#Wall Blanket Dormitory

[sunnami]

❝like the grass wants to grow, i want to run anywhere that you go.❞

summary. 'a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today may lead to a devastating hurricane weeks from now.' or alternatively, it takes six lifetimes for you to find each other.

pairings. poly!marauders+lily x reader.

word count. 8.9k (i tried to keep it short. i really did T-T)

tags. hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, happy ending. reincarnated/regressor!reader. no specific gender described. not proofread, we die like lucerys velaryon.

cws. brief depictions of death and war, themes of mental health and trauma.

note: lmaoao, as per the poll, here is the time-traveler!reader fic! i didn't cry during the angsty parts so it's probably not that bad.

YOU WAKE UP to a familiar weathered stone ceiling, owls softly hooting beyond the curtained windows, sunken in the mattress of a canopy bed with low snoring on either side of you. There’s a wilting candle on your nightstand, alongside an unfastened leather journal—a whiff of spilt ink under your nose. In your limp embrace, is a plush capybara with a turtle attached to its head. The quilt blanket is entangled between your thighs, the early morning breeze flurrying past the exposed stretch of your belly where your oversized granny-square jumper has ridden up.

It’s only then, when you try curling your fingers and wiggling your toes, that you realize that your body feels as though it had been hit by a shrinking charm. 

You sit upright instantly, heart skipping a beat from fright.

No.

You can’t have.

You reach for your brass handheld mirror, tucked away in the bedside drawers. 

There is no way you are this unlucky.

Yet staring back at you, is your eleven-year-old self.

Naturally, you end up screaming in frustration—startling the robins idle on the windowsills and all but waking the entirety of the Gryffindor castle. Prefects burst inside the dormitory, wand at the ready and crust in their eyes, in search of a threat only to find you on the verge of hyperventilating.

Bloody hell. 

Not again! 

Merlin, Morgana and Arthur—you are not going through puberty a sixth time.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mumble defeatedly as you fall back onto the patchwork pillows. Your roommates are gawping at you in horror, the sound of heavy footfalls echoing in the halls outside. 

Months ago, you had heard about the gruesome passing of Dorcas Meadowes—you weren’t necessarily close friends with the girl, despite being sorted in the same House, but you would grieve where grief is due. 

YOUR FIRST LIFE came to an abrupt end at the age of nineteen, in a quaint coffeehouse where the owner knew your name and the baristas wore a sunlit grin everyday. That day, no one had expected for Death Eaters to wreak havoc in Diagon Alley—it could have been anticipated, if only the Ministry was competent during the onset of the war. But with the extensive list of Muggleborn and half-blood casualties after that incident,  Ministry officials had no choice but to restrict certain areas and propose the ‘lesser-breeds’ go into hiding for their safety. This alluded to many families; most condemned to be blood-traitors. 

(There had been fleeting whispers of her dying at the wand of Voldemort himself.) 

Then, you’d woken up in the four walls of your dormitory. The sensation of being ever-so cruelly struck by the killing curse burning in your chest—a scorching fire, yet bitterly cold all the same. You had sobbed wretchedly, curled up in a shuddering ball of tears until your roommates had called for the prefects. It got worse when they tried to console you—you felt everything still. The panicked cries and screams of the wounded ceaselessly echoing in your head.  You remembered the shards of glass sinking into your skin as you dove for cover, Unforgivables apathetically hurled in every direction. 

It was not until Madam Pomfrey administered a Calming Draught and an elixir for dreamless sleep that you finally went out like a light extinguished.

Your second life was relatively longer—you had spent it under the supervision of mind healers at St. Mungo’s, after all. For the next thirty years, you’d been confined to a ward on the fourth floor. (Later, you would share this space with a couple who went by the names of Alice and Frank Longbottom.) Regardless of the bleak walls, it was not so bad. The quilts were warm and the assigned matron, Madam Strout, was kind and fussed over you regularly. While the healers had done everything they could, you continued to struggle with discerning what appeared to be your ‘first life.’ (Which one was your true reality? The first? Or the second?) Eventually, all the poking and prodding wore you down. Your fingertips had bruised and brittled. You could not look over your shoulder in fear of finding a Death Eater staring back at you. Night terrors plagued your dreams. 

(Your parents who had always embraced you with loving arms—they could not look you in the eyes now.) 

Memories bled into newer memories as the days went by. You haunted the corridors with a plagued stare, quickly becoming a woeful canard amongst the residents of the hospital. ‘The hysteric fortune teller,’ they called you. You who spoke of wars and rebellion at the age of twelve—but whose words nobody cared for when Voldemort began rising to power. You who’d gone mad and overwrought. In the end, you believed everyone else. 

(See? It must have been all in your head—a wayward spell that unfortunately damaged your memories.)

You’re unsure of how you died, but perhaps, you were never even alive in the first place. There was only so much Draught of Peace you could take before you inevitably became a soulless, sleep-walking husk of a person.

You woke up in the Gryffindor tower once more—this time, you’re careful enough to smother your cries.   

If you flinched every time Marlene McKinnon coarsely bellowed Dorcas’s name in the middle of the school hallways, or if you averted your gaze at the sight of Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom’s intertwined hands—it was nobody’s business but your own. In this life, you kept your head down, breezing through your homework and exams—although you had seen no purpose in it, at this point. Each morning that you woke up, you wondered if this was a favor from the Gods, or a relentless hell so meticulously-crafted for you.  

(But what sins had you committed for them to spit on you as they had done? Surely, you would be granted peace after two deaths.)

You could not tell your family, nor could you ask anyone else in Hogwarts if they remembered fragments of their past lives—for the last time you had done that, you were met with vindictive laughter and cruel gazes. 

(At that moment, you had understood Xenophilius Lovegood a little bit more. You never knew how many sought to trample on the wallflowers of the castle.) 

And so, you’d kept your head down until the end of your time in the castle. You stayed away from Diagon Alley and surrounding areas, and you willed yourself to perfect the art of apparating—a skill you wished that you had learned earlier. 

On the first of November 1981, witches and wizards had come to celebrate the fall of Lord Voldemort—which ultimately meant the death of James and Lily Potter. (You could not come to their funeral the first time around, seeing as you were chained to your hospital mattress that day, inebriated on the third dreamless sleep potion administered to you.) 

Under the eyes of St. Jerome, you laid bouquets of white roses and dahlias on their tombstones. 

“Wherever your souls are now, I hope you find each other and unearth peace,” you whispered to the two names engraved on the slate, hands clasped together as you rested on the grass. The winds had been cold and biting, a testament to the looming winter that would sweep away the tears on their graves. Like Dorcas Meadows, you did not interact much with James and Lily—but more than anyone, you knew how death was no easy enemy to conquer.

(You hoped their orphaned son would live a life that would not take him too early.)

A few months later, you met your demise to a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback. 

As you bled out on the grassfields, you wished for Death to come and take you faster.

When you awakened, it was in the same bed and the same dusty ceiling. 

There was nothing you could do but go back to sleep this time around.

After dying pathetically for a third time, a stubborn part of you wanted to fight back—so you did. 

Unlike your previous lives, you joined the Dueling Club, supervised by Professor Flitwick himself. Your wand work was clumsy and you stumbled on your incantations. You could not lift your wand without remembering a coffee shop laid to ruin and wreckage or the hardened gaze of Greyback as he sank his teeth into your neck. The times were merciless, your dance with Death even more—but you would not die helplessly again. 

As you lay in your bed, muscles aching from dueling practice, you had realized one thing. 

You did not want to stain your hands with the blood of another—having grown tired of the Reaper and his antics. If the Gods would not let you rest, then you would not let them take anyone else. 

After all, you had the stubbornness of a Gryffindor lion. 

For the next six years or so, you devoured your textbooks on charms and healing spells, refining your spellwork until your tongue grew numb and your wrists became sore. When the time came, you followed James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, and many more, in joining the Order of the Phoenix. (Perhaps you should have realized earlier that you all were just wide-eyed children on both sides, forced to partake in a war that should have never been yours to fight.) 

The First Wizarding War transfigured the years into a blur of mourning, surviving, and fighting in alleys now-bloodied. Even the sun hid behind the clouds, for brothers began turning on one another. You could only find solace in the fact you had kept Dorcas away from Voldemort’s clutches, volunteering to go in her stead during incursions, and Marlene McKinnon alive for another day to see her family.

But for how long could you cheat fate? 

Hours before your death, you found yourself in a forest clearing. The campsite was filled with witches and wizards afflicted with severe hexes and curses—a few of Dumbledore’s best fighters screaming in agony from the Cruciatus. 

There you found Remus Lupin, bruised and worse for wear, attempting to wrap a bandage around his shoulders in an empty tent. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” you said in a soft greeting, stepping inside the tent with a forced smile, your collection of potions and jars of herbal pastes jostling in your leather satchel. 

Remus chuckled tiredly. “Haven’t we all?” 

You gently pried the bandage from his trembling hands and maneuvering yourself at his back. You stifled the urge to cry at the sight of his scars—so violently red against his pallid skin. Compared to your previous lives, you had developed a friendship with Remus and his group of bold marauders—a camaraderie as true as it could be in dire times. (And if providence had been kinder, you could have dared to want more than just friendship.) You poured drops of Dittany onto his shallower wounds, murmuring empty words of comfort as he flinched and hissed.

“It’s Peter,” he rasped, abruptly holding onto your wrist as you turned to leave. “He’s been missing for hours. Please. I don’t know what I’d. . . what I’d do if. . . if. . .”

You squeezed his hand. “I’ll find him, Remus. Don’t worry.”

True to your word, you had found Peter at sundown deep within the forest. There was an unsettling quietude that hung in the air as you trudged to his side. He was kneeling on the muddy ground, head hanging low. It’s only then that you noticed the body laying still in his arms. Violent chills slithered down your spine as you recognized the woman in his embrace. 

“Mary!” you cried out, hurrying to them as fast as you could. 

“What happened?” you asked frantically, hands in a desperate search for a pulse. When you were met with no answer, you pressed again more heatedly. “Peter! Look at me!” You gripped his chin, heart hammering in your chest. “You have to tell me what happened! I can’t. . . I can’t help her if I don’t know what hit her.” Droplets of tears fell from your eyes down to Mary’s pale cheeks. “I can’t. . . I need—please. . .”

Bloodshot eyes stared back at you. “I. . . I didn’t want to do it.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, burying his head into the crook of Mary’s neck. “I was so, so scared.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” You grimaced impatiently when Peter lifted his gaze—but he was not looking at you, rather behind you.

The answer to your question was a killing curse to the back.

An unseen rustle in the bushes that you should have paid attention to, a cloaked figure darker than any shadow; a Death Eater that’d come to ensnare you in a perfectly-laid trap. 

(Damn it!)

(Damn it all to Hell!)

You awoke to the sound of your screaming and your limbs thrashing in the bed you’ve grown to despise. There was nary a remorse in your body as your roommates wailed at the sight of your nails drawing blood from your arms. Later that morning, the common room would be filled with talks of your faraway gaze and your scratched-up flesh. 

You could not take it anymore.

In your fifth life, you had sought peace—or rather, the most beautiful mockery of it. 

You decided to give up your magic to chase a semblance of normalcy. No more wands, no more moving portraits, no more jinxes and pranks, no more owls and wizard robes. Most of all, no more war. (‘But it did not work like that’, Death laughed.) In this life, you wanted what was denied of you in the previous ones.

A family.

A happy ending.

Bitterly enough, the Gods saw fit to give you only one of the two. 

You married a Muggle, to your parents’ dismay. He was nice and compassionate—a distant contrast to the ongoing turmoil of the wizarding world. But you could not bring yourself to feel guilt. You had been stripped of everything, which included the privilege to die and lay your soul to rest in perpetuity. 

(Who were you, if not a dead man walking?)

Over the years, you would have three children with your husband—three beautiful children born from love, in a world that would not actively seek to take them from you. You raised them all to adulthood, hoping they would not fault you for finding relief at the lack of magic in their veins. Their names were Kinsley, Piper, and Avery—and you had adored every inch of them, from their striking eyes to the tips of their stubby fingers. 

On your deathbed, you were surrounded by your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. An image you held close to your heart as your vision began to deteriorate. 

Just this once, you prayed to all that would hear. 

Let me die surrounded by my family.

At the age of ninety-one, you drew your final breath.

And when you opened your eyes, you were back in Hogwarts for the sixth time.

TO SIRIUS BLACK, you are a curious little wallflower, albeit a withering one—you who blend among the crowd, with a sad gaze in your eyes and the fretful twisting of your fingers. He doesn’t know why he’s particularly drawn to you—but perhaps he understands, more than anyone, the hesitance of taking up space in fear of punishment for one wrong move. But you look so lost, meandering along the corridors like the ghosts of the castle—but even the spirits seem more alive and colorful than you. 

“What is it that they have taken from you?” Sirius wants to ask. 

(What judgment has fate placed upon you so—for you to cry each morning?) 

There is a raging urge in his veins to reach over and wipe your tears away, but what can he do as a stranger, if not watch powerlessly as you fade into the background? 

His fingers feel like they might fall off if they do not entwine with yours. He wants to offer up his shoulders to carry the burdens that weigh down on a creature as lovely as you. 

There are times when he and the other Gryffindors catch you crying at the long tables of the Great Hall. 

“O-Oh, was I?” Your reply is quiet. Resigned. Sirius has never felt his heart break more than in that moment. You move to weakly swipe at your tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .” 

“It’s alright, really,” Lily says, her voice strained, the words lodged in her throat. Under the table, she seeks James’s hand for comfort. (How can someone appear to be so lonely and defeated?) “We all have those days.”

“Yes.” You blink away the fresh tears pricking at your eyes, mindlessly pulling at the threads of your woven bandages, a weary chuckle falling from the cracked skin of your lips. “Except, it seems the days never end for me.”  

Lily stays silent. 

Sirius shares a look with Remus from across the table, an unspoken question hanging between the animagus and the werewolf.

How do their voices call out to the one who so faithfully believes that the world has abandoned them?

But Sirius Black is determined and unyielding—what good of a prankster would he be if he could not bring a smile upon your beautiful face? 

He gets his chance during Transfiguration class, when McGonagall instructs the class to pair-up for an activity in turning miniature statues into birds. Predictably, you don’t move a muscle, staring ever-so intently at the sights beyond the classroom windows that you don’t notice the professor observing you worriedly—her lips tightly pressed and her eyes wrinkled with concern. Sirius slams his buttocks onto the wooden chair next to you; the sound of chair legs screeching bounces off the cobblestone walls.

“Hullo, partner.” Sirius grins as he offers you an enthusiastic wave, his dark curls floundering with his energy. He feels the gazes of his best mates boring into his back, but decides to ignore it for now—Remus can live without him for one class. In his mind—a perfectly-reasonable logic for an eleven-year-old, mind you—he figures that you would find class more entertaining if you had the right company. And, Sirius is wonderful company. 

You stare at him with furrowed brows and Sirius wishes nothing more than to bring fire to your eyes. “Partner?” you repeat, a tinge of confusion in your voice—a deafening cadence to his ears, as for once, it is not desolation that laces your words. 

“Partner,” Sirius affirms with a nod of his head, barely paying heed to McGonagall’s directions at the front of the room—but noting the mention of a prize for the pair who would successfully cast the spell for longer than ten minutes. He takes your silence for uncertainty, and replies with a light-hearted scoff—finding the pout on your lips adorable. “I’ll have you know I’m a bloody master at Transfiguration. Not even James could match me in this class—okay, maybe he could, but that’s not important, is it? Point is, with me at your side, Minnie will have no choice but to give us a hundred points!” 

From the frown on your lips, Sirius gathers that you’re unimpressed by him—a first, but not a total setback. 

He seizes the small box of porcelain figurines before you can blink, a wry smile on his face as he wrangles a boastful laugh from his throat. “Ready to have your mind blown? I’ve been practicing this spell since last night. There’s no way I’m getting this wrong.” 

“Oh, I’m Sirius Black, by the way—at your service.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, wondering what your palm would feel like in his. Cold? Warm to touch? Or, perhaps, a perfect fit—just as Lily’s hand feels laced with his?

He doesn’t find the answer to his question. Instead, you draw your wand from your robe pocket, and point the tip of the wood at the earthenware at Sirius’s grasp. 

“Avifors,” you recite delicately—such a flawless incantation that Sirius hears Merlin himself weeping in the depths of his grave. 

The figurine grows feathers and a beak—Sirius and the rest of the students can only watch as the weebill flutters its wings and soars through the roof. 

He’s stupefied. Breathless, one might say. But not because of your little trick—rather, the growing smile on your lips as you watch the bird fly across the room. Your eyes flicker with mischief, and like a man on the edge of a cliff—what is Sirius Black to do, but fall? 

THE END OF YOUR first-year at Hogwarts draws near, and so does the springtime—a coveted season for lily flowers to bloom. The April winds find you out by the lake edge, swinging your legs idly on a marble stone bench where the cypress vines grow along the cracks. Songbirds fly overhead as the daylight glistens on the surface of the Black Lake, a beech tree in the near distance, butterflies dancing past the gnarled trunk. Pollen floats like dust in a cupboard under a staircase. Ducklings waddle after their mother as riverine rabbits scurry on into the tall, purple nettles. On days like this, you find it easier to settle into your new life—but, perhaps, you have your friends to thank for that. 

Yet, as you find yourself wanting to reach out to their outstretched hands, flashes of children with your hair, your eyes, cheekbones whittled to resemble your own, haunt you. Their pure and gentle temperaments, painfully akin to their father’s. You mourn them every day. Their names are forever inscribed in the locket of your soul. (You did not find it fair—you who live again, and they who disappear forever. An existence that would cease to be—all because you fear what awaits you in this life. Why must it be you who should walk this land with a body scarred by wounds no one else can see? Why must it be you who mourns the loss of your family, your friends, and all your loved ones—everyone murdered by the Gods who spit on the five graves with your name written on it? Why? Why?)

Do you dare to live a life without them? Is it fair to deprive them of a chance of being a family while you waste away on the Isles? You may have lived multiple lifetimes, but not once have you been given the answers you seek. 

You will not find happiness without them; it is as you deserve. 

(For why else would Death torment you so if you are seen as innocent in their eyes?)

“How did I know I’d find you here?” A sing-song voice emerges from the trees, and you’ve no need to turn your head—the sound of Lily’s bright cadence is one you’re familiar with. But, somehow, you’ve grown fond of her voice, more acquainted with her smile and laugh than you’ve ever been in the last five lives. (You have to wonder if this friendship is one you’re permitted to enjoy.) Her grin is blinding, more so than the afternoon sun behind her. Lily’s wavy hair falls over her shoulder as she plops down on the empty space beside you. “We didn’t see you at lunch today,” she says, looking ahead, the warmth of her hand inching closer to your own. “I figured you didn’t want a bunch of whiffy boys around.”

Then, she looks around, searching for any prying ears, a stream of giggles falling from her lips. “Although, I must warn you—their pockets are loaded with food stolen from the hall, saying they’d give it to you when you returned to the tower. But I think Minnie caught onto them.” She chortles, a fond gaze in her eyes. 

You hum in thought, a smile unknowingly pulling at your lips. “Thank you, Lily. It’s sweet of you to come and find me.” 

She harrumphs light-heartedly, snootily lifting up her nose. “Don’t get too used to it. We’re only just best friends, after all.”

A silence encompasses the two of you, sitting under the shade, pink fingers shyly intertwined. Lily allows the minutes to flow by like a breeze on the waters, until she stares at you with thick emotions flickering in her emerald eyes. She nibbles on her bottom lip, long lashes kissing her eyelids. “Are. . . Are you alright? Is it one of those days again?”

You grin at her question, impishly nudging her legs with yours. It’s a gesture you deeply appreciate—befriending you and growing closer to you in ways you imagine are never in your cards. But Lily is only eleven, and you will not act upon your selfishness. (But, maybe—just maybe—you are allowed to relish in their company until you are called once again to your deathbed. In the next life, they might not know your name as they do now, and the revelation frightens you immensely.)

“I’m okay,” you say, a gnawing lie that sounds unconvincing to even your own ears. You stare at the flock of swans diving in the lake. “I was just missing a few friends back home.” You remember the toddlers that you used to call your own—their spittled possessiveness toward anyone who dared to snatch your attention away from them. “I don’t know if they would be happy with me going off on my own adventure,” you say, sparing Lily a knowing look. “They are—erm—Muggles.” 

“Oh.” Lily nods, mulling over your words. “Tuney. . . my sister. She sort of resents me ever since I left for Hogwarts. We live a world apart, and it barely helps that she ignores me during the holidays.” She sighs, averting her gaze elsewhere, a grimace pulling at her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this was never meant for me. That I was just a fluke. Why do I have magic and not her? Any day now, I expect for McGonagall to come and ask me to pack my bags and head straight home.” 

“But,” says Lily, her eyes resolute and her fire unwavering, “until that day comes, I will enjoy every bit of this world as I can. Tuney will just have to deal with that.” She offers you a mellow smile—a likeness to a kind husband that you had once in a past lifetime. “Besides, I think those who truly love us will understand the paths we must take. Even if it means parting ways for a long time. Your friends will not blame you; they’ll want you to live truly and freely.” 

Her words sink deep into your bones, and you can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. You simper at the confused tilt of her head. “Wise words, Lily Marie Evans. Are you sure you’re only twelve?” 

Lily beams. “Mum likes to tune into the Sunday motivational-talk channels.”

(“The ones we love never really leave us, do they?” Sirius Black will tell you one day, when you’ve bared to him the truth of your lives, and he looks at you no differently than he has before—with all the adoration and fondness of his heart.)

Later, before you and Lily make your way back to the castle, you pick three flowers among the chicory weeds. She stays behind as you kneel by the riverside. For the children you have loved, and will continue to love for eternity. Droplets of tears fall onto the water, joining the floating blue petals. “I’m sorry that I cannot find you as you are,” you whisper, a heavy weight lifting from your shoulders. “But I hope that we meet again in this life, whichever names you may take.” 

(After all, what love is stronger than one that perseveres across endless lifetimes?)

You carry them in your heart—letting cherished memories remain as such. Otherwise, you’ll be chasing what can never be again. It would be an injustice to their names to try and replicate a shallow imitation of them. They deserve more than that—to be treated like a pawn in Death’s game. They were alive and you will honor them befittingly.

You bid them goodbye and allow the tethers of their soul to untangle from your grasp. 

It is the most difficult farewell—and yet, the easiest act of mercy you have ever carried out.

‘THE FLAP OF a butterfly’s wings can evoke a hurricane in the next world over.’ 

This is a phrase you’ve come to be familiar with over the span of your numerous lives. It has never been truer than the moment you step outside the infirmary to find a group of mismatched Gryffindors waiting for you in the halls. Their heads snap in attention at the sound of your footfalls. In an instant, you’re crowded with their questions and worries—but you find it endearing, the way your friends fuss over you. It’s certainly a welcome change from a past spent by your lonesome in the castle. (You only wonder what makes this life so different from the rest? Why is everything changing without you noticing? What will be taken from you for this deviation in time?) 

“How did it go?” James asks, now seventeen and captain of the Quidditch team, wavy tendrils of brown hair swooping over his round glasses. The broad of his chest fills out his red and yellow jumper, crocheted by Lily over the yule break—the five of you, including Peter, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas, have matching sweaters as well. 

Except, you like to tease them with a jest that Lily made yours with the most love—as no one else had the pattern of a capybara with an apple on its head. 

“Well enough,” you answer, patting his shoulder with a tired smile that reaches your eyes—for how could one not cheer up in the face of James Fleamont Potter? That would be saying the skies do not brighten in the company of the sun. 

By incontestable decree of Poppy Pomfrey, the headstrong matron of the castle, you are required to meet with a mediwitch from St. Mungo’s twice a week, since the start of your fifth-year. Healer Robbins floos to Hogwarts on Wednesdays and Saturdays to check up on your health, physically and mentally. Of course, you don’t divulge anything about your time-traveling dilemmas, lest you end up confined to a hospital ward again for the rest of your years. But you do end up addressing—albeit, begrudgingly—the dried tear stains on your pillowcase every morning, your wayward habit of purposefully missing meals, or your tendency to withdraw yourself from your peers on certain days—which coincidentally happen to be the anniversary dates of your deaths. (If no one would grieve for you, then you’d do it alone.) 

Who’d have thought that healing would be much more tortuous than hurting in the quietude of your room?

But one thing is for certain—this is a suffering you will endure with greed and hunger. 

