#And it only took... what... eleven-ish years of practice? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starseungs · 3 years ago

Text

➳ written on paper. lmh

pairing: (skz) lee minho x fem!reader

As the daughter of the previous Snow White, your story requires an evil witch to take the antagonist’s spot—someone who would help lead you towards your happily ever after. That was where Minho’s role comes in.

genre/s: fantasy au, storybook/fairytales next generation au, forbidden lovers(ish), angst, fluff, drama in general, a dash of humor, son of the evil queen minho x daughter of snow white reader, kinda ever after high au but with a twist

warning/s: mentions of death (no actual dying), themes of bullying & discrimination (story roles), mentions of cheating (its not minho dw), political(?) corruption & deception, swearing, crying... lots, hyunjin is kinda an asshole for a while im so sorry

wc: 16.6k

note: tysm for the people who took interest in the teaser! i hope this makes the wait worth it <3 also this is my first time writing a fic this long, so feedback would be greatly appreciated^^

2022 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Legacy Day.

A momentous event where the students of Storybook High pledge to all of the magical world to follow in the same footsteps as their fairytale parents. In this school, the students range from the offspring of protagonists to mere side characters—the sons and daughters of antagonists are here too.

You see, when children of this magical world turn eleven, they are sent to study at Storybook High to learn more about the realm and the stories that led to its establishment. One is expected to complete the full nine-year curriculum and sign the Book of Legends on the first day of eighth grade, sealing their fate forever. This day is called "Legacy Day."

The process of signing one’s fate has been followed for many years. Some were less willing than the others, of course—but at the end of the day, no one had ever dared not to sign. This was greatly influenced by the saying that if you don’t, then your story will disappear along with you. As one would have already guessed, that belief sparked a heated debate about whether it was true or not. After all, there were a lot of fairytale children that despised their so-called "fate".

And that leads us exactly to our current event.

Silence wraps the massive hall as all eyes are fixated on one person standing on top of the tall stage. Tension hung heavily in the air, a result created by seeing who was facing them all. You couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation, finding your hands clasped while your eyes were glued on Minho—who was nervously staring at the book in front of him.

Minho was what they could classify as your partner. Not in a romantic way (you suppose), but more so with your stories. As the daughter of the previous Snow White, your story requires an evil witch to take the antagonist’s spot—someone who would help lead you towards your happily ever after.

That was where Minho’s role comes in.

"I am Minho, son of the Evil Queen. And," he takes a shaky breath. "I pledge..."

Everyone watching is on the tips of their toes. Minho was most well known as the person who hated their fate more than anyone else. He was practically the face of the "rebellious teens," as the others called them, who claimed they would write their own stories instead. Being the son of the Evil Queen—the same person who poisoned your very own mother and got herself locked up inside the mirror prison, his story calls for him to do the same to you.

Surprisingly, Minho was far from what you would’ve expected as the next Evil King.

From the moment you got your acceptance letter, your parents had already warned you to never befriend Minho. They said that he’d be mean, despicable, a rotten apple, and basically evil as a whole. "Mind your own business in the dorm room, sweetheart," you remember your mother telling you as she smoothed out your dress in the carriage. "Your roommate will be the enemy. I know it sounds scary, but it’s only natural. Both of your fates are tied together. However, do not worry, my love. It’ll be over as soon as possible," she comforted you.

Well, it turns out your parents were very wrong.

Minho was nothing short of sweet and caring. Sure, he was a bit cold at times, but his frosty exterior did not speak for him the same way his heart did at all. He was fun, playful, and easy to get along with. You found yourself forming a friendly dynamic with him sooner than you expected.

"I pledge," Minho visibly gritted his teeth to force out the words he feared for the longest time. Eyes shifting, he looked at you—wordlessly pleading for you to help him escape. But, having nothing much you could do, you could only give him a small smile of encouragement. He had to do this.

There was no other choice.

Feeling defeated, he took the quill and stopped below the page. This was it—he’s expected to sign any second now, you thought bitterly. Even if one despised their fate, it was the only way to live in this world. The harsh truth that all of you had to endure.

Yet just when you were about to relax, Minho’s eyes suddenly changed from hesitant to determined. Your eyes automatically widened in horror. As his friend and roommate for the seven years you’ve been at this school, that look was something you knew very well.

He can’t be thinking of—no way!

"No," he spat out strongly. The crowd collectively gasps at his words. "I’m not signing this bullshit."

In one quick motion, the book was slammed shut.

The sound of distressed reactions took over the hall as the magic mirrors showcasing the event shattered one by one. Fear quickly spread amongst the mass of people, the emotion emphasized by the now dimming lighting. Your body froze in shock and disbelief at what Minho had just done. This—this can’t be happening, right?

Your eyes closed instinctively as you shook silently beneath the stage. You two can’t just disappear like this! What on earth was Minho thinking? Sure, you had already signed your story, but without Minho, would it even still exist? Both of your fates are broken now—if there even is one by the end of this.

You hoped the disappearing process would be painless because you really weren’t ready to experience suffering for something you didn’t ask for in the first place. A few seconds passed by as you waited for the inevitable.

But it never came.

Instead, you found yourself feeling nothing that was out of the ordinary. As you slowly raise your head to look at the situation, your eyes catch sight of Minho’s disapproving ones. In the short minute that you had that small breakdown, he had already stepped off the stage and was now proceeding to head away from the hall.

The look he gave you made your eyes burn in hot fury.

Is he serious? Why is he even disappointed? Can he really blame you for getting scared when he’s the one who put both of your lives in danger? You signed the book—you even signed it for him! All in an effort to make sure that both of your stories won’t vanish into thin air.

So what made him betray you like that?

Your clicking heels echoed loudly throughout the hallway as you walked briskly to follow his speedy figure. "Minho!" you called out to him, tone filled with frustration. Luckily, that seemed to halt his steps.

Finally catching up, you stopped just a few meters behind his back. The air was cold and lightly frosted over your warm skin. The once lively corridor was now bleak and seemed very unwelcoming. There was an unspoken hostility felt between you and Minho, as the two of you stood there for a moment—not saying anything. Something you had already expected.

What can you even say after all that?

Minho sighs in exasperation before turning around and facing you. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, refusing to venture to his face, which was carved with torment. You tried to reach your hand out to touch him, but he swatted your hand away gently. "...What do you want?"

You found your mind blanking for a moment after finally getting a better look at him. Minho looked ethereal at that moment, even through the show of his obvious pain. The moonlight suited him, you thought. It framed his whole being in its sparkling glow.

Nevertheless, it wasn't long until you remembered why you were in front of him in the first place.

"...Why?" you rasped out. All the previous events and emotions begin to flood back, overwhelming you beyond belief. "Why would you do that!?" you shrieked at him. Minho clenched his jaw at your words.

"You... you could've disappeared! I could've disappeared! What were you thinking—"

"But we didn't!" he yelled back. Your words immediately clumped up and stuck in your throat, unable to get out. "We didn't disappear! So I'm asking you now Y/N, what do you want?" Minho seethed.

What did you want? What else could you possibly want? All you wished for was to live properly and survive. But to achieve that in this world, he had to—

"Sign the book," you pleaded desperately. And even through the hurt gaze he set on you, you continued to try and reason with him.

"Please just sign the book. I'll do anything you want. You want to change your destiny, right? We can make it work! Do you perhaps want a throne? I'll give you mine willingly. You don't have to be thrown into the mirror prison," your voice was becoming shakier by the second from the intensity of the situation. "See? It's not really that hard, Minho! You could still change the events even if you signed the book. I know you're scared to live a life you don’t want, but—"

"When will you understand that it's not about me!?" he cried out.

The sheer amount of emotion in Minho's voice takes you by surprise. It was raw, and undoubtedly broken. His words pierced your heart sharply, and you inwardly winced as you felt the imaginary arrows sink deeper. Through the ache, you forced out a reply, "...Pardon?"

Minho hastily wiped the few tears that managed to escape, and said, "I don’t want a throne, and I'm not scared of going to that prison. In fact, with what they're expecting me to do, I really do deserve it! Just—just like my mother..."

He's... not? Then why go through all this trouble for a rebellion? He even appears to be willing to poison you—

"But I'm different from her. I don't want to hurt you," he added weakly, "Ever. I could never bring myself to do it, Y/N. And I knew if I signed that damned book, fate would somehow find a way for me to fulfill the story, even against my wishes. And... I can't have that."

"But what about the story now? If it disappears, we—"

"Oh please, Y/N. What are we doing right now, huh? Talking! We didn't disappear like all the legends used to say."

"But we still could!" you stubbornly retorted.

Minho huffed and rolled his eyes, "So what? I'd rather that happen than my story."

The frigid tension that formed between the two of you engulfed the whole space. At this point, you were sure that if someone were to walk in on the two of you, there was a good chance they would end up coughing ice.

"You don't mean that," you warned, glaring at him. "I know well that you aren't implying that you'd rather die than... live?" The words you uttered weighed heavy on your tongue.

He simply shrugged casually in response, "Why not? I have nothing to look forward to in my supposed future anyway. Unlike your kind who get all the happy endings, we're just here to make you guys look good—what? Don't look at me like that. You know damn well it's true," he scoffed venomously. "A lot of us don't even like our stories, but look at how we're forced to do it for you to live happily ever after."

His words set fire inside of you once again. How dare he assume you had it easy too? Maybe on paper it did—you could admit that. You were a protagonist and a royal, after all, destined to have a happy ending and live a lavish life. But you knew that if you closely examined the cards you'd been dealt with, it was far from the ideal storybook ending people made it out to be. You couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

"Do you really think I like my story too?" You questioned him with a wry chuckle. "Do you really think I want to be poisoned? Then get rescued by a prince who, mind you, doesn't even love me! And then say I have to marry him too? It's bad enough Hyunjin openly displays to the public that he doesn't have an ounce of care about my well-being, but he's even shoving it into my face that he already likes someone else! Tell me who in the world wants to be a second choice, let alone be cheated on?"

"Then you shouldn't have signed it."

His blunt words hit you like a truck. Finally feeling the crash of all the events that happened, you broke out into tears. The moonlight you praised him in earlier now serves as a humiliating reminder of what’s to come. Minho stares at your sobbing face one last time before walking away.

And all you could think about was how he could be right.

The bustling crowd of the school cafeteria is loud as always—but this time, there was a glaringly obvious tense atmosphere that followed everyone. You couldn’t help but sigh at the troublesome situation.

It's been a tough week for you in terms of your social life. The number of pitiful looks you've received, as well as "You can get through this," greetings from your fellow peers who played as protagonists, was astounding. On a normal day before, they would never have spared you a single glance unless they needed something. But now, you’ve practically become the center of their conversations.

And even at the very moment, you’ve got all their attention. One would think their stares were due to you wearing something obnoxious—but you were literally just trying to eat. You roll your eyes in annoyance.

So much for a good lunch.

"Maybe if you weren’t in such a critical situation right now, then they wouldn’t be eyeing you like a display," Seungmin commented from across the table. You threw some grains of rice towards him.

"Or, I don’t know, they could mind their own business?"

"As if that would ever happen," the son of the Queen of Hearts muttered. "They’d rather watch the world explode than pass on drama."

In a way, he was right. Storybook High was not just any normal school—it was also the center of gossip throughout the entire realm. As you were the next generation of citizens, the spotlight currently shines brightly on your generation.

Felix chuckled. "It’s funny to see how different the two sides view you." The reminder of the current unity status of the student body from the next Hansel (his mother is actually Gretel, but Felix’s cousin was a girl, so they agreed to switch) immediately sucked all the remaining life from your body. "The Royals pity you, while the Rebels are curious about where you stand."

The Royals and the Rebels.

Division between the student population had been at an all-time high ever since that little stunt Minho pulled on Legacy Day. What was once a peaceful crowd quickly developed into a dangerous war zone. Granted, the people’s divisions already existed even before the school was founded. The most obvious one was being sorted into "Protagonists," "Antagonists," and "Side Characters." But it looks like with the current rise in rebellion of teens who aren’t satisfied with their fates, a new division has arisen.

And it worsened with Minho’s refusal to sign his story.

You see, after the both of you left the hall to have your little "chat"—many of those who wanted to write a new destiny for themselves also refused to sign. These people, including Minho himself, are now classified as "Rebels." This placed them on the bad side of the (now called) "Royals", who wanted to follow their predetermined happily ever afters.

Not everyone opposing the Rebels is actually royalty, but the majority of them are. This was what earned the group's generalized title as "Royals." Although, some of the non-royalty protagonists took advantage of the opportunity to act like one. One of them is Yeri, Goldilocks' daughter—

"Hey Y/N!" You hear a familiar voice call out. Well, speak of the devil. Yeri happily rushes over to your current table, an action Hyunjin clearly did not appreciate. Oh, did you mention you were eating lunch with him? No? Good. He’s not that special anyway.

Deciding to be a decent person, you turned around and greeted the girl, "A pleasant day to you too, Yeri. What can I help you with?" Seungmin and Felix quickly followed up with their pleasantries, while Hyunjin only grunted as his greeting. If this jackass—

"Oh, yes certainly," she chirps joyfully. You kind of envy her personality. For being the next Snow White, you were nowhere near being as positive as your mother. You lightly smiled at Yeri for her to continue, "Well, you see, I’m writing a new scoop for my blog about Legacy Day! Could you be a dear and tell me what you think of what happened?"

Your smile vanishes in a flash.

Is this a joke? Why are they asking you, of all people? It’s either she’s completely clueless or this is a sick way of putting you down. The nerve of them to attempt to humiliate you like this.

Felix tries to intervene, seeing your reaction. "Yeri, actually—"

A sudden mocking laugh rang through your ears, successfully cutting Felix off. "Please, Yeri. You can interview me instead. Let’s leave little Snow White alone, yeah? She’s already dealing with so much!"

Seungmin didn’t even try to hide his distaste for the new face that entered the scene—a contrast to Hyunjin, who finally cracked a smile for the first time since he sat at the table.

Of course he would. The voice belonged to the one and only Mina. The daughter of the Swan Princess, now the Swan Queen.

Just great. What does she want now? You never knew what her problem was. She has always had a personal vendetta against you and is hellbent on making your life as miserable as possible. Not very successful, but bothersome nonetheless.

Right—she’s also the one dating Hyunjin. The awfully paired Prince Charming to your Snow White.

Your friends used to say that she was just jealous of you. And while there was a good percentage for that to be true, you personally think she’s just a shitty person in general. Her not-so-best reputation among the student body certainly backed that up. Her and Hyunjin suit each other, you thought to yourself.

"I’m so sorry, Y/N! I swear I didn’t mean to offend you," Yeri quickly apologized. Your head was slowly starting to hurt from all this dramatic nonsense. And unfortunately for you, Hyunjin finally decides to speak up, "Mina is right. Y/N must be having such a hard time, especially knowing her story might not happen anymore."

What the fuck. Is he for real?

Apparently he is, because he chose to leave your group at the table and walk away with the other two girls. Oh—would you look at that. Totally expected of him. You groaned as you rested your head on the lunch table.

"Why does he even decide to hang around us?" Seungmin scowled at Hyunjin’s retreating figure. "It’s not as if he likes any of us."

You poked at your tray with a spoon, "His parents probably forced him to because of me. Who knows, maybe they’re scary."

Hyunjin was… not necessarily a bad person. In the eyes of other people, he really wasn’t. He had a good reputation amongst your peers (a stark contrast to his girlfriend), and was often called the "ideal prince." Yet, for some reason you can’t understand, he was nothing less than a pain for you and your friends.

"Until now, I don’t get his issue. You haven’t been treating him half as bad as he does to you," Felix sips on his juice. "Is the idea of kissing you in a casket that nightmare inducing for him? You’re literally the one dying, Y/N."

From the very start, you knew Hyunjin did not like that he was the assigned prince to you. He never explained why though, and you always thought it was because, ironically, he likes apples. You’re honestly surprised he even signed his story! For the longest time, you believed he was going to end up siding with the Rebels.

Well, to be fair, he is still a prince destined for a happy ending—no matter the partner assigned to him. Maybe he also couldn’t give up the luxury. Or like you, believed that he would disappear too. All valid reasons in your book.

Speaking of Rebels, you lifted your head to look at Minho’s direction. You’ve noticed him sitting near the window since lunch started, and the sight of him alone made your heart ache with worry. From what you’ve seen, people have been avoiding him like the plague ever since the Legacy Day incident happened. Aside from when he was with his friends, all others who refused to sign their stories, Minho was seen on his own for the most part.

You were well aware that a lot of Royals had been badmouthing him intensely too. The complete opposite to the pity treatment you’ve been receiving, even though you knew they could care less. And to be honest, it’d be better if they actually acted that way instead.

"Jeez, look over there," Felix whispered. "A Royal table and a Rebel table are arguing."

How amusing. It looks like you really owe Minho an apology. He was right about most of the Royals. One of the only exceptions would probably be your friends and Jisung. He was genuinely worried enough to tell you that he was willing to be your prince instead, if Hyunjin (his best friend, by the way. How that happened, you would never know.) was ever planning on flaking out. You politely declined him, though. Your stories would clash too much. After all, he was the main protagonist of his own story too—being the son of the Frog Prince and all. The poor guy also had a massive hopeless crush on Pinocchio’s daughter.

Back to Minho, the two of you haven’t spoken for the past week. The dorm room both of you shared became too quiet, not a single word being uttered throughout the hours it was occupied. And whenever you did try to talk to him, he would simply ignore you, even leaving the room if it wasn't yet past curfew.

Maybe you should try it now?

"Hey," you tried to get your two friends’ attention, "Should I talk to Minho?"

Seungmin peeled his eyes away from the fight that was occurring a few tables away. "Go for it? You’ve been all mopey and sad for the past week. It’s about time you and him made up." Felix agreed with a short nod.

"Alright, wish me luck."

Deciding to test the waters, you stood up from your seat. The nerves are starting to form, and the words you wanted to say are lost in the sea of your thoughts once again. Taking a deep breath, you told yourself you could do it.

It was just Minho, after all. You two are close friends, right? Even though you’re supposed to be enemies in front of everyone else, of course. Talking to him shouldn’t be this hard. It’s all in your head, Y/N. You can do it.

Now—okay, maybe not.

As soon as you finally get the courage to move, you spot his friends approaching him. It looks like you lost your chance again. He would surely use his friends as an excuse to avoid you. Running your hand through your hair, you backed out of your plan right away and sat down.

Felix snorted, "Too late, huh?"

You’ll just have to talk to him soon.

Minho was not in class.

Normally, this fact wouldn’t bother you too much—but it was currently culinary class. His favorite class out of them all.

Other students knew of this fact too. And while they used to think it was because he was secretly determined to successfully poison you in the future, you knew that it was just because he genuinely liked cooking. So the mere fact that he wasn’t anywhere to be seen at that moment concerned you greatly.

Chan, your cooking partner for this session, took notice of your fidgety actions. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You look really anxious. Is it perhaps because of me?" His question surprised you.

What? Why would you be—oh. Chan was someone who sided with the rebels. He was good friends with Minho too, the two of them sharing the same sentiment of not wanting to be antagonists in anyone’s lives. You knew being told to be the next Big Bad Wolf hadn't been an easy task for him. And because you're technically a royal, he might be thinking you despise his guts as well.

"Oh, not at all! I’m so sorry... I’m just concerned about Minho," he hums at your answer. Taking out the chopping board, he replies, "Is it because he’s not here? Yeah, I could totally relate to your thought process. Shocked the heck out of me too, actually."

You nod aggressively, "Exactly! He never skips culinary class. There was this one time when he was having such a bad headache, yet still insisted on attending this class for that day."

In general, it was quite unlikely for Minho to skip any classes at all. He was someone who valued education and was very vocal about it. That, and something about not wanting to act like his mother when she was still in school. Minho was determined to be a model student, proving to others that he was nowhere near evil.

"Yeah, it sounds like him alright," Chan says, laughing. "Who knows? Maybe he’s just really tired today." You think carefully about his words.

It was a reasonable guess, but Minho? Too tired to cook? Unheard of! Unless he’s really sick and can’t attend the class because of the health protocols. He seemed okay this morning, though? Sure, you can’t really tell since the both of you haven’t interacted in a while (you should really try talking to him again, it’s been 3 days since the cafeteria attempt), and you only had this class together for this year—

Wait a minute.

You only shared culinary class with him this year? He—he couldn’t have avoided this class because it was the only class you two had together, right? He wouldn’t go as far as skipping his favorite class just to avoid you?

News flash, Y/N. He totally could. And that’s most likely what happened.

You huffed at the pettiness of the idea. If he doesn’t want you to convince him to sign the book that badly, then you won’t! Like it’d even matter at this point. Too much damage has already been done.

The look on your face must’ve been clear as day, because you hear Chan sigh from beside you. You flushed in embarrassment. While chopping the carrot, Chan decides to break the silence. "You think he’s avoiding you, huh?" he said, as you gave him a short nod. "Did he tell you that?"

"No, not really," you awkwardly responded. "We—we haven’t been talking."

Chan starts aggressively chopping, "Minho, that idiot. I told him to talk to you!" You stopped steering the soup you two were working on. The volume of his sigh worsened. You couldn’t help but snicker at his obvious stress.

"That guy really," he said, finishing up. "Don’t worry, Y/N. He’ll come around soon. He just needs more time to think."

Time to think... He had a point. Maybe you needed time to think too.

For the past few days, you’ve been really preoccupied with the relationship between you and Minho, along with the growing suspicion that the Royals were starting to outcast you (their pity phase must be over now). Because of that, you haven’t had the luxury of really thinking about everything. From the events that happened on Legacy Day to figuring out what you actually believed in—there was still a lot to unpack.

But before you could completely immerse yourself in your mind, panicked squeals diverted your attention to the cooking booth right beside Chan and yours—where two of your classmates were rummaging around in an attempt to stop the boiling pot from spilling over.

"Uh, hey Chan, can you help?" Changbin, the Mad Hatter’s son, awkwardly calls out. Right beside him was a malfunctioning Jeongin, seemingly under more stress than the former. Chan’s eyes widened, "What did you even do?"

"It was Jeongin’s idea!" Changbin whined to your partner. The mentioned guy protests, "It was clearly a joke! I didn’t think you would actually do it!"

Ah—the son of the Cheshire Cat causes mischief once again.

Groaning, Chan turns to look at you. "Sorry Y/N, can you handle the soup first? I’ll just help them real quick," you give him a thumbs up, "Thanks. Just put the ones I chopped in the pot, then stir until cooked." You did exactly as you were told. While waiting for the soup to cook, you decided to take the opportunity and start what you should’ve done earlier.

First of all, Legacy Day.

At first, you were terrified that Minho had finalized his stance that he wouldn’t follow his story. All your life, you were led to believe that following one’s destiny was the only way to continue living. You never questioned it as a result—it was quite straightforward anyway. Signing the Book of Legends was a life or death situation. And as a young child, disappearing so early in life was not the most appealing concept.

But that belief was shattered on Legacy Day, along with the magic mirrors that surrounded the hall. You and Minho didn’t fade away. Heck, even Hyunjin didn’t fade away, and he was supposed to be tied to both of your stories too!

So what does that mean to you?

Simple. Your life was a lie.

The whole "follow the destiny given to you" was full of crap, and you can’t believe you let yourself be trapped in that mindset for too long. In the first place, you never even wanted to be the next Snow White. No matter how many times your parents made the concept sound appealing, you just never understood the reason why you had to be poisoned and then saved by a prince. With a kiss too? Magic existed here, yes, but was that really enough to get rid of literal poison?

Plus, if the kiss needed to be from true love, then you were damned from the start—there was no way Hyunjin would end up loving you enough for that to work. And you’d really rather not touch his plump lips. If you did, Mina just might stab you in your casket, successfully killing you for a second time in a row.

It’d be "Snow White: Bad Ending" for that one.

If you really thought about it, the only other reason you signed the book was for Minho. Aside from your own life, you cared a lot about his too. Minho was your best friend, your partner, and an overall important person to you. If him living meant you had to throw away your freedom, then so be it. You won’t let Minho vanish from this world wrongfully.

You loved him too much for that.

Love. Certainly, a strong word. You still don’t know what kind of love you held for the son of the Evil Queen exactly, but you knew you did love him. Did he feel the same too? You hoped so. If his words from Legacy Day spoke any truth, then he did care about you a lot. What he did contradicted your survival plan for the both of you, but from his point of view, it was also his way of protecting you and him.

So then, where do you stand?

It’s—it’s hard to decide at the moment. On one hand, you had the life you were conditioned to have growing up, and on the other hand, it was where you could be free. Saying it was comfort versus your dream would be an understatement. And while you wanted to dream as much as the Rebels did, that life hasn’t been proven to be very stable yet in your eyes.

