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toruforuu · 4 days ago

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gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall chp.7 golden eulogies

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 10.9k

✼chapter: 7/?

a/n: what’s up guys:) this genuinely turned out to be one of my favs chapters i’ve ever written lmaoo. i looked forward to writing this one ever since i planned out the whole timeline, had to alter it a lot as my ideas kind of just come together as write. hopefully u don’t mind the longer chapters, lemme know if you’d prefer them shorter!

based on this // previous chapter // next chapter (pending…)

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to vision-board

Both of you agreed upon restricting your meetings and keeping them out of everyone’s sights. Throughout the next couple of weeks you act like the other doesn’t exist, but when the clock strikes midnight, you’re off to see each other. Every other night you’d meet at the very top of The Astronomy tower, because seeing each other at the edge of The Forbidden forest appeared to be far riskier and less accountable for. In those past weeks, you only went out to see the stag two times. Each time the same as the previous one, the magical being put together by mist patiently waiting and then disappearing into nothingness.

You discussed the possibility of the Patronus living on and wandering with your professor. The same one who offered you extra lessons. He confirmed that the owner of the Patronus truly would have to be dead in order for it to happen.

It provided you with no new information, but at least it felt like you were getting somewhere.

Overbearing hopes of solving the mystery behind the creature begin to decease as time went on, and the two of you remained unsuccessful in your mission. So many questions, so very few books written about it.

Could the appearance be connected to the Dementors floating around the school grounds?

Is it protecting something, or rather someone?

Frustration was swift to bloom due to the lack of answers.

“Sneaking off again?” a quiet voice asks sleepily in the darkness of your dorm-room just as your hand reaches for the handle. You stop in your tracks, heart pounding hard against your ribs as you’ve been caught by your best friend. You’ve shared the circumstances, not immediately, but you did as there’s nothing you can keep from here for too long. Arabella understood you chose to keep it a secret due to her state of mind.

That still doesn’t mean she approves of anything, quite the opposite actually.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually investing yourself into it,” Arabella goes on as you remain utterly silent, your back turned to her with head hanging low and your eyes glued to the wooden door. Her tone isn’t harsh nor meant to strike you, nonetheless, it irks you. Because you know she’s right to disagree with your choice.

“Didn’t your mom tell you to stay away?” her reminder stings, making you finally turn around to face her. Even if she can’t properly see you in the dead of the night — you yourself can barely map out her silhouette.

“Once we figure it out, it’s going back to normal,” you reassure her which causes her to let out a soft sigh, sounding defeated.

“A week ago you were here spiralling that he’s some evil mastermind, and now you’re helping him?” Arabella genuinely can’t see a single reason that turned you from a conspiracy lunatic to actually joining the suspicious outings, despite knowing the truth behind them.

“I told you what happened,” you mumble, tired of explaining of what she’s unable to grasp.

“I don’t want you to get into trouble. It’s still the same Gojo Satoru we’re talking about,” she exclaims, her tone suggesting protectiveness which you appreciate.

“It’s temporary,” you utter and it seems those two words change the course of the conversation towards the end.

Arabella blinks in the darkness, huffing out a sound of surrender.

“Be careful, okay?” is all she manages to come up with, no longer keeping you from going.

“Promise,” and with that you slip out of the door, tiptoeing your way through the common room and the empty corridors which give off sinister vibes under the blanket of the night.

As you reach your destination, you notice the ink-black sky, scattered with stars that feel just out of reach as you climb up the rough stone ledge of the Astronomy Tower. There’s only the light coming from your wand to guide you. A cool scrape of stone beneath your fingers as you hold for security, occasional flutterings of panic in your chest when you sense your foot slipping.

You swing your leg over the parapet, landing softly on the narrow ledge at the top of the stairs. The tower looms above the castle, still and ancient. The crispy wind rushes past like it’s trying to drag you over the railing, it sends shivers down your spine. Both the cold of the upcoming winter hanging in the air and the immense height of the building. You press yourself against the stone, catching your breath to realise you’re alone, he’s not here yet.

The courtyard below looks like a shadowy map, the sky above spread out along with the lake — limitless. You step forward slowly, boots leaping off the cold stone. Your hands reach for the railing, the metal cold.

You wait, arms crossed, heart beating with the thrill of the climb. It’s a completely different experience in the night.

Each minute stretches out like a thread, the silence around you stitched only with the distant hoot of an owl and the soft rustle of leaves. You glance back toward the entrance, half expecting him to appear out of nowhere like a ghost. At the heart of the tower is a massive orrery — a mechanical model of rings that orbit the solar system. It’s draped in a cloak of darkness, the outlook of it eerie. You sigh lightly and proceed to bend your body down to the level of the telescope, eyeing the constellations sprawled across the night sky.

You grow impatient and the chilly weather causes you to shake, which makes you pull your robe tighter against your body.

“Sorry, got held back for a little,” the white haired wizard makes his presence known, your body hitching a little at the unexpected sound. You straight your posture to glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze for acknowledgment.

“It’s okay, I didn’t find anything new anyway,” you shrug carelessly and crouch down to so sit by the railing. Legs dangling in the hollow space while the wintery breeze dances with the strands of your hair, tangling them together into knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” he agrees, stepping near the railing, leaning into it to observe the stars.

“I asked the professor during my additional lessons one more time, and he simply confirmed what we already knew,” your announcement makes him hum softly. You turn your head up to catch a glimpse of him, locks of his white hair curling due to the wind in a similar way.

“What of your extra lessons, doing any better?” with that his body motions to take a seat, throwing his legs over the edge as well. As if in response to that, you drape your arms over the metal bar of the railing and rest your chin on top of it.

“Still not able to conjure up the full form, getting there though,” you share your progress with him, regarding your Patronus. At first, you didn’t mean to tell him, but combing lies into it seemed stupid when the professor could’ve helped you on your hunt for answers. So you did mention your troubles to the Slytherin, expecting him to pester you about it. Surprisingly that never occurred, or at least it wasn’t spoken in between you.

“Good, assumed it would be easy for ya with some extra help,” he snickers with ease, orbs darting towards the sky. Mimicking your tracing of the constellations.

“And let me take a wild guess — you can,” you let out with embroidered irony, deducting the assumption from his effortless ways. You’d be shocked if he wouldn’t agree.

“Without a doubt,” he props himself onto his elbows as he speaks with his usual kind of natural confidence.

Of course he can.

You lightly chuckle, rolling your eyes even though it goes unnoticed by him.