For today’s session, Healer Robbins suggests you proactively live in the present more—which is easier said than done. 

“Although, she did tell me to stop slouching all the time,” you inform James, scrunching your nose in feigned offense, to which he replies with a hearty chuckle, pulling you into his embrace for a side hug. You burrow your nose in his scent of oakmoss and orris root, a lingering touch of broom polish as well—you feel the warmth of his hand splayed out on your back, and hide your grin into his chest. 

“Well, someone had to tell you,” says Regulus Black with a scoff, arms crossed over his chest, yet no genuine heat in his trenchant eyes. He looks pleased that you return unharmed from your meeting with Healer Robbins. Funnily enough, you’ve no doubt that the famed Black temper would emerge should you utter so much as a single word against the mediwitch. (You like her, though. Some days, Robbins lovingly spiels about her clumsy-footed wife—and in return, you talk about your sad feelings. Eurgh. Talk about a fair exchange.)

Among the many divergences in this life, one of them is the unforeseen friendship you have forged with Regulus Arcturus Black. But that story begins with Xenophilius Lovegood, when you stumble upon him in the Forbidden Forest chasing after a family of bowtruckles with a fervid expression and a journal in one hand. You protect him from foul-mouthed Ravenclaws, and he allows you to tag along in his woodland escapades—including a lifelong access to the kitchens beyond curfew. His lack of regard for personal safety is both endearing and maddening, you realize early on. One stormy night, you chase Xenophilius into the forest—he is barefoot, following the Mooncalf hoofprints, as you spit out strings of expletives and mouthfuls of rain. That is where you find Regulus, groaning in pain and carrying a burden that is much too heavy for a fifteen-year-old. 

Then, a year later, they decide to give you a heart-attack when you discover that Pandora and Xenophilius have taken Regulus under their wing—figuratively and literally. And, most of all, romantically.

You’re more speechless than Sirius had been when you catch him one fateful evening.

(“Don’t do it, Sirius Black,” you greet, startling the ebony-haired boy as you step out from the shadows. The common room is silent, save for the crackling embers in the fireplace. You stare at the sixteen-year-old with a vehement resolve, your hands curled into fists. If there is one fixed event you had to live through over and over again, it is the news of Severus Snape being nearly mauled to death by a creature so feared and gruesome. You will not let it happen in this life. His eyes flicker with shame amongst a sea of gray, and he knows that you know about his abhorrent idea of a ‘prank.’ 

You sigh, taking another step forward, hand coming to rest on his tense shoulder. “Let it go, Sirius. It’s not worth it. Bringing someone to harm is never worth it. If he dies, his blood will be on your hands—and you don’t want that, trust me. Be kind to him, Sirius—and even kinder to your brother. The two of you are all each other has.”

“Not true,” Sirius whispers back, almost afraid, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheeks. “I have you, Prongs, Lily, and Rem.”

“And Remus is exactly who we should be with right now,” you reply with a harsh glare. “Not in the common rooms trying to one-up Snape because of some childish rivalry.” With a long sigh and a shake of your head, you push back the dark curls from his face. “The times are cruel, Sirius. We must hold onto what we can.”

His forehead will fall onto your shoulder, and your shirt will be soaked with his tears, but you realize that you will hold him, and all those who’ve captured your heart, until Death himself pries you away from their embrace.) 

But, it all pales in comparison to the horror in Sirius’s eyes when you point at Regulus and Peter, as you utter with absolute conviction, “They are my dearest friends.”

While Peter may have been a traitor in another life, a murderer with blood and guilt staining his hands—he is only a skittish boy in this one. A timid student who hides behind the shadows of his friends. You will not let him go down that path again. The Peter Pettigrew you currently know is a mousy little thing, pun intended, who sneaks in a pouch of sugared jelly worms in the library for you and him to enjoy whilst copying off each other’s Arithmancy homework—you two automatically get perfect marks, seeing as you’ve went through school multiple lifetimes already. Truthfully, when you see him tongue-tied before Mary Macdonald, you can’t envision anything else than a lifeless body and a man apologizing for his sins. But it is hardly fair to condemn Peter for the sins of a life he has not lived—and will never live through, if you have anything to say about. 

A lion protects their pride, and that is what you shall do. Even if it tears you apart in the process. (Healer Robbins won’t be so pleased about that, though.) 

But, perhaps, the most unexpected surprise you’ve received this year is—shockingly—not the news of Dorcas and Marlene dating, and neither is Alice and Frank’s relationship as you have already known that since your first life. It is James, Remus, Lily, and Sirius announcing to the world, with a poorly-written poem for a gnome to recite on Valentine’s Day—courtesy of James Potter himself—that the four of them are in love. In all five lives, that has never happened. Not even Lucius Malfoy can call into question the genuineness of their devotion to one another—and he will not dare to do so in your presence, otherwise he’d find himself at the mercy of you and Narcissa Black.

The four of them are happy as one, and you would die to ensure they stay together until the end of their time. Dark lords be damned. 

An even bigger shock comes when their affection for each other unspokenly extends to you. Not in a manner that equals their rambunctious gestures—because the Marauders don’t do anything half-arsed. (And if they fall in love, they fall without fear.) But in a way that is quiet yet intense, ever-so mindful of your walls—with an intention to break them down slowly and only with your utmost permission. They leave you confused with each day that passes. (You fear that they think you pitiful for having not found a significant other.)

(For months now, your heart is set aflutter just by the sound of their voices—if they look at you as a token charity case, it would tear you apart.) 

Forehead kisses, hand-holding in the corridors, late nights in the kitchen—tipsy on gillywater and the scathe of each other’s touch. Picnics by the lake, bodies intertwined where no one knows where they begin or end. Ventures in the library where not a soul is paying attention to the passages of their textbooks—hushed giggles turning into unrestrained laughter until Madam Pince rounds the corner and has you all thrown out. (How long has it been since you felt so free?) It’s the little things, like your fingers brushing against theirs as you walk side-by-side, or the soft glint in their eyes as they stare at you from across the room—as though you are a jewel to behold. 

It is one thing to know that you are living a life after life—but it is another thing entirely to feel alive when they are nearby. 

You are alive when Remus relaxes on the carpeted floor of the Gryffindor tower, and as you lay on the velvet couch, he draws protection runes on your palm with his finger. When he thinks you’re asleep, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. When the nights are unbearably long and you find a safe haven in his embrace, and he in yours.

You are alive when James cages you in a bear hug after an intense Quidditch match against Slytherin, limp tendrils of hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, pressing a series of fervent kisses to the side of your head until his voice is louder than the cries of victory coming from the cheering stands. 

(“Lay back down, James Fleamont Potter,” you command tersely as you push him onto the infirmary bed. You narrow your eyes at the bandages wrapped around his arms and neck, as though it’d personally wronged you. “Don’t even think about getting up,” you quickly add when you notice his droopy eyes staring at the doors—where Sirius, Remus, and Peter have gone off for a night of mischief. With an exaggerated sigh, James will roll his eyes before pulling you into the bed with him.) 

You are alive when Lily scours the Great Hall in the mornings, hair fussed from sleep and her face bare, and when her eyes finally land on you—none misses the way she lights up blindingly, as if she were a poppy flower emerging from the forest floors and all her petals are curling towards the sun. She bounds over to you with a smile that draws everyone in the room to her. And your heart will have no choice but to swell three times its size when Lily falls asleep mid-meal, snoring with her neck bent and a spoon dangling from her mouth. 

You are alive when Sirius dashes across the room to claim you as his Potions partner. He’ll spend the rest of the class with a triumphant grin on his face—sitting on a rickety chair as he lazily admires the view of your backside. And may the Gods help the poor soul who dares to question your work. 

(“See that lovely creature over there?” Sirius will say with a dangerous lilt to his voice, pointing to you who’s quite busy squabbling with Severus and Barty Jr. over frog legs. “They will be the greatest apothecary to ever walk the wizarding world—so watch your tongue, mate.”) 

They are your limbs, the blood in your veins—the ache in your heart. The fires of your soul. And when they are near, you are finally whole. (Healer Robbins certainly won’t like that, either—but this is a thought you shall selfishly keep for yourself.) 

That is why you had come to a decision at the beginning of the year.

“I need to tell you all something,” you say, breaking out of your stupor and finally meeting everyone’s eyes. You meet Sirius’s gaze from where he leans against the wall, his attention on you—and only you. You reckon he notices the way you’re fidgeting nervously with your fingers, gnawing on your lip as you suck in a deep breath. It’s similar to the way he acted when he first told the group about his intentions to run away from his mother. Healer Robbins told you earlier to not dwell on the past—it’s only a thing that time-travelers do, she had said. You suppose there’s no better way to exercise honesty than to tell your loved ones about the secret you have been keeping for the last five lifetimes. You just hope they won’t look at you differently when all is said and done. 

Marlene’s gaze worriedly flickers from you and to the infirmary doors. “Has the mediwitch said something?” 

You shake your head. “There’s something you should know about me.”

Like a badly-written joke, a pack of lions, a snake, and a badger follows you into an empty classroom. They watch with furrowed brows as you cast a silencing charm over the room. You feel the weight of their curiosity as you take a seat in the center, drumming your nails on your lap as everyone moves to do the same. Remus wordlessly takes the seat next to you, as though being by your side is a natural phenomenon—like the shores never straying from the sand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you return his kindness with a weary smile. You look at the protective circle that’s somehow formed around you. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Xenophilius, Regulus, Lily and the Marauders. (Since when did you gain a family like this in such a short time?) 

“Where do I even begin?” you ask with a shuddery breath. “It might get a bit intense. . . and sad, and I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. So it’s okay if you aren’t prepared to take this all in yet. I’d understand.” 

“What one of us goes through, we all go through together,” Dorcas vows with her head high. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this, love,” she says, looking at everyone else in the room. “We’re here for you. Always have been. It’s what friends are for, aren’t they? You taught us that. Let us return the favor now.” 

You laugh wetly, eyes crinkling with gratitude. “I suppose you’re right.” 

There is no time like the present.

And if all goes awry, you probably might just jump out of a window and reset everything. (You wouldn’t, really. This life is precious to you more than anything in the world.)

You close your eyes and draw air into your lungs.

No time like the present.

“When I first died, I was only nineteen.” Despite the pinched expressions and soft gasps, you force the words out. You have to. Otherwise, the tale of your lives will be buried with you forever. This is the first time you have ever said the words aloud. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. “Death Eaters came to Diagon Alley. It all happened so fast, next thing I knew the killing curse was cast straight at me.” 

Regulus flinches, and you offer him an apologetic grimace. 

“But that wasn’t the end,” you continue amidst their horrified wide-eyes—feeling Remus tighten his hold on your hand. You chuckle bitterly. “If it had been, maybe it all would’ve hurt less. When I woke up, I was back in the Gryffindor tower.” 

“What?” Lily frowns as a shadow is cast over her eyes. “But how?” 

“I wish I knew,” you reply with a lodge in your throat, eyes thick with incoming tears. “I really wish I knew. But I woke up back in Hogwarts. I was alive again. Somehow, someway, I was alive. But I was dying.” You shut your eyes, head craning to the ceilings as you swallow back a sob. “Have you felt what it’s like to be burnt alive? That’s what the killing curse is like. And I feel it everyday. When I told the nurses this, I was sent straight to St. Mungo’s. They could not heal what was not found in my body. They called me mad. And there was nothing I could do but believe them. It was like that until I died on an infirmary bed, leather straps around my wrists and legs, forbidden to leave the ward and feel even the sunlight on my face. I was deemed a threat to the others and myself.” 

Lily beats you to the punch and cries into her hands—the harrowing sound torn from her throat. Mary, with her own stream of tears, pulls Lily into a hug. 

“I-I told you it was ugly,” you say timidly, averting your gaze out of remorse. “We can stop here if you’d like.”

“We’re staying,” says Lily with a guttural edge to her words, eyes quickly growing red. 

“Then, in my third life, I died by a. . . Greyback—it was Greyback who killed me.” You intertwine your fingers with Remus’s, who’s gone ashen from the reveal. “It’s alright.”

“The bloody hell do you mean it’s alright?” James bellows, running a hand through his hair as he tears himself from his seat, chest heaving up and down. “None of this is alright! How could you say that? We. . .We should tell Dumbledore or something—or anyone! This shouldn’t have happened to you—it’s just too cruel. . .” 

“I know,” you acquiesce with a low hang of your head. “I know.”

Sirius exhales jaggedly. “Was that the last of it? Of your. . . your deaths?”

“No.” You stare at him with regret. “In my fourth life, I died in a Death Eater ambush.” 

Xenophilius looks like he might faint any second. 

“But in my fifth life, I met some people in the Muggle world,” you explain, remembering kind eyes and wide smiles, a family made in a home far away from magic and wars. “I loved them dearly. When I thought I was being punished by Gods, they gave me peace. They taught me unconditional love and I. . .” You let the tears drip onto your skirt. “I might never find them again, but I’ll never forget them for as long as I live. It was the only death given to me without pain.”

You watch as Lily’s doe-eyes flicker with realization. Three flowers in a watery grave. 

“And here I am now. The end,” you say, forcing a crooked grin as you brush the dust off your school robes. 

No one moves a muscle for the next few minutes. 

You freeze in fear. 

(Have you upset them? Do they see only a talking corpse now?)

The room is suffocatingly quiet and you can’t bear to see the pity or judgment in their eyes—so you run out of the room as though Death himself was hot on your heels. 

They are right behind you—of course, they are. (Where a part of their soul goes, they will follow.)

“Are you angry?” You quietly ask, wrapping your arms around your waist—afraid to turn around and face them. “I would not blame you if you are.” 

“No, not mad. Never.” Lily falls into place by your side, hovering but never stepping past your erected borders. “Maybe at the circumstances. It’s all so unfair. I’m. . . We’re just upset that you had to live through that all alone. To die over and over. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt each time.” 

You nod, swallowing the urge to crumble on the floor. “Then you’ll understand why. . . why you and I—all of us—I can’t be with you.”

Remus frowns, stepping forward to reach out to you. “What?” 

“Don’t make this any harder than this has to be, please,” you beg, voice hoarse and hands trembling. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius presses further, a bitter acid to his words. He looks frightened, almost—guilt instantly pools in your stomach.  

“Don’t you see? Everything is changing!” You exclaim, grateful that you’ve chosen the abandoned corridors of the castle where no one dares to venture on a sunny day. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s to happen next! I’d rather die again than let any of you get hurt.”

“Then don’t!” shouts James, veins straining against his neck, tears of his own glistening within his hazel eyes. “I would rather die than pretend none of what I feel—what we feel—for you isn’t real.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, James,” you retort with a sharp scoff. “I’ve no need for a relationship that’s borne from pity or charity.” 

“Pity?” Lily echoes incredulously. “You think I’ve confused love for pity? Is that how low you think of us? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Are you stupid?” Sirius bites back. 

“Excuse me?” you shriek. “Must I spell it out for you? I’m trying to protect you! I am cursed!”

“Not anymore than I am!” Remus bellows with his fists tightly clenched, his canines laid bare and his cheeks lit ablaze. “If you’re cursed, I must be damned. Why can’t you allow yourself the same grace that you’ve given us?” 

You wilt. “I can’t do it, Remus. I just can’t. If I die again, and everything resets—don’t you know how much it will kill me if we start as strangers again?” 

Remus encases you in his warmth, an embrace that promises to keep you safe from all harm. (What good of a monster would he be if he can’t rip apart your fears for you?) “Then we will find you in that life. And every life after that. We’ll use a pensieve, or anything at all—just so we don’t forget.”

You melt in his arms, bathing in his scent of caraway and bergamot. You feel Remus placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “All these things I know. All these lives I’ve lived through. What if I ruin everything in this life?” 

“Then do it,” Lily provokes stubbornly. 

“Ruin me,” James pleads raspingly—a falter in his steps as though he’d get on his knees and beg in an instant just for you to stay with them. “Ruin me as much as you’d like. You would be the most beautiful devastation of my life.” 

And so, you choose them. 

For there was never any other option from the start.

YOU WAKE UP in the dead of the night, sunken in a mattress that is one too small for five people to fit in, leafy vines and fairy lights wrapped around the posters of the bed. Sometime during the night, Lily had thieved the wool blanket for herself. You rest in between her and Sirius, their snores echoing into your ears as the grasshoppers chirp outside. The potted plants will swing from the ceiling as the evening breeze passes by. (You’ll scold James in the morning for leaving the windows open again.) By your feet, is a fat Tabby cat with one eye named Tuna. (Full name: Tuna Belly.) There are moving pictures on the flower-plastered wall, a testament to the life you share—and the life you have fought hard for. Ruffled pillows are strewn across the carpeted floor. Parchments and notes lay askew on the desk table across the room—Remus’s jittery preparation for his first day next week as Hogwarts’s newest professor. 

Remus will catch you wide awake and tuck you into his chest, murmuring, “Rest now. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow for Wormy’s wedding.” 

You’ll hum and relinquish your thoughts for the night, holding onto James hand over Remus’s belly. “I love you,” you’ll whisper. 

Remus will say it back without hesitation—and you know the others feel exactly the same. 

Minutes later, the door will creak open and a tiny shadow will come crawling into the bed, knocking into everyone’s knees and stomach. It’s a little Harry who’s three years old now. He curls under your neck and you will hold him with all the love that six lifetimes can offer and more. 

When you close your eyes, it is a comforting darkness that envelopes you.

(Somewhere in a castle beyond valleys and lakes, locked away in the dusty shelves of Dumbledore’s cupboards, sits a broken Time-Turner that finally stops ticking.)

a/n: i wrote the last 2k words like a woman posessed! LMAO. i have to be at training in 2 hours and i haven't prepared yet. tell me what you thought aaaaa!!!! and yes, your sixth life is your last life so u die happily and in peace mwah mwah. might continue this universe with drabbles, idk. if u spot any mistakes.. ignore it for a bit LMAO, i'll proofread this soon.

[satoruhour]

a/n: technically a fic but too lazy to edit a header. tagging @slttygeto @crysugu @omgeto @ohmygetou @lvlybee @hyomagiri @jabamin ☆

warnings: roommate!geto, soft dom!geto, semi-public sex (the public being gojo & shoko lol), exhibitionism, praise, finger sucking, pet names, fingering, clit stimulation, oral (m receiving), reader chokes a little, cum shot, unprotected sex, riding, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

thinking about roommate!geto and having those dormitory movie nights like i mentioned in the roommate fic but now that you’re together and cuddling on the couch, gojo and shoko can’t help but playfully gag and tease the two of you — geto is smooth, always stroking your hair while his honeyed eyes only stay staring at you as they play some stupid lovey song like spandau ballet’s true in the background.

but what geto loves more than feeling your skin burn from the teasing and your soft sighs of love through your kisses is snaking his hand over your lap with the blanket that’s covering the both of you. it’s winter in tokyo, anyway, so at least you had the excuse of that over your bodies while geto teases the skin above your waistband.

“but they’re right there—” fingers clasped around his wrist as a warning. the movement is so quick the snack bowl almost topples over.

“relax...” geto lands a peck to your temple, smiling when he feels your hand loosens as soon as the warmth of his hand meets with the warmth of your cunt, “be quiet for me and i’ll let you cum.”

you hum in reply, wrapping an arm around his bicep now to stay closer to him, making a show that nothing sinister is going on under your pants and blanket. with one peek to shoko and gojo who’s engrossed with the movie (geto planned this, didn’t he?), you’re melting into the couch when an experimental finger rubs a lazy circle on your clit.

geto smiles at the way you nuzzle closer to him, hearing the whisper of a soft moan before his finger moves down, down, down, letting out a small groan when he feels that you’re already so wet.

“how’re you going to cum now, princess?” geto plays with your juices, your senses on end and wishing the fabric on you wouldn’t move so much, “you’re so wet that they could probably hear your cum drip down my hands.”

you tsk and pinch his bicep softly, “meanie. and who did this to me?”

geto chuckles, catching your lips in a soft kiss, “okay, okay. touché.”

the first push into your warm, wet pussy is phenomenal, both of your eyes closing as you squeeze around his thick finger. it reaches just like you remember the last time, mouth dug into his shirt sleeve to prevent any noise.

“second,” he whispers softly, eyes staying on the screen but not really digesting anything: he’s more fixated on the tightness of which you hang onto his side, the tightness of your walls, nudging past your folds with a second finger, “that’s it, good girl.”

geto mumbles into your hair and ignores the twitch of his cock, but he makes the mistake of pulling his eyes away from the television to you, who already has sweat lining your brow and your chin making an indent in his arm so that you’re staring up at him. your eyes are pleading, swirling with clouds of lust that suguru instinctively curls his fingers and has the pleasure of seeing your eyes widen and your mouth fall open in silence.

“doing so well, baby. you close?” geto cannot pull away from your hypnotising stare, so he holds it and finds himself getting weaker and weaker, “you’re throbbing.”

and you laugh lightly, ragged breaths leaving your person as his hands speed up just a little but like he said — you’re just too wet that they’d hear the squelch of your cunt so he continues to curl his fingers instead while your hand rubs at your clit. you’re squeezing suguru’s arm so tight your knuckles are probably white, heating up his skin with your irregular pants and whines.

your hips start to grind into his despite your initial caution and geto shoots you a cheeky smile before his fingers hit that spot and you’re making the move to moan and geto crashes his lips into yours — that gesture alone makes you cum, hands impatiently playing with your bundle of nerves as the coil in your tummy releases and you thank the heavens geto’s taking the bulk of your sounds.

“oh— just like that, sweetheart.” his voice strains a little as he lets you ride his fingers through your orgasm until you’re catching your breath, “still with me?”

you nod against his arm and sigh when his fingers leave your clenching hole; “always with you.” geto denies the flutter of his heart when you say that, pecking your forehead gently.

and all is well until you four are on your third movie and gojo and shoko are nodding off because they technically did have a tiring day ushering in freshmen today so once they knock out, geto’s surprised when your hand also travels over his body. they go over his arms, his pecs and to his torso and a single finger traces the happy trail right down to his cock and geto swallows.

“what happened to my shy girl?” he bites his lip, the dialogue on the movie now lost to him while you take the fingers that were in you before and shove them in your mouth — they still vaguely tasted like you, the websites were correct, you fear — twisting your tongue over his digits.

“gone.” you grin before you’re moving under the blanket, but not before giving your friends one last glance and they’re knocked out cold, “lemme suck your cock, su.”

suguru smiles, “slut.”

you shrug at the name; you know it’s done playfully and jokingly, “only f’r you.”

and geto hopes that’s true because when you’re the cutest when you tug off his underwear and his fat, throbbing cock slaps his abdomen from how painfully hard he was. you’re the cutest when you wrap your hands around him and even then it’s not enough to cover his length. you’re the cutest when you look up at him through your lashes and give the smallest kiss to his tip which is leaking so much pre-cum he’s a little embarrassed.

it’s a shame he had no chance of experiencing this the first time but then, he was focused solely on you and your pleasure, so seeing you between his legs now was a treat, especially the way your tongue swirls around his tip and scoops up his arousal.

“didn’t know you took dick so well,” geto breathlessly mumbles when you start to bob your head, brushing fingers through your hair and pulling the strands away from your mouth. you moan at that, squeezing his length and forcing him down your throat until—

“woah, woah, easy baby,” geto calms you down through your coughing fit and all you do is hide in his thighs, face hot.

“sorry.” is all you mutter and your lover brings you from your hiding place where there’s a pout on your face and tears lining your eyes when you’ve gagged earlier.

suguru tilts your chin up with a hand and kisses you gently, “nothin’ to be sorry bout, my love,” playing with your bottom lip and places another peck, always not being able to resist your lips, “i’ll train you next time,” that sends a thrill down to your core, “but for now, take it slow.”

“’kay,” you’re meek now, taking his shaft with more consideration but your mouth’s still as hot as ever. geto lets out a small moan, letting you go at your own pace no matter how much he wanted fuck your face. you run a long stripe up the bottom of his length, thumb playing with his tip while his eyes stay fixated on you taking him down your throat so well.

“use your hands— y-yes, fuck,” geto encourages, as you use your hands to pump the areas you’re not able to reach, the little stutters in his voice sending tingles down to your centre. “hollow your cheeks, baby— that’s righttt... mouth’s warm, huh?”

you slurp your saliva off his dick and come off, smiling at him, “yeah.”

he hums while you continue the bobbing of your head and the moans that you let out around his shaft send vibrations up his body. suguru twitches in your mouth and his thigh tenses.

