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myownwholewildworld · 1 month ago

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veni, vidi, victus sum (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: marcus returns from war with the worst news possible. a/n: considering that i started this story here by posting the end first... may i interest you in how it all started? c: i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. pure angst because i don't know any better. death of a secondary character. w/c: 2.3k

July, 106 AD

Marcus’ right hand shook uncontrollably. So much so, he had to wrap his left around the opposite wrist and squeeze as hard as he could, hoping to stop the tremor that suddenly took hold of his muscles and soul.

He hadn't even had time to wash off the mud and sweat. Nor to process everything that had happened in the last few days. Once his mission was done and dusted, only then and in the privacy of his own company, would he give himself permission to break down. He would be a terrible General if he let himself be dominated by emotion at such important moment for the Empire.

Returning from Dacia after an intense campaign, Marcus had been at the head of the Roman column that would carry out the offensive towards the east of the Dacian capital, Sarmizegetusa, while General Atticus, his inseparable friend to whom he would have blindly entrusted his life, and son-in-law to Emperor Traianus, led the battle towards the center of the town.

That week the Empire had annexed a new region that would bring great wealth. But Marcus, personally, had lost much more than what he truly had gained. Lady Justice had spoken, letting the balance tip completely in favour of collective Roman rule and not his personal one.

Marcus walked between the marble columns of a secluded hallway in the Domus Flavia, the public area of the Imperial Palace on Palatine Hill, as if he was an umbra. He put one foot in front of the other automatically, his mind on a land more than six hundred Roman miles away.

The siege of the Dacian capital to the east had been especially bloody. The enemy had presented a good strategy; the thread of many souls being skewed by the Parcae on both fronts. Among them, that of his own son, Augustus. At eighteen years old, he had been a great military promise, the best candidate to one day replace his father.

If Marcus closed his eyes, he could still remember Augustus’ warm, battered body in his arms. His empty orbs, observing the infinite, reflected the horror of his last seconds in this world. A thick and rudimentary pilum protruding from his chest was a macabre picture Marcus would have trouble forgetting. Its tip so sharp, it had pierced through the segmented lorica with ease, embedding itself in his heart, blood still gushing out.

By the time Marcus’ knees hit the ground by Augustus’ side, Pluto had already claimed his son to join His ranks. The bloodshed had continued to unfold around him, a maddening dance of swords, as if the world had not just stopped —as if Marcus had not just lost the only reason that kept him standing.

His reality had just sunk into the blackest misery and the rest of humanity was there, present yet impassive, blind to his pain.

But there had been no time to grieve — not there, during the darkest hour.

An enemy sword hovered over him, and he had to react.

When the battle died down and his soldiers celebrated the victory, Marcus dragged the corpse of his only son to the edge of some oleanders, where he managed to dig a hole with the help of his gladius and his own fingers.

Time was of the essence, which prevented him from laying Augustus to rest following the rituals of the Roman religion. He could only place a bronze coin over Augustus' mouth as payment to Charon, the ferryman of the Underworld, before throwing dirt on him. He then had composed himself as best he could, letting the General's façade fall on his face, and headed east, unaware that his friend Atticus had suffered a similar end.

On one day alone, he had lost two of the most important people in his life.

His mind returned to the present. From his right hand hung the decapitated head of Decebalus, already so decomposed that there was no blood left inside. The coward had tried to escape to Ranisstorum and, in his last desperate moments, committed suicide when Marcus and another officer, Tiberius Maximus, were hunting him down.

Finding his enemy defeated by his own demons was an anticlimactic moment, given the events of the previous days. Tiberius circumambulated towards Sarmizegetusa again, while Marcus and his legion, along with Atticus’, returned to Rome.

He was defeated, physically and mentally. Marcus just wanted to finish that damned mission and return to his villa. An empty one, devoid of a family he once revered.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself in the throne room, with Emperor Traianus staring at him, a sardonic smile painting his lips. After placing the head of Decebalus at the feet of the Emperor, he gave his last report of war. When the time came to deliver the news that his son-in-law, General Atticus, had perished in battle, the smile faded from Traianus’ face. That would be a hard blow to recover from.

Marcus explained the details that had been entrusted to him, omitting the death of his firstborn and ending with the fact that Atticus’ legion was carrying his corpse through the streets of Rome at that very moment, heading to the basilica of the Domus Flavia to begin with the funeral rites.

At least one of the two would have proper burial.

He said goodbye with deferential courtesy and shuffled out of there. He still had one last assignment: to inform the wife of General Atticus and daughter of the Emperor, you.

With heavy feet, Marcus ambled towards the most private wing of the Palace, the Domus Augustana. One of the maids guided him through the unfamiliar corridors, leaving him in front of a basin raised on a half column. Marcus took the hint, realising that there was still dirt—and specks of dried blood—embedded in his face. He did as he was asked, drying his skin with a linen cloth, before resuming his pace.

Finally, they stopped in front of double doors, and the maid knocked.

A minute later, they swung open.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Marcus bowed his aching back, keeping his eyes on the expensive stone that lined the floor.

“Domina mea (my lady),” he greeted you with deference.

Keeping busy while worry stalked the back of your mind was a colossal task. One you should have been used to by now, but it was nonetheless nerve-wracking.

Having to wait around until you heard news from your husband was not how you wanted to spend your days, but for love you had to. For Rome, you had to. Your husband, Resius Atticus, was your father’s most trusted ally, which meant he was kept away from you for long nights.

You flicked through the pages of the shabby parchment, its ink slowly fading with the passage of time. Finding yourself reading the same paragraph again, you decided to put it aside. You curled up on the chaise lounge, hugging your knees as the sun filtered through the slit window — a ray of sunshine kissing your skin, leaving a warm trail.

Closing your eyes, you revelled in the rare moment of quiet, of peace, a smile lingering on the corners of your mouth.

A knock on the door swept the instant away, and then your heart fluttered uncontrollably.

Today was the day when Resius was meant to return. To his duties in the court, but also to you. You looked forward to settling back into a routine with him, lazy afternoons spent by the private gardens, talking sweet nothings to each other. Despite the years spent by his side, you didn’t tire of him, of your unbreakable relationship.

So, when you swung the double doors open with a pearly smile tugging at your lips, you did not expect to see your husband’s best friend instead.

Your heart suddenly stopped in your chest, swelling to an uncomfortable point. It stretched, a crawling feeling tearing your skin apart from the inside out.

Widened eyes, they locked on his, searching for answers and finding none. Marcus wore an impassible expression, but the way he averted his glassy eyes told you everything you needed to know.

This could only mean one thing. Your worst nightmare taking form, escaping from your dreams and filtering into reality.

Still shocked, you saw the server scurrying away, leaving you alone with the General — but not your General.

“May I come in, Augusta (Imperial Princess)?” his soft voice broke through your blocked eardrums.

Jarred, you nodded, stepping aside to let Acacius in.

You stood there, numb and confounded, your brain trying to find another reason for General Acacius’ visit.

“Please, let us sit down,” Acacius spoke gently, a firm hand on the small of your back guiding you towards the chaise lounge.

This truly felt like a dream, ethereal and foggy, something your vivid imagination had come up with during an unrequited afternoon nap. That had to be it, because this could not be it. You still had a thousand lives to live besides Resius — you had prayed to the Gods for his safe return and they never failed you.

Under Acacius’ direction, you sat down, the pillow underneath giving way to the weight of both of you.

“Domina mea, I regret to be the bearer of bad news. General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword, defending two of his fallen soldiers from certain death,” his words shook your system, the numbness taking hold of all your being.

Silence lingered, and you both sat there with eyes fixed on nothing.

This just wasn’t real, couldn’t be. You refused to register such cruel information, shaking your head to unhear what had been spoken aloud.

“No, you have to be wrong, Acacius. I am sure you are,” you finally replied, eyes looking for his tired orbs. A hand flew to one of his resting on his knee, squeezing it tight. “You are wrong. This must be some twisted joke.”

Acacius’ sight did not lie though. You could see the pain emanating from his eyes, the utter bareness they exuded. With pursed lips, he just stared at you, his free hand hovering over yours on his knee until he stroked it warmly.

“I am truly sorry, Domina mea. I… I wish I was lying,” his voice faltered momentarily. “I lament not having been by his side. Had I been, I would have gladly traded my life for his. I would have…”

Acacius did not finish the sentence, because the wail that tore through your throat interrupted him. A fresh wound split your chest in half, all emotions pouring out in a sudden burst. Tears welled up, blurring your vision, and you clutched at your chest, your lungs shrinking with your heart. A burning sensation filled you and then deserted you, leaving you empty, cold — broken.

Losing Resius was a death sentence to your heart, to your soul. To all you were and would be. Life would not—could not—be the same if he was no longer brightening it for you. Hope was no longer your companion, the easy happiness that usually shimmered within you all gone with the blow of a few simple words.

Something crawled inside you, twisting and twitching and breaking and consuming. Something dark, something sad, something shattered. Grief suffocated your heart. This was not pain, this was torment. Living hell.

The raw intensity of it all clouded your mind. Your fractured soul looking for a chink of solace, wanting to cling onto a sliver of hope. Before thinking, you let go of the dam of your emotions, sobs flooding your mouth, as you turned around and hugged Acacius.

Little did it matter the blood and dirt on his worn armour, you needed the comfort of a friendly shoulder. Acacius would understand your pain, the suffering that crushed your soul, because he had also lost his best friend. The two of them had been inseparable for decades — you both had lost someone important that day. He would understand. You knew he did.

Threading your arms around his shoulders, you cried your sorrow in the crook of his neck, kind palms rubbing your back, commending your pain to leave your body. So, you wept until your eyes were bloodshot, until they itched and dried like a river during the worst drought of the century. Trickles of tears stained your cheeks, lashes clumping together under the heaviness of tearful dew.

Time was lost to the dragging pain, and only when Acacius’ hands stroked your shoulders, did you venture a look in his direction, leaning back. The naked expression on his face told you how much agony he carried. The soreness his eyes distilled was on par with yours.

“I am sorry for your loss too,” you offered your condolences. After all, he had lost his best friend. “I trust that your son Augustus found his way back home safe.”

Before their departure, Acacius and his son had paid you both a visit, a meal shared at night between old friends’ jests and company. You remembered Augustus’ enthusiasm to make his father proud on their first campaign together. How Acacius had looked at his heir with adulation and pride — the apple of his eyes. Acacius’ wife had died during childbirth, which had only reinforced the close relationship between father and son.

A feeble smile loitered on his mouth, a brief nod putting your mind at ease. Neither of you needed more suffering tonight.

“He is resting now,” was his succinct reply.

But Acacius always was, so his reassurance soothed your soul a little.

At least Acacius and his son had made it out alive.

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randomshyperson · 1 year ago

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Party Monster - Wanda Maximoff Kinktober #01

Summary: A Halloween party takes an interesting turn when Wanda reunites with her ex-girlfriend. Maybe she'll learn a lesson or two, or maybe she'll still be terrible at following orders.

Warnings: (+18), Dom!Reader with Brat!Wanda, ex-girlfriends who are not over each other at all, really rough smut with teasing and orgasm denial, a lot of cursing, power dynamics, toxic behavior, unhealthy relationship (implied), the “cheating vs we are on a break” dilemma, mentions of a party atmosphere but no explicit alcohol consumption mentioned, Ghostface mask during smut scene ‘cause I’m a simp for Amber Freeman. | Words: 2.688k

A/N- Someone needs to get slasher movies away from me, but I thought this would be a good theme for kinktober. And we started with dom!Reader too because it’s a tradition. Good reading by the way, your horny people.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

It was definitely a bad idea.

Terrible, poorly thought-out, and reckless.

But Wanda finished putting the costume together and the final touch - the black gloves - made her take a deep breath, trying to gain a little confidence in her Halloween costume.

In the bedroom mirror, there was still a photograph that she knew she should have taken from there to at least fool herself that she could move on, but just as she had done dozens of times before, Wanda adjusted the item to prevent it from falling.

Your smiling figure stares back at her, and Wanda sighs softly, ready to party.

She crossed the campus in half an hour, alone because the girls went ahead and honestly, Wanda wasn't that close to her friends nowadays. Not since the break-up anyway.

"Hey, Wanda!" The male voice shouting her name startles her for a moment. But she forces a smile as she is enveloped in a strong hug, Steve Rogers entering her field of vision in the next second. He looked drunk when she got a closer look. "Glad you could make it."

The forced smile begins to bother her face, so Wanda stops, swallowing dryly and trying not to look so uncomfortable.

"Yeah, thanks." She mumbles awkwardly, nodding towards the open door, where the party seems even fuller and livelier. "Stark sure knows how to throw a party."

Steve laughs. "That he does." He says, looking ready to start small talk. Usually, he's as out of place as Wanda in crowded environments, but now he's got enough alcohol in his system to seem cool compared to the rest of the team's jocks, who stand out at parties with their eyes closed. "The guys are inside, come say hi and we can get you something to drink."

The non-existent details of the exact people who constituted the " guys " Steve was referring to made Wanda's stomach turn. But the blond had already grabbed her hand and was pulling her into the crowd, and frankly, Wanda wasn't going to make a scene.

She could handle the possibility of you being at the party, even if she hadn't seen you for four weeks. And three days, nineteen hours, and according to the clock by the beers, fifteen minutes.

"Guys, look who showed up!" Steve announces to the group at the ping pong tables. Wanda remembers the first year when you first visited the fraternity house and you made a joke about the number of expensive objects in the place, and she laughed even though she didn't really get the joke. God, she was so whipped back then.

The whole group looks at them at once. Wanda almost giggles at the scene, all the creative costumes are a sight to behold. Natasha in leather outfits similar to her sister's, or Tony in some kind of colorful armor. Thor dressed as the god after whom he was named, and Clint as a green archer.

And then there was you, with a ghostface mask around your neck so you could get to taste your drink.

You almost choke on the liquid when you meet Wanda's gaze, and she could consider it a personal victory. At least you looked as affected as she was.

It's obvious that the atmosphere gets heavy. Everyone there knows that you two broke up and that it wasn't a pretty thing. Or easy.

And maybe that's why Yelena hides a tense laugh behind her glass of drink and Natasha rushes over to greet Wanda and put an end to the scene.

The only person Wanda really wants to greet tonight puts her mask back on. You drop the glass and leave without saying anything, making the mood even worse.

Natasha clears her throat and strokes Wanda's arm gently. "Don't mind her, I, we, are happy to see you, sweetheart. I'll talk to her, enjoy the party."

It's sweet of Natasha to worry, but as the night goes on and you don't exchange a word, and you keep ignoring her, Wanda doesn't feel a bit better.

She tries to have a good time, but her gaze keeps seeking out your figure, which manages to evade her curiosity masterfully.

You disappear for a good few minutes after beer-pong, and Wanda begins to consider leaving. So she dismisses Bucky Barnes' story about a mess with the rival team and decides to be miserable in her bed instead of at a party full of strangers.

She turns into the corridor and there's a Ghostface cornering a pretty girl at the bottom of the stairs.

Anger blooms and dominates her actions before she can think about it. She lunges forward and grabs the figure by the cap of the costume, hard enough to almost knock the couple over.

The male's shout makes her wince.

"Are you fucking mental?" Complains the stranger in confusion and indignation.

"I-I, shit, I thought it was someone else" She stammers with wide eyes, walking backward, away from the confused couple.

The scene attracts the attention of a few people around, but she feels her back hit somebody and before she can turn around, two hands come around her waist and push her away from the angry guy.

Wanda blinks, and you shove him away harshly. "Back the fuck off, motherfucker."

The man snorts indignantly. By now, half the party is staring at the scene. "What the hell? She started it."

"And I'm finishing, fuck off." You cut him off coldly, and you probably wear that costume better than he does, because the guy hesitates and turns away to grab the girl's hand behind him, leaving without saying another word.

You turn your masked face to Wanda, and she feels hers burning with shame. All you do is shake your head in disbelief and take the hard way upstairs.

Wanda follows you without thinking about it.

She stops the bedroom door from closing with her hand and ignores your protest.

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to talk to you." You cut her off, holding up a finger. "I don't even want to look at you, Maximoff. Get the fuck out." You advance but Wanda is quicker. She closes the door behind her, and you end up pressing her into the wood by the arms.

You sigh heavily, as affected as she is.

"I thought it was you." She confesses in a shaky whisper, her hands trapped behind the body you kept squeezing. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw you with someone else."

You chuckle dryly, taking a step back. "Apparently you'd try to throw me to the ground."

Your attempt to pull away completely is interrupted - Wanda grabs your wrists, trying to get you to wrap your arms around her again. It becomes a struggle of pushing and impatient grunting. Until Wanda is forced against the bed, and her apologies break down into a dirty moan.

Your hand around her neck - in an attempt to get her to shut up and stop repeating what you don't want to hear - has a very different effect.

You're on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with your own body. Wanda thinks you can feel how wet she is against your thigh.

"Don't make a fucking sound. I don't want to hear you, understand?" You warn, the loosest grip on her throat to allow her to breathe. Wanda nods obediently and has to bite her lip hard when you pull up her skirt, only to grope for her panties.

Silence is an impossible task, especially when your fingers, so eager and familiar, thrust into her without warning. She squirms, throbbing in your fingerprints, and the sigh of pleasure is yours.

"Fuck, I've missed your pussy." You pant, fucking her carelessly, hard, and deep. The sound of Wanda's soaked arousal makes her ears burn - but she doesn't mind. She's busy trying to keep still, even when you're driving her over the edge so quickly. You notice, of course, and pull out as soon as she's ready to let go, and Wanda breaks into a loud whimper, her hips thrusting restlessly into the air.

You let go of her throat to grab her cheeks. "You're not going to come, Wanda. You don't deserve it. And you know why, don't you?"

Her pussy is throbbing, enough to be almost painful, knocking her out of orbit. All she can do is whimper, nodding; you let out a wicked chuckle. "And why don't you deserve it, darling?"

Of course, you'd make her admit it. Because everything so far hasn't been hell enough. Wanda turns her face away, and with her silence, a slap hits her pussy. She spasms, moaning loudly, her back arched in the mattress.

She almost came in one go. Holding onto the edge at the last second.

"Oh god please." She whimpers shamelessly, and you grunt, watching the wetness ooze down her thighs, her pussy clenching against the emptiness in front of you. Wanda wants to come so badly that you almost feel sorry for her. "Just... one time. I'll do whatever you want."

You chuckle, and spread her legs a lit more to fit your body, pressing her against the bed. The friction between your joined hips makes her groan, trying to grind up onto you, but you remain firm, holding her still.

"Tell me." You demand. "Why aren't you allowed to come?"

She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "I... I can't."

You sigh impatiently and walk away at once. Wanda almost cries at the lack of contact.

"Get out of my room."

"N-no, please-"

"Then say it!"

Despite her shame, Wanda swallows her tears. "I fucked up."

You chuckle coldly, busy opening a drawer. "Clarify it." You command, and Wanda only obeys because she knows very well what's in the last drawer of your bedside table, she can feel herself clenching for the feeling. With a dry throat, and looking brazenly at what you're wrapping around your waist, she retorts: "I fucked someone else." She murmurs, biting her lip when the hardness is properly fitted. You laugh dryly.

"Hm, and why did you do that?"

Wanda spreads out on the bed, a bait. You don't fall for it. She pants in anticipation. "I wanted to get a reaction out of you. We're on a break. I wanted you to regret it."

Your hand begins to slowly masturbate the dildo and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, becoming even more aroused by the image.

“I’m the one who will make you regret it.” It is your final clarification. But Wanda gasps.

"Take your mask off, I want to look at you."

But you chuckle again, darkly enough for Wanda to shudder. "What you want doesn't matter to me anymore." You retort, and Wanda has no room for hurt now, the lust and longing for the feel of your body on hers taking over all her senses. "Get on all fours, you’re gonna watch yourself."

Wanda moves on trembling limbs, her face burning. She tries to ignore the mirror in the corner of the room, but as soon as you're behind her, your hand grabs her hair and forces her head up.

The Ghostface mask stares back at her. "You're going to watch me fuck your needy pussy and you're not going to cum, Wanda. No matter how much you want it, how much you beg for it." You warn sternly, your free hand adjusting the toy at her entrance. "Because petty, selfish girls who ruin a three-year fucking relationship don't deserve to come, do they?"