Maybe you could just wait a bit more to choose. You wanted to talk to Minho first and see what he had to say. But so far—you think you might be on the verge of regretting ever signing your fate.

"Uh... Y/N," Chan said, tapping your shoulder and jolting you out of your thoughts. "The soup might be cooked already."

You gasped, "Oh, right! My bad, Chan." He waved away your apology, "Nah, it’s all good. Just turn the fire off and I’ll plate the soup." He started placing the bowls down.

Glancing over at Changbin and Jeongin’s side, you just now realized they were gone. "What did they go?" you ask. Chan grimaced at his friends’ situation. "Got called by the teacher. They’re probably getting scolded outside." You cringed.

"That’s… unfortunate."

Culinary class ended not long after.

The regret of having signed the book was getting stronger, alright.

Walking down the school corridors, the difference between the Royals and the Rebels suddenly seems more evident to your observing eyes. It was the hour right after the last classes ended, meaning everyone would be gathered in the halls. Students were all leaving classrooms, organizing their lockers, and conversing with friends—something you couldn’t do because Seungmin had choir practice, while Felix was off to the library.

In all your eighteen years of living, never once have you felt as painfully uncomfortable as at this very moment. It was like someone had pulled the blindfold that you had been forced to wear all the way back to when you were still a kid.

So what was this jarring difference between the two sides, you asked?

The Royals were unapologetically shitting on the Rebels while the latter minded their own business. How surprising, right? And even with people hovering over their backs for the most part, they were still the ones with wide smiles and exciting chatter—meanwhile the opposite side that was too busy pampering themselves, still found the time and need to sneer at any Rebel who passed by. You winced at their actions, genuinely ashamed.

God forbid that you had acted like they did before. Even though you knew you weren’t half as bad as them because of befriending Minho, there was still a big chance you had those moments unconsciously. And you hated that thought. It’s absolutely detestable! Downright vile! The Rebels just wanted their chances of living happily ever after too. What was so wrong with that?

It was at that moment that you realized that the influence ran deep. That there was some sort of ‘worthy’ and ‘not worthy’ mindset that plagued the protagonists’ side of the division—even through the peace that you thought the school had before. As someone who was also exposed to that lifestyle since you were born, you could see where they were coming from, but at the same time, you were highly repulsed by the thought. The list of things you wanted to tell Minho grew longer by the second you stayed in this hallway.

You sped away from the scene, deciding to head to the school balconies. You figured studying with a good view would keep your thoughts at bay for a while. If you spent another minute in the midst of all that, you would probably end up choosing to resign your crown at the next possible moment. And you didn’t want to do something too life-changing impulsively. Turning the corner to reach your destination, the sudden sight caught you off guard.

It was Hyunjin and Mina. Making out in broad daylight, without shame.

They were hidden by the pillars that stood as support for the entryway of the balconies. But you could still see them very clearly from where you stood. You doubt they could see you, though. Whether it was because you were well hidden, or they were too engrossed in sucking each other's faces—you really didn’t want to know.

Admittedly, there was a part of you that wanted to earn Hyunjin’s affection. He was to be your husband, after all. It was only natural to want a marriage with love, or at the very least, respect. But out of everything, you could never blame Hyunjin for liking someone else. You even supported him, even if his girlfriend was someone who you could never stand to be in the same room with. Anyone should be able to love who they want to, as well as marry who they want to, responsibly. Not some nonsense book about those who came before you—

Holy shit. Your life is so fucked.

You were the one being told who to love and marry by that book. The one whose life is to be lived and told through a script. The situation you were trapped in had never been clearer than at this very moment, and it crashed on you like that one little pig’s pile of bricks.

Silent tears flowed out of your eyes as you thought of the future. Happily ever after, your ass. You're going to be married to an asshole who can’t even respect you as a prospective wife who’s in the same boat as him, and would rather choose someone else over you! Not to mention, he has to bring you back from the dead first—what if he takes the chance and just leaves you to rot? Where's the happy ending in that?

Through a watery vision, you noticed your sight suddenly dimming as you felt a hand softly wrap around your eyes, blocking your view of the couple. The sudden force caused your back to collide against a strong chest. A sudden action, but you didn’t scream. Because you recognized that scent right away.

"You big baby. If you hate it that much, why’d you sign the book?"

It’s Minho.

God, you missed his voice. It feels like it’s been forever. Feeling the relief of having him close again on top of your devastation for the future, you felt yourself starting to cry harder. He sighed at your tears, deciding to drag you away from the balconies.

"Seriously, Y/N. You have to stop pining after him. It’s not even worth it," he snarkily comments. While messily wiping your tears, you let out a small laugh. "I’m not." You both came to a stop in the middle of an empty corridor.

Finally, he turns to face you. Rolling his eyes playfully, he started wiping the remaining tears from your face. "You are such a big baby," he says, to which you slap his chest lightly, "I’m not!"

He squished your cheeks in response to your protest. "Look at you, saying the same thing over and over again like a child," he cooed. Slapping his chest more strongly, he coughed out a wail of complaint.

"What? So you're finally deciding to talk to me now?" You glared at him. Those words seemed to get through to Minho, because he started rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly.

Diverting eye contact, he replies, "Yeah, about that—I’m really sorry."

You looked at him, not convinced in the slightest. "Did Chan talk to you?" you asked. The guy did say he told Minho to talk to you. Maybe Minho finally took his advice after another round of suggestions.

It turns out the answer to your question looked like a no, because he seemed genuinely confused at what you said. "... No? Why?"

Shaking your head, you waved him off. But Minho, being Minho, decided to dig deeper into the topic. "Did you two talk about me? What did you say?" he pressed further. Glaring at him, you pushed past him and started walking down the corridor. He trailed you like a lost puppy.

"Y/N, come on," he says, grabbing your waist and pulling you both to a halt. The gesture left you absolutely speechless. "What’d you say about me, hm?" he whispered in your ear.

Feeling steam rushing out of your ears, you immediately pulled away. He laughs at your flustered face. "Why would you—what?" You started rambling more random words, "Minho!"

"Yes, that’s me," he jested. After seeing the amusement on his face, you quickly composed yourself. What is up with him today? Sure, he was normally playful, but not like this! You don’t think this Minho was good for your heart—if the way it was racing indicated anything severe.

Minho crossed his arms, frowning a bit. "Why are you so secretive about it? Did you both talk shit about me?" he raised an eyebrow in suspicion. You shook your head to deny his claim, "Not at all. We just talked about why you weren’t in culinary class earlier." His shoulders seemed to sag in relief.

It's not like you’d ever talk bad about him in the first place.

"Ah that," he started, "I was called to the principal’s office." The revelation has you startled. Why was he called in there? Are they expelling him? No way! They can’t do that! That’s absurd—

At your alarmed reaction, he immediately grabbed your shoulders and assured you, "Hey, hey. It’s not anything bad, I promise, okay?" He waited until you were able to compile your thoughts. You gazed into his eyes to see if he was telling the truth. And just as he said, his pretty eyes held no lies.

"Then... why were you called then?" you asked. He visibly cringed at the question. Upon seeing his response, you quickly connected the dots and trapped him in a tight hug. Minho was not someone who made a big deal of most things that happened, so earning this kind of reaction from him could mean one thing: "Did—did they make you talk to her?"

His head dipping into the crook of your neck weakly was enough to tell you that your assumption had been correct. The school had pulled out the mirror that the Evil Queen was imprisoned in and made him talk to her. This now showed the school’s stance on the issue to you.

They were not taking Minho’s rebellion positively in the slightest.

Pulling him closer, you comforted him in the same way you’ve done multiple times before. As one would have deduced from seeing this side of Minho, he and his mother did not have a good relationship. She was the face of evil, someone who was truly rotten to the core. Minho wanted to be nothing like her. And he damn made sure of that. Unlike her, Minho was determined to live as a good citizen of the magical world. That alone made him stronger than most of the heroes you knew.

He started shifting in your embrace. You instantly knew he was about to say something. "Y/N, can you answer me seriously?" he asked softly. Nodding, you kept holding him. "Why did you actually sign the book?"

You paused for a moment, thinking about your true answer seriously. The two of you had to have this talk sooner or later. It was the main source of your conflict, the reason for all the days spent avoiding each other. Not addressing it would just be pushing aside the topic until it explodes again. So you prepared yourself for what's to come.

"I didn’t want to lose you."

Your honest words infuriated Minho, "So you’re willing to live a life you don’t want just so I won’t disappear!?" He pulled away from your embrace. You could only look at him with blank eyes. What could you even say to that? Correcting him would not do anything.

Because he was completely right.

"Why are you mad? You’re also the one who refused to sign the book because you would rather die than hurt me," you pointed out the hypocrisy behind his words. "You were so willing to sacrifice yourself so that I could live safely. So why can’t I do that too?"

"Y/N, that’s not the same—"

"I told you we could have still made it work even if we both signed the book. You know that too."

"You know I can’t—"

"Why?" you whimpered, feeling the dam of your tears starting to break once again. This was way too many mood swings in a day for your liking. You don’t think you could take any more crying after this. "Just like you’re afraid of fate tying you to end up hurting me, I’m scared of it taking you away from me too! So tell me, what exactly is the difference, Minho?"

This got him to think for a second, the gears in his head turning and twisting to make sense of what you had just uttered. And when he finally reached a conclusion, his eyes widened in shock. It looks like you have both finally reached common ground.

It was his turn to hug you tightly now, frantically apologizing for the way he acted. "You're such an idiot," you muttered into his chest. He simply agreed with you. "I’m sorry too."

"I know. I already forgive you."

"And I’m sorry for Legacy Day. The thought that you could disappear at any moment and I’d never see you again blinded me. I wasn’t even thinking twice about what I was saying at the moment. I—I also didn’t want to go," you sniffled. "It’s just that I really believed that we had to sign to—"

"You don’t have to explain. It’s okay, I understand now." Minho shushed you. "I was in the wrong too. Emotions just got to the best of me, so I lashed out. I’ve had time to think though, and you just gave me another realization earlier too."

The both of you simply wanted the best for the other in the only way you knew how. Unfortunately, your methods were completely different. But that doesn’t change the fact that all you both wished for was each other's safety, and this was just one big misunderstanding.

"Are we okay now?" You asked hopefully.

"Yeah."

And that was all you needed to hear.

The same night Minho was called to the principal’s office, your parents contacted you through your mirror phone—demanding that you convince Minho to change his mind. You were so tired from the flurry of emotions you went through for the day that you merely responded that you would, not even meaning what you said.

That seemed to please them, though, since they immediately said goodbyes with their usual overly affectionate tone—which, after your big realization, sounded a lot more artificial than you remembered.

Great. Now you’re even questioning your own parents’ love.

Your exhausted groan simply received a raised eyebrow from Minho, who was minding his own business at his side of the room. "Looks like you’ll be back to convincing me to be your Evil King again?" he snickered in the background.

Flopping (not-so-gracefully) on your bed, you let out a whine of annoyance. "No, but I don’t want to deal with them right now."

Minho hums in agreement, "I don’t blame you. Seeing as you cried two times in the span of 30 minutes earlier," his joking tone was not lost on you, however, so you just laughed the comment off.

"Fuck you, really."

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. After directing an eye roll towards him, you stood up to enter the bathroom. "Since when did you curse?" he inquires excitedly, like a kid asking if they could buy something. You reached for the toothpaste, "I actually curse a lot in my mind. I just don’t use it out loud because they told me that it was unbecoming of a princess to do so." He couldn’t see you, but you were making that air quote gesture.

"Use it more around me, it sounds nice."

"It's foul words, Minho," you said, voice muffled by the toothpaste foam, "And I doubt it actually sounds nice."

When silence was all you got back, you scoffed in annoyance. He was so petty at times. You took a bit more time in the bathroom, doing what was needed for your night routine. Minho hasn’t made a noise for a while now, so you let yourself think he’s knocked out cold. After rinsing your mouth one last time, you get ready to leave the bathroom.

You really should’ve seen what was coming.

"Boo," Minho says, suddenly appearing right beside you. You quickly suppressed the urge to scream in consideration of the rooms right beside yours. Irritated, you yell, "What the hell!"

Unbeknownst to you, that was his plan all along.

"Another swear!" Oh, of course he would. You wanted to be mad, but found your anger dissipating instead. The sparkle in his eyes, hearing you curse once again, was too adorable for you to stand.

Minho spent the rest of the night teaching you more swear words. It was unnecessary, but you let him do it. You have been waiting to talk to him for days now—and you surely won’t let this go to waste.

The next couple of days were an absolute nightmare, though. Good things come with a price, you guess. This had to be the world’s way of making you pay back the luck you spent in trying to reconcile with Minho.

Mina has been constantly going after you again, with a passion to humiliate your whole being. Other Royals have been pulling you aside to ask for updates on Minho’s decision to sign the book, to which you only politely smiled at them and left. Oh, if you could only sneer back at them like they’d been doing to him. But with the little restraint you had left, you remembered that most of the student body didn’t actually know you and Minho were good friends (it was Minho’s idea back in second grade—something about you not getting targeted).

And above all that, you had your parents spamming your mirror phone every hour of the day to remind you about the task they gave you. No matter how many times you told them that Minho would not be changing his mind, they kept on insisting.

"No one would say no to you, Y/N! You’re the next Snow White!" your mother states, as if that would change anything at all. Your eye felt the need to twitch as her reminder. "He won’t. Plus, you’re the one who told me not to befriend him. Now you expect him to go along with what I say?" you reasoned.

"This isn’t a yes or no situation, darling. He has to do it."

No he doesn’t.

"Enough, mom. It won’t happen," you tried to keep your tone as respectful as possible. "I have a class soon; let’s talk some other time."

"Applebun—" you hung up the phone.

Gripping the device tightly, you let your locker close with a bang. Multiple eyes turn in your direction. You gave them an apologetic gesture. Shoot—if you don’t control your emotions soon, it’s going to affect you in class.

"Oh? Did little Snow White just have a tantrum? How disappointing that I missed it," Mina’s shrill voice rang through the halls. Her heels are loudly clicking against the floor, cutting you from your thoughts. She really never misses a beat, huh? It was annoying, but you had to praise her for her consistency.

Pasting on a practiced grin, you faced her. "Good day to you too, Mina. Looks like Hyunjin isn’t with you right now," you commented. "Did he finally get tired of you?"

You fought the urge to snicker as soon as you saw the effect this had on her. With a huff, she replies, "He has something to do right now but will meet me for lunch. Right, did he not tell you? We’re eating lunch together from now on. He doesn’t really want to be seen with you anymore." Oh, a decent insult!

Deciding to keep the retort to yourself, you just shrugged it off nonchalantly. "Good for both of you. Have fun!" you cheerfully responded, before walking past her.

"Wha—you!"

Y/N-1, Mina-0. You mentally counted.

Turning the corner, you spot Minho leaning against the wall, back hunched from silently wheezing. "Seriously," you exhaled, "Why are you suddenly everywhere now?" After finishing his quick laughing fit, he turned to look at you.

"She deserved it," he commented. You stared at him, unamused. "Of course you would think that." You felt a few gazes directed at the two of you.

Right, this might be an odd sight for them.

If you think about it, what's the point of hiding now? Minho won’t sign his fate, so yours might have been changed. So, does that mean you can be friends in public now too? Should you test it out?

"Y/N, are you alright?" Minho worried.

You eyed your surroundings carefully. This could end up badly if you don’t do it correctly. There was a big chance either that Minho’s reputation could worsen, or the Royals would decide to hate you—ah fuck it.

They can go cry about it if they want.

Grabbing his hand, you started leading the both of you down the halls. He looked at you in shock, "Wait, what are you doing?" The Royals, who saw your exchange, left their mouths open like a gaping fish. On the other hand, you noticed the Rebels' eyes light up with interest. Minho also spotted this, but before he could say anything else, you dragged him away faster.

"Don’t mind them. Let’s just head to class. It’s culinary."

And while you felt significantly lighter at that moment from the burden of hiding your relationship with Minho being off your shoulders, the consequences followed up soon after.

By the time the moon said its greetings, your parents had already heard of what happened. Whoever snitched worked fast. But at least you now have the opportunity to tell them the truth about you and Minho.

Your parents’ lectures engulfed the whole room while Minho sat beside you for emotional support. "What are you doing, making friends with the enemy? Do you have any ounce of shame!?" Your father’s booming voice was heard.

Maybe you really don’t have any shame. You were so grateful that they even chose to voice call instead of a video chat—if your parents saw Minho holding your hand beside you whilst glaring at the window in an attempt to still leave respect for them, they would have freaked past no return.

"I knew the school shouldn’t have placed both of you together in one room. Nothing good was ever going to come out of that situation," your mother ranted. Is she really saying that now? She was the one who told you it was natural to be dormmates with Minho back then. Then again, it wasn’t the first time she changed her mind when the result didn't benefit her.

After a short pause, she spoke up again, "What? So you’re not answering now? Oh, honey! That guy is such a bad influence. How did we let this happen?"

Could they not? They talk as if they’ve already met him!

Feeling Minho give your hand a squeeze, you got the courage to speak up. "...You don’t know him. He’s nothing like his mother, so stop saying that," your unsteady voice spoke. Answering back to your parents was never an easy thing for you to do. "Minho’s a great—uh, friend. He helped me realize that there was so much more than just trapping yourself in a predetermined future. I actually—I don’t even want to be Snow White..."

Your parents were silenced by what you had just said. "What do you mean you don’t want to be Snow White? Why not? Your life is already set for you! You’ll marry Hyunjin too—"

"Hyunjin already has a girlfriend. I’m not sure how you two never knew that, but he doesn’t even like me! Like, at all! Good for you that your pairing worked out well, but I’ve tried for years to get him to respect me even as a friend—but it never happened, and probably never will," you desperately explain.

"At this point, I’d rather marry Minho!"

The person mentioned visibly stiffened up beside you, the hand holding yours tightening. You felt your face flush in embarrassment. In the heat of the moment, you blurted out your thoughts carelessly. You hoped this wouldn’t cause a rift in your relationship with him again, because you’re not too sure if you can handle another week of Minho ignoring you.

But you meant what you said.

That’s right. You would rather marry Minho than some ‘ideal prince’ who can’t even treat you like a decent person.

In fact, married life with Minho doesn’t sound bad at all! If anything, you were actually willing to do it if he agreed. It was something you had considered before—a few years back, when you had a massive crush on him. Perhaps the crush never even went away like you had thought. You might have just gotten used to him to the point that what you felt evolved from just a crush to comfort and trust. Who could blame you, really? He’s kind, fun, knows you well, can cook, and is even handsome. He could easily be one of the top Prince Charmings in this school if given the chance.

"I know you just want the best for me—or even if you don't, I can’t find myself caring anymore. But basically, what I think is best for me is not marrying Hyunjin, or being Snow White," you spoke. "I’m already eighteen. Can I please have the chance to choose for myself? Minho won’t sign the Book of Legends either way, so my story might not even turn out the same."

"Choose your own destiny? You already have a good one—"

"Honey," your mother interjects, "It's a scary world out there. There will be lots of people who want to hurt you!"

You sigh, "Yes, Mom, I know. And I’ll figure something out along the way. But can’t you stop to think that maybe those same people didn’t have any other choice because they were bound to the fate they signed? They deserved the right to choose who they truly wanted to be too."

There was the sound of shifting from the other line. You knew your parents would be hard to convince, but it was worth a shot. This was for the better. It would be great if they managed to spread awareness to the older generation as well.

"Your father and I will think about it," you hear your mother cough. Hope sparked inside you. "Thank you, Mom."

"Sure, sweetie. Talk to you soon."

The line falls flat after that.

Exhausted from the mental gymnastics you had to perform, you immediately melt into Minho’s shoulder. When he doesn’t say anything, you finally realize that he hasn’t moved an inch since you said you’d rather marry him than your assigned prince. "Minho?" you nudged.

He finally snaps out of the trance he trapped himself in, but chooses to stare at you silently. You tilt your head in confusion and ask, "Are you alright?"

"... Marriage?" he squeaked out.

Oh. Does he not like the idea of marrying you?

You sulked. Sure, you weren’t exactly what they called wife material. Growing up as royalty meant you had other people to do things for you. However, you also prided yourself on being a quick learner. If Minho wants someone that knows how to do house chores, then you are more than willing to learn!

He must have noticed your mood going down, because he started panicking. "No—I, uh, didn’t mean it... like that," he reasoned, "I was just caught off guard! People don’t really look at me and think that I’d make a good husband, y’know?"

You slapped his arm harshly. He complained almost instantly at the pain.

"You absolute liar! You’d rival Hyunjin’s rank easily if you were classified as a Prince Charming," you huffed in protest. He turns red at the compliment. Feeling accomplished but wanting to mess with him more, you decided to add: "Don’t sign up for Prince classes though."

Offended, he retorts, "Why not? You just told me I’d be a good prince!"

"I want you to be my prince only," you replied in a casual tone.

Minho’s face burned even brighter.

There was definitely a difference in the way the Royals treated you the next day. Word travels fast, but their attitudes switch up faster. It wasn’t like you really cared. Most of them chose to avoid you completely, while some were very vocal about their newfound hatred towards you.

And as you predicted, Mina was the ringleader of the latter group.

"How interesting, isn’t it, Y/N? Snow White and the Evil King, together?" She approached you at your locker, "Do you have a death wish or something? Or maybe your standards have just fallen so low?"

You didn’t want to waste your words on her, so you preoccupied yourself with fixing your textbooks. It’s no use anyway. Anything you say will just go in one ear and out the other when it comes to her. However, that reaction didn’t seem to satisfy her enough because she poked at you further.

"So we’re right then? Ah, but I must say, you two make such a great couple! Two poor souls who lost their stories. How tragic," you clenched your teeth to avoid accidentally laying a hand on her, because that would just cause unnecessary drama. "You’re still lucky to be alive. I wonder how long it’s going to take before life gives up on both of you—either way, it looks like fate already did."

You slammed your locker closed, making a startling noise. Mina jumped at your actions before quickly composing herself to appear more confident. You’ve had enough of her antics.

"Did anyone ever tell you how annoying your voice is? No? Oh, well. Can you just do us all a favor and shut up? You never even say anything important, so just save your breath for something that’s actually worth it."

"I’m sorry?"

"Not forgiven. But it’s about time you apologized," you sassed.

Mina’s face flushed with anger. Threateningly raising her arm, she aimed to hit you. "You’re nothing now, Y/N. So learn your place—" you shut your eyes instinctively, waiting for the impact.

As much as you wanted to fight back physically, you were currently at a major disadvantage with the school now that you’ve exposed your friendship with Minho. They’ve most likely classified you as a threat now too. It was better to take the slap and leave Mina with the bigger accountability to deal with.

You waited for it, but the slap never came.

"Mina, you are so pathetic. Do you know that?" A voice you knew very well spoke. "Have some shame and look at your actions, will you. Is all of it worth it?" You opened your eyes.

"Get your hands off my girl, Minho," Hyunjin arrived growling while trying to get in between the two. Minho released the grip he had on Mina’s arm. Scoffing, he responded, "Now you’re here too? Tell us, won't you, Hyunjin? How long will you keep defending her actions? She’s going to end up severely hurting someone if this continues." Hyunjin started shifting uncomfortably.

He should know better than to let this continue. Mina isn’t a notorious bully, but she should learn to be more responsible for her actions. Sooner or later, her attitude might be her greatest downfall. Mina glared hotly at Minho, absolutely livid.

In the midst of the two’s humiliation, you noticed a crowd around the four of you. You were glad to know that they have nothing else to do than eavesdrop on any kind of drama. But before you could speak out to the impromptu audience, a blinding flash suddenly stole all the attention. You spotted Yeri standing in the front of the group, shaking with wide eyes while holding her mirror phone up.

Did she just take a photo?

Quickly realizing the situation, Hyunjin dragged a still fuming Mina away. Minho noticed this and yelled, "Get back here!" You quickly pull him back before he ends up chasing after them. "What—Y/N!"

"Leave it."

"What do you mean leave it—no? They’ve crossed so many lines," he seethed in anger. Seeing the crowd still present, you decide to escape as well. "We’ll deal with it some other time. But first, let’s get out of here."

You found yourself dragging Minho down the hall again like yesterday. Only this time, he was burning with fury. It wasn’t always that you got to witness him being this mad. Normally, he calms down faster than he becomes agitated. You were embarrassed to admit that you found Minho's rage attractive.

The two of you entered the lawns of the school garden, where you decided to stop and let him cool down. Minho was still huffing in quiet anger at the two schoolmates you encountered earlier.

"Stop frowning," you said, pinching his cheeks. Minho growls, not appreciating the gesture. It looks like he’s still in a bad mood. Not wanting to make it worse, you slowly let go of him.