“close—” geto’s moans get breathy and choked the closer he is to his high, hips bucking up into your mouth. there’s drool that drips from the corners and the sounds of your mouth being so full of his cock sends him into overdrive, “wanna— wanna cum all over your face, princess.”

you whine, the slurping and gawking noises getting faster before you’re letting his cock with a gasp, pumping him while your dilated eyes look up to him and him only. tongue out and soft, warm hands, and they all belong to you — truly the only person to get him so riled up and hard — he pulls on your hair before he spills all over your face. his seed’s so much, hitting your tongue and cheeks and you jolt slightly in surprise.

“f—fuck yesss... look s’pretty with my cum all over your face,” geto’s mouth hangs open at the sight, hips still jerking as your hands stroke and milk him until he’s got nothing left, grip loosening and then tightening when you gather his cum and then eat it all up, “attagirl.”

“you taste good, sugu,” you giggle, letting him pull you over and you take it as a sign to do away with the blanket altogether. with one more glance you now see shoko slouched over gojo and both of them drooling from the mouth; yeah you could fuck.

“that so?” geto pulls you in for a kiss, “guess i’m healthy then.”

“hm... don’t know, need your cum in me to do a proper check,” suguru’s hands fly to your hips instantly when you tease his cockhead along your folds, not even having the energy to comment on your little joke, eyes fluttering close and he stammers—

“b—baby, still sens’tive.”

you whine playfully, “please?”

there’s no answer from him when you slide down on him easily, and he sighs when his eyes open — the backlight of the television makes him think that maybe you were an angel to descend upon him, “y’know i can never say no to you, sweetheart.”

and you’re losing yourself in him after, his hands helping you ride him while you bounce on his lap. your head hangs forward, foreheads connected as your breath fans over his face. with each time his cock bottoms out of you, there’s the spill of your juices all over his torso and pelvis, entranced with your gummy walls until the shift of the two people beside you make you freeze.

they’ve both changed positions now: shoko’s head thrown back over the back of the sofa while gojo hangs over the side arm rests — you both share a little giggle and a breath of relief before suguru seizes your chin and forces you to look down.

“can’t last long, your pussy’s just too good,” your lover rasps out, your thighs burning, “so i want you watch to how you take my cock, baby.”

and you could cum from those words alone, yet you follow his orders before he starts to thrust up into you, whining right into his neck. his hips are relentless and his hands knead at your ass, eyes focusing on the way you watch your sopping cunt suck him up.

“s’good, s’good— fuuckk...” you whimper softly, chin hitting your chest as you watch the drag of his cock, in and out, in and out before seeing him twitch and your moans consist of his name only, “suguru, suguru, suguruuu....”

“almost there, cum with me sweetness,” geto groans when your body collapses onto him and he can feel your perk nipples poke into his chest, reminiscent of the very first time you thanked him for letting you room with him. how thankful he was, now. he lets you hide in his neck despite disobeying his request — you’re the only one he’d let do that — and he has an easier time ramming into you from below anyway.

it’s obscene, the slaps of his pelvis against the fat of your ass cheeks, coupled with the slickness of your drooling pussy, it’s got the both of you moaning softly into each other’s mouths before geto’s rutting into you hurriedly and messily. he continues his thrusts, fucking his cum into you until it starts to spill out the sides and you’re cumming right after when his tip kisses your cervix oh, so lightly, sending your thighs trembling and pussy fluttering.

“clenching ’round me so bad— shit, you’re cumming so much,” suguru laughs, cut off by a choked moan when your hips adjust. there’s a filthy shlick! that is sounded out when geto removes his cock from you and the mixture of your cum comes dripping out. he licks his lips when he watches it dribble out of your entrance.

“you’re so gross—” you grin, brushing the sweat-filled hair out of his face.

“like you’re not,” geto purses his lips and clicks his tongue, “sucking me off in front of friends.”

“it’s hot.”

the gears are turning in suguru’s head, and you just know you’re in for it when he picks you up swiftly, shoving your body into the sofa and he drags his weeping tip along your cum-filled cunt.

“oh yeah? let’s go till we wake the neighbours, baby.”

the next morning, you’re waking up with a pounding headache and aching legs, reaching over the bedside table (a gentleman like suguru would never leave you on the couch) before a text from gojo lights up the phone and you’re mortified.

[satoru (loser) 🧿👄🧿]: i heard u btw

[rosesareredrosa]

Just a Little Longer

Theo Nott x fem reader

Summary: Theo doesn't want to y/n to leave bed for just a little longer

w/c: 829

The soft light of dawn filtered into the Slytherin dormitory, casting a warm glow over the stone walls and the still figures within. Theodore stirred, his dark hair tousled as he slowly opened his eyes. Beside him, you lay peacefully, your breaths steady and serene, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace.

Theo smiled, pulling you closer and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He loved these quiet moments with you, where the world outside didn’t matter. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch light and careful, not wanting to wake you just yet.

You stirred, a sleepy smile spreading across your face as you snuggled closer to him. "Good morning," you murmured, your voice soft and husky from sleep.

"Good morning, mia cara," he replied, his voice a low rumble. He tightened his arms around you, not wanting to let you go. "Stay with me a little longer. We don’t have to get up yet."

You sighed contentedly, melting into his embrace. "But we have class," you mumbled, though your resolve was quickly weakening.

Theo nuzzled your neck, pressing soft kisses along your skin. "We can skip just this once," he whispered. "Let’s just stay here, together."

You hesitated, knowing the importance of attending your classes. "Theo, we really should go. We’ll get in trouble if we don’t."

He looked into your eyes, his expression pleading and sincere. "Please, cara mia? Just this once? I don’t want to let you go yet."

You sighed, your resolve wavering under his gaze. "We can't keep doing this, you know," you said, trying to sound stern, but the warmth of his embrace made it difficult to stay firm.

He smiled, sensing your weakening resolve. "I promise we won’t make it a habit. Just a little longer, I want to hold you."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was already melting. "Alright, just this once," you conceded, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you pulled the blankets up around you both.

Theodore grinned, his eyes lighting up with triumph. "Perfect." He settled back against the pillows, his arms wrapped securely around you. The two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside forgotten for a while longer.

As the morning passed, you talked quietly, sharing dreams and whispered secrets. Theo’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. The comfort of his presence made you feel safe, like nothing could touch you as long as you were together.

Eventually, the sound of students bustling in the corridors grew louder, signaling the start of the day. You sighed, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden away forever. "We should probably get up," you said reluctantly.

Theo shook his head, pulling you even closer. "Just a little longer," he pleaded, his eyes meeting yours with a soft, vulnerable look.

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the boy who held you so tightly. "Alright, a little longer," you conceded, snuggling back into his embrace.

The minutes ticked by, the world outside growing busier, but Theodore didn’t seem to notice. He kept whispering, "Just a little longer," each time you tried to move. His fingers gently traced patterns on your back, his touch sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

"We really should go now," you said, half-heartedly attempting to sit up.

"Please, bella, just a little bit longer," he murmured, his eyes soft and pleading.

You laughed softly, giving in once more. "Okay, but this is the last time."

Time seemed to stretch on in a blissful haze as you remained entwined in each other’s arms. The sounds of Hogwarts waking up and bustling about faded into the background. Theodore’s warmth and the rhythmic beat of his heart against your ear were all that mattered.

"We’re definitely going to be late," you said with a sigh, though you made no move to get up.

"I know," he replied, a mischievous grin on his lips. "But I don’t care. I just want to hold you."

You playfully swatted his chest. "You’re impossible, Theo."

"And you love it, mia cara," he said, his eyes twinkling.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart full. "Yes, I do."

When the castle’s bells finally chimed, signaling the end of the morning classes, you reluctantly pulled away. "We should probably get something to eat," you said, your stomach growling in agreement.

Theodore sighed, a reluctant smile on his lips. "I suppose you’re right. But I’m not letting you out of my sight for long, tesoro."

You kissed his cheek, a promise of more stolen moments to come. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Hand in hand, you left the dormitory, the warmth of your morning together lingering in your hearts. As you stepped into the bustling halls of Hogwarts, you knew that no matter what the day brought, you had each other, and that was all that mattered.

[bunny-1111]

Hi!!!

Can you write something on theo nott like how he becomes vulnerable with y/n

By the way love your writing style❤️❤️❤️

Thank you so much! and thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy <3

...

Theodore Nott was nothing if not private.

He kept most thoughts to himself and his secret buried deep within.

It could be endearing sometimes, but when you looked at his face, the look telling you he has something he wants to say, something that's eating him up, something he wants to talk about, and yet, he says nothing. A small frown hinted at the corners of his lips, and a wishful thought threatened to spill from his tongue.

Whenever he got close to dropping his guard, he rebuilds his walls ten times higher, and stronger.

His worries, unbeknownst to you, became your own.

What's he thinking about, what's wrong, why won't he talk to me?

You tried to get him to talk to you, and tried, and tried, and tried again.

All your troubles were met with radio silence from Theodore.

While lying in bed, covered in blankets and body heat, the two of you spoke—well, you spoke, and he listened.

"And then, Pansy looked at me in front of the whole classroom and called me a bitch. Can you believe that, my own best friend?" You sniffled through your rant

"No, I can't believe that; she shouldn't have. It's gonna be ok though, I promise you, I won't leave your side for a second tomorrow, alright?" he comforted, wiping your tears and rubbing circles on your shoulder

"thank you Teddy, I'm so lucky to have you" You frown up at him "No, I'm lucky to have you" He smiled, kissing your slightly puffy cheeks

"I wish I could help you too if you ever need to talk about anything" you sighed

By the end of your sentence, you felt his body stiffen.

You didn't ask again.

You had accepted that it wouldn't come quickly or easily from Theo, but you were patient, so you finally let go of expectation, maybe you would never see your boyfriend vulnerable, maybe he was invincible, you just didn't know.

But out of protest, you stopped telling Theodore your own problems, you stopped confiding in him for even the smallest things, you couldn't constantly give and not take, you thought.

Only then did it hit Theodore, that he had accidentally pushed you away by not giving you a glimpse into his mind.

Sitting on the cold leather couches of the common room, you ranted to Draco about Snapes lesson

'Why the fuck is she telling him and not me?' Theodore thought, watching you go on about your teacher. He took a deep breath in and did what he always does. Left.

He ventured out into the cold night, finding a seat beneath the courtyard, lighting a cigarette, his head against the brick.

Why the fuck won't she talk to me, even about bloody Snape?

Why the fuck does she think Draco can help her, when I'm right here?

What else hasn't she told me?

His mind raced against him until he reached his unusual conclusion of panic. His heart beating hard against his chest, his head pounding with worry, "Holy shit" he muttered, this is exactly how you felt when he pulled away from you.

He took one last long drag of his smoke, dropping it, and stomping on its remaining ash.

It was now well past curfew, and he knew it; the last thing he needed was to be caught sneaking into the girl's dormitories, so he raced against the speed of his own feet until he found himself knocking on your door.

You crept out tired, "Hey" you yawn, shocked to see him without notice, he wasn't usually spontaneous at showing up to your dorm, always announced, never the less, you of course open the door wide to let him in.

"Are you ok?" you ask, doubting you would get an honest answer, but you ask anyway.

"No" he admitted, you almost think you didn't hear him correctly, he had made you stop dead in your tracks.

Turning to him instantly

"What's wrong, teddy" you begin, gently placing a hand on his face, he takes your hand in his.

He doesn't say anything back yet, just pulls you into a tight hug, OK, you think, this is at least, a start.

Your face must've shown what you were thinking, compassion, as your brows furrowed, you pleaded with your eyes, open up to me

To your surprise, he begins to talk, now sitting, facing each other on the edge of your bed, "I so fucking overwhelmed, and my fathers being a pain in my ass, constantly sending me letters about Merlin knows what, and I haven't even started studying for exams, and I don't want to go home for the holidays, it's so cold and lonely in my fucking house, and I miss you, I feel like we've drifted apart lately and I know it's my fault" he quickly spills out in one go.

You had to gasp for air yourself, he had held so much in, you didn't know what to process first. By the time you went to open your mouth, Theodore shot up, racing for your door, hands nervously running through his hair "This was dumb, I'm sorry, forget everything I just said." you rushes

"No! No, Theo, please, sit back down", you plead. To your surprise, he listens, though he doesn't look up, but that's ok as long as he stays? Baby steps, you thought.

"You don't have to reply to his letters, and if you really think you do, I'll help you write one back politely telling him to lay off, that you need to focus on your studies. Theo, you don't even need to study, your the smartest in every class, but you and I, can stay in the library every Friday night so you can get into routine" You started, he was looking at you now.

"You can come home with me for the holidays, or I'll come with you and if you don't want to leave! We will stay here, alright?! And Teddy, we will never leave each other, that, I promise, because we're fixing things, we're finally talking" your smile laced with sympathy

He watched you for a while, his eyes wide, his breath caught, his body practically frozen, until it wasn't, until he dropped his head into your chest, until he realised how easy it was to talk to you, that you actually had a solution.

"I'm sorry that I've never done this before, you know, open up. It's not easy for me," he says muffled, cringing at what he was confessing

"I know, my love, I hope this is helping, Teddy, I'm here for you for a long as you need me," you say

"You know, usually, I just save this all for my mum. When I get home, I visit her grave and I tell her everything I'd never said out loud, but it's so hard to get there most of the time and being at school for so long I just-" he says, as he looks up he see your eyes filling with tears

"Hey, no no, I didn't mean to make you cry" he says now holding you too

"Theo, that's horrible, I'm here. I'm here" you insist

"I know that now, I haven't done this before, I always thought it was wrong to, I don't know, communicate" he almost laughed.

You scruffled his hair, lacing your hands through his slightly tangled brown locks.

"Let me take those thought of yours, I'll kept them safe in my mind from now on, let me share the heavy load with you, we can help each other" you smile

He went on about everything else bothering him, and by the end, he felt a sense of relief, of lightness, of peace.

Even after almost a year together, that was the beginning of a new stage of your relationship. Trust was built, and now Theodore knew, even though he had previously resisted, all he had to do was find you, and you'd be there.

P.S, it's almost 1am for me so, I'm tired. This might not be the best lol, not edited or reread <33

Message for any requests, as always, comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated my loves <3

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Beginning

Pairings: poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys have something to discuss with you. Warnings: mentions of chronic pain Series Masterlist

You've always taken pride in being a Gryffindor, even if your experience at Hogwarts has been different from most. The grand staircases are a sight to behold, but hardly practical for someone who relies on wheels to move about. Thankfully, the enchantment on your wheelchair allows you to navigate the larger flights with ease, levitating over each step like a feather caught on the wind. But the narrow spiral stairs leading to the dormitories remain a barrier that magic has yet to overcome.

And so, nestled away from the dorms, connected to the Gryffindor common room by a hidden door behind a portrait of Godric Gryffindor, is your sanctuary—a small, cosy accessible room created just for you. Its doorways are wide enough for your chair to pass through unimpeded, and shelves filled with books and curiosities slide up and down the walls at a wave of your wand, always within reach. A fireplace crackles in the corner, its flames dancing merrily, not just for show but enchanted to respond to your presence, ensuring you're never too cold or too hot.

Even so, the comfort of your space sometimes feels like an isolating divide, widening the gap between you and the other Gryffindors. You hear their laughter echo down the halls, a reminder of the camaraderie that defines your house, and it's easy to feel forgotten when your room exists separate from theirs.

But you are never truly alone. Sirius, Remus, and James are always there, their voices a constant companion in your mind. They've seen the world outside of Hogwarts, experienced the joys and pains of life beyond these ancient walls, and they offer wisdom and friendship when you need it most.

The fire flickers low in your room this evening, casting warm, dancing shadows across the wooden beams overhead and the soft blankets draped over your bed. You sit by the window, gazing out into the night as the familiar ache of your condition pulses through you—a reminder that even within these walls, filled with magic and wonder, some things remain untouched by spells and potions.

A gentle rap at the door pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn your head, shifting slightly as your body protests the movement.

"Come in," you call, your voice a soft whisper against the quietude.

The door creaks open, and Remus Lupin steps inside, his eyes meeting yours with an understanding that goes beyond words. Seeing him there, a beacon amidst the encroaching shadows, you feel a subtle lightening of the weight upon your chest. His presence, while it can't erase the pain, somehow makes it more bearable.

Behind him, Sirius Black and James Potter linger at the doorway, their postures casual but their expressions betraying their concern. There's warmth there too, a silent promise of companionship that seeps into the corners of the room, chasing away the chill of loneliness.

"Are you alright?" Remus's voice breaks the silence, his words a gentle breeze against the storm of your thoughts. He moves closer, his hand falling naturally to the back of your wheelchair as if it has always been there.

Your lips curve upward in a small smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes but serves its purpose all the same. "Just thinking," you reply, your gaze unfocused, lost somewhere between here and the memories that threaten to consume you.

"Uh oh, that's never good," Sirius teases, his grin a crooked line against the backdrop of concern etched into his features. He saunters over to your bed, collapsing onto it with an exaggerated sigh, the pillows protesting under his weight. James follows suit, albeit with more grace, settling himself next to Sirius.

Remus lets out an amused huff, his hand still resting on the back of your chair as though anchoring you to reality. You turn slightly, positioning yourself to face him more directly, the subtle shift in your body language inviting further conversation.

"Mind if we keep you company for a while?" James asks, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. There's a playfulness in his gaze, but it's tempered by a softness that speaks volumes of the bond shared between you.

"Always," you respond without hesitation. Their presence has been a constant source of comfort through the years, and tonight is no exception. The connection between you is tangible, a warmth that seems to grow with each passing moment.

It's more than friendship now—something deeper, unspoken yet undeniable. You feel it in the way your heart thrums at their proximity, in the ease of silence that falls when words are unnecessary.

Sirius pushes himself up from the bed, legs swinging over the side until his feet touch the floor. A teasing smirk plays on his lips as he meets your gaze. "We figured you'd be bored out of your mind cooped up in here alone. Your room could use a bit of... charm." He gestures to himself with a dramatic flourish, the smirk never leaving his face.

You snort, rolling your eyes at his theatrics. "If that's what you're calling it."

James chuckles, nudging Sirius with an elbow. "Easy there, Pads. Don't want to scare our guest away with your overwhelming 'charm.'"

Sirius feigns a wounded expression, clutching his chest dramatically. "Prongs, you wound me! I am the very picture of charm and grace."

"And modesty," Remus adds dryly, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "Don't worry, he'll survive."

You can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep within, a welcome relief from the pain that has been your constant companion. "I don't doubt it."

These are the moments you cling to, the ones that make the darkness recede, if only for a little while. Even on days when your body aches with a ferocity potions can't fully quell, their presence is a balm. They don't treat you like you're made of glass, ready to shatter at any moment. Instead, they offer respect, care, and the kind of playful banter that is the hallmark of true Gryffindors.

But tonight is different. There's a charge in the air, unspoken yet palpable. It hangs heavy, a cloud threatening to burst, hinting at words left unsaid, thoughts unfinished.

Finally, James breaks the silence, his hand ruffling the already chaotic mess of his hair. "Look, we've been wanting to talk to you about something."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of interest sparking within them. "Go on," you prompt, leaning back in your chair.

Sirius shifts uncomfortably, glancing first at Remus and then at James. It's as if there's an unspoken agreement between them, a decision made in the space of a heartbeat about who should speak next. Remus lets out a quiet sigh, moving from his spot by the fireplace to kneel next to your chair. His gaze is steady, serious yet filled with a kindness that belies the gravity of his words.

"We've been giving it a lot of thought," he begins, his voice soft but firm. "About us... all of us."

Your breath catches. You think you know where this is going, but you can't bring yourself to interrupt, to voice the thought that's been stirring in the corners of your mind. Instead, you wait, silent and still, as the world outside continues its oblivious spin.

"We've always been close, you know that," Remus continues, his hand brushing yours where it rests on the arm of your chair. The contact is light, almost imperceptible, but it sends a jolt through you, electrifying the space between your skin and his. "But lately, it seems like... well, like there might be something more."

Sirius leans in then, his usual grin replaced by a look of intense seriousness. "We don't want to make things uncomfortable," he says, his grey eyes searching yours for any sign of unease. "But we need to know if you feel it too."

James, ever the bold one, leans forward as well, his voice barely more than a whisper yet carrying the weight of years' worth of emotions. "We care about you deeply. More than just friends. And we thought... perhaps you might feel the same?"

Your heart skips a beat, their words echoing the very thoughts you've been afraid to acknowledge, let alone voice. Warmth radiates from within you, spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes as you take in each of their expressions—Remus's soft smile, Sirius's hopeful eyes, James's earnest gaze.

"I do," you admit, the confession slipping past your lips before you can think to hold it back. "I have for a long time now."

Sirius exhales as if he's been holding his breath, the lines of tension easing from his face. He rises, crossing the room in two strides to crouch beside you. His arms encircle you in a gentle hug, mindful of the chair, of the pain that never quite leaves you.

James is there too, somehow managing to join the embrace without toppling the precarious balance. His hand rests heavy on your shoulder, an anchor against the storm of emotions threatening to capsize you. Remus watches with soft eyes, waiting until the others relent before offering his own gesture—a kiss pressed to your forehead, sweet and grounding.

"Part of me wondered," you say, your voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "With everything...the chair, the constant pain—"

"Shhh." Sirius cuts you off, his voice gentle but insistent. "We've never cared about that. We care about you—all of you. Not just the parts that are easy to love."

James nods, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a warmth that defies the chill outside. "You're brilliant just as you are, Y/N."

Once again, Remus's hand finds yours, the calloused pads of his fingers tracing reassuring patterns against your skin. "We're here for you, no matter what."

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision as your chest tightens. But this isn't the painful constriction of fear or sorrow—it's the swelling of a heart too full, brimming with the love and acceptance you've found within these walls.

"I love you guys," you whisper, the words carried away by the crackling fire.

Sirius smiles, a genuine expression that reaches his eyes. "And we love you, Y/N."

And just like that, the bond between the four of you solidifies, something stronger and deeper than you ever could have imagined. You aren’t just navigating life at Hogwarts anymore; you’re navigating it with them, together.

[bucksanklescrews]

my hero- e.b. x fem!reader

if someone sets off the fire alarm one more time, its not going to be a false alarm next time (for legal reasons this is a joke)

warnings: fire alarm, kiss

Disoriented and still half-asleep, you blink groggily at the dim, early-morning light filtering through the blinds. The blaring fire alarm, screeching in the hallway, feels like a jackhammer drilling straight into your skull. Squinting, you grope blindly across your bedside table, fingers brushing against your phone, a crumpled tissue, and a half-full water bottle before finally landing on your glasses. You slip them on and wince as the room comes into sharper focus, the bright red glow of the alarm panel on the wall glaring back at you.

Please move to the nearest exits. Do not use the elevators. Fire alarm. Please move to the nearest-

“I get it!” you snap irritably, voice rough with sleep.

The alarm continues, merciless and unyielding, and you groan, pushing yourself upright. Your legs dangle over the side of the bed as you fumble for your shoes, finding only a pair of flimsy sandals by the door. You slip your feet into them, wincing as the straps dig uncomfortably into your socks, but you’re too tired to care. It's just for a few minutes, you reason. Besides, you can’t exactly go barefoot down the grimy dormitory stairwell.

Grabbing your sweatshirt off the back of your chair, you pull it over your head, the fabric muffling the sound of the alarm for a blessed few seconds. Once it’s on, though, the shrill beeping returns, echoing down the hallway as you crack open your door and step into the chaos beyond.

The corridor is a strange mixture of bleary-eyed students in pajamas, hastily thrown-on jackets, and, in some cases, just blankets wrapped around shoulders. They shuffle slowly, some yawning, others clutching phones with expressions of resigned annoyance as they trudge toward the emergency stairwell. You fall into line with them, yawning and rubbing at your eyes as you move with the tide of people heading for the exit.

The stairs are crowded, the steady clomp of slippers, flip-flops, and mismatched shoes creating an oddly synchronized rhythm. No one speaks, each person too wrapped up in their own tired thoughts and irritation, and the silence, punctuated by the occasional cough or sigh, feels almost reverent in a way.

As you reach the bottom floor, you notice the emergency lights casting a dim, ghostly glow over the lobby. The cool morning air hits you the moment you step outside, making you shiver and huddle deeper into your sweatshirt. The campus grounds are filled with clusters of students, all gathered under the dull glow of streetlights, clutching themselves for warmth or checking their phones with annoyed expressions.

Standing there, amidst the crowd of sleepy faces and muffled complaints, you find yourself hoping that whoever set off the alarm regrets it—immensely.

