#regretting moments i’ve spent with m@les

[michellezagenda]

i’ve noticed on radblr that if a young woman says she’s never going to date men again there’s this same condescending response that’s like “you’re young! you don’t know what you want or what’s going to happen!) (I thought this too but I’m not dumb and know myself more than anyone on this site)

It sounds like annoying ass family members telling you how you’re going to change your mind about having kids…….women are getting tired of men and waking up, why is it wrong to not want to associate with them anymore ?? you don’t need men to survive, i promise.

[inkedtae]

doe’s peak ⇾ ksj. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ gryffindor!seokjin x slytherin!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ e2l, hogwarts au, some fluff, a bit of angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  a series of reckless pranks leads to a dismissal from Hogwarts and a new house guest. two weeks of amity sessions ends on a happier note than expected. 

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 20.1k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ brief mention of a fire, brief mention of theft, blonde!seokjin, longhair/ponytail!seokjin, pureblood!seokjin, dom!seokjin, brat tamer!seokjin, halfblood(?)!reader, sub!reader, brat!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), rough sex, public sex, outdoor sex, hate sex, degradation, mutual masterbation, double penatration, exhibition, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, heavy humiliation kink, use of vibrating dildo, oral (m. and f. receiving), orgasm denial, bondage, begging, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, manhandling, fingering, edging, cum eating, face fucking, deep-throating, throat-cockwarming (?), cum swapping (?), panty eating (?), a bit of anal, a lil ass and titty play, spit play, a lil food play, basically filth

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ this was supposed to be a fluffy drabble...

･ﾟﾟ･｡ beta’d by ⇾ @kitsutaes​ (my luff~) & @moonmintrails​ (my soulmate~)

･ﾟﾟ･｡ le playlist

⟶ please note that, despite still attending Hogwarts, all characters are of consenting age

He smells of tough cedar and sweet cherries. It’s common for his scent to fill the room after a bath. You want to say you despise it but, in fact, you find it quite comforting. It always helps lull you to sleep. You fear that you might have grown too comfortable with it. The last two weeks of his very presence have been much of a bother, but it’s the little things, like the way he smells and the soft patters of his footsteps, that almost make you glad he’s around. You wonder how you’ll be able to fall asleep without him after tomorrow. 

Two weeks flew by. You’ve been praying for that reality since Headmistress McGonagall first suggested this arrangement. Both you and Seokjin have been excused from classes for fourteen days, issued off campus and into your home in the muggle world. Magic is prohibited, wands confiscated, but the two of you are still expected to keep up with your class readings and assignments should you both return to Hogwarts. 

“Spending intimate time with one another without the temptation of magic will put an end to all these shenanigans,” McGonagall insisted. 

Despite the reality of sharing your home and room with someone as insufferable as Kim Seokjin, you're thankful the headmistress didn’t opt for a more serious consequence. After all, you are still under investigation for the fire in the Gryffindor dormitories. Records reflect that it started in Seokjin’s room and witnesses place you at the scene of the crime. And the fact that you’ve admitted to being there, reclaiming letters Seokjin had stolen from you, doesn’t help your case. McGonagall promises to share the results of the investigation once your two weeks with Seokjin come to an end. 

A fire was never your intention. Truly, all you wanted was the year’s worth of letters from your family Seokjin kept intercepting. Before finding out he was behind it, you were convinced your family was upset with you. You’ve written to them consistently, telling them you miss them and wondering why they haven’t responded. You found stacks of letters, some opened and read, in his room. You had every intention of sneaking back in at night and levitating his bed into the lake while he’s sleeping as a means of retaliation. Though you were worried he’d found out about your family, about the truth, a fire never even crossed your mind. You’re almost certain you had blown all the candles out before leaving. 

Twirling the gold, snake headed pendant of your necklace between your fingers, you wonder if maybe you left one lit subconsciously. Maybe a part of you wanted to set his room on fire, wanted him to suffer as you did when you thought your family was on the cusp of disowning you. 

These are dangerous thoughts. You can’t be capable of such destruction. Yes, you might have charmed his broom to launch him into the lake, or dyed his hair blonde through a potion “mistake,” but to set his room on fire is cruel. No matter how badly you want him to keep your secret or how badly you want to get even, you know you would never turn to such an evil act.

With a deep breath, you flip the page of your History of Magic textbook, and attempt to refocus your attention on the Battle of Hogwarts. You try to drown out every sound he makes down the hall, every waft of his scent that trickles into your room. All is well until he decides to enter your shared room without a shirt. Only a simple red towel hangs around his thin waist. 

You can’t help but stare. Little droplets stream down his wide chest. Nipples hard; abs tight. You regret to recognize how heavenly he looks. A breathless sigh escapes you as he shakes a smaller towel through his long hair. More drops of water spatter about, but your attention narrows on his arms. Has he always been that muscular? 

A single scan over his tall frame soaks your panties. You curse him three times over, having just changed into them. You were clean and ready for bed before he came in looking like that. Damp hair in a loose braid, a soft, flowy nightgown on, face primped and moisturized. All that was left for you to do was some light reading of next week’s topic. Then he comes in, basically naked and wet, making your pussy clench at the sight. Can’t he do anything right? Why the hell didn’t he get dressed in the bathroom? 

“Why the hell didn’t you get dressed in the bathroom?”

Seokjin spares you a glance over his shoulder as he walks out to hang the small towel on the railing. You can’t help but drool over the flexing muscles of his back. Hate fills your chest at the awakened desire to run your tongue across the length of his shoulders. 

“I forgot to take my clothes,” he shrugs, making his way back into the room. He shuts the door and begins to rummage around the drawers Mama forced you to empty for him. 

You mutter a colourful insult under your breath as he pulls on a pair of boxer briefs under his towel. The thought of taking them back off doesn’t surprise you as much as the act of leaning off your bed to sneak a look at his dick. Heat rushes to your cheeks the moment you register your actions. What the hell has gotten into you? Shifting back in your seat, you press your thighs together to attempt to soothe the ache between your legs. 

What has come over you? You’ve seen shirtless guys before, been under a few of them too. Not to mention, this is Seokjin. The arrogant, conceded idiot who stole your letters all year and read them. You hate him, you know every part of you does. So why is the sight of him shirtless this captivating?

No, you mentally assert. It’s not Seokjin you’re attracted to; it’s the idea of a shirtless guy - any guy. You’ve been isolated in your house with a daft, alpaca looking pureblood and his pet sugar glider (which is against school rules but he manages to keep one anyways.) You just miss sex. All you have to do is get yourself off and all other thoughts of stupid, shirtless Seokjin will disappear. You decide that once he goes to sleep, you’ll, as quietly as you can, get yourself off under the covers. 

Your jaw almost drops when he doesn’t reach for a shirt or pants. Seokjin shuts the drawers and tosses the wet towel that was previously wrapped around his waist in the hamper. The nerve of this fucker. He prances around your room in only his underwear, acting like this is his house, not yours. You set your jaw and raise an unimpressed brow.

When his gaze meets yours, you can’t help but glare. He doesn’t entertain your annoyed antics as he usually does. With heavy eyes and a little yawn, he grumbles, “Shove over.”

You scoff. “Funny.”

“I mean it,” he sighs, flicking up the covers. “I’ve spent the last two weeks on the floor. I earned my time on this bed.”

A hiss escapes you as the cold air hits your smushed, exposed thighs. You snatch the sheets from his hands and cover yourself up again. “That’s ‘cause it’s my bed.” 

“Just move over.”

“No.”

Seokjin waves his hand, effortlessly pushing your body aside. With your wands confiscated, the most the two of you can do is wave little commands to practise magic. Before you can react with more than just a gasp, he hops into bed and makes himself comfortable. “Much better,” he smirks. 

You can feel his bare legs brush up against yours, but ignore the rise of goosebumps long enough to kick him away. “You’re a fiend, Kim Seokjin. A pureblooded, bottom feeding, prideful... jerk-ing fiend.” You may have stuttered through the last insult, catching yourself getting lost in his eyes, but you believe you’ve made your point clear. 

“Prideful jerking?” Seokjin questions with an amused smile. He quirks his head to the side and sighs. 

He opens his mouth to offer his opinion but you silence him with the slam of your book and a switch off the lights by the wave of your hand. You know he’s not leaving. He doesn’t even make an effort to move. There’s not much to do except ignore his entire existence and try to get some sleep. Accepting the fate of your night, you set your textbook on your night table and turn to your side with every intention of falling asleep. 

But then the bed dips. You raise a brow, thinking he might’ve come to his senses and decided to return to his place on the ground. Only, his side of the bed doesn’t feel lighter. The springs screech as he shifts until the quiet clutter of a soft object hits the hardwood floor. 

You hear him spit. Once, twice then the slick sound of slouched wetness fills the room. Breath hitching, you turn back to find him sitting up, back against the headboard and briefless. “Huge,” you whisper, too fixated on his size to even care about his quiet, arrogant chuckles. 

You knew Seokjin invented big dick energy, but to see his size, in the fucking dark, and still fear for your pussy is another story. Huge doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re sure giants don’t even have a cock as big as he does. It isn’t the biggest cock you’ve seen; it’s just quite simply the biggest cock to exist. 

“How’d you know I was into being watched?” He asks as he continues to pump himself. 

His gruff voice, drenched in lust, has you balling your nightgown. You sit up and pull your knees into your chest, squeezing your legs together. He must be insane, deranged, absolutely idiotic to think he can take up half your fucking bed and then whip out his monster of a cock and expect everything to be okay. 

Pussy clenching around emptiness, you reply, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Prideful jerking.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

His hips buckle up into his hands and you can’t help but stare down at his cock again. You swallow thickly, hating the way you crave for his cock to fill that vacant space in your throat. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

You answer too quickly. The desperate desire in your tone, the crack of your voice has not been lost on him. He chuckles to himself and picks up the pace. You can only hover your trembling fingers over your lips, clutch onto your nightgown with your other hand and watch him get himself off with pride. 

His large hand wraps around yours, grabbing onto the hem of your nightgown as well. You stiffen. Gazing at him in the soft moonlight, you wonder if he’d make you take over the task of getting him off. You wonder if he’ll guide your hand over his cock and show you how to pace your pumps, or if he’ll have you cup his balls and massage them while he continues to bring himself closer to his orgasm. 

But, he doesn’t entertain any of those options. Seokjin, instead, rubs your knuckles and whispers, “I don’t just like being watched; I like watching too.” He then pries the bunched up hem out of your hands and pushes it up to your hips. “Panties off.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” you hiss, breasts heaving from how horny this entire situation is making you. “I’m keeping them on.”

Seokjin raises a brow, as if offering one last chance for you to change your mind. When you simply hold his gaze, he nods and covers himself up again. You can tell he’s still going though, the lifts of the comforter being a dead give away. 

“What are you doing?”

“This is a two way street, Little Doe,” he taunts before dragging his tongue across your cheek. You shudder and melt into his frame as he continues, “You’re going to have to give a little to get some.”

A series of insults are on the tip of your tongue, but the stripe of saliva on your cheek is all you can focus on. You want him to do it again, the shame of that craving clear on your face. Seokjin can read right through the glare you then attempt to wear. He grunts quietly as that amused look colours his features. 

You can still hear the wet clicks of his pumps, the squeak of the springs when he rolls his hips in his hand. Gulping, you emptily gag on the ghostly imagination of his huge length squeezing into your throat.

He chuckles under his breath. The sound is all too cocky for your liking, jumpstarting your senses once more. 

“You’re a fucking prick,” you finally hiss.

“I know you want my dick.”

“You know that’s not what I said.”

Seokjin raises a brow. “You didn’t deny it though, did you?”

You want to curse him, hit him, suck him, screw him- no… A little ride wouldn’t hurt, though. A string of sparkling shivers slither up your spine at the thought of sitting on his cock. Nails in those broad shoulders, tits against his chest, ass smacking his thick thighs.

He smirks. He’s waiting. 

Nothing can hold back the pooling wetness of your core, and you refuse to deny it for much longer. Hooking your thumbs into your panties, you lift your hips and shimmy out of them. You’re about to toss them aside when Seokjin nudges your chin. He nods towards your mouth, silently ordering you to shove them in. 

“You can’t be serious,” you sigh, voice almost pleading. It’s not enough he’s having you follow orders, but to make you suck on your own soaked panties is just cruel. 

He only shrugs. You’re not even worth his words now. The humiliation is getting harder to ignore, your pussy gushing for it with every passing second. With a tiny huff, you shove your panties into your mouth. You taste dirty. You feel it too. But, he finally pulls the sheets back once more, letting you know you’ve earned the treat. A twinge of pride replaces the embarrassment. 

Pink tipped, oozing precum, his massive cock slightly curves. You can’t help the satisfied sigh that escapes you. Fingers latching on your pussy, you swirl your wetness around your clit. You’re about to shove two fingers in, eyes locked on his length to catch his warning glare, but he stops you. 

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses. 

You furrow your brows as if wordlessly asking how the fuck he thinks you can watch him and not be able to finger yourself. You need something in you. He ignores your stares, the little grunts you let out in protest and shifts your fingers back up to your clit. 

The curses you want to hurl at him get muffled into your panties. He knows this too well, that smirk on his lips only widening. And though you believe you can do whatever the fuck you want, you keep your fingers around your clit. You’ll take any amount of friction at this point. 

“Oh, you can spit that out now,” he shrugs. 

You pause. Wasn’t the point of the panties in your mouth to make sure you’re quiet? Seokjin ignores your confused looks, leaning his head back against the headboard. As you drop your panites out of your mouth, his true intentions finally settle upon you. It was never about silencing you, but about humiliating you. Every word he’s uttered since whipping his massive cock out has been an order, all of which you’ve eventually followed. 

You glare at him, finally meeting his eye as he lazily looks over at you. “Is everything a game to you?” 

Seokjin dips his head into the crook of your neck. You tilt your head up without much thought. His teeth graze your skin, warm tongue soon following to soothe those little bites he leaves behind. You whimper and shudder with every hot breath he fans over you.

How is he doing this so easily? Your fingers pick up their pace with every new jolt of pleasure his mouth brings. 

“Slow down,” he whispers while trailing wet kisses along your jawline.

Your mind wants to rebel and rub your clit with twice as much speed and force. However, your body yields to his commands, complying to his every order. You huff angrily, finding yourself defenseless against him. As a weak act of defiance, you rest your leg over his. 

He grins. His free hand rubs your inner thigh, making you regret your actions instantly. With every stroke up and down your leg, your pussy only gets wetter, needier for his hand. Your eyes flutter shut, body trembles as you begrudgingly submit your entire being to him. 

“Touch me,” you plead. 

Seokjin tightens his hold on your thigh. “And what do you call this, Little Doe?”

You whine, forcing your eyes open to meet his gaze. Noses brushing, breaths exchanging, your lips hover over one another. You force your hand off your clit and bite back a mewl from the lost contact. “Touch me,” you repeat, voice only just cracking. 

For once, his amused demeanour is nowhere to be found. Seokjin creases all movements. He pauses for a second, scanning your features, then drops his gaze between your legs. In deep thought, he bites his lip. You can’t help the cold vacancy around your pussy, hips slightly rolling up for attention. Seokjin takes your wrist and guides your wet hand to his cock. “Slowly,” he advises. 

Fingers hovering over his huge length, you nod. A squeal escapes you as you stroke him. Just from those gentle touches, you can feel how heavy he is. Hand trembling, you wrap your fingers around him and slowly pump. 

He sighs against your cheek. You hate how proud you feel, but the kisses he places near your lips distract you enough to melt into him. 

“Who knew you were such a good girl?”

“Shut up,” you snap, though your pace on his cock remains steady. 

Seokjin trails his fingers up your thigh, to your wetness. You moan upon feeling his fingers circle around your clit. “You’re even wetter than you look,” he whispers.

“I said, shut up.”

A sharp slap to your clit draws a yelp out of you. Though you glare at him, tightening your grip on his cock, he only continues with the smacks. Each one is harder than the last, forcing you to pull your legs to your chest once more. 

He chuckles, nudging his nose against yours. “Be a good girl, Little Doe, and spread’em.”  

You pout and nudge back. Seokjin presses his lips together, holding back whatever laughter you’ve provoked, then pushes his mouth against yours. The fact that you don’t hesitate to kiss him back surprises you. Up until now, all you thought you wanted was a quick fuck. Now, you can’t imagine how you’ve resisted the urge to kiss him for so long. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, taking control almost immediately. You want to say you’re annoyed but you love the way it feels around yours too much to fight against him any longer.

Slowly, you spread your legs once more. He lands one last smack on your clit then soothes the blissful stinging away by circling his fingers around your pussy again. He’s moving his hand faster than yours, making you moan against his lips. 

Seokjin pulls away with a smirk as your moans suddenly tumble into the room instead of his mouth. He laughs while you glare. “Aw, come on, Little Doe,” he purrs. “Aren’t you having fun?”

You pout, biting back moans, and pick up the pace of your pumps around his cock. If he wants to play, you have no problem doing the same thing. His hips buckle into your hand. You’re smirking now... until his hand moves faster. You follow his lead, picking up your pace as he picks up his. 

Lowly growling, Seokjin clenches his jaw. “Fucking slut,” he grunts. 

“Fucking prick,” you shoot back. However, your insult loses umph with every whining dip in your voice.

That amused look in his eyes is no more. His gaze hardens into something more sinister as he seethes, “Cum.”

You gasp as your hips roll into his hand. “You cum,” you huff. 

“Cum!”

“Cum…” Your voice may be losing its strength and authority, but the look in your eyes remains as cold as ever. 

Seokjin grins. He must feel your hole clenching, must sense how you’ve been tightening around emptiness, needy for a release. Does he know how horny that rasp in his authoritative voice makes you too? Does he know you’ll most likely be dreaming about him tonight from how his scent has imprinted itself on you?

“You’re pathetic.”

You really fucking are. How quickly did you give into him again? Are you needy to cum or needy for him? Your eyes slightly roll back as your toes curl. You’re getting closer; he’s bringing you closer. Can you really be to blame for yielding so quickly, though? He disarms your confidence within a few words. It feels like you were only cussing him out seconds ago for ordering you to take your panties off. And yet, here you are, on the cusp of cumming because he told you to. 

Body quaking, you throw your head back and bite on your lip to keep from screaming his name. Your ograsm hits you hard and quick. Riling beside him, you’ve lost control of your hand around his cock. Your pumps hesitate, losing momentum and speed. Seokjin finds himself having to warp his free hand around yours to make sure he gets off as well. 

Your ears are ringing, blood rushing to your head as you gush some more around emptiness. You pretend you’re stuffed though. You imagine his cock deep in, the imprint of his girth bulging from your stomach as you cum. You’re angry with him, with yourself, with how good all this feels. In the midst of uttering a curse, you feel a warm, thick shot of his cum land across your face. Another load paints your breasts and stains your nightgown. 

Seokjin’s panting, grunting, trying his best to stay quiet as well. Your hands retract from each other within seconds of riding the other out. You shudder from the last leaks of your orgasm and pull your legs into yourself. All the while, he’s resting his head back and palming himself. As his eyes flutter shut, you can’t help but stare. He looks just as heavenly post-orgasm. A light layer of sweat glistens on his forehead, wet lips seeming kissable one more. 

His breathing regulates as he looks over at you. Nothing can fight off your frustration at the sight of that lazy smirk on his face. He points up to his own nose and says, “You got a little somethin- Ow!” 

You grunt a smirk after swatting his arm. “Clean it off,” you order between breaths. “Now.”

He raises a brow. “You wanted it so bad. You clean it off.”

“That’s not what I said I wanted.” 

Seokjin licks his lips to fight off a smile. “Did you or did you not tell me to cum?”

“By that stupid logic, you have a mess down there you need to clean too.” 

To your surprise, he nods. Seokjin shifts, repositioning himself so that he’s in front of you. His strong hands wrap around your ankles and pull them apart before yanking you towards him. 

You gasp and fall back into your pillow, looking up at him in astonishment. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleaning up my mess,” he shrugs. As he dips his head between your legs, he says with a wink, “I suggest you do the same.”

There’s barely enough time to breath, let alone clean his cum off you, before his tongue latches onto your pussy. He slurps up your cum with vigor, shaking his head between your thighs. Lapping up your juices, sucking on your clit, he seems to change his intention from cleaning up his mess to creating a new one. 

Your fingers tangle into his blonde hair, tugging on the long strands as he peeks up at you. Upon finding you’ve done nothing but relish in the sensation of his warm tongue, Seokjin pulls his mouth away from your pussy. You lift your hips up, whining and mewling quietly in hopes that he’d find you just cute enough to continue. 

Seokjin pokes his tongue between the gaps of his teeth. In silence, he waits. You know what he wants, but you can’t find it in you to follow another order. He’s somehow managed to melt you into agreeing to every command. You’d rather suck him off than scoop his cum off your face and swallow it. 

“Do it.”

“No.” 

He huffs. His entire chest puffs out, shoulders rolling back as he leers over you. That usually glint of amusement dissolves into annoyance. “Do it,” he whispers. Though his voice may be quiet, tone soft, his eyes are unforgiving. It’s clear this is your last chance.

You don’t care. “No.”

He’s hovering over you. All you did was blink and he’s hovering over you. Hot, short breaths fan over your face. His tip pokes your lower belly. You’re trembling. His tongue shoots out, swiping across your face. One of his hands shoots to your chin, thumb pushing it down to open your mouth. He gathers some spit with his cum then drops the load into your mouth. 

Your right eye twitches, only just rolling back from the taste. You swallow almost immediately and force yourself to ignore the recoiling disappointment of your heart at how easily you give in even after putting up a sad excuse of a fight. 

Seokjin repeats the process, licking up the cum across your cleavage now. He pulls down the neckline of your nightgown to make sure he gets every drop. Again, he spits it into your mouth. And, again, you swallow. 

You think it’s over now. He has licked up every drop of cum off your skin, after all. But, Seokjin isn’t satisfied until you’ve swallowed it all. He cups your breasts, pushing them up to tighten your gown and licks the cum off it easier. You swallow without hesitation when he spits it into your mouth. 

Both his hands come down on your breasts. You jolt, biting your lip to keep from crying out a moan. “Next time,” he starts, groping and massaging your tits. “I won’t be so leintant.”

With your hands over your head, you quietly moan, reveling in the sweet action. You nod to his pathetic warning, knowing that in the end you’ll do whatever the fuck you want. Yet, you can’t find the courage to tell him that. 

Seokjin ceases all soft massages and tears your gown. You gasp and grip onto his wrists while looking down at your now exposed breasts.

“What the hell?” You whine in a whisper. 

He only smirks before returning to his side of the bed again. Making himself comfortable, he replies, “Sleep well, Little Doe.”

You scoff. He must think you won’t take the gown off, even if it were torn. You can’t fall asleep now knowing he has the upper hand. Sitting up, you pull the night gown off and toss it aside. Seokjin, having one arm tucked under his head, watches you with an amused smile. His eyes devour every exposed inch of you. As you lie back down, you realize you’ve played right into his trap once more. He wanted you just as naked as him. 

“You make it too easy,” he chuckles. 

“You really are a prick.”

He quirks a brow. “Funny. I don’t see you putting it back on if I’m such a prick.” 

You don’t want it on. He knows that. You sure as hell know that. But admitting it would only make that festering anger in the pit of your stomach bubble into your chest. “Just go to sleep, Jin,” you mutter, turning away from him. 

You want to believe that your bed has never felt more uneven, uncomfortable, unwelcoming, but you know that’s not the case. You’ve never felt warmer than with Seokjin beside you. His body by yours has been a better comfort than the emptiness you usually find back there. Does he feel it too? Is that why he was adamant on you watching him, joining him, swallowing him? Or was it all just another power play? 

He shifts behind you. You stiffen, chewing on your lip. His hand, hesitant and shaky, snakes across your waist. It freezes against your stomach. You gulp and flutter your eyes shut as you rest your arm over his. It’s as though that’s all the confirmation he needs to pull you back into his chest. Steady breaths tickling the nape of your neck, you allow yourself to lean into him. 