She shakes her head, at this point, she thinks she'll agree to anything you say. And you must understand that pleasure has gotten the better of her because you start masturbating her entrance with the tip of the fake cock and it's enough for her knees to give way. She whines in a plea.

"Please-"

You sink into her at once, filling her to the brim and Wanda moans throatily, her hands clutching the sheets. The last time you were this deep, playing power games, Wanda squirted on the new sheets, and she's not sure that after going a month without touching you, she can stop it from happening again. "God."

You chuckle hoarsely, seeming to have the best time in the world with this. You pull out of her only to enter again, slow enough for Wanda to let out a sob. "Hold it."

"I-I can't." She cries out, choking on her own breath, and instead of taking pity, you sink in again, picking up a rough pace. Wanda would have fallen onto the mattress, but you grab her hair again and force her to watch what's happening.

"Look how beautiful you are when you're being properly fucked." You tease, your hips never failing against her. Wanda can only moan in return, each second more impossible to stop the knot in her belly from bursting. "I know no one makes you this wet, Wanda. No one knows your body like I do." To prove a point, your hand slips between her legs, and eager fingers flick her neglected clit exactly in the way that makes her squeal to the ceiling.

Thank God for the loud sound of Tony Stark's parties.

Wanda is sure she's going to cum by now, and you can tell because you've been through this hundreds of times, and you know her body like the back of your hand. The fake cock slides out the second she's ready to let it go, and Wanda collapses flaccidly onto the bed with the lack of your hands while unable to hold back her tears.

"Fuck you, I hate you, I fucking hate you, you bitch." She babbled breathlessly, the frustration of her second stolen orgasm of the night making her groggy. You chuckle as she squirms on the bed, hugging her own body, and Wanda doesn't even notice that you've moved away just to lock the door.

Wanda is still trying to catch her breath when you remove the mask in one pull and kneel in front of her on the bed, between her legs which you pull open.

You don't give her a chance to prepare, you move in and start eagerly fucking her pussy, ignoring how Wanda writhes on the bed and muffles her moans in the mattress.

"Oh my god." She meows, her knuckles clutching the sheets, and the only thing stopping her thighs from closing against your head are your hands holding her tight. "I c-can't hold it, detka! 'can't-"

You stop again, and Wanda thinks she might kill you. This time, you sigh into her. "Hold it, or I swear to God I'll switch to another college."

Wanda is forced to chuckle at that. It's stilted and hoarse, and she knows there's a grain of truth in your words, but she does it anyway. Even more annoyed, you stand up.

She despairs but is giggling nervously. "No, wait, babe, I'll behave, I promise."

It's your turn to chuckle, in disbelief at the scene. Wanda clung to you as if your departure was the worst thing in the world.

"You're a lying brat, Wanda." You say, and despite the harsh words, your hand gently strokes her hair. Wanda sighs shakily, the redness in her cheeks showing how much she enjoyed the words. You push her hands away and take two steps back. Far enough, you quickly untie the item from around your waist. "I'm going back to the party. And if you want to cum tonight, you'll stay here. Waiting like a good girl."

She opens her mouth to protest, but you hold up a finger in warning, and the seriousness in your gaze is enough for her to know that if she disobeys now, you'll send her away.

Swallowing dryly, she lets you go, and when the door closes, she throws herself back on the mattress.

Her body’s on fire, and the traces of your shampoo on the pillow don't help. She moans low, adjusting to touch herself.

Maybe, just maybe, you won't mind if she comes while looking at your picture on the bedside table.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff #marvel imagines #elizabeth olsen x reader

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hard--headed--woman · 7 months ago

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Hello and happy Pride Month everyone ! 🏳️‍🌈

As promised, I am going to talk about an important lesbian in history everyday. And this first post is about one of my favourite :

Renée Vivien !

I have seen some people talk about her here but she clearly isn’t as famous as she should be, and she deserves way more recognition!

Renée Vivien, whose birth name is Pauline Mary Tam, was a British writer poetess, who wrote her poetry (and most of her works) in french ; born in 1877, she died in 1909, at only 32 years old.

Renée was openly a lesbian, and she never tried to hide it despite the society she lived in being extremely homophobic and considering homosexuality as an illness. In her poetry, she mentions her love for women a lot, and wrote a lot of love poems for several of her lovers. This even earned her the nickname “Sappho 1900”. ("Sappho 1900, Sappho cent pour cent").

Of Sappho, she was by the way a huge fan : in 1903, she published the work "Sappho", in which the poet's Greek texts are followed by a French translation, as well as verses by Renée Vivien, which thus "completes" the remaining fragments of Sappho's writings. This collection greatly helped to anchor Sappho's work and her identity as a lesbian woman in our culture.

Her work consists of :

Twelve collections of poems, totalling more than 500 poems

Several translations of Greek poetesses (including Sappho)

Seven books of prose

Around ten novels (written under various pseudonyms)

A posthumously published collection of short Gothic tales (written in English this time)

A book about Anne Boleyn's life

It is also possible to read her diary and the letters she exchanged with her lovers, friends and other personalities of her time, including Natalie Clifford Barney, Colette, Kérimé Turkhan Pacha and others.

Pauline studied both in Paris and in London, then decided, once she came of age, to come and settle in Paris. She published her first collection,"Études et Préludes" in 1901, under the pseudonym R.Vivien. This pseudonym later became René Vivien (the male version of Renée) then Renée Vivien, the name under which she will be remembered. We can easily guess that she first chose these neutral then masculine pseudonyms to be able to write and be published despite the misogyny and homophobia of her time, especially given the themes exploited in her writings.

Sadness, death, ancient Greece, love, despair, solitude and love are the most recurrent themes in Renée's poems. There is actually a poetry prize in her name, the Prix Renée Vivien, which rewards poets whose themes and style are close to those of Renée Vivien.

Among Renée's best-known lovers is Natalie Clifford Barney, a famous writer and poet, with whom she had a relationship for several years before leaving her, tired of her infidelities. It is said that Natalie never accepted this breakup and tried until the end to get her back by all means, sending her love letters even years after.

Renée then had a relationship of more than six years with the rich Baroness Hélène de Zuylen, married and mother of two children, with whom she traveled extensively around the world and collaborated on the writing of several works (under the collective pseudonym Paule Riversdale). In a letter to her friend Jean Charles-Brun, Renée admitted that she considered herself married to Hélène.

While still living with the Baroness, she received a letter from a mysterious admirer, Kérimé Turkhan Pacha. What followed was an intense four-year epistolary relationship, interspersed with brief clandestine meetings. In 1908, however, Kérimé, the wife of a Turkish diplomat, put an end to their relationship when she had to follow her husband to St. Petersburg. This break-up probably contributed to Renée's tragic end.

The writer was in deep psychological distress, which only worsened from 1908 onwards. Alcoholic and suicidal, she began refusing to eat properly, and attempted suicide with laudanum. After this failed suicide attempt, she contracted pleurisy, which left her very weak, and then chronic gastritis due to her alcohol abuse. She gradually fell into anorexia, and, with her limbs paralyzed by multiple neuritis, she died on November 18, 1909, aged just 32. Her death was attributed to "pulmonary congestion", probably due to pneumonia complicated by alcohol and anorexia.

After her death, intellectuals, artists and newspapers, out of lesbophobia, tried to make her forgotten by the literary world, describing her as a woman of evil and damnation, perverse and cruel, going so far as to invent for her a life of crime, debauchery, orgies with married women, violence and cocaine consumption.

Today, Renée Vivien's name is no longer known to the general public, and is never mentioned alongside those of great ans famous poets such as Arthur Rimbaud or Charles Baudelaire, despite her gorgeous poetry, her immense talent and fascinating work.

She's personally my favourite, and not only because she was a lesbian. Her poetry is the most beautiful, interesting and deep poetry I have ever seen. She deserves to be as famous as Victor Hugo or Paul Eluard (and even more famous, in my opinion lol).

Here is one of her poems, with its english translation :

A link to some of her poems (in french but you can use a translator) ;

And two links with some of her poems translated into english : 1 and 2.

You should totally buy and read her books and poems, I have them and they're amazing!!! I'll post more translations of her poems in the future for those interested.

Anyway, thanks for reading and see you tomorrow for the second post!

#lesbian #renée vivien #renee vivien #pride #pride month #poetry #french poetry #poésie française #poésie #female homosexuality #female homosexual #lesbian history #lesbian artist

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aquitainequeen · 1 month ago

Text

I've been reading some excellent posts about the character development of Elphaba, Glinda and Fiyero and how this dictates who ends up together and who ends up alone at the end of the story, and I thought deeply upon the fact that:

all three of them are on a journey to gain a brain, a heart, and courage.

Elphaba starts the story already deeply intelligent, but while she's very loving toward her sister, she's emotionally closed off and afraid of losing control of her power and hurting people. She grows close to Dr. Dillamond, opens up to and befriends Glinda, develops a crush on Fiyero, and is eventually motivated by her empathy towards the plight of the Animals of Oz. By the end of Act One she gains the courage to take the Grimmerie for herself to boost her power, to defy Morrible and the Wizard and to bear the hatred of all of Oz for years afterwards.

Fiyero starts the story jaded and apathetic, pretending to be unintelligent, self-absorbed and shallow as he finds it's the easiest way to get through life. He even gets a whole song about how life is ultimately meaningless and it's far better never to try and achieve anything. Then it emerges that he's actually quick-witted and empathetic when he helps rescue the Lion Cub and starts to seriously think about the state of Oz. He falls hard for Elphaba to the point that he spends years trying to find her, but while he originally began to date Glinda because they were 'perfect together', he stays with her because he does genuinely care and doesn't want to hurt her. Roughly half way through Act Two and reunited with Elphaba, Fiyero finds his courage; he gives up everything to join her in defying the Wizard and Morrible's regime, saves her life very nearly at the cost of his own, endures brutal torture and a horrific transformation, and immediately sets out to help her once more. And he's potentially the one who comes up with a trick that not only allows them both to be free, safe and together but which eventually liberates Oz.

Glinda starts the story apparently genuinely self-absorbed and shallow, and while intelligent she's also spoiled and sheltered, finding methods to get her own way and move through life without much thought or effort. She wonders why Dr. Dillamond keeps going on about the past and is enrolled in Morrible's sorcery class purely because Elphaba wanted to repay her; while she repents of the way she initially treated Elphaba and comes to consider her a dear friend, she's far less empathetic to the fate of Dillamond and her renaming herself in solidarity with him is mostly to curry favour with Fiyero; she refuses to join Elphaba in her rebellion against the Wizard because she doesn't think it's a fight that can be won and she doesn't want to give up the position she has or the power she could achieve. Throughout Act Two Glinda goes along with the Wizard and Morrible because she doesn't dare risk losing what she's gained, she doesn't think of how she could use her influence to help those whom the regime is targeting and, while she loves Elphaba and Fiyero, she's very quick to turn around and lash out at her friend when Fiyero 'chooses' her and breaks Glinda's heart. It isn't until the eleventh hour that Glinda truly starts thinking about the methods of Morrible and realises she deliberately killed Nessarose, tries to stop the witch-hunt and rushes to save Elphaba from doing something irredeemable by hurting/killing Dorothy. Glinda's cunning in taking advantage of what she's learned about Elphaba's parentage, her courage in manipulating the Wizard into leaving and imprisoning Morrible, finishes what Elphaba started and Fiyero aided. By the end of the musical Glinda is wise, compassionate and courageous-

-but it's too late, because Elphaba and Fiyero are gone.

#wicked spoilers #wicked musical spoilers #wicked movie spoilers #wicked film spoilers #elphaba thropp #elphaba #fiyero tigelaar #fiyero #galinda upland #glinda upland #glinda #Woah I wrote a LOT less on Elphaba than the other two #BUT this is really about them finding all of the three traits and I argue that she achieved that by the end of Act One #Act Two is mostly about Fiyero and Glinda doing the same #Also I don't know who in canon came up with the 'trick' that saves the day but I like to think it was Fiyero #wicked #wicked musical #wicked film

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dallaji · 1 year ago

Note

can you do bada lee smut, where bada wants to film while 🤟🏻 with reader HEHE i'm gonna leave the others to u:*

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

WORD COUNT: 5k

CW: exactly what it sounds like tbh!! established relationship, porn without plot, once again giver!bada, filming 🔞 (consensually)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is loosely a part two of this / "Hope we make it to the Cloud". i received these two requests and felt they were alike enough to "combine" the two, hopefully that's ok! 🩷 thanks for the request and hope you enjoy. (ꈍ꒳ꈍ) ┆ ┆ ┆ ┆⋆

Living alone wasn’t so bad.

When spending a long month performing, interacting with hundreds of people every day and flitting from one schedule to the other, getting to wind down in the comforts of your humble apartment almost felt like a privilege. And as soon as your promotions had ended, you had to take the time to get reacquainted with the place that you called home; time spent away, sleeping in cars or planes, almost made you forget what it felt like to have your own bed.

Sometimes you felt pangs of loneliness, when you were no longer experiencing the rush of backstage and the fleeting interactions with other celebrities, some of whom you now considered friends. The feeling was especially present when you were on break, fighting the urge to get a pet to keep you company on several occasions. Though calling it a “break” was a bit premature, your team always surprising with a last minute schedule on your calendar.

Still, living alone wasn’t so bad when you finally got a break from bright stage lights, sore limbs and buzzing eardrums.

Besides, you aren't so lonely nowadays.

It was the middle of the day and you were watching a game show, feet propped up on the table and hair tied together, when you heard your front door unlock.

“Honey, I’m home,” A tired voice sounded.

Tossing the spare key you had given her a few weeks prior into the little bowl on the table next to the door, Bada entered the room with the nonchalance only a person who spent a lot of time here could have. And well, she did spend a lot of time here.

As you beamed up at her from your seat, Bada was kicking her shoes off: donned in her practice cargos and a comfortable sweater, she looked as effortlessly attractive as ever. If you didn’t know her well enough by now, you would’ve almost missed the metaphorical thunder cloud hanging over her head.

You patted your lap eagerly. “C’mere!”

And with quick shuffling footsteps, Bada made a beeline for where you were seated, first dropping her backpack to the floor with a sigh and then unceremoniously flopping onto the couch, her head snuggling into your lap.

Your hands immediately caressed along her face, fingers gently pushing her bangs aside as you ran them through the pink streaks.

“Long day?” You asked as you fanned her hair over your lap, combing through and detangling the knots.

Her eyes were shut, zoning in on your soothing touches. “Maybe I need a manager,” She muttered quietly, “I don’t know why I thought three choreo sessions in one day would be doable.”

You placed your forefinger between her eyebrows, smoothing over the frown that had started to form there. “Try not to hire mine. Before you know it, three sessions become six.”

Bada laughed at that, eyes opening to gaze up at you affectionately. “Missed you.” She mumbled, head turning to nuzzle into the palm of your hand.

“Is that so?”

She sat up slowly upon hearing your playful words, turning to face you with half-lidded eyes. Leaning in, gaze dropping to your lips, she placed her hand atop your thigh and gave it a firm, meaningful squeeze. “Want me to show you how much I missed you?”

You held your breath expectantly, leaning closer with a barely-there nod as Bada inched towards you to close the gap; she tilted her head and your eyes fluttered shut.

But then, the growling of a stomach sounded through the room.

Bada groaned as you erupted into giggles, shoving her off of you: “Please go eat! There’s some leftover rice and salmon in the kitchen.”

Her disgruntlement faded immediately at your words and she swept down to press a peck to your lips. “You’re the best.”

“I know...” You hummed against her mouth, tugging her down again to steal seconds, feeling self-satisfied when Bada complied without hesitation.

You let her scurry off to the kitchen with a smitten grin plastered across your face.

“Did you finish the routine for that boy group?” You asked, watching her scavenge with your chin propped on the palm of your hand.

Bada dug into the rice cooker as she nodded, already chewing on a piece of salmon: “Yeah, it came together nicely! Wanna see?”

Clasping your hands together, you perked up. “Yes, please!”

“Laptop’s in my bag. All my recent recordings should be on it.”

Bending over to unzip her backpack, you carefully pulled her laptop out and set it on your lap. You heard Bada heat up the remaining salmon as you booted up the computer. Her password was just her birthday, which she had sheepishly confessed to when you were still practicing your choreography together. As you opened her files, a screen popping up with over fifty recordings, Bada came to stand behind you, shoveling food into her mouth as if the bowl would sprout legs and run away from her.

You scrolled through the recordings, which were arranged chronologically, until you noticed a thumbnail with a very familiar practice room.

As your mouth fell open in disbelief, your mouse hovered over the picture of what was undoubtedly Bada hunched over you in front of your practice room’s mirror; both your backs turned to the camera, but the scene all too recognizable.

You didn’t know why, but you felt your lower stomach warm up at the thought of her having kept the recording. You barely registered the audible gasp behind you, and you turned around.

Bada was frozen in her tracks, chopsticks motionless at her lips as she stared at the laptop on your lap.

“Oh my god, I—” She began, eyes searching the room for a place to set her bowl down as your eyes scrutinized her, “I could’ve sworn I deleted that! How did that— How did that get on my laptop?” She was stumbling over her words, and always had been a terrible liar.

You wordlessly navigated to the top of the screen and clicked on ‘Sort by last opened’, the videos reorganizing at your command.

The video was the third one on the list, even though it was over two months old. Once again your stomach curled, face heating up at the implication spread out in front of you.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, face beet red as she was unable to meet your eyes, entirely unaware of your inner turmoil and instead cowering away from you. “I’m sorry, you— you can delete it. I shouldn’t have—”

“I never told you to delete it, back then.” You cut in hurriedly, and it was true, but you felt embarrassed at the words leaving your mouth all the same. “You’ve watched it?”

Bada stared at you in bewilderment, but she nodded, perhaps comforted by your words and thus no longer seeing the point in lying: “Several times.” She admitted bashfully, gaze moving back to the laptop.

You felt lightheaded, briefly imagining Bada alone in her studio with her hand between her legs and her eyes glued to the screen.

“Oh,” You responded, “Why didn’t you...?” Unsure of how you were even trying to finish that sentence, you trailed off.

“We’ve just been so busy…” She said, sounding solemn, leaning over the backrest of the couch as her arms draped themselves over your shoulders. You leaned back into her embrace, your hands curling over her arms.

It was true: between a grueling comeback schedule and the heightening demand for Bada, especially following the release of your single, made it difficult to see each other regularly. Bada had visited you backstage a handful of times, the both of you savoring your short moments together, hungry lips meeting while hiding away in your dressing room, until you were inevitably whisked away for your next schedule. Similarly, you dropped by her studio whenever there was an opening on your calendar, but the curious eyes of her students made it difficult to do much of anything. It was then when you had given her a spare key to your apartment, hoping you could meet each other halfway more often.

“I miss you so much.” She murmured, cheek resting against your temple, and the way she said it left you breathless. It had a hidden meaning to it, clear to no one but you. It almost sounded like a plea with the way she nosed into you.

“You were gonna show me how much you missed me.” You whispered, angling your head to look up at her properly. Her eyes were already on you, gaze heavy. You didn’t have to say the words back to her with the way you looked at her.

She barely gave you a moment to let the words hang in the air before she pressed her lips against yours with a desperate inhale, hand curling over the crook of your neck. The position you were in brought you right back to your first time together; Bada crowding over you with an insatiableness she only reserved for you as your mouths fit together, her warmth washing over you. You felt her nails scrape along the nape of your neck, her lips parting against yours, pleading, as you slipped your tongue past. She hummed pleasantly, lips closing around the wet muscle and sucking as her fingers dug into your hair.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need of wanting her all over you, the couch separating your body from the comfort of her lean figure, you parted the kiss unwillingly. Before you could beg her for anything more, however, she moved her lips to your neck; immediately sucking a bruise against the unmarked skin. You gasped, instinctively baring your neck for her.

“Bada-” You began, but the words died in your throat as the tip of her tongue circled the mark.

“Click on the video.” She spoke in a hushed voice and only then did you become cognizant of the laptop resting on your lap, cursor still hovering over the video. “Fast forward a bit.”