Turns out he did not like that, though, because he quickly catches one of your hands and presses it back to the side of his face. "Why did you not fight back? You handled her so well before." The gesture made your heart swell.

"If my parents are now aware that we’re not actually on bad terms, then the school must be too," you sighed, "Adding the fact that I’ve already told them I don’t want to follow my story, if things escalated to the point where we had to be called in earlier, they’re definitely going to side with Mina."

"Is this about me again? You signed the book; it was me who didn’t—"

"I regret it."

Minho spluttered at your words, "Wait, what?" You avoided his surprised eyes. This was something you hadn’t told him yet. Well, anyone yet—you only came to the conclusion last night while talking to your parents.

"I know you said you didn’t want to be Snow White, but you never said you regretted signing," he says. You hugged your arms, "I never said I really wanted to either. It was just something I thought was a necessity. But now that it’s been proven the whole sign or die thing was a big hoax, I wish I hadn’t."

You looked at Minho, greatly troubled. "Honestly? I’m scared. I know I’ve been saying that since you won’t sign anyway, my story won’t happen the way it was supposed to—but just like everything else, we don’t know if that’s even true too," you bit your lip in distress, "What if fate just replaces your role with another person? Did I really trap myself in a scripted future?"

All the flaws in your previous plan started to surface without mercy. It could work in another timeline, one where Minho had signed the book. But seeing that he hasn’t, what happens to you now? Would the legacy just adjust and take Minho out of it completely? Is that what they actually meant by your story disappearing?

Will you somehow end up forgetting Minho?

The mere thought of that alone terrorizes you. A life without Minho would be meaningless by your standards. He was the person who brought color to your monochrome life of royalty and bettered you as a person. Forgetting him would be equivalent to going back to that way of living.

"Y/N," Minho called out softly. The sea of your thoughts were raging with all sorts of negativity, making his heart ache for you. "Like you said, we’ll find a way even if you sealed your fate, okay? I’ll be here with you every step of the way."

"But what if—"

"None of that," he said firmly. "I’m not leaving you alone, whether you like it or not."

You exhaled, trying to calm yourself. He’s right. The two of you can still be together if you really want to. Fate can just suck it up and deal with it.

Fuck being Snow White anyways.

"I hate apples," you grumbled. Minho laughs at your remark, knowing exactly what you meant. "I know. So you don’t have to be Snow White around me," he cups your face gently.

"Just be my Y/N."

"What do you mean the Book of Legends was stolen!?" A loud yell full of disbelief was heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The whole area went dead silent faster than the prideful hare. You stopped scooping up your food midway, watching as Seungmin and Felix both look at each other with wide eyes.

What?

"Changbin, seriously!" Jeongin’s mortified voice echoed in the quiet room. The students were all frozen in their respective spots, trying to process the information that had just dropped on them. What was supposed to be a normal lunch suddenly transformed into a time of anxiety.

"... Are you for real?" Someone asked the two troublemakers. "This isn’t another prank, right? Cause that’s not a good thing to joke about," they said icily.

The Book of Legends is missing? What madman would have the courage to do such a risky thing? That book is the center of this world—a relic if one must say. To harm it would most likely result in a mass extinction of people!

A crash was heard a few meters from where you sat. Someone had fainted and knocked the whole table over. Multiple people were trying to help the unconscious student out of the mess.

"I—uh, well..." Jeongin started. All eyes were on the guy as he stood there, fidgeting nervously. Deciding to get it over with, he cleared his throat and continued, "I was passing by the Principal’s office and overheard it..."

Cue chaos.

Murmurs of panic covered the whole cafeteria. Everyone was worried about what could possibly happen if the book was ever in the wrong hands.

It was a powerful object that could change lives in an instant. Fate and legacy are strong concepts in this world, after all. They're literally the foundation of your society.

"Is this really happening?" Felix said, looking very queasy. Seungmin scooted away from him instantly. "Control yourself, Felix. You don’t want to puke right now."

"Who could have done it?" You thought out loud, "And why? There’s nothing to gain from taking the book, right? Unless you’re a psychopath who wants to destroy the world."

Seungmin looks at you appalled. "Why are you thinking about mass murder?"

"I don’t know! There’s literally no other reason to steal the book! It’s not as if you can erase the signatures of those who... signed…" A realization hit the three of you.

Felix gasped in shock. "Is that even possible?" He questioned. Seungmin considered the idea. "There’s magic here, Felix. Technically, anything is possible."

"But the worst thing is that it might not even stop there," he added. "There may be a loophole in which you can sign another person’s story and make it yours." The idea concerned you heavily.

Could that actually happen? So then what would happen to the ones who got their original story stolen? Wait, if this is allowed, then that would make the entire concept of having a story assigned at birth useless—you could literally just pick one to sign at Legacy Day!

There must be more to this than you originally thought. And it wasn’t looking too good. "It’s not lining up," you muttered.

"What isn’t?"

"The Book of Legends," you lowered your voice, "I’ve never thought of it like that before, but you might be onto something Seungmin."

Felix gave you a confused look. "Like he said, it really is technically possible for someone to follow another story than theirs. If that’s a thing, then why have an assigned destiny for each one of us in the first place?" You pointed it out to them.

The two were startled by the revelation. You were right. There would be absolutely no need for an assigned fate if anyone could just choose what they wanted—heck, the Book of Legends might not even be needed at all.

The right to choose what future they wanted for themselves has been the main thing the Rebels fought for, and knowing the school was against it (basing off the actions they took against Minho), the same place the Book of Legends was kept and handled, what could this mean for the truth?

The pressing question now is: what exactly is the Book of Legends, and why are we told to follow only those stories that are in the book?

"This is making me doubt everything," Seungmin mumbles. You gulped as you looked at the still fear-stricken cafeteria.

"You should."

Later that night, you found yourself unable to sleep due to the plaguing thoughts from events that unfolded earlier. There had to be an explanation for all this, you thought.

The white ceiling on your side of the room looked very interesting to you at that moment. It was also very useful, seeing as you could make an imaginary conspiracy board on it. You don’t know what time it was currently, but you found yourself unable to care.

A messy rustling of sheets was heard over on Minho’s side of the room. You decided to look over in mere curiosity. Like you, he was also comfortably tucked in bed, staring at the ceiling. It looks like both of you can’t sleep.

"A lot on your mind?" He starts the conversation. You nod against your plush pillows. "Thinking about lunch earlier this day..." Minho hummed at your answer.

"Care to share?"

"I don’t know… I’m not too sure about it yet. Jumping to conclusions wouldn’t do me any good," you sighed, exhausted from thinking. You wanted to avoid spreading something that was untrue—and to do that, there were a lot of things you still had to consider carefully. There were sounds of movement coming from Minho’s location. "Do you want to take a breather? You might drown in those thoughts again."

You sat up, glancing over at him. There he was, pulling a warm hoodie over his head. "Where are you going?"

"We. Where are we going," he walks over and throws another hoodie at you. It smelled nice. The scent was from the same soap he used to wash his clothes. You caught yourself smiling unconsciously. Pulling you up from your bed, he grins at you.

"We’re going out."

And that's how you found yourself sliding down a sturdy rope from your dorm balcony to the ground below.

Curfew had already commenced a couple hours ago, which only really hit you once you saw the unfiltered darkness of the night. You could clearly hear the crickets loudly chirping around you—something you didn’t get to hear that often because of the soundproofing spell cast on the school’s walls.

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," you squealed joyfully, enjoying the feeling of thrill. In your peripheral vision, you saw the tips of Minho’s own lips twitch upwards.

Light footsteps from the two of you permeated the area as he led you towards the entrance of the forest near the dorm building. "Is this the first time you’ve snuck out?" He asks at a low volume, trying to avoid the threat of getting caught.

"Yes," you reply. "I've never had the chance to do it before. Have you?"

He chuckles at you. "Plenty. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed how I sneak out at night sometimes." You blinked at his confession. Racking your brain for any memories of Minho mysteriously disappearing in the cold hours of the night, you came up with nothing. "No?"

"It's probably because you're already asleep when I leave," he says as he leads you two down a narrow path. The area you were heading to must be surrounded by trees, somewhere deep in the small forest. "Why have you never invited me?" You approached him with your complaint.

"Again, you were literally dead asleep."

"Just wake me up. I’ll catch up with a nap after getting poisoned," you joked. Minho clicks his tongue at the reminder. "Not happening. Ever."

Seeing his face twist grumpily, you poked at his side. Minho pushes your hand away, feeling ticklish.

After another minute of walking, you finally reached a large clearing. Minho stepped aside to give you a good view, as if proudly presenting the location. You gasp, amazed at the sight before you.

It was a big lake, something you never thought of the school having before.

The scenery was beautifully surrounded by large bushy trees, forming a wall-like barrier around the body of water. That must be why it wasn’t easily seen from the outside. You noticed that the trees had a blue-ish glow, a result of the moonlight bouncing off the lake’s water. It helped give off a peaceful ambience, one where you could feel your worries dissolving in the chilly night.

You look around in wonder. "I didn’t know they had a lake here!" Minho heads over closer towards the lake’s shore to sit. You sped up when he called you over.

"I found this back in third grade," he explains while picking up a rock near him. "It wasn’t on the school map, so I was surprised to see it too."

The water was certainly not lacking in appeal either. It was so crystal clear that you could see all the different kinds of rocks littered underneath it. As you looked further, you realized the lake was quite deep in the middle because you couldn’t see its floor anymore.

"This place is very therapeutic, huh?"

Minho examined the rocks he was holding and responded, "Yeah. I come here to relax whenever I’m really stressed." He stood up and threw one of the rocks towards the water. You both watched as it skipped a few times before sinking. "I actually went here after the Legacy Day event."

Right. That must’ve been after your fight.

You let a comfortable silence take over your conversation, simply enjoying the company of one another. In the span of a few weeks, a lot has happened to the two of you. From misunderstandings that led to a fight, to making up and thinking about the future—you could say that those events really helped your change as a person, even in a short amount of time.

But there was another thing that bothered you at the present.

"What do you think about what happened to the book?" You asked Minho. He continued skipping rocks. "You mean the Book of Legends?"

"Yeah."

"Shocking," he chuckled. "I never thought someone would ever have the balls to do such a stupid thing."

Stupid was one way to say it. The Book of Legends was a highly secured item that only a select few people had access to. For someone to get past security, they had to be really stealthy to the point where you couldn’t notice them—that or not be classified as a threat.

"Why do you think they did it?"

Minho shrugs. "Maybe as a prank. I mean, what else can you really do with that book anyway?" He turned around to face you and asked, "Why?"

Should you tell him? It’s not even a confirmed theory, and there was a chance that you couldn’t actually erase the signatures, let alone steal another person’s story. However, Minho was someone who knew magic very well and could be a useful source of information.

"Me, Seungmin, and Felix were talking about it at lunch and thought that maybe there was a way to remove a signature from a signed story, or steal it as your own?" Minho dropped the remaining rocks.

"Wait, are you serious?"

You bit your lip. "It’s not yet confirmed, but Seungmin said it could be possible. We have magic and all that. As a magic user though, do you think it's possible?"

He thinks about it carefully. Magic was a complicated subject to dive into because it has so many layers. And because of that, Seungmin was correct that anything could be done technically with the help of magic.

"It... might be a thing," Minho considers. "It’s quite a possibility. This is really bad though, because it would mean the book being stolen could potentially cause major damage to our world." With his insight, the situation becomes so much more frightening to think about the outcome.

Is that what the person who stole the book planned to do?

"That book is causing so many problems," he sighs tiredly. You had to agree with him. The Book of Legends has literally been the source of most of your problems, especially knowing that the way your world works is because of the stories within it.

Minho sat back down beside you. "I wish that thing just never existed," you muttered under your breath. He stares at you, amazed at what he had just heard.

"Your way of thinking has really changed."

"How could I not?" You said, feeling agitated. "There’s a ton of stuff that doesn’t make sense in the beliefs I had before. I’m kind of ashamed that I’ve only noticed it recently."

Minho pinches your cheek. "It’s never too late," he teased. "At least you’re willing to admit your shortcomings. I like that about you."

"Don’t fall for me too much," you joked. When he didn't retort, you glanced at him. However, instead of the annoyed reaction you expected, he was giving you a soft look.

"What if I already did?"

Your brain immediately short-circuited. Wait, he does? Does Minho actually like you? This isn’t a dream, right? Maybe you fell asleep earlier, and this was just your brain playing tricks on you—

"It’s real, Y/N," he pulls you out of your doubts. "Don’t be pressured to give me an answer. It’s fine if you just see me as a friend." You catch the tips of his ears turning red.

Oh God, you think you’re going to pass out.

This was Minho. Your partner in crime, Minho. The ideal man of your dreams, Minho. Once upon a time, you had a massive crush on him, Minho. And here he was telling you he liked you? Like, romantically? What can you even say to that?

If only your parents could see you two now. You’d love to rub it in their faces that he turned out to be so much better than Hyunjin.

At your extended silence, Minho looked away. He looks really embarrassed, so you decided to end his suffering.

"I did also have a crush on you a few years back," you admitted shyly. He snaps his head towards you. "A few years back? What about now?" He asked.

You shrugged, trying to mess with him. "I don’t know," you replied. He dramatically wilts at your words. At his endearing reaction, you couldn’t help but break the act. "But I’m willing to try."

His soul comes back to him at the snap of a finger. "Really? Are you for sure?" He giddily looks for your confirmation. When you nodded at him with a smile, he almost jumped from joy. "I could literally kiss you right now," he announces, feeling breathless.

"Do it."

You didn’t have to tell him twice. It was like living fifteen-year-old you’s greatest dream, except this time, you were actually going to kiss Minho. The peaceful vibe of the area turned romantic as the two of you got closer. But just when you were about to close the gap, a movement in the woods caught your eye.

"Jisung?"

"Are you really saying someone else’s name while you’re about to kiss me?" Minho says, dumbfounded. You hastily waved your hands in denial. "No! I mean that it’s literally Jisung!" You pointed behind him.

Once Minho turned towards the direction you told him, the two of you saw Jisung, frozen in his tracks. You looked at him, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uhm... What are you doing here too?" He squeaks out, sounding frightened.

Jisung was trembling like someone had just caught him in the act of doing something illegal. Something you didn’t understand because he’s literally the one who caught you and Minho almost kissing.

"Are you—" The words you were about to say dried up completely after your eyes traveled down to the object he was currently clutching with his whole strength. Hold on.

Is that the Book of Legends?

You choked on air. "Did—were you the one—" Your eyes stayed fixed on the supposedly missing book. Jisung panics and quickly hides it behind his back, as if that would erase both yours and Minho’s memory of ever seeing it on his hands. Minho abruptly stood up.

"Jisung, what have you done?" He stepped forward, scaring the poor guy even more. "Do you even know how big of a deal this is?"

Then, the unexpected happens.

"And what if I do!?" Jisung snaps.

You were taken aback. This was a side of him you’ve never seen before. Well, the two of you aren’t exactly close friends, but you’ve always seen Jisung as having a cheerful personality. The case of him getting angry, let alone annoyed, seems so foreign to you. Minho's eyes narrowed at him.

"...Please tell us you aren't planning something bad," he slowly said, attempting to approach Jisung. But the latter takes a few steps back.

"This book is a curse!" Jisung reasons, pointing at the book. He looks at it with such hatred that you never thought would be possible to come from him. "Don't you see it? Everyone is getting torn apart just because of this damned book! The school is a mess, my friends are all fighting, and the person I like won’t even give us a chance, all because of this—this thing!"

It was as clear as the lake's water that Jisung was hurting. You could see the unshed tears piling up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He was determined to get his point across: the book had to be disposed of. And he was the martyr; volunteering to do it himself.

"Jisung, just think for a moment—"

"How easy for you to say, Minho!" He scoffed in disdain. "You haven’t signed yet. You’re still free to do everything you want without anything tying you down—"

"And that almost cost me my life!" Minho reminds him. "If the saying was true, I wouldn’t even be here talking to you right now, Jisung."

You decided to speak too, "Jisung, please. We don’t know the extent of the importance that book holds. It could literally end up destroying the world in the worst case scenario."

He looks at you in disbelief, not believing his own ears at what you had said.

"Why are you even defending it? I know you don’t like your story either, Y/N. If we just get rid of it, then we can be free," Jisung appeals, trying to get you on his side. You shook your head. He was a bit too far gone. "Jisung, we could literally die."

"I know, okay!?" He wails. "But I’ve gotten this far already. This isn’t something I can just undo!" Jisung falls roughly to the floor, greatly distressed.

His desperation was evident in his sobs. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Jisung was Hyunjin’s best friend, as well as his roommate—but Jisung was also close to Changbin and Jeongin. The whole Rebel and Royals thing must have been devastating for him. He was also one of the people who signed the book before Minho’s outburst back on Legacy Day. Something you knew he only did because there was no other choice, just like what happened to you. Jisung also had the ability to turn into a frog at will, a trait that evolved for the line of the Frog Prince. He must’ve snuck through security as one to reach the chamber they placed the book in. How he got through the magic barriers, though, was beyond you. But that didn’t matter at the moment.

Minho walks over and grabs Jisung’s shoulder, lightly squeezing it. "You can still return it... We won’t tell on you as long as you don’t get caught," Minho turns to you. "Just promise us you’ll return it, okay?" You nod your head in agreement. Jisung manages a confirmation through his sniffles.

"Let’s head back. You can return it early in the morning, Jisung."

A loud bang abruptly woke you and Minho up. Feeling distraught, you sat up to find the source of the disturbance. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but what you saw was not what you expected at all.

"Did you seriously sleep in one bed?" Hyunjin asks, looking at the two of you. "And you called me and Mina bad."

What the hell was he doing here?

Like reading your mind, Minho pulls you back towards his chest. "What the hell are you doing here?" He sleepily glares at the intruder.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes at Minho’s reaction. Instead of finally leaving, he shuts the door he flew open and sits on your sofa. You and Minho watched as he made himself comfortable, completely ignoring both of you in your current intimate position. Hyunjin stares back, unamused.

"So I can’t be comfy too? Have some hospitality, geez."

You pinched your nose bridge before asking, "So? What’s your business here?" Hyunjin had a visible lightbulb moment. Is he serious—

"I have news!" He announces. "About the Book of Legends."

You light up. "Oh! Did Jisung manage to return it—" Minho clasped a hand over your mouth to shut you up. Fuck, you forgot that Hyunjin might not be aware. You both eyed him awkwardly, looking for a way to cover up your mistake. Hyunjin snorts at the comical scene.

"Don’t worry, I already know. I helped him return it earlier."

You let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God. I thought Jisung was toast now." Hyunjin grabbed a sofa pillow to hug. Is he planning to stay here or what? "Do you have anything else to say—"

"It’s fake."

Minho, who finally came out of his sleepy spell, gave Hyunjin a confused look. "What’s fake?" The former pursed his lips, obviously conflicted about what he was about to say.

"The Book of Legends is fake."

Did Jisung steal a dummy? Wait, does this mean he got caught? You are now alarmed at the possible indication. "Is Jisung okay?"

To your relief, Hyunjin confirmed that the other prince was indeed safe. You don’t know what you would do if he was ever found out to be the one who attempted to steal the Book of Legends. That was a crime worth getting expelled and imprisoned for, even worse than Minho disrupting this year’s Legacy Day event.

"How’d you find out it was fake?" Minho asked.

"We were passing by the principal’s office after returning the book to the chamber. The door was slightly open, and we heard him ordering another to this person over the phone. At first we thought it was for a dummy until the actual one was back, but it turns out the book wasn’t even this all-powerful relic! It’s literally just an enchanted book to make those fancy visuals—"

"Hold on, you mean the whole concept of the Book of Legends is fake? Not just the one Jisung stole?" You yelled at the unexpected revelation. "Then what the fuck is the Book of Legends for then?"

Hyunjin looked shocked. "You curse?"

"Answer me!"

He raised his hand up when you attempted to launch at him. Minho quickly held you back. "Calm down, woman. And you ask me why I don’t want to marry you." Minho gave him a pointed look.

"Let’s not go there right now."

"No need to get all possessive on me, loverboy. I have no plans to take her away." Hyunjin tells Minho. The latter only snarls sourly. "You better not."

"Hello? Are we just going to brush off that the Book of Legends isn’t true?"

Hyunjin retorts, "It’s real. Just not in the way we believed it was. It’s literally just a book filled with stories enchanted with magic to make it look fancy." You stared daggers at him.

"Get Jisung. You’re so useless."

He whined. "It’s not my fault! I don’t know much else other than that either! Jisung went straight to Yeri to see if she could post the news. We’re hoping to get the issue investigated professionally."

"How are you so sure they aren’t in on this too? Maybe we’ve been living under the control of the officials for so long!" Minho stroked your hair, in an attempt to calm you down. "Isn't that the point of a government?" shrugs Hyunjin.

You threw a pillow at him.

"Can you not!?" He shrieked. Minho groaned at the chaotic scene. "Thank you for the news, Hyunjin, but this could really wait until lunch or something," he locked you in place so that you wouldn’t attack the poor guy any more, "Unless you have anything else you want to say?"

Hyunjin went silent. He placed the pillow back to rest on the sofa, and sat properly. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.

"I wanted to say sorry to Y/N," he admits. "There isn’t an explanation I can give you for why I treated you the way I did other than I was immature and hated the idea of not being able to choose who I married—which is a bad excuse because it’s not like you liked that either. Compared to the two of us, you treated me much better than I did to you, even if we were in the same boat." You blinked.

"I’m working on myself, and Mina is too. So I hope you can forgive us someday. You don’t have to like us, though. We'd understand that much."

Well, this was unexpected. Hyunjin and Mina weren’t total bullies, but they still had a hand in the multiple times you were hurt. It would be hard to forget, but you think you could manage to forgive them in the near future at the very least. If they were willing to change, that was enough for you.

"I’ll think about it," you replied to him. The simple positive response was enough to make him smile. "Thanks."

Hyunjin stood up and headed towards the door. "I’ll leave you two lovebirds now. School starts in two hours, by the way. Might as well get ready; there’s bound to be lots of people in the cafeteria soon," he bids, closing the door not long after.

You lay back down, covering yourself with the blanket. Minho laughs and joins you.

"Thirty more minutes."

A day after the shocking truth of the Book of Legends came out on Yeri’s blog, an investigation was launched into the case. And just a mere two days after that, Jisung and Hyunjin’s finding was confirmed—which appalled the whole realm.

It turns out, there was so much more to the fake Book of Legends. Storybook High’s current principal comes from a long line of people who were all high-ranking officials in this world. It was also from this family that the concept of stories was traced back to: the Grimm Family. After careful investigation, they found out that one of their first ancestors responsible for the stories was a very ambitious writer, who wished for his works to come to life. With the help of his older brother, who was a strong magic user, he learned magic with his goals in mind. And with the magic he had gained, he made the legitimate Book of Legends.

It was a book containing all of his stories, with different parts dedicated to all of the characters. But there was a curse embedded into the book; if one signed a character’s story, they would end up living the same life as them.

Satisfied with his work, the Grimm ancestor went around towns, trying to find people to trick into signing the pages under the guise that it meant they liked the story. As one could have probably guessed by now, you were the generations that came after those victims.

That didn’t mean your Book of Legends had the same curse, though.

Apparently, the original book has long since disappeared, only really affecting the first generation of those who signed it. The Grimm ancestor did not live long enough to make another one for his victims’ offspring, though, and in an effort to save their father’s work, his children vowed to continue the stories no matter what—which was still the Grimm Family’s main goal in the current time.

The truth wasn’t uncovered earlier because the Grimm Family quickly took over the world’s power positions and buried the information—making it only accessible to those in on the plan. Following this, they also found out that the current Grimm governing the school had a brother who they locked up in prison wrongfully because he opposed their family’s plans.

What a ride.

"This is so messed up," Chan gasped from across the table, setting down his mirror phone that had the news displayed. "I knew it was sketchy, but not this sketchy!" Felix agrees with him, reaching over Seungmin’s tray to grab his brownie.

Yours and Minho’s friend group (plus Hyunjin and Jisung, who were connected to Changbin) were currently seated at one table, eating their respective lunches. The full result of the investigation just came out earlier this morning, and many were still processing the bomb that just dropped.

"It’s great to know we’ve been living a lie all along," Jeongin chirps sarcastically. Jisung smiled at the group. "But at least now they've abolished it, right? We’re all free now!"

Oh, that was another thing that happened. After the arrest of the remaining Grimm Family members that were involved with the scheme, the new officials completely tore the "follow your story" concept apart and encouraged everyone to write their own destinies. As a result, many of those who heavily sided with the Royals division apologized for their actions and were now working to improve themselves.