“We’re not cracking it, are we?” you navigate the direction back to your original topic, peaking at him from the corner of your eyes. His eyes are shut as he leans back, trusting his elbows to hold him up — appearance hauntingly angelic under the gaze of the moon.

“I suppose not, but it was one hell of an adventure. You gotta admit it,” one of his orbs cracks open to look back at you while a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, pushing you to admit it was somewhat nice to step out of the circle of your comfort zone.

“It wasn’t bad,” you draw out with a short breath, not giving him the full satisfaction of a confession. Though it was rather thrilling. Having something meant to stay hidden, shared only with a handful of people. Lurking through the castle, meeting here at the tower late into the day had you in a magical chokehold. It smelled forbidden, and it tugs at your heartstrings that this is probably the end of the abnormality you two worked together for.

Satoru simply laughs out, finding your stubbornness amusing.

“I should go to bed, I have to get up early in the morning,” you voice out as the remains of his laughter ring through your ears, the chill of the night creeping onto you as you sit on the freezing rocky floor. You decide to carefully get up on your feet.

“L/N, wait,” his hand flies out, stopping in realisation few inches away from yours. It hovers in the air as his piercing orbs stare up at you, the action making you freeze in movement.

“Tell me another of your stories from the muggle world,” you blink down at him with confusion, wondering what it is that he’s hinting at with his words.

It comes to you a second later as his head cocks to the side, hand awkwardly moving back down.

The night before the attack at the world cup, when you told him the story behind the constellation’s name. That’s what he means.

“Please?” he coos mischievously before you manage to refuse him, and with that you can’t bring yourself to turn him down. You sit back down, doing as he intended which pleases him, but he keeps it to himself.

“Only one though, I wasn’t lying when I said I have a busy day tomorrow,” you mumble under your breath as you nestle your body to sit comfortably on the cold floor, already thinking of which story to tell. There’s so many, multiple of them come rushing to you.

“Get to it then,” he encourages.

“They’re not stories, by the way. They’re called myths or legend, and there’s hundreds of them,” you correct him mindlessly out of habit before you start telling him the history of one of the legends, and he’s okay with it.

“Okay, so The Trojan War is a legendary conflict that arose from a handful quarrels in between the Gods. The last drop was, when a youthful prince of Troy stole Helen of Sparta — the most beautiful of all women and made her fall in love with him. When her husband, also known as the Spartan king, realised Helen had left him for Paris of Troy, he called upon all the kings and princes of Greece to wage war upon Troy,” you kick off with the myth, the one that used to be your favourite when you were little. Your father had to repeat the story in great detail each night as you were about to drift off to sleep. It feels strangely comforting to be the one telling it now.

“He got his brother, Agamemnon, to lead a voyage to find her and get her back. Agamemnon was able to get other Greek heroes, such as Odysseus and Achilles to join him on this adventure. They have their own stories, but that’s for another time,” your eyes slide towards the Slytherin to reassure yourself he’s indeed listening and not doing this for laughs.

One peak at him and you could he’s serious.

“The Trojan War lasted for ten years and it was filled with loads of pointless battles and deaths. It finally ended when the Greeks retreated from camp and left behind a large wooden horse outside the gates of the city. Troyans debated on if they should bring the wooden horse in, and regardless of many warnings, they still brought it inside,” you sense the intensity of his attention, your eyes flickering in between the sky painted with starts and him.

“The wooden horse was a plan made by Odysseus to end the war. The wooden horse was designed to be hollow in the middle so that soldiers could hide inside. After the Trojan Horse was left at the gates, the Greeks sailed away, leaving someone behind. That someone was able to convince the Trojans that the Greeks had retreated from the war and that the horse was a gift that would ultimately give the Trojans a fortune. However, once nighttime fell, the horse opened up and the Greek soldiers came out. From the inside of the city, the Greeks were able to destroy the city of Troy and win the war,” you speak deliberately, carefully and slow enough to be sure he isn’t lost in your retelling.

“As I said the myth aligns with countless others,” you chuckle nervously, afraid you bored him even though he was the one to ask you to share another legend with him.

“I wonder how muggles came up with these stories. They’re good,” his head moves up and down in agreement, barely noticeable and perhaps unbeknownst to his acknowledgment. His curiousness brushes the anxiety off your chest and is quick to provide relief.

“Myths,” he corrects himself as he’s quick to recall your previous words.

“They created their own source of magic, is what my father always says,” you’re hesitant to share any more of you with him, however, you deem none of it could be turned against you and made into a weapon.

“Does he share a lot of these legends with you?” his brows arch up in wonder ever so slightly.

“He’s the reason I know them by heart,” you say while getting off the ground for good this time. The white haired wizard follows, heading towards the stairs leading down to the shadowy hallways.

“Last thing before we go,” he mumbles once you reach the end of the stairs.

“Yeah?” you question curiously, turning towards the corridor.

“Come to the Slytherin common room tomorrow. There’s gonna be a party to celebrate the start of the quidditch season,” he spills out, precisely when you reach the crossroad, each of the directions navigating you to your dormitories.

“You’re inviting me to one of your infamous parties?” you whisper into the silent hallway, expressing cross with mild shock.

“Every quidditch player is invited,” he replies simply, scanning your features illuminated by the shimmer of moonlight.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you answer honestly, anxiety rising within your system as scenarios of getting caught here cross your mind.

“You can bring your friends,” Satoru suggests casually, hand sliding into the pocket of his greenish robe.

“I’ll think about it,” you nod.

“Yeah, do that,”

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

You step through the stone entrance along with the twins and Arabella as it slithers open, a whisper of magic brushing past your skin like a warning, or maybe a welcome. The wall slides shut behind you like a secret sealing itself shut, shutting you into the room. The Slytherin common room has been completely transformed. The usual dim and dignified glow is gone, replaced by flickering green flames that twist unnaturally along the carved stone walls, casting shadows that move like they’ve got minds of their own. The room feels alive. Buzzing with noise, energy and heat. Music thunders from a charmed gramophone in the corner, pulsing with a beat that drives straight through your spine.

The party isn’t for just anyone. Gojo didn’t lie, when he highlighted the fact his infamous parties are impossible to get into. People always whispers about them in the hallways as you circle through them, speculations of students who’ll never see the inside of this room.

You recognise familiar players from the field, their inner circles and of course, the Slytherins. No other exceptions. It’s a celebration of the season's beginning, and not a lot of students get an invitation. If it weren’t for quidditch, you probably wouldn’t see the inside of the room either and neither would your friends.