With your eyes locked onto the screen and without moving your head, afraid you would lose the warmth of her mouth against your skin, you did as you were told; skipping through the recording until you found the exact moment Bada had turned you around, her chest pressed against your back. The sounds that came from the laptop speakers after you unpaused the video were sinful: the smack of lips gliding together and your quiet gasps as Bada smoothened her hands along your figure. You were feeling overwhelmed already and the two of you had barely done anything.

“You’re so beautiful.” Bada spoke as she watched the video from over your shoulder, still pressing soft kisses against your neck.

You could say the same about her with the way she was, and still is, able to command your body like an instrument. You were putty in her hands then and now, turning whichever way she conducted you.

She straightened her back slightly, looking down at you as her hands lowered to your front. In tandem with the Bada in the video, she found the hem of your shirt and pulled upwards, your arms raising to aid the process. You weren’t wearing a bra, and the cool air of the room made a shiver run down your spine. Bada, however, was delighted, warm hands immediately cupping over your breasts.

You craned your neck, chasing after her lips and she let you indulge: with your head tilted backwards your tongues met before your lips did, Bada angling her head to deepen the kiss impossibly more, fingers pinching your nipples inquisitively and stiffening them. You were sensitive straightaway, gasping into her mouth.

Then, an idea. Your fingers managed to find the space button and pressed, effectively pausing the video. Bada parted the kiss reluctantly, curiously peeking at the screen before looking down at you.

“Do you have your camera with you?” You asked, voice breathless.

She blinked at you in wonder but nodded: “Yes, in my backpack.”

You gave her a suggestive look, hands coming up to rest atop hers; still covering your breasts. “Do you… want to film a new one?”

You hoped you hadn’t misjudged Bada, and for the few seconds she was silent you feared you had ruined the atmosphere, but that feeling didn’t last long. The look she gave you was nothing short of infatuated.

Bada smiled, albeit entirely flustered, before giving you another kiss and you sighed in relief. She walked to her backpack, where it still laid on the floor, and began searching through it for the camera. As you shut the laptop and moved it off your lap, Bada reemerged with the familiar device.

The display was already flipped open, Bada’s fingers fiddling with the buttons with an almost childlike excitement that made you giggle. She looked up at you as if breaking out of a daze, and softened instantly at the sight of you: topless and patiently waiting for her. She lowered the device.

“You’re certain you’re okay with this?” Her eyes looked into yours, searching for any hints of doubt or apprehension.

“More than okay,” you assured, “Just tell me what to do.”

And as soon as the words had left you, Bada hit record. “Be you.”

She slowly walked around you, angling the camera as her eyes were glued to her display, taking in your appearance with the delicacy of someone who practiced this often enough in their head. You were starting to feel skittish, despite her attention on you almost feeling reverent, and fought the urge to cover yourself up.

Instead you crossed your legs, head tilting to the side as you looked straight into the lens of the camera: “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to keep your distance the whole time.”

You heard the buzzing sound of the lens zooming in on you, though you had no clue what exact part of you it was focusing on. “That would be impossible when you look like this, baby.”

The nickname, which was usually reserved for when the two of you spent time tangled up in each other, visibly flustered you. You sucked in your lower lip to hide a growing smile and glanced down, Bada smirking at your reaction.

“Trying to set the scene for my future self.” Bada added meaningfully, and the implication made you feel warm.

She strode over towards you, eyes still focused on the camera display as she sat down on the table in front of you. You followed her movements intently, anticipating whatever request was burning on her lips. But instead of asking anything of you, Bada wordlessly nudged her knees in between your thighs, forcing your legs apart, and you adhered.

“Take your pants off.” She commanded and virtually immediately your hands dropped to the waistband of your trousers, tugging it below your hips. You would have time to ponder how embarrassing your submission to her was later, but for now you wanted to give her everything she asked for.

With her unoccupied hand she helped you pull the fabric all the way off, with an almost impatient tug, and you made sure to stretch your legs as elegantly as possible, doe eyes never losing track of the lens; hyper aware of the camera following your every move as if this were just another music video recording.

You let your hands slide up your thighs, fingers momentarily hooking into the straps of your panties before snapping them against your skin. Bada angled her camera, tracking the movements of your hands intently as her tongue peeked past her lips; wetting them. The palms of your hands moved along the curve of your waist, trailing them higher and higher, until you were pushing your breasts together ever-so-slightly. Then, you brought one hand behind your neck and leaned back into the couch. Your other hand dropped back to the strap of your panties, toying with the fabric between your fingertips, granting a sneak peek for the skin underneath - not that there was much more left to the imagination.

For a moment Bada’s eyes moved away from the display, zoning in on your ministrations, and then she leaned back herself, the movements forcing your thighs further apart by the dull push of her knees against yours.

“You’re a natural.” Bada said teasingly, but remained cemented in her spot, much to your frustration.

You pulled the strap of your underwear below your hip, blinking up at the lens through long eyelashes, and pressed your crotch down into the couch. Subsequently, you slid your hand to your front, fingertips digging below the waistband of your panties; your eyes never losing track of the lens. You went lower and lower, gauging the taller girl’s reaction.

Once again you heard the noise of the lens zooming in, and your fingers finally found the top of your heat. You were already wet, spreading your folds with a quiet hum, and began lightly rocking against the fabric of the couch. The friction made you gasp, the thrill of your predicament making you feel increasingly more responsive to any touches.

Bada parted her lips, watching on in awe. “Take those off.” Her voice was almost uncharacteristically deep, dripping with want.

And because you knew her well enough to know she couldn’t hold off for much longer, you gave her the most coy look you could muster and answered: “Come do it yourself.”

The sound of the table moving backwards echoed through the living room, Bada using her body to push it away. You didn’t cease your movements however, dragging your crotch against the couch again as you watched Bada in anticipation. She had placed the camera on top of a stack of books lying on the table, pointing the lens at you in a sideways angle, and stepped towards you. She towered over you before pulling her sweater over her head, and you watched as her slender frame appeared; still touching yourself. She was unbelievably pretty.

Then, she dropped to her knees, arms hooking under your legs as she pulled you to the edge of the couch in such a sudden motion you couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell from your lips. Her thumbs hooked under the straps of your underwear and pulled them off brusquely, leaving you completely bare in front of her.

She settled in between your thighs like she belonged there and leaned up, her hand on the side of your neck as she brought you in for a hungry kiss. The noise you made was desperate, but she silenced it immediately by plunging her tongue into your mouth; licking into it with a groan. Your fingers tangled into her hair, clinging onto her as your body begged for more, tongue gliding back against hers through parted lips.

Bada cupped your jaw tightly as she swallowed the sweet noises you made, and parted the kiss to catch her breath; your own chest rising in exhilaration. Her thumb trailed along your bottom lip, moist from saliva, and pulled it down: “Just look pretty for me.” She muttered.

With that she slid down your body, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck and to your cleavage, her hands feeling along the shape of your upper thighs, squeezing them. You felt your lower stomach curl when her lips pressed to your navel, and you put your arms at either side of your body; palms pressing into the couch as you gave your body away to her.

Her thumbs pressed into your hip bones when her mouth got closer to your core, but she immediately pivoted to the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing the skin before parted lips began to suck down a bruise.

Your head lolled to the side, letting out another soft gasp as her lips covered every area except the one where you needed her the most. You were going mad, wondering if you should start begging.

Her eyes met yours and she had the audacity to smile, a happy glow dusting her cheeks as her fingers dug deeper into the skin of your thighs. She pressed another openmouthed kiss near your hip bone before speaking: “Anything you want me to do?”

Your hand automatically moved in between your legs, but Bada stopped you with a firm hold on your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” she tutted, “I’m directing here. Tell me what you want.” Her gaze was intense, smile growing wider as you grew more flustered, thighs twitching.

“I—” You began, struggling to find the words, “I want you to touch me. However you want.”

“However I want?” She tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion in a sweet voice.

“With your hands.” You added quickly, something in you stirring at the way her grip on your wrist remained resolute. “Please, I need it so bad.” More words escaped you before you could dwell on the humiliation: “I’m so wet for you.”

The look in Bada’s eyes darkened as she placed your hand back onto the couch, grabbing onto your thigh once again. She looked down at your glistening heat, momentarily sucking in her lower lips before meeting your eyes again. “For me?” She asked again, knowing the answer well enough.

“Only for you.” You near whimpered, and she finally released you from your misery.

Bringing her hand to her mouth, she lapped at her fingers before promptly lowering it to your vagina; spit-slicked fingers moving along your folds to spread your wetness with a purpose as her other hand held down your thigh, making sure you kept your legs apart for her. A groan of relief escaped you before you could realize and you bit down on your lower lip, feeling her explore. You heard her suck in a breath between her teeth as you glistened underneath her, marveling.

You felt yourself get impossibly more wet from her touch, and Bada immediately took advantage of that. She started to rub against you in slow, circular motions as your hips involuntarily jerked from the sensitivity. With a soothing shush, her grip on your thigh tightened as she let her fingers dig into your folds with more pressure, a soft moan falling from your lips.

“I’m starting to think you like begging.” Bada whispered longingly, fingers that knew exactly where to be circling against you with a deepening pace.

Unable and unwilling to answer, you brought a hand up to your mouth and pushed two fingers past your lips; you sucked around them, muffling your moans. The look Bada gave you was simply ravenous, and you then realized you were here to put on a show for her camera. Her thumb brushed down against your clit, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure, the ministration sending electric shocks across your lower belly as you were unable to stop your hips from rutting into her touch. You withdrew your fingers from your mouth and brought them to your breast, rolling your nipple under them.

You heard the taller girl cuss between your thighs, her fingers dropping lower as she followed the noises you made; spurring you on. Then, you felt her forefinger catch at your entrance, drawing circles around and all you could do was hold your breath.

Bada sank a finger into you, slow enough that the burn wasn’t overwhelming you, but you moaned all the same. She tentatively crooked her finger inside of you, intently watching your reactions, the grip she had on your thigh almost bruising. She began pumping her finger in and out of you, not too fast but fast enough to have you gasp her name, rewarding every honeyed moan with a curl of her finger.

“More…” You begged, toes curling.

“Yeah?” She whispered, pressing a kiss right where your inner thigh and core met before handing you exactly what you wished for.

Her middle finger pushed into you along with her index finger, and this time you felt the stretch more acutely. You audibly keened, nails digging into the fabric of the couch as she scissored her fingers inside of you, whispering soft praises encouraging you.

“That’s it, baby, let me make you feel good.”

Soon enough the burn was barely present, making way for an electrifying bundle of pleasure running up your spine. You rocked into her touch as much as Bada’s iron grip on you allowed, and she met you halfway, fingers pumping in and out of you at a steadily building pace.

The way she looked up at you was maddening: somewhere between wondrous amazement and self-satisfied smugness, drinking in every second of the way you opened up to her in more ways than one. She gave a sharp curl of her fingers, and your thighs twitched dangerously. Bada caught on immediately and began moving her fingers inside you in a come-hither motion, pulling every sweet noise from you that she could. You thrusted down harder, mouth agape as you zoned in on the ecstasy that overtook you.

“Third finger, baby girl.” And you somehow found a way to part your thighs almost impossibly further, your body eager to receive more.

While her two fingers were still curling inside you, the third one joined, and you choked on a moan. This time Bada didn’t give you time to get used to the stretch, as all three fingers curled inside you over and over again.

Feeling overwhelmed almost instantaneously, hushed cusses spilling from your mouth, you inadvertently wriggled backwards; but Bada immediately pulled you back, keeping you locked in place as she pumped her fingers in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. She knew your body too well, because soon enough you had your head thrown back and thrusted back into her motions, her long fingers finding the spot to curl into.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She mumbled, and before you knew it her mouth was on you, tongue digging between your folds as she continued pumping her wrist.

With her arm still curled around your thigh, she brought you closer to the edge of the couch; she wanted to dig in. Her name came out as a yelp as her lips closed around your bundle of nerves, sucking harshly as her moans began to reverberate against you. You brought a hand to the back of her head, fingers digging against her scalp as you held her in place, needing unfathomably more from her. Anything she was willing to give.

She swallowed around you so eagerly, so greedily, and then her hand let go of your thigh: she brought it between her own legs instead, fingers digging into her trousers.

You had to force yourself to look away or you would orgasm right then and there, feeling your eyes roll back instead. She was touching herself, rocking into her own hand as her mouth bobbed against you; her other hand still fucking into you. She was getting off to getting you off.

You thought you were going insane, only able to give into your instincts and rock into her movements, all the while pulling on her hair which she seemed to relish in: the both of you building up to a pace where she pushed in exactly as you thrusted. You felt your toes curl again as that familiar pressure in your lower stomach began building up, and your head lolled to the side. You were a sweaty, writhing mess, and Bada was moaning against you so loudly it made you lightheaded.

You noticed her own movements getting messier, too. Her wrist circled against herself as she slurped around you, and you brushed her bangs from her forehead to watch her own desperation overcome her. She curled her fingers inside of you again just as she sucked down on your clit, and you could've sworn you saw stars.

“Bada, I—” You began, warningly, as you fucked back against her, chasing after the uncoiling of your lower stomach.

Bada hummed encouragingly, nodding against you in a frenzied state herself and crooked her fingers sharply, beckoning you to let yourself go.

Something about the way she gasped and moaned against you, yet still remained so dedicated to give you exactly what you wanted, is what did it for you. You felt your orgasm ripple through you so sharply you felt dizzy. You clutched onto Bada’s head between your thighs as you shook all over, her fingers curling into you harshly as she sucked on your clit through your implosion, until you felt her tremble against you too.

She fell forward, teeth pressing down on the inside of your thigh as she came with your name on her lips, rutting into her hand. You moaned, sensitive all over but running your hands through her hair soothingly, nails caressing along her scalp.

The both of you stayed like that for a solid minute, catching your breaths, until Bada leaned up on her trembling knees; far enough to wrap her arms around your waist and lean up for a tender kiss. Completely smitten, you kissed back despite the heaving of your chest and you wordlessly urged her to get on the couch with you. The taller girl obliged, immediately climbing on top of you and nuzzling into your hold with a tired smile, her cheek pressed against your collarbones.

The both of you giggled at nothing in particular, your fingers tracing delicate lines along the side of her face.

As if experiencing a déjà vu, your eyes went to the camera perched on the table, inevitably recording, but the both of you too spent to do anything about it.

“You know,” you began, fingertips still absentmindedly caressing along Bada’s jawline, “You’re gonna need a better password for your laptop.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee smut #dalla!writes #requests #ask

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ariseur · 8 months ago

Note

sephiroth w/ a little sister!reader !? I don't see many headcanons / fic / anything of Sephiroth with this type of scenario although I consider it something cute & fun x'D, specifically Seph discovering that his little and beloved (?) sister has several guys with a love interest behind her. How would Seph be in the situation, would he be a protective older brother, would he be the type that scares them away with just a deadly look? My, many possibilities! (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)

sephiroth’s little sister hcs 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader (platonic!!)

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

THIS REQUEST WAS SOO CUTE I NEVER SEE LITTLE SISTER HCS LIKE THIS EITHERR. thank you for the request anon, hope i did it justice !! 💗

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

intended lowercase, mentions of pre and post nibelheim, mentions of hojo (he’s a warning within itself), possessiveness but like not in a weird way.. seph’s just crazy, lmk if i missed anything!!

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

❥ soooo.. starting off!!

❥ i think that sephiroth with a little sister would definitely be interesting; the war hero now being seen with an ultimately younger girl, it’d be amusing seeing such a difference between the two especially if you’re shorter.

❥ i’m not sure how being sephiroth’s sister would necessarily work considering he was an “experiment” of jenova, and from my knowledge after lucrecia gave birth to him she was crystallized in the crystal caves? but if we’re ignoring that and maybe that didn’t happen or something like that idk, i think it’d be pretty hectic, especially if you were also an experiment of jenova’s cells.

❥ both pre and post sephiroth would love you dearly. pre sephiroth would make it a mission to visit you as much as possible and would try to fit some time in his schedule to go and hang out with you. usually, he’d go take walks with you or if you like food then he’d be insistent on making a trip of trying a bunch of new places.

❥ he is honestly your biggest defender— although i don’t expect a lot of people to disrespect you while a close-to-six-foot first class SOLDIER is looming right behind you. i dont know if he’d let you out of his sight all that often when you’re around him, his instincts just kinda kick in so he’s following you around like a dog.

❥ if you were known by genesis and angeal crisis-core era, and genesis hits on you or even tries to flirt??? ooh sephiroth is right behind you in an instant. he is NOT letting genesis get with you at all, i’m sorry in advance to the self insert x genesis readers that had this idea in mind but i def don’t think that seph would be okay with you dating his friends. even angeal, whom he trusts very dearly and knows that he wouldn’t try anything with you, would have sephiroth feeling iffy.

❥ if you had “suitors” or if you were popular with the boys ( and maybe the ladies too if you’re just THAT suave ), ooh sephiroth would have a heart attack. he’d want you to choose who you want, of course, but be prepared for sephiroth lurking around every corner like a cat. if you bring your partner to meet him? he’s gonna look like the scariest mf regardless if he’s trying to be or not.

❥ he especially doesn’t want you to do anything with his job. if you have jenova cells or if extraordinary strength then he might feel a little better if you were to be involved with the SOLDIER program or shinra, but if you’re a civilian then he’d rather not get you involved with his duties. there’s too much on the line and he can’t risk you getting hurt, also another reason why he prefers to keep you on the down low or for him to only visit you.

❥ also another thought, but i just keep imagining zack flirting with you or meeting you and thinking you’re absolutely GORGEOUS ( because if you’re related to sephiroth.. you gotta be pretty let’s be honest that mans so beautiful ) ( we don’t talk about hojo though, there’s no way he’s related to seph. vincent gotta be the daddy ), but then once he sees that sephiroth is your brother he literally goes WHITE. starts trying to subtly be more friendly and lowkey apologize for his behavior.. spoiler alert; zack is not subtle.

❥ now whatever you do.. don’t imagine sephiroth meeting you the day before heading out to nibelheim. whatever you don’t, think imagine you guys walking at night as he talks about how worried he is for his friends, and how he thinks zack is going to do. and whatever you do, don’t imagine reminiscing after the village burns down, your mind trailing back to the last hug he gave you before he found out what he really was.

❥ if you were to still stay with post nibelheim sephiroth, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. he can’t lose you at all, not now— not now that he knows you’re the only thing he has left. he’ll go through the motions of being very cold to you sometimes and then being very overprotective

❥ he’d come home one day from only the lord knows where, and wake you up in the middle of the night. and when you finally awake, he wouldn’t let you go. i imagine he’d feel conflicted. sephiroth was dehumanized from birth and ostracized from a normal life as he never met his true mother lucrecia and hojo had no interest in claiming him other than for his own benefit as a scientist. if you were dealt with such things as well, or maybe you were separated because sephiroth was the superior experiment, it wouldn’t matter; sephiroth contained these feelings that he didn’t know how to feel or express himself about.

❥ he wouldn’t understand why he felt this way, especially having no sort of concept of family brought to him within the early years of his life, but all he knows is that he has you

❥ he only has you— and he’s not willing to risk losing you anytime soon.

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ellastone-olsen · 1 year ago

Text

Undisclosed desires - Agatha Harkness

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Summary: Agatha is your mother's best friend with whom you like to spend time. Everything is great if you don’t remember about your little (big) crush on her. What if one movie night something doesn't go as usual?

Pairing: moms best friend!Agatha Harkness × f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, dom!agatha, sub!reader, age gap (A45 R21), mommy kink, face sitting (A), thigh riding (R), masturbations (R), little stalking i think, pet names, oral (both), a little fluff

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES

Word count: 2.7k

AN: hi guys this is my first work in English and the first work that I generally post on tumblr. I hope you'll enjoy <3

Agatha met your mother when you were just over 18. It was a typical weekend when the older woman walked into your house, talking sweetly with your mother. Out of curiosity, you went downstairs from your room; honestly, you didn’t often have any guests in your house after your parents’ divorce.

When you appeared in the kitchen, Agatha had her back to you, your mother was the first who notice your presence. "Oh my god Y/N you scared me! You can't walk so quietly!" Agatha immediately turned to your mother’s screams. The first time you looked at her, you forgot how to breathe. She seemed beautiful, even attractive, you of course knew about your “mommy issues” but how quickly your admiration for the woman grew into a little crush... you knew it wasn't right.

