#exorcised-coffee

[thefandomcassandra]

see no evil

[Image ID: lineless colored fanart of Ace Attorney: Apollo Justice with a dark red to blue gradient background. Kristoph Gavin is holding his hands over Apollo Justice's eyes. Kristoph's eyes are hidden behind his glasses. Behind Kristoph's head is a glowing red eye using Apollo's bracelet, like a halo. /end ID.]

[pinkytoothlesso11]

Hey, there the same newbie in the Fandom again

I rewatched the show again with my brother and started noticing things I didn't in the first. But for today, only one ask shall I send

Do you think Walter has some guilt feelings about Jim transformation? I mean, the boy wasn't listening to Merlyn till he said similar reasons to the one Strickler said in training and especially in bad coffee, which we saw in it that Jim still cared about Walter opinion or something? (TBH, I like the episode, but half of it was just trash . What do you mean by just "protect her?" he cares for Jim and forbids Bular from attacking him way before starting to start dating Barbara)

Wow, so much rambling sorry anyway back to the guilty feelings because I think he kinda saw himself the reason? He clearly knew or guessed what the potion would do because of his reaction to it

And the "young Atlas you are not alone"

It strikes me as if he realized what he said earlier about Jim not being able to defeat Gunmar by his strength alone (so he got the potion) and his speech was more of hopeless attempt to reach Jim to not accepting the fact he can't win alone but they could find another way together

Oh God, I write all of that, so sorry, but you're the only trollhunters (Strickler) fan I know would be able to understand me

First off, this is a fantastic ask! And it doesn't matter how many times I rewatch Trollhunters, I still find new things. It's probably why I rewatch so much.

I don't think Walt is guilty about Jim's transformation to half-troll. He wanted Jim to survive Gunmar. Because any humanity shown to Gunmar would end with Jim dead. Strickler never said Jim needed to be more than human, not like Merlin did. Strickler was terrified Jim would die, which was why the training in season 3 was so tough. Strickler was angry and scared when he realised what Merlin had done.

Yeah, Jim DOES care about Walt's opinion on him, and I think the same can be said of Walt.

Bad coffee is a bad episode for Strickler and Jim's relationship lol. Right from the start of Trollhunters it was JIM who instilled in Strickler the seeds of his eventual redemption. And RoTT (terrible as it was overall) proved that once and for all. Strickler is willing to DIE for Jim. He didn't die for Barbara. And that's why Jim sets him up with Barbara at the end of the movie.

The whole 'I didn't return to train you, I returned to protect her' can't be taken seriously. Since you know, Strickler was high on gravesand. Nothing he says is particularly nice while on gravesand. None of the teachers are lol. And it was said also because Strickler wanted Jim to kill him. To finish the fight. And needed to say something to wind him up. What better then using his mom? Since obviously he returned for Jim's sake, knowing Barbara would want nothing to do with him at the time. And yes, maybe he returned to train Jim also because it would indirectly protect Barbara, but still. Blatent lie. If that was true, Jim would be dead.

[evermorethecrow]

Insane lore for a coffee shop au . What's his usual coffee order. does he even drink coffee

He doesn't drink coffee.

He owns one so he can eat the emotions of all the miserable people who need it to function

[valsansretovr]

caffeine addiction back full force

[redrosebug]

Headcanon that when Tim first started as Robin, he promised himself that he wouldn't die like Jason, and then proceeded to live out of sheer force of will.

He gets shot in the heart or blown to smithereens, and fifteen seconds later, he is picking himself off the floor like it's another Tuesday. Won't even acknowledge it happened. The type of guy to slap a bandaid on a stab wound and walked away with a flat line on a monitor.

He lives out of spite, solely so he can look at his siblings and go "Well, at least I didn't die" whenever one of them annoys him. With the amount of improbable stunts Tim pulls, Damian doesn't even think he is human anymore.

(Bruce loves his son, but sometimes he adds holy water into the coffee maker just so he can be sure Tim did not join the demon realm. Jason is less subtle about pulling Tim into churches to see if he will burn and melt. He does it a grand total of 7 times before Dick hosts an intervention about how loving your brother means you have to stop trying to exorcise him.)

[pseudowho]

Debellatio

You ask Nanami Kento to help you and Higuruma Hiromi on a mission, after the events of In Flagrante Delicto (link here); you find yourself at the mercy of both men after they are struck by the aphrodisiac Curse.

An introduction to Greynami from my Post-Shibuya!AU Nanami; see Grey and Post-Shibuya AU!Nanami Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, another sex pollen fic because I'm utterly depraved and godless, threesome, I don't like to ruin surprises

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

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"Kento. We're friends...right?"

Nanami Kento's one good eye narrowed at you, you, sat so surreptitiously on the arm of the sofa in the coffee shop you had asked to meet him at. Kento briefly considered lowering his newspaper, but decided he'd wait to see what you wanted, first. No longer working for Jujutsu High after the Shibuya incident, he did, however, stay in contact with you, one of his favourite colleagues.

"Friends?" he teased, "I don't have friends." You pouted, slapping his arm lightly, and he  continued, "Alright...what is it you want?"

You scooted next to him on the sofa, emboldened by his invitation; "It's Hiromi," you said, already desperate, almost begging.

Already on first name terms, Kento thought, a light jealousy twisting in his gut, having thought he and you always had potential together. "Higuruma?" he pressed, scarred face neutral. You nodded.

"I released him to the wild," you stated, filling Kento in, "I don't think he was ready, but he was insistent, he's been out on his own for a while now...anyway, he seems to have been alright. Alone."

You did not tell Kento how Hiromi Higuruma had spent every night over the past week in your bed, spurred on initially by an aphrodisiac Curse he had failed to exorcise. You had not told anyone at Jujutsu High, in fact. How would you tell them that you and Hiromi were...what? Colleagues with benefits? On an uncertain path towards boyfriend and girlfriend? Pleasuring each other blind every day and night, lost in each others' minds and bodies? You almost blushed, aware your underwear was damp with the seed he had left inside you just that morning.

Kento raised one thin eyebrow at your pause, imploring you to continue. You took a deep breath.

"There's a mission tomorrow, and they want to send more than one First Grade, they think it's big, apparently. They chose Hiromi, and me. But I've worked with him, and he's...he's..." you trailed off, searching for the words. Kento helped.

"Difficult? Doesn't play well with others?" he offered lightly. You nodded, hands clasped in your lap.

"Can you come with us? Just as a buffer. We won't even need you I don't think, just..." you tailed off again, hoping Kento agreed.

That familiar jealousy burned in Kento's gut again. 'We'. 'Won't even need you'. Kento kicked himself mentally, wondering if he'd left it too late to ask you out to dinner, to make his move, wondering if Higuruma of all people had showed up and pipped him to the post. His jaw clenched as he put down his newspaper, giving you a gentle reassuring smile. Of course he agreed.

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"Why is he here?" Hiromi pressed you, rolling his gavel between his hands in irritation. Nanami Kento stood a few feet away from you and Hiromi, catching up with Ijichi while the veil was prepared around a derelict shopping centre, held together by ivy and abandoned "SALE!" banners.

"Just for back-up, Hiromi. Anyway, I haven't seen him in ages. You'll be friends in no time, I'm sure of it," you cooed.

Hiromi bristled. He had heard you speak fondly of this...this...sexy pirate, Nanami Kento, and in these early, brittle stages of your relationship together, Hiromi couldn't help but feel threatened by this imposing figure of a man. Allowing himself a moment of fragile masculinity, he shook it off, reminding himself that you weren't a competition.

But that if you were, you'd chosen Hiromi and he had won anyway.

Kento smiled fondly at Ijichi, gripping his hand in a friendly squeeze, before heading over to you and Hiromi, the veil descending below him in an oily drip down an invisible dome. Kento's face remained neutral as he approached, he and Hiromi reading each other, both shrewd, calculating. You swallowed at the palpable tension, before trying to bridge the gap with a reassuring smile to them both. Kento spoke first.

"The electricity's back on, so we're not operating in the dark. We should introduce ourselves. Nanami Kento," he said shortly, offering a brief bow, his gaze piercing into Hiromi even through an eye patch, it seemed.

"Higuruma Hiromi," he offered, "I've been told you're just here as..."

"...insurance," Kento finished coolly, "as you're rather...new to this." Hiromi felt another pang of irritation, smiling tightly at Kento.

Kento turned to you, giving you a smile so warm and sincere that it cracked through his icy demeanour. When you smiled back, Hiromi gritted his teeth, reminding himself again to behave. Eyes now on you, he threaded his fingers through yours, tapping your joined hands against his thigh in an act of affection and possession.

"Come on then, my love. We'll lead the way, shall we?" Hiromi pulled you ahead of Kento as a pair, and Kento glowered silently at your backs as he followed you into the building.

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"Have you read The Day of the Triffids?" you mused aloud to Hiromi and Kento, running your hand along the network of enormous vines, some as thick as your thigh, clinging along the inner walls of the building. A hazy mist had settled within the confines of the corridors, dewy and tropical in the summer humidity of central Tokyo. Exotic and otherworldly flora popped in bursts of colour from the ceiling and floor as the corridor curved away from you.

Hiromi and Kento both confirmed immediately, competitive, flashing each other furious glances. You were oblivious, examining the tendrils and flowers in glittery-eyed fascination. Hiromi and Kento stewed, both hovering close to you, irritated by the invasion of each others' space.

"We should go deeper into the building," Hiromi stated, confident, tapping his gavel against his adjacent palm, "the main Curse body is probably hiding centrally." Kento cleared his throat, imitating politeness as he disagreed.

"Many of these Curses linger on the edges, like spiders in webs. It would be more thorough to scout inwards from the edges, first."

"Well that sounds pretty inefficient seeing as we know--"

"--well we don't know, you're just assuming--"

"--based on experience, I think--"

"--oh yes, and what experience would that be?" Kento finished, curt, brittle. He turned to you, shoulders clenched in a taut line under the clipped corners of his suit. Hiromi spun to catch your eye, anger burning low at Kento's interference. Both beseeched you, seethingly, to agree with them.

You blushed under their stares, feeling their Cursed energy rising, competing, and gulped, feeling naked and exposed.

"I think," you started slowly, "that both options are as viable as the other," both Kento and Hiromi huffed air out of their noses, lips curled in annoyance, "and so you two should decide between you."

"Either way," you continued, the air thick with tension, "we have to go this way to get to the rest of the building anyway. It will give you two time to make a decision, and maybe learn to get along?" Both men bristled at your gentle chastisement, facing each other, chins out, teeth gritted.

You continued behind Hiromi and Kento along the corridor, watching with mute horror, as conversation escalated into debate, descended into argument, spiralled into insults--

"Well you're apparently so smart," spat Kento at Hiromi, "that I probably should let you decide, even if you find out the hard way, but you're not dragging her into danger too, so--"

"--sorry we can't all muscle our way through our problems, Nanami, she probably should stay with the brains of the group, so--"

"--she's coming with me!" Their voices rang through the corridor in tandem, and you shouted in warning, as they both tripped, distracted, their legs tangling in a flower-covered vine, like trip wire across the floor.

A puff of yellow pollen shot up from the flowers, clouding Kento and Hiromi in a clinging haze. They coughed, sneezing, staggering backwards out of the cloud. Kento cleared his eye with a swift wipe, looking down at himself, surveying the damage.

But, Hiromi spun to face you, barely disguised panic in his eyes; "Shit. Shit. Not again--"

Your jaw dropped, appalled; "Again? Hiromi? Was this-- is this--"

Hiromi groaned, and leaned heavily, shivering against the wall as the pollen seeped through his pores, the yellow fading as it sunk into Hiromi's bloodstream. Kento's back was to you, but dread crept into your belly, low and hot, as you saw his shoulders roll and shudder, his scarred hand clasped over his mouth as his chin dipped towards the floor.

As both Hiromi and Kento turned slowly to look at you, hunger glowing in their eyes, you began to take tentative steps backwards, your speed gradually increasing as you spun, quickly building into a full sprint back down the corridor.

Kento was burning from the inside out; every nerve was on fire with desperate arousal, his cock rapidly hardening in the confines of his slim suit trousers, and he knew in furious desperation that if he didn't pin you down and ram every inch of himself into you, that he would surely perish in these sordid flames, and--

As Kento's legs bent with intent to hunt you down the corridor, he felt slim fingers grip around the front of his throat, Hiromi stepping into his vision, clearly suffering just as he was, but determined and steely, hooded eyes smouldering with threat.

"Not my girl, Nanami," Hiromi spat, squeezing the sides of Kento's thick throat with surprising force. Kento chuckled, full of dark mirth as he gripped Hiromi by the wrist, twisting it away from him; Hiromi held fast, hand shaking with exertion.

"You were the back-up, Higuruma," Kento rumbled, smirking, judgement clouded by wild, throbbing need, "so back off. Daddy's home now." Kento swept Hiromi's legs from under him, elbowing him to the ground, before leaping over his scrabbling form and stalking down the corridor, with surprising grace for such a big man.

Hiromi was on Kento in seconds, spinning him into a resounding thud against the wall, and Kento roared in frustration, as the two continued to scrap along the corridor, concrete cracking under their feet and shoulders as they bodied each other into the walls, trying to gain the upper hand.

You had reached the end of the corridor, the stairs blocked with a bawdry tangle of prickles and vines. You scanned the corridor, spotting a lift to the right, and you ripped fine vines away from its entrance, pressing the lift's button in a frantic panic, hearing the roars and crashes of Kento and Hiromi moving down the corridor towards you.

You had a moment of dread, fearful that the lift was now inoperable, before a tinny little ping announced the lift's arrival. Clambering over vines and into the lift, you saw a puff and crumble of rubble down the corridor as Kento was thrown into a wall, the ceiling partly collapsing above him.