The fireplace is roaring, green and gold embers shooting high and crackling like they’re alive. The smell of fire-whisky lingers in the air as you move. There’s a certain glamour to it all, the kind of dangerous, sharp-edged beauty only Slytherin can pull off without trying. Players lounge like royalty on the velvet cushions, still half in uniform, cheeks flushed from the anticipation and whatever’s in their cups.

As you and your friends step fully into the space, eyes slide toward you — quick glances, smirks, raised glasses and small greetings. You're acknowledged by your fellow teammates. You somehow belong to this small circle of society, place earned due to playing for years, however, it doesn’t ease you down. And you still feel a sense of not fitting in, claiming your space elsewhere.

You feel the energy pulling you in though, tempting you to lose yourself in it for the night. No rules, no professors, no expectations — just the start of a season that promises everything. You exchange a glance with your friends, unsure of what to do and somehow instantly regret accepting this invitation.

“Girl, are you hundred percent sure you’ll be alright? You know that Margaret’s gonna be here,” the younger of the twins Beatrice carefully hints as you stand on the edge of the room with crowd of bodies moving to the rhythm of the music in the centre. Arabella has been warned the second you mentioned the invitation. Dorothy with Beatrice basically convinced you into going, they too wanted to experience the thrill of joining one of the infamous Slytherin parties before your time at Hogwarts comes to an end.

“Told you I’ll be fine,” Arabella responds with a slight shrug of her shoulders, to brush away your worries. Regardless of her reassurance, you’re not baffled by it. You know your friend all too well. It hasn’t been two whole weeks since they took their break, seeing her surely wouldn’t do her any good. And even though it’s not possible to not bump into her here, she demanded she’d go with you.

None of you doubt her words aloud, despite the looks shared between you and the twins.

Dorothy is the bravest out of you as she begins to crush through the crowd, shielding you and providing an easy path to join the others on the dance floor. If it can be called a dance floor. In reality, it’s just the space of the common room, couches and armchair hidden somewhere in the corner. The music is much louder as you reach the center, crowd thicker as well. Shoulder to shoulder with people you barely recognise, elbows brushing against someone’s robe and arms nudging you admits dancing. It’s all laughter, shouted greetings, some are already tipsy. A crunch cracks under your foot as you step onto cups thrown on the carpet, the dance floor looks half like a battlefield.

You grab Arabella’s hand to spin her without a warning, when you stop somewhere near the center, and she’s cracking a laugh before she even starts moving. The rhythm takes over her, making her forget the circumstance for a little while. The world outside doesn't matter. Right now, it’s just the music, the forest green glow and the fierce movement of bodies. Regardless of your previous caution and conspiracies to skip this one, you find yourself letting go of your baggage too.

The music swirls you into your own worlds, hips swaying to the rhythm while your hands float in the air. Both Beatrice and Dorothy are mindlessly enjoying themselves along with you, pulling dance moves together. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed how Arabella’s eyes fleet across the room in hopes of coming across a face she’s too keen to capture, the opposite of what she actually says. Your friend is too busy to be aware of the fact you’re following her gaze which is achingly scanning the bustling party for her one and only.

As you follow Arabella’s, your gaze picks on someone else instead. He’s standing a greater distance away from you, arms draped around the waist of his girlfriend. Their interlocked bodies pressed into one another and you can’t bring yourself to look away from his stupid ball of white fur. Your heart skips over a beat as his incandescent orbs lock in with yours. The maintenance of the contact is short lived, though those fractions felt much longer as you acknowledged each other’s presence over the sea of people.

When you redirect your curious gaze back to your friends, it’s easy to tell Arabella has already mapped out her target. And indeed, Margaret stands couple of feet away from the four of you. It’s strange how people can go to being strangers again, simply weeks ago you were all bathing in The Black lake and there she is now, avoiding looking in your direction. The corners of Arabella’s mouth twist downward and her movements die down, it causes you to gently grab her hand, which brings her attention back to you. One look passes between you and it’s enough.

You lean into her space, talking loudly near her ear so she could make out what you’re saying. You offer to fetch her a drink and at first she doesn’t look in favour of the idea, but eventually caves in as you agree to have one with her. Originally, you weren’t planning on having anything, yet seeing your friend so miserable changed your mind.

The table with all sorts of unknown liquors lays spread out near the fireplace, vast window right behind it. The glass is showered in droplets of water streaming down as the outside is nothing but darkness, lighting occasionally popping out. You hover above the table, cup already in hand, contemplating what to choose for you and Arabella, when a voice interrupts you all of a sudden.

“Want some help?” the sound of the masculine voice leaves you breathless for a second, so much that you don’t want to face him.

“No need,” you reply politely as your gaze still flickers in between the choices rather than at the person, pushing the moment when you must look up away.

“How are you holding up, preparing for the finals?” his hand reaches out for a bottle, dangerously close to you. You then gather up the courage to lift your gaze, immediately being met with a pair of tender amber eyes you’ve grown to love in the past. A little wave of nostalgia and hurt tugs at your heartstrings, the sight weakening you even all these years later.

“Pretty good, what about you?” you have no desire to drag out the interaction, your goal is to vanish from his peripheral vision, but you don’t have the heart to cut him and storm off. Therefore you push yourself to answer, questioning him in favour of your manners.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” the Gryffindor huffs out as he refills his cup, making you grab a bottle at random to finish what you came here for. You no longer wish to engage in anything with him, this situation makes you uncomfortable.

“Good,” you mumble, placing the cups on the wooden table and then pouring the inside of the bottle into it — smell heavy and musky.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you you’ve been on my mind these past few weeks,” his words feel like slap straight to your face. You place the bottle back at its place, scanning the cups as you’re too baffled to come up with an answer. Who does he think he’s?

“Have I?” your brows twitch, trying to hold back the irony lacing your voice.

“It’s like you had me drink the lovey dovey potion or sum,” he says without an ounce of shame and with that, the scenario of emptying the cups you pick up from the table at him rakes your mind. It doesn’t sound too bad.

“Okay, and the point?” this time, you’re unable to mask your surprise mixed in with disgust, brows furrowing in the process.

“I think we should maybe go out some time,” the sound of his voice is carefree, hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Then sliding into his blondish locks, tousling them into place.

“And I think not,” your response is immediate and you’re ready to bounce away.

“Come on, don’t be so uptight. We weren’t anything serious back then,” his laugh echoes in your ears like a punch to the gut, your vision spins and you’re left numb. Unsure whenever to come apart or laugh into his face.

“To you, maybe. Not to me,” your voice is low, barely audible in the busy environments, however there’s a bitter ring to it.