"Took them long enough," Minho said, placing an apple on your tray. You pinched his arm. "Ouch!" Seungmin had the audacity to look disgusted.

"Can you two flirt somewhere else?"

"Fine," Minho said, standing up and dragging you along. Gagging noises were heard from the table as the two of you left. You laughed, very amused at their reactions. When Minho stops the both of you in an empty corridor, you joked, "Why do we always end up in a hallway?"

He chuckles at your comment. "Who knows," he stepped closer, "But I know I haven’t gotten that kiss yet." You rolled your eyes at his suggestion. "I can’t believe we ended up together. We're literally supposed to be enemies," you said as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Minho snickers. "That’s only written on paper anyway," he leans forward.

"Paper can easily be torn."

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dragonmuse · 2 years ago

Note

I would love to see Izzy and Lucius’ night at the Revenge in Somewhere Only We Know. Do Izzy and Eddy end up talking about the books after the show? Also, anything about Eddy’s past in this universe and how they made it to the Revenge and found Stede. Did she work for Hornigold without Izzy? Did she get out earlier?

(Combined the answers up a little! Someone else asked about Pete and Lucius meeting in this universe and while I don't get into it, I think it answers their question too. Hope you enjoy!)

“That was wild!” Lucius was a little tipsy, flush with it. He had his arm around the back of Izzy’s chair and his shirt unbuttoned at the neck. “The thing with the chainsaw?”

“Definitely...new,” Izzy ventured. It was still mostly dark in the bar, but with the show over people got up and milled around.

Izzy had paced himself a little more with the drinks, but he was pleasantly warm and happy to lean back against Lucius’ arm.

“I like the jugglers.”

“I’m shocked,” Izzy said blandly.

“Oh shut up,” Lucius laughed and kissed his cheek. “I’m going to get another drink. Maybe take a gaze around, you good?”

“Happy hunting,” Izzy dropped a hand to his thigh and squeezed once gently. “Might go back to the hotel soon-ish.”

“Okay, love. If I come up empty, I’ll go with you.”

Lucius gave him another kiss, this one on his neck, then was up and away. Izzy stayed, picking up his glass and sipping at the last of a vodka tonic. The Revenge smelled better than most bars he’d been in. And the chandelier was really something. The kind of place Christopher would charm Dean into trying and meet with disaster.

Lost in that thought, Izzy didn’t register anyone coming towards him until they were practically on top of them.

“Hello again,” Eddy loomed over him. She’d taken off the drag makeup and most of her costume, but she was still in a shiny black silk sheath that showed off her many tattoos. Beside her was someone that was likely the host of the show, now also wiped clean.

“Hello,” Izzy raised his glass a few inches. “You put on some show.”

“Thank you,” she smiled like a cat blinked, slow and sly. “This is my husband Stede, he’s Charlie’s father.”

“The one who bought the first edition,” Izzy gave him a bland smile. “Thanks for that. I hadn’t seen that cover art in a long time. One of my favorites.”

“No, thank you,” Stede sat down, perching on the edge of a chair. Eddy followed suit, taking up Lucius’ abandoned seat. “Those books have meant a lot to Charlie. I don’t fully understand them, but they resonate quite strongly with him.”

“Glad to hear it,” Izzy always felt a little awkward receiving such compliments in the wild. At signings they were expected.

“You know that your husband’s flirting with Pete?” Eddy’s eyes were seeking something in the dim.

“Sounds about right,” he nodded.

“Pete’s married,” Stede frowned.

“So’s Lucius,” Izzy laughed. “But don’t worry, he’s not a homewrecker. At least not intentionally. Sometimes men lie.”

“Sometimes,” Eddy agreed, her eyes darting back to his face. “Sorry if i was a little........ odd. At the signing.”

“Don’t worry about it” He took a sip of his drink to buy a second to find the right way to phrase it. “Fiction sometimes doesn’t feel so made up.”

“Oh, I agree!” Stede gushed, “It’s amazing how easy it is to feel as though you’re reading about friends.”

“Or yourself,” Izzy said levelly, eyes still on Eddy’s face.

“Could you get me a drink, my love?” Eddy asked Stede lightly.

“Of course,” Stede was on his feet immediately. “What would you like?”

“Surprise me.” They touched the back of his hand gently then tracked him as he walked away.

“How long have you been together?” Izzy asked to keep himself from blurting out ‘what the fuck do you want?’.

“Eleven years. We met here. Stede owns the building, rents the upstairs. I was looking for a new office. He refused to rent to me,” she told the story with amusement for all it was stripped to bare bones. “I set out on a campaign to convince him because I liked the place and instead I wound up owning half of it by law. Gave up the business to run the club. Turned out he wouldn't rent to me because he was giving the spaces away for free to charities.”

“You work together?”

“Every day.”

“Us too,” Izzy nodded. “Though I’d guess it’s far quieter work.”

“Pretty loud on the page,” Eddy said idly.

“Yes. That’s where I do most of my screaming.”

“I worked a job like Dean's. Most of my twenties. Some of my thirties.”

“Did you?” Izzy swirled his glass a little, watching eyes slide around and around.

“You get that a lot, I bet.”

“Usually more in letters than in person, but yeah. People who see themselves in Dean have wrestled with things, usually.”

“My boss at the time was a monster,” Eddy went on conversationally. “But I was good at it. Worked alone mostly.”

“Ah,” Izzy sipped at the glass that was now mostly vodka flavored water.

“Mm. The problem with working alone in real life is that sometimes you almost bleed out in a country where you don’t speak the language,” Eddy’s voice was almost dreamy. “You pick up scars and no one remembers how, but you and if you forget....anyway. It’s a long way to say that I get your reasons, but I stopped reading after the fourth book.”

“The gunshot wound,” Izzy surmised.

“Yeah. What was the line...” Eddy frowned and then started reciting words that Izzy had written late at night so many years ago as if they had kept Eddy company in the dark too. “Death greeted Dean like an old friend. Maybe the only friend he’d had for long years. They had taken walks together many times, each dodging the other's heavy steps and now it had come for that last long stroll into darkness.”

“Little overdone, my editor hated it,” Izzy crunched into a piece of ice. “But he does make it home.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t eat part of him along the way,” Eddy spread a hand on the table, as if to steady herself. Their fingers were long, tattooed in places too. A scar bisected the top of her hand, and Izzy tried not to imagine what could cause it.

“True. I try to convey that when I can, but serial fiction...gotta keep the guy on his feet. And like Luc said, he does have a partner at home. He gets up off the ground because he’s got something to live for. Not saying to read it, but he spends book 5 in a hospital bed for the most part, solving a crime with Christopher’s help without ever leaving the room.”

“Why would he want to bring that home to him?” Eddy asked. “I got out before I met Stede. But I would hate for any of that to touch him.”

“Sometimes you don’t get a choice,” Izzy shrugged. “But I’m just a writer. The worst thing I’ve gone through in the last thirty years was losing a first draft to a spilled cup of coffee on a keyboard and going into anaphylactic shock over a mislabeled fruit salad. You’d know more than me about it.”

“Feels like you lived it though,” Eddy leaned back in their chair studying him.

“Nothing even close. But I know what it feels like to hurt. If that translates then I’m doing my job right.”

“Here we are!” Stede returned, setting down a colorful glass in front of Eddy and a plainer one in front of Izzy. “You two seemed to be having a good chat, so I got you a refill, I hope that’s all right.”

“Fine, thanks,” Izzy managed a tight smile. “How’d you know what I was drinking?”

“Oh, your husband told me,” Stede laughed. “He’s quite a character.”

“That he is. I think he’s hoping that I’m being flirtatious,” he picked up the drink.

“Are you?” Stede’s tone dipped a little. Jealousy? Desire? Not that it mattered.

“No. Never have been, probably never will be. He likes to think I just need to meet the magic right person. Keep telling him that’s just him and he has to live with it, but he’s a stubborn brat sometimes.”

“Brat?” Stede’s nose wrinkled up. “Aren’t you about the same age?”

“And he’s still one, amazing isn’t it?” Izzy laughed and picked up his drink. Eddy had gone quiet, but he was aware of her eyes still on him. “I like your place, by the way. Chandeliers are...something.”

“Oh, thank you! They were absolutely hellish to locate, but I always thought they really sell the space.”

“Sure,” Izzy agreed.

Once opened up, Stede was a burbling brook and didn’t require a lot in return. Izzy’s favorite kind of conversation partner. He sipped through his drink slowly, mostly making agreeable noises at the correct intervals. Eddy didn’t even do that, though their eyes were on his face the entire time, a fond smile slowly curling on their lips.

Lucius turned up right when Izzy had finished the drink and was trying to find a not entirely rude way to leave.

“Heya.”

“Hey,” Izzy titled his head back to look up at him. “Done?”

“Yeah, I give up.” Lucius slid his hands over Izzy’s shoulders. “You?”

“Tired,” he agreed.

“Then let’s go.”

Izzy got to his feet, made his goodbyes. He followed Lucius halfway to the door, then hesitated.

“Can you get the cab? Think I forgot my card.”

“Sure,” Lucius kept going, suppressing a yawn. Izzy wondered if he’d actually struck out or if they were finally reaching the day when even Lucius couldn’t make it to 1 AM without getting annoyingly sleepy.

Eddy was alone again, Stede having swept away towards the stage, talking to one of the other performers. They glanced up long before Izzy reached the table like they sensed his return.

“Forget something?”

“Yeah, a recommendation,” he pulled a pen out of his pocket and pulled a bar napkin towards him. “I’ve got a friend, a new writer. Her style is pretty close to mine, but definitely her own voice. Her gal is P.I. too, but she’s got a whole agency. Best friend, lover, work partner. More upbeat stuff. Quirky mysteries. You’d like her.”

“M. Read,” Eddy read off the napkin, “Rattling Bones?”

“Luc does her covers too. Give it a shot.”

Eddy took the napkin, folding it and then it seemed to disappear. She was fast.

“What’s the email address underneath for?”

“So you can tell me how you liked it,” Izzy told her.

“Oh,” Eddy smiled up at him. “Hey. Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” then he turned on his heel and walked out of the Revenge. It’d be a nice visit, but he was ready to go home.

#leda house and the kraken verse #somewhere only we know

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salazarslytherin · 4 years ago

Text

midnight rendezvous (b.w x y/n)

requested: yes! by @weasleyswizardwheezes1 [i love you arms your writing so uh anything w bill weasley. either smut, angst, fluff, etc. is fine, but could it be on the longer side. please and thank you, no pressure btw :)] send in your own request here

summary: where you and bill have a penchant for meeting in the night

part two here

🃛 masterlist

cw/tw: angst, smut AND fluff babes fem!reader, bill's kind of a dick for a part. sexual tension to the MAX doll. age difference (~6-7 years?) reader IS 18! jic anyone was worried. also i imply reader is short-ish? but in my mind bill is like 6’3-6’5 so he’s massive and like most people would be shorter than him

word count: 5.25k (so i heard u say ‘on the longer side’ and interpreted it as ‘i want a short novel’. hope this satisfies u doll, there'll be one or two?? more parts coming!!)

a/n: requested by @weasleyswizardwheezes1 . hope you like it! pls leave a comment, like or reblog to help boost if you did xx

☯︎ join tag list here

Being the best friend of the Weasley twins definitely had its perks. Spending summers at the Burrow, having a second family that was closer to you than your own, friendly banter that came along with the family.

However, there was an unexpected drawback that came with this.

A drawback by the name of Bill Weasley.

⚔︎

Although in the same year as the twins, you were a year older than Fred and George, meaning you had always felt a little more mature than the two pranksters.

Thus, you felt like you noticed things that the two of them never really noticed. Girls having crushes on them, boys being envious of them, the ways rumours would fly around about the three of you.

The main thing, however, that you felt the two of them didn't notice, was the way Bill treated you.

It wasn't that he'd always been like this. The first few years you'd known the man, he was very nice to you – familial and brotherly, much like the rest of the family had been to you.

However, sometime in fifth year, things changed.

⚔︎

You arrived at the Burrow with the twins for Christmas, ready to be welcomed by the family you'd come to call your own, but was left feeling hurt, weirdly hollow.

Every Weasley had welcomed you with open arms, except Bill. Harry, the only other non-Weasley around, was embraced heartily by the curse-breaker, but you were given a sharp nod, and nothing more.

Confused, you shook it off, moving to sit next to George, his arm wrapped around your waist as you snuggled into him. Fred landed on your other side, passing you a mug of hot cocoa as he landed a kiss on the top of your head, arm enveloping your shoulders with a tight squeeze.

Surrounded by the younger Weasleys as you watched Ginny, Ron and Harry play a game of Exploding Snap, you felt an intense gaze on you, looking up to see the four oldest Weasleys sat around the dining table, watching all of you.

You caught Bill's eyes, sending him a familiar smile, but was ignored as the man took a sip of his coffee, turning to look out the window instead.

Your hurt was short-lived as Fred leaned into whisper a soft quip into your ear, letting out a laugh, turning to relay the same quip to George.

The rest of the trip went similarly – every time you attempted to catch Bill's eye, to hold a proper conversation, he'd ignore you, or brush you off, pretending that he had something else to do.

The day all of you left the Burrow to go back to Hogwarts, Bill had even left the group before you could say goodbye to him, and you could only be left wondering, what did you do?

⚔︎

Now that you've graduated, you were relishing in the last summer you could spend in the Burrow as a teenager without the pressure of work hovering over you.

Determined to have the best time you possibly could with your 'family', your days were consumed by pranks with the twins, quidditch with the family, and helping Molly bake.

Yet, you still felt empty; a hole in the warm pit created by familial love, a hole marked with the name 'Bill Weasley'.

The cursebreaker was still actively avoiding you, for no known reason, and you stopped seeking out why a year ago. Instead, you sought to live your life with one less brother, one less family member to love.

Tossing and turning, you found yourself particularly restless one night. Not wanting to wake Fred, who was sleeping soundly in bed next to you, you got up, tiptoeing down to the kitchen to have a nice cool sip of water.

You'd taken to sleeping in the twins' room since the first holiday you were at the Burrow. Molly was against the idea at first of course, but was incapable of stopping the pranksters who managed to sneak you in night after night, insistent on having 'sleepovers' with you.

After the third night, Molly gave up, only giving you three a strict 'no funny business!' warning, before trudging back off to bed.

⚔︎

The dim lamplight from the kitchen illuminated just about enough for you to see your surroundings, having been around the Weasleys' long enough to know which boards to avoid so as to not have them creak and wake the family up.

However, what you hadn't taken into account was a body on the ground, hitting your foot into a blanketed torso, making you elicit a shriek, the unknown body on the ground letting out a muffled groan.

"What the fuck?"

You muttered a quick 'Lumos', pointing your wand at the person under the quilt, only for the fabric to be thrown aside, revealing a tousled Bill Weasley, sleep clouding his narrowed eyes as he massaged his abdominal with one hand, ruffling his hair with the other.

"Oh."

Realising that the man on the floor was, in fact, a Weasley, and not some thief who'd stolen into the house in the middle of the night, you dismissed the charm, lowering your wand and shifting awkwardly on your feet.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were there."

Throwing a curt apology at Bill, you moved off towards the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cupboard above and wordlessly filling it up, intent on finishing your business as quickly as possible before heading back up to the twins.

"Pour me a cup?"

The deep voice startled you for a moment. At some point Bill had gotten up from his mound of pillows and now found himself stood behind you, his hand holding out a mug that had a 'B' painted on it, gesturing at the water jug you were holding.

Nodding curtly, you poured him his water, Bill thanking you before moving to lean against a counter, watching you from behind the rim of his mug.

"'m surprised you're down here."

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at the man in confusion.

"What'd you mean?"

He shrugged, downing the rest of his water before placing the mug down on the counter with a tad bit more strength than he needed. He stretched for a moment, arms pulled over his head to pull the sleep out of his eyes, shirt moving up with the movement to show off a slither of his toned stomach.

"You're always around the twins, never see you without 'em. Expected you to be, in their beds or something I don't know."

A protest spluttered from your throat, choking slightly on the water that you'd been drinking.

"I–what?"

The man lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

"Am I wrong? You've been in and out both their beds since you were firsties. I mean, it's not hard to guess what you're doing in there with 'em."

You huffed at the implications of Bill's words, putting your mug down with much of the same vigour as he had just now.

"First off, I'm an adult, and I can do what I please."

You were fuming, steam practically coming out your ears, and hearing the muttered 'clearly been an adult for a while' from Bill's lips didn't help.

"Second, even if I was sleeping with your brothers, which I am not, I don't understand why it'd be any of your business. It's not like we're friends or anything."

An odd, emotionless laugh came from Bill's lips, pushing off the counter to come stand over you. His tall stature forced you to stumble backwards, pressed against the wooden cabinets as he glared down at you.

"First off," Bill's deep voice was modulated up an octave, mocking your previous rebuttal.

"I am not saying your life is part of my concern. I'm concerned for my brothers."

A hand landed next to your head, pushing against the cabinet harshly.

"But second, you're practically a Weasley. It's my duty to look after you guys."

You laughed indignantly, looking away from the intense man to focus on his arm instead, as if studying the tattoos that covered his tanned frame.

"I'm sorry. It's your duty to look after me?"

You pushed him off of you, moving away with a huff, grabbing the two abandoned mugs to wash them with far too much tenacity, water splashing everywhere.

"Yes, that's what I said. I've known you since you were eleven – of course I have to watch over you. You're like family."

You rolled your eyes, giving up the facade of placidity as you left the mugs clattering in the sink, whipping around to face Bill.

"I'm like family? That's rich, William, truly rich."

Now it was your turn to advance towards the man, causing him to back up as your anger fueled you with energy, stomping dangerously close to his feet.

"If how you treat me is how you treat your family, I pity Molly for having you as a son."

Incoherent words left Bill's mouth in an attempt to argue further with you, but you didn't listen. Turning on your heel, you left the man in the kitchen, no longer concerning yourself with which steps to avoid as you stomped back to the twins' room, leaving Bill accompanied only by the dim light from the lamp, and the creaks coming from the floorboards.

⚔︎

After that infuriating night, it was no longer a 'hidden' fact that something was off between you and Bill.

While it had seemed that Bill used to be the one avidly avoiding you, the tables had quickly turned – you were now the prey ardently avoiding any encounters with your predator.

Any time Bill came into the room, you'd either leave, or place yourself as far away as humanly possible. During meals, you'd move yourself to sit next to Ginny, as opposed to in between the twins as you'd been sat for years, just so you no longer sat across from Bill. Even during quidditch, one of your favourite things to do with the whole family, you opted to sit out and stay in the twins' room or help Molly with the dishes, just to make sure you never had to interact with Bill.

Honestly, you weren't quite certain why the conversation with Bill had ticked you off so much. Maybe it was because he accused you of sleeping with your best friends, as if that was all you were good for. Maybe, it was because he had no right to insert himself in your life like that, to pretend like he cared about you in the first place.

It was clear he no longer wanted to be a part of your life when you were sixteen. You had no desire to welcome the curse-breaker back into your life now.

⚔︎

Three days after the midnight meeting with Bill, you found yourself restless again, unable to sleep.

George shifted slightly as you moved out of his bed, turning to cuddle with your now abandoned pillow as you slipped out of his grasp.

You decided to go for a quick midnight broom ride, hoping that the adrenaline rush and energy that you'd burn while flying would tire you out so you could finally fall asleep. A lot of the time you'd spent avoiding Bill turned into naps, which meant you were increasingly unable to fall asleep at night, disrupting your sleep schedule massively.

Cursing Bill under your breath, you creeped down the stairs, hoping that he wouldn't be down there again. You didn't want to have to deal with the eldest Weasley again.

Thanking your lucky stars, you landed on the final step, noting that the first floor was empty. Hoping that the door wouldn't creak when you opened it, you ran towards the small shed out back, grabbing a random broom from it and got ready to fly.

"Y/N?"

You were already mounted on the broom and ready to kick off as that dreaded baritone resounded from the door.

You should have known you weren't that lucky.

Yelling a quick "Nope!", you kicked off and flew out towards the countryside, only looking behind you to see Bill standing in his sleeping pants, hands gesturing out at you in exasperation.

"Now how's that for some good ol' avoidance?"

⚔︎

Though you'd initially planned on flying only for a little bit, seeing Bill at the door really put a damper on your plans, making you decide to fly to a nearby watering hole the Weasleys used to bring you to.

Illuminated by the moonlight, you descended upon the grassy area, smiling at the way the water rippled in the soft night breeze.

Tranquility was what the scene spelt.

In a moment motivated by something you'd come to dub as 'Weasley Whims', i.e the reason the twins had gotten the three of you in trouble constantly, you decided to strip down to your underwear to take a dip in the cool water, abandoning your clothes and wand on a mossy rock nearby.

Taking a running leap, you threw yourself into the water, feeling, for the first time in three days, free. A laugh rippled the waters as you broke through the surface, swimming back over to the edge, only for the laugh to be stolen away as you noticed a shadowed figure land next to your broom.

Bill Weasley was here to ruin your night, yet again.

You let out a strangled scream of frustration as the man alighted from his broom, feet and torso bared to the moonlight.

Clearly, he, like you, had not bothered to dress properly for the impromptu flight.

"Why are you following me."

Your question held no semblance of curiosity, only frustration as you demanded an answer from the man. His answer did not come, only moving towards the water to kneel in front of it, looking down at you.

"Why are you running away from me?"

Wisps of his ginger hair fell forward, covering bits of his handsome face as the rest was carelessly thrown up into a short ponytail, clearly done to prevent his hair from falling into his face during the flight, a precaution that you'd forgotten to take.

"I could ask you the same. Only, it must be a bit harder to hide from someone when they're already hiding from you in the first place, hmm?"

You turned away from the man, diving back down into the depths of the watering hole to kick yourself over to the other side, wanting to do nothing more than swim away from the ginger, or maybe, have him leave you alone and fly back to the burrow, alone.

But of course, fate never let you have your way.

You turned around only to see the man had sat himself down cross-legged, body illuminated by the moonlight as it highlighted the tattoos decorating his forearm, the several scars that littered his chest a sharp white juxtaposing his tanned skin.

"I never ran away from you."

Your head fell back as you tread the water lightly, looking up instead to admire the stars that embellished the night sky, recalling fondly the astronomy classes you'd taken in the past two years as you focused on constellation after constellation, intent on ignoring the man in front of you, hoping your disregard would drive him away.

"Y/N, I'm talking to you."

The words drew a monotone chuckle from you, your eyes snapping to meet Bill's.

"Well that's a first."

Bill moved to stand up, and your heart jumped for a moment. Maybe he would finally leave you alone.

But yet again, luck never did seem to favour Y/N Y/L/N.

Instead of moving further away as you'd thought he would, Bill moved closer, stepping into the shallow of the watering hole, the water soaking the bottom of his pants.

Your eyes darted at the ripple of his abs with every movement, swallowing as your eyes darted to look anywhere else you could. You were not about to find this man attractive.

You could see him coming towards you in your peripherals, and moved back to face him, his pecs the only part of his torso above the water.

"You haven't spoken to me for almost two years, and now you've just got so much to say to me, huh?

Bill looked down into the water, nibbling on his lip as he looked back into your eyes, almost sheepish as he tried to answer.

"I–"

"You know how much that hurt?"

You swam closer towards him, your feet finding ground as you stood next to him, your shoulders bared to the world as you were no longer submerged.

"You were like family to me for almost five years, and then one day. You just fucking stopped. Stopped talking to me. Stopped joking around with me. For a while, you didn't even look at me!"

Your hands came up out of the water, gesturing wildly as you basically screamed at the man, Bill flinching slightly as the water splashed into his face, looking back down at the water again.

Ashamed.

"D'you know how fucked up that was? I had no clue what happened, why one of the people I considered family, one of my favourite people in the world, just fucking despised me all of a sudden."

Bill looked up at you in surprise at your words.

"And you know the worst fucking part?"

Your voice suddenly fell to a hush, almost a whisper as a tear welled in your eye, prompting you to shut them as your head tilted down, urging your breath to slow down.

"The worst part, the worst part was that I thought it was my fault, that it was something I'd done to drive you away. I blamed myself for ages, didn't know what I said, didn't know why you hated me."

"Didn't know why you'd never like me back."

The last part was said in a true whisper, barely audible despite the silent night.

Yet Bill still heard it, and his breath hitched in his throat, eyes searching your face as a tear escaped you, rolling down your cheek.

Unable to restrain himself, Bill's hand darted forward out, cooled by the waters you two found yourself in, a blatant contrast to the warm tear as the pad of his thumb wiped it away.

You flinched away from Bill, feeling vulnerable for the first time that night, coming to the sudden realisation that you were clad only in your underwear, your unintended confession drawing heat to your cheeks as you moved away from the man.