You tell yourself it’s the exhaustion. But the truth lies behind you, cradling your body against his. Lacing your fingers between his, you whisper, “This never happened.” 

Seokjin presses a ghost of a kiss upon the nape of your neck. “Whatever you say, Little Doe.”

The clucks of the hens and spray of the tap cannot drown out his infuriating laughter. He sounds like a choked seal, squealing chuckles uncontrollably. It’s embarrassing. He should be kicked out on that basis alone. 

You watch him chat up Mama and one of your aunties by the kitchen island. He makes another one of those stupid puns and they eat it up. Mama throws her head back, laughing along with him. Auntie Hyel chuckles and shakes her head before joining the rest of your family, your four uncles and Baba, outside. It’s as if this dismissal from Hogwarts was not at all his fault. Mama treats him like the son she never had. Laughing at his jokes, feeding him leftover egg and beef from her kimbap rolls; it’s disgraceful. They should both be ashamed of themselves. Everyone living in this house who has even given into his charms should be ashamed of themselves.

You shudder at last night’s memories, knowing you’re one of those people in this house now.

“Morning, dear,” Mama smiles upon finally spotting you on the staircase. 

Seokjin turns to face you, that prideful smirk plastered on his all too handsome face. Yes, you realize the cruel oddities of reality. Someone as horrible as Seokjin gets graced with undeniable beauty and you, with your kind heart and good intentions, are offered mediocrity.

He leans his elbows back on the counter. “Little Doe.”

The nickname hits differently now. Phantom shivers trail your spine upon hearing echos from last night. He purred that name one too many times to sit the same again. It used to twist your insides with disgust. But now all you can feel are nervous bursts of desire, and a yearning for his touch and presence like no other. 

“Shut it, you gerbil,” you hiss as you make the final step down the stairs. 

Your eyes lock on his lips, ghostly sensations of last night’s session all too fresh to ignore. Is it wrong to want them on yours again? Yes. He’s filthy, you remind yourself. Filthy with pride and an ego just as big as his dick. A huff escapes you as your hatred for him resurfaces. It takes everything in you not to shove him off his seat and take it instead. You know better than to do that in front of Mama. She’d smack the both of you with that wooden spoon by her side within seconds. 

Mama tsks at your name-calling when you take your seat. You meet her warning stare with caution. As you mutter a half-hearted apology, she sets a fresh cup of tea before you. Much like this morning, you drink the tea in small sips. 

“Thanks, Mama,” you mumble against the rim of the cup. 

Seokjin stares at you and smiles, “Yeah, Mama, thanks.”

You clench your jaw, keeping your eyes trained on the bento lunch boxes Mama prepares for your last amity meeting with Seokjin and Professor Trelawney. Since the two of you have met with your professor, you’ve broken every rule set by her. Insults are hurled consistently, taunts are made, threats are promised. The only thing the two of you haven’t done is prank each other. It’s too risky and the both of you can’t tolerate another second cut off from your friends. 

“Do you two think you can keep the teasing to a minimum today?” Mama asks as she wraps each box. “The headmistress is dropping by after lunch to tell you if you’ll be returning to Hogwarts.”

You furrow your brows as you set the teacup down. Seokjin turns to face Mama with the same expression. “What do you mean? I thought that after the amity sessions, we’d be able to go back.”

Mama avoids your gaze as she tucks a set of chopsticks under the wrapped knot. “Well, the amity sessions are not the only thing the headmistress has been looking into, (Y/N). You still have that fire to answer for.”

“This again,” you roll your eyes. Mama glares at you. “Sorry, it’s just you know I didn’t start it. Even Jin knows I didn’t.”

Seokjin remains silent, looking down at his cup of coffee. Mama looks between you and him then raises a brow. “I think poor Jin’s been through enough,” she coos at him before rubbing his shoulder. 

This is unbelievable. You’ve never really talked to him about it, but you just knew that he couldn’t possibly think that little of you, especially after last night. You know what you said, what you indirectly made him promise, but your words can’t erase that memory. Or, at least, it hasn’t for you. And now Mama is coddling him from you. You’re apparently the monster in his life, the conniving serpent that has plagued him and set fire to his stupid dorm. 

Up until now, you’ve regretted snooping around in his room for your letters, regretted even setting foot in his common room. You know you didn’t start that fire, but you’d be happy if you did. It’s the least he deserves for cutting you off from your family and now stealing them right from under you. 

Tilting your head back, you chug whatever is left of your tea. It scorches your tongue, but nothing burns more than the betrayal in your heart. Hopping off your seat, you set the teacup in the sink to be washed by the sponges you’d charmed. Mama senses your shift in demeanour and follows you to the broom closet. 

“He misses his family too, you know,” she says as you grab your broom. “Don’t you remember what it was like to not have your family with you?”

You shut the closet, not bothering to grab Seokjin’s broom for him, and turn to face Mama. “You mean when he stole my letters? He’s the one that should be investigated. You know I didn’t start-”

Mama places her hands on your shoulders, silencing you immediately. To your surprise, she pulls you into her chest and hugs you tightly. “Please, (Y/N),” she whispers. 

You’re not sure what she’s asking of you but you nod anyways. To show her to really understand, the moment she pulls away from you, you open the closet once more and grab his broom as well. She smiles and places a sweet kiss upon your forehead. 

Wrapping her arm around your shoulders, Mama guides you back into the kitchen. “You two take care now,” she smiles. 

You hand Seokjin his broom. He doesn’t even have the decency to thank you. “You’re welcome,” you bitterly spit under your breath. 

He ignores you. 

Mama is halfway up the stairs when she calls out to the both of you to have a great day. You grab your lunch and backpack then make your way to the door. Mounting on your broom, you don’t bother to wait for him and commence your last flight to Witching Wits, a wizarding cafe in the small muggle town nearby. 

Gusts of the wind and the scent of asphalt fills the space between you and Seokjin as you enter the little town. Your brooms are charmed to cloak you in with your environment so you’re invisible to a muggle’s eye. Seokjin doesn’t bother to race you to the roof of the cafe as he usually does. He hasn’t even so much as tossed you a look of any kind. You slow down just to give him a reason to speed up, but he doesn’t take the bait. And when you finally reach the rooftop, and dismount off your brooms, he doesn’t tap the edge of his broom on the green bricked chimney. 

You raise a brow. A line of questioning already forms in your mind, but you decide against voicing it. You don’t care, and why should you? He was the only that brought you into this mess, made you dive into every impulse. This time you’re going to go against your desires and curiosity. Tapping rhythmically on the edge of the chimney, the bricks shift into stairs that descend into the cafe. You lead the way in, not bothering to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s behind you. You’ve had enough of him already. Besides, his footsteps are a clear sign that he’s following along just fine. 

Professor Trelawney is late… again. She hasn’t been on time since these sessions began. You’ve never hated moments alone with Seokjin more than you did today. Wordlessly, you place your broom on the rack by the entrance and find an empty table in the corner. 

The routine is simple enough and you hate to think you’ve grown comfortable with it. You sit across from each other. Notebooks out, quills in hand or laying by an empty page, and Marina, the morning shift’s waitress, jumping back and forth from the counter to your table because she can’t seem to remember that neither of you have ordered anything. 

“Actually,” Seokjin cuts in when you decline to see a menu. “I’ll have a butterbeer with a shot of espresso.”

Face scrunched in disgust, you push past his revolting order and say, “But you already had coffee at home.”

Home. Is it his home? He blinks at the word, furrowing his brows at you. He sure has made it into his home; charming your family, taking your bed, eating your food. 

“I want another,” he shrugs once that disarmed look in his eye disappears. “How about we pretend I never had one to begin with. Would that make you feel better?”

Fear flushes whatever expression previously took over your features. You arch a brow and ask, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Seokjin shrugs. He sits back and twirls his quill between his fingers, watching you carefully. 

You cross your legs, draping the short, flowy shirt of your white dress over your thigh. “It must’ve meant something, or you wouldn’t have said it.”

“Does that same logic apply to actions?”

You know exactly what he’s referring to now. Pursing your lips, you bite back any insults that are begging to be thrown at him. Instead of giving into the subject he’s adamant on discussing, you bring up one he’s been avoiding since your arrival. “What was the point in stealing my letters?”

“I could ask you the same question about the fire.”

You huff. Why must he be this difficult? “You know I didn’t start it.”

His shoulders rise and fall again. Those shrugs are starting to really test your patience. On the cusp of tossing Mama’s advice out the window, Professor Trelawney's clunky footsteps echo down the brick staircase. Before she can make her way to your table, you lean in and whisper, “I hate you, I really do, but I’d never put you in that sort of danger, Jin. I’m not deranged.” With how much time you’ve spent thinking about his lips this morning, you might rethink that last claim, but you stay firm on your words. 

Seokjin tilts his head and quirks a brow at your last statement. You throw him a blank stare as Professor Trelawney makes her way towards your table. 

“I know,” he whispers. 

He knows. He knows and you’re still under investigation. Has he told McGonagall this? If he vouches for you then you can’t possibly lose your place at Hogwarts. You don’t have much time to ask him, however, as Professor Trelawney drops her heavy bag on the table. 

“Ah, Morning!” she smiles. Her eyes widen with delight behind those thick rimmed glasses. You hesitantly smile back, sneaking a glance at Seokjin. 

He replies with a quiet, “Good morning, Professor,” before meeting your gaze again. The usual cocky remark, arrogant approach, and amused looks are absent from his, dare you think, kind face. He seems so genuine in his stare that you almost regret asking him to forget about last night. You clearly haven’t. 

Marina returns with Seokjin’s order as Professor Trelawney takes a seat and pulls out her calming crystals. “Oh, is that a butterbeer with an espresso shot?” She asks with curious eyes. Before Marina can confirm, Professor Trelawney says, “I’ll have one too.” 

Seokjin throws you a cocky smirk. A silent “I told you so,” dances in his gaze. You roll your eyes and sit back in your seat. 

As Professor Trelawney continues to line up the crystals, she suggests starting these sessions as you always have. “Deep breath in then out and let the other know something you admire about them.”

You share an annoyed look with Seokjin, sighing deeply when he refuses to start... again. He always pulls the quiet card, knowing you’ll be the first to lose your patience and say something that gets mistaken as an effort to get the ball rolling. 

“Very good, Miss (L/N),” your professor smiles. “But this time add something you like about Mr. Kim.”

You don’t bother correcting her. Instead, you sit up straight and take a deep breath in. On the exhale you say, “I really admire the way you always test my patience.”

Seokjin glares. He inhales deeply then lets out, “I really admire the way you never let things go.”

Marina returns with Professor Trelawney’s order and they share a concerned look as you carry on with the exercise, saying, “I really admire how stupid you are.”

“I admire how annoying you are.”

“I admire your laziness.”

“I admire your cruelty.”

You furrow your brow, ball your fist and bite back the curses threatening to slip out. Cruelty? Didn’t he just say that he believed you’d never actively put him in any danger? Was he just saying anything to try and get you to bend to his every command again? Lips trembling, you reply, “I admire your dishonesty.”

Professor Trelawney takes a sip from her butterbeer, upper lip coated with foam, then lets out a shaky breath. “Well, that was a good start,” she tries her best to smile, setting her cup down. “Given that it’s our last day, let’s try doing this exercise right just once, hmm?”

Mama’s words trickle back to you. You want to make her proud, to continue your studies at Hogwarts, but he’s just so frustrating. And a part of you knows that even if you make an effort to show Professor Trelawney how you’ve progressed these last few days, it wouldn’t change a thing. The results of your investigation are still pending, no thanks to Seokjin.

“Now, let’s try using positives. Mr. Kim, why don’t you start us off this time?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you resist the urge to scoff. He’s been silent since the beginning for a reason. If you give into insults first, he has the excuse of defending himself when he shoots one back. And though you know this every well, it only makes you want to swear at him even more. 

Seokjin huffs, twirling his quill between his fingers. Breathing in deep, he says, “I admire your determination.”

Lies. 

Swallowing your curses, you reply, “I admire your resilience.” 

Seokjin pauses. He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing. Scanning your features, he seems to be searching for signs of deceit. Expressionless, you stare back. He must’ve interpreted your lack of emotion for sincerity as his gaze softens. Sitting up, he licks his lips to hide a little smile. “I admire your passion.”

When has he ever seen you so passionate? This really is a joke to him; you’re a joke to him. You open your mouth to call him out for his lies when the strangest look surfaces on his face. You’re not certain what it is, but you can tell that it lacks defense and hostility. He’s radiating warmth. Lips in a… kind smile, he awaits your reply. Could he… Could he really be serious?

“I admire your ability to charm a room.”

Perhaps he heard something too raw in your voice, his brows momentarily shooting up. Have you been too honest?

“I admire your honesty.”

You have been too honest. Now, you’ve never been more confused. Does he or does he not believe you? You only wish you can ask. 

Professor Trelawney giggles into her half empty cup. “Well done,” she smiles, more foam coating her upper lip. Neither you nor Seokjin make an effort to let her know, sharing a knowing smile. The professor doesn’t think too much of it, though. She simply assumes her efforts are finally sinking in. 

“Let’s pick up where we left off yesterday.”

You flip back to yesterday's page. The last two weeks have been a series of attempting to compliment each other and recording all the pranks the two of you have pulled during this school year alone. Only two more pages, out of twenty-five, remain. Each of you must state the prank, explain why you did it and why you regret doing it. You have yet to receive an apology for all the crap he’s done to you… you also have yet to issue one yourself. 

“We last stopped with you, Mr. Kim. What’s the next prank on your list?”

Seokjin chews on his lip. “Blonde hair,” he mutters, playfully glaring your way.

Professor Trelawney leans forward. She inspects his hair, asking, “That’s not natural?”

No. What seems to be natural, however, is how good any colour of hair seems to look on him. You had intentionally intended to dye his hair pink. But, when you “accidently” spilled a bit of potion all over his head, he only looked better. The colour didn’t even clash with his red uniform. So, you quickly threw some mint leaves in and spilled some more over his head. Teal looked better than the pink. As a last ditch effort, while Professor Slughorn made his way to you, you tossed some butterscotch strings in and poured it all over his head again. The blonde stuck, striking beauty from every angle. 

“That was not supposed to happen,” you confess with a smile playing on your lips. 

“You poured that disgusting potion on me three times. I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

Well, at least something good came from trying to dye his hair. He may have looked good but the potion sure as hell didn’t feel that way. “You mixed up my schedule. I was late for astronomy six times,” you explain as a means of an excuse.

“That’s because you charmed your necklace to hiss at every girl I tried to date.”

You shrug. “Someone needed to warn them how slimy you are.” Professor Trelawney clears her throat. “Were,” you correct. “How slimy you were.”

The professor rubs her temples. “No,” she sighs. “Don’t you have something to say to Mr. Kim?”

You’ll be damned if you apologize first. He’s the one that started all this; he should be the one apologizing. And, if you’re satisfied enough with his groveling, you might consider issuing an apology for your actions as well. 

“For what it’s worth,” you start. Seokjin raises a brow. Professor Trelawney holds her breath. “My plan backfired. I only kept pouring the potion over you because you look great in every colour.” 

An exhausted sigh escapes your professor. She tries to remain positive however, smiling and nodding as she moves the conversation along. “And what about this necklace charming ordeal?”

“What about it?”

“Why did you charm the snakes on your necklace to hiss at his girlfriends?”

You pause. Why did you do that? You remember that it was a week before the Yule ball. Mitch, a fellow Slytherin, was in the middle of asking you something. You don’t exactly remember the details of that conversation. However, you do remember watching Seokjin over Mitch’s shoulder. He was being all too enchanting, courting Rina, who is possibly the kindest Hufflepuff you’d ever met. You remember watching her swoon and watching him notice. 

Your heart festers with a familiar rage. The charming spell comes to you in a hard wave once again, just as it did that day. 

“He reordered my notes,” you lie. 

“That was the excuse you used when you bought four hundred chocolate frogs in my name and released them into the Gryffindor common room,” Seokjin points out.

You avoid his narrowing gaze as both he and Professor Trelawney await the truth. Why did you do that? Why did you do that? The question circles around your head, excuses nowhere to be found. Nothing even really came of it. He ended up going to the ball with Rina anyways. And you went with Jimin since he’s your best friend and the only person you can tolerate being around for an entire night. Had you wanted Seokjin to take you instead? You internally cringe at the thought. 

“I don’t know,” you finally answer.

Silence falls over the table. You can’t meet their eyes, fearing they may see something you’re trying to bury deep within you. Professor Trelawney curls her lips in. Furrowing her brows, she asks, “Well, do you regret your actions?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps it’s the lack of hesitance in your reply, or the firmness in your tone. Either way, Professor Trelawney believes you. She carries along with the session. You and Seokjin go back and forth for the next couple of hours, crossing out every prank you finish addressing. 

Finally, your latest pranks remain. 

“How about we start with how you found out Seokjin had your letters?”

You swallow thickly. This happens to be the choppiest part of your story, according to the headmistress. “Someone,” she had said. “Someone told you?”

“Someone told you?” Professor Trelawney echoes when you repeat yourself to her. 

You nod. 

“Who?” Seokjin immediately questions. 

“Someone.”

“Mitch?”

How the fuck did he know that? Did Mitch tell anyone else? But if he made you promise not to say anything, then why would he go tell others? Setting your jaw, you repeat through gritted teeth, “Someone.” 

“Jimin?”

“No!”

“So, Mitch then?”

How does he keep doing that? You furrow your brows, exhaling sharply from your nose. What’s got him thinking it was Mitch to begin with? Had he maybe overheard Mitch telling you about it in the great hall? But, if that was the case, why didn’t he put in a better effort in hiding them? He just left them unattended in the first drawer of his night table, opened and vulnerable to any other prying eyes.  

Fear of someone else finding out about you and your family returns in sharp pains of your gut. You shift your crossed arms down to your stomach between shaky breaths. “Why are you certain it’s him?”

Seokjin smirks. “You had no problem denying that it was Jimin. Saying it’s not Mitch seems to be a struggle for you.”

It’s your fault for underestimating his intelligence. Yes, you constantly tell him he’s stupid, but you both know that’s not the case. And it’s the fact that you know how smart he is and that he knew better than to steal your personal property and invade your privacy only furthers your hatred towards him. Sighing, you reply, “It doesn’t matter who told me. What I would like to know is why you had to read them?”

All colour drains from his face. “I didn’t.”

You scoff, running your tongue between the gaps of your teeth. It’s vital that you keep your temper in check. You know that if you cause a scene now, you’d only look even guiltier. “Why were the letters opened then?”

“Look, I didn’t read them,” he huffs.

The atmosphere only darkens around your table, thickening with each trembling breath the two of you take. Professor Trelawney hisses at the sight of your auras and begins to flail her hands about, cleansing them from all that negative energy. You know things are starting to get out of control when an entire room of magical creatures look towards your table with concern and confusion. 

Glancing at Seokjin, you can’t help but glare. Everything he’s done, everything he’s said before this point has contradicted itself. He says he believes you, but won’t vouch for you. He says he never read your letters, but opened them anyways. He says the right things before bed, looks the right way, touches you in the right places, but then can’t meet your gaze the next morning. In all fairness, you had told him to forget about last night in so many words. However, his withdrawal from certain conversations is not lost on you. And it is for this reason that you cannot stomach to look at him any longer. 

“I need some air,” you suddenly mutter, cutting Professor Trelawney off. Lost so deep in thought, you hadn’t even realized that she was talking. 

“Alrigh-”

The screech of your chair cuts her off once more. The sad look on her face fills your heart with guilt. You hesitantly rest a hand on her shoulder and mumble, “Thank you for cleansing my aura. I feel a bit better with all that negativity gone.” 

Professor Trelawney smiles up at you. She holds onto your elbow and nods. “Of course, dear. You enjoy your lunch now.”

Forcing a smile, you pull your hand away from your professor. The intimacy is getting more and more uncomfortable. The most feeling you’ve put into anyone else was last night, and that’s not a fact you’re proud to admit. 

In seconds, you’re abandoning all feelings and thoughts. You turn your ink lid close tight and toss it into your bag with all your other things. In your peripherals, you can see Seokjin rushing to do the same. If he thinks he’s going to ruin your only moment alone with excuses, he’s sadly mistaken. Grabbing your lunch, you make your way to the broom rack and take the first familiar broom you see. Up the green brick steps you go, and under the wind you fly away from Witching Wits cafe; away from Kim Seokjin. 

The flight to Doe’s Peak is long, but worth the time. You land atop the highest hill, amongst the tallest grass. You’ve tossed glances behind you all throughout the flight, making sure Seokjin wasn’t following you. Now that you’ve made it though, alone with only the wind’s mocking melodies for company, you partly wish he had followed you. 

Dismounting off your broom, you let it fall by your feet. You’ve snuck away to this hilltop since the first amity session. You needed a breather then too after a heated argument about whether or not you taught Professor Flitwick’s frogs to follow Seokjin around and sing ominous notes every time he entered a room. You did, but no one needed to know that. You let your words get the best of you then too. 

Pulling out a white, red striped sheet from your bag, you shake it out and lay it on the floor. After one too many trips here, you’ve learned to come prepared. Actually, before these amity sessions, you haven’t flown up here in awhile. You used to always run away to this hilltop since it had the best view of the entire muggle town on one side and the country roads on the other. 

A large forest separates the peak from the countryside. As you sit yourself down on the thin blanket and unwrap your lunch, you remember tricking both the country and townspeople that a beast lurked these parts. It was before you realized you had magic. You came on a hiking trip with your family and fell in love with the scenery. You wanted to keep it all to yourself, so you attempted to roar into the forest. You were only seven; how were you supposed to know that you’d sound more like a bear than you intended to? By some twist of fate or another, you got what you wanted: an eyeful of scenery for your viewing only. 

You face the town now, watching the muggles bustle around in the distance. With a mouthful of kimbap, you pull your portable green radio out of your bag and flick it to life. A reply of the last quidditch game sounds. Slytherin against Gryffindor. Hearing the game all over again, you can’t help but sigh. You should’ve been there, batting bludgers towards Seokjin. He’s a seeker, but that’s never stopped you from swinging your bat towards him before. 

“Slytherin scores again! Gryffindor’s only chance to win now lies with the golden snit-”

You switch the radio off with a wave of your hand. Another second of this rerun and you might just chuck the radio down the hill. 

The wooden sign at the edge of the hilltop creaks from the forces of the wind. Shoving the last piece of kimbap into your mouth, you glance up at it. The hill was named Theodore’s Peak, but the other letters had fallen off long before you were born. Now, despite the discolored outline of the previous letters, the sign reads Doe’s Peak. 

It’s a bit ironic, you think as you scarf down the last little bits of egg in your lunch box. The hill belongs to you and your patronus is a doe. Now, if only Seokjin could let that go. 

Ah, Seokjin. Why can’t you go a single moment without his name on the tip of your tongue? Is he really that infuriating, that intoxicating that he needs to be entrenched in your every thought? Full of anger and frustration, you look back out at the town and inhale deeply. On the exhale, you scream at the top of your lungs. Screwing your eyes shut tight, you let every drop of rage out in a long scream. 

When you’re done, you shut your bento box, wrap it up tight and push it aside. You, then, mentally vow to go the rest of this lunch not thinking about Kim Seokjin while reaching into your bag to search for your peach. If this is to be your last few moments as a witch, the results of your investigation still pending, then you’ll spend them admiring your favourite place, alon-

A snap of a branch chills your blood. No one dares hike through the woods. You slowly turn your head down to the forest. Squinting, you notice a figure trying, and failing, to hide behind a tree trunk. Clenching your jaw, you attempt to swallow your anger. But then he laughs. 

“Get lost, gerbil face!” You shout. 

“What?”

“GET LOST!”

“COME UP?”

He’s doing this on purpose. Before you can yell curses, he flies up to where you are, dismounting by your broom. You roll your eyes, finally grabbing hold of your peach in your bag and pulling it out. Your bag tips over, but you pay it no mind. You’re all too consumed by Seokjin and his returning cocky smirk. 