But that didn’t stop you from finding her social media “I’m just curious to know more about her” you told yourself, of course that was partly true. It started as a sweet, innocent thoughts about her beautiful curly hair, blue eyes and the sweet smile that she gave you when she came to visit and the three of you were sitting in the kitchen. “Y/N, you’ve already entered your second year of college, how are your studies?” she asked either out of politeness or out of pure curiosity. You were always happy to answer any of her questions, and then sneakily watch her facial expressions and gestures while she told your mother something about her failed Tinder dates. Deep inside you were jealous and hoped that these dates would remain a failure.

Later your relationship became closer one. This happened after about a year of her frequent visits in your house. At first sight it looked like she was your aunty and you were her favorite niece. At least that's what it looked like to your mother. Considering that Agatha did not have children (you also learned this from her social media), she was happy to spend time with someone who wasn't your mother. So your phrases like “Agatha and I are going to the mall today” or “I’ll stay at Agatha’s for the night” were not something surprising. Your mother was glad that you were spending your free time with a person whom she could trust and know that everything would be okay with you, even though you are already 19.

You loved staying at Agatha’s house, looking at her in her home clothes, and in the morning waking up and hearing “I made you a breakfast, superstar” by the way she cooks divine. At each of these weekends, you were talking (sometimes she tried to ask you about your possible boyfriends or girlfriends, which made you blush and go away from the topic), cooking some crisps and towards the end of the night, sitting down to watch movies on her big plush sofa. “Aggie, I’m cold,” you said after which you moved closer to her and hugged her in secret dying from such closeness.

Even later, you caught yourself having terrible frank thoughts about her. They fell on you like a bolt from the blue. So once again going to her Facebook and opening a new photo you began to look at it more carefully than always. It was an ordinary photo where she stood in a black light dress with straps with a V-shaped neckline, holding her hand to her face, covering her smile and the caption “at home you can look the way you want😘.” The focus of attention first moved to her lips, then dropped to a thin hand with a neat black manicure, thoughts concentrated on each of the fingers, about how you could... Even lower to the neckline on her dress which opened up a view of her breasts but left room for imagination, the light fabric did not hide the outline of her nipples and then...

You were already lying on the bed in your room, your mother had long gone to bed. The same photo of Agatha was open on your phone while your fingers traced circles on your clit. Then they moved lower, collecting abundant wetness at the entrance, and when one finger entered you and your gaze was again drawn to the photo on the phone your back arched. You imagined that it was Agatha doing all these things to you; the second finger slipped inside filling you so well and the pace increased. All that was heard in the room was shaky breathing and a quiet whine, “Fuck Aggie...yes that’s it, yes mommy please,” the other hand came down to rub the clit and then it happened. You saw stars looking at the woman's photo, wishing that she would shut you up with a kiss now. When your breathing evened out, you took your phone and typed one message, “Tomorrow is the weekend, can I come over for the night?”

Saturday was your favorite day of the week because Agatha wasn’t at work like on weekdays and you could spend time together. Right now you were walking through the parking lot to her car so that she could take you two to the cafe that you had been telling her about for a long time. "How are you doing, superstar?" The woman asked while watching the road. You loved that cute little nickname she gave you so much. “Well, in general, everything is fine, except for small problems with writing a thesis, you know, it turns out to be not easy I’m very tired” you said and felt her hand gently covering yours and squeezing. Raising your eyes, you were met by her familiar smile, “You can handle everything, you know that you can always ask me for help?” you just nodded, and the older woman continued to watch the road.

The day passed too quickly when in the evening the two of you walked into Agatha’s spacious but cozy apartment. "So I think that after such an eventful day we can immediately move on to watching a movie, how do you look at it, superstar?" You went to wash your hands and called out to her from the bathroom, “As much as you want, I’ll like any of your ideas. For now, I’ll go change clothes and come back to you,” you said, wiping your hands and taking your bag with things.

There are two bedrooms in Agatha's apartment , one for her and one for guests. You were always located in the second one but more than once you were just a guest in the older woman’s bedroom. Speaking as a “guest” we can say that you just came in a couple of times to find out how long it would take her to get ready and briefly examined the interior. All you remembered was the purple tones of the room, a large bed, a chest of drawers with a bunch of jewelry and cosmetics on it, and above that was a regular oval mirror. Apparently there were also a couple of intricate paintings and a bedside lamp. You respected this part of the woman’s personal space and did not poke your overly curious nose into it.

Your bag was thrown on the floor of the room that had already become yours, your street clothes were scattered on the bed, your makeup was washed off and you were already wearing the soft plush pajamas that Agatha had given you last Christmas. “I’m here,” you called out as you returned to the room, where the older woman had already carefully prepared snacks for the movie and selected a two-hour thriller for tonight. “Come here,” Agatha patted the spot on the couch next to her and you landed there, covering yourself with the blanket and resting your head on her shoulder.

The movie went quickly and you didn’t notice how you had already started to fall asleep when a sharp poke in your side woke you up, “Hey don’t sleep, you’ll still have time for this tomorrow,” Agatha said grinning. You jumped up sharply which made her laugh. Here on the TV screen there is a chase, explosions, the main character miraculously escapes when suddenly..."OH MY GOD" you screamed and crawled with your head under the blanket when moans came from the TV speakers and a sex scene appeared on the entire screen in front of your eyes. You weren’t ready to see this right here right now, especially in the company of an older woman, and you behaved like a blushing virgin. Agatha’s laughter came from above, “Come on Y/N, you’d think you’ve never seen anything like this before. Get out of there”. The blanket was thrown off you and a picture of naked people appeared before your eyes again. Your eyes widened as you looked from the TV to Agatha and back. This whole situation has made your cheeks warm up and you can already feel a faint pulsation between your legs.

“Oh, is it really such a small thing that has embarrassed you so much, superstar, you’re already a big girl, why are you blushing so much? Or maybe... oh..” the woman looked at you more carefully, studying how quickly your chest rises and falls, noticing how you begin to squirm in place. The gears in her head are spinning intensely and a thought arises.“Oh sweet girl, let me help you. Come here,” the woman moves you closer to her, squeezing her thigh between your legs, encouraging you to ride her. You're about to explode. “Aggie, what are you doing? What..” you are stopped by her hand covering your cheek, “Oh baby you have now confirmed my suspicions on this matter,” your heart is about to jump out of your chest, “What do you mean, Aggie?” The woman moves you closer and already runs her lips along your neck to your ear and whispers, “About your little crush. Did you think I wouldn’t notice this? Or maybe I’m too dumb and won’t put two and two together mmm?” You pull back to look at her dumbfounded. What's happening now? Does she want you too? Did she know all along? A swarm of thoughts race through your head as her hand grabs your hair and pulls you back towards her. “You’re thinking too loudly honey, let mommy think for you.” The nickname she gave herself completely drives you insane and you groan. “Oh fuck” comes out of your mouth.

The woman laughs and lowers her lips to your pulse point. Her hands grab your hips, encouraging you to grind against her thigh. When you do what she wants Agatha looks up from your neck, “Such a good girl you’ve had a crush on me for a long time, haven’t you? I bet you’ve been thinking about this moment. Tell mommy, am I right Y/N?” Your breathing is unsteady and you feel like your underwear is hopelessly wet, the thoughts in your head are confused. "Mmmh yeah you're right." The answer seems to suit Agatha as her lips immediately find yours in a careless kiss and your whole world explodes. The woman’s hand reaches under the elastic band of your pants and she strokes you through your underwear, feeling how wet you are. With such contact you moan into her mouth and beg, “Oh Fuck Mommy please please I need more.” Agatha shushes you and takes her hand out of your pants "Hush baby, you'll get what you want but first mommy needs to cum. Can you do that for me? Make mommy cum and I'll return the favor."

She pulls you encouraging you to get off of her and begins to undress until she is left in only black underwear. You stop her hands when her fingers cling to the edge of her panties. “I want to help you. Can I?” She nods and you kneel in front of her, taking off an item of clothing and seeing how her sticky wetness stretches. You start biting and sucking on her inner thighs and are almost to the top when she stops you. “No, not like that, lie down on your back.” You do as she says and she ride you, moving higher up to your head, “I want to sit on your pretty face baby, will you let mommy ride your face?” Your pupils dilate as you nod impatiently "Please." Agatha lowers her dripping pussy onto your mouth and you suck and lick her clit, and then push your tongue into her hole, causing the woman to arch and move her hips. “Oh god that's such a good girl. You're going to make mommy cum baby. Mommy's gonna cum all over your face." These words turn you on more and you start working on her pussy harder until the woman lets out her last moan as she cums into your mouth. She continues to sit on you while you lazily lick her clean, and then stands up and grabs your legs, opening them wide.

Pants with panties tossed somewhere to the side, the sweater is also pulled off your body and you lie in front of her completely naked. “Fucking god you’re even more prettier than I imagined”. Agatha mutters and turns you over so you’re sitting on her lap again. Your breasts are right in front of her face and she takes one nipple into her mouth while she roughly squeezes your thighs, feeling your wetness on her leg. You hold her shoulders with your hands and stand up. “Please Aggie, I need to cum so bad.” Agatha releases her nipple from her mouth and growls “Wrong name.” Your forehead presses against her shoulder as you whimper “Please mommy make me cum.”

She spreads the wetness all over your pussy and teases your clit. Two fingers circle at your entrance and she pushes them inside, to which you moan and bite her shoulder. "Fuck, you're so tight, what if I add another one? You're so wet you can take it can't you baby?" You hum into her shoulder in agreement and three fingers slip inside “Ride me” Agatha takes your waist with her free hand, helping you move and you start bouncing on her “Mommy I’m so full. Feel so good” you moan. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the smell of sex. Incomprehensible whimpers and requests not to stop escape your mouth while you try to push yourself deeper onto Agatha’s fingers. Your hand reaches for your clit and draws circles on it. Abundant wetness flows down the older woman’s hand and she feels your walls squeezing around her. "Mommy I'm going to cum. Oh God I'm going to cum Aggie, mommy don't stop please." When Agatha's fingers deliciously hit that right spot inside you over and over again, when you hear "That's such a good girl. Cum for your mommy, cum all over my fingers baby" it happens and you explode, cumming on top of her. Agatha finds your lips and pulls you into a kiss, brushing the sticky hair from your forehead and whispering how well you did for her.

After a minute, you catch your breath and get off of her, lying down next. You are silent. Agatha is silent. You don’t believe what just happened and how this is even possible. The gears in your head start working again and you try to decide what to do next. She wanted you, does this mean that your feelings are mutual or was it just sex for one time? A soft blanket covers your naked body and a hand strokes your shoulder. You hesitantly raise your head to Agatha, she is the first to break the silence.

"You're thinking too loudly again, superstar." Her hand gently strokes your cheek. "I understand your doubts and fears, baby. Let's just go to bed for now, do you agree?" You nod and get out of bed still in the blanket, taking your pajamas with you. Your legs slowly drag you into your bedroom as Agatha’s question hangs in the air. "Where are you going?" She gently hugs you by the shoulders, leads you into her bedroom and lays you on a soft, large bed where you fall into a calm, deep sleep.

#agatha harkness #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness x reader #kathryn hahn #agatha: darkhold diaries #agatha all along #agatha smut #agarha harkness smut #agatha harkness x female reader #marvel #marvel mcu #agatha harkness x you #Spotify

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hart269 · 9 months ago

Text

Slithering Hearts

Chapter 4

Pairing : Regulus Black x Fem! Reader

Synopsis : You begin an unlikely friendship with the little Black. And soon your whole life seems to have become a tumultuous pathway. The catch, James Potter is your brother.

Notes : Just some rock cakes ;)

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

James Potter, Marauder, almost selected Chaser of the Griffindor Quidditch team, stormed through the corridor, searching for you and thanking Merlin that his glasses hadn't cracked from the loud noise of the Howler. He spotted you in the courtyard, sitting with another Slytherin girl.

His eyes locked into yours, you did your best to hide your smirk as he came near,

"What the hell did you say to Mum?"

"James Potter talking to a slimy snake, what a wonder" You mocked then smirked, "And I only told her the truth, be glad I didn't tell dad" you crossed your arms.

James groaned, the irrational part of him still hated the green that adorned your robe, but it was closed from the yelling he had received. He sighed, probably accepting defeat, "Nothing can happen of you, can it, Zouwu"

You mock gasped, "How dare you say that, I perfectly did my wand lighting charm and my potion didn't even explode", your smirk had turned into a bright smile as you told excitedly about your lessons.

James watched you with a little smile on his face, in the end you were still the same, an annoying little shit. He still scoffed, "You are still earning house points for the slimy snake house"

"Not my fault you are losing yours playing silly pranks" You remarked chuckling at James's offended gasp.

---

The days went by smoothly, considering you did your best to avoid any kind of noticeable trouble. You did occasionally sneaked off to hang out with Hagrid, whom you met when a niffler attacked you, and he was called to take it away.

You liked talkimg to him but didn't have to heart to tell something about his rock cakes, not even when your spoon bended trying to crack it. Hagrid had chuckled at your horrified expresion.

Still, one dreary afternoon you stood on his gate, "Hello Hagrid, I was wondering if you'd let me bake a cake"

Hagrid chuckled, "Good thing, I was thinking of preparing some rock cakes today"

You blinked owlishly, before clearing your throat, "Hagrid, I was wondering if I could make it myself, it's my friend's birthday, you see"

Hagrid moved from the door, "Why don't you come in then, but I'm not sure if I have all the supplies, you need"

You nodded grinning, "I'm sure we'll be able to come up with something"

Dwindling between the actual lack of supplies and the persistent hugs of the niffler which once attacked you, you had managed up to conjure a real rock cake, which didn't actually feel like a rock. You left a spare cake for Hagrid and thanked him heartfully, for letting you cook. Bending down, you patted the niffler which again tried to lunge for your chain, "Bye Niffles"

And so you went to your next stop,

"Wait a minute baby potter, I'll call James"

Sirius said when he saw you coming.

"Actually Sirius, I needed to talk to you, it is Regulus's birthday" Sirius eyed you suspiciously, knowing the implication. "So?"

"Will you come to the Common room today at midnight" you looked at him with your best puppy eyes that you could conjure up.

"Me in Slytherin Common Room, Merlin's beard, I will not be caught dead there"

"Please Sirius, you mean a lot to him, you can come with the invisiblity cloak, he won't be happy without you" You almost begged, glancing up at him.

Sirius didn't say anything definitive just a "I'll think about it", you still told him the password to the common room.

It was certainly an accident about how you found about about this trivial matter, Regulus's birthday, while you knew everyone's else, you strangely didn't know his.

You were in library, Regulus had dropped his notebooks on a nearby table and gone to pick up a book. Among others, he carried a black leather notebook with him and behind it in small letters were his initial and birth date, which you so just happened to glance upon on as you looked closely, and knowing his tendency of seclusion, you made a plan.

So some time before midnight while most of the common room was empty, you sat there with your Potions homework, completing it now since you were busy the whole day. You looked at the raven haired boy who among others was about to leave for his dorm, "Reg, I don't get this part, can you please explain it?"

Regulus looked at you curiously, you excelled at your studies and more like never needed help, but he instantly agreed, "Sure" Regulus moved to sit beside you glancing at the homework, "Which exact part are you talking about, the cauldron mixing or the herb collection?"

"Herb collection" you nodded, taking notes while he explained the procedures and precaution. Between his ramblings, you glanced at the clock, few minutes to midnight, you were worried the rock cake beneath your cloak won't actually become rock.

"Are you here?" Regulus asked noticing your distracted look.

"Huh" You broke out of your trance, at his perturbed gaze, "Of course, you were telling that porcupine quills should never be added while the cauldron is boiling". Regulus nodded, but as he began to continue, the door or wall to the common room slid open, with no one in sight. You hid your grin, while Regulus stood up, his wand pointing out. Only a minute now.

Regulus heard footsteps in the barren comon room, he glanced back at you, to see you shuffling among your stuff, "Can you hear the footsteps too?"

"For Merlin's sake, couldn't you have walked slowly" You grinned, Regulus turned and his heart almost came out , only the head of Sirius floated in the air.

"Happy Birthday" you both silently cheered, shoving the cake in his face, Regulus stood still, Sirius shook him, "Hey, Reggie, are you broken?"

"No,I, um, I, thank you," he whispered, nodding, not trusting his voice, the cake was cut, Sirius took a big piece to take back, while you took a big bite. It could have been better.

You turned to Sirius, whispering, "Thankyou for coming"

"No probs", he clapped Regulus's back, "I'll be leaving, all the green is making me sick, thanks for the cake". Maybe Sirius wasn't fully in, but it was something.

Sirius left as he came, Regulus turned to you, "How did you know?"

With a mouthful of cake, you grinned, "Magic".

He looked as if he couldn't comprehend something, "But why?"

You stopped picking up your supplies, tilting your head you smiled a genuine one "Because you are my friend silly"

Taglist : @shycreationdreamland @mp-littlebit @girlbooklover555

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus black series #timothee x reader #timothee fanfic #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet #marauders #marauders era #sirius black #james potter

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campingwiththecharmings · 1 year ago

Note

driver!jake x rich girl!reader

👀👀👀👀

i...am 99.9% sure @melodygatesauthor has probably written this (or something similar lol) but i am happy to put my spin on it as well 😌

---

You're wearing that skirt again.

The one he's sure you know drives him crazy, the one that's so short it barely covers anything, the edges fluttering slightly as you walk, granting him glimpses of the tantalizing treasure beneath.

He tries not to stare, really he does, knows it's not the most professional thing to do (especially as an employee of your father's) but...it's just so hard (in more ways than one).

You certainly don't make his job as your driver easy. Dancing and drinking into the early hours of the morning with your friends (all of whom have tried to pick him up at least once), drunkenly piling into his limo in your designer dresses and heels, giggling and screaming as he quietly drives you back to your penthouse (where the party will likely continue). If he wasn't paid so much, he might be more annoyed at the state of his backseat after he's dropped you off--more than once, he's had to have his (normally) pristine limo professionally cleaned after one of your overserved friends has puked all over his leather seats.

Yes. You're definitely lucky he's paid so well.

Tonight had started as it usually did, with you and your friends asking to be dropped of at some club downtown. It's 1 a.m., and Jake knows he still has a few hours before the club closes for the night. Deciding to stretch his legs, he exits the vehicle, shucking his jacket and tossing it in the driver's seat. He closes the door with his hip, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

Briefly, he considers taking a walk but this part of town is a tad sketchy and he's not too comfortable leaving his car unattended here in the street. Instead, he opts to lean against the side, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it, groaning softly as he takes a pull, the smoke filling his lungs as he inhales deeply. Jake closes his eyes to savor the pleasant buzz in his head from the nicotine, tipping his head back a little and exhaling slowly. He opens his eyes just as the last tendrils of smoke are blown away by the warm, night breeze, and sees you.

There you are, standing alone on the sidewalk in front of him, designer coat folded over your arm, soft smile on your lips. Jake starts, immediately throwing the cigarette down and stomping it out, his back going rigid as he stands to attention.

"Oh, ah--Ready to go, Miss?"

Your lips twitch, eyes dragging slowly down the length of him before you say, "Yes. Take me home, Mr. Lockley."

Jake nods, briefly wondering where the rest of your group is as he pulls open the door to the back of the limo for you. When you don't get in immediately, he looks back, questioning.

With a twinkle in your eyes that he hadn't noticed before, you tell him, "I'd rather sit up front this time, actually."

He nods slowly, wondering what game you're playing with him now. "Of course, whatever you'd like."

Jake closes the back door and turns, pulling open the passenger door for you instead. You make eye contact with him as you brush past, the delicious scent of you invading his senses.

Yeah. He's in big trouble.

Absently, he wets his lips, closing the door once you're inside. He takes his time making his way back around to the driver's side, trying to compose himself for the ride back to your penthouse.

You've always been a hard one for him to read. You've teased him before, sure, but...he'd always figured you were just having fun, that you were just toying with the hired help--that's just what spoiled, little rich girls did, right?