"I, I was afraid."

Bill's own confession halted your movements, making you turn back around to look up at him, confused.

"I–, how do I say this. I was ashamed of myself."

It was now Bill's turn to feel vulnerable, his unease making him shift in the water, the water rippling around the two of you at his movements.

"That winter when you came back here, when you turned sixteen, I started seeing you as more than family. I– I found you attractive, and I felt disgusted with myself."

You huffed, disbelieving of the words you were hearing.

"I'm being serious Y/N. You just, grew up over those few months, and just came back different, somehow. I felt like a predator, I was twenty-three! You were still a kid, and I, I just didn't know what to do anymore."

"I wasn't a kid!"

"Of course you were! You were still in school, I'd been working for five years, I couldn't live with myself feeling like that. I didn't know what to do, so I just, distanced myself. Hoped that the feelings would go away eventually, then I'd just, go back to being normal."

Your eyes scanned the ginger's face, searching for a speck of a lie, a pinch of deception but only found uncertainty, attraction and lust dusting the man's face.

"But you never stopped..."

Your breath stopped for a moment as your eyes met.

"Are you being serious?"

His breath fanned your face as both of you instinctively moved closer towards each other, more of your body exposed to the world as you came further out of the water.

"As serious as I could be Y/N."

Your breath was taken away as Bill leaned in, ghosting his lips over yours, strands of ginger hair falling to tickle your face.

"Can I kiss you?"

A breathless whisper fell from Bill's lips, prompting you to nod in assent, the man falling to capture your lips before you even finished the move.

Sparks flew in that moment, the man's lips gliding over yours as he stole your breath away. You pulled apart after a second, before your lips fell back together again, insatiable in your desire to taste each other.

Bill's tongue teased you, mouth falling open for his teeth to graze at your lower lip, making you gasp such that your lips fell open in the same way, his hand moving to cup your jaw. Taking advantage of your momentary shock, the ginger slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring every nook and cranny of you as you moaned into his lips, pressing your chest against his.

The water waded around you as Bill's left hand moved down your body, fitting snugly under your ass as he muttered a soft 'jump', which you obliged.

Your legs wrapped around the man's hips, Bill walking the two of you onto the soft grass, muttering a charm against your lips before placing you down.

Instead of feeling prickly blades of grass on your skin, a soft blanket had appeared, making you smile, pulling away from the man.

"Quite the romantic, Mr Weasley. Know how to treat a girl right don't you?"

A deep chuckle sounded from the man who hovered above you on his hands and knees, biting his lower lip at the sight of you.

"Only the best for my girl."

Your heart leapt at Bill’s words; were you his now?

Not wanting to dwell on it, to overthink this moment of passion, you pulled his lips back down onto yours.

His girl.

⚔︎

The moon hung high in the night sky as both your hands explored each other, frantic, as if it was your last day on Earth and you only had here and now to envelop yourselves in each other.

The pure animalistic need that pulsed through the two of you allowed no time for foreplay, fingers hooking into the soaking fabrics that clung to both of you.

“Can I?”

Bill fingered the waistband of your underwear, thumb brushing your hip bone with motions feather light, wildly disparate from the way his lips devoured yours hungrily.

One act designed to ruin you, the other almost afraid he’d break you.

“Yes, I need you.”

You deigned to show him just how much by hooking your own fingers into his waistband, soaked pajama pants pulled away to reveal his boxers, clinging to his muscular frame.

Bill responded by undressing you with much of the same vigour, moving to pull your underwear down to your ankles, his pants in very much the same state, gazing down at your soaked private with lust clouding his vision.

“Next time,” he breathed out onto your glistening lips, “I’ll make you cum with just my tongue.”

Your breath hitched at his words, no, his promise, of a next time as Bill made his way back up your body, peppering kisses on your exposed skin, his hard-on grinding against your leg as he moved up.

The cursebreaker’s deft hands unhooked your bra expertly, sucking in a breath as your pert nipples were revealed to him.

“Beautiful.” He mumbled, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

Bill moved to unclothe himself fully, before you stopped his movements, his hands already pulling at the waistband around his hips.

“May, may I?”

He nodded as you sat up, eyes glazed as he studied your body, memorising the way your breasts glistened in the moonlight. He would make it his mission to mark them, to show anyone who came near you that you were no one’s, but his.

You hooked your fingers into his boxers, pulling them down to his thighs at an almost agonising pace as every part of Bill was unveiled to you, standing proudly in the light.

“Are you... a virgin?”

The man above you asked as it dawned upon him. He was really about to have the girl he’d been craving for.

“No, I’m not.”

His jaw clenched at your admission, the thought of someone else’s hands on you ticking him off, before pushing it away.

It didn’t matter. You were with him now.

He nodded, coming back down to kiss you as one hand braced him by your head, the other reaching down to pump himself slowly.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, eyes falling closed as you immerse yourself in him.

Bill’s knee nudged your thighs apart, moving himself so he was lined up against you, hand brushing his cock up and down your lips, causing both of you to shudder.

His head dipped into you, your tight heat causing him to hiss, pausing for a moment to savour the feeling before pushing himself in fully, stopping only once he’d bottomed out.

“Are y’okay?”

You bit your lower lip as Bill moved away from you to scan your face for discomfort or pain. His girth, while not quite painful was definitely bordering on pain, your walls stretching as he filled you entirely.

“Yes, just, one second.”

Your hands gripped his neck, lacing your fingers through the tresses of his hair as you adjusted around him. As the pain receded, you nodded, a silent signal for the man to move.

He carefully pulled out of you, then pushed back in slowly, hands landing by your head to brace himself, testing the waters whilst both of you moaned at the feeling.

“Faster.”

Bill obliged, moving to thrust in and out of you at increasing speeds with each movement. His hips snapped against yours at a speed that could only be described as vicious, eliciting sounds that defiled the tranquil nature you were surrounded by.

You were breathless as the man thrusted in and out of you, his movements only capable of drawing pants and whimpers from your mouth, the activity rendering you a simpleton who knew only two words - ‘Bill’ and ‘please’.

Your climax soon drew close, a coil tightening with his every sound and every move, your body notifying the man above you by the clench of your walls around him, the motion drawing him closer to his own orgasm.

“Are you close baby?”

A nod was all you managed as you threw your head back, Bill’s tip brushing against your g-spot edging you even closer to your precipice.

One of Bill’s hands moved down your body, landing on the bundle of nerves above where the two of you met, rubbing figure eights onto you, making you let out a gasp of surprise as the older man helped you move closer to your orgasm.

His movements didn’t falter as your moans grew louder, seeming instead encouraged by the promise of your climax, your moans growing loud and unabashed.

Each pant of his name made the man groan in return, moving both his fingers and his hips so ferociously that your breasts bounced with each thrust, your back sure to be red and chafed in the morning from the friction against the blanket.

But you didn’t care - the only thoughts you were capable of manifesting was how good it felt to have Bill inside you, how this was the one thing you’d ever needed to feel full, how he never stopped in his stimulation, the way his mouth felt on your nipples - sucking on the skin of your breasts, a reminder that would last of this fleeting night.

As Bill stimulated you with his cock, his fingers, his mouth, you couldn’t hold it in any longer - and you could tell Bill was reaching his breaking point as well - you let out a moan that would awaken the sleeping birds in the tree nearby, a scream of “Bill” that would leave the twins wondering why your voice was hoarse in the morning left you, legs trembling as you released around the man.

Yet he still never relented.

As you rode out your orgasm, your cunt throbbing, Bill never faltered in his actions, hips thrusting into you as he bit into your neck softly, intent on marking you for all to see as his cock twitched inside of you.

With a moan that you could only describe as sinful, yet angelic, a sound that would haunt your dreams and bless your nightmares, teeth grazing your sensitive skin, Bill came into you. Hot stripes of white liquid coating your walls while his thrusts slowed to a stop.

Getting up on trembling hands, Bill hovered above you, exiting you in a slow movement that had you whimpering at the sudden emptiness, your eyes still shut from your post-orgasmic bliss.

Lips pressed onto your forehead, as if Bill was savouring something he didn’t want to lose.

Something you didn’t want to lose either.

⚔︎

The flight back to the Burrow was silent, the two of you side by side as you flew through the wilderness of Ottery St. Catchpole.

When you landed, you looked out onto the nature around you, Bill landing almost immediately after you.

In the distance, you could see the sun readying to rise in the East, colours bleeding into the sky that had been pitch dark save for the spattered stars hours ago.

“Did you regret that?”

The man standing beside you asked after a moment of silence, not daring to meet your eyes as he appeared vulnerable, afraid, feigning an interest in the rising sun.

His muscular arm was what you were faced with as you turned towards him, his tall stature casting a shadow over you. You eyed the red marks you’d left on him, the little reminders scattered on his shoulders and back.

“No. Did you?”

The cursebreaker turned to face you, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched you, scanning your face for the umpteenth time that night.

“Of course not.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, drawing Bill’s gaze down towards them, a small smile telling you he was admiring the slowly darkening marks he’d left on you.

“Then why’d you assume I would’ve?”

He caught his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing on it absentmindedly as he shrugged.

“I dunno. Just assumed you wouldn’t have wanted that with an older man or somethin’, I s’just worried, s’all.”

You inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh as you reached out towards the man, cupping a hand on either side of his chiseled jaw, making him look into your eyes.

“Bill, that was my decision to make. If I didn’t want to have sex with you, I wouldn’t’ve done it. It’s not your place to decide for me whether I wanted it.”

You leaned in to capture his lips in yours; this time deepening the kiss on your terms, slipping your tongue into his mouth and savouring his taste.

Cinnamon, with a hint of mint and tobacco.

You pulled away, tracing your lips to the sweet spot under his ear, sucking softly before turning to whisper in his ear.

“I wanted it, and I’ve wanted you for longer than you could have known.”

part two out now x

#mine #writing #request #bill weasley #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley angst #bill weasley smut #bill weasley fluff #harry potter fluff #harry potter imagine #harry potter angst #harry potter smut #bill weasley imagine #hp angst #hp imagine #hp fluff #hp smut

1K notes · View notes

embrassemoi · 4 years ago

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 10

Pairings: Sirius Black x [F]Reader, Remus Lupin x [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors, introducing more Marlene, unreliable narrative-ish Author’s notes: Ngl, I had to rush this one.

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 9: One Hundred and Fifty Points

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

November rolled around signifying the start of the new Quidditch season. Inside the great hall was flooded with the smell of sausages and fried eggs along with the cheerful chatter of students looking forward to the first match.

Gryffindor and Slytherin were the first teams set to play and their relationship had never been so tense until now; even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who liked to join in on the playful raillery decided not to participate.

Whenever a Gryffindor was to pass by the Slytherin table to get to their respective seats or simply walk through the entrance, a hassle of insults and boos would follow and vice versa.

While both houses had their own tactics to mess with each other, the Slytherins had tactics that transpired off the pitch and were brought into daily life. It was a smart move, and some of the newer Gryffindor players allowed it to bother them even before stepping foot onto the field. The insults built over the past couple of years, largely because Gryffindor had yet to lose a single game since James joined the team a little over three years ago.

And since James was newly appointed captain, they were relentless.

In the days leading up to the match, whenever Y/N accompanied James through the halls, whispers of childish remarks like, “I bet Potty is going to go to the potty after Talkalot throws him off his broom,” and other insults follow him, varying from his abilities or his capability to lead his team to victory.

Despite the relentless jeers, James managed to take them in stride, constantly donning a bright smile. Not once had it wavered him or chilled his blood. If anything, he took it as a compliment and even bounced off of it with a witty response. A few times, he even repeated the insult, announcing it loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear before turning the joke on them.

But today, he finally cracked. Marlene, who joined the team last year as a chaser, was beyond ecstatic while James’ smile was non-existent. It was fairly evident to everyone who knew him that his smile and body language faked confidence in an attempt to mask nervousness.

As his first year as captain, James had an extreme burden on his shoulders. Stakes were at an all-time high to continue the three-year-long title holder of the Quidditch cup. He was under a constant microscope. Everyone was curious to see how James led his team. Not only did he have to prove his abilities as a leader but was also in jeopardy of staying captain for next year. His status depended on these games.

Additionally, the potential loss would be devastating. James was not the first pick as captain for this year. Charlie Bell, a seventh year, was supposed to take his place with James coaching the year after he left, but Bell stepped down, preferring to spend his time focusing on NEWT revisions. Although due to his time studying, Bell’s abilities were admittedly sloppy and began to worry James as he was not up to his standards.

Although in Y/N’s (biased) opinion, James had nothing to worry about.

He insisted on daily practices ever since try-outs were held in early September. It was even hard to catch Marlene who’d been James’ left-hand man of sorts. Today, the two players woke up bright and early in preparation for the first game. They woke up at six o’clock in the morning, to Marlene’s dismay, and went for a light jog and a quick exercise. The rest of the Gryffindor team was there and went over their ground plan again.

Y/N had seen a few of their practices to support them and bring any food incase they missed breakfast or dinner. James was absolutely merciful. Like any good captain, he listened and attended to the needs of his players, but he held Marlene’s opinion higher than the rest.

Rumours floated around the two and she was excited to see if they held true. Both players had become great partners and were almost unstoppable on the field. Because of this, it was highly anticipated that Gryffindor was going to win, especially with how gruelling James’ coaching methods were compared to former captains. Bets were placed ranging from Knuts, Sickles and Galleons.

Due to the overwhelming pressure, James was at a loss for words, for once. His anxiety spiked and the only person who could talk any sense into was Marlene; both sharing an odd, yet special bond.

Even in the days leading up, Mcgonagall, who she’d found out was very gifted and a huge fan of the sport, took notice of his unusual and quiet behaviour. McGonagall let loose, avoiding giving out homework for the week. She had even opted to avoid giving James any.

It was quite clear McGonagall had a soft spot for the marauders, often letting them do as they pleased while at harshest, taking away house points and sparingly handing them detentions. James, of course, had been using this to his advantage as he pleaded to give the entire Gryffindor team no homework using the famous ‘but we have practice!’ excuse.

When she arrived in the hall with Dorcas, the moment they walked through the entrance, the Slytherin table booed in their direction but was rivalled with a thunderous welcome from the Gryffindor table. Everyone in sight wore red and gold.

James had a vice-grip on Quidditch Through the Ages while in the other hand, tried but failed, to shovel potatoes in his mouth. Marlene sat on his left, reviewing several techniques they could use last minute that the Slytherins may not expect coming. They were already wearing their jerseys. Plastered on Marlene’s chest in bright yellow was the number 6 while James was 7. Their uniforms were identical aside from the pin on James’ shirt that caught everyone’s attention. A shiny new captain’s badge sitting proudly on his chest.

Both were talking to each other rapidly, barely registering their friends sitting down beside them.

“Don’t be thick,” said Marlene, “This is going to work. Stop second-guessing.”

“I’m mental. Abso-fucking-bloody-mental … What was I thinking?”

“Potter,” she scolds, “get it together. Now, in about an hour, we’re going to be walking on the pitch. We’ve practiced for hours — days even — much more than the Slytherins have. You were made captain for a reason and we have back-up plans. We’re beyond ready.”

He sighs, taking a deep inhale. “Okay… Okay.”

Within a few seconds, the air around him shifts and James' assertive and authoritative side takes over. “What were you suggesting earlier?”

“We have to go underneath and cut them off. Trust me, they won’t expect it.”

“Where do you want me?”

“What broom model do you have?”

“Nimbus 1984.”

Marlene scoffs, “Should’ve known, Mr. ‘Trust fund’ Potter. Anyway, yours is the fastest and newest — ought to be the first one to cut ‘em. Lead the way.”

James stops to ponder before bobbing his head in agreement, “Sounds good, but Bell?”

“— do you think he can do it?”

“Not sure. Maybe he will once the rush comes — no — we can use him as a decoy then.”

The sudden uproar of cheers and boos of both Gryffindors and Slytherins attempting to drown each other reached the table’s ears again, James looked down at his lap. Even Marlene’s leg started bouncing up and down.

Lily was about to make a harmless jab before Marlene’s eyes shot up to her, shaking her head warningly.

James was truly losing his shit inside and out.

“Mental,” he grumbles out. He barely registers his body move on its own accord. Marlene followed his lead, getting up with him before his attention was drawn back to everyone in front of him.

“You coming, right? Gotta see my moves,” James tries to joke, looking at Y/N.

“She better or I’ll drag her onto the field.” Marlene cuts in. Judging by the burning look in her eyes, Marlene was far from joking.

“Of course I will.” She then directs the next sentence mostly to James, “You’re going to crush them.”

A nod of approval comes from both players. Marlene’s chest puffs out from the praise, even going as far to dramatically flick her hair over her shoulder while James seems to relax considerably.

“Of course we are. You are talking to the King of Quidditch.”

“Hem hem — and queen!”

“My bad — and queen. We’re going to win.” It was nice seeing his arrogant side back.

“Pff— that’s not even a question,” Marlene says, “I’d rather fling my body off a tower if we lose this game.”

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

At eleven o’clock sharp, the entire school sat in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. From there, she could smell the fresh-cut grass, filling the air as cold steel filtered through her lungs. It was refreshing and tickled the inside of her nose. The seats were raised high, a warming charm placed on them, courtesy of Flitwick.

Flakes of dewey frost coated the field and stands. The wind howled as a few brooms whipped back and forth, checking to see if everything was in proper condition before the start of the game. Unfortunately for the players, stormy grey clouds were raised high and there was a high risk of rain or snow. It surely was going to make catching the Golden Snitch harder.

All the girls were there to support Marlene. Lily and Dorcas went all out and brought a huge poster. Streaks of red and gold were painted underneath their eyes as leftover gold tinsel from the Halloween party was woven into Lily’s hair. Many other students also held large signs, waving flags; even Y/N and Mary had binoculars secured around their necks.

A large lion was charmed onto the sign, moving back and forth before opening its mouth to roar. In bold letters, it read Gryffindor’s Weapon, McKinnon! Dorcas placed another charm on so the letters interchanged between red and gold, flashing similar to a new-maj diner sign.

Madam Hooch stood in the middle of the pitch. In a flash, the two teams came out, shouldering their brooms in a single file line from two hidden doors beneath the stands. At the front, the team’s respective captains led them to the middle. A deafening applause greeted them. Some players even waved back to the crowd for louder cheers.

A few rows down, sitting in the very front was Sirius and Peter, rapidly waving their arms around and cheering. Peter bent down, pulling up a sign that read Potter’s Preeminence . Even with the distance, Y/N could hear Sirius’ screaming. He wore a paper mache lion head while Peter wore the body of a lion.

‘YOU GOT THIS PRONGS! FUCKING CRUSH THEIR TINY LITTLE SNAKE BONES— LET’S GO GRYFFINDOR, LET’S GO WOOWOO!”

What caught her eye was Remus’ absence. She was under the impression that he and James were close friends, so surely he would have been there in support knowing that this game was immensely important to him.

Back on the field, the captains shook their hands. James’ head was held high, determined not to break eye contact first. However, the other captain simply smirked and leant in to whisper something in his ear before Hooch scolded her. When she pulled back, Y/N could hardly see James’ expression but she managed to catch a small glimpse.

He looked, well, she didn't know what his expression meant. Angry? Nervous? Annoyed?

This was her cue, “DON’T LET THEM GET TO YOU JAMES!” She shouted so loud that it managed to travel down to him. Sirius’ head whipped back, even looking appreciative at her encouragement.

James managed to hear and his head perked up. His head swivelled towards her, his frown wiped off as his confidence returned. Behind him, Marlene looked up to the stands and Y/N, along with the other girls, shot her a thumbs up.

Madam Hooch continued to give her speech. James looked determined, his head tilting towards Marlene as they nodded to each other in encouragement. Y/N was unfamiliar with the rest of the Gryffindor and Slytherin players, but surprisingly, Regulus Black was standing there. Unlike the other warm brown and golden brooms, Regulus’s broom was black, accented with silver metal. An odd mark was engraved on the widest part of the base.

Due to the distance, it was hard to make out what was engraved or what position he played before Madam Hooch grabbed her silver whistle, which was comically too big.

“Mount your brooms,” she said, the entire crowd hearing. She lifted the whistle to her mouth and gave a loud blast. The game began.

Fifteen brooms flew high into the air. The clouds covering a couple of players passing by.

The announcer’s voice fills the air. “Anddd we’re off! Gryffindor’s newest captain, James Potter, 7, has the Quaffle and— he passes it to Charlie Bell, 2. This is his last year on the team so everyone give him a loud cheer— he sends the Quaffle back to Potter— and he passes it over to Marlene McKinnon, 6, and— no— the Slytherins swiped the Quaffle! Captain Emma Vanity, 21, flies away and she dives— she passes it to Rhys Calwald, also a seventh year— McKinnon comes back and takes it! She’s— a Gryffindor is down! Bell was hit by a Bludger and— he’s back up, perfectly fine— Potter is by the goalpost and blocks off the Slytherins, speeding up. Above, Phoebe Dawson, 1, joined as the Gryffindors newest seeker. She’s high in the clouds, neck and neck with Regulus Black, 8, Slytherin’s seeker and— there’s a clear shot to search for the Snitch. The Quaffle is taken by Bell and— Slytherin’s chaser takes it! Chaser Lucinda Talkalot, 4— their beater bats it away from an incoming Bludger— Talkalot is rounding on Gryffindor’s goalpost— she’s close, Vanity is there— she dives— she shoots— and… and— SLYTHERIN SCORES!”

Gryffindors groan while Slytherin cheers and wave their signs higher. A roar of claps goes around.

Now Lily is screaming, her hands are stretched out, waving her large sign above her head, blocking the unlucky students sitting behind her. “THAT WAS ONLY TEN POINTS! GET THEM MARLS— YES! LOOK AT THAT DIVE!”

Down below, Peter and Sirius are mirroring Lily. "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT POTTER?! COME ON WE KNOW YOU CAN GET EM! YOU'RE DOING AMAZING! FUCKING CRUSH THEM!"

Y/N grabbed her binoculars, bringing them to her eyes. Marlene was high up, open for James who had the Quaffle tucked under his arm. He does not look over to her, but rather looks at Bell before he throws it to her, his eyes still trained on Bell. Marlene catches it and from the trick James pulled, she has an extra few seconds before the Slytherins catch her. Marlene speeds away as a Bludger is directed at her. Luckily, one of Gryffindor’s beaters already flung it away as Charlie came rushing close to Marlene’s side, warding off any Slytherins as best as he could.

The commentator cuts in again. “Gryffindor is back in possession of the Quaffle. McKinnon and Bell are flying closer to the goalpost—Slytherin's keeper is standing tall at their net, Ashworth, 3— they’re speeding towards— look! It’s the Snitch!”

The two seeker’s heads shot up. A low murmur spreads through the crowd as they caught sight of a flash of gold. Only for a second, they saw the little ball, its wings fluttering madly before it disappeared back into the clouds.

Slytherin directs a Bludger towards Phoebes before Gryffindor’s beater comes rushing up to swat it away.

Gryffindor still is under the possession of the Quaffle. Marlene and Charlie have been passing it back and forth while James comes back around. His body is pressed close to his broom. He does a funny hand movement, signalling to the rest of the chasers before they swoop down suddenly. Everyone is confused and Charlie is flying in the opposite direction, some of the Slytherins follow him before Marlene passes the Quaffle at James and shoots.

"— GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

Another round of cheers echoes through Gryffindor’s side. Lily’s clapping slowed. She wanted to show support for Marlene, her house, but not for James. As the Quaffle is sent back up to the air, James and Marlene high-five each other discreetly before returning to their positions.

The Slytherins rush back towards Gryffindors goalpost; they're zigzagging through the air, violent swishes to avoid chasers from cutting them off again.

"Slytherin's in possession. Vanity is on Talkalot's right— passes it to her— shots— misses! Talkalot gets another rebound—

Y/N's attention is drawn back to the seekers. A beater is rapidly swatting away Bludgers as Phoebe is neck and neck with Regulus. Her eyes are stuck through the binoculars.

All of the sudden, a Bludger collided hard with James' broom, so strongly that Y/N swore a chip of wood was knocked off. His broom vibrates hard but his grip is still secured tightly to prevent bucking off. The Bludger was so close to his face that for a split second everyone thought it might've broken his nose. The crowd was cheering on intently while Sirius and Peter screamed.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?"

"FOUL!" Madam Hooch yelled. Gryffindor gets a free score on Slytherins goalpost. Marlene is the one to score.

"NICE JOB MARLS!" Lily bellows. Her voice is high-pitched and cuts through the air loud enough that Marlene looks over and gives a thumbs up.