You pressed the button again, again, again, your heart thick in your throat. You saw Hiromi round the corridor, zigzagging across jigsaws of vines, eyes intently on you.

As the doors grinded closed, Kento and Hiromi descended upon them, still scrapping, bloody, fighting with mindless desperation and rage. The lift stayed still, halted by your own paralysis as you caught their eyes through the glass, both begging you to let them in.

You swallowed, your belly hot with anticipation, wanting to help but utterly incapable of accepting the only means by which you could help. You mouthed wordlessly at Hiromi and Kento. You pressed a shaking finger to the lift's 'down' button, and Hiromi swiftly countered by pressing the button outside the lift doors. The lift pinged, juddered, stopped, started, indecisive, torn.

You were at a stalemate. You ran your hands through your hair.

"I can't...I can't help both of you," you cried, turning to look at Nanami, eyes brimming with apology as he rested his forehead against his fist, breathing out in a shaking moan.

"Kento, I...Hiromi and I, we..." Kento thumped his fist against the outside of the lift, the lift trembling at his strength.

"You choose him?" Kento spat, feeling precum leak down his thigh in a constant damp stream. He coughed, arousal burning through his throat, and reached down to squeeze his cock, desperate for relief, moaning softly as he bit into his fist.

"You'll-- you'll help me, though?" Hiromi urged, hopeful and throbbing, palms and forehead pressed flat to the glass of the lift, eyelids heavy and breaths hot and urgent. You swallowed, considering your promise to always help Hiromi, and nodded slowly, swallowing, memories of how desperately he took you the first time sweeping through you, your clit aching and pussy clenching around nothing.

"Open the door. Please, please, open the door," Hiromi whispered in prayer. Kento accepted, sickly, that you had made your decision, still certain he may die without relief. The pollen pulsed through him, toxic and ruinous, and he felt his vision fade into animalistic shades of black, white and red.

"I can-- I-- just let me watch," Kento forced out, begging through clenched teeth. You hesitated, eyes flicking towards Hiromi in question. Hiromi scowled, lips curled in distaste.

"Watch, don't watch-- I don't give a fuck. But I'll have your head if you lay a finger on her."

Kento snarled, lips pulled taut against his teeth-- but nodded his agreement. Your hand lowered, hesitantly retracting from the button as Hiromi calmly pushed the 'open' button from the outside, eyes burning into you with unholy intent.

As the door opened, Hiromi stepped to you, trembling with restraint, fists clenching and unclenching as he urged you backwards, caging you in against the wall with outstretched arms. Not breaking eye contact, he reached down to grab one of your hands, pressing it hard against his straining erection with a low groan, eyes closed against the enormity of the tiny relief and the promise of more to come.

Keeping your hand pressed against him, rutting into your open palm, Hiromi dipped his mouth to your neck, taking your skin between his lips in a deep, bruising lovebite.

"You know how this works," he intoned, low and slow, licking your neck as he rubbed your hand on the outline of his rigid cock, "and I know you can take it." You hesitated as Kento moved slowly into the lift space, the doors closing behind him. His eye shot daggers through you, the burned side of his face twisted in agony, until his gaze flicked downwards, staring hungrily at where Hiromi rutted his cock into your open hand. Kento's tongue darted out to lick his lips, his hand sinking slowly to undo his own belt.

As Hiromi continued to devour your neck, moaning with abandon as he pressed closer to you, humping his weeping clothed cock against your body, you felt your own inhibition fade curiously away. Your trepidation was slowly being overtaken, being seeded and overgrown by a burning hunger. You took a gasping breath, high off your own desire, head swimming--

"Hiromi-- the pollen, it's-- it's on your clothes," you urged, your brain clouding, thrumming, succumbing as yellow mist soaked into your skin.

Kento watched with erotic fascination as you became pliable, supple as water under Hiromi's mouth, your eyes half-closed with aching arousal, a desperate keening noise rising from your throat.

"Oh god yes," groaned Kento, voice gravelly with lust as he released his throbbing erection, pumping his thick cock in his fist, biting the backs of his knuckles on his free hand, "keep going, don't stop-- don't--"

Hiromi drank up Kento's begging, seethingly determined to prove his ownership of you, and grasped your top between his hands, ripping it open like paper, snapping the front of your bra so the cups hung loosely over your pebbled nipples. Hiromi heard Kento release a shuddering whine behind him as he latched his tongue and lips over your nipple, still rutting into your hand, which was joined by the other now as you worked frantically at Hiromi's trousers to release him.

Kento and Hiromi both gasped as Hiromi's cock sprang upwards, and was instantly grasped between your fingers, your first squeeze releasing a thick dribble of precum down Hiromi's length as he shuddered, moaning into your breasts, pressing his fist into the wall as you began to masturbate him. You ached to your very core, reeling with need.

"Please fuck me," you begged Hiromi, voice whispering and pleading in his ear, "cum inside me, as much as you want, I need it, I--"  Hiromi didn't need to be told twice and lifted your legs to straddle his hips, holding you up against the wall as he flipped your skirt up, ripped your tights and sticky wet underwear at the groin, and allowed you to line up his cock between your puffy, glistening folds.

Kento's hand worked harder and harder on his own cock now, stopping to circle his thumb around the sensitive head, spreading his precum, fighting the urge to throw Hiromi aside and thrust into you himself. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he instead focused on where Hiromi's cock lined up with you.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Kento growled as Hiromi paused, panting into your neck, "get inside her or I will."

With one aggressive thrust, Hiromi's cock rammed into you to the hilt, slamming you back against the wall as you cried out, clawing at him desperately. Your hands clenched the front of his shirt, gripping and ripping, buttons scattering over the floor with faint skitters, so desperate were you to feel Hiromi's skin on yours.

Hiromi fucked you ruthlessly, eyes fixed on where his cock crashed into you, hips snapping back and forth with barely controlled fury. Spurred on by your mewls and whimpers, Hiromi panted, chasing his relief, agonised cries breaking from his mouth with every other thrust.

Kento's eye had drooped closed behind Hiromi, stroking himself now to the sounds of you and Hiromi alone, feeling with agonising certainty that cumming in his own hand would do little to relieve his deadly need, but needing to chase his orgasm regardless. He felt his pleasure building rapidly as he heard you cum, falling apart with trembling cries around Hiromi's cock.

Hiromi didn't last long, his first orgasm hitting him with a wave of relief so violent, his knees almost buckled, relying on you for a moment to hold yourself up against him. Hiromi felt blinded as rope after rope of his seed spurted into you, coating your cervix, soothing your aching belly with warmth. Kento came with a shuddering gasp, streams of thick cum splattering onto the floor and coating his hand, face contorted in pain when he felt little to no relief despite his orgasm plundering through his every muscle.

You and Hiromi clung onto each other, still joined, and Hiromi's cock felt no softer at all, still rigid and held with urgency against your cervix, sucked in by your velvety walls.

"I'm-- I'm sorry I-- I can't stand--" Hiromi stuttered, dropping to his knees with your legs still wrapped around him, still pressed core to core as you wrapped your arms around his neck, straddling him, riding him as he whimpered into your mouth. Lost in your own pleasure, your eyes had drifted shut as you rode Hiromi, slippery with cum, keeping his cock jealously inside you, unwilling to let him pull out by more than an inch.

You felt a strong hand wind into your hair, tipping your head backwards and sideways, and as you gasped, you felt a droplet of salty cum drip onto your tongue. Kento's other hand, sticky with his own seed, ghosted around your lips as he stared down at you, scarred face impassive, but his eye urgently begging, and he dipped a cum-covered thumb into your mouth, stroking across your tongue.

Hiromi flung a hand out sideways, clawing with fury at Kento's thick, corded thigh; "Nanami," he hissed in warning. Kento ignored him, still staring at you, pleading, impeaching--

You nodded slowly, opening your mouth, holding out your tongue. Kento groaned his appreciation, and leant down to dip his tongue against yours as you gripped his thick cock in your hand. Hiromi scowled, thrusting you harder onto him in possessive punishment, satisfied to hear you squeak against Kento's tongue. As Kento pulled away from you and your mouth started to close, he gripped your jaw, stopping you.

"Open," he barked and you acquiesced, jolting and groaning as you felt him spit into your mouth, mixing with the drips of cum his fingers left behind. Humming lowly in satisfaction, Kento stood tall, manoeuvring your head and thrusting his full length down your throat with little warning.

Despite himself, Hiromi was hypnotised as Kento gripped you by the hair, ramming into you; Hiromi kept pace with Kento, matching his timing by slamming your hips down onto his. His eyes fixed on your mouth as you coughed and spluttered, cheeks covered with cum and saliva as you choked down wet gags, Kento barking orders at you as he slammed his cock repeatedly over your tongue and into your throat.

"Harder, Nanami," Hiromi ordered, blinded by lust as he felt your cunt clench around him, fluttering weakly as Hiromi slipped his hand between your legs, finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing rapid circles, lubricated by the slick of your cum.

You were overwhelmed, floppy and malleable as you embraced being used by Kento and Hiromi, covered in fluids, sticky and sweating, and you shivered weakly as Hiromi dragged you to another orgasm. You felt Hiromi ram you onto him once, twice and three more times until he came with a frantic shout, legs cramping underneath him as he felt his seed shoot through him like electricity, dripping out of you and soaking the patch of trimmed black hair at the base of his cock. Hiromi whined, his balls clenching painfully, watching as Kento finished in your mouth.

Kento pulled you to him, his knuckles deep in your hair as your nose hit his neat honey-coloured pubes, gulping as streams of his hot cum trickled down your throat, Kento growling his relief-- "good girl-- good girl-- swallow now"-- as you drank him down.

Kento let go of your hair and you pulled back, gasping and coughing, his cock still rigid, sat wetly on your cheek as Kento rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck from side to side, still tense. Hiromi was wrecked, burning with need, but crippled and paralysed with a bone-deep exhaustion as he straightened his legs under you, his cock still rigid and throbbing inside you as he came down from his orgasm.

"Not-- not enough--" Kento rumbled, still desperate, devastated by the lack of relief.

"Enough, Nanami," Hiromi gasped, "She needs a--"

"'She' can handle it," you interrupted, nose to nose with Hiromi as he looked into you, glassy-eyed and worried. He nodded slowly. Kento rumbled his approval, pressing you forwards by the back of the neck until Hiromi was laid on his back on the floor, cock still inside you, and you laid down belly first on him.

Without hesitating, Kento mounted you from behind, his mouth ghosting against your ear as he bit it, relishing your squeaks as you pressed your cheek into Hiromi's chest. Lining up his cock with where Hiromi was already seated deep inside you, Kento pressed his cock into you.

You saw stars as your pussy was stretched more than it ever had been, clawing wildly at Hiromi's chest as Kento bottomed-out; Hiromi shivered with delight at the impossible tightness and slickness of you, his groans cracking as Kento's cock slid against his with every thrust. Higuruma lay unmoving at first, colours popping in his eyes, before digging his fingers into the plushness of your hips, and thrusting into you in tandem with Kento.

You were ruined, completely prone on Hiromi as you felt Hiromi and Kento's lengths bully in and out of you, your thighs shaking with urgency as your clit was shunted against Hiromi's pubic bone every time Kento rammed into you. Hearing Kento's groans, broken and velvety behind you, had you tipping over the edge, your arousal spurting out around Kento and Hiromi, your cries and whimpers echoing weakly around the little chamber.

Kento felt fire burst through his hips, back and belly as he came for a final time, barely able to keep himself from collapsing on top of you as he felt himself weaken, Hiromi's cock twitching against his as Hiromi shuddered, sandy gasps leaving his throat as his seed mixed with Kento's inside you.

Hiromi reached around you, rolling you all sideways so Kento could collapse onto the floor. You lay together, stunned, sticky and panting. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and desire. Kento chuckled, low and shaking, as you nuzzled into Hiromi, planting tender kisses on his jaw.

"Alright," he rumbled, reluctant, "so she's your girl. But I still owe her dinner."

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Hiromi and Kento at the end of this:

The reader:

This took me two large glasses of wine to write.

[midnightwriter21]

jjk hcs: satoru gojo meeting soulmate!reader

characters: satoru gojo x reader, mentions of megumi, yuji, nobara, and principal yaga

warnings: language, mentions of a giant spider

AN: AS PROMISED!!! the soulmate gojo fic!! i’m a sucker for non-sorcerer!reader x gojo. so if u want a version with a sorcerer reader lmk!!!

edit: sorcerer!reader version is published!! read it HERE

- soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed in their handwriting somewhere on your body!!!