He tosses his jacket into the back and gets in, closing the door and pulling his seat belt on. The engine purrs to life when he turns the key in the ignition, the sound calming his nerves a little. He puts the car into gear, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You're looking out the window, head turned mostly away from him, body angled so you can rest your elbow against the door. He takes a moment to admire your profile, the soft line of your neck, the way the material of your skirt pulls against your thighs. Then, he clears his throat.

"Seat belt."

You look over at him, teasing smile returning to your painted lips as you look at him from beneath your lashes. For a moment, he thinks you're going to talk back, to argue, to tell him you can do whatever you want, but instead, you wordlessly buckle yourself in, eyes never leaving his. He nods, swallowing thickly as he returns his attention ahead.

Your penthouse isn't far from the club you'd been at, and it normally doesn't take long for him to make it back there after your nights out on the town, but he remembers too late that you left earlier than usual this evening and hits a little more traffic than he'd like. You've been quiet the entire drive, simply staring out the window, shifting in your seat every now and then. He can't be sure, but he feels like you might be doing it on purpose, to draw his attention to the fact that your skirt has ridden up so high on your delectable thighs that he can see a flash of the white lace panties beneath them. Jake fights the urge to groan, instead keeping his attention on the road a head of him.

He's relieved when he spots the familiar building that houses your penthouse, internally breathing a sigh of relief as he smoothly halts at the entrance. The doorman rushes out to open the door for you, but you wave him off, instead turning back toward Jake, that gleam still in your eyes.

"Would you mind walking me upstairs, Mr. Lockley?" you ask, your voice soft and far more innocent than the look in your eyes. "I'm not used to being up there all alone."

Jake pauses, considering the repercussions. If he says no, will you complain about him to your father? He could lose his job. But if he says yes, and you do what he thinks you're going to do, he'll lose it anyway, won't he? (that, or your father will kill him)

So either way he's screwed, it seems. Least he can do is have a little fun first.

Jake nods, wetting his lips again as he steers the car toward the garage beside your building. He parks in the spot marked for the penthouse (a spot that's conveniently located right beside the elevator), and helps you out of the vehicle. The edge of your skirt has risen up so high, he can see the curve of your ass cheeks peeking from beneath it as you walk ahead of him to the elevator. He stifles another groan, trying his best to remain professional just in case he's misreading this situation.

The ride up in the elevator is excruciating. All he can think about is pinning you up against the side and shoving his face between your legs. He wonders how you taste (he imagines something rich and sweet, like champagne), how you'd sound, how you'd look just as you're about to come.

The elevator chimes, startling him from his thoughts, the doors opening into the foyer of the penthouse. It's lavish, elegant, but also somehow understated. Perhaps a little like you, he thinks.

Inside he breaths a sigh of relief, thinking his task is done, that he's free to return to his car and go home for the evening...but as you step off onto the white marble floor, you turn slightly, waving him inside.

"Come in, have a drink with me."

Jake hesitates, and you must see it because you chuckle and say, "It's the least I can do for making you walk me all the way up here."

He smiles, nodding his thanks as he makes a waving gesture with his hands. "Please, Miss, there's no need. I'm just doing my job."

Disappointment clouds your eyes at his words and you look away with a quiet sigh, one he only catches because he's watching you so closely. Suddenly you look so....lonely. Standing there in this grand penthouse, all alone. He shouldn't feel bad for you, you have everything you could ever want, everything he doesn't, but...he can't seem to help himself.

Knowing he'll likely end up regretting it, he steps inside, his shoes squeaking slightly on the floor. Your head swivels back toward him at the sound, a light in your eyes when she realizes you've decided to stay. The sight makes something warm unfurl in his chest.

Half an hour later, you're both sitting in your living room (on the most uncomfortable couch he's ever had the misfortune of sitting on), glasses in hand and a bottle of Macallan whisky between you. Your ridiculous heels lay discarded on the floor, delectable legs curled up beneath you as you both laugh about something one of you had said.

Jake's always prided himself on being able to hold his alcohol but, honestly? He's pretty certain that, if he's not drunk now, he is well on his way. He can't stop staring at you, at the way your smile lights up your whole face, the way your eyes sparkle when you say something cheeky...the way your skirt is still riding up your thighs.

He takes another sip from his glass (which he should really stop doing if he's planning on driving himself home later), the liquid burning down his throat. Jake licks his lips, eyes glued to your thighs, wondering idly how soft your skin is, how you'd react if he pushed his calloused hand beneath the hem of your skirt, his fingers dancing along the edge of your panties--

"Jake?"

His eyes shoot back to yours, heat flaring in his cheeks at being caught. You're close (when had you gotten so close?), so close he can smell you, can feel the heat of you through your clothes.

He hums in response, not trusting that his mouth is capable of coherent speech at the moment. You smile, putting your arm against the back of the couch, the length of your body pressed along the side of his as you lean in to whisper in his ear.

"I want you."

Jake groans softly at your words, unable to contain himself any longer. He feels you smile against the side of his neck, your lips dragging along the skin there. You press a feather-light kiss just below the hinge of his jaw and he leans back a little, giving you more space. You hum, nipping at another spot and soothing it with your tongue. Your fingers find their way into his hair, plunging into his soft curls, and gently angling his head where you want it.

You kiss him and he groans again, eyes fluttering shut as your lips move tentatively against his. His hand cups your cheek and you sigh, the action making something tighten in his chest. Soon you're straddling his lap, skirt ridden up so far you might as well not be wearing it (which would be just fine with Jake). His hands are everywhere--cupping your face, slipping beneath your top, clutching your ass, pushing up your thighs toward the hem of your skirt--

You break the kiss with a gasp as his fingertips skim over the delicate lace covering your pussy, your thighs quaking on either side of him.

"Please," you whine breathlessly, mouth falling open as you chase his touch.

Obligingly, Jake slips a finger inside, groaning softly at how warm and wet you are. He swirls his fingertip around your clit, gently teasing it, and dragging the most delicious sounds from between your lips. He watches transfixed as you writhe in his lap, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted. You moan as he slips his fingers further south, briefly teasing your entrance before dipping inside. Your fingers clench in his shirt as you move against his hand, his name spilling from your mouth like a prayer.

"That's it, bebita," he breathes, his chest heaving a little as he watches you. "Take what you need."

You moan again as he circles your clit, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, breath fanning against his lips. You whine his name again and he groans, the sound going straight to his cock. When you come, he swears it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, your breath hitching, mouth slack, eyes closed in ecstasy, body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you.

Jake brings his fingers to his lips as you try to catch your breath, moaning as the rich taste of you explodes on his tongue. He wants more, wants to devour you, to make you come over and over and over again on his tongue until he's swallowed every last ounce of your essence.

He wonders if you'd let him.

You kiss him then, slow and sensual, humming a little as you lick into his mouth. He groans when your hand slips inside his trousers, taking him in your hand.

"Need you, Jake," you pant, lightly rubbing your thumb over his tip.

He throws his head back against the edge of the couch, cursing under his breath in Spanish. He hears you chuckle, your delicate hands working him from his pants.

He clutches at your hips as you sink down onto him, that silly little skirt bunched up around your waist. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as you ride him, your hands fisting in his thick hair as you pull his mouth back to yours. You're squeezing him, your cunt fluttering around his length as he fucks up into you, searching for the spot he knows will fling you over the edge. You break the kiss with a gasped moan when he finds it, whimpering and whining into his ear as he hits it again and again ("Oh fu--right there, Jake. Yeah, just like that. Oh God. Oh fuck---"). You gush around him when you come, soaking and squeezing his cock. He follows you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a broken groan.

He ends up staying the night (and if he makes you come a few more times before the sun rises, well, who's to say?).

**apologies for any mistakes, this was absolutely not proofread lol**

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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PART 2

#em tag #my fic #(i guess?? lol)#i know you're busy rn em but please feel free to add to this if you want #ik i went a little nuts lmao #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley smut #moon knight fanfic

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 2 months ago

Text

Frev Friendships — Robespierre and Couthon

…Moreover, don’t forget to remind me of the memory of Lacoste and Couthon. Robespierre in a letter to Maurice Duplay, October 16 1791, while away on a leave in Arras.Couthon, Lacoste and Pétion are the only of his friends that he mentions in the letter. Considering Couthon came to Paris after being elected for the Legislative Assembly on September 9 1791, while Robespierre was away from the capital between October 14 and November 28, the two must have befriended each other quite rapidly. In a letter dated September 29 1791, Couthon reveals that he has moved into the house of one M. Girot on Rue Saint-Honoré (the same street where Robespierre lodged), and according to Robespierre (1935) by J.M Thompson, the Almanach royal for 1792 gives Couthon’s address as 343 Rue Saint-Honoré. So the proximity between their lodgings might have been a contributing factor.

My friend, I anxiously await news of your (votre) health. Here, we are closing in on the greatest events. Yesterday the Assembly absolved La Fayette; the indignant people pursued some deputies at the end of the session. Today is the day indicated by a decree for the discussion of the forfeiture of Louis XVI. It is believed that this matter will be further delayed by some incident. However, the fermentation is at its height, and everything seems to presage for this very night the greatest commotion in Paris. We have arrived at the outcome of the constitutional drama. The Revolution will take a faster course, if it does not sink into military and dictatorial despotism. In the situation we are in, it is impossible for the friends of liberty to foresee and direct events. The destiny of France seems to leave it to intrigue and chance. What can reassure us is the strength of the public spirit in Paris and in many departments, it is the justice of our cause. The sections of Paris show an energy and wisdom worthy of serving as models for the rest of the state. We miss you. May you soon return to your homeland and we await with equal impatience your return and your recovery. Robespierre in a letter to Couthon, August 9 1792 (incorrectly dated July 20 1792 in the correspondence)

I saw [Couthon] towards the last days of the Legislative Assembly; he appeared to me to be in a mood similar to mine; enemy of the anarchists and of the authors of the massacres of the first days of September, enemy of Marat and Robespierre; he constantly declaimed against them. Supplément aux crimes des anciens comités de gouvernement, avec l'histoire des conspirations du 10 mars, des 31 mai et 2 juin 1793, et de celles qui les ont précédées, et tableau de la conduite politique d'un représentant du peuple mis hors la loi (1794) by Jacques-Antoine Dulaure.

Couthon, whose infirmities give a new value to his patriotism… […] Lettres de Maximilien Robespierre à ses commettans, number 1 (September-October 1792)

During the first three months of the session of the National Convention, the members of the Puy-de-Dome deputation fraternized and dined together once a week. Couthon then never ceased to pour out invectives against Robespierre. Once I told him that I thought Robespierre an intriguer. ”So you call him an intriguer,” he answered me with vivacity, ”You are too nice, I regard him as a great scroundel.” I heard him, in the presence of several of my colleagues, one day when the deputation was summoned to his house, say: ”I no longer want to live in the same house as Robespierre, I am not safe there; every day we see a dozen cutthroats coming up to his house to whom he gives dinner. I do not know how he managed to meet these expenses before being elected to the Convention, while my allowances are barely enough for me to live with my family.” He often applauded the fact that the entire deputation professed the same principles, and that, consequently, we would always be united in heart and mind. This was Couthon's opinion at the time, and he held to it until the constitutional committee was formed. He had the ambition to be a member; he becomes furious at not being inclined to it. This was the time when Couthon changed his opinion, abandoned his conscience to indulge in his passions. Supplément aux crimes des anciens comités de gouvernement, avec l'histoire des conspirations du 10 mars, des 31 mai et 2 juin 1793, et de celles qui les ont précédées, et tableau de la conduite politique d'un représentant du peuple mis hors la loi (1794) by Jacques-Antoine Dulaure. Dulaure’s claim that Couthon for a time lived in the same house as Robespierre is confirmed by l’Almanach national, an II (cited in Paris révolutionnaire: Vieilles maisons, vieux papiers (1906) by Georges Lênotre) as well as by a letter dated October 4 1792 Couthon wrote to Roland from Rue Saint-Honoré n. 366 (Robespierre’s address) asking for rooms in the Tuileries, saying that he must move out of the house within eight days (Roland responded with a negative answer four days later). When exactly he moved in is however harder to pinpoint. According to Robespierre (1935) by J.M Thompson, the Almanach royal for 1792 still gives Couthon’s address as 343, not 366, rue St. Honoré, and in the article The Evolution of a Terrorist: Georges Auguste Couthon (1930) Geoffrey Bruun writes that Couthon moved to Cour de Manège 97 in 1792. It can therefore be concluded that Couthon’s stay on Rue Saint-Honoré n. 366 was most likely rather short. Couthon’s motivation for moving out, aside from Dulaure’s claim that he disliked Robespierre, could also be related to the fact Robespierre’s brother and sister moved in with the Duplays shortly after he wrote the letter to Roland.

The Lamenths and Pétion in the early days, quite rarely Legendre, Merlin de Thionville and Fouché, often Taschereau, Desmoulins and Teault, always Lebas, Saint-Just, David, Couthon and Buonarotti. The elderly Élisabeth Le Bas on visitors to the Duplays during the revolution

Robespierre notes this expression: “for fear that Couthon’s speech will not be heard.” Couthon will be heard, he said, and I maintain that the representative assembly has no right to stifle his voice any more than that of anyone else, because the Convention is not a power above the rights of its constituents who have invested every deputy with the sacred right to express their wish, and one could only obstruct this by an attack against liberty, and by trampling on national sovereignty. Robespierre takes this opportunity to recall the maneuvers of a large party of the Convention, to violate this sacred right that each member has to make his voice heard; and we see, he says, this game of intrigue played out every day with incredible modesty. In the Constituent and Legislative Assemblies, which despite their perversity, at least knew how to respect the freedom of opinions, Couthon's patriotism, which his infirmities make more interesting, never served the most perverse men as a pretext to stifle his voice. Robespierre therefore invites us to come out strongly against this new system of villainy, and to never allow a deputy to ever be deprived of the ability to express his opinion. He ends by supporting the impression of Couthon's speech; it is put to the vote and adopted. Robespierre makes sure the Jacobins print one of Couthon’s speeches regarding the trial of the king, after protests that they ought to wait until it’s been pronounced at the Convention as well, January 6 1793

If you want, and it would be a crime to doubt it, to preserve the liberty, unity and indivisibility of the Republic, you cannot hesitate to adopt Couthon's proposal [to issue a proclamation that the Insurrection of May 31 saved liberty] at once. To begin a discussion on this question would be to allow the conspirators to come to this rostrum to make new declarations against Paris, with their ordinary perfidy. Robespierre at the Convention June 13 1793

The proposal [to have Robespierre enter the Committee of Public Safety] was made to the committee by Couthon and Saint-Just. To ask was to obtain, for a refusal would have been a sort of accusation, and it was necessary to avoid any split during that winter which was inaugurated in such a sinister manner. The committee agreed to his admission, and Robespierre was proposed. Memoirs Of Bertrand Barère (1896) volume 2, page 96-97. Couthon was elected to the Committee of Public Safety on June 10 1793, Robespierre on July 27 1793. In his memoirs, Barère pushes the thermidorian idea that the two plus Saint-Just formed a ”triumvirate” within the committee. On page 146 of the same volume he nevertheless also writes that Robespierre and Saint-Just rarely came to the committee, instead working together in a private office.

Robespierre, Saint-Just and Couthon were inseparable. The first two had a dark and duplicitous character; they pushed away with a kind of disdainful pride any familiarity or affectionate relationship with their colleagues. The third, a legless man with a pale appearance, affected good-nature, but was no less perfidious than the other two. All three of them had a cold heart, without pity, they interacted only with each other, holding mysterious meetings outside, having a large number of protégés and agents, impenetrable in their designs. Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (1830) by Prieur-Duvernois. Later in the revelations, Prieur nevertheless also writes that ”Couthon was never difficult on the Committee; there was no altercation until the day before 9 Thermidor, when the moment to throw away the mask had arrived.”

The National Convention, citizens colleagues, witnessed with pleasure your entry into Lyon. But its joy could not be complete when it saw that you at the first movements yielded to a sensibility way too unpolitical. You seemed to abandon themselves to a people who flatter the victors, and the manner in which you speak of such a large number of traitors, of the punishment of a very few and the departure of almost all, have alarmed the patriots who are indignant at seeing so many scoundrels escaping through a gap and going to Lozère and mainly Toulon. We therefore won’t congratulate you on your successes before you have fulfilled all that you owe to your country. Republics are demanding; there is national recognition only for those who fully deserve it. We send you the decree that the Convention issued this morning on the report of the Committee. It has proportioned the vigor of its measures to your first reports. It will never remain below what the Republic and liberty expect. Beware above all of the perfidious policy of the Muscadins and the hypocritical Federalists, who raise the standard of the Republic when it is ready to punish them, and who continue to conspire against it when the danger has passed. It was that of the Bordelais, of the Marseillais, of all the counter-revolutionaries of the South. This is the most dangerous stumbling block of our freedom. The first duty of the representatives of the people is to discover it and avoid it. We must unmask the traitors and strike them without pity. These principles alone, adopted by the National Convention, can save the country. These principals are also yours; follow them; listen only to your own energy, and carry out with inexorable severity the salutary decrees which we address to you. Committee of Public Safety decree to the representatives in the newly entered Lyon, among them Couthon, written by Robespierre on October 12 1793. Couthon had left Paris for a mission to the army of the Alpes already on August 21 1793.

Send Bô. Montaut, recall the others, except Couthon and Maignet. Notebook note written by Robespierre sometime before October 19 1793, when a CPS decree tasked Bô with going to the army of Ardennes.

…Farewell, my friend, embrace Robespierre, Hérault and our other good friends for me. Couthon in a letter to Saint-Just, October 20 1793, while on mission in Lyon. Couthon was called back to Paris on November 23.

[Collot] has been strongly denounced for his conduct in Lyon, after the recapture of that city. But I was witness to the fact that he only accepted this mission with the greatest reluctance, and that Robespierre skillfully employed the strongest solicitations to persuade him to do so, alleging that he alone was capable of combining justice with the necessary firmness, that Couthon had become moved on the scene and cried like a woman; finally a host of reasons to highlight the importance of exemplary punishment against the rebels of this unfortunate city. Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (1830) by Prieur-Duvernois. While Prieur’s testimomy is written long after the fact and therefore deserves to get treated with some caution, the claims he makes here are to an extent collaborated by a letter from Collot to Robespierre dated November 23 1793, where he claims it was ”on your (ton) invitation” he went to Lyon.

Couthon proposes that the Society take care of "drafting the indictment of all kings", and that it for this purpose appoints commissioners responsible for collecting the particular crimes of tyrants. This proposal, warmly applauded, is adopted. On Momoro's motion, the Society appoints Robespierre, Billaud-Varennes, Couthon, Collot d'Herbois and Lavicomterie as commissioners. Jacobin club, January 21 1794

…Yesterday, Robespierre held a very eloquent speech on our political situation. As soon as this speech has been printed, I will send it to you, it deserves to get read. Couthon in a letter dated February 6 1794, regarding Robespierre’s speech On Political Morality, held the day before.

Couthon and Robespierre enter the hall; all the members and citizens in the tribunes demonstrate through their applause the satisfaction of seeing these two patriots again. Journal de la Montagne describing a triumphant entrance to the Jacobin club made by Couthon and Robespierre on March 13 1794, after both had been ill for a few weeks.

“In the absence of my brother,” said Mlle Robespierre to Gaillard, would you like to try to see Couthon? He prides himself on being good for me, I will ask him to receive you, he will not refuse me, I will precede you by a quarter of an hour, he will give the order to let you in and we will exit together.” Gaillard gratefully accepts, takes the address of Couthon who lived at n. 97 of the Cour du Manège, today rue de Rivoli, near rue du 29 Juilliet, and the next morning arrives at the indicated time. Couthon, whose face was truly angelic, wore a white dressing gown. A child of five or six years old, beautiful as Love, was between his father's legs; he had a young white rabbit in his arms which he was feeding alfalfa. Mme Couthon and Mlle Robespierre stood in the embrasure of a window overlooking the Tuileries.