By now, Slytherin has scored eleven times while Gryffindor was merely in the lead by ten points. Slytherin was rapidly gaining on them. Vanity and Talkalot were great at their positions.

"Gryffindors in possession! Bell’s got the Quaff— a Bludger is coming towards Potter again—” The iron ball was barrelling towards him, again. A beater shouted, warning him before James zoomed across the field as fast as he could. A beater trailed after him and swatted it away, narrowly avoiding being hit.

James ducked as another Bludger was rocketed in his direction.

"— BLOCKED! YEAH, SCUMBAGS — Sorry McGonagall!— Bell is gaining on the Slytherins and aiming at Ashworth. McKinnon is seconds behind— the seekers spotted the Golden Snitch!"

There was an edge of panic that soared through everyone’s hearts as both of the seekers dived down so fast that the chasers and beaters had to move out of their way. It was neck and neck, both flattened to their broom and the crowd only saw the glimpse of golden sparkles. Both reached out their hands.

It was only then a Bludger hit the back of Phoebe's broom, similar to James, causing her to lunge forward and off her broom.

Both seekers were laid on the ground. Everyone peered at the crash worried about their safety before Regulus lifted his hand, waving it above his head.

"I got the Snitch!" Regulus pants out.

James came rushing down to his teammate's side to make sure they weren't badly injured. He screamed for Madam Hooch.

After careful deliberation, Hooch ultimately decided that Slytherin won, awarding them the extra one hundred and fifty points. Gryffindor lost by thirty points.

"That was an illegal Bludger attack!" Marlene says.

"What the fuck?! That's rubbish!" Sirius screamed. Mary, Lily, Dorcas and Y/N groaned with the rest of the Gryffindors. The Slytherins chanted, waving their banners around and screaming as the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws clapped.

“Bell shoulda been cap, what were they thinking, picking the so-called King of Quidditch!” The Slytherins sang.

James, while still upset at the ruling, was more upset at his team member’s pain. Nobody knew what happened, but James seemed to leave Phoebe's side once he knew she was okay and stormed off in the direction of Vanity. Marlene grabbed a hold of his uniform to pull him back.

“James, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She seethes into his ear, "Don’t start muggle duelling!"

“Are you fucking joking?” He bits back, “I’m not going to hit a woman!”

“Then calm down now.”

Whatever it was, James felt himself cool down considerably as he looked to Marlene. “Right, sorry. Just wanted to talk some sense into her.”

“Dreadful temper you’ve got there Potter.” Vanity spits out. She walks up to him, a pitiful smile on her.

“You need to keep your beaters in check,” he spits. Sparks fly from his nose as he marches back to Phoebe. By now, Madam Pomfrey has her laid back on a stretcher. James helps her, picking up the other end and walking back through the hidden doors. The team shuddered, trailing after them.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

It was a devastating blow for Gryffindor. Everywhere Y/N looked, angry or disappointed faces would pop up. The team themselves were dejected while the Slytherins have begun planning a party.In the halls, students that made bets disappointedly slapped money it into the palms of students.

Nobody had seen James for hours. He’d left right after the game and all the marauders had disappeared, only reappearing for dinner. Only Sirius and Peter were at the table.

“— We were so close,” said Marlene numbly. “It must have accounted for something, using an illegal move like that.”

“You did amazing, it’s not your fault.” Lily cuts in, patting her on the shoulder.

“Now Potter is going to be ruthless for the next practices.”

A roar of laughter came from the Slytherins, a song chanting from their lips.

“Potter can hardly score a goal, he almost plummeted on the floor! He calls himself the King of Quidditch, well we call him the second option! Bell shoulda been cap, what were they thinking, picking the so-called King of Quidditch!”

“Shut it!” Sirius yelled, “You cheated! Bunch of gits.”

“Knock it off!” Followed Peter.

“Potter can hardly score a goal, he almost plummeted on the floor!"

Marlene cringes, watching the scene play out. Her grip on her fork tightens that for a moment Y/N thought she would have shattered the metal pieces. “They already won, what more do they want? A bunch of ugly toads...”

“Just ignore them,” Dorcas says. Marlene looked back at her, smiling reassuringly but with effort.

“He calls himself the king of Quidditch, well we call him the second option!”

“I don’t even like him,” Lily says dully, “But this… this is just mean.”

“Bell shoulda been cap, what were they thinking, picking the so-called King of Quidditch!”

No wonder James skipped dinner. Y/N turns her head to look at Sirius and Peter, both upset. A thought passes, perhaps it would be good to see how James was doing, but a small seed of doubt settled in her. If his best friends weren’t with him, then it probably would be better to leave him alone. But starving himself shouldn’t be the other option. As the Slytherins continued to sing, with teachers and prefects starting to get up to stop them, Y/N grabbed a nearby empty plate before piling on spaghetti and bread along with slipping a few utensils in her pockets. She excused herself, nodding to Marlene for comfort and slipping her way out effortlessly as teachers swamped the Slytherin table.

The common room was empty aside from James who was huddled up with his invisibility cloak, staring miserably out a window. Only his head was visible, the rest covering his body. It made her feel a bit queasy.

The fireplace crackled with every step she took. There were a few options Y/N could broach this situation,

She could walk around him like there were eggshells,

Or treat him normally.

She sat down beside him, a bit unsure, handing him his plate. His gaze moves to her, a quick smile flashes.

“Thanks.” He says, taking it from her. He ate in silence for a while, Y/N deciding to talk to fill the silence.

“I was thinking we should play exploding snaps-”

“Hey, look, “ he cuts off fast, nodding stiffly. His smile faded and a hard edge crept in his voice, “you don't have to try and cheer me up—”

“Relax, I’m not here to baby you. You’re doing that already.”

A small huff of amusement comes out, “Well then, mind if I play with you?”

“Of course!”

Whenever James won, and quite honestly he wasn’t the best, he’d make a small whooping sound. Even a few times she lost purposely so he would win.

That is until he spoke again, almost inaudible “You know… I care what people think of me- well certain people and I let them down today.”

“James, you didn’t.”

“I did —”

“Nobody is mad at you. If anything they’re mad at Madam Hooch.”

“Still,” he looked down embarrassed. “What are they saying about me down there?”

Her brain short-circuited for a moment; he would have to find out eventually. “They’re singing.”

“Great.” Although he didn’t look bothered, just annoyed. However, he gained a rush of enthusiasm with his next sentence, “Whatever, I’ll show them next year.”

A few games later, James left before the swarm of students came back to the common room. Again, he covered himself with the cloak and disappeared into the hallway. The spring in his step was noticeably lighter.

111 notes · View notes

show-choir-gal · 4 years ago

Text

“Amortentia” Marcus Flint Imagine

Guide: Y/N = Your Name Y/F/F = Your Favourite Flower

Word count: 6,933

Wow, this was so much longer than what I normally write but I am in love with Marcus Flint soooooo... I hope you all can enjoy this because I put in a lot of time and effort to make this great! Don't forget to send in ideas or requests! I want to be able to write more and just more of what y'all would like to see!

*************

I was one year behind Flint, but one year ahead of Adrien Pucey who was my next door neighbour. My older brother Duncan was best friends with Adrien's second eldest brother and so naturally him and I became friends. My brother was such a huge Quidditch nerd and that passed down to me, so I always heard about their practices and games. The family even went to a few of the Hogwarts games. My eldest brother was already off playing Quidditch with the Falmouth Falcons and well on his way into earning a spot on the Irish National Quidditch Team. Despite my big-ish family, there was just three kids in total; my eldest brother Cillian, followed by Duncan, and then me... the only girl. I was definitely the favourite, being not just the youngest but the only girl. I was beloved, and it wasn't any different when I got my acceptance letter from Hogwarts.

It was September 1st, my first day going to the school everyone in my family had attended before I. We said our goodbye, despite the gross stares from the more "traditional" and "good" wizarding families. Mum was crying as she hugged my 11 year old body, not wanting to let go so I didn't grow up. Dad eventually pulled her up and Duncan promised to always make sure I was okay. He WANTED me to be his shadow, something not many would believe. He had a moral obligation to protect me, an obligation I didn't quite understand until later in my life. Both of us made our way to what Duncan called the "Slytherin Car". He held the door open for me, and all I saw were many clad in green robes, scarves, and hats. I was in awe when my thoughts were swiftly interrupted. "Oi, Blackwell. No first years in the car." A black haired boy hollered from our left side of the car. "Piss off Flint, we all know you would've came in your pants to be here last year," Duncan stated, "C'mon, I sit in the back." I followed suit as my brother shoved people out of the way to get to his usual seat, but not before both of us shot that boy a glance that made him turn paler than he already was. All I could hear behind me were taunts and laughs being hurled at this boy. My brother and I sat and his friends quickly took me under their wings. I was quickly becoming their favourite as well. The Sorting Ceremony was well off, and my name was suddenly called. The entire dining hall fell silent, then whispers. I took my seat on the stool and McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on my head. "Ah yes, a Blackwell. I could simply sort you Slytherin...but that would be too easy, wouldn't it?" the hat started. My brother was intently staring in my direction. "The brilliant wit of a Ravenclaw, I suppose you'll be the brightest witch in your year... Or perhaps Gryffindor, you would make a brilliant Gryffindor..." My brothers eyes widened at the words the hat was saying, a Blackwell has never been anything except Slytherin. "My my dear, you are one big puzzle for a first year." The hat was pensive, contemplating everything placed before them. This ordeal of analysing intently went on for about six and a half minutes. Duncan was gripping the table and bouncing his leg. "My dear you stumped me, but no matter which house you'd be put in, they would be extremely lucky to have you to their name, but alas I have finally made a decision... SLYTHERIN!" The Slytherin table erupted in cheers, my brother and his friends were the first to shoot up from the table. McGonagall took the hat off of my head and I made my way to sit beside my brother as he hugged me and the table couldn't keep their glee under control. My first year went off without a hitch, but I always had to hear my brother and his friends complain about the boy named Flint. He made the Quidditch team and just annoys everyone. According to the boys, he really tries to get with every girl he can. We were all talking about Quidditch and school around the fireplace in the common room. Suddenly Flint walked in with a smug look on his face, the boys just laughed in a tone of unison, they knew what he just finished up doing. My brother smirked and looked at me, "I can't wait for you to be a second year so you can make the Quidditch team and put Flint in his place more than you do already." My brother said as he sent a wink to Flint whose smile faded from his face. "At least I'm not a shadow to my family, unlike *her*." Flint said gesturing to me Duncan was ready to say something but I shot back, "At least I don't look like I'm half troll. Do the girls only talk to you because they feel bad?" I replied with a look of "concern" on my face, my lips lowering into a sarcastic frown. The boys around me started to giggle. "Believe it or not, girls actually want ~this~" Flint replied, gesturing to himself. "With teeth like yours, I wouldn't want to even think about snogging you." I replied as I cocked my eyebrow. The boys around me bursted into laughter as Flint became flustered. "Flint you better leave before you get burned more. We wouldn't want to see you have to go to Madam Pomfrey to treat those burns." Duncan said before he laughed harder than before. Flint rushed to his dorm. Laughter grew and grew from all of us, filling the common room with loud hoots and hollers. This won't be the last Flint will try to rile me up.

Second year came around but this time I was happily accompanied by Adrien. I brought Adrien to the Slytherin car to meet with both your brothers. I opened the door and made my way to the two sixth years. I made eye contact with Flint, who opened his mouth to say something but I beat him to it. "Shut it Flint or this luggage will be the first thing to ever touch your troll arse." I spit in his direction as I dragged Adrien behind. Adrien was awestruck, clearly thinking his brothers vastly dimmed down how amazing this place is. At the Sorting Ceremony, Adrien was eventually called up and was immediately sorted into Slytherin. I thought it was odd how easy it was from him to be sorted, reminiscing on how I was sorted the previous year. Adrien took the seat next to me and eventually the feast began. Now all I wanted was for Quidditch tryouts to commence. Adrien's brother was named Captain for the Slytherin Quidditch Team last year, and he quickly took Duncan as his Co-Captain. I knew that had to work twice as hard to make the team with them. Duncan told mum when the trials were, so naturally, she and dad bought us new brooms. A few days before trials, we were all at breakfast and all the owls started flying in with mail for their respective students. Suddenly, Duncan and I's owls come flying at us with two big boxes. Our owls brought them to us. Duncan wanted to open his first, so I waited patiently as he looked for a note. "We're so proud of you sweetheart! Keep doing well on the pitch! P.S you're one of the first owners of this broom in the whole wizarding word" the note stated. He tore into the package and pulled out a Firebolt. All eyes were on my brother, who was absolutely in love with this gift. "There's only about four produced right now... and I have one of them!" Duncan said with glee. Adrien shifted his attention to me, "Open yours! We all want to see yours!" A smile grew on my face as I also looked for a note, which I eventually found, "We know you'll be a great Quidditch player just like your brothers! We bought you this exotic broom, which only the best Quidditch players have at the moment. Daddy and I love you so incredibly much sweetheart! Don't forget to let us know how trials go!" I delicately opened the package, and inside laid a Cleansweep Eleven. "A Cleansweep Eleven! Pat, your role model has this exact model!" Adrien stated with excitement. Pat was looking over at the beautiful broom I held, "Bloody hell, it's more beautiful in person." Patrick said as he practically drooled over my broom. Duncan smiled at me and motioned to the broom, "We all knew you were the favourite, you didn't need to rub it in the whole schools face." he let out a chuckle. "Oh please you two, the whole school knows you two are the favourites." Pat said with a slight chuckle. Flint got up and made his way to us, "Money can't buy skill Y/N. There's not chance that you'll make the team even with that beautiful broom." Duncan and Patrick almost said something, but I beat them to it, "But money CAN buy better teeth, I think you should invest," I said as I got up to look him in the eyes, "Oh and have fun getting your arse beat on the pitch by a girl with NATURAL talent." I finished as I made my way to my dorm to place my broom on my bed. It was the day of trials, Adrien came down to support me and I headed to the locker room with my broom to put on a uniform. Once we were all changed and ready, we headed onto the pitch. I looked around and saw I was the only girl. Everyone at trials started to size me up, trying to seem bigger than they were. "No wonder girls aren't at trials. These boys are trying to intimidate..." I thought to myself. The two captains were now in front of us, arms crossed as they waiting for everyone to stop chatting. "I'm the Captain here for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, Patrick Pucey." "I'm Co-Captain, Duncan Blackwell." "Right, so we're looking for a few new members of the team. We're highly competitive and we're not scared to put up a fight. Is there anyone with second thoughts?" Pat said as he looked around the crowd. "I think Y/N might, being the only girl might be too much for her girly heart." Flint said with a smirk, gaining laughs from a few of the boys at the tryouts. "I think you might have second thoughts when your arse ends up in Madam Pomfrey's because a GIRL played Quidditch better than you." I spit back as I cocked an eyebrow. "That's enough you two," Pat started but Duncan finished Pats sentence, "Save it for the pitch." Flint and I glared at each other, but I turned my attention back to the two captains. "Right," Started Duncan, "We have four spots open on the team and two substitute positions that need filling. We're looking for one beater, one chaser, one seeker, and one keeper...along with two substitutes for any position." "Raise your hand for which position you would like, you can tryout for more than one position." Patrick said as he paced around us. "Chaser...Flint put your hand down you're already on the team." Duncan said in a stern voice, Patrick counting out loud and jotting their numbers down. "Keeper." My brother said, more people raised their hands. My brother looked directly at me, "Beater." He said, I raised my hand. A few laughs broke out from some of the boys...including Flint. I shot him a look that could kill, he immediately stopped and faced my brother. "Seeker" I was lost in my own world, I finally somewhat understood what, and who, my brother was always complaining about. "I will make Flint eat his words." I thought, but was taken out of my thoughts by Patrick clearing his throat, "Alright, we have enough people to form two teams. We will play a game against each other, then we will figure out where to go from there. Duncan and I will play on different teams, so we can compare notes later." My brother chose Flint and another sixth year as chaser, and he chose the rest of his team. Patrick chose me and the rest of those here at trials. We each made our way to our respective places on the pitch, Pat took me aside and quietly said, "Don't kill the kid. We do need him on the team." I nodded and got into my spot, Pat put the balls in the air and we were off. Boys were trying to show off. Either to freak me out or "flirt" with me, I'm not sure which. The beater on the opposing team sent me a wink, my brother noticed and hit him upside the head. Patrick sent him a glare. The game was going well, I was hitting bludgers left and right. I performed a few Bludger Backbeats which stunned some of the boys, but this was not the time to take the compliment. We were so close to ending when Flint got all up in my business. "You got a lot of talent, but girls never make the team. Have fun just watching from the stands." He said in a mocking tone. "This is nothing compared to how I normally play." I spat back, trying to get out of the way but Flint kept moving with me. "Is that so? Do you normally play in a skirt and have a big bow in your ha-" He didn't get to finish before I performed a Transylvanian Tackle, which made him flinch and I made my escape just in time to get a bludger away from Patrick. My teams seeker caught the snitch, and we all landed and Flint made a big fuss. "She hit me!" "I did not! I performed a Transylvanian Tackle, a fake punch to the nose. As long as no contact was made it's not illegal. See, no marks on my knuckle." I shot my hand out for Patrick to inspect. He inspected my hand intensely before saying, "No contact was made. Flint, go to the locker room, we don't need you anymore." Flint wanted to say something but my brother shot him the same look I gave him earlier and he trudged into the locker room. Duncan and Patrick whispered back and forth before Pat faced us and said, "We saw a lot of potential here today, so this won't be an easy decision. Duncan and I will be comparing notes and will post the team line up by breakfast outside the dining hall. Good luck." We all headed back to the locker room to change. I put my broom with my brothers and headed back to find Adrien. We locked eyes and he ran and gave me a hug. "You did amazing! I know you'll make the team!" He said with a gigantic smile going across his face. "Aww thank you," I said as I ruffled his hair, "It wasn't the best I've played but I gave it my all." Just as Adrien was about to say something, we were sandwiched between two red headed boys. "Absolutely brilliant Y/N. I'm Fred by the way." "I'm George. You were brilliant, especially giving ol' Flint a Transylvanian Tackle." "We're Gryffindors beaters. Good luck!" They said in unison as they left us as fast as they appeared. Adrien and I just looked at each other and shrugged. We headed to dinner and then to study in the library. He was already stuck on a few concepts, so I was helping him out and I was doing my homework in the mean time. Once I finished my homework, he started his and I helped whenever needed. Once he finished we made it back to our common room and said our goodnights to each other and headed our separate ways. The morning sun woke me up bright and early, I got ready for the day and headed to breakfast when Adrien came sprinting down the corridor in my direction. He swiftly stopped, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me behind him. "What is going on?!" I questioned. "The list is out. I had to get you before I even peaked at the list." He replied. We eventually found our way to the crowd that was located around a piece of paper be the doors of the dining hall. Adrien pushed me into the crowd and I shoved myself the rest of the way and I looked at the list. Chasers: Marcus Flint, Duncan Blackwell, Mark O'Connor Keeper: Miles Bletchley Beaters: Patrick Pucey, Y/N Blackwell Seeker: Terence Higgs My eyes widened, "I made it!" I yelled and shoved and got to Adrien before yelling again, "I made it!" Adrien and I hugged as we both eyed Flint getting into the crowd, we made our way to our seats and started to eat breakfast. We were soon joined by Duncan and Patrick, Duncan gave me a big hug and sat down beside me and then Pat shook my hand. "You were truly brilliant on the pitch! I didn't know you had that in you kiddo!" My brother said as he took a big bite of his eggs. "I didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't that. You might be a better beater than I am! Oh and thanks for not killing ol' Fl-" He made eye contact with someone behind me, "Flint." "Oh you only wish you could kill me. But a casanova like ~this~ can't be killed. Congratulations on making the team though, hopefully you won't chicken out once we actually start. See you on the pitch." He said arrogantly as he walked away towards a group of girls fawning over him. "I thought he hated Duncan, but you might be the new target." Pat said as him and Duncan were chuckling. "He'll regret it one of these days. Just wait and see." I replied as Adrien and I continued our conversation and finished breakfast and headed to our classes. I definitely felt like Flint's new target, but that didn't stop me from firing back at him. Flint found every excuse to shoot some sort of insult at me, but I just kept deflecting them or sending them back his way.

The year ended and my parents were off doing "business" so Duncan and I were being looked after by the Pucey's. We had a great half of the summer holiday with them, but we were definitely eager to see our parents again. They asked us about everything, and boy, did we tell them everything.

Third year came around and it wasn't much different, except Patrick was recruited early and was already playing for the National Irish Quidditch Team, which made Duncan the new team captain! I was so proud of them both, but even more proud that Adrien was now on the Quidditch team as a chaser alongside my brother. Flint didn't let up on the insults that flew my way.

Fourth year was quite the same as before, my brother was recruited for the Kenmare Kestrels, which have been my favourite team since I was a wee little girl. Miles was awarded Captain and I was co-captain. I was asked to be captain but I declined, I wanted to play the game. I'm still so young. But this year he seemed to get even more girls than he did before, how, I don't entirely know nor do I really want to. But by the end of the year, he had bragged about his body count being "through the roof" which didn't phase me one bit, until he dragged me into that conversation at dinner a few days before we were heading back home for the summer, "Oi, Y/N. You paying attention? How many people have you slept with?!" He practically screamed. "Unlike you Flint, I actually care about who I sleep with." "Who have you slept with?!" Adrien asked, puzzled. "No one." I spat back. "No wonder you're so stressed. No one wants to sleep with you." Flint said with a pouty face. "That's hilarious, because as soon as my brother left, all your boys kept asking me to sleep with them. A lot of people want me to sleep with them, emphasis on WANT. You probably beg until you get a yes. Now piss off Flint." I said and looked at all their faces that dropped, Flint looked around and found that it was all true just from looking at his friends expressions. The year ended, I had the highest marks in the school, it was the perfect end to a great year.

Fifth year was starting great, except I was co-captain to Flint. As much as we didn't like each other, we had to make this work for the sanctity of our team. One practice I saw a girl in the stands, making googly eyes in Flints direction, I flew to where he was. "Who is that in the stands?" I asked, trying to show some kindness. "Why do you care?" "I was trying to be nice, but that is now thrown out the window. I don't but I'm curious. Who is she?" "She's my girlfriend." "Oh wow, you snagged a permanent one? How much are you paying her?" "Nothing, she actually likes me. "*gasp* There's no way she actually likes you, did you slip her Amortentia? Oh, wait. That's right, you repeated potions last year and now you're in my class and we haven't gone over it yet. Maybe I'll hit a bludger at her and knock some sense into her." I said as I winked and flew away with a smile on my face. We were halfway towards the end of the year, and we were in potions. Flint and I were partnered up for our next potion. "Can someone tell me what Amortentia is?" Professor Snape asked while he looked around the room. I raised my hand, and Snape called on me, "Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them." I answered. "Very good, 15 points for Slytherin. Please come up and smell the potion and describe what you smell for us. Before class is dismissed." I went up and smelt the potion below me, it suddenly hit me. I knew who smelt like this. I panicked a tad before I responded, "The pitch, leather, and I can't quite put my finger on the last smell." I quickly ran to my seat and kept my head down. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Snape dismissed us and I hurried out of there and towards the common room as fast as I could. Before I could reach the common room, a hand connected with my shoulder and spun me around. "Are you okay?" "Of course I am, why do you care?" "We may not like each other, but you are my co-captain unfortunately so I have to show an ounce of care." "I'm fine, but we do have plays to discuss. We can meet at the library to discuss them after dinner. Oh, and make sure you don't being your girlfriend. She's awfully annoying when we're trying to discuss plays." I said as I broke free from his grasp and headed into the common room and then to my dorm. *In the library* Flint had a puzzled look on his face. "Did you pass gas again? Why is your face like that?" "What exactly did you smell for Amortentia?" "I-I smelt a Quidditch pitch, leather like the one they use for bludgers and quaffles, and I don't know the last one..." Flint opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it as I went back to discussing plays. The last day was bittersweet, I made so many amazing friends and had to say goodbye to them. I was heading to the Slytherin car when I heard a girl crying in a booth. The curiosity got the best of me and I went toward the booth she was in. I peeked inside and saw Flint's girlfriend, well ex-girlfriend I suppose. I smiled a bit after the discovery, but once I realised I was smiling as I entered the car and my team stared at me, I lost the smile and quickly took my seat amongst them. I got off the platform once the train arrived and immediately asked to go to the car. I explained everything to them on the way home.