“You’re overthinking it now,” the tone of his voice doesn’t rise nor becomes unpleasant, yet you can see the change passing through his orbs.

“Gosh, leave me alone,” you finally snap which causes his features to falter further.

“Why can’t you-“

“You heard her, piss off, Gryffindor,” third person joins the conversation and upon a realisation who, your urge to disappear doubles. No, triples. The grip you have on the cups grows tighter and suddenly you feel overly insignificant, forgotten in between their frames.

“Since when did this become any of your concern, Gojo?” you don’t resist rolling your eyes at what your ex boyfriend has to say and as you try to slide your way back into the interaction, you’re cut off by the white haired menace who appeared out of nowhere.

“My party, my rules,” Satoru hisses, irritated as he cocks his head to the side. A clear signal for your ex partner to leave before things get ugly. Before he delivers his response, you already know his shallow ego won’t budge at the Slytherin’s demand.

“I’m not done talking to her,” your ex boyfriend exhales with confidence, posture straight. His eyes narrowed with annoyance fleet over to meet yours for a moment, which pushes you to breathe out and to firmly nod at him. Pleading to take his leave without much fuss.

“Fuck off before I break your jaw again,” Satoru declares with the most bragging smirk you’ve ever seen and you almost choke, reminded of their previous encounter. You watch your ex boyfriend’s face crinkle — anger and resentment. With a pitiful frown, he indeed listens and gets lost in the crowd. Leaving you two alone. And for the first time in eternity, you’re glad for Satoru Gojo’s presence. You’re aware the Gryffindor wouldn’t let you go easily, not when he had you right where he wanted to. Alone.

“Don’t you think you over did it a little?” you blink away your surprise, mouth slightly ajar as you go over what just happened. You’re so unbelievably in disbelief that you take a sip of the liquor you randomly picked as your ex boyfriend invaded your space.

“Nah, spoke the truth,” you can barely hear him due to the loud music, but you manage to make it out.

“I could’ve dealt with him on my own, you know,” your eyes peak down at your hand, holding the cups, as his blue coloured ones peep downward at you. You’re not mad at him for interfering, not at all. You wouldn’t say you’re entirely happy either, however, you’re at least glad you got ride of your ex boyfriend and meaningless encounter.

Though, you’re certain he will find you again.

“I’m sure you could, I simply made it easier for ya,” the white haired wizard winks at you, smugness and arrogance seeping out of him as always. Perhaps a tad more than normally as he’s overly intoxicated, alcohol flowing in his veins. You could tell he overdid it the moment he stumbled into the conversation. It’s pretty obvious when it comes to him.

“Whatever, Gojo,” you brush him off, not wanting to indulge in this interaction for long either since this is basically his territory and talking to the very starlet of the Slytherin house would definitely bring you unwanted attention. As a matter of fact, pairs of eyes are settling at you by now.

“Enjoy the party, precious,” his hand stretches out, bumping his cup into yours. A gesture symbolising simply what he said, yet the action leaves you thinking the moment was rather intimate. Your mind goes blank and by the time you’re ready to snap at him for using that godforsaken nickname, he’s long gone.

You lightly shake your head, balancing the cups in your hands to steady them before heading back into the crowd as well. Away from the crime scene.

“Did Satoru Gojo just save you?” Beatrice’s voice calls out, aligning with the tunes of the music. You silently hand Arabella one of the cups you’ve gone through hell for and drink a mouthful out of own.

“I wouldn’t use the word save,” you exhale lightly while shrugging your shoulders to appear nonchalant, despite the lingering sensation nestling heavily on your ribcage.

“We were about to go get you when the jerk started being too chatty, but before we could reach you, Gojo appeared,” Beatrice goes on with explaining how the situation went from their point of view.

“We thought we must be dreaming,” Dorothy adds, throwing her hands around and gesturing.

“It’s actually not so surprising, right, Y/N?” Arabella’s words take the air out of your lungs and you instantly want to dig a hole to hide in. She’s the only one who knows about your little adventures, you didn’t share your secrets with the Hufflepuff girls as you don’t deem it as reasonable nor necessary. And right now, you understand your roommate may be still quite upset with you for attending the secret outings, but you can’t help to not feel a tad betrayed.

“Arabella,” you plea but it’s too late, it’s been spoken out loud and the twins are now involved too.

“Gonna explain yourself?” both of the raven haired girls standing front of you cross their arms across their chest, awaiting your answer.

��Not here, later,” you breathe out in defeat, and with that the discussion ends. Part of you can’t glance straight into Arabella’s way, partially afraid and then also sort of irritated at her for spilling your secret which you entrusted her.

Without paying them much attention while your head spins with rising frustration, you excuse yourself and tell them you’ll find them later on. Before they can respond l, you’re nudging into the sea of people, carving your path out to catch a breather.

Your ex boyfriend, Gojo and now Arabella. What in the world is happening?

You find yourself a corner to hide in and lean back against the cold stone wall, arms crossed loosely. The bass of the music thrums through the floor, echoing in your ribs. Around you, the Slytherin common room is alive — drenched in flickering green lights, casting flashes of magic on the dancing people and their wild eyes, bodies moving like smoke in synchrony. They look untouchable. Laughter rises, spun with spells and something stronger in their drinks. If a professor was to barge in, the imagine would probably send them spiralling into having a heart attack.

You watch from your quiet corner, not really part of it, not really apart either. Just observing. Letting the scene blur into something unreal in front of you. It’s loud and beautiful in that reckless, untamed way that only Slytherins can pull off. And as they dance you feel like the only still thing in the room. A shadow with a heartbeat.

“Not having fun?” a familiar figure whose face you’re seeing a lot lately calls out as he drags himself in your direction, finding you once again. Shoulders slumped and a plastic cup filled with a bitter liquid in his left hand.

“It’s alright, but not my thing,” you shrug without any particular emotion as your back leans against the stone wall, hand gripping your own cup.

“What is your thing, that’s the real question,” he teases, hinting at the fact you find a way to complain about literally anything. But he means no real harm. His tone is visibly poking you. To which you merely snicker with an irritated under-layer before bringing the cup to your lips, taking another mouthful of the awfully tasting alcohol.

“Does he bother you often?” Satoru scoots over to you, leaning against the same wall handful of inches away from you, and then he nods towards the table with the punch and other sources of hard liquors. Your gaze slides in synchrony with his, landing on the guy you’ve been trying to avoid all night since the moment he approached you with such an audacity. Your ex boyfriend.

“You heard our conversation, I presume” you remark with a brows lightly lifted in curiosity, head rotating to peak at him. His flawless side profile to your display as he’s looking out into the crowd still, your eyes taking notice of his freshly trimmed undercut.