“You are,” said Couthon to Gaillard, a friend of Mlle Robespierre, you therefore have every kind of right to my interest, tell me, citizen, how can I be of use to you?” [Gaillard then goes on to explain his errand to Couthon] “Citizen,” continues Gaillard, with great emotion, you are convinced that the signatures of these addresses have not committed a crime, you are all-powerful in the Committee of Public Safety where your opinion always prevails. Today, seventy unfortunate people are being led to the scaffold, their condemnation based on nothing other than the signing of these addresses…”

Couthon's face changed, he suddenly takes on the tiger's mask, makes a movement to grab the bell pull... Mlle Robespierre rushes at him to stop him (he was paralyzed from the legs down), turns towards Gaillard and says to him: “Save yourself!” In the confusion into which all this throws him, Gaillard takes Couthon's hat, she notices it, warns him, he runs across the apartment and reaches the stairs. He had barely gone down eight or ten steps when he heard Mlle Robespierre shouting to him: “Go and wait for me at the Orangerie.” […] [Gaillard] has barely gone down into the courtyard of the Orangerie when he goes back up onto the terrace, looking anxiously to see if his good angel was arriving. As soon as he sees her, he runs towards her, loudly asking her five or six questions at the same time without paying attention to the crowd around them. Mlle Robespierre, calmer, tells him in a low voice that she will answer him when they have reached the Place de la Révolution.

“Explain to me, please,” said Gaillard to Mlle Robespierre as soon as they were offshore, ”your haste to tell me to take flight flee and why you held back Couthon in his chair?”

“You were fooled, my dear monsieur, by the profound hypocrisy of Couthon, I was completely fooled myself; I believed your judges saved and you forever at peace like all the signatories of these addresses to Louis XVI... Couthon only showed himself to be so good-natured in order to get to know the depths of your thoughts, you fell into his trap, I could not have avoided it more than you. Your bloody and so justly deserved reproach regarding the 63 victims of today struck in the hearth, my presence, even my confidence could not have stopped his vengeance. The members of the Committee of Public Safety each have five or six men at home who are resolute at their command, because they are constantly trembling. Had he reached the bell pull, this very afternoon you would have been placed in the tumbril alongside the 63 unfortunate people you wanted to save... Fortunately, I succeeded in making him ashamed of the crime he was going to commit by immolating a friend that I had brought to his house... Will he keep his word to me? I followed your conversation very attentively, you did not say a word from which Couthon could conclude that you do not live in Paris... Return home quickly, do not follow the ordinary route out of fear that, remembering the name of the city where your judges were to sit, he sends for men to follow you on the road to Melun.” La Révolution, la Terreur, le Directoire 1791-1799: d’après les mémoires de Gaillard (1908) page 268-273. Anecdote described as taking place in May 1794. Evidence Couthon had contacts with not only Robespierre, but his sister as well. If the dynamics between the three changed after this incident is however something the anecdote leaves unknown…

Is it not known to all citizens since the sessions of 12 and 13 Fructidor, that the decree of 22 Prairial was the secret work of Robespierre and Couthon, that it never, in defiance of all customs and all rights, was discussed or communicated to the Committee of Public Safety? No, such a draft would never have been passed by the committee had it been brought before it. […] At the morning session of 22 floréal [sic, it clearly means prairial], Billaud-Varennes openly accused Robespierre, as soon as he entered the committee, and reproached him and Couthon for alone having brought to the Convention the abominable decree which frightened the patriots. It is contrary, he said, to all the principles and to the constant progress of the committee to present a draft of a decree without first communicating it to the committee. Robespierre replied coldly that, having trusted each other up to this point in the committee, he had thought he could act alone with Couthon. The members of the committee replied that we have never acted in isolation, especially for serious matters, and that this decree was too important to be passed in this way without the will of the committee. The day when a member of the committee, adds Billaud, allows himself to present a decree to the Convention alone, there is no longer any freedom, but the will of a single person to propose legislation. Réponse des membres des deux anciens comités de salut public et de sûreté générale… (1795) by Bertrand Barère, Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois and Alexis Vadier. It is unclear if Robespierre and Couthon really were alone in having drafted and/or supported the Law of 22 Prairial. The idea that they were was also lifted by Prieur-Duvernois in his Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (he claims Saint-Just was also in on it), Fouquier-Tinville in his Requisitoires de Fouquier-Tinville (he claims that, in the days the law was being worked out, Billaud-Varenne, Collot d'Herbois, Barère, Carnot and Prieur told him it was Robespierre who had been charged with the project) and Laurent Lecointre in Robespierre peint par lui-même et condamné par ses propres principes (1794) (he claims Robespierre wrote the law and confided only Couthon with it). If all these sources are to be treated with caution given their authors and the time they were written, it can nevertheless be established that Couthon and Robespierre (the first one in particular) are the only ones where any direct involvement in the development of the law can be traced, and that they did fight side by side (and harder than any other committee member) against the Convention to get it passed on both June 10 and June 12. I’ve written about this more in detail in this post.

Couthon: All patriots are brothers and friends, as for me, I want to share the daggers directed against Robespierre (here the entire hall rises with cries of: Me too!) […] Couthon at the jacobins July 11 1794

Couthon, all the patriots are proscribed, the entire people have risen up; It would be a betrayal not to join us to the Commune, where we are now. Signed: Robespierre the older, Robespierre the younger, Saint-Just. Letter urging Couthon to come to Hôtel de Ville. According to Hervé Leuwers’ Robespierre(2014) this letter is in Augustin Robespierre’s hand. According to 9-thermidor.com Robespierre and Couthon, alongside Augustin, Saint-Just, Le Bas were all declared under arrest by the Convention around 1:30 PM. Around 5 PM they were taken to the Committee of General Security and served dinner, before getting seperated and taken to different prisons between 6:30 and 7 PM. Couthon was the last to reunite with his friends at Hôtel de Ville at around 1 AM, less than an hour before the building was stormed.

The two Robespierres were [in the meeting room], one next to President Lescot-Fleuriot and the other next to Payan, national agent. Couthon was carried into the room a moment later; and what is noteworthy is that he was still followed by his gendarme. On arriving he was embraced by Robespierre, etc. and they passed into the next room, which I entered. The first word I heard from Couthon was: “We must write to the armies immediately”. Robespierre said: “In whose name?” Couthon replied: “But in the name of the Convention; is it not still where we are? The rest are only a handful of factions that the armed force we have will dissipate, and of whom it will bring justice.” Here Robespierre the elder seemed to think a little; he bent down to his brother's ear; then he said: “My opinion is that we write in the name of the French people.” He also, at that moment, took the hand of the gendarme who entered with Couthon and said to him: “Brave gendarme, I have always admired and esteemed your body; always be faithful to us; go to the door and ensure that you continue to embitter the people against the rebels.” Letter from H. G. Dulac to Courtois, July 25 1795, regarding the night at the Hôtel de Ville on 9 thermidor.

As soon as Couthon entered [Hôtel de Ville], three or four members led him away, and two or three presented him with papers and ink. Robespierre and Couthon said: ”We cannot write to our armies in the name of the Convention or of the Commune, given that this would be stopped, but rather in the name of the French people, that would work much better,” and, instantly, Couthon began to write on his knees saying: ”The traitors will perish, there are still humans in France and virtue will triumph.” Robespierre took the hand of gendarme Muron and said to them both: “Go down to the square immediately and energize the people!” Testimony of gendarmes Muron and Javois, who escorted Couthon to Hôtel de Ville. Cited in Autour de Robespierre… (1925) by Albert Mathiez, page 224-225. The Hôtel de Ville was stormed somewhere before 2 AM. At 5 AM, the injured Couthon was brought to l’hospice d’humanité (Hôtel-Dieu de Paris), before joining Robespierre at the Committee of Public Safety. At 11 AM the two plus Gobeau were escorted to the Conciergerie prison and locked up in individual cells. According to number 675 of Suite de journal de Perlet, released two days after the execution, Robespierre and Couthon sat in different tumbrils when they around 6 PM got driven to the scaffold. Couthon was executed first, Robespierre second to last.

—

Throughout his first year as a deputy, Couthon appears to have been closer to the ”girondins” than the ”montagnards.” In a letter dated January 3 1792 he calls Brissot and Condorcet ”two distinguished patriots with superior talent” apropos of their recent works calling for war. On January 19 1792 he expresses his own support of France going to war in another letter, and on April 20 1792 he was among the deputies that voted in favor of war with Austria (only seven did however vote no). In a letter dated September 1 1792 Couthon calls the Insurrectionary commune to which Robespierre belonged (and, according to some, dominated) ”[a] municipality led by a few dangerous men [that] seems to ignore decrees, and believes itself above the first power,” expressing his hopes that ”this distressing confusion will soon end and that the Municipality of Paris will cease to consider itself the Municipality of the whole Empire.” A week later, September 8 1792, he reports that ”the functions of the ardent chamber of the people have been broken since the evening before last, due to the care of the brave and virtuous Pétion.” In the letter to Roland dated October 4 1792 previously mentioned, Couthon still calls him “brave and estimable minister.” But just a week after said letter had gotten penned down, October 12, he more or less broke with the girondins, when he at the Jacobins said they were a group composed ”of gentlemen, subtle and intriguing, and above all ambitious” that ”wish a republic because popular opinion has demanded it, but they wish it aristocratic, they wish to maintain their control, and to have at their disposal the offices, the emoluments, and especially the finances of the state,” and ending by calling for all energies to be turned against ”this faction, which desires liberty only for itself.” (Bruun speculates this was due to him not having gained a place on the Committee of Constitution within the girondin dominated Convention the day earlier). This move surprised Madame Roland, who in a letter dated October 14 urged Bancal to ”go and see Couthon and reason with him; it is incredible that such a good mind allowed himself to speak out in a strange way against the best citizens.”

Throughout their time on the Committee of Public Safety, Robespierre and Couthon often rose up together at the Convention and the Jacobin club to speak for or against certain subjects. Besides the law of 22 prairial, the two also joined sides against petitioners talking with their hats on (December 20 1793), against Dufourny (March 18 1794), the establishment of a police bureau (April 16, April 18 1794). They helped contribute to the expulsion of both Rousselin (May 25) and Dubois-Crancé (July 11) from the Jacobins, and joined hands in speaking for arresting ”any individual that dares to insult the Convention” (July 24 1794). It was Couthon who asked for the printing of both Robespierre’s On Political Morality Speech on February 5 1794 as well as for his report on Religious and Moral Ideas on May 7 1794. As for Robespierre’s final speech on July 26 1794, Couthon proposed and got through ”that it be distributed throughout all of the Republic.” At the jacobins later the same day he proposed the immediate exclusion of all those who had voted against the printing of the speech, and once again he had his way.

On July 3 1794 we find a CPS decree signed by Collot, Carnot, Saint-Just, Barère, Billaud and C-A Prieur ordering Couthon to go to the army of the Midi, an order that he never followed through with. This could be interpreted as Couthon understanding Robespierre’s enemies were plotting againt him by trying to send him away, but choosing to stay at his side and share his fate.

#Robespierre on Couthon in 1792: 🥰#Couthon on Robespierre in 1792: 🤮#Robespierre to Couthon while on the CPS: stop being so SOFT!!#Couthon to Robespierre while on the CPS: your little sister ATTACKED me!!#robespierre #couthon #frev #frev friendships #ngl the fact couthon potentially hated robespierre’s guts at first is an interesting dynamic #must be the only enemies to lovers instead of lovers to enemies in robespierre’s life #still ends on the guillotine though bc of course it does

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orshii · 10 months ago

Text

Limitless (through the night)

Author: orshii

Pairing: biker! Choi San x female reader

Warnings: cursing, brief mention of death

Word count: 11,5 k

Summary: You have broken the rules, again. The punishment? You’re moving in with your father, sent back to your hometown which you had grown to be a stranger to. What happens when old affairs return in the form of Choi San? The only guy you wished to forever avoid, the guy who was a menace and always knew which buttons to push.

Will he put aside your differences and help you out when you get in trouble again?

A/N: Wow, I guess I'm here again...Ever since I saw these pictures of San, I'm obsessed with it, so a story kinda popped out of my mind lol. Like, I'll just never get over biker San pls, he drives me crazy, and I don't like it (lie). Anyways, thank you for my talented bestie @bvidzsoo for helping me a lot. I'm really a newbie to this whole writing and Tumblr world so, ly bestie hehet. Please, enjoy! I'mma be back soon, with a Hongjoong series too, lmao. Okay, byee, xoxo, orshii. (divider)

Moving to a new place could excite you due to all the new opportunities coming your way, alongside with new people, which may become your new friends.

In my case it wasn't like this. I was moving back to my hometown, which I have left almost ten years ago, leaving behind my father and all the people who I was once close with.

Now, I'm on my way back to my father, back to the house where we once were a happy family. My mother left my father, because it seemed like my father cheated on her. But the actual truth was that she just wanted to escape from this little town. She had no opportunities here, so she just blamed everything on him to have a reason to leave this shitty little town behind, alongside with me. I was only 10 years old, I did not understand back then what the hell was happening, so I just went with her. We moved to a bigger city, which was full with people. I never liked it, I hate crowds, I hate how the city is full with life.

After a while, my mother met someone and he was rich, so, we moved into a bigger house, which looked like a castle. I did not like it; I like simple things. I liked our old house, where the walls were cracked like a river spreading through the map. It was beautiful in its own way.

So why am I going back again to my hometown? I look to my left, where my mother is driving. She looked tired and mad; she was continuously frowning while she was driving. Maybe she was thinking about how she could bring a child like me into this world. Of course, I was the cause of going back to my hometown. It was my punishment.

I'm going to be honest, lying isn’t something I do often. Since I was little, I adored motorcycles. They are so beautifully shaped and their sound is simply music to my ears. I love watching them through the TV, the bikers riding their fancy motorcycles and competing against each other, going in circles like Formula 1 cars on the circuits.

My dad had owned an old Yamaha, it was beautiful. He noticed that I adored it, and so, he taught me everything about motorbikes; which part of the bike belongs where, he even taught me how to repair some broken parts. That was the moment I fell in love with motorbikes. I could not wait until I grew up and finally got my license. I had one purpose in life, and that was it.

And after a lot of patience, I finally got my license, but I had no motorbike. This became my next goal. To buy a bike. I succeeded doing that too, and I was proud of myself.

I looked back, where my beautiful matte black Yamaha R6 was tied safely onto the trailer. After I bought Toothless—I have named it that—I naturally joined a motorbike gang and slowly got into the world of racing. But these were illegal affairs, illegal races. You’d rarely get caught, so I didn’t worry about it. But one day I made a very bad mistake and I was left to face the cops. I was alone, the others—whom I considered my friends—left me there, letting me face the repercussions all on my own. As soon as my mother got me out of the police station and we got home, she started packing my things, saying 'You're moving in with your father.' My opinion did not matter, it was settled, and I just needed to obey. I did not care about anything at that point, so I just went with it without a word. Since that incident I did not want to make any friends, I did not trust people anymore, not even my mother. She betrayed me by sending me back to our hometown, treating me like I was a nobody to her. I never felt like I belonged anywhere, I am used of being passed around by others.

As soon as we drove through the streets of my hometown, little memories started resurfacing and I smiled. It was good to be back, to be honest, I have always loved this area. I never actually wanted to leave it behind, I just really had no choice but to do otherwise.

When we finally arrived to the house where we had once lived, a whirlwind of emotions hit me like a truck. My father stepped out from his car service, wiping his oily hands onto a used black cloth, which was once white. He looked tired and worried, mimicking the same expressions reflected on my mother’s face.

I stepped out from the car, looking around a little bit. Nothing has changed since I had last been here, and that was a long time ago. We never came back after the separation, my father used to visit us when he had the time, but it was rare, and our relationship went from having a happy father-daughter connection, to a shallow 'How's school? Good.' connection.

As I looked around, my parents were talking quietly just so I wouldn’t overhear them, but I knew they were talking about me. They were talking, and then suddenly my mother was moving, giving me a kiss on my cheek and saying 'Don't get into any trouble', leaving me there like I was an abandoned cat, handed back to the streets because it kept causing trouble. She chose the easier way, passing me into the hands of my father.

I pushed my bike into the garage and covered it with a blanket, I did not want Toothless to be dusty from all the dirt flying around the air. My dad showed me around the house acting as if I was there for the first time. I stepped inside my old room; everything was just how I had left it. The old drawing in which I had drawn our once happy family, and even my little pink shoes, which I had cried about leaving behind accidentally. Everything was the same, except me.

I got enrolled into the local University. I wanted to learn still as I had nothing to do; I needed to keep my mind busy. As I was headed to the new University on my bike, I felt anxiety crawling up through my body. I never liked new places, and besides, this was a little town, everyone knew everyone. And so, I was the new girl in town to them. The girl who came back after years of being gone. I don't really think anybody is actually aware of who am I. I had changed.

I arrived to the parking lot of the university, and cut the engine of Toothless. I sighed before I got off my bike, taking off my raven black helmet with red lines on it. My anxiety had finally crawled through my body, managing to reach my mind and thoughts, clouding them and keeping me locked in, not letting me go for even a second. My thoughts had always been my biggest enemy. Overthinking made me feel anxious about even the littlest things. It wasn’t good as this influenced my behavior, all the time. I tried to gather myself, not having noticed that somebody was watching me.

"Princess is back in town and has a little motorcycle, I see." I jumped at the sudden deep voice coming from behind me.

I turned around and saw a very familiar looking, handsome, guy in front of me, but I did not remember his name. He was smirking at me, his eyes sharp like a knife, glaring at me like he was a predator and I was his prey. He was wearing a black hoodie that hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, with black shorts that reached his knees, pairing with red Jordans.

"And who are you?" I asked frowning; I really did not know him, he looked familiar, but I could not place a name to his face.

He just tilted his head, looking at me sharper than before, "You don't remember me? I'm Choi San."

He was frowning his thick eyebrows, a little cut in his left eyebrow making his glare more intense.

Choi San, the mayor's son. Now I knew who he was, and I did not fucking like him. He was always the annoying rich kid from school, always stuck-up, acting all-mighty due to his family being rich. And he didn’t like me either anymore. At the beginning we were friends, but then shit started happening at home—my parents arguing constantly, not even noticing me anymore—and so, I closed myself off, not wanting to befriend anyone. I was just a child, my parents constantly arguing was a big enough trauma for me to stop caring about other things. So, I pushed San away, who, I assume, took it to heart since he started hating me and acting like a total jackass, not letting me live. It was like that until I left my hometown, leaving everyone behind.

"Oh, well then, I don't care." I said while grabbing my helmet from my bike and turning around to leave. I did not have the energy for this arrogant prick, he didn’t change at all, I could tell by his one little sentence.

He laughed, "Princess is mad, huh? Is that a Yamaha R1?"

He had asked while pointing at my bike, not letting me leave quite yet.

I sighed and turned around looking at him annoyed, "No, it's an R6."

My answer was short and snappy.

"That's from one of the newest series. I bet you begged on your knees your rich stepfather to buy it for you." He laughed sarcastically, and it sounded like an engine that needed an oil change. I sneered at the thought.

It hurt, it hurt because he didn’t know how many days I didn’t sleep because I had shift after shift, working my ass off. My stepfather and mother didn’t want to buy me a bike, actually they hated just the idea of it, but I didn’t care, so I took as many jobs as I could, and after three years of hard work, I finally get to buy this beauty. It had nothing to do with my stepfather. San was just being his old self, being an asshole, judging even though he did not know anything at all.

"Just fuck off, San." I snapped before walking towards the building. I was starting to get annoyed, but I didn’t let it show because I knew that was what he wanted out of this exchange. To piss me off, get on my nerves.

I finally stepped inside the building. I was a bit lost; I didn't know where I was supposed to go now.

"Let's race someday or are you scared, baby?" But San suddenly stopped next to me, looking at me arrogantly, not leaving me alone.

I laughed at the nickname, it was cringe, what the hell was he thinking? "I don't do shit like that."

I didn’t even spare him a glance.

"Then why do you have a motorbike?" San asked, looking at me like the police officer had when he was interrogating me.

"I obviously use it to go to church." I rolled my eyes as I started walking down the corridor. I got a lot of curious looks from the other students littered around in the hallways.

"I bet you raced in that big town of yours." San said, of course, following me.

I suddenly stopped in my tracks, and looked at him with deadly eyes, "Can't you just go and fucking annoy somebody else?"