Fifth year started without any problem, until Flint decided to take a bribe from the Malfoys to let Draco play. I wasn't too thrilled because Draco was an annoying pest during practice. Our first game of the year was against Ravenclaw. A bunch of us were already on the pitch before the game started, just chatting away. I was mid conversation with Adrien and Miles when I felt a pair of hands hug me from behind and then the person moved to the side of me and he kept one hand on my waist, I looked over and saw Flint. "What the fuck is this?" I tried to move away but he gripped me tighter. "She won't leave me alone, I told her I have another girlfriend. I need her to leave me alone." He said. "And you thought of me?!" "We already spend a lot of time together, you were the only person I can think of." I sighed and just went along and got closer to him, "I still hate you." I said under my breath, seemingly trying to convince myself what I said was true. "Don't worry, I still hate you too." After the game we all got showered and posed for a team photo for the school. It was time for dinner and Flint and I held hands the whole way there, and low and behold she was following us. At dinner he sat on the opposite side of me and Adrien. "Y/N, were you bribed?" Adrien asked with concern. "I wish, but Flint needs little miss Scary Carrie over there to leave him alone." I replied, Adrien's shocked expression says it all. "Please call me Marcus, we are dating after all," He says with a smirk, "Speak like it." "Fine, Marcus." I spat those words out with a sarcastic smile. Time went on, so did this ~thing~ that Marcus and I were doing. This went on for months. It even went on over Christmas break. We sat together on the way to Kings Cross and hugged goodbye. Even after break, he found me at the station and we sat together on the way back to Hogwarts. This was still going on. We went to Hogsmeade together every now and again, but I mostly went with Adrien. This was just like Adrien and I's usual Hogsmeade trips after Christmas time, until we were in Honeydukes. I was off looking at the sugared butterfly wings when someone came up behind me. I turned around with a bit of shock and saw Roger Davies, Ravenclaws captain. "Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you. I wanted to tell you that sugared butterfly wings weren't as sweet as you are." He said, flashing an awards winning smile. I blushed, "Why thank you. *chuckle* What are doing in Hogsmeade all by yourself?" I asked. "Well I wanted to see if I could score a date with a beautiful woman like yourself." He said. My blushed deepend, but before I could say anything I was pulled into someone. I looked up and it was Marcus, messing up my chance at an actual relationship. "Sod off pretty boy, she's mine." Marcus said, holding me tighter than before. "There's word going around the school that you two aren't actually a couple. No snogging in sight, no 'I love yous'. Just thought I'd try my lucky with the most beautiful woman at Hogwarts." Davies said as he sent a wink in my direction. "Of course we're actually a couple. Why do our business in front of the school?" Marcus said in protest. Davies threw his hands up into a goalpost position, "I don't know man, just explaining it how we all see it." He said. I looked up at Marcus who pulled me in tighter and planted a kiss on my lips. After a few moments, Marcus pulled away and I noticed Davies was gone. I looked at Marcus and shoved him out of the way. Adrien told the shopkeeper to let me know he went back to Hogwarts. I thanked her and quickly made my way to Hogwarts on foot by myself. Marcus ran after me like I expected he would. He eventually caught up to me, much to my dismay. "Babe, what's wrong?" "All of this!" I spat back. "What do you mean?" "I haven't seen Carrie try to get with you for over a month! You just ruined my chance at a regular love life." "I had to make it seem real so no one would be suspicious. The first years have caught her spying on us. I need her to keep leaving me alone. I don't like this more than you do. But I don't want Scary Carrie stalking me." He seemed so genuine, and as much as I wanted to hate him I'm really not sure how I feel anymore. After what I smelt in the Amortentia... I don't know anymore. "I'm sorry..." I said as I hung my head. Marcus took me in for a hug, a real hug. I never felt one of theses from him before. I hugged back, and we embraced each other tighter. "You owe me big time." I said as I let go and we started walking back to Hogwarts. "I know I do," He started as he pulled something from his bag, "This is a start?" He pulled out a package of Peppermint Toads. "Peppermint Toads! My fav-" "Favourite." He finished my sentence and handed the package to me. "How did you know?" I asked, quite in shock. "I actually do listen when you tell me things about you. I'd be a bad boyfriend if I didn't" He said with a smile as he kissed my cheek. We had a surprisingly good walk back to the school, and a great Quidditch practice after dinner. We even had a good study session in the common room after practice. We made sure to kiss in front of other students from now on so we wouldn't be caught in this lie. But, it all just felt so right to me. Marcus is such a better actor than I had originally thought. After studying, the whole team stayed up pretty late since it was a Friday night. A few of us partook in drinking of fire whiskey, but Marcus and I stayed sober to make sure Draco didn't drink and no one handed him a drink. We were all having a grand time down there, just letting all the stress we had go. Marcus and I were cuddled right up onto each other and he was playing with the few strands of my hair that had fallen out of my braid. "I never thought I'd see you two get along, let alone date!" Miles blurted out before hiccuping. "I'd be stupid if I didn't shoot my shot with the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts. Especially since all you gits were trying to bang her. Especially you Malfoy. I saw you trying to flirt with her when your dad offered to buy her a new broom." Marcus spat back looking into Draco's soul, Draco started to blush. "Wait! When did that happen?" Miles asked, as he hiccuped again. "Oh, yeah. Mr.Malfoy was about to ask if I wanted a new broom but Mrs.Malfoy is good friends with my parents so he realised I was fine although the offer was open. He then sent Draco to flirt with me for weeks, I think. The joining of our families would be "legendary" but although Draco is adorable, I don't date younger boys." I said as I ruffled Draco's hair. Adrien was watching this all unfold, with a puzzled look on his face. Everyone started to call it a night eventually. I walked Marcus to his dorm, he leaned up against the frame and pulled me into a kiss. We both pulled away and he went into his room and I walked to mine. Adrien was still on the couch, so I sat right next to him. "Is everything alright?" He stared into the fire. "Adrien, are you okay?" "I don't think this is fake anymore." He said, still glancing into the fire. "What? What do you mean?" I asked with a puzzled look. He finally turned and faced me. "He's different. This isn't what it used to be. I think he actually loves you." "Don't be silly! It's just to get Carrie away. "It WAS to get Carrie away, but I don't know anymore. This is different for him. He actually cares about things, and people. And especially you." "He just wants her to go away." "Did you ever ask him what he smelt in your Amortentia that you two made in potions?" "No, because he said he didn't recognise the smell." "And that was before Christmas break, right? Before you two were as close as you were in the Slytherin car?" "Yeah? What is the point?" "Hold on. And when you two made it again in Potions for review, you two smelt it again, you smelt him again?" "Yes. "How did he react to the smell?" "He was a bit surprised." He stared at me and it just wasn't connecting for me. "For the brightest witch in all of Hogwarts, you're sure pretty dumb when it comes to love." He said as he laughed. "I wouldn't say I'm the brightest witch in Hogwarts." "Out of that whole conversation, that is all you got from it?" He said as he shook his head and laughed. "Yes. Once you called me dumb when it came to love, I stopped caring about anything else you had to say," I gave him a raspberry, "Did most of the team actually want to bang me?" "Oh my, yes. It was unbearable in the locker room when you and Flint left or were late. They'd be like 'how do you think she is in bed?' and 'do you think they ever bang' and they had the audacity to ask me if WE ever banged!" I threw my head back in complete and utter hilarious shock, "Us? We're like brother and sister!" "That's what I said!" We both laughed for some time. Once we both came down from that cloud, I got up and kissed Adrien on the top of his head, "Goodnight kiddo. Love you." "Love you too." He said as he headed in the opposite direction. The rest of the Quidditch season was cancelled due to the attacks on Muggleborns, which was disappointing to us. But I took up being tutor and helping other students with their work, including my own teammates. I was the one any Slytherin came when they needed help. This went on for weeks, especially for those taking their O.W.L's. I was everyone's help, which I didn't mind. But I was neglecting my own work, so I took a few days off to catch up. I told Marcus to meet me in the Potions classroom to work on our potions for review. I was already down there, and I was startled when I heard a knock on the frame, but it was only Marcus. "I got these for you." He said as he handed me a bunch of Y/F/F. "Wow! These are beautiful! How did you know these are my favourite?" "I'm a better boyfriend than people think, remember? I actually do listen when you tell me things about you." I blushed and placed them on the workbench. We got straight to work. We got through every potion but we ended on Amortentia. I totally didn't plan that at all. We brewed it and it had that signature spiral steam and pearl sheen. The true test to see if we brewed it properly was to smell it. I went first, I stuck my head over the cauldron and inhaled. A big, deep inhale. It was the same smell that I smelt many months before. Marcus went next, and he did the same as I did moments before. He agreed that he smelt the same as before. We cleaned up, but as he was putting supplies away, I turned to him, "What did you smell?" I asked. "The same as I did months ago. I already said that." "I know that, but WHAT did you smell." "Fine," He said as he put the cauldron away, "I smelt the pitch, roast beef, and Y/F/F." I froze and he moved toward his belongings. He was about to leave, but I grabbed his wrist. "I smelt the pitch, leather, and sandalwood cologne. I smelt you." Marcus lifted his face and we made eye contact, "I smelt you, Marcus." "I-I smelt you too, Y/N." We were both in a bit of shock, before I pulled him into a kiss. A passionate one, this one had the sparks I felt initially with the kiss he gave me in Honeydukes, but this one was certain. Certain that this was real, certain that this wasn't one sided. We both pulled away with huge smiles on each others faces. We placed our foreheads on each others. "I felt sparks." He said with a smile. "I felt them the very first time we kissed, when Davies practically made us." Marcus started laughing, "Pretty boy really wanted you. I couldn't lose you like that." "A relationship with him probably would've been great at first, BUT would get boring pretty quickly." We both chuckled and headed toward the common room, holding hands and I help my flowers in the other. We kissed each other before heading in our respective directions of our dorms. I sat down on my bed and poured water into a vase for my flowers, when I noticed a note. "I don't know how else to say this. I love you and I really hope you love me too." I kissed the note and placed it on the nightstand next to my bed. I got ready and headed off into a deeply sweet slumber. Today was now Saturday and not only was I euphoric from it being Saturday, but also from the day before. Marcus and I were now inseparable. We were madly in love, and it finally showed. We had breakfast and went down to the pitch and did a few laps around before just chilling in the air. "I forgot how beautiful this view was." I said, looking toward the castle in the distance. "Nothing is as beautiful as you." Marcus said as he pulled me closer to him. We both leaned in and our lips touched and instantly moved in sync with each other. We both eventually pulled away when there was no longer any air in our lungs. "I love you." He said as he looked deeply into my eyes. "I love you too." I replied as I kissed him again. We both headed toward the ground, put our brooms away and walked hand in hand up to the castle. Later that night, Marcus brought me down to the lake and there was a beautiful set of floating candles around a blanket. There was food and Y/F/F. "This is beautiful Marcus!" I said as I hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Only the best for the love of my life." He said with a smile. We had a wonderful date, not a care in the world besides the other. I am truly in love with him. After we finished our date and cleaned up, we headed back to the Slytherin common room. Most of those boys were pulling an all nighter in the library in preparations on their O.W.L's on Monday, so we had the room to ourselves. Marcus handed me a shirt of his and some of him pajama pants. I told him to turn around while I changed and he begrudgingly complied. "I didn't bring you in here to bang you." He said. "I know." I replied. "I'm going to make your first time really special because you deserve it." I smiled, "I really appreciate that." "Although I would love to bang you now, I respect that you want to wait. I'm really tried and I just want to finally sleep with my love next to me." I threw my shirt at him and he turned around with a smirk on his face. He threw my shirt to the ground and picked me up and playfully threw me on the bed. He crawled right up next me and pulled the covers up on both of us. His arm wrapped around my waist as we whispered gentle'I love yous' to each other as we fell asleep. Fifth year wasn't so bad after all.

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

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wings & the way down - part 2

Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~1580 this chapter

Warnings: Mild angst. Allusions to ~mysterious~ backstory. Strangers with cookies.

A/N: Thank you all for your lovely comments on the last part! Catch up here if you missed it. Tag list for this is open.

Friday, January 3: Derek

Derek is playing it cool.

Or... he would be, if he could stop freaking the hell out. Whatever.

He wants to be there early, just in case, and he hesitates. He should grab his basketball — tryouts next week, he should be practicing as much as possible — but then he’d have to carry it around while they walk. He grabs his dog-eared copy of Slaughterhouse-Five instead.

Spencer seems like a reader. Maybe he’ll be impressed. Derek doesn’t have much experience trying to impress adorably geeky college guys, but that seems like a good start.

He looks at himself in the mirror one more time and thinks, I can’t do this.

Then he shakes it off, like he’d shake off the nerves before a big game, and he gives his reflection a smile. What’s the worst that can happen, right? He embarrasses himself in front of a pretty boy, he avoids the park, he never sees the guy again. After the year he’s had, some good old-fashioned rejection would be a cake walk.

Playing it cool. He can do this.

He walks downstairs, locking up behind himself and leaving the spare key in its spot — its “hidden” spot, which is a totally obvious fake rock, but apparently here in the suburbs you can just do that sort of thing.

He walks, enjoying the sun, because January here feels like Chicago’s April. He’s not going to get used to this any time soon.

Yeah. This was the right choice.

You deserve to do it on your own terms, his mom said, when she hugged him goodbye in the airport. You can be whoever you want.

It didn’t feel like he was trying to be someone else yesterday, though. It felt like he was being himself.

He didn’t realize it could be easy like that, flirting with a guy, teasing and laughing and making Spencer smile. The stupid line came out like it was nothing. The fear only kicked in afterward.

Derek knows he’s charming as fuck; he’s been making girls smile like that since he was fourteen. And it’s not a skeevy thing — not even necessarily a sex thing — he just likes making people smile. He likes the way they stand a little straighter when you compliment their shirt, or the way they bring a hand to the back of their neck when you admire their hair, and the way one nice comment can startle someone right out of a bad day.

Speaking of.

He’s walking into the park, now, and there’s a girl walking toward him, blonde with pink streaks in her high pigtails, wearing thick neon pink glasses and several violently colorful patterns. She looks like Miss Frizzle’s ditzier sister. He kinda loves it.

“I like your glasses,” he tells her cheerfully, as they come face-to-face on the path.

Most people look startled, at first, when a stranger compliments them; they’re caught off-guard. Spencer looked like a deer in headlights, yesterday, when Derek caught his attention.

Not this girl, though. Without missing a beat, she tosses back, “I like your face, sugar.” As their paths cross, she gives him a cheesy over-the-top wink.

He retorts over his shoulder, “I ain’t that sweet, babygirl.”

“I don’t believe you,” she sing-songs, and he’s laughing as they both continue on their way.

Derek makes his way over to the same spot as yesterday, a round table between two curved benches. He pulls out his book and settles down to wait. Spencer isn’t there yet (which makes sense, considering that “same time” meant “two-ish” and it’s more like one-ish right now) but there are two older men playing chess at one of the tables nearby. Otherwise, it’s quiet: two women jogging, a few families on the playground, a guy throwing a ball for his dog.

For a while, it’s actually a pretty awesome way to spend an afternoon. He doesn’t really notice how much time has passed until he shifts, stretching some cramped muscles. Then he checks his watch.

They didn’t really set a definite time, though. It was vague. It’s not a big deal.

Twenty minutes is a normal amount of time to be late. Derek has pulled that move on more than one first date — which begs the question: is this a date? — but he didn’t expect Spencer to be the type, somehow.

He starts to get anxious around half past. He can think of a dozen excuses Spencer might use, but they’re all excuses he’s used himself, and they all boil down to I don’t actually care.

He turns back to his book and tries to forget about the time.

At three, after re-reading the same page for the fourth time, he accepts that it’s a lost cause. He sets the book down on the bench and rests his face in his palms for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Fuck. He is so not playing it cool.

There was something about Spencer that Derek can’t stop thinking about, and it’s not his bone structure or his eyes or the way his fingers looked as he fiddled with his chess piece. It was the way he blushed and stuttered, completely flustered and unable to hide it, and the way he brushed it off with, “I’m not used to being flirted with.” It was a genuine reaction. He was being honest. He wasn’t trying to pose or posture or do any of the things Derek would’ve done to protect himself.

It was the little crease between his eyebrows as he studied Derek intently — too intent to be polite — like Spencer was figuring him out, looking under the surface, seeing him in a way that people usually don’t, because most people don’t care enough to look. Most people miss what’s right in front of them.

It was the way he sat, legs crossed, unpretentious and almost childlike.

It was different. He wasn’t hiding anything. Derek’s been hiding a lot, these last few years. It was nice to be around someone who wasn’t, and who made it look easy.

And yeah, it was also his cheekbones and eyes and fingers and smile, because Derek is only fucking human.

At quarter past, he starts to wonder what he did wrong.

Yeah, I’m flirting with you.

It was like a free-fall, the pause after the words, that frozen moment of can’t take it back now and this is going to change everything. It’s the same hot-cold-terrifying-exhilarating shock he felt in the pause after he came out to his mom — same as the moment right before the jury gave their verdict — same as the moment he walked into school the next day.

But it was different, because Spencer smiled, all slow and shy. No betrayal, no creeping disgust, no pointed questions or even more pointed silence.

That easy acceptance took Derek’s breath away. It felt like freedom. It felt like the moment the plane’s wheels lifted off the tarmac, the sickening lurch in his stomach, the blaze of something like defiance as he watched Chicago recede into the distance.

Spencer smiled, and Derek felt like he could’ve ignored the laws of physics and flown away. If that was what “being out” usually feels like, he could see why people might want to do it. The moment of free-fall — this is going to change everything — was worth it, for that.

This, though? There’s something cold and leaden sitting in his chest, dragging him rudely back down to earth. He should just go. This is an embarrassing amount of time to wait around for some random guy.

“Tell me who I need to punch,” somebody calls. “A face like yours should never be frowning, sweetness.”

It’s the colorful girl from earlier, and Derek can’t help but smile at the way she stomps over and sits down across from him, matter-of-fact and brazen like they’ve known each other for years.

“I was just waiting for you, babygirl,” he tells her, turning the charm up to eleven, and she rolls her eyes.

“Penelope. The pleasure is all yours.” She holds her hand out for him to shake — her nails have tiny daisies painted all over them — and Derek kisses it instead.

“Derek Morgan. Charmed, I’m sure.”

“So who’s the girl that’s got you all tragic-looking?” she asks, and rummages in her massive bag for a minute before pulling out a tupperware of cookies. “Want one? They’re still warm. I was at my friend’s house, she needed some cheering up, we baked. I promise I’m not some creepy creep who’s going to lure you into their white van, oh my god, I just realized that I’m a complete stranger, and this is totally weird! But — cookies?”

“I’d follow you anywhere, babygirl. And I will totally take a cookie.” He takes a bite of melty chocolate chips and moans. “Marry me?”

“Alas, your heart belongs to another,” she says solemnly. “I know that face. Spill.”

“Got stood up, but...” Derek chews as slowly as he can manage. “Wasn’t a girl.”

He’s starting to get used to that free-fall sensation. It’s not so bad this time around.

“Oh my god, I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry! Men, right?” She heaves a dramatic sigh, and Derek tries to hide his own quiet sigh of relief. “The worst, I swear.”

“No biggie. Other fish in the sea, right?”

“Have another cookie.”

“Woman, you are a goddess. I am so glad I met you.”

“I’m glad you met me too, Derek Morgan.”

part three here!

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #moreid #spencer reid #derek morgan

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dclevinson · 3 years ago

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August 21: my kaddish month

I’ve sent this to a number of people, but I’m putting it here too in case some readers who might be interested will stumble across it:

A little more than a month has passed since Cindy died, and I get asked a lot how I’m doing. My standard answer starts with a couple ways of framing:

--- the earthquake is over, but there are lots of unpredictable emotional aftershocks

--- I’m past the Shock & Numbness phase, but normal life doesn’t seem normal. Lots of How Can This Be Real moments that can be disorienting and distressing

--- many times emotions collide: how much to lean into or away from grief, how to feel it’s OK to feel OK when I do, how keep her with me and move forward too, etc

I suppose at some point a fascination with grief can start to make others uncomfortable, but grieving has a logic of its own. One key part of “after” life was the 30 days of daily religious services I attended to honor her memory. I found the routine and --- surprisingly, the ritual --- spiritually nourishing. Cindy’s eyebrows always shot up at the word “spiritual.” Usually mine too. I hope those of you I send these four pages to don’t find it too tedious Perhaps it’s a way of keeping Cindy in your thoughts and hearts too…

I am a most unlikely daily mourning ritual observer. I didn’t do it for my father, and he asked us not to. But the ritual mourning prayers and the place where I’d be doing it meant a lot to Cindy, so I just committed without much deliberation. One problem in writing about a fairly traditional type of observance is that the spectrum of Jewish religious practice can be mystifying, even to many Jews. So how explain it to outsiders? I’ve tried to do it without being either too reverent or irreverent.

One basic mourning commitment is to say “kaddish”, the mourner’s prayer, for a set amount of time. Jewish practice and custom is intellectually intricate and often arcane; there are rules and exceptions to rules and different interpretations of rules, etc. There are other customs/demands for remembrance too. Many think of saying kaddish as a year long commitment. Plus yearly anniversaries, set to a moving Hebrew calendar --- just to add to the degree of difficulty. But even the year thing has permutations: actual practice for some groups is 11 months, not 12.

Why?. Different interpreters and communities make their own choices on duration. Our ritual director says “eleven.” Basically, some 13th century source says that “the wicked in Gehinom took 12 months for their souls to reach the highest levels of heaven.” But most Jews don’t even believe in a physical heaven!? Never mind. So, the reasoning goes, if the wicked took 12 months, we’ll mourn for 11: because our beloved Was Not Wicked. Welcome to Talmudic reasoning. But, traditionally, the year(ish) is for parents and children. For spouses the allotted time is 30 days. Though many people today may just do a year for anyone in the family. Thirty struck me as the perfect amount for the act to stay meaningful, helpful and not something I would treat as an increasingly resented chore.

It’s not a prayer that religious custom allows you to say by yourself. You need a minyan (quorum) of 10. It used to be men, but now men or women, at least at our conservative temple (shul, synagogue, whatever --- more insider confusing terminology). But some do say it by themselves for the comfort it brings if finding a group is too arduous. And I cheated a couple days by joining the group virtually. But I found being with a gathering of supporters did matter to me. I could have gone to a shorter evening service to do this, but preferred the morning time. And came to think a 40ish minute observance time a good block to have meaningful daily impact.

And then there’s the prayer itself. I realized right away that the weekday morning prayer service had many different kaddishs, similar prayers of thanks for and praise to a divine entity. But there’s one specific mourner’s version, said 3 times in oour short 40ish minute service. Twice, almost in succession at the end --- overkill or emphasis, depending on your point of view. Why the repeats? Haven’t pursued that yet. And, as some of you know, the prayer for the dead doesn’t mention dying or losing loved ones or honoring their memory, etc. It just profusely praises God (and lots of different words or phrases to refer to such entity since he/she/it is too holy and all powerful to mention the Real Name). Some phrases: “May god’s name be exalted and hallowed, his sovereignty soon accepted… glorified, celebrated, lauded, worshiped, exalted, honored, extolled and acclaimed… Lots of current Jewish religious practice incorporates the Middle Ages wholesale. Or earlier. Read the English on the facing page of the prayer book and much of the service sounds like the practice of a small, threatened tribe huddling in the desert thousands of years ago.

There’s a lot about Jewish practice that seems natural and essential to practitioners but might alienate the uninitiated. Or reluctant observers like me. The head coverings. The shoulder covering prayer shawls. The standing for this (many do: why not all??!), turning right for that, covering eyes for this line, fingering prayer shawl strings (tzitzit) for that. Whew. So many prayers and practices for so many different occasions. Designed, I’ve thought, to cement the devotion of believers. But it repel skeptics, too, I surmise.

One such example: in these early services most men put on tefillin. Leather straps with little black boxes attached (a prayer inside) that have very specific wrapping/unwrapping procedures for arms and head. It’s deeply moving to believers, but I’ve always thought it look repellent or ridiculous. Way too much like the garb of the ultra orthodox “crazies.” There are lots of I’ll do this/not that decisions in religious practice. I understand there’s a tenuous dynamic that exists between any minority and majority community, and clinging to tradition and being true to oneself can seem preferable to “selling out” to fit in. But sometimes it strikes us skeptics as more a clinging to “guns and religion” type intransigence.

So, if you walked in on these services cold (I was lukewarm), there’s lots that would be pretty mystifying and potentially off-putting. How could you possibly fit in? In fact, I believe I was the only new guy or gal over my month. And there had to be a decent number of temple members who have lost family members during the time I attended. Seemingly no person younger than I was doing the morning kaddish thing. And usually I was the only or 1 of 2 who didn’t put on tefillin. Men. Women usually don’t. Though one of our female rabbis did. Good for her, though I wasn’t tempted to follow.