The emerald lighting paints him out to be painfully charming.

“Mostly, so does he? your head jerks away from him as the sound of his voice reminds you of your surroundings. It doesn’t surprise you that he did hear. You expected it since it’s him you’re talking about.

“Uh, no. Dunno what’s gotten into him,” you openly admit aloud, fingers dancing along the rim of the plastic cup. What you say is true, you weren’t in any contact from the moment he broke up with you and decided to go off dating the girl he was seeing at the same time as you.

Nothing serious, it angered you that’s what he thinks it was, because it for thousand percent was more than that to you.

“I think I do,” he lets out quietly after a set of silence, carefully searching the wave of bodies dancing across the room.

“You do?” you question, possible outcomes racing through your mind.

“I mean, yeah. It’s our last first semester and he’s realised what’s lost,”

“That sounds ridiculous,” you huff under your breath, your voice so muffled you for a moment think it was impossible for him to catch on.

You’re quickly proven otherwise.

“As as matter of fact, he’s watching us right now,”

“It doesn’t prove anything,” your head shakes a little in disbelief, refusing to put any trust in what he has to say.

“Watch what he does now,” his words escape his lips, barely registering them, but he’s already tilting his entire body your way. Taking steps to close the distance between your bodies. It happens too quickly, his movements reckless and hazy. One blink of your eyes and all of sudden, he’s barely inches away from you.

“Gojo- what are you-?” His eyes shine like sapphires glistening in the sunlight — big beautiful gems that watch your every move. However, they aren’t primarily focusing on your own set of orbs. No, much lower than that. You cannot stop your eyes from widening at the realisation, small gasp escaping your lips as you can’t resist peaking down at his lips either. And when he leans in even closer, narrowing the distance between you so much that your bodies nearly touch — he looks lyrical as he moves under the influence.

“Proving my point,” he nibs with a smirk stretching his mouth out, eyes still peaking down on you from his half hooded eyelids.

He’s drunk, you remind yourself as his close proximity causes an overwhelmingly nauseous sensation to take over you.

“Look at him, he’s so pathetic,” Satoru continues, demanding you look at your ex boyfriend with his charming way of words. Despite the acknowledgment of order, your eyes seem to not be able to peel away from his breathtaking appearance, you’ve never seen him up from this close. You don’t know where to look first, whenever at his porcelain skin or his iridescent globes. Strands of his locks are falling over his forehead, and you have to physically force yourself to tilt your gaze to the already mentioned direction. The sight of your ex boyfriend confirms the white haired wizard’s theory. He’s burning holes in your skull, yours and the Slytherin’s.

“I still don’t think this proves anything,” you shake your head a little, bringing yourself to reality as your mind is clouded with his aromatic scent —fresh like crispy winter morning.

He smells clean, bathed in peppermint.

Your resistance to admitting his suspicions urges are correct makes him lean in further. His shoulder brushes against yours and then he presses into you, definitely overcoming the unspoken set of boundaries between the two of you. You gather last bits of courage to glance upwards to meet his gaze, only discovering he’s still hypnotising you with that idiotic grin full of arrogance.

“Might not be obvious to you, but it sure is to everyone else,” he bends down to your level, head cocking towards your temple as he whispers into the shell of your ear, nose bumping into your skin. His warm breath prickling the side of your neck, the unfamiliarity of it causing your functions to cease at working. It reeks of alcohol. Your eyes once again slide towards your ex boyfriend while you swallow the bundle in your throat, anxious at the closeness you share with the white haired wizard. He’s indeed still watching the scene between you and Gojo playing out.

Your gaze maybe lingering on the Gryffindor, though your thoughts lie somewhere entirely else.

Your skin burns with his proximity as you can’t bring yourself to pull away. He doesn’t move either, he should’ve already but he isn’t budging.

His penetrating gaze slides over your features one last time, stopping at a certain part of your lower face before finally taking a step away. With that, you become highly aware of the world’s circumstances enveloping you again. Your gaze hardens, surveying the crowd as sets of orbs stare back in your way. It causes you to step away, the reality slowly enrolling back in your harbour.

It’s as if the white haired menace in front of you hops on the same wave as you, marching away and creating much appreciated distance. Neither of you speak, words dying on your tongue. Until he utters something under his nose, the words not audible. He nods towards the crowd which instantly causes you to turn to the dance floor, eyes landing on his girlfriend who’s a fellow member of his house. A cold sweat splashes at you, her firm expression certainly not meant as a joke. You attempt a smile. That only seems to worsen the situation.

And just like that, he’s slipping past you again.

Did you just imagine it?

You’re left standing in the shadow of green firelight again. Alone, drink in hand, pretending not to care, pretending not to look, but there he is. Sliding right back in the center of it all. Laughing like he owns the night. The room bends towards him like it usually does. Effortlessly, like he doesn’t even know what he does to people. Of course he does though. It’s in plastered in the way he smiles, slow and lazy, eyes half-lidded. Almost as if he’s bored of being adored, and yet still basking in it. He’s a flame, attracting all the moths.

And you hate it. God, you hate it. How he draws people in, how the crowd orbits around him like he’s the sun and everyone else is just lucky to catch a flicker of his light, fawning over his presence.

He doesn’t even try. That’s the worst part.

But still, your gaze sticks to him. You’re stuck in a current you didn’t see coming, not immune to his charming ways either. You try to tear your eyes away, pretend his presence doesn’t matter.

However, your eyes betray you.

You decide that looking for your friends and leaving the party would be the best, you pray they stuck around.

It’s nearly impossible to point them out in the crowd, so you wander around like a lost puppy.

As you make your way past the leather couches, turning in a smaller alley of the Slytherin common room, you catch a voice. It’s sharp, dismissive and familiar. Your friend’s name falling from their mouth.

“Satoru, you know I don’t want Margaret to clash with that ginger Ravenclaw girl she’s been talking to and you basically give her a free entry” Willoughby, Margaret’s older brother, speaks up which urges you to stop in your tracks, hiding behind the corner of the wall. You’re well aware this isn’t right, eavesdropping on them like that. Still, it concerns your friend and surely, she’d do the same thing. It doesn’t matter you’re mad at her right now.

“I invited L/N. She’s on the team, and I couldn’t specifically tell her to not bring her,” the sound of your last name sounds strange coming from Gojo’s lips, regardless of the fact you’ve heard him say it reasonable amount of times.

