it, baby, take it” your walls twitch against his coarse digits. “That's a good girl” he praises you while continuing to stuff your pussy with his fingers, the feeling of being filled up to the brim causing for you to shake and tremble violently. “That's my good girl” his tongue licks your clit as his fingers curve inside of you to search for your sensitive bundle of nerves that always makes you let out the sweetest of melodies.

“I'm gonna— I can't anymore, Paul!” Neon shapes cloud your vision when his fingers graze your sensitive spot and he growls at the feeling of your walls convulsing around his fingers.

“Yeah, baby. You can cum now” he finally relents and you cry out from the joy. “My little mouse, give me that sweet cum” his mouth never stops moving against you and you are so overcome with emotion that you are not sure if the tears that are streaming down your cheeks are due to pleasure or pain. “Gimme it, mouse. Gimme it” his tongue is like a beast that eats you up to satiate its starvation. You cry out his name from the pleasure.

“Paul! Paul, Paul— oh god!” The tongue is too much, though it gives you everything you could ask for at the moment, you need to escape. But when you try to pull away Paul catches your hips and holds you in place. 

“Now, where do you think you're going, little mouse?” There is a beastliness to his voice.

“N- No, Paul! No more—” you don't get to finish your plea because his mouth clamps down on your sensitive flesh to suckle on it in big, eager kisses again and your heart threatens to burst through your chest.

“Oh fuck” the knot between your legs tightens so hard you cannot maintain it anymore. Vertigo breaks through your hearing. “Oh— Paul!” The orgasm takes over your whole body, your mind blurs from the burst of sensation that courses through your blood and everything turns into a euphoric mess. “O- Oh God…” You tremble from the aftershock and Paul groans when he feels you squirt. He releases your hips and you fall back onto the floor, your body too weak to withstand its own weight. “O- Oh fuck…” You're breathless and your body feels like jelly. “Paul, oh Paul…” Your fingers desperately try to reach for him like you're no older than a baby and you notice that he is stroking his hurting cock because of the need to bury his knot in you, a pained expression etched across his face. “P- Paul, I am ready” though you can barely speak, your body shakes from the need to be filled up by him.

“Mouse… are you sure?” Though his voice strains from the painful need, he prioritizes your comfort over his and your heart wells up.

“Y- Yes” you try to sit up. “Fill me up, please” he needs no more encouragement after that. With a low growl, he jumps onto you and you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance in a heated caress that makes you whine, your body even forgetting to yelp from how he pounces on you. 

“I'll never hurt you again, mouse” he whispers into your ear as he buries his nose into your hair, cock throbbing between your legs. You gasp when he enters you in a quick thrust that makes for all the air to bolt out of your lungs. “I promise.” You tremble in his hold and Paul groans at the feeling.

“I know” his mouth clamps down on the mating mark upon hearing your whisper and he slowly stretches your pussy to fit around his erection that even after all that fingering is still too big for your tiny cunt. The overstimulation causes for stars to form in your vision. His cock twitches inside you and he growls, the tip of his tongue tickling your nape in need.

“That's a good girl, baby” the hand that cups the side of your face tenderly strokes your cheek. “Relax for me” when your walls finally adjust to his log-like girth, Paul grins against the mating mark. “You're doing so good for me” the thrust of his hips causes for his cock to rub against your sensitive spot and your eyes roll to the back of your head with the feeling. “There's my good girl. You take my cock so well.” He releases his bite, hips pistoning up and down between your legs as he baby talks to you and strokes your hair to comfort you against the overstimulation that makes you whine.

“Paul!” You tremble as he fucks you in slow, long strokes and you cannot help but cry out his name in need.

“I'm here, baby. I got you” he murmurs into your hair and you moan at the baritone of his voice. “Take this cock, baby, you got it” he pants as his fat cock slides in and out of you. Then he suddenly grunts and readjusts you in his hold because the position is not comfortable enough for you and he can feel it. “God, you're so perfect.”

“I love you, Paul” you murmur into his ear, your hips lazily rolling against his as you hold him tight. 