You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself tighter as you wait impatiently. The thin sweatshirt barely keeps out the chilly morning air, and you can feel it creeping under the cuffs and up your sleeves. As you glance around, half-focused on keeping warm, you catch the sound of giggling from a couple of girls standing a few feet away.

“Oh, here come the firefighters!” one of them whispers, her eyes lighting up. “I hope they're hot!"

The other one snickers, her voice dripping with excitement and anticipation. “Last time, there was this one guy who looked like he walked straight out of a magazine. I’d take another 5 a.m. fire drill if it meant seeing him again.”

Rolling your eyes, you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wondering if the ordeal might at least bring some entertainment. The crowd parts slightly as the firefighters approach, flashlights glinting off their helmets. A few murmurs ripple through the crowd as people crane their necks to get a better look, and some students even take out their phones, subtly aiming their cameras at the approaching crew.

You cross your arms tighter, rubbing your hands along your sleeves to warm up, and glance up just as the first firefighter steps into view. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, a silhouette against the emergency lights, and, you have to admit, he looks every bit the part of the heroic first responder.

“Is it him?” one of the girls whispers excitedly, bouncing on her toes.

The second firefighter comes into view, a slight smile barely visible beneath the brim of his helmet. He catches the giggling girls’ eyes and gives a small, courteous nod. They immediately dissolve into more laughter, and you can’t help but smirk, despite the cold and early hour.

The firefighters begin to walk toward the entrance, and you hear one of them exchange a few words with the building’s RA, who’s standing by with a clipboard, looking every bit as tired as the rest of you. You shift back and forth, impatiently, hoping they’ll wrap this up soon so you can return to bed.

A few moments later, the lead firefighter steps forward, lifting his voice just enough to be heard. “Just bear with us, everyone. We'll have this sorted out as soon as possible."

You smile softly as you make eye contact with Captain Nash. He waves at you, tilting his head like he has something to say. You shuffle through the crowd.

Curiosity piqued, you navigate through the shuffling crowd of students, dodging yawns and half-hearted complaints as you edge closer to Captain Nash. He stands tall and calm amidst the chaos, his presence steadying, like a familiar anchor in the early morning haze. When you finally break free from the crowd and step up to him, he gives you a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that’s both reassuring and mildly amused.

“Rough morning, huh?” he asks, voice low enough that only you can hear. He raises an eyebrow, gesturing subtly to your mismatched sandals and socks.

You stifle a chuckle, looking down at your half-asleep fashion statement with a shrug. “Yeah, didn’t think this was worth a full outfit change,” you reply, tugging on the hem of your sweatshirt for emphasis.

He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “No, I think you’re perfectly dressed for the occasion.” He glances over his shoulder as his team works near the building entrance, checking the alarm panel and taking down notes. "Buck's going to want to see you before we leave."

You hum. "I also want to see him. My hero," you say, dryly.

Bobby chuckles, clearly amused by your sarcastic tone. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that,” he replies, with a wink. He gestures for you to follow him toward where the rest of his team is stationed by the entrance, and you weave through the crowd behind him.

Buck is easy to spot, standing a little apart from the others as he inspects the control panel with intense focus, his brow furrowed in concentration. You can see him muttering to himself as he examines the wires, utterly absorbed in his task. For a moment, you’re tempted to sneak up on him, but Nash clears his throat, drawing Buck’s attention. He turns, and the moment he sees you, his expression lights up.

“Well, look who finally made it out of bed,” he says, a wide grin spreading across his face. He raises an eyebrow, giving you a quick once-over and pausing at your sock-and-sandal combo. “Stylish as always, I see.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep a straight face. “Yes, I dress exclusively for occasions like these. Nothing but the finest for a 5 a.m. fire alarm.”

Buck laughs, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “Ah, so you’re just here to admire my work, then?” He gestures grandly to the control panel as if he’s unveiling a work of art. “It’s a wiring malfunction. You were in no real danger, don’t worry.”

“Oh, good,” you reply, feigning relief. “I was ready to nominate you for a medal of bravery.”

“Only a medal?” Buck teases, pretending to look wounded. “I thought ‘hero of the year’ was more my speed.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Alright, ‘hero of the year.’ Thanks for getting us out of bed and saving us from… an empty hallway.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself, and leans in a little, lowering his voice. He passes you a small hand warmer. “Next time, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know if it’s a real emergency. Scout’s honor.”

“Oh, I feel so safe now,” you reply, laughing.

Captain Nash watches the two of you with a fond smile before finally breaking in. “Alright, you two, that’s enough flirting in the cold. Let’s let them get back inside.” He gives you a light nudge toward the entrance.

As you pull Buck into the small inlet by the Residence Hall Director’s office, the hum of chatter fades slightly, giving you both a rare moment of privacy amidst the chaos. His hands find your waist, steady and warm, and he leans in to press a quick, soft kiss to your lips. The kiss is gentle, a brief but familiar connection that melts some of the lingering chill from the early morning.

You smile, patting his arm affectionately. “I’ll call you when your shift’s over, hero.”

His grin widens, a hint of boyish pride lighting up his expression. “I’ll hold you to that.” With a final squeeze, he lets you slip past him, giving you space to rejoin the stream of students filing back into the building.

As you make your way toward the stairs, you can’t help glancing back just once to see him standing by the entrance, watching you with that same, soft smile lingering on his face. Turning forward, you find yourself sandwiched between the same two girls from earlier, still whispering to each other with barely-concealed excitement. You’re only a few steps up when you feel their eyes on you, glancing back and forth between you and the doorway where Buck’s still visible.

You try to focus on the climb, but you catch snippets of their hushed conversation, and it’s clear they’re talking about you.

“Did you see that?” one of them whispers, her tone tinged with awe. “She just kissed him! That’s her boyfriend! We need to be friends with her.”

“Shut up,” the other one murmurs, giggling. “He’s a firefighter! And did you see how he looked at her? Like, that’s movie-level romance.”

You bite back a smile, pretending not to notice as they fall into a fit of muffled giggles. The warmth from the hand warmer Buck gave you still lingers in your pocket, and for a moment, you don’t mind the climb or the chill. The girls’ words trail off, replaced by soft sighs and faint giggles as they shuffle up behind you, but you can still feel the amused, almost envious glances they cast your way.

As you finally reach your floor, one of the girls gives you a little nudge, her face lighting up with genuine excitement. “You know, that was seriously cute. I’d get out of bed early for a guy like that.”

You chuckle, shrugging as you make your way to your door. “It has its perks,” you admit, smiling to yourself as you close the door and finally, blissfully, crawl back into bed.

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, praising, remmy being a bit of a meanie but also absolutely lovely, public sex and exhibitionism but not really?,

Synopsis: Remmy fingering you in his bed with curtains drawn while all the boys are in the dorm as well, so you better be quiet, don’t you?

A/n: it’s my birthday today!!!🥳🎂 happy bday to me and have this lil treat<3 I really hope you like this lil thing

You and Remus were huddled up on his soft bed, numerous blankets and duvets are scattered everywhere, keeping two of you warm and comfy. Thick heavy curtains were drawn all around the bed, painting everything inside their confines deep scarlet, securely concealing both of you from the noise and havoc that usually reigned in boys’ dormitories.

You were laying on your sides facing each other, your leg thrown over Remus’ hips, head laying comfortably on his shoulder. His arm, that you were laying on, was curled protectively around your shoulders, big warm hand rubbing your back up and down soothingly.

You couldn’t help a small whimper that escaped your lips, but, thankfully, James was wailing so loudly about a new rare card that he got in chocolate frog that his booming voice successfully concealed all of your small sounds. Remus’ fingers kept sliding in and out of your drenched with slick pussy, thumb nudging swollen needy clit persistently, making you shake and writhe around in his arms.

- Now, pretty girl, I told you to be quiet. This time we got lucky, but we don’t want boys to hear what a little slutty thing you are, do we? - Remus murmured softly, his voice low so that only you can hear him. He pressed his lips against the heated skin of your forehead, leaving a chaste kiss there.

You only buried your face into the cozy crook of Remus’ shoulder, his comforting scent hit your nose - he smelled of fresh laundry, fluffy blankets and something sweet that you couldn’t quite decipher - he smelled like home. You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, bringing yourself even closer to his hot body.

- Spread your legs a bit wider for me… yeah, just like that. Such a smart little thing, aren’t you? - Remus cooed against your ear as you readjusted your position a bit, sliding your leg higher up boy’s torso, increasing by that the gap between your thighs.

You smiled at his praise, leaving a few wet kisses on the side of his neck, nibbling gently on soft skin there but not enough to leave a mark, knowing how much boy disliked that. You could barely contain a moan as Remus increased the speed of his fingers fucking into you, new angle allowed him to reach even deeper inside. Your moth fell open in a silent moan, eyes shutting tightly and you heard Sirius’ roaring laughter and some repetitive hollow thudding, assuming that James and Peter must have started a vicious pillow fight.

Remus’ fingers curled a bit, massaging your frontal wall oh so deliciously, making you jolt harshly at pleasurable feeling.

- Easy, doll. I’ve got you, - Remus tutted into your hair, you could practically hear that well-known shit-eating grin in his voice.

The new positioning of his fingers allowed Remus to strokes you in all the right spots, you felt your orgasm nearing rapidly, heavy pleasure spilling in the bottom of your stomach. You leaned closer into your boyfriend, your hips moving ever so slightly in tandem with his fingers, trying to intensify the feeling.

- Remmy, ‘m really close, - you mewled weakly, words muffled because of your face squished against boy’s warm chest.

- I know, baby, just let it go. C’mon, cum on my fingers, make me proud, - Remus encouraged, his voice was dripping honey, which, doubled with his constant praise and nimble fingers fucking into you so good, sent you right over the edge.

Your eyes rolled back at the intense feeling of raw pleasure spreading through your body in crashing waves, white stars filled your vision. Your hands were grabbing desperately onto Remus’ soft sweater, teeth sank into your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress all of sweet moans and cries.

Remus rode out your orgasm, never stopping to fuck his long fingers into your sweet pussy, his other hand rubbing your back and shoulders, whispering sweet nothing into your flushed ear. He only stopped when you started wriggling your hips, trying to get away from his now painful caressing against your overstimulated sex.

He carefully pulled his fingers out, bringing them up to his face and burying his sticky with your slick digits in his warm mouth, sucking and lapping at your juices with immense pleasure. You flushed deeply, smacking Remus’ chest playfully and muttering quiet ‘pervert’ under your breath, causing boy to chuckle airily. He put his now clean fingers away from his mouth, leaning forward to slant his wet lips over yours, kissing you long and lazily, completely taking your breath away.

You broke off first, silver string of saliva was connecting your mouths, Remus eyes shining prettily in a dim light. Your shaky hand came to tuck a string of his soft sandy hair behind his pierced ear, thumb caressing chiseled cheekbone affectionately. Remus leaned in to place yet another kiss on your pretty lips but was stopped half-way by loud cracking sound and heavy cussing:

- Holy fucking shit, Prongs! McGonagall’s gonna fucking skin us alive for this! - Sirius’ panicked, but still more excited voice shrieked, you rushed to put your underwear and pajama pants back on before peeking your head out of crimson curtains, curious to see what had happened.

In the center of a room James, Sirius and Peter were all standing looking extremely disheveled and panting heavily, pillows clutched tightly in their hands. They all were staring at the floor where you spotted a huge hole a size of a quaffle, loud ‘what the fuck’ coming from the inhabitants of a room below. You heard Remus groan behind you, string of heavy expletives rolling off his tongue as he scrambled out of bed, racking his brain for possible ways to fix the breakage without teachers being involved.

James caught your eyes, shrugging silently, keeping unnaturally quiet, not wanting to get on Remus’ nerves when he was so angry. Sirius standing beside him could barely suppress his laughter, clutching his pillow to his chest in attempt to ground himself in any way possible. Peter’s face was completely blank, eyes wandering all around the dorm as if nothing ever happened, swaying from side to side lightly.

At the end of a day, they managed to fix the hole in the floor and all three of them got a smack on the back of the head from extremely querulous Remus.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, they inspire me on creating even more content for you💖

[ahqkas]

Mattheo with a s/o who can get easily sick. Like she would have a small cough that soon turns into a blown out flu and it always makes him worried. She tells Mattheo that’s it’s normal for her to get sick and he is just like “..I’m shoving vitamin gummies down your throat”. Just pure overprotective Mattheo trying to help her immune system! 💕

-🧚🏾‍♀️💗

TAKING CARE OF YOU ; mattheo riddle

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE CASTLE WAS CHILLED WITH THE WINTER FROST, the stone walls holding onto the cold and the window were painted with various of pretty ornaments. It was cold, the snow reddening the students’ cheeks wherever they went. Especially your cheeks.

You had started with a small cough, just a tickle in the back of your throat. Within a day, it had escalated into a full blown flu. You were used to it — your immune system had always been weaker than most — but that didn’t mean it was any less miserable.

Huddling in your dormitory, wrapped in layers of warm and cozy blankets, your nose throbbed and your nose ran wildly. The world outside was covered by its own blanket, this one white and gray, making you suffer in the dorm. You could be in the snow if it wasn’t for your stuffy nose. A small, pitiful sneeze escaped you. and you signed, ready to suffer like this for the next week or so.

Mattheo Riddle, your beloved boyfriend, had been keeping a close eye on you since the moment he found out you got ill. His worry was evident on his face with the way his dark eyes lingered more than usually and his brows furrowed, creating frown lines between them. Now, he was sitting on the edge of your bed as he watched you try to drink a cup of hot tea he made the house elves bring you.

“You should have told me it was getting worse,”he muttered, the tone of his voice a mix of irritation and concern.

Offering him a weak smile, you took a sip of the herbal tea, trying not to let out a wince at its taste. It wasn’t really enjoyable but it had the healing effects you desperately needed. “I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, I’m used to it. I always get sick like this.”

The Slytherin’s frown deepened, his expression darkening. “Just because it’s normal for you doesn’t mean it’s okay. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not alone,” you pointed out to him, reaching for his hand that rested next to your thigh and gave him a squeeze. “I have you.”

The look of worry on his face softened a little bit as he looked down at your intertwined fingers. “That’s right. And I’m going to make sure you get better. No more of this ‘normal’ nonsense. I’m showing those vitamin gummies you own down your throat if I have to.”

You laughed, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. Mattheo’s frown returned before he stood up from the bed, hand reaching towards your nightstand where he knew you kept all the supplies you needed during times like these. He picked up a bottle of vitamin gummies and shook it pointedly in front of your face.

“Open up,” he commanded, already holding out a gummy for you to take.

You rolled your eyes lightly but complied to his demand request, knowing better than to argue with him when he was in worrying mode. He handed you a gummy, making sure you chewed and swallowed it.

“Are you happy now?” you asked, voice muffled by the blanket you had pulled up to your chin as you brought your knees against your chest.

“Not until you’re feeling better. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I hate being like this,” you admitted, sniffing into the warm fabric. “But you’re making it a lot more bearable. Thank you, love.”

He sat back against the edge of the bed, this time closer to you as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Just focus on getting better, okay? I’ll take care of the rest.

For the next few days, Mattheo was relentless in his care. He brought you meals and snacks from the Great Hall, made sure you took your vitamins, and brought you school work you had missed (he started taking notes for you). He checked on you between classes, and when he wasn’t physically with you, he sent you messages through enchanted notes and owls to make sure you were drinking enough fluids and resting.

One evening, after a particularly nasty fit of coughing, you found yourself in tears, frustration and exhaustion taking their toll on you. The Slytherin was there in an instant, pulling you into his arms despite your protests about getting him sick. He couldn’t care less.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he rubbed you back in comforting movements. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, grateful for his warmth and comfort. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I hate being like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, holding you tighter. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

A kiss to your forehead and his gentle humming were enough to lull you into sleep in your boyfriend’s warm embrace.

[tastelikezweig]

DUVET

well patrick and tashi had just finished arguing, their voices echoing through the dormitory's thin walls. in a fit of anger, patrick stormed out of her room, a duffle bag clutched tightly in his hand, his clothes hastily thrown in. he was left standing in the hallway in nothing but his boxers.

as he rounded the corner, his pace quickened, desperation evident in his every step. suddenly, he collided with you, sending his clothes scattering across the floor.

"patrick?!" you shrieked, rubbing your forehead. "why are you naked?"

a groan of frustration escaped his lips, accompanied by the mocking giggles of a few girls nearby. embarrassment flushed his cheeks as he pleaded, "can you just unlock your door so i can get dressed?" he was fortunate you lived on the same floor as tashi.

with panicked fingers, you fumbled for your keys. they slipped from your grasp, hitting the floor with a metallic clink. he facepalmed. "fuck, you're kidding me," he whined.

"relax," you sighed, squatting down to retrieve the keys. finally, you managed to unlock the door, and he barged in, quickly pulling on his clothes. he sank into the chair at your desk to put on his shoes as you slipped into your comfy pajamas.

patrick's eyes followed you as you changed into a pair of cheeky shorts, his gaze lingering with surprise and distraction.

"why were you roaming the halls naked, patrick?" you asked, snapping him out of his daze.

"me and tashi got into it, before we were– you know!" he shrugged, a forced frown tugging at his lips. he shook his head as if he was replaying the argument in his mind. "she's such a narcissist," he muttered, slouching.

you climbed onto your bed, letting the comforter envelop you. "i just—" he began, "go ahead, i'm listening," you said, as you pulled the covers over your head.

"i need a place to stay tonight," he sighed, his eyes pleading for your sympathy.

you groaned, the reluctance evident in your voice. patrick scoffed from across the room. "what about art?" you suggested, hoping he'd take the hint. "ugh... his roommate's in there. and he's weird," patrick complained, scrunching up his face. "pleaaaase," he begged, his pout almost comical.

"ugh! fine!" you relented, rolling your eyes. "i'll be out first thing in the morning anyway," he promised, pumping a fist in the air. "whatever," you muttered, "no farting, patrick, or i swear—"

he cut you off, running over to your bed and smothering your cheeks with kisses. he then stepped out of his shoes and jeans, pulling your throw blanket from the bed onto the floor. "can i have a pillow?" he asked, half-polite, half-sarcastic.

"i only have two," you replied, eyes closed.

"and you only have one head," he retorted, pulling the pillow from beneath your head. you landed on another you had below it. your eyes snapped open. "i'm regretting my decision already," you gritted, punching his arm.

"shhh," he hushed, squishing your face. you swatted his hand away. he turned off the main light, leaving the moonlight to cast a soft glow over the room.

patrick made a makeshift bed on the floor, the white noise from your small desk fan filling the silence. after a moment, he called out your name, knowing you weren't asleep. "do you wanna cuddle?" he asked.

what . . .

"just get up here, patrick," you said. you heard him immediately shuffle to his feet, grabbing the pillow and blanket from the floor. he crawled over you, snuggling up under your warmth. "we can't tell tashi," he whispered against your neck.

"fucking hell, patrick. close your mouth and go to sleep!"

the next morning, you woke up to an empty bed. on your desk was a hastily scribbled note: "thank you for taking me in." beside it sat a melted, watered-down smoothie, from patrick before he left at 5 a.m. you shook your head, picking up the cup.

"is this even drinkable?" you wondered aloud, throwing your head in exasperation.

current obsession:)))

[siythn]

Sick & Soup

GOJOXREADER! You hate Gojo. Gojo hates you. It's the way everything's always been. But when you wake up in the middle of the night desperate for something to help your aching body, Gojo being the one to help makes you rethink your distaste for one another. _________ ♫ MASTERMIND - taylor swift ❝ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ? ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀᴡ ᴍᴇ, ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴀꜱ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴍᴇ.❞

TAGS - @dottedsilktie @ophelias-fate @skadee @augaws @bruhm0mentum

When you feel that itchy feeling scratching your throat when you wake, you’ve never wanted to throw yourself out the window more.

You toss and turn in your bed as if it’s supposed to cure the discomfort, but the weight of unease presses down on you like a suffocating blanket. 

The darkness of the night feels more congested than usual, and an unshakable feeling of irritation gnaws at your insides. With a frustrated sigh, you reluctantly push aside the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

The dormitory is eerily quiet, with no quiet footsteps or words exchanged, the only sounds being the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Everyone else seems to be on a mission, leaving you alone in the silence of the night. Normally, the loneliness would be a break from the chaos Jujutsu Tech brought, but tonight it only adds to your sense of isolation.

You make your way to the kitchen, the cold tiles sending shivers up your spine—you would kill for some fuzzy socks at the moment. Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway, the sound bouncing off the walls with your faint sniffles. 

As you reach the kitchen, you rummage through the wooden cabinets in search of the medication you desperately need on tippy toes, knocking over a few bottles in the process. The darkness and thinking you could search for it without a light doesn’t help. 

“Oh thank god,” you whisper with a rasp just as you find the blue bottle, titled Bold with Ibuprofen. Pouring out a glass of water, you’re interrupted by a sudden noise that makes you freeze in place. 

Sure, you’ve had your fair share of horror films, but today, especially now, were you going to deal with something near that.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you slowly turn around, your eyes widening in alarm as you come face to face with the last person you expected to see at this hour.

"Gojo," you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t tell if it’s in relief or frustration.

He stands before you, his white hair catching the moonlight filtering in through the window. His blue eyes, normally holding mischief and arrogance, now pique a hint of curiosity as he stares you down with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you doing up so late, huh?" Gojo asks, his tone laced with amusement.

You bristle at his casual demeanor, the tension between you palpable in the air. Despite being classmates at Jujutsu Tech, you and Gojo have never seen eye to eye. His cocky attitude and reckless behavior never failed to get on your nerves, and you make no effort to hide your disdain for him.

Clearly, it worked both ways.

"I could ask you the same thing," you retort, lazily crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

Gojo chuckles, taking a step closer to you until there's a foot or two of space between you. Not to boost his enormous ego—but you can’t help but quiver at his presence. Being around him just feels suffocating, like a looming shadow threatening to engulf you whole.

"I couldn't sleep," he admits with a shrug, his voice softer now. You pick up on how it sounds, almost vulnerable? "Too much on my mind, I guess."

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief and scoff at his words. You refuse to let your guard down despite the sincerity in his tone. 

You've learned the hard way not to trust someone like Gojo, someone who thrives on chaos and unpredictability.

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?" you snap, turning away from him to hide the unease flickering in your eyes. 

You pick up the cup, swallowing the blue pill before drinking a mouth full of water. Turning around to put the glass into the sink, you ignore the blue-eyed male, slightly brushing shoulders with him. As much as you hate his presence, the feeling of his eyes watching you is worse.

You can feel the air between the both of you crackling with some type of tension as you avoid his gaze, hoping he'll take the hint and leave you alone. But to your dismay, he doesn't budge, his curiosity only growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Come on, seriously, what are you doing up?" Gojo persists, leaning down to get closer to you, insisting on getting an answer.

He wasn’t stupid, he could probably pick up a hint or two from the pill you just swallowed. But of course, it’s Gojo, he would never just let you off without his snarky remarks.

You grit your teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as you struggle to keep your composure. "I told you, I couldn't sleep. Is that such a crime?"

Gojo's eyes narrow slightly, a grin sneaking upon his lips. He knows his teasing is working, and you hate how you’re feeding into it. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

You roll your eyes, refusing to dignify his accusation with a response. But Gojo is relentless, his persistence wearing down your defenses like waves against a stubborn rock.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks suddenly, his tone softening as peers over your shoulder, watching you clean the cup with soap and a sponge.

You pause your movements, caught off guard by, what seems to be, concern in his voice. "I'm fine," you mutter, brushing off his question with a dismissive wave of your hand.

But Gojo isn't convinced, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of weakness. "You don't look fine," he observes, his brow furrowing. "You look more pale than usual, and you're trembling. Are you,” he pauses, gaze attentively looking over you again. “—sick?"

You bite back a retort, unable to deny the truth of his words. Despite your best efforts to hide it, the stillness of your body gives away the answer to him without words. 

"What's the matter, little Miss Perfect? Catch a cold from all that attitude?" Gojo taunts, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

You let out a huff of annoyance, swallowing back the retort that threatens to spill from your lips as you scrub the already clean cup harder. You try and block his presence out, but it’s seemingly impossible.

You know your silence doesn’t help you with his mocking, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your cool again, even if his incessant teasing is enough to make you want to scream.

Rinsing the cup, you dry it off with the nearest towel, trying hard not to give in and smack him straight with it. You can’t hold back your words when you hear his deafening laugh as you put the cup away. 