“Actually, you should’ve,” his friend states firmly, and it’s not the rather sweet boy who checked upon you and Arabella after the attack anymore. Was he thinking this way throughout the tournament as well?

Are they all doused with such a poison?

“Or you shouldn’t have invited her at all,” Robin joins in on the conversations as he was barely a sidekick to it till now. The entitlement lacing their voices boils your intoxicated blood.

“She’s on the team,” the white haired Slytherin tries to drags his point across one more time. You peak from the corner carefully.

“So what? She sympathises too much with the mudbloods in general, and never knows when to take her leave, or keep her mouth shut up,” Margaret’s brother spits out with venom. You retrieve your head back behind the corner, and as much as you’d like to say his words don’t mean a thing, you’d be lying. They shouldn’t, but they sting.

That cold, oily feeling slinks into your chest. You know you should step in and say something, demand they repeat it to your face. Instead, you stay hidden, listening, because this could tell you more than any confrontation.

“And she happens to tag along the girl your sister’s been dating, I get it. You’re annoyed, but stop lecturing me,” Satoru spills out mindlessly, cringing at himself as realisation pierces through the layer of the substance blurring his senses. Your breathing hitches.

No, this can’t be happening.

“The girl she’s been what?” Willoughby demands, pretending he didn’t hear right the first time only to hear the words one more time. For confirmation.

“Uh, what?” Gojo mumbles back, rambling over his own voice in an attempt to play it cool.

“Satoru, what the hell?” Robin states, fuming.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Willoughby comes at him again. Both of his friends now up against Gojo while he remains silent. You curiously poke your head from the corner one more time, the shadows that are provided by the surroundings keep you safe from being spotted.

One look at the white haired menace’s back and you can tell he’s conflicted.

“Why? For that girl you’ve been pestering since forever and her weird friends?” both of his friends keep on jumping him, the tension so thick it could be cut up with a knife. From your angle, the gesture of him tightening his fists doesn’t slip your attention. And just when you think he’s about to blow up, he replies calmly.

“I didn’t think it was that important,”

“Don’t lie to me,” he’s immediately cut off by Margaret’s brother, your body tenses and you can’t believe your own ears as a mixture of swirled emotions seizes you utterly.

“Seems like our boy Satoru here is defending her,” this time it’s Robin and he chooses words which seem to struck a nerve, making the attacked white haired wizard all that more defensive.

“The hell? Of course not, she’s a nobody,” he frowns, his tone the most obnoxious and arrogant you’ve heard in a while. The anger then fully devours you. You feel numb, no ache nor sadness. Only regret filling your dulled senses, you should’ve expected this kind of thing from him.

It’s nothing new after all.

“Then start acting like it, for Merlin’s sake,” you see his friend nudge his shoulder in a way that is meant to be a warning, a pleading to stop behaving the way he is.

“Put yourself together, we have a plan to follow,” you barely make out the words as they come in a hushed whisper, heart instantly dropping. A plan to follow. The declaration causes suspicion rise in your system, the same kind you’ve buried two weeks ago.

Could they have something to do with the Death eaters after all?

“Unbelievable,” one of them breaths out, soothing down the side of his face in frustration before he adds: “we’ll talk about this tomorrow, when we’re sober,”

They get a simple hum of agreement from Satoru, his functions too altered by the alcohol to form a better response.

When he finally thinks he’s off the hook, you step into the light.

“God, and here I was thinking you finally got over yourself and became somewhat tolerable,” your voice calls out from behind him, his body instantly turning to the source of sound. To you. Eyes depicting the depths of the ocean blink at you, widen with shock at seeing you. You maintain the eye contact, expression and body language merciless. Letting him know he’s screwed.

“You know damn well that option’s not on the list for me,” his voice is low and unbothered which takes you by a surprise, you hadn’t expected him to remain so cold about it. Perhaps you should’ve, however, part of you hoped he’d react differently to seeing you. You can’t tell why.

“Inviting me and my friends then degrading us in front yours is?” you rest your hands at your hips, offering him one more chance to account for his actions. You’re met with a shallow shrug of his shoulders, nearly making you gasp at his audacity.

“Guess so,” his face expression is hollow, impossible to read as he avoids portraying anything. His indifference makes you scoff sarcastically, you should’ve known this was nothing but a way to toy with you.

“Well, aren’t you simply the greatest thing to ever bloody exist?” your jaw clenches, voice embodying pure irony as your patience ran out long ago. You attack his sense of greatness, aware it’d hit some sorrow of a spot, at least.

“Don’t you dare to come to me again, Gojo,” you don’t bother to wait for his answer, if he’d manage to muster any. No, you’re already walking away by the time he takes in your words — rushing to collect your friends and leave the cursed area of the Slytherin common room.

A storm of conflict rages within you while you. Share the unfortunate news to Arabella or keep her blind?

If their relationship wasn’t done for before, it for sure must be now.

And as simply as that, you went three steps back in a matter of one single night.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The next day started out as any other day would in late autumn, winter already knocking softly at the door. The illusion of a normal wintery day shattered barely an hour after you woke up with the headmaster knocking at your dorm room, demanding you pack your necessary utilities and hurry with him. Your initial thoughts circled around your illicit outings after curfew with the white haired Slytherin, the ones regarding the mysterious stag. Anxiety crippled within you as sat down in the headmaster’s office, thinking of the ways you could be punished. Robbed of the Head girl label, kicked out of the Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team, or even worse.

Expelled.

Those thoughts vanished as an opened letter was placed in front of you, your mother’s handwriting the first thing you noticed. With receiving it, your gut was already alerted. The familiar pressure in your lower stomach suggested something’s wrong.

The headmaster wasted no time in bringing you to your mother, leaving with warm words displaying sympathy. By then, couple of scenarios poked through your mind. One worse than the other. Unfortunately, simple look at your mother’s teary eyes and all of your worst nightmares were confirmed. The grip on your bag loosened, causing it to drop on the floor of your childhood home. A ringing silence echoed through the house.

You wasted no time in quickly walking up to your mother, hiding yourself in her shaky embrace. Her hand nestled at the back of your head, whispering soft and low words of apologies. You held her back, dull and robbed of everything as she continued to spill her heavy tears into your shoulder.

At first you felt like a monster for not mourning out loud. For not letting the world meet your wrenching sorrows. You wondered if the people surrounding the shut casket silently judged you for your dry cheeks, because everyone else appeared to be on the brim of collapse. You couldn’t bear to properly lift your gaze and meet the crushed expressions of your close family and their friends.