“I love you more” the latter part of his sentence turns into a growl due to his struggle with the positioning and he collects your limp form in his. “And I can do this better” though he roughly pushes your bodies off the floor to head for the bedroom, his fingers subconsciously caress your back in gentle strokes to make up for how your bare skin rubbed into the floor during the ordeal. You whine from how his heavy sack puts a strain on your entrance where your bodies connect as he does so. He cooes praise and reassurance in your ear as comfort, peppering your mouth with gentle kisses.

.

The next morning when he leaves for patrol in a black tank top and some shorts, there is a shy grin on his face as he looks back at the door one last time to wave you goodbye. You blush and return the gesture, biting your lip like it's the morning after your first time with each other. 

“Geez, man, not the dreamy eyes!” A groan sounds from somewhere in the woods and you gasp before ducking behind the door. Chuckles and howls follow. 

The jerk brigade has arrived.

“Someone get these two a room!” You recognize Jake's voice and shake your head as you peek outside from behind your shield. “Oh, wait, they did that already!” You cannot help but snort when you see that Paul has begun to jog in the direction of the voices. “In light of how the whole town learnt all the ways in which Paul's name can be moaned last night” uh, oh. That's not going to be good. Your lover is very private and sensitive about you as it is and when someone tries to pry or joke about matters of this sort he does not appreciate it. Especially if it's his hormonal friends that he knows too well. “Paul, Paul, oh, Paul!” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and Paul snarls before he flings his shirt off and jumps into the air, transforming into his beastly form midway and disappearing into the woods to attack the offendor.

You see the great trees shake from the tussle that you can practically visualize behind them and the encouraging howls of Paul's pack mates further confirms it. They love to get a rise out of your easily excitable boyfriend and he loves to put them in their place, being the strongest after Sam. Their crossing of each other's boundaries for the sake of fun used to concern you in the beginning but Paul himself assured you that that was just how they played and it was not coming from a bad place. 

So you wait for the ferocious crowd to move further away into the jungle that surrounds your house before you walk down to the dirt road to collect his clothing with a lighthearted shake of your head. A smile graces your lips as you do so and you cannot help but graze the now covered scars that your superhuman lover gave all his love to last night.  

Though it will be a while before he does, you cannot wait for him to come back home to you.

. . .

I am sorry if it sucks omg I really hope you like it <3

[allsassnoclass]

i’m glad y’all think that the haunted house in my last prompt sounds scary because that was my actual place of work last year

[wonder-worker]

"Among their complaints [in 1460, the Yorkists] specifically blamed the earls of Wiltshire and Shrewsbury and Viscount Beaumont for ‘stirring’ the king [Henry VI] to hold a parliament at Coventry that would attaint them and for keeping them from the king’s presence and likely mercy, asserting that this was done against [the king's] will. To this they added the charge that these evil counselors were also tyrannizing other true men* without the king’s knowledge. Such claims of malfeasance obliquely raised the question of Henry’s fitness as a king, for how could he be deemed competent if such things happened without his knowledge and against his wishes? They also tied in rumors circulating somewhat earlier in the southern counties and likely to have originated in Calais that Henry was really ‘good and gracious Lord to the [Yorkists] since, it was alleged, he had not known of or assented to their attainders. On 11 June the king was compelled to issue a proclamation stating that they were indeed traitors and that assertions to the contrary were to be ignored." - Helen Maurer, "Margaret of Anjou: "Queenship and Power in Late Medieval England"

Three things that we can surmise from this:

We know where the "Henry was an innocent helpless king being controlled and manipulated by his Evil™ advisors" rhetoric came from**.

The Yorkists were deliberately trying to downplay Henry VI's actual role and involvement in politics and the Wars of the Roses. They cast him as a "statue of a king", blamed all royal policies and decisions on others*** (claiming that Henry wasn't even aware of them), and framed themselves as righteous and misunderstood counselors who remained loyal to the crown. We should keep this in mind when we look at chronicles' comments of Henry's alleged passivity and the so-called "role reversal" between him and Queen Margaret.