SATORU GOJO

you’re working at a small, family-run cafe

which just so happens to be quite close to jujitsu high school

it’s quite often that students and staff from the school are stopping at the cafe for a quick snack, coffee, and sometimes lunch

and due to an unfortunate run in with a low grade curse during a rush, you are very aware of the jujutsu world

principal yaga himself exorcised the curse when he was on his lunch break at the cafe

usually you’re working in the kitchen, baking, whilst someone else takes orders

until a coworker of yours calls in sick at the last minute… so ur on ur own rip

taking orders, cooking, serving, all of the above on your own

the 3 first year jujutsu high students, megumi, yuji, and nobara come into the cafe after a mission

they place their orders and megumi tells you that their sensei would be joining them shortly, with yuji letting you know that their sensei would also be picking up the bill

as if it would even put a dent in gojo’s wallet

anyways after taking their orders you walk into the kitchen to begin making their food and drinks

as you get to work, gojo walks into the cafe, joining his students at their table

you’re rushing around the kitchen, flour stuck to the font of your shirt, hair sticking out in different directions

trying to get the food cooked and out to them in a timely manner

and the world is just not on your side today because guess what shows up in your kitchen…

a cursed spirit

but not any cursed spirit

a cursed spirit in the form of a spider

a GIANT spider with what seems like a million eyes, the 8 legs, kinda furry looking

oh and did i mention it was giant? by giant I mean it stood at abt 6ft tall

two words: hell. nah.

when you turn away from the stove and find it standing behind you

you, like any normal person, let out an eardrum shattering screech of terror and back away from it as fast as possible

backing yourself into the corner of the room, with no room to escape…

the 3 first years and their sensei hear your scream and spring into action, running into the kitchen to defend you

that’s a lie

the 3 first years run to defend you

their sensei takes his time, sauntering towards the kitchen with his hands in his pockets

bastard

the kitchen door slams open as the 3 first years spring through the door, with yuji pouncing on the curse

the pink haired boy delivers a heavy punch, knocking the spider curse away from you

you take the chance to run

yeah girl it’s better to give them their space fr, yuji has a habit of punching through walls with his bare hands

you run through the door, looking behind you towards the scene, and you run head first into what feels like a brick wall

before you fall onto your ass, you feel two large hands latch onto your shoulders to steady you

“woah! don’t go falling for me already.. we just met.”

you look up at the voice, finding a man with stark white hair, a blindfold, and a cocky smirk

adrenaline coursing through your body you don’t even process the man’s words and you find yourself babbling almost unintelligibly to the man

“kill it! please kill it! i can’t stand spiders!”

the mans grip on your shoulders tighten slightly before he releases you, pushing you behind him, chuckling quietly with a “anything for you, sweetheart”

and with the flick of his wrist the spider curse literally explodes

staring at the tall man in both shock and awe, you don’t realize until you smell smoke

“THE FOOD IS BURNING SHIT!” and your running back into the kitchen to see if anything is salvageable

it’s not lol but honestly the food is the last thing on anyone’s mind

as you throw the ruined food away, the same hands from earlier sit themselves on your shoulders again, turning you around

“so… if i’m gonna actually get you to fall for me, i’m gonna need your number.” and there’s a phone thrust in your face

and at his words you remember his earlier statement to you, “woah! don’t go falling for me already.. we just met.”

you look up at him in shock, putting a hand on your forearm, over your soulmate mark with those exact words covering your skin

and he just smirks and pulls the sleeve of his uniform up to show you his own forearm

and printed in your own handwriting is your terror filled words from earlier, “kill it! please kill it! i can’t stand spiders!”

as the blush crawls up your neck and into your cheeks he laughs, throwing an arm around your shoulders and saying, “so.. does this mean I get free sweets from now on?”

[not-the-cheese]

one sentence(ish) summaries of every magnus archive episode PART 2

(eps 61-110) thank u for the funny comments and tags on the last part i love u guys

the rest of these may take a while as i've caught up to where i am currently in the podcast but i will finish them like in a month i promise

----

61. the thrilling sequel to man does not open coffin: man DOES open coffin.

62. surely this doctor can find an easier way to scam people out of money than putting them in a little book.

63. THE DARK ATE MY BROTHER IN LAW.

64. this is possibly the plot of laura croft tomb raider

65. mmm crumchy

66. what's the opposite of an unboxing video

67. as close to a coffeeshop au as you're going to get from this podcast

68. Doctors hate him! Man REFUSES to die from tuberculosis!

69. your college's psych department has the worst idea ever.

70. reverse death note

71. not even death will stop this woman from taking the british subway

72. man doesn't want to be low key racist in his last moments before getting eaten

73. police versus the second coming of dark jesus

74. lady is haunted by an ad for coffee

75. mike crew says "uh fuck it let's just put this guy on a skyscraper forever"

76. ryan from buzzfeed unsolved breaks into a train yard and suffers consequences

77. you're not a enough of a bitch to be my real mom

78. man gets harassed by his cousin and then exorcises him

79. you know that chase scene in scooby doo with the doors

80. stupid idiot motherfucking jurgen leitner

81. i have been personally victimized by the sequel to the hungry hungry caterpillar

82. pov: elias threatens to cancel you

83. mannequin takes matters into its own hands after people don't like its pitch for a new window display

84. a hoarder put newspaper on my friend's face :(

85. hey there's maybe a little man upon these stairs?

86. man gets got by a squiggly thing in the dark.

87. plumber is so oblivious to spooky happenings around him that it possibly saves his life.

88. guys i think this guy likes to dig

89. lesbian investment banker finds a new, less evil job: arson!

90. guy who turns people's bones starts a gym where he promises not to turn your bones! (he is lying)

91. i was stalked by lightning for 10 years and i all i got were these stupid scars

92. jonah magnus is a bad friend // another day another elias slay

93. ocd is no match for purple fuzz

94. let the bodies drop gently to the floor let the bodies drop gently to the floor

95. im so sorry my brain refuses to remember what the war ones were about but i think one guy got gently kissed on the forehead so that's pretty nice.

96. diversity wins! the not-quite-human delivery men who stole your identity and business are maybe gay?

97. man gets gaslighted by an entire town about a hole

98. 🎶mister sandman bring me a dream, actually don't, please stay far from me 🎶

99. another one bites the dust

100. archival assistants face off against the general public (they lose)

101. jon finally levels up high enough to unlock an eldritch horror's tragic backstory

102. LOCAL MAN MARRIES BUG

103. peppa eats a clown and they cover her in concrete instead of congratulating her.

104. pennywise stole my brother's skin

105. it's world war z baby

106. Something Big Is In Space.

107. man is interrogated about the time he saw thomas the train roasts people alive and also sans is there

108. actor is stalked by mask who liked his monologue so much that it tells its mask friends to come watch.

109. sometimes a family is just a serial killer's daughter and that guy who maybe killed some vampires

110. yeah man those spiders be eating

Part 1 |

[itadorey]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: in an attempt to distract gojo, yaga sends him on a quest to locate you; a missing member of the zenin clan with prophetic dreams. genre: pre-relationship, humor, fluff notes: college gojo makes me feral. i think he would've been a menace. i also kind of want to continue this as a series of one shots (set in the same universe but not necessarily a multi-chapter fic). wc: ~3k song inspo ♫: ruby sparks by monet ngo

"i saw you in my dreams."

gojo chuckles at the words, a flirty smile appearing on his face as he tilts his head up to look at the person that's speaking to him. he can't help the way his eyes briefly widen when he sees your face, recognizing you as the very person he was sent to find.

he understands that yaga wants to give him a distraction, a getaway from all the shit that has happened to him in the past few years. but going undercover at the university of tokyo to locate you, a supposedly important jujutsu sorcerer, wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his post-high school years. now that you're standing in front of him, he can't really find it in himself to complain. not when he realizes just how pretty you are.

he quickly composes himself, leaning back in his seat before motioning for you to sit. you glance at the seat across from him uncertainly, refusing to move. there's a conflicted look on your face as you scan your surroundings, almost as if looking for an escape route. you look like you regret speaking in the first place.

"i'm flattered, really," gojo says, shamelessly checking you out over his sunglasses. "but that's kind of a cheesy pickup line, isn't it?"

your nose scrunches up at you look at him, and you stutter a few times as you lean against the table. gojo watches with an amused smile that quickly drops when you finally gather your thoughts. "ew! that was not an attempt to flirt with you!"

there's a moment of silence before you sigh and slip into the seat across from gojo. you place your elbows on the table, head in your hands as you stare down at the table. another minute passes before you look up, making brief eye contact with gojo's sunglasses before fully laying your head down. "listen, this is gonna sounds crazy."

"try me," gojo says, smirking as he leans forward. one of his elbows rests on the table, check in hand as he watches you struggle with your thoughts.

he's never met you before, hell, he hasn't even seen you before this moment, but the faint cursed energy that surrounds you lets him know exactly who you are. you're a member of the zen'in clan, labeled as missing when your parents fled a couple years after you were born. the discovery of your prophetic dreams had made you an instant target, and you had been so well hidden from society that even gojo and yaga had had a hard time finding you. there was absolutely no information on your childhood or adolescence, and the only way they had managed to locate you was due to a wayward curse you had taken upon yourself to exorcise. the recent spike of your cursed energy had caused an uproar in the jujutsu community, and a race had begun to see who could get to you first.

between jujutsu high, the zen'in clan, the higher-ups, and a special grade curse, gojo thought he was the best option.

"okay, come on," gojo says, standing up and stretching before pushing his chair in. you finally look up, frustration visible on your face as you stare at him. your expression quickly morphs into confusion when gojo gently grabs your arm, tugging you up from your seat and slinging your bag over his shoulder before interlocking arms with you.

"where are we going?" you ask, stumbling after him. he's taller than you, and you find yourself struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"we're gonna go get some coffee!" he says, smiling at you. "i know a place. besides, i wanna know all about those dreams you had of me."

"you don't think i'm lying to you?" you say, eyeing him skeptically. "or that i'm crazy?"

your question goes unanswered, but the look he sends you makes your stomach twist with nervousness. there's a glint in his eye that catches you off guard, and you find yourself wondering if he knows more than he's letting on.

your mind races as he walks you off campus, chatting your ear off as you go. he doesn't receive a single response from you, yet your silence doesn't seem to bother him. if anything, it only motivates him to talk even more, and you find yourself almost enjoying the way he doesn't let the silence last more than a few seconds.

"oh look! there it is," gojo says, fully capturing your attention as he motions towards a small café. it's a small, charming place, one street over, visible through the alleyway the two of you are currently standing in front of. you come to a full stop when he makes a move to walk down the alley, inadvertently pulling him back to your side when he realizes you won't budge.

"what's wrong?" he asks, leaning down to catch your eye. you're met with a startingly blue gaze, and you shift from one foot to another as you tear your eyes away from him. "oh, i know! i bet you're nervous for our date!"

"this isn't a date!" you snap, finally pulling your arm away from him. you can feel a headache coming as he giggles, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks into the alley. "wait!"

gojo halts at your words, turning around to fully face you. he watches you curiously as you take a few tentative steps forward, a shiver running down your spine when you enter the alley as well. there's a coldness seeping through your bones as you approach gojo, and when you turn to look behind you, it feels as though you've left the busy streets of tokyo completely.

"what's wrong?" gojo asks, the smile still on his face as he observes your reaction. you're almost certain that he knows something you don't at this point.

"this alley," you start, wringing your hands as you take a step back. "this is where we were. in my dream, i mean."

"and what exactly were we doing here?" gojo asks, his teasing tone earning a scowl from you. "this alley is quite inconspicuous, and we're all alone."

the insult you had ready dies on the tip of your tongue as you notice movement behind gojo, and his eyebrows furrow as he notices the sudden change in your demeanor.

"so, in my dream we were here. and you were in danger. i couldn't do anything to help and you—," you cut yourself off, nervousness coating your words as you start to close in on gojo. you ready yourself to fight, remembering every detail about your dream as the curse lurking in the alleyway reveals itself. you curse to yourself as it notices you, and you absentmindedly note that it seems be a grade 1 curse.

"and i?" gojo asks, curiosity coloring his words as he tilts his head in confusion. he hasn't moved at all, and you find yourself wondering if he can sense cursed spirits. in your dream it seemed like he could.

you inhale sharply as the curse lunges, and you notice too late that this scene isn't playing out the same way it had in your dream. you throw yourself at gojo, eyes wide with panic as you realize you're just a bit too far to reach him.

"you have to move!" you shriek, your heart pounding as gojo simply grins at you. he raises his hand silently, fingers twisting as he mutters something under his breath. the curse is killed instantly, and you find yourself collapsing to your knees as you look at gojo in shock.

"y-you—"

"me!" gojo cheers, cutting you off as he approaches you. he hauls you onto your feet and loops his arm with yours once again, guiding you past the disintegrating curse and emerging on the other side of the alley. you spare another glance back at the corpse, swallowing harshly before turning to look at the sorcerer standing next to you.

"who are you?" you ask quietly. the smile doesn't slip from gojo's face as he holds the cafe door open for you, following closely after you and guiding you to an empty table.

"how about we order first? and then i'll answer all of your questions," gojo says, picking up a stray menu and flipping through it casually as if he hasn't just taken down a grade 1 curse with ease. he notices your stare but doesn't comment on it, instead choosing to place the menu back on the table before waving over a server.

"can i get a slice of cake with two forks? oh! and two glasses of chocolate milk please."

gojo twiddles his thumbs as the two of you wait for your order, and you find yourself fully studying him for the first time since you approached him. he's sitting casually, leaning back slightly in a relaxed manner as he hums a song under his breath. when he notices your stare, he sends you a small grin and proceeds to go back to observing his surroundings.

he's much too relaxed for someone who just had an encounter with a curse, and you realize that he truly does know a lot more than you originally thought.

"here's your order!"

gojo thanks the server enthusiastically as you mutter your appreciation, your hands closing around the glass he pushes towards you without much thought.

"so, who are you?" you finally ask, repeating the question that gojo had ignored earlier. he laughs at your words, grabbing one of the forks and taking a bite of cake as he extends the other one to you. he waits for you to grab the fork, using his own to pick up another piece of cake before he notices you don't make a move to take it from him.

"what? you want me to feed you instead?" he asks, eyelashes fluttering as he gives you a flirty smile. he places the fork meant for you back on the table, leaning in closer and bringing his own fork to your mouth. "i guess that would be more date-like. okay, say ah!"

his enthusiasm dies down when he notices the frown tugging at your lips, and he deflates in defeat when you push his hand aside and reach for the other fork. you fiddle with it for a couple of seconds before placing it back down and looking at him with a glare.