The first wave of grief landed as you entered your house after the feast, the day of the funeral. You put away your shoes along with your coat, hanging it next to your father’s. You brushed your fingers against the fabric of his coat, the fabric rough with years of usage. Your chest tightened while your entire being burned. Hands hesitantly inched forward, bringing the old piece of clothing towards your nose. As soon as you inhaled, familiar scent of cigarettes and mint battled within your mouth. Your throat tightened and hands began to tremble and with no defence, you gave into to the urge and buried your face into it, nuzzling the clothing. You used to hate your father’s smoking and how the disgusting scent would linger on clothes and in the house. Sensing it in that moment felt addicting, like a douse of a drug. You cursed yourself for all of the complaints you threw around instead of treasuring each passing moment. You broke down with the realisation of loss, slid down the wall in the hallway of your strangely quiet home and tightly hugged the coat. Meanwhile your mother stood in the kitchen, listening to your sobs, however, she pretended to not heart and gave you your own space to mourn.

Arabella regretted what she’s done, or rather how she behaved towards you. By the time she gathered the courage to apologise, you were long gone. Nonetheless, she didn’t know that. She was confused as she entered your shared dorm room, finding an empty space with a scribbled note neatly layed out on her bedsheets.

And you indeed weren’t back by dinner time. Your friend Arabella grew immensely worried and couldn’t sleep the entire night, wondering what’s happened to you or if you’re in trouble. Her head spiralled with countless possibilities, including the white haired wizard in almost every single one. She thought of contacting Margaret, not for her sake, but for yours. Part of her hoped she’d provide her with at least a piece of information. Yet, she backed from the idea as she recalled the party and your subtle hints at what angered you so much the previous night. You never got to tell her what precisely occurred as you were so quick to be called off.

Arabella somehow slept throughout the night and when she reached The Great hall for breakfast next morning, she no longer had to be gutted about your whereabouts. Each table representing one of the four houses swirled with the new edition of The Daily Prophet. The twins ambushed Arabella immediately, pushing the newspapers into her chest and demanding she reads instantly. Her eyes glided over the main title and her heart cracked.

The Head Auror of Magical Law Enforcement department resigning

The title by itself was a death blow. As Arabella’s eyes skimmed further in between the bylines, it became worse. The article depicted your mother’s reasoning behind the decision as unknown, meaning she’d no longer be the Head Auror next term which starts in the spring. The authors gathering information for the insufferable newspaper dared to speculate it could be the death of your mother’s husband leading to her resignation. Letting the majority of the wizarding world know of your tragedy.

Arabella tried reaching out by writing you letters as she usually did during your breaks.

It did no good, all of her twenty one letters remained unanswered.

You vanished for two entire weeks. Your arrival back to the school grounds was just as unexpected as your departure. Expect, all could point out the vast gap in your behaviour. You now haunted the corridors with your ghastly appearance, drained of your lively personality. Numbed by the memory of your past life, knowing you can never have it back. The events occurring before the fated morning, when you received the plea to come home straight from your mother through a letter, dissolved. They now seem silly compared to what’s plaguing you right now. Arabella’s ignorance, your ex boyfriend’s snarky approach, Gojo’s hurtful comments and his audacity of spilling a secret which wasn’t his to tell — none of it matters. And it seems like you were living a completely different life only a few weeks ago.

That sort of calm before the storm, you took everything for granted.

And during those two weeks you were at home, much managed to change. Your headmaster who’s been teaching at the school for three decades has been asked to leave his position due to his antigovernment opinions and conspiracies about plans to put a stop to the rise of the conservatives, the anonymous report came with enough evidence to justify itself. Earning the headmaster an immediate dismissal. They were rather quick with the replacement, so as you came back, there was already a new headmaster.

Along with yet another set of rules.

Still, the worst thing is that everyone knows of your father’s death, and you’re getting sick of each pitiful gaze which lands on you. Their mushy condolences targeting the raw wound, the void within your chest. At each subtle mention of your father, you want to come undone and hide away from the rest of the world to sob until there’s nothing left to come.

You walk around the place with swollen eyes and a weight in your chest, invisible to all of the others. Time did ease the rawness of it, but far too little of it passed to actually take off the burden keeping you at rock bottom.

You continue to mould over one simple thought — you never got to say a proper goodbye.

Despite your friend’s efforts, you still avoid and withdraw yourself from your favourite activities while insisting you’re fine on your own. Your friends don’t like that, of course. The three of them nearly never leaving you alone, always bringing you out for walks to see how winter slowly keeps swallowing autumn, and to Quidditch games. The season has officially started, even without you.

Right, life goes on regardless of you remaining stuck.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The stadium is loud, cheering and chanting as you hover above in the air. Wind is howling past your ears, somehow it's the first time in weeks you’ve felt remotely alive. The sun above is cold as winter’s approaching, yet the sky is clear without any trace of clouds. You can almost forget the weight that’s been pressing down on you since it happened. Almost.

You hadn’t planned to be here. You'd told yourself you weren’t ready. But your friends were far too persistent, refusing to let you stay locked away in the common room.

It’s who you are, they said.

And now, here you are. Blue and bronze on your quidditch uniform, wind biting at your cheeks, and your heart finally racing for something other than grief. Seated safely on your broomstick, awaiting the start of the game. The pitch hums with anticipation as screams echo from the stands, scarves whipping in the wind. Your teammates remain still nearby, their voices are a blur of strategy and jokes. You only half listen, eyes slipping to the audience to point out your friends.

And there they are.

In the crowd, tucked between a group of giddy third-years and a professor trying very hard to pretend she isn’t amused. Your friends are laughing at something the other had said, eyes squinting in the bright evening light. The moment they notice you they begin to frantically wave at you with the kind of excitement that brings a soft smile upon your lips. Your attention slips away as you repeat the gesture.

A sight of artic hair tousling in the breeze like it has no sense of control making you take a double look into the crowd. You feel it like a jolt. Not the usual nerves before a match, but another feeling. He’s completely at ease. Eyes raking the field.

You turn back to your team, jaw set, trying to fully focus your attention on the game.

The match is fast the second its pronounced as started — Hufflepuff plays clean but relentless. You dive, swerve, breathe in the game like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in weeks. The tiny golden snitch casting a flicker of shine as you fiercely chase it. And for a minute, you believe your friends. You think maybe they were right. Maybe you're capable of doing this.

Then it happens.

You glance over your shoulder — just a second of distraction, and the hit comes from your blind spot. A shove, hard and ungraceful. It sends you flitting forward, losing control of the broom beneath you. Your stomach drops as fear consumes you, body being helplessly pulled down by gravity.