"What's this?" you demand, turning around to face Gojo, who now leans against the counter with a smirk on his face. "Why are you still here?” you voice, glaring at him as you continue. 

“I mean, don’t you have better things do to than just pester me? Is that seriously how boring your life is? I’m starting to be convinced you’re worrying about me.”

Gojo chuckles a second time, his laughter ringing out against the walls. "Please, like I'd waste my time worrying about you," he scoffs, his tone present with disdain. "I just thought you might want some company since you're too weak to take care of yourself."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much," you snap while taking a breath.

But Gojo just shakes his head, his grin widening into a deeper smirk. "Sure you are," he says, his tone mocking. "Which is why you're up at the crack of dawn, looking like death warmed over."

You open your mouth to fire back a insult, but before you can get a word out, Gojo interrupts you with a wave of his hand. "Enough chit-chat," he declares, his tone surprisingly authoritative compared to his childish personality. “Sit. Stay."

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. "Excuse me?" you sputter, too shocked to form a coherent response. You’re not a little kid, and you’re definitely not one to be ordered around.

But Gojo just nods towards the couch, his expression leaving no room for argument. "Sit," he repeats, his voice firm.

With a begrudging sigh, you do as he says, sinking onto the couch with a exaggerated sigh. Arms across your chest, you watch in bemusement as Gojo disappears into the kitchen, his movements loud and purposeful as he now rummages through the cabinets.

All you can hear is the clatter of pots and pans, punctuated by the occasional curse word muttered under Gojo's breath.

When a few minutes go by, you can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity as you wonder what he's up to, but before you can investigate further, Gojo emerges from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of soup in one hand and, a spoon in the other.

"Here," he says, thrusting the bowl and a spoon into your hands. "Eat this."

You blink in surprise, too taken aback by his unexpected gesture to formulate a response. Gojo just watches you expectantly, his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for your reaction.

With one last hesitant gaze at him, you take a sip of the soup, the warmth immediately spreading through your body like a comforting embrace.  It's delicious, and for a moment, you forget all about the animosity that usually exists between you and Gojo.

"Thank you,” you murmur, your voice soft but still heard enough to pick up the gratitude that comes from your words. 

Gojo shrugs, you don’t know if it’s the moonlight playing tricks on you—a faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away. "Don't mention it," he mumbles, suddenly bashful.

You take another spoonful of soup, the cozy feeling spreading through your body and easing some of the discomfort you've been feeling. But as you do, the weight of Gojo's unexpected kindness hangs heavy in the air, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions inside you.

Despite the warmth of the soup and the comfort of the moment, you can't shake the resentment that still lingers between you and Gojo. Your hate for him runs a little deeper than some soup. 

"I still hate you, you know," you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to Gojo.

But he hears you loud and clear, his expression shifting from bashful to contemplative as he regards you with a thoughtful gaze. "I know," he replies simply, his voice surprisingly gentle.

There's a brief moment of silence between the two of you. But then, it’s interrupted unexpectedly as Gojo lets out a soft chuckle, his laughter echoing off the walls of the dormitory.

"Well, lucky for you, my soup has magical healing powers," he jokes, flashing you a playful grin.

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress the small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that," you retort, your tone teasing despite yourself.

Neither of you seems to know quite what to say, so you both fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound filling the room the soft clinking of utensils against bowls as you eat and his occasional heavy breaths.

As you finish the last spoonful of soup, you set the empty bowl down on the coffee table. That icky feeling in your throat is now gone but replaced with a strange mix of gratitude and confusion swirling inside you. 

Gojo wordlessly takes the bowl from you and carries it to the kitchen, his movements fluid and silent. You watch him go, feeling a pang of guilt tug at your conscience.

You try your best to maintain your animosity towards him, but his unexpected sincerity has left you feeling unsettled; and unkept. You don’t like it, at all.

When Gojo returns from the kitchen, he catches your eye and gives a small nod towards the hallway. 

It's a silent invitation, a gesture of understanding, that the both of you could hate each other later. But for now, you can just pretend. 

Nodding in response, silently grateful for him taking the push and making the first move. You push yourself up from the couch, and within a few seconds, you find yourself falling into step beside Gojo as you both make your way down the dimly lit hallway.

The silence between you is comfortable, the tension of earlier dissipating with each step you take, shoulders coming close to touching.  You can’t help but steal a glance at him, noticing the way the moonlight filters through the window, casting soft shadows across his features.

For the first time, you find yourself seeing him—not as the arrogant troublemaker you’ve always known him to be, but as a person, flawed and complex, just like you. That this is him. No stupid glasses, no stupid grin, no stupid remarks.

As you reach the end of the hallway, Gojo slows his pace, coming to a stop in front of your room. He turns to you, his expression unreadable within the dark corridors. 

The soft glow of the light spills through the window, casting a gentle illumination over the hallway, enveloping you both in its ethereal embrace. There's a moment of quiet stillness between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

You turn to face Gojo, intending to express your gratitude for his unexpected kindness. But as you open your mouth to speak, the words get caught in your throat, your voice failing you when you need it most. 

Instead, you find yourself simply staring at him, truly captivated by the way the light dances across his features, casting shadows and highlights that only serve to accentuate his natural charm.

Gojo's gaze meets yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. His blue eyes, ones that you resent to gaze at for too long— now hold a depth of emotion that makes you lose any sense of voice. 

In the silence of the night, you find yourself lost in his eyes, forgetting everything else but the brief connection that exists between you tonight. 

As the seconds tick by, neither of you says a word, as if content to simply bask in the warmth of each other's presence. You find your eyes trailing to the illumination that catches the strands of Gojo's white hair; ones that look soft to the touch.

Maybe Satoru Gojo isn’t all that bad.

His gaze lingers on your face, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your lips for a brief moment. It's a subtle gesture, one that goes unnoticed by anyone but the two of you, but it sends a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins.

You feel your breathe stop as you catch the fleeting glance, your heart pounding in your chest as you wonder if perhaps, just maybe, there’s something more between you and Gojo than just petty distaste.

Maybe you had it wrong all this time.

For a moment, it feels as though time slows to a crawl as you wait with bated breath, half-expecting Gojo to lean in and close the distance between you.

But just as quickly as the moment comes, it passes, and Gojo takes a small step back, his expression unreadable as he breaks the trance you find yourself both in. 

You watch him closely, unable to tear your stare away from his face as you search for any sign of what he might be feeling. But Gojo's mask is firmly in place, keeping you from knowing his true intentions. 

You’re left with nothing but questions and the memory of that brief, thrilling moment between you.

But before you can dwell on the thought any longer, the sound of approaching footsteps as you both realize where you are, that it’s not just the both of you. With a start, you turn away from Gojo, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over you.

"Mm, thank you," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance back at him over your shoulder.

Gojo offers you a small smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he nods in response. "Anytime," he replies softly, his voice warm with sincerity.

And with that, you turn back to your door, the moment between you and Gojo fading into the past. 

With a shaky exhale, you feel a flush of embarrassment color your cheeks as you try to shake off the moment. It was in the heat of the moment, you try and convince yourself. 

But as you slip into your room and close the door behind you, you can't help but wonder what might have been if Gojo had chosen to act on his impulses. Would you have kissed him back? Would you have liked it? 

No, of course not. Why would you? The only real reason why you might even consider kissing him back was to get him sick, to get him back. 

Right?

AUTHORS NOTE! - pretty pls request stuff !! love to hear what you guys want me to write / gives me motivation and inspiration ᰔᩚ

@siythn all rights reserved!

[dittanyinbloom]

Note Taking

Ominis Gaunt x fem!MC (there is only one gendered term in the very last line). 1.8k. No specific house. Fluff and a bit of MC embarrassing themselves.

Based on this post I made about having HoM with Ominis.

.💕✍🏻💕

“In today’s lesson, we will cover a truly thrilling event. . .,” Professor Binns had just started class, but half the students were already dozing off.

It was widely accepted that History of Magic was merely used as a free period. Whether that meant catching up on sleep or doing last minute homework for another class, one thing was certain: no one paid attention. Attendance hardly mattered since Professor Binns rarely ever engaged with the class directly. In fact, you would bet he didn’t even know a single students name or even the exact year. Everyday he floated into class, discussed whatever curriculum he felt like, then drifted off through the wall to his office at the end of the period without so much as a goodbye.

To say the least, it was no one’s favorite subject, that is, except you. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you practically skipped to your afternoon slot of History of Magic. With all the extracurriculars other professors sent you on, and the adventures you went on without their knowledge, you were elated to have time set aside for assignments and catching up on some sleep. Those horrible demiguise statues Mr. Moon asked you to find were really taking a toll on you lately.

Perhaps the most exciting part of class was that you didn’t share it with Sebastian Sallow. Now, he was a very lovely boy for helping you out on multiple excursions, but his presence could be intense at times. This could be simply fixed by spending time with your other friends. Natty, Poppy, and even Amit were great company and just as, if not even more helpful than Sebastian. But that boy had one thing drawing you back every day to meet up. .

Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian’s right hand man and arguably his moral compass. Oh, how you would spend hours practicing spells with Sebastian in the Undercroft for the smallest chance that Ominis would walk in to study, or have a chat, or sometimes even join in on the dueling. That was the only time you ever saw him without his school robes. Neatly folding up his sleeves and grinning like a mad man when he landed a blow on Sebastian, who as of late, rather deserved a few jinxes thrown his way.

History of Magic was the only class Ominis sat beside you in. It was hardly the place to make conversation since even the softest of whispers would be heard by the extremely bored students around you. Nevertheless, you were content with just sitting beside him and admiring his lazy smile as he drifted off into what was probably his fourth nap of the day.

That was one of the first odd quirks you had noticed about the boy. While you ran around the castle from one fool’s errand to the next, you often passed by Ominis lounging about on benches, windowsills, and most often the floor. Sometimes he was snacking or working on revisions, but more often than not the boy was merely napping, just out in the open, where anyone could step on him. The first few times, you had gently woken him up and offered to help him to his common room, but he always acted as though you were the strange one for not letting him sleep in the middle of a hallway in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower.

Now whenever you saw him, you hummed in endearment and graciously covered him with your scarf as a makeshift blanket. You used to have an array of scarves, but now half of them were likely stuffed in a trunk deep in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, never to be seen again. It was a small price to pay, in your eyes.

“Seb told me to tell you to meet us in the library after classes,” Ominis said as he leaned forward on the desk, getting in a comfortable napping position.

“Does he think you’re an owl?” You teased.

“Something about you being more likely to say yes if it comes from me.”

“I see,” you whispered, hoping he didn’t hear how flustered you had become. “So he’s scheming again?”

“You say again as if he quit to begin with.”

“Well, you know I can’t say no to an adventure.”

“Exactly why the two of you will be the death of me. Wake me up if anything crazy happens?”

Nothing ever would, at least, not while all the other students that usually caused trouble were sleeping as well. You dated your parchment for notes then began doodling to stay awake. As of late, the professors had been elated with your progress and stopped giving you so much extra work. Not much catching up needed to be done since most other students couldn’t take on a troll alone and live to tell the tale.

Your eyes wandered to study the pretty moles Ominis had scattered about his face and neck. The unhinged, love stricken part of your brain desperately wanted to draw little love hearts or flowers around them. Your fingers twitched, but you controlled your urges and drew hearts all over your notes instead. This was turning into a common occurrence. Most of your history notes contained one or two key points from Binns, a few random drawings, and many iterations of your deskmate’s name scribbled about. At the top corner of every parchment you would even write your name with his last name along with the date. And oh, how the two went so well together.

The period flies by while you daydream of holding Ominis’ hand or kissing his beauty marks as the two of you part ways. The sound of students scuffing their chairs in the worn wood flooring brings you back to reality. You tap Ominis on the shoulder. For a moment your hand lingers, drifting between his shoulder blades.

“Ominis, class has ended.”

“Already?” His voice was almost a whine which was strange because most students jumped at the opportunity to leave history class.

“Don’t sound too disappointed. Binns might offer to go on for another hour if he knows a student is willing to stay.”

You had one more class before meeting the boys in the library. Sebastian seemed to be awaiting your arrival, spotting you the moment you walked in, and waving you up to join them on the second floor. As you greeted them, you set your scarf and robes on the back of the chair.

“You really do need to come by our room and grab your scarves,” Sebastian commented. “They’re taking over.”

“Hmm, yes. I am missing quite a few at this point.”

The culprit, though it wasn’t entirely his fault since you were the one always covering up his sleeping form, went pink at the mention of scarves. Despite looking as though he wanted to add to the conversation, he quickly went back to writing the twelve inches for Sharp’s latest assignment.

“So, Sallow, why have you dragged me here today? Are we going treasure hunting again?”

“Sorry, little adventurer, today’s request is rather boring in comparison. Thought it would be a good time to start revising for O.W.L.s, and I need help in History of Magic. I’ve managed to fall asleep every single period since the start of term. . Quite impressive if you ask me.”

“Don’t know why you thought to ask me. I hardly pay attention in that class.”

Sebastian tilted his head to the side, frowning in confusion. “But, Ominis said he can hear you writing notes all period.”

Your eyes flicker to Ominis almost in a look of betrayal. He seemed as focused as ever on writing, either exuding an excellent poker face or genuinely not showing any interest in being mentioned by Sebastian. Quickly, you swallowed down your own emotions and insisted, “Well, sorry. My notes for that class are very scattered. I mostly just draw to keep myself awake.”

“Anything would help. I honestly don’t even know what we’re meant to be learning about. Nellie heard there might be a quiz next week. My uncle can not hear about my grades slipping on top of everything else.”

Seeing the innocent look of terror on Sebastian’s face made you melt a bit. In his defense, he didn’t know you made a fool of yourself by doodling his best friends name across your parchment twice a week. He was just asking for notes, which was something the three of you often shared.

“I can. . read them to you?” You compromised.

Both boys gave you an odd look, but Sebastian agreed without much hesitation given how desperate he was.

“Suppose I should be writing this down too, if there really is a quiz coming up,” Ominis said with a grimace.

You unrolled your parchment and began to read. Both boys studiously jotted down every word. Hopefully you were explaining everything accurately. There were clearly periods in your notes where you had dozed off between key moments, but unless Binns was looking for his exact wording on the quiz, the three of should should be able to pass.

“It’s with an ‘A’, Grimbald, not Grimbold,” Ominis said out of the blue.

“Thanks,” Sebastian muttered as he went back to add a flick of ink to his ‘O’. He seemed unbothered but Ominis’ correction. You, however, were too tongue-tied to continue reading. Sebastian frowned at the silence and finally looked up at you. “Is there not more?”

“How. . ?”

“Oh!” Realizing your confusion, Sebastian was quick and rather proud to explain his best mate’s ability, “Ominis can hear the letters, or, dunno really. You explain it better, Ominis.”

Suddenly, Ominis went ridged like he had been caught in an act. “When the room is quiet enough, I can pick out the sounds of a quill or chalk on the board. Letters all have a distinct cadence to them. Some sound too similar to be distinct like ‘b’, ‘d’, and ‘p’, but I can make an educated guess.”

“So you can hear what people are writing?”

“Precisely!” Sebastian spoke up with a wide smile. “Brilliant, isn’t it?“

“It is. . quite the talent, Ominis.”

“Thank you.”

You cleared your throat and went on with the lesson. Just because Ominis knew Sebastian’s penmanship did not mean he had your memorized, or that he even listened in the first place. After all, he slept through every class, and you weren’t bold enough to write his name in such a way while he was awake.

Still, knowing of his ability left you wary. The next time you sat with Ominis in history class, you were meticulous with your note taking. No doodles, no love hearts, no childish name writing. Those days were over. They had to be because if Ominis somehow didn’t already know about your embarrassing crush, you were not going to give him the opportunity to find out.

This time when you wrote your name and the date at the top of the parchment, you used your own last name. After that was finished, you moved on to title it “The Goblin Rebellion of 1752”, but you hadn’t gotten past “The” when a hand landed on your knee.

Warmth spread across your thigh while chilling nerves sprinkled down your spine. You nearly fell out of your chair at the touch, causing Ominis to squeeze down harder, keeping you firmly in your seat.

“Ominis?”

He almost seemed angry, but he kept his voice a low whisper for only you to hear, “What do you think you are doing, Mrs. Gaunt? Title your notes appropriately.”

~You can find part two here~

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— said “i’m fine” but it wasn’t the truth ; when people said when we’re mad and frustrated we can just break stuff, punch walls, smash chairs, or destroy whatever. but why do we always end up just staying quiet and decided destroying our mental health instead?

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

Winter classes were supposed to be a chance to get ahead, but instead, they felt like a relentless race you were barely managing to keep up with. The class wasn’t crowded, maybe a dozen students, but each one of them seemed like a walking encyclopedia, filled with confidence and an unwavering hunger for knowledge. They’d arrive at class an hour early, occupying the front rows with books spread out in front of them, and their hands perpetually raised, ready to challenge or add to whatever the professor was saying. It made you feel small, like you hadn’t studied enough, like you didn’t belong.

Each night, you’d prepare as much as you could for the next day’s lecture, even though your heart wasn’t entirely in it. Your mind wandered constantly—flitting between how much you just wanted to curl up in your dorm bed with a warm blanket, and how the pressure to perform was slowly grinding you down. Your mom’s incessant texts about what you should eat, reminding you to take your vitamins and ginseng tonic, felt like a constant pressure to maintain an unrealistic level of perfection.

You tried to get some rest, but your brain wouldn’t turn off. Sleep was the only escape, and yet, even when you did sleep, it wasn’t restful. Every time you stirred, you’d hear the familiar blare of your alarm reminding you to take another supplement, or the ping of your phone with another message from your mom telling you that your meal delivery was arriving soon. It all became so routine that you found yourself on autopilot—studying, sleeping, eating whatever your mom sent, and wondering if it was all worth it.

Sometimes, the thought of skipping class altogether seemed tempting. Why couldn’t you just enjoy your break like other students? The thought of cozying up in your room, watching movies, and getting some real rest before the next semester felt like a distant dream. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t let yourself fall behind. Not with the way things were going.

It was during one of these dreary cycles—struggling through the monotony of your winter class—that you ran into Yamaguchi. He had just returned from a winter volleyball camp in Okinawa, looking worn out but content, with a large backpack slung over his shoulder as he entered the dormitory. You had just received another food delivery from your mom and were balancing the boxes awkwardly in your arms when you saw him.

“Back from camp?” you asked, trying to sound casual even though you felt a wave of envy wash over you. He had been training in the sun, while you had been holed up in your dorm, trapped between study sessions and forced naps.

Yamaguchi flashed you a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, just got back. Okinawa was nice, but the camp was brutal.”

“I bet,” you replied. “Must be exhausting.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But, hey, there’s a game coming up this weekend. A lot of students will be there—it’s kind of a big deal. You should come. You could use a break.”

You hesitated, balancing the food boxes in your arms. You weren’t sure you could afford to take a break, but the idea of escaping the monotony—even just for an afternoon—was enticing.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” you said. “I could use a distraction.”

Yamaguchi grinned. “Great! You won’t regret it.” and then he disappeared heading to his own room.

You find yourself sitting in your room, staring at the clock as it ticks toward the start of your winter class. Normally, you would have packed up your things by now, grabbing your notebook and meticulously prepared materials, ready to attend. But today, the heavy feeling in your chest has been particularly suffocating. Your classmates—so driven, so sure of themselves—are already filing into the classroom, likely throwing questions at the professor before the lecture even begins. Meanwhile, you sit paralyzed with dread, the thought of being surrounded by such ambition making you want to curl up under your blankets and disappear.

Lately, you’ve been thinking about skipping class more often than you care to admit. The demands of the course have been relentless. It’s winter break, and yet here you are, working yourself into exhaustion while others seem to thrive in the chaos. Your mind drifts to how good it would feel to stay in bed, tucked into the warmth of your comforter, resting and doing nothing. It’s hard not to resent how your days are filled with either studying or sleeping, with alarms going off to remind you to take your vitamins or respond to your mom’s texts about food deliveries she insists on managing.

But then, Yamaguchi’s invitation to his game pops back into your mind. Skipping class seemed like an impossible risk. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized how desperately you needed a break from the monotony.

Now, you stand at a crossroads: attend another draining class or take a chance and watch the game. You swallow hard, your nerves bubbling up as you reach for your phone. Quickly, you tap into your settings and turn off your location. Your mom would kill you if she found out you were ditching class.

You can already imagine her voice, stern and disappointed, demanding to know why you weren’t where you were supposed to be. The thought sends a jolt of panic through you, but the excitement of going to Yamaguchi’s game is just strong enough to overpower it. You toss your phone into your bag, slip on your coat, and head out the door before you can second-guess yourself.

When you arrive at the gymnasium, the noise hits you first—a vibrant, buzzing energy that feels almost overwhelming after the quiet of your dorm room. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, heart racing as you navigate through the crowd of students. Everyone seems to be moving in the same direction, excited and chattering about the game ahead.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s Yamaguchi. He’s texted you the seat location: front-row, right near the stands where the volleyball team would be sitting.

That realization makes your stomach flip. You had thought you’d be watching from a distance, blending in with the rest of the crowd, but now…you’d be sitting right where they could see you. And more importantly, where Tsukishima could see you.

The thought of being so close to him, to them, makes you nervous all over again. What if they think you’re a total fraud for skipping class just to be here? What if your classmates see you and realize you’ve abandoned your studies for a game? And worst of all—what if your mom somehow finds out?

You push those worries aside and head toward the front of the gym. You can feel the heat of the stadium lights on your face as you scan for the empty seat Yamaguchi had promised. Your stomach twists when you see it—a perfect spot, right next to where the players are already gathering.

You take a deep breath and sit down, trying to calm your racing heart. Yamaguchi waves at you from the court, his usual friendly smile plastered across his face. You wave back awkwardly, feeling a little out of place but also secretly excited. You can’t remember the last time you did something spontaneous like this, and as the game is about to start, you can feel the excitement building in the air around you. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The gym grows louder, students chanting and clapping, their energy infectious. As the game progresses, you find yourself fully immersed in it. The players move across the court with a fluidity and grace that you can’t help but admire, and every time Yamaguchi’s name is called, you cheer louder than you expected.

But every time your eyes wander across the court, they keep finding him—Tsukishima. You don’t even mean to look at him, but it feels impossible not to. He’s just there, always in the corner of your vision, his sharp focus making him seem untouchable. His tall figure commands attention, the way he’s so utterly concentrated on the game almost mesmerizing.

At one point, during a timeout, you catch him glancing toward the stands—toward you. For a split second, your eyes meet, and your heart skips a beat. It’s so brief, you’re not sure if it even really happened. Maybe you’re just imagining things, but the feeling stays with you.

You try to shake it off and return your focus to the game, but it’s hard to keep your eyes from drifting back to him. You find yourself watching his movements, the way he adjusts his glasses with a flick of his hand, the focused way his brows knit together when he’s strategizing. There’s something magnetic about him—something that makes your heart flutter despite your attempts to stay calm.

Then, when the game is heating up, he calls out to his teammates, his voice firm and commanding. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You quickly exhale, shaking your head at yourself. It’s just Tsukishima. You’ve been around him before, so why is he making you so nervous now?

As the game continues, your eyes keep darting to him—almost unconsciously—as if you’re searching for some sort of acknowledgment. And when his team makes a crucial block, you can’t help but cheer for him too. You clap along with the crowd, but the butterflies in your stomach are there for an entirely different reason.

As the game nears its end and the score tightens, the tension in the gym grows. You grip the edge of your seat, your focus divided between the game and Tsukishima, who’s still laser-focused on the court. Every now and then, he glances at the stands again, and though he never lets his gaze linger on you for long, each fleeting look sends your heart racing.

And then, in one final, climactic play, the ball soars over the net, and Tsukishima jumps—higher than you’ve ever seen him—his hand slamming down in perfect sync with his team’s attack. The gym explodes in cheers as the point is won, sealing the victory. You’re on your feet, clapping and cheering along with everyone else, but all you can think about is how incredible he looked in that moment—so strong, so confident. Your pulse is pounding, and you can’t tell if it’s from the excitement of the game or something else entirely.

When the match ends and the crowd begins to disperse, you feel a mix of relief and lingering anticipation. You made it through the game without being caught, and for the first time in a while, you let yourself have fun without worrying about school or your mom’s expectations.

As you start to gather your things, you feel a presence next to you. You glance up and there he is—Tsukishima. He’s standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, his tall frame casting a slight shadow over you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and calm, but there’s a subtle edge to it that makes your heart jump again.