"Princess is being mean for what? I just wanted to welcome you back in town." He said with a smirk on his lips.

"Oh, how humble" I said ironically, "Thank you for your kindness."

I smiled at him and saluted him before turning around. I did not have the energy for this egoistic guy.

I somehow found the director's office. He handed over my schedule and wished me good luck, and I was abandoned again in the empty corridor.

I was looking at my schedule, trying to figure out which classroom I needed to get in.

"Hey, new girl, are you lost?" I heard a voice calling out to—me— I had assumed.

I looked up and I found myself standing in front of a tall, black-haired boy, with the kindest smile I had ever seen in my entire life. He was wearing bright colors, which highlighted his bright smiley face, he looked like a walking sunshine.

"Hi, yes, a little bit." I said while looking at my schedule confused.

"Let me see." He took the paper from my hands and looked at it humming, "Oh, you are in the same major as me. I'm headed to that class; I can show you the way."

He offered me up with a sweet smile.

"Oh my god, thank you, you saved me." I huffed the air out from my lungs.

"This way." He pointed out the direction with his finger, and we started to walk towards the classroom.

"By the way, I'm Yunho." He said, reaching his hand out towards me.

I smiled while shaking his hand, "Y/N, nice to meet you. How did you know I am the new girl?"

I had asked him curiously.

"Everyone knows, it's a little town, the rumors here spread like the plague." He shivered with a smile.

I chuckled, "Oh, I see. Too bad, I just wanted to remain unknown."

"Your dad is quite famous in town, did you know? So, I assume he told someone you are coming, and puff, the rumors are everywhere." He gave me a side glance as he smiled.

"Yeah, maybe." I said, thinking about the fact that my father has a car service, which, I assume, is the only one in town. Therefore, people meet up with him constantly, thinking more of it, it isn’t a surprise that people know who I am, in the end it, it is a little town. We arrived to the classroom, and headed in.

The day went by quickly. I was glad I met Yunho, he was a funny guy, and he led me around the University, making funny comments about some students. I really needed him in order to integrate into this new community, which I was once part of ten years ago. It was as if I had to relive the past, as if I was walking down the same path, I had done so ten years ago, a path which might have changed during my absence. It felt like I had to start everything from the very beginning.

The days passed by quickly, and I just tried to avoid being in the spotlight as I found out everyone knew me, but I knew nobody, because who would remember the people they had met while being just a little kid? As I was randomly walking on the street, headed to get some groceries, random people would say hello and even ask how my mom was. I just quickly answered them, but I didn’t know who they were. I didn’t like the attention, when all the eyes were on me, so I tried to lay low, live my life quietly.

Then one day, as I had gotten closer to Yunho, he somehow convinced me to attend a party held by some guy named Song Mingi. I wore casual clothes, meaning simple black ripped jeans paired with a black crop-top, and a leather jacket. I am a biker, so the leather jacket is a must, even when you have to leave your bike behind, as I had done now. I felt like drinking something. I hadn’t gotten drunken in a while, not that this was my purpose for the night.

Yunho came to pick me up with his navy-blue Nissan GT-R. The car was beautiful inside out. And that is when I found out that Yunho used to do street racing, held by some local racing company. That's another reason as to why we became friends so quickly, as we were interested in the same things.

When we arrived to the house where the party was held at, it was already crowded. Luckily, there was the opportunity to stay outside, next to the pool, and so, I told Yunho I didn't really want to go into the crowd. He stayed with me, and to our luck, we found some alcohol outside too. There was a table next to the pool, and there were a whole bunch of alcoholic drinks on it, so, we took some tequila shots. As we were talking about some of Yunho's street races, I heard someone approaching us.

"Where did you leave your expensive bike, princess?" He clapped his hands together, reaching for a can of beer, opening it quickly with his thumb. He was wearing dark jeans, a white T-shirt, and on top a leather jacket. At least he knew the unsaid rule of the bikers. Leather jacket is a must, like I have said.

I looked at him with a glare, "I left it at church since I got drunk on the communion wine."

I said annoyed as it was my last wish to meet him tonight, “Just leave me alone, San.”

"Where's the fun in that?" He leaned close to my face, bending down to be at the same height as me, whispering it in my face.

"The fun must be where you brain is, which you seem to be lacking in." I pointed at his head.

He laughed loudly, "You'll see where is the fun when I beat you at the race."

He glared at me with his typical sharp gaze. It whispered danger. And I liked danger.

“I said I don’t race; do you have issues with your long-term memory now?” Despite meaning to be teasing and unabashed, my voice came out a little angry as I frowned.

“I saw the news about your little incident. You can’t be fooling everyone and telling them you nearly got arrested, princess.” He spread his arms, as he raised his voice, so everyone could hear it who was outside. I felt everyone’s eyes on us, coming closer, way too interested in hearing what the whole fiasco was about.

My blood had started boiling and I clenched my fists together, until my knuckles turned white. I was blinded by my sudden anger towards San, I just wanted to wipe that annoying, arrogant, smile off of his face. I stepped closer to him, my face inches away from his, as his back was facing the pool. He just needed a little encouragement for a swim, and so, I strongly pushed him towards the pool, and before he could fall in, I quickly whisked the beer out of his hand, and lifted it into the air.

“Have a good swimming, Choi San.” I placed the beer down on the table. That was my que to leave him there. I could feel his glare pointed at my back from the pool as he swum to the surface. I could feel his annoyance, that he felt embarrassed. I smirked to myself, Choi San, you have no idea whom you’re trying to annoy. Yunho came after me quickly and gave me a high-five for the move I had just pulled off.

The next hours at the party were spent by drinking and dancing, as I went into the dancing crowd. I just wanted to disappear in the crowd and feel good. I tried to avoid San the whole night as I didn’t want to see his furious side, San, who got humiliated by me. It was funny, I had to smile the whole time as I remembered his face when I pushed him into the pool, amused by the whole ordeal. I also got to know the guy who threw the party as Yunho introduced us to each other. Mingi was a tiny bit shorter than Yunho, but you could barely notice. He had a buzz cut and rocked his blonde hair; his sharp nose completed his small eyes well. He wore a black T-shirt with some silver necklaces around his neck, and black ripped jeans. His nails were painted black with some rings on his fingers. I am not going to lie; he was hot as hell. And I also found out that he races alongside with Yunho. He owns a Toyota Supra, and that nearly made me faint when he told me about it, because it’s a rare car. He then proceeded to show it to me. It was so beautiful and unique due to its painting. It was kind of a papaya orange with some words on it painted on it, 'Fix on' and 'Youth'. I really liked it.

I had asked the boys about what kind of race San spoke about, and they said it’s an illegal motorbike race, which happen to be very rare here. I quickly tried to forget about it. I didn't want to cause trouble again; I had promised my mom and also myself to stay low, to be better. San was just provoking me; I wouldn’t fall into his trap.

The next day at university as I was walking down the corridor, headed to the cafeteria, something immediately caught my eyes. It was a poster with a motorbike on it, of course it caught my eyes. I went closer to read it. It said that a motorbike competition was to be held, and the prize were some new parts to upgrade your motorcycle. This was the competition San was talking about, and it's going to be held tonight on the deserted streets of the city. I'm not going to lie; it piqued my interest. I miss speeding down the roads, the adrenaline coursing through my veins every time I race. And my bike is in urgent need of an upgrade, because these past days it felt like something was wrong with it, but I couldn’t figure out what it was exactly. For now, I'm going to let it go, but I still took the poster with me…just in case.

Evening came and I was in my room, I barely talked to my father all day, nothing unusual. Sometimes when I'm alone, and that happens a lot recently, I just start thinking about useless things that make me feel weak. I have never opened up to anyone before, I was never that kind of person, and besides, I always thought it's useless to open up to someone, because in the end they never truly care about me. And the fact that I was betrayed by my own "friends", it just confirms that I really should just stick to myself. I'm not going to say that it didn’t hurt when I saw my friends running away from the police, pushing me straight in front of them, telling me, "You are the new girl, handle it." Funny, I'm the new girl everywhere, I'm not going to belong anywhere, I am always going to be the new girl. They thought it was a nice joke, it wasn't; it ruined me. I started to think that the problem was me, that I deserved this, that I am not enough. As some time went by, I realized it wasn't my fault, but these thoughts still remained deep in my heart. And I will carry it with myself for a long time.

Here I am again, thinking about these things. These are those moments, when I need to clear my head. My solution for it is going out into the chilly air with my bike, cutting through the wind with the highest speed my bike can handle. The feeling of it being night, and I'm alone with Toothless, speeding through unknown streets, I feel like it's just me and my bike in this whole world. It’s like therapy for me. It just…understands me, just like the feeling you get while listening to music; sometimes you listen to a sad song, it makes you sad, it just describes your feelings, but if you are happy and you listen to that exact same song, it'll bring happy tears out of you.

I was going around the city aimlessly, when suddenly I saw a bunch of bikers headed somewhere. That's when I realized they were going to the competition. My heart started to beat quickly. I started inhaling and exhaling slowly, just the thought of racing made my blood boil, my skin itch, awakening my body like nothing else.

And as I kept following after them, suddenly I realized I arrived to the location of the competition. It was really my subconscious taking over, driving me here. I slowed down a little. There were a lot of people around crowding the bikers, watching their unique motorcycles. Some background music accompanied the sound of the engines as it melted together, creating an intriguing melody. The atmosphere here were totally different compared to the one in the big city. Back there it was just serious faces, who hated each other. But here, I only saw smiles and laughs even between the racers as it seemed like everyone looked at each other friendly, not viewing the other as the enemy.

I stopped my bike, turning the engine off after having parked it. I noticed some curious eyes on me. I didn't know what to do now, I was totally alone. I didn’t know anyone, but I needed to fight my anxiety as I took my helmet off. My helmet always gave me safety, kept me unknown, and that's what I always wanted.

When I stepped next to my bike, someone immediately caught me into a hug. It was Yunho. He lifted me up in the air and smiled.

"Oh my God, you are here, Y/N!" He said excitedly, putting me down.

I laughed, "Yes, I am. I don't know how exactly, I was out for a ride, and then I found myself here."

I said placing my helmet down on my bike.

"I am so happy you are here." Yunho said, his smile never disappearing.

"Yeah, I can see that." I chuckled looking at his bright face.

"Will you sign up for the competition?" He asked me with curious eyes.

I sighed, "I'm here so—I guess?"

I lifted my hands into the air, shrugging.

"Yes!" Yunho fist bumped the air happily, making me chuckle.

He then led me to a person at which I needed to sign up for the competition. I didn't know who I was going to compete against, just until Choi San came to sign up as well. I had already finished signing up as I stood aside with Yunho, while he leaned towards me and quietly started to introduce each racer.

"Did you know that we are going to race against each other, princess?" San said, throwing a quick glance my way with his sharp eyes, signing the paper in front of him. I checked him out very quickly, hoping nobody would notice. He was wearing his typical leather jacket but with a black T-shirt underneath, and ripped jeans this time. His black hair fell into his eyes as he finished filling out the paper. Every woman very noticeably thirsted after him, and I wasn't an exception…he’s fucking hot. What a shame he has a shitty personality.

I rolled my eyes and ignored him, tuning to face Yunho, who was talking to some guy I didn't know. Did San really not understand that I didn’t want to talk to him?

"I want to race against her." I heard San's voice coming from behind me. I turned around to look at him annoyed.

"You can’t get rid of me so fast." He winked at me, that fucker.

"I will, on the track." I smiled at him sweetly, turning around again as I went back to my bike with Yunho, adrenaline slowly starting to course through my body. I had to win this, I had to wipe that confident smile off of San's face.

The race started, it was a drag racing, meaning three bikers were lined on the starting point, it was a shorter straight section, then as the lights turned green from red, you just needed to shift the gears up as perfectly as you could. The first who reaches the finish line wins. Speed mattered only here, and how detailed you are about the gearing.

A few bikers were already done with the race, and I watched them curiously. Slowly, it was our turn to race. People were loud and they cheered whenever their favorites won.

I rolled over to the starting point. One guy was already there and I found out that I'm going to race against San and a guy named Hongjoong, whose nickname was the Devil. I didn't know him, but Yunho said he is one of the most well-known bikers in the town. He had a Honda CBR. His bike was sick, it was bright red and the owner sitting on it with his red helmet really looked like the Devil himself, I get why they call him that.

As I rolled next to him, I glanced towards my right as he was there. He looked at me and bowed his head, I did the same. It was a sign of respect. I liked the guy already.

San arrived to my left side with his Suzuki GSX, painted also with a very dark red, reminding me of blood, mixed with some black. These guys weren't playing, their bikes were absolute monsters. I could almost hide with Toothless, but my bike was almost on the same level as theirs, so I saw hope in winning this.

When the announcer spoke, saying our names and a few things about our motorbikes, I slowly started to focus on the task at hand. I did not hear anything else, just my fast-beating heart. I fixed my eyes ahead, breathing in and out. The engine sounds pushed away the crowd’s noise. The red light suddenly switched green, and I quickly lifted my left foot off the ground, concentrating on the perfect timing of the gearing, bending over a little to adjust with the speed. From the outside it looks like three bikes quickly reach the finish line, but when you are the driver, it feels like the longest minutes of your life.

At the beginning the three of us were head-to-head, then I was the one who was leading. I could feel the victory coursing through my bloodstream already. But suddenly, I heard a puffing noise from my engine, and it stopped without any warning. My bike started to slow, the thoughts of winning long forgotten.

'Shit, shit, no, no, no, no, no!' I mumbled to myself. I could barely stop; my bike was still resonating.

The two other racers quickly passed by me, leaving me with my broken bike. I glanced forward and saw San reaching the finish line first. I was so fucking close. I hit my bike angrily, and got off it to push it over to the side. This is the worst feeling ever, when you are so close that you can already feel the win, but then something out of your control happens and it’s not your fault, you can’t do anything about it, you’re only left with cursing the world, asking, 'Why me?'

I could feel something was faulty with my bike, but I didn't think it was this bad. I heard someone running my way. It was Yunho, and when he reached me, he leaned his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

"Fuck, what happened?" He asked straightening up, still breathing quickly from running.

"I don't know, the engine just stopped working." I kicked my bike. I loved Toothless, but when it did things like this, I felt like I was going to throw it out.

Yunho came closer to my bike, to try and see what the problem was. He crouched down to take a closer look as I stood next to him, using the flash of my phone to help him see better. I heard an engine slowing down next to us. Of course it was San, he took his black helmet off, smiling at me deviously.

"Daddy's money wasn't enough for a normal motor? It’s called karma, princess.” He said with a death glare, smirking annoyingly. “This is because you fucking pushed me into the pool."

Why the hell did he enjoy spitting out words that made no sense at all?

I could feel my blood boiling, my biggest desire at the moment being the want to punch that confident smile off his annoying face. I was so close doing it, I swear to God, I was ready to punch him hard, but that little sanity I was clinging on to did not let it happen. I always had problems controlling my anger. But slowly, I learned to handle it. I learned how to manage these feelings, so I just let it bounce off of me.

"Next time I’m going to push you into the sea, if you don’t stop being an asshole. Go, celebrate your fucking win, you really deserve it." I said, staring at him with deadly eyes.

"Your wish is my command, Princess." He saluted with a smirk, and then placed his helmet back on, driving away with his annoyingly loud engine. I scoffed as I watched him roll away.

"I think I'm going to call my dad, there's no hope in fixing it." I sighed. I'm going to get into so much trouble now. I was forbidden from racing, my dad won't be happy, I'm sure. But it is what it is. At least the cops didn't show up this time.

I called my dad and told him what happened. I was nervous of how he would react. To my surprise, his first question was about my well-being. He said he was coming.

While I was waiting alone for my dad—I told Yunho that he could since my dad was coming— Hongjoong stopped by my side, taking his helmet off. His blonde hair fell into his face as he ruffled his hair. He was damn handsome, he looked so soft, the opposite of his nickname.

"Everything alright?" He asked, his eyes full of understanding.

"Not really, my engine is broken, so yeah…" I said with a sad smile.

"Can I help you with anything?" He looked at me as if he really understood what I was feeling right now.

"No, thank you, I'm waiting for my dad to pick us up." I pointed at my bike.

"Okay, such a shame this happened. It was a good race." He smiled at me and then reached his fist towards me.

"Yeah, it could’ve be a good one." I fist bumped him, smiling.

"Next time perhaps then." He winked at me sweetly, "If you need any help, I'mma be around." He put his helmet back on.

"Okay, thank you." I smiled at him sincerely.

He rolled away quickly, leaving me there with my thoughts. Now, that's what I'm talking about. Why aren't there more people like him on Earth? He looks like an angel, not like the devil I suppose he is—on track. I was intrigued, I wanted to get to know him better. San could really learn a thing or two from him.

My dad arrived after a few minutes and we quietly placed my bike up on the trailer. As we were headed home, silence settled around us. I could feel he was pissed.

"I'm sorry." I said, looking straight ahead at the road, not wanting to see his disappointed expression.

"What did you think?" He started, "That you would race and I wouldn’t ever find out about it? It's a little town, Y/N, you already know how fast rumors spread here."

He glanced at me for a second.

"I know, I didn’t think, I just miss racing." Tears appeared in my eyes. "Please don't tell mom. She will send me to Azkaban after this."

Call it a defense mechanism, a trauma response, but I had always been like this…joking in serious situations.

I glanced at him and saw a very small smile appear on his lips, "I won't tell her, but it was very bold of you to race again. You can't do that, you know it, it'll have consequences."

He lectured me.

"Yeah, I know. Thank you for not telling mom." I said, relief spreading through my body.

"But you're still punished. You have to help me in the car service after school." He said glancing at me with a serious look.

"Okay, and maybe we could fix my bike too?" I said, glancing at him with a smile.

My father smiled back, "Maybe after we fixed some cars, we could check it out next week."

I clapped happily, "Thank you!"

The rest of the ride until we got home was quiet, I was happy my father was this understanding. I thought as soon as he finds it out, he'll send me back to mom, passing me between each other like I was a tennis ball. But to my surprise, it was the opposite, and I really didn't mind working in the car service. At least we could spend some more time together. I hoped we could fix our relationship, alongside with the cars, of course.

My days went by and they all were quite the same. I attended my classes at university, then my whole afternoon went by fixing cars with my father. He managed to teach me a lot of things about cars, even though my world was all about motorbikes I was always interested in cars too. I was planning on buying a car, but I needed to put that aspiration aside for a while. My priority was fixing my bike so I could finally ride it.

We checked out my bike and we found out that my engine was overheated, and that's why it shut down. An engine upgrade was needed, and we changed the turbo as well while we were at it. It was going to be even more powerful than before; I was so excited to finally try it out. On some days, Yunho and Mingi would come by the car service to check on me, and they even started helping me out in fixing my bike. We started getting closer, we laughed a lot in between the late-night repairing.

Yunho and Mingi invited me to watch their races, which were going to be held today. I had never been to races like this one before, so I happily accepted the invitation. I could finally try my bike out as I was headed to the race. It felt so good riding it again after a while. I felt like I could breathe again. I think I had gotten addicted to this feeling.

The race was held at the race track of the town, in the afternoon. The sun was slowly going down as I rode my bike, painting my black bike and helmet with the shade of dark orange.

When I arrived to the track, there were lots of people being excited about the race. It was a drag race again, but with cars this time. I looked around and I saw different types of cars, each looking very sick and unique. I started to feel excited as I was rolling down between the cars, searching for Yunho's parked car.

Then, I suddenly recognized someone with a blonde hair. He noticed me and started walking towards me with a smile. I stopped and took off my helmet.

"Fixed your bike, huh?" Hongjoong approached me with a genuine smile.

"Yeah, finally." I pet my bike with a smile.

"I'm glad, we shall try it out some day." He said with his white teeth flashing.

"We shall." I smiled back at him. I would wholeheartedly race with him again.

"Are you racing?" I asked with a frown.

"No, I came to watch, I won't betray my beast." He laughed sweetly. I swear to God, his laugh was like music to my ears, "You came to watch too?"

"Yeah, I've never been to races like this one before." I said, feeling excited.

"We can watch it together; I know the best place where we can watch it from." Hongjoong offered with a sweet smile.

"Okay." I accepted his offer quite easily, "But first, I want to wish Yunho and Mingi good luck."