"who are you?" you demand once more, your eye twitching in annoyance when gojo opens his mouth. you have no doubt he's about to say something stupid. "if you don't tell me, i will scream for help."

his mouth clamps shut as he studies you quietly, taking another bite of the cake before sighing.

"my name is gojo satoru," he finally says, holding his hand out to you as he introduces himself. you place your hand in his hesitantly, a gasp leaving you when he brings your hand up to his mouth and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles. "and you, you're a zen'in."

gojo watches as your eyes go wide at his words, and you yank your hand out his grasp before looking around nervously.

"no, i'm not," you say quietly. "i've never heard that name in my life."

you receive a funny look from gojo, and he crosses his arms before snorting. "yeah, ok. i totally believe you."

"how do you know that name," you say quietly, your eyes still scanning your surroundings. your shoulders are tense, and gojo can tell that you're seconds away from sprinting out of your seat and away from him.

"it's a pretty well known name in the jujutsu world," gojo responds, his head tilting as he looks at you questioningly. "so you know about curses, but not about the clans?"

"sorry, i'm afraid learning about the politics of the jujutsu world was the least of my worries," you reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you do so. gojo thinks it's kind of endearing. "the information on curses was much more important, so i kinda just tuned out my parents when they gave me that lecture."

gojo chuckles, shaking his head slightly at your words. he leans forward without much thought, holding out three fingers as he speaks. "there's three big jujutsu families that exist. there's the kamo clan, the gojo clan, and the zen'in clan. you and i belong to two of those. and all three of them are looking for you."

you shift in your seat at his words, giving him a wary glance before shrugging nonchalantly. "so you found me first. now what?"

there's a slight nervousness to your tone, causing gojo to frown. he shrugs, grabbing his glass and taking a drink. "i dunno. i wasn't sent on behalf of the gojo clan. i was sent by yaga masamichi, the principal of tokyo jujutsu high. we have no plans to turn you over to the higher-ups, it that makes this situation any better."

"then what do you plan on doing?"

"now that, i also don't know," gojo confesses. he notices the look of irritation on your face and chuckles. "all we know is that your power is too strong to be left unchecked. now, i'm not necessarily kidnapping you, but i am asking you to return to the school with me and speak with yaga. we think there's a way that your dreams could help jujutsu sorcerers know what they could possibly be dealing with on a mission ahead of time."

"i don't think that'll be possible," you mutter, frowning down at the table. you seem lost in thought, and gojo gives you a moment of silence before he speaks.

"what do you mean by that?" gojo's voice is soft, his eyebrows knit in concern as you give him a worried look.

"i mean that i don't think my dreams are reliable," you whisper, panic lacing your words.

"they're prophetic dreams!" gojo yells quietly. "what do you mean they're not reliable."

"ok, look," you say, pausing to reach for the half-eaten slice of cake. you finally take a bite, eyes lighting up as you hum with delight. "that is good! ok, anyways, i don't think my dreams are truly prophetic."

"that's literally not possible," gojo argues, eyes wide in disbelief. "it's a part of your cursed technique! everyone knows that the zen'in clan members with this ability are never wrong."

"well they are now!"

"what do you mean by that?"

"i mean that my dream wasn't accurate," you explain, taking another bite of the cake. you ignore gojo's confused look, sighing before pushing the plate back towards him. "that dream i had of you? yeah the real-life scenario didn't play out the way it was supposed to."

gojo's stare hardens as he processes your words, and he pushed the cake aside as he looks at you questioningly. "what do you mean it didn't play out the way it was supposed to?"

"you were supposed to die," you confess, your voice no louder than a whisper. the silence between the two of you is heavy, and you wonder if your admission was much too harsh. "in my dream, the curse attacked you after i failed to protect you. i don't know what changed."

"well, i'm the strongest sorcerer alive, so there's your answer," gojo says, an uncertain smile on his face as he tries to lighten the mood. "besides, i had to step up my game. i wasn't going to leave someone as precious as you to defend yourself."

his efforts pay off as you huff out a laugh. it's weak, but it manages to dispel the heaviness that had been previously present.

"listen," gojo begins, his tone uncharacteristically serious for the first time since you've approached him. "i'm not trying to freak you out or anything, but that's incredibly strange. there has never been a zen'in prophetic dream that didn't come true. i really think you should speak with yaga, or tengen. but i won't force you to."

"tengen?" you ask, confusion on your face as you look down at the table. "who's that?"

"long story," gojo breathes, making the decision to let yaga fill you in on that. "but what do you say? i'd really like to figure this out, but i kinda need you in order to be able to do that."

there's a moment of hesitation on your end, and gojo finds himself tensing up as he waits for you to speak. he's almost certain that you're going to decline, and he's afraid that once you walk out of the café, you'll be gone forever once again. his fears are dispelled when you look up to meet his gaze, determination clearly visible in your eyes as you nod.

"okay, i'll go with you."

"great!" gojo says, his grin reappearing as he stands. he places a small wad of cash on the table before walking around the table to you and offering you his hand. you've barely slipped your hand into his before he tugs you towards him, his grin getting wider as you bump into his chest. you don't get the chance to say anything before he's walking out of the café, throwing a cursory glance around before heading down the street. "let's get out of here. we shouldn't stay in one place too long, just in case."

gojo chatters endlessly once again as you presumably head towards tokyo jujutsu high, and you find yourself staring at him as you recall your entire day in your mind. gojo satoru had single-handedly disrupted the course of fate, and neither one of you had any idea as to how.

you can feel a headache coming on the longer you stare at him, and you finally look away when he glances back at you and gives you a charming grin.

you have no idea who gojo satoru is, but if he has the power to change the course of your prophetic dreams, then you're determined to find out more about him.

and he sure as hell wasn't going to complain about that.

reblogs are appreciated <3 thank you for reading!!

[beneathstarryskies]

Word Count: 2,986

Summary: At his low point, Geto decided to take a change on striking up a conversation with someone at a cafe. This conversation drives him into finding a new purpose.

Warnings: smut, fem!reader, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, depression, AU!Geto (he doesn't become a genocidal maniac), pussy saves lives, also Nanami makes a brief appearance

A/N: Shout out to my babygirl @actuallysaiyan for helping me stay inspired to finish this ❤️

Exorcise. Consume. Repeat. Exorcise. Consume. Repeat. Exorcise. Consume. Repeat. Exorcise. Consume. Repeat. 

It’s a brutal, mind-numbing cycle Geto has been stuck in for so long he doesn’t know if he’s capable of doing anything else. No matter what kind of path he tries to imagine for his future, it also comes down to the same cycle. He doesn’t recognize himself anymore. He never sees Satoru or Shoko. He feels stuck. Like a caged animal being prodded with sticks and struck by stones. 

It’s like watching a car crash and being unable to look away. Or worse it was like hearing the gunshot and then seeing Riko fall to the ground. That feeling of utter helplessness has never left except now he’s the one holding the gun and he doesn’t know where he’s going to point it. 

“I’m fucking done,” he hears Kento Nanami’s voice. The utter disdain in his voice is what grabs Suguru’s attention. Nanami is carrying a duffel bag on his shoulders, and Suguru sees him in something aside from his uniform for the first time.

“Kento, what’s wrong?” Suguru asks, setting aside his soda to walk outside. When Kento turns to face him, there’s an anxious look in his eyes. His jaw is set tight. 

“What are we dying for, Suguru?” Nanami asks. “I mean seriously?” 

“To…protect…” Suguru winces at the lack of conviction in his words. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Nanami rolls his eyes. “I’m out of here. I want to fucking live, okay?” 

Live. 

What does a life without sorcery even look like? Nanami has always been a bright spark of intelligence, and he’d shyly told Suguru a few months back he’d been accepted into college. Suguru wonders if he’d ever be able to get into college, but somehow he doubts it. 

He watches the younger sorcerer get into the car and then leave. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see Nanami again, and part of him hopes the answer is no. He wants Nanami to live as he said. 

Geto goes to grab his soda from where he left it, then he starts towards his dorm. He can’t stop thinking about what Nanami said. When he returns to his room, he changes clothes instead of moping around as he had planned. He puts on black pants and a sweater before going outside to get on his motorcycle. He rides into the city, not knowing exactly where he’s going until he ends up in front of a coffee shop. He doesn’t know why he stops here, but it’s better than wandering. 

He walks inside, and heads to the counter to order a coffee. He’s standing at the other end waiting for it to get done when he notices you. 

You’re sitting in a table by the window, scribbling away in your notebook. He can hear you humming softly, a song he vaguely recognizes. He’s never been one to approach strangers like this, but he likes the look of you. You’re pretty and you seem just unaffected. 

“Hi,” he says shyly as he approaches you with his coffee. “Can I sit?” 

“Oh, sure!” you smile softly and move your things. He’d expected you to look around at least to see if the other seats were taken before accepting him into your space, but you didn’t. “Nice bike,” you say sweetly. “I saw you pull up earlier.” 

“Ah, thanks. Sometimes I think it takes more work to keep her on the road than it’s worth.” 

“Everyone needs a pet project,” you shrug. 

Geto grins but hides it behind taking a sip of his coffee. You close your notebook and slide it into your bag. 

“I’m Geto Suguru,” he introduces himself. You smile and introduce yourself as well. He can’t remember the last time he spent more than five minutes in the company of a non-sorcerer. Ever since what happened at the temple…Seeing all those people cheer for Riko’s death…The thought of non-sorcerers made his stomach turn. 

“Do you go to the university?” you ask, and he realizes he has ventured close to the college. He wonders if it’s the same one Kento will be attending. 

“Me? No,” he chuckles. “You?” 

You nod, “Yeah, I’m actually between classes right now.” 

“What are you studying?” 

The second the question leaves his lips, a spark of excitement enters your eyes. You begin rambling animatedly about your studies, your future plans, and sharing pieces of knowledge you’ve picked up. His heart swells with affection as the way you smile when talking about it. Then, your smile fades into shyness and you look down at your coffee cup. 

There had been a time 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that,” you say shyly.

“No, please, don’t apologize,” he smiles. He wants to reach out to take your hand. Not just for your comfort but for his sanity, he wants to seek connection. His hand is already on the table, fingers stretching out in search of yours. He stops himself, but barely. He closes his fist and pulls his hand back. If you’d noticed, it didn’t dull the sparkle in your eyes. 

“I have to go to class, but would you like to exchange numbers?” you ask, and you’re already digging your notebook out of your bag again. 

“I’d like that,” Suguru grins as he watches you scribble your name and number. You pass it to him, and he feels a jolt of happiness when your fingers touch. It’s been so long since he felt someone’s touch. 

“Will you text me, for real?” you ask as you put your notebook away again. 

“I really will,” he smiles and carefully folds the paper.

Suguru returns to campus feeling something shift inside of him. He wants to live. 

Satoru is leaning against the wall beside the door to Suguru’s dorm. He’s looking at his phone, feeling so secure he doesn’t even look up to see who is approaching. 

“Where have you been?” Satoru asks. “I’ve been waiting forever.” 

“I went out on my bike,” Suguru opens the door. “Are you coming in?” 

“Yeah, duh,” Satoru follows him inside his dorm. It’s been ages since they hung out, but it’s never awkward between them. Still, Satoru notices something is different about Suguru. He seems relaxed. “So what have you been up to?” 

“Oh, you know, exorcise, consume, repeat…” Suguru wonders what will happen to the curses inside of him. When he leaves the jujutsu world, he guesses the curses will remain a part of him. 

“Nanami left,” Satoru says as he sits on the bed. 

“I know, I spoke with him.” 

“Too bad…I like Nanami,” Gojo pouts. 

“He hates you.” 

“No he doesn’t, he just pretends he does.” 

Suguru smirks, “Alright, Satoru.” Suguru leans against the wall, studying Satoru carefully before speaking again. This time he’s quieter, more serious. It’s a tone Satoru knows requires attention. “Have you ever though about leaving?” 

“Where would I go?” Satoru shrugs. 

“I suppose it’s different for you.”

Unlike most sorcerers, Satoru benefits greatly from being a sorcerer just by being who he is. He’s afforded almost any privilege imaginable. Suguru doubts Satoru would know how to function as a normal member of society. 

“Are you going to leave, Suguru?”

“I don’t know, Satoru.” 

**

You were shocked when Geto texted you. Part of you had figured he’d forget your shared moment in the coffee shop. You spend weeks chatting back and forth. You like him. He seems kind and intelligent in ways different from most of the people you meet. He hasn’t pushed for a date or in-person meeting again. He doesn’t ask for nudes or surprise you with a dick pic. You almost wonder if you’ve imagined him. 

Then, one night, after weeks of texting, he asks if you want to go out the coming weekend. You’re shocked, but thrilled, to receive the invitation. You agree to meet at a restaurant for dinner. 

For the next few days, Suguru focuses on settling into his new apartment so it’s not a mess on your date night. He doesn’t want to assume you’ll come back to his place, but his time as a sorcerer taught him to be prepared for any possibility. 

His preparation proves to be a good idea on the night of your date when he talks you into coming back to his place. It didn’t take much convincing on his part. You’ve been wanting to spend more time with him ever since you started texting. He holds your hand as he opens the door to let you inside. 

His heart is racing as he guides you to the couch and lets you settle in. You notice right away how sparse the decoration is. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he offers. Truth be told, lately, he’s been drinking more than he should to fight off the loneliness of living outside of a dorm for the first time in so long. 

“I’m okay,” you smile and pat the spot beside you on the couch. “Come here.” 

He feels nervous as he sits next to you. His hand wraps around yours and he squeezes gently. A smile crosses your face as you look up at him and say, “This has been a great date.” 

“I agree,” he blushes. “It’s been a while since I went on a date.”