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

His gaze flickers toward the crowd, and then back to you. “You’re still here,” he says, as if he hadn’t expected you to stay until the end.

“Of course,” you say, feeling a little flustered. “Yamaguchi invited me.”

Tsukishima nods, his expression unreadable as always. “You didn’t have class?”

Your stomach twists, the lie you’ve been trying to avoid suddenly hanging between you. “Uh… no. I mean, yes. But I skipped it,” you admit, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of something like amusement crossing his features. “You skipped class to watch volleyball?”

“Yamaguchi invited me,” you repeat defensively, but even you can hear how weak the excuse sounds.

Tsukishima huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You feel your face heat up even more, but there’s a strange thrill in his teasing. It’s not cruel, like it sometimes feels when he scolds you in class. This time, it feels almost… warm.

Before you can respond, Yamaguchi jogs over, grinning widely. “Hey! Thanks for coming!” he says, his eyes bright with excitement. “I’m so glad you got to see the game.”

You smile back, grateful for the distraction. “It was great! You guys were amazing. Good game,” you said awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Thanks.”

Yamaguchi chuckled. “Look at him, trying to act all cool. He’s just happy to see you. Tsukki always plays better when someone important is watching,” Yamaguchi teased beside you, his tone playful.

Tsukishima shot Yamaguchi a look but didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned back to you, adjusting his glasses. “I’m glad you came.”

The simple statement sent a flutter through your chest, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of ease. Maybe things weren’t perfect—maybe you were still struggling with your classes and the pressures that weighed on you—but in this moment, standing here with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, you realized that you didn’t have to face it all alone. Small moments like this, small escapes from the overwhelming routine, were what made it all bearable.

The rest of the day is a blur, but you carry the memory of the game—and those fleeting moments with Tsukishima—long after you leave the gym. His teasing words, the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than necessary—it all leaves you feeling strangely giddy, like something has shifted between you. You don’t know what it means yet, but the thought of it makes your heart beat just a little faster.

The excitement from the game lingers with you as you walk back to your dormitory. You should feel relieved, maybe even a little triumphant for sneaking out of winter class without getting caught. But as you step through the threshold of your room, that familiar heaviness settles back over your chest. The contrast between the energy of the gym and the quiet stillness of your dorm is jarring, almost suffocating.

You close the door behind you and drop your bag on the floor, collapsing onto your bed with a heavy sigh. The reality of what you’ve done sinks in—you’ve skipped class. Skipped winter class. The one your mom keeps reminding you about, the one she’s certain will help you "catch up" with your more advanced classmates. You’re supposed to be there, making up for all the time you’ve "wasted," proving you can handle the challenge.

Instead, you spent the afternoon at a volleyball game.

You glance at your phone, half-expecting an angry message from your mom, berating you for skipping class, but there’s nothing. You turned off your location, after all, so she can’t possibly know. But that doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at your insides, twisting and turning in your stomach until you feel almost sick.

Your phone pings with a new notification. It’s from your class group chat—students exchanging notes and summaries of the lecture you missed. You scan through the messages, but every word feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. All your classmates seem so prepared, so eager to prove themselves. Some of them were in the lecture hall an hour before class even started, peppering the professor with questions as if they were experts themselves. Meanwhile, you’ve barely had the energy to keep up with the material, even though you’ve been reviewing it diligently every night.

You should be like them, you think. You should be more proactive, more engaged. Instead, you’ve been struggling just to stay awake, constantly exhausted, your mind barely able to process anything outside of the textbooks in front of you. It’s as if your body is stuck in a cycle—study until you can’t anymore, collapse into bed, and wake up only when your alarm blares to remind you to take your vitamins and ginseng tonic. Your mom’s incessant control over your meals only adds to the stress, with daily reminders that she’s still keeping tabs on your health, convinced you’re not doing enough to take care of yourself.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’re not doing enough. But the truth is, you’re just so tired—tired of constantly running on this treadmill, never feeling like you’re getting anywhere. You feel stuck in place, your efforts swallowed up by the endless grind of study, sleep, repeat.

A text comes through from your mom, just as you feared: “Don’t forget to eat the chicken soup I sent over. It should be there by now. And make sure you drink the herbal tonic after—there’s no sugar in it, just like you asked.”

You groan inwardly. Even when you’re not thinking about school, your mom’s constant reminders feel like another layer of pressure. It’s like she doesn’t trust you to manage your own life, and as much as you appreciate her concern, it’s starting to suffocate you. You look over at the brown bag by the door—the delivery she’s had sent to your dorm—and you realize you’ve lost your appetite completely.

You collapse back into bed, letting your body sink into the mattress. You want to sleep. More than anything, you want to shut out the world and just… rest. But your mind won’t let you. It keeps spinning, the guilt of skipping class, the fear of falling behind, and the constant pressure from your mom all swirling around in your head until you can hardly breathe.

And then there’s Tsukishima.

The game flashes in your mind again—his quick glances during the match, the way he teased you afterward, the tension between you when he stood so close. You feel your heart flutter, even as you try to push the thoughts away. You can’t afford to be distracted by him, not when you’re already struggling to keep up with your coursework. But no matter how hard you try to focus, his image keeps creeping back in—his sharp gaze, his calm, steady voice. It’s maddening.

Another buzz from your phone pulls you from your thoughts, but this time it’s not from your mom or your classmates.

It’s Tsukishima.

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the notification.

Did you make it back to your dorm?

You blink at the screen. It's a simple text, nothing special, but the fact that he’s checking in on you sends a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You feel your fingers twitch, hesitating for a moment before you type out a response.

Yeah, just got back. You?

There’s a long pause. You watch the three little dots as he types and deletes a few times, and you start to wonder if maybe you’ve said something wrong. But then his message finally comes through.

Still at the gym. Going to grab something to eat.

You smile, picturing him somewhere near the gym, maybe wiping off sweat or grabbing his things, looking as serious and unruffled as ever. Before you can overthink it, you send another message.

Don’t forget to eat your veggies —you joke, hoping it will lighten the mood.

You wait for a response, and when it comes, it’s as dry as you expect.

Noted.

A small laugh escapes you. You can almost hear the sarcasm in his voice, the subtle amusement lurking beneath his stoic exterior. You set your phone down, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

But even with Tsukishima’s brief distraction, the reality of your situation remains. You still have winter class tomorrow, and the fear of falling behind looms large over you. The holiday break that should have been a time of relaxation has become nothing but stress, pressure, and endless responsibilities. You’ve been trying so hard to keep up, but it’s clear you’re just not moving at the same pace as your classmates. They’re racing ahead while you feel like you’re stuck in quicksand, every step forward dragging you deeper into the struggle.

And then there’s the question you’ve been avoiding: what if you’re not cut out for this? What if no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be able to catch up? The idea terrifies you, but you can’t shake it. The doubt clings to you like a shadow, darkening every corner of your mind.

As the hours tick by, you find yourself caught between two worlds—the world of responsibility and expectation, and the world of escape, where Tsukishima’s texts linger in your thoughts, a small, comforting reminder that not everything in your life is about pressure and stress.

You rolled over in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. All you wanted was to sleep. To shut out the world and forget about winter class, forget about your mom, forget about everything except the warmth of your bed and the lingering memory of Tsukishima’s text.

But your mind wouldn’t let you rest. It kept spinning, the weight of your responsibilities pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t afford to be distracted, not by Tsukishima, not by the game, not by anything.

Yet, despite your best efforts, his face kept creeping back into your thoughts. The way he’d glanced at you during the game, the teasing smirk he’d given you afterward. It was enough to make your heart race, enough to make you question why you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Your phone buzzed again, and for a moment, you panicked, thinking it was your mom. But when you glanced at the screen, you saw it was another message from Tsukishima.

Get some rest. You look exhausted.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stared at the message, your mind racing. He’d noticed. He’d actually noticed how tired you were, how worn out you felt. It wasn’t much—just a simple observation—but it meant more to you than you wanted to admit.

You typed out a quick response, your fingers trembling slightly.

I will. You too.

His reply came almost immediately.

Sure.

You smiled to yourself, the tension in your chest easing just a little. For a brief moment, everything felt… okay. The stress of winter class, the pressure from your mom, the fear of falling behind—it all seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the warmth of Tsukishima’s words.

And for now, this moment is enough.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr

[vixialuvs]

FLOWERS IN DECEMBER !

୨୧. pairing - yang jungwon x reader

୨୧. CW - angst to fluff. hurt/comfort, yelling, established relationship, non!idol jungwon, you go to the same uni and live tg, suggestive at the end

୨୧. summary - you and jungwon get into an argument, and he accidentally raises his voice and yells at you, causing you to start crying.

୨୧. a/n - this is lwk really bad guys i’m sorry…

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

december 20 was supposed to be just a normal day for you and your boyfriend of 3 years, jungwon. it was just another day of you overworking yourself at home, while he’s out with his friends. you don’t even check the time, too busy trying to understand punnett squares to care. the sun slowly disappears, leaving you to turn on a lamp so you can see the papers infront of you. your phone gets a call, but it is on do not disturb, so you wont see it.

two hours later, now one am, the entire dormitory silent, and here you are, still working. you are running on five cups of coffee and two oreos, but are starving and so tired. suddenly the door to your dorm opens, you can hear it through the thin walls but don’t get up because you already know its jungwon. you feel too dizzy to even move, just returning to your work. he comes into your shared bedroom, looking upset and worried.

“y/n? i was calling you. why didn’t you pick u—” he pauses in his sentence when he sees you hunched over your desk, taking notes on some stupid biology video. “y/n. we talked about this, okay? you can’t keep doing this, its so frustrating.. please. im worried about you. have you even eaten?” he says, his voice involuntarily getting stern.

you look up at him, letting out a soft sigh as your tired eyes meet his annoyed ones. “i’ve eaten a couple oreos. i’m fine, won. just.. go to bed okay?” you mutter, not wanting to argue with him. he isnt having it and snatches your pen out of your hand, earning an immediate “hey!” from you. he glares at you, actually getting mad you are doing this to yourself. “y/n a couple oreos isnt good enough. you need to be eating more then that. i’m not going to bed unless your coming with me.” he sounds pissed.. it makes you slightly nervous but you stand your ground.

you get up and off your chair, now standing infront of him as you cross your arms over your chest. “give me my damn pen.” you say defiantly, beginning to also get defensive but keeping your voice at a normal level. jungwon, however, is not as patient as you. his voice gets a bit higher, just ever so slightly. “no. your going to bed. now. i’m tired of this bullshit.” he protests, gripping your pen.

“jungwon come on, stop it. i’m almost done.. just-” you start, but he cuts you off. he really doesn’t mean to and doesn’t want to hurt you but raises his voice significantly. “no! stop it! just COME TO BED! i’m sick and tired of your shit, y/n! i already fucking told you! just stop this! god!” he shouts, but pauses and feels the instant regret once he sees you tense up and start to visibly tremble. he takes a step toward you and you take a step back.

“y/n, sweetheart, please baby.. i didn’t mean to yell.. i’m so sorry.. what are you doing..?” his voice is quiet now and his eyes are filled with fear as he watches you grab a pillow and a blanket from the closet and leave the room. he follows you like a scared puppy and his eyes go wide once he sees you setting up camp on the couch. he slumps against the wall and sighs quietly, deciding to try and give you space.

that night he lays restless in your bed, laying on the side you should be on, but you are passed out on the couch. he needs you in his arms, unable to even sleep without you, so he gives up trying to leave you alone and makes his way to the living room where you lie, asleep. he kneels down at your side and gently lifts you into his arms, bridal style, careful to not wake you. he brings you back into the bedroom and lays you on the bed, crawling in beside you. he immediately turns your sleeping body over and buries his face in your neck, his arms wrapping tight around you as he almost instantly drifts off.

in the morning, you are the first to wake, noticing you aren’t on the couch anymore, and instead in your bed, jungwon completely sprawled on top of you. he’s hugging you with an iron grip, as if you’ll leave if he loosens up. you sigh, remembering the events of last night, your head falling back on the pillow. your hand comes up to caress his hair, waiting until he stirs so the two of you can talk. eventually, he does, burying his head further into your neck and mumbling your name, his lips ghosting across your sensitive skin. you tilt his chin up to look at his face, which looks stressed and you can tell he was crying last night while he held you, dried tears on his cheeks.

“i’m so sorry my baby. i didn’t mean to yell at you. i’m just so worried about you and i want you to take care of yourself. i don’t think you understand how much i love you, sweetheart. i love you more then i love myself. i’d seriously take a bullet for you. please forgive me, y/n. i’ll make it up to you honey, i swear.” he says quietly, his voice laced with sleep, as he lays his head on your chest and caresses your neck. you let out the smallest sigh and kiss his head.

“you know i can’t stay mad at you ever, won. i forgive you. i’m sorry for always being a pain in your ass, always worrying you and being stubborn when you try to help me. i’ll be better, okay? i pinky promise.” you softly intertwine your pinkies and kiss it, giving him the tiniest smile. he sits up on you and leans down to kiss your lips, with a sudden fervor. it makes you whine with need, the way his touch feels so apologetic as he gently parts your thighs, nestling himself between them as he kisses down your stomach.

“let me make it up to you, yeah?” he murmurs, looking up at you with a knowing smirk, lust prevalent in his gaze.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

@vixialuvs . don’t steal my work !

[demonsslayersstuff]

The Five Times You Sleep Together (Gojo x Reader)

A/N: Reposting

A/N: This is a Gojo x Reader drabble about the five times you sleep together. Not posted in chronological order. Mentions of sex and kissing but nothing too detailed. It is mostly about just sleeping lol. Enjoy!

Fourth Time:

Grief is what caused the two of you to sleep together, you both needed the comfort of the other, the feel of someone laying next to you, the knowledge that you weren't alone.

Gojo finds you standing in the courtyard, the rubble of destroyed buildings strewn about. You had gone there because you wanted to see the last thing your former friend saw before they had died. In away it was almost closure for yourself, seeing the damage and knowing he didn't survive. While you felt deep sadness, there was also a sense of relief with his passing.

Neither of you speak as the white-haired man comes to stand beside you, the two of you had been friends, truthfully a bit more for over a decade, so words did not need to be spoken. You look at him, noting the fatigue and hollowness in his eyes. While Geto had been your friend, he wasn’t as close to you as he had been to Gojo. He was Gojo’s best friend. You grab his hand and begin to walk away from the chaos of the day. The two of you walking the familiar path to the dormitories of the school.

Soon you enter your room, shoes toed off, heading for the bed. You reach for his jacket, unbuttoning it and slipping it off his shoulders without protest. He does the same for you, jacket removed and tossed into some random corner of the room. You shimmy out of your pants, him doing the same before the two you crawl into bed. You lay your head onto Gojo's chest as an arm wraps around your waist, his other hand threading through your hair.

"Sleep, I'll be here when you wake up, I promise", he whispers. You feel his lips brush against your forehead, your eyes dropping with the steady brush of his fingers in your hair. "Satoru...", you mumble. "I'm sorry, I'll always be here for you", you continue before drifting off to sleep. Gojo holds you a bit tighter that night.

First Time:

Nightmares is what sends you to your friends room at two in the morning. After you'd failed to save someone during you previous mission your nights were plagued with their screams replaying in your mind, you hadn't slept well in over two weeks.

The door opens, Gojo looking down at you with a surprised face after you'd knocked. "Can't sleep", you say walking into his room. Unsurprisingly you find candy wrappers, clothes, and books strewn all over the place. "You want to talk about it?", Gojo asks, motioning you to sit on on his bed. "I can't get her screams out of my head", you tell him after a moment of silence.

He hums for a few seconds before, “Here”, Gojo says moving the blankets to the side, indicating that he wanted you to lay down. “No, no, I can’t sleep here”, you tell him, cheeks flushing. “Why not? This not what you had in mind for our first time together?”, he quips with a cheeky grin that you would have smacked off his face if not for his infinity. “Ok, ok. I promise I’ll be a gentleman. I just think you might be able to sleep better with me here”, Gojo says. You ponder his words for a moment, “No funny business?”, you ask him pointedly. “I promise sweets”, he replies.

You sigh before slipping in the blankets, scooting towards the wall as Satoru follows careful to keep a bit of distance between the two of you. It’s not long before you feel the warmth emitting from his body, making you sleepy, eyes closing. But before you can, the scene that had been haunting you replays in your mind, your breathing quickens. Suddenly you feel Gojo’s body close to yours, his hand on your waist, lips near your ear. “It’s ok, I’m here”, he whispers. “Listen to my breathing, breathe with me”, he tells you. You follow his instructions silently and after a few minutes you find yourself drifting to sleep, breathing relaxed.

Hours later when the sun light peaks through the window, you awaken wrapped protectively in his arms and for the first time in weeks you felt safe and rested.

The Third Time:

You find him sitting in the dark classroom, glasses off, staring out the window. It had been mere hours since his best friend had defected and you were worried.

You approach him delicately, Gojo was not one to talk about his feelings, preferring to suffer alone in silence. “Sato”, you say quietly, entering the room. He doesn’t respond, continuing to look out the window. You slowly move to stand next him, glancing to get a good look at him. His usually sparkling blue eyes were now dull and devoid of his usual happiness. You could see the pain on his face, the fatigue in the way his shoulders slumped in an almost defeated way.

You reach out and grasp his hand in yours, surprised his infinity was off. “Come with me”, you tell him. “I don’t…”, he finally answers, though his words die as his voice cracks. “Don’t argue with me Satoru, I’m not leaving you alone tonight”, you say in the most authoritative voice you have. Gojo’s eyes go wide, but surprisingly he doesn’t argue, instead follows behind you, your hand still gripping his.

A few moments later your pushing him through your door and onto your bed. You watch as he curls up into a ball, dejectedly staring at your wall. You sigh before you crawl into bed. Though you are significantly smaller than him you wrap your body around his, your right arm crossing his chest, leg overlapping his.

You stay like that for a long time, in absolute silence. Your presence was enough to soothe him, to make it known he wasn’t alone in this. Eventually Gojo turns to face you. He just stares into your eyes and you swear you’ve never seen him so broken. You move your hand to softly cup his cheek, your thumb softly brushing it. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I am sorry”, you tell him quietly. You see a few tears slip from his eyes, which you quickly brush away. “I’m here when you’re ready to talk, I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, ok”, you continue.

Gojo continues to stare at you for a moment before he suddenly closes the distance between your faces, kissing you. Though you are surprised, you don’t shy away. This probably isn’t the healthiest way to handle this situation, but you let yourself be devoured in the kiss, let his hands grip your waist as you as he moves to hover on top of you, your arms wrapping around his neck, your silent permission to him that this was ok.

One day you’ll find the time to have a real conversation to sort out these feelings, but for now you let him remove your clothes, let him touch you in places you’ve only dreamed about. You let Satoru Gojo make your body his own and he lets you do the same. Hours later when the two you are nestled in each other’s arms, sleep ready to take over, do you hear, “Thank you”, whispered and you know that things will get better.

The Second Time:

“Well this is just peachy”, you say finally breaking the silence between the three of you. You, Gojo, and Nanami had been tasked on an overnight mission in Osaka. Though you’d been promised a triple room the three of you continue to stare at the one single bed and one queen sized bed in uncomfortable silence.

“I guess you and I are bunk mates”, Gojo says looking over at Nanami. You also look over at Nanami, though more so because of concern. While the two boys would work together without complaint during a mission, sleeping together was one thing you knew Nanami was not happy about.

You hear your junior curse under his breath, saw the unpleasant look on his face. You sigh, hoping you would not regret the words you were about to say. “Nanami you take the twin bed”, you say. Both boys whip around in surprise. “Senpai, no”, Nanami begins, but you wave him off. “Don’t worry it about, I’m trying to save your sanity from this psycho”, you tell him, thumbing point to Gojo.

“Hey!”, he responds with feigned hurt. “Still, it’s not fair for you to sleep with him-” Nanami argues, but you interject. “It’s ok, besides this wouldn’t be the first time”, you tell him. Your eyes go wide when you finish speaking, realizing the mistake you had just made. Gojo laughs as Nanami’s face turns the darkest shade of red you’d ever seen.

“I see so it’s like that. Very well. I’m gonna, uhh, I’ll just meet you by the 7/11 in five minutes”, Nanami tumbles over his words before darting out of the room. “No Nanami it’s not like that”, you shout after him, but the blond haired sorcerer is gone. “Nice going sweets”, Gojo says finally after letting the scene play out. You give him a heated look before heading out to explain what you meant to Nanami.

Hours later, when your mission is completed you come to not regret your words. Not when Gojo is quick to cuddle with you, you’re too tired to complain, though secretly you relish in his touch. Sleep finds you quickly that night wrapped in the arms of the strongest sorcerer.

The Fifth Time:

It’s not long after Geto’s death that Satoru seeks the warmth of your bed again, just as he’d done the first night of his friend’s death. He doesn’t knock, he doesn’t need to, not anymore anyway.

The two of you had been playing a quiet little game of expressing your emotions physically, though neither of you made an effort to speak of them. For the past ten years it had been stolen touches and glances. The occasional “slip up” of kisses and heated moments being shared every now and then.

You didn’t bother trying to be with anyone else. You knew from the age of eighteen, when the two of you had shared that intimate night together, that Satoru Gojo was your soulmate. You were his, he made zero effort to push you away, to find anyone else. There was no point in his mind, you were his, had been for ten years. Though again neither of you had ever spoken about this.

That night you hear your door creak open and close, you feel the familiar weight on the mattress as it dips down. Strong arms wrap your waist, pulling you flush again him. “You awake sweets?”, Gojo asks. You hum in a sleepy response, which quietly changes to a squeal as he flips you over to face him. “Sato-”, you begin but the words die in your throat when you look up into his face. He was looking at you like you were the most beautiful creature on the entire planet.

It’s not long before the two of you find yourself in the familiar frenziness of clothes being ripped off, hands exploring each other’s bodies, lips locking together. The difference is that as the two of you reach your highs an “I love you”, spills from his lips, rocking your heart to its core. “Be mine”, Gojo says later after removing his face from your neck, the weight of what he’d previously said still hanging in the air. You cup his face with your hands. “I was already yours Satoru”, you tell him softly. Your admission brings your favorite crooked smile to his face.

Later after the two of you clean up and sink back into the comfort of each other’s arms you say, “Move the rest of your stuff here”, quietly, testing new waters. “Tomorrow morning”, he replies, sleep heavy in his voice. You nestle deeply into his chest whispering, “I love you too”, before sleep finally overtakes you. After that night, the two of you rarely slept apart, finally embracing your true feelings that started ten years ago.

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 5: Call a doctor!

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 4 | Masterlist | Chapter 6 →

Word count: 6.5k.

WARNING: brief mentions of injuries, and various diseases.

Note: We're starting with Heartslabyul's arc!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You awoke while the night sky was still dark, gray clouds blending together as they covered the round silver moon. Your skin feels cold to the touch, and the tips of your fingers are numb from the freezing weather. 

As your teary eyes scan your surroundings, a vague feeling of disappointment combined with dread grips your heart. Despite everything you experienced the day before, a small voice in your brain had convinced you this was a dream. A bad nightmare, fueled by stress and sleep deprivation from your insomnia, had created this elaborate and fucked-up scenario. 

Unfortunately, the small blades of grass that prickle your back tell you that you're still trapped in this world with no way to go back to your home.

Feeling the sleepiness leave your body, you groan as the bones of your stiff back crack loudly as you stretch your arms above your head, and like a chain reaction, your movements inadvertently wake your other two roommates who were snoring soundly next to you.

Fígaro is the first to open his eyes, slowly removing his right hand that had accidentally landed on your stomach while tossing and turning in his sleep. Man, he moves a lot. While he sleepily runs a hand through his tangled locks, Yuuken rises next to him, some dry leaves and twigs stuck into his hair as he rubs his eyes using his fist. “Mornin',” he grumbles with a yawn, and you both reply with an incoherent string of words along the same greeting.

You kick off the heavy sheet; your skin feels sticky and oily from exposure to the dirt and the ungodly heat emanating from Fígaro. “Somebody has the time?” the Finnish man mutters beside you, turning to his side as he snuggles further into the pillow. Yuuken drowsily stares into the distance, ignoring the conversation. “I’ll go check,” you reply with a yawn.

Your legs feel like jelly as you get up and wobbly make your way to the Ramshackle dormitory to check the hour ticking away on the miraculously still-alive wall clock you found yesterday during your “cleaning” spree. As you grumpily open the dilapidated door, you encounter three particularly annoying faces.