“Get lost,” you repeat before taking a big bite out of your fruit. You don’t bother to spare a glance up at him.

Seokjin takes this as an invitation to sit. His eyes flicker from your bag to you. “You took my broom.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “So, you hid down there and watched me eat?” You ask around your food. 

“I’m not some creep.”

“You did follow me up here.”

He lets out a flustered sigh, looking out into the town. “I heard you yelling. Forgive me for wanting to make sure you were okay.” Tone drenched in sarcasm, he avoids your confused gaze. 

You open your mouth to call bullshit, but pause. Though you’d hate to admit it, that does sound like something he’d do. He’s a douchebag, but an honourable one. No matter how much he hates you, he’d never let you face a dangerous situation alone. Or, at least, you hope he wouldn’t. So, instead of insulting him or calling him a liar, you take another bite of your peach.  

“You come up here a lot?” He asks. 

You ignore him. 

He hums quietly. Then, reaches his hand back. “Is this why?”

Mid eye roll, mid chew, you freeze. He holds your dark green dildo in his hand, examining it in the bright afternoon sun like it’s some rock he found laying around. You know it’s big, having selected it on it’s size alone, but it looks small in his hand. You drop your peach, choke on the bites you try to swallow and lunge to grab that toy out of his hand. The only reason you’ve kept it in your bag was to keep it out of his sight. 

Seokjin laughs as he holds it high out of your reach. You scamper around over his lap like a little dog in desperate need for a treat. “Down, girl,” he teases with a smirk. 

Your arousal instantly pools between your legs at the reference. Though riddled with humiliation, you can’t fight the angry desire coursing through your veins. One of your peach juice stained hands suddenly wraps around his neck. You gently squeeze, ignoring the shudder of pleasure that runs down your spine at the gulp of his adam’s apple. 

Eyes locking, he raises a brow. Is that a challenge? Does he not think you can squeeze any harder? Despite being fueled by rage, you only just tighten your grip around his neck. 

He scoffs. 

You add your other hand, threatening, “I’ll do it.”

He smirks. “I dare you.”

Without much hesitance, your grip tightens. Seokjin moans. A gasp escapes you, turning his pleased groans into laughter. He just needs one hand to push both yours off him. Then your throat is caught in his grasp. He squeezes without warning, smirking down at you as he whispers, “That’s how you choke a brat.”

Chest heaving, straggled moans pour out of you. Seokjin must’ve thought the buttoned dress was too constricting around your breasts. He raises his brows as he looks down at your cleavage and grazes the buttons. You take this as a silent request to continue. Against your better judgement and the anger that wants to tear him apart, you nod. 

He wastes no time on anymore reassurances. Button after button is unclasped. Your bra becomes more and more exposed. His grip tightens as the sleeves fall off your shoulder. He reaches behind you, hovering his lips over yours, and loosens your bra. Exchanging his breath for yours, he purrs, “Take it off.”

“You want it off so bad; you take it off.” 

Echoing his words from last night, with your own variation of course, is possibly the deadliest thing you could do. Seokjin pulls your bra down, the straps falling off your shoulder too, and slaps one of your breasts. 

You hiss, glaring at him. He takes the look as another challenge, smacking your other breast much harder than the last. 

“Jin!” 

His gaze lacks remorse. With another couple of slaps on each breast, he seethes, “Take the bra off.”

You huff through your nose. He tightens his grip. There’s only so much of this you can resist. Licking your lips, you push the sleeves of your dress off to finally remove your bra. Though your top half is exposed, the cool, late spring breeze hardening your nipples, your bottom half is still concealed under the skirt of your dress. 

Seokjin releases your throat with a shove. You fall back on your elbows with a squeal. There hasn’t been a moment, a word hissed, a breath exchanged that you haven’t glared at him for. Sitting up, you have every intention of shoving him back. However, the moment you push yourself up, your lips find his. You want to say that you fought as hard as he did to be the one to have the upper hand, but you know you can’t. Not even a half-hearted effort was put into being the one to leer over the other. You surrendered within seconds, laying back down on the sheet as his frame hovered over yours. 

He breaks the kiss and stretches his head back. You follow the silent command, instantly latching your wet lips onto his soft skin. You kiss, suck, lick at the sensitive flesh of his neck as he trails a hand down to your pussy. A little chuckle escapes him when he finds that you’re pantiless. 

“Were you hoping I’d find you?” he asks. You bite down on his collarbone, earning yourself a smack on you pussy. “No panties and a fucking toy,” he whispers. “If you wanted me this badly, you should’ve just said so.”

Why does he have to waste such precious time running his mouth? You’re both needy for a fuck. Why won’t he just let that be it? There doesn’t have to be some sort of secret meaning hidden within every kiss received or touch offered. 

Pulling your face out of the crook of his neck, you part your lips to tell him to just shut up and fuck you, when he adds, “That’s why you scared Rina away, right? And the others too?” 

You flinch upon hearing her name. 

Seokjin smirks. He cups your pussy and hums a quiet moan at the wet heat it radiates. “I really didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

You’re so ashamed, you can’t even meet his gaze to glare at him. Burying your face back into the crook of his neck, your clutch onto his broad shoulders and seethe, “Shut up.”

He pets your clit one stroke at a time. Eyes rolling back, you lean into his frame and hold on tight. You know he’s being gentle now, but if you learned anything from last night, it’s that Seokjin’s mood changes with the wind. His free hand wraps around you, further pressing your body into his. Only when your bare breasts are smushed against his covered chest do you realize that he’s still fully clothed. He’s never looked better in a white shirt and some jeans but you’d just wish he’d stop with all these games and strip enough to fuck you already. 

Cupping your pussy again, he asks, “Do you want my cock, Little Doe?” You roll your hips into his hand and eagerly nod. Seokjin tightens his hold on your heat, drawing a little grunt out of you. “Then, answer the question, you dirty slut.”

“Yes, I want you,” you sigh, answering the second question. Though you know that’s not what he wanted you to reply to, you hope your lack of hesitance to confess other truths would be enough to end this line of questioning all together. 

It’s not. 

That hand he has on the small of your back, cradling you close to his frame, shoots up to your hair. He tugs on it, pulling your face out from the crook of his neck. You cry out in surprise. Shame rises from your gut at the realization that you love this rough act more than you should. Craning your neck more than necessary, he whispers against your lips, “Just be a good fucking girl for once, you pathetic brat, and tell me the truth.”

Closing your eyes, you let out a shaky breath. You might have to admit your most shameful secret, but you refuse to look him in the eye while doing it. “Fine,” you huff. Voice trembling, you admit, “I was jealous.” 

Seokjin places a soft kiss on your chin, a stark contrast to the rough grip he has on both your pussy and hair. “Good,” he mutters against your jawline. “Now, look me in the eye and say it again.”

A new rush of arousal pools into his hand. You feel him smirk against your skin. He knows all too well about your infatuation to be humiliated not to draw out every second of it. 

You slowly open your eyes to meet his amused ones. “I was jealous,” you repeat with a shudder. The words sound even more pathetic the second time around. The little cracks in your voice don’t soothe the sting of that fact. “I hate you.”

Seokjin smiles. “Don’t ruin all your progress now, Little Doe. You were doing so well.”

“Fuckin-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. You don’t even have the strength within you to not give into him. What more do you have to stand for? Your pride? He’s clearly trampled all over it. Your hatred? You’re slowly starting to question the legitimacy of that feeling because kissing him has made you feel refreshed with giddy desire. And feeling him has ignited every nerve on fire. It feels similar to hate, you know it does. It twists your guts and crushes your heart. It weighs down on your chest and shatters any belief in any other possibility but him. When he kisses you, when he holds you, when he plays with you like this, all you can believe in is him.

The harsh grip on your scalp softens and softens until it’s no more. His hand releases your hair and trails around to your chin. He holds you by your jaw as he lays you down on the sheet. After another soft kiss, he removes his hand from your pussy and reaches for that long, smooth curved dildo instead. Much to his amusement, a little giggle escapes you. Your defenses have fallen sometime between the first use of slut and that second kiss. You should be ashamed by the fact that you’re visibly eager to be ruined by him but you aren’t. In fact, you relish in the fact that you’re excited for him to see you so vulnerable, so submissive. And he seems to enjoy that too.

Seokjin leers over you with a little smile. He pulls your jaw open and shoves the toy into your mouth. You hold his gaze while swirling your tongue around the heavy object. He pushes your hair back, admiring the way you gag every time he shoves the toy further into your mouth without warning. Tears only just prick your eyes when he finally pulls it out

“Was that too much?”

You shake your head. 

He nods and moves the toy down. You spread your legs wider in anticipation. The two of you watch as he runs the side of the dildo between your folds before pushing it in. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, you rest your head back down on the ground. Your pussy’s already clenching around it. His other hand wanders around your torso, slapping and groping your breasts. With your arms up over your head, you roll your hips up into his hand, desperate to make him move the dildo or, at the very least, turn it on. 

“You want me to move it?” 

“Yes.”

He smirks. “Suck my dick.”

Your eyes widen, glancing between him and his crotch. “The whole thing?” The moment the question leaves your lips, you internally cringe. The whole thing, you mockingly think. Why the fuck would he want half his dick sucked? 

Seokjin chuckles. “If you think you can take it, yeah.” He nods down to his belt and says, “The whole thing.”

You gulp. Though the task is daunting, you can’t ignore how empty your throat feels. Chewing on your lip, you undo his pants and push it down to his knees with his underwear as well. His huge cock springs out, smacking you in the face. 

“Ah~,” you gasp. 

He only chuckles, positioning the tip in your already open mouth. Maybe he’s getting impatient, or maybe he just likes the fact that the moment his dick seems to appear, your jaw drops. Either way, you start sucking on his tip, swallowing his precum, and he watches you, a pleased smirk plastered on his face.

Propping up on your elbows, you level your face with his hips. It’s a bit easier to suck him off now, but you don’t dare get carried away. Already your jaw aches from his weight alone. Sucking and slurping, you lose yourself in your task to even realize that the toy’s moving inside you. 

It’s not enough. It’s not the same. With his cock in your mouth, his girth and a quarter of his length down your throat, you just know that nothing can compare to this. That dildo, the one you’ve been using for a couple of years now, the one that has made you squirt more times than you can count, only seems like a poor excuse for a toy now. 

You bring your hand up to his cock, pulling him out of your mouth for a breather. Quiet moans escape you, but it’s mainly due to the way he tastes. Jerking him off, you look up at him, pout your lips and ask, “Turn it on?”

Bringing his brows together, Seokjin licks his lips. “It turns on?”

You nod. He starts to shake his head at your request, but you open your mouth once more and smack his tip on your tongue. He pauses. You do it again and again, moaning erotically in hopes that the image would be pronogrpahic enough for him to finally agree. 

For once, your plan works. 

Seokjin mutters, “Turn it on then.” 

You squeal in delight, waving a hand down towards your crotch to get the dildo started. It hums loudly, vibrating harshly against your walls as you set it to the highest intensity. He raises a brow down at the toy. 

Worried he’d catch onto your actions, you quickly return to your ordered task. You deep-throat as much of him as you can without much of a warning and pump the rest of his cock at a quick, harsh pace. All the while, you're holding his gaze. However, even with the sight of tears streaming down your face and a mouthful of dick, Seokjin remains sharp and focused. 

The moment you turned that vibrator on, he ceased all movements. Holding it still in your pussy, he watches you devour his cock to overcompensate for the fact that you indirectly disobey him. But judging by the cocky look in his eyes, you’re starting to think this is exactly what he thought would happen. 

Realization hits you, mid-slurp, and you stop all movements. Warming his cock in your throat, you glare up at him through your blurry vision. This entire time you’ve been playing right into his hand. And why are you even taken aback by this discovery? You know you love it. He knows you love it. Why are you finding that so hard to admit yourself?

You’re about to pull him out but he holds onto the back of your head and pushes you back down on him. Gags vibrate around his cock at the same rate the toy buzzes in you. It’s uncontrollable and all he does is grunt and growl, throwing his head back. Seokjin knows he’s pushing your limits right now, but he doesn’t seem to care. Only when you grip onto his thigh does he let you go. 

Wet and slobbery, you swallow mouthfuls of oxygen even while his tip rests on your tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were the toy in this situation, not whatever’s vibrating in your pussy right now. 

Seokjin takes the dildo out of you while gently nudging you to lay back down. “You’ll be a good girl now? You won’t try anything else?”

You scoff. “How is it fair that you get to play around all you want?”

Holding your gaze, he presses the edge of the toy against your clit. You instantly cry out and roll your hips into it. He then pulls it away and watches you whine and huff in frustration. 

“That’s why.” 

Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you roll your eyes. “I can do that too.”

“You already did,” he points out, referring to your little attempt to try to distract him from the fact that you turned it on to any intensity you wanted. “Do I need to remind you how that turned out for you?”

Then it hits you. He wasn’t playing around; he was punishing you. A string of curses loops in your mind at how stupid you’ve been. You should’ve tried to humiliate him back, degrade him just as well as he had degraded you. You shouldn’t have inflated his ego like this. You shouldn’t have disregarded the one thing that has kept him in your life for this long; your pride. 

Crossing your arms under your breasts, consequently pushing them together, you reply, “Do I need to remind you that you’re just as horny as I am?” Seokjin circles around your head so that he is leering right above you. You have to lean your head back to talk to him as you continue. “I know how hard you are, Jin. I know how badl-”

Seokjin cuts you off by smearing his tip over your lips. You fall silent. Staring up at him, you try to resist the urge to lick your lips. You do, however, open your mouth wide without being asked to. Though you tell yourself that you’re doing this because you want to, though you know deep down that everything you do is for him. 

He spares no time with words. The moment you open your mouth, he leans forward and pushes his cock down your throat. His weighty balls fall against your forehead and large hands reach for your breasts to mount himself. He doesn’t move; he simply sits over your head while your throat keeps his cock warm.

He doesn’t fit. It doesn’t stop him from squeezing himself in. Your throat burns. The gags and tears don’t bother him. Your hands on his thighs, nails digging into his flesh, doesn’t faze him. The fact that he doesn’t fit isn’t an issue in his mind. He probably won’t fit in your pussy, but you both know that won’t stop him either. 

As you choke on him, throat constricting, swallowing his length upon command, he grabs the vibrating dildo somewhere by your head and presses it against your clit once more. You can’t even moan with his cock this far down your throat. Your hips spasm, though, and legs tremble. You roll into the toy, squirming under his body. 

“You really need a mouthful of dick to follow orders?” He asks over your gags and the buzzes of the vibrator. Slowly, he starts to pull out of you.

You want to say the first sound to escape you the moment he’s out is a gasp for fresh air, but you can’t. You moan instead. You moan his name. The denial will never die, so long as the truth is this obvious. Every breath you spend on him rather than yourself only further proves that fact. 

He stays hovering behind your head, cock perched against your cheek, as he continues to get you off from this angle. Little chuckles fill the space between you with every desperate, broken moan of his name that pours out of you. Your panting, your throat’s aching, and yet all you can think, all you can say is “Jin, Jin, Jin.”

Pussy clenching, hips buckling, your orgasm nears. Looking up at him, you find his attention is locked on your crotch. A little smile tugs on your lips with that familiar sense of pride blushing in your chest. Captivating him like this turns you on too much to be able to soundly admit. Something about making him happy, making him lose himself over you makes you proud. Maybe you just like the attention, you tell yourself while wrapping your hand around his cock. 

Curious and dark, his eyes snap back to yours. Moaning against his length, you stare up at him innocently. What’s the use of fighting your need for him… when he’s controlling that vibrator? As long as he’s in control, you know you’re going to have to give into every order blindly, especially if you want to cum. You tell yourself that you’ll do what he says because you haven’t had a good fucking in a while then push any opposing arguments to the side. 

Seokjin smiks. “Close, Little Doe?” 

So very close. You can’t hide the quaking of your legs. You’re just glad he’s not sitting near your pussy or he’d be able to see how much it quivers for him. Sucking harshly on his tip, you nod and hum, “Mhm.”

Your gasps are breathless, moans desperate as you feel your orgasm threaten to take over. Shutting your eyes, you throw your head back and-

“No!”

His obnoxious laugh meets your ears. You cry out curses as you sit yourself up and turn to look at him. Face blotched with tears, spit and precum, you glare at him. “You fucker!”

He only laughs harder. Having had enough of his games, you reach for the vibrator. You don’t need him; you can do it yourself… if he’ll let you, that is. Seokjin holds the toy out of reach once more when you attempt to grab it out of his hands. 

“I was so close!” You whine, clutching onto the collar of his shirt. 

Mocking your whines, he grabs onto your ass to keep you still. Your eyes then widen, the tip of his erection poking at your stomach. With the two of you now on your knees, battling for the upper hand, the desire to have him in you only intensifies. Your dress pools around your knees as you straighten your posture. The act of hooking a leg around his waist to jump on his cock is all too tempting. The fast murmurs of the vibrator is long forgotten now that all your mind can think about is how easy it would be to take what you want. That’s what he has been doing this whole time anyways, right?

Eyes dark and drenched in dominance, he smiles. He really thinks he’s won, that he’s got you wrapped around his finger. From a single glance, you know he believes you’ll do anything for him. And maybe if he hadn’t edged you that hard, you would’ve played right into his hand again. But, he got drunk off this control and it’s about time you reclaim it. 

You may be naked, but you’re about to uncover every single one of his cocky glances and sly smirks. Destruction is your goal. 

Softening your gaze, you pout your lips and press them to his chin. Seokjin stiffens. His grin falls. He brings his brows together and watches you carefully. You arch your back to push your ass further into his hand. Mewling against his jawline, you release his shirt and slither a hand to his neck. 

Seokjin scoffs and lowers his hand, dropping the vibrator. Both his hands cup the underside of your ass, lifting you up and spreading your legs enough to position his cock between your folds. Biting back a smirk, you slither your other hand through his long, pulled back hair and exaggerate an innocent whine. He eats it up, rolling his hips into yours. 

The little bit of friction against your clit only derails you for a second as your breath hitches. He’s getting too comfortable with this feigned submissive state you’re displaying. When he starts to massage your cheeks, you know you’ve got him hooked. He’s too vulnerable to predict your next move.

As his eyes flutter close and he leans in for a kiss, you grab onto his throat. His eyes shoot open, but it’s too late. You pull his head back by the grip on his hair and dig your nails into his neck. Bearing your teeth, you graze and nibble on his jawline. He spanks you as a means of retaliation, but the gasp that escapes you only adds to your anger. 

“You really thought you could get away with that?” You question while tightening your grip on his throat. Seokjin gulps. You giggle when you feel his adam’s apple bob under your palm. “You should’ve let me cum, you pathetic slut.”

Using his words against him only seems to humour the situation. He laughs, trying to look at you despite the fact that you’re holding his head back. “Let me go before I lose my patience, Little Doe,” he rasps. 

You’re the one that has a hold on him. He can’t tell you what to do. How does he even have the guts to taunt you when you’ve got him in such a degrading position. You clench your jaw and grunt. 

“I won’t tell you again.” The humor in his tone has disappeared. 

Huffing, you raise a brow. If you need to assure your dominance over him, then that’s exactly what you’ll do. Gathering your saliva, you spit over his lips. He flinches. “Lie the fuck down,” you order. 

Seokjin darts his tongue out and licks his lips. Sighing, he whispers, “I’ll tell you what. If you can lay me down yourself, without using magic, I’ll apologize for everything.”

That tool. He must think the least of you if he’s willing to bargain this much. You’re about to tell him to shut up and do as you say, but then he smirks. He really believes you can’t do it. Anger doesn’t fully encompass your feelings towards him, and neither does rage at this point. You’re livid. Heart pumping a vicious dose of spite and pride, you release his throat and attempt to shove him down by his shoulders.  

He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even pretend to be affected. You should’ve known better than you push him by his strongest point. His shoulders are massive; of course, they’d keep him up. Your next attempt focuses on his chest as you try to shove him down from there. Seokjin chuckles, biting his lip to keep the rest of his laughter in. 

“Just give up,” you shout while trying to climb over him. The hope of your body weight being enough of a factor to bring him down, backfires. Now you’re the one locked in his grip. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, breasts in his face. 

“I was just about to say the same thing to you,” he smiles. 

You let go of his hair. Both hands grip onto his shoulders as you watch his messy hair come undone. A few strands fall over his eyes. From this angle, with his long hair everywhere and chin leaning into your breasts, he looks harmless, perhaps even enchanting. He’s beautiful. That’s a fact you can never deny. It’s been true the moment you saw him all those years ago and it’s true now. But that amount of dominance is all your pride is willing to accept at this point. 

Pushing those soft strands of hair out of his face, you whisper, “Lay down, Jin.”

Seokjin shakes his head, nuzzling his face between your breasts. Your breath hitches as he makes himself comfortable by kissing and biting just under each tit; your most sensitive areas. Eyes fluttering shut, head falling back, you let yourself get lost in the gentle pleasure for a moment. But then, his teeth graze your skin a little bit harder than necessary. 

Your eyes snap open, hands rushing through his hair to pull his head back. Glaring down at him, you’re about to scold him for thinking he can take over you like that and not expect to be punished. Little do you know, he’s thinking the same exact thing. 

Before you can even part your lips, Seokjin’s patience has disappeared. He lays you down with ease, making quick work of pinning your hands over your head. You grunt and roll your hips against his stomach as a means to push him off, or so you tell yourself. Seokjin only plays into it as he rolls his body back into you. He chuckles when he feels your pussy quiver from the slightest bit of friction. You're too needy to put up more of a fight for your control back. And while that fact has already come and gone for Seokjin, you’re still making your peace with it. 

“You’re so fucking lucky you’re this cute,” he purrs. “Or I would’ve pounded that attitude out of you the first time you acted out.”

It’s condescending, absolutely degrading, yet you’re gushing for more. Pussy throbbing, you whine and attempt to pull your wrists out of his hold. You don’t make much progress. Seokjin smirks down at you. He leans in for a kiss and the temptation to give in returns. It trickles into your heart in quiet whispers. However,  your pride is louder, slithering into your soul in booming echoes. So as his lips near yours, instead of puckering, you spit. 

He flinches. “I was so close to forgiving you, Little Doe.”

“I haven’t apologized.”

“Yet.” 

You part your lips to tell him to go to hell, when suddenly you're turned over. Face smushed into the ground, body flat but ass up and hands held behind you, you’re entirely at his mercy. A soft cloth, you can only guess was the wrap of your lunch box, finds its way around your wrists, binding them tightly. 

“Ji- Ah~”

The smack of his hand coming down on your ass echoes in the vacant space. With your face towards the cityscape, you can see a few people look around for the source. If a single person glances up at the peak, they’d find your naked body completely submissive to Seokjin’s clothed one. The risk causes your arousal to tickle down your thigh.

Whether or not Seokjin is aware of the fact that he’s calling the attention of an audience doesn’t matter much to you. And even if it did and you wanted to ask him about it, you wouldn’t have the chance. After another spank, Seokjin pushes your asscheeks up and apart to bury his tongue in your pussy. You circle your hips at the warm sensation of his mouth against your heat. Moans and curses mixed with praises pour out of you as he sips on every wet drop of yours. He groans at the taste, completely entrenched in your needy pussy to pull away. 

“Oh, yes, there, you fucker,” you moan as his tongue swipes between your folds. Another spank meets your ass at the insult. You cry out a moan, but don’t care enough to stop. “That’s cute,” you whine. Though your words may be condescending, your tone betrays your intentions. You sound more broken and needy than ever. Each word sounds more like a plea rather than an insult.

Seokjin rather heard the former. He laps up a good amount of your wetness, then brings his glistening lips up to your asshole. After spitting the wet mixture over your hole, he reaches for the abandoned, still buzzing vibrator. 

“Ever use this in your ass?” He asks while swirling the spit mixed juices around your hole with the tip of the vibrator. 