Your eyes move down to his mouth. He sees your tongue dart along your bottom lip and he knows what you want. A pang of panic hits him. He has a fear of you being able to taste the disdainful curses on his tongue. You lean closer, your lips parting with anticipation. At the last moment, he turns his head away so you end up sloppily kissing his cheek. You’re mortified at the mistake, then your heart sinks into your chest when you realize he’d dodged your kiss on purpose. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” you swallow hard, trying to clear the lump in your throat. 

He watches your face drop. The look of sadness in your eyes breaks his heart. He holds your hands and tries to think of a way to explain this to you. He doesn’t know how to explain the fear of you being disgusted by the taste of his lips. He kisses your knuckles. 

“I apologize,” he says softly. 

“Do you not want to kiss?” 

He blushes, “I do…But…” 

“You’re scared?” 

It’s a shot in the dark, but your aim is surprisingly good. Geto’s cheeks burn and he looks down at your intertwined hands. 

“I am terrified,” he admits. 

“We don’t have to,” you assure him. 

Your understanding only makes him want to kiss you more. He leans in. His lips are gentle and tentative as they press against yours. His fingers dig into the couch cushion in anticipation of that moment when you pull back to look at him with disgust when you taste the curses on his breath. He gasps in a mixture of shock and relief when instead deepens the kiss. In the split moment of openness offered by his gasp, your tongue slides into his mouth. His hand moves from the couch cushion to cup your cheek, and he moans as he eagerly drinks up your kiss. The sweetness of your mouth provides a temporary relief. He finds himself chasing your lips when you pull away, a shy smile tugging at the curve of your cheeks. 

“Was that scary?” you ask. 

“Not at all,” he groans and kisses you again. 

You tangle your hands in his long black hair. When you reach the roots, you tug gently. He moans against your mouth, shoving his tongue between your teeth to seek out your tongue with his. 

The thought crosses his mind that you must taste this good everywhere. He has to find out. He nuzzles against your neck and his tongue darts across your skin. His large hands eagerly knead at your hips. 

“S-suguru,” you whimper. 

He pulls back, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed hesitant at first.” 

He pulls you closer by your hips, “I know, I’m sorry. I want to continue if you do.” 

You smile, “Yeah, I want to.” 

“Alright,” he blushes. He stands up and offers his hand for you. Then, he leads you to his room. He keeps it quite neat and minimalistic in his space. 

He closes the door before grabbing you again. His hands move over the soft material of your dress before carefully lifting it over your head. He takes a moment to admire your figure standing before him draped only on your bra and panties. His admiration is disrupted by the feeling of you tugging at his shirt. He smirks and lifts his arms. You have to stand on your tiptoes to lift the shirt off completely, then it joins the pile with your dress. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers before seizing your lips again. His hands move over your body in a greedy exploration before finding your bra clasp. He opens it with ease and his fingers are deft to guide the straps down your arms. 

“Am I going too fast?” he asks. 

“No, it’s good,” you kiss him sweetly. 

He carefully lays you down on the bed, his broad form hovering over you. You notice the scars littering his body, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look further before he lowers himself to your chest. His breath is warm on your skin, heated up further by the open-mouthed kisses left along the swell of your breasts. He feels your hands in his hair, tugging him towards your sensitive spots. He relinquishes his curious exploration in favor of learning which spots drive you crazy. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your stomach. His teeth scrape against your abdomen before he spreads your thighs. Your panties cling to your wet folds. He pulls the flimsy garment off before kissing down your thigh. 

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, suddenly seeming so shy. 

“What?” he looks up at you. He furrows his brows when he realizes what you mean. “I want to, baby.” 

Want is a rather weak word. He needs to taste you. 

“Are you sure?” 

He kisses your mound, “I’m certain.” 

You nod shyly, and he is all too eager to bury his face between your thighs. His tongue laps at your slit, hungry grunts falling from him as he relishes the taste of your arousal. He doesn’t taste curses. He doesn’t taste anything but the musky sweetness of your cunt on his tongue. 

The pleasure rolls through your core in intense waves with every smooth lick and suckle. You tremble in an attempt to keep still as he teases out more and more sensations. His strong hands keep your thighs spread wide so he can fully focus his attention on the feast laid out before him. He stays buried between your thighs until he notices the tell-tale signs of you being close. Your tense thighs and needy whines tell him all he needs to know. He pulls away from your cunt just as you’re about to cum. 

“Fuck, look what you’ve done,” he groans as he sits up on his knees and cups the prominent bulge at the front of his pants. “You still wanna keep going?” 

“Yes,” you whine. 

He pushes his pants down past his ass before slotting himself between your legs. He reaches down to stroke his cock a few times, then drags the tip between your soaked folds. The head prods at your hole, and he begins pushing in carefully. He watches your face contort with pleasure as he fills you. Once he’s bottomed out, he brings himself lower so your chests are pressed together. You can almost feel his heart racing against your chest. 

“You feel so good,” he kisses your forehead and nose. 

His hips begin to rock at a slow, sensual pace. Your nails dig into his back as you lock your legs around his waist, moaning at the pace he’s keeping. Your kisses are sloppy, more tongue than lips. Your moans pass between your mouths like a breath. 

The lingering feeling of your earlier orgasm he’d deprived you off makes the perfect foundation for what’s to come. Already you can feel it, twisting in your core. His cock hits the sweet spot inside you with precision. 

“Suguru, I’m close,” you moan. 

“Good, baby. Cum on my cock.” 

With a few more deep thrusts, you’re crying out his name in unbridled pleasure. The way your walls clench around him as you cum is nearly enough to drive him over the edge. 

“Can I cum inside you, baby?” he asks, his voice husky. Without much thought you nod eagerly. 

He braces one hand against the pillow by your head, squeezing the material as he starts chasing his high. His pace is sloppier and quicker now. He bites his lip so hard it almost draws blood, then at the moment of climax his mouth parts in a silent cry. His cock throbs as he releases inside you. 

As you both come down, he nuzzles against you. You’re both panting to catch your breath. You caress his back until he lifts himself up again. He carefully pulls out of you and lays next to you on the bed. 

“Stay with me,” he murmurs as he gathers you up in his arms. 

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Prompt List: Fantasy/Sci-Fi (8)

Masterpost by creativepromptsforwriting

Of Angels and Demons

The Demon smirked. Soon he would have both, the other’s body and soul. (Prompt #11)

Chasing demons away seems to be so much more fun on TV. (Prompt #131)

"You're an angel." "Am I? What's an angel without its wings?" (Prompt #229: Quotes)

Who needs a guardian angel when you can have a half-decent demon? (Prompt #248)

It wasn't the vases and the glasses that got knocked over everyday that annoyed him the most about his new roommate. It was in the morning when he woke up with a too warm body next to him and a mouth full of feathers that he thought he definitely didn't sign up for this when he became a demon. (Prompt #264)

"What can I say? Opposites attract." "That is really not a good excuse for sleeping with a bloody angel!" (Prompt #284)

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" "It ripped out my wings, so yes, it did hurt." (Prompt #293)

When people think about angels, they think about golden locks, white wings and fluffy clouds under their innocent white dresses. But even though there are angels with blond hair and white wings they definitely have better things to do than sitting on a cloud and playing the harp all day. (Prompt #314)

"So this doesn't bother you?" "Honestly the wings are kinda disconcerting." (Prompt #345: x)

"I don't get love stories. Two random people meet and both think the other is cool and they tell each other? Totally unrealistic." "But, honey, that’s how we met and why we're married now." "Yes. Totally unrealistic." (Prompt #543)

"You said you were an angel!" "Oh, I was. I must have forgotten to tell you about the 'fallen' part." (Prompt #589)

In the deepest dark of night, a woman waits for her demon lover. (Prompt #602: x)

"Out of the all the demon's I've exorcised… Why won't you budge?" "Cause I'm not a demon, Father. I'm a God." (Prompt #603: x)

"Can we go on one date without you causing someone trauma?" "Babe, I'm a demon. What do you expect me to do?" (Prompt #644: x)

Having a high-ranking demon on speed dial did come in handy sometimes. (Prompt #764)

If you believe in angels, you have to believe in demons too. (Prompt #766)

Sometimes when you do stupid stuff, you just know your guardian angel will be disappointed in you. (Prompt #1052)

Sometimes guardian angels don’t have a lovely singing voice and a set of fluffy wings, sometimes they have a deep frown on their face and a very bad attitude. (Prompt #1073)

It's nice to be safe, but why does your guardian angel have to hold your hand all the time to keep you safe. (Prompt #1090)

Write about an angel and a demon who team up together and try to hide their partnership from their respective bosses. (Prompt #1113)

More: Guardian Angel Prompts

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[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls Chapter 12 part 1/2

Masterpost

Call me when you’re free!!!!!!

“Geeze,” Danny muttered. “Calm down, Jazz.” Still, he did what she said. He hefted up his backpack, waved goodbye to his shift relief, and dialed her up as he jogged down the library stairs.

“I’ve found two solutions!”

Danny winced at how cheerful his sister’s voice was. “Great!” He tried to match her enthusiasm, despite feeling like something that had been peeled off the sidewalk. He’d ended up working the morning shift on Saturday anyways. “Should I come over?”

“No.” Jazz sounded a little shifty. “I think it’s best if you don’t come over right now.”

“I’m not nuts!” her roommate was faintly audible, as was some kind of repetitive thwap. “We are getting this place fumigated and cleansed and exorcised-

Jazz must have power walked away from poor Tiffany. Her voice faded out. “Ahem.”

Danny pressed his lips together tightly and tried not to laugh. There was a brief space in the conversation where he probably should have said ‘I’m sorry that I made her think your place was haunted.’ But honestly? In a very literal sense, it had been haunted?

“Danny,” Jazz said, in her quiet scary voice, “shut up.”

He shut up even harder than he’d been shutting up before.

She continued in one of her determined tones that meant there was no point in arguing unless it was a hill he was willing to die on. “I am not going to stay in your place because it’s small and scary.”

‘You’re scarier,’ Danny thought mutinously. ‘You’re scarier than anything in my apartment.’

Aloud, he said something else. “Then where?” He did his best to communicate, dummy, via his tone. “I don’t think this is a coffee shop conversation.”

More importantly, he didn’t really have much coffee shop budget. Jazz didn’t have that much either. They were both on scholarships and part time jobs.

“Of course not,” Jazz said practically. “The main Gotham public library is a mid-point and you can rent out a room there for hour blocks. I’ll reserve it online on the way there. I’m halfway to the train station now. What’s your ETA- you just left campus, right?”

Danny looked down at his foot incredulously as he stepped off the final cement stair onto the sidewalk. How did she know that? He looked around dumbly for a know-it-all sister spy plane or something.

“I’ll get a media room from 3-4 pm, that gives you time to stop and get us drinks and snacks. I’ll pay you back, budget of 10 dollars. That sound okay?”

“Fine.” Danny sighed heavily. “Yeah, I can get to that area pretty fast.” He hung up and resigned himself to pushing through foot traffic. He was a lot closer than Jazz was at the moment. He put his head down and ignored the masses of humanity for a little more than 20 minutes of walking. The high lifted roof of the city's main library came into view over the surrounding buildings.

There was a grocery store pretty close by. Danny detoured there and got wrapped sandwiches, chips, and coffees. He hid them all in his backpack just in case the library had a no-food policy.

Then he checked his phone. Jazz had sent him a text telling him the floor and room number in the library. He also had seven missed calls from his parents. That initially freaked him out until he noticed that Dad had sent him a link to an update on the family blog with a string of ghost and wink emojis.

Yeah ok. It wasn't going to be important in the slightest. He ignored his parents.

He jogged the rest of the way to the library and then up the ramp. Danny slipped in the doors and enjoyed the rush of air conditioning. He nodded to the librarian visible from the door and then took the main stairs at an easy pace up to the fourth floor. The rented media room was a straight shot to the back. His sister was waiting to pounce when he opened the door.

“Get back, beast,” Danny said, alarmed. He held his backpack out like it would ward her away.

“Open it!” Jazz demanded.

Holy cow. Uh. He scrambled to unzip it and hold out the plastic shopping bag in offering.

“Gimme gimme, thank you,” Jazz sang and she snatched the snacks from his hands. Danny blew on his fingers pointedly as if her speed burnt his fingertips. She ignored him and unwrapped the ham and cheese at lightning speed.

Oof. Danny kept his fingers a little closer so they didn't get bitten off and side-eyed his big sister as she all but inhaled the sandwich. He popped open the chips bag and ate a couple, feeling a bit freaked out by how ravenous she was. He opened his mouth to comment and then thought better of it.

“Are those for both of us?” Jazz swallowed her sandwich and pointed at the chip bag.

Danny held his hands up and let her take it away. “Geeze,” he said, quietly. He took his own sandwich out from the bag that Jazz had abandoned and ate it at a more normal speed. By the time he'd finished Jazz was content with the chips. He cautiously reached out and fished the bag back towards him. A glance inside showed that she'd left about half.

“So!” Jazz clapped her hands like she had pretensions of being a preschool teacher.

“That body language making you friends at Arkham?” Danny jabbed. He popped a chip in his mouth and crunched down.

Jass casually flipped him off. “Yes, actually,” she said primly. “Dr. Quinn was very complimentary-”

“Before she broke out?” Danny said dryly around a mouthful of chips.

“-and I have formed meaningful clinical bonds with many other patients. But I digress.” She gave him a version of her smug face. She, as always, looked like that meme of the knife cat. “I have two solutions for you.”

[vivalabunbun]

Overdue Books and Ghost Stories

Summary: If the scholars at the Akademiya are so smart, why can’t they remember a few due dates? 