I could fit in and feel comfortable at these services because a) I knew people there b) I was committed to being there and c) people took care of me. I no longer bristled at the imputation (real or just in my head?) that I’m a Bad Jew and I need instruction to be a Good One. This time I felt many there had cherished Cindy, understood why I was there, and quietly welcomed me. I was willing to look/be ignorant and accept guidance.

It was reassuring to see many of Cindy’s compatriots from the temple sisterhood there day after day too. The whole group (20 to 40 most days) was interesting to observe: lots more joking and side conversations during the service than I’d imagined. And there was the guy older than I who usually wore cycling shorts and shirt, the much older guy who sat to my right who usually shuffled in 15 minutes late, etc etc. Lots of accomplished people and interesting stories for another writer’s version. And --- most days --- someone called out the pages so I had some sense where we were.

I can read Hebrew if I already know the prayer or chant. So I can’t really read Hebrew anymore. Much of the service is praising God’s amazing powers, thanking him for singling out and helping Jews (don’t let anti-Semites see this!), an intricate mix of different intricate sections that over days start to fit a pattern. There are a always some bits in any prayer book that I find edifying and worth recalling; often I’m reading in one place when the service is in another. My favorite in this one:

Rabbi Schuel ben Nahmani said: We find that the Holy One created everything in the world; only falsehood and exaggeration were not God’s doing. People devised those on their own.

There’s no sermon on any days, just the chanting. And different melodies for different sections. And torah reading ritual (I could spend pages on this alone) Monday and Thursday. I still have to learn why those days. I preferred the shorter days without.

I was most fortunate to have a long time neighbor and, like Cindy, long time temple leader who I was delighted to learn (only some 30 some years later) is a regular attendee of daily morning services. Like Cindy, he has the ability I don’t to take what’s worthwhile in religious practice and ignore the rest. He credits Cindy with his reading the new alternate section of one prayer praising the Patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob) by adding Matriarchs too.

It’s not supposed to be used at this particular service, but a couple women who led services on a rotating schedule snuck it in. Much to my friend Rick’s and my glee. He joked about wanting to write: Minyan, the Musical. Have to decide how reverent or irreverent to be I replied. Yes he said, and some would love it, some hate it. Like so much else in life, I thought.

There’s way more I could describe: the various “honors” during torah reading for one. Early on I got congratulated for pulling the strings to open the torah ark/cabinet. Basically, the only task our ritual director could be sure at that point I wouldn’t flub. One more key detail: I was wearing Cindy remarkable hand knit prayer shawl. Which, of course, many of her friends recognized. Once I made the mistake when taking it off at the service end of holding it to my face: way too emotional to repeat daily. Much more detail I could include, but there’s likely already too much. Ask me if you want more.

I was asked to say a few words on the last day, right before the concluding prayers. I told people I was a most unlikely minyan attendee, etc. Grateful for this and that person’s help and Rebbe Rick’s (joke) guidance and company. Uplifted seeing Cindy’s sisterhood comrades, etc. Hoped in coming months to find an enduring way to honor her memory, etc.

My one specific observation: I had been hearing people recite kaddish at Saturday services off and on for over 60 years. But I’d never given a thought to the brief parts where the congregation joins in on a quick line. Just part of the practice I’d heard without really hearing. Until I was the mourner. Then, on many days when the congregation joined in…

Y’he sh’meh rabbvo m’orach l’olam ulolmey olmayo…

…on many days I felt my heart lifting and a wave of emotional support wash over me. This is why you should say kaddish in a minyan if at all possible. Or I hope in your tradition or life there’s some equivalent thing to bring you comfort when/if you need it. Em and I have been lighting candles at a set time each week also. That works for us too.

The morning group skews old. But I hope that such a group is always there for anyone who needs it. I don’t want to attend any religious services daily. Or weekly. But this is my favorite service. I’ll be back. But on a day they don’t read torah. Forty minutes is plenty.

I decided, too, that on day 30, I would take off my wedding ring. I sensed that if I didn’t tie that act to a ritual I might have a hard time doing it.

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onlycags · 4 years ago

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Tattoo Aftercare

Word Count: 4,499 Warnings: oral sex (both m/f giving and receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of blood and healing tattoos Note: These are all the things I’ve learned caring for my personal tattoos over the last six years. I’m aware, though, that everyone has different ways to care for their tattoos, though, but the aftercare routine is my own.

- - -

You’d known Çağlar had gotten tattooed but you hadn’t expected to receive a text with a picture of the detailed lion that adorned his back with the caption, ‘Bana yardım et lütfen?’ Help me please? You rolled your eyes, a smile on your lips as you shot back, ‘tabikide’. Of course.

An hour later, you were knocking on Çağlar’s door, a bottle of soap and some lotion in a bag. “Did your artist give you instructions?” You asked as you breezed past him, quickly setting up shop in his bathroom.

“I think so?” Çağlar replied, looking sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “I was a bit loopy from the pain and he spoke English way too quickly.” Çağlar couldn’t help giving you a once-over, his eyes gesturing to the art that adorned your body. “I figured I could just ask you later and you would know the answers.”

That got a laugh out of you. “Of course! Don’t know what you’d do without me.” You paused. “Have you taken the bandages off yet?”

Çağlar shook his head. “No. I remember him saying something about keeping the bandages on for at least eight hours, maybe longer.”

You did the mental math, nodding. “Okay, so you’ve got about...five more hours at least?” You continued once Çağlar nodded, “Alright then. It doesn’t make sense for either of us to stay up way past our bedtime just to take the bandages off. You’ll be fine if you sleep in them - I know it’ll be uncomfortable, but just wake me up when you wake up and I’ll be over A-S-A-P, okay?”

“Or...you could stay here?” Çağlar suggested shyly.

“That works,” you mused, thinking it over. “Just so long as you let me borrow something to sleep in.”

“Bitti.” Done.

The two of you ordered some food, settling in on the sofa and putting a movie on while you waited for it to be delivered. When you heard the knock, you jumped up, silencing Çağlar’s protests with just one look. “Teşekkürler,” he murmured gratefully when you handed him his own plate of food. Thank you.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, kissing his cheek.

Halfway through the movie, Çağlar started to get restless, shifting this way and that to try to get comfortable.

“You okay?” You asked, turning your attention to him.

“It’s itchy,” he mumbled, pouting slightly.

“I know.” You tried to hold back a giggle. “Do you want me to take a look at it? If the plastic’s twisted, we can try to take it off…”

Çağlar shook his head. “I’ll be fine - just wanna scratch it.”

“Turn around,” you said, moving so you were facing his back.

“What are you gonna do?” Çağlar asked, looking at you warily over his shoulder. “I thought you said not to scratch.”

“Where does it itch?”

“Here.”

You ran a soothing hand over the area Çağlar had pointed to, pride swelling in your chest as he let out a little sigh of relief. “Better?” You asked once you’d gotten all the spots he’d asked for, happy when he nodded.

***

You woke up the next morning to Çağlar whispering your name and poking you occasionally. The scent of coffee filled your nostrils and you inhaled, smiling to yourself. “Is there enough for me?” You rasped, your voice thick with sleep.

“Of course - and it’s the good kind.” You could hear the smile and pride in Çağlar’s voice. Opening your eyes, you watched him from the sofa as he puttered around the kitchen, grabbing the mug you’d claimed as yours ages ago and pouring the liquid gold into it.

“You’re amazing, thank you,” you praised, wrapping the warm mug around your hands before bringing it to your lips, a low moan escaping as the coffee hit your taste buds.

“I should be the one thanking you,” he said, giving you a smile. “You’re doing me a huge favour by helping me take care of this tattoo.”

“It’s nothing,” you replied, shrugging. “Somebody did the same thing for me when I got a few of mine in hard-to-reach places, so it’s only right that I return the favour.”

When you were done with your first cup, you grabbed a second and met Çağlar in his bathroom. “Alright, let’s see it,” you said, setting your mug down on his bathroom counter. You knew it probably wasn’t the most sanitary idea to take your coffee in the bathroom with you, but you didn’t care - you just wanted to see his new ink.

Çağlar felt a twinge of self-consciousness as he reached for the hem of the t-shirt he’d slept in, but he heard your gasp and saw your awed expression in the mirror and he knew you loved it. “It’s going to be beautiful when it’s all healed,” you whispered, involuntarily reaching out a hand to touch it but recoiling before you did so. “You ready for me to take off the plastic?”

“I guess so,” he said, sucking in a breath to steady his nerves.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” you answered, a teasing lilt to your voice as you put a hand on his shoulder and found the beginning of the bandage.

Slowly but surely, the bandage peeled away, leaving a thin crusty mix of dried blood and ink in its wake. Çağlar hissed a little on the more painful parts and you made sure to slow down. “All done,” you said finally, dropping the plastic in the bin. “You gonna shower or do you want me to wash it?”

“Could you just do it? I feel like it’ll be faster.”

Once more, you took your time, wetting a washcloth and sponging the expanse of his back clean. Çağlar let you know if you were pressing too hard and you tried not to hurt him. “So you’re going to want to just wet this with soap and water at least three times a day, okay?” You said, speaking softly in Turkish to him so he could understand. “Once you’ve done that for three days, then you’ll continue washing it with soap and water for the next eleven-ish days but following it up with lotion.”

“You’re gonna help me with the lotion, though, right?”

“I can, if you’d like. Or I’m sure one of your teammates wouldn’t mind helping - Madders has some experience with tattoo aftercare as well.”

“Yeah, but we both know he’ll tease me, though.”

You laughed. “Of course he would. I’ll do it to spare you the teasing.”

“Thanks.”

Your gaze connected with his in the mirror and you gave him a smile. “Anytime.”

***

For the next two weeks, you practically lived at his place. You saw him before and after work and helped him wash the lion right before bed. It made both of you a little uncomfortable but you quickly adapted - Çağlar would shower in his many-patterned swim shorts while you waited patiently on the opposite side of the shower; then he’d turn his back to you so you could put soap on the tattoo and then he’d go back and wash it off. Once he was out of the shower and no longer wet, he would lay on his stomach while you sat on his bum, pumping lotion into your hand and rubbing it onto his skin. Sometimes, Çağlar would accidentally let out a moan but you tried not to think anything of it, even if it made your stomach dip and a little thrill run down your spine.

“It’s healing nicely,” you said after the first week, noting that Çağlar wasn’t nearly as sensitive as he had been the first few days when you’d started putting lotion on.

“Really?” He asked, his voice muffled with his face buried in the pillows.

“Yes - you know I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”

“I can’t wait to see it when it’s healed.”

“Me, too - the girls won’t be able to keep their hands off you,” you joked, dismounting him.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You rolled your eyes, washing your lotion-covered hands off in the sink. “Whatever. You planning on getting any more?”

“I have a few ideas…”

***

Less than two months later, Çağlar was dragging you with him to go get his chest piece done - two portraits that looked like they had to be painful. “You’re such a masochist,” you chided, laughing as you watched him relax as the artist outlined the piece.

“And you’re not?” He shot back, giving you a look.

“Touché.”

You made conversation with Çağlar and the artist, discussing all your previous artwork and who you’d gotten each piece done by. It was a lot of fun, but you could tell that Çağlar was getting annoyed that all your attention wasn’t on him.

Your suspicions were confirmed on the drive back to his place. “He was flirting with you.” You thought you heard a hint of jealousy in your voice but you brushed it off.

“He was not!” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “And even if he was, he’s definitely not my type.”

“Oh, really?” Çağlar asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips that you didn’t catch. “Interesting.”

“There’s nothing interesting about it! He wasn’t flirting with me, and on the off-chance he was, there’s no way I’d date him or sleep with him.”

“Okay.” A pause. “Are you gonna help me take care of this one or not?”

You gave him a disbelieving look. “Why would I?” He gave you a questioning look. “It’s right on your chest, Çağlar! You’re more than capable of doing this one on your own.”

The car stopped in front of his place, the two of you pausing the argument to get out. “But…” Çağlar pouted, giving you his best puppy-dog pleading face, “but you did so well with the last one!”

“You’ve got hands, and you know the process by now. You’ll be fine.”

“Lütfen? Sana ihtiyacım var.” Please? I need you.

“You bastard,” you whispered, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I know you can’t resist me when I speak Turkish to you.” He grinned at you, raising his eyebrows. “Although, I don’t know why, seeing as you also speak it.”

“Sounds better coming out of your mouth, I guess,” you retorted, your tone losing a bit of its edge as your gaze flickered briefly to his lips.

Çağlar took a step toward you, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. “I could say the same thing about you, except with my tattoos and your hands.”

Your back hit the wall and for a second you thought Çağlar was going to step closer, pin you against the wall and kiss you - but he didn’t, leaving you needier than you’d ever been when it came to your friend.

“Fine,” you hissed once you’d regained composure, “but you so owe me.”

***

“How does it feel?” You asked ten days later, your soapy hands washing his tattoo.

“Not painful anymore - still itchy, though.”

“That’s to be expected.” You rinsed your hands and then washed off the soap with warm water, handing him a towel to dry himself off. “It doesn’t look infected and I think it’s healing nicely.” You reached for the lotion, smiling as he sucked in a breath at the cool feel of the lotion on his skin.

When you were done, you pressed a kiss on his cheek, stepping away. “See you tomorrow.”

You went home, your mind racing as you drove. All of it gave you less-than-friendly thoughts about your friend: the way you could feel his heart beating rapidly under your fingertips; the way his chest rose and fell with every breath; the pulse point on his neck displaying itself prominently. “Fuck, Çağlar,” you cursed, your cunt clenching around nothing as you let your mind wander through various scenarios that ended with sex. “What are you doing to me?”

Luckily, you only had four more days to go.

***

Not even two months later and you were liking Çağlar’s newest private Instagram post showcasing his latest tattoo: a bird on his left side with a few cursive words that you couldn’t read from the post itself.

Smiling to yourself, you took a screenshot of the post and sent it to him with a separate text reading, ‘Let me guess...you’d like me to help you take care of it again?’

His response was instantaneous.

Çağlar: Yes please

***

There was something intimate about helping Çağlar with his tattoo aftercare. You’d first felt it with the lion of course, but had chalked it up to the fact that you spent fifteen minutes a day sitting on his bum while rubbing lotion on his back for eleven days. His chest was different - you could see and feel the way he reacted to your touch, and you couldn’t help thinking back to the day he’d accused the tattoo artist of flirting with you, a hint of jealousy in his voice that you hoped you hadn’t misread. The placement of this tattoo sent you reeling, though, the knowledge that you’d essentially be on your knees rubbing lotion on his body right next to his dick making you wetter than you wanted to be when it came to your friend.

The first few days weren’t bad; you just washed and dried his tattoo, keeping an eye on the ink and how his body reacted to it. Once you got to administering the lotion, things got a bit harder. You had to spend almost twice as much time on your knees, focusing all your attention on the tattoo and not the fact that your face was inches away from his dick. Of course, he had his boxers or athletic shorts on so you never actually saw his dick, but that didn’t stop your mind from working overtime thinking about all the other things you could be doing on your knees.

You teased him a little more each day, gauging his reaction to your touch. Your fingers would ‘accidentally’ brush over the waistband of his shorts, a mumbled, ‘sorry’ leaving your lips as you internally screamed at the breath he sucked in as you did so. Sometimes, you could see him getting hard, a thrill racing through you as you watched him try to tamp down his boner and not let you know it was happening.

“All done,” you said brightly, bracing your hands on his hips to help you stand up. “Just one more day and then you’re free.”

“I’m not sure ‘free’ is what I’d call it, but yes,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on your lips.

“You know, if you want to spend time with me, all you have to do is ask, Çağlar,” you said, your heart racing. “You don’t have to keep getting tattooed just so I’ll come help you out.”

“I know.” His gap-toothed smirk had your stomach dipping. “It’s just more fun this way.”

“Well,” you started, placing a hand on his chest, leaning in and whispering, “if you want me on my knees, all you have to do is ask…”

With that, you flounced out the door, trying not to regret the line you’d just crossed. You thought about it on your drive home, your heartbeat in your ears as you replayed your bold move. The first thing you did when you got home was shed your clothes and sink your vibrator into your dripping cunt, Çağlar’s name on your lips when you came.

The sexual tension was palpable the next morning when you showed up, dropping to your knees in the bathroom as you started to care for his tattoo. You worked quicker than you ever had, giving him a slight smile as you used his bathroom sink for leverage as you stood up, side-stepping him quickly and leaving for work.

“What did you mean?” Çağlar asked the second time you came over on that last day. You were still on your knees, your hand poised to rub lotion on his tattoo.

“What do you mean, ‘what did I mean’?” You asked, looking up at him.

Çağlar looked away, his jaw clenched. He’d been thinking about what you’d said since you said it; he’d even gotten off to the mental image of you on your knees last night, and now with you looking up at him, he couldn’t take it anymore. “I just, uh, was wondering what you meant when you said all I had to do was ask if I wanted you on your knees.”

“Oh.” You started to rub the lotion in, focusing all your attention on the tattoo and not on him. “You can disregard that if it made you uncomfortable - I didn’t mean anything by it, really. It was late and I was tired...plus, I’m probably a little sex-deprived, so you can just chalk it up to that if you’d like.” Your cheeks burned and you hoped a blush wasn’t visible, but nevertheless you ducked your head so you could focus on the tattoo.

Çağlar still hadn’t said anything by the time you stood up and rinsed the lotion off your hands. “Do you still want me back here at bedtime?”

“Yes, please.” Çağlar nodded, running a hand through his hair.

When you returned three hours later, you weren’t sure what to expect. Çağlar hadn’t given you any hints about how he’d felt about your earlier confession, but the little voice in the back of your head told you to prepare just in case. So, while you were wearing the same clothes you’d worn earlier, there was a sexy set of lingerie underneath your jeans and t-shirt this time that enhanced your confidence.

“Is it bad that I’m slightly nostalgic about this?” You asked, chuckling lightly as you started to run the water to wash his tattoo.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m already planning my next tattoo so I can get your help.”

“Çağlar Söyüncü, are you so touch-starved that you just want to get tattoos so I’ll put my hands all over you?” You almost laughed, but you looked up at him and saw his serious expression. “Just as long as you’re getting tattoos of things you actually love.”

“Of course. You’re just an added bonus.”

The way he said it had shivers running down your spine, and you tried to regain your composure as you washed the area with soap. “What if I say no?”

“You won’t,” he said confidently. “You love me too much.”

“True.” You rinsed and dried the tattoo, reaching for the lotion. You lost your balance, your hands going to his hips to steady yourself. Your nose accidentally brushed over the V of his hips and you heard him audibly gasp. “S-Sorry,” you stuttered out, not meeting his gaze.

“It’s okay.” His voice was thick with lust. “Will you look at me please?”

“No, I’m too embarrassed,” you said, pumping lotion into your palm and reaching for his tattoo.

You sucked in a breath when you felt his hand in your hair, the unspoken warning clear. When you looked up at him, you could see the heat in his gaze. “Bunun için özür dileme.” Don’t apologize for that.

You swallowed hard. “O-Okay.” You held his gaze as your hands slid up his thighs, stopping at the waistband of his boxers. You hooked your fingers in the elastic, dragging it down until the material was at his ankles. His cock sprung free and you got distracted, biting down on your bottom lip as you stared at him. “Can I have a taste?” You asked, licking your lips.

“Evet,” he rasped, nodding.

You started slow, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. Your tongue swirled around the tip and Çağlar rewarded you with a moan, your confidence building. His grip in your hair tightened, the pain sending little pricks of pleasure down your spine. You took your time, teasing him just like you’d been teasing him the last few days. Your panties were soaked already and you couldn’t wait for him to find out how wet you’d gotten while sucking him off.

“Siktir!” He cursed, the muscles in his thighs flexing as you licked up his shaft. Fuck!

“I’ve been thinking about this for far too long,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes as you gave him another lick. He groaned as you cupped his balls while you finally took him down your throat.

His length filled you up more than you were anticipating and you found yourself using your other hand to work the part of his shaft that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You gagged on his cock, spurred on by the sounds you elicited from him. He spoke to you in a barely-coherent mix of Turkish and English.

Çağlar couldn’t focus on anything but how good it felt to have your mouth on his cock. He’d cum to similar thoughts of this last night and now that the fantasy was coming true, he thought he was going to lose his mind. There was a part of him that wondered whether or not you’d actually put the lotion on his tattoo, but there was a larger part that didn’t give a fuck about that right now, all thought leaving his brain each time the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat. “Did you - siktir! - did you put, uh, lotion on…”

You could barely hear him, all your attention on his dick and making him feel good. The tip of your nose brushed against his pubic bone as you took almost all of him, the groan and shudder of his body making you wetter.

It was the last dominant move you made, Çağlar taking charge seconds later. Something shifted inside of him, his grip on your hair tightening as he let out another groan. “Fuck, take me deeper, Tatlı cadı. I know you can take me deeper.”

He’d never called you by a pet name before, but his words had the desired effect. Your spit mixed with his precum as you tried to take more of him. His impatience got the better of him, though, and soon he was holding your head in place while he fucked your face. All you could do was take it, looking up at him through your lashes as his hips snapped and his dick filled your mouth.

Just when you thought he was going to cum down your throat, he stopped, pulling you off his dick. You looked up at him in stunned silence, your mouth open.

“Strip,” he commanded, his voice deeper and his accent thicker with lust.

You lifted your t-shirt over your head, your cunt clenching around nothing as you heard Çağlar’s low moan of approval. “Siktir, seksisin tatlı cadı,” he groaned, his gaze fixated on your breasts in your lacy bra. Fuck, you’re sexy, sweet witch.

You stood up, your eyes glued to his as you unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, sliding them down to reveal your matching panties. Instinctively, you reached behind you to unhook your bra, but Çağlar stopped you. “That’s my job later,” he growled, taking you by the arm and spinning you around so your stomach was pressed against the counter. You let him bend you over, taking the opportunity to watch him in the mirror.

Çağlar studied your body, finally able to put his hands on the curves he’d dreamed about for what seemed like forever. He took it all in - the way you responded to his touch, how your back would arch slightly and you’d whimper; the way your breathing quickened and your fingers gripped and tightened around whatever you could grasp.

“Please,” you begged when Çağlar’s hands brushed over your ass.

“Let me take my time with you,” he chastised, giving your ass a few slaps. You took each of them, the pain heightening all your senses and turning to pleasure.

When he slid your panties down, you let out a breathy whimper when the cool air hit your wet pussy. “Oh, did somebody get wet while sucking my dick?” He teased, slipping his thumb between your slick folds, reveling in the way you responded when he applied pressure to your clit.

“God, yes,” you stuttered, your eyelids fluttering closed. He slid a finger into your cunt and you couldn’t take it anymore. “Fuck, Çağlar - just fuck me already!”

“I don’t think so,” he taunted, his gaze connecting with yours in the mirror. “Gonna tease you like you’ve been teasing me.” Your pussy spasmed around his finger at his words and you watched him chuckle. He slid the finger out, his gaze heavy-lidded as he brought it to his lips to taste you. “Nefis.” Yummy. Çağlar trailed kisses down your spine, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Your tattoos - they’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hands falling to the intricate design on your hip. “I’ve dreamed of getting to touch them like this.”

His long hair trailed over your skin as he pressed kisses to your hip, speaking beautiful Turkish to all the parts of your body you hadn’t liked so you’d covered them in tattoos. He made you feel beautiful as he worshipped your body; when he finally dropped to his knees to lick between your legs, you thought you’d die of overstimulation.

His thumbs parted your lower lips, and he pressed a sucking kiss to your clit. You let out a whimper, your fingers tightening on the edges of the counter. You could feel the tip of his nose brush against your pussy as he ate you out and you arched your back to give him better access.

You moaned his name, trying to reach behind you so you could press his face further between your legs, but Çağlar quickly caught your arm and pinned it to your lower back. He slapped your ass a few times, chastising you in his native language before eating your pussy in earnest. You were off-balance without both hands to brace yourself and you could feel your orgasm building.

It was as if Çağlar knew exactly when you were going to cum, pulling away from you at the worst time. You made an indignant whine that quickly bled into a satisfied moan when you felt Çağlar’s dick slide into your pussy. His hands released your arms from behind your back, but instantly came up to wrap around your neck. His grip tightened with every fast-paced thrust into your cunt, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“I wanna feel you cum,” he growled, snaking his free hand between your legs to fondle your clit.

When you came around his cock, you saw stars, your orgasm more powerful as Çağlar slapped your clit with every spasm of your inner walls around his dick.

“Good girl,” he praised as he pulled out of you. The bottle of lotion thumped down on the counter next to you and you looked over at him in surprise. “Finish what you started, Tatlı cadı, and there might be another orgasm in it for you.”

#cags originals #cags writing

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