You shudder a whine, fisting your hands to keep yourself focused. “No,” you sigh. “The most I’ve put in is two fingers.”

Seokjin chuckles as he pushes the tip in a good inch or two. You squeal loudly and screw your eyes shut from the buzzing, blissfully burning sensation of the vibrator’s stretch. “Well, after today you can say you’ve put in a bit more than that.”

As he massages your cheeks, tongue relatching onto your heat, you realize you really are just a toy to him, a little play thing, a set of holes to entertain him. And you should hate him for that, hate him for stealing your things, for reading your secrets, for making you love him all these years, but you don’t. You can’t hate someone as wonderfully prideful as you. You can’t despise his hardheaded tendencies or the fact that he must always be right. Because, though these traits may get you in some trouble, they’re possibly your favourite things about yourself. You love the challenge of proving yourself, and you know he does too. And of all the stupid men you’ve been with, Seokjin’s the only one that understands how to pleasure you, to provoke you beyond repair. 

The more you think about everything you’ve done to him out of spite and everything he’s done to you in return, the more you crave his cock. Pushing back against his lips, you hiss, “When the fuck are you planning to fuck me?”

He sits back and lets his hand take over his tongue’s work. Two fingers rub between your folds and tease your entrance as he replies, “Think you can take the whole thing, Little Doe?” 

Just when you were thinking you actually love the guy, he goes and throws your words back in your face. You’re starting to wonder if you’re insane for wanting him even more now. “Why don’t you stick it in and find out, you fucking thief,” you reply between quiet moans. 

His grip on your ass softens and he takes his fingers out at the reference. Though your heart’s telling you to drop it and charm him once more, your pride encourages you to continue. “Maybe this pussy might fuck some honour back in you. Maybe you’ll learn not to take what isn’t yours.”

That harsh hold returns. Both his hands grab onto your ass in a deadly grip as he darkly chuckles and asks, “What makes you think I’m the one being taught a lesson? Aren’t you the one tied up?”

His questions are irreverent, you tell yourself. With that vibrator in your ass and your pussy empty of his touch, all you can think about is how badly you need to be filled. “You annoying little shit,” you hiss over your shoulder. “Just fuck me already.” 

He smacks your pussy, making you cry out his name like the slut you know you are for him. “Watch your mouth, whore,” he warns. His voice is heavy with lust and dominance. You can’t help but push your hips back towards him from his tone alone. “Or, I swear, I’ll make you sorry you ever talked to me seven years ago.”

“You fucker! You spoke to me first!” 

“Are you serious right now? I’m threatening to fuck the shit out of you and you want to argue about who spoke to who first?” 

You huff a shaky breath. “You’re avoiding the topic because you know you’re wrong.”

“You just love lying, don’t you?”

How the fuck are you the liar? Fighting against the restraints, you explain over your shoulder, “I was minding my own business in my compartment and your dumbass-”

Seokjin shoves the half-eaten peach in your mouth, cutting you off. You bite into it to get a piece out so the rest could fall, but you end up hitting the pit. Chin sticky with peach juice, you scream into the fruit and try to glare at him over your shoulder. Seokjin simply pushes your face into the ground, leans over your flattened body and purrs, “I’ve heard enough from you, slut. Lying, screaming. You even think you can boss me around.” He chuckles a bit at his last sentence before continuing, “You’re going to apologize to me, (Y/N).” 

“Never!” You scream into the peach. However, all he hears is a two syllable grunt. 

No matter. The fact that you spoke back is enough to spur him on. He let’s go of your head and sits back up. You go to lift your head off the ground, but he pulls your hips up before you have the chance. He positions his cock between your folds then aligns it with your entrance. You only have the opportunity to suck in half a breath before he’s pushing himself in. 

You were right before to assume he wouldn’t fit. His girth alone is thick enough to make you cry into the fruit with every bit he further attempts to slide in. The stretch is so sweet, so harsh. You’re obsessed with how fucking big he is and how well he makes room for himself between your walls. Peach juice and drool runs down your chin, your neck, and stains the sheet. A mewling, sticky mess already and he’s not even halfway in. You need to stop losing yourself over him though, if you intend on keeping your apologies to yourself.

However, the vibrator partly lodged in your ass is not helping your attempt to stay still and sane. And every inch he continues to push in has you rolling eyes. Is it humiliating to admit you want this everyday, every night, every moment of your life? Is it disgraceful to wish he was yours always? Is it unreasonable to want to be his one and only? Him, him, him. All you want, all you crave is more him. 

He finally bottoms out. Maybe you’re whipped for his dick, or too horny to think straight, but you can almost certainly swear on both your lives that the imprint of his cock is bulging from your stomach. You can feel it against the floor. The realization makes you shudder and whimper into the fruit. 

“Tightest fucking cunt,” he whispers to himself. He then suddenly leans over your body, his stomach nudging the vibrator in a bit more, and kisses up your spine. A bundle of shivering nerves follow his trail up to the curve of your ear. “You know,” he starts in a whisper. “You look a lot like a little annoyed kitten when you’re angry.” 

You scratch at his stomach from your constrained position and groan into the peach. 

“See?” He darkly chuckles. “I live to see your nose twitch and eyes go dark whenever I piss you off. You just look so cute, Little Doe.” Hips pulling back, he continues, “I just can’t resist.”

“Fuck you.”

The clap of skin on skin is enough of a reply. Your eyes roll back and jaw clenches, teeth clattering against the peach pit. He starts slow, breathing heavily in your ear, making you clench around his cock for more. But then, he straightens his posture and holds onto your hands to build some momentum. With his heavy balls smacking against your clit as he speeds up, the most you can do is muffle your moans and whines into the fruit and pray you’ll mentally survive this. 

It’s all too good to be true. His length hits all the right places and then some, bringing grateful tears in your eyes that you’re thankful he can’t see. If he knew you were slowly becoming a sobbing mess for his cock too, then he’d never let you live it down. 

Seokjin then lets go of your hands, leaving you grabbing at the air, and shifts his hold to your ass. Using the meat of your cheeks, he pulls you forward and back to meet him halfway. He groans your name with every smack of his hips against your ass. You’re dripping off his tongue, entrenched in his very being by the way he chants your name. And though you’re the one tied and gagged like a suckling pig, utterly submitting to him and his dominance, the fact that he’s high off you is enough validation of power for you to enjoy his cock guilt-free. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

You whine back without much thought. Only when he pounds into you three more times does your mind catch up to his word. Beautiful? Did he just call you beautiful? Was that supposed to be demeaning? Because, even if it wasn’t, you seem to be getting closer and closer to your high. 

You grunt a broken question into the fruit. Seokjin pushes in deep and leans over your body once more. Placing a soft kiss to your cheek, he takes out the mulled peach and asks, “What was that, Little Doe?”

“Do you mean it?”

The question trickles out of you in cracked cries of pleasure. And though you may sound weak and dick-hungry, the question is still strong enough to stun him. Soon, however, his senses find him once more. Circling his hips into your ass, cock swirling your juices deep within you and rubbing against your needy walls, he repeats in a dark whisper, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

And as you moan his name in affirmation, he continues his thrusts in and out of you. The pace is slower than before, but the force is just as brutal. 

Seokjin takes a bite from the peach. In fact, it’s the same bite you took, only he avoids the pit. He then sticks half the piece out of his mouth, holding it out for you. You meet his lips halfway, taking a bite off while kissing him. The juices smear down both your faces, but you’re all too consumed with the filthy act of exchanging saliva to care. 

Pulling away, Seokjin holds your chin until you finish chewing and swallowing the piece. “Why couldn’t you swallow my cum like that last night?” He playfully asks. 

“I didn’t know-” You cut yourself off, the realization of your words catching up to your mind just in time. 

He raises a brow, ramming his hips even harder into you. “Didn’t know what, Little Doe?”

You shake your head. 

Seokjin drops the peach and grabs your hair. “Tell me.”

“No,” you mewl. 

“Tell me or I won’t let you cum.” 

The threat is enough to give you pause, but not nearly enough to make you confess. Then, he stills his hips mid thrusts and ups the stakes. “Tell me, Little Doe, and I’ll tell you the truth about the letters.”

The letters. The offer is more than tempting, but how can you be sure it's real? You swallow thickly, trying to sneak a good look at him in your peripherals. From the glances you’re able to get, you can tell that he’s serious. Gulping every fear and nag of your pride, you push your ego aside and confess, “I didn’t know I was in love with you then.” 

Seokjin pauses for a moment. He releases your hair then sighs. Have you said too much? Before you can really think about it, he presses a wet kiss to your cheek and continues with his movements into you. “I love you too, my little slut,” he purrs before returning to his previous position behind you. 

His little slut. You’re all his. However, you don’t have much time to relish over this newfound information as he takes up a speed you’ve never experienced before. He’s harsh and his cock viciously rams in and out of you while pushing the vibrating dildo further into your ass. You cry out a broken sob and nuzzle your tear and peach juice stained face into the sheet.

Your pussy tightens around his cock as you edge your orgasm. “C-Can I?” You ask, fearful he’ll deny you the truth if you don’t, or so you try to convince your ego that. 

“Of course, Little Doe,” he grunts. “I’m no liar.”

You want to dive into his words, the meanings behind them and why he chose now, of all the times, to tell you that. But, with your orgasm taking over, all you can focus on is trying to breathe. Eyes rolling back and twitching, mouth hung open, ears like sirens with their ringing, and pussy gushing, you reach your peak. Crying out his name, you cum all over his cock. 

Seokjin is relentless. He does not still his hips for a split second. In and out, he dives. He’s adamant on riding you through this and reaching his own high as well. “Tell me again,” he orders. “Tell me how you feel again, baby.”

Destruction is your goal, but you never thought to be at the receiving end of it. Your mind feels foggy, heart racing and pussy aching with that sweet relief of releasing all you have for him.  And though you might have thought that that second time you confess your feelings to him might break you, you find that it gives you strength instead. 

“I love you,” you breathlessly cry. 

You just finish the confession when he pulls in deep and shoots ropes of his cum into you. The tears in your eyes have no bounds. The stimulation is proving to be too much as you squirm in place. Seokjin quietly shushes you while grinding into your pussy to sprout every last drop into you. 

“Please, please,” you tremble. “It’s too mu-ch, Jin.”

Seokjin pulls the dildo out of your ass, and turns it off before tossing it near your head. With his cock still deep in you, he unbinds your hands. You bring your hands to either side of your head, sighing at the relief of the strain. Then, finally, he slowly pulls out of you. You let out a staggered whimper and close your eyes to try to contain yourself from crying out once more. You’re sure at this point that a few people must’ve seen you. You’re in the broad daylight, laying on the highest hill and screaming at the top of your lungs. Surely, you’ve caught a handful of attention. 

Once he’s fully out of you, Seokjin flips you over on your back. You avoid his gaze and bring your knees into your chest. He smiles and holds onto your ankles.

“I’m not sure if I want to clean you up or not,” he thinks out loud. You're too light headed to answer, but the hard look in your eyes when you finally meet his gaze is enough to make him laugh. “Guess I’m gonna leave you to walk around with my cum all day, Little Doe.”

“That’s not fair,” you sigh. 

Seokjin tuts. “Don’t whine,” he orders while pressing soft kisses upon your knees. He then pulls his briefs and pants up. And just like that, he’s fully dressed. The only indication that something dirty occurred is the dripping stain of peach juice on his white shirt. 

A part of you can’t bring itself to care if his cum stays in you or not. He’s fucked you beyond comprehension and you still have yet to regain your senses. His eyes flash with worry when you don’t fight him on his decision. 

“Are you okay?”

You only nod, all too fucked out to use words. 

“Need help sitting up?”

He interprets the half-hearted glare you shoot him as the yes you intended. He holds his hands out for you and you take them without a second thought. A smile graces his features as he pulls you off the ground. You tuck your legs under you when you finally sit back up. Your dress crumples under you and you can’t even be bothered to pull it out. 

Seokjin, barely even heaving, watches you try to compose yourself. “How are you not as tired as I am?” You question between pants. 

“Because I’m better than- Ow!”

You swat his shoulder and glare at him. “Finish that sentence and you won’t get any tonight,” you threaten before turning your attention back to your dress. You pull it out from under your and try to turn it inside in. 

Seokjin scoffs, flipping the dress over so you can finish your task easier. “You really think you’ll be able to go again tonight too?” 

Licking your lips, you hold his gaze and pull your dress back on. “If the truth doesn’t destroy you,” you start, buttoning up your dress, “Then, you can have me every night.”

He slowly nods along to your words. Curling a strand of his hair behind his ear, he sighs and finally confesses, “I did steal the letters.”

Your heart shatters into your gut. Clenching your jaw, you attempt to hold back your tears. Yes, you’ve accused him of it over and over again, but every time he denied it, you believed him. Never did you really believe he was this capable of being cruel.

The trembling sigh that escapes you makes him turn his body fully towards you. “I didn’t take them from you though,” he quickly adds. 

“My owl is an extension of me, asswipe,” you seethe, voice almost breaking. 

Seokjin shakes his head and corrects his statement, “No, I mean I didn’t take them from you at all. I caught someone reading them in the restricted section.” 

You scoff, looking off into the town with a shake of your head. This is unbelievable. Does he honestly think he can copy your someone claim and get away with it? “Someone?”

He raises a brow at you. “What? Suddenly that sounds stupid? That’s all you’ve been telling McGonagall.”

You snap your eyes back to him and shout, “That’s the truth! Someone told-”

“I know it was Mitch,” he cuts off.

“How can you be so sure? It could’ve-”

“Because that’s who I found with your letters.” 

You freeze. No. No! Mitch is a Slytherin, a friend. Why the hell would he steal your letters and then tell you about it? And if he did read them, then he knows the truth about you. So why hasn’t his demeanour around you changed? Why hasn’t he told anyone else? 

“I thought you were going to tell me the truth.”

“(Y/N), I swear this is the entirety of it. I took them from him the moment I recognized your handwriting,” he explains. Seokjin shifts closer to you and pushes your hair out of your face. “He told me that if I told you what he did, then he'd tell the school about your blood status.” 

Nothing can stop the tears pooling in your eyes. You try to blink them back, but that only provokes a few to fall. Seokjin goes to wipe them only to have you push his hand away. “So you know?” You whisper in hopes that it will mask the cracks in your voice. 

It doesn’t. 

“No one cares that you’re muggle born, (Y/N),” he sighs. 

“So why didn’t you tell McGonagall the truth then? Why’d you hide it for this long if no one will care? We both know there’s a good chunk of each house that will hunt me down if they knew.” 

He shakes his head. “You know that’s not true. I didn’t tell anyone because I knew it would hurt you. You’re just scared you’d lose your power over everyone. Being half blood gains you just as much respect as being a muggle born.”

Your tears act on their own accord now, falling freely down your face. This time when Seokjin goes to wipe them away, you don’t reject him. He cups your face and says, “And if anyone does try to hurt you because of that-”

“You’ll make their life a living hell?” You mockingly finish. 

Seokjin smirks. “No, my girlfriend will,” he chuckles, genuine eyes boring into yours. “She’s really beautiful and she’s not afraid to take what’s hers. And she’s actually really scary. I’m really terrified of what she’ll do next sometimes.” 

You fight off the urge to smile as much as you can while he speaks. “You better be talking about me or I swear, Jin, I’ll-”

“See? She’s already making threats and I’m complimenting her,” he laughs. 

A little giggle tumbles out of your lips. As you finally let yourself smile, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” you mutter into his shoulder. 

Seokjin is quick to hold onto your waist. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck. “You know you’ll be okay, Little Doe.” 

The nickname has never made you smile as much as this before. And though your ego is still larger than him, your pride finally takes the back seat. Swallowing thickly, you pull away from him and mumble, “I’m sorry.” 

“Hmm?”

You huff through your nose and only just raise your voice, “I’m sorry.”

Seokjin knits his brows and leans in, “What?”

“For fuck’s sake, you alpaca, I said I’m sorry!” 

“Oh, you were serious?” He asks with a playful smirk. 

You internally curse yourself for being so in love with an idiot and shake your head. Your nose twitches a bit and Seokjin can’t help but throw his head back as he laughs. “I don’t know why I try,” you mutter to yourself.

Seokjin grabs onto your wrist and pulls you into his lap. You give in without another word and let him cradle you close to his chest. “You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he mutters against your hair. “I know you didn’t mean to start that fire.”

You snap your head up at him. “Really?” 

“I told McGonagall the same thing but she kept asking if I knew who else would do that, so I just stopped trying.” 

He really tried. This whole time you were convinced he thought the worse of you, that he didn’t care if you ever returned to Hogwarts, but he really was trying to help you. How long has he known he’s been in love with you too? Wrapping your arms around him, you reach up for another gentle kiss. The act of kissing him seems so natural now, so right and real. The way your lips move against each other isn’t like something you’ve felt before. You want this always; you want him always. 

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” 

You pull away from Seokjin with a start. His eyes dart to something behind you as his hands quickly move to hide the dark green dildo behind him. Quickly crawling out of his lap, you jump to your feet and stand an arm's length away from Seokjin. He follows your lead, standing up as you press your thighs together.

Your mixed cum threatens to fall with every passed second you remain standing. Cursing yourself for not making him clean it up, you try to stay calm. As long as it doesn’t drip pass the hem of your dress, you know you’ll be fine

Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Trelawney hover just over the edge of the hill as they look between the two of you. How long have they been watching you? How much did they hear? Oh fuck, you think, how much did they see?

You remain perfectly still as both of them land and dismount. “We’ve been looking everywhere for the two of you. Your lunch break finished twenty minutes ago,” Professor Trelawney sighs. “I was worried you were hurt.”

“We’re fine,” you reply. 

“Just fine,” Seokjin echoes. 

McGonagall flickers her attention between the two of you. “What were you so busy doing that you lost track of time?” She questions. 

Swallowing thickly, you mutter, “That’s a good question.”

“Really good question.”

Turning to Seokjin, you quietly ask, “Are you going to do that the entire time?”

“What? I’m not allowed to talk?”

“Not if you’re gonna act like a parrot.”

“Ahem…” 

Silence falls over the both of you the moment McGonagall clears her throat. Once she has regained your attention, her gaze falls on something to your right. All eyes follow your line of sight to find your lace bra by your lunch box. You bring a hand to your mouth to keep your jaw from dropping in sheer embarrassment.

“And how long has this been going on?”

“Since last night,” Seokjin replies with almost no prompting. 

You swat his arm, shooting him a pointed look. “Are you kidding me?”

“Oh,” McGonagall hums. She then turns to Professor Trelawney and says, “You were right. They are getting along. Well, this won’t be so hard to say then.”

You hold your breath. Here it is. The results of your investigation. All questions about your future as a witch in training will finally come to an end. Seokjin shifts closer to you and his hand finds yours. You turn to meet his gaze as he squeezes your hand. 

“Mr. Kim Seokjin,” the headmistress starts, “Congratulations. You will be returning to Hogwarts first thing tomorrow morning.”

However, Seokjin doesn’t move. He doesn’t even so much as let out a shaky breath. He simply continues to hold your hand and stare at McGonagall. You attempt to squeeze his hand to let him know you’re okay, but he still doesn’t budge. 

McGonagall quirks her head at him, asking, “Is there something you’d like to say, Mr. Kim.”

“Yes,” he finally states. When the headmistress nods for him to continue, he exhales deeply and says, “I won’t let you expel her for something she didn’t do.”

A smirk plays on her lips. “That’s very noble of you, Mr. Kim. But Miss (L/N) is not being expelled for something she didn’t do.”

“(Y/N) didn’t start the fire.”

“Quite so,” McGonagall agrees. Your eyes widen and for a moment you don’t think you’re breathing at all. “That’s why she will be returning with you in the morning.” 

A child-like laughter you’ve never heard before escapes you at the announcement. “Really?” You ask, and when both professors smile and nod, you jump into Seokjin’s arms. He wraps his arms around you instantly, lifting you off the ground. 

However, in the haste of his movements, Seokjin drops the one thing redeeming your pride before your professors. Upon impact, the dildo hums to life and all smiles are suddenly gone. Both you and Seokjin rush to turn it off with a wave of your hand, but it only seems to intensify the vibrations. Finally, McGonagall pulls out her wand and silences the toy. 

You can’t even bear to look at her, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. Seokjin opens his mouth to explain but the headmistress shakes her head, “The less we know the better.” 

After a beat of silence, she hands each of you your wands and expresses her excitement to see you in the halls once more. And as she summons her broom up into her hand, Seokjin asks the headmistress, “So was it an accident then?”

“No, I’m afraid someone intended to hurt you,” she sighs, “The both of you actually.”

You share a concerned look with Seokjin. “Who?”

“Someone,” she smirks as she mounts onto your broom. “We look forward to having you back at Hogwarts.” 

The two of you thank both of your professors before they fly back to the cafe. 

Seokjin wraps his arm lazily around your waist and pulls you into his chest. He smiles down at you before cupping your face and softly pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him back, relishing in your secured position at school. 

“I knew it,” he says upon breaking the kiss. 

You roll your eyes and fight off a smile. “You did not. You were shaking when you thought I wasn’t coming back,” you tease.

He grabs a handful of your ass. Raising a brow, he mutters, “Says the one on the verge of tears.”

“I don’t cry.”

Seokjin has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He clears his throat, nods, then says, “I know, Little Doe.”

Your breath somewhat hitches. Did he just try to save your pride? “Wow, you really are in love with me,” you mumble. 

You didn’t expect your words to ignite the egoistic part of him, but suddenly his expression hardens and his pride is on the line. “Never said in love.”

“Why are you lying?”

“You’re the liar.”

“Do you wanna go over…”

Your bickering lasts for either of you to even remember what set you off to begin with. And though your words knock each other’s pride only to build it again, and the pranks have not ceased to exist, you both know that nothing can change what you found, the love you found in each other on the tip of Doe’s Peak.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[rabbithub]

Haunted Painting!AU: Day 4

(Oh? I make Diavolo have empathy? I make Diavolo have empathy like the doggo? Oh! Oh! Jail for author! Jail for author for one thousand years!

Also, (artist almost dies rip))

"First, you have to find five treasures." Diavolo explained. "You know what these treasures are."

"...Vanitas, right?" You ask. "I read up on those-"

Your phone buzzes. You know your devilish muse doesn't mind you looking at your phone at this point.

-

[Owner][Day 4]

'Vanita paintings are a style of still life paintings that represent the emptiness of life. These motifs may seem mundane, but can mean something profound. Many of these motifs have many interpretations, but I have a few examples.'

'A musical instrument (i.e. trumpet) means transience of life.'

'A candle or lamp represents life's fleeting length.'

'A book or scroll means the futility of earthly knowledge.'

'A crown or jewel means vanity of wealth.'

'Lastly, a skull may mean mortality or death.'

'Ah... I'm a fra id I am to o la te, m y sp iri t is at ex ha u st ed. He ru le s ov er de a th as the re ap er hi ms e lf, an d no ne ca n be st hi m at hi s ga me.'

'I wi ll at th e le as t gi ve hi m a pl ac e in my ga ll er y af t er a ll th is. An ar t is t sh ou ld fi nd h im th er e.'

'Ye s, my bo y. I ha ve a ni ce, da rk ro om f or yo u.'

[Landlord][Day 1]

'I don't know what possessed me. I took it.'

'I ended up here, in this familiar studio. Where I found this painting. I'm in a nightmare.'

'So why did I take it? Will I see my family again? He whispers to me, perhaps confusing me for the woman who's studio I plundered the painting from. Please, lord. Forgive me. I wish I had paid mind to my art lessons.'

-

You put your phone away and set to work. You go back to your room to sketch the lamp, but decided to take it with you as well when you finished. "It might come in handy." You muse, exiting the room.

You sketched a crown hidden in the vines, the trumpet held by a cherub, and a skull on a shelf in the studio. You notice a person shaped stain below the easel, but broke focus away to go through a door.