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags: Alhaithamx GN! Reader, Shy! Reader (you hate eye contact), Librarian! Reader, Fluff, SFW, attempts at humor, pure fluff, written before 3.6 so Alhaitham is still acting grand sage, slowish burn?, Akademiya setting, slight mutual pining, Sumeru boys drive the librarian insane, especially a certain gray-haired bookworm. 

Authors note: I just wanted something light-hearted and fun to write as a reward for getting stuff done. Shy people who force themselves to be responsible and hate eye contact unite! Enjoy!

He’s being followed. 

Alhaitham can feel the fleeting presence lingering just a few seconds behind him.

The warm late afternoon breeze caressing through his grey locks, his cape trailing behind, and belt clattering with each fluid step. Teal-orange eyes faced forward towards the hectic stall-lined streets, but his attention was focused on the ghost that trails him from behind. 

Every merge into the crowded pathways lined with vendors, every sharp turn down hidden allies, every street he circles back on, the traces linger like a dream fleeting from the memories of deep sleep.

He can’t allow a ghost to accompany him home, lest it decides to haunt the house. 

Alhaitham had wasted enough time walking in aimless circles, if he can’t throw off the ghost, he concludes he must exorcise it. 

Long legs pivot into an alley confined by stone walls and empty of shouting merchants and haggling shoppers. One, two, three slow strides towards the pale dead end that faced him. 

“I know you’re there. Might as well stop with the games.” 

Ghosts don’t exist outside tales told to innocent children to keep them tucked tightly under the covers. However, the iniquitous villains that terrorize the plot do, and they’re known as humans. 

Were they going to fight or flee? 

The presence behind Alhaitham finally materialized into something more than a fleeting dream. He glanced over his shoulder, hand ready to summon his sword. Behind him stood an unassuming figure, with no sensible ill intentions, their hands up as a sign of surrender.

Eyes adverted elsewhere like a child caught trying to sneak one more piece of candied Ajilenakh Nut. 

The viridescent robe that enveloped your figure paired with the matching barrette, there’s no mistaking your identity. Another scholar from the Akademiya, great. 

With power comes prestige, two notions Alhaitham couldn’t care less for. He was more than satisfied as a simple Scribe filing away applications in the archives away from searching eyes.

Those days were a luxury stolen from him by the title of “Acting Grand Sage”. 

Now it wasn’t an uncommon sight for some researcher to come floundering through the crowded halls of the institution towards the ashen-haired man. From time to time there would be the bold student, agglutinating to his side with their wasted attempts at a conversation.

With great power comes great inconveniences. 

Inconveniences that unabashedly believed their polite smiles could divert his teal gaze away from the insincerity. That offering a cup of coffee along with a rehearsed elevator pitch could sow the seeds of a superficial bridge.

One where they’d walk across with forms awaiting a signature along dotted lines or a towards a potential high seat at the Akademiya.

Their desire for this absent bridge coerced them to shallow down their pride, spurring this fruitless endeavor despite the Acting Grand Sage’s indifference and unreturned interest in small talk.

First, he was pressured into taking a position he didn’t want, then he became the target of people’s irrelevant aspirations, and most damning of it all even his privacy’s being invaded. To put it frankly, Alhaitham’s tired of it all.

Surely, it couldn’t take this long for the great institution of wisdom to select another leader, when can he finally stop this sham act?

“I’m off the clock, come find me on the next working day.” He’d prefer it if you didn’t. 

The frigidness of his words with their thinly veiled politeness didn’t cause a single muscle of yours to budge. 

“The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has been overdue for 6 weeks now, please return it to the House of Daena immediately.” A hand extended out in front of you, open and expecting. 

No introduction, no chivalrous greeting, no frivolous small talk. Alhaitham certainly wasn’t expecting this from the strange ghost that stalked him. 

Oh, so that’s where your eyes were. Honing in solely on the book currently clutched by his hip. One of the many books he signed out of the House Daena on a whim, simple academic works to stimulate his mind during the respite between busybodies and paperwork.

One he then promptly cast to the side by the beckoning of a journal from the restricted access collection. Only after a pile of files was removed from his desk that his eyes rediscovered the title. 

“I understand, I shall promptly return it by the end of the next work day.” 

“No, a student has requested this title for a week now, after they’re done with it, you may sign it out again.” Voice firm and steady as you gestured for the book to be returned to your hand. 

No. An unfamiliar word spoken in a tone now foreign to the towering man.

His keen eyes observed your homogeneous uniform of standard greens and gold, you must be a regular librarian employed by the Akademiya. The Akademiya currently under his jurisdiction.

How bold of you, or has this job already drained you of all sense of self-preservation? 

Regardless, your statement wasn’t without merit. The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium doesn’t belong to him, and who was he to inconvenience a standard employee this Wednesday afternoon?

It wouldn’t serve him any benefit to be in the ire of a librarian, Alhaitham concludes it would be wise to just surrender the book. So he relinquished it.

From your pocket, your other hand produced a slip of parchment. 

“Here is the late fee, please address the payment to the House of Daena by next Wednesday.” 

Instead of offering the Acting Grand Sage a cup of coffee, you offered him a fine in exchange for confiscating his book.

With a slight bow, the ghost was exorcised, ambling back into the busy streets of Sumeru City until your back disappears from his teal eyes. 

Alhaitham was left with no introduction, no coffee, and no book to spend the evening with. Even still, his mind has found something else to ponder about to pass the time.

Alhaitham slowly rejoins the buzzing city streets, the chattering voices carried by the cool breeze that rustled his cape and made his ash locks brush his cheeks. 

‘How refreshing,’ he thought. 

 When the current Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya was announced most people never heard his name before. Have they ever shared a class together? Were they ever in a group research project together? How could someone so brilliant escape the eyes of eager upstarts?

They could’ve had a prominent headstart in their careers if they’d built those bridges all those years back. 

To be fair, you would’ve fallen into the clueless demographic as well. Were the two of you in the same graduating class? If your job didn’t require you to check the library ledgers every day, his name would’ve eluded you.

Even with a brisk thumbing through of the ledgers, it’s hard to miss the repetition printed on the pages. 

Alhaitham was a regular name to be found in the library ledgers, you’d even argue he’s the biggest patron of the House of Daena. 

However, it wasn’t the only pattern that would jump out to even the blindest man in Teyvat. What would be printed next to each book signed out by Alhaitham? Overdue.

Yes, you would think a man brilliant enough to plan the greatest insurrection in Sumeru’s history could remember a few due dates. But the ledgers refute that impression. 

Before, the Scribe turned Grand Sage would simply return the books 1 or 2 weeks overdue and pay the fee at the same time.

Was it due to the increased responsibilities that now befell him or the increased financial freedom granted by a bigger paycheck that caused this pattern of extended tardiness? 

Regardless, The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has returned back to the House of Daena, much to the delight of a hysterical student who pushed off a paper for a bit too long.

That Wednesday afternoon was the first time you spoke to the mysterious man of infamy, in an alleyway tucked away from prying eyes. He gave you the book without much of a fight and accepted the punishment without complaint. 

If only it was always this easy. 

First impression overall? The whispers in the halls were an inaccurate depiction of Alhaitham. To you at least, he was a rather tolerable man with a good sense of regulations, handsome hands too.

Was your first impression bad? Impudent even? Script rushed by the pounding metronome of your heart, skipping over a few key sentences, like an introduction. 

Oh, you also forgot to call him Grand Sage… Surely he won’t hold such a petty grudge over that, he seems sensible.  

You flipped through the library ledgers one last time before your duties ended for the day, stopping on a page as you pursed your lip at the familiar name next to The Critique of Pure Reason boldly stamped overdue. 

If only the Grand Sage would fix this sloppy habit of his. 

Alhaitham is very much aware of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, the frequency illusion. The tendency to notice something more often after noticing it for the first time. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the exact inception of this phenomenon he was experiencing, a certain meeting in an alleyway. 

–

“General Mahamatra,” A distinct cadence enticed the Ashen-haired man’s focus away from the matra delivering his daily report. 

There’s a hush that befell the halls of the Akademiya today, no reason to speculate, it’d obvious to even the dimmest of fools. Cyno, the General Mahamatra, returned today from the sandy wastelands. 

In fact, Alhaitham had just concluded his brief discussion with the electro wielder a few moments prior. The General left the paperwork delivery to the woefully ignored matra currently in front of the dendro wielder. 

The faint reverberation of the dreaded title paralyzed the few scholars and researchers that dared roam the in presence of the General. Intense scarlet eyes centered on the viridescent clad librarian that called, your eyes seemed occupied with the object encased by tan fingers. 

“Law and Order of the Pursuit of Wisdom is overdue.” A steady cadence incited the General. 

“By how long?” Spoke an authoritarian tone. 

“8 weeks, General.” There wasn’t the slightest pause from you. 

The dense tension within the enclosed space was palpable, many pairs of eyes fixed on the scene happening under these fluorescent lights.

The seconds counting down to the decisive moment, what will become of the incautious librarian after this show-down? 

…

“My apologies, I should’ve returned the book before I embarked, may I pay the fee now?” The treacherous edge was absent from the general’s voice. 

With a swift nod, you turned on your heel, leading the General Mahamatra toward the judgment awaiting him in the House of Daena. A sight so flipped on its head, the witnesses of this event couldn’t seem to decide which direction was up anymore.

–

“Mr. Kaveh.” 

A librarian intercepted a certain famed architect’s search for a certain Grand Sage evading the responsibilities piling up on a polished desk.

A spectacle was certainly about to happen in the House of Daena, Alhaitham gathers from his position just covered by a towering bookshelf. 

“Oh, yes?” The furrow between blond eyebrows dissipates in an instant, his fury distracted for now by the polite use of his name. 

“Were you the one to sign out The Death and Life of Great Design, Mr. Kaveh?” You held out the title in question, holy text for every architecture, your impassive eyes trained on the cover. 

“That’s correct, I’m certain I returned it in time, has anything arisen?” The light of Kshahrewar raised a brow at the sudden inquiry.

“Would you mind explaining this, Mr. Kaveh?” 

The book was pried open, revealing to the world the chaotic collage of jumbled words and sketches haphazardly scribbled among the print with the faintest whiff of wine.

Even from this distance, the bold vandalism was observable to his teal eyes. So was the slackened jaw of the architect with his now saucer-sized eyes. 

The closest equivalent Alhaitham could compare your current expression with was a parent’s gaze toward the discovery of a crayon mural on a wall. Three pairs of eyes observing the blatant defacement of literature. 

“The replacement cost of this book is 141,471 mora, it was an antique print.” Your hands gingerly shut the covers, hiding the book’s shame away. 

 “H-how much??” 

“I’ve written the amount down on this form, please address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of this month, Mr. Kaveh.” From your pocket, you presented the blonde with a fine that exacerbated his dreadful finances. 

With this, your performance concluded, a mannered bow before swiveling back to your post at the library’s front desk. Leaving the famed Kaveh silent and color absent from his face, the slip of parchment pathetically pinched between ailing fingers. 

Stepping back into the shadow of the shelves, Alhaitham reaches a hand up to enable the feature of his earphones that preserves his sanity. He already had a premonition of what was to greet him, might as well enjoy the fleeting moments of silence while it lasted. 

–

The sky over Sumeru was a brilliant blue, tufts of fluffy clouds cushioned the earth from the harshest rays of the sun, but not enough to embargo the comforting warmth. It’d be a shame to throw away such beautiful weather in the confines of an office.

Enough justification for Alhaitham to enjoy a quiet reading session under a hidden pavilion, just to the side of a neglected pathway at the Akademiya. 

Just because a place is neglected, it doesn’t mean it’s completely abandoned. The scurrying of two sets of steps made their presence known along the uneven path. 

“Please return Handbook of Qualitative Research to the House of Daena,” your stony voice perked his ears. 

Those words weren’t directed towards the unseen Acting Grand Sage, no, they were addressed towards the researcher whom you were just a few seconds behind. Impassive gaze concentrated on the overdue book in his arms. 

The exasperated man huffed out a breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his dry eyes drooping under the weight of the discolored skin hanging under them. Alhaitham hypothesizes that this must have gone on for a while. 

“Listen, I know it’s overdue, I promise to return it once this report is finished.” The researcher tries to quicken his strides. 

“No, it’s late 4 weeks now, please hand over the book.” That signature gesture made its appearance, palms open and expecting, your pace never once faltering. 

“Could you please make an exception, just this once?” Tired exasperation morphing into a sharper edge. 

“There are three other patrons queuing for this book, I’ll add you to the list and notify you once the title is available again.” Indifferent eyes never once left the imprisoned book. 

Ah, your words became the straw that broke the Sumpter Beast’s back.

“Three? THREE??! I don’t have the time! If they’re students they can wait, this project has dragged out for months, months! It’s only now drawing to a close, oh for the love of Lesser Lord Kusanali, just let me-”

Fatigue overboiled into raw frustration, the researcher now lively as ever, moved senselessly close to your face. 

One boot-clad step makes its appearance from behind a pillar. It’d be best to de-escalate the situation now before the potential for a physical alteration manifests into reality.

Especially for a librarian that’s too focused on a book to recognize the looming threat. As Acting Grand Sage, maintaining order was the priority.  

Instantaneously, a lone finger shot out towards the azure sky, with it followed the wearied eyes of a man mid-manifesto. The hypnotically soothing hue of the vast space momentarily ceased the researcher’s grievance, reminding him of the bigger picture, of the bigger world. 

Bringing him comfort with the realization that these sleepless nights won’t be permanent, that this too shall pass. 

Was that the goal of your diversion? Probably not. Regardless, the hostage has been rescued into your secure arms, back where the book belonged.

The view of the sky must’ve reminded the researcher’s body of its limit, as his movements faltered back sluggishly. Bloodshot eyes blinking at his now empty hands. 