“Ooooooh, good morning, child!” the chubby ghost greets you happily, the other two semi-invisible dumbasses behind him giggling annoyingly as if the prank they were playing was so hilarious. Too tired to argue with them, you push past the cold figures and squint to see the clock hands moving behind the dirty, yellowed broken glass. 4:18 a.m. Well, at this point it might be best to just start the day… you highly doubt you’ll be able to go back to sleep.

“Awwww, leaving so soon, friend? We hope you come back alive! The dust misses you,” mocking laughter echoes through the rotten walls as you leave the house without looking back, you feel something pulsing in your brain trying to give you an unnecessary headache. You’ll deal with the ghosts when you return, for now, it’s best to get a move on.

The howling wind from last night has died down to a light breeze, but the temperature has dropped considerably, as little puffs of warm steam leave your mouth with every breath you take. Judging by the dead leaves littering the ground and the bare branches, this place is either in the middle of autumn or approaching winter. 

Unfortunately, as you return to your makeshift campsite and feel the sharp wind cut against your skin, you're made painfully aware of the lack of sweaters, as your world was still in the middle of summer when you were abducted. Shivering from the cold, Yuuken steals the blanket that was lying on the ground, wrapping himself in the fabric to protect himself from the air. Fígaro doesn't seem to mind the temperature, lying in a star position while looking at the sky. 

At this point, it's best to start the morning routine.

So the three of you unanimously decide to check the “lost and found” first for any kind of warm clothing or other items that might help you get through the next few days. Since Crowley covers food and water, you suggest using your first paycheck to buy some underwear, toiletries, and maybe some cleaning supplies. You want to avoid repeating the events of the previous day and be able to sleep comfortably in a bed without worrying about bugs or dirt.

Fígaro adds, with a yawn, that to speed up the process of getting more money, it would be wise to sell any valuables you have with you, such as jewelry and watches, unless they have some sentimental value. You gently nudge the Kendo student walking sleepily beside you, pointing out the sad expression on the Finnish man's face as he stares at his decorated fingers.

Though you and Yuuken quickly intervened that he shouldn't feel pressured to sell his valuables, the blond man simply shrugged you off, having already taken off most of his jewelry except for a silver ring with a small chalcedony stone that sits on his index finger.

“Thank you for your concern, both of you, but most of these were from sponsored merchandise or gifts from acquaintances. This is the only piece that is very precious to me,” he whispers as he lovingly looks at the ring. Without much thought, you step forward and deposit any loose jewelry that you had little to no attachment to, only keeping a black leather wristwatch that you bought with your first salary.

While it hurts to sell what had been hours of part-time work, at this point surviving and seeing your family and friends are the only thoughts that drive your decision. Yuuken seems to think so too, as he drops a sterling silver thumb ring on the pile.

Fígaro stores the jewelry in a well-worn cross-body bag he found in one of the sheets the ghost had used to prank him the night before. It had seen better days, with pieces of fabric torn off in various places and several indentations on the black leather straps from stress. Although the blond man complains about the quality, he insists that it will work. He gives you a small smile before gently ushering you to continue your path.

The rest of the way is quiet, except for a few yawns and some brief but awkward banter. Back inside the huge building, you lead your two roommates to the library, remembering the twists and turns on the map you examined yesterday. 

You highly doubt that you'll be able to find so many clothes or useful materials in there, after all, the "lost and found" is usually a big cardboard box that the secretary sticks under the desk, right?

You were dead wrong.

As the friendly ghostly librarian led you through the room where the bookcases were so high you swore they touched the roof, the last thing you expected to find was a utility closet labeled “lost and found”. Even more impressive was the fact that every single shelf in there was filled to the brim with various items.

“Feel free to take anything. Most of these articles have been in here for over a year and no one has come to claim them. I'm sure you'll make good use of them!” with a cheerful farewell, the sweet ghost disappears, leaving the three of you staring at the room with open mouths and owlish eyes.

“Well then, let’s give these things a good home,” Fígaro states as your hands and fingers begin to dig through the shelves, picking out various items, examining them, and either taking them or putting them back in their place. You're able to find four sweaters in good condition that could help protect you from the cold.

You end up taking other items like a scarf, a (surprisingly) clean water bottle and a thermos, a portable sewing kit that was missing a few threads and needles, and a small fiction book. But the most valuable item of all, and the one that you could hardly believe had not been claimed by anyone to this day, was a tablet with a shabby charger attached to it.

“I call dibs!” you announce quickly before grabbing the rectangular device, feeling like a gremlin as you chuckle mischievously and eye it like a piece of gold. Yuuken lets out an “aw” behind you, disappointed that you beat him to it, while Fígaro gives you a dirty look, questioning your behavior before shaking his head with a chuckle. “I think we’re good, I don’t know what else to take,” the Kendo student mutters under his breath while doing one last look over the shelves.

“If we’re missing something, we’ll make a mental note and return here. But, we should get a move on, or else we won’t have time for breakfast,” you indicate while gazing out of a nearby window, observing as the twilight merges with the sunny colors of the sky. “Goodness… let’s first head to the showers.”

As you hurriedly leave the library, Yuuken and you exchange some jokes while Fígaro quietly laughs at your childish banter. You fail to notice a pair of green eyes curiously examining you from the dark. Again.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You’re absolutely, 100% sure that what you’re currently doing is illegal.

This has to violate some type of law, right? You're well aware that Crowley could potentially be sued for violating child labor laws, especially since even though you're 17, your parents have to sign a contract and the crow can only make you work a certain amount of hours.

Also, even though you have some first aid certifications, you don't have a medical permit to work, much less administer medication. Holy crap, you don't even have supervision! What if you screw up?

Well, the headmaster of this institution didn't give a damn, because after showing you how to work the system, he gave you a comforting pat on the shoulder and quickly left the infirmary.

You feel a little nervous as you’re left alone in the office, but you lift your spirits as you promise to do your best to take care of the students.

And here you are. The warm, bitter liquid touches your lips as your fingers type away on the tablet’s screen, opening a new email account. It's a moment of peace since you began your shift, and by God, you never imagined how reckless some students at this place could be. You expected them to be more rowdy than usual for an all-boys school, but treating over twenty different injuries in four hours is a cause for concern.

It started pretty normal, with headaches and scraped knees that weren't that big of a deal. Just some medicine and a note to rest and avoid exercise for the day. Then it went up a notch when two students in white and red suits stormed into the infirmary, holding their hands as they'd suffered first-degree burns while making tea. All that was needed was to place the reddened skin under cool water, apply and prescribe petroleum jelly, and bandage the wound.

And then it got weird. 

A boy had crashed into a tree while riding his broom and required help removing the splinters. Then, two students were suffering from the effects of a faulty spell and needed to be prescribed a special concoction (thank whatever deity for the digital medical encyclopedia installed in the infirmary's computer). Another student was accidentally turned into a monster during a fight, and you had to subdue the creature until the spell wore off.

And now, you're currently dealing with a person who has contracted "fisherman’s fever" from a failed experiment performed in potionology class.

The device in your hand vibrates as a shrill but catchy tune plays over the speakers, indicating the timer is up. You place the dark green ceramic coffee mug that has the cringeworthy inscription "Adulting is hard AF" on the white desk and take a look at the potion brewing in the glass pot. 

According to the medical encyclopedia, to treat the disease, the scales that appear on the person's skin must be delicately removed using a sharp object. Then, to cure the internal effects such as the transformation of human blood into cold blood and the appearance of gills, the person must drink a special tea made with a bizarre combination of ingredients three times a day for a week. 

You sigh softly, the scent of mint and mandrake permeating the air as the rays of the morning sun stream in through the window, adding some color to the gray infirmary. As your weary eyes watch a series of hot bubbles appear and quickly burst at the inner corners of the pot, you grab the metallic spatula spoon and carefully stir the liquid, which has taken on a muted cyan hue. A voice behind you coughs, drawing your attention, but you keep your gaze on the tea.

“Is he going to be okay?” the student's friend, whose name you learned is Kyle Blackwood, asks from the side of the bed, worried eyes watching his friend's tanned skin turn an awful shade of pale green. 

After straining and then pouring the scalding liquid into a ceramic mug, you approach the stiff bed, avoiding the metal bucket on the side with the remnants of the shiny green scales you removed with a scalpel nearly half an hour ago. You softly nudge the shoulder of Hyde Sage, the sick student, to wake him up from his stupor. 

“He'll be fine so long as he doesn't skip his tea. If he gets worse, like his skin turning blue or you see some gills on the side of his neck, take him to a hospital,” you indicate with a stern tone, hoping that the threat of a hospital visit might scare the first year into not skipping the medicine. 

Unfortunately, the rumor that you and your roommates are magicless people spread faster than you had expected, as such, some of the students you had attended decided to disobey your instructions, refuting under their breath that what would you know, being from another world and without magic.

You are grateful for your interactions with customer service that you gained from your many part-time jobs. Despite being bad and even traumatic memories, you learned quite a lot on how to deal with stubborn people. This was no exception; instead of giving in to the anger or being intimidated by their comments and mocking grimaces, you kept a neutral expression and listed all the possible side effects of what would happen if they didn’t get their injuries or sickness treated.

Of course, you never lied, after all a small wound can develop into a catastrophic disease. It worked most of the time, their faces turning pale at the large list of infections and illnesses, and they quickly snatched the medicine from your hands, consuming it as fast as they could before they exited the office. Some quietly thanked you, others didn’t say anything. 

Other times, when they were particularly argumentative, they were scolded by friends or classmates who brought them into the infirmary, telling them to shut up and just take the pills. You silently thanked them with a small smile, and they returned the gesture with a nod.

As you place the mug on a nearby table, both Hyde and Kyle let out a gasp as their eyes widen at your words. Still, many of the students are relatively nice or are too preoccupied with schoolwork to bother you or deny the treatment, such as the two teenagers sitting in front of you. Sensing their distress, you shake your head, gently patting Hyde's shoulder to ease their panic slightly.

“Don’t worry, it’s a worst-case scenario. Your fever has gone down, and your skin is starting to return to its normal color. Just, make sure to not skip the tea,” your lukewarm fingers gently press against the student’s forehead, a sigh of relief slips past your lips as you feel the earlier fever has subsided. Your free arm slides under his back and pushes, silently instructing him to sit up.

Kyle jumps at the opportunity to help him up as well, fluffing up the pillows and tucking them behind his back to make him more comfortable. As you hand the freshman the hot cup and tell him to be careful, you chuckle to yourself as you watch his nose scrunch up at the strong smell. “Bottom’s up, bud. Unless you want to become a fish.”

Hearing your words, he panics momentarily before judgmentally staring at the rather viscous liquid and bringing it close to his lips. As soon as a drop sneaks past his open mouth and lands on his tongue, Hyde physically recoils, a shiver shakes his shoulders and makes his skin crawl. He almost places the mug down in disgust, but pushes forward, remembering how much a trip to the hospital costs. Kyle gingerly pats his back as a sign of support and comfort.

Meanwhile, you return to the desk, moving your attention to the enormous metal cabinet that houses a variety of pills and medicines. You crouch down and open the compartment underneath, the door sliding open with a loud, unpleasant squeak, giving way to rows of glass bottles of various sizes and other medical paraphernalia.

Your fingers brush gently against the various containers as you calculate how much liquid is left in the pot. After a few seconds of mental calculations and the clatter of glass, you successfully locate and pull out a bottle to store the remaining tea; your ears perk up as you hear the clink of a ceramic object on a table and the rustle of sheets and clothing.

In one swift movement, you uncork the bottle, place the strainer over the opening, and begin to pour the liquid into it with ease. You unconsciously hold your breath as all of your mental concentration is focused on avoiding spilling as much as possible, although a few drops do escape and gently run down the side of the crystal. Two pairs of footsteps approach you as the last few drops of the tea land inside the bottle.

“This should give you 7-8 cups of tea. Drink it at a temperature of 65°C and don't let it cool down, it will lose its effects,” you screw the cap on as tightly as you can to avoid spills and turn around, running into the two students. Hyde's complexion looks much better, and a small smile is now appearing on his face instead of a terrified expression.

Gently, you hand him the bottle and your free hand grabs two small notes you wrote while the tea was boiling. One has a checklist written in blue ink, while the other is a more formal sheet of paper. "Here are the instructions on how to make the tea and this is your excuse to skip the rest of your classes today, deliver it to the headmaster. Then, return to your dorm, set the alarms for your tea, and try to rest today to regain your energy."

Both students nod eagerly at your instructions, gently taking away the notes from your tired hands. You’re relieved to see Hyde in a much better condition than when he arrived, remembering Kyle's panicked yells as he dragged him to the infirmary office. He was limp and couldn’t stop shivering, his skin was clammy and his eyes were constantly rolling to the back of his head. As you dismiss both of them, you’re taken aback when the two of them suddenly bow with big, happy smiles on their faces.

“T-Thank you very much, Mx. (Y/N)!” you scratch your head sheepishly at the way Hyde addresses you, not expecting such a reaction. “Don’t mention it… just doing my job. Also,  (Y/N)’s fine. No need to be so formal,” the two return to their original positions before nodding merrily. As they walk towards the door, they wave again, the crimson and yellow ribbons tied to their left arms fluttering slightly as they move.

Soon, the door to the infirmary closes softly, and the office is plunged into a comfortable silence as the footsteps and lively conversation of the Scarabian students fade into the distance. You sigh as you lazily throw yourself onto the swivel chair, which creaks loudly under the sudden weight, and bring your fingers to massage the temples of your forehead.

‘That should be patient number #21… I better fill out the form and get to cleaning if I want to finish opening my accounts.’

Your hands land on the gray keyboard that sits in front of you, several of the letters blurred or missing, showing the constant use of the device. The monitor comes to life as you move the mouse, the cursor hovering over the “+” symbol and opening a new window, displaying an empty patient form. Without wasting a second, your fingers tap out different combinations, forming words to fill the empty boxes.

Time passes; outside, the birds chirp a happy tune and the clouds dance in the sky as you click the “Send” button and a message appears on the screen informing you that the form has been successfully accepted. As you stretch your arms over your head, your bones cracking stiffly, the rectangular device that’s been sitting idle for nearly an hour vibrates and the screen turns on to reveal a new notification.

Beyond satisfying your dire need to consume technology and geek content, the tablet is a key factor in your survival. In an unfamiliar world, where you don't know its customs, let alone its politics, the most important thing you need to do is nourish yourself with information on how to navigate this new labyrinth. Therefore, the moment you reset your device to its factory settings, you opened several accounts on various social media sites.

Strangely enough, many of the sites looked like bootleg copies of the ones you had back at home, right down to the bizarre similar yet different names. You almost burst out laughing when the words “MagiCam” appeared on the screen, immediately understanding what the application should be about. Thankfully, this also meant that you'd be able to navigate it much more easily since the UI was the same as Instagram’s.

In the brief respites of peace you’ve had during your turn, you’ve also understood a little more about how Twisted Wonderland works. Feeling calmer now that you know more about Night Raven College and the island where it resides, you then examined the world map and learned about the various continents of this world and who inhabits them.

You’ve also started to delve deeper into the magic of this world, but the concept still feels rather foreign and confusing, so, you’ve decided to wait until you’re in a calmer environment to pay closer attention to the details. Still, in your opinion, you’ve made good progress, and you make a mental note to share this information with your new roommates when you reconvene at lunch or later in the day.

You throw your head back, and the upper half of your body languidly lies against the chair's comically small backrest. You still feel a bit sore from yesterday's events, even after taking a hot (almost boiling) shower and replicating some of Yuuken's stretches. It also doesn't help that you've been running around for most of the morning.

You're tired... you want to go home.

As you stare blankly at the false ceiling, your mind wanders to the dark places you tried to avoid yesterday...

Will you ever be able to go home? Are your parents okay? Is Momoko okay? How long have you been gone? Does time pass differently here than it does in your world?

... Are you actually dead? This world feels so real, but you can't help but wonder…

Thought after thought flashes through your mind, as the earlier feeling of dread comes back with a biting force, stabbing at your stomach and tearing at your brain, making you feel sick. “Stop,” you silently beg to yourself, wanting the cursed string of detrimental questions to just end. And yet, your inner self continues to produce more and more, completely ignoring your desperate pleas. 

Fortunately, you don't get to lose yourself for long as you're jolted awake by a hasty banging on the door to the infirmary. It startled you so much that you nearly fell out of the chair, the tip of your shoe smacking against the underside of the desk, followed by the clanking of glass, reminding you of the dirty dishes you didn’t wash. “D-Doors open!” you stammer with a shaky, feeling your heart pounding against your chest as you wobble out of the chair.

In a matter of seconds, the door opens, and a familiar man with orange hair peers in, his eyes widening in surprise as they fall on your figure. You instantly remember him from the entrance ceremony, a phantom feeling of warmth still lingers on your shoulder. 

“The fu-!? H-Hey! Long time no see~!” he attempts to mask his shock with a cheerful tone before opening the door further and standing awkwardly at the entrance. “Um… do you know when the nurse is coming back?”

Without saying a word, you raise your right hand and point your thumb at yourself, swaying slightly back and forth, making the lab coat you wear over your navy blue sweater rustle. “I’m the temporary nurse. Do you need help with something?” even though his face is one of happiness, you notice that he is nervous due to his pale complexion and a slight tremor in his hands.

“O-Oh… Cool! Uh…” the orange-haired man stutters, sticking his head out of the room once more and whispering unintelligible words to someone standing outside. The exchange continues for a few more seconds, each one more confusing. Finally, with a frustrated groan, he returns and opens the door wider. “Sorry for that! We need a consultation!”

A bit weirded out by his behavior, you silently point toward one of the beds, ushering him to enter the room. You hope this consultation will be fast. As he opens the door wider and signals for the other person to come in, you turn around back to the computer and quickly open an application that pulls out a screen showcasing the list of all the students of Night Raven College. 

As a precaution, before you can do a consultation or even prescribe medication, you must ensure the student isn’t allergic to any specific ingredients, takes some type of chronic medication, or has any important medical history. That way, you avoid any mishaps and save yourself a possible heart attack and a phone call to the hospital. Thankfully, the school has a nifty medical system that allows you to check for these kinds of things, all you need is a name or ID number.

Behind you, the shuffling of feet and the hushed voices weirded you out even more. ‘What’s up with the secrecy?’ Ah well, time is precious, and you want this consultation to be over quickly, so there’s no point in beating around the bush. With your gaze still focused on the screen, you click on the search bar and speak to the people. “Alright, what’s the name of the patient?”

As the question leaves your lips, a tense silence follows. You suddenly don’t dare to turn around, an uneasy feeling settles itself in the pit of your stomach as you wait for the answers. As the clock on the wall quietly ticks away the seconds that feel like minutes, somebody finally clears their throat and speaks. “Uh… Riddle Rosehearts.” 

An eerily familiar voice speaks out, and you promptly turn around to watch a guy with green hair and glasses enter the room, a small and thin arm slung around his broad shoulders. And you feel the world fall apart and tear itself at its core as a head of red hair wobbles beside him, gray, piercing eyes turning to observe, widening at your figure before a recognizable scowl etches at his face.

"What in the Seven's name are you doing here?" fucking great, the last person you wanted to see, the tiny tyrant has come back to torment you again. Was the yelling match of yesterday’s night not enough for him? You take a deep breath, repeating to yourself that you won’t win showing your annoyance; you need to be a professional. Instead, you simply shrug your shoulders, maintaining an apathetic expression.

"Beats me, dude. Ask the crow man, not me," as you quickly type in his name into the application, Riddle scoffs as he’s helped to walk further into the room. "Do not address the headmaster in such a way. Have you not been taught to respect your superiors?" you roll your eyes at his comment, focusing more on his medical profile as he settles in one of the beds. Good, everything seems in order.

You don’t waste much time, reaching over to one of the desk drawers and pulling out a black bag containing a diagnostic kit and a clipboard with an empty consultation form. “I have, thank you very much. But I find it justifiable to insult the man who thought it was a good idea to stick me and the other two inside a dilapidated house,” you reply, slightly irritated as you place the stethoscope around your neck and head over to the bed.

The orange-haired man, whose eyes were intently focused on his phone’s screen, suddenly perks up at the mention of the house. “What!? Are you living in Ramshackle? I thought they were going to demolish that thing,” he mumbles the last part sheepishly as you pull a chair over to where the three men are standing.

The green-haired guy perks up at the name of the dormitory, his worried eyes suddenly landing on you. “How did your night go there?” you glance away from the prying eyes, scratching your cheek as you remember how stiff your back still is. “Awful, we ended up sleeping outside… Anyways, what's up? What are we dealing with?” although the orange-haired man seems more interested in hearing about your night, Riddle interrupts the conversation with a sharp cough.

“I'm completely fine. I just contracted a simple cold,” he remarks nonchalantly, covering his mouth with a gloved fist. However, even though the boy tries to pretend that he's fine, you notice that his chest moves up and down rather quickly, his cheeks are also slightly flushed, and small beads of sweat trickle down the sides of his face.

‘Difficulty breathing... I can cross out asthma, anemia, and anaphylaxis since his allergy chart is clear. A common cold wouldn't have him panting this way unless he overexerted himself with a clogged nose... Hmmm, it could be some kind of respiratory infection, but I need more details…’

Before you can intervene, however, the green-haired man shoots a glare at the housewarden as he angrily crosses his arms, his pose resembling a mother scolding her child. “A simple cold? Riddle, you were puking your guts out just a few minutes ago and you can barely walk!” he reprimands with a frown, and the redhead simply clicks his tongue in frustration. “As I said, I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle.”

You jot down your observations and the glasses man's comments on the clipboard, nodding quietly as your brow furrows. “Besides the vomiting and shortness of breath,” — you feel slightly insulted as you notice Riddle’s eyes monetarily widen in surprise at your last observation. Man, he thinks you’re not capable, huh? — “Are you feeling any discomfort or other symptoms?” at your question, the housewarden ponders for a few seconds before his hand drops from his mouth. “Just a stomach ache.”

“Is the pain mild or severe?” the man shakes his head, placing a hand on his abdomen to indicate the source of the disturbance. ‘I can also rule out hepatitis at the moment. Seems to be from the core.’ “In between,” you simply hum at his response as you take more notes. “When did the symptoms start?” you finally raise your head to meet him, taking notice that he has difficulty keeping his eyes open.

He takes a deep breath and a hand shoots up to massage his temples. As you’re about to recommend he lays down on the bed and you’re three steps away from dialing Mr. Crewel, he speaks. “A-About two… no, one hour ago. I just feel dizzy. I’m fine,” he keeps repeating the last sentence as if to reassure the people in the room, but honestly, it makes you more nervous.

“Well, it might be a stomach bug rather than a cold. I’ll check your vitals before we move to treatment,” you announce before standing up and silently motioning for Riddle to remove his blazer. As you put on the earpieces of the stethoscope, his shaky and clammy hands pull off the piece of cloth, the glasses man stepping in to help. “Oh, my bad. I didn’t ask for your names.”

The orange-haired man jumps at the opportunity, flashing you a dashing smile as he holds up two fingers to his face, forming a peace sign. “Hey, hey! I’m Cater Diamond, but you can call me Cay-Cay!” he announces cheerfully, winking in your direction. ‘Well, what a charmer.’ You make a mental note not to call him that nickname, you'll just stick with Cater.

You simply wave back as you take a seat in front of Riddle and look in the direction of the green-haired man, who nods at you. “Trey Clover, vice housewarden of Heartslabyul. Good to meet you,” he replies as he flashes a small smile, though his gaze shifts to worry as he looks back at Riddle. An annoyed cough from the tiny tyrant interrupts your greeting. 

“If we’re done with idle chatter, I would like to get out of here and return to my duties as soon as possible,” he grumbles as you simply roll your eyes and adjust the stethoscope. “Alright, alright. Take a deep breath,” you command in a toneless voice as you hook a finger around the collar of his shirt and harshly pull down, revealing a patch of milky skin. 

A furious blush spreads across Riddle's cheeks as he short circuits for a second, a million thoughts racing through his mind as he feels your lukewarm fingers poking at his chest. He finally comes down to earth as he feels the cold nip at his exposed skin and he swears he feels on fire. “W-What’s wrong with you!? A-A warning would’ve been nice!” he shouts, almost slapping your hand away if it wasn’t for the glare you threw him back. 