The room is dark, and you can't see. "Wait, my soul lights up when I paint, right?" You ask yourself. "Then I can use that to light the lamp." Gathering your soul onto the brush, you light the lamp. You feel a little weak and your chest hurts a little, but you can see better. There's a diary in the fireplace, and you sketch it before picking it up.

...There's a missing spot there? You set your dimming lamp to see frames of almost similar paintings, with a empty space between them.

You phone buzzes...

-

No matter how many I paint, nothing compares to him, nothing is his equal.

My time is running thin, please paint him before my time runs out.

-

You rush out before the light fades, the door slamming shut behind you. "I...I found all five." You say, turning to face Diavolo.

"...your face looks pale." He states. "What happened in that-"

"It's-" You sigh as you cut him off, looking down. "It's not really important right now." When you look up again, the canvas showed his feet.

"Put everything you gathered on the bed." He says, that worried tone still in his voice. "I'll let you choose the colors this time."

You raise the paintbrush, your soul alighting it...

-

Somehow, you felt an ache in your heart. Something didn't feel right...

You have been calling all morning, but your sister is not answering. You thought she overslept, and started to do your laundry.

Quickly, you reached your car and drove to the hospital.

-

You finish painting the motifs, trembling; you picked gold for the trumpet and crown, purple for the book, and red for the lamp and skull.

"Bene." Diavolo answers. "Take a short break while I prepare."

"O-okay." You respond, stepping away from the canvas and sitting down. You realized that you were feeling drained- perhaps painting was draining you life away? 'I'm not going down without a fight.' You tell yourself, looking up as you see Diavolo with the motifs surrounding him.

"I will hide one of the treasures, and you will paint it here." He explains as you stand up. "Shall we begin?"

You step up to the canvas, nodding. "Yes." You answer. "Let's."

-

You hold back from speeding as you drive to the hospital, the feeling growing worse and worse. You have to get there as quickly as possible. "Hang on, sis." You say under your breath. "I'm coming."

-

You pant growing more exhausted. The first round was over. You watch as Diavolo looks you over. "We've only just started." He says, his voice soft with concern.

"I'm getting tired." You say, looking at your phone.

-

[Researcher][Day 4]

'I've heard of spirits going into the possessions they loved in life- I've collected a good number of these items, as a matter of fact. Perhaps these motifs appear due to being a manifestation of his memories, and I'm starting to realize-'

'Of course! This may have to do with the painting's painting as well! But where is her presence in all this? My body is getting weak from all this?'

'Somehow, my soul is stronger than my body is... I have a feeling the black splotch might have to do with the artist. I will rest for now, but whoever is next might be able to lift this curse. Maybe I'll wake up again, one way or another.'

-

The dying text looked different this time, not glitchy but... Different. "You know, the others haven't been able you live through this." You answer. "You'll live forever, but I can't." Your voice sounded resigned, making Diavolo stare at you with indifference-

No. This wasn't indifference, it is concern. He seems to shake it off. "... let's begin the next round." He said, sounding... remorseful?

You nod, lifting your alighted brush.

-

You burst through the hospital doors to the receptionist's desk, rattling off you were a relative and your sister's room number. The receptionist calms you down and says she'll talk to the doctor.

You sit in the waiting room, nervous. You felt like throwing up, but you hadn't eaten anything. It felt like forever until you saw a chaplain approached you. You heart drops.

You barely process the events; you were explained what had happened, you were taken to your sister's bedside where she was covered with a white sheet, and found yourself outside the room, blindsided. You notice-

It's him. You have a suspicion about it as he seems to weep openly to the doctors, but as he looked over to you, he smirked.

When there was a quiet moment with just the two of you, you whisper; "Why?"

He- the bastard that your sister was like once in love with until she realized what a monster he was, is still smirking as he gives his answer:

"If I can't have her, no one can."

-

You almost collapse, almost exhausted. Your brush is dimly lit, earning you a concerned look from Diavolo. "Well, it's over for me." You say, your tone somewhat defiant. "You won- I'm sorry you're nowhere close to finished."

He looks at you, his arrogant look seemingly to have faded. "You... You're not giving up this easily, are you?" He asks.

"I wouldn't if it wasn't for my body." You answer, focusing on the inky, body shaped stain on the floor. "My only other regret is that sister is going to be sad seeing me so soon- oh well, I guess it's a win either way."

"..." Diavolo doesn't say anything, for a moment. "You and a couple others listened to me- and you never gave up. You remind me of another artist, she seemed to be as morose as you. I wonder where she went..."

Your phone buzzes. "I think I know." You answer, knowing that soon after, you'd join your sister...

-

'My fellow artist? Will you listen? Will you let me regale you a tale of this portrait of mine, of the vivid, horrible week we spent together, and our'

-

"No."

No? You look up, seeing Diavolo holding a skull with a dim flame in it; the flame growing brighter. "I'm not letting you die like this, with neither of our ends of this unfulfilled." He says, his eyes full of angry tears. "We're going back to the beginning."

You were confused; he was trying to torment you the past few days, and now he was trying to save you?! "Just rest now." He said, eyes defiant to your possible death. "I will fix this."

You pass out as you hear a woman's voice speak;

"...and of her final days...?"

[ao3bronte]

Mamma Mia AU [Part 6]

READ PART 5 HERE!

Take A Chance On Me

Six months later...

Never in her wildest dreams did Marinette expect to be sitting where she is now, dressed to the nines in one of her own highly sought after designs. Having just released her very first collection, M by MarinetteDesigns, at the beginning of December, all of her custom made prêt-à-porter fashions were flying off the racks. She’d even had to hire another seamstress just to get through the backlog of formal wear commissions that she’d received ever since Alya’s BuzzFeed friends set up her social media accounts and started repping her brand all over their articles and personal posts.

But more on that later.

At the moment, Marinette is sitting at a huge, zigzag communal table under the glassed-in rooftop patio on top of a boutique hotel in Le Marais, clapping her hands and cheering as the two people she never thought she’d see together emerge from behind closed doors hand in hand. Jagged Stone performs an epic guitar solo from the platform as Luka picks up his new bride and spins her around, grinning like a maniac.

The wedding itself is a completely bombastic affair with celebrities and the like sneaking here and there to avoid the paparazzi. Marinette feels like a kid in a candy store as Luka’s guests file in left and right, most of them artists and bands she loves to listen to. And his bride, of course, doesn’t have much of her family along for the wedding. The media backlash from her mother’s empire had been outlandish, especially in Japan, but she’d ended up fitting right in with most of Luka’s ragtag group of friends in Los Angeles. With the help of her new husband and their support circle, she’d risen above the controversy and won the Olympic gold medal in fencing, bringing honour to herself for the first time in her life.

Sporting a gorgeous red rose tattoo on her upper arm, Kagami Tsuguri Couffaine turns around and gives everyone that trademark smirk of hers, welcoming them to their reception. Luka can’t keep his hands off of her, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull when she plunks her leg up onto the chair she’s supposed to be sitting on and demands he take her garter off with his teeth. The partygoers roar as Luka does just that, emerging victorious with a red and navy strap of fabric hanging from his canines.

Satisfied with his performance, Kagami calls all of the single and unmarried ladies attending her wedding to the platform and waves her rose and orchid bouquet over her head for the traditional toss. Hoping to avoid the pitying glances, Marinette pretends to be completely consumed by her emails and ducks her head in the hopes that no one will notice her. She would have been successful too, had it not been for the exchange of raised eyebrows and playful glances between the bride, the groom and a few other savant attendees.

“One, two, three!” Kagami cries, launching her bouquet into the air. Like a missile locked on a target, it somersaults right over everyone’s heads and thwacks an unassuming Marinette straight in the face, knocking her right off her chair.

“Oh my god, Marinette!” Alya squeals, laughing as her best friend spits petals from her lips. Everyone is cheering as Marinette slowly stands up and waves the bouquet above her head, blushing with embarrassment.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend,” she shakes her head, still smiling despite not having a plus one by her side. She’s long accepted the fact that she’s going to be on her own for good and surprisingly, she feels better for it. Acceptance is the first step, after all, and Marinette has been going to so many weddings lately as an honoured guest for designing the wedding and bridesmaids dresses that the blank space at her side hardly bothers her any longer. She’s even started working on tuxedos!

Way, way down the table, Marinette tries to ignore the ghost from her past crowding the open bar with Nino and the rest of the boys. She’d said hello politely but otherwise avoided him, if only to keep a tamper on her feelings; even though her love has long withered down to smothered embers, Marinette wants to be careful to avoid the winds of change that would flare those feelings in her soul.

The food at Luka and Kagami’s wedding is fantastic and the music is even more so. After the first course, Luka invites everyone up to form a mosh pit as Jagged plays a brand new track off his upcoming album and Marinette is absolutely thrilled to bop around, screaming at the top of her lungs with her hands in the air. She’s as free as a bird and the gorgeous, rock star inspired dress she has on leaves little to the imagination as she sways and shakes to the music. Alya catches it all on TikTok, much to Marinette’s chagrin, and captions it: ‘What a catch! 🎣 How is my girl still single?!’

After, everyone takes a breather and sits back down at the table, its decorated surface filled to the brim with food served family style on colourful, mismatched platters. Marinette loves the boho aesthetic of the different multi-hued plates and napkins, the discordant textures and silverware already inspiring another collection for her fashion line. She digs into the huge heaping of pasta that Alya had plopped onto her plate and laughs along with her girlfriends as they eat the night away under the Parisian lights.

As the main course is being cleared from their tables, the wedding band begins to play and couples slowly but surely leave their tables for a tour of the dance floor. Alya jokingly offers a ‘samba-à-trois’ with her and Nino but Marinette laughingly declines, prefering to watch and take photos of her friends while they’re enjoying themselves. She’s got a knack for capturing the perfect shot and Marinette is just about to turn back towards her table to edit them when someone calls her name.

“Marinette!”

No matter how many months and years pass between them, he’ll always stop her in her tracks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Adrien compliments her breathlessly, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He’s been dancing with the boys, hauling them up in the air on his shoulders as the party throbs around them, “I mean—you look beautiful always! It’s just—uh, tonight you look...especially beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Marinette responds, desperately trying to keep her voice even. She can’t help but transpose the black mask over his features as he runs his fingers through his messy hair, his cheeks flushed from exertion, “You look...handsome yourself.”

“Th-thank you!” he stutters, looking strangely unkempt for someone who always seems to have it together, “I just—um. Do you want to dance with me?”

He offers her his hand and she stares at it, the technicolour lights casting shadows on his upturned palm, “I...thank you for...um, offering but—”

“Please,” he beseeches her, his eyes blown wide, “I’ve missed you.”

Marinette gulps, her throat tightening against the emotions rekindling in her chest, “I’m…”

“Just one,” he says, taking a small, tentative step towards her, “And if you...if you don’t want to see me again after, I can do that.”

Her heart clenches. Tikki punches her thigh through her skirt.

“Just one,” she says eventually, placing her hand gently overtop of his. He grasps her like their lives depend on it and Marinette is suddenly thrust back to the days where their entwined fingers meant the difference between defeat and victory. He slumps with relief and pulls her towards his chest, resting his other hand on the small of her back.

And they dance.

Her heartbeat skips with every step as they sway to the music, lost in their own private orbit of things left unsaid. Adrien can’t keep his eyes away and she can hardly catch his gaze without burning up, finding it far easier to stare at the knot of his loosened tie. Somehow, they drift closer and closer until his lips are a hair’s breadth away from the crown of her head and Marinette can feel the warmth of his body coming off of him in waves, setting her skin on fire.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispers, his words barely there, “When I left after the wedding...I knew it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made and I’d do anything to take it back.”

Marinette trips a little, stumbling into his chest, “Adrien—”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you everything but Alya told me you blocked me and I...I wanted to respect that. So I’ve been waiting six months to tell you what I should have told you all those years ago,” Adrien’s voice wavers,  “I’ve loved you since the day we first fought together. The problem was, at eighteen, I thought I loved the idea of freedom more.”

“I was wrong, though. I was so, so wrong and I’ve spent the last four years of my life regretting every second. I’ve transferred to TU Delft to finish off my graduate degree so I can be closer to home. I want to come back on the weekends to fight by your side again and repair our relationship, but only if you want to. I just...I know I’ve been an awful partner and an even more awful friend so I totally understand if you never want to see me again but...I thought I would just try.”

Marinette swallows, fighting the tears that prickle at the corners of her eyes, “I’m sorry, Adrien. But I...thank you for the apology.”

He makes no move to let go and neither does she, “It’s...it’s okay. You’ve been doing so well on your own. I just want to be closer though, in case something happens. The Netherlands is only a few hours away by bus.”

The music slowly wanes and Marinette steps back, averting her gaze, “I guess it’s time for dessert.”

Adrien swallows, loosening his tie further, “Right. I...um, I’ll talk to you later?”

“Sure,” she says, finally glancing back up at him. He looks wrecked, for lack of a better word, “Maybe you can tell me how your studies are going?”

“Oh!” Adrien’s expression immediately brightens, his smile near blinding, “Yes! I’ll tell you anything! Everything! After dessert! We can talk!”

Marinette can’t help but smile a little, his fumbling antics so unlike the Adrien she knows. He’s unmasked in front of her, the Chat Noir she has always known and loved, “Nino’s waving at you.”

She points over his shoulder and Adrien turns, catching a glimpse of Nino, Luka and about ten other guys all hooting and giving him questioning thumbs up. He smiles and gives them an enthusiastic nod in return before turning back to Marinette, “I’ll find you after dessert, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees, watching him scamper off towards his friends. Alya is on her not a second later, her arm draped around her shoulders as they walk back to their seats.

“Well? How did it go?”

Marinette shrugs, “We danced and I asked him about his studies.”

Alya skids to a stop in her tracks, “That’s it?”

“Well, he said he was sorry too,” she says, walking out from under Alya’s arm as she continues walking, “And then the song ended and we’re going to talk about his classes after.”

“I swear to god, that idiot!” Alya stomps her foot and storms away towards her husband and the rest of the boys.

~

The cake is cut, the lights are low and the party is about to truly kick into high gear. The wedding band is replaced by one of Los Angeles' best DJs and Marinette stays out of the fray for the time being, taking a break from the action. She’s responding to commision requests when the song that had just been playing slowly dwindles and the crowd starts to scream.

“Speech!” a familiar voice cries and Marinette’s head yanks towards its source so quickly it cracks, “I'm gonna make a speech, everybody!”

Standing on the wedding platform with his tie nowhere to be found, Adrien raises his glass of champagne in one hand and holds the microphone to his lips in the other, “First of all, I just want to make a big shout out to the bride and groom for hosting an amazing party! Santé!”

The crowd cheers and drinks with him, buzzing seemingly with anticipation. An electric current tingles down the length of her neck as something tells her that everyone clearly knows something she doesn’t.

“And secondly, I want to thank my friends for helping me try and win back the love of my life. Hey, Marinette! I’m still free! Take a chance on me!”

Hoisted from the platform to the dinner tables, Adrien begins to strut as if on a catwalk, "To the most beautiful, talented woman in the world! I'm gonna do my very best to get you back, if you let me try. I wanna be the first in line to your heart."

The entire party cheers him on. Jagged Stone plays the opening chords to the wedding march on his electric guitar.

"I know I kind of screwed up,” he averts his eyes for a moment, his cheeks burning as her jaw clunks to the floor, “But if you change your mind and need me, just let me know. I’m going to be around more often and...well, put me to the test. I won’t disappoint you ever again. I’m all yours.”

He pauses in front of her, microphone still in hand, “We could go dancing or go for a walk or anything, really. Just as long as we do it together. You’ve got to know how much I want to win you back and...and when I close my eyes at night and dream, I’m always dreaming about you! You have to know that I...I can’t let go of you. Of us. Of what I left behind.”

“Please Marinette,” he reaches out to her just like he had earlier, his palm raised and at the ready. Marinette feels like dying and flying all at once.

Her heart pounding, Marinette takes a shaky breath and raises her hand only to hesitate, her fingers curling with indecision. Her mind is racing and fuzzy and between the wolf whistles and the intensity of Adrien’s gaze, Marinette finds herself feeling something in her chest she hasn’t felt in four long years.

“What do you say, M’Lady?” Adrien smiles with a hopeful shrug, “Will you take a chance on me?”

“I…” she trails off and somehow, her arm is moving on its own accord. Should she listen to her mind and turn him down? Or should she listen to her heart and find love once more in the arms of the man she’s loved for years and years and years.

Well, there’s only one choice here, isn’t there?

“Yes,” she whispers, a sweet benediction, “Yes!”

Clasping his hand, Adrien hauls her up with supernatural strength onto the table and tosses the microphone into the crowd. There’s a horrible feedback noise as Nino catches it against his tuxedo but nothing matters anymore except the smile on his face and the joy in her eyes as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses her flush to his body, “Why did I ever let you go?”

“Because you were an idiot,” Marinette responds and Adrien throws his head back and laughs. Here I go again, she thinks as she soaks in his contagious joy as the crowd screams around them. How could she resist him, especially after a confession like that?

“Can I kiss you?”

Marinette inhales sharply, “How could I resist?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it is, you silly cat.”

Adrien bends down and presses his lips against hers just as the fireworks ignite in the background, bathing the glassed-in rooftop deck in hues of vibrant reds and golds. Marinette gasps as he runs his tongue along her bottom lip and she pulls him ever nearer, basking in his warmth as she grabs handfuls of his hair. She devours him longingly as he explores her body with his roaming fingertips and Marinette feels the dam of her desire breaking, overflowing with desperate, relentless love.

“I’m never going to let you go ever again," Adrien murmurs against her lips before diving back in and kissing her again, grabbing her by the hip. She feels delirious and suddenly they’re both smiling, giggling like school children because finally, finally ! They could be together! No matter what, four years or twenty, no span of time can truly keep apart true love.

READ PART 7 HERE!

[nonamedalbinoauri]

Layers || Susaan

𝕆ℕ𝔼 || 𝕆𝕌𝕋𝕊𝕀𝔻𝔼 𝕃𝔸𝕐𝔼ℝ

[Name:] “Susaan, but most folks be callin’ me Susy. I like tha’ better.” 

[Hair Style & Color:] “Me hair jus’ be pale white an’ stringy. ‘ard ta be doin’ much with it most days. I used ta be keepin’ it real short like so’s I could be wearin’ me wig easier, but now tha’ tha’s gone, ‘m growin’ it out more. Maybe ‘ll let it be gettin’ down till it hits me tail!”

[Eye Color:] She bats her eyes. “They be red now. Thin’ they was pale pale blue when I were younger though?”

[Height:]  “’m fairly average height ‘m thinkin’? Fer an auri lass, at least…”

[Style:] “Well, le’s see…if’n I be goin’ out durin’ the day with the lot o’ ye, I needs be in me cloak an’ tunic. Lot’s a baggy clothes, coverin’ me be nice. Cover all over, so’s I ain’ be gettin’ no sun on me. Otherwise, I like ta be dressin’ comfy like, jus’ like anyone else. Blues an’ greens be me favorites…or jus’ dark colors.”

[Best Physical Feature:] “Me breasts.” She grins and sticks out her tongue. “Gods, I dunno, luv. I were sold like with the label a’ ‘exotic’ so I imagine it be me complexion is me best feature. It sure ain’ me left hand.”

𝕋𝕎𝕆 || 𝕀ℕℕ𝔼ℝ 𝕃𝔸𝕐𝔼ℝ

[Fears:] “Me fears? Shite…I fear bein’ cast out again…bein’ alone in a world full o’ people. I fear losin’ me new family. I fear lettin’ ‘em down…”

[Guilty Pleasure:] “Ooo...sweets. Love me some sweets, ‘specially from Suzu’s like.”

[Biggest Pet Peeve:] “I hate bein’ jus’ looked at fer wha’ I can be doin’ fer someone in the moment. I hate bein’ treated like ‘m less. Or like I ain’ be knowin’ what be goin’ on. Or like I ain’ a person. Treat me with respect, an’ ‘ll do the same like.”

[Ambition for the Future:] “I will be a wizard o’ the tower, proper like an’ named. Say I won’.”

𝕋ℍℝ𝔼𝔼 || 𝕋ℍ𝕆𝕌𝔾ℍ𝕋𝕊

[First Thought When Waking Up:] “’M safe…’m safe…”

[What You Think About the Most:] “Gods, tattooin’. ‘M always lookin’ out fer some new design or picture, or readin’ some new technique or ‘ow ta be mixin’ inks fer differen’ colors an’ purposes. I love me job.”

[What You Think About Before Bed:] “I hope me family is safe today while I be sleepin’. I hope I don’ have another swivin’ nightmare…”

[Your Best Quality Is:] “’M I allowed ta be answerin’ tha’? I cannae really be sayin’? I like ta be thinkin’ it be me cheery disposition, me honesty…” ((In truth, she’d probably never self-identify it as such but her best quality is her resilience.))

𝔽𝕆𝕌ℝ || 𝕎ℍ𝔸𝕋'𝕊 𝔹𝔼𝕋𝕋𝔼ℝ

[Single or Group Dates?] “I s’pose tha’ be up ta me partner, but I like ta be thinkin’ the more, the merrier like.”

[To be Loved or to be Respected?] “Loved. I lived fer too long unloved, an’ then too long bein’ paid fer me ‘love.’ I wanna be loved proper. Ain’ nothin’ worth livin’ for if’n ye cannae be findin’ love somewhere.”

[Beauty or Brains?] “I’ve lived me whole life bein’ judged fer me beauty – whether it be the lack thereof or the exoticness of me – an’ I ain’ abou’ tha’. I appreciate beauty, aye, but I ain’ gonna be seekin’ no one wha’ I ain’ be learnin’ more abou’ an’ seein’ them fer who they be inside. Brains.”  [Cats or Dogs?] “Cats’re nice an’ cuddly. Dogs be goofy and happy. Can I ‘ave both?”

𝔽𝕀𝕍𝔼 || 𝔻𝕆 𝕐𝕆𝕌...

[Lie?] “O’ course I do. Ye don’ get ta be good at whorin’ if’n ye cannae lie.”

[Believe in Yourself?] “’m gettin’ there. Folks ‘ere ‘elp me a lot…”

[Believe in Love?]  “I have to, aye? I have to…”

[Want Someone?] “Aye, can think o’ a few I be crushin’ on. Ain’ be changin’ nothin’ if’n I don’ know ‘em firs’. But aye…”

𝕊𝕀𝕏 || ℍ𝔸𝕍𝔼 𝕐𝕆𝕌 𝔼𝕍𝔼ℝ...

[Been on Stage?] “Gods, no…I ain’ got tha’ grace fer tha’. ‘d keep fallin’ off’a tha pole.”

[Done Drugs?] She looks away and winces at this, refusing to answer. ((In truth, any drug use was unintentional and forced on her to keep her from running away from her madame sooner. Spiked drinks were also a common threat while working in Ul’dah. Somnus was easy enough to slip into her system without her knowing to keep her compliant.))

[Changed Yourself to Fit In Somewhere?] “Aye…tha’ damnable wig. ‘m so right glad Suzu burned the gods-damned thing…”

𝕊𝔼𝕍𝔼ℕ || 𝔽𝔸𝕍𝕆ℝ𝕀𝕋𝔼

[Favorite Color:] “Oh, greenish blues. Like tha’ grass in the moonlight.”

[Favorite Food:] “Mmmm, roasted dzo stew…”

[Favorite Game:] “Them claw games at tha’ Golden Saucer!” 

𝔼𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 || 𝔸𝔾𝔼

[When Your Next Birthday Will Be:] “I…don’ know. No one kept a record o’ me birthday, jus’ tha’ it were aroun’ the end o’ spring an’ into early summer. No one gave a damn. I ain’ even gots a name anyway, so o’ course I ain’ gonna be ‘avin’ a bleedin’ namesday.” (Sometime during the 3rd Umbral Moon)

[How Old Will You Be?] “Jus’ doin’ the simple maths…I were of age at 16 summers…they couldn’ fin’ someone ta take me off’a their hands fer a year, so 17 when I left…spent about six or seven years in Ul’dah a’fore the calamity, then the past five…so ‘m abou’ 29, goin’ on 30?”