“Please address the payment to the House of Daena by next week.” A slip of parchment produced from your pocket fills that void for him. 

Without another word, the librarian trekked back up the beaten path, leaving behind two very silent men. With only the researcher’s figure left in sight, Alhaitham’s mind quickly lost interest.

Withdrawing back behind the cover of the marble pillar, he couldn’t help but recount the details. 

‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’. All names coined by the sleep-deprived minds of slouching students and destitute scholars awaiting the saving grace that was their paycheck. 

Perhaps it’s that inorganic cadence of your voice. Or how one of your hands reaches out to demand the return of printed works while the other indited the transgressors with a note worth months of coffee.

Maybe it’s the focus of your catatonic gaze solely upon the books in question, denying wrongdoers a chance of mercy formed by eye contact. 

An itch tickled the back of Alhaitham’s throat, the same sensation that tugged the corner of his lips upwards towards the brilliant sky.

How did such a fascinating individual slip away from under his nose for so long? 

Almost there, just a little longer, the doors to the House of Daena came into view, you’re so close to reprieve. One hand still clutching the freshly recused book against your chest, you pried the door to the staff room open. Empty.

Thank the Archons. 

Ducking into the sanctuary devoid of library patrons and chattering coworkers, sealing the solid wood behind your back, you could finally breathe.

Lungs burning for the taste of oxygen again, the pounding in your chest subsiding with each greedy gulp. Drained figure finding solstice against the sturdy door.

You achieved your goal, so why were you so defeated? 

His eyes got close, dangerously close. In your peripheral, the puffiness of his eye bags were in full detail. Your lids shut firmly as if shutting out the intrusive thoughts that threatened to infiltrate your mind.

It’s fine, everything is fine, your eyes never met. There’s no arrow in the back of your heel, the script has not gone off course. 

What a childish Achilles heel, eye contact, the most basic requirement for a conversation between peers and people. One you can’t fulfill. Even the briefest moment of connection will crumble the mask you dawn, exposing the puny coward to the world.

One look and you’ll be thrown off script, your career’s saving grace. 

Book overdue?: “Please return [Title] and address the late fee payment to the House of Danea by next week.” 

Damages?: “Please compensate the House of Daena for the damages done to [Title] by next month.”

Need a book that isn’t available?: “I’ll add your name to the waitlist for [Title] and inform you when it’s returned.” 

Lines rehearsed time and time again, now ingrained into your tongue, spoken by instinct. It’s not a conversation, it’s merely a stage play, performed by a coward shielded by a crafted blanket of indifference. 

‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’.

Better that they interpret your aversion to eye contact as malice instead of cowardice. After all, the world is not kind, especially not towards the meek. Papers and delegated responsibilities suddenly thrust upon those too shy to voice their dismay. 

What could the meek do? Nothing. So they’ll silently grit their teeth and bare it all as a doormat trampled by those whose voices don’t stumble and shutter. 

A scheme you’ve fell victim to time and time again within the walls of this hallow institute of knowledge. An experience under oath by oneself to never repeat again.

The intermission is over, the performer must return back to their positions. You unlatched the door, stepping back into the fluorescent lights of the House of Daena. 

Alhaitham is aware of the frequency illusion, however, he’d argue that it’s no longer an illusion. The ghost has come back to haunt him. For what reason? Alhaitham’s not sure. Surely his books aren’t that overdue, and if they were then why hasn’t your hand appeared in front of him? 

Instead, you left traces, whispers of your presence in the form of handkerchiefs and pressed flowers on slips of paper.

The evidence found beside the Acting Grande Sage’s lunches and piles of applications, his teal eyes always just catching the briefest viridescent wisp fleeing the scene of the crime. 

The ashen-haired man finds great delight in abstruse books, the rare feeling of reading a line more than once to grasp the concepts formed on the page.

He enjoys the sporadic occurrences that challenge his sharp mind, it’s good to feel fresh thoughts run through. 

Has Alhaitham found an archaic journal tucked away in some dusty corner? Perhaps he found a handwritten copy of a book, one with fewer than ten in existence. Was it a long-forgotten text that challenged contemporary beliefs?

Surely, to baffle the man known as Alhaitham, the scripts must have something reality-shattering. Like something saying that the azure sky, with its moon and sun, were nothing but mere imitations.   

No. It wasn’t any print signed out from the restricted collection in the House of Daena that had Alhaitham’s mind pondering the slightest nuances. It was the librarian, currently penning his name down in the ledgers, that perplexed the towering man. 

Humans are flawed in the sense that they’re uncomfortable with the concept of ‘unconditionality’. Everything has a fair price and equivalent exchange. One back was scratched in return for the same. So, what did you want? 

Were you trying to form a bridge? One crafted from slips of paper and thin decorative fabric? If so, then why has your introduction yet to reach his ears? 

The eyes are the window to the soul. Windows that offer indispensable insight into the other person’s agenda and convictions. For the Acting Grand Sage, it’s easier for him to gain access to the restricted vaults in the House of Daena than the librarian’s eyes. 

Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is a menace? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right? 

Could it be the nagging of Kshahrewar students, whining over the unavailability of their holy text, that made you hypersensitive to the treatment of printed works? 

The students should direct their grievances towards the ‘light’ of their Darshan, the one that defaced their holy text. You’re a librarian, not a magician you can’t make books appear from the abyss. 

It was a coincidence to witness the Grand Sage, Alhaitham, enjoying a shawarma wrap under the shade of a stained-glass pavilion. There’s nothing wrong with a man just having his lunch. However, there was something very wrong with how his other hand held a book.

Paper becomes discolored in the stained area and transparent as molecules of oil fill the spaces between cellulose fibers. Over time, the parchment will become brown and brittle, the ink lifted by the fatty acids. 

But what can you do? Interrupt the Grand Sage’s lunch? Lecture a superior on proper book care procedures? 

You’re not dense. 

Still, you could take some preventative measures. Done in the form of a handkerchief carefully folded just behind his right shoulder. He seemed too engrossed in the text to perceive your proximity to him. It was just for a few seconds anyways. You retreated. 

The next incident happened within the wall of the House of Daena, where food and drinks were strictly forbidden. It was a slow day, with nothing much to do besides returning a few books back to their proper homes along the hundreds of shelves. 

During one of the many trips pushing the cart back and forth along the path, a certain head of ashen hair with teal streaks fell into your peripheral. It must be a slow day for him too. The Grand Sage certainly made himself comfortable, desk piled with stacks of books strewn about. 

The purse on your lips returns as one side of your cheek is sucked in. A few of the books were opened and placed paper-side down on the smooth table. You witnessed him losing interest in his current text, letting it join the spread bodies of its fellow brethren. 

Laying a book face-down breaks the binding and weakens the hinges, where the covers attach to the pages. Some of those titles have existed for more than double your combined ages, think of their poor spines. 

Out of pity for the aged scripts and for your own patience, while passing his table from a pocket you slipped out a clumsily made bookmark.

Fashioned from scrap paper, craft supplies, and one of the many Sumeru Roses that dotted the paths in this nation. A new hobby of yours that’s proven itself useful. 

With your duty fulfilled you returned back among the towering shelves. 

–

The job of a Grand Sage is demanding, much more demand than the job description of a librarian, you understood that. However, surely there are enough hours in the day for him to have lunch and read separately. 

The position of Grand Sage means he often has to determine the best policies and actions. So why can’t he read one book at a time, close it properly, then pick up the next? 

Being the Grand Sage must be time-consuming and hectic, but he could at least send someone to return his books before the due date. 

How many handkerchiefs did you purchase in the last month alone? How many yards of decorative string? Is it possible to make the Sumeru Rose endangered? Would it be appropriate for you to itemize your purchases for reimbursement by the Akademiya? 

For a person that enjoys reading printed works, it seems that he’s only concerned with the contents of the book and not its physical well-being. A menace to literature. 

You were the unlucky sheep tasked with delivering the new budget proposal for the House of Daena. Stepping into the grand office after an unnecessarily long elevator ride, you wondered what violations will greet you this time, or if the elusive man was even here. 

Ambling towards his desk, eyes focused on the budget in front of you, only switching position once the polished wood came into view. 

Ah, he had another book face-down on the desk with one of your bookmarks just off to the side. He almost had it. Glancing up, your world momentarily stilled. 

The Grand Sage was in his office after all. Chest gently rose and fell, face supported by the back of his knuckle, long lashes closed. Thank Archons, he’s asleep. Your heart restarts its tempo. 

Your eyes quickly snapped back to the cover of the book, The Symposium, you recognized that title from this morning’s flip through the ledgers. It’s overdue.

There’s not even a point in sighing, you expected this. Flipping over the philosophical work you gingerly placed the bookmark in properly, then shut the covers closed. 

Curious eyes wandered back to the sleeping figure in the board seat. His ashen hair looked soft as it fell across his face, lips slightly parted as quiet breaths exhaled.

From his lips, your greedy eyes began to trail down his covered arms, all the way down to the bare break that exposed his robust arm-

You stopped yourself, he’s asleep. You must be reading too many books from a certain island nation.

Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is attractive? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right? 

You left two pieces of parchment on his desk. 

‘I’ll give a one-week extension, please return this title to the House of Daena before then.’

Alhaitham certainly didn’t expect to find this from ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ when waking from a nap, he wondered if it was conquered by the remnants of sleep. 

Or perhaps it was their parting gift, one last lingering trace before the ghost that haunted him for these past few months retreated back into their world. No more handkerchiefs left by his lunches. No more pressed flowers to decorate his desk. His teal eyes were unable to catch a very specific hue of viridescences. 

Did the ghost slip out from under his nose again? 

–

There isn’t much of a reason for Alhaitham to be at the Pardis Dhyai, after all, he’s not a Amurta scholar. Just a chore from this temporary position. His boot-clad steps made their way up the stone path blooming with lush vegetation, the view was almost enough to make up for the troublesome journey.  

Keen eyes honed in on familiar ebony ears from the doorway to the greenhouse. Oh, Tighnari is here? What a rare sight. 

“Please pay the late fee by the end of the week.” A certain cadence seized his attention. 

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Tighnari sighed, moving to place his closed pen where he left off in the book. 

“Chief Forest Ranger, please use this instead.” From your pocket emerged an all too familiar violet. 

“Oh? Did you make this yourself? Mm, a Sumeru Rose, on my way here I noticed that these plants don’t seem as plentiful recently.” The forest ranger observed the bookmark in his gloved hands. 

“I wouldn’t know, sir.” 

Oh, so you gave those bookmarks out to anyone indiscriminately. It made sense, you’re a librarian, employed to help the patrons of the House of Daena with their literary needs.

It didn’t mean much just to hand out a few slips of paper. Something annoying and greener than the foliage scratched at Alhaitham’s neck. 

–

At the Pardis Dhyai, you had a duty to fulfill, as did he. Not an appropriate time to initiate a conversation.

Thus, the ashen-haired man can only mull over the situation in the stillness of his own home. A blond architect sent out to fetch groceries to account for a certain damages fee. 

A lone finger taps rhythmically on solid oak while the opposite hand supports his pondering head. As quickly as you came, you left just as suddenly. As capricious as the wind, slipping through the gaps of his fingers just as easily.

How does one catch a ghost? 

Beryl gaze travels the length of the workspace, over the scattered sheets and abandoned quills, landing upon negligently stacked covers. A scheme conquers itself into existence.

Throughout history, many methods and rituals have been used to summon beings from the great beyond. As a scholar, who was he not to test those hypotheses?

The Norton Anthology of World Literature; Overdue 5 weeks

Academic Charisma and the Origins of the Research; Overdue 5 weeks

Cases on Academic Rights and Justice; Overdue 5 weeks

The Symposium; Overdue 8 weeks

Patron: Alhaitham 

Ah, you can’t let this continue. It’s time for ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ to collect their dues. Even if you wanted to bash your head into the ledgers. 

–

Just beyond the threshold of a pavilion offering shelter from the sun's rays stood a familiar caped frame. Unabashedly reading The Symposium, back resting against the pillar. 

Plugging the title into your script your lungs muster up a deep inhale, it’s time for the coward to dance on stage. 

“Grand Sage.” You stopped a few paces away. 

There was the gentle clatter of his belt and cape, the weight of his gaze now resting upon your shoulders, but your eyes were honed in on the cover in his clutches. You got his title this time. 

Alhaitham feels he should give bygone scholars and minds more merit, a ghost can be summoned, an incentive is needed for the ritual. 

“Please return The Symposium immediately, and address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of the week.” Like rehearsed, your hand reached out, palms awaiting the smooth back of the book. 

His half-gloved hand shut the pages together, rotating the book horizontally, it slowly travels the distance to your hands. Your eyes chaperoned every movement, legs eager to return backstage to the House of Daena. 

Just as the smooth cover brushed against the clammy skin of your palms before your fingers could fully enclose around it, the title suddenly took a detour. With it followed your attentive eyes. 

It’s a childish scheme really, like a schoolyard bully using his vertical advantage to hold the object of desire just out of reach. As the saying goes, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Such elementary actions hold some merit… because they worked. 

Attentive eyes clashed with teal, stunned irises that dilated faster than the thump of your heart. You got to witness the Grand Sage’s features in all their glory for the first time, so his beryl eyes also held some citrine in them. 

Instantly, your neck snapped to the side. But it’s already too late, the coward dropped their mask, shattering at their feet. Revealing to the world the scarlet face of the wimp whose sheet was stripped off their heads, there was never a ghost, only a performer.

You were standing in the shade, yet it felt as if you stumbled into the desert. 

Alhaitham’s indebted to the fact you don’t look people in the eyes, such an event would prove disastrous for this institution of wisdom and rationality. Such a sight should have limited access he deems. 