“Damn, you go, Riddle, getting some action,” Cater quietly giggles as he covers his Cheshire grin using his phone, which causes the housewarden’s face to turn even redder. “Shut it! Say a word of this and I’ll have your head!” the orange hair chokes on his laugh at the last words of the red hair. All of a sudden, the preppy attitude of the man is drained alongside the color from his face, instead, it’s replaced with an awkward laugh as he gingerly scratches the back of his neck.

‘What the hell is that reaction?’ Sure, the phrase elicits a rather daunting reaction from anyone who hears it, but, to pale at such words? That’s quite suspicious, but you frankly don’t want to stick your nose in the business of people who are already aggressive to strangers, especially when it comes to the tiny tyrant. You also don’t have the energy to bother, unless it becomes a bigger issue. 

“My bad, sorry. But, you need to calm down or else I won’t be able to measure your heart rate,” you retort between your teeth, drawing Riddle's attention back to you. “Calm down!? Easier said than done! Are you even sure you know what you’re doing?” his booming voice does nothing but irritate you as you tighten your grip on the stethoscope. “Yes, I do. Now, shut up and let me do my job.”

About to respond angrily to your comment when he's stopped by a warm hand patting his shoulder, Trey giving him a small smile as the cold chest piece of the stethoscope touches his skin. The housewarden reluctantly agrees and gives you a nod. “Take a deep breath,” you instruct again in a low voice, listening carefully to Riddle's worryingly slow heartbeats. Each time you hear a “thump”, you draw a line on the clipboard resting on your leg, mentally counting up to fifteen; the entire room holds its breath as you remove the device after a while, your lips tightening as the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach returns with a vengeance.

‘Only 14 beats… this is bad,’ you swallow dryly as you waste no time calculating his heart rate, multiplying the number of beats by four and silently thanking your 12-year-old self for choosing first aid classes over rowing at summer camp. Unfortunately, the fleeting feeling of accomplishment soon fades, replaced by anxiety as you watch the number from the equation over and over again. “Holy shit…”

“Is everything alright?” you accidentally ignore Trey's worried voice, too consumed in your panic, as you run back to the computer and check Riddle's medical profile again. Again, he has no hereditary diseases or disorders, and his allergy chart is empty and clear. His normal heart rate, listed under his blood type, shows he has 75 beats per minute, so why the hell did your calculations show his current heart rate is 58 bpm? That's below average!

‘Is it bradycardia? It could be that he just developed it, but that doesn’t explain the vomiting or rapid breathing… Perhaps he has arrhythmia? Did I make a mistake in my calculations?’ you turn around to address the trio, wincing as you observe a powerful shiver shake Riddle’s body. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t have the proper resources, much less the adequate experience to deal with this.’

The red-haired man irritates you, his attitude is obnoxious, but there’s no way you’re letting him die here. “I’m calling an ambulance. Riddle’s heart rate is worryingly low and his conditioning is worsening. He needs professional attention.” 

The three men's eyes widen in pure surprise, the shock is so severe for Riddle that he starts coughing loudly, the green-haired man next to him jumps in fright at the sound, but quickly concentrates on calming him down, gently patting and rubbing his back.

Cater reacts the fastest, shaking his phone with a pale face as he looks at you, terrified. "I'll call them!" he types restlessly on the keypad as you approach the bed to help Riddle get comfortable and calm his reaction. 

But strangely, before Cater can even press the call button, a hand shoots up from the bed and rips the phone out of the orange-haired man's hands, causing him to choke on air, startled by the sudden movement.

It was Riddle.

“NO! I’M NOT TAKING ONE STEP IN THERE! I’M COMPLETELY FINE!”

… Huh?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar @yuriluvr2000 @Shironakuronatasa @yourlocalhot-simp @stvrbrighttt @tearsofgenshin @mewmew-dream @lehn2206 @coleisyn @ama-ewe

[deakyjoe]

Bewitch You In The Moonlight

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (fem)

Category: idk

Summary: You encounter a likeminded soul during a sleepless night.

Warnings: insomnia, awkward conversations, swearing/cursing, Copia is a nerd, reader is also a nerd, you’re both lonely and find comfort in each other basically

Word count: 4.6k

A/N: Oh, to have a Copia to spend sleepless nights with. This is currently planned to be a series (but works as a standalone for now!) and is just a big excuse for me to write Copia as the nerdy, dorky, sexy, old man that he is. It’s pretty self indulgent but I hope that others can enjoy it too. Title from… an obvious source ;)

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The moonlight was irritating.

Despite being a lover of the night, and the luminous natural satellite that orbited the sky, you couldn't help but find yourself angry at the moon. The fucking moon.

You weren't naturally the easiest person to fall asleep anyway, often finding yourself tossing and turning for hours on end. But since being relocated to a new room, the problem had only gotten worse. The position of your new room meant that the moon shone directly through the window and illuminated your whole bedroom. Even when you closed the curtains, going so far as to tape the edges to the wall at one point, the light still managed to find a way to break through the cracks.

Staring at the silvery gleam reflecting off of the floor, you bit back the tears that were stinging in the back of your eyes and threatening to make your throat close up. You had an early class in the morning, Primo was starting lessons on botany. You were excited, finding something new to study. But you were tired. So tired. And not a wink of sleep was coming to you.

Throwing back the blankets, you swung yourself out of bed and marched over to your bookshelf. Maybe a chapter or two would help you sleep. Scanning the titles, you found that none of them were grabbing you and you held back a scream of frustration. What were you supposed to do?

Pacing around your room for a moment, you thought about what you could do. A late night stroll was the first thing to come to mind. And perhaps to the library. To pick up a new, more attention grabbing book. Maybe one on botany to get a head start on Primo's classes. Yes, that was exactly what you were going to do.

Slipping on a pair of fuzzy socks to keep your feet warm, you reached for your phone. To find that it was dead. Why hadn't you charged it before getting into bed? You sighed and considered what else could be your light source to guide your path. Your eyes drifted towards a candle that someone had gifted you upon your arrival at the abbey. It was meant to be a joke about the building and its grounds looking old and gothic so outsiders assumed it had no electricity. They were very wrong. But the candle was charming. It sat in a brass holder with a handle. Just like something straight out of a Dickens novel.

You sighed before plucking it from its resting place, never having been lit, and rummaged through a drawer to find some matches. Once you'd acquired those, you ignited the candle and tiptoed to your door. You didn't know exactly why you were being quiet. It wasn't against any rules to be out of bed at this time but you also didn't want to wake anyone else in the same dormitory wing as you. You did know the grievances of losing sleep after all.

You padded along the corridor, glad it was a fairly warm night as you hadn't thought to bring an extra layer to cover the garments you'd chosen to sleep in, with your arm extended out in front of you so the candle could light the way. You'd been right in assuming that all lights in the abbey would be off. It was approaching almost two in the morning.

You weaved through the hallways, knowing the blueprints of the place like the back of your hand, and trotted up and down flights of stairs. Another annoying feature of your new room was that it was farther away from the library than the previous one. You were starting to wonder whether you could put a request in to be moved back.

You started humming a low tune to yourself, something you'd heard on the radio a few days prior, to keep yourself company on the long walk. You weren't scared of the empty abbey exactly, knowing there were hundreds of people sound asleep just through all the sets of doors you'd passed, but you couldn't deny that the darkness and silence was a little spooky.

That spookiness only upped itself when you rounded a corner and were met with a bellowing shriek. You jumped back from the noise, or technically the person it emanated from.

"Sathanas!" The figure gasped, followed by a string of mumbled Italian.

You raised your candle slowly to illuminate their face, surprised by who you had come in contact with. "Cardinal?"

"Sì, sì." He mumbled, not looking at you as he pressed a hand to his chest to calm himself down. He was wearing a matching set of pyjamas, buttons up the middle, a deep red shade with a pattern of grey and brown... were those rats? Upon slightly closer inspection you found that they were indeed rats.

"I like your..." You gestured vaguely at your own pyjamas before pointing at his.

The Cardinal looked surprised as he glanced down at his attire. "Oh, my jammies? Thank you."

"You like rats?" You asked, hoping to get him to relax a little as his breathing was still laboured.

"I love rats!" He exclaimed, immediately shushing himself. "Eh, yes, I like rats."

You smiled at him. "What about rats do you love?"

"Lots of things. They are small. They like cheese. They squeak when they are happy. Very nice little creatures, hehe." He chuckled at his own description, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

You nodded at him, liking the simplicity of his answer. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Cardinal."

"Oh no, it is fine." He shook his head at the memory of the way he'd screamed at you. "Not your fault. This place gives me the heebie jeebies at night."

"Yeah, it is a little creepy." You added on, not voicing your question of why on earth he was a Satanic Cardinal if he couldn't even handle the dark... you figured everybody had layers. That's when you noticed he wasn't carrying any sort of light source. "Cardinal, were you walking around in complete darkness?"

"Uh, no." He sighed. "I thought the moonlight would guide me further. But then I got here. And have been stuck for ten minutes. Walking in circles, I think."

"Oh." You coughed to hide a laugh. "Well, where were you headed? I can get you there if you want."

He looked briefly at your candle, recognising it as the initiation gift of the siblings. "The library."

"Me too." You sent him an easy smile, relieved that you wouldn't have to divert your journey at all.

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the wind outside, as you questioned whether it was okay for you to ask him why he was still awake.

Luckily, he answered that query for you. "So, why are you going to the library so late at night?"

"I could ask you the same." You retorted with a smirk. "Bit of an insomniac."

"Ah, I see." He nodded in understanding. "Me too sometimes."

"Is that why you're awake tonight?" You asked.

"Sì. Sleep just would not come to me." He paused and inhaled deeply. "Forgive me, sorella, but you are going to have to remind me of your name."

You smiled and introduced yourself, not the least bit surprised nor offended he couldn't remember your name. You'd only crossed paths on a few occasions and you were sure the Cardinal met a lot of people every day.

"Ah, I think I remember you from that course on rituals I conducted last year. Correct?"

Your eyebrows shot up in shock. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I took that course."

He hummed. "Mm, you were very eager to learn."

You averted your eyes away from him, embarrassed. "I have a thirst for knowledge, you could say."

"That is a good thing, no?" He wondered and you shrugged. "What other classes have you taken?"

"A few." You replied, not entirely untrue but maybe a little understated since you would take any class you could get your hands on. "I'm starting the botany one tomorrow. Well, today I guess."

"With Primo?" He asked and you nodded. "It will be fascinating, I'm sure."

"I hope so. Even if it's not then he'll be a good teacher. He loves plants." You mumbled, thoughts straying to the gardens that were so meticulously looked after by the retired Papa. "Hey, you should teach a class on rats."

Copia chuckled. "I do not think there would be much interest in that, sorella."

"Maybe a class on small mammal species then?" You offered. "I'm sure there are plenty of amateur zoologists in this place."

He smiled at you. "Would you attend?"

"Only if you promise to do a section on moles." You nodded. "I love those little fuckers."

The Cardinal snorted out a laugh. "Okay, I will take it up with the clergy."

"I look forward to it."

The two of you quickly approached the doors to the library where Copia produced a key from a seemingly invisible pocket to unlock them.

"I didn't even consider it being locked." You whispered, realising that bumping into him had definitely been beneficial.

Copia huffed. "Sì. As much as we encourage sinning, we have some rare editions in here that we do not need siblings to get their hands on in the midst of partying."

"Makes sense." You stepped closer to him to give him more light from the candle to which he thanked you. It was then that you noticed that he was wearing the leather gloves that always adorned his hands during the daytime. Strange that he would also wear them at night. But you weren't going to judge him for it, or even comment on it. "Cardinal-"

"Copia, per favore." He corrected, not taking his eyes off where he was struggling to get the library doors unlocked.

"Copia-" You rolled the name around on your tongue, liking the way it tasted. "-is it okay for me to be in the library at this hour?"

"Of course, sorella-"

You cut him off with your own name to which he glanced at you with a smile.

"I give you full permission. It is the least I can do since you rescued me from the darkness, eh?"

"I suppose." You muttered. "I just don't want you to get in trouble for letting a sister wreak havoc on the library in the middle of the night."

He stood up, as if he were giving up on unlocking the door, and gave you a mirthful look. "What exactly are you planning on doing with these books?"

You relented with a slump of your shoulders. "Read them."

He shrugged. "See? No havoc. Just reading."

"Would you like me to try?" You offered out your hand, palm up, to take the key from him.

"Ah! Sì, sì!" He sounded grateful that he didn't even have to ask you, handing the key over in exchange for the candle.

You shuffled past him and bent down, sliding the key into the lock and turning it until it clicked. "There we go."

"Thank you. Sometimes my gloves make it difficult." He sighed as you pushed the door open.

You smiled, curious as to what the deal with the gloves was. Maybe he had an issue with dirt. You decided to just be lighthearted about it. "The price of fashion. Beauty is pain they say."

He looked momentarily surprised by that statement, a pool of red rushing to his cheeks. Or maybe it was a trick of the light. "Uh, yes. They do say."

You bit back a grin at the prospect of making him flustered, he really was a sweet man, and tilted your head in the direction of the library. "Lead the way, Cardinal."

"Copia." He groaned but walked into the library first anyway, candle held out in front of him. "What book were you looking for, sorella?"

You followed him, noting that he'd gone back to calling you sister in response and closed the door behind the two of you. "Initially I was going to read up on some botany. But now I've got the urge to read about rodents."

He perked up and turned quickly to face you again, candle tilting dangerously in the holder at his rapid movement. "I can recommend some books on rodents."

You reached out to steady the candle before it dripped molten wax all over the floor, fingertips brushing against leather as you pulled away. "That sounds lovely, Copia."

He grinned at you and turned away again, walking more eagerly towards the stacks. You rushed to keep up as he started murmuring something about which book would be best for beginners, colliding with his back as he suddenly stopped.

"Sorry." You grunted, rubbing your forehead as you stumbled backwards.

The candle was abandoned on an empty shelf, safely out of the way of any books, and his gloved hands were hovering over you before you even had the chance to blink.

"No, I am sorry. I shouldn't have just stopped. I am an idiot, sì? Please forgive me. Are you okay?" He rambled, eyes wide with panic.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You laughed. "You were just wrapped up in the moment thinking about rats. I get it."

Copia's face dropped in embarrassment. "It is a problem."

"No, I think it's nice that you're so passionate. I get like that when I have something new to learn about." You sent him a reassuring smile. "Besides, you were thinking about books to recommend to me. If anything, it's my fault."

He was stood so close, barely a couple of inches away, that it gave you an opportunity to take him in. Like, really take him in. You'd never been in such close contact before. He sat at the front during mass, you had to sit with the rest of the siblings further back. Any time he conducted anything he would be stood at the head of the room, obviously, and you'd be one of the audience. It felt strange being so near to him.

You knew his eyes were mismatched, it was the gossip of the century when he'd first come to the abbey since nobody had failed to realise how it was similar to the mismatching eyes of the Emeritus line, but you'd never noticed that the darker eye was a gorgeous shade of green before. He also had smile lines, both around his mouth and crinkling the edges of his beautiful eyes. The greys in his hair, which you had always taken notice of, now only stood out more in the flickering candlelight. And where his mouth was hanging slightly open in concern you could see that his bottom row of teeth were crooked.

Realising that you were staring at his mouth, you looked away from him, to somewhere over his shoulder, before you said something you'd regret.

"Don't blame yourself." He said lowly, grabbing the candle off the shelf again as he tilted his head backwards. "Come. The good books on rodents are this way."

You nodded silently and just started following him again. His pace was slower this time, careful not to rush or cause another crash with you. After another minute or so of walking, he rounded a corner and stopped.

"I had the librarian rearrange the stacks so the books about rats were put here instead." He explained as you took in the little nook you'd never seen before.

It was hidden towards the back of the library, dark, with a single small window to provide some evidence of outside life. There sat a set of comfortable looking chairs and a coffee table. It was cosy looking. However, there was no discernible light source. No lamp, no overhead light, nothing with electricity.

"It's nice." You croaked, imagining Copia hidden away here for hours on end. Nothing to keep him company apart from a good book. "I can see why you had the librarian rearrange."

He sent you a small smile before walking over to a couple of sconces on the wall. You squinted and noticed that they held candles. The tug in your chest was unmistakable. You knew Copia didn't have many, if any, friends so the idea that he'd brought you here was flattering.

The hem of his pyjama shirt lifted as he lit the first candle, exposing a stretch of his abdomen. You looked away out of respect. But the glimpse of soft tummy and dark hair had your eyes straying back towards him again. Once you'd locked on to his happy trail, hair trailing both below his waistline and up into what you assumed to blossom into a good amount of chest hair, you couldn't pull away again.

You felt butterflies in your lower stomach, your mouth almost salivating at the sight. It was then you decided to do some research on insomnia to see if the lack of sleep could cause delirium that made your libido skyrocket. Because suddenly wanting to lick your Cardinal's stomach probably wasn't normal behaviour. Although sinning was encouraged...

You were snapped out of your thoughts by Copia giving a small cheer as he managed to light one of the candles. Watching with a new sense of fondness for the man as he attempted to the light the second candle, you decided that you were adamant on becoming his friend. The both of you could probably use a friend. You were making assumptions about him but you could recognise loneliness from a mile away. He was slightly too keen to share his favourite books with you, a little too cautious when it came to potentially doing something wrong, a tad happier than the average person would be when exchanging first names.

Once the other candle was lit, he grinned at you so brightly that the corners of his eyes crinkled. You returned the grin.

"Please take a seat. I will find you a book." He waved his hands at the two armchairs before rushing over to the shelves.

You watched him scanning the spines of the books, choosing to sit on the less worn of the two chairs as you figured that the more tattered one was his favourite. You struggled to avert your eyes when he bent over and you were met with the perfect view of his ass, forcing yourself to be respectful and not indulge in your newfound attraction to him. Just friends, you reminded yourself. You were going to be just friends.

Soon enough he was letting out a little noise of delight and practically skipping back over to you where he collapsed into the spare armchair and handed you the book.

"I believe this one has a chapter on rats and a chapter on moles. As you love those little fuckers so much." He repeated your words from earlier back to you with a proud tone in his voice.

"Thank you." You said sincerely, flipping the book open to the contents page. "I trust your recommendations. I read those books you told us about at the end of the ritual course last year."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Mhm, although I think you were the only person who had ever borrowed them before me." You shrugged. "They were good, very informative."

He swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "You weren't kidding about your thirst for knowledge, hehe."

You glanced up at him, fingers flicking through the pages of the book on your lap. "It's sort of my motivation in life. Learning as much as possible."

His brows pinched together momentarily. "That is a nice motivation to have."

You smiled, being able to tell that there was more he wanted to say. "But?"

He shook his head with a huff. "How could you tell there was a but?"

"I just know these things."

He huffed again. "But... what of other things?"

You frowned. "Such as? Satan? I am a dedicated sibling of sin, y’know?"

"No, no. I know that, I didn't mean to imply that-" He cut himself off with a sigh. "What about friends?"

Your mouth turned downwards, eyes returning to the book. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Ouch. But I deserved that." He winced. "My apologies. I only wish for all siblings to be happy here."

"I am happy here." You snapped, regretting your tone almost immediately. There was a brief moment of silence where you wished you could take it back.

"Take it from me, I know how lonely a life here can be. Surrounded by so many people yet not really having anyone." He confessed, face falling into a vague sort of sadness.

You didn't know why he was opening up to you. And it wasn't anything you hadn't already deduced about him. But you could see so much of yourself in him that you couldn't understand why you were lashing out when you had been the one telling yourself you wanted to be friends with him in the first place.

"We could be friends." You offered.

He shook his head, taking the offer the wrong way. "Do not say that just because you feel pity for this old Cardinal."

"Aren't you younger than the average upper clergyman?"

"Well, yes. But..." He trailed off. "Still old."

"And I would like to be friends with you."

Copia stared at you for a few seconds, probably trying to figure out if you were being sincere. When you didn't break the eye contact, he realised you were. "Okay..."

You rolled your eyes. "You sound so enthusiastic about the idea."

"Sorry. I mean... okey dokey!" He sent you a double thumbs up and the dorkiest smile you'd ever seen. You couldn't hold back the giggle that rumbled out of your chest at the sight. Copia held the pose for a moment, the smile spreading at your reaction, before he stood from his chair again. "I will get a book of my own and then we can read together. Like friends do, sì?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Okey dokey."

He chuckled at your repetition of his words before shuffling off with a low groan, muttering something about the pain in his knees, and squatting in front of the stacks. For a man who claimed to be old and had aching joints, he seemed to have no trouble getting down so low. You watched him over the top of your book as he did a little side step crab walk thing to see what titles he hadn't read yet, eyes darting back towards the page when he grabbed a volume and returned to sit next to you.

"What did you choose?"

"A Beginner's Guide to Small Mammals." He read out the cover to you. "Research for that class you're getting me to teach."

You nodded slowly. "Very wise choice."

The two of you descended into peaceful, comfortable silence, the turning of pages breaking the quiet every so often. Copia zoomed through the book he'd chosen, clearly knowing a lot of it already, but you took your time, making sure to take in every single word carefully. You found yourself appreciating rats a little more after you'd finished that chapter and loving moles more than you already did by the time you were halfway through their chapter.

You glanced up to take a look at your reading companion every couple pages or so, enjoying the crease that would appear between his brows every time he came across something he found interesting. A couple of times the two of you made accidental eye contact when you'd go to look at him to find him already looking at you, the two of you smiling awkwardly before looking away again. That, thankfully, didn't ruin the atmosphere however.

Neither of you realised how much time had passed until sunlight had replaced the moonlight shining through the small window despite Copia having almost finished the book he'd chosen and you getting halfway through yours after returning to the beginning once you'd read the two chapters he'd told you about.

"It must be about five in the morning." You commented, that opinion based on the way the rays of sun were positioned. You'd seen a lot of sunrises during your sleepless nights.

"Oh." Copia replied, lowering his book to the coffee table. "What time is Primo's class?"

"Eight." You replied with a sigh, resting your head against the back of your chair and closing your eyes. Despite hours of reading, you still didn't feel like you were close to being able to sleep.

"There is still time for a couple hours of rest."

You shook your head as you opened your eyes again. "I still won't be able to. It's fine. I can survive on no sleep for a day or two."

His eyes widened at the prospect of not sleeping for two nights in a row. "That does not sound healthy."

You laughed. "Probably not. But I get by."

"I'm sorry if I made it worse by keeping you here, I didn't mean-"

You cut him off. "No, not at all. Um, I usually spend sleepless nights pacing around my room and making myself stressed. So this has been a nice change. Thank you for allowing me to read with you. And letting me into the library."

His face softened. "Of course. It's what friends do."

Warmth bloomed in your chest and all you could do was send him a smile that you hoped conveyed how grateful you were. After that the two of you quietly replaced the books you had been reading before extinguishing the sconces and leaving the library. With the sunlight now illuminating the abbey there was no need for your candle anymore so you blew that out as well and held it lower down in front of you, clasped tightly between both of your hands. You handed it to Copia briefly as you locked the library doors for him.

You walked silently for a while, wondering what to say to him now that the tranquil feeling of the library had been left behind. What if books were the key to your conversations with him?

Copia broke the silence. "Did you like the book?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you for recommending it." You said, sincerely, and he only shrugged. "How was yours?"

"I have read better." He confessed. "But not terrible."

It went quiet again and the two of you said nothing until you reached the hallway you'd bumped into him in only a few hours ago.

"I, uh, I go this way now." He pointed down a different entryway than the one you needed to go down.

"Oh, okay." You frowned to yourself before looking at him again. "I had a nice night, Copia. Really. Thank you."

"I should thank you. For keeping this old man company." The leather of his gloves creaked as his fists clenched at his sides.

"It's what friends do." You replied before glancing over your shoulder towards a window, the sun was rising even higher. "I should go."

"Sì, sì." He agreed, glancing down at his slipper-clad feet. "I hope you enjoy Primo's class."

"Thank you. I hope you enjoy... being a Cardinal." Your face scrunched at your own words, how hadn't you asked what he was doing the next morning?

He just laughed. "Grazie."

"See you around then." You didn't want to say goodnight, since it wasn't night, and you didn't want to say good morning, as that seemed idiotic. But see you around then? You needed to work on your social skills if this whole friend thing was going to work out.

Copia nodded. "See you around."

And then the two of you went your separate ways. With you wondering whether you should even bother trying to get a nap in before getting ready for botany with Primo, and Copia secretly watching you walk away over his shoulder wondering when his luck had started to change.

A/N: This has been sitting complete in my drafts for a hot minute because I told myself I’d write at least another 2 chapters of it before posting but then I realised it works perfectly fine by itself so I just decided to post it. Hope you enjoyed!