[Age You Lost Your Virginity:] She flinches, but takes a deep breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “I gave me virginity away…when I were still 17, almost 18 like, an’ ‘d jus’ abou’ starved ta death on the streets o’ Ul’dah. ‘e paid me, I ate…an’ tha’s ‘ow it started. I don’ regret stayin’ alive.”

[Does Age Matter?] “Nah, I ain’ picky, but I ain’ gonna be chasin’ tails a’ no children. Tha’s a horrible line ta be crossin’. Twenty summers an’ up, at least.”

ℕ𝕀ℕ𝔼 || 𝕀ℕ 𝔸 ℙ𝔸ℝ𝕋ℕ𝔼ℝ

[Best Personality:] “Kind. Tha’s all I can be askin’. Jus’ be kind.”

[Best Eye Colour:]  “It don’ rightly matter, but I will be sayin’ I do like when a lass ‘as mismatchin’ eyes. I always fin’ tha’ ta be fascinatin’. But not fer blokes, sadly. But really, ‘m not picky.”

[Best Hair Colour:]  “I...don’ rightly care?”

[Best Thing to do With a Partner:] “In general like or sex? Sex, I like ta be doin’ plenty. Wha’ever me partner likes, ‘m game ta try. In general?” She blushes and fidgets. “I jus’…wanna be able ta hold hands…”

𝕋𝔼ℕ || 𝔽𝕀ℕ𝕀𝕊ℍ 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕊𝔼ℕ𝕋𝔼ℕℂ𝔼

[I Love…] “Me foun’ family.”

[I Feel…] “at peace, fer the first time in me life.”

[I Hide…] “me pain from the lot o’ them, as best I can…I don’ wan’ them worryin’ fer me if’n I can ‘elp it…”

[I Miss…] “Suzu...but we’ll get’er back.”

[I Wish…] “tha’ I were stronger, ta be protectin’ them all like.”

Tagged by: @furys-mercy​! :D Thanks for the tag!

Tagging: @eightswordsparrow​ (but I think you already got tagged...soo...yeah...)

[andtheyweredeskmates]

Of Latte’s and Lingerie- Chapter 18

Hello and welcome, before we begin there’s some things I’d like to say. Number One is that I loved writing this chapter more than literally any other chapter. Number two I’ve decided to change the rating on this to M because I’m hoping to get a little NSFW content in here in a later chapter (not full on smut like I said earlier because I’m not a confident enough writer for that but for sure some suggestive material not recommended for persons under the age of 18). Number Three, I’m hoping to start a new fic soon that’s like a Punk!Adrien au and if anyone is interested in me posting it on tumblr I’d love some feedback! Thanks and please enjoy this thing I’ve written as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 17 - AO3

Taglist: @catsssmeow @toodaloo-kangaroo @le-na-co

Marinette couldn’t stop smiling. She was promptly informed by Audrey following the show that everyone was raving about her line and that she was already receiving commission requests to work with other high-end designers. Marinette had spent so much time focusing on her anxiety of parading around half naked, that she’d completely abandoned the idea that her line could be a success.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was her peak. She supposed she could settle for that.

Marinette had changed into a dress for the afterparty, which she of course designed herself, and was waiting in her dressing room for Adrien to come and escort her to the lounge that the party was being held in. Her heart was fluttering thinking about her future. Her future in her career and the future that possibly awaited her with Adrien.

She found herself daydreaming about him, whispering nonsense in her ear about how beautiful she looked and how happy he was for her and how she was all his…

Marinette was suddenly struck with a thought. She hadn’t really dated in her adult life and she wasn’t entirely sure how all that worked…

Is Adrien her boyfriend? She found herself bemused. She hadn’t put a whole lot of thought into that, considering she didn’t really think she’d get this far. She supposed she could ask Adrien, but he’d admitted that he hadn’t really dated much since high school either.

She laughed a little. They would have to figure all that out together.

…

Adrien was a dazed as he walked to Marinette’s dressing room. He hoped a bit shamefully she would still be in that red thing when he got there, but quickly realized that would probably cause more problems than anything else. He wasn’t sure he had the control to keep his thoughts to himself in that situation.

He’d managed to slip away from his father under the guise that he’d be socializing with others which wasn’t entirely a lie but it bought him some time to think about how he’d introduce Marinette. He’d begun to wonder what exactly you call someone you’re hopelessly infatuated with even though you’ve only been on one date.

When he arrived at the door of Mari’s dressing room, he did what he could to compose himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath and knocked.

When Marinette opened the door, Adrien found himself out of breath.

“You look beautiful,” he blurted, and the smile that was already on Marinette’s face got wider.

“Thank you, I made this dress myself,” she admitted. Adrien took a moment to really look at it and was blown away once again at her talent.

“You know,” he started. He swallowed.

“I thought I knew you were talented, and then I realized that I’m a fucking idiot and that you’re amazing and I had no idea what I was talking about.” Marinette flushed a little and gave him a shy smile.

“Thank you. You look very handsome too ya know.” Adrien gave her a stupid grin.

“I try princess. Are you ready?” He held out his hand for her. She nodded and took it, holding his arm as he escorted her to a wild, wild night.

…

Marinette still couldn’t stop smiling as she held on to Adrien’s arm. She couldn’t get over how hot he was. She stared at his face out of the corner of her eye until she noticed-

“Are you wearing makeup?” she asked. Adrien immediately looked flustered.

“Um, yeah my stylist insisted and since my father’s in the fashion industry…” he was tripping over his words.

“Adrien.” Adrien looked at her, his face worried.

“It looks nice,” she encouraged. And Adrien smiled a shy smile back at her.

“Thank you.”

They walked in a comfortable silence before Adrien stopped for a moment, yards away from the lounge. The hallway was empty.

“I have something to ask you before we walk in there,” he said warily. Marinette nodded.

“Okay.”

“So, we’re about to talk to a lot of people and I don’t really think I can bring myself to leave your side because one, I’m a little scared someone is going to steal you away and two I don’t usually like things like this because they get lonely really fast. So I imagine people are going to ask us the… nature of our relationship and if I’m being honest I don’t really know what to say.” Marinette laughed.

“You know it’s funny you say that because I was wondering the same thing.” Adrien smiled, looking relieved and chuckled softly.

“Okay, well Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I know we’ve only been on one date but do you think you could be my girlfriend?”

Marinette was feeling incredibly brave and very lucky. Given all the things that could’ve gone wrong and all the things that were going unbelievably right, she took a risk that to this day she still doesn’t regret.

…

Adrien was startled by the kiss. But he was not at all opposed. He instinctively placed one hand on her cheek and another on her waist to pull her in closer. Thee kiss was intense and soft and warm and everything that Adrien wanted. Well maybe not everything…

Of course, all good things must come to an end so when the door to the lounge opened, the two were immediately interrupted by the flash of a camera and the call of Adrien’s name.

When the two turned around, Adrien was horrified to see Gabriel Agreste staring, appalled and disgruntled, back at the happy couple. When Adrien looked at Marinette’s face, she was red as a beet and looking embarrassed out at the crowd of people looking out the doors. Adrien swallowed hard and chuckled awkwardly.  

“Hello father, this is my girlfriend, Marinette.”

…

To say that Marinette was mortified was an understatement. She was embarrassed and clinging very tightly to her boyfriend of two seconds, staring at a man who could make or break her career with the snap of his fingers.

“Your father?” she whispered to Adrien as calmly as she could. Adrien nodded stiffly.

“Yeah.” He whispered back.

“You stupid blockhead you didn’t tell me that your father was Gabriel Agreste,” she whispered angrily.

“Well you didn’t tell me that I was going see you with no clothes on for the first time while sitting next to my dad. Besides, I told you he was in fashion industry.” Marinette had no rebuttal for that and she used all of her willpower to not give Adrien a dirty look. Not here anyway. She could feel her face getting hotter and her hand grasping Adrien’s arm tighter.

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng.” Gabriel acknowledged her with a curt nod.

“May I steal my son away from you for a moment?” Marinette nodded quickly.

“Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” she said quietly. Adrien shot her an apologetic look before leaving her in the middle of a party, embarrassed and alone.

…

“I thought I had told you to watch your image,” Gabriel said sharply. Adrien hung his head, thoughts swirling around aimlessly as he tried to think of what to say.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

“That’s precisely the problem Adrien. You don’t think. You didn’t think about the fact that she is using you to get connections to me. You didn’t think about the fact that now there will be tabloids going around tomorrow of you kissing that girl. You didn’t think about the fact that they’ll say that she got commissioned for this show because of her connections to you. And you didn’t think about the fact that this will not only look bad on me but this could possibly jeopardize her career.”

Adrien had a lot of emotions that had been building in his chest since his mother had died ten years before and very little time to process them. It is assumed that’s the reason that for the first time in his life, he raised his voice at his father. Though no one ever really did any digging to find out.

“All due respect sir, but Marinette’s work speaks for itself, she doesn’t need connections to YOU to be successful. And for your information she didn’t even know you were my father because I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want her to feel burdened by the fact that she had to meet your expectations not only as her boss but as my father on a night that should have been about celebrating her work. And if Marinette doesn’t want to date me because of you then that’s her choice to make not mine. So how about, instead of spending all of your time worried about the world thinks, you worry about what I think for once. Because I bet you haven’t once thought about what makes me happy, have you? No? Well I’ll tell you what makes me happy since you’ve made no effort to ask. It makes me happy to eat chocolates, to play video games, to hang out with friends who like me for me and not what you can give them. My job makes me happy and most importantly, being with Marinette makes me happy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my girlfriend put out a phenomenal line of clothing tonight and I would like to be there with her to celebrate it so that I can make her happy, thank you.”

By the time Adrien had finished talking he was nearly out of breath and he was shaking with fury. He had a fire in his eyes that Gabriel himself had never seen and it left Gabriel speechless. Adrien turned around to walk away but before he walked out of the abandoned side room they were in, he turned his head to look at Gabriel one more time.

“If you want me to continue our deal and support your brand then that’s fine, but let me be clear. I will continue to date Marinette on my terms, and hers, until one of US decides otherwise. If you have a problem with that, then from the bottom of my heart, please, kiss my ass.” And with that Adrien walked back to the party, abandoning Gabriel with his thoughts in an empty room.

[aliena24601]

Tag game :)

Thank you so much @hamliet for tagging me! This was fun ^__^

how tall are you?

1,73 m (5′8″”)

what color and style is your hair?

It’s dyed in a wine-like red color, long and wavy, although I like to flat iron it :)

what color are your eyes?

Dark brown.

do you wear glasses?

Yes, but only for reading, working on the computer or watching TV. I’m longsighted.

do you wear braces?

I did back in school, and I’m very happy for it (and very grateful to my parents who spent a lot of money xD)

What’s your fashion sense?

Ummm... I’d say femenine, but in a sexy way (not girly). I love black color, slim fitting clothes and leather jackets. And vaporous short dresses and shorts for summer time.

when were you born?

August 28th, 1982.

where are you from and where do you live now?

I was born in Madrid, Spain. I’ve lived my whole life in a city 30 km away from Madrid, called Alcalá de Henares. This is the birthplace of Miguel de Cervantes, our most important writer ^___^

what school do you go to?

I graduated years ago from Uni, in my city as well.

what kind of student are you?

Ummm in Uni I struggled a little bit. I made the wrong choice and went for a Bachelor’s Degree full of physics and maths related subjects, which I deeply suck at xDD But with very hard work I managed to even get good grades on some of them.

do you like school?

In general, I like to learn. So much, that I’m applying for a new Degree starting September O_o  I hope they admit me! Although I still don’t know if I’ll be able to balance work and study so much at the same time.

favorite subject?

Languages.

favorite tv shows?

Shingeki no Kyojin, of course xDD.

Fullmetal Alchemist, Gankutsuou, Kenshin.

Band of Brothers, Unsere Mütter, unsere Väter (Generation War), The Wire.

I loved quite a lot Game of Thrones, until the last season.

favorite movie?

Ohhhh a difficult one <_< Maybe The Lord of the Rings (the three movies).

But I love so much as well Pulp Fiction, Gladiator, Les Misérables, The Lion King, Princess Mononoke, Batman (the three movies by Nolan)...

favorite book?

The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas.

do you have regrets?

Ummm... Some. But not so many xD Basically, if I would go back to certain moments in the past when I was younger, I’d maybe do some things differently. But maybe this happens to all of us somehow? Experience makes us see things from a different perspective.

dream job?

I have a job that I like, but I definitely want to make a 360º change to my proffesional career. I’d like to become a translator.

do you like shopping?

Yes... Haha. I don’t go shopping to physical shops as much as before, I love to shop online, it’s so convenient *_* I buy online groceries (for us and for my cats xD), clothing, books and blu-rays, things for home, etc.

what countries have you visited?

I’ve been in France, Japan (two times and visiting again in November), Germany (three times), Scotland, England, Poland, Switzerland, Austria, Romania and Turkey.

Ah! We’re going to San Francisco next month due to my husband’s new job -if any of you have recommendations for us, please let me know ^o^

scariest nightmare you have ever had?

When I was a child I had this kind of recurrent nightmares. I think the worst one was the following. In real life, at the back of our living room we had a really tall plant, with huge leaves. Well, in my dream, I was sleeping and woke up because I needed to go to the bathroom. When coming back to my room, I walked pass the living room, and there was always this clown from IT, with his shitty face, hiding behind the plant, looking straight at me. Imagine how funny it was xD

Any enemies?

Ufff no! At least for my part. I think it’s not easy for me to feel hate (except when it comes to Zeke xD), and I definitely don’t want to have enemies. I know not everybody is going to like me, and I strongly disagree with a lot of people, but I have never reached such terms yet.

do you believe in miracles?

Mmmm... No.

how are you?

I’m doing well, thank you :DDDD

I’m tagging @momtaku​ on this one :D, if you feel like it!

[passionate-baker]

Italian Adventures Part II: Bologna

Finally, the time has come - welcome to Italian Adventures Part II: Bologna!

Boyfriend introduced me to the gorgeous city of Bologna not long after we got together, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why it holds such a special place in my heart. On our first trip there, I fell head-over-heels for the city & ever more smitten with Boyfriend. We’ve been back a handful of times since that first visit, & every time - without fail - we dream of uprooting everything we have here in Dublin & running off to the Emilia-Romagna capital. It’s romantic, it’s quaint & peaceful, it miraculously remains somewhat untainted by tourism, and it’s the birthplace of one of our favourite meals: the mighty ragu. 

Bologna is known as ‘La Grassa’ in Italian - which translates to ‘the fat’ in English - & it isn’t hard to see why: you will be extremely hard pressed to have a bad meal in the city. Although I’ve included a list of our favourite restaurants below, use that more as a guideline to get out & find the places that work for you; we’ve eaten at a hell of a lot more restaurants than are listed here, but these are our old faves. Wherever you find yourself, please don’t miss the opportunity to enjoy two dishes - tagliatelle al ragu & gramigna alla salsiccia - both of which are specialties of the city. You can thank us when you get home. 

As with our Italian Adventures Part I: Florence guide, there is a huge amount of recommendations in this post. To make life easier, I’ve streamlined everything into six sections: Stay / Coffee / Eat / Drink / Museums + Attractions / Places to See + Things to Do. The difference between the last two sections is an entry fee; Museums + Attractions are all paid entrance, while the Places to See + Things to Do are free. 

Happy travelling, friends!

S T A Y

Airbnb  //  we stayed in the most fantastic apartment on our last visit. The flat - Silent Bright Apartment -  is located a stone’s throw from Strada Maggiore & was honestly the best Airbnb experience we’ve ever had. It was spacious and clean, it had a balcony, it overlooked the blazing rooftops of the city, the kitchen was extremely well equipped for cooking, the bed was amazing, and there was a bathtub in the bedroom. The location was about an eight minute walk to the main square in the city. Basically: it. was. perfection. Added bonus: there was a totally adorable turtle roaming free in the courtyard below! We named him Sporo and had a really hard time leaving him behind. 

Albergo delle Drapperie  //  if you’re looking for something more central, you can’t really find anything better than this boutique hotel. It’s quite small, and it literally overlooks the bustling market stalls of the old town. If I remember correctly: the hotel is across the road from a beautiful flower shop (feast for your eyes), around the corner from Tamborini (feast for your belly), and a further few minutes walk from Osteria del Sole (feast for your Italian soul), which is kind of exactly where you want to be.

C O F F E E

Caffe Zanarini  //  for us, this is the Gilli of Bologna. The coffee is fantastic, the pastries are even better, and the space has that super Italian feel to it that just warms my heart. We normally nab a spot along the bar & enjoy our breakfast the true Italian way, but once in a while we treat ourselves to the somewhat extortionate prices for a table outside on the square. Let me tell you, it is always worth it, if even just for the people watching. (And pigeons.) A must-visit.  

E A T

Trattoria Serghei  //  three words: gramigna alla salsiccia. After ragu (duh), this is the dish of Bologna, and Serghei do it extremely well. It’s a small, traditionally run family joint that we find ourselves returning to time and time again. The food is always exceptional. We normally go for the ragu & the salsiccia pasta dishes to start, and then share a big hunk of meat as a main - the last time, it was an insanely tender pork shank that was about the same size as Boyfriend’s head. Amen to that! A must-visit. 

Osteria de Coltelli Da Biagio  //  a tiny bit further than some might be willing to venture, but the food is worth it. The dishes are on the larger, heartier side of things, and the meal as a whole was outstanding value for money! ... that said, we did notice the staff favoring the locals over tourists like us, but the quality of the food was high enough for us to let this slide. 

La Capriata  //  wandering along a covered archway off Strada Maggiore one day, we stumbled across LC & decided to stop in for a lazy lunch. We ate in the most beautiful sun-drenched courtyard, surrounded by lemon trees. The food was outstanding. It was super fresh - we had an amazing caprese salad that was beyond delicious - and perfectly traditional; I had an unforgettable ragu with homemade pasta served in a Parmesan bowl. A bowl made of Parmesan = the stuff of dreams! 

Pizza Regina  //  sometimes, you just need a pizza and you need it to be reliable. We opted for the less traditional take-out option and brought our meal with us to Osteria del Sole so we could have it with a beer. We ordered a custom made pizza - n’duja + mozzarella -  & devoured it within five minutes of sitting down. It was amazing! 

Lindt  //  I’m kind of a bit sorry/not sorry for including this in my list. Listen, just hear me out: we had delicious chocolate gelato in the most amazing chocolate hazelnut dipped cones and it was worth every single penny. I regret nothing. 

La Sorbetteria Castiglione  //  for a more authentic gelato experience, we always trek a little bit out of our way and it never disappoints. Our faves are the pistacchio and nocciola!

D R I N K

Osteria del Sole  //  definitely one of our favourite places in all of Bologna. According to my notes, it’s the oldest osteria in the region - 1465 apparently! - and it is so bloody brilliant in it’s simplicity. You make your way through the market streets, buy some antipasti goods in the nearby market, bring it into Osteria del Sole, buy a drink to go with it, and have your lunch picnic style alongside locals at one of the long communal tables. It is fantastic. An experience not to be missed: a must-visit. 

Osteria I’Infedele  //  a recent find. Similar in style to Osteria del Sole in that it was small, filled with locals, cheap & relaxed, but it had a more youthful vibe to it and a wider drinks selection of cocktails etc. 

RosaRose  //  located on Via Clavature, this is a fantastic spot for people watching. Boyfriend & I sat outside for hours one evening, listening to a nearby street musician, soaking up the atmosphere, enjoying the free platter of food that came with our spritzs, watching the sky change from blue to pink to dusk. Perfection. To experience the true Bologna vibe, this is a must-visit. 

Enoteca Italiana  //  a beautiful wine shop that has a small amount of barrels & stools for dining on. We enjoyed some wine with a delicious meat & cheese platter on one of our first visits, and have since returned for breakfast & coffee. 

Bar Senza Nome  //  a fantastically vibrant bar, located on a buzzy street lined with heaps of similar places. However! This one, apparently, is the only bar in Italy that is run & managed by deaf people. It’s amazing! You go in & the walls are lined with how-to sign language photos for ordering your drink! If you aren’t brave enough, the barmaids read your lips and that’s equally as amazing. Such a fantastic experience. Added bonus: you can eat your weight in free monkey nuts while drinking extremely cheap spritzs! Probably our favourite bar in the world. A must-visit. 

Birreria Popolare  //  a hipster craft beer place that was located conveniently near to our apartment. We were drawn in by the beer emoji sign out front, and we sampled some nice Italian beer. Added bonus: if you’re lucky enough to visit at the right time (we were), you get a free platter of food with your drinks!

Le Stanze  //  I kind of liked the thought of this bar more than I actually enjoyed our experience there. It’s located inside an old chapel from the 16th century, and there are original frescoes still lining the walls & the ceilings. It was cool to see the artwork, but there was nothing distinctly Italian about the place. It was overpriced, and too touristy for our tastes.

M U S E U M S  +  A T T R A C T I O N S

Palazzo dell’Archiginnasio  //  one of the most magical, dreamlike buildings I’ve ever visited - somewhat reminiscent of Hogwarts. Boyfriend & I spent ages wandering back and forth along the arched passageways, but the real draw (and the part you have to pay into) is the wooden Teatro Anatomico from the 17th century, where they used to hold anatomy lessons. Worth the €3!

Santa Maria della Vita  //  the lure of this church, although pretty beautiful in its own right, is actually a fantastic group of wooden sculptures hidden in the back. They charge a measly €4 to see the group, but it’s certainly worth it: the scene depicted is the moment that Jesus dies, and honestly they are some of the most expressive pieces of art we’ve seen.

La Due Torri  //  yes, it’s very steep, and yes, it’s claustrophobic.. but it’s worth it for the breathtaking views over the terracotta rooftops of Bologna. Added bonus: it’s super cheap! A must-visit. 

Palazzo Fava  //  a renaissance palace & art gallery space. The very first time we went to Bologna together, we saw an amazing Edward Hopper exhibition here, so it’s definitely worth checking upcoming shows just in case!

Museo Civico Archeologico  //  fantastic archaeology museum to wander around if you find yourself looking for something to do. Particular highlights for us were the beautiful building itself, and the Egyptian exhibition.

P L A C E S   T O   S E E   +   T H I N G S   T O   D O

Market shopping  //  wandering along the tiny streets around Via Drapperie and Via Pescherie Vecchie, you get a real feel for the Bologna lifestyle. The flower shops, the fish stalls, the butchers, the cheese-mongers, we love it all. Our favourite places to stop into for some goodies are Tamburini & Simoni, both of which are reliably great. Definitely a must-visit.

Basilica di San Petronio  //  the central basilica in the middle of Piazza Maggiore. A beautiful internal space, much bigger than it looks from the outside. Note: if you want to take photographs inside the church, you have to pay a small fee. 

R E L A T E D   P O S T S :

Bremen, Germany  //  Paris, France  //  Amsterdam, Holland   //  Copenhagen, Denmark  //  Cork, Ireland  //  Edinburgh, Scotland  //  Westport, Ireland  //  Barcelona, Spain  //  Munich, Germany  //  Vienna, Austria  //  London, UK i - ii - iii  //  Florence, Italy

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter XII

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter XI

Killian woke, to his fury, to what sounded like a whole passel of feral cats yowling in the alleyway, or perhaps some loitering drunkard running afoul of the night watchman and being pitched headlong into a barred wagon, thus to contemplate his poor life choices at leisure. Better you than me, mate. Yet Killian’s fury did not stem from this unharmonious awakening, per se, as much as the fact that it had jerked him out of a highly enjoyable dream about Emma, which had just been getting to the best part. As Killian thought it grimly likely that he would be deprived of his actual wife for a while yet, it was doubly unjust to then be ripped away from her intimate society in dreams, and he kept his eyes shut, trying to conjure back what precisely had been about to happen, and where everything had been positioned.