A sweet breeze blows through the pavilion, cooling his cheeks and yours the same, however, the ears hidden under his earphones still burned. 

Throughout the House of Daena, the soft fluttering of pages turning and quills scribbling down notes could be heard. At the front, a librarian glances at the clock slowly ticking down to the hour of freedom. 

“I would like to return these,” spoke a husky voice. 

Your eyes traveled up from the freshly stacked books up toned forearms, reaching their final destination on a pair of impartial teal irises. 

Opening up the ledger, you swiftly flipped to a familiar name. Scanning the titles you noted each one down. 

The Uses of Literacy; due in 2 weeks

The Great Conversation; due in 2 weeks

Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity; due in 2 weeks

Patron: Alhaitham

“Thank you for returning the books before due, have a great evening.” You bowed a little at the Grand Sage. Gathering up the books into your hand and placing them in the return cart. 

It’s past 5:30 pm, the Acting Grand Sage is now off the clock. Thus, he didn’t let one second go to waste. Long legs taking swift strides out of the grand doors of the Akademiya, skillfully dodging the searching eyes of ambitious scholars.

Ambling down the stone pathways to the bustling city center. 

Entering the favored tavern of any famished local, Alhaitham places his order. Watching the clock as Lambad packed his two to-go bags.

Dropping the mora off on the counter, Alhaitham seized the freshly made dinners into his hands, exiting the tavern. Merging back into the crowded pathways until he reached his front door. Shifting the bags into one hand, he turns the silver key to his abode. 

Placing the takeout bags onto the polished kitchen table, his teal eyes once again wander towards a clock, 6:10 pm. 

He prepares two glasses and a bottle of wine from a secured cabinet. It’s the weekend now, there’s no risk in enjoying a few glasses tonight. Just as the ashen-haired man finished setting the table, the unlocked door lightly creaks ajar. 

Your frame soon comes into view, arms stretched above your head to loosen the tension that comes with a desk job. A breathy yawn followed the release of tight muscles along your back, walking into the kitchen where Alhaitham stood. 

“You’ve worked hard today.”

You hummed in agreement, hand gently rubbing the fatigue from your eyes as the delicious scent of tandoori roast chicken beckoned your nose.

Food and drinks were strictly forbidden in the House of Daena, and you’re quite ravenous. Advancing toward the paper bag located on your side of the table with an eager bounce in your step. 

Only to be blocked by a toned arm. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something, my librarian?” Inquired a low voice. 

You glanced up at the hurdle that dare separate you from a delicious meal, lip pursed out just the slightest bit. 

“I returned my books before due, desired behavior requires positive reinforcement.” There’s a glint in his beryl eyes. 

You huffed, you should’ve known he was feeling a bit cheeky today from the moment he stepped foot into the library. Still, he’s right, good behavior deserves a reward. 

Tenderly your hands clasped around his soft cheeks, guiding his face downwards as you straighten your back. His ashen locks tickled you as you awarded the towering man his prizes. 

Your lips gingerly press themselves against his features, the warmth of your burning cheeks felt soothing to him, and you could feel the upward pull of his lips.

Once on the forehead, once under his eye, once on the nose, and… one final time against his soft lips.

Quickly pulling away, the slow blink followed by a slightly quirked eyebrow tells you enough about his thoughts. 

“The last one was a thanks for the food.” You turned your flaming cheeks away, settling down and releasing your meal from the confines of the bag. 

Your lover hums in understanding, a cheeky smirk ever so clear on his usually stoic face. Regardless, he moves to his side of the table and unpacks his dinner, filling two glasses with fragrant wine.

A clink signified the start of your dinner ritual, performed away from prying eyes. 

Somewhere during the comfortably quiet dinner, Alhaitham’s hand by habit inched towards the book placed just off to the side, violet bookmark recording his last endeavor among the text. 

Just as quickly as it started, his hand stopped. Like a stern swat, your eyes pierced into the back of his hand. A silent warning. He withdrew his hand back to his side, deciding to practice proper dining manners, for you of course. 

Satisfied, your attention returns back to the seasoned meat and sauces on your plate, fork and knife quickly getting to work. 

Alhaitham’s perfectly spiced food took a backseat in his mind, eyes more interested in observing the endearing fullness of your cheeks as you chewed.

Inquisitive irises returned his stare, he sees the teal that reflected off. How could the corners of his mouth not lift at the sight in front of him?

Please keep your eyes on him, so that he may continue to watch you for now and for the far future. His librarian. 

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[nanarrrily]

Period comfort w/ Choso !!

Contains: fluff, fem!reader, oneshot, period comfort, and idk

The rain tapped against the windowpane, a soothing rhythm that matched the ache in your abdomen. You curled up on the couch, clutching a hot water bottle to your stomach. Period cramps had a way of turning even the strongest sorcerers into vulnerable beings.

Choso sat across from you, his expression unreadable. As one of the Death Painting Wombs, he was familiar with pain both physical and emotional. But this was different. This was plain suffering—the kind that couldn’t be exorcised with curses or jujutsu.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

You managed a weak smile. “Yeah, just… cramps.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Cramps?”

You nodded. “It’s a monthly thing. Women go through it.”

Choso’s eyes widened. “Women bleed?”

You laughed a bit. “Yeah, we do. It’s a natural process.”

He shifted closer, his hand hovering uncertainly. “Is there anything I can do?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Actually, warmth helps. Can you… hold the hot water bottle against my stomach?”

Choso blinked, then reached for the bottle. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he pressed it to your abdomen. The warmth seeped through the fabric, easing the cramps.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He sat there, watching you—the rain outside, the flickering candle on the coffee table. It was an intimate moment—the kind that transcended curses and bloodlines.

“You’re strong,” Choso said. “To endure this every month.”

You shrugged. “We adapt. It’s part of being human.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “I wish I could take your pain away.”

And in that moment, as Choso held the hot water bottle to your stomach, you realized—he already had. Not with jujutsu or magic, but with empathy and kindness.

As the rain continued to fall, you closed your eyes, grateful for this unexpected comfort. And Choso—the half-human, half-cursed spirit became your comfort person in this living hell that is called periods. Authors Note: AAAAAAA REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! ONESHOTS, FF, IMAGINES, DRABBLES, (SMUT BUT NOTHING TOO TOO KINKY) THIS ALSO TOOK SO LONG.. ^.^

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 29 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You dare not put it down on the big tablet on your easel where John will see, but you can’t stop yourself from drawing it out in your smaller sketchbook-journal that is easier to squirrel away under clutter, putting down marks like you mean to exorcise her from your memory. You draw her like a ghost in her field of happy white flowers, and write in the margins in your looping script, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make him forgive you. You want me to save him but I don’t know how. I don’t fucking know how.

Maybe she’ll actually hear your plea and do something useful about it, like haunt John’s dreams instead of yours.

Maybe you’re losing your damn mind. 

You find that either way, you’re not brave enough to mention her to your captor again.

She becomes an obsession, and you keep drawing her in your little sketchbook. You’ve only ever seen one picture of her. It was in the den, but has since disappeared. Still, you feel you know the lines of her face, the brightness of her eyes. You go back to your old fixation with the ladies of Mucha, sketching her out as the Lady of the Daisies with flowing auburn hair surrounded by her stylized flowers and flowing lines.

You strive to cover your true fixation by putting down anything as quickly as you can on the easel, knowing your captor will be by for inspection. You draw sunflowers, your favorite summer bloom, something fun but you can do with your eyes closed with colorful, juicy strokes of oil pastels. You hope to keep John off the scent of the book that holds your heartfelt neuroses that you bury under piles of all your new art supplies and anything else you can find.

It was stupid, of course, to think you could really hide anything from him.

One day you find him in the chair with his legs crossed, perusing your sketch journal with one of those magnificent thunderheads of a frown.

You are certain you are fucked, when he asks, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Trembling as you imagine what he’s going to do to you for this infraction, you answer truthfully, “No.”

He closes the book with a snap, crossing the floor to stand before you, his powerful body moving deceptively slow, the way a tiger appears slothful in the jungle.

You know he can snap you up with one bite.

You cannot stop shaking, as he peers down that straight nose at you, pinning you with black eyes that somehow burn. He does not touch you, but God. He sees everything. You just know that he sees everything, and you find you are terrified of how he’ll react.  

“Have you been snooping through my things?”

“No.” The irony of him holding your sketch diary is not lost on you, but wisely you hold your tongue.

“How did you know what she looked like?”

“You had a picture out of her, ages ago.” At least, it felt like a like a lifetime ago.

“How did you know about the daisies?”

Now you know he’s going to flip his shit. It sounds fucking absurd, even to you. Your voice can barely rasp past what feels like dried twigs in your throat to whisper, “I saw them in a dream.”

You expect him to scoff and call you a liar. But he just searches your face, his eyes a little too wild for your liking. Here we go. He’d been damn near stable the past few days, but surely this will set him off.

You close your eyes, unable to watch the unfolding of your doom. This is it. He’s going to lock you up forever. You’ll never see the light of day again. The trembling in your frame kicks up to ten, and you hug yourself just to have something to hold on to.

When his next question comes, he could push you over with a feather.

“What does she say?”

You shake your head, realizing your cheeks are wet with tears.

“Nothing. She just…offers me the flower.” Going for broke you add, “She looks so sad.”

It is the sound of tearing paper that opens your eyes; with horror you find John making confetti of your art nouveau sketch that took hours to do. However, any protest dies on your lips—if destroying the drawing appeases him, maybe he won’t take it out on you.

Without another word, just a hard look, he stalks from the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall do you let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your knees quivering like leaves in a storm.

However, you are not foolish enough to believe you’re in the clear just yet.

-Later, there is no dinner. You find the kitchen cold and empty. Not sure what to make of this, you graze in the fridge, before returning to your bedroom. Not sure where John has gotten off to, you shower, then go to bed, finding yourself lying awake in the dark without him beside you, almost itchy without his steady presence in the evening at your side.

Part of it might be that you fear something is brewing, and you can’t stand the waiting…but part of it might simply be that you miss him, as fucked up as that is.

In the end, against your better judgement, you go looking.

You search the house, until the only room that is left is the garage. Silently you open the door, slipping through without a sound. You too are learning how to move quiet as a wraith. The smell of rubber and oil assaults your nostrils. Classic rock is playing low on the radio. In the far bay, the hood of the Mustang is open, and John is bent over inside, wrenching on something and muttering to himself. There is a partially empty bottle of Blanton’s Bourbon on the workbench behind him, and an empty glass.

Unable to stop yourself from committing what perhaps might prove to be suicide, you creep to the other side of the Land Rover, using it as cover as you eavesdrop on this man grumbling to the ghost of his deceased wife.  

“What do you want from me? I loved you. I loved you with every fucking fiber of my being, but you left me. I died with you the day you left me, and she is the only thing that makes me feel alive again. I need her, and she never would have come to me on her own. She never would have stayed. She never would have stayed.”

He says this to himself over and over, and it wrenches your heart, because you know it isn’t true.

You think you manage to creep back out again without him noticing, Led Zeppelin on the radio disguising the sound of the door.

When at last he comes to bed and wraps you in his arms, holding you too hard for comfort, you feign sleep, smelling the bourbon fumes on his breath. You can’t help but tense, wondering if he will forget his promise this deep in his cups.

But he just sighs into your hair, crushing you as he pulls you even closer, and you don’t know why it breaks your heart all over again.

[hoenoredone]

HOW THEY WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF

tags: sfw, fluff, headcanons, enstablished relationships, pure indulgence, WARNING: naoya zen'in. characters: gojo, nanami, yuuta, naoya (i love this man, sue me).

GOJO SATORU

be the big spoon, don't interrupt him when he rambles, kiss his cheeks and play with his hands.

the weight of the world is quite literally on gojo's shoulders, there's nothing that he wants more than to not have to feel it, even if it's only for a few minutes. he wants you to hold him, tell him that he's the most handsomest man you've ever met and shower him with kisses. he wants to lay his whole body on you and stay still for a few minutes, he wants you to notice when his hands ache from training and exorcising curses the whole day. he wants to know that he is a good teacher, and that his efforts to nurture a new generation of prodigies who can stand beside him are not futile.

NANAMI KENTO

make him lunch, tie his tie in the mornings, remind him to be home by six, send him out of the door with a kiss and a warm cup of coffee in his hand.

nanami hates going to work – you know he does –, but at the end of the day he's a simple man. he loves sipping on the coffee you make every morning when you wake up (that moka was the smartest investment you had convinced him to make in a while). he loves getting up from his desk during lunch time and grabbing the small cooler bag you insisted he buy. you don't leave him any notes, but you do draw a silly little face or a silly little heart in the corner of his rice. he doesn't even like ketchup but he loves the effort you put in making him smile.

OKKOTSU YUUTA

quiet time, skin to skin, sharing earphones

there are very few instances in which yuuta can relax, his status as a special grade prevents him from ever feeling completely safe. however, resting his head on your chest while you watch some random video on youtube, he forgets all about his duties and jujutsu society. he smushes his cheek further into your chest to better feel your heartbeat, and you rub his back in response. he falls asleep in uder two minutes.

ZEN'IN NAOYA

serve him tea, massage his shoulders, make sure to take care of your appearence, listen and stroke his ego.

naoya wants you to enter his study from a side door, make sure that no one is lurking outside, place a gentle kiss on the top of his head and let him slowly melt into your affections before you pour him some of the best jasmine tea money can buy. you don't have to prompt him into telling you all about the incompetence of his underlings, once he feels the gentle yet firm pressure of your hands on his stiff shoulders he is but putty in your hands. you can't help but wonder if he truly doesn't realize the power you hold over him, or if he simply denies his weakness to you for appearence's sakes.