The fall isn’t long, the ground is cruel though. You hit it hard and your sense finally align, letting you know what’s happened. Pain spikes through you instantly like a sharp cut, breath knocked out of your lungs. You can’t bring yourself to move, scream nor react in any way. You barely sense the sheers faltering and whistles blowing. You’re on your back, blinking up at the sky that seemed so peaceful moments ago with your blurry eyed vision.

You bitterly think, maybe your friends were wrong in the end. And then your vision darkens, sending you off into an oblivious state.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The next time they open, you wake to the soft creak of wood, and that sterile smell unique to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. As you adjust your tired orbs, you assume it’s at least an hour or two before the curfew. The dim flickering fire of the candle rested beside the hospital bed is casting thin gold bares across sheets pulled over you.

Pain makes itself present first. A deep, dull ache along your side. The kind that itches when you try to shift even slightly.

Right. The match. The fall. Your father.

You remember the wind rushing past, the snap of impact, the world spinning out beneath you. And then —pitch black.

Madam Pomfrey appears before you can sit up properly, arms crossed, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“You're lucky,” she says, adjusting the potion bottle on your bedside table, even though you’d never consider yourself that “could’ve been broken ribs, but you landed just awkwardly enough to only bruise them. Not that I recommend making a habit of falling from broomsticks.”

“Noted,” you breathe out, the action sending sharp pain through your left side. Madam Pomfrey offers you a sympathetic smile, rubbing your shoulder. Meant as a comforting gesture to remind you you’re gonna be alright, and that it could’ve been far worse.

A voice drifts in from somewhere nearby when she leaves — soft, familiar. You glance to the side and realize someone’s been waiting for you to wake up. Your senses are still pretty disoriented.

Maybe it’s one of your teammates.

“Thought I’d see how you’re doing, the fall looked pretty bad,” he looks up as you stir, and something in his face shifts. For a fraction of the moment, you think you must be dreaming and part of you wants to hide away under the covers, hoping that the cunning Slytherin would leave. It’d cause a significant amount of pain so you abandon the thought.

You look thinner, he notes to himself as his blue lagoons rake over your displayed form.

“The others are worried about you,” Satoru mentions the other players as he scoots closer to the hospital bed. The room is only bathed in the light of the small candles, casting a rather intimate atmosphere as the rain drops drum against the stained glass of the window behind you.

It’s your first interaction since the party and somehow, it appears as if thousand years stretched in between. Still, it doesn’t make you entirely forgive him for his choice of words, regardless of the fact, you can’t awaken any hint of anger.

You’re back to your usual douse of numbness, plus the physical ache in your ribs.

“How do you feel?” he bribes casually, not caring for the the lack of response coming from your side.

“I’m alive,” you mumble out of pity as he stands beside the bed, looking unlike himself.

“And out of the game till spring,” Satoru attempts to chuckle playfully, wondering if he can get any trace of your banter out of you. You look up at him, eyes painted with exhaustion as you lifelessly lay in stiff bedding, dressed in the pure white gown which almost feels unnatural against your body.

“I’m done,” you say, moving your dulled body to the side and it makes you scrunch your nose due to the overbearing wave of ache. His expression laces with concern as he watches you hiss out in pain.

“What do you mean done?” the white haired Slytherin mumbles, brows furrowing in confusion as he takes in your simple words.

“I’m not playing anymore,” you announce as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And you suppose it is now, even though you wouldn’t be able to phantom anything such as this merely a month ago. You’re nearly scared of how little you care about it.

Silly how quickly can things escalate.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re gonna be brand new for spring season,” his words serve as an encouragement, something you never expected to receive from him. Nevertheless, it doesn’t change anything going on in your mind. You can’t find an ounce of will to carry on with the sport.

“I don’t wanna play anymore,” you voice out neutrally, barely audible while you move your gaze to the ceiling. Unwilling to continue with the conversation.

“You’re being dead serious?” he’s not quick enough to hide his genuine dismay which you miss out on due to your averted gaze. Major part of him took joy in playing the sport, because it was the only way where the two of you clashed. Not in an aggressive way. More like, where the two polar opposites could meet, doing what they have in common without any consequences.

Likely, the only thing they both love.

He can’t imagine not having you on the field ever again. And he’s enveloped in a sentimental longing for a period in the past. If he had known back then, he would’ve cherished the last time you were matched against one another.

If only he had known it was the last time.

His mouth hangs open lightly, the words bitting his tongue as they beg to be let out, but they’re swallowed back into the abstract of his mind — forever unspoken — as he takes in your defeated and unresponsive form.

“Right. It’s up to you anyway,” is what he croaks out, nodding his hand to convince himself to keep his mouth shut. And when you remain unmoving, he weakly sighs and navigates his steps towards the exit.

A powerful impulse causes his body to halt, half in and half out of the room.

Satoru glances at you, turning back.

“I’m-“ he starts off, lips stopping in movement as his eyes bore into your figure on the hospital bed, tucked beneath the white covers, and suddenly he can’t bring himself to say what he meant.

A second time in a row.

“Get better soon,” he breathes out instead.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

taglist: [ @k-kkiana @cuffiescariche @sylustoru @hyori2 @ethereal-moonlit @crankyarchives @jjklover365daysayear @cailliz @kaisenkalogathia @urthem00n @katsukiseyebrows @poopooindamouf @heiejdhdh @tessasweet ]

#juju asks #hogwarts au #angst #eventual smut #jjk fluff #satoru jjk #slow burn #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x y/n

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toruforuu · 6 days ago

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Try enabling shorten long posts/read more option it will make scrolling through your blog easier 🥺 i hope this doesn't sound rude cuz i don't mean it in a rude way at all 😭

omg i will do this asap! 🙈 i had no idea you have to scroll through all of it haha (i am still pretty new to this app lmao)

and you’re totally okay, thanks for the tip:>

#juju yaps #juju asks

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toruforuu · 6 days ago

Text

new chapter out rn!:)

gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall masterlist

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags:hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings:hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 51.7k (so far)

✼chapters: 7/? (so far)

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to the playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to the vision-board

comment if you wanna be in the taglist!:)

prequel

chp.1 dusk of intrigues

chp.2 two can play the game

chp.3 summer’s passing

chp.4 receding youth

chp.5 incandescent glow

chp.6 unravelling whispers

chp.7 golden eulogies

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

#juju yaps #anyway here's wonderwall #new chapter #satoru jjk #angst #eventual smut #fluff #enemies to lovers #hogwarts au #rivals to lovers #romeo and juliet typa situation #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x y/n #jjk gojo #slow burn

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