In this, at least, he had an excellent well of experience to draw upon; he supposed it was somewhat surprising that they had only had two children. But then, Emma knew where to get her hands on vodou drugs and herbal draughts and the like, which lessened the risk of an inadvertent seedling. Geneva of course had been completely unexpected, but they had deliberately decided to try for Sam, had wanted him so much, and the day he was born – perfectly healthy, but giving them a terrible scare with the cord wrapped around his neck – had been both the worst and the best day of Killian’s life. If there were other children after that, he’d not have minded in the least, but Sam seemed to make their family complete, and they’d been happy ever since. Speaking of which, it had to be nearly Sam’s birthday – it was a fortnight after Killian’s, on the seventh of September. He’d be twenty. No longer a teenager, in all ways a man.

A pang of melancholy went through Killian at the thought, chasing away the remnants of frustrated oneiric lust, and he fell back on the hard, thin pillow and scratchy straw mattress of the tavern bed, staring at the woodsmoke-stained ceiling and trying to remind himself that it would not be forever. He’d see his family again, finish things properly with his wife, kiss his daughter, hug his son, have a good chat about books with Henry. It would help a great deal, however, if the Le Havre authorities would just quit their valiant search for Rufio’s killer. Killian and Regina had been holed up in this reeking shitshack for four days waiting for the heat to die down, which it had not yet done, and from that, Killian could tell that someone was keeping the pressure on them to continue looking. They wouldn’t be going to all this effort for ordinary riffraff otherwise, so this mysterious employer of the Lost Boys must be someone with both influence and money. Lady Fiona, or one of her deputies. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

Killian shifted restlessly, tempted to creep to the window and have a gander. Maybe it hadn’t been feral cats or a stray drunkard, maybe it had been something else. But the floorboards creaked like the devil, and waking Regina early – after doing it the last few days just to annoy her, as she usually kept to a much later schedule – had somewhat lost its savor. They were still pulling like mules tied to opposite ends of the same rope, both determined to go in their own direction and hang the other, but Killian had decided (with some regret) that they were over fifty years of age, and this continued squabbling did not befit their seasoned dignity, dubious as it might be. Besides, too much more of this and they’d strangle each other before they ever got out of France. That, at least, could be safely assumed to be counterproductive.

Instead, Killian lay there, darkly congratulating himself on his restraint and watching the grey light creep up the wall, until he could hear rustling from downstairs, more clatter from the street outside, and Regina stirred and rolled over. She peered at him with the vaguely hopeful expression of a woman also wanting to wake up and find her spouse there, which then went sour as quickly as curdled milk when she realized it was the other Jones brother. “Oh,” she said, turning back onto her side. “You.”

“Still me, yes.” Killian pushed himself upright. “And good morning to you too, love.”

Regina’s lips went rather thin but she likewise held herself back from any more caustic comment. Instead, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “If I have to spend another night being munched on by whatever is breeding in those sheets, I swear. . . it’ll be a miracle if we ever get to England. Why the devil haven’t they given it up yet? Rufio can’t have been that important.”

“I had a theory.” With that, Killian filled her in on his unpleasant hunch, to which Regina listened with her customary expression of suspicion and exasperation. At least she listened, however, and did not interrupt, and finally he said, “So unless we can find whoever’s paying them enough to keep up the search, we might not – ”

“I’ll have to do something about this.” Regina tapped her fingers together. “They’re not looking for me, after all. Do you think you could possibly keep yourself out of further trouble if I did?”

“How long is that going to take, then?”

“No more than what you’ve already cost us.” Regina went to the corner and began digging for her clothes. “If I had any sense, I’d leave you here and just continue the search for Liam myself. But I suppose he’d want us to stick together, and for me to fix your mistakes, so – ”

“Aye, Liam might have a thing or two to say about that,” Killian said, rather more sharply than he meant. “At least about keeping me around, troublesome as I might be. You know, though, he’s no saint either. I’m sure the both of you have worked quite efficiently at getting things done, however you need to. But then, you’re used to it only ever being the two of you, aren’t you? Never even have to try to like anyone else.”

Regina flinched. “What Liam and I do isn’t your – ”

“Bloody hell, we’re family too. Much as neither of us like it, but we are. And we’ve lived apart so long that it’s not surprising we’re no good at it, but right now, we are what the other has. So if we just put a little bloody effort into working together instead of – ”

“What you said. About it just being the two of us. Yes, it has. And we. . .” Regina seemed to be struggling with the words. “You and Emma, you have a whole family, you have so many people. Did you – did you have to?”

Killian was perplexed. “Did we have to do what?”

Regina twisted the hem of her petticoat. “Take Henry and Geneva back.”

“What?” Whatever Killian had expected her to say, it was not this. “Aye, they’re our children, of course we did! When we gave them to you and Liam, it was so you could take them to safety, and raise them if we died. Well, happily – though you may disagree – we didn’t. I know you’d had them for a bit and I’m sure you became fond of them in your way, but still – ”

“You could have had more!” Regina did not seem to want to say this, but it burst out of her. “You did have more, you and Emma had another son! If you’d let us keep Henry and Geneva, or even just Henry, we could have raised them just as well, we could have had children too, not just the empty house with the two of us and Liam’s nightmares. I might know more about this, about how to be a mother, how to care, how. . .” She waved a hand, eyes too bright, mouth too tight. “I can’t. Have children of my own. It was my decision, a long time ago, to hurt my mother, and I. . . I’m not proud of it, and I’ve done well enough in my life besides, but. . .”

“Aye, we had Sam, but that’s not how it works. You can’t replace one child with another. My bloody father tried it – in this very city, I’m sure you remember Liam Junior – and look where that got him, got both of them! We couldn’t have had Sam just to put in Henry’s place. You could have taken in another orphan, a fosterling, some other street urchin who needed a – ”

“As you said.” Regina gripped the back of the chair as hard as if she wanted to break it. “You can’t replace one child with another.”

They stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, neither of them wanting to have been this honest, to bare these depths of wounds to the other, but no longer able to turn back and pull away. At last Killian said, “I didn’t realize you cared for Henry so much.”

“I expect you don’t realize a number of things.” Regina’s voice was very quiet, the barb made by reflex, as her fingers loosened their stranglehold but did not relinquish it entirely. “You never came back to France after you left. I know it’s a long voyage, but a family of sailors like you, you could have made it, once the children were a bit older. I know Liam wanted to see you. Why did you stay away? Was it just to punish him? Punish us? Salt the point home that you had what we could not? Until you became Hook, you and Liam never spent a moment apart. How did it turn into almost twenty-five years?”

Despite himself, Killian was caught off guard. After the battle of Nassau, he and Emma had made the trip to France late in the year, willing to take the risk of a winter crossing if the alternative was waiting months and months longer to see the children again. They had been married in Paris on New Year’s Eve, and then returned to the Americas the following spring. Every time Killian thought about returning after that, some excuse had arisen for him to postpone it. Someday, he told himself. Someday, of course, he would see Liam again. Someday, when the children could make the trip with them. Then Sam was born, and the clock reset, and then they reunited with Flint and Miranda and moved to Georgia, and then. . . on and on.

It was only now, for the first time, that Killian was forced to admit that there had been more to it. That he loved Liam and always would, but did not want to live with him anymore, or even with him nearby. That he had spent so long living in Liam’s shadow, clinging to him for protection, scared and powerless, that something of that still remained in him whenever they were together. Liam still tried too instinctively to parent him, to protect him, and while of course that had kept him alive when they were boys, Killian did not want it any more. For better or worse, he wanted to make his own mistakes, live as his own man, rather than the two halves of one creature, each barely sure of anything without the other, that the young Jones brothers had been. Could not risk it happening again, not when they could never go back, not when he did not want to, but still almost thought that Liam might. And so, unconsciously, then intentionally, stayed away.

Regina was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. Killian was not sure how on earth to explain this to her, or if she would remotely understand. Finally he said, “Well, if we catch up to him, I’ll see him then, won’t I?”

Regina eyed him as if she was about to push for a better explanation, then thought better of it. Instead, she turned and resumed getting dressed without a word, evidently feeling that they had talked about enough emotions for now, and Killian followed her lead. He had long since learned to do most things with one hand, including this, but it could still be a bloody hassle, and he was used to having Emma to help with the odds and ends. He, however, was categorically not asking Regina to step in, so he awkwardly tugged and tied his laces himself. He too was more than ready to see the back of this place.

When they were presentable, Regina said, “I’m going to see if I can’t do something to convince this lot to crawl up someone else’s arses. Stay here and don’t kill anyone else.”

With that, they headed down to the taproom, which was mostly empty at this early hour, scoffed an unappealing breakfast, and Regina, switching to French, put on her most charming manner to ask the tavern keeper something, presumably where to find certain important people and what would be most effective in changing their minds as regarded a few small difficulties. After another dubious look at Killian, she told him it would likely be several hours, and slipped out.

The idea of sitting here by himself and waiting for Regina to miraculously sort everything out was less than pleasant, the barman was giving him very dark looks for continuing to occupy a seat without paying, and going upstairs to swelter in their tiny, smelly room sounded like torture worse than the month-odd he had just spent on the Pan. Finally, even knowing that he really should not, that he’d blow everything sky-high if caught, Killian nonetheless decided that it could not hurt, with hood well up and hook hidden, to step outside a moment. As long as he did not draw attention to himself or try to board a ship – no bloody chance of that, unfortunately, given as Regina was the only one of them who had money – he should be all right.

The day was cool and murky, with a strong sea fog blowing in off the Channel, and Killian had to keep a firm hold on his hood as he walked, lest it whisk down and do the French authorities’ work for them. Regina would not be pleased, but then, Regina was never pleased, and he was more than willing to endure her ire in exchange for some fresh air. He had been unable to rid himself of the nagging thought that by some nasty coincidence, the tavern where they were staying was the one that his father had run, passed into new ownership and (further) disrepute after Brennan Jones’ departure for the Colonies, even as he knew that it was no more likely to be so than any other public house in Le Havre. Besides, he was still troubled over his realization from earlier, about Liam. Some time to think would be either good, or bad.

Killian had been confronted long ago with the fact that Liam was only as flawed and fallible a mortal man as any of them, and he had mostly made his peace with it, but he was starting to understand as well that he was still angry about it. Angry at the world for what it had done to them, angry at Liam for what he had done, the lies he had told, and angry at himself, for constantly feeling as if he had not once made Liam’s impossible task any easier for him. No wonder it had been preferable to wall it away and forget about it – he’d learned the truth, fallen from grace, become Captain Hook, been estranged from Liam, and then reconciled, only to be parted again, all within the space of a year. Perhaps it was no wonder that the wound remained, in some ways, unhealed, considering how diligently he had been avoiding it, involving himself with his new life and family, proving he could do it on his own. I suppose Regina is right. I am punishing him. But surely, almost twenty-five years was long enough, then? How much longer did this, now acknowledged, have to go on?

Killian did not have an answer for that question, and stood staring over the docks and their usual hustle and bustle, wishing he had someone to talk to. Emma, of course, would have been his first choice, as the two of them had taken a while to learn how to come to the other with their past hurts and their old secrets, but now they could confide anything (well, usually). Flint would also not have been a bad second option, as the two of them had gotten very used to each other, could be honest about their similar demons, and if you squinted, you might even be able to call their relationship roughly affectionate. But if all choices were possible, and not merely living ones, Killian would have given his other hand to talk to Sam Bellamy again. Just once, just for an hour, the two of them by the seafront here. Sam had always understood him with that sheer and marvelous clarity and compassion he gave to everyone so freely, but his close loved ones in particular, and it had been as easy as breathing to love Sam.

Indeed, as Killian could not forget, he had killed Hawkins, the Imperator’s old purser and his and Liam’s mentor, because Hawkins had wanted to hand Sam over to the Navy and make terms to end their piracy, and led a mutiny of the still-loyal men in an attempt to do so. Yet Killian had noted to him that he had sworn to kill anyone who tried to hurt Sam, and then kept that promise, even when it came at the cost of a man to whom he had once been very close. I had already killed my own father at that point, what was another? Hawkins had had a wife and an infant son, born just before they left England with Robert Gold. Sometimes Killian still wondered what had become of them. Nothing you can change now.

He took a slow, painful breath, reminded himself that it would be too easy to spiral if he let too many of the old skeletons out of their closets, turned away, and was about to continue on his way to nowhere particularly when something caught his eye. A slight, cloaked figure that looked like a woman had just slipped out from one of the dockside houses and hurried down the quay, glancing nervously left and right and holding her hood tightly. It was clear that she expected to be pursued, and indeed a bare few moments later, another door opened and two large-sized individuals barreled out. They sped toward the woman with intent, ugly looks on their faces, hands on the hilts of their shortswords.

Killian hesitated agonizingly. After all, the last thing he needed was to be in the middle of another altercation, and he had promised Regina that he would make no more trouble. But it went against every fundamental instinct in his body to turn a blind eye and walk away with a young lady in clear peril behind him, and before he could once again remind himself how stupid this was, he moved smoothly to intercept the two thugs, pretending to stumble right in front of them and forcing them to pull up. One of them called him several unflattering things in French (Killian only caught fils d’un putain malade, though he was sure the rest of it was in a similar vein) and the other tried to shove past him, but at that, he sprang up. “Going somewhere, lads?”

He deliberately allowed his accent, which he had trained since adolescence to be correctly English instead of the Leinster Irish of his young childhood, to slip into it. This was because while Englishmen were instant beacons of trouble for any Frenchman on principle, they liked the Irish very slightly more, because they both hated the English just as much (the same principle that had first forged the Auld Alliance between France and Scotland, at the end of the thirteenth century). As well, the Irish were fellow Catholics, while the English remained heathenishly Protestant, and while the thugs glared at him, they did not do so with especial loathing, just annoyance for being interrupted. “Get out of our way, Paddy,” one ordered. “Maintenant.”

“I’m afraid I can’t be doing that, if you won’t leave the lass alone.” Killian folded his arms, both to look more authoritative and to disguise his lack of a left hand. “Step on your way and bother someone else, eh?”

“It is none of your business.” The taller one pushed Killian roughly, but he had planted his feet. “We have been paid to fetch her back. Move, or you will get the same.”

“I don’t think so.” Killian had to wanted to draw attention by wearing a sword, as most cities had strict ordinances about openly carrying them, especially if you were not a soldier or part of a garrisoned regiment, but he had brought a dagger, which would do if needed. He moved his hand into his jacket to grip the hilt. Perhaps if he could delay these muttonheads long enough, the girl could just get on a ship and make it out of here while they were –

Unfortunately, the second man had twigged onto the same thing. He burst past Killian and his fellow, sprinted down the dock while shoving aside startled and angry onlookers, and reached the ship at the end, clearly about to climb on board. Killian remained where he was an instant longer, then shot after him, the other thug hot on his heels, and they all reached the spot at about the same time. Thug the First grabbed Killian’s arms as the other prepared to clock him, remembered that if they both fought him they would let their prey get away, and tore back up the gangplank, leaving his compatriot to handle the pummeling. None was actually done, at least on his part, as Killian twisted sharply away and landed a punch of his own, then turned to see Thug the Second hauling the struggling girl over his shoulder. This was starting to attract attention, and a voice shouted indignantly, “Bâtards! Vauriens! CESSE IMMÉDIATEMENT!”

Killian would have liked nothing better than to do so, but duty still called. He ran at Thug the Second and head-butted him squarely in the small of the back, causing him to lose his grip on the girl, then whirled and threw Thug the First, as a simple matter of continuing his already-established momentum, into the murky green water of the harbor. If the panicked splashing that ensued was any indication, the bugger could not swim, and was in danger of sinking like a stone until a pair of nearby fishermen threw him their net and charitably pulled him out. The girl had picked herself up and was staring, but Killian yelled, “Run! Courir!”

Thug the Second seemed wary of getting too close to him, after the watery fate that had just befallen his partner in crime, and Killian grabbed a barrel from a nearby pile, launching it at him as if bowling for quoits. The effect was instant and spectacular. Thug the Second flew five feet in the air, landed smack on his arse, and was then flattened by the rolling barrel’s fellows, bundled over the edge of the pier and headfirst into the weedy soup below. The fishermen looked at each other, decided that this one could shift for himself, and got out of there, leaving Thug the Second to cling to a slimy piling and shout for someone to pull him out.

Feeling it extremely wise to be out of there himself, Killian walked as fast as he could without running, up the quay and back onto the street, unable to stop himself wondering if those two idiots had been paid by the same high-level miscreant that was financing the Lost Boys. He did not, however, have to wonder long. A hand caught his sleeve, pulling him under the eave of a slate-shingled roof, and a voice hissed, “Monsieur!”

It was the girl he had – at least for the moment – liberated. Her hood had fallen down in the commotion, and he saw that she was about his daughter Geneva’s age, maybe a year or two younger, with a long, intricate dark braid, big brown doe eyes, and the pale porcelain complexion of a wealthy woman who never went outside without a hat and parasol. Killian briefly thought she was going to kiss him or offer other tokens of her gratitude, and struggled to remember how to say, “You are a very lovely lass, but I’m a married man,” in French, but she did not. Instead she said, in English this time, “Who are you?”

“I – ah – ” It was natural that she would want to know the identity of the mysterious dark stranger who had swooped in out of nowhere to assist her, but still a problem. “Never mind that, are you all right?”

She studied him warily. “Yes. Fine. Are you working for my father too?”

“Father?”

“Armand Saint-Clair, of Montparnasse.” Her lips tightened. “Are you?”

“No, I’ve never heard of him in my life. He’s the one who sent those delightful gentlemen after you?”

“I expect so, yes.” She kept looking at him, eyes dark and searching. “Why did you help me?”

“I. . .well. . .” Killian coughed and scratched behind his ear. “I saw them giving you trouble, lass, and I. . . I just didn’t feel as if I was going to stand for it. I suppose you reminded me of my own daughter a bit, as well. Can you get away before they come back?”

“I – I think so.” She seemed to be evaluating something, deciding whether to trust him. Then she said, “My name is Alix.”

“Mademoiselle.” Killian politely kissed her offered hand. “Is your ship still there?”

“It should be, I hope.” Alix glanced down the docks, then dug in the purse at her waist. “Please, let me give you something for assisting me.”

Killian was about to protest that she did not have to, but as he was utterly skint at the moment, he could use some disposable income, and she pressed several silver coins into his hand. Then before he could stop himself, seeing as she too had been trying to sneak out, he said, “Do you perhaps know who to bribe around here, to give one an. . . ah. . . chance at departure?”

“In fact, yes. Give Monsieur Jean-Paul Martel, the port master, a few livres and a box of candied violets, it worked for me.” Alix looked at him curiously. “Are you going to the American colonies?”

Killian was furiously tempted to say yes. His family was back there, the dangerous mystery in which they were embroiled, and he could leave Regina – and Liam – behind once more, put off that reckoning for later, later, later. To buy time, he said, “Are you?”

“Yes. Philadelphia.” Alix jumped at the sound of shouting from down the alley. “I should go.”

“Philadelphia? My stepson might be there. Henry Swan and his family.” Killian bit his tongue as he said it, wondering if it was a mistake to give her Henry’s name, but for some reason, as she had done with him, he had decided to trust her. As the shouting started to come closer, he took her elbow and hurried her down the lane. “Right, lass. Time to go, indeed. Good luck.”

Alix smiled slightly, then raised her hood and darted off without another word, as Killian made his own exit down another alley, until he was reasonably sure that he had not been spotted. He doubled around a few times to be sure, then set off at a casual trot, keeping his eyes peeled for anywhere that might sell candied violets.

By some stroke of well-overdue luck, he finally stumbled on them in a little shop offering fashionable Parisian delicacies, bought a box at a correspondingly extortionate price, and began to search this time for Regina. Hopefully she had made some headway on Monsieur Martel already, but if not, well, he could at least offer some useful information. He hadn’t actually killed the thugs, though he was quite sure they would have deserved it if he had, so he had not added any more concrete wrongdoings to his account. He did hope that Armand Saint-Clair was not someone with the ability to do him ill in the future, but sod the wretch. If he was sending brutish henchmen to forcibly haul back his daughter, he was clearly not someone with whom Killian would ever see eye to eye.

It took him a while, but he finally collided with Regina, emerging from some grubby hole-in-the-wall with a disgruntled expression. He pulled her aside, acquainted her with his information (while neglecting to mention how he had gotten it) and thrust the box of candied violets at her, so she could get on with applying it in the proper location. It took quite a while, as well as several more close shaves, but the end result was that when the tide went out that evening, they went out with it, crammed aboard a small trader headed first for London, and then up through the Scandinavian and Baltic ports of the old Hanseatic League. Killian did not quite dare to believe in their deliverance, even as he watched Le Havre shrink behind them, but as it was a relatively short journey across the Channel and up the Thames, he could be setting foot on English soil tomorrow morning, for the first time since that fateful departure from Bristol in the early spring of 1715. He had a feeling that England was in no particular hurry to welcome him back.

He slept intermittently, squashed against grain sacks in the hold, and woke before dawn, with the whiff of rain, soot, shit, and smoke that could only mean London. He and Regina went on deck to watch as they made their slow way up the river in a headwind, the ghostly shapes of the docklands drifting by in the mist. Killian could just spot the Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich on the opposite bank; the Royal Observatory was just on the hill above, likely even now occupied by some industrious sort applying themselves vigorously to the longitude problem. Further down the river, he could distantly make out the dome of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, and beyond that would be Southwark, to the one side, and Westminster, to the other. He wondered where exactly they were going. If it was digging into Lady Fiona they were after, it would likely have to be somewhere around there.

They were put ashore near London Bridge in another half hour or so, and once up on the path that ran along the bank, stood there for a moment, looking down at the filthy children who scavenged along the river flats for anything valuable that might have fallen in – the mudlarks. Killian remembered doing this sort of thing a time or two himself, grimaced, and, trying not to inhale too much of the stench, turned away. “Right. We should get started.”

Where exactly that was, they were still unsure, and there remained the fact that they could not simply march into the Exchequer or the Chancellor or the House of Lords, or anywhere else that might point them in the right direction. However, Regina had been a brothel madam on Antigua for a very long time, and in the course of her work, compiled extensive files of incriminating information on every Navy officer who passed through her premises and talked to her very lovely (and carefully trained) girls. All of these men were now retired or dead, of course, but they very likely had families, sons who had followed them into the service, or other obvious interest in not having the debauchery of their relatives become a matter of public record.

Thus they went to Whitehall, knocked until they made themselves such a nuisance that someone came to deal with them out of sheer exasperation, and – as Killian watched in considerable admiration despite himself – Regina elegantly threatened, coerced, and charmed their way past several levels of bureaucracy, caused a very amusing expression to appear on the face of a stout and elderly rear admiral who clearly remembered her, and finally achieved them a brief chance to look at some of the official ledgers and records. They had no idea if Lady Fiona would be in here or not, but the Murrays had to have some presence in the archives somewhere, especially if Gideon was governor of Charlestown.

As Regina warded off the clerks’ various attempts to get back in the room, Killian flipped feverishly through the pages. He didn’t even know what he was looking for – it was not as if Lady Fiona would have taken time to register her nefarious plot with the authorities, after all. There were arrival and departure records for the Navy ships leaving out of London, however, and sometimes a notable passenger or two was scribbled on the manifest, along with the name of its captain and its intended destination. If Lady Fiona had come through here with Liam, there might be at least some kind of a note of it. . . unless she’d used an alias or lied outright, of course, but still. . .

Killian was now months and months back in the records and knew he had gone too far – this was much earlier than Lady Fiona would have been here, this was a dead end, and he was about to slam the ledger shut in disgust. But then he noted something at the bottom of the list for April 1739, a few months before the official declaration of war against Spain. A departure of HMS Griffin, under the command of Capt. M. Rogers of Bristol, for Bridgetown, Barbados. Aboard the ship was Lord R. Gold, intended for a minor administrative post in the Leewards.