"Come, you can put your bike down there, I’ll show you where they are." He pointed towards my right, where I could park my bike.

I pushed my bike to the designated area, and brought my helmet with myself. I did not want to leave my treasure there. Hongjoong lead the way to where Yunho's blue GT-R was parked, next to Mingi's orange Supra. These two cars next to each other looked so good. I was very tempted to take a picture of them.

I approached Yunho and hugged him from behind, surprising him. He laughed, "You came, finally."

"I would never miss it." I smiled looking up at him. He was wearing his racing suit with colors that matched his car. His hair was lazily brushed over his forehead, almost reaching his eyes.

I hugged Mingi too, the top part of his orange racing suit lazily hung around his waist, a white T-shirt underneath. This orange clothing suit him very well, highlighting his blonde buzz cut. They looked handsome. What is it today, everyone is looking so good?!

"I'm going to be in the crowd, watching you guys, good luck. Fighting!" I smiled and hugged them both again. Hongjoong also wished them good luck, resorting to giving them high-fives.

"Thanks, we'll try." Yunho said laughing.

We then walked to the spot Hongjoong mentioned before. It was really a good one, we could see everything from here. The crowd started to cheer as the first cars appeared on the track. It was a 2v2. Yunho was the first one, competing against a Mitsubishi Lancer. It was going to be hard to beat that car, but Yunho did not disappoint, and he won with a lot of advantage. Every minute counted here; they were measuring the time up until you crossed the finish line. Time mattered here as it could beat your opponent.

After a lot of quick races, the sun went down, street lamps were lighting the track up, the crowd cheering loudly. We laughed a lot with Hongjoong, and he explained the rules of the races we were witnessing. I finally felt happy after a long time, I loved the atmosphere here.

That is until someone sat next to me.

"Now you’re into cars too? Tell your stepdad to send you a car, a broken one perhaps." San said, looking at me with those fucking annoying sharp eyes of his.

Every time he appears, my mood is fucked, "I will, now leave me the fuck alone."

I had said not looking at him.

San laughed, "Not until we're racing with equal chances."

"Oh, so now you admit it wasn't a fair win for you?" I looked at him with a glare.

"No, I would've won anyways. I just wanted to see how much you could push. But your bike said, nah. I bet it'll fall apart again." He said, leaning closer to me.

My blood started boiling, it was one thing if I was the one saying shit about Toothless, but him spitting out these words about my bike were not allowed. Ever. San was provoking me, and I knew it, I fucking knew it, yet…

"Come, I'll fucking beat you this time." I looked at him with blazing eyes, starring at him sharply.

He stood up smiling, "It'll be my pleasure, princess."

He put his right hand on his heart and bowed.

Oh, how I would hit him in the face, I had nightmares about that fucking confident smile.

I stood up, Hongjoong grabbed my hands to make me look at him, "It's not the best time going out there, Y/N."

He said with concern in his voice.

"I don't care, I want to wipe that confident smile off his face." I was long gone, there was no chance of anyone convincing me doing otherwise.

Hongjoong stood up, looking at me with concern, "But please be careful, call me if anything happens."

He held my hands, he really looked concerned.

"Don't worry, savior. I'll keep her safe." San glared at Hongjoong with the deadliest stare I've ever seen.

Hongjoong stepped closer to San, letting go of my hands. "If anything happens to her because you’re a fucking idiot and your ass is just itchy, you'll regret it, I promise."

Hongjoong stared back at San, and in this moment, he really looked like the Devil. I stood between them as they were eyeing each other, glaring with their noses flared.

Whoa, whoa, hold on a second, what was happening right now—

"Okay, guys, stop! Let's not waste any more time and get this shit over." I looked at San, losing my patience.

He winked at me and then smiled, his dimples appearing. Did I just notice he has dimples?

He did not wear his usual black leather jacket tonight; it was a leather jacket with some red on its sleeves and on the waist with white lines. On the front there was a writing 'SUZUKI', referring to his motorbike being the same brand. I’m not going to lie; he looked hot as fuck.

We walked over to our bikes, which were parked next to each other. I sat on my bike.

"So where are we going? You know this town." I looked over to my left side to meet San's gaze.

"There's a freeway not far from here. There’ll be traffic, but it’s more exciting that way." He smirked.

I started my engine and reached my hand out, motioning to him to show me the way. We both placed our helmets on, and then it was game on from there on. There was no turning back anymore.

I followed San, turning on unknown streets, it was barely a five-minute ride. We stopped where the freeway began.

"The winner is who gets to the end of the freeway first. It's not that long." He told me through his helmet, being on my left side.

I just nodded, it was late into the evening, but the cars ahead of us were countless. It was a three-lane road, people might’ve been going home from work, because there were a lot of cars. We lined up at the side of the road, in front of the red light. San pointed at that, signaling that if it turns green, we start. I started to reeve the engine, my legs in starting position with my eyes focused on the road ahead of me, counting the cars, and analyzing how could I pass by them. Adrenaline crawled through me; my skin covered in goosebumps. I have never felt like this before, I was so hyped about winning this. I had to win this.

The red light suddenly changed to green, and I quickly lifted my foot off the ground, bending over my bike and shifting up. We slid through the cars like the river runs through the rocks. We were two quick arrows passing by the cars, wheezing from left to right. At first, we were head-to-head, but I got lucky and I could pass by a big truck very quickly. San wasn't that lucky, he stayed behind a little. We arrived to a tunnel; sudden strong light hit my eyes. Traffic was lesser here, so, San quickly caught up with me. The sound of our engines were so loud that its echo bounced of the tunnel’s walls. It was like music, the two-engine sound melting into each other. I'm not going to lie, I was enjoying it so much as I have never felt like this before, it was the definition of freedom. I quickly glanced at San and he lifted his arms, giving me a thumps up, then quickly passed by me. But I did not let that happen, I went after him. We arrived to the end of the tunnel, sudden darkness hitting me now, my eyes needed a few minutes to adopt to the dark again. As cars were in front of us, I quickly took the chance to go in between two cars, and I was leading again. Until I suddenly saw red and blue lights flashing from behind.

Shit, shit, no, not again—

It felt like my heart was about to jump out of my chest, it was beating so fast. I can't get caught again, no way. I started to panic, and suddenly all strength escaped my body as I started to slow down. I couldn’t think straight as all thoughts left my mind seeing those colors again, getting flashbacks of that night. The lights, then being pushed straight into the cop’s hands, my friends running away, leaving me alone. San was suddenly next to me.

"Hey, Y/N, don't slow down, we need to lose them! I know a shortcut, follow me!" He yelled over the sounds of our engines and through his helmet, as I suddenly was back from the flashback as I looked behind me, seeing as the cops getting closer and closer.

I just nodded, suddenly feeling my strength coming back to me. There's no way they will catch me again. I quickly followed after San, passing by the cars, the police still following us, getting closer. San turned right onto a street, then left. We went through alleys and little streets, where only a bike would fit. I had no idea where were we, but I didn't care, because it seemed like San's plan was working and the red and blue lights were now far away from us. Suddenly, San turned left and went inside an abandoned factory's court. He quickly stopped and turned off the engine, signaling for me to do the same. I rolled next to him, and switched the key to turn off the engine. I glanced behind my back, I didn't see any signs of the police, but I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. I took off my helmet quickly, starting to inhale and exhale quickly.

"Fuck." I ran my fingers through my hair stressed, pulling it away from my face.

"Come, let's go inside, bring your bike too." San said, getting off his bike as he started pushing it towards the building.

As I got off my bike, I was shaking, the adrenaline was still in my blood. We brought our bikes inside and I needed to sit quickly. I sat down, pressing my back against my bike, lifting my knees up to my chest.

"I think they're gone." San sat down, doing the same as me.

He glanced over me, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I said, still not looking at him.

"Are you really that scared of the cops?" I could hear it in his voice that he was smiling.

"San, this is really not the time where you can say shit like that." I glanced over at him. I guess he saw my expression, because his face changed.

"Sorry, I didn’t—" We lifted our heads up as we heard the siren sounds. The red and blue lights lit the walls of the factory, and my heart dropped to my stomach.

"Shit, shit, they are coming here." I stood up, San did too. But suddenly, I heard the sirens getting further and further away. I let out the big breath I was holding this whole time.

"They just passed by, idiots." San laughed.

I glanced over at him in disbelief, and sat down again next to my bike.

San mirrored me, "We need to wait a little, though, so they will give up searching for us."

"You were in these kinds of situations a lot, huh?" I asked San, staring ahead into the darkness.

"Kinda, that's why I knew what to do." He said sighing. Quiet fell over us as we both were thinking, probably not about the same things as he spoke up, "But I don't get it. What did you do that you got almost arrested? Did you crash your bike and kill someone?”

He looked at me frowning. I scoffed at him; I really couldn’t believe he was like this.

"You don't know anything about me, so please stop assuming things when you don't know shit." I stared at him angrily, "It's making me feel sick, San. I'm so fucking tired of your comments, what did I do to you for you to behave like this with me?"

I asked him, looking his way then at my hands, "I was just fucking racing because I love to do so. Why is that so bad? Don’t you do the same thing, San? I’ve got arrested because my friends left me there, so I was blamed for that whole mess, on my own. So, please, ask before you talk shit."

There was a minute of silence, "Fuck, I didn't know, Y/N. I don't fucking know why I'm an asshole with you. It is so easy to piss you off."

I glanced at him; he was staring ahead as he ran his fingers through his raven black hair.

"And you are enjoying this?" I scoffed at him in disbelief.

"Of course I don’t, it’s just—" He turned my way, "Lately I did it just because I wanted to race against you and I thought if I provoke you, then you'll come. I know it sounds stupid, but don't say you didn't like it."

He seemed nervous a little. Choi San being nervous, interesting.

"I did enjoy it, San. But what the hell, why couldn't you just ask me nicely if I wanted to come with you? I would've, if you weren't such an asshole.” I looked at him, “And our bickering or whatever did not start here.”

"Yeah…I know." He looked down at his hands, "When we were kids you suddenly just got cold and pushed me away like I was some garbage. I was a little kid, it hurt."

He admitted. I didn’t recognize this San, this softer, nicer, side of him was strange to me.

"I was a little kid too. Kids are mean, you just had a weak heart." I said to him, "That does not mean you have to be an asshole your whole life, because I mistreated you when we were fucking kids. This is it, San. You need to adapt to some situations; you have to let go of foolish things at times."

I looked at him seriously.

"Forgive me for being such an asshole, you did not deserve it. I just tried to blame other people for my weaknesses." He admitted, and for a second, he looked vulnerable. But it vanished away quickly.

And suddenly we started sharing about our lives, the cops long forgotten, things that we didn't know about the other. I could see the side of him, which he rarely let anyone see. He could be really goofy, we laughed together, trying to recall the ridiculous situations we were in when we were just kids.

"And just so you know, I bought my bike, not someone else. I worked for it, for years. I took shift after shift, because I wanted something. You know…it hurt when you said those things to me." I suddenly felt like I had to tell him how much he stabbed a knife into my heart that day.

"Fuck this, this whole situation is ridiculous." He scoffed, his voice getting weaker. "I'm so fucked up. I'm so fucking tired of adapting to what people expect of me. I did this my whole life."

I looked at him as he buried his face into his palms.

Silence fell over the chilly air as San seemed to be on edge, while he quietly sniffed. I couldn’t believe that San was crying. It came out of the blue; I did not understand the cause of it.

Suddenly, I slipped next to him. I just wanted to hug him, he looked so broken. So, I went closer to him, still sitting on the ground, and hugged him tightly as he scooted closer to me and buried his face into my neck.

"It's okay, San. Sometimes life can be too much. Just let it out." I stroked his back patiently. I felt some tears falling onto my neck.

I couldn’t believe I was hugging Choi San right now, but I have always been like this. I don't care if he harmed me, if he needs a shoulder to cry on in his most vulnerable moment, then I’m going to be there for him because no one deserves to be alone in these moments.

"I'm so tired, I'm sick of this pain…" He mumbled into my neck, sobbing a bit, "After my mom died—"

"Your mom died?" I lifted his head from my neck, cupping his face with my hands. I looked at him with round eyes. I didn't know his mother died; I was shocked.

"Yeah, right after you moved away..." He said, looking into my eyes with his puffy ones. He seemed empty, he seemed like he wasn't feeling anything at all, "She had cancer, she…She struggled a lot…and I was alone, I needed someone to be there for me, I tried…I really tried." He said, his voice getting quieter.

I did not want to believe what I just heard, his mom was an angel, everyone liked her when she stepped on the stage alongside with the town’s major. They looked like true leaders. I always looked up to her, and now she’s gone.

"Oh my God, I didn't know, San. I'm sorry for your loss.” I blinked away my own tears as I wiped away his, “If I would've known—"

I felt a bit overwhelmed.

Suddenly his expression changed, it seemed like he had realized what he had done in the last few minutes. He locked his feelings away, again. He thought he showed too much of his weaker, softer, side and suddenly, he started closing off, just like I used to do. The old San was coming back. He pushed my hands away from his face aggressively, not looking at me.

"Whatever, I don't need your pity." He stared ahead, and leaned back against his bike, lifting his knees up to his chest.

I scoffed, "What did I do now?”

I blinked at him, not understanding the sudden mood change, “Okay, you can't be helped. I tried, I really tried to be nice with you, but you are impossible."

I stood up, "I think the cops are long gone, let's get the fuck out of here." I pushed my bike outside not waiting for San. I sat on my bike, starting the engine. San arrived next to me, with his bike.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." He looked at me with sincerity, but I did not fall for it.

"Yeah, me too, have a good night." I said with a disappointed look and I put my helmet on to drive away quickly. I just needed to get as far away as possible from him.

Weeks passed since that night. I tried to avoid San as much as I could. I just couldn't face him; I was so tired of his games. There were a few occasions when he tried to talk to me, but I just ignored him. It's not that I don't understand him, I do, I know what he's been through…at least I can imagine. That night, I tried to see his good side, but he did not let me in. And it hurt, because I knew he needed someone, and I would've been by his side. But he suddenly decided to push me away. He closed himself off, stayed in the dark, not allowing me to light his path for a way out. I really felt hopeful for a second that he could change, that he would lower his walls and let me in. But no, he'll just never change, so I gave up on hoping. At least I thought so, but these past days I just couldn't get him out of my mind. When I closed my eyes, I saw him as he smiled at me in for that few minutes when we were freely talking about ourselves. I'm not going to lie, I liked that side of San, it was so pure. And I would've never thought I was going to say such things about Choi San. But he made me feel strange things.

It was late into the night when I was still in the car service. A car needed to be fixed by tomorrow and I told my dad he could rest, he has worked all day long and I could see he was really tired, so I wanted to fix this car by tomorrow. The weather seemed like it would rain soon, lighting striking every few minutes.

Suddenly, I heard an engine sound from outside. I frowned, who it is this late? I opened up the garage door and I found myself facing a soaked San, getting off his Suzuki, staring at me the whole time. His clothes were starting to soak through, the raindrops falling off from his leather jacket. It had started pouring badly; I haven’t even realized it. My heart was beating fast. He took off his helmet, his hair immediately getting wet. San ran his fingers through his hair.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him without any emotion.

"I just want to talk to you, Y/N. Please, let me take you to a place." He looked at me with pleading eyes.

"In this weather, San, seriously?" I pointed out, still standing under the garage, safe from the pouring rain.

"It'll stop in a few minutes." He said his, black clothes soaked now, waterdrops falling off his face.

"How do you know? Are you a weather expert now too?" I asked frowning. I was just as hostile as he once was towards me.

He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair again. "I deserved that. Just like the pool."

He looked at me again. I could see a lot of regret in his eyes.

"That night, I closed myself off because your face reminded me of all the people who pitied me back then, when she died. I was only 11 years old, and I got sick of seeing those faces, it always reminded me of her death."

He started to tear up, his voice getting weak again, "Please, Y/N, forgive me. I know I fucked up everything, I just—you—you drive me crazy and I can't behave around you. I feel like when I'm near you I’ll lose my mind, like I’m not myself anymore. I said a lot of shitty things to you, and I judged you a lot even though I didn't know anything about you. I want to change that, I want to know you better, Y/N. I want to let you in, I'll do that if you also want it, but I hope you won't be scared of what you'll see."

I saw as teardrops fell down on his face, but the rain immediately washed it away, his voice cracking from the flow of emotions.

My heart wanted to jump out of my chest. I didn't except him to say things like these to me, "I'm not scared, San, to see your dark side. I never was, and I never will be."

Tears started to appear in my eyes, to my surprise, "You said some hurtful things to me, but I get it, I really do. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but I was just so shocked, I didn't know…I didn't know, San."

I started to sob, tears falling from my face.

"I know, I know, baby." He stepped closer to me as he reached out for my hands pulling me out into the rain, into his chest. I cried into his chest as he rubbed my back up and down, my clothes and my hair soaked. I should’ve been the one comforting him, but in the end, I was the one sobbing like a little girl into his chest.

We stood in the heavy rain; our clothes wet, my hair sticking to my forehead yet he still hugged me like he never wanted to let me go. Caressing my back, he kissed the top of my head. I tried to inhale and exhale, so I could finally speak.

"I forgive you, and also I'm sorry." I whispered to him, lifting my head up from his chest.

He didn't let me go, his left hand was on my waist and he reached his right hand up to my cheeks to wipe off my tears, but they were wet again with tears and raindrops. "It's okay, don't cry, please, because then I'll cry too."

He smiled at me with the sincerity I've never seen before. His eyes were saying so much, it hurt. He finally let me in, allowed me to see his real self.

I laughed at that, and he followed suit, laughing together at this predicament, "Look at us, soaked like wet rats."

He smiled at me, never taking his sharp eyes off me.

Then suddenly his expression became serious, he stared at me as if I was his treasure, wanting to bury me, so no one could take me away, "I want to know you better, I want to know everything about you. What you like, what you don't, what is your favorite color, what do you like to eat, what you did while you were gone from here, what does it feel like to ride your bike…I want to know you, and never let you go."

He said, his hand still on my cheek, accompanied by his other one.

I smiled at him. I felt so happy at that exact moment, I didn't care if I was soaked, I only saw him, "Me too."

I said quietly.

He leaned closer to me, his lips almost touching mine, "Can I kiss you?"

He whispered against my lips sweetly.

Chills ran through my body. I never wanted anything more than him kissing me. I just nodded; words long forgotten. He closed the distance between us, and when our lips finally met, there was a loud thunder rumbling the world, lighting flashing around us and rain pouring from above, washing away our past where we said a lot of stupid things to each other. We could start with a clear page, melting our futures together. Our lips never stopped moving, it felt like heaven and hell met with each other as our lips moved against the other’s, just like when we were racing, both of us tried to win the other over. I welcomed San's darkness wholeheartedly and tried to scare it away with my light.

Then suddenly the rain stopped, and we separated from each other, looking up at the sky. The clouds were gone and the full moon was shining so brightly it looked like it was almost daylight.

I chuckled looking up, "You should apply to be a weatherman."

San was gazing at me so lovingly I felt like I was going to melt right there, "See? Now you can come with me, I want to show you something."

He held my hands.

"Okay, I should bring my bike then." I smiled at him, feeling as happiness crawled into my chest.

"It would be more proper if I was the one taking you there, but I want to race you." He held my waist and pecked my lips a few times. I still needed to get used to this San. I really liked it.

"I'm going to beat you." I scrunched my nose cutely.

"Okay, princess, but first, go change. I don't want you to catch a cold." He caressed my cheekbones.

"I'll bring you some clothes of dad’s, you'll catch a cold too otherwise." I kissed him quickly and then went inside the house, smiling like a fool, to grab some dry clothes.

It was the middle of the night, but two engine sounds cut through the late-night life. We were going up on winding roads, forests covering both sides of the road. I was laughing beneath my helmet as San goofed around, slowing down and then speeding again. I think I have never felt more happier than right now. It was pure freedom going through these curvy roads, racing against each other. But in the end, it was just the two of us sharing our passion, riding our motorbikes, the moon shining upon us brightly, guiding our roads, showing our future ahead of us.

I finally knew I belonged somewhere, to someone. It was my hometown, and Choi San.

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