Henry VI's actual agency and involvement is nevertheless proven by his own actions. We know what he thought of the Yorkists, and we know he took the effort to publicly counter their claims through a proclamation of his own. That speaks louder than the politically motivated narrative of his enemies, don't you think?

*There was some truth to these criticisms. For example, Wiltshire (ie: one of the men named in the pamphlet) was reportedly involved in a horrible situation in June which included hangings and imprisonments for tax resistance in Newbury. The best propagandists always contain a degree of truth, etc. **I've seen some theories on why Margaret of Anjou wasn't mentioned in these pamphlets alongside the others even though she was clearly being vilified during that time as well, and honestly, I think those speculations are mostly unnecessary. Margaret was absent because it was regarded as very unseemly to target queens in such an officially public manner. We see a similar situation a decade later: Elizabeth Woodville was vilified and her whole family - popularly and administratively known as "the queen's kin" - was disparaged in Warwick and Clarence's pamphlets. This would have inevitably associated her with their official complaints far more than Margaret had been, but she was also not directly mentioned. It was simply not considered appropriate. ***This narrative was begun by the Duke of York & Warwick and was - demonstrably - already widespread by the end of 1460. When Edward IV came to power, there seems to have been a slight shift in how he spoke of Henry (he referred to Henry as their "great enemy and adversary"; his envoys were clearly willing to acknowledge Henry's role in Lancastrian resistance to Yorkist rule; etc), but he nevertheless continued the former narrative for the most part. I think this was because 1) it was already well-established and widespread by his father, and 2) downplaying Henry's authority would have served to emphasize Edward's own kingship, which was probably advantageous for a usurper whose deposed rival was still alive and out of reach. In some sense, the Lancastrians did the same thing with their own propaganda across the 1460s, which was clearly not as effective in terms of garnering support and is too long to get into right now, but was still very relevant when it came to emphasizing their own right to the throne while disparaging the Yorkists' claim.

[stonesandpeaches]

YOU!!

YOU WERE THE PERSON WHO ATTACKED ME

DUDE I LOVE YOUR ARTSTYLE TYSM FOR DRAWING CREST <3

nash, my beautiful mutual in fandom, i think you got me confused with someone else! or you somehow saw in future that i did indeed save Vou and Crest on my laptop to attack you with <:,D!!! (please do send that person the kind words on artfight though!) my art fight username is natt_stonepeach! lovely to see you in my inbox regardless! <333

[goldentigerfestival]

I love the vocal nuance in this exchange, but also posting this for my differences posts because this is one of the changes that infuriates me the most. Yuri didn't threaten Ioder, did not threaten him with a weapon, and just said he'd punch him in a lazy, half joking voice (half joking as in, he really doesn't want to hear that - that's just his way of saying so; but that's not the voice of someone who is super angry and threatening).

My other huge grievance is that this is a recurring issue between them in the dub. Yuri is pretty much always vocally rude to Ioder. Ioder has done nothing to wrong him or anyone and has only ever done good for the people where he's able to.

Yet despite Ioder being nothing but sincere, honest and polite with Yuri, in fact even happy to see him here and there, dub Yuri is outright tonally rude to him leading right up this scene where he threatens Ioder in this dark voice. Meanwhile he's actually just supposed to be… lazily telling Ioder he'll punch him in his Yuri Lowell way of saying "I don't want to hear that".

The dub really just wanted to turn Yuri into this dark edgelord and I hate that for my goofy, silly boy.

[piplupod]

sometimes i think maybe it's a good thing i'm so traumatized and fucked up mentally and emotionally bc then i never expect ppl to be kind or even just plain old nice to me, so when they ARE kind or nice i feel overwhelming gratitude and almost a sense of awe HFDSJKL like... i dont know if i would have had this appreciation for each little piece of kindness if i wasn't the way that i am. but also i know thats kind of an absolutely wild way of thinking about this LMAO

[boygirlctommy]

i madeeee sillay new characters and i love them

[cinema-wasps]

i think one of the things that make me a real oliver fan is that i watched the entirety of ratatoing

[basementxdweller]

thinking about that time i was asked "who molested you for you to turn out this way" on here. something something that action had consequences