Killian stared at it until he was almost seeing double, heart hammering. He knew that being arrested for treason was not always the end of a nobleman’s career, or even often. With enough money and influence, you could make almost any charges disappear, and Lord Archibald Hamilton had managed to be elected as a Member of Parliament and a Lord of the Admiralty after his release from prison for his Jacobite activities and sponsorship of piracy as governor of Jamaica. Hence, it would have been very difficult to get such unsubstantiated rumor as the re-establishment of the Star Chamber to stick, especially if you were as well-connected and ruthless as Gold. After all, to every appearance, he had been virtuously trying to stamp out piracy, and Woodes Rogers had likewise gotten himself a new term as governor despite his defeat in Nassau. Indeed, to see the names Rogers and Gold together raised Killian’s hackles beyond all measure. He knew that Woodes’ beloved brother, the one he had lost on his round-the-world voyage along with much else, had been named Matthew, and while this was of course wild conjecture, if this new Captain M. Rogers was a son of the governor. . . a son, perhaps, of the governor and Eleanor Guthrie, who had also turned to Gold’s side just before the end of the war. . .

“What?” Regina said, seeing his face. “What?”

“Look at this.” Killian shoved it under her nose, thinking of how she had asked him at their first meeting if Gold was still alive. “Look!”

Regina looked, seemed about to say it was nothing, and then went pale. “You think it’s him?”

“I don’t reckon there can be many other Lord R. Golds, can there?” Killian’s heart felt as if it was about to burst from his chest. “If he’s been in the Indies since last year – it strikes me how very bloody well he would be positioned to, say, pass intelligence to Billy Bones that Flint and the rest of us are still alive. Also could be just as well positioned, if he knew where we were, to send the assassins after us in Savannah. We thought this whole time that Billy just up and decided to go off and do all this – well, what if he didn’t? What if he was given a little push?”

Regina stared at him again. “So – what?” she said at last. “Gold’s trying to kill all of you?”

“If I’m not mistaken, he’s tried to do that at least once. Or ordered them to do a very good job of failing – which they did, because Flint and I killed them – so we’d know we were being hunted, but not why or from where.” Killian’s pacing was starting to turn frenetic. “That, or he just bloody wanted us to – ”

Regina gripped him by the arm, which startled Killian enough that he, for the moment, actually stopped. “Listen to yourself,” she said. “You’re raving. Seeing monsters in the shadows. I agree that it might be him, but you have absolutely no proof that he’s responsible for anything.”

“If I wait for proof, it’ll already be too late. Do you think Gold was ever going to just accept what we did to him, destroying everything just when it looked like his ultimate moment of triumph? He’s probably spent these last two decades rebuilding his traps to a far bigger and better scale, no mistakes this time, accounting for all possibilities, while we lived happily and thought we were safe. We should have killed him. We should have left no stone unturned until he was dead, not counted on bloody England to do it!”

Regina tightened her grip. “Killian. Listen to me. You can’t just – we came here for Liam, remember? Liam.”

“Aye,” Killian said. “Liam.”

Regina looked at him in surprise and wariness. Then she drew herself up. “My husband is in danger, we know this, we can prove this, while this diversion about Gold is nothing but wild speculation and vengeful fantasies. Leave it, just forget it, don’t – ”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me leaving my family to Gold’s tender mercies, so we can do what you want, make me feel your same pain at not having one! Once again, my whole world has to be Liam! I thought that was your job, now. Believe me, I don’t want it back!”

Regina stared at him as if she had never seen him properly before, and in the terrible, queasy silence that followed – broken only by the renewed pounding of the clerks on the office door – Killian himself wished he had not said it. Knew he was lashing out at her from a place of his own fear and desperation that his oldest and most dangerous enemy might still be alive, carefully coordinating everyone and everything he loved toward ruin, when he had so much more to lose than last time. Feeling trapped that of course it had turned on him like this:  to choose between his old family or his new one. Had just been thinking of how he did not want to give everything up for Liam again, his sensitivity to the prospect. . . didn’t want to just cut his brother loose and wish him a nice life, of course, but weighed against this. . .

They continued to stare at each other. Then Killian said, “I’m going to Barbados. You can come with me or not, but you had best not get in my way.”

“You’re just ‘going to Barbados’?” Regina’s eyes flared. “That’s it, then? After I saved your hide in Le Havre and got us to London – ”

“I saved my own hide in Le Havre, thanks, and I got us here as much as you did, so I’m afraid you don’t get all the credit, love. I’ll do whatever it takes, I don’t care. I do understand you’ll want to stay and look for Liam, but between you and me, I doubt he’s around here any more. I don’t know if Gold and his sister are in cahoots or they’re determined to destroy each other, but either way, Lady Fiona isn’t going to be loitering. As I said. Your choice.”

“If they both know about Skeleton Island – ”

“I wouldn’t put it past either of them for this to be some sort of complicated lure to draw all of us there, but I can’t be sure. You know what I’m going to do. Are you coming or not?”

Still, for a long moment, the silence remained. Then Regina, with considerable effort, broke their standoff. Looked down and nodded.

--------------------

Yet again, nobody slept that night. Emma, Henry, and David took turns sitting up to keep watch, the hours of darkness seeming to stretch interminably and unendurably long, as Miranda, Violet, and the children, by the sounds of things, barely closed an eye either. Everyone was pale-faced and puffy-eyed by the time Monday morning finally consented to arrive; Henry normally worked Mondays at the print shop, but he did not appear in any haste to rush off through the dawn streets alone. They sat around the kitchen table, picking without appetite at their breakfast, as Miranda kept glancing in the direction of the front door. Rather than more assassins, though those appeared to be a regrettably repeat possibility, Emma knew she was worrying about Flint. She couldn’t blame this, but Flint had told her that he might be a while making it back, after all. No need to assume the worst. Yet, at any rate.

Emma pushed that thought aside, trying instead to think about what the seven of them could do in a comparatively small house all day without going completely stir-crazy. Yet danger or no danger, she didn’t like doing nothing while someone was out there actively plotting against them, and around eleven o’clock that morning, she put down her hand of cards and said, “This is foolish. We shouldn’t be cowering like scared rabbits down a burrow. We should be doing something.”

“Maybe so,” David said, with a look that suggested he had had the same idea. “I don’t know exactly what, but – ”

“We can figure it out.” Emma got to her feet. “You and I should go. Henry, you stay here with Miranda and your family. I don’t want to have to rely on Charlotte happening to hear a struggle and running over again.”

“We could invite her,” Henry suggested. “She’s a good shot, as we discovered last night, and you know I’m not terribly – ”

“No,” Emma said flatly. “Yes, she saved us once, but I don’t want her around again until we know more about what she’s doing – and who Jack is. It might be entirely innocent, or it might not. She still could have passed information on us, whether or not she meant to, or knew what the consequences would be as a result.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like Grandpa.”

“In this case, I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.” Emma looked at Violet. “You’re the one who knows her the best, or at least what she’s told you. Who’s Jack?”

Violet, still looking unappreciative of these slanders upon her friend’s character and motives, nonetheless decided, for the time being, to excuse them. “Her husband, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, she’s never actually said, but the way she talks about him, I’d wager so. I don’t know where he is, not Philadelphia, and she’s never said exactly what it is he does, either.” Violet gave a defensive shrug. “But that’s hardly strange, especially when it’s a war. We haven’t known each other that long, why would she rush to tell me if it’s sensitive? That doesn’t mean she’s a bad person, or they’re up to no good.”

“No,” Emma said, “but it does mean they have at least some experience in keeping secrets and working in the sorts of places that value that as a skill, which means – ”

“I’d not point fingers!” Violet interjected. “The lot of you being pirates for however many – ”

Henry, who was looking extremely uncomfortable as he watched his mother and his wife argue, cleared his throat loudly, making everyone jump and glance around at him. “All right,” he said, “we won’t invite Charlotte over, at least for now, but we’ll also keep the possibility in mind that she genuinely didn’t have anything to do with this. Agreed?”

Everyone paused, then nodded, subsuming personal feelings in the face of the fact that they still needed to remain united if they were going to get through this. Emma and David pulled on jackets, boots, and weapons, preparing to depart, when Miranda unexpectedly stood up. “I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure that’s a good – ”

“Perhaps not,” Miranda said crisply, “but I still am. It leaves Henry with one fewer person to have to defend, if our unfortunate new friends pay another call, and I want to know what happened to James. Be assured, if it comes to more shooting, I will not get in your way.”

With that, and strict assurances that they would be home by nightfall, they set out. David had scrounged up a cart from somewhere so they did not have to walk in the muck – though knowing the state of Philadelphia’s streets, it would scarcely be any faster, and for several minutes, they bumped along in silence. Then, now away from the house and thus feeling somewhat more free to speak her mind, Emma said, “Do we think Charlotte was responsible?”

“I would be surprised if she did not have some hand in it, to good or ill result.” Miranda looked over at her seriously. “But for all that, Mrs. Bell’s intentions do not seem malicious to me. I cannot explain it, other than that she reminds me of myself, in some way I cannot quite put my finger on. I believe she was sincere in what she did for us last night. I owe my life to her, and I do not feel as if you should push Violet too hard over it. It is her children’s lives as well that were saved by Charlotte’s quick thinking, and excellent aim with a pistol.”

“Yes, but if Charlotte was somehow responsible for that man being there in the first place – ”

“I do not think she was,” Miranda said, gently but very firmly. “Certainly not in the least intentionally. I will not deny that she is clearly keeping secrets. Yet as a family with a few of our own, do we really have every right to demand them arrantly from others?”

Emma opened her mouth, then closed it. She did not say anything more as they drove across the city to the print shop, informed Franklin that Henry would not be in today and the reason why, and received his indignant assurances that he would write a lengthy and scathing editorial about the disgraceful behavior of such reprobates imagining that the law did not apply to them, and urge the public to stringently condemn such terror and disorder. Emma was not altogether sure how much practical effect this would have, but she appreciated the gesture. When they had emerged from the printer’s lair (Franklin with another rather hopeful flourish of his hat at Miranda) she said quietly, “Do you think there’s anything to be had from returning to the house where we met our Jacobite contact? At least ascertain how the drop went?”

“He did say he’d kill us if we attempted to see his face,” David pointed out. “And if it did go astray, I doubt we should draw more attention to ourselves by once more being spotted in the neighborhood. Emma, where you and Flint were planning to take the chest after you retrieved it – I’m sure we can think up an innocent reason to take a pleasant daytime drive along the shore. At least see if there are signs of a struggle.”

Miranda went rather pale at these words, and Emma was reminded that last night was the first that she and Flint had spent apart since their reunion twenty years ago, that after so much turmoil and grief and suffering and separation, they had never again wanted to leave the other’s side, and kept devotedly to it. Emma herself felt a qualm at the idea of what might await them out there. But either way, knowing was better than wild speculation, and would enable them to craft a more solid plan as a result. If it was the possibility of finding Killian’s body out there, though. . . no wonder Miranda looked somewhat faint, and Emma squeezed her hand. “If you want me to go look first – ”

“No,” Miranda said. “I need to see myself, and I would never want you to have to tell me. Let’s go.”

David hesitated, then picked up the reins, and they headed south out of the city, following the Delaware River past the spot where they had lain in wait for the aborted sting, over the rough, rocky shorelands, and out to the remote point where their instructions had indicated them to take the money for the Jacobites to pick up. The closer they got, the harder Miranda gripped Emma’s hand, until it was nearly painful, but Emma did not try to pull away, feeling their shared heartbeats hammering in their fingers. No sign of the Saint Peter, not that she had expected the ship to hang around either way, and no way to tell if the dunes looked particularly disrupted. The wheels of the cart stuck and sank in the wet sand, and so they got out, David hanging behind to keep an eye on it, as Emma and Miranda foraged across the uneven, muddy ground, Emma having to hurry to keep up despite the older woman’s physical frailties. Then they came around the spur of the headland, skidded down into a low, boggy tide plain, saw something – someone – sprawled facedown among the wrack, half-heaped in sand and pebbles and broken driftwood, and Miranda made a terrible sound, as if a blood-curdling scream uttered only in a choked gasp under her breath. Then she pushed past Emma, and, filthy skirts flying, ran.

Emma froze, then bolted after her, hurtling the slimy log in her way and feeling her own fear clench like an icy fist around her throat. By the time she reached Flint as well, Miranda had already knelt beside him and rolled him onto his back, hands frantic to stanch the deep, ugly gash in the side of his head, still making that terrible noise every time she breathed but not hesitating an instant in what must be done.  She tore some clean cloth out of her petticoat and began to clean the encrusted sand and dirt and salt away, hands only shaking slightly, with a composure that Emma doubted she could have achieved if it was Killian lying there. She stood up to yell for David, and he came scurrying up, panting, then stared when he saw Flint. “Is he – ”

“He’s breathing,” Miranda said, not looking up as she tore off another length of her petticoat and fashioned an impromptu bandage for the wound. “The foolish man, going off alone like that – he’s lucky his skull is so bloody thick! When he wakes up, I’ll kill him properly myself!”

Emma and David, with a considerable effort, hoisted Flint between them and carried him back to the cart. By the time they got him loaded in, fresh blood had begun to stain the dressing, and they exchanged a grim look; it was a long and bumpy journey back to Philadelphia, and crashing and thumping over every obstacle in the way could not be good for him. Yet it was just as plain that he urgently needed more care, had been out here for hours already, and a large number of his pistols appeared to be missing. He had gone down fighting, at least, but one man of nearly seventy, even the famed and feared Captain Flint, against an entire ship’s crew of soldiers and smugglers – indeed, he was terribly fortunate not to be dead. All they could do was hope that he was stubborn enough to stay that way.

They began to lead the horse carefully back across the sand and toward the muddy road. Miranda sat in the cart, carefully holding Flint’s head in her lap to prevent more jostling, as they climbed the embankment and began to toil back toward the city. At last, in another hour, they reached it. It was inevitable, however, that someone would take notice of their burden, and the redcoat captain at the gate frowned down at Flint’s prone form. “Who exactly is this, madam?”

“My husband,” Miranda said. “He’s hurt, you can see that. Please, let us get him to a physician.”

“Coming from the south, were you?” The redcoat considered them shrewdly. “How exactly did this happen, Mrs. . .?”

Miranda hesitated. “Barlow.”

“How was your husband injured, Mrs. Barlow?”

“I don’t know,” Miranda said, which was, after all, the truth. “Please – ”

“We’ve had a queer night here. Reports of attacks, rumors that it was to distract from some sort of rendezvous down the coast. Your husband would not be able to tell us anything about this, would he?”

“He can’t tell anyone anything right now!” Miranda said angrily. “Captain, do you think this is a remotely suitable time or place to – ”

“Sir,” David interrupted. “Speaking as a man who shares your rank and service – Captain David Nolan, formerly of HMS Windsor, lord sheriff of Charlestown – surely you can allow Mrs. Barlow to tend to her husband before you commence interrogating her? I have an address down by the red-lamp district that would be more fruitful for you, anyway. If you would – ?”

Miraculously, David’s upstanding-citizen aura worked one more time, they were allowed through with no more questions, and rather than taking Flint to one of the charity hospitals – which were for lepers, cripples, paupers, and the like, and usually filled with filth and despair – they conveyed him hastily to the print ship, exchanged a quiet word with Franklin, and carried him up to the small apartment above. It was not much, but there was a bed with reasonably clean sheets, some water for washing, and as Miranda pulled up a stool, carefully unwound the stained strips of her petticoat, and began to dab at the crusted dark blood, Flint groaned, the first sound he had made. His eyelashes fluttered, but did not quite open. “Where. . . where’m. . .”

“James, shh, it’s me, you’re safe.” Miranda rinsed her handkerchief as David reappeared, hauling two buckets of fresh water from the courtyard pump. “Lie still.”

Flint groaned again, and a slit of woozy green showed under his eyelids. “Head aches. . .  like the devil.”

“No wonder,” Miranda snapped. “You only went and got it split open. James, do be quiet, I’m working.”

Emma let out  a shuddering breath of relief; if Flint had regained consciousness and was grumbling, and Miranda felt confident enough of his survival to rebuke him for recklessness, the worst was probably over. Miranda had certainly patched him up from any number of unfortunate injuries before, and she accepted the bottle of brandy that Franklin fetched up, used it to swab the gash while Flint swore loudly and Emma held his legs down, and packed it with clean wool and bandaged it with a linen turban like an Indiaman’s. Only then did she wash her bloody hands, sink back with a shuddering sigh, and ask, quietly but with unmistakable anger, “James, what was that about?”

Flint grimaced. “Took the chest. Met. . . the ship. Not my fault. . . they tried. . . to kill me.”

“Yes,” David said. “Seemed to be a lot of that going around last night.”

Flint looked briefly as if he was set to burst out of bed on the spot, and they hastened to assure him that everyone was all right (deciding not to mention Charlotte until later). He fell back on the pillows with an inventive string of curses, then said, “They got. . . the money. Then decided that. . . I was no longer needed. . . in any capacity. I took out. . . a few, but one. . . caught me with a shovel, and. . .” He grimaced, indicating his head. “Must have thought. . . that did the job. No idea. . . where the bastards are now. I’d guess. . . halfway back to Charlestown.”

“Charlestown?” Emma repeated. “I thought you said they’d be going to Italy, to meet up with James Stuart and his – ”

“Aye. So I thought then. But now I’m inclined to think. . . it was a test.” Flint grimaced again. “If the ship arrived in Charlestown with the money on it, Murray would know. . . that we had followed instructions and everything. . . went as it was supposed to. If it didn’t – ”

Emma, Miranda, and David exchanged looks. “Do you still think the money is intended for the Jacobites, then?”

“Oh, I do. But Murray needed proof that we – ah.” Flint winced horribly and stopped talking for a long moment. “Cooperated,” he finished finally. “Now he has it. So I’m not sure. . . how killing us. . . would fit in. At least now.”

“Yes, well. About that.” With that, Emma explained what had happened last night, and their growing conviction that someone apart from Gideon was the one trying to have them murdered. He wanted them alive, at least until they had made themselves useful, but someone seemed to be working at cross-purposes against both their family and Lord Murray alike, pursuing some shadowy agenda of their own. Given their history and extensive list of enemies, it could be just about anyone, which was hardly heartening. Finally, with black humor, Emma said, “You don’t suppose Jennings has somehow come back to life, do you?”

Miranda shuddered, eyes closed and lips white, and she at once regretted it. “You know  I was just – ”

“Not like him anyway.” Flint coughed. “Fucking bastard. . . would prefer to torment us face to face. This, though. This would be the work of someone. . . much more subtle.”

There was an ominous silence. A name had instantaneously occurred to Emma, but she reminded herself that there were no grounds for it. Instead she said, “So if we’ve proved our compliance to Lord Murray, but nearly got killed by someone else for it, what the hell do we do now? I’m not sure I’d feel safe leaving Miranda behind after this, and not any safer bringing the whole family along. Maybe if David and I go back to Charlestown and try to find what Murray – ”

Here she stopped, waiting for Flint’s inevitable complaints about David and general sense of offense about his continued presence, but they didn’t come. Rather wondering how hard, exactly, the smugglers had hit him, Emma said, “James?”

“Aye. Maybe.” The words seemed to come hard for more reasons than just pain. Flint stared up at the ceiling. “You’re all right, you know. I am old.”

Emma blinked.

“I am old, and I didn’t have any bloody business. . . thinking that I could take on an entire ship single-handed. Nearly getting myself killed. . . was the least I could expect for it. This whole time, I’ve been determined. . . that nobody can call me old, and so. . .” Flint fell silent again, briefly. “And David’s here being so bloody helpful and chivalrous and fatherly. . . of course you’re coming to rely on him more. If that’s – that’s what you want – ”

“My dear,” Miranda said wryly. “Are you sure that you are feeling quite yourself?”

Flint gave her a look that nonetheless was well aware that he had deserved that. “I’m no use at the moment, am I? And you. . . if Emma wanted. . . if you wanted. . .”

Emma bit her lip, both amused and deeply touched. “James,” she said again. “None of us can deny it’s been good to have David around. But he. . .” She looked somewhat awkwardly at David, who nodded graciously, encouraging her to continue. “He can’t replace you. You’re still who we need, the head of our family, even if you can’t fight as well as you used to. That’s not the only use you had to us, and it never was.”

Flint let out a long, slow breath, coughing and looking away. His eyes seemed rather bright, and he took a moment to compose himself. Then he said gruffly, “That’s something, I suppose.”

“Oh, James, for heaven’s sake,” said Miranda. “Tell your daughter that you love her.”

Flint looked briefly as if he might prefer to be hit with the shovel again, but after another moment, glanced back at Emma. “Aye,” he said, and harrumphed. “Well. I do.”

Emma paused, then leaned forward and kissed his unbruised cheek. Flint had fallen rather backwardly into being her father, as Miranda had become her mother first and foremost, and sometimes she still could not help but wonder if he resented the obligation. He had been her mentor since her first arrival on Nassau, but that too had originally been for Miranda’s sake, and their relationship, while she knew that he would more or less protect her, had been a long way from warm. And yet if nothing else, Flint’s constant grousing about David was helping her realize how deeply he valued what they had become, not just for the grandchildren he clearly adored, but as Miranda had said to her the other night, for Emma herself as well. She had to brush a hand across her own eyes, then straightened up. “We can’t  go anywhere until you’re at least a bit mended. Besides, if we fulfilled one part of Gideon’s infernal bargain, I’m not so sure we should go running back to him to ask for more. He wants to talk, he can come to us.”

“Aye, that’s my girl,” Flint said, with a grim smile. “I can promise you, I will not be in that snot-nosed brat’s presence again without. . . immediately trying to strangle him. And if his henchmen think they’ve killed me, that gives us some time to come up with a new plan. Finding Killian is still our priority. . . but I don’t think Murray has him somewhere he can immediately hurt him if we disobey. I’m presently more interested in the question of. . . who could try to have us killed in both Savannah and Philadelphia. Not Jennings, for obvious reasons. . . but. . .”

Emma hesitated, wondering whether to mention her earlier thought. Finally she said, very delicately, “Gideon Murray’s father, perhaps?”

Heads turned sharply. “What did you say?”

“Gideon told David and me that he was Lord Robert Gold’s son, his real son, remember? His aunt Fiona adopted him. But he just said that Gold had been disgraced, he never actually said that he was dead. I think we can all agree that Gold would have motivation, means, and ability to ruin our lives, if he could find any way to do it. I’m not sure he knows that Gideon is his son, they can’t have had much contact, and Gold was away from England when he was born. If all he knew of Lord Murray was that he was a dangerous young rival with a too-keen interest in Skeleton Island, which we can be quite sure Gold wants for himself, he could very easily plant spies and informants among his men. Some of whom would then be ideally placed to turn on us.”

Everyone frowned at Emma, but clearly in alarm rather than thinking that this was not possible. “Christ,” Flint said at last. “So what are we supposed to do, if so? Contrive a touching father-son reunion? You said Murray hates his father. . . he might just stab him on the spot.” He brightened. “Do you think he’d stab him on the spot? Could we possibly be so lucky?”

“Not sure. Murray knows that Gold is his father, but I don’t think he knows anything about him or if he’s still in the Americas or the Indies somewhere. Gold, meanwhile, might know where Murray is, but not that he’s his son. If we could tell Murray this, if we could find some actual trace of Gold, he’d have bigger things to worry about than blackmailing us or fundraising for the Jacobites. Not to mention, I think we, to say the bloody least, would like to know that too.”

“Aye,” Flint said, “but I see several holes in this plan. Those being. . . we know absolutely nothing about where to start looking for Gold. . . if he’s even the one behind all this. . . and where in the entire New World he might be. In addition, I’m laid up. . . we’ve nearly all been killed once and that only since we got here. . . and of all of us, you and David – possibly Henry, if he’d feel safe leaving his family, I sure fucking wouldn’t – are the only ones fit for more travel and misadventure.  So how do you propose. . . we even start to go about – ”

“You know,” Emma said. “I think it’s time we find out just who Jack Bell is.”